GOLDEN SCEAVkE S
GATHERED FROM THE FIELDS OF ANCIENT AND MODERN
LITEPtATURlEo
A 3IISCELLANY OF
CHOICE READING
FOR THE ENTERTAINMIENT OF THE OLD AND TIIE YOUNG
IN HOURS THAT ARE LONELY AND WEARY.
SELECTED AND ARRANGED
BY
H. A. CLE  ELANBDo
ZEIGLER, McCURDY & CO.,
PHILADELPHIA, PA.; CINCINNATI, OHIO;
CHICAGO, ILL.; ST. LOUIS, MO.




Entered according to Act of Congress, isn the year 1869, by
ZEIGLER, McCURIDY  &  CO.,
in the Clerik's Office of the Disttiict. Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern
District of Pennsylvania.




CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE.......................................................   V
2MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES,..................................O.    I
LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENTT  aEN,.....................  150
FACTS   AND    COUNSELS,..............................................    235
NATURAL HISTORY,.... 0.............................................  326
oTU-ovs SELECTIONS,........................  35 9
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.............359
TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS,...............................     396
11JORAL AND RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES,.............................  424
GEMS OF TH.OUGHT..................................-..............  512
GENERAI INDEX,..................OO................................. 51
INDEX OF AUTHORS,.................................................  583








PIREFA EC
THE author of this volume does not consider himself
alone responsible for its existence.  He had long
thought, however, that such a work if judiciously
compiled would fill a'vacant place in our general literature, and had collected some materials with that object remotely in view. But his thought might never,
and certainly would not so soon, have ripened, had not
his enterprising publishers, several months ago, put
in his hands a volume of "~Gathered Treasures"-a
book long since out of print, and although containing
many beautiful gems,, yet somewhat ancient in its
general contents —and urged him to make it the basis
of a new compilation which should be comprehensive in
subject, just in sentiment, beautiful in expression, and
while not ignoring the claims of antiquity, duly respectful of the interests of the present. They argued
that while books of every sort were already numerous
and rapidly increasing, many of them were costly, and
some very excellent'ones so rare, as to be found only
in the great libraries; that many persons, as the young,
the busy, and the aged, who have neither the time nor
the patience necessary for the perusal of continuous
or bulky volumes, would read short stories and elegant
(v)




vi                   PREFACE.
extracts with eagerness; that these would  gladly
improve the opportunity such a compilation affords,
for obtaining some acquaintance with works not in
their possession, and thus entertain themselves in a
way beneficial to head and heart.
The author, yielding to the solicitation thus earnestly
stated, has prepared this volume to meet the wants
that seemed important and pressing, and in so doing
has contented himself with simply binding under these
green bands the selected products of some of the most
eminent writers.
And now  if s" Golden Siheaves" shall carry one
happier feeling, or purer thought, or higher aspiration, into a home dark with care, and to a heart weary
with toil, or sad with loneliness, the desire of the
gleaner will have been answered, while the kindness
of those who have permitted him to wander through
their richly laden fields and reap what they had sown,
will be as nobly rewarded as it is hereby gratefully acknowledged.
H.A.C
Philadelphia,
February 20th, 1869.




MORAL TALES AND SIKETCHES.
YOUTH, BOOKS, LABOR, AGE.
Foa the most part, we studious men do not very clearly
comprehecl people who are simply practical; when called upon
to classify them, we always start from our own individuality;
we imagine that every one ought to resemble ourselves; we
estimate the intelligence of our cook by his style of penmanship.
It is very rare that men are able to escape from the thraldom
of their individual predilections, so as to throw themselves into
the midst of the world of realities, and estimate individuals according to their aptitude for satisfying those realities. We all
resemble MI. Vestris more or less, who was astonished to hear
that one of his old pupils, whom he could never teach to dance
the gavotte, had become a great statesman. It seems as if each
of us were inclined to set up his own habits and occupations as
the standard measure of human capacity; hence the indignation which we see manifested when one of your vulgar practical
men acquires fortune or influence. With what profound contempt we point the finger at such upstarts of action! what protestations there are against the state of society, when the grocer
at the corner grows wealthy more surely and more rapidly than
the artist, the professor, or the author! As if society lived
only upon books, problems, or statues, and had not above all
things need of the journeymen of life!-as if the most favored
by nature ought also to be the most favored by man, and to
find themselves fortunate here below, as kings are powerful
"by the grace of God 1"
1




2       MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
How is it we do not perceive that this world is a vast machine
produced by a superhuman hand, which has given to each part
a duty and not a privilege?  Wherefore should the proud
wheels, which serve to regulate the motion, cast reproaches at
the thousand steel cranks destined to receive it, or at the
bronze which adorns them, and the oil which facilitates their
efforts?
My daughter wrote to me lately that, as an opportunity
offered, she should not wait for the holidays to send Blanche
and Henry to me; but as it depended upon the person who
was to take charge of them, she could not name beforehand the
exact day of their arrival.
This morning I heard all of a sudden in the hall the fresh
voices of two children; the door opened, and a little girl advanced, smiling, with a boy about a year younger than herself
peeping from behind her; I divined at once who they were;
my heart beat faster, but I waited in expectation.
The little girl came towards me somewhat timidly, and said:
"' Here we are, grandpapa!"
I opened my arms, and both the children ran forward to
embrace me.
Their conductor stood in the hall where he could observe our
affectionate greetings. At length he determined on entering,
when he gave me the best account of them both, adcl after the
warmest expression of thanks on my part, he retired.
Well, at last, then, I behold them, these dear blossoms from
a stalk almhnost dried up. There they stand before me in all the
verdure of their spring growth; I hold Blanche on my right
side, Henry on my left, and press them thus against my bosom,
with their sweet faces turned towards me, and their breath fanning my cheeks.
I scan their features in order to discover that family likeness
which is, as it were, the everlasting re-birth of the old who die,
in the young who survive. Both of them, no doubt, very soon
felt how dear they were to me, for they grew familiar at once.
Blanche leaned her curly head on my shoulder, whilst Henry
played with the seals of my watch; then they began to chatter
away freely. In one hour I had read through those young
hearts where there was nothing for concealment.
Blanche, who is the elder, already assumes the character of
protectress and counsellor; she admonishes Henry, she aids
and excuses him. The sister from afar plays the part of
mother. tHenry, more ardent, rushes forward at a venture on
every new path, but returns at the voice of Blanche; cries out
to her, "I am here, fear nothing!" and starts off again. The
boy is striving to become the man.
Our renewed acquaintance being thus made, I presented them
both to Mr. Baptiste, who saluted them  with his customary




MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.    3
formal bow; I explained that he would treat them just as they
treated him, and Mr. Baptiste confirmed my words.  The two
children looked at his grave face with some wonderment, and
hardly knew if they ought to feel afraid or the reverse; but
habit will set all right; the birds soon grow bold enough to
build their nests in the somebrest trees.
I was sure of it; Blanche, Henry, and lMr. Baptiste live very
comfortably together, although a little ceremoniously.  Father
Labat relates that, in his time, when the Spanish soldiers relieved guard, they bowed to each other before exchanging the
password, and asked most politely after each others' welfare. I
am witness every morning to a similar spectacle, when for the
first time the children and AIr. Baptiste encounter each other.
After all, I like these acts of politeness, even when carried to
excess; they habituate us to respect others, and to maintain
dominion over ourselves.  It is said that politeness is the
make-pretence for real kindness'of heart, in which case rudeness must be the make-pretence for aversion; now, mask for
mask, I prefer that which smiles on me to that which inspires
disgust.  There is, besides, something more in politeness than
the mere appearance; it is, as its name indicates, a certain
polish in our habits and manners, thanks to which the springwheels of life meet together without abrasion.
So everything goes on at home wonderfully well; no quarrels, no complaints.  The house has resumed its former bustle;
here on the chimney-piece is some crochet work just begun;
the piano is again heard; the merry laughter of children has
interrupted the staid silence of old age and the widower's home;
I hear little feet running about the empty and long deserted
rooms, and I repeat half aloud the sweet lines of a poet whom
I have the happiness to understand, although he lived before
my era:
" Preserve me, Lord, preserve my kindred and my friencld;
And even those whose bitter hatred condescends
To mock at my distress.
From ever seeing, Lord, the summer without flowers,
The cage without a bird, the hives all empty in the bowers,
The home no children bless!"
Twenty times a day Blanche or Henry just opens the door
of the little room which I occupy, peeps in, and says, softly
"Are you busy, grandpapa? "
I turn toward them with a smile, and beckon them ill.  One
of the advantages at my time of life, as I have already explained, is that I am always at leisure to give audience to joy.
Blanche, after kissing me, remains most frequently leaning
against my shoulder without speaking; it is evident that she
has come simply to be near me-not to be alone-to feel herself beloved; whereas Henry stands forward and questions me;
he, for his part, begins to observe and wishes to acquire in



4        MORI AL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
formation. I yield, and reply to his questions, I return his
sister's caresses, I am all things to them both, without objection, and without reserve. My tenderness is restrained by no
scruples, for I have not, in their case, as formerly with my own
sonl and daughter, the responsibility of their education.  Withdrawn from action, the grandfather has not time left to undertake such duties: he is in the vacation of life, and has the.
privilege of asking children only for their smiles and their
kisses. Let others, in their turn, watch over the class with eye
severe, he resembles henceforth only the ancient tree, which
yields a grateful shade for the hours of recreation.
Sweet and tender privilege! Old age thus relieves us of a
weight of responsibility.  Whilst others, with the balance of
justice in their hands, estimate the quality of action and redress
wrongs, we, elevated into the serene sphere which separates
the two worlds, join the rank of those princes to whom a constitutional fiction has left only the prerogative of mercy; we
reign, but we do not govern.
Henry did not wish entirely to suspend his course of study;
he works daily for some hours, and one of these mornings he
brought nme thle Eclogues of Virgil, begging me to translate for
hinm two lines which he could not understand.
AMy explanation no doubt satisfied him, for he shortly returned  with the history of Justinian, and then with one of
Cicero's essays. Insensibly our consultations merged into a
veritable course of instruction, and now for three days past
I have become an improvised teacher, turning over once more
the leaves of my schoolday authors.
I can hardly describe the effect they have had upon me! My
Lmemory rushes back across their nmetaphors and their trains of
thouglht, like a wanderer returning again to his native place
after an absence of half a century.  I recollect myself by
degrees; a thousand images return; I hear again the tones
once so familiar. The history of my childhood rises up, chapter
by chlapter, between the pages of these old volumes. I see
myself again at the farther end of the dark schoolroom, with
its wooden benches, and tables smeared with ink. I hear the
monotonous voice of our schoolmaster in his college gown, as
he murmurs from behind the shadow of his desk.  Two long
lines of pupils stand there, ranged against the wall; I recognize their features one after the other, and my thoughts involuntary follow them into the busy world beyond, where I
rapidly survey their histories, now, alas! for the most part
brought to a close.
But there is one face, above all the rest, especially impressed
upon my mind, which this volume of Eclogues has recalled. In
turning over the last pages, I caught sight, on the pasteboard
cover, of a name almost obliterated.  It is that of my first




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES                      5
schoolboy companion, of that schoolmate with whom one shares
everything-hopes, blows, jealousies, and pots of preserve.
Cherished form his sake, and transferred successively from my
son to my grandson, this book seems brought back before my
eyes, to reproach me with my long forgetfulness of its first
master.
I fancy, indeed, that I see him again crossing our playground
for the first time, led by his mother-a poor woman with pale
face.and stooping shoulders, clad in widow's mourning. Although he was even then tall, he held her band from the still
remaining habit of infancy, and we, who had interrupted our
games to look at the "new boy," exchanged derisive smiles.
Observing the care bestowed, down to the minutest details, on
the dress of our new schoolfellow, the elegance of his manner,
and the solicitude visible in every movement of his mother, who
seemed to guard him as a treasure, the scapegrace of our division cried out, " Oh, here comes the Dauphin!"* and he was
never known amongst us by any other name afterwards.
But the spirit of raillery which had thus maliciously christened him, after the manner of the wicked fairies in the story-book,
was destined to fail like them. The natural goodness of the lad
vanquished his evil god-mother; the nickname intended to
make him ridiculous, clungl to him indeed, but harmlessly, and
his gentleness ended in drawing from the sarcasm its sting.
Poor Dauphin! how well he knew how to atone to us for his
respect towards his masters, by complaisance towards his schoolfellows. When at times *the recollection of his mother came
upon him too forcibly, and he went down to walk by himself in
the shadow of the high wall which enclosed our grounds, how
at the first summons he dried his moistened cheek; how he ran
up, smiling and eager, to join in the first game proposed!
But then what attention he displayed at the class when the
tutor spoke! What devoton to study! There was not a single
slip of memory, not a single case of negligence, not a solitary
lie! At the end of each half year he carried off all the prizes,
and none of us thought of envying him, so well he seemed to
have deserved them; we said:' They are for the Dauphin;" as
we might have said: " The rivers are for the ocean."
He himself displayed neither ambition nor vanity, but the
desire only of gratifying his mother; it was she alone whom
they virtually crowned on his brow. Every year she was
present at the distribution of prizes, dressed in the same mourning habits.  She and her son had become the greatest objects
of interest and pride on these occasions; the school, in fact, had
adopted them both. When the celebration was over, the Dauphin left us, loaded with books and chaplets, and sustaining on
~ The title of the heir-apparent to the French throne under the monarchy.




6       MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
one arm the widow trembling with happiness: every eye followed them; we loved them for so loving each other.
Six years passed thus; the end of the last term approached,
and at the same time the period of our separation. Xiy schoolmate never spoke of it, but he redoubled his efforts; it was
evident that he wished his leaving school might be for his mother the end of all her trials. To accomplish his purpose, it
was necessary that he should pass with sufficient distinction to
ensure a career being at once opened to him; hopes of this had
already been held out, and in order to merit it, he no longer'oined us durinc the hours of recreation; he prolonged his
studies into the middle of the night, he resumed them with the
first rays of the sun.
One day, however, he did not come down-stairs. We went
to inquire for him. He was not able to leave his bed, where he
lay suffering from an attack of fever. Our doctor had already
paid his morning visit, and he was not again sent for that day;
we waited in the hope that a little repose would be all that was
necessary for the invalid; but by the evening his cheeks were
deep scarlet, his breath burning hot, and his eyes sparkling;
the next day he no longer recognized us.
Every care was now lavished on him, but in vain. The
delirium of the Dauphin only increased; he fancied himself before his tutors, and repeated aloud the recent lessons he had
learned. At certain moments his memory failed him, when his
features would contract, his hand press convulsively against his
forehead, his eyes assume a fixed and agonized expression of
doubt; then by an effort of will which seemed to survive in him,
he recovered the lost thread, and began his interrupted recitations once more.
At other times he fancied himself to be undergoing some important examination which was to decide his fate: he replied to
imaginary questions, and translated aloud the required passages,
commenting on them with painful hesitation. His schoolfellows
came one after the other to his bedside, and retired, bowing
their heads, and with troubled hearts; all hope was evidently
gone.
I had obtained leave not to quit my companion's side, and
watched the rapid progress of that delirious attack. Soon his
vital powers declined, and the sufferer lay still; he repeated
now indistinctly and with enfeebled voice some lines of Virgil,
whose writings he was particularly fond of. It appeared to me
as if all the rest-poets, orators, historians-had deserted the
ldying boy, and the peasant of Mantun alone remained, breathing
nto his ear some melodious fragments of his verse, like a mother singing her child to sleep. In the ebb and flow of the
wandering thoughts which passed through his agonized brain,
each muttered line seemed an allusion, or a passing souvenir,




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                         7
Sometimes a sweet scene of his childhood welled up in that,
final dream, and he repeated quite low:
Alter ab undecimo tam me jam ceperat annus,
Jam fragiles potuam a terrd contingere ramos.Then a tenderer recollection succeeded, a gentle face passed
vaguely before his half-closed eyes, his lips just gave trembling
utterance to the well-known line:
Incipe parve puer, risu cognoscere matrem.t
And as I bent over him in the effort gently to impose silence,
he resumed in a louder tone:
Cantantes licet usque (minus via ladat) eamus.t
But almost immediately afterwards seized with sudden weakness, he re-closed his heavy eyelids, and his voice died away,
whispering the poet's farewell:
Surgamus; solet esse gravis contantibus unmbra.
These were the last words I could distinguish.  The sufferer
relapsed afterwards into that convulsive drowsiness which precedes the final separation; another night passed, but the following morning his breathing insensibly grew fainter and fainter,
and when the doctor camne, all was over.
The entire college followed the corpse to its final abode.  It
was the first time I had seen any one put into the earth whose
hands I had claspedl-whomn I had known full of life like myself.
The smallest details are still present to my mind.  The day
was bright and cold; the fields recently ploughed, and streaked
with snow, had the appearance of an immense black pall fringed
with white tassels; the priests walked in front chanting the
funeral service; between each verse there was a pause, and then
the only sounds heard were those made by our footsteps on the
frozen snow.  At length we reached the cemetery.  The coffin
was laid beside the grave, and whilst the gravediggers consulted together in a low voice, there was rather a long interval
in the service.  I looked into the dark pit where the companion
of nmy studies and my sports was about to disappear; a little
bird suffering from the cold chirped plaintively a few yards off
on the leafless branch of a weeping willow.  As far as my eyes
wandered I could see only graves half buried under the snow,
or leaning crosses from  which icicles hung down like falling
tears; until then I had remained firm; but that mingling of
cold, sorrow, and death, made me shudder; I felt my heart
swell, and hurried back to join the ranks behind.  The noise of
the coffin, as it struck the sides of the grave in its descent, made
me return in spite of myself; I heard the earth rattling down,
aI was just entering my twelfth year, and was able now to reach with my fingers
the fragile branches.
t Begin, little one, to recognize thy mother with a smile.
Let us go forward singing; songs shorten the way.
# Let us arise; the mists are fatal to those who sing.




8       MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES
and saw the bearers draw out the ropes which creaked under the
weight of the coffin; then the priests raised their voices again,
the last benediction was spoken over the departed, and the
gravediggers began to shovel in the earth upon the coffin,
whilst we passed round the opening one after the other.
At the moment of my reaching the grave-side, one end of the.offin only was visible; it seemed to me, on looking down into
*;he grave, as if the dead had made an effort within the oaken
u,nvelope to rise from his funeral bed. I gave a start, and in,he agitation my foot stumbled; I should have fallen into the
pit, still only partly filled up, but for an arm which held me
back.  It was that of our excellent master.
" Take care!" said he, with mouinful tenderness; "' one is
enough, and more than we can spare!"
Then, turning towards the coffin, which had now nearly disappeared, he slowly uncovered his gray head, and addressed to
him whom we were never to see again, in the language he knew
so well, the exclamation of the gladiators in the imperial Circus:
Morituri te salutant."'
The following dclays were full of sadness. When the Dauphin
was with us, few thought about him; but now he had disappeared, all eyes seemed to seek his form. His single unoccupied seat attracted more attention, than all the other seats
with their occupants put together,
I especially could not reconcile myself to his absence-it
took very many days to accomplish that; at last, Time performed his usual office. Nearly a month had passed; a new
coier occupied the place of the departed, we had all resumed
our usual habits, when one day, during our play-hour which
followed dinner, a few words passed rapidly from the nearest
boy to his next companion, and pronounced only in a whisper,
startled us like a sudden cry:
"The mother of the Dauphin! The mother of the Dauphin!"
All our games were stopped, and every eye was turned in
the same direction. The widow crossed our playground, clad
as usual in mourning, but paler and more bent down. Behind
her walked the college porter carrying all her son's relics: his
books, his violin, and some portfolios filled with his manuscripts.
The poor woman turned round each moment to look at her
mournful treasures, afraid less she might still lose them. As
she passed near us she paused, her eyes wandered down our
ranks'as if hoping' to discover some mnore vivid traces of her
son; she seemed to look for what could best recall him n to her,
to seek in the spots where he was accustomed to wander, those
amongst us who were his favorites.
At one moment I thought she was about to speak to us, sfi
Those about to die, salute thee!




MORAL  TALES A.ND  SKETCHES.                       9
had made a step towards the group where I was standing, but
the effort was doubtless too great; she turned away suddenly,
drew down her black veil, and rapidly crossed the court.
We followed her with our eyes until she was lost in the distance, then looked at each other, and separated without saying
a word.
Alas! a few years before we had all seen her cross the same
spot, holding in her hand the boy whom she had only weaned
from her bosom, to nourish with her tenderness; we had seen
her return on six anniversaries to rejoice in his triumph.  Too
confiding mother, she had lavished on the college the fruit of
her sufferings and watchings, her past sacrifices and her future
hopes, and the college gave her back only a few books without
a master, and the inscription ona tomb.
This incident, which recurred to me on taking up the familiar
volume of Virgil, and turning over its leaves with my grandson, led me to reflect on my own history.  I thought that I,
too, might have died just when the difficulties of early study"
had terminated, and the period of action was about to com
menice.  Poets, no doubt, might have envied my falling thus
asleep in the morning of life, with amy hands full of flowers, and
revelling in all the illusions of youth; sweet and attractive end!
But I, O my God! who have ever regarded Thy creation with
love, I give Thee thanks for having prolonged my life to derive
enjoyment from it.  Let others be enamored of death, I bless
Thee for length of life.  I bless Thee also that Thou hast en.
abled me equally to experience the enchantments of youth, the
throes of temptation, anid  the callm joy of victory in the fulfil
ment of duty.  To die at the commencement of existence is to
stop at the very threshold o-f our journey with pilgrim-staff in
hand.  Others pass onward with songs; they talk of migl4ty
rivers, of marvellous cities, of smiling countries before them,
but as for us, a fatal hand draws us back; a voice says to us:
" These thou shalt never see."  I myself, however, have seen
them; I have perused all the stanzas of that epic poem of which
so many others know but the preface; I have followed my course
here below even to the goal, forcing myself to brave in turn the
rain and the sunshine, and not to forget my life's purpose when
enjoying grateful shelter; so that I repeat sometimes to myself
with humble satisfaction, the verses of a modern poet on the
destiny of man:
Possessor of a field he holds no lease,
Weary, though strong from healthful plough and flail,
The peasant seeks his cottage in the vale;
When night descends he falls asleep in peace.
Let us, too, ponder on the day's decline,
Thy laborers, 0 God! sent here below
To reap the harvest difficult and slow
Which the soul yields-to be accounted thine.




100 MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.
Let us plough deep into the ungrateful soil;
Sow seed that richly shall repay our toil;
Far from the honest grain cast forth the thorn.
0, fellow-workers! while day yet remains
Let us fulfil our task so full of pains,
That we may sweetly sleep until the eternal morn.'
But is it true that the task is so full of pain?  Does the
laborer of whom the poet speaks, really find in his work only
weariness and vexation of spirit?  Has he not also the frieshness of the dawn, the repose at noontide beneath his fruit-trees,
the bread doubly enjoyed by the hedge-side in presence of his
ripening harvest, and at the hour of his return home the women's
songs mingled with the laughter of children? If his home is today lonely like mine, the recollections of youth may still dwell
there —smiling sylphs, who in invisible circles sing around his
hearth.  No! no! God has not made life too burdensome for
us to support; there is enough of gladness bestowed to lighten
its duties; hence, when we shall appear before Him, let us not
imagine that it will suffice to answer, like the man who, when
asked what he hhad been doing during the great Revolution, replied, " Nothing; I have lived." —Emile Souvestre.
THE TOOLS GREAT MEN WORK WITH.
It is not tools that make the workmen, but the trained skill
and perseverance of the man himself. Indeed it is proverbial
that the bad workman never yet had a good tool.  Some one
asked Opie by what wonderful process he mixed his colors.
"I mix them  with my brains, sir," was his reply. It is the
same with every workman who would excel. Ferguson made
marvellous things-such as his wooden clock, that accurately
measured the hours-by means of a common penknife, a tool
in everybody's hand, but then everybody is not a Ferguson.
A pan of water and two thermometers were the tools by which
Dr. Black discovered latent heat; and a prism, a lens, and sheet
of pasteboard, enabled Newton to unfold the coimposition of
light and the origin of color. An eminent foreign savant once
called upon Dr. Wollaston, and requested to be shown over his
laboratories, in which science had been enriched by so many
important discoveries, when the doctor took him into a study,
and, pointing to an old tea-tray on the table, containing a few
watch glasses, test-papers, a small balance, and a blow-pipe, said,
"There is all the laboratory I have!"  Stothard learnt the art
of combining colors by closely studying butterflies' wings; he
From a volume of Sonnets by Boulay-Paty, which received a prize from the
French Academy.




M, O PAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    11
would often say that no one knew what he owed to these tiny
insects.  A burnt stick and a barn-door served Wilkie in lieu
of pencil ancd canvas.  Bewick first practised drawing on the
cottage-walls of his native village, which he covered with his
sketches in chalk; and Benjamin West made his first brushes
out of the cat's tail.  Ferguson laid himself down in the fields
at night in a blanket, and mrade a map of the heavenly bodies,
by mleans of a thread with small beads on it, stretched between
his eye and the stars.  Franklin first robbed the thundcer-cloud
of its lightning by means of a kite made with two cross-sticks
andl  a silk handkerchief. Wlatt made his first model of the
condensing steam-engine out of an old anatomist's syringe used
to inject the arteries previous to dissection.  Gifford worked
his first problem in mathematics, when a cobbler's apprentice,
upon small scraps of leather, which he beat smooth for the purpose, while Rittenhouse, the astrono-mer, first calculated eclipses
on his plow-handle. —  miles' S elf HIelp.
LIVE NOT  TO YOURSELF.
BY REV. J. TODD.
ON the frail little stem in the garden hangs the openinlg rose.  Go
ask why it hangs there. "I hang here," says the beautiful flower,
"to sweeten the air which mlan breathes, to open my beauties, to
kindle emotion in his eyes, to show him the hand of his God, who
penciled each leaf and laid them thus on my bosom. And whether
you find me here to greet him every morning, or whether you find
nme on the lone mountain side, with the bare possibility that he will
throw me one passing glance, my end is the same. I live not tomyself."
Beside yon highway stands an aged tree, solitary and alone. You
see no living thing near it, and you say surely that must stand for
itself alone. "N1o," says the tree, " C id never made me for a purpose so small. For more than a hundred years I have stood here.
In summer I have spread out my arms and sheltered the panting
flocks which hastened to my shade. In my bosom I have protected
and concealed the brood of young birds, as they lay and rocked in
their nest in the storm. I have more than once received in my body
the lightning's bolt, which had else destroyed the traveler; the acorns
which I have matured from year to year, have been carried far and
near, and groves of forest trees can claim me as their parent. I have
lived for the eagle, which has perched upon my top; for the humming
bird, that has paused and refreshed its giddy wing ere it danced away
again like a blossom of the air; for insects that have found a home
within the folds of my bark; and when I stand no longer, I shall
fall by the hand of man, and shall go to strengthen the ship which
2




12           MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
makes him lord of the ocean, and to his dwelling to warm his hearth
and cheer his home. I live not to myself."
On yonder mountain see comes down the silver brook, in the distance resembling a ribbon of silver, running and leaping as it dashes
joyously and fearlessly down. Go ask the leaper what it is doing.
"I was born," says the brook, "high up the mountain; but there I
could do no good: so I hurried down, running where I can, and leaping where I must; but hastening down to water the sweet valley —
where the lark may sing on my margin, and where I may drive the
mill for the accommodation of man, and then widen into a great river,
and bear up his steamboats and shipping, and finally plunge into the
ocean, to rise again in mist, and perhaps come back again in the clouds
to my own native mountain, and live my first life over again.  Not a
drop of water comes down my channel, in whose face you may not
Dread,' None of us livetlh to hilnself.'
Speak now to that solitary star that hangs in the far verge of heaven,
and ask the bright sparkler what it is doing there.  Its voice comes
down the path of life, and cries: "I am a mighty world.  I was stationed, here at the creation.  I was among the morning stars that sung
together, and among the sons of God that shouted for joy at the
creation of the earth.  Aye, aye, I was there-'When the radiant morn of creation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke.
And the empty realms of darkness and death
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
And the orbs of beauty and spheres of flame
From the void of abyss by myriads came,
In the joy of youth, as they darted away
Through the widening waste of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rung,
And this was the song that the bright ones sung.' "
And thus God has written upon the flower that sweetens the air,
upon the breeze that rocks the flower upon its stem, upon the raindrops that swell the mighty river, upon the dew-drop that refreshes
the smallest sprig of moss that rears its head in the desert, upon the
ocean that rocks every swimmer in its channel, upon every penciled
shell that sleeps in the caverns of *the deep, as well as upon the
mighty sun which warms and cheers the millions of creatures that
live in his light-upon all has he written, "None of us liveth to
himself."
And if you will read this lesson in characters still moie distinct and
striking, you will go to the garden of Gethsemane, and hear the
Redeemer in prayer, while the angel of God strengthens him. "You
will read it on the hill of Calvary, where a voice that might be the
concentrated voice of God, proclaims that the highest, noblest deed
which the Infinite can do is to do good to others, —live not to
himnself.




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                     13
THE TEMPEST.
BY GEORGE D. rRPENTIOE.
I WAS never a man of feeble courage. There are few scenes either
of humaR or elemental strife upon which I have not looked with a
brow of daring. I have stood in the front of tile battle when swords
were gleaming and circling around me like fiery serpents of the airI have sat on the mountain pinnacle, when the whirlwind was rending its oaks from their rocky cliffs, and scattering them piece-meal to
the clouds-I have seen these things with a swelling soul, that knew
not, that recked no danger; but there is something in the thunder's
voice that makes me tremble like a child. I have tried to overcome
the unmanly weakness —I have called pride to my aid-I have sought
for moral courage in the lessons of philosophy-but it avails me nothing —at the first low moaning of the distant cloud, my heart shrinks,
quivers, gasps, and dies within me.
My involuntary dread of thunder had its origin in an incident, that
occurred when I was a boy of ten years. I had a little cousin-a
girl of the same age with myself, who had been the constant conmpanion of my childhood. Strange, that after the lapse of so many
years, that countenance should be so familiar to me. I can see the
bright, young creature —her large eyes flashing like a beautiful gem,
her free locks streaming as in joy upon the rising gale, and her
cheeks glowing like rubies through a wreath of transparent snow.
Hiler voice had the melody and joyousness of a bird's, and when she
bounded over the wooded hill or the fresh green valley, shouting a
glad answer to every voice of nature, and clapping her little hands in
the very ecstacy of young existence, she looked as if breaking away
like a freed nightingale from the earth, and going off where all things
are beautiful and happy like her.
It was a morning in the middle of August.  The little girl had
been passing some days at my father's house, and she was now to
return home. Her path lay across the fields, and I gladly became
the companion of her walk. I never knew a summer morning more
beautiful and still. Only one little cloud was visible, and that seemed
as pure, and white, and peaceful, as if it had been the incense smoke
of some burning censor of the skies. The leaves hung silent in the
woods, the waters in the bay hlad forgotten their undulations, the
flowers were bending their heads as if dreaming of the rainbow and
dew, and the whole atmosphere was of such a soft and luxurious
sweetness that it seemed a cloud of roses, scattered down by the
hands of Peri, from the afar-off gardens of Paradise.  The green
earth and the blue sea lay abroad in their boundlessness, and the
peacefulf sky bent over and blessed them.  The little' creature at my
side was in a delirium  of happiness, and her clear, sweet voice came
ringing upon the air as often as she heard the tones of a favorite bird,
or found some strange and lovely flower in her frolic wanderings.




14          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
The unbroken and almost supernatural tranquility of the day continued until near noon. Then for the first time the indications of an
approaching tempest were manifest.  Over the summit of a mountain at the distance of about a mile, the folds of a dark cloud became
suddenly visible, and at the same instant, a hollow roar came down
upon the winds, as if it had been the sound of waves in a rocky
cavern. The cloud rolled out like a banner folded upon the air, but still
the atmosphere was as calm, and the leaves as motionless as before,
and there was not even a quiver upon the sleeping waters to tell of
the coming hurricane.
To escape the tempest was impossible. As the only resort, we fled
to an oak that stood at the foot of a tall and rugged precipice. Here
we remained and gazed almost breathlessly upon the clouds marshalling themselves like bloody giants in the sky. The thunder was not
frequent, but every burst was so fearful that the young creature who
stood by me shut her eyes convulsively, clung with desperate strength
to my arm, and shrieked as if her very heart would break.
A few minutes and the storm was upon us. During the height of
its fury, the little girl lifted her finger towards the precipice that
towered above us. I looked up, and the next moment the clouds
opened, the rocks tottered to their foundations, a roar like the groan
of the universe filled the air, and I felt myself blinded, and thrown I
knew not whither. How long I remained insensible I cannot tell,
but, when consciousness returned, the violence of the tempest was
abating, the roar of the winds was dying in the tree tops, and the
deep tones of the thunder-cloud came in fainter murmurs from the
eastern hills.
I arose and looked tremblingly and almost deliriously around. She
was there-the dear idol of my infant love-stretched out on the
green earth. After a moment of irresolution, I went up and looked
upon her. The handkerchief upon her neck was slightly rent, and a
single dark spot upon her bosom told where the pathway of her death
had been.  At first I clasped her to my breast with a cry of agony,
and then laid her down, and gazed upon her face almost with a feeling of calmness. Her bright, disheveled ringlets, clustered sweetly
around her brow, the look of terror had faded from her lips, and infant smiles were pictured beautifully there; the red-rose tinge upon
her cheeks was lovely as in life, and as I pressed it to my own, the
fountains of tears were opened, and I wept as if my heart were
waters. I have but a dim recollection of what followed-I only
know that I remained weeping and motionless till the coming of twilight, and I was then taken tenderly by the hand and led away where
I saw the countenance of parents and sister.
Many years have gone by on the wings of light and shadow, but the
scenes I have portrayed still come over me, at times, with a terrible
distinctness.  The oak yet stands at the base of the precipice, but its
limbs are black and dead, and the hollow trunk, looking upwards to
the sky, as "if calling to th1e clouds for drink," is an emblem of
ImLVIlt IVILD 1ILll~~




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                      15
rapid and noiseless decay. A year ago I visited the spot, and the
thoughts of by-gone years came mournfully back to me-thoughts of
the little innocent being who fell by my side like some beautiful tree
of spring, rent up by the whirlwind in the midst of its blossoming.
But I remembered-and oh! there *was joy in the memory!-that
she had gone where no lightnings slumber in the folds of the rainbowcloud, and where the sunlit waters are broken only by the stormbreath of Omnipotence.
My readers will understand why I shrink in terror from the sound
of thunder.  Even the consciousness of security is no relief to memy fears have assumed the nature of an instinct, and seem indeed a
part of my existence.
BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.
BY J, FENIMIORE COOPER.
THE whole scene now lay before them. Nearly in their front was
the village of Charlestown, with its deserted streets, and silent roofs,
looking like a place of the dead; or, if the signs of life were visible
within its open avenues,'twas merely some figure moving swiftly in
the solitude, like one who hastened to quit the devoted spot. On the
opposite point of the south-eastern face of the peninsula, and at the
distance of a thousand yards, the ground was already covered by
masses of human beings, in scarlet, with their arms glittering in a
noon-day sun. Between the two, though in the more immediate
vicinity of the silent town, the rounded ridge, already described, rose
abruptly from  a flat that was bounded by the water, until, having
attained an elevation of some fifty or sixty feet, it swelled gradually
to the little crest, where was planted the humble object that had occasioned all this commotion.  The meadows, on the right, were still
peaceful and smiling, as in the most quiet days of the province,
though the excited fancy of Lionel imagined that a sullen stillness
lingered about the neglected kilns ih their front, and over the whole
landscape, that was in gloomy consonance with the approaching scene.
Far on the left, across the waters of the Charles, the American camp
had poured forth its thousands to the hills; and the whole population
of the country, for many miles inland, had gathered to a point, to
witness a struggle charged with the fate of their nation.  Beacon
Hill rose from out thle appalling silence of the town of Boston, like a
pyramid of living faces, with every eye fixed on the fatal point; and
men hung along the yards of the shipping, or were suspended on
cornices, cupolas, and steeples, in thoughtless security, while every
other sense was lost in the absorbing interest of the sight.  The vessels of war had hauled deep into the rivers, or, more properly, those
narrow arms of the sea, which formed the peninsula, and sent their




1({          h           iMORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
iron missiles with unwearied industry across the low passage, which
alone opened the means of commnunication between the self-devoted
yeomen on the hill and their distant countrymen.  While battalion
landed after battalion on the point, cannon-balls fiomn the battery of
Copp's, and the vessels of war, were glancing up the natural glacis
that surrounded the redoubt, burying themselves in its earthen parapet, or plunging with violence into the deserted sides of the loftier
hight which lay a few lhlidred yards in its rear; and the black and
smoking bombs appeared to hover about the spot, as if pausing to
select the places in which to plant their deadly combustibles.
Notwithstanding these appallinfg  preparations, and ceaseless annoyasnces, throughout that long and anxious morning, th:e stoult husbandmen on the hill had never ceased their steady efforts to maintailn, to
the uttermost extremity, the post they had so daringly assumed.  In
vain the English exhausted every means to disturb their stubborn foes;
the pick, the shovel and the spade continued to perform their oflices,
and mound rose after mound, amidst the din and danger of the cannonade, steadily, and as well as if the fanciful conceits of Job Pray
embreaced their real objects, and the laborers were employed in the
peaceful pursuits of their ordinary lives.  This firmness, however,
was not like the proud front which high training can impart to the
most common mind; for, ignorant of the glare of nmilitary show; in
the simple and rude vestments of their calling; aimed with such
weapons as they had seized from the hooks above their own mantels;
annl without even a banner to wave its clleering' folds above their
hleeds, they stood, sustained only by the righteousness of their cause,
and those deep moral principles, which they had received from their
fathers, and which -they intended this day should show were to be
traans-mitted untarnished to their children.  It was afterwards known,
that they endured their labors and their dangers even in want of that
sustenance, which is so essential to support animal spirit.s in moments
of calmlness and ease; while their enemies, on the point, awaiting  the
arrival of their latest bands, were securely devouring- a meal, which,
to hundreds amlongst them, proved to be their last.  The fatal instant
now seemed approaching.  A general movement was seen among, the
battalions of the British, who began to spread along the shore, untler
cover of the brow of the hill-the lingering boats having arrived
with the rear of their detachments-and officers hurried froml regiment to regiment with the final mandates of their chief.  At this
moment a body of Americans appeared on the crown of Bunker Hill,
and, descending swiftly by the road, disappeared in the meadows to
the left of their own redoubt.  This band was followed by othels,
who, like themselves, had broken through the dangers of the narrow
pass, by braving the fire of the shipping, and who also hurried to join
their comrades on the lowland.  The British general tleteenined at
once to anticipate the arrival of fuirther reinforcements, and gatve lforth
the long-expected order to prepare for the attack.
The Americans had made a show, in the course of tha-t fearfal




MIORA L TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   I7
morning, of returnino the fire of their enemies, by throwing a few
shot from their light; field-pieces, as if in mockery of the tremendous
cannonade, which they sustained.  But as the moment of severest
trial approached, the stame awful stillness, which had settled upon the
deserted streets of Charlestown, hovered around the redoubt.  On
the meadows, to its left, the recently arrived bands hastily threw the
rails of two fences into one, and covering the whole with the mown
grass that surrounded them, they posted themselves along the frail
defence, which answered no better purpose than to conceal their weakness from their adversaries.  Behind this characteristic rampart, several bodies of husbandmen, from the neighboring provinces of New
Hampshire and Connecticut, lay on their arms, in sullen expectation.
Their line extended from the shore to the base of the ridge, where it
terminated several hundred feet behind the works; leaving a wide
opening, in a diagonal direction, between the fence and an earthen
breastwork, which ran a short distance down the declivity of the hill,
from the north-eastern angle of the redoubt.  A few hundred yards
in the rear of this rude disposition, the naked crest of Bunker Hill
rose unoccupied and undefended; and the streams of the Charles and
Mystic, sweeping around its base, approached so near each other as
to blend the sounds of their rippling. It was across this low and narrow isthmus, that the royal frigates poured a stream  of fire, that
never ceased, while around it hovered the numerous parties of undisciplined Americans, hesitating to attempt the dangerous passage.
In this manner Gage had, in a great degree, surrounded the
devoted peninsula with his power; and the bold men, who had so
daringly planted themselves under the muzzles of his cannon, were
left, as already stated, unsupported, without nourishment, and with
weapons from their own gunhooks, singly to maintain the honor of
their nation.  Including men of all ages and conditions, there might
have been two thousand of them; but, as the day advanced, small
bodies of their countrymen, taking counsel of their feelings, and animated by the example of the old partisan of the woods, -who crossed
and recrossed the neck, loudly scoffing at the danger, broke through
the fire of the shipping in time to join in the closing and bloody
business of the hour.
On the other hand, Howe led more than an equal number of the
chosen troops of his prince; and as boats continued to ply between the
two peninsulas throughout the afternoon, the relative disparity continued undiminished to the end of the struggle.  It was at this point
in our narrative that, deeming himself sufficiently strong to force the
defences of his despised foes, the arrangements immediately preparatory to such an undertaking were made in full view of the excited
spectators.  Notwithstanding the security with which the English
g'eneral marshalled his warriors, he felt that the approaching contest,would be a battle of no common incidents. The eyes of tens of
thousands were fastened on his movements, and the occasion demanded
the richest display of the pageantry of war.




18          MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
The troops formed with beautiful accuracy, and the columns moved
steadily along the shore, and took their assigned stations under cover
of the brow of the eminence.  Their force was in some measure
divided; one moiety attempting the toilsome ascent of the hill, and
the other moving along the beach, or in the orchards of the more
level ground, toward the husbandmen on the meadows.  The latter
soon disappeared behind some fruit-trees and the brick-kilns just
mentioned. The advance of the royal columns up the ascent was
slow and measured, giving time to their field-guns to add their efforts
to the uproar of the cannonade, which broke out with new fury as the
battalions prepared to march. When each column arrived at the
allotted point, it spread the gallant array of its glittering warriors
under a bright sun.
"It is a glorious spectacle," murmured the graceful chieftain by
the side of Lionel, keenly alive to all the poetry of his alluring profession; "how exceeding soldier-like! and with what accuracy his'first-arm ascends the hill,' towards his enemy!"
The intensity of his feelings prevented Major Lincoln from replying, and the other soon forgot that he had spoken, in the overwhelming anxiety of the moment. The advance of the British line, so
beautiful and slow, resembled rather the ordered steadiness of a
drill, than an approach to a deadly struggle.  Their standards fluttered proudly above them; and there were moments when the wild
music of their bands was heard rising on the air, and tempering the
rude sounds of the artillery.  The young and thoughtless in their
ranks turned their faces backward, and smiled exultingly, as they
beheld steeples, roofs, masts, and bights, teeming with their thousands of eyes, bent on the show of their bright array.  As the British
lines moved in open view of the little redoubt, and began slowly to
gather around its different faces, gun after gun became silent, and
the curious artillerist, or tried seaman, lay extended on his heated
piece, gazing in mute wonder at the spectacle. There was just then
a minute when the roar of the cannonade seemed passing away like
the rumbling of distant thunder.
"They will not fight, Lincoln," said the animated leader at the
side of Lionel-" the military front of Howe has chilled the hearts
of the knaves, and our victory will be bloodless 1"
"We shall see, sir-we shall see!"
These words were barely uttered, when platoon after platoon,
among the British, delivered its fire, the blaze of musketry flashing
swiftly around the brow of the hill, and was immediately followed by
heavy volleys that ascended from the orchard.  Still no answering
sound was heard from the Americans, and the royal troops were soon
lost to the eye, as they slowly marched into the white cloud which
their own fire had alone created.
"They are cowed, by heavens! —the dogs are cowed 1" once more
cried the gay companion of Lionel, " and IIowe is within two hundred feet of them unharmed!"




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                      19
At that instant a sheet of flame glanced through the smoke, like
lightning playing in a cloud, while at one report a thousand muskets
were added to the uproar.  It was not altogether falncy, which led
Lionel to imagine that he saw the smoky canopy of *the hill to wave,
as if the trained warriors it enveloped faltered before this close and
appalling discharge; but, in another instant, the stimulating war-cry,
and the loud shouts of the combatants, were born across the strait to
his ears, even amid the horrid din of the combat.  Ten breathless
minutes flew by like a moment of time, and the bewildered spectators
on Copp's were still gazing intently on the scene, when a voice was
raised among them, shouting —
"Hurrah! let the rake-hellies go up to Breed's; the people will
teach'em the law 1"
"Throw the rebel scoundrel from the hill!  Blow him from the
muzzle of a gun!" cried twenty soldiers in a breath.
"Hold!" exclaimed Lionel —"'tis a simpleton, an idiot, a fool!"
But the angry and savage murmurs as quickly subsided, and were
lost in other feelings, as the bright red lines of the royal troops were
seen issuing from the smoke, waving and recoiling before the still
vivid fire of their enemies.
" Ha!" said Burgoyne-"'tis some feint to draw the rebels from
their hold!"
"'Tis a palpable and disgraceful retreat!" muttered the stern warrior nigh him, whose truer eye detected at a glance the discomfiture
of the assailants.  "'Tis another base retreat before the rebels i"
"' Hurrah!" shouted the reckless changeling again; "there come
the reg'lars out of the orchard too!-see the grannies skulking behind the kilns! Let them go on to Breed's  the people will tieach'em the law!"
No cry of vengeance preceded the act this time, but fifty of the
soldiery rushed, as by a common impulse, on their prey.  Lionel hbad
not time to utter a word of remonstrance, before Job appeared in the
air, borne on the uplifted arms of a dozen men, and at the next instant he was seen rolling down the steep declivity, with a velocity
that carried him to the water's edge.  Springing to his feet, the undaunted changeling once more waved his hat in triumph, and shouted
forth again his offensive challenge.  Then turning, he launched his
canoe from its hiding-place among the adjacent lumber, amid a
shower of stones, and glided across the strait; his little bark escagping unnoticed in the crowd of boats that were rowing in all directions.
But his progress was watched by the uneasy eye of Lionel, who saw
him land and disappear, with hasty steps, in the silent streets of the
town.
While this trifling by-play was enacting, the great drama of the
day was not at a stand. The smoky veil, which cling around the
brow of the eminenc, was lifted by the air, and sailed heavily away
to the south-west, leaving the scene of the bloody struggle again
open to the view. Lionel witnessed the grave and meaning glances




20           MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
which the two lieutenants of the king exchanged as they simultaneously turneld their glasses from the fatal spot, and, takingo the one
proffered by Burgoyne, he read their explanation in the numbers of
t;he dead that lay profusely scattered in front of the redoubt.  At this
instant, an off-icer from the field held an earnest comllnunication with
the two leaders; when, having delivered his orders, he hastened
back to his boat, like one who felt himself employed in matters of
life and desath.
"It shall be done, sir," repeated Clinton, as the other departed,
his own honest brow  sternlyl'nit under high martial excitement.
"The artillery have their orders, and the work will be accomlplished
without delay."
"'This, Major Lincoln!" cried his more sophisticated companion,
"this is one of the trying duties of the soldier! To fight, to bleed,
or even to die, for his prince, is his happy privilege; but it is some-times his unfortunate lot to become the instrument of vengeance."
Lionel waited but a moment for an explanation-the flaming balls
were soon seen taking their wide circuit in the air, and carrying their
desolation among the close and inflammable roofs of the opposite
town.  In a very few minut.es, a dense, black smoke arose from the
deserted buildings, and forked flames plaved actively along the heated
shingles, as though  rioting in their unmolested possession of the place.
L:e regarded the gathering destruction in painful silence; and, on
bending' his looks towards his companions, he fancied, notwithstanding' the language of the other, that he read the deepest regret in the
averted eye of him, who had so unhesitatingly uttered the fatal mandate to destroy.
In scenes like these we are attempting to describe, hours appear to
be minutes, and time flies as imperceptibly as life slides from beneath
the feet of a'e.  T'he disordered ranks of the British had been arrested at the base of the hill, and were again forming under the eyes
of their leaders, wTith admirable discipline, and extraordinary care.
Fresh battalions, from Boston, maarched with high military pride into
the line, and every thing betokened that a second assault was at
hand.  When the moment of stupid amazement, which succeeded the
retreat of the royal troops, had passed, the troops and batteries
poured out their wrath with tenfold fury on their enemies.  Shot
were incessantly glancing up the gentle acclivity, madly ploughing
across its grassy surface, while black and threatening shells appeared
to hover aboive tlhe work, like the' monsters of the air, about to stoop
upon their prey.
Still all lay cuiet and inurmoveable within the low mlounds of earth,
as if none there had a stake in the issue of the blo-ody day.  For a
few moments only, the tall figure of an aged. man was seen slowly
moving along the summit of the ramparts calmly regarding the dispositions of th e English general in the more distant part of his line,
and, after exchanging a few words with a gentleman, who joined him
in his dangerous look-out, they disappeared together behind the grassy




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                      l2
banks.  Lionel soon detected the name of Prescott of Pepperel, passing through the crowd in low  urumurs, and his glass did not deceive
him when he thought, in the smaller of the two, he had himself described the graceful person of the unknown leader of the "' caucus."
All eyes were now Avitching the advance of tihe battalions, which
once more crew nigh thle point of cont'est.  The heads of the columns were already in view of their enemies, when a man was seen
swiftly ascending the hill from the burning town: he paused amid
the peril, on the natural glacis, and sviwung hlis hat triumphantly, and
Lionel even fancied he heard the exulting cry, as he recognized the
ungainly form of -the simpleton, before it plunged into the work.
The right of the British once more disappeared in the orchard,
and the columns in front of the redoubt again opened with all the irmposing exactness of their high discipline.  Their arms were already
glittering in a line with the green faces of the mound, and Lionel
heard the experienced warrior at his side murmuring to himself-,
"Let him hold his fire, and he will go in at the point of the
bayonet 1 "
But the trial was too great for even the practiced courage of the
royal troops. Volley succeeded volley, and in a few moments -they
had again curtained their ranks behind the misty screen produced by
their own fire.  Then came the terrible flash from the redoubt, and
ilhe eddyino  volumes from  the adverse hosts rolled into one cloud,
enveloping  the combatants in its folds, as if to conceal their bloody
worn fi'omi the spectators.  Twenty times, in the short space of as
many minutes, Ma-jor Lincoln fancied he heard the incessant roll of
the Amlericaln musketry die away before the, heavy and regular voll]ys of the troops; and thllen lie thought the sounds of the latter
grewi Inore faint, and were given at longer intervals.
T'he result, however, was soon known.  The heavy bank of smoke
which now even clung  along' the ground, was broken in fifty places;
and the disordered nmasses of the British were seen driven before
tllheir deliberate foes in wild confusion.  The flashing swords of the
o:ficers in vain atteiimpted to arrest the torreint, nior did the flight
cease, with many of the regimenits, until they had even reached
their boats.  At this nmoment a hum was heard in Boston, like the
sudden rush of wind, and mnren gazed in each other's faces with undisguised amazpment.. Here and thiere a low sound of exutltation
escaped some unguiarded lip, and  many an eye gleamed with a triumph that could nc longer be suppressed.  Until this moment the
f'eeliAgrs of Lionel 1 had vacll-ated between the pride of count ry and
his military spirit; but losing' all other feelings in the latter sensation, he nlow looked fiercely  about him, as if lie would seek the man
who dare exult in thue repulse of his comrades.  The poetic chieftuain
was still at his side, bitingo his nether lip in vexation; but his more
tried companion had suddenly disappeared.  Another quick glance
fell upon his missing form in the act of entering  a boat at the foot of




22           MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
the hill.  Quicker than thought, Lionel was on the shore, crying, as
he flew to the water's edge"Hold! for God's sake, hold! remember the 47th is in the field,
and that I am its major  "
"Receive him," said Clinton, with that grimhn satisfaction, with
which men acknowledge a valued friend in moments of great trial;
"and then row for your lives, or, what is of more value, for the
honor of the British name."
The brain of Lionel whirled as the boat shot along its watery bed,
but, before it had gained the middle of the stream, he had time to
consider the whole of the appalling scene.  The fire had spread from
house to house, and the whole village of Charlestown, with its four
hundred buildings, was just bursting into flames.  The air seemed
filled with whistling balls, as they hurtled above his head, and the
black sides of the vessels of war were vomiting their sheets of flame
with unwearied industry. Amid this tumult, the English general
and his companions sprung to land. The former rushed into the
disordered ranks, and by his presence and voice recalled the men of
one regiment to their duty. But long and loud appeals to their
spirit and their ancient fame were necessary to restore a moiety of
their former confidence to men, who had been thus rudely repulsed,
and who now looked along their thinned and exhausted ranks, missing in many instances, more than half the well-known countenances
of their fellows. In the midst of the faltering troops stood,their
stern and unbending chief; but of all those gay and gallant youths,
who followed in his train as he had departed from  ProvinceHouse that morning, not one remained, bhut in his blood.  He alone
seemed undisturbed in that disordered crowd; and his mandates went,
forth as usual, calm and determined. At length the panic, in some
degree, subsided, and order was once more restored, as the highspirited and mortified gentlemen of the detachment regained their lost
authority.
The leaders consulted together, apart, and the dispositions were
immediately renewed for the assault.  Military show was no longer
affected, but the soldiers laid down all the useless implements of
their trade, and many even cast aside their outer gamirments, under
the warmth of a broiling sun, added to the heat of the confiaimration,
which began to diffuse itself along the extremity of the pelinsula.
Fresh companies were placed in the columns, and most of thle troops
were withdrawn from the meadows, leaving merely a f, -v slirinishers
to amuse the Americans who lay behind the fence.  When each disposition was completed, the final signal was given to advance.
Lionel had taken post in his reginment, but, marching on the skirt
of the column, he commanded a view of most of the scene of battle.
In his front moved a battalion, reduced to a handful of men in the
previous assaults.  Behind these came a party of the marine g'uards,
from the shipping, led by their own veteran major; and next followed




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     23
the dejected Nesbitt and his corps, amongst whom Lionel looked in
vain for the features of the good-natured Polwarth.  Similar columns
marched on their right and left, encircling three sides of the redoubt
by their battalions.
A few minutes brought him in full view of that humble and unfinished imound of earth, for the possession of which so much blood
had that day been spilt in vain. It lay, as before, still as if none
breathed within its bosom, though a terrific row of dark tubes were
arrayed along its top, following the movements of the approaching
columns, as the eyes of the imaginary charmers of our own wilderness are said to watch their victims.  As the uproar of the artillery
again grew fainter, the crash of falling streets, and the appalling
sounds of the conflagration, on their left, became more audible. Immense volumes of black smoke issued from the smouldering ruins,
and bellying outward, fold beyond fold, it overhung the work ini a
hideous cloud, castinog its gloomy shadow across the place of blood.
A strongl column was now seen ascending, as if from out the burning town, and the advance of the whole became quick and spirited.
A low call ran through the platoons, to note the naked weapons of
their adversaries, and it was followed by the cry of, " To the bayonet!
to the bayonet!"
I "Hurrah! for the Royal Irish!" shouted M'Fuse, at the head of
the dark column from the conflagration.
"Hurrah 1" echoed a well known voice from the silent mound;
"let them come on to Breed's; the people will teach'em the law! 
Men think at such moments with the rapidity of lightning, and
Lionel had even fancied his comrades in possession of the work, when
the terrible stream of fire flashed in the faces of the men in front.
" Push on with the - th," cried the veteran major of marines —
"push on, or the 18th will get the honor of the day!"
"We can not," murmured the soldiers of the-   th; "their fire
is too heavy! "
" Then break, and let the marines pass through you!"
The feeble battalion melted away, and the warriors of the deep,
trained to conflicts of hand to hand, sprang forward, with a loud
shout, in their places. The Americans, exhausted of their ammunition, now sunk sullenly back, a few hurling stones at their foes, in
desperate indignation. The cannon of the British had been brought
to enfilade their short breast-work, which was no longer tenable;
and, as the columns approached closer to the low rampart, it became
a mutual protection to the adverse parties.
" Hurrah for the Royal Irish!" again shouted M'Fuse, rushing up
the trifling ascent, which was but of little more than his own bight.
" Hurrah!" repeated Pitcairn, waving his sword on another angle
of the work —" the day's our own!"
One more sheet of flame issued out of the bosom of the work, and
all those brave men, who had emulated the examples of their officers,
were swept away as though a whirlwind had passed along. The




'24          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
grenadier gave his war-cry once more, before he pitched headlong
among his enemies; while Pitcairn fell back into the arms of his own
child.  The cry of "Forward, 47th," rungo through their ranks, and
in their turn this veteran battalion gallantly mounted the ramparts.
In the shallow ditch Lionel passed the expiring marine, and caught
the dying and despairing look from his eyes, and in another instant
he formed himself in the presence of his foes.. As company followed
company into the defenceless redoubt, the Americans sullenly retired
by its rear, keeping the bayonets of the soldiers at bay with clubbed
muskets and sinewy arms. When the whole issued upon the open
ground, the husbandmen received a close and fatal fire from the battalions, which were now gathering around them on three sides.  A
scene of wild and savage confusion then succeeded to the order of the
fight, and many fatal blows were given and taken,. the melee
rendering the use of fire-arms nearly impossible for several minutes.
Lionel continued in advance, pressing on the footsteps of the retiring foe, stepping over many a lifeless body in his difficult progress.
Notwithstanding the hurry, and vast disorder of the fray, his eye fell
on the form of the graceful stranger, stretched lifeless on the parched
grass, which had greedily drank his blood. Amid the ferocious cries,
and fiercer passions of the moment, the young man paused, and
glanced his eyes around him, with an expression that said, he thought
the work of death should cease. At this instant the trappings of his
attire caught the glaring eye-balls of a dyingl yeoman, who exerted
his wasting strength to sacrifice one more worthy victim to the manes
of his countrymen.  The whole of the tumultuous scene vanished
from the senses of Lionel at the flash of the musket of this man, and
he sunk beneath the feet of the combatants, insensible of further
triumph, and of every danger.
The fall of a single officer, in such a contest, was a circumstance
not to be regarded; and reg'iments passed over him, without a single
man stooping to inquire into his fate. When the Americans had disengaged themselves from the troops, they descended into the little
hollow between the two hills, swiftly, and like a disordered crowd,
bearing off most of their wounded, and leaving but few prisoners in
the hands of their foes. The formation of the ground favored their
retreat, as hundreds of bullets whistled harmlessly above their heads;
and by the time they gained the acclivity of Bunker, distance was added
to their security.  Finding the field lost, the men at the fence broke
away in a body from their position, and abandoned the meadows; the
whole moving in confused masses behind the crest of the adjacent
hight. The shouting soldiery followed in their footsteps, pouring in
fruitless and distant volleys; but, on the summit of Bunker, their
tired platoons were halted, and they beheld the throng move fearlessly through the tremendous fire that enfiladed the low. pass, as
little injured as though most of them bore charmed lives.
The day was now drawing to a close. With the disappearance of
their enemies, the ships and batteries ceased' their cannonade; and,




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                      25
presently, not a musket was heard in that place, where so fierce a
contest had so long raged. The troops commenced fortifying the
outward eminence, on which they rested, in order to maintain their
barren conquest; and nothing further remained for the achievement
of the royal lieutenants, but to go and mourn over their victory.
THE SEA AND ITS DANGERS.
BY J. BROOKWELL PEAT.
THERE are perils on the deep, occurrences of a fearful kind, the
relation of which stirs up the heart's blood, and sends it hurriedly
through the system. It was the lot of the writer to be made personally acquainted with one of this character. In the month of
he sailed in the G -   D-, from the port of New Orleans,
bound for Liverpool, and laden with cotton. We were towed to the
Balize by the steamer Persian, and then, in order to insure the success of our vessel over the bar, that forms at the outlet of the
Father of Waters, we engaged the assistance of another powerful
steamer, the Phoenix; but yet, for awhile, our course was impeded,
and but for the determination of the captain, and a somewhat dangerous application of steam, we should have remained there until released by an increased depth of water. At last, passing the bar with
a leap, in company with other two vessels, and with a fine, favorable
breeze, we merrily bounded away for the white cliffs of Old England.
The commencement of our voyage was very favorable; and we
pleasantly passed our time in conversation, reading, fishing, and
other amusements.  With rapture I gazed upon the sea, and with
enthusiasm I watched its towering billows. To me things, of but
small consideration to the sailor, afforded a great degree of interest.
And when the flying-fish would leap from its marine abode, and skim
with its white-tipped wing the bosom of the wave to escape the pursuit of some hungry dolphin; and the porpoise would come madly
leaping and gamboling through the briny depths, according to the
sailors, a sure indication of squally weather, and at which we would
occasionally launch the harpoon; and the grampus heave his huge
carcass in his change of latitude;-I enjoyed it with feelings which,
to be understood, must be experienced on that waste of waters.
Night after night, with none, save the watch on. deck, have I gazed
on the beauties of the heavens-nowhere seen so beautiful as on the
wide, wide main-and the phosphorescent appearance of the sea,
with its white-capped waves lit up with ten thousand times ten thousand beams of flashing light, and at our noble vessel ploughing her
onward march amid the myriad scintillations that danced around her
bow, and sparkled in her foaming wake.




26          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
The sea, the sea! O the deep, blue sea! the "ever bounding,
ever free!"  Who dare say, Canute-like, "thus far shalt thou come,
and no farther; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?"  It
laughs at the impotent limits set to its power, mocks the puny efforts
of man to confine it within boundaries, sports with the vessels that
furrow its bosom, and sends them, riven and shattered, down to the
depths of its hidden caverns, to perish there forever. To behold
the grandeur of the ocean, and to witness the unlimited power of its
billows, you should ride on it when the tempest rages; when the stormgod, unchaining the rude winds, sends them moaning, howling, and
blustering across the broad Atlantic; when, gathering the sleeping
waters into hills and mountain-hights, he rolls them onward and upward, until the tall, towering mass is curled and twined into foamy
wreaths of spray. A terrific grandeur reigns around: the clouds
lower above your head, burdened with fury, and death rides triumphant on the wings of the rushing wind. Destruction apparently
awaits you in the deep-opening waters, sighs your requiem in the
shrouds, and screams your welcome in the loud and pitiless blast.
It is in such scenes as these, that tile power and sublimity of the
ocean is manifest, presenting a scene of majestic grandeur that leaves
the beholder humbled, subdued, and abashed.  But whether in a
storm, in a frail and feeble bark, where, as far as the eye can throw
its vision, the mighty expanse of water is agitated by the fury of the
storm-exhibiting a continued succession of yeasty waves, swelling
in apparent hight, until the farthest foam-capped billow seems to
lash the very heavens; or whether the sea presents a smooth and
beautifully-polished surface, a mirror of tranquility and repose, on
whose bosom the sunbeams brightly play or moonbeams dance, and
the stars reflect their beauty and luster;-you cannot but admire the
magnificent scenery, and adore the Hand that, in the greatness of its
power, sustains the mighty depths. Kingdoms and empires have
passed away, many of the proudest monuments erected by art and
science, have crumbled into ruins, and the mighty, and the brave,
and the beautiful of past ages slumber in the silence of the grave;
but, Ocean!
" Time writes no wrinkles on thy azure brow
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now i"
And until yonder sun shall be extinguished, and the moon and the
stars hide themselves in the light of eternity, the loud anthems of thy
voice shall continue to swell, and roll in tones of sweetest note, that
shall "please the ear of God!"
Our voyage, like voyages generally, was mingled with the varied
changes of the sea-calms, storms, and gales. The latter our vessel
outrode most gallantly, mounting each crested billow as gracefully
as the bird whose home is on the sea, whose cradle is the deep. It
may be termed superstition, but previous to the night of the 1 5th of




lMOR AL TALhS AND  SKETCES.                    27
--—, ill latitude  -, a dark cloud of some impending calamity
rested heavily on my mind, and my spirits were unusually depressed.
The weather, during the week, had ben cloudy and stormy, and the
night was remarkably dark. I had retired to my berth earlier than
usual, taking the precaution, as formexiy, to place my clothes in a
position ready to be obtained in case of hn emergency, at the same
time lying down in a part of my habit, when I was overcome by
"slumber's potent charm."  In this slate I remained until two
o'clock in the morning, when I was suddenly aroused by the cry and
hurrying footsteps of the watch. To spring from my berth, and to
rush on deck, was but the work of a moment; when I immediately
ascertained the fearful cause of alarm. The darkness of the night
had prevented our look-out from observing a large bark, the J'
H —, from  New-Brunswick, laden with timber, running across
the pathway of our vessel, until too near to avoid collision. Aboard
our vessel, all was hurry, confusion, and terror; and our bell now
startled the midnight air with its loud peal of alarm. Up rushed the
watch of the lower deck, and the few passengers we had on board,
many in the same condition in which they had retired to rest, with
terror and dismay on their countenances. Now was heard, above
the din of the tempest, the loud shouts of the crew, and the hoarse
trumpet of the bark, warning us, for Heaven's sake, to keep off, and
not to run them down. Then many a stout heart beat with a palsy
ing chill, and many a blooming cheek turned pale.
With deep anxiety I waited the fate of the two unfortunate vessels,
and endeavored to compose my mind to a sleep in the ocean's grave.
One moment I had for reflection; and 0, what thoughts crowded
upon the memory, and excited my imagination 1 I thought of the
home of my youth, with all its dearly cherished scenes, from which
I had been absent so many years, and to see which I had had so
many ardent longings of spirit; then of the home of my adoption
and choice, with its many social enjoyments and endeared friends;
and then the great, the unknown future, spread out before my mind
with its deep and hidden mysteries and glorious assurances.'Twas
terrible to think of going down to the ocean's depths under such circumstances, the tale of our melancholy fate probably never entering
the ear of the world. But a consoling refuge was there; and I cast
myself on the mercy of Him, whose voice once hushed the wild
ragings of Galilee, and tremblingly awaited the issue.
All that could be done, for the safety of the vessel, was done
with energy and dispatch; and the orders given by the officers were
promptly executed by the crew.  The helm was put " hard down,"
and our alliards let go, to break the force of the collision.  But all
too late: and the bows of the vessels came together with a tremendous crash. All was now confusion and terror; and the harsh voice
of the trumpet, and the shoutings, supplications, warnings, and
threatenings of the crews, and the flappings of the loosened sails,
mingled with the loud bellowings of the storm. Crash, crash! went
3




28          MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
our bowsprit and foreguards; and the vessels becoming entangled in
the rigging, lashed their timbered sides together, like two infuriated
demons, apparently determined on each other's destruction.  At
length the strong rigging gave way, and becoming disentangled, we
passed along-side of each other, with a harsh, grating sound, tearing
in the contest our main-mast and main-top-sail, and losing our bowsprit,
with its attendant boom and sails, and a part of our larboard quarter.
The well was immediately sounded, and some idea of our carpenter's excitement may be formed, when he reported seven feet of
water, when there were only six inches. Immediately both vessels
tacked, which nearly resulted in another collision. As the brig glided past, her captain beseeched us not to abandon them, as they
were in a sinking condition. He was told to drive before the wind,
and in the morning we ascertained that she had lost an anchor,
sprung her foremast, and sustained other serious injuries, resulting
in a very bad leak. SIe had then several feet of water in the hold,
but being a timber vessel, the captain had resolved to remain aboard,
and trust to his cargo.
0 how we welcomed the smiles of the sun in the morning, who
had kept his face hid for several days past: the wind, too, dying
away, resulted in a calm, which enabled us to rig a jury-bowsprit,
repair damages, and stay by the bark three days, when, pr6videntially, a favorable breeze sprung up, and then, with anxious solicitation for her welfare, we left her to her fate.
Two or three days after, the coast of the Emerald Isle loomed up
in the distance. Here, to our great joy, we entered upon beautiful
and exciting scenes. The channel was studded with the white sails
of numerous vessels and fishing boats, and the coast presented many
a splendid mansion and lighthouse glittering in the beams of a summer's sun, green slopes and fields of golden corn, ready for the
reaper's sickle, and to repay the toils of the liberal husbandman;
and in the distance, mountains reared their lofty summits, capped by
the clouds of heaven.
FIRMNESS OF RELIGIOUS PRINCIPLE.
ANONYMOUS.
FRANK EDWARDS, a young married man, employed as a machinist
in an English manufactory, was converted. His conversion was deep
and genuine; it reached both heart and life. The change was complete, and from being notoriously trifling and thoughtless, he became
a proverb for cheerful gravity and serious deportment.
Very delightful was the first experience of that young man. A
good workman, he enjoyed constant employment, with wages suffi



MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     29
cient to procure the comforts of life. He had a thrifty wife, who was
led to Jesus by his own influence. Their cottage was the house of
prayer. Religion, plenty, health, and contentment, dwelt with them;
probably there was not another home in England more pleasant than
that of this young, pious mechanic.
But piety is not an effectual shield to defend from trouble. It supports —gloriously supports the sufferer-but his path to heaven is
appointed to lead through "much tri6zcation."  As in our nature,
the storm.-cloud gathers in the horizon, while the sun shines with
splendor in the heavens, so in the kingdom of grace, while the child
of God rejoices in ease and prosperity, and ascends the summit of
Pisgah, he may rest assured that events are in preparation, which
may hurl him down to the vale of Baca-to the place of weeping and
lamentation.
It was thus with Frank Edwards and his happy family. In the
midst of prosperity, adversity looked in at their cottage door; poverty sat down at their table. Let us trace the cause of their trouble.
One day the machinery of the manufactory broke, and its operations were stopped. All hands were set to repairing it with the
utmost haste. The week was closing, and the work was unfinished.
On Saturday morning, the overseer entered and said to the men,
"You must work all day to-morrow."
Frank instantly remembered the fourth  commandment.  He
resolved to keep it, because he felt that his duty to God required him,
under all circumstances, to refrain from labor on the Sabbath day.
Offering an inward prayer to God, he respectfully addressed the
overseer:
" Sir, to-nmorrow is Sunday."
" I know it, but our mill must be repaired."
"' IWill you excuse me, sir, from working on the Sabbath?"
"No, Frank, I can't excuse any one. The company will give you
double wages, and you must work."
" I am sorry, sir, but I can not work to-morrow."
"Why not, Mr. Edwards; you know our necessities, and we offer
you a fair remuneration? "
"Sir, it will be a sin against God, and no necessity is strong
enough-no price high enough, to induce me to offend my Maker any
more."
" I am not here to argue the morality of the question, Frank; you
must either work to-morrow, or be discharged."
"I can not hesitate, sir, a moment; I have resolved to please
God. Cost what earthly price it may, I will keep his commandments."
" Then, Mr. Edwards, if you will step into the counting-room, I
will pay you what the company owes you, and you will then leave our
establishment."
To say that Frank's heart did not shrink from. this trial, would be
to deny his humanity; but his faith came to his help.  Casting




30          MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
himself upon God, he gathered up his tools, and entered the countmng-room.
The overseer was extremely unwilling to part with Frank, for he
was a superior workman, and since his conversion, had been the most
trusty man in the employment of the company.  He therefore
addressed him very kindly, while handing him  his wages: "Mr
Edwards, had you not better reconsid.er your resolution?  Remember,
-work is scarce, we pay you high wages, and it is not often we require
you to labor on the Sabbath."
"Sir," replied Frank, "my mind is fixed; I will not work on
Sundays, if I have- to starve to death."
"Very well, sir," was the cool answer of the overseer; who, not
being a Christian, could not appreciate the noble heroism of Frank's
reply.
On reaching his humble cottage, the mechanic could not forbear a
sigh, as the thought flitted across his mind, that possibly he might
soon lose his home-comforts.  But that sigh was momentary; he
remembered the promise of God, and grew calmly peaceful. Entering his house, he said to his wife, "Mary, I am discharged! "
"Discharged, Frank! What has happened! O what will become
of us! Tell me, why you are discharged?"
" Be calm, Mary! God will provide! I left the shop because.
would not break the Sabbath.  They wanted me to work to-morrow,
and because I refused, they discharged me."
Mary was silent. She looked doubtful, as if not quite sure that her
husband was right. Her faith was not so strong as Frank's, nor was
her character so decided. In her heart she thought, as thousands of
fearful disciples would, under similar circumstances, that her husband
had gone too far; but although she said nothing, Frank read her
thoughts, and grieved over her want of faith.
Sweet was the hour of family prayer to Frank that evening;
sweeter still was the secret devotion of the closet, and he never closed
his eyes with more heavenly calmness of spirit, than when he sunk
to sleep on that eventful evening.
The following week brought Frank's character to a severer test.
All his friends condemned him; even some members of his church
said they thought he had gone beyond the strict requirement of his
duty.  "It was well," they said, " to keep the Sabbath; but then, a
man like Frank Edwards ought, to look to the wants of his family,
and not strain at a gnat, and perhaps be compelled to go to the workhouse."
This was dastardly language for Christians; but there are always
too many of this class of irresolute, sight-walking- disciples. Frank
met them on all sides, and found himself without sympathy.  A few
noble, enlightened Christians, however, admired and encouraged himFrank held to his purpose with the spirit worthy of a martyr.
The cloud grew darker.  Through the influence of his former employers, who were vexed because he left them, the other corporations




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   31
refused to employ him. Winter came on with its frosts and storms.
His little stock of savings gradually disappeared. Poverty stared
them in the face; Frank's watch, Mary's silver spoons, their best furniture, went to the auction shop. They had to leave their pleasant cottage, and one little garret held the little afflicted family, and the slender remains of their cottage furniture.
Did Frank regret his devotion to God? No! he rejoiced in it.
He had obeyed God, he said, and God would take care offhim. Light
would break out of darkness; all would be well. So spoke his unyielding faith; his fixed heart doubted not. The blacker the cloud,
the more piercing grew the eye of his triumphing faith. With his
Mary the case was different. Her faith was weak, and, pressing her
babes to her bosom, she often wept, and bent before the sweeping
storm.
The winter passed away, and Frank was still in the fiery furnace,
rejoicing, however, amidst the flames. Some friends offered him the
means of emigrating to the United States. Here was a light gleam.
He rejoiced in it, and prepared to quit a place which refused him
bread because he feared God.
Behold him! that martyr-mechanic, on board the emigrant-ship.
Her white sails catch the favoring beeze, and with a soul full of hope,
Frank looked to-ward this western world. A short, pleasant passage,
brought them to one of our Atlantic cities.
Here he soon found that his faith had not been misplaced. The
first week of his arrival saw him not merely employed, but filling the
station of foreman in the establishment of some extensive machinists.
Prosperity now smiled on Frank, and Mary once more rejoiced in
the possession of home comforts. They lived in a style far better and
more comfortable than when in their English cottage.  "Mary,"
Frank would often ask, pointing to their charming little parlor, "is it
not best to obey God?"
Mary could only reply to this question with smiles and tears; for
every thing around them said, " Blessed is that nman that mnaketh the
Lord his trust, and respecteth not the proud; surely he shall not be
moved forever."
But Frank's trials were not over. A similar claim for Sabbath
labor was made upon him in his new situation. An engine for a railroad or steamboat was broken, and must be repaired.  "You will
keep your men employed through to-morrow, Mr. Edwards; so that
the engine may be finished on Monday morning," said the chief
overseer.
"I cannot do it, sir; I cannot break the Lord's day. I will work
until midnight on Saturday, and begin directly after midnight on
Monday morning; God's holy time I will not touch."
" That won't do, Mr. Edwards, you must work your men through
the Sabbath, or the owners will dismiss you."
"Be it so, sir!" replied Frank.  "I crossed the Atlantic because
I would not work on Sabbath; I will not do it here."




32          MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
Monday came, the work was unfinished. Frank expected his discharge. While at work, a gentleman inquired of him: " I wish you
to go with me to —, to take charge of my establishment; will
you go?"
6' I don't know," replied Frank. "If, as I expect, my present employers dismiss me, I will go.; if they do not, I have no wish to
leave."
"This is settled. They intend to dismiss you, and I know the
reason; I honor you for it, and Wvish you to enter my establishment."
Here again our mechanic saw the hand of God. His decision had
again brought him into trial, and God had come to his aid. The
new situation for which he had just engaged was worth much more
than the one he was to leave. God had kept his promise.
UNDER  THE  ICE.
TIHE ALPINE HUNTER'S MIRACULOUS ESCAPE.
THtERE was no braver guide, or more skilful hunter, that ever
sat foot upon the Aatterhorn, or crawled over the dangerous
glaciers of AMonte Rosa, than Ulric Peterson.  le was a man
of immense strength and great darinog; and had often tracked
the wilderness of snow when those who followed the same calling willingly remained in their cottages, in the well-protected
villages. He laughed at his companions, when:they talked of
danger; and made light of the fears of his good wife, when she
trembled at the howling of the fierce winds, or the avalanche of
snow, that now and then swept down, with irresistible force,
upon the little chalets. With well-spiked shoes, a stout alpenstock, confidence in himself, antd a firm ancd fervent trust in God,
he avowed that a man was as safe upon the topmost cliffs of the
cloud-pierced Matterhorn, as in the brook threaded valley of
Tourmanches. But the timlid heart of womanhood could not
look upon the matter in the same light, although her trust in the
good Lord was equally strong; and so, when she saw him take
down his trusty rifle, powder-horn, and heavily shod iron staff,
one morning, she clung to him, and begged that he would not
go upon the mountains.  "There is every sign of a storm," she
said. "You know how terrible they are. We have food enough
in the cottage. Do stay at home with the little ones."
" That would I, wife," was the reply " if I had not seen an
ibex as I was coming home yesterday evening. He was a stout
old fellow, with huge horns; and I fancied le was almost laughing at me as I crept around the cliff upon which he was standing.
"But, Ulric, think of the storm that is certainly coming."
"I have been in many a one, and care nothing for them. I




MTORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                   33
love the free whistling of the wind upon the mountain tops, and
the whirling of the feathery snow. So, good wife, get me somethilng to eat. I must be off before the clday dawns."
With a heavy sigh, the woman did as he had requested, and
with his fond kiss still lingering upon her lips, she saw hin
climb the mountain side, until a turn in the path hid him from
her view. Then she sunk upon her knees, by the bedside' of her
still slumbering children, and committed him into the keeping of
that God who had thus far preserved him in the midst of every
danger. 2Meantime, Ulric hastened onward with a light foot.
It was still dark in the valley; but far above him he could see
the white peak glittering in the dim light of the morning, and
the fast paling stars. Higher and higher he climbed, and soon
the sun arose, shedding its rays of rosy gold upon the icy piles
and making them flash as if builded of myriad diamonds. To
a stranger it would have been a dazzling sight; to the brave
hunter it had lost something of its charm by familiarity, and he
pressed onward and upward. The road grew rough and difficult. He was obliged to pick his way, to clamlber up steep crags;
but at last he reached the edge of a large glacier. He sat down
and rested for a little time, satisfied his hunger, examined his
shoes and the point of his alpenstock, and again set bravely
forth, leaping the yawning chasms, and guarding against the
treacherous cracks.
A wall of polished ice arose before him, and he knew that he
would have to scale it, before he could get within shot of the
coveted game. With great difficulty it was accomplished; and
finding the tracks of the ibex, he followed them, until suddenly
turning a ragged point, he found himself within easy shot, and
in an instant the report of his rifle had awakened the echoes of
the mountains. With the " thud " of the bullet the beast sprang
forward, but its tail was dropped, its head hanging heavily
down, its gait slow and step uncertain. He knew that the whizzing lead had reached its mark; that the animal would soon
die; and he paused to reload his rifle before he followed him.
"I will surprise my good wife," he thought, "by returning
sooner than she expected, and I will have a hearty laugh at the
cowards who dared not venture from their snug cottages, for
fear of a storm."
With a smile upon his lips, he hastened to where the ibex
was lying, and raised it in his arms. Then, with a cry of horror,
he felt his footing give way-and hunter and game were swallowed up in a crevasse of almost unfathomable depth  The thin
covering  of ice had been sufficiently strong to bear the weight
of the beast; but that of Ulric added had shivered it as if it had
been an egg-shell.
Down, d(own. Hunter and ibex, through the debris of snow
and ice, lying there for a thousand years. He fancied that the




34      MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
bottom would never be reached. The most profound darkness
enveloped him; his hands could clutch nothing but dampness
-but chilling flakes.
Fortunately the carcass of the beast was beneath him. Yet,
for all that safeguard, he lay for a long time insensible. When
consciousness returned, another day had dawned, and its golden
glories had found their way even to the bottom of the yawning
grave in which he was lying. He thought upon the utter helplessness of his situation —-that he must perish from cold, and
hunger-of the lingering tortures he would be forced to endure,
before death came to put an end to his misery, and every nerve
in his body quivered with horror.  He looked around to see if
there was not some possible chance of escape.  On either side
smooth ice walls arose, emitting a bluish steel glitter.  He felt
that he was buried alive! " O, God! Why was I not instantly
killed? " he exclaimed, in the agony of despair, and then, as
better thoughts swayed him, he thanked the Almighty, with
whom nothing is impossible, for his safety thus far, adcl prayed
to Him for guidance and deliverance.
His next thought was of his gun. WThen it was found that
he did not return, his neighbors would certainly search for him,
and by firing the gunll he could attract their attention.  Vain
hope! Search as he would he could find nothing of it. Even
if he had discovered it, it would have been useless, for his
powder-horn was gone as well. Over and over he turned the
snow-cl-down deep he dug into it, until his hands burned like
fire, and great drops of perspiration rolled from his foreheaduntil his arms grew stiff and sore, and he was forced to give up
the useless labor from sheer exhaustion. With his back against
the frozen prison walls, he looked aloft, and saw the great vulture, sailing upon its immense and tireless wings, around the
mouth of the chaslm, and tie strong man shuddered, as he shook
his fist defiantly, and murmured, with his hoarse voice, "Y our
time has not come yet! "  He thought also of his happy home,
and of his dear wife and children, and then, naturally, for he
was faint and lu hungry, he thought of the food his wife had prepared for him.  Iarling eaten of the bread and goats-milkcheese, and drank of the little bottle of wine (which, strange to
say, had remained unbroken), he reasoned that it would be cowardly to lie down and die, without an effort, and he remembered
the goodness of God, and once more fervently implored His help.
Then a bold idea came to him. YWhy might he not cut his way
through the solid ice! -THe had a hatchet, such as his class never
travel without.  Ah  but he was forgetful that the walls might
be hundreds of feet thick, that they were of excessive hardness
and would soon render blunt both hatchet and knife.  The
bright hope that had been born within him was darkened by no
such shadow.  For the time being he knew that he was safe, he




MIORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    35
was accustomed to the cold, was warmly clad, could use the skin
of the ibex, in case of need, and its flesh would drive away the
wolves of starvation for many a day. A brief rest and he began
the task, and toiled faithfully until darkness forced him to stop.
A night of uneasy rest, a breakfast of the raw flesh of the ibex,:mncd he resumed his labors. Another day of toil, and he again
stretched himself upon the skin of the beast, wrapping it around
him as much as was possible, and slept long and heavily, although
there had been a sudden fall in the temperature, and it was now
excessively cold.
For four days he toiled thus, his only food the raw and frozen
flesh of the ibex; for four nights he slept within the hole he
had cut away in the thick ice walls, closing up the entrance,
and thus obtaining partial shelter from the chilling blasts, and
once he heard the firing of guns, and his heart beat wildly within him. He dropped his dulled hatchet, crawled to the centre
of the chasm, and shouted with all his remaining strengthshouted until his strained voice was reduced to the very ghost'
of a hoarse whisper. He knew that his friends were in search
of him; imagined that he could hear his name called; could do
nothing to attract their attention; and, as the firing grew fainter
and farther and farther away, he flung himself down, weeping and
wringing his hands. The last plank to which he had clung had
been shivered. His neighbors and friends had come, and gone.
They would never search that part of the mountain again. None
would ever know of his fate. He was buried in an icy tomb,
until the last trump should sound, and hot flashes of flame dissolve the frost-work around him.
With his mind trembling upon the verge of madness, overpowered by sorrow, crushed by bitter agony, he fell back insensible, and lay, for a long time, upon the cold, damp snow, that
soon must be his winding sheet. The black vulture flapped its
wings above him, and he knew nothing of it. But, after some
hours, the hunter's consciousness returned, though he was far
too much crushed, in body and soul, to resume his labors. He
crept into the little cavern he had excavated (would it not be to
him a tomb?) and gave passionate vent to his grief. For many
weary hours nothing passed his lips, and with aching head, and
fevered brain, with trembling limbs, and convulsive sobs, he
prayed for deliverance, if by no other hand, at least the skeleton
one of death.
It was rayless, sunless, starless, darkness, in the ice cavern,
when the springs of his life again became capable of action; he
was ravenously hungry, and arose to satisfy his hunger with a
portion of the ibex he had left remaining outside in the chasm.
He felt around, but could discover no outlet. Had lihe been
frozen in-shut out from  God's blessed sunshine forever?
Nothing but smooth ice met his burning and blistered fingers.




36       M IOR AL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
Then, after an hour's search, he found a soft spot, and instantly
solved the mystery, he knew there must have been a heavy fall
of snow in the night, and that it had drifted into, and blocked
up the opening; and with the strength of despair, he soon dug
through. It was still snowing heavily; the flakes fell like great
feathers around; and he drew the remnant of the carcass of the
ibex into the cave, and made another, rude meal. And thus refreshed, a new hope was born within him; and again the ice
walls resounded with the blows of his little hatchet. But it wras
slow work, and much of the time was taken up in clearing tlle
chips froml the little grotto.
A week passed-a week of the most severe toil and terrible
anxiety-and yet, he was not disheartened.  His trust in God
had returned; and love for his wife and dependent children
kept alive his often sinlking heart.  He was yet in hopes of
reaching the upper air, of seeing his dear ones again. But even
as he was thinlking thus, with something of his old time cheerftlness, a new anxiety took possession of and nearly overpowered him. The carcass of the ibex, that had been the innocent
cause of all his troubles, was picked alm.ost to the bones.
With dire starvation staring him in the face, he bowed his
head and wept like a child.  Starvation, that is dreadful, even
in thought! Starvation, that has in it more of horror than a
thousand other deaths! He could almost see it silently approaching, and for a time despair alone had possession of him.
Then his trust in the Supreme Being returned, and he committed himself unto His holy keeping.  "Iheavenly Father!:" he
murmured, from between his parched and blackened lips, " it is
Thy hand that has sustained me so far-has saved mne from all
danger.  Thou givest food to the young ravens, and markest
even the fall of the tiny sparrow.  None but Thou canl hear or
help. Hear my prayer! Save me, 0 God! Save me! 1"
Something of sweet consolation came with the utterance of
the words, and hie laid clown to sleep nmore tranquilly than the
had doiIe for many previous nights. Yet, it was only to be
awakened by a new fear. It needed no seer to tell him that the
fohn, or hot south wind, was sweeping over the glaciers, and
snow fields of the high Alps; and that the rain was falling in
torrents, and the enormous blocks of ice melting, as by the
touch of fire. The cavern he had dug with infinite labor was
almost breast-deep with water, and it was rushing in with all
the swiftness of a mountain torrent. Instantly he was wet to
the skin, and stood allost paralyzed with terror.  Then he
breasted his way out into the chasml, but it was only to return
again as quickly as possible. Never cataract raged more fiercely
than the surging water there.  Cutting little niches in the icewall, he climbed beyond the reach of the water, and trenmblingly
awaited his fate. The waves rose rapidly, higher and higher.




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                    37
ie had climbed until his head rested against the top of the little
cave-he could go no further. And yet, the waves rolled upward
around him. They reached his waist —surged higher to his
breast-crept to his throat, and despite all his efforts, began to
trickle into his mouth. In another moment he would be strangled by them; his hold would be torn away, and his body dashed
hither and thither against the sharp points of the ice.'" 0 God!
Save me  Save me I  burst from him in the terrible agony of
the instant, the moment of time that lay between him and death.
A noise like thunder-a shivering  crash —resounded through
the chasm. It appeared as if the very foundations of the world
were tottering beneath him. Now, indeed, he felt that his end
had come. No!  Terror was instantly changed to rapture.
The water rushed out of the cavern with the most amazing
velocity; he could descend and stand upon the bottom without
fear. How this had been accomplished, he was forced to wait
until the morning light to determine; and, with the first beams,
he saw a great fissure had been opened, through which the imprisoned waters had found their way to the valley below. This
unlooked for preservation again inspired him with confidencerendered more firm his trust in God. Through that tunnel he
saw a way to freedom. It was small, to be sure, but he could
enlarge it, and he worked diligently, until his strength utterly
failed.  The ibex was entirely devoured.  Ile had split the
bones and sucked out the marrow; had gnawecl them over and
over agailn, to appease his hunger. For two days he had not
tasted a morsel of food. The hatchet slipped from his bhand
when he -endeavored to strike a blow, and he was forced to abandon the undertaking. There was nothing left him. now but to
die.
Another day passed, and no help came.  lie lay crouched in
a corner wishing that the end would come, and that swiftly..His eyes were alreadyr filmed and his heart beat faintly.  Then
a strange noise aroused him. IHe looked aloft and saw a chamois
vainly striving to defend itself from the attack of two old vultures, that were striking at it with wing and beak. It was an
unequal contest, and, at length, the anilnmal, driven to clesperation, attempted to leap the broad chasm. The effort was a noble
one, but it failed of success. The chamois nmissed its footing,
and fell, bruised and helpless, at the very feet of the starving
man. In an instant his knife was plungecdinto its throat; and
the warm blood was drained by his eager lips. This gave hiim
new life, and he renewed his labor. It was almost an herculean
task. Atore than once he fell fainting  beside it. But hope was
very strong within him. Still, he would have utterly failed had
not Heaven assisted him.
Again, the fohn w-as busy at its work of destruction; again,
the windows of heaven were opened; and the " rains descended,




MU RAL  TALES AND  SKETC  E S.
and the floods came," and accomplished more in a single night
than his hands could have done in months. With the. morning
light, he crawled through the now large tunnel; but, when he
reached the out end, found, to his horror, that he was on the
top of a mighty precipice. His blood boiled; his brain seemed
on fire; his heart beat as if it would break through ribs and
flesh. He was, if possible, more desperately imprisoned than
before. How was he to get down? Through his bewildered
mind suddenly flashed the thought of the skins of the ibex and
the chamois, and he was not long in making a rope of them.
He then cut a deep hole in the ice, drove down his alpenstock,
fastened one end to it, and swinging himself off, reached the
bottom in safety.
With a cry of joy and a prayer of thankfulness, he hastened
along the well-known path; and when the bell of the little
chapel, that reared its gilded cross;:in the Matter Valley, was
tolling for the evening prayers, he staggered like a drunken
man into the very midst of the astonished worshippers, even
as the voice of the good priest was repeating, " God is everywhere with me; and everywhere, even in the most threatening
dangers, his voice speaks to me in tones of comfort, and says,' Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and
thou shalt glorify, me!' 1"-staggering toward the altar to kneel
beside it, he fell fainting into the arms of his wife, who again
nursed him to health, strength, and manhood. -Translated
from. the German.
SPLENDID  MISERY; OR, HUIMBLE  HAPPINESS.
OF sixty-seven royal and imperial Queens of France, only
thirteen have died without leaving their histories a record of
misery or sin. Eleven were divorced, two executed, nine died
young, seven were soon widowed, three cruelly treated, three
exiled. The poisoned: and broken-hearted, make up the rest.
The pillow of royalty is, indeed, filled with thorns; and though
crowns may look very bright, they feel very cold, heavy, and
hard.
The same principle applies to all happiness that is expected
to flow from mere position or circunmstances. Joy is an attribute of mind, not matter. Relations of matter are not requisite to its highest exercise. He whose soul is right, has a
higher blessedness in the worst material surroundings, than he
whose soul is wrong and material surroundings the best.
Scourged Paul, and Silas, sang praises in their dungeons,
while their imprisoners " feared " for the consequences of their
deed. Daniel had angel company in the lion's d'en. Darius
passed the night in fasting, and cried with a lamentable voice
in the morning.




M OORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     39
The desire to reinforce inward joy by pleasant outward relations, is certainly right.  But it should always be regarded
as mere reinforcement, and never as the main body.  They are
subordinate, and should be so regarded.  The chief anxiety
should be in reference to the chief occasion of joy. Erring in
this regard, men look to their material resources for their principal comfort-labor most assiduously for their increase —nourn
most inconsolably for their loss.  They, indeed, gather scanty
harvests from  the carefully-cultured surface, but they neglect
exhaustless gold beds below. They, indeed, gain an occasional
joy from  their store's increase, partially counterbalancing the
constant fear, and frequent realization of loss, but always losing
that contented mind which is a continual feast.  They, indeed,
get joys through the senses, which are few, very limited in
range, easily and frequently cloyed into nausea-as sensitive to
pangs as joys —but, all tl  While, fountains of infinite blessedness within them are utterly sealed.
But he who takes his motto, " My mind to me a kingdom is,"
leads a different, higher life.  He looks over its provinces and
departments; he stations motives and officers to control the
wrong; he sets agents to encourage and develop the right. He
makes conquests in the realms of knowledge.  NoT power can
re-conquer those possessions. They are forever his. He develops
the ample resources of suavity, which is equivalent to a treaty
of peace with surrounding nations.  He soothes and eradicates
the nettles of irritability, which is the conquest of internal
traitors and disturbers of peace at home.  He wakens feelings
which are equal to the invention and use of the magnetic telegraph in his dominions. This kingdcom he knows to be an everlasting kingcdom, and every development is of imperishable
worth.
But this constant hankering after style —exquisite conformity to fashion-and straining after the next peg in the social
ladder-dclegrades all man's best powers, changes his relations,
subordinates him  to fleeting customs, and makes him a mere
clothes-horse for the support and display of garments.  This
is splendid misery.  An apprentice lately rose to be chief master. By the contemplation of grand plans, by association with
men of thought, he rose with his position, and he is now imaster
of his sphere. Not so his wife.  Studious of the conventionalities of her new position, she imitates those excesses of refined
society which are more easily seen than the exquisite tone and
harmony of cultured taste. Conscious of a lack of taste, she
is the tormented and suspicious subject of her pensioned guides
in this respect.  Ambitious for the welfare of her daughters,
she draws around her the dregs of the grade above her, rather
than the best of that below; and rather than lead, where she
might, she is content to follow where her not equal steps pro.




40      M O  AL TALE S AND  SKETCHES.
duce the lively sensations of a sneak. A man, poor in goods,
but rich in mind, seeing her perpetual anxiety and torment, was
led to say, "mrhat a curse money may become." tHad she but
cultured her mind, rose with her circumstances, been mistress
of thenm, developed solid worth, rather than polished the outside
glitter —been twice as mindfiul of doing good and being good,
half as mindful of worldly position —her splendid misery might
have been unspeakable profit and joy.
The discords, the straining after effect-and the deep, hollow tones, indicative of emptiness in our lives —often result
from start;ino on a wrong' key-note. Fairly pitched, some tunes
will almost sing themselves; wrongly started, it is torture to
sing, and agony to hear them.  Start a life on the key of self.
It is too low. Every note has a hollow emptiness. It takes all
our breath, leaves utter exhaustion.  The key-note of love is
the only one consonant with existing laws of harmony. Key
the soul up to the standard pitch, and with all the harmonies
of God pealing round you, the psalm of life, gliding into these
harmonies, shall most resoundingly sing itself. Love, shown
in service, was the key-note of the life of Jesus, and must be
of all his followers who would know His joy and peace.
Does it seem like lowly life? It is the highest. Even the
Son of mnan came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.
He might have eclipsed the glory of royalty, might have continually shone with that brightness that made Peter, James,
and John afraid-might have been preceded, followed, and
flanked by legions of angels. But, for the subjugation of earth
and hell at once, he chose the mightier agencies of humility
and suffering. Not the guest of kings, he served those too poor
to give him house or food. In his own life, he gives a ground
for his exhortations to that content, which is consistent with
the widest ambition.  The world's content is a euphemism for
stupidity. But while Christ's apostle learns to be content in
whatsoever state of temporal things he is, his ambition leaps
towards the highest goal. He fights a good fight, wins an everlasting crown. His strife is toward humility and service; for,
by self-abasement, comes divine exaltation.
Toil is often deemed degrading. So it is, if the object is
self. But, where toil is for wife, children, and, reaching beyond these, which are a part of self, for the Scripture neighbor,
it becomes God's service, and however menial, is as honorable
as the work of angels. How self-denial would elevate the life
of the grovelling worldling! How personal charity would glorify his scarcely valued gains! How active, practical benevolence, would dissipate that ennui that disgusts! More real,
upspringing joy sings and laughs in the heart of an humble
Christian worker, than ever visits the soul of the trifling or
anxious millionaire.




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     41
God has inseparably linked righteousness and loving service
with profit and joy. True, they bring persecutions.  But the
promise is, of a hundred-fold of blessing here —designedly and
indubitably surpassing persecutions — while, in the world to
come, the life has fulness of joy. Even so surely, wickedness, or
selfishness-which if the same thing-brings misery and harm.
True, the misery may be splendid, but it is no less misery.
In man's central being, lie his powers of enjoyment or suffer
ing. These are most sensitive to, and most deeply moved by
spiritual and mental influences. These influences, in full play,
so affect his powers of appreciation, that the influences of material things are not regarded. Newton, buried in thought,
forgets to eat; and Moses, communing with God, fasts forty
days. Here, then, is the real field for culture, the true source
of profit and joy.
While recognizing the supremacy of these chief incitants, we
may reasonably use the prayer of Agar in reference to subordinate ones, " Give me neither poverty nor riches." —Bishop
Thomson.
HOITY TOITY.
HOITY TOITY wears a fool's cap, but Hoity Toity is no fool.
Hoity Toity has a grim  gray beard, but Hoity Toity is as
young as ever he was, and there isn't a kinder heart than the
one that beats like a little bird's under his little jerkin.  Some
people think loity Toity a fool because he does queer things
sometimes; but they are foolish people themselves, who won't
wait and watch until he has finished.  And some people say
that Hoity Toity has been laid up with the rheumatism  for
many a year; but they won't take the trouble to look for him,
or they might soon see him slipping in and out of the hedges
like a little wren, whenever they took a walk. And some
people say that Hoity Toity is a spiteful little toad. I'll tell
you how that is. IHoity Toity has a stick with two horns, which
he calls Easum and Stoppum; for though he looks very grave
sometimes, he is almost always a very merry little fellow in his
heart. And this is the way he uses his stick. One day he saw
a little boy trying to learn his Latin grammar.  He was in the
second declension, and had shut his book, and was saying over
D)ominus; but he couldn't remember how the accusative ended.
"No, I won't look-I'll go over it again," said the little boy.
"N. hic Dominus-G. h7ujus Domini —D. huic Domino —A. hune
Domin-e, is it? no, that's the vocative-well, I'll go over it
again. Father told me not to look if I could help it, and I
haven't half tried yet."
" Oh, you're plainly a case for Eas-ucm," said Hoity Toity,




42      S MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
and he said unm quite loud, whilst he gave the little boy a dig in
the ribs with Easum.
The little boy burst out laughing, though he didn't know
what had ticlled hi. " Yes, that's it," he cried —" A. hune
Domnin-'uqm. I wonder what brought it into my head all of a
sudden.'!
Another time Hoity Toity saw another little boy.  This little
boy was a big bully, and he was going to thrash a little boy ever
so much smaller than he was, little as he was; but Hoity Toity
tripped him. up with Stoppurn, and when he got on his legs again,
though he felt inclined at first to give the little boy a worse
drubbing than he had meant to give before, he somehow grew
ashamed of himself by the time he had brushed the dust off his
klnees, and he didn't.
"But that's no reason why people should call Hoity Toity a
spiteful little toad." True, O King Solomon I But Hoity oity
is a very plucky little fellow, and when he sees grownu..p peopie going to do what they would be sorry for afterwards, he
hooks Stoppum round their instep, and brings them (down oln
their noses, just as he would you or any other little boy. A
good many of the grown-up people get very savage, aund call
Hoity Toity a spiteful little toad, (and so do a good many of
you youngsters, too,) and they will do, after all, what they
wanted to do. When they turn obstinate, Hoity Toity lets
them have their way. He doesn't crow over them when they
come to grief; but he can't help showing them his two hornled
stick. "' There,7  he says, as he turns it about, looking as sad
as a good little creature like iHoity Toity can,' you might have
had this " —pointing to Easuin-" but you would have this "-__
pointing to Stoppum-" and, after all, it has done you no good.
But you've a chance yet, if you've only got eyes to see it."
iHoity Toity is a music and dancing master, and he teaches
deportment too, but not like Mr. Turveydrop. He never professes anything: he does it. He taught the birds and the brooks
to sing, and the leaves and the lambs to dance, and the wind to
play the harp, and te sea the sea to play the organ; and if we were to
copy his manners, we should be the politest people in the world.
And yet, for all that, iHoity Toity is to be found in some strange
places, and he has some strange servants, and some of his dearest
friends are most unfashionable people.
I was in a wood one day, lying in the deep green fern, just as
if I had been floating in the trough of the ceep green sea.
Little wild-flowers trembled outside the fern here and there like
foam-bells on a wave, and I was thinking how pretty they were,
and wondering why there should be so many of them where
scarcely any one ever came. But Hoity Toity loves bees, and
butterflies, and birds, and living things of allkinds; and so he gives
them pretty drinking-cups, and variegated lamps, and carpets




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                      43
softer and more splendid than a treble-piled Persian.  We are
apt to fancy that we are Hoity Toity's pets; but, perhaps, that
is only our conceit: though he is so very, very kind to us, when
we will let him be, that it is not wonderful that we should fancy
so. Still there are millions, billions, trillions, quadrillions, quintillions of living things in the world besides the little thousandmillions of men and women, boys and girls, and babies.  If we
were to have a universal-suffrage election to choose a king for the
whole earth, we should not be able to carry our candidate, for
all the other things would vote for I[oity Toity, and I am afraid
that a good many of us would. be silly enough to vote for somebody else. Not that it would mantter to Hoity Toity. He is king
already without our votes-though, of course, he would like all
his subjects to acknowledge him. Ie would be able to cut off
Stoppune thleln, and use his stick for a sceptre. It would look
more like a crook, you say, with only one horn on it?  Well, a
crook would just suit Ioity Toity's taste. Talking about crooks,
though, imy wits have gone wool-oatllering. Where was I?  Oh,
yes, lying in the woods, looking at the pretty fowers. I saw
somlrething there that didn't seem so pretty-a big whltey-brown
mushroom, that looked like a surly fairy's gig-umbrella. It was
speckled on the top like a plum-pudding, but if I had eaten it, I
should never have tasted a mince-pie again.  It was a poisonous
fungus -and yet there, at the very root, sat Hoity Toity, looking quite at home.  Presently a lean little lizard —like a fairy
crocodile —writhed over the imushroom, and put clown his head,
and looked at Hoity Toity with his bright little beads of eyes,
just as Carlo looks it you with his biff browi[ ones, and licked
Iloity Toity's face with his lithe leathery little tongue, just as
Carlo gives yours a moist rasp. with his pink nutmeg-grater.
-loity Toity whispered something to the little lizard, and away
he went, flicking HLoity Toity on the nose with the lanky tail
he whisked about like a whiplash. I couldn't help thinking that
the lizard mlight both have come to Eoity Toity, and have left
him, in a more respectful manner; but Hoity3 Toity didn't seem
to mind a bit. He knew that the lizard was only in a hurry to
learn what he had to do, and then in as great a hurry to be off
to do it.  As soon as the lizard was gone, a staghorn beetle
catne crawling over the grass, crooking out his legs like a Life
GuLardsman walking up and down at the Horse-Guards.  Hoity
Toity didn't hurry him, but waited patiently till he had crept
up to Hoity Toity's ear, and didn't flinch when the beetle laid
hold of the lobe with his horns.  Hoity Toity whispered something to the beetle too; and then the beetle seemed to remember
that he had wings as well as legs.  He lifted up his wing-cases,
as hard as nut-shells, and shook out the crumpled gauze underneath like a little boy fussing over a crushed kite; and as soon
as he could get under way, a'way he went, booming in a blind
4




-44      ] MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
hurry.  He hadn't gone far before he ran foul of a beech-tree,
and down he tumbled like a beech-nut. More haste, less speed,
you know, sometimes.  Hoity Toity gave a funny little smile
when he saw the beetle tumble down, and yet he looked rather
anxious till he saw the beetle get up again, and go booming on
once more-but not blowing his own trumpet quite so loud, and
making bends instead of driving stem-on into beech-trees.  The
beetle, you see, had learnt from experience the impenetrability
of matter.  L am sorry to say, though, that he forgot his lesson
nine or ten ti-mas -before hle got to the cobbler's.  Hoity Toity
began to finger his stick; but at last the beetle was out of the
wood, w-ith nothing but the cobbler's window-panes between
him and the cobbler.  Then Hoity Toity sat down again, and
looked rather sadly at one little leaf left at the end of a long
bla.nch.
" Ahl, 1'11 see to lny poor shepherd mnyself,l" he said.  " MAy
little lizard imust h.ave got to my poor tailor by this tirle, and
honest friend beetle can't well go wrong now."  But l-oit,
Toity saw 1me looking at him as if I  thought him a very finl'e
little fellow, a.nd HIoity Toity can't bear to be praised by those
I7who do nothing l)ut praise him, and he hates to be idle.  He has
got a notion, indeed, that if he were to cease to work he would
cease to be, and the round world would shrivel up like a pricked
bladder. So off went iHoity Toity like a lamnplighter. No lamplighter, though, can trot as fast as Hoity Toity, or make such
bright lights leap out in such dark corners.  He uses his twoblorndcl stick is the tam'lnlighter uses hlis wand.  Easumr is the
kincller, and Stoppume is the extinguisher; for iloity Toity is
obliged to put out lights sonetimes-the very lights that he has
lighted.  The people who are left in the dark can't make it out
at first; but,,as they feel about in the dark, they often lay hold
of the thing Hoity Toity wanted them to lay hold of, but they
have never laid hold of before, thouglh Hoity Toity lighted their
lamp just to show them the way to it.
When Hoity Toity was gone, I looked at the big whitey-brown
anushroom, and it seemed ever so much prettier than it did before, for Hoity Toity, who is always doing something, even
when he seems quite idle, had cut his name on the stalk.
And thern I went to see the tailor. It was easy to find him out,
for there was only one tailor in those parts, and his name was
Zephaniah Shears.  It was a sunny afternoon, and the little
lizard was basking on Zephaniah's threshold, looking up now and
then with his shy bright little eyes, as if he was sayin g to himself, " It might do you some good if you'd take some notice of
mne; but I'm in no hurry: take your time, take your time, brother Zeph."  It was no wonderl that the little'lizard looked at
the tailor as if he thought him  a big brother, for Zephaniah
looked just like a big lizardl in man's clothes, he was so long




3MO RAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                    45
aid lean.  Zephaniah was saying to himself, "I wish I knew
the wood where the guineas grow like wild apricots, for I've
got no money.  But that's silly talk.  I must work for zmy
wages.  And what work have I got to do?  Just two jobs.
Here's:Farmer Stubbs' velveteen breeches to seat; and that
won't bring me in much, big as he be.  And here's the old
scarecrow coat I got to make into a jacket for Widow Wasp's
little boy; and that won't bring me in anything.  Not even
thanks; she'll say I've boggled it because she is a lone, lorn womaUn.  Well, I think I shall do the breeches first.  Old Zeph
imuist look after himseif.  There's nobody ek:!e;,o look after
him."  But just then Zeph looked -up and saw the lizard, and
he felt ashamed.  "Yes, there is " he said, contradicting hilself as gruffly as if somebody else had spoken.  "There's the
same to look after me as looks after that little thing, and I'll
do the jacket first.  Farmer Stubbs has plenty more breeches,
but little Bob Wvasp has only got his shirt to cover his back,
and that's like a colander.  I'm glad I found this old thing in
the dit;ch, for I couldn't have afforded to buy cloth for the little
chap.  R.agged as it is, it ain't rotten, and I'll see if I can't
make him look as spruce as a little squire.  One of these days
I may stumble onl a trowser-piece for him.  I can make him a
waistcoat out of the cuttings of this, for poor little Bob ain't
very broad in the chest."
And so Zephaniah spread the old coat on his board, and took
out his chalk, and put his head on one side, and made his lmarks
as knowingly as a writing-mnaster flourishing a ciphering-book,
and1 then he got his shears and be.jan to cu-tt.  " 7hy, wihat's
t,1is?" he cried, presently, as he picked soumething' out of the
fusty old lining.  " Well, I'm blest if it ain't a five-pound note!
Aind if I haven't been and gone and cut it in two! Al, I see
what that means,-the widow must go halves."  And, without
waiting to put on his hat, Zephaniali rushed over the green as
fast as his long legs would cariry him-they looked as lon(g and
as lean as a shadow's legs- to Widow Wasp's cottage; and the
lizard went back to report progress to Hoity Toity.
The cobbler lived close by the tailor, and his name was Benjamin Bradawl.  He was thicker in the body than Zephaniah, and
thicker in the head too.  HI-e was a very obstinate old fellow,
was Benjie.  Staring through his great horn spectacles, he
looked as wise as a beetle.  Benjie was the only thing like a
beetle in his shop when I peeped in.  The staghorn was still
blundering about somewhere on the road.'Perhaps Hoity
Toity sends his swiftest messengers to those who are readiest
to receive them.  Benjie was holding up an old boot that sadly
wanted soling, and upper-leatherino too, for that matter.  Benjie had not made the boot, and so he was growling over it
scornfully.




46      MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
"Just like all them  town-nade things," he said; "might as
well wear wet brown paper.  I don't know how I'm to mend the
thing.  WhI-o's to know where to begin and when to leave off?
Folks ought to be ashamed to go shod like that.  It ain't respectable.  Why didn't your father pitch it to the pigs?",
" Please, sir, lie hain't got any pigs to pitch it to; and if he
hlad, he couldn't afford to pitch away his boots," answered the
little boy to whom Benjie spoke.'" Father's stopping at home
till you've done it, and if it ain't dolne the first thing in the
morlning, he'll lose his place, for lie won't be able to take round
the letters."
"' That ain't true, " said Benjie.
"Please, sir, I wouldn't tell a lie." said the little boy.
"'Don't you tell ime no more of them," said  Benjie.  " You
and your father is both a bad lot.  So you be off."  And Benjie threw the old boot out of doors.  The little boy ran to pick
it up, looking very sad.  Just after he had got outside, there
came a great thud against the window.
What do you mean by throwing stones at my wincow, you
wicious young warmint?" shouted Benjie. And he rushed out,
andcl was going to box the little boy's ears, when again hlie heard
a thud, tlhud, thud, like the tap of a drum, on his window-pane.
Benjie stared through his horn spectacles as if he was frighltenedo
Whilst lie was staring, something came against his spectacles
with such a bang that it almost broke one of the glasses.  He
clapped up his hand to his eye, and when he had opened it, he
called out, " Blowed if it ain't a beetle," —and lie was so mu ch
astonished to find that h7e could make a mistake, that the beetle
flew away before he could kill it. Perhaps he wouldn't have
killed it, though.  At any rate, lie gave the little boy a penny
to buy marbles, and picked up the boot, and took it back, and
waxed his thread, and bega  tto work away for the poor postman just as if he had been the Squire.  iloity Toity, you see,
had sent Staghorn to teach Beetle Benjie not to be quite so sure
that he was always right anid everybody else always wrong.'loity Toity teaches all kinds of scholars all kinds of lessons,
and sometimes he engages very funny ushers.
It was getting evening now, and when I had crossed the green
I went along a lane, aind so got on to a common.  There I met
a beautiful. granrd lady, with a little portfolio in her hand.  The
lady had lost her way, and she asked me if I could tell her which
turning she must take.  "I have been sketching,"' she said;
" ad it seems just as if some one had been drawing me on by
making pretty pictures for me to copy. Sometimes a branch
was lifted up for me to see the blue hills in the distance, and
sometimes a brier-spray was bent dowin into a fairy-bridge with
two butterflies fluttering over it, sometimes one thing and sometimes another, until I quite forgot myself. I haven't the least




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    47
idea Where I am. I was never here before."  It was that sly
little Hoity Toity who had been making pictures to lure the
beautiful grand lady on. He wanted to please her, for one
thing, because she was good as well as beautiful; but he wanted
her, too, to meet somebody else he loved. Sly little Hoity
Toity! Presently the lady said, " Oh, look at that lonely little
cottage -yonder where the rough hillside comes down into the
commnon-doesn't it look beautiful in the red sunset? I must
get a sketch of that before the sun goes down."  Whilst the
lady was scratching away with her pencil, and scribbling down
the, names of all kinds of colors here, there, and everywhere,
that she might know how to paint her picture next day, the
cottage-door opened, and a lan camne out. He had to pass us;
but he did not see us until he was close upon us, because we
were in a salndy little hollow with furze-bushes round it. He was
a great manuly shepherd, but he walked as slowly as an old man.
As he came nearer we saw that he was carrying a white lamb.
The lamb seemed to like to be carried, and was snuggling in
his arms and looking up in his face like a little child; but he
was looking down at it, oh! so sadly, and when he came quite
close, we saw that the great manly fellow was crying.
" What is the matter, my poor man?" said the beautiful grand
lady.
He looked ashamed at first at having been caught crying, but
then he told the lady that he had lost all his sheep except this
little lamb, and now' he was obliged to sell it, though it was so
fond of him, and was his little Bessy's pet, and she had no mother, or brother, or sister, poor lonely little lass.
"I put off bringing it away till she was asleep," said the
shepherd;' and now I feel as if I could hardly drag my feet
along. Seems as if I was cheating both the little lambs."
6'Take Bessy back her little lamb," said the beautiful
grand lady.  "Here is some money for, to-night, and come over
to Bountifil Hall to-morrow. I will make inquiries about you,
and if I find you are as honest as you look, you shall be my
shepherd. I've hundreds of sheep, you know.'"
So that was the little game Hoity r'oity had been playing with
the beautiful grand lady who went out sketching and lost her way.
Besides what I saw, Hoity Toity did scores of kind things
that I didn't see that afternoon; and he went on doing them
when the sun went down, and the moon and the stars camne up,
and the larks began to sing, and the sun looked out from the
east once more, as fresh as if he had been sound asleep all
night instead of shining thousands of miles away. Hoity Toity
is like the sun; he never goes to sleep, and he never gets tired.
"But how can he do so much, if he is so little?"'-Oh, he
makes himself little that he may get close to the little things he
has to look after.- Charles Camden.




48      M O RAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
C OAL AND SUNBEAMS.
WHAT the climate of the globe was at the time that coal-plants
grew, may be foundc out from the fact that ferns and club-mosses
thrive best, at the present day, in moist sheltered islands. Some
think that the presence of tree-ferns shows a tropical warmth;
but in New Zealand, where they still occur, the climate is very
much like our own, and tree-ferns are found even at a height of
upwards of a thousand feet, beside the end of glaciers, wavinog
their green feathery fronds over the never-melting ice. Ferns
and club-mosses can therefore endure a wide range of temperature, so that their occurrence is no proof of a particular climate.
In all probability, however, the climate of the coal period was
warmer, moister, and more uniform than now obtains; and the
huge size of the coal-plants, and the vast quantity of coal which
they formed, seem to prove that the atmosphere was highly
charged with that carbonic acid gas which plants take in and
work into all their structures.  The sameness of the climate is
shown by the general character of the coal-plants being the same
over every portion of the earth's surface, the same kinds being
found in the most distant counltries.
How coal was formed from these plants is very difficult indeed to tell, because there is no process precisely of the same
nature now going on anywhere.  lIost men of science believe
that the plants have been swept down from the places where they
g(rew, by rivers or currents, and left in basins and firths of the
sea, or in fresh-water lakes. Sand and mud were heaped in alternate layers over them there, and thus formed the different
strata of coal and sandstone which we now find in a coal-basin.:WTe can trace the gradual change between perfect wood and
perfect coal in such situations, from the blackened tree-trunks
of our peat-bogs, through the lignites or brown coal, up through
bituminous coal, to the true coals which we burn in our grates.
After a lonll  interment'of the heaped-up plants beneath -the
water, gradually undergoing there the chemical changes necessary to convert them into the mineral condition, subterranean
fires at;last elevated the beds of coal above the waters, nearer
the surface of the earth. Were it not for this the coal would
have been buried far beyond the reach of man. Miolten matter
ran through the coal basin in different directions, like the lava
that flows down the sides of Vesuvius, and this hardened into
what is called trap-rocks. By these fiery eruptions of trap, the
seams of coal were broken up and divided into parts that are
easily worked, and the coal itself was brought from the profound
depths within reach of man.  We find many wonderful proofs
of God's wisdom and care for man, in thus preparing and arranging the coal beds.  Had they been formed on the strface,
exposed to the air, they would have crumbled away into dross,




MO  AL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    4C9
but the precious treasure was safely hid deep down inll the earth,
under beds of rocks, and yet not so deep as to be beyond the
industry of man to get it by digging.  It was not covered with
hard rockls like granite and quartz, which it would be very diffcult to blast and penetrate; but with limestone, sandstone,
shale, and clay ironstone, which can be easily pierced, and yet
afford a sufficiently safe roof for the mine, and which are very
valuable in themselves for man's uses.
A lump of coal, it is often said, is made up of sunbeams. We
could believe this more readily of the diamond, which is just a
crystal of coal, for it is so bright and sparkling, and makes
brilliant sunshine in a shady place. But even the dull, black
coal has been formed of the sunshine of long forgotten summers.
Every sunlbeam that fell upon the club-mosses and ferns of the
old coal forests, enabled them to withdraw the minute unseen
carbon from the air, and form  out of it their own solid tissue.
They thus caged and imprisoned the floating light itself, and
wrought its bright threads in their loonm, into the beautiful patterns of stenm and leaf, which they showed. To fobrm one of the
little rings of wood in the trunk of one of the old pines took the
sunshine of a long summer, Talling upon all its thousand leaves;
and who can tell how much sunshine has been worked up in all
the stores of coal that lie concealed under our feet?  This
prisoned sunshine we set free whenever we kindle a fire of coals.
When the sun ceases to shine upon us in these cold, misty,
wintry days, we draw upon the sunshine of a million years ago,
to drive away the frost and make us comfortable.'rThe source
of all labor is the sun; and we get the benefit of his labor when
we burn the coal or the wood, in which he has condensed and
preserved it. No ray of sunlight has ever been wasted or
thrown away.  it is because iNature has been so thrifty in her
household ways, that we are enabled to be so prodigal of our
resources to day, spending' upwards of one hundred millions of
tons of coal every year, and with that vast consumption of sunlabor producing all the varied and extraordinary work that we
do under the sun.
Why is a lump of coal black if it is composed of sunbeams,
which every one knows contains all the colors of the rainbow?
Why is it black if it is made up of the green stems and branches
and leaves of plants? It is because its particles are so formed
and arranged, as to take in all the light that falls upon it without giving back any portion. A white object reflects all the
light, and a black object absorbs all the light. What becomes,
then, of the colors which the black coal has withdrawn from
the sunshine? Are they lost? No! nothing in this world is
lost. Every thing is accounted for. When anything has served
its purpose in one form, it seems to vanish althogeter, but it
reappears in another form, and in it works anew. There is




50         O R AL  TALES AND  SKETC HES.
everywhere change, but not loss.  A  growing plant absorbs
some of the colors of the sunbeams that nourish it, and reflects
others in its prevailing hues-yellow or blue or red or purple.
But the colors that it absorbs are not *lost; they generally reappear in some other or after part of the plant.  So the colors
of the sunshine that are absorbed in the black coal come out in
the colored flames of the blazing fire.  The red and yellow
flame, over which you warm your hanlds. is jlust the flower into
which the sunshine, concealed and stored up in the coal for
ages, has blossomed.  But more than this, the lost colors of the
rainbow in coal are brought out still more strikingly by our
modern manufacturers. Every one has heard of and most persons havee seen what are called the coal-tar colors. Iichest and
brightest hues of blue and green, and mauve and magenta, and
rose and yellow, are obtained from tar, and tar is obtained from
coal. It would take me too long to describe the process, but it
is very curious, and is one of the many triumphs of this extraordinary age.
Were I disposed to draw  a moral from  imy little paper, I
could show that there are hidden beauties in everytlhing and
every one, however ugly and unpromising, which it would be
well worth our while to find and bring out.  But I shall merely
throw out this as a hint, and simply ask those who have accompanied me thus far without sleepy eyes and yawns as round
as O's, if it is not true what I have said, that there are wonders
in the fire, strlaoer than in any fairy story, stranger tha  in ay    y sty, str han any
faces, and castles, and pictures that the young fancy sees in its
glowing heat, in the twilioght hours —wonders, the half of which
has not, been told them? —fIugyh  faccmnillan.
CATHERINE OF RUSSIA.
ANONYMOUS.
TIuFz day had closed, andl the snow fell heavily, as the pastor Skovronski, returning from a visit to his sister, who lived a short distance
from Marienbu'rg, reached the skirt of the wood surrounding' the
town.  The cries of a child attracting    his attention, le stopped his
horse; but the noise of tlle wind rushing through the trees could
alone be heard, and he proceeded on his way, believing that he must
have been mistaken.  Suddenly the horse stood still, and no urgincg
or soothing on the part of the pastor, could induce him to proceed.
Supposing' it was some obstacle hidden by the darkness of the night,
he dismountted, and tried to force the animal forward; but his efforts
were unavailing. He thein perceived a slight elevation in the snow,
at the horse's feet, and, stooping down, found it to be a half-frozen
child wrapped in linen.  Talking it in his arms, he ifolart thLt it Awas




MORAL  TALE S AND  SKETCHES.                     51
still acDive.  This accounted for the cries which he had iust heard.
ite anxiously endeavored, despite the darkness of the night, to discover those who, from misery or other causes, had thus abandoned.
their offspring in a desert place, covered with snow; but neither
seeing nor hearing any one, the venerable pastor exclaimed in a
load voice, "If you who have deserted this child can now hear me,
go in peace.  In the name of the Great Being whom  I serve, I
promise that henceforth this child shall be my care."
Remounting his horse, with the child wrapped in his cloak before
him, he quickened his pace, and soon arrived at his humble dwelling,
though much later than usual.
" Mercy on me, Monsieur Skovronski, what could have delayed
you until this hour?" said an.old woman, as she advanced. to hold
the bridle while he alighted.  "I have been imagining all kinds of
misfortunes-that your sister Alexina was ill, that Biaska had fallen
lame, or that you had been attacked by the Cossacks."
" Take this infant, Frederika," said the pastor, interrupting the old
servant, and placing the child in her arms.
Surprise rendered her mute for an instant; but, like a torrent which
had overflowed its banks, her words soon found utterance, and she
exclaimed with volubility, "An infant, monsieur-an infant! And
where have you found it? What are we to do with an infant in this
place?  Who is to take care of it?  Who is to nurse it?"
" You, Frederika," quietly replied the old man, as he followed her
into the house.
"What a beautiful little girl, monsieur! It can scarcely be a
year old.  See, as she opens her large black eyes, with what astonishmenit she looks around her."
The old pastor smiled, and placing some more logs on the hearth,
and looking after the comfort of his little charge, he commenced his
frugal supper, during which he recounted to the old woman, the manner in which he had discovered the infant.
"How strange, monsieur, that Biaska should have refused to advance, is it not?"
"Horses have a noble instinct," replied the pastor; "they may
throw  down a man or a child while running, but will never pass
over a body, dead or alive, lying in their path."
"And when.you called out to know if any one was at hand, did
you see anybody?"' No one."
"Even her dress tells nothing. It is fine, but bears no mark by
which she might be known. What shall we call her, monsieur?"
*"Give me the calender, Frederika.  This is St. Catherine's day,
the 25th of November. We shall call her Catherine."'
The old woman retired with the child, and soon after the venerable
pastor sought his pillow, and enjoyed the sleep of a ma1I coinscious of
having performed his duty.
Early the next morning, it was known to all in Marienburg that




a52s        IMORAL  TALES  A!,ND  SKETCHES.
their pasto  hald found the child in the snow, and that he had ad.oued
it.  The prlevious ig'ht, a peasant, living in a cottage at the edYge of
the wood, had been awoke by the noise of a, heavy body falling
against his door, accompanied by groans, but the fearful and stupid ian
did not go to see what it was. On getting up next morning, he found
a soldier dead outside his threshold.  The pastor, hoping to discover
some clue as to the history of his protegee, visited the cabinr where
the soldier lay, but could gain no information concerning him: and
the only document which was found about his person was part of a
letter, in which some vague  allusion was made to "the cllildren."
The conjecture of the worthy Skovronski was, that the soldiel  had
been overcome by the severity of the cold, and must have laid the
child down, hoping by some violent -exercise to warm his fi'eezing
limbs.  But under that inclement sky, death comes on the snowstorm, and will not be dallied with.  The pastor gave orders for the
decent interment of the stranger, and carefully preserved the fragment of the letter, unsatisfactory though it was, and breaking off
just where the words "children, dear children," occurred.  He
hoped, that slight as the clue was, it might help at some future
time to identify the child.  From  that time forward, however, he
treated her with the kindness and affection of a parent; and so endeared to him did the little Catherine become, by her docility and
sweet temper, that perhaps, as years passed on, he ceased to regret
that the inquiries he made, whenever opportunity offered, failed to
draw forth any information as to who the dead soldier could have
been, or who his helpless charge.  Nor is there much wonder at
this, for war was ravaging the country, and the circumstance of an
obscure individual of the army being missing, when hundreds and
thousands were dying around them, was one little likely to attract
attention.
Years passed away, and Catherine, grown a tall, beautiful girl,
assisted Frederika in the management of the household affairs.  At
night she always sang, cheerful songs for her adopted father with a very
sweet voice; and nothing was found to disturb the smoothness of her
happy disposition, unless indeed we except two or three occasions on
which her faltler-so she always called him-was visited by attacks
of illness which seemed to threaten his life.  Then indeed her young
heart was rent with sorrow.  It, was on these trying occasions that,
prompted by her deep affectiqn, and perhaps instructed by the experienced Frederika, she acquired a skill as a nurse which was surprising
in a mere child —a skill which, under the influence of another strong
affection, and a remarkable destiny, proved in after-years of singular
account.  Strange it is to think of, and yet most true, that in reality
t;lere is not an action of our lives which is unimportant, or may not in
its consequences influence our future.
One day, when Catherine was about, thirteen years of age, the old
pastor appeared restless after reading some letters which had been
broug'ht that morning'; and calling Catherine, he said, " My dear




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     53
child, my sister Alexina is old.  She is often ill, and I should wish to
have you near her for a short time."
"If such is your wish, my father, I shall go. I love your sister,
for she is yours; but I confess I should prefer remaining with you."
"You shall return in a few days, Catherine, when I shall go for
you myself —myself, Catherine-understand me, only myself."
"Be it so, my benefactor:" and, with the natural gaiety of youth,
she hastened to prepare for her departure.
The pastor accompanied her until they arrived at the place where,
as an infant, he had found her. It was summer, and the green grass
had replaced the snow  which at that time covered the ground.
Catherine knelt.
" Give me your blessing here, father," said she in a voice of emotion.  " It was here that, thirteen years ago, you first heard my feeble
cries.  God hears this day the prayers I offer for your happiness, and
will listen to me as you then listened, and repay you for all that you
have since done for me, and prolong your days to give happiness to
all those that surround you."
The old man's agitation was extreme, as laying his trembling hands
on the beautiful girl's head, he exclaimed, " Go in peace, my daughter.  God is our master, and we must submit to whatever He wills.
We cannot foresee in what manner He thinks right to dispose of his
creatures.  Whatever may happen, be assured that my sister will continue my work of charity and love.  Go; and if Heaven wills that we
shall not meet again, remember the last words of your poor old pastor, who, knowing his intellect inadequate t to the training of thine,
was content to model thy heart after his own. Be always good and
obedient-be submissive, Catherine; and in whatever position it may
be your fortune to be placed, always remember that thou once wert
but a poor deserted infant, who in a few hours must have perished,
had not God sent one of his humble servants to your assistance.
Rise, my daughter; go in peace; always act rightly, speak truth, and
do your duty, happen what may."
Raising the younog girl from her knees, he kissed her forehead, and
they separated.
" Catherine! Catherine! why do you remain at the door instead
of assisting me in laying, by these clothes, or spinning the rest of the
flax?  Do you think that my brother has sent you to me to do
nothing but to fold your arms and amuse yourself?  Do you hear me,
Catherine?"
The person who spoke was the old pastor's aged sister, who resided
a few miles from Marienburg, in Livonia. The usually joyous countenance of the young girl whom  she addressed bespoke intense
anxiety.
C "Oh, Madame Alexina, do you not hear the roaring of the cannon? " asked she, still remaining at the door.
"It is perhaps thunder, or some public rejoicing, Catherine. What
day of the month is this?"




54.           MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCtHES.
" The 20th of August, 1702, MBadame Alexina."
" No, it is not I;he king's birh -day. Are you sure that it was
cannon, Catherine?"
"Y5esterday morning," said Catherine, half speaking to herself,
and as if trying to recall somretfhing to her mnemory, "the pastor
Skovronski, after his usual visits to his friends, called. ime to his side.
lie had an air of anxiety and trouble.  M'y child,' said he,'we are
at length going to part. My sister is in need of you. You will not
leave her until I go for you mzyself —lnyself, Catherine.' I was struck
by his repeating mnyself.; and not answering him, he continued,' God
is our master.' When anything weighed on his mind, that was his
expression.  And then he made me depart so quickly, too, without
allowing me to speak to any one. And he appeared so agitated
when he placed his hand on may head to bless me.  Oh, I have seen
him for the last time! Child that I am to have left him. Again the
cannon-again!"
Carried a-way by her feelings, she wept unrestrainedly.
"Mercy on me! weeping! You, too, who are ever laughing,"
cried the old lady with surprise.  " Do you weep because my brother
appeared a little agitated, and his hand trembled i It was because he
loves you, and looks upon you as a daughter."
" But why did he send me to you?"
"I am old —I am in need of you."
"He is also old; he, too, is in need of me."
"You love my brother better than you love me, Catherine. That
is wrong'," said the old Livonian, in a half-reproachful voice. "' That
is wrong," she repeated.
"' Pardon me, madame, but it is true," replied Catherine, innocently; "and is it not right and natural?  He who saved me, when
an infant, from being frozen to death, and ever since has been to me
as a father.  Oh, I love the pastor of iarienburg as I should have
loved my own father, if God had been pleased that I should have
known one-as I would have loved a mother. I would freely give
mny life to save his. But do you not again bear the cannon? 
At this moment a horse stopped at the door of the cottage, and a
young man, travel-stained, hastily dismounted.' The PRussians are
at Marienburg!" exclaimed lie, rushing into the apartment.  "I
have escaped with difficulty to bring this letter from your brother,
who has given his horse to expedite me."
"What of the pastor Skovronski? " asked Catherine huarriedly.
"Oh, how  happy you ought to be, madeimoiselle,"  said the
messenger, "to have neither fatherl, nor mother, nor family."
"You think so, Paul?" replied Catherine with a look of scorn
which she did not attempt to conceal.
" Yes, mademoiselle; for you are not obliged to break your heart
by leaving them."
"And wherefore do you leave thlem'?"
" They besought me on my knees to do so, and now I tremble for thllem'"




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     b5
"Persons do not tremble for those whom  they may defend,"
replied Catherine.  "But tell me, whathas occurred at Marienburg?'"
" Why, mademoiselle, do you hear the cannon?  General Schere.,
metief, with his army, is bombarding AMarienburg.  Oh, it is a cruel
sight to behold!"
"My benefactor, my father!" cried Catherine, sobbing.
"6 Thy benefactor, thy father," said Madame Alexina, having finished the perusal of the letter, " conjures thee by all that is sacred
not to leave me. He  thinks it is his duty to remain with those
intrusted to his care, and asks for our prayers for his safety; and if
God wills that his life should be the sacrifice, he leaves thee all he
possesses." 
" Madame Alexina," said Catherine, taking her hand and raising it
to her lips respectfully, "you have a heart-you are good, and you
will understand me. I return to Marienburg! In this I must be
disobedient."
"But you have not heard what Paul has said-that the Russians
are already in the town," replied Alexina, endeavoring to hold her
hand.                                t
"I'll go to find my benefactor."
"But by this time, mademoiselle," observed Paul, "all the
inhabitants are either dead or taken prisoners."
c I shall then die with them, or be a prisoner," cried Catherine,
raising her head, and speaking in a tone of determination.  Slipping
her hand from that of the old Livonian, she suddenly sprang on the
horse which Paul had left at the door, and before either he or the old
lady could recover from their surprise, she had disappeared.
The evening was closing as a horse, covered with foam, reached
the border of the wood lying nearest to the gates of M /arienburg.  At
the moment it emerged from the shade of the trees, a man suddenly
seized the bridle.
"Where are you going? " demanded he of the rider, in a peremptory tone.
" What is that to you? " was the reply, in an equally peremptory
voice.
Astonished by this boldness, the stranger's arm was raised to inflict
summary punishment; but on perceiving that it was a girl who spoke,
he desisted, and repeated, though in a milder tone, " Where are you
going?"
i" What is that to you? " again repeated the young girl.  "I am in
haste, and I pray you to let me pass."
"You of course are not aware, then, that the town is in the hands
of the Russians? " said the man, still retaining the bridle.
"Well, what then?" interrupted Catherine, for it was indeed she
who spoke.
" That all the inhabitants are prisoners; and if you pursue your
route, you will also be taken."
" Thank you for your advice; but know in your turn, monsieur,




56          MOORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
that he whom I look up to as a father is in the town, and I am
determined to share his fate, whatever it may be."
"But if he is a prisoner?"
"I will be a prisoner too."
" But if he is dead?"
This supposition rendered Catherine mute; but recovering her
courage and self-possession, she said with sweetness, "I have told
you, monsieur, that I should like to share his fate."
s" Go, then, and God preserve you," answered the man, letting go
the bridle of the horse, which started off at once at full gallop.
She had not gone many paces when a loud "Who goes there?"
was heard, and Catherine not answering, a ball whistled by her so
close as to tear the sleeve of her dress. She immediately drew up
the horse.
I" Well, when I reply to you "'Tis I!' will you be much the wiser?"
cried she.
She was immediately surrounded by a number of rough and barbarous-looking men.
"' Dismount, my pretty girl, and follow us," said one who, from the
tone he assumed, appeared to be their officer.
But Catherine, perceiving amongst the men him whom she had
met at the border of the forest, and whom she immediately recognised by his noble and majestic bearing, contrasting so favorably with
the rude men by whom he was surrounded, said, addressing him,
"' Monsieur, I pray you to speak to these men to let me go: you know
that I am but a poor child; incapable of doing harm."
"I have told you what would happen if you pursued your route,"
replied the young unknown: then turning to the Cossack! officer, he
added, "Do your duty!"
" Your name?" asked the soldier of the young girl.
" Catherine," replied she quickly. " I am the adopted child of the
pastor Skovronski. I left yesterday morning by his wish-I return
to-day by my own. Let me pass, I pray you."
The officer exchanged a glance with the stranger to whom she had
first appealed, and then replied, " Thou art a Livonian. Livonia belongs this day to our czar, Peter I. of Russia-you are therefore a
prisoner. Come, dismount, if you do not wish me to assist you, and
follow us to prison."
o "Touch me not 1" said Catherine, her beautiful dark eyes flashing
with a look beyond her years. Leaping from her horse, she added,
"I did not return to Marienburg solely to be made a prisoner, but to
find my adopted father. Conduct me then to him-in his house-in
a dungeon-no matter where, so that I may be with him."
"It is not for prisoners to dictate their orders," replied the officer,
amused by the boldness of the young girl.
Catherine reflected a moment, and then asked, "Who is your
chief-your general?"
"General Scheremetief," said the stranger, advancing, having




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   57
hitherto kept aloof, though listening with attention to the altercation
between Catherine and the Cossack officer.
I"I wish, then, to speak to the general."
Receiving a sign from the unknown, the Cossack ordered her to
follow him, and marched in the direction of the town. As Catherine
stopped at the gates while the officer was making inquiries as to
where the general was to be found, an old woman perceiving her,
uttered a cry of despair.
"Oh, my dear child, you will bee your protector no more! My
poor master i" said she, sobbing; "' he is dead on the field of battle.
I saw him fall, struck by a Russian bullet, at the moment that he was
binding up the wounds of a poor Livonian. He is dead-my poor
master 1"
Catherine, pale and trembling, asked, "What do you say,
Frederika?"
" Truth, my dear child, truth I-as will be found on looking for
him among the dead."
"And have you, then, left him  there without help-without
prayers?" asked Catherine quickly.
" What could we do, mademoiselle?  The bullets whistled about
our ears, killing all they reached."
The Cossack officer said that the general was near them, and bade
her follow him. She rather went before than came after him. On entering the tent, the first person she saw was the young unknown; but,
without taking further notice of him, seeing that he was not the chief,
she threw herself at the feet of the great general whose name had
been echoed far and near.
"_A grace, general! for pity's sake, a giace "' said she, raising
her hands in the attitude of supplication.
"What does this child want?" demanded the general, turning to
the officer who had conducted her to his presence.
" She requests to speak to you, general."
"It is true," replied Catherine. "I believed my protector —my
father-to be a prisoner, and wished to share his prison; but I have
since learned that he is among the dead. The favor I ask is, to be
allowed to seek for his body, that it may be buried in the manner it
deserves. Oh, if you had known how good he was-the poor pastor
Skovronski!"
The tone of her voice was so peculiar, and her countenance so
commanding, yet so ingenuous, that the general, moved at the sight
of her youth and courage, said, " The camp is situated outside the
walls; if I grant your request, what guarantee shall I have that you
will not try to escape.?"
"My word i" replied Catherine innocently.
"Go, then," said the general, beckoning her to rise; "but remnern
her that you belong to me when you return."
The first person Catherine encountered on leaving the tent was




&58        MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
old Frederika, the pastor's servant.  "Come," said  she, taking
her hand; "come, show me the place where you saw him fall."
"'Think not of such a tiling, Catherine. Would you go among
the dead at this hour? "
"Remain, Frederika, if you have any fear. I shall go alone; he
may be yet alive."
" Let us go, then," said the old woman; "it shall not be said that a
child had more humanity than I had."
The night was dark, and it was with difficulty they could see their
way. When they got outside the town, they came upon a field covered with the bodies of men and horses, while the cries that arose told
that many were still alive. The young girl was seized with horror,
and stopped. "Oh, my God, guide me  " she exclaimed, and again
advanced.  Suddenly she heard footsteps following.  "Who are
you?" she cried, turning to some person, whom the darkness prevented her from distinguishing, adding, "You are, no doubt, like us,
an unfortunate. You seek perhaps some friend-a brother. I seek
my father, and perhaps he is dead! Oh! why have I come without
a light, as if I could distinguish my benefactor in this terrible
darkness. Heaven guide me! "
"Wait for me; I shall soon return," said the person who had
iollowed them.
He soon appeared, carrying a lantern, and Catherine recognized
the stranger whom she had first met in the wood. The light discovered to the young girl the earth covered with the dead and dying';
but overcoming her repugnance to such a scene, she diligently pursued her search, Frederika being unable to recollect the spot where
she had seen her master fall. The stranger followed in silence.
Each moment the agitation of the young girl increased, and the sickening sights around her, joined to the fruitless search, overcame her
fortitude, and sinking on the ground, she covered her face with her
hands, and wept violently.
Catherine," said the unknown, " you have undertaken a task too
much for your age and strength; leave the search to me, and at daybreak, when the dead are separated from the wounded, I shall myself
seek him with the assistance of some of the inhabitants of the town,
who will be able to recognize their pastor, and perhaps he may not be
amongst the dead."
I "What I have commenced I shall finish," said Catherine; "but
you, monsieur, whom do you seek?"
" Hear me, Catherine," replied the stranger. "I am but a soldier,
and perhaps may have the courage of a soldier; but, on my word,
your's astonishes me. You are not formed to be a slave, though a
general may be your master. You are now beyond the camp: no
person has seen you. Fly!  If you want money, here it is."
" T is Heaven that has sent you," exclaimed the old woman, taking
the purse from his hand.  "Catherine, do not refuse such goodness:
et us fly."




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    59
"Fly? when I have given my word not to do so. Do you
consider that as nothing, monsieur?" said the girl, in surprise.
" No-when given by a man," replied the soldier. " But it is of
little consequence when broken by such as you-a girl without name,
without birth. Think well of what you must endure if you return:
the hopes of your youth changed into misery, and you yourself
become a slave. I conjure you to fly."
But Catherine, firm to her purpose, replied, "I am ignorant for
what God has destined me. I am aware that I am but a child,
unknown, and without name; but ought the obscurity of my birth to
authorize me in doing a wrong action? If I was a princess, I should
keep my promise. Perhaps I have the heart of a princess. Monsieur, I shall keep my word." Then rising and turning to Frederika,
she added, " Come, Frederika, let us continue our search; I feel myself:stronger now."
At this moment a stifled groan was heard a short distance from
where they stood.  "Hush!" whispered Catherine, listening with
breathless anxiety. The groan was repeated, and, like a young
fawn, she sprang to the spot whence it proceeded, and throwing her-self on her knees by the side of an old man stretched on the ground,
she exclaimed, "Frederika, the light!  It is he! Quick! quick!
Oh, my father, my benefactor, speak to me! It is your child, your
little Catherine, who calls."
Frederika held the light to the countenance of the old man, while
Catherine, with an address and attention far beyond her years,
endeavored to find the wound from which the pastor was suffering.
As she raised his arm to extricate him from the bodies lyving around,
he uttered a cry of pain, at the same time opening his eyes. "Where
am I? " asked lie. Recognizing Catherine and Frederika, but; not
knowing the young soldier, he repeated, " Where am I?"
"With your friends," replied Catherine, kissing his forehead;
4' with your little Catherine. Oh rise, my father, and accompany us."
" Here, old man, take some of this eau de vie," said the soldier,
placing a gourd to the lips of the pastor; "it will strengthen you."
The pastor obeyed; and, reanimated by the welcome draught, he
endeavored to rise. Catherine having taken his arm, he again
exclaimed, as if in pain; adding, in a gentle voice, "My arm  is
broken."
"Oh! what shall we do?" cried Catherine.
"Do not move, old man,." said the soldier; "I shall return to
Marienburg, and send two comrades to carry you to your home: I
shall also send a surgeon, who will set your arm to rights. Adieu,
Catherine," added he, retiring, " follow my advice-profit by your
present liberty, and fly."
They had not to wait long for the promised assistance. Three men
advanced, two of them carrying a litter, on which they laid the
wounded pastor, and carefully conveyed him home, Catherine never
leaving his side.
5




60          MIORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.'.' It was God who inspired me," said she: "one would almost say
that'he took me by the hand, and led me to the border of the forest,
that I might become a prisoner."
" You are a prisoner, then, my poor child?" said the old man with
emotion.
"Yes, my father;! and what I at first looked on as a misfortune, has,
proved a blessing. If I had not been taken prisoner, I should not
have been carried before the general, and would have missed seeing:
Frederika, who told me of your death; and had I not seen her, I.
should never have thought of seeking for you on the field of battle.
Do you not think, then, that God led me by the hand to where I
found you?"
Catherine ceased speaking as the litter entered the interior of the
parsonage. The pastor was removed to his bed, and the operation
of setting his broken arm being quickly performed by the surgeon;
who had accompanied them, he and the two soldiers retired. After
offering up a prayer, the old man sank into slumber, and the females
watched by his bedside the remainder of the night.
When day appeared, Catherine sought her own little chamber;.
and, having changed her dress, and fastened her long black hair in a
knot under her bonnet, she descended to the room of the pastor, who
had just awoke.
"My dear benefactor," said she, kneeling by his bedside, "bless
your poor Catherine, who is obliged to leave you for ever."
"What do you say, child?" asked the old man, astonished at her
words, and seeing the tears which fell from the young Livonian.
"Yesterday, my father, I was taken prisoner, and now belong to
the Russian general. He permitted me to seek for you, on giving my
promise that I should return."
" Is it not foolish for her to do so, monsieur?" asked Frederika,
overcome at the idea of losing her dearly-loved child. "I am nowold, and want help; and who can assist me like Catherine? Who:
will sing for you the songs to which you have so often listened? Who
will give you an arm to lean on when you walk, and amuse you as
she could? No, Catherine, you must not leave us for an unhappy
promise given at hazard-forced from you. You know it was forced
from you. If it had been given freely, I should be the first to say go.'"
The pastor and Catherine listened without interruption to the old
woman. Skovronski first spoke —" You have promised the general
that you would return, my child?"
"Yes, my father," answered Catherine, sobbing; "and is it kind
of Frederika to try to dissuade me from my resolution, by thus bringing to my memory all the happiness that I have enjoyed, and which
I am about to lose forever?"
" Go, my child; go, my dear Catherine," said the old man in a,
solemn voice; " do your duty, and God will bless you."
The pastor laid his hand on her head, and, as the poor girl sobbed,
without  havinn the power to rise from her knees, he added, in a tone




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                      61
of affection —" A promise given should never be broken, my child:
the day advances —go, and may your heavenly Father watch over
yOU.'
Catherine arose, and kissing the lips of the old man, exclaimed,
"Adieu, my father! adieu, Frederika!" and left the house precipitately.
As Catherine entered the tent of the general, she was met by the
young soldier who had accompanied her in the previous night's search,
and who started on seeing her. She had dried her tears, and, with
a calm countenance, presented herself before the general, who was
engaged giving audience,. and listening to the prayers of some of the
inhabitants of Marienburg.
"' Is this you, little one?" said he, perceiving Catherine.  "I feared
~that I should not have seen you again."
"I gave you my word," was the brief reply of Catherine.
The general smiled.  "You are young and intelligent, and seem
to be good-humoured: you ought to make a good servant. Let me
see how you prepare a breakfast for me."
Catherine retired without speaking, and shortly returned to the tent,
bearing a tray with the required dejeuner.
The general and the young unknown were the only occupants, but
without remarking the familiarity which existed between him who
was the leader of a great army, and one who, to judge by his dress, appeared but a simple soldier, Catherine arranged the table for the pair..
"Some wine, my child," said the soldier, holding towards her his.
glass to be filled, and added, "How old are you?"
"Thirteen years," answered Catherine.
"With a heart of thirty! Why, general, if vou had s( en her last.
night searching amongst the dead for the body of her benefactor,
pale and trembling, but full of courage, you would have admired her
as I did. You had then no fear of the dead, my child?"
Catherine blushed as she replied, "I had no thought of fear; I
thought but of finding my benefactor, the poor pastor Skovronski."'
"As a servant to a pastor, she ought to be familiar with the dead,'"
said the general.  "It is not the first time you have seen them?"
"I have not seen many," replied Catherine.
"Why should she be afraid?" said the soldier; "if she had to
seek her benefactor in the midst of guns and swords, it might be different. I should like to see her in the centre of a battle with that
little resolute face of hers."
"You have seen the effect produced on me by the bullets of'
your sentries," said Catherine, smiling.
"It is unquestionably true, general; she appeared to care as little.
for them  as I should myself. This child will be a noble-hearted
woman. Scheremetief, will you sell your prisoner?"
"And what will you do with her? " asked the general, studioulsly,
avoiding to give a title to his guest.
"Make her my wife, the wife of a soldier! She is born for it t




62          MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
Well, what say you, my child?" added he, turning to Catherine,
who seemed bewildered.
"I say-I say," replied she, hesitating, "that my choice is not
difficult; I would rather be the wife of a soldier than the slave of a
general."
"Bravo, Catherine; and from this moment you belong to me!"
"But:" said the general.
"I know what you would say, general," hastily interrupted the
stranger; iI you know I never do anything like anybody else. This
young girl pleases me: she is courageous and gay, and her temper
ought to be sweet and equal. We shall see if she does not prove:sensible enough for a wife. It is decided: I shall make her my wife.
Put down that tray, Catherine: put off your apron, and follow me.
Henceforward, if you serve anybody, it shall be a husband."
The soldier rose from the table, and beckoning to Catherine to follow him, he left the tent. "Do you know who I am, Catherine?"
said he as they walked along.
"No; but you said that you wished to be my husband."
"Very well; but do you know my rank in the army? "
"It does not signify," said Catherine;' Vou cannot suppose that I
am proud myself-a child without family, without name."
1" Just so, my little one. You are content, then, to link your destiny with mine? " said the soldier, taking the hand of the young
Livonian.
" Yes," replied Catherine, " for you have the air of a brave man;
and I like you because you have been kind to me, poor child that.
I am."' You are not sorry, then, that I am nothing but a poor soldier?"
"Too happy, provided that you permit me to follow you, and
never leave you."
The soldier stopped before a tent more elevated than the rest.
"This is the tent of the Czar," said he; " remain where you are.
It is right that I should ask his permission to marry you."
Catherine had waited but a few minutes, when a young officer
advancing, said, "  tademoiselle, the Czar Peter wishes to see you."
She followed, and on entering the tent, saw a large number of
officers standing, in the centre of whom was seated a man of about
thirty years of age, whom she immediately recognized as her late
companion.  "Where, then, is the Czar?" asked Catherine, turn.
ing towards the young officer.
"There! " said he, pointing to the soldier who was seated.
"There! That is my husband!"
"He is thy husband and the Czar likewise, Catherine," said the
emperor of Russia, for it was he; and added, " How astonished you
appear. Does the news grieve you? Does my title prevent you
from loving me?"
"I loved you as a soldier," said she; "I will love you as an emperor." And Peter I., Czar of Russia, taking the hand of the young




MIORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   63
orphan, presented her to his officers as the future empress of Russia
It will readily be believed that Catherine did not forget the pastor
Skovronski.  True, he must still lose the society of his dear child:
but what a difference between yielding her up to be the wife of a
prince, from knowing that she was the servant of the conqueror-a
slave! But, alas! lie was not long spared to regret her absence.
He never thoroughly recovered from the wounds he had received;
and his sister, and the faithful Frederika, both nearly as old as himself, soon followed him to the grave.  Catherine had no one in the
world to divide her affection from her husband.
After their marriage, the Czar placed her in a private dwelling in
Moscow, where he paid her frequent visits, and often came to transact public business with his officers.  It was in this modest retreat
that her two children were born; Anne in 1708, and Elizabeth in
1709. When Peter made war on the Turks in 1711, he had a wish
that his wife should accompany him; and during this campaign she
distinguished herself in a manner too remarkable, and too honorable
to herself, for us to pass it over.
From the skill in military tactics of Peter the Great and his generals, and also from the admirable discipline of his troops, a body of
eight thousand Russians had sustained the attack of a hundred and
fifty thousand Turks.  The loss and suffering on each side had been
great, yet it could not be said that either party had gained the victory.  The Russians, however, were in circumstances of peculiar
distress. They were surrounded by an immense body of their foes.
and thus shut out, not only from every means of procuring provisions, but even from approaching the river Pruth, which was close
at hand, and on which they depended for a supply of water.  Thirst
and starvation were more dreadful to encounter than Turkish swords;
and it seemed that, after all, they would become the slaves of the
Mahommedans.
All the memoirs of the time agree that the Czar, divided within
himself what steps to take-if he could indeed any way avoid the
impending destruction for himself, his wife, and his army-retired to
his tent oppressed with grief, having given positive orders that he
should not be disturbed —his proud spirit naturally disliking a witness
to the distraction of his mind.  But notwithstanding his command,
Catherine felt that, as his wife, her place was at his side, and accordingly she forced her way to him.  She found him suffering from one
of those epileptic fits to which at all times he was subject, and which
she had on former occasions often alleviated by her presence of mind
and watchful attention.  The convulsions were unusually violent,
aggravated no doubt by the anguish of his mind; and probably,
when Peter recovered, he felt that, under Providence, he owed his
life to Catherine's resolution.
She had come, however, as a counsellor; and a wife who, like her,
had faced death in its most frightful shapes, and exposed herself to
every danger, like the meanest soldier, had a right to be heard.  She




64: 4    MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
showed admirable sense and penetration of mind, by pointing out to
her husband that the enemy had themselves suffered so much, and
were doubtless so impressed with the daring of the Russians, and
perhaps even ignorant of their desperate condition, that there was
every probability they would listen to overtures for a truce. It is
really surprising that no one else seemed to have thought of this project: but the instances in Catherine's life were very numerous in
which she evinced great superiority of mind to those about her-a
superiority which her husband seemed to have recognized when he
first saw her at Marienburg, and so quickly determined to make her
the sharer of his throne.
Catherine was well aware that it had been a custom  for ages
throughout the E ast, when any people applied for an audience of the
sovereign, or his representative, to approach with a present. Accordingly, she mustered the few jewels she had brought with her on
this military expedition, in which neither magnificence nor luxury was
admitted, and to these she added two black foxes' skins,, and whatever money she could collect —the latter being designed for a present
to the kiaia, an officer under the grand vizier. She then made choice
of a Russian officer, on whose fidelity and intelligence she could rely,
who, accompanied by two servants, carried the presents. to the grand
vizier, and delivered the money into the kiaia's own hand. The
Turks agreed to the truce, and the Russians were saved. So sensible
was Peter of the services rendered by his wife on this occasion, that,
though naturally averse to displays of magnificence, looking upon
regal shows as money idly spent, he caused her to be solemnly
crowned as a commemoration of the event; and in the declaration
which he issued, we find these words-" She has been of the greatest assistance to us in all our dangers, and particularly in the battle
of Pruth."
The fragment of a letter which had been found on the dead soldier
when Catherine was an infant, had been carefully preserved by her;
but she had long given up all expectation of discovering her kindred.
A romantic incident, however, brought to light the meaning of the
word "children."  An envoy from a foreign court to Peter the Great
being on his return home through Courland, put up at an inn, where
he heard the voice of some person in distress, whom the people of
the house were treating in an insulting manner.  He heard the
stranger make answer, in a tone of resentment, that they would not
use him thus if he could once get speech of the Czar, at whose cour't
he had more influence than they imagined. On this the envoy had
the curiosity to ask the man some questions, and from the answers he
let fall, and on examination of his countenance, he thought he traced
in him some resemblance to the Empress Catherine. Soon afterwards
he was writing to one of his friends at St. Petersburgh, and could not
forbear relating the adventure. This letter by some accident reached
the hands of the Czar, who immediately sent an order to the governor
of Riga, to endeavor to find out the person who was mentioned.  The




MNORAL  TALES  ANiD  SKETCHES.                    65
governor took such prompt measures, that he soon discovered the
stranger, who proved to be the son of a Lithuanian gentleman who,had been killed in the wars of Poland, leaving two young children, a;boy and a girl, then in the cradle.
Peter certainly spoke the truth, when he said he never did anything
like other people; for the manner in which he sent for the stranger,
whom he suspected to be a relative of his wife, and wished to welcome, was to cause him to be arrested on the charge of some pretended crime, and brought as a prisoner to his court; though orders.to his guards were privately given to treat him well.
On questioning him, the Czar was so persuaded that he was Cathe
*rine's brother, that he called him toward him, saying, " Come hither
and kiss the hand of the Empress, and embrace your sister."  It is
said that Catherine fainted with surprise, and that, when she came to
herself, the Czar exclaimed, "This is but natural; and if your
brother has merit, we will make something of him; if he has not, we
must leave him as he is."  A speech very characteristic of Peter the
Great. It is to be supposed that he had some merit, since we find he
-was created a count, and married to a lady of quality. The adventures of his childhood and youth are not recorded; but whatever
guardians he had found, must have known who he was, or he could
not have suspected that the orphan whom all the world knew Peter
had married, was his sister. Peter the Great died in 1725, and left
to Catherine the title of Empress, which she sustained with dignity;
and after reigning two years and some months, expired on the 27th
of AMay, 1727, at the age of thirty-eight.
THE BLIND  PREACHER.
BY WM. WIRT.
IT was one Sunday, as I traveled through the county of Orange,
that my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous,
old, wooden house in the forest, not far from the road-side. Having
frequently seen such objects before, in traveling through these States,
I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious
worship.
Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the
-congregation; but I must confess, that curiosity to hear the preacher
of such a wilderness, was not the least of my motives. On entering,
I was struck with his preternatural appearance.  He was a tall and
very spare old man; his head, which was covered with a white linen
eap, his shriveled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the
influence of a palsy; and a few moments ascertained to me that he,was perfectly blind.




66          MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
The first emotions that touched my breast were those of mingled.
pity and veneration.  But how soon were all my feelings changed i:
The lips of Plato were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of
bees, than were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament; and his subject was, of course, the
passion of oui Savior. I had heard the subject handled a thousand
times: I had thought it exhausted long ago.  Little did I suppose
that in the wild woods of America, I was to meet with a man, whose
eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sublime pathos,
than I had ever before witnessed.
As he descended from the pulpit to distribute the mystic symbols,
there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and
manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver~
He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Savior; his trial
before Pilate; his ascent up Calvary; his crucifixion; and his death..
I knew the whole history; but never until then had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored! It was all new; and.
I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enlincia —
tion was so deliberate, that his voice trembled on every syllable; and
every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases.
had that force of description, that the original scene appeared to be
at that moment acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the
Jews; the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw,
the buffet: my soul kindled with a flame of indignation; and my hands.
were involuntarily and convulsively clinched.
But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness
of our Savior; when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming
in tears to heaven; his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer
of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive them, for they know not
what they do,"-the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until, his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force crf his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his.
eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect
is inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans,
and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.
It was sometime before the tumult had subsided, so far as to per —
mit him to proceed.  Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious.
standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher.  For I could not conceive how he would be,
able to let his audience down from the hight to which he had wound
them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or
perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But —no: the
descent was as beautiful and sublime as the elevation had been rapid.;.
and enthusiastic.
The first sentence, with which he broke the awful silence, was a;
quotation from  Rousseau: "Socrates died like a philosopher, but.
Jesus Christ like a God!"
I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by thisa




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                      67
short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner
of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never
before did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by
laying such stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the
venerable figure of the preacher; his blindness, constantly recalling
to your recollection old Homer, Ossian, and Milton, and associating
with his performance the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses; you
are to imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his voice of affecting, trembling melody; you are to remember the pitch of passion and enthusiasm, to which the congregation
were raised; and then the few moments of portentous, death-like
silence, which reigned throughout the house: the preacher, removing
his white handkerchief from his aged face, (even yet wet from the
recent torrent of his tears,) and slowly stretching forth the palsied
hand which holds it, begins the sentence, " Socrates died like a philosopher"-then, pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both,
clasped together, with warmth and energy, to his breast, lifting
his "sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into
his tremulous voice-" but Jesus Christ-like a God!"  If he
had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could
scarcely have been more divine. Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity of Massillon or the force of Bourdeloue, had
fallen far short of the power which I felt from the delivery of this,
simple sentence.
If this description gives you the impression, that this incomparable
minister had anything of shallow, theatrical trick in his manner, it
does him great injustice. I have never seen, in any other orator, such
a union of simplicity and majesty. He had not a gesture, an attitude, or an accent, to which he does not seem forced by the sentiment
he is expressing. His mind is too serious, too earnest, too solicitous,
and, at the same time, too dignified, to stoop to artifice.  Although as
far removed from  ostentation as a man can be, yet it is clear, from
the train, the style and substance of his thoughts, that he is not only
a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive and profound erudition.
I was forcibly struck with a short, yet beautiful character, which he
drew of your learned and amiable countryman, Sir Robert Boyle: he
spoke of him, as if " his noble mind had, even before death, divested
herself of all influence from his frail tabernacle of flesh;" and called
him, in his peculiarly emphatic and impressive manner, "a pure
intelligence: a link between men and angels."
This man has been before my imagination almost ever since. A
thousand times, as I rode along, I dropped the reins of my bridle,
stretched forth my hand, and tried to imitate his quotation from
Rousseau; a thousand times I abandoned the attempt in despair, and
felt persuaded, that his peculiar manner and power arose from an
energy of soul, which nature could give, but which no human being
could justly copy.  As I recall, at this moment, several of his awfu~lly




fi8          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
striking attitudes, the chilling tide, with which my blood begins to
pour dlong my arteries, reminds me of the emotions produced by the
first sight of Gray's introductory picture of his Bard.
DESTRUCTION OF A FAMILY OF THE PILGRIMS BY THE
SAVAGE S.
BY MISS SEDGWICK.
ALL was joy in Mrs. Fletcher's dwelling.  "My dear mother," said
Everell, " it is now quite time to look out for father and Hope Leslie.
I have turned the hour-glass three times since dinner, and counted
all the sands, I think. Let us all go on the front portico, where we
can catch the first glimpse of them, as they come past the elm trees
Here, Oneco," he continued, as he saw assent in his mother's smile,' help me out with mother's rocking chair: rather rough rocking,"he added, as he adjusted the rockers lengthwise with the logs that
served for the flooring,-" but mother won't mind trifles just now.
Ah i blessed babe, brother," he continued, taking in his arms the
beautiful infant, "you shall come, too, even though you cheat me out
of my birthright, and get the first embrace from father." Thus saying, he placed the laughing infant in his go-cart, beside his mother.
He then aided his little sisters in their arrangement of the playthings
they had brought forth to welcome and astonish Hope; and finally
lhe made an elevated position for Faith Leslie, where she might, he
said, as she ought, catch the very first glimpse at her sister.
" Thank, thank you, Everell," said the little, girl, as she mounted
her pinnacle: "if you knew Hope, you would want to see her first,
too; every body loves Hope. We shall always have pleasant times
when Hope gets here."
It was one of. the most beautiful afternoons at the close of the
-month of May. The lagging Spring had at last come forth in all her
power; " her work of gladness" was finished, and forests, fields and
meadows were bright with renovated life. The full Connecticut
swept triumphantly on, as if still exulting in its release from the fetters of winter. Every gushing rill had the spring-note of joy. The
meadows were, for the first time, enriched with patches of English
grain, which the new settlers had sown scantily, by way of experiment, prudently occupying the greatest portion of the rich mould
with the native Indian corn. This product of our soil is beautiful in
all its progress, from the moment when, as now it studded the meadow
with hillocks, shooting its bright pointed spear from its mother earth,'to its maturity, when.the long golden ear bursts from the rustling leaf.
The grounds about Mrs. Fletcher's house had been prepared with




MTORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                    69
the neatness of English taste; and a rich bed of clover, that overspread the lawn immediately before the portico, already rewarded the
industry of the cultivators.  Over this delicate carpet, the domestic
fowls, the first civilized inhabitants of the country of their tribe, were
now treading, picking their food here and there like dainty little
epicures.
The scene had also its minstrels; the birds, those ministers and
worshippers of natuve, were on the wing, filling the air with melody,
while, like diligent little housewives, they ransacked the forest and
field for materials for their house-keeping.
A mother, encircled by healthful,. sporting children, is always a
beautiful spectacle-a spectacle that appeals to nature in every human
breast. Mrs. Fletcher, in obedience to matrimonial duty, or, it may
be, from some lingering of female vanity, had on this occasion attired
herself with extraordinary care. What woman does not wish to look
handsome in the eyes of her husband!
"Mother," said Everell, putting aside the exquisitely fine lace that
shaded her cheek, " I do not believe you looked more beautiful than
you do to-day, when, as I have heard, they called you' the rose of
the wilderness.' Our little Mary's cheek is as round and as bright
as a peach, but it is nat so handsome as yours, mother. Your heart
has sent this color here," he continued, kissing her tenderly; "it
seems to have come forth to tell us that our father is near."
" It would shame me, Everell," replied his mother, embracing him
with a feeling that the proudest drawing-roonm belle might have envied,
"to take such flattery from  any lips, but thine,"  "Oh, do not call
it flattery, mother-look, Magawisca-for Heaven's sake cheer uplook, would you know mother's eye? just turn it, mother, one minute
from the road-and her pale cheek too-with this rich color on it?"
" Alas! alas!" replied Magawisca, glancing her eyes at Mrs.
Fletcher, and then, as if heart-struck, withdrawing them, "'how soon
the flush of the setting sun fades from the evening cloud!"
"Oh, Magawisca!" said Everell, impatiently, "why are you so
dismal? your voice is too sweet for a bird of ill-omen. I shall begin
to think as Jennet says-though Jennet is no text-book for me-I shall
begin to think old Nelema has really bewitched you." "You call me
a bird of ill-omen," replied Magawisca, half proud, half sorrowful,
"and you call the owl a bird of ill-omen, but we hold him sacred;
he is our sentinel, and, when danger is near, he cries,'Awake!
awake!'"
"Magawisca, you are positively unkind.  Jeremiah's lamentations
on a holyday would not be more out of time than your croaking is
now. The very skies, earth, and. air, seem to partake of our joy at
father's return, and you only make a discord. Do you think, if your
father was near, I would not share your joy?"
Tears fell fast from Magawisca's eyes, but she made no reply, and
Mrs. Fletcher, observing and compassionating her emotion, and thinking it probably arose from comparing her orphan state to that of the




70           MORAL TALES  AND, SKETCHES.
merry children about her, called her, and said, " Magawisca, you are
neither a stranger nor a servant; will you not share our joy? do you
not love us?"
"Love you 1" she exclaimed, clasping her hands, "love you! I
would give my life for you."
" We do not ask your life, my good girl," replied Mrs. Fletcher,
kindly smiling on her, "but a light heart, and a cheerful look. A
sad countenance doth not become this joyful hour. Go and help
Oneco; he is quite out of breath blowing those soap-bubbles for the
children." Oneco smiled, and shook his head, and continued to send
off one after another of the prismatic globes, and, as they rose and
floated on the air, and brightened with the many-colored ray, the little girls clapped their hands, and the baby stretched his to grasp the
brilliant vapor.  "Oh!" said Magawisca, impetuously, covering her
eyes, "I do not like to see anything so beautiful pass so quickly
away.,'
Scarcely had she uttered these words, when suddenly, as if the
earth had opened on them, three Indian warriors darted from the
forest, and pealed on the air their horrible yells.
" My father! my father 1" burst from the lips of Magawisca and,Oneco. Faith Leslie sprang towards the Indian boy, and cluntg fast
to hini, and the children clustered about their mother; she instinctively caught her infant, and held it close within her arms, as if their
ineffectual shelter were a rampart.
Magawisca uttered a cry of agony, and, springing forward with
her arms uplifted, as if deprecating his approach, she sunk down at
her father's feet, and, clasping her hands, " Save them!-save them!"
she cried; "the mother-the children —oh! they are all good: take
vengeance on your enemies, but spare, spare our friends 1 our benefactors! I bleed when they are struck; oh! command them to stop!"
she screamed, looking to the companions of her father, who, unchecked by her cries, were pressing on to their deadly work.
Mononotto was silent and motionless: his eye glanced wildly from
Magawisca to Oneco.  Magawisca replied to the glance of fire: "Yes,
they have sheltered us —they have spread the wing of love over ussave them-save them-oh! it will be too late," she cried, springing
from her father, whose silence and fixedness showed that, if his better
nature rebelled against the work of revenge, there was no relenting
of purpose. Magawisca darted before the Indian, who was advancing towards Mrs. Fletcher with an uplifted hatchet.  "You shall
hew me to pieces ere you touch her," she said, and planted herself
as a shield before her benefactress. The warrior's obdurate heart,
untouched by the sight of the helpless mother and her little ones, was
thrilled by the courage of the heroic girl: he paused, and grimly
smiled on her, when his companion, crying, "Hasten! the dogs will
be on us!" leveled a deadly blow at Mrs. Fletcher; but his uplifted
arm was penetrated by a musket shot, and the hatchet fell harmless
to the floor.




MIORAL TALES  AND SKETCHES.                    71
" Courage, mother!" cried Everell, reloading the piece; but neither courage nor celerity could avail: the second Indian sprang upon
him, threw him on the floor, wrested his musket from him, and,
brandishing his tomahawk over his head, he would have aimed the
fatal stroke, when a cry from Mononotto arrested his arm.
Everell extricated himself from his grasp, and, a ray of hope
flashing into his mind, he seized a bugle-horn, which hung beside the
door, and winded it. This was the conventional signal of alarm, and
he sent forth a blast long and loud-a death-cry.
Mrs. Grafton and her attendants were just mounting their horses to
return home. Digby listened for a moment: then, exclaiming, {"It
comes from our master's dwelling! ride for your life, Hutton!"  He
tossed away a bandbox that encumbered him, and spurred his horse
to its utmost speed.
The alarm was spread through the village, and, in a brief space,
Mr. Pynchon, with six armed men, was pressing toward the fatal
scene. In the mean time the tragedy was proceeding at Bethel.
Mrs. Fletcher's senses had been stunned with terror. She had
neither spoken nor moved after she grasped her infant. Everell's
gallant interposition restored a momentary consciousness; she screamed
to him, "Fly, Everell, my son, fly; for your father's sake, fly!"
" Never!" he replied, springing to his mother's side.
The savages, always rapid in their movements, were now aware
that their safety depended on despatch.  "Finish your work, warriors!" cried Mononotto. Obedient to the command, and infuriated
by his bleeding wound, the Indian, who, on receiving the shot, had
staggered back and leaned aogainst the wall, now sprang forward, and
tore the infant from its mother's breast. She shrieked, and in that
shriek passed the agony of death. She was unconscious that her
son, putting forth a strength beyond nature, for a moment kept the
Indian at bay; she neither saw nor felt the knife struck at her own
heart. She felt not the arms of her defenders, Eveiell and Magawisca, as they met around her neck. She fainted and fell to the
floor, dragging her impotent protectors with her.
The savage, in his struggle with Everell, had tossed the infant boy
to the ground: he fell, quite unharmed, on the turf at Mononotto's
feet; there, raising his head, and looking up into the chieftain's face,
he probably perceived a gleam of mercy; for, with the quick instinct
of infancy, that with unerring sagacity directs its appeal, he clasped
the naked leg of the savage with one arm, and stretched the other
towards him with a piteous supplication, that no words could have
expressed.
Mononotto's heart melted within him: he stooped to raise the
sweet suppliant, when one of the Mohawks fiercely seized him, tossed
him wildly round his head, and dashed him on the door-stone. But
the silent prayer, perhaps the celestial inspiration of the innocent
creature, was not lost.  "We have had blood enough," cried
Mononotto; "you have well avenged me, brothers."




`2     -     l -MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
Then, looking at Oneco, who had remained in one corner of the
portico, clasping Faith Leslie in his arms, he commanded him to flliow him with the child. Everell was torn from the lifeless bodies of
his mother and sisters, and dragged into the forest. Magawisca
attered one cry of agony and despair, as she looked for the last time
on the bloody scene, and then followed her father.
As they passed the'boundary of the cleared ground, Mononotto
ore from Oneco his English dress, and, casting it from him, " Thus
uerish," he said, every mark of the captivity of my children.  Thou
shalt return to our forests," he continued, wrapping a skin around
nim, "with the badge of thy people."        * a         E    *
We hope our readers will not think we have wantonly sported with
Lheir feelings, by drawing a picture of calamity that only exists in the
fictitious tale. No —such events as we have feebly related were
common in our early annals, and attended by horrors that it would
oe impossible for the imagination to exaggerate.  Not only families,
out villages, were cut off by the most dreaded of all foes-the
ruthless, vengeful savage.
In the quiet possession of the blessings transmitted, we are, perhaps, in danger of forgetting or undervaluing the sufferings by which
they were obtained. We forget that the noble pilgrims lived and
endured for us; that, when they came to the wilderness, they said
truly, though it may be, somewhat quaintly, that they turned their
backs on Egypt. They did virtually renounce all dependence on
earthly support; they left the land of their birth, of their homes, of
their fathers' sepulchres; they sacrificed ease and preferment, and all
the delights of sense-and for what?-to. open for themselves an
earthly paradise?-to dress their bowers of pleasure, and rejoice with
their wives and children?  No!-they came not for themselves; they
lived not to themselves.. An exiled and suffering people, they came
forth in the dignity of the chosen servants of the Lord, to open the
*forests to the sunbeam, and to the light of the Sun of righteousness;
to restore man, man, oppressed and trampled on by his fellow, to religious and civil liberty, and equal rights; to replace the creatures of
God on their natural level; to bring down the hills, and make smooth
the rough places, which the pride and cruelty of man had wrought: on
the fair creation of the Father of all.
What was their reward'?  Fortune? -distinctions?- the sweet
charities of home? No-but their feet were planted on the mount of
vision, and they saw, with sublime joy, a multitude of people where
the solitary savage roamed the forest; the forest vanished, and pleasant villages and busy cities appeared; the tangled foot-path expanded
to the thronoed highway; the consecrated church was planted on the
rock of heathen sacrifice.
And, that we might realize this vision,-enter into this promised
land of faith,-they endured hardship, and braved death, deeming,
as said one of their company, that " he is not worthy to live at all,
who, for fear of danger or death, shunneth his country's service or




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     73
his own honor-since death is inevitable, and the fame of virtue
immortal."
If these were the fervors of enthusiasm, it was an enthusiasm
kindled and fed by the holy flame that glows on the altar of God;
an enthusiasm that never abates, but gathers life and strength as the
immortal soul expands in the image of its Creator.
THE BURNING PRAIRIE.
BY GEO.. D. PRENTICE.
THE fires alway run before the wind, with an advanced tongue or'
fork, and two receding flanks; and in a tight wind so rapidly do the
dancing, curling, careering flames leap from point to point of the dry
grass, that it is sometimes difficult for the swiftest horsemen to escape.  The sight, especially in the night, is beautiful, and at times
grand beyond description.  But after awhile we become familiarized
to it, and look upon it without emotion; as all of us learn to do upon
the glorious sun, the most splendid object in nature.
At the time I refer to, I had been two or three days' drive to thetown of C, with my horse and buggy, and was on my retumr
home. All day I had noticed signs indicating a fire on the prairiemasses of smoke in the distance, lying like white clouds upon the
horizon, and a hazy, oppressive atmosphere-but these gave me no,
trouble, so long as they were far away; and busy with nay ownl
thoughts for hours, I would pay no attention to thenm whatever.  At
length, after one of those periods of abstraction, I observed, with some
apprehension, that the conflagration was drawing nearer, and had
actually worked around in my rear, until it had crossed the path by
which I had traveled; that all behind me was fast becoming a smok.
ing sea of fire; and, for the first time, thought of danger, that I
might be overtaken or possibly surrounded, occurred to me.
Aly horse was a powerful one, but not very fleet, nor yet fresh,
but without the loss of a moment I applied the whip, and quitting
my direct route bore to the left, because that placed me more squarely
before my enemy. Soon the tongue of fire, the advance-guard of
my terrible foe, became distinctly visible on my right, at about two
miles distance, as near as I could judge, stretching on with a speed
that was really frightful. I knew the struggle was to be with that,
and pushing my horse to the utmost, kept my eye fixed upon it, like
the wily racer, intent on measuring the power of his antagonist before the final effort. -For a few minutes the result was in doubt, but
not long. Sinews of flesh were no match for the wing of the wind.
whichY bore on that fleet and terrific column of fire, and I became
satisfied that it was outstripping me, and almost with a feeling of in



74           MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCEHIES
difference; for I thought, for the moment, that my last hope was gone,
and was bracing my heart and nerves for the final event of life.
It was now twilight, and as the day departed, and the shadows of
night fell around, the cordon of fire seemed to magnify its splendors
and its terrors, and, like a vast serpent, to extend itself behind and
on both sides, and to be enclosing up its folds to encircle me. I was
no stranger on that part of the prairie; its general localities, though
one portion is very much like another, were familiar to me; and in
recalling them to mind, I recollected a little ragged mound or hill,
some twenty or thirty feet in hight, and was satisfied that I was at no
great distance from it. With my hopes revived a little, I taxed my
sight to the utmost on every swell of ground that I passed, and at
length detected the faint outline of the eminence, in advance. But
the fire was making for it too, and the subtle, lapping tongue on my
right, now quite ahead of me already, seemed almost between us,
and prepared with a single leap to cross my path and secure its
victim. Still, with my almost exhausted horse, I pressed on, with an
energy and despair so mighty, as almost of themselves to wreck the
powers of life. I have not recovered from the effects of the mental
struggle to this day-but, as you have no doubt already concluded,
the mound saved me. In the race for life, I was obliged, as it were,
to place myself side-by-side with that giant and awful sword of flame,
and for the last half mile, the contest was doubtful, hopeless, dreadful. But God nerved my horse with an unnatural strength, as it
seemed to me, and guarded his footsteps so that every effort told;
and at last I dashed up the bare side of the mound, where there
was no fit substance for the devouring element to follow, and was safe.
The flame swept by with a dull, heavy roar, and a hot, sweltering,
suffocating breath, burning with an intensity and grandeur which
realized to the imagination my ideas of the final catastrophe of nature, encircled and passed the little eminence on which I stood, and
stretched off in two long lines as far as the eye could reach. I fell
upon my knees, and since that terrible night, I trust I have been a
more thoughtful and a more thankful mnan.
"I HAVE SEEN AN END OF ALL PERFECTION."
BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.
I HAVE seen a mall in the glory of his days and the pride of his
strength. He was built like the tall cedar that lifts its head above the
forest *trees; like the strong oak that strikes its root deeply into the
earth. He feared no danger; he felt no sickness; he wondered that
any should groan or sigh at pain. His mind was vigorous, like his
body: he was perplexed at no intricacy; he was daunted at no diffi



MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                    75
culty; into hidden things he searched, and what was crooked he made
plain.  He went forth fearlessly upon the face of the mighty deep;
he surveyed the nations of the earth; he measured the distance of the
stars, and called them by their names; he gloried in the extent of his
knowledge, in the vigor of his understanding, and strove to search
even into what the Almighty had concealed. And when I looked on
him I said, "What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason!
how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a God 1"
I returned-his look was no more lofty, nor his step proud; his
broken frame was like some ruined tower; his hairs were white and
scattered; and his eye gazed vacantly upon what was passing around
him. The vigor of his intellect was wasted, and of all that he had
gained by study, nothing remained. He feared when there was no
danger, and when there was no sorrow he wept. His memory was
decayed and treacherous, and showed him only broken images of the
glory that was departed. His house was to him like a strange land,
and his friends were counted as his enemies; and he thought himself
strong and healthful while his foot tottered on the verge of the grave.
He said of his son, " He is my brother; " of his daughter, " I know
her not; " and he inquired what was his own name. And one who
supported his last steps, and ministered to his many wants, said to me,
as I looked on the melancholy scene, "Let thine heart receive instruction, for thou hast seen an end of all earthly perfection."
I have seen a beautiful female treading the first stages of youth,
and entering joyfully into the pleasures of life. The glance of her
eye was variable and sweet, and on her cheek trembled something
like the first blush of the morning; her lips moved, and there was
harmony; and when she floated in the dance, her light form! like the
aspen, seemed to move with every breeze.  I returned, but she was
not in the dance; I sought her in the gay circle of her companions,
but I found her not. Her eye sparkled not there-the music of her
voice was silent-she rejoiced on earth no more. I saw a train,
sable and slow-paced, who bore sadly to an opened grave what once
was animated and beautiful. They paused as they approached, and a
voice broke the awful silence: " Mingle ashes with ashes, and dust
with its original dust. To the earth, whence it was taken, consign we
the body of our sister." They covered her with the damp soil and
the cold clods of the valley; and the worms crowded into her silent
abode. Yet one sad mourner lingered, to cast himself upon the grave;
and as he wept he said, "There is no beauty, or grace, or loveliness,
that continueth in man; for this is the end of all his glory and
perfection."
I have seen an infant with a fair brow, and a frame like polished ivory.
Its limbs were pliant in its sports; it rejoiced, and again it wept;
but whether its glowing cheek dimpled with smiles, or its blue eye
was brilliant with tears, still I said to my heart, " It is beautiful." It
was like the first pure blossom, which some cherished plant has shot
6




6.MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
forth, whose cup is filled with a dew-drop, and whose head reclines
upon its parent stem.
I again saw this child when the lamp of reason first dawned in its
mind.  Its soul was gentle and peaceful; its eye sparkled with joy,
as it looked round on this good and pleasant world. It ran swiftly in
the ways of knowledge; it bowed its ear to instruction; it stood like
a lamb before its teachers.  It was not proud, or envious, or stubborn;
and it had never heard of the vices and vanities of the world.  And
when I looked upon it, I rembered that our Savior had said, " Except
ye become as little children, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of
heaven."
But the scene was changed, and I saw a man whom the world
called honorable, and many waited for his smile. They pointed out
the fields that were his, and talked of the silver and gold that he had
gathered; they admired the stateliness of his domes, and extolled the
honor of his family. And his heart answered secretly, " By my wisdom have I gotten all this;" so he returned no thanks to God, neither
did he fear or serve him. And as I passed along, I heard the complaints of laborers who had reaped down his fields, and the cries of
the poor, whose covering he had taken away; but the sound of feasting and revelry was in his apartments, and the unfed beggar came
tottering from his door. But he considered not that the cries of the
oppressed were continually entering into the ears of the Most High.
And when I knew that this man was once the teachable child that I
had loved, the beautiful infant that I had gazed upon with delight, I
said in my bitterness, "I have seen an end of all perfection;" and
I laid my mouth in the dust.
THE TWINS.
DURING the period of the war of the revolution, there resided, in
the western part of Massachusetts, a farmer by the name of Stedman.
He was a man of substance, descended from a very respectable English family, well educated, distinguished for great firmness of character in general, and alike remarkable for inflexible integrity and
steadfast loyalty to his king. Such was the reputation lie sustained,
that, even when the most violent antipathies against royalism swayed
the community, it was still admitted on all hands, that farmer Stedman, though a tory, was honest in his opinions, and firmly believed
them to be right.
The period came when Burgoyne was advancing from the north.
It was a time of great anxiety with both the friends and foes of the
revolution, and one which called forth their highest exertions. The
patriotic militia flocked to the standard of Gates and Stark, while
many of the tories resorted to the quarters of Burgoyne and Baum.




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     77
Among the latter was Stedman. He had no sooner decided it to be
his duty, than he took a kind farewell of his wife, a woman of unzcommon beauty, gave his children, a twin boy and girl, a long embrace, then mounted his horse and departed. He joined himself to
the unfortunate expedition of Baum, and was taken, with other prisoners of war, by the victorious Stark.
He made no attempt to conceal his name or character, which were
both soon discovered, and he was accordingly committed to prison as
a traitor. The gaol, in which he was confined, was in the western
part of Massachusetts, and nearly in a ruinous condition. The farmer
was one night waked from his sleep by several persons in his room:
"Come," said they, "you can now regain your liberty; we have
made a breach in the prison, through which you can escape."  To
their astonishment, Stedman utterly refused to leave his prison. In
vain they expostulated with him; in vain they represented to him that
life was at stake. His reply was, that he was a true man, and a servant of king George, and he would not creep out of a hole at night,
and sneak away from the rebels, to save his neck from the gallows.
Finding it altogether fruitless to attempt to move him, his triends left
him, with some expressions of spleen.
The time at length arrived for the trial of the prisoner. The distance to the place where the court was sitting was about sixty miles.
Stedman remarked to the sheriff, when he came to attend him, that it
would save some expense and inconvenience, if he could be permitted
to go alone, and on foot.  "And suppose," said the sheriff, " that you
should prefer your safety to your honor, and leave me to seek you
in the British camp?"  " I had thought," said the farmer, reddening
with indignation, " that I was speaking to one who knew me."  "I
do know you, indeed," said the sheriff; "I spoke but in jest; you
shall have vour way.  Go, and on the third day I shall expect to see
you at S-."   *   *   z,  The farmer departed, and at the ap
pointed time he placed himself in the hands of the sheriff.
I was now engaged as his counsel. Stedman insisted, before the
court, upon telling his whole story; and, when I would have taken
advantage of some technical points, he sharply rebuked me, and told
me that he had not employed me to prevaricate, but only to assist him
in telling the truth. I had never seen such a display of simple integrity. It was affecting to witness his love of holy, unvarnished
truth, elevating him  above every othler consideration, and presiding
in his breast as a sentiment even superior to the love of life. I saw
the tears more than once springing to the eyes of his judges; never
before, or since, have I felt such an interest in a client. I plead for
him as I would have plead for my own life. I drew tears, but I could
not sway the judgment of stern men, controlled rather by a sense of
duty than the compassionate promptings of humanity. Stedman was
condemned.  I told him there was a chance of pardon, if he would
ask for it. I drew up a petition, and requested him to sign it; but
he refused. " I have done," said he, "what I thought my duty. T




78          MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
can'ask pardon of my God, and my king; but it would be hypocrisy
to ask forgiveness of these men, for an action which I should repeat,
were I placed. again in similar circumstances. No! ask me not to
sign that petition.  If what you call the cause of American freedom
requires the blood of an honest man for a conscientious discharge of
what he deemed his duty, let me be its victim.  Go to my judges,
and tell them that I place not my fears nor my hopes in them."  It
was in vain that I pressed the subject; and I went away in despair.
In returning to my house, I accidentally called on an acquaintance,
a young man of brilliant genius, the subject of a passionate predilection for painting.  This led him frequently to take excursions into the
country, for the purpose of sketching such objects and scenes as were
interesting to him. From one of these rambles he had just returned.
I found him sitting at his easel, giving the last touches to the picture
which attracted your attention. He asked my opinion of it. " It. is
a fine picture," said I; s" is it a fancy piece, or are they portraits?"
1" They are portraits," said he; " and, save perhaps a little embellishment, they are, I think, striking portraits of the wife and children of
your unfortunate client, Stedman. In the course of my rambles, I
chanced to call at his house in H-.  I never saw a more beautiful
group. The mother is one of a thousand; and the twins are a pair
of cherubs."  "Tell me," said I, laying my hand on the picture,
"tell me, are they true and faithful portraits of the wife and children
of Stedman?"  My earnestness made my friend stare.  He assured
me that, so far as he could be permitted to judge of his own productions, they were striking representations.  I asked no further questions; I seized the picture, and hurried with it to the prison where
my client was confined. I found him sitting, his face covered with
his hands, and apparently wrung by keen emotion. I placed the
picture in such a situation that he could not fail to see it. I laid the
petition on the little table by his side, and left the room.
In half an hour I returned. The farmer grasped my hand, while
tears stole down his cheeks; his eye glanced first upon the picture,
and then to the petition. He said nothing, but handed the latter to
me. I took it, and left the apartment. He had put his name to it.
The petition was granted, and Stedman was set at liberty.-Tokcen.
THE LONE INDIAN.
BY MISS FRANCIS.
Fop many a returning autumn, a lone Indian was seen standing at
the consecrated spot we have mentioned; but, just thirty years after
the death of Soonseetah, he was noticed for the last time. His step
was then firm, and his figure erect, though he seemed old and wayworn. Age had not dimmed the fire of his eye, but an expression




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHIES.                   79
of deep melancholy had settled on his wrinkled brow. It was Powontonamo-he who had once been the Eagle of the Mohawks! He
came to lie down and die beneath the broad oak, which shadowed
the grave of Sunny-eye. Alas, the white man's axe had been there!
The tree he had planted was dead; and the vine, which had leaped
so vigorously fiom branch to branch, now, yellow and withering, was
falling to the ground. A deep groan burst from the soul of the savage. For thirty wearisome years, he had watched that oak, with its
twining tendrils. They were the only things left in the wide world
for him to love, and they were gone! He looked abroad. The
hunting land of his tribe was changed, like its chieftain. No light
canoe now shot down the river, like a bird upon the wing. The
laden boat of the white man alone broke its smooth surface. The
Englishman's road wound like a serpent around the banks of the Mohawk; and iron hoofs had so beaten down the war path, that a
hawk's eye could not discover an Indian track. The last wigwam
was destroyed; and the sun looked boldly down upon spots he had
visited only by stealth, during thousands and thousands of moons.
The few remaining trees, clothed in the fantastic mourning of autumn; the long line of heavy clouds, melting away before the coming sun; and the distant mountain, seen through thie blue mist of
departing twilight, alone remained as he had seen them in his boyhood. All things spoke a sad language to the heart of the desolate
Indian.  "Yes," said he, the young oak and the vine are like the
Eagle and the Sunny-eye. They are cut down, torn and trampled
on. The leaves are falling, and the clouds are scattering, like my
people. I wish I could once more see the trees standing thick, as
they did when my mother held me to her bosom, and sung the warlike deeds of the Mohawks."
A mingled expression of grief and anger passed over his face, as
he watched a loaded boat in its passage across the stream. "The
white man carries food to his wife and children, and he finds them in
his home," said he. "Where is the squaw and the pappoose of the
red man?  They are here!"  As he spoke, he fixed his eye thoughtfully upon the grave. After a gloomy silence, he again looked round
upon the fair scene, with a wandering and troubled gaze. "The
pale face may like it," murmured he; " but an Indian cannot die here
in peace." So saying, he broke his bow-string, snapped his arrows,
threw them on the burial-place of his fathers, and departed forever.
BURNING OF THE RICHMOND THEATRE —1811.
TIIE house was fuller than on any night of the season. The play
was over. and the first act of the pantomime had passed. The second
and last had begun. All was yet gayety, all so far had been pleasure,




80          MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
curiosity was yet alive, and further gratification anticipated-the orchestra sent forth its sounds of harmony and joy —when the audience per-.
ceived some confusion on the stage, and presently a shower of sparks
falling from above. Some were startled, others thought it was a scenic
exhibition.  A performer on the stage received a portion of.the burning
materials from on high, and it was perceived that others were tearing
down the scenery.  Some one cried out from the stage that there was
no danger.  Immediately after, Hopkins Robinson came forward and
cried out, "the house is on fire!" pointing to the ceiling where the
flames were progressing like wildfire. In a moment all was appalling
horror and distress. Robinson handed several persons from the boxes
to the stage, as a ready way for their escape. The cry of "Fire!
Fire!" ran through the house, mingled withthe wailings of females
and children. The general rush was to gain the lobbies. It appears
from  the following description of the house, and the scene that
ensued, that this was the cause of the great loss of life.
The general entrance to the pit and boxes was through a door not
more than large enough to admit three persons abreast. This outer
entrance was within a trifling distance of the pit door, and gave an
easy escape to those in that part of the house. But to attain the
boxes from the street, it was necessary to descend into a long passage,
and ascend again by an angular staircase.  The gallery had a distinct
entrance, and its occupants escaped. The suffering and death fell on
the occupants of the boxes, who, panic struck, did not see that the pit
was immediately left vacant, but pressed on to the crowded and tortuous way by which they had entered.  The pit door was so near the
general entrance, that those who occupied that portion of the house,
gained the street with ease. A gentleman who escaped from the pit
among the last, saw it empty, and when in the street, looked back
again upon the general entrance to the pit and boxes, and the door
had not vet been reached by those from the lobbies. A gentleman
and ladly were saved by being thrown accidentally into the pit; and
most of those who perished would have escaped it they had leaped
from the boxes, and sought that avenue to the street. But all darted
to the lobbies. The stairs were blocked up. All was enveloped in hot,
scorching smoke and flame. The lights were extinguished by the
black and smothering vapor, and the shrieks of despair were appalling. Happy for a moment were those who gained a window, and
inhaled the air of heaven. Those who had issued to the street cried
to the sufferers to the windows to leap down, and stretched out their
arms to save them. Some were seen struggling to gain the apertures to
inhale the fiesh air. Men, women, and children, precipitated themselves from the first and second stories. Some escaped unhurt-others were killed or mangled by the fall. Some with their clothes on
fire, shrieking, leaped from the windows to gain a short reprieve and
die in agonies.' Who can picture," says a correspondent of the Mirror, "the distress of those, who, unable to gain the windows, or afraid to leap




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCH ES.                   81
from them, were pent up in the long, narrow passages."  The cries of
those who reached the upper windows are described as heart-sickening. Many who found their way to the street, were so scorched or
burnt as to die in consequence, and some were crushed to death under
foot after reaching the outer door.
Add to this mass of suffering, the feelings of those who knew that
they had relatives or friends who had gone to the house that night.
Such rushed half frantic to the spot with the crowds of citizens from
all quarters-while the tolling of bells sounded the knell of death to
the heart of the father or mother, whose child had been permitted to
visit the theatre on that night of horror.
" As my father was leading me home," said Mr. Henry Placide,
"we saw Mr. Greene, exhausted by previous exertion, leaning on the
fence, and looking at the scene of ruin. For all was now one black
mass of smoking destruction.'Thank God,' ejaculated Greene,'thank God, I prohibited Nancy from coming to the house to-night!
She is safe 1'"
Nancy was his only daughter, just springing into womanhood, still
at the boarding-school of Mrs. Gibson; and as beautiful and lovely a
girl as imagination can picture.
Mrs. Gibson and the boarders had made up a party for the theatre
that evening, and Nancy Greene asked her father's permission to
accompany them. He refused-but unfortunately added his reason
-" the house will be crowded, and you will occupy a seat that would
otherwise be paid for."  On these words hung the fate of youth,
innocence, and beauty. "I will pay for your ticket," said the kind
instructress, "we will not leave you behind." The teacher and the
pupil were buried in the ruins on which the father gazed, and over
which he returned thanks for the safety of his child. He went home
and learned the truth.
An instance of the escape of a family is given. The husband,
with three children, were in the second boxes; his wife, with a female
friend, were in another part of the house. The wife gained a window
-leaped out and escaped unhurt.  Her friend followed and was
killed. The father clasped his two helpless little girls to his breast,
and left a boy of twelve years of age to follow; the boy was forced
from the father, ran to a window, sprang out, and was safe. The
parent, with his precious charge, followed the stairway, pressed upon
by those behind him, and those who mounted on the heads and
shoulders of the crowd before them: he became unconscious, but was
still borne along; he was taken up, carried to his bed, and opened
his eyes to see all his family safe.
On the contrary, Lieutenant Gibbon, of the Navy, as exemplary in
private life, as heroic in the service of his country, and on the brink
of a union with Miss Conyers, the pride of Richmond for every
accomplishment and virtue, was swept into eternity, while exerting
himself to do all that man should do in such trying circumstances.
He was with his mother at the theatre, and carried her to a place of
6




82         MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
safety —then rushed back to save her in whose fate his own was bound
up; he caught her in his arms, had borne her partly down the staircase, when the steps gave way, and a body of flame swept them to
eternity.
Friday, the 27th of September, 1811, was a day of mourning to
Richmond. The banks and stores were closed. A law was passed
prohibiting amusements of every kind for four months. A day was
set apart for humiliation and prayer. A monument was resolved on,
to be erected to the memory of the dead and the event.
A law passed to prohibit amusements of any kind forfour months!
Would it not have better comported with the deep scene of wretchedness which pervaded that city, not to have prohibited all kinds of
amusements for four months-but to have banished the theatre
forever
THE BROTHERS' QUARREL.
OF the divided affections too often observed among brothers, a most
remarkable instance happened a few years ago, in the family of a
gentleman of the north of Scotland.  George and William Sterling
were the only sons of the gentleman alluded to, and they had grown
to manhood in the exercise of that mutual friendship, which is so delightful to observe in relations in that degree of consanguinity. I was
not aware that there was anything remarkable in their characters:
they were simply, two respectable young men, of good education;
and while the elder was reared to the enjoyment of a competent fortune, the younger soon attained such a degree of distinction at the
bar, as rendered his fate little less enviable.
On the death of their mother, which took place when they were
between twenty and thirty years of age, some dispute arose, respecting a legacy, the distinction of which had not been expressed in terms
sufficiently clear, and which, after a brief suit at law was determined
in favor of the elder brother. At first, it was resolved by the two
brothers that this plea should be amicably conducted, merely for the
purpose of deciding an uncertain matter; but some circumstances
unexpectedly occured, which, acting' upon the inflammable nature
of the elder, and not being met by a proper spirit by the younger
~brother, speedily produced a decided alienation between them. Each
retired suddenly into the fortress of his own pride; nor were their
father's entreaties and good offices, or their common recollection of
twenty affectionate and happy years, of the least avail, in bringing
them once more together.
They did not meet again for ten years: it was at their father's
funeral. The old gentleman had died in the presence of his oldest son




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                      83
only, reiterating with his latest breath those injunctions so often before
employed in vain, that his two sons might be restored to brotherly
friendship, an object, he said, which engrossed his thoughts so much
in life, that he felt as if he could not rest in peace in his grave unless
it were accomplished.  The two brothers met, but without taking the
least notice of each other, when respectively mounting their carriages,
in order to follow the corpse of their father to the family buryingground in Aberdeen.  Their hearts were still filled with fierce and
indignant feelings toward each other, though it is not improbable that
the elder had been somewhat touched, almost imperceptibly to himself, by the dying entreaties of his father.  The procession, consisting
of a hearse and the carriages of the two brothers, set out on its long
and dreary journey, which was rendered additionally melancholy by
the gloom of a December day.
It was originally designed that there should be no stoppage, except
to exchange horses, till they reached their destination; but this arrangement was destined to be strangely disconcerted.  A fall of snow
which had begun only that morning in the low country, was found,
when they reached the hilly region, to have been of two days' continuance; and it was with the greatest difficulty that they reached
a lonely inn, about half way to the capitol, beyond which it was
declared by the postillions, there was no possibility of proceeding
that day. This humble place of entertainment was accustomed to
lodge only such guests as carriers, and as it was partly occupied, on
the present occasion, by various wayfarers, the hcmt, with all anxiety
to accommodate such distinguished guests as those who had just
arrived, found he could not by any means offer them more than two
rooms. It was his expectation, that, while one of these was devoted,
as decency required, to the reception of the corpse, the other would
serve for the two mourners, and he accordingly proposed to make up
an additional bed in the room, which *he had marked as that which
should receive his living guests. What wvas his astonishment, and
what was the astonishment of all the inmates of the house, when he
was informed by a servant that one of the gentlemen would sleep in
one of the rooms, while the other had no objection to that in which
he had placed the corpse! It was not, however, for him to make
any resistance to such an arrangement, and he accordingly caused
the rooms to be prepared as befitted the tastes of his guests.
It must communicate a strange feeling to know that two brothers,
men of cultivated understandings, and each respected in his sphere
for public and private worth-actually carried this dreadful arrangement into effect, in order to avoid what they must have contemplated
as a more painful thing  the spending of a single night in each
other's company. It was the younger who proposed, as a solution
of the dilemma, in which he found they were placed, to take up his
quarters in the same chamber with the corpse; unpardonable as the
elder was for his share of the dissension, it was but justice to him to
state that he could not, after the dying request of his father, have




84          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
encountered the sensations which might be expected to arise in so
dreadful a situation.
During the evening, as the storm prevented them from going out
of doors, each kept his own room, and was severally served with the
refreshments, which he required.  Night came and each went to rest.
Morning returned, and still the storm was unabated.  It was therefore necessary to spend another day in the same extraordinary circumstances. Slowly, slowly walled the houirs of the twilight day;
and still the snow continued to fall in its broad and lazy flakes, seeming to the two brothers, as each surveyed it listlessly from his window,
the very personification of monotony. As the rooms were close to
each other, and only divided by a thin partition, through which there
was a door of communication, each of the unhappy gentlemen could
over-hear everything that his neighbor did, almost to his very breathing. It at length became the amusement of each, unknown to his
fellow, to watch the proceedings of the other-to note every footfall,
to register every sigh.  George in particular, became interested in
spite of himself, in the situation of his brother, which, in consideration of what he had heard from the lips of his dying father, bore to
him an aspect more repulsive and painful than perhaps to the actual
sufferer.
At length, when after a weary day, the time of rest again drew
nigh, and the house became more than usually still, he heard a
groan-a groan partly suppressed, but still bearing distinctly the impress of unutterable anguish-proceed from his brother's room. He
listened more intently, and in a few minutes he could make out that
the living tenant of the death-chamber was prostrated beside the
coffin, weeping-bitterly weeping-but still making every effort to
bury the expression of his grief in his own bosom. It may easily
be imagined that such sounds, coming upon a heart which had been
insensibly undergoing a softening process during the whole day,
must have had the best effect. Still the rancor of ten years was not
to be got, over by tears shed under such circumstances.  He softly
stole, however, to the door, and watched with the most intense anxiety, every respiration and movements of his afflicted brother. After
waiting a few minutes, he distinctly heard William breathe forth the
words, " Oh, mother!" and that in a tone which referred so pointedly to the source of their unhappy quarrel, that he could no longer
entertain a doubt as to the nature of his brother's present reflections.
A thousand tender associations were awakened by that endeared
word; he reverted to their early days, when they had no contentions,
but for her affections, no rivalry, but for the kind bounty, which she
was always ready to bestow upon each alike. Human nature could
hold no longer, and he gently tapped at the door which had hitherto
kept them apart: "William," he said, "may I come in?" The
voice of affection could not be mistaken. William opened the door
in an instant, and, as if he had guessed intuitively the disposition of
his brother, rushed into his arms.




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                     85
The next day saw the two brothers amicably proceeding in one
vehicle to the family burying-place, where, in the grave of their
father, they inhumed every bitter feeling they had ever entertained
against each other; and at present, taught by the sufferings they endured in their period of alienation, there is no pair of friends who
take such pains to cherish each other's affections, or to avoid all
means of converting them into gall.
AN HONEST LAWYER'S FEE.
IT is now five years since the widow Stiles called on me, one morning before breakfast, and asked me to recommend her to some lawyer,
as she thought her friend Stubbs was less correct than he might be.
I asked her to step into the parlor, and went myself to my breakfast,
and to my wife, whose advice I always asked on such points. We
had known Mrs. Jared Stiles many years. Her husband was a great
land-owner in a goodly town of the western country, and with a distinguished love that deserved some better aim, ever pressed it on his
helpmate, as the first rule of life, to get all she could, and keep all
she got. He died, and Mrs. Stiles became more religious and almsgiving, but also more and more fond of wealth, and sensible of the
admirable advice which her husband had given her.
I stated the fact to my wife, and awaited her opinion.
"Well, William," she said, after drinking a cup of coffee on my
story, "I fear the old lady has some money-getting claim in view;
you know she has of late given all her affections to the getting of
more wealth. I would therefore recommend her to the most honest
and conscientious lawyer in town, and not to the most acute and
thorough one. She relies on your judgment; use it; not for her
seeming, but her real good."
I counted my legal acquaintance over —twice over —before I hit on
one answering the terms, " honest and conscientious," in the sense in
which I knew Ellen used them. At length I found him, and taking
my hat, walked with the widow to his office.
We found Mr. Sawyer at his desk; he arose and gave us chairs,
and awaited Mrs. Stiles' statement. But before I go on in this point,
let me say a few words of this phenomenon-this man with his head
under his left-arm, close to his heart-this honest lawyer, in the
broadest, highest sense of the term. He was a man of thirty-five;
he had studied law because he liked the study, and began to practice
because he had to get a living; and now he continued in the profession, in spite of bad opponents, and bad courts, because he thought
he had done, and might yet do much good by his labors; not only by
saving the innocent and needy from the strong and cruel; but prevent



86          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
ing strife, putting a stop to half-knavish practices, and dissuading
men and women from unjust suits, and passion-rousing quarrels.
Mr. Sawyer thought it not only proper for him to refuse acting
for those -whose claims he thought dishonest, but he counted it also a
duty and privilege, nay, a mere charity, to strive to persuade them to
forget such claims. He soug'ht fame and extensive practice as means
whereby to exert a moral influence over the community. He thought
a lawyer bound to serve, not a client only, but God and his country;
and looked on him, who for gain would prosecute a suit which he
thought unfair, as a traitor to his country and his religion, in act,
whatever he might be in intention. In short, as Bill Blunt once said,
"Sawyer was such a fool as to think it an attorney's business to help
the parson make men good Christians."
And now we shall let Mrs. Stiles state her business.  It seems that
her husband had sold and conveyed several lots, which her father had
left in trust for her, and in such a form that she, meaning to release
her fee in the lots, had in term, merely released right of dower.
These lots she understood she could get back.
"Did you receive the money for them?" said Mr. Sawyer.
"Certainly, sir."
"Was it a fair, full price for the land?"
"It was all we asked, sir."
" Did you sign the deed willingly?"' Of course; do you think Jared would have driven me to do it?"
"Did you mean to convey a full title in fee, Mrs. Stiles?"
"Beyond doubt; but as we didn't, they tell me the land never
passed."
I"Suppose, Mrs. Stiles, the money had been paid before you had
drawn the deed, should you have thought it honest, after getting the
money to refuse to give the deed?"
"c Why, lawyer, that would have been thieving right down."
"Well, Mrs. Stiles, you have not yet given the deed-shall I draw
one for you to sign?"
" Why, bless your soul, Sawyer, that is the deed you hold in your
hand.7"
"Mrs. Stiles, if you had given the man, when he paid you money
for the lots, a sheet of blank paper, and he had not looked at it,
would that have been a deed?"
"Of course not."
"But you meant to give a full title in fee?"
" Yes."
",Well, this is not such a title any more than a sheet of blank paper;
you have not yet given the deed. ShalI I draw a quit-claim deed for
you to sign?"
Mrs. Stiles looked at me, and looked at the window; looked very
much puzzled,'and somewhat abashed.  At last she said: "But
don't the law say the land's mine,'squire?"




IMORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                       87
"'We zali't tenl that," said Mr. Sawyer, "till the case is tried.
First, let us ge6 things ctraight, and have the bargain complete; and
then, if you please, we will go to Law about it."
The widow was fairly caugh' in a corner.  At length, with a gasp,
she asked how much he would ask for a quit-claim deed; this charge,
the attorney told her, the other party would willingly pay, he had no
doubt, and taking down a blank proceeded to fill it. Before we left,
the bargain was complete; the deed was signed, witnessed, and acknowledged.
" And pray," said the widow, as we walked home, " what sort of
a lawyer do you call that man?  I verily bLlieve he has cheated me
out of all them lots! I have a great mind to go. back and tear that
deed all to flinders."
I assured her that not only was it too late, but that she had done
the proper thing under the circumstances, and advised her in future
to employ no one but Mr. Sawyer.  Much to my saiprise, she took
my advice, and thenceforth that gentleman was htY solicitor and
counselor.
Last week the widow Stiles died, leaving me her exa;cator. After
the. funeral we opened her will, and found it, to our astonlhsment, in
her own hand-writing:
"Know ye all," it began, "that whereas I'm  going to give something to my attorney. I write this myself; that is, I, Jane, >leht of
Jared Stiles, being of sound mind and body,-Know all men, that
wlhereas said attorney, to wit, videlicet: James Sawyer, of this said
town that I'm of, namely, the town of Jackson, whereas I say, first
led me to see the folly of giving my old age to the heaping up of
filthy lucre, and caused me to turn aside from a course that was, as
I have seen, wholly wrong, for which be he blessed in this life and
forever. Therefore, know ye, that as a small token of respect and
love, for said attorney, to wit, namely James Sawyer, who has of late,
been unfortunate, and much distressed in worldly matters, I do
hereby, by these presents, give, bequeath, will, transfer, make over,
and pass unto the aforesaid Sawyer, every cent I've got in the world;
goods, chattels, land, money, books, dress and jewels, for his and his
heirs' good; leaving it to him to give to my several friends such
articles as are marked with their names.
Witness my hand and seal, November 20th, 1836.
JANE STILES.
Knowing, as I did, Mr. Sawyer's troubles in these hard times, I
shook his hand most joyfully.
"It is a fee, my friend, said he, " that I must thank you for."
"She must leave fifty thousand dollars," I replied.
"I was thinking," answered he, " not of the money, but the change
of life and heart; that is the fee I prize."




88         MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.
PERILOUS INCIDENT ON A  CANADIAN RIVER.*
A YouNG man and his sister have kept this ferry several years,
during which they have performed many acts of heroic benevolence,
and have rescued numbers of their fellow-creatures from a watery
grave.  One of these had so much of perilous adventure in it, that I
shall make no apology for giving some account of it, the more especially as I was myself one of the trembling and anxious spectators
of the whole scene.
A raft of timber on its way down the river to the nearest port,
was dashed to pieces by the violence of the rapids.  There was the
usual number of men upon it, all of whom, except two, were fortunate enough to get upon a few logs, which kept together, and were
comparatively safe, while their two comrades, were helplessly contending with the tumbling waves, almost within reach of them, but
without their being able to afford them  the slightest assistance.
After a minute or two, and when one more would have been their
last, a long oar or sweep, belonging to the wretched raft, came sweeping by.
They instantly seized it, and held on till they were carried
down more than a mile, loudly calling for help as they went along;
but what aid could we render them?  No craft, none, at least, which
were on the banks of the river, could live in such a boiling torrent
as that; for it was during one of the high spring freshets.  But the
ferryman was of a different opinion, and could not brook the thought
of their dying before his eyes without his ever making a single effort
to save them. " How could I stand idly looking on," said he to me
afterward, " with a tough ash oar in my hand, and a tight little craft
at my feet, and hear their cries for help, and see them drowned?"
He determined, at all risks, to try to rescue them from the fate which
seemed to us inevitable. He could not, however, go alone, and there
was not another man on that side of the river within half a mile of
him. His sister knew this, and courageously, like another Grace
Darling, proposed, at once, to accompany him in his perilous adventure.
From being so often on the water with her brother, she knew
well how to handle an oar. Often, indeed, without him she had
paddled a passenger across the ferry in her little canoe. He accepted
her proposal, and we had the satisfaction of seeing the light punt put
off from the shore opposite to tliat from which we were idly and
uselessly looking on, and go gallantly over the surging torrent toward
the sinking men.  We feared, however, that it would not be in time
to save them, as their cries for help grew fainter and fainter, till each
one, we thought, would have been their last. We saw that the oar,
*FromMemoirs of a Church Missionary in Canada.




MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.                       89
with the drowning men clinging to it, was rapidly floating down the
middle of the stream, which, in this particular locality, is more than
a quarter of a mile in breadth, and would inevitably, in two or three
minutes more, be in the white water among the breakers, when their
fate must be sealed, and the boat, if it followed, dashed to pieces
among the rocks. This was the principal point of danger, and they
had to run down within a most fearful proximity of it, to cross the
course down which the drowning men were drifting, and as they did
so, to seize hold of them without losing their own headway; for there
was not time for that. They succeeded in shooting athwart the current, rapid  as it was, just below the men.  With breathless
and painful anxiety we saw them execute this dangerous manceuver. We saw the ferryman lean over the side of the boat for a
moment, as it passed them, while his sister backed.water with her
oar.
" They were saved!" some one said, close behind me, in a whisper
so deep and earnest that I started, and turned to look at the speaker;
when another, who heard him, exclaimed, " No, no! they are gone!
they are lost! the boat has left them!"  And sure enough, it had.
But in an instant afterward, just as we thought they were about to
be driven into the fatal breakers, they turned, to our inexpressible
delight, as if drawn by some invisible power (the rope the ferryman
had attached to the oar, was indeed invisible to us,) and followed
the boat.
The ferryman and his sister had yet to pull a fearful distance for
the time they had to do it in, to get out of that part of the current
leading to the breakers; and they accomplished it.  The man had
the bow oar, and we could see the tough ash bend like a willow-wand
as he stretched out to keep the head of the ~boat partially up the
stream. His sister, too, " kept her own," and the little punt shot
out rapidly into the comparatively quiet stream, beyond the influence
of the fearful current, which was rapidly driving them upon the
breakers.  When this was accomplished, our fears for the noblehearted brother and sister were at an end, and we took a long breath;
it was indeed a relief to do so. Still we continued to watch their
further proceedings with the deepest interest.
The moment they got into a less rapid current, which, they knew,
led into comparatively still water, they ceased rowing, and allowed
the punt to float down with it.  The young ferryman now drew up
the sweep alongside, and succeeded in getting the two unfortunate
men into his boat. While he was doing this, his sister went aft, and
used her oar as a rudder to steer the boat. At the foot of the current, which they soon afterward reached, there was no further danger.
But we watched them still; and we saw them row ashore, on their
own side of the river. One of the poor fellows was so much exhausted, that the ferryman had to carry him  on his back to the
nearest house, where he soon recovered.




90         MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.
Twelve months after this took place, I had the satisfaction of pre
senting to this worthy ferryman, in the presence of above five hundred men, a beautiful silver medallion, sent out to me by the Royal
Humane Society, to which I had transmitted an account of the ocdurrence. Nor was the heroine of my story forgotten. A similar medallion was given to him for his sister. She could not, with propriety,
be present herself, as it was the annual muster-day of the militia in
that locality.
EXTRICATION OF A FRIGATE FROM THE SHOALS.
BY J. FENIMORE COOPER.
THE extraordinary activity of Griffith, which communicated itself
with promptitude to the whole crew, was produced by a sudden alteration in the weather.  In place of the well-defined streak along the
horizon, that has been already described, an immense body of
mist;y light appeared to be moving in, with rapidity, from the ocean,
while a distinct but distant roaring announced the sure approach of
the tempest that had so long troubled the waters. Even Griffith,
while thundering his orders through the trumpet, and urging the men,
by his cries, to expedition, would pause, for instants, to cast anxious
glances in the direction of the coming storm, and the faces of the
sailors who lay on the yards were turned, instinctively, towards the
same quarter of the heavens, while they knotted the reef-points, or
passed the gaskets, that were to confine the unruly canvas to the
prescribed limits.
The pilot alone, in that confused and busy throng, where voice rose
above voice, and cry echoed cry, in quick succession, appeared as if
he held no interest in the important stake.  WiLh his eyes steadily
fixed on the approaching mist, and his arms folded together, in
composure, he stood calmly awaiting the result.
The ship had fallen off, with her broadside to the sea, and was
become unmanageable, and the sails were already brought into the
folds necessary to her security,.when the quick and heavy fluttering
of canvas was thrown across the water, with all the gloomy and
chilling sensations that such sounds produce, where darkness and
danger unite to appall the seaman.
" The schooner has it I" cried Griffith; "Barnstable has held on,
like himself, to the last moment-God send that the squall leave him
cloth enough to keep him from the shore 1"
" His sails are easily handled," the commander observed, "and
she must be over the principal danger. We are falling off before it,.Mr. Gray; shall we, try a cast of the lead?"




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                       91
The pilot turned from his contemplative posture, and moved slowly,
across the deck, before he returned any reply to this question-like a
man who not only felt that everything depended on himself, but that
he was equal to the emergency.
"'Tis unnecessary," he at length said; "'t would be certain
destruction to be taken aback, and it is difficult to say, within several
points, how the wind may strike us."
"'T is difficult no longer," cried Griffith; "for here it comes, and
in right earnest 1"
The rushing sounds of the wind were now, indeed, heard at hand,
and the words were hardly passed the lips of the young lieutenant,
before the vessel bowed down heavily to one side, and then, as she
began to move through the water, rose again majestically to her
upright position, as if saluting, like a courteous champion, the powerful antagonist with which she was about to contend.  Not another
minute elapsed, before the ship was throwing the waters aside, with a
lively progress, and, obedient to her helm, was brought as near to
the desired course, as the direction of the wind would allow.  The
hurry and bustle on the yards gradually subsided, and the men
slowly descended to the deck, all straining their eyes to pierce the
gloom in which they were enveloped, and some shaking their heads in
melancholy doubt, afraid to express the apprehensions they really
entertained.  All on board anxiously waited for the fury of the gale;
for there were none so ignorant or inexperienced in that gallant friSate, as not to know, that they, as yet, only felt the infant efforts of
the wind.  Each moment, however, it increased in power, though so
gradual was the alteration, that the relieved mariners began to believe
that all their gloomy forebodings were'not to be realized.  During
this short interval of uncertainty, no other sounds were heard than
the whistling- of the breeze, as it passed quickly through the mass of
rigg'ing that belonged too the vessel, and the dashing of the spray,
that began to fly from her bows, like the foam of a cataract.
" It blovvs fresh," cried Griffith, who was the first to speak in theat
moment of doubt and anxiety; "but it is no more than a cap-full
of wind, after all.  Give us elbow-room, and the right canvas, Mr.
Pilot, and I'll handle the ship like a gentleman's yacht, in this
breeze."
" Will she stay, think ye, under this sail?" said the low voice of
the stranger.
" She will do all that man, in reason, can ask of wood and iron,"
returned the lieutenant; "but the vessel don't float the ocean that
will tack under double-reefed topsails alone, against a heavy sea.
HI-elp her with the courses, pilot, and you'll see her come round like
a dancing-master."
iLet us feel the strength of the gale first," returned the man wlho
was called Mr. Gray, moving from the side of Griffith to the weather,
gang-way of the vessel, where he stood in silence, looking ahead oI
the ship, with an air of singular coolness and abstraction.
7




92          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
All the lanterns had been extinguished on the deck of the frigate,
when her anchor was secured, and as the first mist of the gale had
passed over, it was succeeded by a faint light, that was a good deal
aided by the glittering foam of the waters, which now broke in white
curls around the vessel, in every direction. The land could be faintly
discerned, rising, like a heavy bank of black fog, above the margin
of the waters, and was only distinguishable from the heavens, by its
deeper gloom and obscurity. The last rope was coiled, and deposited
in its proper place, by the seamen, and for several minutes the stillness of death pervaded the crowded decks. It was evident to every
one, that their ship was dashing at a prodigious rate through the
waves; and, as she was approaching, with such velocity, the quarter
of the bay where the shoals and dangers were known to be situated,
nothing but the habits of the most exact discipline could suppress the
uneasiness of the officers and men within their own bosoms. At
length the voice of Captain Munson was heard, calling to the pilot.
" Shall I send a hand into the chains, Mr. Gray," he said, "and
try our water?"
M;  *   *   e*  3*;   a   a   *   e   *   *
" Tack your ship, sir, tack your ship; I would see how she works,
before we reach the point, where she must behave well, or we
perish."
Griffith gazed after him in wonder, while the pilot slowly paced the
quarter-deck, and then, rousing from his trance, gave forth th'e cheering order that called each man to his station, to perform the desired
evolution.  The confident assurances which the young officer had
given to the pilot, respecting the qualities of his vessel, and his own
ability to manage her, were fully realized by the result. The helm
was no sooner put a-lee, than the huge ship bore up gallantly against
the wind, and, dashing directly through the waves, threw the foam
ligh into the air, as she looked boldly into the very eye of the wind,
and then, yielding gracefully to its power, she fell off on the other
tack, with her head pointed from those dangerous shoals that she had
so recently approached with such terrifying velocity.  The heavy
yards swung round, as if they had been vanes to indicate the currents of the air, and in a few moments the frigate again moved, with
stately progress, through the water, leaving the rocks and shoals
behind her on one side of the bay, but advancing towards those that
offered equal danger on the other.
During this time, the sea was becoming more agitated, and the violence of the wind was gradually increasing. The latter no longer
whistled amid the cordage of the vessel, but it seemed to howl, surlily,
as it passed the complicated machinery that the frigate obtruded on
its path. An endless succession of white surges rose above the heavy
billows, and the very air was glittering with the light that was disengaged from  the ocean.  The ship yielded, each moment, more and
nlore before the storm, and, in less than half an hour from the time;hlat she had lifted her anchor, she was driven along, with tremendous




MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.                         98
fury, by the full power of a gale of wind.  Still, the hardy and experiencecl  mariners, who directed her movements, held her to the
course that was necessary to their preservation, and still Griffith gave
fbrth, when directed by their unknown pilot, those orders that turned
her in the narrow channel where safety was, alone, to be found.
So far, the performance of his duty appeared easy to the, stranger,
and he gave the required directions in those still, calm tones, that
formed so remarkable a contrast to the responsibility of his situation.
But when the land was becoming dim, in distance as well as darkness,
and the agitated sea was only to be discovered as it swept by them in
foam, he broke in upon the monotonous roaring of the tempest, with
the sounds of his voice, seeming to shake off his apathy, and rouse
himself to the occasion.
" Now is the time to watch her closely, Mr. Griffith," he cried;
"here we get the true and the real danger.  Place the best quartermaster of your ship in those chains, and let an officer stand by him,
and see that he gives us the right water."
"I will take the office on Imyself," said the captain; " pass a light
into the weather main-chains."
" Stand by your braces!" exclaimed the pilot, with startling quickness.  "Heave away that lead 1"
These preparations taught the crew to expect the crisis, and every
officer and man stood in fearful silence, at his assigned station, awvaiting' the issue of the trial.  Even the quarter-master at the cun gave
out his orders to the men at the wheel in deeper and hoarser tones
than usual, as if anxious not to disturb the quiet and order of the
vessel.
While this deep expectation pervaded the frigate, the piercing cry
of the leadsman, as he called, " By the mark seven!" rose above the
tempest, crossed over the decks, and appeared to pass away to leewardl, borne on the blast, like the warnings of some water spirit.
v'Tis well," returned the pilot, calmly; "try it again."
The short pause was succeeded by another cry, "and a half-five!"
She shoals! she shoals i" exclaimed Griffith; " keep her a good
full."
Ay I you must hold the vessel in command, now," said the pilot,
with those cool tones that are most appalling in critical moments,
because they seem to denote most preparation and care.
The third call of " By the deep four 1" was followed by a prompt
direction from the stranger to tack.
Griffith seemed to emulate the coolness of the pilot, in issuing the
necessary orders to execute this manneuvre.
The vessel rose slowly from the inclined position into which she
had been forced by the tempest, and the sails were shaking violently,
Ias if to release themselves from their confinement, while the ship
stemmed the billows, when the well-known voice of the sailing-master
was heard shouting from the forecastle"Breakers I breakers, dead ahead i"




D.          fMORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
This appalling sound seemed yet to be lingering about the ship,
when a second voice cried —
"Breakers on our lee-bow 1"
"We are in a bight of the shoals, Mr. Gray," said the commander.
"She loses her way; perhaps an anchor might hold her."
" Clear away. that best-bower!" shouted Griffith through his
trumpet.
"Hold on!" cried the pilot, in a voice that reached the very hearlts
of all who heard him; " hold on every thing."
The young man turned fiercely to the daring stranger, who thus
defied the discipline of his vessel, and at once demanded,
" Who is it that dares to countermand my orders?-is it not enough
that you run the ship into danger, but you must interfere to keep her
there! If another word-"
"'Peace, Mr. Griffith," interrupted the captain, bending from the
rigging, his gray locks blowing about in the wind, and adding a look
of wildness to the haggard care that he exhibited by the light of his
lantern; "yield the trumpet to Mr. Gray; he alone can save us."
Griffitlh threw his speaking trumpet on the deck, and, as he walked
proudly away, muttered in bitterness of feeling,
"Then all is lost, indeed, and, among the rest, ethe foolish hopes
with which I visited this coast."
There was, however, no time for reply; the ship had been rapidly
running into the wind, and, as the efforts of the crew were paralyzed
by the contradictory orders they had heard, she gradually lost her
way, and, in a few seconds, all her sails were taken aback.
Before the crew understood their situation, the pilot had applied
the trumpet to his mouth, and, in a voice that rose above the tempest,
he thundered forth his orders. Each command was giv;en distinctly,
and with a precision that showed him to be master of his profession.
The helm was kept fast, the head yards swung up heavily against the
wind, and the vessel was soon whirling round on her heel, with a retrograde movement.
Griffith was too much of a seaman, not to perceive that the pilot
had seized, with a perception almost intuitive, the only method that
promised to extricate the vessel from her situation. He was young,
impetuous, and proud; but he was also generous. Forgetting his
resentment and his mortification, he rushed forward among the men,
and, by his presence and example, added certainty to the experiment.
The ship fell off slowly before the gale, and bowed her yards nearly
to the water, as she felt the blast pouring its fury on her broadside,
while the surly waves beat violently against her stern, as if in
reproach at departing from her usual manner of moving.
The voice of the pilot, however, was still heard, steady and calm,
and yet so clear and high as to reach every ear; and the obedient
seamen whirled the yard~ at his bidding, in despite of the tempest, as
if they handled the toys of their childhood. When the ship had
fallen off dead before the wind, her head sails were shaken, her after




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   95
yards trimmed, and her helm  shifted, before she had time to run
upon the danger that had threatened, as well to leeward as to windward.  The beautiful fabric, obedient to her government, threw her
bows up gracefully towards the wind again, and, as her sails were
trimmed, moved out from amongst the dangerous shoals, in which she
had been embayed, as steadily and swiftly as she had approached
them.
A moment of breathless astonishment succeeded the accomplish-.
ment of this nice manoeuvre, but there was no time for the usual
expressions of surprise. The stranger still held the trumpet, and continued to lift his voice amid the howlings of the blast, whenever prudence or skill directed any change in the management of the ship.
For an hour longer, there was a fearful struggle for their preservation, the channel becoming, at each step, more complicated, and the
shoals thickening around the mariners, on every side.  The lead Awas
cast rapidly, and the quick eye of the pilot seemed to pierce the darkness, with a keenness of vision that exceeded human power. It was
apparent to all in the vessel, that *they were under the guidance of
one who understood the navigation thoroughly, and their exertions
kept pace with their reviving confidence.  Again and again the
frigate appeared to be rushing blindly on shoals, where the sea was
covered with foam, and where destruction would have been as sudden
as it was certain, when the clear voice of the stranger was heard
warning them of the danger, and inciting them to their duty. The
vessel was implicitly yielded to his government, and during those
anxious moments, when she was dashing the waters aside, throwing
the spray over her enormous yards, each ear would listen eagerly for
those sounds that had obtained a command over the crew, that can
only be acquired, under such circumstances, by great steadiness and
consummate skill. The ship was recovering from the inaction of
changing her course, in one of those critical tacks that she had made
so often, when the pilot, for the first time, addressed the commander
of the frigate, who still continued to superintend the all-important
duty of the leadsman.
"Now is the pinch," he said, " and if the ship behaves well, we
are safe-but if otherwise, all we have yet done will be useless."
The veteran seaman whom he addressed left the chains, at this
portentous notice, and, calling to his first lieutenant, required of the
stranger an explanation of his warning.
"See you yon light on the southern headland?" returned the pilot;
"'you may know it from the star near it by its sinking, at times, in
the ocean. Now observe the hummoc, a little north of it, looking
like a shadow in the horizon-'tis a hill far inland. If we keep that
light open from the hill, we shall do well —but if not, we surely go
to pieces."
" Let us tack again!" exclaimed the lieutenant.
The pilot shook his head, as he replied"There is no more tacking or box-hauling to be done to-night.




9D(1        i~~MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
WVe bave barely room  to pass out of the shoals on this course, and if
we can weather the'Devil's-Grip,' we clear their outermost pointbut if not, as I said before, there is but an alternative."
" If we had beaten out the way we entered," exclaimed Griffith,
"we should have done well."
"4 Say, also, if the tide would have let us do so," returned the
pilot, calmly.  "Gentlemen, we must be prompt; we have but a mile
to go, and the ship appears to fly.  That topsail is not enough to keep
her up to the wind; we want both jib and mainsail."
"'T is a perilous thing to loosen canvas in such a tempest!" observed the doubtful captain.
"It must be done," returned the collected stranger; " we perish,
without it-see! the light already touches the edge of the hummoc;
the sea. casts us to leeward!"
-"IIt shall be done!" cried Griffith, seizing the trumpet from the
hand of the pilot.
The orders of the lieutenant were executed almost as soon as issued,
and, every thing' being ready, the enormous folds of the mainsail
were trusted, loose, to the blast.  There was an instant when the
result was doubtful; the tremendous threshing of the heavy sails,
seeming to bid defiance to all restraint, shaking the ship to her centre;
but art and strength prevailed, and gradually the canvas was distended, and, bellying as it filled, was drawn down to its usual place,
by the power of a hundred men. The vessel yielded to this immense
additional force, and bowed before it, like a reed bending to a breeze.
But the success of the measure was announced by a joyful cry from
the stranger, that seemed to burst from his inmost soul.,
"She feels it! she springs her luff! observe," he said, "the light
opens from the hummoc already; if she will only bear her canvas,
we shall go clear!"
A report, like that of a cannon, interrupted his exclamation, and
something resembling a white cloud was seen drifting before the wind
from the head of the ship, till it was driven into the gloom, far to
leeward.
"'T is the jib, blown from the bolt-ropes," said the commander of
the frigate.  "This is no time to spread light duck-but the mainsail
may stalnd it yet.", "The sail would laugh at a tornado," returned the lieutenant;
"but that mast springs like a piece of steel."
" Silence all!" cried the pilot.  " Now, gentlemen, we shall soon
know our fate. Let her luff-luff you can i"
This warning effectually closed all discourse, and the hardy mariners, knowing that they had already done all in the power of man to
ensure their safety, stood in breathless anxiety, awaiting tile result.
At a short distance ahead of them, the whole ocean was white with
foam, and the waves, instead' of rolling on, in regular succession,
appeared to be tossing about in mad gambols.  A single streak of
dark billows, not half a cable's length in width, could be discerned




M[O RAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    97
running into this chaos of water; but it was soon lost to the eye,
amid the confusion of the disturbed element.  Along this narrow path
the vessel moved more heavily than before, being brought so near the
wind as to keep her sails touching. The pilot silently proceeded to
the wheel, and, with his own hands, he undertook the steerage of the
ship. No noise proceeded from  the frigate to interrupt the horrid
tumult of the ocean, and she entered the channel among the breakers, with the silence of a desperate calmness. Twenty times, as the
foam rolled away to leeward, the crew were on the eve of uttering
their joy, as they supposed the vessel past the danger; but breaker
after breaker would still rise before them, following each other into
the general mass, to check their exultation.  Occasionally, the fluttering of the sails would be heard; and, when the looks of the
startled seamen were turned to the wheel, they beheld the stranger
grasping its spokes, with his quick eye glancing from the water to the
canvas. At length the ship reached a point, where she appeared to
be rushing directly into the jaws of destruction, when, suddenly, her
course was changed, and her head receded rapidly from the wind.
At the same moment, the voice of the pilot was heard, shouting,
" Square away the yards! —in mainsail!"
A general burst from the crew echoed, " Square away the yards!"
and, quick as thought, the frigate was seen gliding along the channel,
before the wind. The eye had hardly time to dwell on the foam,
which seemed like clouds driving in the heavens, and directly the gallant vessel issued from her perils, and rose and fell on the heavy
waves of the open sea.
EXPLOSION OF THE STEAMER MOZELLE
A THRILLING SKETCH.*
"Captain of the Mozelle, sir?"
" Yes."
"Up for Cairo and New Orleans, I see."
" Just so."
" When do you leave?"
"At three, this afternoon."
"Please book my name for Cairo."
"Be aboard before three or you will be left."
"I will," said I, though I knew it would be a wonderful thing, if a
boat should leave at its advertised time.
The Mozelle was a new, excellent, and fast boat; she had never
* This sketch of the terrible explosion of this unfortunate steamboat, nearly opposite
Cincinnati, in 1838, is by an eye-witness, and copied from Arthur's Home Gazette.




98           MORAL TALES  jAND  SKETCHES.
made a trip, but her commander intended on this clay to show her off
to the best advantage.
Before three o'clock I went on board; she was thronged with passengers, many of them  the elite of the city, all in good hurnor,
anticipating a delightful voyage in this palace of the waters.
A.t Fulton, a small village about two miles up the river, were a
large number of emigrants-Germans I believe-consisting of men,
women, and children, who were to be taken aboard the 5Mozelle at that
place.
An hour was spent in taking' aboard the emigrants and their heavy
luggage.  Many an eye then brightened with hope as it rested on
the noble craft, which they thought, would so soon bring them to the
promised land.  Not a tear of regret was shed on leaving a strange
shore, where no sympathizing friends stood to wave them an adieu.
Alas! that there was so soon cause for a thousand eyes to weep.
" Cast off there!" shouted the captain, on the hurricane deck.
" A, ay, sir."
" Draw in the plank."
Right gallantly did she walk the water, her sharp-cutting bow dividing- the stream  so smoothly as scarce to cause a sparkle of foam on
her breast; but a highway of milk-white foam issued from beneath
her rushing keel, marking her course to the destined landing, while
her roaring steam-pipes hardly drowned the deafening shouts of the
excited and admiring spectators.
" Captain, we ought to blow off steam, the boilers are very hot and
the gauge indicates extraordinary pressure," said the engineer, as he
came upon the hurricane deck, and stood near the captain, by the
wheel-house.
" I told you, sir, to blow off no steam while we lay here; enough,
sir, go below."
P"ut, sir, -   " said the engineer.
"I swear, sir, that I'll not blow off steam, and I'll b1ow her to —
rather than fail going past the city faster than any other boat that ever
floated these waters.  To your duty, sir."
The engineer reluctantly obeyed.  Myself and several others heard
the blasphemy, and were shocked beyond measure.  There was a
whispering among the passengers, and many, myself among the number, ordered our baggage ashore, and left the boat, fearing the consequences of remaining.  We had barely time to leave, ere the plank
was drawn aboard.
Majestically she swings around her breast to the current, proudly
the captain -stands on the dizzy edge of the hurricane deck, enjoying
the admiration of the spectators.  One revolution of her paddles, and
then, 0, horrors! an explosion of sound, as if the whole " artillery
of heaven" shook the air, mingled with the noise of a thousand
crashing oaks.  A breathless moment of silence, and then shrieks
upon shrieks, groans upon groans, wailing and yells of despair,
pierced the horror-struck ear. Riveted with terror to the spot, around




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                     99
us fell in fearful and sickening showers, fragments of human flesh,
parts of arms, legs, headless trunks, and ghastly faces; bits of
furniture and the wreck covered the shore.
All about the ill-fated boat, living and dead, dotted the surface of
the river, most of them to sink forever.
The shattered hull floated down stream a few rods, and sank close
to the city water-works.  Terrible was the scene! And 0! what
thoughts must have fired the brain of more than a hundred human
beings, blinded by steam, still crowded in the crazy hull, as the rushing waters through her shattered sides reached higher and higher, till
their gurgling throats were silenced in the deep!
She sank to the depth of her cabin floor. Boats, planks, and every
other available means were put in requisition to reach the wreck, and
save the life that yet might be. Few were saved; some in the cabin
were rescued, also some who were thrown into the river by the concussion, but none of the multitude that crowded the steerage ever
looked on the scene of the disaster again.  All that afternoon, and for
several succeeding days, men fished for the dead, through holes cut in
the cabin floor. Hardly a soul of that unfortunate band of emigrants,
was left to mourn the sad catastrophe, or weep over the mangled dead.
A  little boy, belonging to them, stood wet and trembling on the
river's brink, from which he had just been rescued. I spoke to him
kindly, but he only answered with a wild and vacant stare, and pointing to the wreck upon which he was gazing, gave an unearthly shriek,
threw his arms aloft, and sprung into the boiling flood beyond the
reach of human help.
The ill-fated commander was found, shockingly disfigured, a few
days after, on the Kentucky shore.  Engineers, firemen, pilot, and
clerk, ended their life's voyage here.
More than one hundred and seventy-five human beings were thus
sacrificed on the altar of Pride.
Unhappy man! thou didst keep thine oath but too faithfully.  The
force of the explosion was terrible-the six boilers of the boat were
burst into a thousand fragments, and cast at a great distance, wounding some of the spectators on the landing, and in the street above.
The body of a man was blown high in the air, and, coming down head
foremost, burst through the roof of a brick house, and there hung, part
of the body on the roof, and part on the inside.  A small hatchet,
too, was cast with suZch violence as to enter the window of a house,
penetrate the partition, and pass through another window on the
opposite side of the house, into a back yard, where it was found.
0! how wretched the scene in that little village of Fulton i scarcely
a house but contained the wounded and dying; crowds of eager eyes
were about every door, and peering in at every window; some froil
idle curiosity, others, perchance, seeking some friend or relative who
had been on the wreck.
The noise of the explosion was heard in the heart of the city, and
as soon as the awful explanation was given, thousands rushed to the




100         MiORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
spot. Manv of the beautiful and brave, the dearest ornaments of the
Queen City, were numbered among the victims. Wildly throbbed the
hearts of fathers and wives, as they approached with swvift and trenlbling steps the wretched scene, eager to learn the fate of those thev
loved. But who shall paint the agonly of tlose doomed to behold the
mutilated and scarcely recognizable dead or living remains of him
they sought, or the despair of those who had found them?  But let
us draw the veil.'Tis the Sabbath; a pall of mourning hangs over the afflicted city;
crape rustles at the entrance of many a pleasant home, whose doors
and windows, notwithstanding the sumuer's heat, are solemnly closed,
the picture of desolation.
Subdued and plaintive musical. notes tremble on the air, and the
silent streets echo to the tread of a solenin death-train. Forty hearses
and other vehicles, shrouded in black, bear the remains of the human
sacrifice.''Thousands of the citizens follow reverently and silently the
gloomy pa-geant, to the last resting-place of man. Ab, no i for the
death-wail is yet to be borne to distant lands, causing fresh hearts to
bleed, and woe to hang her darksome drapery around many a broken
hearth circle.
COMPULSORY SOLITUDE.
AUGUST 9th.-Still suffering from the fatigue of may visit to
Fdlicite yesterday, but attracted by the freshness of the air, I
determined to start this morning and take Roger by surprise,
at his own house; after having scarcely accomplished a third
of the walk, however, I was compelled to retrace my steps, and
only succeeded in reaching home by resting several times on
the way.
For some time past now, I have felt an extreme weariness on
each occasion after walking out, but I have persisted in attributing it to.a mlomentary deranogemen  t of the system.  I am  at
length, however, forced to acknowledge that my strength is
failing, and that walking will soon become impossible for mle
altogether.  At the first thought of this, I must confess, that'
the anticipation of an indefinitely prolonged imprisonment, the
prospect of remaining eternally confined to my own roomn,
greatly affected me.  I began to think with pain and regret on
the public walk shaded by trees, where every clay my favorite
seat awaited me.  It seemed to me that the sight of the accustomed spots, the gossips, not perhaps appealingl  much to the
affections, or higher feelings, but easy and familiar, with one's
companions in age and leisure-who from  morning  to night,
form under the same lime-trees a permanent group, constantly




MO RAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                   101
being renewed -I felt as if all this were indispensable to my existence; and I could not help bitterly accusing old age, which
seemed about to reduce me to the loneliness of isolation and
abandonment.
But how is this? I have never spent my hours more agreeably, or more profitably, than during th-e past day.
tHardly had I reclined motionless for a few minutes in my
arm-chair before a light, as it were, diffused itself over my dejected soul; my spirits, for the moment depressed, became
gradually raised by an inner and spontaneous power. I began
to contemplate the objects that surround me, and with which I
am henceforth to live onl almost exclusive terms of intimacy,
with a more attentive, more sympathetic eye; and lo  every
thing has become clothed with a fresh aspect, and with a charm
previously unsuspected.  The sun's rays, which entered my
room by the open window and illuminated the carpet with xa
golden border, struck me as having a brilliancy and a glory that
I had never remarked before. A pot of mignonette stands upon
my desk, on which formerly, before going out, or on my return,
I hardly bestowed a passing glance, now I take a singular
pleasure in examining it; I look with admiration, almost
gratitude, towards this little homely flower, which exhales its
perfumed breath around me, with such generous profusion, with
such untiring energy.
Ilence I perceive that it is from lachk of perception and good
will, that we do not derive more enjoyment from the many
precious objects spread around us.  It we thought only of
gathering up those scattered particles, as the diamond-cutter
his diamond dust; to sum up all the blessings which enrich our
original poverty, we should find an abundant supply of subjects
to gladden us and to enogage our love. Inattention, indifference
to others, and apathy, divide betwixt them the dominion over
our minds: as they have not the stout appearance of the active
vices, these defects escape our moral vigilance, and exert their
pernicious influence in secret.  They are enemies on whom I
shall henceforth keep a vigi]ant eye; and shall strive to conquer, now that age, having deprived me of external resources,
leaves me more exposed to their subtle attacks.
But it is my books above all else, which have suddenly grown
dearer to me; books, which a short time ago were no more to
me than so many volumes, ornaments, pieces of furniture even,
have become, as it were, endowed with life; the spirit enshrined
within their pages has come forth to meet my own; I have found
in them inquirers who have communicated to me their thoughts;
friends who have taken possession of me, and introduced me
into the inner circle of their lives. Incomparable society, ever
ready to receive me; inexhaustible friendship, which will never
fail me, which waits only for my own invitation to afford me
sympathy and delight.




102   MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.
With Plato behold me transported to Athens, listening in the
shade of a marb)le portico, raised on elegant columns-to which
the sun of Greece has given the polish and amber tint of ivory
-to one of those inimitable conversations, where Socrates, by
the spell of his eloquence, strives to inspire his disciples with
his own sublime and radiant wisdom.  I recline at one of those
banquets, where the grave philosopher disdains not to mingle
with fi'ivolous youth, well knowing that the charm of his voice
will soon make the revellers forget their cups. I see Alcibiades
himself, who enters just now with a supercilious smile on his
lips, and his head crowned with violets, lend by degrees a more
willing  ear; at first attracted, then subjugated, he listens in
silence.  Shamne, and soon respect, depict themselves on his now
serious countenance, tears of enthusiasm  glisten in his eyes,
and, snatching off his crown of flowers, lie places it on the brow
of the master, whom he declares to be inspired by the gods!
Then Virgil takes possession of my thoughts, and conducts
me through his magic landscapes; I wander with him on the
lonely shore, where the stork pursues her staid and solitary
course beneath a sky charged with storml-clouds; I penetrate
some ancient forest, where the crowded oaks intermingle their
dark shadows; I smell in the heavy air the dank and banefuli
odors of the marshes; I hear re-echoed beneath leafy domes the
wild bird's shrill cry.  Soon, however, brighter scenes invite
and attract me; vast landscapes spread themselves out beneath
the fruitful rays of the sun: here I behold yellow plains, where
the ripe grain undulates with every breeze, there prairies, with
herds grazing beside the river as it flows between its low lying
banks; pale green willows and shrubs, all glowing with their
purple berries, separate  the various  orchards, where the
husbandman is singing while he prunes his trees.  The bees
hum in the blue expanse; and, minggled with the lowing of cattle, I hear the champing of horses in their stables.
From  the depths of nature, Plutarrch wins me back to the
ranks of humanity; guided by him, I pass in review, one after
the other, the heroes whom he has assembled in his writings as
in a glorious Pantheon; less ready, indeed, to linger near those
famous conquerors, who derived nearly all their prestige from
the workings of ambition and pride; but delighted to attach
myself to the plain citizens who, though of obscure birth, and
uncertain of future fame, devoted their lives to the good of their
country, and to thie triuimaph of virtue. I love to follow across
the steaming furrow, ste) by step, the humble plough with
which hands so recently victorious, do not disdain to be occupied;
I sit down at the domestic hearth, closed, like a. sanctuary,
against commotion without, and sacred to the household gods,
vwhere the Roman wife guards her virtues, where the child grows
up between tenderness and discipline, where the energies of the.




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHIES..    103
soul are braced by labor'and abstinence. Insipid, classical
trivialities only! exclaim those who listen but with the ear,
who in words perceive only sounds, and grow angry at unsensational monotony; but endless subjects for thoogh t, and
sources of refined pleasure, to those who read with the soul, and
who, in the personages of history, recognize men and cherish
brothers.
The scene changes.  St. Augustin and the "Imitation. of
Christ " transport me into a new world, the sun of Athens and
of Rome is eclipsed: a mystic light, more brilliant, and yet
softer, spreads over the earth; the Parthenon and the Capitol
are lost in haze, and give place to the spires of nmonasteries,
and the towers of cathedrals.  I love to take refuge, far from
battle-fields and the clashing of swords and spears, under the
domes of these peaceful retreats; to listen to the despairing
avowals, and groans of the human conscience suddenly aroused
from its long sleep; and at the same time to hear those sublime
chants, those fervent hymns, which celebrate a hope and a joy
hitherto unknown in this world. Marvellous power of mind!
From. a corner of my chamber-froo  m the arm-chair which I
occupy-I can traverse the immense abysses of the past.  I am
present at the foundation of cities, the birth and growth of
empires; I accompany various races as they wander over the
earth, establish themselves and found nations; I take note of
that perpetual movement of humanity, as it seeks its level on
the globe which has been given to it for an inheritance.  Or,
fatigued with these generalities, I repose in the tent of the
patriarch Abraham, or beneath the oak of St. Louis.  From the
tribune of Cicero I pass to the pulpit of Bossuet; distances are
nothing to me; I traverse them by an instantaneous bound,
whether those of space or time. From the east I hasten to the
west, from the early days of the world I pass on to the hour
which has just struck; wherever an attractive spectacle summons me, I am there in spirit; or a noble action or an elevated
conversation invites me, I am present to applaud or take part.
Magnificent empire of memory! vast power and inexhaustible
activity of thought!.. I cease to be troubled now at my
solitude and forced inaction.-Emile Souvestre.
AUNT KINDLY.
BY THEODORE PARKER, FROM IHIS SERMOON ON " OLD AGE."
iMIss KINDLY iS aunt to every body, and has been for so long
a time, that none remember to the contrary. The little children
love her; and she helped their grandmothers to  ridal ornaments threescore years ago. Nay, this boy's grandfather found
that the way to college lay through her pocket.  Generations,
not her own, rise up and call her blessed. To this man's father




104     M1- ORAL TALES AND  SKETCI E S.
her patient toil gave the first start in life. When that great
ibortune was a seed, it was she who carried it in her hand. That
wide river of reputation ran out of the cup which her bounty
filled. Now she is old, very old. The little children who cling
about her, with open mouth and great round eyes, wonder that
any body should ever be so old; or ask themselves whether
Aunt Kindly ever had a mother to kiss her mouth.  To them
she is coeval with the sunl, and, like that, an institution of the
country. At Christmas they think she is the wife of St. Nicholas himself, such an advent is there of blessings from her hand.
Her hands are thin, her voice is feeble, her back is bent, and
she walks with a staff, which is the best limb of the three. She
wears a cap of antique pattern, yet of her own nice make.  She
has great round spectacles, and holds her book away off the
other side of the candle, when she reads.  For more than sixty
years she has been a special providence to the family.  How
she used to go forth, the very charity of God, to heal and
soothe and bless! How industrious are her hands!  How
thoughtful and witty that fertile mind! Her heart has gathered power to love in all the eighty-six years of her toilsome life.
When the birth-angel came to a related house, she was there to
be the mother's mother; aye, mother also to the new-born baby's
soul.  And when the wings of death flapped in the street and
shook a neighbor's door, she smoothed the pillow for the fainting head; she soothed and cheered the spirit of the waiting
man, opening the curtains of heaven that he milht look through
and see the welcoming face of the dear Infinite Mother; nay,
she put the wings of her own strong, experienced piety under
him, and sought to bear him up.
Now, these things are passed by. NTo, they are not passed
by; for they are in the memory of the dear God, and every
good deed she has done is treasured in her own heart. The
bulb shuts up the summer in its breast, which in winter will
come out a fragrant hyacinth. Stratum after stratum, her good
works are laid up, imperishable, in the geology of her character.
It is near noon, now, and she is alone.  She has been
thoughtful all day, talking inwardly to herself.  The family
notice it, but say nothing.  In her chamber, she takes a little
casket from her private drawer, and from thence a book, giltedged and clasped; but the clasp is worn, the gilding is old,
the binding faded by long use. Her hands tremble as she opens
it. First she reads her own name, on the fly leaf; only her
Christian name, "Agnes," and the date.  Sixty-eight years ago
this day, that name was written there, in a clear, youthful,
clerkly hand, with a little tremble in it, as if the heart beat over
quick. It is very well worn, that dear old Bible.  It opens of
its own accord, at the fourteenth chapter of St. John.  There
is a little folded paper there; it touches the first verse and the
twenty-seventh. She sees neither; she reads both out of her




MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.                    105
soul.'Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God,
believe also in me."  "Peace I leave with you. My peace I
give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you."
She opens the paper. There is a little brown dust in it, the
remnant of a flower. She takes the precious relic in her hand,
made cold by emotion. She drops a tear on it, and the dust is
transfigured before her eyes: it is a red rose of the spring, not
quite half blown, dewy fresh. She is old no longer. She is
not Aunt Kindly now; she is sweet Agnes, as the maiden of
eighteen was, eight and sixty years ago, one day in lay, when
all nature was woosome and winning, and every flower-bell rung
in the marriage of the year. Her lover had just put that red
rose of the spring into her hand, and the good God put another
on her cheek, not quite half blown, dewy fresh. The young
man's arm is around her; her brown curls fall on his shoulders;
she feels his breath on her face, his cheek on hers; their lips
join, and like two morning clew-drops in that rose their two
loves rush into one.
But the youth must wander away to a far land. She bids
him take her Bible. They will think of each other as they look
at the North' Star. He saw the North Star hang over the tur
rets of many a foreign town. His soul went to God;-there is
as straight a road thither from India as from any other spot.
His Bible came back to her; the Divrine love in it, without the
human lover; the leaf turned down at the blessed words of St.
John, first and twenty-seventh verse of the fourteenth chapter.
She put the rose there to mark the spot; what marks the
thought holds now the symbol of their youthful love. To-day,
her soul is with him; her maiden soul with his angel-soul; and
one day the two, like two clew-drops, will rush into one immortal wedlock, and the old age of earth shall become eternal youth
in the kingdom of heaven.
THE  HUMANITY-GOD.
BY ERNEST NAVILLE.
IF the Humanity-God is always right, it must be that two
contradictory propositions can be true at the same time, since
contradictions abound in the history of human thoughts. If
two contradictory propositions can be true, there is no more
truth. What then is our reason, of which truth is the object?
We are seized with giddiness. Might not everything in the
world be illusion? and myself-?  Listen to a voice which
reaches us, across the ages, from the countries crowned by the
Himalayas.' Nothing exists.... By the study of first principles, one acquires this knowledge, absolute, incontestable,
comprehensible to the intelligence alone; I neither am, nor
does anything which is mine, nor do I myself, exist." What
is there beneath these strange lines? The feeling of giddiness,




106      MIORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
which seeks to steady itself by language.  Here is now the
modern echo of these ancient words.  One of those writers who
accept all, in the hope of understanding all, describes himself
as having come at last to be aware that he is " only one of the
most fugitive illusions in the bosom  of the infinite illusion."
One of his colleagues expresses himself on this subject as follows: "Is this the last word of all?-And  why not?-The
illusion which knows itself-is it in fact an illusion? Does it not
in some sort triumph over itself?  Does it not attain to the
sovereign reality, that of the thoug'ht which thinks itself, that
of the dream which knows itself a dream, that of nothingness,
which ceases to be so, in order to recognize itself and to assert
itself?   We are gone back to ancient India. You will remark
here three stages of thought.  The fugitive illusion is man.
The infinite illusion is the universe.  The universal principle of
the appearances which compose the universe is nothingness.
Here is the explanation of the universe! INothingness takes
life; nothingness takes life only to know  itself to be nothinglness, and the nothingness which says to itself, "I aim
nothingness," is the reason of existence of all that is. I said
just now that the sun was declining to the horizon.  Now the
last glimmler of twilight has disappeared; night has closed in
-a dark and starless night. Yes, Sirs, Ijut there is never on the
earth a night so dark as to warrant us in despairing of the return
of the dawn.  If the modern mind is such as it is described
to us, it has lost all the rays of light; but the sun is not dead.
The doctrine of non-existence and of illusion is entirely incomprehensible, in the sense in which to comprehendci signifies
to have a clear idea, and one capable of being directly apprehended.  But, if one follows the chain of ideas as logically unrolled, in the way that a mathematician follows the transformations of an algebraical formula, without considering its real.
contents, it is easy to account for the origin of this theory.  If
the human mind has no rule superior to itself, if it is the absolute mind, God, all its thoughts are equally true, since we
cannot point out error without having recourse to a rule of
truth. If all doctrines are equally true, propositions, directly
and absolutely contradictory, are equally true.  If all is true,
there is no truth; for truth is not conceived except in opposition
to at least possible error.  If there is no truth, the human
reason, which seeks truth by a natural impulse belonging to its
very essence, as the magnetized needle seeks the pole-reason,
I say, is a chimera. The truth which reason seeks is an exact
relation of human thought to the reality of the world.  If the
search for this relation is chimerical, the two terms, mind, and
the world, may be illusions.  A fugitive illusion in presence of
an infinite illusion: there is all.  You see that these thoughts.
hang together with rigorous precision. The darkness is becoming visible to us, or, in other words, we are acquiring a perfect




O1 0 RAL TALES  AND  SKE r CHES.              107
nlderstanding of the origin and developments of the absurdity.
Put God aside, the law of our will, the warrant of our thought;,deify human nature; and a fatal current will run you aground
twice over —on the shores of moral absurdity, and on those of
intellectual absurdity.  These sad shipwrecks are set before our
eyes in striking examples; it has been easy to'indicate their
caUSe.
The consideration of the beautiful would give occasion to
analogous observations. The human mind becoming the object
-of our adoration, we must give up judging it in every particular,
and suppress the rules of the ideal in art, as those of morals in
the conduct, and truth in the intellect. We must form a system
of esthetics which accepts all, and finds equally legitimate
whatever affords recreation to the Humanity-God, in the great
variety of its tastes. Then high aspirations are extinguished,
the beautiful gives place to the agreeable; and since the ugly
and misshapen please a vicious taste, room must be made for
the ugly in the Pantheon of beauty. Art despoiled of its crown
becomes the sad, and often the ignoble slave of the tastes and
caprices of the public. I do not insist further. The pretension
of the worshippers of humanity is to make their conscience wide
enough to accept all, and to have their intellect broad enough
to understand all. They explain all, except these three small
particulars-the conscience, the heart, and the reason. Goodness and truth avenge themselves in the end, for the long contempt cast upon them; and the first punishment those suffer
who accept all, in the hope of understanding all, is no longer to
understand what constitutes the life of humanity.
Let us not be setting up altars to the human mind; for'an adulterous incense stupefies it, and ends by destroyingit.
Before they deified man, the pagans at least transfigured him
by placing him on Olympus. At this day, it is humanity as it
is upon earth that is proposed to our adoration, humanity with
its profound miseries and its fearful defilements.  They seek to
throw a veil over the mad audacity of this attempt, by telling
us of the progress which is to bring about, by little and little,
the realization of our divinity. But, alas! our history is long
already, and no reasonable induction justifies the vague hopes
of heated imaginations. Great progress is being effected, but
none which gives any promise that the profound needs of our
nature canll ever be satisfied in this'life. Charity has appeared
on the earth; but there are still poor amongst us, and it seems
that there always will be. A breath of justice and humanity
has penetrated social institutions; still politics have not become
the domain of perfect truth and of absolute justice, and there
seems small likelihood that they ever will. Industry has given
birth to marvels; we devour space in these days, but we shall
never go so fast that suffering and death will not succeed in
overtaking us. The great sources of grief are not dried up;
2




108      I MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
the song of our poets causes still the chords of sorrow to vibrateas in the days of yore. Progress is being accomplished, sure
witness of a beneficent Hand which is guiding humanity in its
destinies; but everything tells us that the soil of our planet
will be always steeped in tears, that the atmosphere which envelops us will always resound with the vibrations of sorrow.
Far as our view can stretch itself, we foresee a suffering humanity, which will not be able to find peace, joy, and hope, except in the expectation of new heavens and a new earth, wherein
dwelleth righteousness.
If there be no God above humanity, no eternity above time,
no divine world higher than our present place of sojourn; if our
profoundest desires are to be forever deceived; if the cries we
raise to heaven are never to be heard; if all our hope is a future
in which we shall be no more; if humanity as we know it is the
perfection of the universe; if all this is so, then indeed the answer to the universal enigoma is illusion and falsehood.  Then,
before the monster of destiny, which brings us into being only
to destroy us, which creates in our breast the desire of happinessonly to deride our miseries; in view of that starry vault whichspeaks to us of the infinite, while yet there is lno infinite; in
presence of that lying nature which adorns itself with a thousand
symbols of immortality,  while yet there is no immortality; in
presence of all these deceptions, man may be allowed to curse
the day of his birth, or to abandon himself to the intoxication
of thoughtless pleasure.  But, a secret instinct tells us that
wretchedness is a disorder, and thoughtless pleasure a degradration.  Let us have confidence in this deep utterance of our1
nature. Good, truth, beauty, descend as rays of streaming light
into the shadows of our existence; let us follow them with the
eye of faith to the divine focus from whence they proceed.  All
is fleeting, all is disappearing incessantly beneath our steps;;
but our soul is not staggered at this swift lapse of all things,
only because she carries in herself the pledges of a changeless
eternity.  "The ephemeral spectator of an eternal spectacle,
man raises for a moment his eyes to heaven, and closes thenm
again forever; but during the fleeting instant which is granted
to him, from all points of the sky, and from the bounds of the'
universe, sets forth from every world a consoling ray and strikes
his upward gaze, announcing to him that between that measure —
]ess space and himself there exists a close relation, and that he
is allied to eternity."
And are these sublime 2presentiments only dreams after all?
Dreams! Know you not that our dreams create nothing, and
that they are never anything else than confused reminiscences
and fantastic combinations of the realities of our waking con —
sciousness? What then is that mysterious waking during which
we have seen the eternal, the infinite, the perfection of goodness,
the fulness of joy, all those sublime images which come to haunt,




MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                      109
our spirit during the dream of life? Recollections of our origin!
foreshadowings of our destinies!  While then all below  is
transitory, and is escaping fromn us in a ceaseless flight, let us
abandon ourselves without fear to these instincts of the soul.
ESCAPE OF HARVEY BIRCH AND CAPTAIN WHARTON.
BY J. FENIMORE COOPER.
THE road which it was necessary for the pedler and the English
captain to travel, in order to reach the shelter of the hills, lay, for a
half-mile, in full view from the door of the building, that had so
recently been the prison of the latter; running for the whole distance
over the rich plain, that spreads to the very foot of the mountains,
which here rise in a nearly perpendicular ascent from their bases; it
then turned short to the right, and was obliged to follow the windings
of nature, as it won its way into the bosom of the Highlands.
To preserve the supposed difference in their stations, Harvey rode
a short distance ahead of his companion, and maintained the sober,
dignified pace that was suited to his assumed character.  On their
right, the regiment of foot, that we have already mentioned, lay in
tents; and the sentinels, who guarded their encampment, were to be
seen moving, with measured tread, under the skirts of the hills
themselves.  The first impulse of Henry was, certainly, to urge the
beast he rode to his greatest speed at once, and, by a coup-de-main,
not only to accomplish his escape, but relieve himself from the torturing suspense of his situation.  But the forward movement that the
youth made for this purpose was instantly checked by the pedler.
"Hold up 1" he cried, dexterously reining his own horse across the,
path of the other; would you ruin us both? Fall into the place of
a black following his master. Did you not see their blooded chargers,.,
all saddled and bridled, standing in the sun before the house?'
How long do you think that miserable Dutch horse you are on,
would hold his speed, if pursued by the Virginians? Every foot:
that we can gain without giving the alarm, counts us a day in our
lives. Ride steadily after me, and on no account look back.  They
are as subtle as foxes, ay, and as ravenous for blood as wolves."
Henry reluctantly restrained his impatience, and followed the direc —
tion of the pedler. His imagination, however, continually alarmed
him with the fancied sounds of pursuit; though Birch, who occasionally looked back under the pretence of addressing his companion,.
assured him that all continued quiet and peaceful.
" But," said Henry, " it will not be possible for Caesar to remain
ong undiscovered: had we not better put our horses to the gallop?




1.10        MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
and, by the time they can reflect on the cause of our flight, we can
reach the corner of the woods."
" Ah! you little know them, Captain Wharton," returned the pedler; "there is a sergeant at this moment looking after us, as if he
thought all was not right; the keen-eyed fellow watches me like a
tiger laying in wait for his leap; when I stood on the horse-block, he
half suspected something was wrong; nay, check your beast; we
must let the animals walk a little, for he is laying his hand on the
pommel of his saddle; if he mounts now, we are gone. The foot
soldiers could reach us with their muskets."
"What does he do?" asked Henry, reining his horse to a walk, but,
at the same time, pressing his heels into the animal's sides, to be in
readiness for a spring.
"He turns from his charger, and looks the other way. Now, trot
on gently; not so fast, not so fast; observe the sentinel in the field a
little ahead of us; he eyes us keenly."
" Never mind the footman," said Henry, impatiently; " he can do
nothing but shoot us; whereas these dragoons may make me a captive
again. Surely, Harvey, there are horsemen moving down the road
behind us. Do you see nothing particular?"
" Humph!" ejaculated the pedler; "there is something particular,
indeed, to be seen behind the thicket on your left; turn your head a
little, and you may see and profit by it too."
Henry eagerly seized his permission to look aside, and his blood
curdled to the heart as he observed they were passing a gallows, that
had unquestionably been erected for his own execution. He turned
his face from the sight in undisguised horror.
" There is a warning to be prudent in that bit of wood," said the
pedler, in that sententious manner that he often adopted.
"It is a terrific sight indeed 1" cried Henry, for a moment veiling
his face with his hands, as if to drive a vision from before him.
The pedler moved his body partly around, and spoke with energetic but gloomy bitterness-" and yet, Captain Wharton, you see it
when the setting sun shines full upon you; the air you breathe is
clear, and fresh from the hills before you. Every step that you take
leaves that hated gallows behind; and every dark hollow, and every
shapeless' rock in the mountains offers you a hiding-place from the
vengeance of your enemies. But' I have seen the gibbet raised, when
no place of refuge offered: Twice have I been buried in dungeons,
where, fettered and in chains, I have passed nights in torture, looking
forward to the morning's dawn that was to light me to a death of
infamy. The sweat has started from my limbs that seemed already
drained of their moisture, and if I ventured to the hole that admitted
air through grates of iron, to look out upon the smiles of nature,
which God has bestowed for the meanest of his creatures, the gibbet
has glared before my eyes, like an evil conscience, harrowing the soul
of a dying man. Four times have I been in their power, besides this




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                  1l1
last; but —twice-twice did I think that my hour had come. It is
hard to die at the best, Captain Wharton; but to spend your last
moments alone and unpitied, to know that none near you so much as
think of the fate that is to you the closing of all that is earthly; to
think that in a few hours you are to be led from the gloom-which,
as you dwell on what follows, becomes dear to you-to the face of
day, and there to meet all eyes upon you, as if you were a wild beast;.
and to lose sight of every thing amidst the jeers and scoffs of your
fellow-creatures;-that, Captain Wharton, that indeed is to die."
Henry listened in amazement, as his companion uttered this speech
with a vehemence altogether new to him; both seemed to have
forgotten their danger and their disguises, as he cried"What! were you ever so near death as that?"
"Have I not been the hunted beast of these hills for three years
past?" resumed Harvey; "and once they even led me to the foot of
the gallows itself, and I escaped only by an alarm from the royal
troops. Had they been a quarter of an hour later, I must have died.
There was I placed, in the midst of unfeeling men, and gaping women
and children, as a monster to be cursed. When I would pray to
God, my ears were insulted with the history of my crimes; and when,
in all that multitude, I looked around for a single face that showed
me any pity, I could find none —no, not even one-all cursed me as
a wretch who would sell his country for gold. The sun was brighter
to my eyes than common-but then it was the last time I should see
it. The fields were gay'and pleasant, and every thing seemed as if
this world was a kind of heaven. Oh! how sweet life was to me at
that moment!'T was a dreadful hour, Captain Wharton, and such
as you have never known. You have friends to feel for you; but I
had none'but a father to mourn my loss when he might hear of it;
there was no pity, no consolation near to soothe my anguish. Every
thing seemed to have deserted me,-I even thought that I-e had
forgotten that I lived."
" What! did you feel that God had forsaken you, Harvey?" cried
the youth, with a strong sympathy.
"God never forsakes his servants," returned Birch, with reverence, and exhibiting naturally a devotion that hitherto he had only
assumed.
" And who did you mean by He?"
The pedler raised himself in his saddle to the stiff and upright
posture that was suited to the outward appearance.  The look of
fire, that, for a short time, glowed upon his countenance, disappeared
in the solemn lines of unbending, self-abasement, and, speaking as if
addressing a negro, he replied" In heaven, there is no distinction of color, my brother; therefore
you have a precious charge within you, that you must hereafter
render an account of,"-dropping his voice; "this is the last sentinel near the road; look not back, as you value your life."
Henry remembered his situation, and instantly assumed again the




112        MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
humble demeanor of his adopted character. The unaccountable energy
of the pedler's manner was soon forgotten in the sense of his own
immediate danger; and with the recollection of his critical situation
returned all the uneasiness that he had momentarily forgotten.
"What see you, Harvey?" he cried, observing the pedler to gaze
towards the building they had left, with ominous interest; "what see
you at the house?"
" That which bodes no good to us," returned the pretended priest.
"Throw aside the mask and wig-you will need all your senses
without much delay-throw them in the road: there are none before
us that I dread, but there are thosebehind us, who will give us a
fearful race."
Nay, then," cried the captain, casting the implements of his disguise into the highway, " let us improve our time to the utmost; we
want a full quarter to the turn; why not push for it at once:"
" Be cool-they are in alarm, but they will not mount without an
officer, unless they see us fly-now he comes-he moves to the stables-trot briskly-a dozen are in their saddles, but the officer stops
to tighten his girths-they hope to steal a march upon us —he is
mounted —now ride, Captain Wharton, for your life, and keep at my
heels. If you quit me you will be lost."
A second request was unnecessary.  The instant that Harvey put
his horse to his speed, Captain Wharton was at his heels, urging the
miserable animal that he rode to the utmost. Birch had selected the
beast on which he rode, and, although vastly inferior to the high-fed
and blooded chargers of the dragoons, still it was much superior to
the little pony that had been thought good enough to carry Caesar
Thompson on an errand. A very few jumps convinced the captain
that his companion was fast leaving him, and a fearful glance that he
threw behind informed the fugitive that his enemies were as speedily
approaching. With that abandonment that makes misery doubly grievous, when it is to be supported alone, Henry called aloud to the
pedler not to desert him.  Harvey instantly drew up, and suffered his
companion to run along-side of his own horse. The cocked hat and
wig of the pedler fell from his head the moment that his steed began
to move briskly, and this development of their disguise, as it might
be termed, was witnessed by the dragoons, who announced their
observation by a boisterous shout, that seemed to be uttered in the
very ears of the fugitives-so loud was the cry, and so short the distance between them.
" Had we not better leave our horses," said Henry, " and make foi
the hills across the fields on our left?-the fence will stop our pursuers."'
" That way lies the gallows," returned the pedler —"these fellows
go three feet to our two, and would mind them fences no more than
we do these ruts; but it is a sholt quarter to the turn, and there are
two roads behind the wood. They may stand to choose until they
saD take the track, and we shall gain a little upon them there."




M ORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.                   113
"But this miserable horse is blown already," cried Henry, urging
his beast with the end of his bridle, at the same time that IHarvey.aided his efforts by applying the lash of a heavy riding-whip that he
carried; "('he will never stand it for half a mile further."
"A quarter will do-a quarter will do," said the pedler; " a single
quarter will save us, if you follow my directions."
Somewhat cheered by the cool and confident manner of his. companion, Henry continued silently urging his horse forward. A few
moments brought them to the desired turn, and, as they doubled
round a point of low under-brush, the fugitives caught a glimpse of
their pursuers scattered along the highway.  Mason and the sergeant,
being better mounted than the rest of the party, were much nearer to
-their heels than even the pedler thought could be possible.
At the foot of the hills, and for some distance up the dark valley
that wound among the mountains, a thick underwood of saplings had
been suffered to shoot up, when the heavier growth was felled for the
*sake of fuel. At the sight of this cover, Henry again urged the pedler to dismount, and to plunge into the woods; but his request was
promptly refused.  The two roads before mentioned met at a very
sharp angle, at a short distance from the turn, and both were circuitous, so that but little of either could be seen at a time. The pedler
took the one which led to the left, but held it only a moment, for,
on reaching a partial opening in the thicket, he darted across the right-hand path, and led the way up a steep ascent, which lay directly
before them.  This manecuver saved them.  On reaching the fork,
the dragoons followed the track, and passed the spot where the fugitives had crossed to the other road, before they missed the marks of
the footsteps.  Their loud cries were heard by Henry and the pedle.,
as their wearied and breathless animals toiled up the hill, ordering
their comrades in the rear to ride in the right direction.  The captain
-again proposed to leave their horses and dash into the thicket.
" Not yet-not yet," said Birch in a low voice; "the road falls
from the top of this hill as steep as it rises-first let us gain the top."
While speaking- thev reached the desired summit, and both threw
themselves from their horses.  Henry plunged into the thick underwood, which covered the side of the mountain for some distance above
them. Harvey stopped to give each of their beasts a few severe blows
of his whip, that drove them headlong down the path on the other.side of the eminence, and then followed his example.
The pedler entered the thicket with a little caution, and avoided, as
much as possible, rustling or breakinog the branches in his way.  There
~was but time only to shelter his person from view, when a dragoonw
led up the ascent, and, on reaching the hight, he cried aloud"I saw one of their horses turning the hill this minute."
"Drive on-spur forward,'my lads," shouted Mason; " give the
Englishman quarter, but cut down the pedler, and make an end of
him."
Henry felt his companion gripe his arm hard, as he listened, in a




114         MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
great tremor to this cry, which was followed by the passage of'i
dozen horsemen, with a vigor and speed that showed too plainly how
little security their over-tired steeds could have afforded them.
"Now," said the pedler, rising from his cover to reconnoitre, and
standing for a moment in suspense, "all that we gain is clear gain;.
for, as we go up, they go down. Let us be stirring."
"But will they not follow us, and surround this mountain?" said.
Henry, rising, and imitating the labored but rapid progress of his,
companion; "remember they have foot as well as horse, and at any
rate we shall starve in the hills."
"Fear nothing, Captain Wharton," returned the pedler, with con —
fidence; "this is not the mountain that I would be on, but necessityhas made me a dexterous pilot among these hills. I will lead you,
where no man will dare to follow. See, the sun is already setting
behind the tops of the western mountains, and it will be two hours to,
the rising of the moon. Who, think you, will follow us far, on a.
November night, among these rocks and precipices?"
- But, listen!" exclaimed Henry; "the dragoons are shouting to,
each other —they miss us already."
"Come to the point of this rock, and you may see them," said,
Harvey, composedly setting himself down to rest.  "c Nay, they can
see us —notice, they are pointing up with their fingers. There! one
has fired his pistol, but the distance is too great for even a musket to,
carry upward."
"They will pursue us," cried the impatient Henry; "let us be,
movinog'
"They will not think of such a thing," returned the pedler, pickingthe chickerberries that grew on the thin soil where he sat," and very
deliberately chewing them, leaves and all, to refresh his mouth.' What progress could they make here, in their boots and spurs, with,:
their long swords, or even pistols?  No, no —they may go back andturn out the foot; but the horse pass through these defiles, when:
they can keep the saddle with fear and trembling. Come, follow me,.
Captain Wharton; we have a troublesome march before us, but I;
will bring you where none will think of venturing this night."
So saying, they both arose, and were soon hid from view amongst.
the rocks and caverns of the mountain.
THE KIDNAPPED BOY.
A SHORT time ago a respectably-dressed. man walked into a working-jeweler's shop.  He was about the middle age, of dark, ors
rather sun-burnt complexion, of' easy manners, and of a gentlemanly
appearance.  The proprietor of the shop was engaged in transacting
business with an elderly lady, who was attired in mourning; she had;




MORAL TALES AND SKETCHES.    115
called respecting some repairs to be done to her watch, which was on
the counter, and the subject of conversation between her and the
jeweler. The strange gentleman, too well-mannered to interrupt the
business, amused himself by examining several articles in the shop;
but the master, after requesting the lady to excuse his leaving her
for a moment, accosted the stranger, and inquired his pleasure. The
stranger then drew from his bosom, suspended from his neck by a
black ribbon, a small pocket-case, which he opened, and took therefrom, an ancient-looking crimson-velvet cushion; this cushion might
have formed a model for Cupid's heart; it was, moreover, encased
in silver filigree-work, which traced the outlines of several similarlyshaped hearts, and many other devices. On presenting the cushion to
the jeweler, the stranger observed, that although the article appeared
a trifle, its value to him was above price, and that, as it had sustained
a slight injury, he was anxious to have it carefully repaired. The
lady in black had not seen the face of the stranger, but when the
jeweler left her to wait upon him, she occupied herself with looking
at the bi'outerie in a glass-case on the counter. While the gentleman
was addressing the jeweler, he held out the cushion in his fingers,
and as he was about to pass it from his hand, the lady turned round,
and instantly fixed her eyes upon the cushion; she seized the gentleman's arm, her whole frame trembling- from agitation; she uttered
a shriek, and then fell lifeless into the arms of the stranger. She
was immediately removed into an adjoining' parlor, and in a short
time, kindness had successfully applied the required restoratives.
Now followed exclamations, and questions, and explanations, in rapid
succession. In a word, a mother had found a long-lost son! The
tale is brief.
Some five-and-thirty years ago, a gentleman and lady, with two
children, a boy and girl, took up their residence in a small village in
Monmouthshire; the spot was one of those delightful ones for which
this country is justly celebrated; the varieties of hill and dale, wood
and water, were here beheld in prospects that combined the soft with
the picturesque, and were never gazed upon but with pleasurable
emotion.  The income of this couple was not'large, but ample for
the exigencies of comfort and even elegance, though inadequate to
an ostentatious style of living.  The gentleman had a share in a&
mercantile house in London, in which concern he was a sleeping partner; this establishment was the destination he intended for his son.
He had also some property in the funds, with which he purposed portionling off his daughter. After he had thus provided for his children,
he would still have sufficiency to insure to himself and wife, ease and
comfort in their old age. The daughter was now seven years of age,
the son five, and the parents were at that time of life when an increase
of family is not common. Both boy and girl were educated by the
father, whose chief pursuits were of a literary cast. It was usual for
the youngsters to have a holiday once a week, when they either
went to spend the day at the house of a neighbor, who had a family




116         MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
-of two boys, and a girl of a similar age, or their playmates came and
spent tlhe day with them at their father's house. It happened on
one occasion, the boy made one of those weekly visits alone, his
sister having, from  some cause or other, been detained at home.
It was in the month of September, and the boy left his friend's house
at the close of as fine an autumnal evening as ever glowed in the
western heavens, and beautified the face of the earth.  But the quiet
loveliness of the scene was a faithless harbinger to the parents of the
boy, for it betokened, not the sweet serenity of a contented mind, but
the wild fitfulness of despair-they never saw their boy again! Diligent inquiries in every corner of the county, the searching of woods,
the dragging of ponds and a river, rewards for restoration, and pros-,ecution for detention: in fine, all that parental love could deviseand what will it not devise in so hapless an emergency?-was put
into action; but, alas! without success.
Year rolled after year, but no tidings of the lost child ever reached
the ears of the fond and mourning parents.  The father was observed
always to carry about him  an air of abstraction, that made him
appear solitary in the midst of a crowd, and he never looked upon a
child but his eyes were seen reading the lineaments of its face.  Ten
years after the fatal event, he witnessed the death of his daughter,
who died by the hand of that fell destroyer of youth and beautypulmonary consumption. This second shock he survived but a few
years; but he left behind him a wife who had developed all those
virtues of her sex which enable a woman, albeit of keener sensibilities, to comfort and help the husband in the hour of sorrow and of
{sickness.  She survived him, and bore her bereavements with the
meekness of a Christian, and the gentleness of a woman; she never
afterwards appeared but in the sable habiliments of grief, and thus
her outward person harmonized with her sorrowing heart.  She
lived in close retirement, and seldom went beyond the boundaries of her
wonted walks, for they wooed her into a musing- recollection of the'infant days of her children.  Her distant friends urged her to forsake Monmouthshire forever, for their hopes were, that a total change
of scene would produce a change of habits, and a more lively enjoy-ment of life. But no: she loved to linger on the spot sanctified by
her endearments as a wife and mother, and she fondly indulged a
hope that her boy lived, and would some day be restored to her
longing arms.  Her hope was attached to the heart by one of those
imperceptible threads which the mind almost unconsciously weaves
when surrounded by despair; for if that thread were visible, it
would appear frail indeed, and quite unable to sustain the slightest
shock; nevertheless, its texture is of that elastic tenacity which,
while it yields to the severest strain, never breaks, but recovers its
wonted position, and retains its firm hold on the heart, until death,severs the cord that life could not break.
But the boy, now the man-hear his own tale.  He has a dim recol-ction of the events of his childhood.  He well remembers the




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    117
evening when he was returning home from  his playmates; he
remembers walking along with a man, and a woman in a red cloak,
and that when he cried, he was threatened to have his head cut off if
he did not keep silent and go along quietly, as he would not be hurt,
for he was being taken to see his papa and mamma, who had gone out
visiting, and had sent the man and woman for him. Some such narrative is vividly impressed on his remembrance, and has ever been
floating in his mind. He also remembers residing for several months
in a large seaport town, but was never allowed to go out from the little house where he lived, except at night, and then only in company
with the man or woman: he recollects very well the person who saw
him frequently in that house, because he was very kind to him, and
at length took him on board a ship. The first town he remembers
abroad was Kingston in Jamaica, where, he believes, he remained
about nine years with the person who took him out. This individual
was the owner of a large store, and the lad was employed in its business. During this time his education was not totally neglected, as
his patron took some pleasure in improving his reading and writing.
Having frequently expressed a desire for the sea service, our young
hero was bound apprentice to a merchant captain, whose vessel traded
between the West India Islands and the ports of the United States
and South America. In this vessel he remained eight years, and had
become so far a favorite of the captain, that the last year he kept his
accounts, acted in some manner as his secretary, and was rapidly
advancing in his affections, when death broke the connexion. The
captain died in New York.  He now thought of visiting England, but
not with any special intention of seeking his parents, as he had been
assured by the person who took him to Jamaica that he was an orphan,
but had been taken care of in early infancy by the benevolence of a
lady and gentleman, and that he had been sent to sea to get a livelihood as he best could. However, as he could not readily obtain a
suitable situation on board a British vessel, for which, moreover, he
was not very anxious, as the times had been, and were likely to continue, very troublous, he succeeded in getting into a merchant's office
in New York, where he began at a very subordinate post. Being of
temperate and persevering habits, he became in five years a corresponding clerk. He was rising high in the scale of advancement,
when one of his brother clerks married a daughter of the merchant,
and was immediately taken into partnership. His elevation caused
the new partner to assume consequential airs, which discomfited the
peace of the establishment, and ended in our hero's separation from
the house. He afterward filled another responsible situation in New
York, when, after two years' service, he accepted a lucrative offer to
superintend a merchant's office in New Orleans, and subsequently he
became a partner in the concern, and accumulated a moderate fortune.
For these last ten years he had had a growing desire to visit England,
and at length he resolved on its gratification. About three months
ago he landed in Liverpool; and after sojourning in that town and




118         MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
London some six weeks, he visited Bristol. From the appearance of
some of the public buildings in Bristol, particularly the Exchange, he
was convinced that Bristol was the port whence he sailed from England. After spending a fortnight at Clifton, he determined on returning to Liverpool, through South Wales, by way of Monmouthshire;
and it was in this county that accident threw him in the path of his
mother. The recognition has been described; but the history of the
means, namely, the cushion, remains to be told.' When the hapless boy was kidnapped from his home, he had the
cushion-case in his pocket; he knew it was dearly prized by his mother,
and he had often heard her say it had been given to her by his grandmother. In the silver filigree-work that enclosed the cushion, was
traced in a circle the Christian name of his grandmother, and the
words, "Keep this in remembrance of me."  The boy managed to
preserve the cushion, and as he grew to manhood, his affection for
the relic became stronger. This little memento of the days of his
childhood perhaps served to fix the remembrance. of them more firmly
in his mind. Of late years he wore it in his bosom, suspended from
his neck by a black ribbon.  On ascending the steps of the far-famed
Wind Cliff, his foot slipped, he fell against one of the stone steps, and
damaged the filigree that encased the cushion.
On his arrival at the first town in his route, he hastened to the
shop of a working-jeweler.  The reader already knows the sequel;
his mother cast her eyes upon the relic, read her mother's name, and
the never-forgotten words, " Keep this in remembrance of me." She
felt as none but mothers can feel, but as no mortal can describe; and
the evening of her old age will be smoothed by the affectionate attentions of a beloved but long-lost son.
JERRY GUTTRID GE.
A TALE OF THE EARLY AMERICAN SETTLEMENTS.
"WHAT shall we have for dinner, Mr. Guttridge?" said the wife
of Jerry Guttridge in a sad, desponding tone, as her husband came
into the log hovel from a neighboring grog-shop about twelve o'clock
on a hot July day.
" Oh, pick up something," said Jerry; " and I wish you would
be spry and get it ready, for I'm hungry now, and I want to go back
to the shop; for Sam Willard and Seth Harmon are coming over byan'-by to swap horses, and they'll want me to ride'em. Come, stir
round: I can't wait."
"We haven't got any thing at all in the house to eat," said Mrs.
Guttridge. " What shall I get?"
"Well, cook something," said Jerry; " no matter what it is."




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   11
But, Mr. Guttridge, we haven't got the least thing in the house
to cook."
"Well, well, pick up something," said Jerry rather snappis]ly, "for
I'm in a hurry."
o "I can't make victuals out of nothing," said the wife: " if you'll
only bring any thing in the world into the house to cook, I'll cook it.
But I tell you we haven't got a mouthful of meat in the house, nor a
mouthful of bread, nor a speck of meal; and the last potatoes we had
in the house we ate for breakfast; and you know we didn't have more
than half enough for breakfast neither."
"Well, what have you been doing all this forenoon," said Jerry,
"that you haven't picked up something?  Why didn't you go over
to Mr. Whitman's and borrow some meal?"
" Because," said Mrs. Guttridge, " we've borrowed meal there three
times that isn't returned yet; and I was ashamed to go again till that
was paid. And besides, the baby's cried so, I've had to'tend him
the whole forenoon, and couldn't go out."
"'Then you a'n't a-goin' to give us any dinner, are you?" said
Jerry with a reproachful tone and look. " I pity the man that has a
helpless, shiftless wife; he has a hard row to hoe. What's become
of that fish I brought in yesterday?"
I"Why, Mr. Guttridge," said his wife with tears in her eyes, "you
and the children ate that fish for your supper last night.  I never
tasted a morsel of it, and haven't tasted any thing but potatoes these
two days; and I'm so faint now, I can hardly stand."
" Always a-grumblin'," said Jerry; "I can't never come into the
house but what I must hear a fuss about something or other. What's
this bov snivelling about?" he continued, turning to little Bobby, his
oldest boy-a little ragged, dirty-faced, sickly-looking thing, about six
years' old —at the same time giving the child a box on the ear, which
laid him at his length on the floor. "Now get up 1" said Jerry, "or
I'll learn you to be crying about all day for nothing."
The tears rolled afresh down the cheeks of Mrs. Guttridge; she
sighed heavily as she raised the child from the floor, and seated him
on a bench on the opposite side of the room.
"What is Bob crying about?" said Jerry fretfully.
"Why, Mr. Guttridge," said his wife, sinking upon the bench
beside her little boy, and wiping his tears with her apron, "the poor
child has been crying for a piece of bread these two hours. He's
ate nothin' to-day but one potato, and I s'pose the poor thing is halfstarved."
At this moment their neighbor, Mr. Nat. Frier, a substantial
farmer, a worthy man, made his appearance at the door, and as it was
wide open, he walked in and took a seat.. He knew the destitute condition of Guttridge's family, and had often relieved their distresses.
His visit at the present time was partly an errand of charity; for,
being in want of some extra labor in his haying-field that afternoon,
and linowing that Jerry was doing nothing, while his family was




120         MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
starving, he thought he would endeavor to get him to work for him,
and pay him in provisions.
Jerry seated himself rather sullenly on a broken-backed chair, the
only sound one in the house being occupied by Mr. Frier, toward
whom he cast sundry gruff looks and surly glances. The truth was,
Jerry had not received the visits of his neighbors of late years with
a very gracious welcome. He regarded them rather as spies, who
came to search out the nakedness of the land, than as neighborly visitors calling to exchange friendly salutations.  He said not a word;
and the first address of Mr. Frier was to little Bobby.
"What's the matter with little Bobby?" said he in a gentle tone;
"come, my little fellow, come here and tell me what's the matter."
" Go, run, Bobby; go and see Mr. Frier," said the mother, slightly
pushing him forward with her hand.
The boy, with one finger in his mouth, and the tears still rolling over
his dirty face, edged along sideways up to Mr. Frier, who took him in
his lap, and asked him again what was the matter.
" I want a piece of bread 1" said Bobby.
"And wont your mother give you some?" said Mr. Frier tenderly.
"She han't got none," replied Bobby; " nor'taters too."  Mrs.
Guttridge's tears told the rest of the story. The worthy farmer knew
they were entirely out of provisions again, and he forbore to ask any
further questions, but told Bobby if he would go over to his house he
would give him something to eat.  Then turning to Jerry, said he,
"Neighbor Guttridge, I've got four tons of hay down, that needs to
go in this afternoon, for it looks as if we should have rain to-morrow,
and I've come over to see if I can get you to go and help me. If
you'll go this afternoon and assist me to get it in, I'll give you a
bushel of meal, or a half-bushel of meal and a bushel of potatoes,
and two pounds of pork."
I can't go," said Jerry; "I've got something else to do."
" Oh, well," said Mr. Frier, if you've got any thing else to do that
will be more profitable, I'm glad of it, for there's enough hands that
I can get; only I thought you might like to go, bein' you was scant
of provisions."
"Do, pray go, Mr. Guttridge 1" said his wife with a beseeching
look; "for you are only going over to the shop to ride them horses,
and that wont do no good; you'll only spend all the afternoon for
nothing, and then we shall have to go to bed without our supper again.
Do, pray go, Mr. Guttridge; do I"
I wish you would hold your everlasting clack 1" said Jerry; "you
are always full of complainings.  It's got to be a fine time of day if the
women are a-goin' to rule the roast. I shall go over and ride them
horses, and it's no business to you nor nobody else; and if you're
too lazy to get your own supper, you may go without it; that's all
I've got to say."
With that he aimed for the door, when Mr. Frier addressed him as
follows: —" Now I must say, neighbor Guttridge, if you are going to




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                    12l
spend the afternoon over at the shop, to ride horses for them jockeys
and leave your family without provisions, when you have a good?
chance to'arn enough this afternoon to last them nigh about a.
week, I must say, neighbor Guttridge, that I think you are not in the
way of your duty."
Upon this Jerry whirled round, and looked Mr. Frier full in the'
face, and grinning horribly, he said, "You old, meddling vagabond!
who made you a master over me, to be telling me what's my duty?'
You had better go home and take care of your own children, and let
your neighbors' alone 1"
Mr. Frier sat and looked Jerry calmly in the face without utteringa syllable; while he, having blown his blast, marched out of doors,
and steered directly for the grog-shop, leaving his wife to " pick up
something" if she could, to keep herself and children fiom absolute'
starvation.
Mr. Frier was a benevolent man, and a Christian, and in the true
spirit of Christianity he always sought to relieve distress wherever he
found it. He was endowed, too, with a good share of plain, common
sense, and knew something of human nature; and as lie was well
aware that Mrs. Guttridge really loved her husband, notwithstanding
his idle habits and cold, brutal, treatment to his family, he forbore to.
remark upon the scene which had just passed; but telling the afflicted
woman he would send her something to eat, he took little Bobby by
the hand and led him home. A plate of victuals was set before the,
child, who devoured it with a greediness that was piteous to behold.
" Poor cre'tur!" said Mrs. Frier; "why, he's half-starved! Betsy,
bring him a dish of bread and milk; that'will sit the best on his
poor, empty, starved stomach."
Betsy ran and brought the bowl of milk, and little Bobby's hand
soon began to move from the dish to his mouth with a motion as
steady and rapid as the pendulum of a clock. The whole family
stood and looked on with pity and surprise until he had finished his.
meal, or rather until he had eaten as much as they dared allow him
to eat at once, for although lhe had devoured a large plate of meat
and vegetables, and two dishes of bread and milk, his appetite seemed
as ravenous as when he first began.
While Bobby had been eating, Mr. Frier had been relating to his,
family the events which had occurred at Guttridge's house, and the
starving condition of the inmates; and it was at once agreed that
something should be sent over immediately; for they all said, " Mrs.
Guttridge was a clever woman, and it was a shame that she should
be left to suffer so."
Accordingly a basket was filled with bread, a jug of milk, and some
meat and vegetables, ready cooked, which had been left from their'
dinner; and Betsy ran and brought a pie, made from their last year's
pumpkins, and asked her mother if she might not put that in, "so
that the poor starving cre'turs might have a little taste of something
that was good?"




122         MIORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
"Yes," said her mother, " and put in a bit of cheese with it. I
don't think we shall be any the poorer for it; for' he that giveth to
the poor lendeth to the Lord.' "
" Yes, yes," said Mr. Frier; " and I guess you may as well put in
a little dried pumpkin; she can stew it up for the little ones, and it'll
be good for'em. We've got a plenty of green stuff a-growin' to last
till pumpkins come again."  So a quantity of dried pumpkins was
also packed into the basket, and the pie laid on the top, and George
was despatched, in company with little Bobby, to carry it over.
Mr. Frier's benevolent feelings had become highly excited. He
forgot his four tons of hay, and sat down to consult with his wife
about what could be done for the Guttridge family. Something must
be done soon; he was not able to support them all the time; and if
they were left alone much longer they would starve. He told his wife
he "had a good mind to go and enter a complaint ag'in' Jerry, for a
lazy, idle person, that didn't provide for his family. The court sits at
Saco to-morrow; and don't you think, wife, I had better go and
do it?"
His wife thought he had better go over first and talk with Mrs.
Guttridge about it; and if she was willing, he had better do it. Mr.
Frier said "he could go over and talk with her, but he didn't
think it would be of the least use, for she loved Jerry, ugly as he was,
and he did n't believe she would be willing to have him punished by
the court."
However, after due consultation, he concluded to go over and have
a talk with Mrs. Guttridge about the matter. Accordingly, he took
his hat and walked over. He found the door open, as usual, and
walked in without ceremony. Here he beheld the whole family,
including Jerry himself, seated at their little pine-table, doing ample
justice to the basket of provisions which he had just before sent them.
He observed the pie had been cut into two pieces, and one half of it,
and he thought rather the largest half, was laid on Jerry's plate, the
rest being cut up into small bits, and divided among the children.
Mrs. Guttridge had reserved none to herself, except a small spoonful
of the soft part, with which she was trying to feed the baby. The
other eatables seemed to be distributed very much in the same
proportion.
Mr. Frier was a cool, considerate man, whose passions were always
under the most perfect control; but he always confessed, for years
afterward, "that for a minute or two he thought he felt a little
something like anger rising up in his stomach!"
He sat and looked on until they had finished their meal, and Jerry
had eaten bread and meat and vegetables enough for two common
mnen's dinners, and swallowed his half of the pie, and a large slice of
cheese, by way of dessert; and then rose, took his hat, and without
saying a word, marched deliberately out of the house, directing his
course again to the grog-shop.
Mr. Frier now broached the subject of his visit to Mrs. Guttridge.




MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   123
He told her the neighbors could not afford to support her family much
longer, and unless her husband went to work, he didn't see but they
would  have to starve.
Mrs. Guttridge began to cry. She said "she didn't know what
they should do: she had talked as long as talking would do any good,
but somehow, Mr. Guttridge didn't seem  to love to work. She
believed it wasn't his natur' to work."
"Well, Mrs. Guttridge, do you believe the scriptures?" said Mr.
Frier, solemnly.
"I'm sure I do," said Mrs. Guttridge; "I believe all there is in
the Bible."
"And don't you know," said Mr. Frier, "the Bible says,' He that
will not work, neither shall he eat?' "
"I know  there's something in the Bible like that," said Mrs.
Guttridge, with a very serious look.
Mr. Frier now represented to Mrs. Guttridge the impropriety of her
husband's behavior —cruel towards her and her family, and unjust
towards her neighbors.  In short, thoulgh somewhat against her will,
lie reconciled her to a plan he had in view for bringing Jerry to his
senses; namely, that of suing him before the court.
Mr. Frier returned home, but the afternoon was so far spent, that
he postponed his visit to the court till next morning. Accordingly,
next day, as soon as breakfast was over, he wend ed his way to court,
to appear before the grand jury.
" Well, Mr. Frier, what do you want?" asked the foreman, as the.
complainant entered the room.
"I come to complain of Jerry Guttridge to the grand jury," replied Mr. Frier, taking off his hat.
"Why, what has Jerry Guttridge done?" said the foreman.;"
didn't think he had life enough to do any thing- worth complaining of
to the grand jury."
"It's because he hasn't got life enough to do any thing," said Mr.
Frier, "that I've come to complain of him. The fact is, Mr. Foreman, he's a lazy, idle fellow, and wont work, nor provide nothing for
his family to eat; and they've been half-starving this long time; and
the neighbors have had to keep sending in something all the time to
keep them alive."
"But," said the foreman, "Jerry's a peaceable kind of a chap, Mr
Frier; has any body ever talked to him about it in a neighborly way,
and advised him to do differently?  And may-be he has no chance
to work where he could get any thing for it?"
"I'm sorry to say," replied Mr. Frier, " that he's been ta.lked to a
good deal, and it don't do no good; and I tried hard to get him to
work for me yesterday afternoon, and offered to give him victuals
enough to last his family almost a week; but I couldn't get him to;
and he went off to the grog-shop to see some jockeys swap horses.
And when I told him calmly I didn't think he was in the way of his
duty, he flew in a passion, and called me an old meddling vagabond!"
9




124         AMO[AL T ALES   AND  SKE,r    E S.
"Abominable!" exclaimed one of the jury.  "Who ever heard
of such outrageous conduct?"
"What a wretch!" exclaimed another.
"Well," said the foreman, " there is no more to be said. Jerry
certainly (leserves to be indicted, if any body in this world ever did."
Accordingly the indictment was drawn up, a warrant was issued,
and the next day Jerry was brought before the court to answer to the
charges preferred against him.  Mrs. Sally Guttridge and Mr. Nat.
Frier were summoned as witnesses.  When the honorable court was
ready to hear the case, the clerk called Jerry Guttridge, and bade
him hearlken to an indictnment found against him by the grand inquest
for the district of Maine, now sitting at Saco, in the words following;
namely:- " We present Jerry Guttridge for an idle person, and not
providing for his family; and giving reproachful language to Mr. Nat.
Frier, when he reproved him for his idleness."
"Jerry Guttridge, what say you to this indictment?  Are you
guilty thereof, or not guilty?"
"Not guilty," said Jerry; " and here's my wife can tell yrou the
same any day. Sally, haven't I always provided for my family?"
"Why, yes," said Mrs. Guttridge; " I don't know but you have
as well as    "
"Stop, stop 1" said the judge, looking down over the top of his
spectacles at the witness; " stop, lM~rs. Guttridge; you must not
answer questions until you have been sworn.". The court then directed the clerk to swear th;3e witnesses; whereupon he called Nat. Frier and Sally Guttridge to step forward and
hold up their right-hands.  Mhr. Frier advanced with a ready, honest
air, and held up his hand.  Mrs. Guttridge lingered a little behind;
but. when at last she faltered along, with feeble and hesitating step,
and held up her thin, trembling hand, and raised her pale blue eyes,
half swimming in tears, towards the court, and exhibited her careworn features, which, thoug-h sun-burnt, were pale and sickly, the
judge had in his own mind more than half decided the case against
Jerry.  The witnesses having been sworn, Mrs. Guttridge was called
to the stand.
"Now, lMrs. Guttridge," said the judge, "you are not obliged to
testify against your husband any thing more than you choose; your
testimony must be voluntary.  The court will ask you questions
touching' the case, and you can answer them  or not, as you may
think best.  And in the first place, Ii will ask you whether your husband neglects to provide for the necessary wants of his family; and
whether you do, or do not, have comfortable food and clothing for
yourself and children?"
"Well, we go pretty hungry a good deal of the time," said fMrs.
Guttridge, trembling; "but I don't know but Mr. Guttridge does the
best he can about it.  There don't seem to be any victuals that he can
get a good deal of the time."
"' Well, is he, or is he not, in the habit of spendingf his time idly,




~MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   125
when he might be at work, and earning something for his family to
live upon?"
" Why, as to that," replied the witness, " Mr. Guttridge don't work
much; but I don't know as he can help it: it doesn't seem to be his
natur' to work. Somehow he don't seem to be made like other folks;
for if he tries ever so much, he can't never work but a few minutes
at a time: the natur' don't seem to be in him."
"Well, well," said the judge, casting' a dignified and judicial
glance at the culprit, who stood with mouth wide open and ey.es fixed
on the court with an intentness that showed he began to take some
interest in the matter-" well, well, perhaps the court will be cable to
piut the natur' in him."
Mrs. Guttridge was directed to step aside, and Mr. Nat. Frier was
called to the stand. His testimony was very much to the pointclear and conclusive. But as the reader is alleady in possession of
the substance of it, it is unnecessary to recapitulate it. Suffice it to
say, that the judge retained a dignified self-possession, and settling
back in his chair, said the case was clearly made out; Jerry Guttridge
was unquestionably guilty of the charges preferred against him.
The court, out of delicacy towards the feelings of his wife, refrained
from pronouncing sentence until she had retired, which she did on an
intimation being' given her that the case was closed, and she could
return home. Jerry was then called, and ordered to hearken to his
sentence, as the court had recorded it.
Jerry stood up and' faced the court with fixed eyes and gaping
mouth, and the clerk repeated as follows: " Jerry Guttridge! you
having been found guilty of being an idle and lazy person, and not
providing for your family, and giving reproachful language to Mir.
Nat. Frier, when he reproved you for your idleness, the court orders
that you receive twenty smart lashes with the cat-o'-nine tails upon
your naked back, and that this sentence be executed forthwith by the
constables, at the whipping-post in the yard adjoining the courthouse. "
Jerry dropped his head, and his face assumed divers deep colors,
sometimes red, and sometimes shading upon the blue. He tried to
glance round upon the assembled multitude, but his look was very
sheepish; and, unable to stand the gaze of the hundreds of eyes
that were turned upon him, he settled back on a bench, leant his
head on his hand, and looked steadily upon the floor. The constables
having been directed by the court to proceed forthwith to execute the
sentence, they led him out into the yard, put his arms round the
whipping-post, and tied his hands together. He submitted without
resistance; but when they commenced tying his hands round the post,
he began to cry and beg, and promise better fashions, if they would
only let him go this time. But the constables told him it was too late
now; the sentence of the court had been passed, and the punishment
must be inflicted.  The whole throng of spectators had issued from.
the court-house, and stood round in a large ring, to see the sentence




126         MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
enforced. The judge himself had stepped to a side window, which
commanded a view of the yard, and stood peering solemnly through
his spectacles, to see that the ceremony was duly performed. All
things being in readiness, the stoutest constable took the cat-o'-nine
tails and brought them heavily across the naked back of the victim.
At every blow, Jerry jumped and screamed, so that he might have
been heard well-nigh a mile. When the twenty blows were counted,
and tile ceremony was ended, he was loosed from his confinement,
and told that he might go.  He put on his garments with a sullen
but subdued air, and without stopping to pay his respects to the cour't,
or even to bid any one good-by, he made for home as fast as he could.
Mrs. Guttridge met him at the door with a kind and piteous look,
and asked him if they had hurt him. He made no reply, but pushed
along into the house. There he found the table set, and well supplied
for dinner; for Mrs. Guttridge, partly through the kindness of Mr.
Frier, and partly from her own exertions, had managed to "pick up
something," that served to make quite a comfortable meal. Jerry ate
his dinner in silence, but his wife thought he manifested more tenderness and less selfishness than she had known him to exhibit for years;
for instead of appropriating the most and the best of the food to himself, he several times placed fair proportions of it upon the plates of
his wife and each of the children.
The next morning, before the sun had dried the dew from the grass,
whoever passed the haying field of Mr. Nat. Frier, might have beheld
Jerry Guttridge busily at work, shaking out the wet hay to the sun;
and for a month afterward, the passer-by might have seen him, every
day, early and late, in that and the adjoining fields, a perfect pattern
of industry.
A change soon became perceptible in the condition and circumstances of his family. His house began to wear more of an air of
comfort outside and in. His wife improved in health and spirits;
and little Bobby became a fat, hearty boy, and grew like a pumpkin.
And years afterward, Mrs. Guttridge was heard to say, that " somehow, ever since that trial, Mr. Guttridge's nature seemed to be entirely
changed 1"- -Knickerbocker.
ABBY'S YEAR IN LOWELL.
" MR. ATKINS, I Stay! Husband, why can't you speak?  Do you
hear what Abby says?"
" Any thing worth hearing? " was the responsive question of Mr.
Atkins; and he laid down the New Hampshire Patriot, and peered
over his spectacles with a look which seemed to say, that an event so
uncommon deserved particular attention.




MORAL TALES AND  S KETCHES.                  127
"WVhy, she says that she means to go to Lowell and work in the
factory."
" Well, wife, let her go;" and Mr. Atkins took up the Patriot
again.
"But I do not see how I can spare her; the spring cleaning
is not done, nor the soap made, nor the boys' summer-clothes;
and you say that you intend to board your own'men-folks,' and
keep two more cows than you did last year; and Charley can
scarcely go alone. I do not see how I can get along without
her."
"But you say she does not assist you any about the house."
"Well, husband, she might."
"Yes, she ihiight do a great many things which she does not
think of doing; and as I do not see that she means to be useful here,
we will let her go to the factory."
"' Father! are you in earnest? May I go to Lowell? " said Abby;
and she raised her bright, black eyes to her father's with a look of
exquisite delight.
"Yes, Abby, if you will promise me one thing; and that is, that
you will stay a whole year without visiting us, excepting in case of
sickness, and that you will stay but one year."
"I will promise any thing, father, if you will only let me go; for I
thought you would say that I had better stay at home and pick
rocks, and weed the garden, and drop corn, and rake hay; and I
do not want to do such work any longer. May I go with the Slater
girls next Tuesday, for that is the day they have set for their
return?"
" Yes, Abby, if you will remember that you are to stay a year,
and only one year."
Abby retired to rest that night with a heart fluttering with pleasure;
for ever since the visit of the Slater girls, with new silk dresses, and
Navarino bonnets trimmed with flowers, and lace veils, and gauze
handkerchiefs, her head had been filled with visions of fine clothes;
and she thought if she could only go where she could dress like
them, she should be completely happy. She was naturally very
fond of dress, and often, while a little girl, had she sat on the grassbank by the roadside watching the stage which went daily by her
father's retired dwelling; and when she saw the gay ribbons and
smart shawls, which passed like a bright phantom before her wondering eyes, she had thought that, when older, she, too, would have such
things; and she looked forward to womanhood, as to a state in which
the chief pleasure must exist in wearing fine clothes. But as years
passed over her, she became aware that this was a source from which
she could never derive any enjoyment whilst she remained at home;
for her father was neither able nor willing to gratify her in this
respect, and she had begun to fear that she must always wear the
same brown cambric bonnet, and that the same calico gown would
always be her "go-to-meeting dress."  And now what a bright




128         MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
picture had been formed by her ardent and uncultivated imagination!
Yes, she would go to Lowell, and earn all that she possibly could, and
spend those earnings in beautiful attire; she would have silk dressesone of grass green, and another of cherry red, and another upon the
color of which she would decide when she purchased it; and she
would have a new Navarino bonnet, far more beautiful than Judith
Slater's; and when at last she fell asleep, it was to dream of satin
and lace, and her glowing fancy reveled all night in a vast and
beautiful collection of milliners' finery.
But very different were the dreams of Abby's mother; and
when she awoke the next morning, her first words to her husband
were, "11Mr. Atkins, were you serious last night, when you told
Abby that she might go to Lowell?  I thought at first that you
were vexed because I interrupted you, and said it to stop the
conversation."
"Yes, wife, I was serious, and you did not interrupt me, for I
had been listening to all that you and Abby were saying.  She is
a wild, thoughtless girl, and I hardly know what it is best to do
with her; but perhaps it will be as well to try an experiment, and
let her think and act a little while for herself.  I expect that she will
spend all her earnings in fine clothes; but afterl she has done so,
she may see the folly of it; at all events, she will be rather more
likely to understand the value of money when she has been obliged
to work for it. After she has had her own way for one year, she
may possibly be willinll  to return home and become a little more
steady, and be willing' to devote her active energies (for she is
a very capable girl,) to household duties, for hitherto, her services
have been principally out of doors, where she is now too old to work.
I am also willing that she should see a little of the world, and what
is going on in it; and I hope that if she receives no benefit, she will
at least return to us uninjured."
"Oh, husband, I have many fears for her," was the reply of
Mrs. Atkins, "she is so very giddy and thoughtless; and the Slater girls are as hair-brained as herself, and will lead her on in all
sorts of folly.  I wish you would tell her that she must stay at
h2ome."
("I have made a promise," said Mr. Atkins, "and I will keep
it; and Abby, I trust, will keep hers."
Abby flew round in high spirits to make the necessary preparations for her departure, and 1her mother assisted her with a heavy
heart.
II.
The evening before she left home, her father called her to him, and
fixing upon her a calm, earnest, and almost mournful look, he said,
"Abby, do you ever think?"  Abby was subdued and almost awed
by her father's look and manner.  There was something unusual in
it-something in his expression whlich was unexpected in him, buh




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                    129
which reminded her of her teacher's look at the Sabbath school,
when he was endeavoring to impress upon her mind some serious
truth.
" Yes, father," she at length replied, " I have thought a great deal
lately about going to Lowell."
"But I do not believe, my child, that you have had one serious
reflection upon the subject, and I fear that I have done wrong in consenting to let you go from home. If I were too poor to maintain you
here, and had no employment about which you could make yourself
useful, I should feel no self-reproach, and would let you go trusting
all might yet be well; but now I have done what I mray at some that
future time severely repent of; and, Abby, if you do not wish to make
me wretched, you will return to us a better. milder, and more thoughtful girl."
That night Abby reflected more seriously than she bad ever done
in her life before. Her father's words, rendered more impressive by
the look and tone with which they were delivered, had sunk into her
heart as words of his had never done before. She had been surprised at
his ready acquiescence in her wishes, but it had now a new meaning.
She felt that she was about to be abandoned to herself, because her
parents despaired of being able to do any thing for her; they thougoht
her too wild, reckless, and untameable to be softened by aught but
the stern lessons of experience.  I will surprise them, said she to
herself; I will show therm that I have some reflection; and after I
come home, my father shall never ask me if I think.  Yes, I know
what their fears are, and I will let them see that I can take care of
myself, and as good care as they have ever taken of me. I know that
I have not done as well as I might have done; but I will begin now,
and when I return, they shall see that I am a better, milder, and
more thoughtful girl. And the money which I intended to spend in
fine dress shall be put into the bank; I will save it all, and my father
shall see that I can earn money, and take care of it too.  Oh how
different I will be from what they think I am; and how very glad it
will make mny father and mother to see that I am not so very bad
after all!
New feelings and new ideas had begotten new resolutions, and
Abby's dreams that night were of smiles from her mother,-and words
from her father, such as she had never received-nor deserved.
When she bade them farewell the next morning, she said nothing
of the chanfge which had taken place in her views and feelings, for
she felt a slight degree of self-distrust in her own firmness of
purpose.
Abby's self-distrust was commendable and auspicious; but she had
a very prominent development in that part of the head where phrenologists locate the organ of firmness; and when she had once determined upon a thingo, she usually went through with it.  She had now
resolved to pulrsue a course entirely different from  that which was
expected of her, and as different from the one she had first muarked




130      M. MORAL  T ILLS  AND  SKETCHES.
out for herself.  This was more difficult, on account of her strong propensity for dress, a love of which was freely gratified by her companions.  But when Judith Slater pressed her to purchase this beautiful piece of silk, or that splendid piece of muslin, her constant
reply was, " No, I have determined not to buy any such things, and I
will keep my resolution."
Before she came to Lowell, she wondered in her simplicity, how
people could live where there were so many stores, and not spend all
their money; and it now required all her firmness to resist being overcome by the tempting display of beauties which met her eyes whenever
she promenaded the illuminated streets.  It was hard to walk by the
milliners' shops with an unwavering step; and when she came to the
confectionaries, she could not help stopping.  But she did not yield
to the temptation; she did not spend her money in them. When she
saw fine strawberries, she said to herself, "I can gather them in our
own pasture next year;" when she looked upon the nice peaches,
chlerries, and plums, which stood in tempting array behind their crystal
barriers, she said again, " I will do without them this summer;" and
when apples, pears, and nuts were offered to her for sale, she thought
that she would eat none of them till she went home. But she felt that
the only safe place for her earnings was the savings' bank, and there
they were regularly deposited, that it might be out of her power to
indulge in momentary whims.  She gratified no feeling but a newlyawakened desire for mental improvement, and spent her leisure hours
in reading useful books.
Abby's year was one of perpetual self-contest and self-denial; but
it was by no means one of unmitigated misery.  The ruling desire of
years was not to be conquered by the resolution of a moment; but
when the contest was over, there was for her the triumph of victory.
If the battle was sometimes desperate, there was so much more merit
in being conqueror.  One Sabbath was spent in tears, because Judith
Slater did not wish her to attend their meeting with such a dowdy
bonnet; and another fellow-boarder thought her gown must have
been made in "the year one."  The color mounted to her cheeks,
and the lightning flashed firom her eyes, when asked if she had "just
come down;" - and she felt as though she should be glad to be away
from theip all, when she heard their sly innuendos about "bushwhackers."  Still she remained unshaken.  It is but for a year, said
she to herself, and the time and money that my father thought I
should spend in folly shall be devoted to a better purpose.
III.
At the close of a pleasant April day, Mr. Atkins sat at his kitchen
fireside, with Charley upon his knee.  "Wife," said he to Mrs.
A.tkins, who was busily preparing the evening meal, " is it not a year
since Abby left home?"
"Why, husband, let me think: I always clean up the house
tlloroughly just before fast-day, and I had not done it when Abby




T O RA I, TALES  A N D  S KETCHES.               131
wuent away.  I remember speaking to her about it, and telling hei
that it was wrong to leave me at such a busy time; and she said,'Mother, I will be at home to do it all next year.' Yes, it is a year,
and I should not be surprised if she should come this week."
" Perhaps she will not come at all," said MIr. Atkins, with a gloomy
look; " she has written us but few letters, and they have been very
short and unsatisfactory. I suppose she has sense enough to know
that no news is better than bad news; and having nothing pleasant
to tell about herself, she thinks she will tell us nothing at all.. But if
[ ever get her home again, I will keep her here.  I assure you her
first year in Lowell shall also be her last."
" Husband, I told you my fears, and if you had set up your authority, Abbv would have been obliged to stay at home; but perhaps she
is doing pretty well. You know she is not accustomed to writing,
and that may account for the few and short letters we have received 
but they have all, even the shortest, contained the assurance that she
would be at home at the close of the year."
i"Pa, the stage has stopped here," said little Charley, and he
bounded from his father's knee.  The next moment the room rang
with the shout of "Abby has come! Abby has come!"  In a few
moments more she was in the midst of the joyful throng. Her father
pressed her hand in silence, and tears gushed from her mother's eyes.
Her brothers and sisters were clamorous with delight, all but little
Charley, to whom Abby was a stranger, and who repelled with terror
al.l her overtures for a better acquaintance.  Her parents gazed upon
her with speechless pleasure, for they felt that a change for the better
had taken place in their once.wayward girl. Yes, there she stood
before them, a little taller and a little thinner, and, when the flush of
emotion had faded away, perhaps a little paler; but the eyes were
bright in their joyous radiance, and the smile of health and innocence
was playing around the rosy lips. She carefully laid aside her new
straw-bonnet, with its plain trimming of light-blue ribbon, and her
dark merino dress showed to the best advantage her neat symmetrical
form.  There was more delicacy of personal appearance than when
she left them, and also more softness of mariner; for constant collision with. so many young females had worn off the little asperities
which had marked her conduct while at home.
" Well, Abby, how many silk gowns have you got?" said her father,
as she opened a large new trunk.
" Not one, father," said she, and she fixed her dark eyes upon him
with an expression that told all.  "But here are some little books for
the children, and a new calico dress for mother; and here is a nice
black silk handkerchief for you to wear around your neck on Sundays.
Accept it, dear father, for it is your daughter's first gift."
"You had better have bought me a pair of spectacles, for I am
sure IC cannot see any thing."  There were tears in the rough farmer's
eyes, but he tried to laugh and joke, that they might not be perceived.
"But what did you do with all your money?"




132          MORAL  TALES AND  SKETCHES.
"I thought I had better leave it there," said Abby, and she placed
her bank-book in her father's hand.  Mr. Atkins looked a moment,
and the forced smile faded away.  The surprise had been too great,
and tears fell thick and fast from the father's eyes.
" It is but a little," said Abby.
"But it was all you could save," replied her father, "and I am
proud of you, Abby; yes, proud that I am  the father of such
a girl. It is not this paltry sum which pleases me so much, but the
prudence, self-command, and real affection for us which you have
displayed. But was it not sometimes hard to resist temptation?"
"Yes, father, you can never know how hard; but it was the thought
of this night which sustained me through it all. I knew  how  you
would. smile, and what my mother would say and feel; and though
there have been moments, yes, hours, that have seen me wretched
enough, yet this one evening will repay for all.  There is but one
thing now to mar my happiness, and that is the thought that this little fellow has quite forgotten me," and she drew Charley to her side.
But the new picture-book had already effected wonders, and in a few
moments he was in her lap, with his arms around her neck, and his
mother could not persuade him to retire that night until he had given
"Sister Abby" a hundred kisses.' Father," said Abby, as she arose to retire when the tall clock
struck eleven, "may I not some time go back to Lowell?  I should
like to add a little to the sum in the bank, and I should be glad of
onze silk gown."
" Yes, Abby, you may do any thing you wish. I shall never again
be afraid fo let you spend a year in Lowell.  You have shown yourself to be possessed of a virtue, without which no one can expect to
gain either respect or confidencee-SELF-DENIAL."-Lotuell Ofering.
JAMES WALLACE.
"How far is it from here to the sun, Jim?" asked Harman Lee of
his father's apprentice, James Wallace, in a tone of light raillery,
intending by the question to elicit some reply that would exhibit the
boy's ignorance.
James Wallace, a boy of fourteen, turned his bright intelligent eyes
upon the son. of his master, and after re'arding him for a moment, he
replied, "I don't know, Harman.  How far is it?"
There was somrething so honest and earnest in the tone of the boy,
that much as Harman had felt disposed at first to sport with his ignorance, he could not refrain from. givingo him a true answer.  Still, his
contempt for the ignorant apprenltice was notto be concealed, and hbe
repliedl, " Ninety-five, millions of miles, you ignoramus 1"  James did




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                    133
not retort, but repeating over in his mind the distance named, fixed it
indelibly upon his memory.
On the same evening, after he had finished his day's work, he
obtained a small text-book on astronomy, which belonged to Harman
Lee, and went up into his garret with a candle, and there, alone,
attempted to dive into the mysteries of that sublime science. As he
read, the earnestness of his attention fixed nearly every fact upon his
mind.  So intent was he, that he perceived not the flight of time, and
was only called back to a consciousness of where he was by the sudden sinking of the wick of his candle into the melted mass of tallow
that had filled the cup of his candlestick.  In another moment he was
in total. darkness. The cry of the watchman had told him that the
hours had flown, until it was past ten o'clock.
Slowly undressing himself in his dark chamber, his mind recurring
with a strong interest to what he had been reading, he lay down upon
his hard bed, and gave full play to his thoughts.  Hour after hour
passed away, but he could not sleep, so absorbed was he in reviewino the new and wonderful things he had read. At last wearied
nature gave way, and he fell into a slumber filled with dreams of
planets, moons, comets, and fixed stars.
The next morning the apprentice boy resumed his place at the workbench with a new feeling; and with this feeling was mingled one of
regret, that lhe could not go to school as did his master's son.
" But I can study at night while he is asleep," he said to himself.
Just then Harman Lee came into the shop, and approaching James,
said, for the purpose of teasing him, "How big round is the earth,
Jilm?"
" Twenty-five thousand miles," was the unhesitating answer.
Harman looked surprised for a moment, and then responded, with
a sneer —for he was not a kind-hearted boy, but, on the contrary,
very selfish, and disposed to injure rather than do good to others"Oi dear! How wonderfully wise you ale! And no doubt you
can tell how many moons Jupiter has?  Come, let's hear."
"Jupiter has four moons," James answered, with something of
exultation in his tone.
"And no doubt you can tell how many rings it has?"
"Jupiter has no rings.  Saturn has rings, and Jupiter belts,"
James replied in a decisive tone.
For a moment or two Harnman was silent with surprise and mortification, to think that his father's apprentice, whom lie esteemed so far
below him, should be possessed of knowledge equal to his, and on
the points in reference to which he had chosen to question him; and
that he should be able to convict him of an error into which he had
purposely fallen.  " I should like to know how loncg it is since you
became so wonderfully wise," Harman at length said with a sneer.
"Not very long'," James replied calmly.': I have been readingr
on1e of your books on astronomy."
"W tell you're not going to have my books, mister, I can tell you!




134        M3ORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES
Anyhow, I should like to know what business you have to touch one
of them 1 Let me catch you at it again, and see if I don't cuff you
soundly. You'd better, a great deal, be minding your work."
"But I didn't neglect my work, Harman; I read at night after I
was done with my work; and I didn't hurt your book."
"I don't care if you didn't hurt it. You're not going to have my
books, I can tell you. So do you just let them alone."
Poor James's heart sank in his bosom at this unexpected obstacle
so suddenly thrown in his way. He had no money of his own to buy,
and knew of no one from whom he could borrow the book that had
all at once become necessary to his happiness. " Do, Harman," he
said appealingly, "lend me the book; I will take good care of it."
"INo I wont: and don't you dare to touch it," was the angry reply.
James Wallace knew well enough the selfish disposition of his
master's son, older than he two or three years, to be convinced that
there was now but little hope of his having the use of his books,
except by stealth; and from that his natural, open and honest principles revolted. All day he thought earnestly over the means whereby
*he should be able to obtain a book on astronomy, to quench the
ardent thirst that he had created in his mind.  And night came
without any satisfactory answer being obtained to his earnest inquiries of his own thoughts.
He was learning the trade of a blind-maker.  Having been already
an apprentice for two years, and being industrious and intelligent, he
had acquired a readiness with tools and much skill in some parts of
his trade. While sitting alone after he had finished his work for the
day, his mind searching' about for some means whereby he could get
books, it occurredl to him that he might, by workingo in the evening,
earn some money, and with it buy such as he wanted. But in what
manner to obtain work he knew not. It finally occurred to him that,
in passing a house near the shop, he frequently observed a pair of
window-blinds with faded hangings and soiled colors.  "Perhaps,"
said be to himself, "if I could do it cheap, they would let me paint
and put new hangings to their blinds."
The thought was scarcely suggested, when he was on his feet
mnoving towards the street. In a few minutes he stood knocking at
the door of the house, which was soon opened.  " Well, my little
man, what do you want? " was the kind salutation of the individual
who answered the call.
Jamles felt confused, and stammered out, " The hangings of
your blinds are a good deal faoded."
"That's a very true remark, my little man," was the reply made
in an encouraging tone.
"And they very much want painting."
"Also very true," said the man, with a good-humored smile; for
he felt amused with the boy's earnest manner and novelty of speech.
" Wouldn't you like to have them painted, and new hacngings put
to them? " pursued James.




MIORALI TAILES AND  SKETCHES.                135
"I don't know. It would certainly improve them much"'
"Oh yes, sir; they would look just like new. And if you will let
me do them, I will fix them up nice for you, cheap."
"Will you indeed?  But what is vour name, and where do you
live?"
" M:y name is James Wallace, and I live with Mr. Lee, the blindmaker."
"Do you indeed?  Well, how much will you charge for painting
them and putting on new hangings?"
"I will do it for two dollars, sir. The hangings and tassels will
cost me three-quarters of a dollar, and the paint and varnish a quarter more. And it will take two or three evenings, besides getting up
very early in the morning to work for Mr. Lee, so that I may paint
and varnish them when the sun shines."
"But will Mr. Lee let you do this?"
" I don't know, sir; but I will ask him."
"Very well, my little man. If Mr. Lee does not object, I am
willing."
James ran back to the house, and found Mr. Lee standing at the
door.  Much to his delight his request was granted. Four days
from that he possessed a book of his own, and had half a dollar
with which to buy some other volume, when he should have thoroughly mastered the contents of that. Every night found him poring
over this book; and as soon as it was light enough in the morning to
see, he was up and reading.
Of course there was much in it that he could not understand, and
many terms the meaning of which was hidden from him. To help
him in this difficulty, he purchased with his remaining half dollar, at
a second-hand book-stall, a dictionary. By the aid of this he acquired
the information he sought much more rapidly.  But the more lihe
read, the broader the unexplored expanse of knowledge appeared to
open before him. He did not, however, give way to feelings of discouragement, but steadily devoted every evening, and an hour every
morning, to study; while all the day his mind was pondering over
the things he had read, as his hands were diligently employedl in the
labor assigned him.
It occurred just at this time that a number of benevolent individu.als established, in the town where James lived, one of those excellent
institutions, an Apprentices' Library. To this he at once applied, and
obtained the books he needed. And thus-none dreaming of his devotion to the acquirement of knowledge-did this poor apprentice boy
lay the foundation of future eminence and usefulness. We cannot
trace his course, step by step, through a long series of seven years,
though it would afford many lessons of perseverance and triumph
over almost insurmountable difficulties. But at twenty-one he was
master of his trade; and what was more, had laid up a vast amount
of general and scientific information. He was well read in history;
had studied thoroughly the science of astronomy, for which he ever




131          MIORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
retained a lively affectioni; was familiar with mathematical principles,:and could readily solve the most difficult geometrical and algebraic
problems; his geographical knowledge was minute; and to this he
added tolerably correct information in regard to the manners and
customs of different nations. To natural history he had also given
much attention.  But with all his varied acquirements, James Wallace felt, on attaining the age of manhood, that he knew comparatively
but little.
Let us now turn for a few moments to mark the progress of the
young' student in one of the best seminaries in his native city, and
afterwards at college. Like too many tradesmen whose honest industry and steady perseverance have gained them  a competence, Mr.
Lee felt indisposed to give his son a trade, or to subject him to the
same restraints and discipline in youth to which he had been subjected.
He felt ambitious for him, and determined to educate him for one of
the learned professions. To this end he sent him to school early,
and provided for him the best instruction.
The idea that he was to be a lawyer or a doctor, soon took possession of the mind of Harman, and this caused him to feel contempt
for other boys who were merely designed for trades or storekeeping.
Like too many others, he had no love for learning, nor any right appreciation of its legitimate uses.  To be a lawyer he thought would
be much more honorable than to be a mere mechanic; and for this
reason alone, as far as he had any thoughts on the subject, did he
desire to be a lawyer. As for James Wallace, he, as the poor illiterate apprentice of his father, was most heartily despised, and never
treated by Harman with the smallest degree of kind consideration.
At the age of eighteen, he wras sent away to one of the eastern
universities, and there remained-except during the semi-annual
vacations-until he was twenty years of age, when he graduated, and
came home with the honorary title of A.B.  At this time James
Wallace was between seventeen and eighteen years of age, somewhat
rough in appearance, but with a sound mind in a sound bodyalthouogh each day he regularly toiled at the work-bench, and as
regularly returned to his books when evening released him  from
labor, and was up at the peep of dawn, to lay the first offerings of
his mind upon the shrine of learning.  But all this devotion to the
acquirement of knowledge won for him no sympathy, no honorable
estimation from his master's son.  He despised these patient persevering efforts as much as he despised his condition as an apprentice
to a trade.  But it was not many years before others began to perceive the contrast between them, although on the very day that
James completed his term of apprenticeship, Harman was admitted
to the bar.
The one completed his education-as far as general knowledge and
a rigid discipline of the mind was concerned-when he left college.
The other became more really the student when the broader and
brighter light of rationality shone clearly on his pathway, as he




lMORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                   137
passed the threshold of manhood. James still continued to woik at
his trade, but not for so many hours each day as while he was an
apprentice.  lie was a good and fast workman, and could readily,
earn all that he required for his support in six or eight hours of every
twenty-four.  Eight hours were regularly devoted to study.  From
some cause, he determined he would make law his profession.  To
the acquirement of a knowledge of legal matters, therefore, he bent
all the energies of a well disciplined, active, and comprehensive mind.
Two years passed away in an untiring devotion to the studies he had
assigned himself, and he then made application for admission to the
bar.
[Young Wallace passed his examinations with some applause, and
the first case on which he was employed chanced to be one of great
difficulty, which required all his skill.  The lawyer on the opposite
side was Harman Lee, who entertained for his father's old apprentice
the most profound contempt.]
The cause came on within a week, for all parties interested in the
result, were anxious for it to come to trial, and therefore no legal obstacles were thrown in the way.
There was a profound silence, and a marked attention and interest
when the young stranger arose in the court-room to open the case.
A smile of contempt, as he did so, curled the lip of Harman Lee,
but Wallace saw it not.  The prominent points of the case were presented in plain but concise language to the court; and a few remarks
bearing upon the merits being made, the young lawyer took his seat,
and gave room for the defense.
Instantly Harman Lee was on his feet, and began referring to the
points presented by his " very learned brother" in a flippant, contemptuous manner.  There were those present who marked the light that
kindled in the eye of Wallace, and the flash that passed over his
countenance, at the first contemptuous word and tone that were
uttered by his antagonist at the bar. These soon gave place to attention, and an air of conscious power.  Once on his feet, with so flimsy
a position to tear into tatters as that which his "learned brother" had
presented, Lee seemed never to grow tired of the tearing process.
Nearly an hour had passed away, when he resumed his seat with a
look of exultation, which was followed by a pitying and contemptuous smile as Wallace again slowly rose.
Ten minutes, however, had not passed when that smile had changed
to a look of surprise, mortification, and alarm, all blended into a sin-.
gle expression. The young lawyer's maiden speech showed him to
be a man, of calm, deep, systematic thought-well skilled in points
of law and in authorities; and, more than all, a lawyer of practical
and comprehensive views. When he sat down, no important point in
the case had been left untouched, and none that had been touched required further elucidation.
Lee followed briefly, in a vain attempt to torture his language and
break down his positions. But he felt that he was contending' with




1.38       hTMORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
weapons whose edges were turned at every blow. When he took his
seat again, Wallace merely remarked that he was prepared, without
furtler argument, to submit the case to the court.
The case was accordingly submitted, and a decision unhesitatingly
made in favor of the plaintiffs, or Wallace's clients.
From that hour James Wallace took his true position. The despised
apprentice became the able and profound lawyer, and was esteemed
for real talent and real moral worth, which, when combined, ever
place their possessor in his true position.
Ten years from that day Wallace -was elevated to the bench, while
Lee, a second-rate lawyer, never rose above that position.
In the histories of these two persons is seen the difference between
simply receiving an education, as it is called, and being self-educated.
This fact every student, and every humble apprentice with limited
advantages, should bear in mind. It should infuse new life into the
studies of the one, and inspire the other with a determination to imbue his mind with knowledge.  The education that a boy receives at
colleges and seminaries does not make him a learned man. He only
acquires there the rudiments of knowledge.  Beyond these he must
go. He must continue even after a student, or others will leave him
in the rear-others of humbler means and fewer opportunities; the
apprentice of the handicraftsman, for instance, whose few hours of
devotion to study, from a genuine love of learning, have given him a
taste and a habit that remain with him in all after-time.
THE  WIDOW'S SON.
BY MRS. STONE.
" COME, Susan, do not take on so; it is true the death of your husband is a sad loss; still it is your duty to submit."
" I know that," said Susan to her visitor; " I know that; but it is
main hard." And the new-made widow wrung her hands, and wept
in the extremity of grief. Just then a gentlemen entered the cottage.
"I'm glad you're come, sir, for Susan's in a sad way; mayhap
you can make her hear reason."
" She must have time, poor woman; she must have time.  Don't
bother her, Betty; let her weep; it will do her good."
So saying, the gentleman, who was Mr. Fenton, the master of the
free grammar-school, sat down, took the widow's only child, a boy of
about four years, between his knees, and began to talk to the visitor
on indifferent topics.
By degrees the paroxysm of the poor woman's grief subsided;
though she still wept, her tears fell calmly, and she was able to look




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                   1319
about her, and to pay some attention to the conversation of those
who were around.
Mr. Fenton, though he appeared to take no notice, had observed
her from time to time, quietly waiting till she would be in a state to
"hear reason," as her friend Betty termed it, before he addressed
her; and when he did so, to Betty's great surprise, it was to talk
hopefully of the future, not to lament over the past.
" What a fine boy Tommy is grown," said he, stroking the boy's
head; " how old is he now?"
"I am five years old," said Tommy, quite manfully.
"Five years! why, you're growing quite a man.  What do you
mean to do with him, Susan?"
"I know not, sir; he's owre young yet for aught.  He's a good
child, but a sore burden for a lone woman to have to keep."
" A sore burden! not at all, if you train him up well, and make
him useful. He might do something now."
"No, no; he's owre young yet for aught but play,"
"My good woman, the plays children find for themselves are far
harder and more toilsome than any work I would put him to.  The
habit, the early habit of industry and usefulness, is what you must
try to give your child; and that habit alone is the best fortune he
can have. But, as I said, he is not too young even now to achieve
something useful, as well as to gain -a habit of industry. He can
pick up stones, I -arrant."
"Yes, to be sure," said the widow.
"Yes, and I'll be bound he could weed out the groundsel and
chickweed in a garden bed, if he were kindly and plainly shown
which they are."
"Yes, he's a sharp boy, and minds what's said to him."
"s Sharp and attentive, and. five years old! oh, never tell me he can
do nothing.  I hear you begin your charring again: on Monday, and
Mrs. Fenton says, that now the school's so full1, she can find you
almost constant employment at our house. Now, Susan, listen to me.
Bring your boy with you; I have a small field I want cleared of
stones, and I have some rough but very easy and light work in my
garden. t will take care that the child is properly set agoing. Thus
he will be out of harm's way; he will be acquiring a habit of industry, besides learning his letters; and he will be even earning a trifle
towards his own support. You will mind what I say?"
" I will, sir, and I offer you many, many thanks."
The good effect of this judicious kindness on the poor woman was
immediate; for the remainder of the funeral week, instead of being
passed in vain tears and lamentations, was busily occupied in mending up Tommy's clothes, that he might " go decent o' Monday."
Monday came, and Tomrnmy was duly initiated into the mystery not
merely of filling a little basket with stones, and emptying it again
(for in that he was, like the rest of the world of children, a tolerable
proficient), but he was taught always to empty the basket at one
10VlLVJUP  uurv~r~rrrt




140         MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
spot, so as to make a heap; and he directly felt a laudable pride in
the size of his heap, and worked manfully.
It was no very long time before Tommy became really useful, for
he was docile, and attentive, and industrious. The schoolmasterwhose servant, before her marriage, Susan had been, and who respected her for her strict integrity and steady industry-kept, amid
his own important avocations, an observant eye on her boy, and took
care that some sort of work, suited to his age, should always be
found for him. In due time Tommy was elevated to the post of
errand-boy and shoe-cleaner to the school, and there was now no
need to seek out for work for him; his own vocation brought him
abundance; but the principle of industry was already securely inculcated: the boy never shirked his work.
It was about this time that Mr. Fenton frequently observed Tom
and his own son, who was a year or two younger, in earnest conference, apart from the other boys.  Their usual rendezvous was the
steps of a dry-well in the playground. One day he came upon them
quite unexpectedly, and both boys started, whilst his own endeavored
to huddle something into his pocket.
c "What is that you are hiding, Harry?" said Mr. Fenton. " Give
it to me."
o "Please, father, it's only this," said the boy, holding out a tattered.horn-book.
-" Why do you hide this, Harry?  What are you doing with it?"
"' Only teaching Tom to read, father."
"Which is creditable both to you and him. You need not be
ashamed of it, either of you. So, you wish to learn to read, Tom?"
" I would give all I have in the world to learn, sir."
"Well, my boy," said Mr. Fenton, smiling, "it shall not cost you
so much as that; nevertheless you must pay for it."
Tom stared at the idea of his paying, and so did Harry.
" What I mean is this, Tom: you are hired here to perform certain duties-you are paid for them-and I must have none of them
omitted, or even neglected. But, by workinfg a little harder, you may
contrive to have a spare hour in the afternoon, and that hour you may
spend in the schoolroom.  This extra work, Tom, this coming an
hour earlier in the morning, or working in your dinner hour —for
one or the other you must do —this is the way in which you must
pay for your learning.  And as you grow older, you will find that
nothing great or important can be achieved without self-denial
and exertion; you must begin to practise both now, even to learn to
read."
A proud day it was for Tom Multon, and for his happy mother,
when, with newly-washed hands, and a face as shining as soap and
water could make it, he made his first appearance in the schoolroom
as a scholar. He blushed scarlet, and felt painfully confused as he
Ylanced timidly round, and saw the jeering and quizzical looks that
were cast on him; but Harry Fenton smiled kindly on him, and the




MORAL TA LES  AND  SKETCHES.                  141
usher, who had been previo-usly instructed by Mr. Fenton, called him
to a form near himself, and immediately set him to work.
From this day Tom never once missed his afternoon attendance at
school; his time of entering became earlier and earlier, till at last he
habitually came in almost as soon as the bell rang. Mr. Fenton at
first made some remasrk, as, " Are you not too early, Tom?" but the
invariable answer was, "I've done my work, sir, every bit of it;"
and as the answer was always true, as nothing of his regular
employment was ever neglected, the schoolmaster ceased to notice
the matter.
He could not shut his eyes, however, to the extraordinary progress
Tom made in his schooling. The usher, who began to take quite a
pride in the boy, frequently called his attention to the fact, and
begged him to enlarge the circumscribed plan which he had laid down
for his learning. For a long time Mr. Fenton refused to. do this.
He was afraid of entailing misery on the boy, by giving him tastes
beyond what his station in life would permit him to gratify. His
mother was earning her bread by the sorest drudgery; the boy had
no prospect but of doing the same; and he thought that, by enabling
him to read English, to write a little, and cast common accounts, he
was giving him learning sufficient to make him respectable in his own
station of life, and even to elevate him moderately above it. He was
not proof, however, against the repeated hints of his usher, the solicitations of his own son, and more especially the patient perseverance
of the boy himself, when he found that he had absolutely, against
orders, been secretly toiling at the Latin grammar. Moreover, he
began to feel that, possessing, from his own position, every facility to
help Tom forward, he mnight himself be doing wrong to repress, determinately, the evidently strong bent of his disposition. The boy was
quiet and docile, perseveringly industrious in all he had to do,' but
above all, fond of his book.
So, having at length made up his own mind, the schoolmaster
betook himself to the widow, to induce her to dispense with the
present profit of her son's labor, and to let him give himself entirely
to the school. She remonstrated sorely: " she saw no good so much
learning would do him; she was a lone widow; she had nobody to
work for her; and she could not afford to keep a great boy like him
in idleness."
The schoolmaster urged her to try, for her boy's salke, for his
future good; and at length, but not without considerable difficulty,
he obtained her consent, promising that she should be at no expense
cabout books, and that he would endeavor to help her in the matter of
clothes.
These latter stipulations Mr. Fenton managed in a peculiar way;
for, with a heart open as the day to charity, he had not a purse
wherewithal to second his wishes.
"I have a great favor to beg of you, Mr. Courtney," said he to a
gentleman who had come to take his son home for the holidays.




142          MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
"Pray, name it, Mr. Fenton; I shall feel much pleasure in obkiging
you, if it be in my power."
"'It is quite so; easily so. I have a protege, a poor lad, humble
and industrious, but with such an irrepressible love of books that it is
useless to attempt to curb it. I am willing to give him the run of the
school; his mother, a hard-working woman, consents to give up his
time; but we are at a loss for clothes and books. Your son is about
a year older, and my petition to you is, that I may have Master Edward's cast-off suit, at the end of each half-year, for poor Tom Multon."
"Oh, willingly-most willingly."
"And perhaps I may be permitted to take Master Edward's school
classics as he relinquishes them: truth compels me to say, they will
hardly grace your library shelves after they have done duty here."
There is hardly need to add, that ready permission was granted,
and, moreover, that a lasting interest in his fortunes was thus awakened for Tom in Mr. Courtney's breast.  Similar applications were
made, as they became requisite, by Mr. Fenton to other parents, and
with the like success. Thus was the errand-boy provided regularly
and permanently with clothes, with books, and placed in the path of
scholarship.  And he became a scholar; not a great, not a shining
one, but a safe, a sure, a correct one. He was always assiduous,
always attentive, always industrious. If he made no great or sudden
steps forward, he never retrograded; and thus gradually and surely
winning his onward way, he was fully qualified. in a few years to succeed, in the post of usher, the young man who had so kindly and
cordially co-operated with Mr. Fenton in his education. And it may
be doubtful whether Tom Multon himself, now called Mr. Thomas,
was more proud of his advancement than was his ever kind patron,
Mr. Fenton, or his fast friend, Harry Fenton, who was now bound
for the university.
But there was yet another who, silent, unobserved, unsuspected,
watched Tom Multon's progress with a far deeper interest than either
his patron, his school-friend, or even she who watched his cradle,
and fostered him with a mother's. love. This was a young girl of
domestic habits and retired manners, gentle and unobtrusive, who
had been nurtured from infancy in the house which now, since he
assumed the duties of usher, was also his home. Rose Fenton was
an orphan, but not a destitute one, for her good uncle and guardian
had taken care that the little patrimony bequeathed to her should
not diminish in his hands. She was kind and good-tempered, a clever
housewife for her years, obliging to those about her, and very good
to her poor neighbors. Her uncle used to say jokingly, but most
kindly, that she was " cut out for a parson's wife;" but at present all
Rose's hopes and wishes seemed to be centered in the home of her
childhood. But ere long they began to stray, and it could not escape
the notice of so observant a person as Mr. Fenton, that a warm and
mutual attachment was ripening between his usher and his niece.
At first it sorely grieved and perplexed him; for he felt, naturally




MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.                   143
enough, the inequality of their stations; for though bred up in
a homely and domestic way, Rose Fenton had a right to look to a
much higher marriage than one with the child of charity, the son of
his charwoman, Susan. But when, again, he reflected on the youth's
course of conduct even from his cradle until now; his unvarying
integrity, industry, and docility; his good temper, his kind disposition, and the advance in station which his own unwearied perseverance
had already achieved-he thought perhaps he might rather congratulate his niece than otherwise. He determined to let matters take
their course.
But whatever hopes Thomas Multon might secretly cherish, he was
too prudent as yet to give any expression to them. True, he had
made his way wonderfully; but he felt he had yet much to achieve
ere he dared to whisper his hopes to Miss Fenton, or seek the approbation of her uncle. His mother was yet drudging as a servant; she,
who had for years deprived herself of every superfluity, in order to
procure him the necessaries of life whilst he was a school-boy —a
mere burden on her hands. His first object must be to place her
above want. He had, from the moment he received a fixed allowance as assistant teacher, set aside a part of it for her; but she, with
the energy which had characterized her, placed it, with her other
little savings, to accumulate.  " She did not need to rest yet," she
said. Nevertheless, her son hoped to see her rest before long.
So some years passed away, whilst he continued patiently toiling
through his duties as usher, but devoting, unremittingly, his private
hours to study, with a view to qualify himself for the function of a
clergyman. Mr. Fenton would fain have dissuaded him from the last
step, as he saw little prospect of advancement for him; but in this one
instance Multon's wishes were too powerful to be persuaded away.
Ordination at that time, and in that district, was easily obtained,
without those fitting and decent preliminaries which are now indispensable; and being fortunate enough, through Mr. Fenton's influence,
to obtain a nomination to an adjoining curacy, the duties of which
would not interfere with those of the school, he was ordained by the
bishop of the diocese. And this great point being achieved, our
errand-boy, now the Rev. Thomas Multon, asked and obtained Mr.
Fenton's consent to a union with Rose, so soon as he should have
obtained the means to support her in respectability and comfort.
These came suddenly, as good fortune generally does, and from an
unlooked-for quarter. On entering the little parlor one day at teatime, a few months after his ordination, Mr. Multon was surprised to
find an elderly gentleman whom he did not know, and a young man
in a military undress, whom he was some time in recognizing. as
Edward Courtney, the youth to whose library and wardrobe he nad
himself been indebted for several years. The gentleman had been
making a tour in the northern counties, and at the earnest desire of
the younger one, had turned aside to visit his old schoolfellow.  His
greeting to Mr. Multon was frank and cordial; that of the old




144         MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
gentleman was kind and even respectful, for Mr. Fenton had been
preparing the way for his young friend's appearance.
No allusion whatever was made to his circumstances that night;
but a few weeks afterwards, a letter arrived from the elder Mr.
Courtney to 1Mr. Multon, presenting him the rectory of Northerton,
in -, worth ~200 a-year, with a commodious parsonage house.
And thus was the poor widow's son rewarded for his perseverance in
well-doing.
A few years ago, a friend paid me a morning visit, bringing with
her a young' lady of most prepossessing appearance, and of gentle
manners and speech; and who, I was informed, was Rose Multon,
the daugllter of the rector of Northerton-one of six children, united
andl affectionate, and as much respected as their parents.
" And what of old Susan," inquired I, "as her old acquaintance
h ere still call her?"
"Old Mrs. Multon," replied my friend, "lives happily in a small
cottaoe near her son, which, partly from her own former savings, and
partly fr'om his liberality, she is able to keep in very comfortable
order.  I hear but of one dissatisfaction in the family."
"What is that;?"
"It is the rector himself, who complains that his children have
quite superseded him in his mother's good graces, and that he really
often fancies thatt she does not think half so much of him now, as she
did when hle was an ERRAND-BOY."
SURPRISE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE PEQUOD
INDIANS.
BY MISS SEDGWICK.
MAGAWISCA paused a few moments, sighed deeply, and then began
the recital of the last acts in the tragedy of her people, the principal
circumstances of which are detailed in the chronicles of the times, by
the witnesses of the bloody scenes.  "You know," she said,' "our
fortress-homes were on the level summit of a hill.  Thence we could
see, as far as the eye could stretch, our hunting-grounds, and our
gardens, which lay beneath us on the borders of a stream that glided
around our hill, and so near to it, that in the still nights we could
hear its gentle voice.  Our fort and wigwams were encompassed with
a palisade, formed of young trees, and branches interwoven  and
sharply pointed. No enemy's foot had ever approached this nest,
which the eagles of the tribe had built for their mates and their
voun1g.  Sassacus and my father were both away on that dreadful
night.  They had called a council of our chiefs, and old men; our
young men had bden out in their canoes, and, when they retulned,




1MORAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.                 145
they had danced and feasted, and were now in deep sleep. My
mother was in her hut with her children, not sleeping', for my brother
Samoset had lingered behind his companions, and had not yet returned fiom the water-sport.  The warning spirit, that ever keeps its
station at a mother's pillow, whispered that some evil was near; and
my mother, bidding me lie still with the little ones, went forth in
quest of my brother.
" All the servants of the Great Spirit spoke to my mother's ear and
eye of danger and death.  The moon, as she sunk behind the hills,
appeared a ball of fire: strange lights darted through the air; to my
mother's eve they seemed fiery arrows; to her ear the air was filled
with death-sighs.
"She had passed the palisade, and was descending the hill, when
she met old Cushmakin.'Do.you know aught of my boy?' she
asked.
"' Your boy is safe, and sleeps with his companions; he returned
by the Sassafias knoll; that way can only be trodden by the stronglimbed and light-footed.'
"' My boy is safe,' said my mother;' then tell me, for thou art
wise, and canst see quite through the dark future, tell me, what evil
is coming to our tribe?' She then described the omens she had
seen.'I know not,' said Cushmakin;'of late darkness hath spread
over my soul, and all is black there, as before those eyes, that the
arrows of death hath pierced; but tell me, Monoco, what see you
now in the fields of heaven?'
"' Oh, now,' said my mother,' I see nothing but the blue depths
and the watching stars.  The spirits of the air hath ceased their
moaning, and steal over my cheek like an infant's breath. The waterspirits are rising, and will soon spread their soft wings around the
nest of our tribe.'
"'  The boy sleeps safely,' muttered the old man,'and I have listened to the idle fear of a doatlng mother.'
" (I come not of a fearful race,' said my mother.''NSay, that I did not mean,' replied Cushmakin;'but the panther watching her young is fearful as a doe.' The night was far
speut, and my mother bade him go home with her, for our powwows
have always a mat in the wigwam of their chief.'Nay,' he said,'tle day is near, and I am always abroad at the rising of the sun.'
It seemed that the first warm touch of the sun opened the eye of the
old man's soul, and he saw again the flushed hills, and the shaded
valleys, the sparkling- waters, the green maize, and the gray old rocks
of our home.  They were just passing the little gate of the palisade,
when the old man's dog sprang from him with a fearful bark. A
rushing' sound was heard.'Owanox! Owanox! (the English! the
English i') cried Cushmakin. Mv mother joined her voice to his, and
in an instant the cry of alarm spread through the wigwams. The
enemy were indeed upon us.  They had surrounded the palisade,
and opened their fire."




146         MORAL TALES AND  SKETCHES.
"Was it so sudden?  Did they so rush on sleeping women and
children?" asked. Everell, who was unconsciously lending all his interest to the party of the narrator.
"Even so; they were guided to us by the traitor Wequash; he,
from whose bloody hand my mother had shielded the captive English
maidensr-he who had eaten from my father's dish, and slept on his
mat. They were flanked by the cowardly Narragansetts, who shrunk
from the sight of our tribe-who were pale as white men at the
thought of Sassacus, and so feared him that, when his name was spoken, they were like an unstrung bow, and they said,' He is all one
God —no man can kill him.' These cowardly allies waited for the
prey they dared not attack."
"Then," said Everell, " as I have heard, our people had all the
honor of the fight?"
"' Honor! was it, Everell?-ye shall hear.  Our warriors rushed
forth to meet the foe; they surrounded the huts of their mothers,
wives, sisters, children; they fought as if each man had a hundred
lives, and would give each and all to redeem their homes. Oh! the
dreadful fray even now rings in my ears! Those fearful guns, that
we had never heard before-the shouts of your people-our own battle-yell-the piteous cries of the little children-the groans of our
mothers-and, oh! worse, worse than all-the silence of those that
colId not speak. The English fell back; they were driven to thle
palisade, some beyond it, when their leader gave the cry to fire our
huts, and led the way to my mother's. Samoset, the noble boy, defended the entrance with a princelike courage, till they struck him
down; prostate and bleeding, he again bent his bow, and had taken
deadly aim at the English leader, when a sabre-blow severed his bowstring. Then was taken from our hearth-stone, where the English
had been so often warmed and cherished, the brand to consume our
dwellings.  They were covered with mats, and burnt like dried
straw. The enemy retreated without the palisade. In vain did our
warriors fight for a path by which we might escape from the consuming fire; they were beaten back; the fierce element gained on us;
the Narragansetts pressed on the English, howling like wolves for
their prey. Some of our people threw themselves into the midst of
the crackling flames, and their courageous souls parted with one
shout of triumph; others mounted the palisade, but they were shot,
and dropped like a flock of birds smitten by the hunter's arrows.
Thus did the strangers destroy, in our own homes, hundreds of our
tribe."':And how did you escape in that dreadful hour, Magawisca?
You were not then taken prisoner?"
"No; there was a rock at one extremity of our hut, and beneath
it a cavity, into which my mother crept, with Oneco, myself, and the
two little ones that afterwards perished. Our simple habitations were
soon consumed; we heard the foe retiring, and, when the last sound
hlad died away, we came forth to a sight that made us lament to be




MORAL TALES  AND  SKETCHES                    147
among the living.  The sun was scarce an hour from his rising, and
yet in this brief space, our homes had vanished.  The bodies of our
people were strewn about the smouldering ruins; and all around the
palisade lay the strong and valiant warriors-cold-silent —powerless
as the unformed clay."
Magawisca paused; she was overcome with the recollection of this
scene of desolation. She looked upward with an intent gaze, as if
she held communion with an invisible being. " Spirit of my mother!"
burst from her lips; " oh! that I could follow thee to that blessed
land, where I should no more dread the war-cry, nor the deathknife."  Everell dashed the gathering tears from his eyes, and Magawisca proceeded in her narrative.
"While we all stood silent and motionless, we heard footsteps and
cheerful voices. They came from my father and Sassacus, and their
band, returning from the friendly council.  They approached on the
side of the hill that was covered with a thicket of oaks, and their
ruined homes at once burst upon their view. Oh i what horrid
sounds then pealed on the air! shouts of wailing and cries of vengeance. Every eye was turned with suspicion and hatred on my
father. He had been the friend of the English; he had counselled
peace and alliance with them; le had protected their traders, delivered the captives taken from them, and restored them to their people: now his wife and children alone were living, and they called
him traitor. I heard an angry murmur, and many hands were lifted
to strike the death-blow. IHe moved not.'Nay, nay,' cried Sassacus, beating them off.'Touch him not; his soul is bright as the
sun; sooner shall you darken that, than find treason in his breast.
If he hath shown the dove's heart to the English, when he believed
them friends, he will show himself the fierce eagle, now he knows
them enemies.  Touch him not, warriors; remember my blood runneth in his veins.'
"From that moment my father was a changed man. He neither
spoke nor looked at his wife, or children  but placing himself at the
head of one band of the young men, he shouted his war-cry, and
then silently pursued the enemy.  Sassacus went forth to assemble
the tribe, and we followed my mother to one of our villages."
"You did not tell me, Magawisca," said Everell, "how Samoset
perished: was he consumed in the flames, or shot from the palisade?"
" Neither-neither. He was reserved to whet my father's revenge
to a still keener edge. He had forced a passage through the English,
and, hastily collecting a few warriors, they pursued the enemy, sprung
upon them from a covert, and did so annoy them that the English
turned, and gave them battle. All fled save my brother, and him
they took prisoner.  They told him they would spare his life if he
would guide them to our strong holds.  He refused.  He had lived
but sixteen summers; he loved the light of the sun even as'we love
it; his manly spirit was tamed by wounds and weariness; his limbs
were like a bending reed, and his heart beat like a woman's; but the




148         {MORtAL  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.
fire of his soul burnt clear.  Again they pressed him with offers of
life and reward; he faithfully refused, and with one sabre-stroke
they severed his head from his body."
Magawisca paused. She looked at Everell. and said with a bitter
smile, "You Elglish tell us, Everell, that the book of your law is
better than that written on our hearts, for, ye say, it teaches mercy,
compassion, forgiveness-if ye had such a law, and believed it, would
ye thus have treated a captive boy?"
Magawisca's reflecting' mind suggested the most serious obstacle to
the progress of the Christian religion, in all ages and under all circumstances; the contrariety between its divine principles and the
conduct of its professors; which, instead of always being a medium
for the light that emanates from our holy law, is too often the darkest
cloud that obstructs the passage of its rays to the hearts of heathen
men. Everell had been carefully instructed in the principles of his
religion, and he felt Magawisca's relation to be an awkward comment
on them, and her inquiry natural; but, though he knew not what
answer to make, he was sure there must be a good one, and, mentally resolving to refer the case to his mother, he begged Magawisca
to proceed with her narrative.
"The fragments of our broken tribe," she said, "were collected,
and some other small dependant tribes persuaded to join us. We
were obliged to flee from the open grounds, and shelter ourselves In
a dismal swamp.  The English surrounded us; they sent in to us a
messenger, and offered life and pardon to all who had not shed the
blood of Englishmen.  Our allies listened, and fled from us, as frightened birds fly from a falling tree.  My father looked upon his warriors: they answered that look with their battle-shout.' Tell your
people,' said my father to the messenger,'that we have shed and
drank English blood, and that we will take nothing' from them but
death.'  The messenger departed, and again returned with offers of
pardon, if we would come forth, and lay our arrows and our tomahawks at the feet of the English.' What say you, warriors!' cried
my father;' shall we take pcardon from those who have burned your
wives and children, and given your homes to the beasts of prey?who have robbed you of your hunting-grounds, and driven your
canoes from their waters?'.A hundred arrows were pointed to the
messenger.'Enough —you have your answer,' said my father; and
the messenger returned to announce the fate we had chosen."
" Where was Sassacus?  Had he abandoned his people?" asked
Everell.'" Abandoned them! iN'o —his life was in theirs; but, accustomed
to attack and victory, he could not bear to be thus driven like a fox
to his hole.  His soul was sick within him, and he was silent, and
left all to my father.  All day we heard the strokes of the English
axes felling the trees that defended us, and, when night came, they
had approached so near, that we could see the glimmering of their
watch-lights through the branches of the trees.  All night they were




MORT.L', TALES AND  SKETCHIES.                 149
pouring in their bullets, alike on warriors, women, and children.  Old
Cuslmnakin was lying at my mother's feet, when he received a deathwound.  Gasping for breath, he called on Sassacus and my father:
Stay not here,' he said;' look not on your wives and children, but
ourst your prison bound; sound through the nations the cry of revenge! Linkled together, ye shall drive the English into the sea. I
speak the word of the Great Spirit-obey it!' While he was yet
speaking, he stiffened in death.'Obey him, warriors,' cried my
mother;'see,' she said, pointing' to the mist that was now wrapping
tself around the wood like a thick curtain,' see, our friends have
come from the spirit-land to shelter you. Nay look not on us; our
nearts have been tender in the wigwam, but we can die before our
enemies without a groan. Go forth and avenge us.'
"' Have we come to the counsel of old men and old women!' said
Sassacus, in the bitterness of his spirit.'7When women put down their womanish thoughts and ceLunsel like
men, they should be obeyed,' said my father.' Follow me, warriors.'
"They burst through the enclosure.  We saw nothing more, but
we heard the shout from the foe, as they issued from the wood-the
momentary fierce encounter and the cry,' They have escaped!' Then
it was that my mother, who had listened with breathless silence,
thrllew herself down on the mossy stones, and, laying her hot cheek
to mine,' Oh, my children, nay children 1' she said,'would that I
could die for you!  But fear not death; the blood of a hundred
chieftains, that never knew fear, runneth in your veins.  Hark! the
enemy comes nearer and nearer.  Now lift up your heads, my children, and show them thhat even the weak ones of our tribe are stronog
in soul.'
I "We rose from the ground-all about sat women and children in
family clusters, awaiting unmoved their fate.  The English had penetrated the forest-screen, and were already on the rising ground,
where we had been intrenched. Death was dealt freely.  None resisted -not a movement was made —not a voice lifted-not a sound
escaped, save the wailings of the dying' children.
"One of your soldiers knew my mother, and a command was
given that her life and that of her children should be spared.  A
guard was stationed round us.
"You know that, after our tribe was thus cut off, we were taken,
with a few other captives, to Boston.  Some were sent to the Islands
of the Sun, to bend their free limbs to bondage, like your beasts of
burden.  There are among your people those who have not put out
the light of the Great Spirit; they canll remember a kindness, albeit
done by an Indian; and when it was known to your sachems that the
wife of Mononotto, once the protector and friend of your people, was
a prisoner, they treated her with honor and gentleness.  But her
people were exting'uished —her husband driven to distant forestsforced on earth to the misery of wicked souls-to wander without a
home; her childlren were captives -and her heart was broken."




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.
EMINENT ASTRONOMERS.*k
COPER N I CUS.
NICOLAS COPERNICUS Was born February 19, 1743, at Thorn, on the
Vistula-a place now included in the dominions of the kiing of Prussia.
The father of Copernicus was a native of Westphalia, a part of Gelmany: he had chanced to settle at Thorn, as a surgeon, about ten
years before the birth of his son.  Young Copernicus was educated
for the profession of medicine at the university of Cracow; but his
favorite studies were mathematics, perspective, astronomy, and painting.  At an early age, inspired by an eager wish to distinguish himself in astronomy, he proceeded to Italy and studied that science al
the university at Bologna.  It is supposed that a discovery of his
teacher, Dominic MIaria, respecting thle changing of the axis of the
earth, was what first awakened his mind to the errors of the planetary
system then taught. From Bologna he proceeded to Rome, where for
some time he taught mathematics with great success-pursuing' all
the while, as far as circumstances would permit, his astronomical
observations.
When he afterwards returned to his native country, his maternal
uncle, the bishop of Ermeland, appointed him a canon in the cathedral
of Frauenburg, and at the same time he was nominated by the inhabitants of his native town to be archdeacon in one of their churclhes.
He then resolved to devote his life to three objects-the performalc'
of his clerical duties, gratuitous medical attendance on the poor, ast,,
the pursuit of his favorite studies.  His residence was established in
one of the houses belonging to the canons of Frauenburlg, on the brow
of a hight, near the cathedral, where astronomical observations could;- It is not designed to enter extensively upon the department of Biography, but
to sketch the lives of a few individuals who have become distinguished, and so illustrate the pursuits of knowledge under difficulties, and stimulate attempts a.t mental
and moral excellence by showing that to those who earnestly apply themselves to
the acquisition of knowledge, difficulties, though formidable, are nevertheless surmountable-ED.
150




HIM,in








LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN. 151
be conducted under very favorable circumstances; and in its walls are
still to be seen the openings which he made in order to observe
the passage of stars across the meridian.  It is supposed to have been
about the year 1507, that he first became convinced of the superiority
of the planetary theory of Pythagoras. He determined, however, to
be very cautious in adopting, and still more cautious in announcing,.
an opinion so much at variance with the ordinary ideas of mankind.
Mathematical instruments were in that age very rude, and the telescope had not been invented. The only implements which Copernicus
had for makinng observations were two, coarsely framed of fir-wood,
with measures marked by lines of ink. Thus provided, he devoted
himself for several years to the inquiries necessary for proving his
theory; and at length, about the year 1530, he had completed a work,
in which the whole system was expounded —namely, the immobility
of the sun in the centre of the planetary system; while its apparent
motion, and the alternations of day and night, were to be attributed
to the annual and diurnal movements of the earth.  The real distances of the planets, and the declination of the pole of the earth
were also explained.
The doctrines of Copernicus were already known to a considerable
number of learned and comparatively enlightened persons, who received them with due respect; and it is creditable to the Romish
church, that several of its dignitaries were among the number. But
the bulk of mankind, including their religious teachers, were then
comparatively ignorant, and accordingly prejudiced; and however
firm the conviction of the astronomer as to the truth of his theory, he
yet hesitated to make it public, dreading the opposition it would have
to encounter-seeing that it opposed the inveterate prejudices of the
learned, and the illusory testimony of the senses. In reasoning, they
acted under the guidance of rules which made it scarcely possible for
them to ascertain truth, or to acknowledge it when it was presented
to them in the clearest light.  If any thing had been said in former
times by a person whose memory they respected, they would not
willingly listen to any thing which contradicted, or seemed to contradict it. They walked, in short, by authority, and not by the dictates
of reflection; and the consequence was, that every new truth which
experience or the inquiries of the best minds brought forth, had to
contend with the less worthy notions which had come down from
earlier and darker ages.  Amongst the opinions received by them,
was that which represented the earth as the immovable centre of the
universe.  It was sanctioned by the greatest men of ancient times; it
had long been taught; it was conformable to the common appearances
of things; and various passages in the scriptures were believed to
assert it, though in reality those passages only do not contradict (and
this probably for wise purposes,) the ordinary ideas of mankind respecting the stability of the earth.  Copernicus only acted, therefore,
with necessary caution, when he hesitated to publish the work which
had cost him the labor of so many years.




1b2  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF  EMINENT  MEN.
Rheticus, one of the friends to whom he had communicated his
theory, at lenoth, in 1540, ventured to give an outline of it to the
world in a small pamphlet, which he published without his name. As
this excited no disapprobation, the same person reprinted it next year
with his name:  In both publications the doctrines were ascribed
openly to Nicolas Copernicus. About the same time, a learned man,
Erasmus Reinhold, in a work which he published, spoke of the new
doctrines with the greatest respect, and styled their author a second
Ptolemy; for it often happens that the greatest compliment that can
be paid to the discoverer of truth, is to mention him in the same breath
with some founder of error.  Copernicus now allowed himself to be
persuaded by his friends to publish his work; and it was accordingly
put to press at Nuremberg, under the care of some learned persons
of that city.  But he was now an old man, and it was not his lot to
live to see the book published.  As soon as it was printed, a copy of
it was sent to him by his friend Rheticus, but it only reached him,
May 23, 1543, a few hours before he expired. I-e appeared to be
scarcely conscious of the object to which so many years of his life
had been devoted.  But his mission was accomplished.  Committed
to the perpetuating operations of the infant printing-press, all danger
was over of losing the germ of those great and fertile truths which in
our days render astronomy the most perfect of sciences.
The theory of Copernicus was thus brought before the world; but,
whether from the death of the philosopher, or because little disturbance of popular notions was anticipated from  so learned a work, or
from whatever other circumstances, it was visited with no marks of
reprobation from any quarter at the time. In proportion, however,
as it became known, so did its opponents increase.  Those were the
days when the fagot and stake made short work with those who presumed to strike out a course of thinking for themselves; and though
the author of the system, and its immediate adopters, passed unmolested, yet during the century which ensued were its followers and
supporters persecuted with all the zeal and cruelty that bigotry and
i g'norant prejudice could devise.  Truth, however, is imperishable;
iand, though repressed and retarded for a season, is ever sure to take
its right place among the established beliefs of mankind.  And thus
it, has been with the Copernican theory, whose importance to the progress of accurate science we cannot in reality over estimate.  To form
an7 thing like an adequate idea of the value of its author's services
to the cause of science, we must place ourselves back in the times and
circumstances which saw their birth.  Then, it must be remembered,
thle want of telescopes rendered all appearances in the sky much more
difficult of explanation than they would have been a century later.
The accumulated errors and superstitions of fourteen centuries were
not to be easily shaken and removed; neither were the prejudices
and dogmas of the learned to be disturbed with impunity.  What
might have been astronomical science, was, even in the wr;lings of
the fatbers, little better than a mass of absurd and subtle dis luisitions




LIVES;aND INCIDENTS  OF  EMINENT  MEN.  153
on the substance of the heavens and the heavenly bodies.  All these
Copernicus had to surmount; and the elaLboraLion of his theory presents an ever-memorable example of the power of patient and earnest
thought in the investigation of a complicated subject, and acuteness of
discrimination between the true and the fallacious.
GALILEO.
THE Copernican theory, which Tycho had labored in vain to supersede, was next received and supported by an italian philosopher,
whose name and history are inseparably inteiwoven with the progress of astronomy.  That illustrious individual, GALILEO GALILEI,
usually known by his Christian name, was born at Pisa, in 1564.
His father, a Tuscan nobleman of small fortune, caused him  to be
educated for the profession of medicine at the university of his native
city.  While studying there, he became deeply sensible of the. absurdities of the philosophy of Aristotle, as it had then come to be
taught, and he became its declared enemy.  That spirit of observation for which he was so distinguished was early developed. When
only nineteen years old, the swinging of a lamp suspended froom  the
ceiling of the cathedral in Pisa, led him to investigate the laws of the
oscillation of the pendulum, which he was the first to employ as a
measurer of time.  Hle left it incomplete, however, and it was brought
to perfection by his son, Vincenzo, and particularly by Huygens, the
latter of whom must be regarded as the true inventor of the pendulum.  About this period Galileo devoted himself exclusively to mathematics and natural science, and in 1586 was led to the invention of
the hydrostatic balance.  In 1589, his distinction in the exact sciences
gained for him  the chair of mathematics in his native university,
where, immediately on his installation, he begran to assert the laws
of nature against a perverted philosophy.  In the presence of numerous spectators, he performed a series of experiments in the
tower of the cathedral, to show that weight has no influence on
the velocity of falling bodies.  By this means he excited the opposition of the adherents of Aristotle to such a degree, that, after two
years, he was forced to resign his professorship. Driven from Pisa,
he retired into private life; but his genius being appreciated in
another part of Italy, he was, in 1592, appointed professor of mathematics at Padua.  He lectured here with unparalleled success.
Scholars from the most distant regions of Europe crowded round
him.  He delivered his lectures in the Italian language instead of
Latin, which was considered a daring innovation.
During eighteen years which he spent at Padua, he made many
discoveries in natural philosophy, which he introduced into his lectures, without regard to their inconsistency with the doctrines previously taught.  Among these may be mentioned his discovery of
the rate of descent in falling bodies; certain improvements on the
thermometer; some interesting observations on the magnet; and a




154  LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
number of experiments relative to the floating and sinking of solid
bodies in water. In 1609, hearing that one Jansen, a Dutchman, had
made an instrument by which distant objects were made to appear
near, Galileo, whose mind was prepared for the discovery, instantly
conceived on what principle it was constructed, and, without losing a
day, he fashioned a similar instrument with many improvements"
such was the origin of the telescope, the most interesting of all instruments connected with science.
Turning his optical tube towards the heavens, Galileo perceived
the moon to be a body of uneven surface, the elevations of which he
computed by their shadows; and the sun to be occasionally spotted;
and from the regular advance from east to west of these spots, he
inferred the rotation of the sun, and the inclination of its axis to the
plane of the ecliptic. From a particular nebula, which his rude
instrument enabled him to resolve into individual stars, he even conjectured, what Lord Rosse has but recently proved, that the whole
Milky Way was but a vast assemblage of stars and systems.  He
discovered that the planet Venus waxed and waned like the moon,
that Saturn had something like wings by its sides (afterwards found
to be a ring), and that Jupiter was surrounded by four satellites. It
is now altogether impossible to imagine the wonder and delight with
which these discoveries must have filled the mind of a philosopher
like Galileo, who had perhaps long surmised that all was not as it
seemed in the heavens, but despaired of ever being able to penetrate the mystery. In the year 1611, while entering upon his investigations, he was induced, by the invitation of his prince, the Grand
Duke of Tuscany, to return to Pisa, and resume the chair of mathematics there, with a large salary. It was consequently at that city
that he first gave his discoveries to the world.  That persecution
which had only been suspended by accident in the case of Copernicus, now fell with full weight on the head of the Italian philosopher.
Having openly declared, in a work which he published, that his discoveries proved the truth of the Copernican theory, he was denounced
by the elergy as an heretic, and obliged, in 1615, to proceed to Rome,
and appear before the court of Inquisition, who obliged him to promise that he would never more broach such dangerous doctrines. It
has been stated, but is not quite certain, that he was on this occasion
imprisoned by the Inquisition for five months, and that he would have
suffered still more severely if the Grand Duke had not interceded
for him.
For several years he observed the silence enjoined upon him, but
continued to pursue the study of the true theory of the heavens.
Panting to make known to the world a complete acconnt of the system of Copernicus, yet dreading the prejudices of his enemies, he
fell upon the expedient of writing a work, in which, without giving
his own opinion, he introduces three persons in a dialogue, of whom
-the first defends the Copernican system, the second the Ptolemaean
(or that of Aristotle,) and the third weighs the reasons of both in




LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN. 155,such a way, that the subject seems problematical, though it is impossible to mistake the preponderance of arguments in favor of
Copernicus. With this great work, which is still held in reverence,
Galileo went to Rome in 1630, in the sixty-sixth year of his age, and.by an extraordinary stretch of favor. received permission to print it.,Scarcely had it appeared at Rome and Florence, when it was attacked
by the disciples of Aristotle, and most violently of all by the teacher
of philosophy at Pisa.  A congregation of cardinals, monks, and
mathematicians, was appointed to examine his work, which they
unhesitatingly condemned as hiohly dangerous, and summoned him
before the tribunal of the Inquisition.  This blow fell heavily on the
head of Galileo, now an old man, and left defenceless by the death
of his friend and patron, Cosmo II. He was compelled to go to
Rome in the winter of 1633, and was immediately immured in a cell.in one of the prisons of the Inquisition.  There he remained for
several months, when, being brought before an assembly of his
judges, he was condemned to renounce, kneeling before them, with
his hand upon the gospels, what were called the "sinful and detestable errors and heresies" which he had maintained.  The firmness
of Galileo gave way at this critical moment of his life: he pronounced
the recantation.  But at the moment he rose, indignant at having
-sworn in violation of his conviction, he exclaimed, stamping his foot,
E" pur si muove!"-(" It still moves! ")  Upon this dreadful
relapse into heresy, he was sentenced to imprisonment in the Inqui 
sition for life, and every week for three years was to repeat the seven
penitential psalms; his'"Dialoguess"   were also prohibited, and his
system utterly condemned. Although Galileo was in this manner
sentenced to confinement, it appeared to those who judged him that
he would not be able, from his ag'e, to endure such a severe punishment,
and they mercifully banished him to a particular spot near Florence.
Here Galileo lived for several years, employing his time in the
study of mechanics and other branches of natural philosophy.  The
results are found in two important works on the laws of motion, the
foundation of the present system of physics and astronomy. At the
same time he tried to make use of Jupiter's satellites for the calculation of longitudes; and though he brought nothing to perfection in
-this branch, he was the first who reflected systematically on such a
method of fixing' geographical longitudes.  He was at this time
afflicted with a disease in his eyes, one of which was wholly blind,
and the other almost useless, when, in 1637, he discovered the libration of the moon. Blindness, deafness, want of sleep, and pain in
his limbs, united to imbitter his declining years; still his mind was
active.  "In my darkness," he writers in the year 1638, "I muse
now upon this obje.ct of nature, and now upon that, and find it impossible to soothe my restless head, however much I wish it. This
perpetual action of mind deprives me almost wholly ot sleep."  In
this condition, and affected by a slowly-consuming fever, he expired
in January, 1642, in the seventy-eighth year of his age. His relics
11




156  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
were deposited in the church of Santa Croce, at Florence, where
posterity did justice to his memory by erecting a splendid monument
in 1737.
G(alileo is represented by his biographers as of diminutive stature,
but strong and healthy, of agreeable countenance, and lively conversation and manner.  He preferred living in the country, where his.
relaxations consisted in the cultivation of his garden, and in the company and conversation of his friends. He loved music, drawing and:
poetry; and is said to have been so fond of Aristo, that he knew
the whole of the "Orlando " by heart.  He had few books: " Thebest book," he said, "is nature."  A complete edition of his works,
in thirteen volumes, appeared at Milan in 1803, the style of which is,
natural and fluent, so elegant and pure, that it has been held up by
competent judges as a model of classical Italian.  "Altogether,"
says Professor Playfair, " Galileo is one of those to whom human
knowledge is under the greatest obligation. His discoveries in the
theory of motion, in the laws of the descent of heavy bodies, and in
the motion of projectiles, laid the foundation of all the great improvements which have since been made by the application of mathematicsto natural philosophy. If to these we add the invention of the telescope, the discoveries made by that instrument, the confirmation of
the. Copernican system which these discoveries afforded, and lastly,
the wit and argument with which he combated and exposed the
prejudice and presumption of the schools, we must admit that the
history of human knowledge contains few greater names than that of
Galileo."
N E W T 0 N.
THE year in which Galileo died, was that in which ISAAc NEWTON
was born. This eminent individual, who was destined to establish
the truth of the discoveries of his illustrious predecessors, Copernicus
and Galileo, was born on the 25th of December, 1642, at Coltersworth, in Lincolnshire, where his father cultivated his own moderate
paternal property. After receiving the rudiments of education, under
the superintendence of his mother, he was sent, at the age of twelve,
to the grammar-school at Grantham, where the bias of his early
genius was shown by a skill in mechanical contrivances which excited
no small admiration. Whilst other boys were at play, his leisure
hours were employed in forming working models of mills and machinery; he constructed a water clock from an old box, which had an
index moved by a piece of wood sinking as the drops fell from tllebottom, and a regular dial-plate to indicate the hours.
On his removal from school, it was intended that he should follow
the profession of a farmer, but his utter unfitness for the laborious
toils of such a life, was soon manifested.  He was frequently found
reading under a tree when he should have been inspecting cattle, or
iuperinllending laborers; and when he was sent to dispose of farming



LIVES  AND, INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN. 157
produce at Grantham market, he was occupied in solving mathematical problems in a garret or hay-loft, whilst the business was transacted by an old servant who had accompanied him to town.  These
strong indications of the bias of his disposition were not neglected by
his anxious mother. She sent him again for a few months to school,
and on the 5th of June, 1660, he was admitted a student of Trinity
College, Cambridge.
The combination of industry and talents, with an amiable disposition and unassuming manners, naturally attracted, the notice of his:
tutors, and the friendship of his admiring companions; amongst;
these was Isaac Barrow, afterwards justly celebrated as a preacher
and a mathiematician.  Saunderson's Logic, Kepler's Optics, and the
Arithmetic of Infinites by Wallis, were the books first studied by
Newton at Cambridge. He read the Geometry of Descartes diligently,.
and looked into the subject of judicial astrology, which then engaged
some attention.  He read little of Euclid, and is said to have regretted, in a subsequent part of his life, that he had not studied the old
mathematicians more deeply.
The attention of Newton, while at Cambridge, was attracted to
a branch of natural philosophy, hitherto little understood, namely,
light. It was the opinion of the celebrated philosopher Descartes,.
that liguht is caused by a certain motion or undulation of a very thin
elastic medium, which he supposed pervaded space.  Newton overturned this theory.  Taking a piece of glass with angular sides, called
a prism, he caused the sun to shine upon it through a small hole in
the shutter of a darkened apartment.  By this experiment he found
that the light, in passing through the glass, was so refracted or
broken, as to exhibit on the wall an image of seven different tints or
colors; and after varying his etperiments in a most ingenious way,.
he established the very interesting facts, that light is composed of rays:resoluble into particles, that every ray of white light consists of three
primary and differently-colored rays, (red, yellow, and blue,) each of
which three is more or less refrangible than the other. This remarkable discovery laid the foundation of the science of optics.
In 1665, the students of the university of Cambridge were suddenly dispersed by the breaking out of a pestilential disorder in the
place. Newton retired for safety to his paternal estate; and though
he lost for a time the advantages of public libraries and literary conversation, he rendered the years of his retreat a memorable era in
his own existence, and in the history of science, by another of his
great discoveries-that of the theo ry of gravitation, or the tendency
of bodies towards the centre of our globe.  One day, while sitting in
his garden, he-happened to see an apple fall from a tree, and immediately began to consider the general laws which must regulate all
falling bodies. Resuming the subject afterwards, he found that tilhe
same cause which made the apple fall to the ground, retained the
moon and planets in their orbits, and regulated, with a simplicity and
power truly wonderful, thea motions of all the heavenly bodies. nla




158  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF  EMINENT  MEN.
this manner was discovered the principle of gravitation, by a knowledge of which the science of astronomy is rendered comparatively
perfect.
On his return to Cambridge in 1667, he was elected Fellow of
Trinity College; and two years afterwards, he was appointed professor of mathematics in the place of his friend Dr. Barrow, who resigned.  His great discoveries in the science of optics formed for
sonme time the principal subject of his lectures, and his new theory of
light and colors was explained, with a clearness arising from perfect
knowledge, to the satisfaction of a crowded and admiring audience.
He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1671, and is reputed
to have been compelled to apply for a dispensation from the usual
payment of one shilling weekly, which is contributed by each member towards the expenses. He had at this period of his life no income
except what he derived from his college and his professorship, the produce of his estate being absorbed in supporting his mothel and her
family.  His personal wishes were so moderate, that he never could
regret the want of money, except inasmuch as it limited his purchases
of books and scientific instruments, and restricted his power of relieving the distresses of others. About the year 1683, he composed his
great work, The Principia, or Mathematical Principles of Nactural
Philosophy.  In 1688, the memorable year of the Revolution, he was
chosen to represent the university in parliament, and the honor thus
conferred on him  was repeated in 1701.  His great merit at last
attracted the notice of those who had it in their power to bestow substantial rewards, and he was appointed warden of the Mint, an office
for which his patient and accurate investigations singularly fitted him,
and which he held with general approbation till his death.  Honors
and emoluments at last flowed upan him.  Leibnitz, having felt
envious of the discoveries of Newton, tried to revenge himself by
transmitting a problem, which he thought would show his superiority,
by baffling the skill of the English mathematician.  It was received
by Newton in the evening, after his usual day's labor at the Mint,
and he solved it before he retired to rest.  After this there was no
further attempt made to traduce his fame. In 1705 he received the
honor of knighthood from Queen Anne.
Newton's benevolence of disposition led him to perform all the
minor duties of social life with great exactness.  He paid and received
frequent visits; he assumed no superiority in his conversation; he
was candid, cheerful, and affable; his society was therefore much
sought, and he submitted to intrusions on his valuable time without a
murmur; but by early rising, and by a methodical distribution of his
hours, he found leisure to study and compose, and every moment
which he could command, he passed with a pen in his hand and a
book before him. He was generous and charitable-one of his maxims being, that those who gave nothing before death, never, in fact, gave
at all. His wonderful faculties were very little impaired, even in extreme old age; and his cheerful disposition, combined with temper



LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN. 159
ance and a constitution naturally sound, preserved him from the usual
infirmities of life. He was of middle size, with a figure inclining to
plumpness; his eyes were animated, piercing, and intelligent; the
general expression of his countenance was full of life and kindness;
his sight-was preserved to the last; and his hair in the decline of his
days was white as snow.  The severe trial of bodily suffering was
reserved for the last stage of his existence, and he supported it with
characteristic resignation.  On the 20th of March, 1727, he expired
at the advanced age of eighty-four years.
The character of Newton cannot be delineated and discussed like
that of ordinary men: it is so beautiful, that the biographer dwells
upon it with delight, and the inquiry, by what means he attained an
undisputed superiority over his fellow-creatures, must be both interesting and useful. Newton was endowed with talents of the highest
order; but those who are less eminently gifted, may study his life
with advantage, and derive instruction firom every part of his career.
With a power of intellect almost divine, he demonstrated the motions
of the planets, the orbits of the comets, and the cause of the tides of
ocean; he investigated, with complete success, the properties of light
and colors, which no man before had even suspected; he was the
diligent, sagacious, and faithful interpreter of nature, while his
researches all tended to illustrate the power, wisdom, and goodness
of the Creator.  Notwithstanding, also, his reach of understanding
and knowledge, his modesty was such, that he thought nothing of
his own acquirements; and he left behind him the celebrated saying,
"that he appeared to himself as.only a child picking up pebbles from
the shore, while the great ocean of truth lay unexplored before him."
P E R G U SON.
JAMES FERGUSON, the ingenious experimental philosoper, mechanist,
and astronomer, was born in 1710, a few miles from Keith, a village
in Banffshire, in the north of Scotland.  His parents were of the
poorest order, but honest and religious, and, by toilsome labor in the
cultivation of a few rented acres, contrived to rear to manhood a
large family of children.  Of the manner in which James acquired
the rudiments of education, and how he struggled to rise from obscurity to distinction, we have a most interesting account in a memoir by
himself, which we cannot do better than quote in an abridged form.
After mentioning how he learned to read with a very scanty aid
from  an old woman and his father, and that little more than three
months' tuition at the grammar-school of Keith was all the education
he ever received, he thus proceeds: "My taste for mechanics was
soon developed; but as my father could not afford to maintain me
while I was in pursuit only of these matters, and as I was rather too
young and weak for hard labor, he put me out to a neighbor to keep
sheep, which I continued to do for some years; and in that time I
began to study the stars in the night.  In the daytime I amused




160   LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.
myself by making models of mills, spinning-wheels, and such other
things as I happened to see. I then went to serve a considerable
farmer in the neighborhood, whose name was James Glasham. I
found him very kind and indulgent; but he soon observed, that in
the evenings, when my work was over, I went into a field with a
blanket about me, lay down on my back, and stretched a thread with
small beads upon it, at arm's length, between my eye and the stars,
sliding the beads upon it till they hid such and such stars from my
eye, in order to take their apparent distances from one-another; and
then, laying the thread down on a paper, I marked the stars thereon
by the beads, according to their respective positions, having a candle
by me. My master at first laughed at me; but when I explained
my meaning to him he encouraged me to go on; and, that I might
make fair copies in the daytime of what I had done in the night, he
often worked for me himself. I shall always have a respect for the
memory of that man.
" I soon after was introduced by a schoolmaster, whom I knew, to
a Mr. Cantley, an ingenious man, who acted as butler to Thomas
Grant, Esq., of Achoynaney, and from whom I received some instruction, particularly in decimal arithmetic, algebra, and the first elements
of geometry. He also made me a present of' Gordon's Geographical Grammar,' which at that time was to me a great treasure. There
is no figure of a globe in it, although it contains a tolerable description of the globes, and their use.  From this description I made a
globe in three weeks at my father's, having turned the ball thereof
out of a piece of wood, which ball I covered with paper, and delineated a map of the world upon it, made the meridian ring and horizon
of wood, covered them with paper, and graduated them; and I was
happy to find that by my globe, which was the first I ever saw, I
could solve the problems. But this was not likely to afford me bread;
and I could not think of staying with my father, who I knew full
well could not maintain me in that way, as it could be of no service
to him; and he had, without my assistance, hands sufficient for all
his work."
Thinking it would be a very easy matter to attend a mill, and that
he would have plenty of leisure for study, poor Ferguson next engaged himself to a miller; but the fellow turned out to be a harsh,
ignorant drunkard, who required every moment of the boy's time,
starving and ill-using him besides, so that at the end of a year he
had to betake himself to the roof of his father. He next hired himself to a farmer; but'here, again, he was worked beyondrthe strength
of his naturally delicate constitution: illness ensued, and he had
again to seek the paternal refuge. " In order to amuse myself in this
low state I made a wooden clock, the frame of which was also of
wood; and it kept time pretty well. The bell on which the hammer
struck the hours was the neck of a broken bottle. Having then no
idea how any timekeeper could go but by a weight and a line, I
wondered how a watch could go in all positions, and was sorry that




LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN. 161
I had never thought of asking Mr. Cantley, who could very easily
have informed me. But happening one day to see a gentleman ride
vby my father's house, which was close by a public road, I asked him
what o'clock it then was; he looked at his watch, and told me. As
he did that with so much good-nature, I begged of him to show me
the inside of his watch; and though he was an entire stranger, he;immediately opened the watch, and put it into my hands. I saw the
spring-box with part of the chain round it, and asked him what it
was that made the box turn round; he told me that it was turned
round by a steel spring within it. Having then never seen any other.spring than that of my father's gun-lock, I asked how a spring
within a box could turn the box so often round as to wind all the chain
upon it. He answered that the spring was long and thin, that one end
>of it was fastened to the axis of the box, and the other end to the inside
-of the box; that the axis was fixed, and the box was loose upon it.
I told him I did not yet thoroughly understand the matter.'Well,:my lad,' says he,'take a long thin piece of whalebone, hold one
-end of it fast between your finger and thumb, and wind it round your
finger, it will then endeavor to unwind itself; and if you fix the,other end of it to the inside of a small hoop, and leave it to itself, it
will turn the hoop round and round, and wind up a thread tied to
-the outside of the hoop.' I thanked the gentleman, and told him I
understood the thing very well. I then tried to make a watch with
wooden wheels, and made the spring of whalebone; but found that
I could not make the watch go when the balance was put on, because
the teeth of the wheels were rather too weak to bear the force of a
spring sufficient to move the balance, although the wheels would run;fast enough when the balance was taken off. I enclosed the whole in.a wooden case very little bigger than a breakfast tea-cup; but a
clumsy neighbor one day looking at my watch, happened to let it fall,
and turning hastily about to pick it up, set his foot upon it, and
crushed it all to pieces; which so provoked my father, that he was
almost ready to beat the man, and discouraged me so much, that I
never attempted to make such another machine again, especially as I
was thoroughly convinced that I could never make one that would:be of any real use."
He now turned his attention to the repairing and cleaning of clocks,
and in this way managed for some time to make a livelihood. While
4traveling the country for this purpose, he happened to attract the,notice of Sir James Dunbar of Durn, who bestowed on him the warnlest patronage, and requested him to make his mansion his home.
While there, geometry, mechanics, and astronomy, alternately en-.gaged him. 11 Two large globular stones stood on the top of his
bgate; on one of them I painted with oil colors a map of the terrestrial globe, and on the other a map of the celestial, from a planis-:phere of the stars which I copied on paper from a celestial globe;belonging to a neighboring gentleman. The poles of the painted globe,stood toward the poles of the heavens; on each the twenty-four hours




162  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.
were placed around the equinoctial, so as to show the time of the day
when the sun shone out, by the boundary where the half of the globe,
at any time enlightened by the sun was parted from the other half in
the shade; the enlightened parts of the terrestrial globe answering to,
the like enlightened parts of the earth at all times; so that, whenever
the sun shone on the globe, one might see to what places the sun was,
then rising, to what places it was setting, and all the places where it
was then day or night throughout the earth."
While enjoying the hospitality of Durn, he was introduced to Lady'
Dipple, Sir James's sister, who also extended to him the warmest.
patronage.  This lady, seeing his taste for design, employed him in.
drawing patterns for needlework on gowns, aprons, &c., recommendedl
his work to hei acquaintances, and in a short while created, as it were,.
a flourishing' domestic trade for the young philosopher.  On removing
to Edinburgh, she advised Ferguson to accompany her household, in
which lie would have the benefit of another year's hospitality, assured.
that, in the more extensive field of the metropolis, he would have a.
much better opportunity of rising into notice. Thither he accordingly
went; was introduced into new families of distinction; drew and designed for fancy needlework; and latterly turned his attention to
miniature painting, in which he so far excelled, that for six-andtwenty years after, it was the business to which he trusted for a.
maintenance. But while engaged in painting, and enjoying the estimation of those who had been his patrons, "I somehow or other took
a violent inclination to study anatomy, surgery, and physic, a,1 frond
reading of books and conversing with gentlemen on these subjects,
which for that time put all thoughts of astronomy out of my mind 
and I had no inclination to become acquainted with any one there
who taught either mathematics or astronomy, for nothing would
serve me but to be a doctor.
" At the end of the second year I left Edinburgh, and went to see:
my father, thinking myself tolerably well qualified to be a physician.
in that part of the country, and I carried a good deal of medicines,
plasters, &c., thither; but, to my mortification, I soon' found that all'
my medical theories and study were of little use in practice. And'
then, finding that very few paid me for the medicines they had, and,
that I was far from being so successful as I could wish, I quite left
off that business, and began to think of taking to the more sure one
of drawing pictures again. For this purpose I went to Inverness,,
where I had eight months' business. When I was there I began to
think of astronomy again, and was heartily sorry for having quite'
neglected it at Edinburgh, where I might have improved my knowledge by conversing with those who were very able to assist me."
Having spent some time in astronomical pursuits at Inverness,
Ferguson returned to Edinburgh, where he made himself known to"
Mr. Maclaurin, professor of mathematics, by whom he was kindly
patronized, and instructed on points wherein he was deficient. Being;
greatly delighted with the orrery of the professor, he set about con



LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.  163
structing one after a somewhat different principle, and succeeded so
well in the undertaking, that his patron not only commended it to the:
young men attending his class, but desired the constructor to read
them a lecture on it. This so far encouraged the young philosopher,
that hle instantly set about the construction of another more complex,
and of higher finish. This was purchased by Sir Dudley Rider when
Ferguson first went to London; and he mentions in his memoir, that
altogether eight orreries were constructed chiefly by his own hand,
and that in no two of them was the wheelwork alike.  We now follow him to London, whither he went in May, 1743.
"I had a letter of recommendation from Mr. Baron Eldin at Edinburgh to the Right Hon. Stephen Poyntz, Esq., at St. James's, who
had been preceptor to his Royal Highness the late Duke of Cumberland, and was well known to be possessed of all the good qualities
that can adorn a human mind. To me his goodness was really beyond
my power of expression; and I had not been a month in London,
till he informed me that he had written to an eminent professor of
mathematics to take me into his house, and give me board and lodging, with all proper instructions to qualify me for teaching a mathematical school he (Mr. Poyntz) had in view for me, and would get
me settled in it. This I should have liked very well, especially as I
began to be tired of drawing pictures; in which, I confess, I never
strove to excel, because my mind was still pursuing things more
agreeable. He soon after told me he had just received an answer
from the mathematical master, desiring I might be sent immediately
to him. On hearing this, I told Mr. Poyntz that I did not know
how to maintain my wife during the time I must be under the master's tuition.' What i' says he,'are you a married man?'  I told
him I had been so ever since May, in the year 1739.  He said he
was sorry for it, because it quite defeated his scheme, as the master
of the school he had in view for me must be a bachelor.
" He then asked me what business I intended to follow. I answered
that I knew of none besides that of drawing pictures.  On this he
desired me to draw the pictures of his lady and children, that he
might show them, in order to recommend me to others; and told me
that when I was out of business, I should come to him, and he would
find me as much as he could-and I soon found as much as I could
execute; but he died in a few years after, to my inexpressible grief.
"Soon afterwards it appeared to me, that although the moon goes
round the earth, and that the sun is far on the outside of the moon's
orbit, yet the moon's motion must be in a line —that is, always concave towards the sun; and upon making a delineation representing
her absolute path in the heavens, I found it to be really so.  I then
made a simple machine for delineating both her path and the earth's
on a long paper laid on the floor. I carried the machine and delineation to the late Martin Felkes, Esq., president of the Royal Society,
on a Thursday afternoon. He expressed great satisfaction. at seeing
it, as it was a new discovery; and took me that evening with him to




164  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
the Royal Society, where I showed the delineation, and the method
of doing it.
" In the year 1747, I published a dissertation on the phenomena of
the harvest moon, with the description of a new orrery, in which
there are only four wheels. But having never had grammatical education, nor time to study the rules of just composition, I acknowledge
that I was afraid to put it to the press; and for the same cause I
ought to have the same fears still. But having the pleasure to find
that this my first work was not ill received, I was emboldened to go on
in publishing my'Astronomy,'' Mechanical Lectures,''Tables and
Tracts relative to several Arts and Sciences,'' The Young Gentleman and Lady's Astronomy,' a small treatise on'Electricity,' and' Select Mechanical Exercises.'
"In the year 1748, I ventured to read lectures on. the eclipse of
the sun that fell on the 14th of July in that year.  Afterwards I began to read astronomical lectures on an orrery which I made, and of
which the figures of all the wheelwork are contained in the sixth and
seventh plates of'Mechanical Exercises.' I next began to make an
apparatus for lectures on mechanics, and gradually increased the apparatus for other parts of experimental philosophy, buying from
others what I could not make for myself. I then entirely left off
drawing pictures, and employed myself in the much pleasanter business of reading  lectures on mechanics, hydrostatics, hydraulics,
pneumatics, electricity, and astronomy; in all which my encouragement has been greater than I could have expected."
To this narrative we shall add the few particulars which are neces-sary to complete the view of Ferguson's life and character.  It was
through the zeal of George III. in behalf of science, that Ferguson
was honored with the royal bounty of ~50 a-year.  His majesty had
attended some of the lectures of the ingenious astronomer, and often,:after his accession, sent for him to converse upon scientific topics.
He had the extraordinary honor of being elected a member of the
Royal Society, without paying the initiatory or the annual fees, which
were dispensed with in his case, from a supposition of his being too
poor to pay them without inconvenience.  To the astonishment of all
who knew him, it was discovered, after his death, that he was possessed of considerable wealth-about ~6000.  "Ferguson," says
Charles Hutton in his Maathematical Dictionary, "must be allowed to
have been a very uncommon genius, especially in mechanical contriv-,ances and inventions, for he constructed many machines himself in a
very neat manner. He had also a good taste in astronomy, as well
as in natural and experimental philosophy, and was possessed of a
happy manner of explaining himself in a clear, easy, and familiar
way. His general mathematical knowledge, however, was little or
nothing. Of algebra he understood little more than the notation;
and he has often told me, that he could never demonstrate one proposition in Euclid's Elements; his constant method being to satisfy
himself as to the truth of any problem with a measurement by scale




LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN. 165
and compasses."  He was a man of a very clear judgment in every
thing that he professed, and of unwearied application to study: benevolent, meek, and innocent in his manners as a child: humble,
courteous, and communicative: instead of pedantry, philosophy
seemed to produce in him only diffidence and urbanity. After a long
and useful life, worn out with study, age, and infirmities, he died
November 16, 1776.
SIR WILLIAM  JONES.
TEE extraordinary industry and ability displayed in the acquisition
of languages by the subject of the present memoir, affords one of the
best examples of what persevering diligence may usefully accomplish.
William Jones was born in London, September 20, 1746. He lost his
father when only three years of age, and the care of his education
fell on his mother, a lady of uncommon endowments. While yet in
infancy, he was a miracle of industry, and showed how strongly he
was inspired with the love of knowledge. It is related of him that,
when he was only three or four years of age, if he applied to his
mother for information upon any subject, her constant answer to him
was, "Read, and you will know."  He thus acquired a passion for
books, which only grew in strength with increasing years. At the
close of his seventh year, he was placed at the school at Harrow, and
in 17641, he entered University College, Oxford. Unlike the majority
of youths at these educational establishments, young Jones devoted
his whole mind to his studies, his voluntary exertions always exceeding in amount his prescribed task. Such was his activity at school,
that one of his masters was wont to say of him, " that if he were left
naked and friendless on Salisbury Plain, he would, nevertheless, find
the road to fame and riches."  At this time he was frequently in the
habit of devoting whole nights to study, when he would generally
take coffee or tea to ward off sleep-a practice, however, which was
any thing but commendable. He had already, merely to divert his
leisure hours, commenced the study of the law; and it is mentioned
that he would often amuse and surprise his mother's legal acquaintance by putting cases to them from an abridgment of " Coke's Institutes," which he had read and mastered'.
The leaning of Jones's genius seems to have been towards the study
of languages. It may be very frequently remarked, that individuals
who possess the knack of acquiring languages, seldom have a genius
for any thing else; but such does not appear to have been the case
with respect to Jones, whose intellect grasped at several of the most
important departments of human knowledge and polite learning.
While at Oxford, he became desirous of studying the Oriental languages, and he supported a native of Aleppo, at his own expense, tc




166  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
instruct him intlhe pronunciation of the Arabic tongue. The Greek
and Latin languages he was already master of. During the college
vacations, he embraced the opportunity of learning riding and fencing,
and to read all the best authors in Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and
French.  To these accomplishments he found leisure to add dancing,
the use of the broadsword, music, and the art of playing on the
Welsh harp, the instrument of the country of his forefathers.
While engaged in these various studies, he did not allow himself to
rest in the pursuit of the object he had in view-namely, a fellowship, in order to spare his mother the expense of his education.  Not
succeeding to his wish in obtaining this object of his ambition, he accepted, in 1765, the office of tutor to Lord Althorp, afterwards Earl
Spencer; and, sometime afterwards, he obtained a fellowship also.
He availed himself of a residence at the German Spa, with his pupil,
in 1767, to acquire the German language, and on his return translated into -French a Persian life of Nadir Shah, brought over in
manuscript by the king of Denmark, at the request of the undersecretary of the Duke of Grafton.  Another tour to the continent with
his pupil and family followed, which occupied his time until 1770,
when his tutorship ceasing, he entered himself as a law student in the
Temple. He did not, however, wholly sacrifice literature to his professional pursuits; but on the appearance of the life and works of
Zoroaster, by Anquetil du Perron, he vindicated the university of Oxford, which had been attacked by that writer, in an able pamphlet in
the French language, which he wrote with great elegance.  lie also
published, in 1772, a small collection of poems, chiefly from the poets
of Asia, and was the same year elected a fellow of the Royal Society.
In 1774, appeared his work "De Poesi Asiatica," containing commentaries on Asiatic poetry in general, with metrical specimens in
Latin and English.  He was soon after called to the bar, and, in
1776, made a commissioner of bankrupts.  About this time his correspondence with his pupil evinced the manly spirit of constitutional
freedom by which he was actuated; and to his feelings on the American contest he gave vent in a spirited Latin " Ode to Liberty."  In
1778, appeared his translation of the " Orations of Ismeus," with a
prefatory discourse, notes, and commentary, which, for elegance of
style and profound critical and historical research, excited much
admiration.
In the meantime he rapidly advanced in professional reputation,
although his opinion of the American contest stood in the way of his
progress to legal honors.  The tumults of 1780, induced him to write
a pamphlet on the "Legal Mode of Suppressing Riots;" and in the
following winter he completed a translation from the Arabic of seven
poems of the highest repute.  He also wrote the much-admired ode,
commencing " What constitutes a state?" These pursuits did not
prevent a professional " Essay on the Law of Bailments."  He distinguished himself, in 1782, among the friends to a reform in parliament, and also became a member of the Society for Constitutional




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.  167
Information. The same year he drew up a "Dialogue between a
Farmer and a Country Gentleman on the Principles of Government;"
for the publication of which the dean of St. Asaph, afterwards his
brother-in-law, had a bill of indictment preferred against him for
sedition. Upon this event he sent a letter to Lord Kenyon, the chiefjustice of Chester, owning himself the author, and defending his
positions. On the accession of the Shelbourne admi9nistration, through
the influence of Lord Ashburton, he obtained, what had long been the
object of his ambition, the appointment of judge in the Supreme
Court of Judicature, Bengal, to which he was nominated in March
1783, and knighted.
Jones (now Sir William,)arrii'ed at Calcutta in September, 1783.
Here a new and extensive field of action opened to him. While filling the office of judge in the Supreme Court of Bengal, and loaded
with professional duties of the most laborious nature, he contrived to
do more than ever in the study of general literature and philosophy.
He had scarcely arrived in the country, when he exerted' himself to
establish a society in Calcutta on the model of the Royal Society of
London, of which he officiated as president as long as he lived,
enriching its transactions every year with the most elaborate and
valuble disquisitions in every department of Oriental philology and
antiquities.
Almost his only time for study now was during the vacation of the
courts; and here is the account, as found among his papers, of how
he was accustomed to spend his day during the long vacation in 1785.
In the morning, after writing one letter, he read several chapters of
the Bible, and then studied Sanscrit grammar and Hindoo law; the
afternoon was given to the geography of India, and the evening to
Roman history; when the day was closed by a few games at chess,
and the reading of a portion of Ariosto.
Already, however, his health was beginning to break down under
the climate, and his eyes had become so weak, that he had been
obliged to discontinue writing by candle-light.  But nothing could
prevent him from pursuing the studies he loved, while any strength
remained to him. Even while confined by illness to his couch, he
taught himself botany; and it was during a tour he was advised to
take for the recovery of his health, that he wrote his learned
"Treatise on the Gods of Greece, Italy, and India," as if he had
actually so disciplined his mind, that it adopted labor like this almost
for a relaxation.
His health, after a time, was partially restored; and we find him
again devoting himself both to his professional duties and his private
studies with more zeal and assiduity than ever.  When business
required his attendance daily in Calcutta, he resided at a countryhouse on the banks of the Ganges, about five miles from the city.
"To this spot he returned every evening after sunset, and in the
morning rose so early, as to reach his apartments in town, by walking,
at the first appearance of dawn. The intervening period of each




168   LlVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.
morning, until the opening of court, was regularly allotted and
applied to distinct studies." At this time his hour of rising used to
be between three and four.
During the vacation of the court he was equally occupied. Writing
from Crishna, his vacation residence, in 1787, he says:  "We are in
love with this pastoral cottage; but though these three months are
called a vacation, yet I have no vacant hours. It rarely happens
that favorite studies are closely connected with the strict discharge of
our duty, as mine happily are: even in this cottage I am assisting the
court by studying Arabic and Sanscrit, and have now rendered it an
impossibility for the Mohammedan or Hindoo lawyers to impose upon
us with erroneous opinions." It was these constant exertions, in truth,
that gave its chief enjoyment to his life. In connection with this pursllit, he employed his active mind in planning the compilation of a
complete digest of the Hindoo and Mlohammedan laws, with a view
to the better administration of justice among the natives.  This
work he did not live to finish, but its subsequent accomplishment was
entirely owing to his recommendation and primary labors. His object,
in this instance, was to secure a due attention to the rights of the
natives; and he showed himself equally jealous of those of the British inhabitants, by opposing an attempt to supersede the trial by jury.
In 1789 he gave to the world the translation of an Indian drama,
entitled "Sacontala, or the Fatal Ring."  His translation of the
Ordinances of Menu, the famous Hindoo lawgiver, appeared early
in 1794, and is very interesting to the student of ancient manners
and opinions. This eminent and admirable man, however, at last fell
a sacrifice to an undue zeal in the discharge of his duty and his pursuits in literature.  In April, 1794, he was seized at Calcutta with
an inflammation of the liver, which terminated his life on the 27th of
the same month, in the forty-eighth year of his age.
It was by a persevering observance to a few simple maxims that
Sir William Jones was principally enabled to accomplish what he did.
One of these was, never to neglect an opportunity of improvement:
another was, that whatever had been attained by others, was attainable by him, and that therefore the real or supposed difficulties of
any pursuit formed no reason why he should not engage in it, and
with perfect confidence of success.  "It was also," says his biographer, Lord Teignmouth, "a fixed principle with him, from which henever voluntarily deviated, not to be deterred by any difficulties
which were surmountable, from prosecuting to a successful termination what he had once deliberately undertaken. But what appears to
me," adds his lordship, "more particularly to have enabled him to
employ his talents so much to his own and the public advantage, was
the regular allotment of his time to particular occupations, and a
scrupulous adherence to the distribution which he had fixed; hence
all his studies were pursued without interruption or confusion."
Few men have died more regretted, or whose loss to the world of
ettiers was more deeply felt, than Sir William Jones, who, as a, linguist,




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MIEN.  1G6
has scarcely ever been surpassed.  His acquaintance with the
history, philosophy, laws, religion, science, and manners of nations,
was most extensive and profound. As a poet, too, he would probably
have risen to great eminence, if his ardor to transplant foreign beauties, and his professional and multifarious pursuits, had allowed him
to cultivate his own invention with sufficient intensity. His private
character was estimable in the domestic relations, and he was equally
liberal and spirited in public life.
The memory of Sir William Jones received many testimonies of
respect both in England and India. The directors of the East India
Company voted him a monument in St. Paul's Cathedral, and a statue
in Bengal; but the most effecual mon'ument of his fame was raised
by his widow, who published a splendid edition of his works, in six
volumes quarto, 1799, and also, at her own expense, placed a fine
marble statue of him, executed by Flaxman, in the antechamber of
University College, Oxford
ANECDOTES OF THE EARLY PAINTERS.
CIMABUE AND GIOTTO.
CIMABUE was born at Florence in 1240, and while still a child,
manifested a taste for drawing. Happening to see the works of some
Greek painters, he was affected by an extraordinary desire to study
under them; his wishes were agreed to; and so diligently did he
pursue his profession, that he soon excelled his masters. From his
performances a school of art sprung up in Florence, which thus took
the lead in the revival of taste. Cimabue lived to the age of sixty,
and died in 1300. A notice of Cimabue interestingly leads to the
history of his successor.
In the year 1276, about forty miles from Florence, in the tcown of
Vespignano, there lived a poor laboring man named Bondone. This
man had a son whom he brought up in the ignorance usual to the
lowly condition of a peasant boy. But the extraordinary power. of
the child, uncultivated as they necessarily were, and his surprising
quickness of perception and never-failing vivacity, made him the delight of his father, and of the unsophisticated people among whom he
lived. At the age of ten, his father intrustedthim with the care of a
flock. Now the happy little shepherd-boy strolled at his will over
meadow and plain with his woolly charge, and amused himself with
lying on the grass and sketching, as fancy led him, the surrounding
objects on broad flat stones, sand, or soft earth. His sole pencils
were a hard stick or a sharp piece of stone; his chief models were
his flock, which he used to copy as they gathered around him  in
various attitudes.




170  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
One day as the shepherd-boy lay in the midst of his l.-ock, earnestly sketching something on a stone, there came by a traveler.
Struck with the boy's deep attention to his work, and the unconscious
grace of his attitude, the stranger stopped, and went to look at his
work. It was a sketch of a sheep, drawn with such freedom and
truth of nature, that the traveler beheld it with astonishment.
"Whose son are you?" cried he with eagerness.
The startled boy looked up in the face of his questioner.  "My
tather is Bondone the laborer, and I am his little Giotto, so please the
signor," said he.
"Well, then, little Giotto, should you like to come and live with
me, and learn how to draw and paint sheep like this, and horses, and
even men?"
The child's eyes flashed with delight.  "I will go with you anywhere to learn that. But," he added, as a sudden reflection made
him change color, "I must first go and ask my father; I can do
nothing without his leave."
" That is quite right, my boy, and so we will go to him together,"
said the stranger. It was the painter Cimabue.
Great was the wonder of old Bondone at such a sudden proposal;
but he perceived his son's wish, though Giotto was fearful of expressing it, and consented.  He accompanied his boy to Florence, and
there left his little Giotto under the painter's care.
His pupil's progress surpassed Cimabue's expectations.  In delineating nature Giotto soon went beyond his master, to whom a good
deal of the formality of modern Greek art, which he had been the
first to cast aside, still clung. One morning the artist came into his
studio, and looking at a half-finished head, saw a fly resting on the
nose. Cimabue tried to brush it off, when he discovered that it was
only painted.
"Who has done this? " cried he, half angry and half delighted.
Giotto crept trembling from a corner, and confessed his fault. But
he met with praise instead of reproof from his master, who loved art
too well to be indignant at his pupil's talent, even though the frolic
were directed against himself.
As Giotto grew older, his fame spread far and wide.  Pope Benediat IX. sent messengers to him one day; they entered the artist's
studio, and informed him of the pope's request, that he should send
a design for an intended church; for Giotto, like most of the artists
of those early times, was an architect as well as a painter.  He took
a sheet of paper, fixed his elbow at his side to keep his hand steady,
and drew instantly a perfect circle.
"' Tell his holiness that this is my design," said he; and with all
their remonstrances, Giotto refused to give any other. Pope Benedict
was a learned man; he saw that Giotto had given the best instance
of perfection in his art; sent for him to Rome, and honored and rewarded him. "Round as Giotto's 0," became an Italian proverb.
Giotto, as these stories testify, was a pleasant and humorous man.




LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF  EMINENT  MEN.  171
The talents of Giotto won him  the patronage of the great of his
country   He visited in succession Padua, Verona, and Ferrara.  At
the latter city he remained some time, painting for the Prince of Este.
While there, Dante heard of Giotto, and invited him to Ravenna.
the present abode of the exiled Florentine poet.  There also he
painted many of his works, and formed a strong friendship with the
great Dante.  The poor shepherd-boy of Vespignano was now in the
hight of his fame. Admitted into the society of the Italian nobles,
enjoying the friendship of the talented men of his age-Dante,.Boccaccio, and Petrarch —and admired by all, his was indeed an enviable position.  And he was a good man, as well as great, loved by
all his friends; and as his biographer Vasari says, "a good Christian, as well as an excellent painter."  He died at Milan in the year
1336, and was followed to the grave by the sorrow of his friends,
his obsequies receiving those public honors which he so well merited.
3IICHAEL-ANGELO  BUONAROTTI.
ON the 6th of March, 1474, at the Castle Caprese, in Tuscany,
was born the child who was afterwards to become so renowned.
Michael-Angelo was noble by birth; his father was descended from
the Counts of Canosa.  Probably his wealth did not equal his
patrician ancestry, for the proud nobleman sent his son to a grammar-school at Florence. A public school is no unusual place for
genius to develop itself, and here it was that Michael-Angelo's soon
shone forth.  His facility in sketching —a talent always appreciated
by schoolboys-made him  popular among his young companions;
they encouraged him, and their praises fostered the love of art in his
bosom.  This passion for drawing, however, was pursued in secret;
for his father used all his efforts to discourage the boy, thinking', poor
man i! in his foolish pride, that it would disgrace the noble House of
Canosa to produce an artist!  He did not know that, but for that
great artist, his ancient house would have been forgotten; and that
now Michael-Angelo is remembered for his genius, not for his nobility.
The first story of the boy's progress in art is told of him in his
thirteenth year.  He-borrowed a picture from a friend, and copied it
with such exactitude, that it could hardly be distinguished from  the
original.  A plan for a boyish deception came into his head: he confided the secret to one of his playfellows, and the two boys, with grave
faces and many thanks, brought to the lender, not his own picture, but
Michael's copy.  He, worthy soul, discovered not the cheat put upon
him, and was restoring with perfect composure the fac-simile to the
place of the original, when Michael's playfellow could resist his mirth
no longer, and his irreplressible laughter revealed the jest. This story
became known; his undoubted success encouraged the boy, and to
his father's horror, he declared his first resolution to be an artist.
Most likely the incident of the borrowed picture influenced greatly
1Michael's future life; for in his fourteenth year we find him  a pupil
12




172  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  AMEN.
of Domenico Ghirlandajo, one of the best painters of the day, and
who had studied under Giotto. Doubtless it was only after many
struggles with his prejudiced father that Michael-Angelo obtained
this favor; but when gained, he profited by it in proportion to the
difficulty with which he had secured it.  When fifteen, he one day
saw a figure on his master's easel, drawn in a style which he considered far from perfect  He made outlines of the incorrect portions
of the drawing on its margin.  These outlines were far superior to
the picture itself; and his own consciousness of this, and a mean
jealousy unworthy of the noble art he followed, made Ghirlandajo
ever after strive to depress and injure the bold and talented boy who
had dared thus openly to compete with his master.
Michael-Angelo remained with Ghirlandajo only three years, during
which time his improvement was owing to his own exertions, and not
to his jealous master, who scarcely ever condescended to give him
the least instruction. But perseverance often fully atones for the
want of imparted knowledge; and so it was with Michael.  Before
he left the studio of Ghirlandajo, he had availed himself of permission given to the pupils of Ghirlandajo, by Lorenzo de Medici, to
study in an academy which that wise and generous nobleman had
instituted for the advancement of sculpture.  Here Michael still continued to improve himself, and attracted the attention of Lorenzo the
Magnificent by his beautiful drawings. The academy was held, like.those early ones of ancient Athens, in a garden. This garden Lorenzo
supplied with beautiful sculpture, chiefly ancient-for the moderns
were veary far from perfection until Da Vinci's time-and hither the
good nobleman often walked among the oljects of his taste and delight, supplied by his own munificent hand, or amused himself in
watching the progress of the young artists whom he had invited to
study in his grounds, with a kindly liberality which now, alas! exists
only in' name.
In this garden of art the young Michael-Angelo one day saw a
fellow-student modeling in clay-a branch of instruction then very
uncommon.  He felt a wish to do the same, and attempted an imitation, which Lorenzo, who happened to pass by, praised with such
warmth, that the young artist determined to try his skill in marble.
He begged a piece of broken marble and a tool from some workmen,,Who were employed in ornamenting the palace, and cheerfully and
eagetly set to work. He chose as his model a mask of a "Laughing
Faun," which was lying in the garden, much mutilated by time.
But'Midhael remedied all these defects in his copy, and likewise added
some improvements from his own powers of invention. The mask
was nearly finished, when, a few days after, Lorenzo again visited his
garden.
"lThis is wonderful in a youth like you," cried the delighted nobleman. He examined the work, compared it with the original, and
praised the several additions which Michael's genius had prompted.
-"But," said this acute patron and lover of art, with a good



LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.  173
humored smile, "there is one thing I do not quite approve, though
it is but a slight fault in so good a work-you have restored all the
old man's teeth; whereas, you know, a person of that age has generally some wanting."
The young man acquiesced in this sensible remark; and when
Lorenzo had departed, he broke a tooth from the upper jaw of the
mask, and drilled a hole in the gum, to show that it had decayed and
fallen out in course of nature.  On Lorenzo's next visit, he was so
delighted with the ingenious way in which Michael-Angelo had followed up his patron's hint, that he gave the young artist an apartment in his house; made him a guest at his table; introduced him to
the noble, wealthy, and learned that thronged the palace of the greatest of the Medici; and, in short, adopted him as his own son.
When only seventeen, Michael-Angelo executed for Lorenzo a
basso-relievo in bronze; the subject was the "Battle of Centaurs."
When very old, the great painter once came to see this work of his
early youth, and was heard to say that he regretted that he had not
entirely devoted himself to sculpture. His next work was a " Sleeping
Cupid." The wise of that age thought it impossible for modern art
to produce any thing equal to the antique; and they were not far
wrong, for Michael-Angelo had not then arisen. So the dealer who
purchased his Cupid had the cunning adroitness to stain it in imitation of the defacements of time, and bury it in a vineyard. He afterwards pretended to discover it by accident, and sold it as an antique
statue to Cardinal San Giorgio. The praise it obtained induced him
to reveal the secret; the deceived public generously forgave the trick,
and the artist was invited to Rome, where Pope Julius II. commissioned him to erect a mausoleum. Michael's design was magnificent. When he showed it to the pope, his holiness inquired the cost
of such a splendid work. Michael answered that it would amount to
a hundred thousand crowns; and the pope liberally gave him permission to expend twice that sum. The mausoleum was commenced:
Pope Julius was so delighted with it, that he had a covered way fiom
his palace erected, that he might visit the artist at his work incognilo.
This was too great a favor not to excite the envy of a court. Ill
words and unkind slanders were spoken of Michael.  They reached
the pope's ear, as it was intended, and he visited Buonarotti no more.
Michael came to the Vatican, which had been at all times open to
him, but it was not so now. A groom of the chamber stopped his
entrance.
"Do you know to whom you speak?" asked the indignant painter.'Perfectly well," said the man; " and I only do my duty in obeying the orders my master has given."
"Then tell the pope," replied Michael, "if he wants me, he may
come and seek me elsewhere himself."
The insulted artist returned immediately to his house, ordered his
servants to sell his furniture, and follow him to Florence; and left
Rome that very night. Great was the pope's consternation. Couriers




174   LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
were immediately sent after Michael.  But it was too late; he had
already passed the boundary of the pope's jurisdiction, and force
was of no avail.  The Courier's reached Florence, and delivered the
pope's letter.  Michael's answer was this: " I have been expelled
from  the antechamber of your holiness without meriting disgrace;
therefore I have left Rome to preserve my reputation. I will not
return, as vour holiness commands.  If I have been deemed worthless one day, how can I be valued the next, except by a caprice alike
discreditable to the one who shows it, and the one towards whom it
is shown."
Julius next wrote to the government of Florence, using these conciliatory words: "We know the humor of men like Michael-Angelo.
If he will return, we promise that none shall offend him or interfere
with him, and he shall be reinstated in our apostolic grace." But
Michael was inflexible.  Again and again the pope wrote, and still
this proud and high-spirited man refused to heed hlim.   At last the
chief-maigistrate of Florence became alarmed.  He sent for the artist,
and said, " You have treated the pope as the king of France himself
would not have dared. We cannot bring him to war against the
state on your account; therefore you must obey his will."  The
magistrate promised, also, if Michael feared for his personal safety, to
send him as ambassador to Rome, in which case his person would be
inviol.able.  At last Michael relented, and met the pope at Bologna.
Julius glanced at him with displeasure, and did not for some time
deign to speak. At last he said, " Instead of your coming to us, you
seem to have expected that we should wait upon you."
IMichael answered with a slight apology for his conduct, which, however, was so haughtily expressed, that a prelate, who had introduced
him, thought it necessary to observe, " One must needs make allowance for such men, who are ignorant of every thing except their art."
Wise and generous, too, was the pope's indignant reply to this
speech.  He turned to the prelate: " Foolish man! it is thou who
hast vilified Michael-Angelo; I have not.  He is a man of genius,
and thou an igonorant fellow.  Depart from my sight this moment."
And the contemner of art was forcibly driven from the room.
Miclhael-Ang-elo's first commission after this, was a statue of Pope
Julius. It was the work of sixteen months, and worthy of Michael's
genius.  But its fame was short: in a popular riot this statue was
thrown down, dragged through the streets, and broken to pieces, in
contempt of the pontiff whom it represented.  The head alone was
preserved by the Duke of Ferrara.  After Michael had completed
this statue, he returned to Rome, and again set to work on the mausoleum.  But Julius had changed his mind, and determined to build
the Sistine Chapel, to the memory of his uncle, Sixtus VI.  This
chapel Michael was to adorn with fresco paintings.  His first attempt
showed how universal were his powers of mind.  He began to paint
the ceiling; but the only scaffolding which the architect Bramante
could contrive, was suspended by ropes passed through holes in the




LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.  175
roof. Michael-Angelo asked how he was to paint a ceiling thus pierced
with holes. Bramnante could arrange no other plan; and Buonarotti
invented some machinery so complete, that the carpenter who made
it under his direction, realized a large fortune, through M~ichaeli's
generosity in allowing him to profit by the invention.
In twenty months the frescos were completed, to the delighted
wonder of his friends, and the envy of his enemies; all being the
work of Michael-Angelo's own hand, unassisted by any one. The
pope had almost daily climbed to the top of the platform to watch
the artist's progress; and by his persuasions, Michael took down
the scaffolding almost before the frescos were finished.  Crowds
of the learned rushed to the building to see this wonderful work.
But when the pope had gratified his imlpatience by viewing the
painted ceiling from below, he began to wish for more ornaments on
the drapery of some figures-more gilding and show.  But Michael's
reproof was not long wanting.
"I have painted," said he, "men who were poor, nor wished for
riches-holv men, to whom gold was an object of contempt. I will
add notlbineg."
The Sistine Chapel was publicly opened on All-Saint's Day, 1512.
Froml that time to the present, Michael-Angelo's frescos have been
acklnowledged the most glorious triumph of art in any age.  They
consist of a series of colossal paintings descriptive of the progress of
the Christian religion, from the creation of the world until the last
judgment of all men.  To particularize them is impossible; and
their praise has been a universal theme. Most of them are painted
on the arched ceiling; and it is said that many figures were executed
by the artist lying on his back on a heap of cushions; this being the
only position in which he could reach them.
Thrlee months after the completion of the Sistine Chapel, Pope
Julius died. Leo X., who succeeded him, was by no means a warm.
friend to Michael-Angelo.  But his fame was now too well established
to suffer from this lack of favor. He was now growing old; but his
energies and talents were unwearied.  Beside that of the Sistine;
another chapel was erected called the Paoline. For this he painted
two pictures-the " Conversion of St. Paul," and the " Crucifixion
of St. Peter."  At the age of seventy-two, he was nominated architect of St. Peter's.  This magnificent building, the grandest; temple
in Christendom, was the design and erection of Michael-Angelo. It
was the work of many years and many struggles.  The artist had
to contend with the poverty and illiberality of his patrons; and once
they endeavored to displace him.  He had, in their opinions, not
given light enough to the church in one portion of it.
"Three more windows will be placed there? " said Michael-Angelo.
"You never told us of that before? " replied a cardinal.
" Nor will I be accountable to you for declaring all that I dQ, or
intend to do," cried the high-spirited painter.  "It is yours to provide
money and keep off thieves: to build St. Peter's is mine  "




176   LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
This independent speech won him the favor of the then pope, Julius
III. From this time he placed unlimited confidence and regard in
the artist, often saying that should Michael-Angelo die before himself,
his body should be embalmed, and kept in the palace, that his mortal
form should endure as long as his works. But Julius died in 1555;
*and his successor, Paul IV., insulted the painter by wishing to reform
the " Last Judgment" in the Sistine. Michael sent this message in
answer:-" If his holiness will undertake to reform mankind, I will
engage that my picture shall reform itself."
This pope plunged Rome into war and bloodshed. Michael-Angelo,
then eighty-two years of age, took refuge in a monastery until these
perilous times were over.  It was with regret that he left this quiet
abode to enter again on the turmoil of the world.  He lived until the
age of eighty-nine, and then died peaceably and calmly, uttering his
last will in these words:  " My soul I resign to God, my body to the
earth, my worldly goods to my next of kin."
Michael-Angelo's countenance was like his mind-full of noble
grandeur.  Straight Greek features, a high and rather projecting forehead, with clustering hair and beard, gave his portrait a character of
sublimity which is like his vworks.  These works were the grandest in
conception and execution that mortal man could do —not beautiful but
sublime.  It is often a reproach to a great man that his life is far
inferior to his works; but Michael-Angelo was in every way a noble
and good man, not winning, but austere in his virtue and simplicity
of character at an age when the contrary was most in fashion. He
was never married, and used to say that his works were his children,
who must bear his name to posterity. He lived in study and seclusion,
never ceasing to seek after knowledge throughout his long life. In
his old age, he was found one day by Cardinal Sarnite walking alone
in the Iruins of the Coliseum.  The cardinal expressed surprise.  "I
go yet to school," said Michael, " that I may continue to learn."
This great artist's soul was full of high principle: he scorned
every thing mean and dishonorable. His disposition was generous,
and many a kindness did he show to inferior artists, and others who
needed it.  Sometimes his gifts were munificent.  To his old servant
Urbino he gave two thousand crowns: a donation in those days considered worthy of a monarch. This man died when Michael was
eighty-two, and his aged master remained with him day and night in
his last illness, and afterwards wrote this of him:  "Urbino's death
has been a heavy loss to me, yet also an impressive lesson of the
grace of God; for it has shown me that he who in his lifetime comforted me in the enjoyment of life, dying, has'taught me how to die,
not with reluctance, but even with a desire for death."
His poems were numerous, and all breathe the spirit of purest
Christianity.  The sternness of his character won little affection from
his cotemporaries, yet none ever breathed a word against him. The
fame of Michael-Angelo's works will live forever, and with that his
memory as a truly great and virtuous man.




LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MIEN.  171
WILLIAM  GIFFORD.
WILLIAM GIFFORD was born in 1755, at Asllburton, in Devonshire,
England, and for several years led the miserable kind of life which
is common among the children of a drunken and reckless father.
This worthless man died when only forty years of age, leaving his
wife with two children, the youngest little more than eight months
old, and no available means for their support. In about a year afterwards his wife followed, and thus was William, at the age aof thirteen,
and his infant brother, thrown upon the world in an utterly destitute
condition.
The parish workhouse now received the younger of the orphans,
and William was taken home to the house of a person named Carlile,
his godfather-who, whatever might have been his kindness in this
respect, had at least taken care of his own interests, by seizing on
every article left by the widow Gifford, on pretence of repaying himself for money which he had advanced to her in her greatest necessities. The only benefit derived by William from this removal, was
a little education, Carlile sending him to school, where he acquired
the elements of instruction. His chief proficiency, as he tells us, was
in arithmetic; but he was not suffered to make much progress in his
studies, for, grudging the expense, his patron took him from school,
with the object of making him a plowboy. To the plow he would
accordingly have gone, but for a weakness in his chest, the result of
an accident some years before. It was now proposed to send him to
a storehouse in Newfoundland; but the person who was to be benefitted by his services declared him to be too small, and this plan was
also dropped.  "My godfather,"says William, "had now humbler
views for me, and I had little heart to resist any thing. Ile proposed
to send me on board one of the Torbay fishing-boats. I ventured,
however, to remonstrate against this, and the matter was compromised
by my consenting to go on board a coaster.  A coaster was speedily
found for me at Brixham, and thither I went when little more than
thirteen."
In this vessel he remained for nearly a twelvemonth.  "It will be
easily conceived," he remarks, "that my life was a life of hardship.
I was not only' a ship-boy on the high and giddy mast,' but also in
the cabin, where every menial office fell to my lot; yet if I was restless and discontented, I can safely say it was not so much on account
of this, as of my being precluded from all possibility of reading; as
my master did not possess, nor do I recollect seeing during the whole
time of my abode with him, a single book of any description except
the'Coasting Pilot.' "
While in this humble situation, however, and seeming to himself
almost an outcast from the world, he was not altogether forgotten.
He had broken off all connexion with Ashburton, where his godfather
lived; but "the women of Brixham," says he, " who traveled to Ashburton twice a-week with fish, and who had known my parents, (lid




178  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
not see me without kind concern running about the beach in a ragged
jacket and trousers."  They often mentioned him to their acquaintances at Ashburton; and the tale excited so much coImispration in
the place, that his godfather at last found himself obliged to send for
him home.  At this time he wanted some months of fourteen.  He
proceeds with his own story as follows:
After the holidays, I returned to my darling pursuit-arithmetic.
My progress was now so rapid, that in a few months I was at the head
of the school, and qualified to-assist my master (Mr. E. Furlon(g, ) on
any extraordinary emergency.  As he usually gave me a trifle on
these occasions, it raised a thoug-ht in me that, by engaginog with him
as a regular assistant, and undertaking the instruction of a few evenillng scholars, I might, with a little additional aid, be enabled to support myself.  God knows my ideas of support at this time were of no
very extravagant nature.  I had, besides, another object in view.
Mr. Hugh Smerdon (my first master, ) was now grown old and infirm;
it seemed unlikely that he should hold out above three or four
years; and I fondly flattered myself that, notwithstanding my youth,
I might possibly be appointed to succeed him. I was in my fifteenth
year when I built these castles.  A storm, however, was collecting,
which unexpectedly burst upon me, and swept thein all away.
" On mentioning my little plan to Carlile, he treated it with the
utmost contempt; and told mle, in his turn, that as I had learned
enough, and more than enough, at school, he must be considered as
having fairly discharged his duty (so indeed he had;) he added that
he had been negotiating with his cousin, a shoemaker of some respectability, who had liberally agreed to take me, without a fee, as an
apprentice.  I was so shocked at this intelligence, that I did not
remonstrate, but went in sullenness and silence to my new master,
to whom  I was soon after bound, till I should attain the age of
twenty-one.
"At this time I possessed but one book in the world: it was a
treatise on algebra, given to me by a young woman, who had found.
it in a lodging-house.  I considered it as Ca treasure; but it was a
treasure locked up; for it supposed the reader to be well acquainted
with simple equations, and I knew nothing of the matter. My master's
son had purchased Fenning's Introduction: this was precisely what I
wanted; but he carefully concealed it firom me, and I was indebted
-',o chance alone for stumbling upon his hiding-place.  I sat up for
13he greatest part of,several nights successively, and, before he suspjeted. that his treatise was discovered, had completely mastered it.
i could now enter upon my own, and that carried me pretty far into
the science. This was not done without difficulty. I had not a farthinSg
on earth, nor a friend to give me one; pel, ink, and paper, therefore,
were for the most part as completely out of my reach as a crown and
sceptre.  There was, indeed, a resource; but the utmost caution and
secrecy weie necessary in applying' to it. I beat out- pieces of leather
as smooth as possible, and wrote my problems on them with a blunted




LIVES  AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MhEN.  179
awl; for the i est my memory was tenacious, and I could multiply and
divide by it to a great extent."
Persevering under these untoward difliculties, he at length, obtained
some alleviation of his poverty.  Having attempted to write some
verses, his productions were received with applause, and sometimes,
he adds, "with favors more substantial: little collections were now
and then made, and I have received sixpence in an evening.  To one
who had long lived in the absolute want of money, such a resource
seemned a Peruvian mine.  I fllrnishcd myself by degrees with paper,
&c., and, what was of more importance, with books of creometry, and
of the highler branches of algebra, which I cautiouslv concealed.
Poetry, even at this time, was no amusement of minc —it was subservient to other purlposes; and I only had recourse to it when I wanted
money for my nmathematical pursuits."
Gifford's master having capriciously put a stop to these literary
recreations, and talen away all his books and papers, le was greatly
mertified, if not reduced to a state of despair.  "I look back," he
says, "on that part of my life which immediately followed this event
with little satisfaction: it was a period of gloom and savage unsociability.  By degrees I sunk into a kind of corporeal torpor; or, if
roused into activity by the spirit of youth, wasted the exertion in
splenetic and vexatious tricks, which alienated the few acquaintances
which compassion had yet left me."
Fortunately, this despondency in time gave way to a natural buoyancyA of his dispositionl; some evidences of klindly feeling from those
around him, tended a good deal to mitigate his recklessness; and
especially as the term  of his apprenticeship drew toward a close,
his former aspirations and hopes began to return to him. Working
with renewed diligence at his craft, he, at the end of six years, came
under the notice of Mr. William Cookesly, and, struck with his talents, this benevolent person resolved on rescuiing him front obscurity.
"The plan," says Gifford, "that occurred to him, was naturally that
which had so often suggested itself to me.  There were, indeed, several obstacles to be overcome.  My handwriting was bad, and my
language very incorrect; but nothingy could slacken the zeal of this
excellent man.  He procured a few of my poor attempts at rhyme,
dispersed them amongst his friends and acquaintance, and when my
name was become somewhat familiar to them, set on foot a subscription for my relief.  I still preserve the original paper; its title was
not very magnificent, though it exceeded the most sanguine wishes
of my heart.  It ran thus: —'A subscription for purchasing the remainder of the time of William Gifford, and for enablingr him to ilmprove himself in writing and English grammar.' Few contributed
more than five shillings,,and none went beyond ten and sixpence;
enough, however, was collected to free me from my apprenticeship,
and to maintain me for a few months, during which I assiduously attended the Rev. Thlomas Smerdton."
Pleased with the advances he made in this short period, it was




180  LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.
agreed to maintain him at school for an entire year.  "Such liberality," says Gifford, " was not lost upon me: I grew anxious to make
the best return in my power, and I redoubled my diligence. Now
that I am sunk into indolence, I look back with some degree of skepticism to the exertions of that period." In two years and two months
from what he calls the day of his emancipation, he was pronounced
by his master to be fit for the university; and a small office having
been obtained for him, by Mr. Cookesly's exertions, at Oxford, he
was entered of Exeter College; that gentleman undertaking to provide the additional means necessary to enable him to live till h3
should take his degree. Mr. Gifford's first patron died before his
protege had time to fulfil the good man's fond anticipations of his future celebrity; but he afterward found, in Lord Grosvenor, another
much more able, though it was impossible that any other could have
shown more zeal, to advance his interests.
Gifford was now on the way to fame, and he may be said to have
ever afterward enjoyed a prosperous career. On the commencement
of the Quarterly Review, in 1809, he was appointed editor of that
periodical, and under his management it attained a distinguished success. After a useful literary career, Mr. Gifford died in London, on
the 31st of December, 1826, in the seventy-first year of his age.
Reversing the Latin proverb, it might be justly observed, that in him
a shoemaker happily went beyond his last.
HENRY CLAY.
HENnY CLAY was born April 12th, 17i7I, in Hanover county,
Virginia.  Htis father was a Baptist clergyman of small means,
who died when his son was only five years of ace.  Ile was one
of a large family of children, who were left under the care of
their mother-a firm-minded  and  truly  excellent woman.
Henry's early advantages consisted in the privileges of attendino a common country Viroginia school; and such were the
circumstances of the widow, that thus early, he was obliged to
contribute to the support of the family.  His work was generally on th;e farm.  At fourteen years of age he was placed in a
small retail shop in Richmond, Virginia.  The next year he entered the office of Mr. Tinsley, clerk of the High Court of
Chancery, where, aimongl other valuable acquaintances, he attracted the notice and acquired the friendship of the distinguished and beloved Chancellor n Wythe-one of the venerable signers
of the Declaration of Independence. With him the poor orphan
found a patron and a home.  Under the direction of his great
benefactor, and for the purpose of studying his profession, he




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN. 181
entered the law office of Robert Brook, attorney-general of the
state.  In 1797 he removed to Lexington, Kentucky, where,
before he commenced the practice of the law, he devoted some
months to severe study.  Such were the youthful trials of this
great man. The foundation of his long, eminent, patriotic and
glorious career was thus, not family, nor wealth, nor titles, but
talents, industry, integrity, and worth.
Our space will not permit a full detail of a progress, alike
honorable to a people who saw and appreciated his value as a
man, and to the patriot who devoted himself zealously to the
public service. This commenced in 1797, when he took part in
the debates relating to the call of a Convention, to form a constitution for Kentucky, and in 1798, when he zealously entered
the field against the celebrated alien and sedition laws. As
soon as he was eligible, he was elected to the Legislature of
Kentucky. He was a leading member until 1806, whenl he was
sent to the Senate of the United States, to fill the ilace ocicasioned by the resignation of General Adir. This, however,
was only a fraction of a term; and at the close of the session,
Mir. Clay was again chosen to a seat in the Legislature.  I-Ie
was Speaker several years. In 1809 he was a second time elected
to the United States Senate, and to fill a firactional part of a
term. This expired in 1811, when he was elected a member of
the House of Representatives. On the first ballot lie was elected
Speaker, which office he filled with distinguished ability. It is
no more than justice to remark, that thus far MIr. Clay had
proved himself equal, and more than equal, to every place which
he had been called upon to fill. Indeed, he was a member of the
Republican party, and so signal had been his eloquence, his
patriotism, his influence, and his efficiency, as to have attracted
the eyes of the nation. He nobly sustained the administration
of TMr. Madison and the war of'1812. After the conclusion of
the treaty of Ghent, Mr. Clay, with Mr. Adams and Mir. Gallatin,
went to London, where a Commercial Convention between this
country and Great Britain was concluded. Mr. Clay was again
elected to the House of Representatives in 1815, and again made
Speaker. Subsequently, after two years' absence from Congress,
he was re-elected in 1823, and again made the Speaker, which
place he filled until 1825, when he was appointed Secretary of
State, by John Quincy Adams. He was Speaker of the -louse
froln 1811 to 1825, with the exception of two years, during
which time he voluntarily retired from  Congress.  He continued in the office of Secretary of State until 1829. Two
years later, in December, 1831, he was again elected to the Senate of the United States, and continued a member of that body
until March 31st, 1842, when he resigned. Mr. Clay lived in eleoant retirement at Ashland, until he was again (1849) elected
to the Senate. And here after a brilliant parliamentary career,




182  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
he closed his life, as his friend John Quincy Adams did, with his
harness on-still serving the country, for whose welfare his
heart so ferventlv beat.  He died on the 29th of June, 1852.
BARON  I'OTHSCHILD.
SOME CURIOUS STORIES.
A PARTS correspondent writes as follows of Baron Rothschild:
Apart fiom politics the talk is still (1869) about Baron Rothschild.  His life and character furnish ample material, and most
persons have their little nut to crack at the expense of le yraind
bar-on. A.s Allbert  rolff renlarlbs, there are two men in one envelope; the Baron snatchilng up money with voluptuous greed,
and then thle Baron dealing it out to the poor with careful but
generous prodigality.  The " lender to kings " -was " fierce in
business.  He never could be put out by the most unforseen
circuinstan. ees.  Once a visitor was ushered in the presence of
1.. D. othschilld, to cash a draft onl a foreign baank.  The
Baron askled his Secretary, in German, what mwas the chlarge for
exchange.  Being promptly inforlmeed that it was one per
cent., he as quickly told his customer that he would charge him
two per cent.  It so happened, however that the stranger
understood Gerlman perfectly.  HIe smartly objected, therefore,
to an exacttion of one hundred per cent. profit, besides the customary  g,   P.reserving tkhe greatest coolness, the Baron rI emarked:  " Ah! you understandl German! Well, since you are
a friend,  I will do it for one and a half per cent.
Th1e Lothschilds, when they correspond with each other,
frequently write in Hebrew. One day a spectator o01 the Bourse,
well versed in the Hebrew tongue, chanced to stand behind the
chair of the Baron while he was writing, looking  over his
shoulders le saw that the letter co0ntafined soml-e details about
a great operalion to be done with the _Northern R1ailway shares.
Writh the prompt eagerness of a true business man, li he determined not to lose the advantages that should accrue from such
precious information.  Our speculator rushed to the Stock Exchange, sold everything he had, and then invested in the
Northern Railway shares.  His horror can barely be depicted
when next day, instead of a rise, there was a terrible fall.  Of
course tlle speculator was completely ruined.  In his despair
lie called on Mla. de Rlothschild, who was much surprised that so
i)rudent a man had come to grief.  As the baron inquired most
kindly after him, he made bold to confess his indiscretion. " So
you read from1  over my shoulders, did you? " replied TA. de
Rothschild, " But how is it you did not surmise that a man like
myself had prepared for all?  What I write to my brother has




LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT MIEN. 183
no meaning  unless it is accompanied with certain mysterious
signs at the bottom. of the letter. I need not relate my business
to every one —a letter can be lost.  Thus, in this special case,
when I saidl to my brother,'Buy!' it meant exactly that he was
to sell. I am sure I am very sorry for you."  And then the
Baron indulged in a hearty laugh.  The poor speculator felt
himself about to collapse, when the great banker continued,
"' Ah! well, ny good fellow, since, without knowing it, I have
ruined you, I must pull you out of the mud."'  The very same
day Baron iRothschild paid the debts of the unfortunate speculator.
In bodily exertion Baron Rothschild did not fail.  After the
battle of Wa1aterloo he was about the first person who crossed
the channel to England.  The storm raging at that period rendered the journey too hazardous for the ordinary passeniger ships.
T'he Baron, however, hired a fishing smack, and thanks to its
tub-shape, and the roughness, he crossed in safety, arriving in
time to speculate on the London Exchange.  BWhen the Duke
of Betry was assassinated at the opera, M. de R-othschild was
dangerously ill through a fall from his horse.  Hie nevertheless
lealed out of bed, and clinging to the bell to call his servants,
fell, rope in hand, as ihe cried, with almost dyino accents, " The
keys of my desk; you must go quick to the Bourse, the Duke
of Berry assassinated, to sell! to sell! ["  This effort nearly cost
him his life.  The Baron is reproached for the haughtiness of
his tone towards the persons he einployed; still, he could single
out those of great merit.  Among these may be specially mentioned MI. Benari: " This boy (he would say, with certain pride)
is the first accountant in Europe-except ime." Ma. Benmari rose
rapidcly, ancd is now the partner of one of the mliost important
banking-hlouses in Paris. The originality of Baron Rothschild's
pocket purse gave rise to malucl merrimh'ento  It opciied with
a wonderful key, hung to the Baron's watch chain, and when
it was opened, it frequently happened that there was no money
in it.
VICTOR   COUSIN.
VICTOR COUSIN, the great philosopher of France, since Descartes, and the man who has done more than any other of the
age, to promote knowledge in his native country, is dead.  Although lie outlived the study of metaphysics, which even in
Germany has yielded to the positive and to exact science, he
did not outlive his great reputation, nor the results of his
masterly'activity.
The deceased was born in Paris, November 28th, 1792.  His
father was a clockmaker, a disciple of Rousseau, and a revo



184  LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.
lutionist. The first public school which he attended was the
Charlemagne Lyceum, in which he distinguished himself by industry, and gained many prizes. Excelling in scholarship, art,
and music, he determined to devote himself to literature, and
his name was, in 1810, placed first on the list of pupils admitted
into the newly-appointed Normal School.  Hie became assistant Greek professor in 1812, and at the same time taught
philosophy in the Napoleon Lyceum. Laromignidre, " the most
graceful of the disciples of Condillac," himself the most logical
and elegant of Locke's followers, led Cousin at first into
materialism. But there was a current setting against this in
the spirit of the age, socially, and in every direction. Catholics,
sentimentalists, in essays and poets, romantic artists, and all
were working against it, and at last Royer Collard, one of those
men who achieve great results without gaining  permanent
popularity, made the first step towards the New Philosophy by
teaching Dugald Stewart and other Scotch philosophers. From
Collard, Maine de Biran and Reid, the step for Cousin was
easy to Kant and Fichte. As a teacher he became popular.
The young men who attended his lectures were taken captive
by his rare combination of profound thought and glowing eloquence. Hle spoke under the inspiration of ideas which seemed
to have gained possession of his soul. No teacher of philosophy before him had shown an equal power in representing
metaphysical abstractions, in such animated  and graphic
sketches. After a course of travels in Germany, in 1817 and
1818, and Italy, which he had undertaken for philosophical
purposes, on his return to France, in 1820, he found a change
in the views of the government; he was suspected of liberal
sentiments in politics; his lectures at the University were suspended, and he remained in disgrace for several years. During
this interval, though deprived of all public employment, and
destitute of fortune, he did not abate his devotion to philosophy,
and his writings at this period served to increase his reputation
and to promote the interests of his favorite study. In 1824,
while travelling in Germany, he was arrested at Dresden, and
conducted to Berlin, where he was detained in prison for several
months. This was at the instigation of the Jesuits, who had
become his enemies, on account of his attachment to a liberal
policy, and who accused him of having engaged in a plot against
the German governments. The affair, however, terminated to
his honor, and to the shame of his persecutors. He displayed
throughout the whole process a firmness and moderation which
gained for him the highest esteem of the Prussian government,
and, indeed, of all the enlightened men of Germany. At this
time he was visited in prison by Ilagel, where he also became
acquainted with Schleiermacher and Schelling. Returning to
Paris, he published, in 1826, the first series of his Firagments




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN. 185
Philosophiques, and in 1827 he was restored to his chair of philosophy in the Sorbonne, with Guizot and Villemain for colleagues.
This triumvirate drew to the University an immense number of
students. Having gone over so many systems, and broken his
way through from materialism to the new philosophy, and
naturally been led by Schelling to the congenial Neo-Platonic
masters, Cousin boldly revived the eclectic or selective philosophy of Ammonius Saccas of the second century, in an eclecticism
of his own, which met with great success. After the revolution
of 1850 he might easily have entered the path of political distinction, and been honored with public office, like his colleagues,
Guizot, and Villemain, and his friend Thiers, but he declared
that he would remain faithful to philosophy. " Politics," said
he at that time, " are an episode with me; but the foundation
of my life belongs to philosophy." He was placed at the head
of the iNormal School, which he re-established and re-organized,
and from 1830 to 1840 he published several of the most importault works, which he contributed to the development of philosophy in the nineteenth century. For the last fifteen years he
devoted his studies mainly to the social and intellectual condition of France, during the seventeenth century, and published
several historical and biographical monographs in illustration
of the subject. His labors in the cause of popular education
have given a great impulse to the progress of intellectual culture, and many of his suggestions have been adopted in the best
schools of this country. The philosophy of Cousin was essentially a protest against the materialistic schools of the eighteenth
century, embodying, in a broad, catholic system, the conclusions
of the highest speculative thought of the present age, although
his method was original, and deeply stamped with his own
powerful individuality. It aimed to reconcile the results of
positive science with the fruits of spiritual intuition; and
while accepting, to the full extent, the deductions of experience,
to place on a deep foundation the universal primitive beliefs of
humanity. His examination of the philosophical system of
Locke is a masterpiece of analysis and reasoning. Such a lucid.
exposition of the first principles on which religion and morality,
and the noblest hopes of man essentially depend, has been presented  by no modern writer; and this production alone
establishes his position on the same level with his illustrious
countrymen, Descartes and Malebranche. The principal philosophical works of Cousin have been translated into English by
several American scholars.
It can readily be understood that as Cousin taught that we
should be each our own philosopher, conditioning only that we
should read over all that had been written, and master as much
as we could, he had an immense effect-firstly, in encouraging
the boldest thought and most daring speculation, and secondly,




186  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
in encouraging scholarship.  Under the influence of the eclectic
philosophy, scholarship at Paris took new life. Not only were
translations made of every branch of German literature, but of
every other literature, European or Oriental, making   true in
detail what he himself taught effectively, that his philosophy
was not an absolute one, but one to be judged by its effects and
results.
LONGFELLOW.
ALL that Longfellow has written is characterized by childlike simplicity, blended with deep philosophy, all the more deep
because it is unconscious and unlabored.  Itniever suggests to
us any tedious research or academic lore.  The robe and cap of
the professor never mingle with the bright creations of his fancy.
There is no odor of midnight oil in the verses which sparkle on
his page like dew-drops, which a rose shakes off. No achinghead and toil-worn brain have throbbed over the sweet nature
pictures of Evangeline; and not from dusty libraries or antiquarian meditations has Hyperion borrowed its rare beauty and
freshness.  His poems are life sketches, photographs of each
passing mood that visited the poet's mind, and being, as all
real art is, true to life, we cannot but appreciate them; something within us responds to their truth.  The vivid words of
the poet have drawn from their hiding places thoughts which,
but for them, would have remained forever concealed.  There
can be no more powerful witness to a poet's truth than that
quick and certain transmission, as it were, of his own  mind to
ours.  His words may at first appear strange, but hardly have
we read them, when we perceive that they are the subtile interpreters of our own thoughts.  The poet does not give us new
ideas, he only gives form and distinctness and reality to those
which already vaguely existed within us, but of whose existence
we were unconscious, not having the power to express them to
ourselves in language.
Longfellow is, par excellence, the poet of Nature.  He is the
organist of her great cathedral, he is the translator of her hidden language into the speech of daily life, he is the white-robed
priest of her leafy altars. To him there is a deep meaning in the
flowers, and a mystic language in the forest.  For him  the
winds and leaves have a voice, and give him eloquent teaclings.
The treasury of his mind has gathered its stores from many
lands, but amid the wild, beautiful scenery of his own vast land
has he learned a wisdom which only its hoary forests and primeval plains can teach.  He has dived deep down into the German philosophy, and gathered from it all that its murky.) depths
can yield. There was a charm to him, passing sweet, in the




LIVES  AND INCIDENTS  OF EMIlIENT MEN. ]87
land where Schiller sung, where Goethe wove his glittering webs
of imoonshine, where Hoflllan dreamled strange dreams and
penned  stranger stories, and beneath whose sunny sky the
genial, waarm-hearted Richter, " Jean Paul, the only one," lived
and wrote and died.  There was a spell -for him  in its crumlblinug catheirals, with their traditions reaching  far back into
olden times, and its ivy-bound fortresses with their
"Trales that had the rime of age,
And chronicles of eld."
Spain too, the land of chivalry and romance, lent him its legends,f' stately heroism, andt Switzerland, the laird of freedom, gave
viOor and true-heartedcless to his song.  But in his own land,
where the voices of the past are yet unheard, where the utterances of ancient bard or seer are unknown, in the page of whose
history nIo world-thrilling name is yet embalmed, where no hoary
catthecdials rise to tell of monkish times, canid no ruined castles
whlispler tales of violence and oppression and wrong, in his own
allnd lie has listened to the voice of Nature. In her green mossg-arlanded solitudes she has placed in his hand the key which
unlocks her hidden treasures, and reveals the hieroglyphics ill
her vrast picture-book.  And in all that he has thought and
written there is the impress of this conmpanionship.-~Edcnglle
Magazine.
CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.
THnEREu has scarcely appeared a really great man, whose character
ihas been more admired in his lifetime, or less correctly understood
by his admirers.  When it is comprehended, it is no easy task to de1ineate its excellencies in such a manner as to give to the portrait both
interest and resemblance; for it requires thought and study to ulderstand the true ground of the superiority of his character over
many others, whom he resembled in the principles of action, and even
in the manner of acting. But perhaps he excels all the great men
that ever lived, in the steadiness of his adherence to his maxims of
life, and in the uniformity of all his *conduct to the same maxims.
These maxims, though wise, were yet not so remairkable for their
wisdom, as for their authority over his life; for, if there were any
errors in his j udgment, (and he discovered. as few as any man,) we
know of no blemishes in his virtue.  He was the patriot without reproach; he loved his country well enough to hold his success in servinog it, an ample recompense.  Thus far self-love and love of country
13




188   LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MIEN.
coincided; but when his country needed sacrifices that no other man
could, or perhaps would, be willing to make, he did not even hesitate.
This was virtue in its most exalted character.  More than once he
put his fame at hazard, when he ha.d reason to think it would be
sacrificed, at least in this age.  Two instances cannot be denied;
when the army was disbanded, and again, when he stood, like Leonidas at tile pass of Thermopylae, to defend our independence against
France.
It is, indeed, almost as difficult to draw his character, as the portrait of Virtue.  The reasons are similar: our ideas of moral excellence are obscure, because they are complex, and we are obliged to
resort to illustrations.  Washington's example is the happiest to show
what virtue is; and to delineate his character, we naturally expatiate
on the beauty of virtue; much must be felt, and much imagined. His
pre-eminence is not so much to be seen in the display of any one virtue, as in the possession of them all, and in the practice of the most
difficult.  Hereafter, therefore, his character must be studied before
nt will be striking; and then it will be admitted as a model, a precious
one to a free republic.
it is no less difficult to speak of his talents.  They were adapted
to lealAd, without dazzling mankind; and to draw forth and employ
the talents of others, without being misled by them.  In this he was
celtainly superior, that he neither mistook nor misapplied his own.
His:great modesty and reserve would have concealed them, if great
occasions had not called them  forth; and then, as he never spoke
frL-om  the affectation to shine, nor acted from  any sinister motives, it
is fiown their effects only, that we are to judge of their greatness and
extent. In. public trusts, where men, acting conspicuously, are eautious, and in those private concerns where few conceal or resist their
weaknesses, Washiugton was uniformly great, pursuing right conduct
f'oem right maxims.  His talents were such as assist a, sound judgunent, and ripen with it. His prudence was consummate, and seemed
to take the direction of his powers and passions; for, as a soldier, he
was more solicitous to avoid mistakes that might be fatal, than to perform exploits that are brilliant; and, as a statesman, to adhere to just
principles, however old, than to pursue novelties; and therefore, in
both characters, his qualities were singularly adapted to the interest,
and were tried in the greatest perils of the country.  His habits of
inquiry were so far remarkable, that he was never satisfed with investigatinig, nor desisted frion it, so long as he had less than all the
light that he could obtain upon a subject, and then he made his decision without bias.
This command over the partialities that so generally stop men short,
or turn them aside in their pursuit of truth, is one of the chief causes
of his unvaried course of right conduct in so many difficult scenes,
where every human actor must be presumed to err. If he had strong
passions, lie had learned to subdue them, and to be moderate and
mild  If he had weaknesses, he concealed them, which is rare, and




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.  1;8
excluded them from the government of his temper and conduct, which
is still more rare. If he loved fame, he never made improper coinmpliances for what is called popularity.  The fame he enjoyed, is of
the kind that will last forever; yet it was rather the effect, tha.n the
motive of his conduct.  Some future Plutarch will search for a parallel to his character.  Epaminondas is perhaps the brightest name of
all antiquity.  Our Washington resembled him in the purity and ardor of his patriotism; and like him he first exalted the glory of his
country. There, it is to be hoped, the parallel ends; for Thebes fell
with Epaminondas.  But such comparisons cannot be pursued far
without departing from the similitude. For we shall find it as difficult to compare great men as great rivers. Some we admire for the
length and rapidity of their current, and the grandeur of their cataracts; others for the majestic silence and fullness of their streams:
we ca,nnot bring them together to measure the difference of their
waters. The unambitious life of Washington, declining fame, yet
courted by it, seemed, like the Ohio, to choose its long way through
solitudes, diffusing fertility; or, like his own Potomac, widening and
deepening his channel as he approaches the sea, and displaying most
the usefulness and serenity of his greatness toward the end of his
course. Such a citizen would do honor to any country. The constant
affection and veneration of his country will show that it was worthy
of such a citizen.
However his military fame may excite the wonder of mankind, it
is chiefly by his civil magistracy, that his example will instruct them.
Great generals have arisen in all ages of the world, and perhaps most
in those of despotism and darkness.  In times of violence and convullsion, they rise, by the force of the whirlwind, high enough to ride
in it, and direct the storm.  Like meteors, they glare on the black
clouds with a splendor, that, while it dazzles and terrifies, makes
nothing visible but the darkness. The fame of heroes is indeed growing vulgar; they multiply in every long war; they stand in history,
and thicken in their ranks, almost as undistinguished as their own
soldiers.
But such a chief magistrate as Washington appears, like the pole
star in a clear sk-y,. to direct the skillful statesman. His presidency will
form an epoch, and be distinguished as the age of Washington.
Already it assumes its high place in the political region. Like the Milky
Way, it whitens along its allotted portion of the hemisphere.  The
latest generations of men will survey, through the telescope of history, the space where so many virtues blend their rays, and delight
to separate them into groups and distinct virtues.  As the best illus
tration of them, the living, monument to which the first of patriots
would have chosen to consign his fame, it is my earnest prayer to
Heaven, that our country may subsist, even to that late day, in the
plen.itude of its liberty and happiness, and mingle its mild glory with
Washin gton's.-AMEs.




190  LIVES  AND  INCIDEINTS  OF EMINENT  MHEN.
INTEGRITY  OF  7ASHIN GTON.
DurnImc the administration of Washington, as President of the
United States, an application was made to him by a gen-tleman for a
lucrative and highly responsible office within his gift.  The application Awias made with more confidence of success, from the fact, that
this gentleman had been the friend and companion of the General
throughout the whole course of the Revolutionary war, during which
he had received, on various occasions, indubitable marks of his kindness and partiality. He had become, in the estimation, if not of
himself, of his friends, in a degree necessary to the happiness of
Washington, and had therefore, in their opinion, only to apply for the
office, to receive it. It-was a boon, which, while it would ensure
competency and ease to a friend, would bring that friend into frequent
intercourse with his patron, and former associate in arms.
For the same office, however, there was a competitor; but as he
was decidedly hostile to the politics of Washington, and had made
himself conspicuous among the opposers of his administration, no
serious apprehensions were felt fiom this quarter.  Towards such a
man-a well known political enemy —Washington surely could feel
under no obligations, and was not likely to prefer such an one to a
persolal friend and favorite.  Every one acquainted with the pretensions of the two applicants, was at no loss to judge as to the President's decision, and the concurrent opinion was in favor of the friend,
and against his competitor.
Judge, then, the general surprise, when it was announced that the
political opponent of Washington was appointed to the office, and the
former associate of the General in the toils and deprivations of the
camp, was left destitute and dejected.
When his decision was known, a mutual friend, who interested himself in the affair, ventured to remonstrate with the President on the
injustice of his appointment.  "lMy friend," replied this illustrious
man, "I receive with a cordial welcome; he is welcome to my house,
and welcome to nay heart; but with all his good qualities, he is not a
man of business.  His opponent, with all his political hostility to me,
is a man of business.  My private feelings have nothing to do in the
case    I amn not George Washington, but President of the United
States.  As George Washington, I would do this man any kindness
in my power; but as President of the United States, I can do
nothing."
Who can read this incident in the life of this distinguished man,
and not admire his integrity?  The temptation to hazard the public
good for the benefit and gratification of a friend-must have been
powerful.  Some might have persuaded themselves that the public
weal would not suffer; at least, they would have been willing to
m:make the experiment.  But Washington seems to have proceeded. in
this instance, and in what similar instance did he not proceed, upon
just and conscientious principles?  His friend, with all his estimable




LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT TM]EN.  191
qualities, had no business tact; his enemy was a gentleman of strong
integrity, promptitude, and fidelity in business, and every quality,
which, if called into exercise, would render service to the state. The
decision of Washington, therefore, was, just, honorable, and patriotic.
But whence this admirable, I may say almost singular integrity?
Was Washington an exception to the infirmities of our nature?  Or
was his piety of a higher order, and more efficient in its influence?
The first is inadmissible —the latter, improbable. But the true explanation of his sterling integrity is to be found, I think, in that lactppy
and efficient maternal influence, which it is well known, was exercised
upon him in his early days.  On the death of his father, which occurred when he was only ten years old, the charge of his education
devolved upon his mother. All accounts concur in the admission
that she was an extraordinary woman —possessing not only rare intellectual endowments, but those moral qualities which give elevation,
worth, and dignity to the soul. These lessons she was particularly
anxious to engraft upon the heart of a beloved son, and with what
success, the history of his life displays.
The particular process by which she accomplished so happy a
design, it is not in my power at this time to describe; out a story
occurs to my recollection, which may serve to show the adroit and
admirable manner in which she proceeded on a certain occasion.
In the ample pasture belonging to her plantation, was a colt, which,
on account of his beauty and high promise, she valued very much.
Although of sufficient age to be used, it had never been mounted.; no
one seemed disposed to attempt to break its wild and vicious spirit.
One day, George proposed to some of his companions to assist him
at a future time to secure the colt, until he could mount, and he would
curb his proud spirit. Accordingly, soon after sunrise, one morning,
the youthful band assembled, and having drove the animal into an
enclosure, succeeded, with no small difficulty however, in bridling
him. In a moment, George sprung upon his back, and the next
moment the surprised, wild, maddened creature bounded forth into
the open field-rearing, running, plunging; but George grinding his
teeth and clinching fast the bridle and the mane, held his seat firmly,
as muclh determined to subdue, as the colt was determined not to be
subdued. The struggle was mutually desperate; and as the companions of George looked on, their terror and amazement increased
with every passing moment. At length, the colt obtained the advantage, and bounding' forward with the speed of an arrow, made a misstep, and in his fall broke a blood-vessel, and died on the spot.
George came down unhurt, but when he beheld the gasping of the
noble animal, and thought of his mother's regard. for it, he was
troubled.  His companions hurried to the spot, and joining in the
regrets of George, anxiously inquired, " what will your mother saywho can tell her?"
At this moment they were summoned to breakfast.  When seated
at the table, MLrs. Washington said, "well, young gentleman, have




I.)2 LIVES  AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT MEN.
you seen nmy fine sorrel colt in your ramble this morning?"  The
question was natural-but what a question it was! No answer was
returned-and it was repeated. Upon this, George, with perfect
fiankness, replied, "Mother, your sorrel colt is dead."  This was
followed by an exact account of the whole affair. As the youthful
and agitated narrator passed along in his story, a flush of displeasure
was seen rising upon her cheek; but it soon passed away, and she
kindly and calmly said, "while I regret the loss of my favorite, I
rejoice in smy son, who always speaks the truth."
I scarcely know in what terms to express my admiration of the
wvoman, or of the manner in which she treated this delicate and difficult case. George was greatly in fault, and her rebuke was appropriate and commensurate;-he frankly confessed the whole wrong,
and she expressed her high sense of his regard to truth.  That speech,
short as it was, I dare say, told upon his heart —drew his mother
nearer to his bosom, and taught him more effectually and more lastingly the importance and value of truth and integrity, than a volume
of lecturing would have done.
It was by such means that this part of the character of Washington
was formed. Under the tutelage of such a mother, the foundation
of a character was laid, which was the admiration of the generation
that was contemporary with him; which has lost nothing of its
glory to the present time-and will lose nothing, as long as his
enemory shall last.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
DR. FRANKLIN, the great American philosopher, was born at Boston, in the year 1707, and was placed at, a very early age under one
of his brothers, who was a printer, in which art he made rapid progress, and contracted an attachment for the press, which continued
as long as he lived.  Scarcely emerged from infancy, Franklin was a
philosopher without being conscious of it; and by the continual exercise of his genius, prepared himself for those great discoveries in
science which have since associated his name with that of Newton,
and for those political reflections which have placed him by the side
of a Solon and a Lycurgus. He died April 17, 1790. As an author
he never wrote a work of any length.  His political works consist of
letters or short tracts; but all of them, even those of humor, bear
the marks of his observing genius and mild philosophy.  Ile wrote
many for that rank of people who have no opportunity for study, and
-whom it is yet of so much consequence to instruct; and he was well
skilled in reducing useful truths to maxims easily retained, and some-'imes to proverbs, or little tales, the simple and natural graces of




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.  193
which acquire a new value when associated with the nrame of their
author.  In short, the whole life of Franklin, his meditations and his
labors, have all been directed to public utility; but the grand object
that he had always in view, did not shut his heart against private
friendship: he loved his family, his friends, and was extremely beneficent. In society he was sententious, but not fluent; a listener rather
than a talker; an informing rather than a pleasing companion: impatient of interruption, he often mentioned the custom of the Indians,
who always remain silent some time before they give an answer to a
question which they have heard attentively; unlike some of the
politest societies in Europe, where a sentence can scarcely be finished
without interruption.  In the midst of his greatest occupations for the
liberty of his country, he had some physical experiment near him in
his closet; and the sciences, which he had rather discovered than
studied, afforded him  a continual source of pleasure. He made
various bequests and donations to cities, public bodies, and individuals, and requested that the following epitaph, which he had composed
for himself some years before, might be inscribed on his tombstone:
"' The body of
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, Printer,
(like the cover of an old book,
its contents torn out,
and stript of its lettering and gilding,)
lies here food for worms,
yet the work itself shall not be lost,
but will (as he believed) appear once more
in a new
and more beautiful edition,
corrected and amended
by
THE AUTHOR."
We cannot do better than close this history of the man to whom
"antiquity would have raised altars to his vast and mighty genius,
who, for the advantag'e of human kind, embracing earth and heaven
in his ideas, could tame the rage of thunder and of despotism," with
an account of his first appearance in Philadelphia, written by himself,
and his grand electrical experiment, written by Stuber:
FRANKLIN S FIRST ENTRANCE INTO PHILADELPHIA.
I HIAVE entered into the particulars of my voyage, and shall, in like
manner, describe my first entrance into this city, that you may be
able to compare beginnings so little auspicious with the figure I have
since made.
On my arrival at Philadelphia, I was in my working dress, my
best clothes being- to come by sea. I was covered with dirt; my




194  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MIEN.
pockets were filled with shirts and stockings; I was unacquainted
with a single soul in the place, and knew not where to seek a lodging.
Fatigued with walking, rowing, and having passed the night without
sleep, I was extremely hungry, and all my money consisted of a
Dutch dollar, and about a shilling's worth of coppers, which I gave
to the boatmen for my passage.  As I had assisted thenm in rowing,
they refused it at first; but I insisted on their taking it.  A man is
sometimes more generous when he has little than when he has much
money; probably because, in the first case, he is desirous of concealing his poverty.
I walked towards the top of the street, looking eagerly on both
sides, till I came to Market Street, where I met with a child with a
loaf of bread.  Often had I made my dinner on dry bread. I
inquired where he had bought it, and went straight to the baker's
shop, which he pointed out to me.  I asked for some biscuits,
expecting to find such as we had at Boston: but they made, it seems,
none of that sort at Philadelphia.  I then asked for a threepenny loaf.
They made no loaves of that price.  Finding myself ignorant of the
prices, as well as of the different kinds of bread, I desired him to let me
have threepenny-worth of bread of some kind or other. He gave me
three large rolls. I was surprised at receiving so much: I took them,
however, and, having no room in my pockets, I walked on with a roll
under each arm, eating a third. In this manner I went through Market
Street to Fourth Street, and passed the house of Mr. Read, the father
of my future wife.  She was standing at the door, observed me, and
thought, with reason, that I made a very singular *and grotesque
appearance.
I then turned the corner, and went through Chestnut Street, eating my roll all the way; and, having made this round, I found myself again on Market Street wharf, near the boat in which I arrived.
I stepped into it to take a draught of the river water; and, finding
myself satisfied with my first roll, I gave the other two to a woman
and her child, who had come down with us in the boat, and was
waiting to continue her journey.  Thus refreshed, I regained the
street, which was now full of well-dressed people, all going the same
way. I joined them, and was thus led to a large Quakers' meetinghouse near the market-place.  I sat down with the rest, and, after
looking round me for some time, hearing' nothing said, and being
drowsy from  my last night's labor and want of rest, I fell into a
sound sleep.  In this state I continued till the assembly dispersed,
when one of the congregation had the goodness to wake me. This
was consequently the first house I entered, or in which I slept, at
Philadelphia.
FRANKLIN'S GRAND ELECTRICAL EXPERIMENT.
In the year 1749, he first su,'coested his idea of explaining the phenomena of thunder- gusts, and of the aurora borealis, upon electrical




LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT M EN.  195
principles.  He points out many particulars in which lightning and
electricity agree; and he adduces many facts, and reasoningos from
facts, in support of his positions.  In the same year he conceived the
astonishingly bold and grand idea of ascertaining the truth of his
doctrine, by actually drawing down the lightning, by means of sharppointed iron rods raised into the region of the clouds.  Even in this
uncertain state, his pas.sion to be useful to mankind displays itself in
a powerful manner.  Admitting the identity of electricity and lightning, and kLnowing the power of points in repelling bodies charged
with electricity, and in conducting their fire silently and imperceptibly,
he suggested the idea of securing houses, ships, &c., from being damaoed by lightning, by erecting pointed rods, that should rise some feet
above the most elevated part, and descend some feet into the ground
or the water.  The effect of these, he concluded, would be either to
prevent a stroke by repelling the cloud beyond the striking distance,
or by drawing off the electrical fire which it contained; or, if they
could not effect this, they would at least conduct the electric matter
to the earth, without any injury to the building.
It was not until the summer of 1752, that he was enabled to complete his grand and unparalleled discovery by experiment.  The plan
which he had originally proposed, was, to erect on some high tower,
or other elevated place, a sentry-box, from  which should rise a
pointed iron rod, insulated by being fixed in a cake of resin.  Electrified clouds, passing over this, would, he conceived, impart to it a
portion of their electricity, which would be rendered evident to the
senses by sparks being emitted, when a key, the knuckle, or other
conductor, was presented to it.  Philadelphia, at this time, afforded
no opportunity of trying an experiment of this kind. While Franklin was waiting for the erection of a spire, it occurred to him that he
might have more ready access to the region of clouds by means of a
common kite.  He prepared one by fastening two cross sticks to a
silk handkerchief, which would not suffer so much from the rain as
paper.  To the upright stick was affixed an iron point.  The string was
as usual, of hemp, except the lower part, which was silk. Where the
hempen string terminated, a key was fastened.  With this apparatus,
on the appearance of a thunder-gust approachinlg, he went out into
the commons, accompanied by his son, to whom  alone lie communicated his intentions, well knowing the ridicule, which, too generally
for the interest of science, awaits unsuccessful experiments in philosophy.  He placed himself under a shade, to avoid the rain —his kite
was raised-a thunder-cloud passed over it-no sign of electricity
appeared.  He almost despaired of success, when suddenly he observed the loose fibres of his string to move towards an erect position.
He now presented his knuckle to the key, and received a strong spark.
How exquisite must his sensations have been at this moment!  On
this experiment depended the fate of his theory.  If lie succeeded,
his name would rank high among those who had improved science; if
he failed, lie must inevitably be subjected to the derision of mankind,




l JG  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MiEN.
or, what is wrose, their pity, as a well-meaning man, but a weak, silly
projector.  The anxiety with which he looked for the result of his
experiment, may be easily conceived. Doubts and despair had begun
to prevail, when the fact was ascertained  in so clear a manner, that
even the most incredulous could no longer withhold their assent.
Repeaterd sparks were drawn from the key, a phial was charged, a
shock given, and all the experiments made which are usually performed with electricity.
By these experiments Franklin's theory was established in the most
convincinmg manner. When the truth of it could no longer be doubted,
envy and vanity endeavored to detract from  its merit.  That an
American, an inhabitant of the obscure city of Philadelphia, the
name of which was hardly known, should be able to make discoveries, and to frame theories, which had escaped the notice of the enlightened philosophers of Europe, was too mortifying to be admitted.
He must certainly have taken the idea from some one else. An American, a beingT of an inferior order, make discoveries! —Impossible.
It was said that the Abbe Nollet, 1748, had suggested the idea of the
similarity of lightning and electricity in his Lecons de Physique.  It
is true that thle abbe mentions the idea, but he throws it out as a bare
conjecture, and proposes no mode of ascertaining the truth of it. He
linmself acknowledg-es, that Franklin first entertained the bold thought
of bringing lightning from  the heavens, by means of pointed rods
fixed in the air. The similarity of lightning and electricity is so strong,
that we need not be surprised at notice being taken of it, as soon as
electrical phenomena became familiar.  We find it mentioned by Dr.
Wall and Mr. Grey,' while the science was in its infancy.  But the
honor of forming a regular theory of thunder-gusts, of suggesting a
mode of determining, the truth of it by experiments, and of putting
these experiments in practice. and thus establishing the theory upon
a firm and solid basis, is incontestably due to Franklin.
THE SETTLEMENT OF PLYMOUTH.
Oua fathers came hither to a land from which they were never to
return.  Hither they had brought, and here they were to fix their
hopes, their attachments, and their objects.  Some natural tears they
sled, as they left the pleasant abodes of their fathers, and somle emotions they suppressed when the white cliffs of their native country,
now seen for the last time, grew dim to their sight.  They were acting', howeVer, upon a resolution not to be changed.  With whatever
stifled regrets, with whatever occasional hesitation, with whatever
appalling apprehensions, which must sometimes arise with force to




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.  197
shake the firmest purpose, they had yet committed themselves to
Heaven and the elements; and a thousand leagues of water soon
interposed to separate them forever from the region which gave them
birth. A new existence awaited them  here; and when they saw
these shores, rough, cold, barbarous, and barren as they then were,
they beheld their country.  That mixed and strong feeling, which we
call love of country, and which is in general never extinguished in
the heart of man, grasped and embraced its proper object here.
Whatever constitutes country, except the earth and the sun, all the
moral causes of affection and attachment which operate upon the
heart, they had brought with them to their new abode. Here were
now their families and friends, their homes, and their property. Before they reached the shore, they had established the elements of a
social system, and at a much earlier period had settled their forms of
religious worship. At the moment of their landing, therefore, they
possessed institutions of government, and institutions of religion; and
friends and families, and social and religious institutions, established
by consent, founded on choice and preference, how nearly do these
fill up our whole idea of country! The morning that beamed on the
first night of their repose saw the Pilgrims already establishe( in
their country. There were political institutions, and civil liberty, and
religious worship.  Poetry has fancied nothing in the wanderings of
heroes so distinct and characteristic. Here was man indeed unprotected, and unprovided for, on the shore of a rude and fearful wilderness; but it was politic, intelligent, and educated man. Every thing
was civilized but the physical world. Institutions, containing in substance all that ages had done for human government, were established
in a forest.  Cultivated mind was to act on uncultivated nature; and,
more than all, a government and a country were to commence with
the very first foundations laid under the divine light of the Christian
religion.  Happy auspices of a happy futurity!  Who would wish
that his country's existence had otherwise begun? Who would desire the power of going back to the ages of fable? Who would wish
for an origin obscured in the darkness of antiquity?  Who would
wish for other emblazoning of his country's heraldry, or other ornaments of her genealogy, than to be able to say that her first existence
was with intelligence; her first breath the inspirations of liberty; her
first principle the truth of divine religion?-WEBSTER.
SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS IN FAVOR OF THE
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.
SINR Or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and
my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning we
aimed not at independence.  But there's a divinity which shapes our




)    LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.
ends.  The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded
to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till
independence is lnow within oure grasp.  We have but to reach forth
to it, and it is ours.
Why then should we defer the declaration?  Is any man so weak
as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave
either safety to the country and. its liberties, or safety to his own life
and his own honor?  Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair, is not
he, our venerable colleague near you, are you not both already the
proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance?
Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you
be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws?
If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give
up the war?  Do we mean to submit to the measures of parliament,
Boston port bill, and all?  Do we mean to submit, and consent that
we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its
rights trodden down in the dust?  I know we do not mean to submit.
We never shall submit.
Do we intend to violate th't most solemn obligo-ation ever entered
into by men, that plightino, before God, of our sacred honor to
Washingoton, when putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as
well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to
him, in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives?  I know
there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or
tittle of tthat plighted faith fall to the ground.
For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you
that General Washington be appointed commander of the forces,
raised or to be raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right
hand forg'et her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my
mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him.  The war,
then, must go on. WTe must fight it through.  And if the war must
go on, why put off longer the declaration of independence?  That
measure will strengthen us.  It will give us character abroad.
The nations will then treat with us, which they never can do while
we acknowledge ourselves subjects, in arms against our sovereign.
Nay, I maintain that England, herself, will sooner treat for peace with
us on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her
acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct toward us has been a
course of injustice and oppression.  Her pride will be less wounded
by submittingo to that course of thing's which now predestinates our
independience, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious subjects.  The forrmer she would reg'ard as the result of fortune; the latter she woukl feel as her own deep disgrace.  Why
then, why then, sir, do we not as soon as plossible change this from
a civil to a national war?  And since we must fight it through, why
rot put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we
gain the victory?
13




LIVECS AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT ]MEN.  199
If fwe fail, it can be no worse for us.  Bralt we sh;rall not flail.  The
cause wvill raise up armies; the cause will create navies~ The people,
the people, if we are true to then, will carry us, and will carry themselves. geloriously, throiu7gh  this struggle.  I care not how fickle other
people have been found.  I know the people of these colonies, and I
Inov that resisttance to British aggression is deep and settled in their
hearts and cannot be eradicated.  Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead.  Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage.  Instead of a
long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of griev-.
ances, for chartered imnmunities, held under a British king, set before
them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe
into them anew the breath of life.
Read this declaration at the head of the army; every sword will
be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uittered to maintain
it, or to perish on the bed of honor.  Publish it from  the pulpit;
religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling
round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it.  Send it to the
public halls; proclaim it there; let them  hear it, who heard the first
roar of the enemy's cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers
and their sons fall on the field of Bunker hill, and in the streets of
Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support.
Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, I see clearly
through this day's business.  You and I, indeed, may rue it. VWe
may not live to the time when this declaration shall be made good.
We may die; die, colonists; die, slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously
and on the scaffold.  Be it so.  If it be the pleasure of Heaven that
my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim sha11l
be ready, at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour
may.  But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the
hope of a country, and that a free country.
But whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured, that this
declaration will stand.  It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood;
but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both.  Through the
thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the filture, as the
sun in heaven.  We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day.
When we are in our graves, our children will honor it.  They will
celebrate it, with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations.  On its annual return they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress,
but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy.
Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come.  My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have,
and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready
here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I begun, that live or die,
survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment,
and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment: independence now; and INDEPENDENCE FOR EVER!               WEBSTER.




200 L-IVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, D.D.
BY GEORGE BANCROFT.
WITH powers of such astonishing brilliancy as those which
Channing  possessed, united with his determined  purpose of
never allowing himself to be blinded to the abstract rig'ht aby
the fact of the existing law, it is not wonderful that his career
should, by many, have been contemnt  ated with appprehension
and even with dread.  For who could say to w\hat revolutions
the manly assertion of natural right might conduct?  Who
could set a limit to the purposes of reform, wThe it demanded
immediately the application of absolute truth?  But death
annlihilates that alarnm.  The fear of sudden chanige by his
agency, vanishes; and, from  the recesses of conscience, inllmorttal witnesses rise up to confirm his thrilling oracles.  Prejudice before might confine his influence; by death pr ejudice is
annihilated, and the echoes of his eloquence are heard beyond
its former bounds; as the fragrance of precious perfaumes, when
the vase that held them is broken, dliffuses itself abroad without limits.
And yet, while we lift up our own minds to receive the sublime lessons which he uttered, if we look back upon his life, we
shall find his love of reform balanced by a love of order, and
the expansive energies of his benevolence restrained  by a spirit
of conservatism.  HIe was not the mariner who eagerly lifts the
anchor, spreads all his canvas, and embarks on the ocean of
experiment; he resembled rather the seer, who stands on the
high cliff along the shore, and gazes to see what wind is rising,
and gives his prayers, and his counsels and benedictions to the
more adventurous, who set sail.  Anid sometimes he would call
back the enterprising reformer; nor would he attempt progress
by methods of disorder and riot, or even of party organization;
hle would rather postpone the establishnmient of a righlt than
seek to assert it by bloodshed and violence; like the Jewish
aother who submitted to be withheld from her offspring for a
season, through fear lest, otherwise, her child should be rent
in twain.
And yet this abhorence of violence hardly partook of timidity,
certainly did not spring from a deficiency of decision.  Did you
consider his delicate orgoanizatioin, his light and frail frame, his
sensitiveness to agreeable impressions, the exquisite culture of
his taste, you might apprehend a want of firmness; but it was
not so.  TIe towered above the naediocrity of society, like the
delicate and airy shafts of Maelrose Abbey, of which the foliaged
tracery seems woven of osier wreaths, antd yet, as if changed by
a fairy's spell, proves to be of stone.  Like them his purposes
were durable, unyielding, and aspiring to the skies.  This
firmness rested in an entire faith in moral power to renovate




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT MEN. 201
the race.:Not the organized union of men, not temperance
societies, not abolition  societies, not conventions; MORAL
PowRn  was to him the Egeria that dictated, the energy that
accomplished reform.  Hence, while he objected to associations, he was ever ready to advocate the great moral purposes
for which men come together.  W Tas lie not among the first io
rebuke the international selfishness that has so long held the
commerce of the world in bondcs?  Was he not among the first
to raise his voice against the criminality of war, the opprobrium
of humanity?  Who like him gathered the crowd to recognize
the great lesson of temperance, carrying restoration to the
desponding and feeble of will?  Who like him  asserted the
moral dignity of man, irrespective of wealth and rank?  Indeed, one could hardly hear him on any public occasion, or even
in private, but the great truth of man's equality, as a consequence of his divine birth, struggle(d   for utterance.  He knew
that man was made in the imag'e of God; that the gift of reason
opened to him the path to the knowledge of creation, and to
mastery over its powers.  Ha-lving the highest reverence for
genius, he yet acknowledged the image of the divine original in
every human being.  Hence Channing became the advocate of
equality; recognized the power of the people as the'great result
of the modern centuries; and, knowing well that labor is the
lot of man, that every mechanic art must be exercised, every
service in life fulflled, he sought to dig'ni'fy labor and exalt its
character; not to lift the laborer out ot his class, but to elevate
that class into the highest regions of moral culture and enjoyment. And his efforts were in part, at least, rewarded.  His
words reached those for whose benefit they were spoken; and
at his funeral, next to the fortitude with which his immediate
friends had learned from him to bear affliction, the most touching spectacle was to see the laborers gathering near the aisles to
pay one last tribute of gratitude to the remains of their counsellor
Nor could the clear mind of Channing turn from following
his convictions to their results, -with all the power of dialectics
that gained its warmth from benevolence, its energy from moral
conviction. Now that he is in his grave, now that the most
timid can no longer feari from his influence divisions in church
or in society, let us honor his memory by owning, that, in his
main doctrine, he was in the right.  His declaration respecting
slavery was not an accidental phenomenon in his career; it lay
at the very heart anid core of his whole system of theology.
His was a spirit that in its rapt trances sought intimate communion with the Divine; yet, shrinking alike from the terror of
fixed decrees and the fatalism  of Pantheism, binding alike
destiny and chance to the footstool of God's throne, he was
from  the first an advocate for the free agency of man.  This
was his whole theory; this animated his life; this alone led him




202  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMIINENT MIEN.
into the fields of controversy; and in the full mlaturity of years,
with that faith, and with the deep reverence for the Deity,
which contemplates him  always, and sees him  everywhere, he
could not but rush to the conclusion that slavery is a wrong; a
crime against humanity as well as a crime against God.
It was by degrees, after a struggle of years, that he burst the
limits of social and sectarian narrowness, and rising ever higher
and hig'her, became the advocate of universal truths and the
championl  of hLmanity.  Not a city, not a faction, the mystic
voice of the universe inspired  himn; as I have seen an _Eolian
halrp  placed at first where it failed to respond to the air, then
lifted from bough to bough, hig'her and still higher, till at last
it reached a pointt, where the winds of heaven -breathed throug'h
it freely, and called forth music that seemed to descend from
above.
WILLIAM  TELL.
SURROUNDED by some of the most powerful nations of Europe,
Switzerland, a comparatively small country, has for ages maintained
a singular degree of freedom  and independence, and been distillguished for the civil liberty which its people gene-rally enjoy. For
these enviable distinctions, it is allowed to have been greatly indebted
to its physical character.  Composed of ranges of lofty mountains,
extensive lakes, almost inapproachable valleys, craggy steeps and
passes, which may be easily defended, it has afforded a ready retreat
against oppression, and its inhabitants have at various times defeated
the largest armies brought by neighboring powers for their subjugation. How this intrepid people originally gained their liberty, forms
an exceedingly interesting page in European history.
About six hundred years ago, a large portion of Switzerland belonged to the German empire; but this was little more than a nominal
subjection to a supreme authority.  Socially, it consisted of districts
which were for the greater part the hereditary possessions of dukes,
counts, and other nobles, who viewed the people on their properties
as little better than serfs, and made free -with their lives, their industrv. and their chattels.  In some instances, certain cities had formed
alliances for mutual protection against the rapacity of these persons,
and demolished many castles from which they exercised their oppression upon the peaceful husbandmen and merchants.




LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MIEN.  203
Things were in this state, when, in 1273, Rlodolphe of Hapsburg,
one of the most powerful of the noble proprietors, was chosen
Emperor of Germany, an event which added greatly to his means of
oppressing his Swiss vassals.  Rodolphe, however, was a humane
master, and did not abuse his power.  Albert, his son, who succeeded
to the imiperial dynasty in 1298, was a person of a different character.
lie was a grasping prince, eager to extend his family possessions,
and, by a most unjustifiable stretch of ambition, wished to unite certain free Swiss towns, with their saurrounding districts, called the
Waldstatte, or Forest-towns, with his hereditary estates, proposing to
them at the same time to renounce their connexion with the German
empire, and to submit themselves to him as Duke of Austria.  They
rejected his advances, and hence commenced the first of the memorable struggles for civil liberty in Switzerland.
Proud of his great rank, uniting, as he did, in his own person, the
dignities of the house of Austria and the imperial throne, Albert was
indignant at the refusal by which his propositions were followed, and
forthwith resolved to hold no measured terms with what he deemed a
set of rude peasants. His first impulse was to decide the question
by the sword; but the result of any sudden attack was doubtfnil, and
he finally resolved to proceed cautiously in his movements.  Disguising his intentions, therefore, he confined himself, in the first instance,
to introducing as governor Hermann Gessler of Brunegg, along witlh
small parties of Austrian soldiers, after which his design of subj-ugating the district became too manifest to its unhappy inhabitants.
Once firmly established, Gessler, who was a fit instrument for the
purposes of a tyrant, assumed an insolent bearing, and scrupled not
to commit the most severe acts of oppression.  The seat of his assumed authority was at Altorf, a small town near the head of the
lake of Lucerne, on which the Waldstatte bordered, and surrounded
by some of the most romantic scenery in Switzerland.  Every great
crisis in national disasters brings forth its great man; as Scotland,
under the oppression of the Edwards, produced its William Wallace;
as America its Washington, when its liberty was threatened; so did
a part of Switzerland, under the vice-regal domination of Gessler,
produce its WILLIAM TELL. Not much is really known of this patriot,
but the little that has been wafted by history and tradition to our
times is interesting, and possesses all the charm of poetry and
romance.
William Tell, according to the best accounts, was born at Burglen,
a secluded hamlet in the canton of Uri, near the lake of Lucerne,
about the year 1275, and, like his forefathers, was the proprietor of a
cottage, a few small fields, a vineyard, and an orchard.  When William had reached the age of twenty, his father is said to have died, bequeathing to him these humble possessions, and earnestly requesting
him, with his latest breath, to work diligently for his subsistence, and
to die, should it be needed, in his country's service. These admonitions, addressed to a highly sensitive mind, were not disregarded.
14




204  LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
HTaving consigned his father's body to the tomb, he gave himself up
to the labors of the field, and by his assiduous industry, is said ever
to have reaped a plentiful harvest.
Rising at dawn of day, he stood behind his rude plcug!l, and left
it only when darkness summoned both man and beast to repose.
Endowed by nature with a lofty and energetic mind, Tell was distinguished also by great physicalstrengtl!  and manly beauty.  He was
taller by a head than most of iis companions; he loved to climb the
rugged rocks of his native mountains in pursuit of the chamois, and
to steer his small boat across the lake in time of storm' and of danger.
The load of wood which he could bear upon his shoulders was prodigious, being, it is said, double that which any ordinary man could
support.
In all out-door sports Tell likewise excelled.  During holidays,
when the young archers were trying their skill, according to ancient
Swiss custom, Tell, who had no equal in the practice of the bow,
was obliged to remain an idle spectator, in order to give others a
chance for the prize. With such varied qualifications, and being also
characterized by a courteous disposition, Tell was a general favorite
among his countrymen, and an acceptable guest at every fireside.
Meanwhile, in his humble home, he remained without a mate; and
desirous of finding a partner who might grace his little domain, he
fixed his attention on Emma, the daughter of Walter Furst, who was
considered the best and fairest maiden of the whole canton of LTri.
His advances being well received by both father and daughter, Tell
in due time called Emma his wife, and henceforth his mountain home
was the scene of happiness and contentment. The birth of a son,
who was named Walter, in honor of his grandfather, added to the
felicity of the pair. Until the age of six, Walter was left to his
mother's care, but at that period the father undertook his education,
carried him to the fields and pastures to instruct him in the works of
nature, and spared no pains at home to cultivate and enlighten his
mind. Other children subsequently added to the ties of family.
With other sources of happiness, Tell combined that of possessing
a friend, who dwelt amid the rocky bights separating Uri from
TUnderwald. Arnold Anderhalden of Melchthal was this associate.
Although similar in many salient points of character, there was still
an essential difference between the two men. Arnold of Melchthal,
while he loved his country with an ardor equal to that of Tell, was
capable of very great actions, without being prepared for much patient
suffering or long endurance of wrong. Tell, whose temperament Awas
more calm, and whose passions were more influenced by reason than
impulse, only succeeded in restraining his friend's impulsive character
by the stern force of example. Meantime the two friends passed their
days in the enjoyment of one another's society, visiting at intervals
each other's humble residence. Arnold had a daughter, Clair by
name, and Walter, the son of Tell, learned as he grew lup to love
and cherish her.  Thus, in simple and tranquil jleasures, in thi




LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MIEN.  205
industrious prosecution of their several occupations, these two families
dwelt in tranquility and mutual happiness.
The introduction to power of Hermann Gessler broke in upon the
joys of every citizen of Uri.  Besides the allowance of the utmrost
license to his soldiers, the tolls were raised, the most slight and trivial
offences punished by imprisonment and heavy lines, and the inihabitants treated with insolence and contempt.  Gessler, passing on horse1back before a house built by Stauffacher, in the village of Steinen,
near Schwytz, cried, " What! shall it be borne that these contemptible peasants should build such an edifice as this?  If they are to be
thus lodged, what are we -to do?"  History records the indignant
remonstrance of the wife of Stauffacher upon this occasion.  " How
long," exclaimed she, " shall we behold the oppressor triumphant, and
tile oppressed weep?  How long shall the insolent stranger possess
our lands, and bestow our inheritances upon his heirs?  What avails
it that our mountains and valleys are inhabited by men, if we, the
mothers of Helvetia, are to suckle the children of slavery, and see
our daughters swelling the train of our oppressors?"  The energetic
language of his wife was not thrown away upon Werner, but settled,
and in due time broug'ht forth fruit.
Meanwhile some of the instruments of oppression were punished
when they were least prepared for retribution.  As an example, we
may instance tlhe governor of Schwanau, a castle on the lake of
Lowerz, who, having broug'ht dishonor upon a family of distinction,
perished'by the hand of the eldest son.  As a parallel instance, we
may mention that a friend of Berenger of Landenberg, the youngl lord
of Wolfenchiess, in Unterwalden, having seen the beautiful wife of
Conrad of Baumgarten at Alzallen, and finding that her husband was
absent, desired, in the most peremptory terms, that she should prepare him a bath; but the lady having called Conrad from the fields,
and explained to him  the repeated indignities to which she had been
exposed, his resentment was so inflamed at the recital, that, rushing
into the bath chamber, he sacrificed the young noble on the spot. In
a. state of society but just emerging from  barbarism, and which as
yet knew but little of law or justice, continual instances were of daily
occurrence in which private individuals thus took the law into their
own hands.  The result, however chivalric the custom may look in
the abstract, was most fearful and terrible, and is but one of the
many proofs how great a blessing civilization has really been to
mankind.
Tell foresaw, on the arrival of Gessler, many of the misfortunes
which must inevitably follow his iron rule, and without explaining his
views even to Arnold of Mlelchthal, without needlessly alarmling his
family, endeavoured to devise some means, not of bearing the yoke
demurely, but of delivering his country from the galling oppression
which Albert had brought upon it.  The hero felt satisfied that the
evil deeds of the governor would sooner or later bring just retribution
upon hi m; for this, and many other reasons, therefore, despite his




206   LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT MEN.
own secret wishes, when Arnold poured out his fiery wrath in the ear
of his friend, he listened calmly, and, to avoid inflaming him more,
avowed none of his own views or even feelings in return.
One evening, however, William Tell and his wife sat in the fiont of
their cottage, watching  their son amusing himself amid the flocks,
when the former grew more thoughtful and sad than usual.  Presently
Tell spoke, and for the first time imparted to his wife some of his
most secret designs.  While the conversation was still proceeding, the
parents saw their son rush towards them crying for help, and shouting the name of old Melchthal.  As he spoke, Arnold's father appeared in view, led by Clair, and feeling his way with a stick. Tell
and his wife hastened forward, and discovered, to their inconceivable
horror, that their friend was blind, his eyes having been put out with
hot irons.  The hero of Burglen, burning with just indignation, called
on the old man to explain the fearful sight, and also the cause of Arnold's absence.  The unfortunate Melchthal seated himself, siur'rounded by his agonized friends, and immediately satisfied the
impatient curiosity of Tell.
It appeared that that very morning the father, son, and granddaugohter were in the fields loading a couple of oxen with produce for
the market-town, when an Austrian soldier presented himself, and
having examined the animals, which appeared to suit his fancy,
ordered their owner to unyoke the beasts preparatory to his driving
them off. Adding insolence to tyranny, he further remarked that such
clodpoles might very well draw their own ploughs and carts. Arnold,
furious at the man's daring impertinence, was only restrained by his
father's earnest entreaties from sacrificing the robber on the spot;
nothing, however, could prevent. him  from  aiming a blow  at him,
which broke two of his fingers. The enraged soldier then retreated;
but old Melchthal, who well knew the character of Gessler, immediately forced Arnold, much against his inclination, to go and conceal
himself for some days in the Rhigi.  This mountain rises in a, somewhat isolated position-a rare circumstance with the Swiss Alps —and
is one of the most conspicuous hills of Switzerland.  In form a truncated cone, with its base watered by three lakes-Lucerne, Zug, and
Zurich'-this gigantic hill is pierced by deep caverns, of which two
are famous-the Rruder-balm, and the hole of Kessis-Boden. Scarcely
had Arnold departed in this direction, when a detachment of guards
from Altorf surrounded their humble tenement, and dragging old
Melchthal before Gessler, he ordered him to give up his son. Furious
at the refusal which ensued, the tyrant commanded the old man's
eyes to be put out, and then sent him forth blind to deplore his
misfortunes.
Tell heard the story of Melchthal in silence, and when he had
finished, inquired the exact place of his son's concealment. The
father replied that it was in a particular cavern of Mount Rhigi, the
desert rocks of which place were unknown to the emissaries of the
governor, and there he had promised to remain until he received his




LIVES AND) INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN. 207
parent's permission to come forth.  This Tell requested might be
granted inamediately; and turning to his son, ordered him to start at
once for Rlhigi  with a message to Arnold.  Walter gladly obeyed,
and providing himself with food, and receiving private instructions
fro m his falther, went on his journey under cover of the night.
Tell himself then threw around his own person a cloak of wolfskin, seized his quiver full of sharp arrows, and taking his terrible
Dow, which few could bend, in hand, bade adieu to his wife for a few
days, and took his departure in an opposite direction from  that pursued by his son. It was quite dawn when Walter reached the Rhigi,
and a slight column of blue smoke speedily directed him to the spot
where Arnold lay concealed.  The intrusion at first startled the fugitive; but recognizing Tell's son, he listened eagerly to his dismal
story, the conclusion of which roused in him so much fury, that he
would have rushed forth at once to have assassinated Gessler, had not
Walter restrained him.  Schooled by Tell, he informed him  that his
father was engaged in preparing vengeance for the tyrant's crime,
being at that moment with Werner Stauffacher concerting proper
measures of resistance.  "Go," said my father, " and tell Arnold of
this new villainy of the governor's, and say that it is not rage which
can give us just revenge, but the utmost exertion of courage and
prudence.  I leave for Schwytz to bid Werner arm  his canton; let
Melchthal go to Stantz, and prepare the young. men of Underwald
for the outbreak; having done this, let him meet me, with Furst and
Werner, in the field of Grutli."*
Arnold, scarcely taking time slightly to refresh himself with food,
sent Walter on his homeward journey, while he started for Stantz.
Walter, when alone, turned his steps towards Altorf, where, unfortunately, and unknown to himself, he came into the presence of Gessler, to whom he uttered somewhat hard. things about the state of the
country, being led to commit himself by the artful questions of the
tyrant, who immediately ordered the lad into confinement, with strict
injunctions to his guards to seize whomsoever should claim him.
Meanwhile certain doubts and fears, from he knew not what cause,
arose in the mind of Gessler, and struck him  with a presentiment
that all was not right.  He imagined that the people wore in their
looks less abject submission to his authority; and the better to satisfy himself of the correctness or erroneousness of this view, he commanded Berenger to erect at dawn of day, in the market-place of
Altorf, a pole, on the point of which he was to place the ducal cap of
Austria. An order was further promulgated, to the effect that every
one passing near, or within sigh; of it, should make obeisance, in
proof of his homage and fealty to the duke.
Numerous soldiers under arms were directed to surround the place,
* A lonely, sequestered strip of meadow, called indifferently Rutli and Grutli, upon
an angle of the lake of Lucerne, surrounded by thicliets, at the foot of the rock of Se&<
lisberg, and opposite the village of Brunmen.




208   LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.
to keep the avenues, and compel the passers-by to bend with proper
respect to the emblem of the governing power of the three cantons.
Gessler likewise determined that, whoever should disobey the mandate, and pass the ducal badge without the requisite sign of honor,
or who should exhibit by his bearing a feeling of independence,
should be accused of disaffection, and be treated accordingly —a
measure which promised both to discover the discontented, and farnish a sufficient ground for their punishment. Numerous detachments of troops, among whom money had been previously distributed,
were then placed around to see that his commands were scrupulously
obeyed. History scarcely records another instance of tyranny so
galling and humiliating to the oppressed, and so insolent on the part
of its author.
The proceedings of Tell in the interval were of the deepest concern
to the country. Having arrived within the territory of Schwytz, and
at the village of Steinen, he called at the house of Werner, and being
admitted, threw at his feet a heavy bundle of lances, arrows, crossbows, and swords.  "Werner Stauffacher," cried Tell, "the time
is come for action;" and without a moment's delay, he informed his
friend of all that had passed, dwelling minutely on every detail; and
when he had at length finished, the cautious Werner could restrain
his wrath no longer, but exclaimed, clasping the hero's hand,
" Friend, let us begin; I am ready."  After further brief conference,
they, by separate ways, carried round arms to their friends in the
town and the neighboring villages. Many hours were thus consumed,
and when the whole were at last distributed, they both returned to
Stauffacher's house, snatched some slight refreshment, and then sped
on their way to Grutli, accompanied by ten of their most tried
adherents.
The lake of Lucerne was soon reached, and a boat procured.
Werner, perceiving the water to be agitated by a furious tempest, inquired of Tell if his skill would enable him to struggle against the
storm.  " Arnold awaits us," cried William, " and the fate of our
country depends upon this interview."  With these words he leaped
into the boat, Werner jumped after him, and the rest followed. Tell
cast loose the agitated vessel, seized the tiller, and hoisting sail, the
little craft flew along the waves.
Presently, it is said, the wind moderated, and ere they reached the
opposite side, had ceased altogether-a phenomenon common in these
mountain lakes.  The boat was now made fast, and the conspirators
hastened to the field of Grutli, where, at the mouth of a cavern of
the same name. Arnmld and Walter Furst awaited them, each with
ten other comilpanlons.  Tell allowed no considerations of natural
feeling to silence the calls of duty, but at once came to the point.
He first gave a brief sketch of the state of the country under the
Austrian bailiffs, and having shown to the satisfaction of his companions the necessity for immediate and combined action, is related
to have added —" We may have our plans frustrated by delay, and




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.  209
ths time has come for action. I ask only a few days for preparation.
Unterwald.en and Schwytz are armed. Three hundred and fifty warriors are, I am assured, ready. I leave you to assign them a secluded
valley as a place of rendezvous, which they may gain in small parties
by different paths.  I will return to Uri, and collect my contingent
of a hundred men; Furst will aid ime, and seek them in the Moderan
and Urseren, even in the high hills whence flow the Aar, the Tessin,
the Rhine, and the Rhone.  I will remain in Altorf, and as soon as I
receive tidings from Furst, will fire a huge pile of wood near my
house. At this signal let all march to the rendezvous, and, when
united, pour down upon Altorf, where I will then strive to arouse the
people."
This plan of the campaign was, after some deliberation, agreed to;
and it was further resolved unanimously, that, in the enterprise upon
which they were now embarked, no one should be guided by his own
private opinion, nor ever forsake his fiiends; that they should jointly
live or die in defence of their common cause; that each should, in his
own vicinity, promote the object in view, trusting that the whole nation
would one day have cause to bless their friendly union; that the
Count of Hapsburg should be deprived of none of his lands, vassals,
or prerogatives; that the blood of his servants and bailiffs should not
be spilt; but that the freedom which they had inherited from their
fathers they were determined to assert, and to hand down to their
children untainted and undiminished.  Then Stauffacher, Furst, and
Melchthal, and the other conspirators, stepped forward, and raising
their hands, swore that they would die in defence of that freedom.
After this solemn oath, and after an agreement that New-Year's
Day should be chosen for the outbreak, unless, in the meantime, a
signal-fire should arouse the inhabitants on some sudden emergency,
the heroes separated.  Arnold returned to Stantz, Werner to SGhwytz,
while Tell and Furst took their way to Altorf.  The sun already
shone brightly as Tell entered the town, and he at once advanced into the public place, where the first object which caught his eye was a
handsome cap, embroidered with gold, stuck upon the end of a long
pole.  Soldiers walked around it in respectful silence, and the people
of Altorf, as they passed, bowed their heads profoundly to the symbol
of power.
Tell was much surprised at this new and strange manifestation of
servility, and leaning on his cross-bow, gazed contemptuously both
on the people and the soldiers. Berenger, captain of the guard, at
lengthL observed this man, who alone, amid a cringing populace, carried his head elect. He went to him, and fiercely asked why he neglected to pay obedience to the orders of Hermann Gessler.  Tell
mildly replied that he was not aware of them, neither could lie have
thiought that the intoxication of power could carry a man so far;
thoug'h the cowardice of the people almost justified his conduct.
This bold language somewhat surprised Berenger, who ordered Tell
b)Fr ~1T  -b~~l~  ~1




210  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
to be disarmed, and then, surrounded by guards, he was carried before the governor.
" Wherefore," demanded the incensed bailiff, "hast thou disobeyed
my orders, and failed in thy respect to the emperor?  \Why lhast thou
dared to pass before the sacred badge of thy sovereign without the
evidence of homage required of thee?"
"Verily," answered Tell with mock humility, "how this happened
I know not;'tis an accident, and no mark of contempt; suffer me,
therefore, in thy clemency, to depart."
Gessler was both surprised and irritated at this reply, feeling
assured that there was something beneath the tranquil and bitter
smile of the prisoner which he could not fathom.  Suddenly he was
struck by the resemblance which existed between him and the boy
Walter, whom he had met the previous day, and immediately ordered
him to be brought forward. Gessler now inquired the prisoner's
name, which he no sooner heard than he knew him to be the archer
so much respeAed throughout the whole canton, and at once conceived the nmode of punishment which he afterwards put in practice,
and which was perhaps the most refined act of torture which man
ever imnaoined. As soon as the youth arrived, the governor turned
to Tell, and told him that he had heard of his extraordinary dexterity,
and was accordingly determined to put it to the proof.  "While beholding justice done, the people of Altorf shall also admire thy skill.
Thy son shall be placed a hundred yards distant, with an apple on
his head. If thou hast the good fortune to bear away the apple in
triumph with one of thy arrows, I pardon both, and restore your
liberty. If thou refusest this trial, thy son shall die before thine
eyes."
Tell, horror-stricken, implored Gessler to spare him so cruel anl experiment, though his son Walter encouraged his father to trust to his
usual good fortune; and finding the governor inexorable, our hero
accepted the trial. He was immediately conducted into the public
place, where the required distance was measured by Berenger, a
double row of soldiers shutting up three sides of the square. The
people, awe-stricken and trembling, pressed behind. Walter stood
with his back to a linden tree, patiently awaiting the exciting moment.
Itermann  Gessler, some distance behind, watched every motion. His
cross-bow and one bolt were handed to Tell; he tried the point, broke
the weapon, and demanded his quiver. It was brought to him, and
emptied at his feet. William stooped down, and taking a long time
to choose one, managed to hide a second in his girdle; the other he
held in his hand, and proceeded to string his bow, while Berenger
cleared away the remaining arrows.
After hesitating a long time-his whole soul beaming in his face,
his paternal affection rendering him almost powerless-he at length
roused himself-drew the bow-aimed —shot —and the apple, struck
to the core, was carried away by the arrow!




LIVES A.ND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINFENT MhEN.  211
TIle market-place of Altorf was filled by loud cries of admiration.
WValter flew to embrace his father, who, overcome by the excess of
his emotions, fell insensible to the grlound, thus exposing' the second
arrow to view.  Gessler stood over him, awaiting' his recovery, which
speedily taking place, Tell rose and turned away from the governor
wvith hoiror, who, however, scarcely yet believing his senses, thus ad,
dressed him. "Incomparable archer, I will keep my promise; but,"
added he, "tell me, what needed you with that second arrow whichl
you have, I see, secreted in your girdle?  One was surely enough."
Tell replied, with some slight evidence of embarrassment, " that it
wvas customary among the bowmen of Uri to have always one arrow
in reserve;" an explanation which only served to confirnm the suspicions of Gessler.  "Nay, nay," said he; " tell me tlhy real motive,
and whatever it may have been, speak frankly, and thy llife is spared."
"The second shaft," lreplied Tell, " was to pierce thy heart, tyrant,
if I had chanced to harm  lly son."   At these words the terrifiedl
governor retired behind his guards, revoked his promise of pardon,
commanding him further to be placed in irons, and to be reconductedl
to the fort.  He was obeyed, and as slight murmurs iose amongst
~the people, double patrols of Austrian soldiers paraded the streets,
and forced the citizens to retire to their houses.  Walter, released,
fled to join Arnold of Melchthal, according to a whispered order
firom his father."
Gessler, reflecting on the aspect of the people, and fearful that some
plot was in progress, which his accidental shortness of provisions'cndered more unfortunate, determined to rid his citadel of the object
wh-iich might induce an attack.  With these views he summoned
Beren~ger, and addressed him in these words: "I am about to quit
Altoif, and you shall command during my absence.  I leave nly
brave soldiers, who will readily obey your voice; and, soon returning
withl supplies and reinforcements, we will crush this vile people, and
punish thenl for their insolent murmurings.  Prepare me a large bo-at,
in which. thirty men, picked from  my guard, may depart with me.
As soon as night draws in, you can load this audacious Tell with
chains, and send him on board.  I will myself take him where he
may expiate his offences."
Tell was forthwith immediately conducted to Fluelen, the little port
of Altorf, about a league distant, at the foot of Mount Rorstock.
Gessler followed, and entered the bark which had been prepared with
the utmost despatch, ordering the bow and quiver of the famous
archer to be carefully put on board- at the same time; with the inte.ntion, it is supposed, of either keeping them  under safe custody, or
hanging theml  up, according to religious custom, as an offering for
his personal safety. Having started with the prisoner, under the safe
conduct of hi3 armed dependants, Gessler ordered them to row as far
as Brunnen, a distance of three leagues and a half; intending, it is
said, to land at that point, and, passing through the territory of




412 LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF f.EMINENT YMEN.
Schwytz, lodge the redoubted bowman in the dungeon of Kussnacht,
there to undergo the rigor of his sentence.
The evening was fine and promising; the boat danced along the
placid waters.  The air was purle, the waves tranquil, the stars shone
brightly in thle sky.  A light southern breeze aided the effolts of tlhe
oarsmen, and tempered the rigor of the cold, which night in that season rendered almost insupportable so near the glaciers.  All appeared
in Gessler's favor.  The extent of thle first section of the lake was
soon passed, and tile boat headed for Brunnen.  Tell, meantime.
loaed  ied  wit irons, gazed with eager eye, shaded by melancholy, on
the desert rocks of Grutli, where, the day before, he had planned wish
his friends the deliverance of his country.  While painful thoughlts
crossed his mind, his loolks were attracted to the neighlborhood of
Altorf by a dim lihllt which burst forth nearl his own house.  Presently this light increased, and before long, a tremendous blaze arose
visible all over Uri.  The heart of the prisoner beat joyously  wi;tin
him, for lhe felt that efforts were makling to rescue him.  Gessler and
his satellites observed the flame, which in reality was a signal-fire to
rouse the cantons; upon which, however, the Austrians gazed with
indifference, supposing it some Swiss peasant's house accidentally on
fire.
Suddenly, however, between Fluelen and Sissigen, when in deep
water, intermingled with shoals, the south wind ceased to blow, and
one of those stormns which are common on the lake comlmenced.  A
north wind, occasionally shifting to the westward, burst upon them.
l'he wind, which usually marked th;lle approach of a dangerous teimpest, raised the waves to a great hight, bore them one against another,
and dashed them  over the gunwale of the boat, which, giving way
to the fury of the storm, turned and returned, and despite the efforts
of the oarsnmen, who were further damped by an unskillful pilot beingr
at the helm, flew towards the shore, that, rocky and precipitous,
menaced their lives: the wind, also, brought frost, snow, and clouds,
which, obscuring the heavens, spread darkness over the water, and
covered the hands and face of the rowers with sharp icicles.  The
soldiers, pale and horror-stricklen, prayed for life; while Gessler, but
ill prepared for death, was profuse in his offers of money and other
rewards if they would rouse themselves to save him.
In this emergency the Austrian bailiff was reminded by one of his
attendants that the prisoner Tell was no less skillful in the management
of a boat than in -the exercise of the bow.  "And see, my lord," said
one of the men, representing to Gessler the imminent peril they were
all incurring-" all, even the pilot, are paralyzed with terror, and he
is totally unfit to manage the helm.  Why then.  not avail thyself, in
desperate circumstances, of one who, though a prisoner, is robust,
well-skilled in such stormy scenes, and who even now appears calm
and collected?  Gessler's fear of Tell induced him  at first to hesitate;
but the prayers of the soldiers becoming pressing, he addressei: the




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.  213
prisoner, and told him that if he thought himself capable of promoting the general safety, he should be forthwith unbound. Tell, having
replied that by the grace of God he could still save them, was instantly
freed from his shackles, and placed at the helm, when the boat answering to a master's hand, kept its course steadily through the bellowing
surge, as if conscious of the free spirit which had now taken the
command.
Guiding the obedient tiller at his will, Tell pointed the head of the
boat in the direction whence they came, which he knew to be the only
safe course, and encouraging and cheering the rowers, made rapid
and steady progress through the water. The darkness, which now
wrapped them round, prevented Gessler from discovering that he had
turned his back on his destination. Tell continued on his way nearly
the whole night, the dying light of the signal-fire on the mountain
serving as a beacon in enabling him to approach the shores of Schwytz,
and to avoid the shoals.
Between Sissigen and Fluelen are two mountains, the greater and
the lesser Achsenberg, whose sides, hemming in and rising perpendicularly from the bed of the lake, offered not a single platform where
human foot could stand. When near this place, dawn broke in the
eastern sky, and Gessler, the danger appearing to decrease, scowled
upon William Tell in sullen silence. As the prow  of the vessel was
driven inland, Tell perceived a solitary table rock, and called to the
rowers to redouble their efforts till they should have passed the precipice ahead, observing with ominous truth that it was the most dangerous point on the whole lake.
The soldiers here recognized their position, and pointed it out to
Gessler, who, with angry voice, demanded of Tell what he meant by
taking them back to Altorf. William, without answering him, turned
the helm hard a-port, which brought the boat suddenly close upon the
rock, seized his faithful bow, and with an effort which sent the
unguided craft back into the lake, sprang lightly on shore, scaled the
rocks, and took to the direction of Schwytz.
Having thus escaped the clutches of the governor, he made for the
hights which border the main road between Art and Kussnacht, and
choosing a small hollow in the road, hid himself under cover of the
brush, intending to remain in ambush until such time as the bailiff
should pass that way. It appears that the governor had the utmost
difficulty to save himself and his attendants after this sudden disappearance of their pilot, but at length succeeded in effecting a safe landing at Brunnen. Here they provided themselves with horses, and
proceeding in the direction above alluded to, advanced towards Kussnacht. In the spot still known as "the hollow way," and marked
by a chapel, Tell overheard the threats pronounced against himself
should he be once more caught, and, in default of his apprehension,
vengeance was vowed against his family. Tell felt that the safety of
himself and his wife and children, to say nothing of the duty he owed
tc his country, required the tyrant's death. He instantly, therefore,




21-  LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.
showed himself, and seizing an opportune moment, pierced Gessler to
the heart with one of his arrows.
This bold deed accomplished, the excited hero, effecting his escape,
made the best of his way to Art, and thence soon gained the village
of Steinen, where he found Werner Stauffacher preparing to march.
The news, however, which Tell brought, removed the necessity for
further immediate action, and prompt measures were taken to arrest
the progress of their allies. A joy, which deeply proved the wrongs
of the people, spread over the whole land, and though they delayed
to strike the blow for universal freedom from the Austrian yoke, the
final decision of the conspirators was only the greater.
On the morning of New-Year's Day, 1308, the castle of Rossberg,
in Obwalden, was adroitly taken possession of, and its keeper, Berenger of Landenberg,  made prisoner, and compelled to promise that he
never again would set foot within the territory of the three cantons;
after which he was allowed to retire to Lucerne. Stauffacher, during
the earlier hours of the same morning, at the head of the men of
Schwytz, marched towards the lake Lowerz, and destroyed the fortress of Schwannau; while Tell and the men of Uri took possession
of Altorf.  On the following Sunday the deputies of Uri, Schwytz,
and Unterwalden met and renewed that fraternal league which has
endured even unto this day.
In 1315, Leopold, second son of Albert, determined to punish the
confederate cantons for their revolt, and accordingly marched against
them at the head of a considerable army, accompanied by a numerous retinue of nobles.  Count Otho of Strassberg, one of his ablest
generals, crossed the Bruning with a body of four thousand men,
intending to attack Upper Unterwalden. The bailiffs of Willisau, of
Wollhausen, and of Lucerne, meantime armed a fourth of that number to make a descent on the lower division of the same canton;
while the emperor in person, at the head of his army of reserve,
poured down from Egerson on Morgarten, in the country of Schwytz,
ostentatiously displaying an extensive supply of rope wherewith to
hang the chiefs of the rebels-a hasty reckoning of victory, which
reminds us of similar conduct and similar results when Wallace
repulsed the invaders of Scotland.
The confederates, in whose ranks were William Tell and Furst, in
order to oppose this formidable invasion, occupied a position in the
mountains, bordering on the convent of our Lady of the Hermits.
Four hundred men of Uri, and three hundred of Unterwalden, had
effected a junction with the warriors of Schwytz, who formed the
principal numerical force of this little army. Fifty men, banished
from this latter canton, offered themselves to combat beneath their
native banner, intending to efface, by their valor and conduct, the
remembrance of their past faults. Early on the morning of the 15th
of November, 1315, some thousands of well-armed Austrian knights
slowly ascended the hill on which the Swiss were posted, with the
hope of dislodging them; the latter, however, advanced to meet. theiz




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN. 215
enemies, uttering the most terrific cries. The band of banished men,
having precipitated huge stones and fragments of rocks from the hillsides, and from overhanging cliffs, rushed from behind the sheltering
influence of a thick fog, and threw the advancing host into confusion.
The Austrians immediately broke their ranks, and presently a complete route, with terrible  slaughter, ensued.  The confederates
nmarched boldly on, cheered by the voice and example of Henry of
Ospenthal, and of the sons of old Redding of Biberegg.
The flower of the Austrian chivalry perished on the field of Morgarten, beneath the halberts, arrows, and iron-headed clubs of the
shepherds.  Leopold himself, though he succeeded in gaining the
shattered remnant of his forces, had -a narrow  escape; while the
Swiss, animated by victory, hastened to Unterwalden, where they
defeated a body of Lucernois and Austrians. In this instance Count
Otho had as narrow an escape as the emperor. After these two wellfought fields, the confederates hastened to renew their ancient alliance,
which was solemnly sworn to in an assembly held at Brunnen on the
8th day of December.
All that remains to be told of the Swiss hero's life is the immemorial tradition, that Wilhelm. Tell, the same who shot Gessler in 1307,
assisted at a general meeting of the commune of Uri in 1337, and
perished in 1350, by an inundation which destroyed the village of
Burglen, his birth-place.  According to Klingenberg's chronicle,
however, written towards the close of the fourteenth century, when
many of his contemporaries were still living, Wilhelmus Tellus of
Uri, as he calls him, the liberator of his country, became, after the
battle of MIorgarten, administrator of the affairs of the church of
Berin ger, where he died in 1354.
Switzerland owes more to the archer of Burglen than, at a rough
glance, she might be supposed to do. It was his bold and decisive
act which first roused within its people that spirit of independence,
before slumbering, and since so great in its results: Tell showed
them, by his example, what courage and prudence couid effect, and
gave an impulse to his countrymen of which they have not failed to
ke advantage.
ELOQUENCE AND HUMOR OF PATRICK HENRY.
HoOR was a Scotchman, a man of wealth, and suspected of being
unfriendly to the American cause.  During the distresses of the
American army, consequent on the joint invasion of Cornwallis and
Phillips in 1781, a Mr. Venable, an army commissary, had taken two
of Hook's steers for the use of the troops. The act had not been
strictly legal; and, on the establishment of peace, Hook, on the




216   LIVES AND  INCIDENTS OF EMINENT 1MEN.
advice of Mr. Cowan, a gentleman of some distinction in the law,
thought proper to bring an action of trespass against Mr. Venable, in
the district court of New London.  Mr. Henry appeared for the defendant, and is said to have disported himself in this cause to the
infinite enjoyment of his hearers, the unfortunate Hook always exs
cepted. After Mr. Henry became animated in the cause, says a:.arrespondent, he appeared to have complete control over the passions
of his audience: at one time he excited their indignation against
Hook; vengeance was visible in every countenance: again, when he
chose to relax, and ridicule him, the whole audience was in a roar of
laughter. He painted the distresses of the American Army, exposed,
almost naked, to the rigors of a winter's sky, and marking the frozen
ground over which they trod with the blood of their unshod feet.
Where was the man, he said, who had an American heart in his
bosom, who would not have thrown open his fields, his barns, his cellars, the doors of his house, the portals of his breast, to have received
with open arms the meanest soldier in that little band of famished.
patriots? Where is the man,?  There he stands-but whether the
heart of an American beats in his bosom, you, gentlemen, are to
judge. He then carried the jury by the powers of his imagination
to the plains around York, the surrender of which had followed
shortly after the act complained of: he depicted the surrender in the
most glowing and noble colors of his eloquence —the audience saw
before their eyes the humiliation and dejection of the British as they
marched out of their trenches-they saw the triumph which lighted
up every patriot face, and heard the shouts of victory, and the cry
of "Washington and liberty!" as it rung and echoed through the
American ranks, and was reverberated from the hills and shores of
the neighboring river-" but hark i what notes of discord are these,
which disturb the general joy, and silence the acclamation of victory
-they are the notes of John Hook, hoarsely bawling through the
American camp,' Beef! beef! beef!' "
The whole audience were convulsed: a particular incident will
give a better idea of the effect than any general description.  The
clerk of the court, unable to command himself, and unwilling to commit any breach of decorum in his place, rushed out of the court-house,
and threw himself on the grass, in the most violent paroxysm of
laughter, where he was rolling, when Hook, with very different feelings, came out for relief into the yard also.  "Jenmmy Steptoe," said
he to the clerk, " what the devil ails ye, mon?"  Mr. Steptoe was
only able to say that he could not help it.  "Never mind ye," said
Hook; "wait till Billy Cowan gets up; he'll show him the la' i"
Mr. Cowan, however, was so completely overwhelmed by the torrent
which bore upon his client, that, when he rose to reply to Mr. Henry,
he was scarcely able to make an intelligible or audible remark. The
cause was decided almost by acclamation.  The jury retired for
form's sake, and instantly returned with a verdict for the defendant.
Nor did the effect of Mr. Henry's speech stop here.  The people were




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.  217
so highly excited by the tory audacity of such a suit, that Hook began to hear around him a cry more terrible than that of eej'; it was
the cry of tar and featlers; from the application of which, it is said,
that nothing saved him but a precipitate flight and the speed of his
horse.-WIRT.
TALLEYRAND AND ARNOLD.
TnnRE was a day when Talleyrand arrived in Havre, hot foot from
Paris. It was in the darkest hour of the French Revolution.  Pursued by the bloodhounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of every
wreck of property or power, Talleyrand secured a passage to America in a ship about to sail. He was going a beggar and a wanderer,
to a strange land, to earn his bread by daily labor.
"Is there an American staying at your house?" he asked the
landlord of his hotel. " I am bound to cross the water, and would
like a letter to some person of influence in the New World."
The landlord hesitated a moment, and then said:
"There is a gentleman up stairs, either from America or Britain;
whether an American or Englishman, I cannot tell."
He pointed the way, and Talleyrand-who in his life was bishop,
prince, and prime-minister-ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant, he stood before the stranger's door, knocked, and entered.
In the far corner of a dimly-lighted room, sat a gentleman of some
fifty years, with his arms folded, and his head bowed on his breast.
From a window directly opposite, a flood of light poured over his
forehead. His eyes looking from beneath the downcast brows, gazed
in Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and searching expression. His
face was striking in its outline; the mouth and chin indicative of an
iron will. I-Iis form, vigorous, even with the snows of fifty winters,
was clad in dark, but rich and distinguished costume.
Talleyrand advanced: stated that as he was an American, he
solicited his kind and feeling offices.
He poured forth his history in eloquent French and broken English.
"I am a wanderer-an exile. I am forced to fly to the New World,
without a friend or home. You are an American. Give me, then, I
beseech you, a letter of yours, so that I may be able to earn my
bread. I am willing to toil in any manner: the scenes of Paris have
filled me with such horror, that a life of labor would be a paradise
to a career of luxury in France. You will give me a letter to one of
your friends. A gentleman like you has doubtless many friends."
The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talleyrand never
forgot, he retreated towards the door of the next chamber, his head
downcast, and his eyes looking still from beneath his darkened brow.
He spoke as he retreated: his voice was full of meaning.




218   LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF ElMINENT IMEN.
"I am the only man born in the New World who can raise r3s
hand to God and say-I have not a friend-not one in all America."'
Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming sadness of that look
which accompanied these words."
"Who are you?" he cried, as the strange man retreated towards
the next room.  "Your name?"
"My name!"-with a smile that bad more of mockery than joy
in its conclusive expression-" my name is Benedict Arnold!"
He was gone.  Talleyrand sank in a chair, gasping the words"Arnold the Traitor!"
Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth, another Cain, with a
wanderer's mark upon his brow. Even in this secluded room at the
Inn of Havre, his crimes found him out, and forced him to tell his
name-that synonym of infamy.
The last twenty years of his life are covered with a cloud, from
whose darkness but a few gleams of light flash out upon the page of
history.
The manner of his death is not distinctly known. But we doubt
not that he died utterly fiiendless-that his cold brow was not moistened by one farewell tear-that remorse pursued him to the grave,
whispering'"John Andre" in his ears; and the memory of his course
of glory gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring forever,
"True to your country, what might you have been, 0 Arnold, the
Traitor!"
ANECDOTE  OF JAMES OTIS.
OTIS belonged to a club who met on evenings; of which club
William Molineux was a member. Molineux had a petition before
the legislature, which did not succeed to his wishes, and he became
for several evenings sour, and wearied the company with his complaints of services, losses, sacrifices, &c., and said-" That a man
who has behaved as I have should be treated as I am is intolerable!"
Otis had said nothing; but the company were disgusted and out of
patience, when Otis rose from his seat, and said-" Come, come,
Will, quit this subject, and let us enjoy ourselves. I also have a list
of grievances; will you hear it?" The club expected some fun, and
all cried out, "Ay! ay! let us hear your list."
" Well, then, Will: in the first place, I resigned the office of advocate-general, which I held from the crown, that produced me-how
much do you think?"  "A great deal, no doubt," said Molineux.
"Shall we say two hundred sterling a year?"  ".Ay, more, I
believe," said Molineux.  "Well, let it be two hundred; that, for ten
years, is two thousand.
"In the next place, I have been obliged to relinquish the greatest




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.  219
part of my business at the bar. Will you set that at two hundred
more?"  ". Oh! I believe it much more than that."  " Well, let it
be two hundred; this, for ten years, is two thousand more. You
allow, then, I have lost four thousand pounds sterling,"  "Ay, and
much more too," said Molineux.
"In the next place, I have lost an hundred friends; among whom
were the men of the first rank, fortune and power in the province.
At what price will you estimate them?"  " At nothing," said Molineux; 1 "you are better without them, than with them." A loud laugh.
"Be it so," said Otis.
1" In the next place, I have made a thousand enemies, among
whom are the government of the province and the nation. VWhat do
you think of this item?" ". That is as it may happen," said
Molineux.
"In the next place, you know, I love pleasure; but I have
renounced all amusement for ten years. What is that worth to a man
of pleasure?"  " No great matter," said Molineux; "you have made
politics your amusement." A. hearty laugh.
"In the next place, I have ruined as fine health, and as good a
constitution of body, as nature ever gave to man."  "This is melancholy indeed," said Molineux; "there is nothing to be said on that
point."
"Once more," said Otis, holding his head down before Molineux;
" look upon this head i" (where was a scar, in which a man might
bury his finger;) "what do you think of this? and, what is worse,
my friends think I have a monstrous crack in my skulll."
This made all the company very grave, and look very solemn. But
Otis, setting up a laugh, and with a gay countenance, said to Molineux-" Now, Willy, my advice to you is, to say no more about your
grievances; for you and I had better put up our accounts of profit
and loss in our pockets, and say no more about them, lest the world
should laugh at us."
This whimsical dialogue put all the company, and iMolineux himself,
into good humor, and they passed the rest of the evening in joyous
conviviality.-J. ADAMS.
INDIAN SPEECHES.
ELOQUENT SPEECH OF LOGAN, CHIEF OF THE MINGOES.
I MAY challenge the whole orations of Demosthenes and Cicero,
and of any more eminent orator, if Europe has furnished more eminent, to produce a single passage superior to the speech of Logan, a
Mlingo chief, to Lord Dunmore, when governor of this state. And,
15




220  LIVES  AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
as a testimony. of their talents in this line, I beg leave to introduce it,
first stating the incidents necessary for understanding it.
In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery was committed by some
Indians on certain land adventurers on the river of Ohio. The whites
in that quarter, according to their custom, undertook to punish this
outrage in a summary wav.  Captain Michael Cresap and a certain
Daniel Greathouse, leading' on the parties, surprised, at different
times, traveling and hunting parties of the Indians, having their
women and children with them, and murdered many. Among these
were unfortunately the family of Logan, a chief celebrated in peace
and war, and long distinguished as the friend of the whites.  This
unworthy return provoked his vengeance. He accordingly signalized
himself in the war which ensued.  In the autumn of the same year
a decisive battle was fought at the mouth of the Great Kanhaway,
between the collected forces of the Shawanese, Mingoes and Delawares, and a detachment of the Virginia militia.  The Indians were
defeated, and sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen
among the suppliants.  But, lest the sincerity of a treaty should be
distrusted, from which so distinguished a chief absented himself, he
sent, by a messenger, the following speech to be delivered to Lord
Dunmore.
"I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's
cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and
naked, and clothed him not. During the course of the last long and
bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace.
Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they
passed, and said,'Logan is the firiend of white men.' I had even
thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man.
Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and
children.  There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any
living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it:
I have killed many: I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my
country, I rejoice at the beams of peace: but do not harbor a thought
that mine is the joy of fear: Logan never felt fear: he will not turn
on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not
one."-J —EFFERSON.
SPEECH  OF HO-NA-YU-WUS, ORI FARMER'S  BROTHER.
TImE sachems, chiefs, and warriors of the Seneca nation to the,
sachems and chiefs assembled about the great council-fire of the state
of New York.
Brothers: As you are once more assembled in council for the purpose of doing honor to yourselves and justice to your country, we,
your brothers, the sachems, chiefs, and warriors of the Seneca nation.
request you to open your ears, and give attention to our voice and
wishes




LIVES AND INCTIDENTS OF EMINENT  MEN.  221
Brothers-You will recollect the lat.e contest between you and your
father, the great king of England. This contest threw the inhabitants
of this whole island into a great tumult and commotion, like a raging
whirlwind, which tears up the trees, and tosses to and fro the leaves,
so that no one knows from whence they come, or when they will fall.
Brothers-This whirlwind was so directed by the Great Spirit above,
as to throw into our arms two of your infant children, Jasper Parrish
and Horatio Jones. We adopted them into our families, and made
them our children.  We loved them and nourished them. They lived
with us many years. At length the Great Spirit spoke to the whirlwind-and it was still.  A clear and uninterrupted sky appeared.
The path of peace was opened, and the chain of friendship was once
more made bright.  Then these, our adopted children, left us to seek
their' relations. We wished them to remain among us, and promised,
if they would return and live in our country, to give each of them a
seat of land for them and their children to sit down upon.
Brothers-They have returned, and have for several years past
been serviceable to us as interpreters.  We still feel our hearts beat
with affection for them, and now wish to fulfill the promise we made
them, and to reward them for their services. We have, therefore,
made up our minds to give them a seat of two square miles of land
lying on the outlet of Lake Erie, about three miles below Black Rock.
Brothers-We have now made known to you our minds.  We
expect, and earnestly request, that you will permit our friends to
receive this our gift, and will make the same good to them, according
to the laws and customs of your-nation.
Brothers —Why should you hesitate to make our minds easy with
regard to this our request?  To you it is but a little thing; and have
you not complied with the request, and confirmed the gift, of our
brothers the Oneidas, the Onondagas, and Cayugas, to their interpreters? and shall we ask, and not be heard?
Brothers-We send you this our speech, to which we expect your
answer before the breaking up of your great council-fire.
SPEECH OVER THE GRAVE OF BLACK BUFFALOE, CHIEF OF
THE TETON TRIBE OF INDIANS.
Do not grieve. Misfortune will happen to the wisest and best men.
Death will come, and always comes out of season. It is the command of the Great Spirit, and all nations and people must obey.
What has passed, and cannot be prevented, should not be grieved for.
Be not discouraged or displeased, then, that, in visiting your father
here, you have lost your chief. A misfortune of this kind may never
again befall you; but this would have attended you, perhaps, at your
own village. Five times have I visited this land, and never returned
with sorrow or pain. Misfortunes do not flourish particularly in our
oath.  They grow  everywhere.  What a misfortune for me. that i
could not have died this day, instead of the chlief that lies before us i




222  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINTENT  MEN
The trifling loss my nation would have sustained in my death, would
have been doubly paid for by the honors of my burial.  They would
have wiped off every thing like regret. Instead of being' covered
with a cloud of sorrow, my warriors would have felt the sunshine of
joy in their hearts.  To me it would have been a most glorious occurrence.  Hereafter, when I die at home, instead of a noble grave and
a grand procession-the rolling music and the thundering cannon —
with a flag' waving at my head,-I shall be wrapt in a robe —an old
robe perhaps-and hoisted on a slender scaffold to the whistling
winds, soon to be blown to the earth —my flesh to be devoured by the
wolves, and my bones rattled on the plain by the wild beasts.
Chief of the soldiers!-your labors have not been in vain. Your
attention shall not be forgotten.  My nation shall know the respect
that is paid over the dead. When I return I will echo the sound of
your guns. —BIG ELK MAHA CHIEF.
DEATH  OF PLI.NY THE ELDER.
Tu-IE following celebrated letter was written by Pliny the younger
to his friend Tacitus. We give it a place in the Gathered Treassures
for its classical merit, as well as for recording the melancholy death
of a noble Roman citizen, by the memorable eruption of Mount
Vesuvius, in the 39th year of the Christian era. Pliny the elder -was
residing at Misenum, on the northern promontory of the Gulf of
Naples, when the eruption occurred, and. which overwhelmed the
cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii, occasioning the death of thousands of the unfortunate inhabitants.
"Your request that I would send you an account of mny uncle's
death, in order to transmit a more exact relation of it to posterity, deserves nmy acknowledgments; for if this accident shall be celebrated
by your pen, the glory of it, I am well assured, will be rendered forever illustrious; and, notwithstanding he perished by a misfortune,
which, as it involved at the same time a most beautiful country in
ruins, and destroyed so many populous cities, seems to promise hini
an everlasting remembrance; notwithstanding he has himself conmposed many and lasting works; yet I am persuaded the mentioning
of him in your immortal writings will greatly contribute to eternise
his name. Happy I esteem those to be whom Providence has distinguished with the abilities either of doing such actions as are worthy
of being' related, or of relating them in a manner worthy of being' read;
but doubly happy are they who are blessed with both these uncolmmon talents; in the number of which my uncle, as his own writings
and your history will evidently prove, may justly be ranked. It is
with extreme willingness, therefore, that i execute your commands;




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.  223
and should indeed have claimed the task, if you had not enjoined it.
" My uncle was at the time with the fleet under his command at
Mlisenum.  On the 23rd of August, about one o'clock in the afternoon, my mother desired him to observe a cloud which appeared of a
very unusual size and shape.  He had just returned from taking the
benefit of the sun,* and after bathing himself in cold water, and taking a slight repast, had retired to his study.  He immediately arose
and went out upon an eminence from which ]le might more distinctly
view this very uncommon appearance.  It was not at that distance
discernible friom what mlountain this cloud issued, but it was found
afterwards to ascend from  Mount Vesuvius.  I cannot give you a
more exact description of its figure than by resembling, it to that of
a pine tree, for it shot up a great hight in the form of a trunk, which
extended itself at the top into a sort of branches; occasioned, I imagine, either by a sudden gust of air that impelled it, the force of
which decreased as it advanced upwards: or the cloud itself being
pressed back again by its own weight, expanded in this manner.  It
appeared sometimes bright, and sometimes dark and spotted, as it
was either more or less impregnated with earth and cinders. rThis
extraordinary phenomenon excited my uncle's philosophical curiosity
to take a nearer view of it.  He ordered a light vessel to be got
ready, and gave me the liberty, if I thought proper, to attend him.
I rather chose to continue my studies; for, as it happened, he had
given me an employment of that kind.  As he was coming out of the
house, he received a note from Rectina, the wife of Bassus, who was
in the utmost alarm at the imminent danger which threatened her;
for her villa being situated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, there was
no way to escape but by sea.  She earnestly entreated him, therefore,
to come to her assistance.  He accordingly changed his first design,
and what he began with a philosophical, he pursued with a heroical
turn of mind.  He ordered the galleys to put to sea, and went hirnself on board, with an intention of assisting not only Rectina, but
several others; for the villas stand extremely thick upon the beautiful coast. When hastening to the place from which others fled with
the utmost terror, he steered his direct course to the point of danger,
and with so much calmness and presence of mind, as to be able to
make and dictate his observations upon the motion and figure of that
dreadful scene. He was now so nigh the mountain that the cinders,
which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he approached, fell into the
ships, together with pumice-stones, and black pieces of burning rock;
they were likewise in danger not only of being aground by the sudden retreat of the sea, but also from the vast fragments which rolled
down from the mountain, and obstructed all the shore.  Here he
stopped to consider whether he should return back again, to which




224   LIVES AND I NCIDENTS OF EMIi "ENT   XiEN.
the pilot advising him-' Fortune favors the brave,' said he;'carry
me to Pomponianus.'
"Pomponianus was then at Stabiae, separated by a gulf which the
sea, after several insensible windings, forms upon that shore. He
had already sent his baggage on board; for though he was not't
that time in actual danger, yet being within the view of it, and indeed
extremely near if it should in the least increase, he was determined
to put to sea as soon as the wind should change.  It was favorable,
however, for carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom he found in
the greatest consternation.  He embraced him with tenderness, encouraging and exhorting him to keep up his spirits; and the more to
dissipate his fears, he ordered, with an air of unconcern, the baths to
be got ready; when, after having bathed, he sat down to supper
with great cheerfulness, or at least (what is equally heroic,) with all
the appearance of it.  In the meanwhile, the eruption from Molun
Vesuvius flamed out in several places with much violence, which the
darkness of the night contributed to render still more visible and
dreadful.  But my uncle, in order to soothe the apprehensions of his
friend, assured him it was only the burning of the villages, which the
country people had abandoned to the flames. After this he retired to
rest, and it is most certain he was so little discomposed as to fall into
a deep sleep; for, being pretty fat, and breathing hard, those who
attended without actually heard him snore.  The court which led to
his apartment being now almost filled with stones and ashes. if he had
continued there any time longer, it would have been impossible for
him to have made his way out; it was thought proper, therefore, to
awaken him.  He got up, and went to Pomponianus and the rest of
his company, who were not unconcerned enough to think of going to
bed. They consulted together whether it would be most prudent to
trust to the houses, which now shook from side to side with frequent
and violent concussions, or fly to the open fields, where the calcined
stones and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell in large showers, and
threatened destruction.  In this distress they resolved for the fields,
as the less dangerous situation of the two; a resolution which, while
the rest of the company were hurried into it by their fears, my uncle
embraced upon cool and deliberate consideration.
" They went out then, having pillows tied upon their heads with
napkins, and this was their whole defence against the stormn of stones
that fell rouund them. Though it was day everywhere else, with thenm
it was darker than the most obscure night, excepting only what light
proceeded from  the fire and flames.  They thought proper to go
down further upon thle shore, to observe if they might safelVy put out
to sea; but thuy found the waves still run extremely high and boisterous.  There my uncle having drunk a draught or two of cold
water, threw himself down upon a cloth which was spread for him,
when immediately the flanmes, and a strong smell of sulphur, which
was the forerunner of them, dispersed the rest of the company, and.
obliged. him to arise.  HIe raised himself up with the assistance of




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN. 225
two of his servants, and instantly fell down dead; suffocated, as I
conjecture, by some gross and noxious vapor, having always had
weak lungs, and frequently subjected to a difficulty of breathing. As
soon as it was light again, which was not till the third day after this
melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and without any
marks of violence upon it, exactly in the same posture that he fell,
and looking more like a man asleep than dead."
DEATH OF JOHN RANDOLPH.
JOHN RANDOLPH of Roanoke was near his end. Dr.   - was
sitting by the table, and his man John sitting by the bed, in perfect
silence, when he closed his eyes, and for a few moments seenled, by
his hard breathing, to be asleep. But, as the sequel proved, it was
the intense working of his mind. Opening his keen eyes upon the
doctor, he said, sharply, "remorse"-soon afterward more emphatically, "REMORsE"-presently at the top of his strength, he cried out,," REMORSE!"  He then added, "Let me see the word."  The
doctor, not comprehending his desire, made no reply. Randolph
then said to him with great energy, " Let me see the word: show it
me in a dictionary."  The doctor looked round and told him he believed there was none in the room. "Write it then," said. Randolph.
The doctor perceiving one of Randolph's engraved cards lying on the
table, wrote the word in pencil under the printed name, and handed
it to Randolph. He seized it, and holding it up to his eyes with
great earnestness, seemed much agitated.  After a few seconds, he
handed back the card, saying, " Write it on the other side."  The
doctor did so, in larger letters. He took it again, and after gazing
upon it a few seconds, returned it, and said, " Lend John your pencil, and let him put a stroke under it."  John took the pencil and did
so, leaving it on the table. "Ah!" said the dying man, " Remorss,
you don't know what it means! you don't know what it means!"
But added presently, "I cast myself on the Lord Jesus Christ for
mercy."
WASHINGTON'S DEB9
ONE Reuben Rouzy, of Virginia, owed
thousand pounds. While President of the Unltect states, one or nls
agents brought an action for the money; judgment. was obtained, and
execution issued against the body of the defendant, who was taken to
jail. He had a considerable landed estate, but this kind of property




226  LIVES AND  INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT MEN.
cannot be sold in Virginia for debts unless at the discretion of the
person. He had a large family, and for the sake of his children preferred lying in jail to selling his land.  k friend hinted to him that
probably General Washington did not know any thing of the proceeding, and that it might be well to send him  a petition, with a statement of the circumstances.  He did so, and the very next post fi'om
Philadelphia, after the arrival of his petition in that city, brought
him an order for his immediate release, together with a full discharge
and a severe renrimand to the agent for having acted in such a manner.  Poor Rouzy was, in consequence, restored to his family, w1ho
never laid down their heads at night without presenting prayers to
Heaven for their "beloved Washington."
Providence smiled upon the labors of the grateful family, and in a
few years Rouzy enjoyed the exquisite pleasure of being able to 1,ay
the one thousand pounds, with the interest, at the feet of this truly
great man. Washington reminded. him that the debt was discharged.
Rouzy replied, the debt of his fEmily to the father of their country
and preserver of their parent could never be discharged; and the
genera], to avoid the pressing importunity of the grateful Virginian,
who would not be denied, accepted the money, only, however, to
divide it among Houzy's children, which he immediately did.
CONFESSION OF ROUSSEAU.
I CONFEBS that the majesty of the Scriptures astonishes me, that
the sanctity of the Gospel speaks to my heart. View the books of
the philosophers with all their ponmp, what a littleness have they,
when compared with this. Is it possible that a book, at once so sublime and simple, should be the work of men? Is it possible that he,
whose history it records, should be himself a mere man? Is this the
style of an enthusiast, or of an ambitious sectary?  What sweetness,
what purity in his manners! what affecting grace in his instructions!
what elevation in his maxims! what profound wisdom in his discourses! what presence of mind, what delicacy, and what justness
in his replies! what empire over his passions! Where is the man,
where is the philosopher, who knows how  to  act, to suffer and die
without weakness and without ostentation?  When Plato paints his
imaginary just man, covered with all the ignominy of guilt, and deserving all the honors of virtue, he paints Jesus Christ in every stroke
of his pencil! Their semblance is so strong that all the fathers haul
perceived it, and it is not possible to mistake it. What prejudices,
what blindness must they have, who draw a comparison between the
son of Soproniscus and the son of Mary?  What distance is there
between the one and the other?  As Socrates died without pain and
disgrace, he found no difficulty in supporting his character to the




LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT MEN.  227
end; and if this easy death had not shed lustre on his life, we might
have doubted whether Socrates, with all his genius, was any thing
but a sophist. They say that he invented morality. Others before
him had practiced it; he only said what they had done, he only
read lessons on their examples. Aristides was just, before Socrates
explained the nature of justice. Leonidas had died for his country,
before Socrates had made it the duty of men to love their country.
Sparta had been temperate, before Socrates praised temperance.
Greece had abounded in virtuous men, before he had defined virtue.
But where could Jesus have taken among his countrymen that
elevated and pure morality of which he himself furnished both the
precept and the example?  The most lofty wisdom was heard from
the bosom of the most furious fanaticism, and the simplicity of the
most heroic virtues honored the vilest of all people. The death of
Socrates, divinely philosophizing with his friends, is the most gentle
that one can desire; that of Jesus expiring in torments, injured, derided, reviled by a whole people, is the most horrible that one can
fear. When Socrates takes the poisoned cup, he blesses him who presents it, and who at the same time weeps. Jesus, in the midst of a
horrid punishment, prays for his enraged executioners. Yes, if the
life and death of Socrates are those of a philosopher, the life and
death of Jesus Christ are those of a God! Shall we say that the history of the Gospel is invented at pleasure? My friend, it is not thus
that men invent; and the actions of Socrates, concerning which there
are no doubts, are less attested than those of Jesus Christ. After all,
this is shifting the difficulty instead of solving it; for it would be
more conceivable that a number of men should forge this book in
concert, than that one should furnish the subject of it.  Jewish
authors would never have devised such a manner and such morality,
and the gospel characters of truth; so great, so striking, so perfectly
inimitable, that its inventor would be still more astonished than its hero.
LUTHER SUMMONED TO WORMS.
WHEN Luther was summoned to attend the diet at Worms, his
friends, notwithstanding the safe-conduct granted to him by the emperor, Charles V., apprehending danger to his person, would have
dissuaded him from going thither. Luther replied, " I am determined
to enter the city in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, though as
many devils should oppose me as there are tiles upon all the houses
at Worms."  He was accompanied from Wirtemberg by some divines,
and one hundred horse; but he took only eight horsemen into Worms,
When he stept out of the carriage, he said, in the presence of a great
number of persons, " God shall be on my side."




228  LIVES AND) INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.
CROMWELL AND THE FLORENTINE MERCHANT.
FRANcIs FRESCOBALD, a Florentine merchant, descended of a
noble family in Italy, had gained a plentiful fortune, of which he was
liberal-handed to all in necessity; which being well known to others,
though concealed by himself, a young stranger applied to him for
charity. Signior Frescobald, seeing something in his countenance
more than ordinary, overlooked his tattered clothes, and compassionating his circumstance, asked him what he was, and of what country.
" I am," answered the young man, " a native of England; my name
is Thomas Cromwell, and my father-in-law is a poor shire-man. I
left my country to seek my fortune; came with the French army that
were routed at Gatylion, where I was page to a footman, and carried
his pike and burgonet after him."  Frescobald commiserating his
necessities, and having a particular respect for the English nation,
clothed him genteelly, took him into his house till he had recovered
strength by better diet, and, at his taking leave, mounted him on a
good horse, with sixteen ducats of gold in his pockets. Cromwell
expressed his thankfuluess in a very sensible manner, and returned
by land towards England; where, being arrived, he was preferred
into the services of Cardinal Wolsey.
After the cardinal's death, he worked himself so effectually into
the favor of King Henry VIII., that his majesty made him a baron,
viscount, Earl of Essex, and, at last, lord chancellor of England. In
the meantime, Signior Frescobald, by repeated losses at sea and land,
was reduced to poverty; and, calling to mind, without ever thinking
of Cromwell, that some English merchants were indebted to him in
the sum of fifteen thousand ducats, he came to London to procure
payment.
Traveling in pursuit of this affair, he fortunately met with the lord
chancellor, as he was riding to court; who, thinking him to be the
same gentleman that had done him such great kindness in Italy,
immedliately alighted, embraced him, and, with tears of joy, asked
him if he was not Signior Francis Frescobald, a Florentine merchant.
"Yes, sir," said he, "and your most humble servant."  "My servant!" said the chancellor. "No; you are my special friend, that
relieved me in my wants, laid the foundation of my greatness, and
as such I received you; and since the affairs of my sovereign will
not now permit a longer conference, I beg you will oblige me this day
with your company at my house to dine with me."
Signior Frescobald was surprised and astonished with admiration
who this great man should be, that acknowledged such obligations,
and so passionately expressed a kindness for him; but, contemplating awhile his mien, his voice and carriage, he concluded it to be
Cromwell, whom he had relieved at Florence; and, therefore, not a
little overjoyed, went to his house. His lordship came soon after,
and taking his friend by the hand, turned to the lord high admiral,
and other noblemen in his company, saying, "Do not your lordships




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.  229
wonder that I am so glad to see this gentleman? This is he who first
contributed to my advancement."  He then told them the whole story,
and holding him still by the hand, led him into the dining-room, and
placed him next himself at table. The company being gone, the
chancellor made use of this opportunity to know  what affair had
brought him into England. Frescobald, in a few words, gave him a
true state of his circumstances; to which Cromwell replied, "I am
sorry for your misfortunes, and I will make them as easy to you as I
can; but, because men ought to be just before they are kind, it is fit
I should repay the debt I owe you." Then leading him to his closet,
he locked the door, and, opening a coffer, first took out sixteen ducats,
delivering them to Frescobald, and said, "My friend, here is the
money you lent me at Florence, with ten pieces you laid out for my
apparel, and ten more you paid for my horse; but considering that
you are a merchant, and might have made some advantage by this
money in the way of trade, take these four bags, in every one of which
are four hundred ducats, and enjoy them as free gifts of your friend."
These the modesty of Frescobald would have refused, but the other
forced them  upon him. He next caused him to give him the names
of all his debtors., and the sums they owed; which account he gave
to one of his servants, with a charge to find out the men, and oblige
them to pay him in fifteen days, under the penalty of his displeasure;
mad the servant so well discharged his duty, that in a short time the
entire sum was paid. All this time, Signior Frescobald lodged in
the chancellor's house, where he was entertained according to his
merits, was repeatedly invited to continue in England, and an offer
of the loan of sixty thousand ducats for four years, if he would
trade here; but he desired to return to Florence, which he did,
with extraordinary favors from Cromwell.
TRUE MORAL COURAGE.
THE Rev. Mr. Fletcher had a wild and profligate nephew in the
army, who had been dismissed from the Sardinian service, for very
bad conduct. He had engaged in several duels, and had spent his
money in vice and folly. The wicked youth waited one day on his
eldest uncle, General De Gons; and presenting a loaded pistol,
threatened to shoot him, unless he would that moment advance him
five hundred crowns. The general, thoughl a brave man, well knew
what a desperate fellow he had to deal with, and gave a draft for the
money, at the same time, speaking fieely to him on his conduct. The
young man departed in high spirits, with his ill-gotten money.
In the evening, passing the door of his younger uncle, Mr. Fletcher,
he called on him, and began with informing him, what General De




230  LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.
Gons had done; and, as a proof, showed a draft under De Gons'
own hand.  Mr. Fletcher took the draft from his nephew, and looked
at him with surprise.  Then after some remarks putting it into his
pocket, said, " It strikes me, young man, that you  lave possessed
yourself of this note by some wrong method; and in conscience, I
cannot return it, but with my brother's knowledge and approbation."
The nephew's pistol was in a moment at his breast.  "'My life,"
replied Mr.' Fletcher, with perfect calmness, "is secure in the protection of an Almighty power; nor will he suffer it to be the forfeit of
my integrity, and your rashness." This firmness drew from the
nephew the observation, "that his uncle De Gons, though an old
soldier, was more afraid of death than his brother."  "Afraid of
death!" rejoined Mr. Fletcher, "do you think I have been twentyfive years a minister of the Lord of life, to be afraid of death now?
No, sir, it is for you to be afraid of death.  You are a gamester and
a cheat; yet you call yourself a gentleman! You are the seducer
of female innocence; and still say you are a gentleman! You are a
duellist, and for this you style yourself a man of honor I Look there,
sir," pointing to the heavens, "the broad eye of Heaven is fixed
upon us.  Tremble in the presence of your Maker, who can in a
moment k-ill your body, and forever punish your soul in hell."
The unhappy young prodigal turned pale, and trembled, with fear
and rage. He still threatened his uncle, with instant death. Mr.
Fletcher, though thus threatened, gave no alarm, sought for no
weapon, and attempted not to escape. He calmly conversed with his
profligate relation; and, at length, perceiving him to be affected,
addressed him in the kindest language, till he fairly disarmed and
subdued him! He would not return his brother's draft; but engaged
to procure for the young man some immediate relief. He then prayed
with him; and after fulfilling his promise of assistance, parted with
him, with much good advice on one side, and many fair promises on
the other.
WE SLEY'S CHARITY.
I1 the year --- the Rev. John Wesley received the following letter, in consequence of a recent resolution of the government, that
circulars should be sent to all persons who were suspected of having
plate, on which they had not paid duty:
".Reverend Sir, —As the commissioners cannot doubt that you
have plate for which you have hitherto neglected to make an entry,
they have directed me to send you a copy of the lords' order, and to
inform you that they expect that you forthwith make the entry of a11
your plate, such an entry to bear date from the commencement of the




LIVES AND  INCIDENTS OF EMINENT  MTTEN.  231
plate duty, or from such time as you have owned, used, had, or kept
any quantity of silver plate, chargeable by the act of parliament; as
in default thereof, the board will be obliged to signify your refusal to
their lordships.
"l N. B. An immediate answer is desired."
Mr. Wesley replied as follows:
S ir,-I have two silver tea-spoons at London, and two at Bristol:
this is all the plate which I have at present; and I shall not buy any
more while so many around me want bread.
I am, sir, your most humble servant,
J'OIIN WESLEY."
Perhaps there never was a more charitable man than Mr. Wesley.
His liberality knew no bounds, but an empty pocket. HI-e gave away
not merely a certain part of his income, but all that he had: his own
wants being provided for, he devoted all the rest to the necessities of
others. He entered upon this good work at a very early period. We
are told, that when he had thirty pounds a year, he lived on twentyeight, and gave away forty shillings.  The next year, receiving sixty
pounds, he still lived on twenty-eight, and gave away two-and-thirty.
The third year he received ninety pounds, and gave away sixty-two.
The fourth year he received one hundred and twenty pounds. Still
he lived on twenty-eight, and gave to the poor ninety-two. During
the rest of his life he lived economically; and, in the course of fifty
years, it has been supposed, he gave away more than thirty thousand
pounds-over one hundred and thirty-eight thousand dollars.
WHITEFIELD'S PREACHING.
As a proof of the power of Mr. Whitefield's preaching, Mr. Newton
mentioned, that an officer at Glasgow, who had heard him preach,
laid a wager with another, that at a certain charity sermon, though
he went with prejudice, he would be compelled to give something;
the other to make sure that he would not, laid all the money out of
his pockets  but, before he left the church, he was glad to borrow
some, and lose his bet. Mr. Newton mentioned, as another striking
example of Mr. Whitefield's persuasive oratory, his collecting at one
sermon six hundred pounds for the inhabitants of an obscure village
in Germany, that had been burned down. After sermon, Mr. Whitefield said, " We shall sing a hymn, during which those who do not
choose to give their mite on this awful occasion, may sneak off."
Not one moved; he got down from the pulpit, ordered all the doors
to be shut but one, at which he held the plate himself, and collected
the above large sum   Mr. Newton relatedr what he knew to be a fact,




232  LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT MIEN.
that at the time cf Whitefield's greatest persecution, when obliged to
preach in the streets, in one week he received not fewer than a thousand letters from persons distressed in their consciences by the energy
of his preaching.
ANOTHER.
AN extraordinary attestation to the excellence of Mr. Whitefield,
as a preacher, was furnished by Hume, the historian, well known for
his infidelity. An intimate friend having asked him what he thought
of Mr. Whitefield's preaching.  " He is, sir," said Mr. Hume, " the
most ingenious preacher I ever heard': it is worth while to go twenty
miles to hear him."  He then repeated the following passage, which
occurred towards the close of the discourse he had been hearing:
" After a solemn pause, Mr. Whitefield thus addressed his numerous
audience: —' The attendant angel is just about to leave the threshold,
and ascend to heaven. And shall he ascend, and not bear with him
the news of one sinner, among all this multitude, reclaimed from the
error of his ways?' To give the greater effect to this exclamation,
he stamped with his foot, lifted up his eyes and hands to heaven, and
with gushing tears, cried aloud,' Stop, Gabriel! Stop, Gabriel! Stop,
ere you enter the sacred portals, and yet carry with you the news of
one sinner converted to God.' He then, in the most simple, but energetic language, described what he called a Saviour's dying love to
sinful man, so that almost the whole assembly melted into tears. This
address was accompanied with such animated, yet natural action, that
it surpassed any thing I ever saw or heard in any other preacher."
Happy had it been for Mr. Hume, if, in addition to his admiration
of the preacher, he had received the doctrine which he taught, and
afforded an instance of that conversion to God which Mr. Whitefield
so ardently longed for on behalf of his hearers.
EDWARD COLSTON, THE BRISTOL MERCHANT.
EDWARD COLSTON, at the age of forty years, became a very eminent
East India merchant, prior to the incorporation of the East India
Company, and had forty sail of ships of his own, with immense riches
flowing in upon him. He still remained uniform in his charitable
disposition, distributing many thousand pounds to various charities
in and about London, besides private gifts in many parts of the kingdom. In the year 1708, he instituted a very magnificent school in
St. Augustine's-back, in Bristol, which cost him ~11,000 in the building, and endowed the same with between ~1,700, and ~1,800 per
annum forever. He likewise gave ~10 for apprenticeing every boy,
and for twelve years after his death ~10 to put them into business.
It has been frequently reported that his private charities far exceeded




LIVES AND INCIDENTS OF EMINENT MEN.  223
those in public. "We have heard," says the Britishi Journal," that
one of his ships trading to the East Indies had been missing
upwards of three years, and was supposed to be destroyed at sea, but
at length she arrived, richly laden.  When  his principal clerk
brought him the report of her arrival, and of the riches on board,
he said, as she was totally given up for lost, he would by no means
claim any right to her; therefore he ordered the ship and merchandise to be sold, and the produce thereof to be applied towards the
relief of the needy, which directions were immediately carried into
execution. Another singular inst.ance of his tender consciousness for
charity was at the age of forty, when he entertained some thoughts
of changing his condition. He paid his addresses to a lady, but being
very timorous lest he should be hindered in his pious and charitable
designs, he was determined to make a Christian trial of her temper
and disposition, and therefore one morning filled his pockets with gold
Clnd silver, in order that, if any object presented itself in the course
of their tour over London bridge, he might satisfy his intentions.
While they were walking near St. Magnus Church, a poor woman
solicited for alms. He beheld. the wretched object, put his hand
in his pocket, and took out a handful of gold and silver, casting it into
the poor woman's lap. The lady being greatly alarmed at such profuse generosity, colored prodigiously;' so that, when they were gone
a little further towards the bridge-foot, she turned to him, and said,
"Sir, do you know what you did a few minutes ago?"  " Madam,"
replied Mr. Colston,';I never let my right hand know what my left
hand doeth." He then took his leave of her, and for this reason
never married to the day of his death, although he lived to the age
of eighty-five.
EA RL FITZWILLIAM, AND THE HONEST FARMER.
A FARMER called on the Earl Fitzwilliam to represent to him that
his crop of wheat had been seriously injured in a field adjoining a
certain wood where his lordship's hounds had during the winter frequently met to hunt. He stated that the young wheat had been so
cut up and destroyed that in some parts he could not hope for any
produce. "Well, my friend," said his lordship, "I am aware that
we have frequently met in that field, and that we have done considerable injury; and if you can procure an estimate of the loss you have
sustained I will repay you."  The farmer replied, that anticipating
his'ordship's consideration and kindness, he had requested a friend
to assist him in estimating the damage, and they thought that as the
crop seemed quite destroyed, fifty pounds would not more than repay
him. The earl immediately gave him the money.
As;he harvest, however, approached, the wheat grew, and in those




234  LIVES AND INCIDENTS  OF EMINENT  MEN.
parts of the field which were most trampled the corn was strongest
and most luxuriant.  The farmer went again to his lordship, and
being introduced, said, "I am come, my lord, respecting the field of
wheat adjoining such a wood."  His lordship immediately recollected
the circumstance.  "Well, my friend, did not I allow you sufficient
to remunerate you for your loss?"  " Yes, my lord, I find that Ihave sustained no loss at all, for where the horses had most cut up
the land the crop is most promising, and I have therefore brought the
fifty pounds back again."  "Ah i" exclaimed the venerable earl,' this is what I like; this is as it should be between man and man."
He then entered into conversation with the farmer, asking him  some
questions about his family-how many children he had, &c. His lordship then went into another room, and returning, presented the farmer
with a cheque for one hundred pounds, saying, "Take care of this,
and when your eldest son is of age present it to him, and tell him the
occasion that produced it."  We know not which to admire most, the
honesty of the farmer on the one hand, or on the other, the benevolence and the wisdom displayed bj this illustrious man; for while
doing a noble act of generosity, he was handing down a lesson of
integrity to another generation.
aNOTHER BRUTUS
IN the reign of Henry the Eighth, Fitz-Stephen, merchant, Mavor
of Galway, sent his only son, as commander of a ship, to Spain, for a
cargo of wine.  The son kept the money for the purchase of the cargo;
and the Spanish merchant, who supplied the wine, sent his nephew
to receive the debt. To conceal his fraud, young Fitz-Stephen conceived the plan of murdering the Spaniard; a project, in which he
brought the crew to combine.  The Spaniard was seized in bed,
thrown overboard, and the ship arrived in port.
Some time after, one of the sailors was taken ill, and, being at the
point of death, confessed the horrid deed in which he had participated.
The father, though struck with horror, shook off the parent, and said,
", Justice should take its course."  And, as mayor, he caused his son
to be committed, With the rest of the crew, and the father, like Brutus,
sat in judgment on his son, and with his own lips pronounced the
sentence which left him childless!




FACTS AND COUNSELS.
DR. MURIRAY'S HABITS OF STUDY.
THE late Dr. Murray, of Elizabeth, New Jersey, a few years
since was at a clerical conference, where each minister told for
the benefit of the others his own experience in the nmatter of
composing sermons. The doctor said that he spenlt usually the
entire mlornings of five days, never less than four days, in the
composition of a sermon, and that he was never without at least
three finished sermons ahead. It is a recorded fact that after
his death there were found in his desk no less than four finished
sermons, fully written out, which had never been preached, besides a fifth sermon already on the stocks. I am informed that
he has, at times, had as many as eight sermons ahead.  The
doctor, moreover, was abundant in other labors of the pen. He
wrote several books. He wrote many popular lectures and addresses. He wrote almost every week an article for the New,
Yorle Observer, filling from one to two columns of that paper..
He was a frequent attendant upon ecclesiastical councils of'
various kinds, and upon literary festivals.  Yet he never'
seemed to be in a hurry, never pressed for time. He had all
the comfort of a gentleman  of leisure. It was simply because
he early formed, and ever adhered to, the habit of being before —
hand with every engagement. I knew him welT, and I hacd
from his own lips the circumstances in which he began his
ministerial career. Immediately after leaving the seminary he;entered upon an important charge at Wilkesbarre, Penlnsylvania..
He told me that on his first Sabbath there he exhausted his
entire stock in trade, so far as written sermons went. He had'
gone to the place with nothing prepared but his presbyterial
trial pieces, and he had used those all ulp the first week of his
ministry.  On the Monday morning following, the first thinga
after breakfast, he went to his stud'y andc put his next sermon
on the anvil, and hammered away at it the entire morning, and'
he continued thus to work at it every day, and to the exclusion:
of every other thing, until the sermon was completed. He
settled this irrevocably and unchangeably as his method of
procedure, and he kept it up through life. It was the samewith every other professional engagement. He never allowed
himself to drift along till near the time when any public duty
was to be performed, and then turn in with frantic haste to.
make his preparations. He pursued no such spendthrift course
16                                        235




236           FACTS  AND COUNSELS.
as that, but, on the contrary, was always in ample time. Hle
lived intellectually on the right side of his income.  The consequence was he was never hurried, never anxious, never thrown
out by unforseen accidents. The habit gave him a feeling of
ease and independence that shone forth in his very face.-John
S. Hart, LL. D.
WORIKING UNDER DISADVANTAGES.
WHo shall reckon up the countless circumstances which lie
like a depressing burden on the energies of men, and make them
work at that disadvantage which we have thought of under the
figure of carrying weight in life?  There are men who carry
weight in a damp, marshy neighborhood, who, amid bracing
mountain air, might have clone things which now they will
never do. There are men who carry weight in an uncomfortable
house: in smoky chimneys: in a study with a dismal look-out:
in distance from a railway-station: in ten miles between them
and a bookseller's shop. Give another hundred a year of incomne, and the poor struggling parson who preaches dull sermons
will astonish you by the talent he will exhibit, when his mindc
is freed from  the dismal, depressing influence of ceaseless
schreming to keep the wolf from the door. Let the poor little.sick child grow strong and well, and with how much better
heart will its father face the work of life! Let the clergyman
who preached, in a spiritless enough. way, to a handful of uneducated rustics, be placed in a charge where weekly he has to
address a large cultivated congregation; and with the new;stimulus, latent powers may manifest thenmselves which no one
faneied he polssessed, and he may prove quite an eloquent and
attractive preachller. A dull, quiet man, whom you esteemed
as a blockhead, may suddenly be valued very differently when
circumstances unexpectedly call out the solid qualities he possesses, unsuspected before. A man, devoid of brilliancy, may
on occasion show that he possesses great good sense; or that
he has the power of sticking to his task, in spite of discouragement. Let a man be placed where dogged perseverance will
stand him in stead, and you may see what be can do when he
has but a chance. The especial weight which has held some
men back-the thing which kept them from doing great things
and attaining great fame —has been just this: that they were
not able to say or to write what they have thought and felt.
And indeed a great poet is nothing more than the one man in
a million who has the gift to express that which has been in the
mind and heart of multitudes. If even the most commonplace
of human beings could write all the poetry he has felt, he would
produce something that would go straight to the hearts of
many. —Country Parson.




FACTS  AND  at(, rNSELS.                  237
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
WE have been looking at a photograph of Florence Nightingale, taken for Queen Victoria. It was a gift of one queen to
another.  Tle recipient was the sovereign of Britain; the giver
is the "queen of hearts " the world over —the most popular
womran on the globe. Neither of these two foremost women of'
our time are beauitiful according to an artist's canons.  Victoria
has grown stout, florid, and matronly.  Her character has
ripened, too, into nobleness.  Dr. M'Leod, of Glasgow, one of
her chaplains, spent a week with her at Balmoral, and after
many free familiar conversations with her Majesty, expressed
his surprise at her mental vigor and reach of thought.  He said
he always knew his Queen had a good heart; he did not know
that she had so vigorous a mind.
Florence Nightingale is younger than her royal sister of
Windsor Castle, having just completed her fortieth year.
Judging from the photograph, she is slight in person, and has a
quiet, kindly, oldl-maidish face. She is just such a woman as the
Creator would make for such a mission of benevolence.  She
is no bewitching Hebe, stealing young officers' hearts by diamond
eyes and cherry lips; nor is she a hard-featilred'" Sairey Gainp,"'
with sleeves and dress tucked up, and going about her work
with the rueful alacrity of an undertaker.  Her face is a trifle
sad, but beaming with benevolence. After all, as Mrs. Primrose
says, "what is good-looking but looking good?"
Miss Nightingale is the founder of our modern sanitary system,
and did more than any one else to put it on the basis of Christianity and practical common-sense.  So sensible an enthusiast
has scarcely ever been known. Of English ancestry, she was
yet born under the sunny skies of Italy, and received her name
of Florence from the beautiful city of her birth. Her father's
name was Shore, but he adopted the name of his grand-uncle,
Peter Nightingale, on inheriting his estates. Florence's granldfather, Hon. William Smith, was a co-worker with Wilberforce in
Parliament in the abolition of West India slavery.  Reared in
wealth, with elegant mental culture, she evinced an early passion
for caring for the sick, and her favorite books were those which
treated of hospitals and institutions for the infirm.  One of her
earliest ideas was that Protestanism neecled some counterpart
to the " Sisters of Charity " in the Romish Church. Accordingly, she went as a pupil to Pastor Fliedner's "'school of
deaconesses " at Kaiserswerth, on the Rhine. In 1854 the
sorrowful tidings of the sufferings and barbarities in the
Crimean Hospitals reached England, and aroused the intensest
feeling of the British nation.   Mr. Sidney Herbert proposed to
Miss Nightingale that she should go thither with a staff of
nurses. She took forty-two ladies with her; fifty more soon




238           FACTS A  D COUNSELS.
followed, and of these, like many of our own heroines in hospital duty, a large portion belonged to the refined ranks of
society.
With Florence Nightingale's beautiful work of philanthropy
at Scutari all our readers are familiar. How she revolutionized
the hospitals; how she brought order out of confusion, carelessness, and chaos; how she won the poor wounded soldiers' hearts
that one of them said that he kissed her shadow as it fell across
his pillow; and how she stood up for twenty hours each day
with a kind word and a smile for every sufferer;,all this the
world knows by heart. Her love-labor of two busy years at
Scutari cost her her own health; she came home a broken invalid, never to regain the bloom and vigor of her early days.
The queen sent her an autograph letter of thanks, with a costly
diamond; the soldiers offered to build her a monument, which
she declined; and a quarter of a million dollars was raised to
found an institution for training nurses under her direction.
Miss Nightingale's home is among the emerald hills and leafy
lanes of Derbyshire.  She has employed her leisure hours in
writing the admirable "Notes on Nursing," a capital volume,
that appeared three years ago. This work ought to be in the
hands of every nurse in our national army. It would do us all
good to read it, and to listen to such considerate hints as the
following passage contains; for who of us is not sometimes
called to the ministrations of the sick-room?  In replying to
the petulant charge that the sick or wounded might have " more
self-control," good, gentle Florence says:
"Believe me, almost any sick person, who behaves decently
well, exercises more self-control every moment of his day than
you will ever know till you are sick yourself. Almost every
step that crosses his room is painful to him; almost every
thought that crosses his brain is painful to him; and if he can
speak without being savage, and look without being unpleasant,
he is exercising self-control.
"' Suppose you have been up all night, and instead of being
allowed to have your cup of tea, you were to be told that you
ought to'exercise self-control,' what should you say? Now
the nerves of the sick are always in the state that yours are in
after you have been up all night. "-P. 35.
Miss Nightingale is deservedly severe on the evil practice of
worrying the sick and wounded with needless calls and exacting talk. "I hope you are none the worse for my call," is the
frequent apology of such do-no-good intruders. "No real patient," observes Miss Florence, "will ever say'Yes, I am a
great deal worse,' even though such untimely visits have sometimes been followed by a night of delirium."
A few months since Miss Nightingale addressed a letter to
Lord Stanley on the sanitary condition of the arnrv in Ori T



FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.                     239
In this letter she makes one most important declaration, which
we commend to our American officers, and not to them only,
but to the whole nation.  She says, " The long cherished idea
as to the necessity of ardent spirits for the British soldier is
thoroughly exploded.  A man who drinks tea or coffee will do
more work than a dram-drinker, though considered sober."
Well spoken, good angel Florence 1 we would go a long way to
kiss the hand that wrote these few weighty words.  Her testirmony on such a point is worth the 6' deliverances " of a score
of synods and conventions.
TRIUMPH OF ARNOLD AND WORDSWORTH.
REV. F. W. ROBERTSON  iM.A.
IT was my lot, during a short university career, to witness
a transition and a reaction, or revulsion, of public feeling,
with respect to two great men whom I have already mentionel
and contrasted.  The first of these was one who was every inch
a man-Arnold of Rugby. You will all recollect, how in his
earlier life, Arnold was covered with suspicion and obloquy; how
the wise men of his dav charged him with latitudinarianisli,
and I know not with how many other heresies.  But the public
opinion altered, and he came to Oxford, and read lectures on
Molodern History. Such a scene had not been witnessed in Oxford
before. The lecture-room was too small; all adjourned to the
Oxford theatre; and all that was most brilliant, all that was
most wise and'most distinguished, gathered together there. lHe
walked up to the rostrum with a quiet step and manly dignity.
Those who had loved him when all the world despised him, felt
that, at last, the hour of their triumph had come. But there
was something deeper than any personal triumph they could
enjoy; and those who saw him then will not soon forget the
lesson read to them by his calm, dignified, simple step-a lesson
teaching them the utter worthlessness of unpopularity, or of poplarity, as a test of manhood's worth.
The second occasion was when, in the same theatre, Wordsworth came forward to receive his honorary degree. Scarcely had
his name been pronounced, than from three thousand voices at
once, there broke forth a burst of applause, echoed and taken up
again and again, when it seemed about to die away, and that
thrice repeated-a cry in which
"Old England's heart and voice unite,
Whether she hail the wine cup or the fight,
Or bid each hand be strong, or bid each heart be light."
There were young eyes there filled with an emotion of which
they had no need to be ashamed; there were hearts beating with
the proud feeling of triumph, that, at last, the world had recog



240            FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
nized the merit of the man they had loved so long, and
acknowledged as their teacher; and yet, when that noise was
protracted, there came a reaction in their feelings, and they began to perceive that that was not, after all, the true reward and
recompense for all that Wordsworth had done for England; it
seemed as if all that noise was vulgarizing the poet; it seemed
more natural and desirable, to think of him afar off in his silple
dlales and mountains, the high priest of Nature, weaving in
honored poverty his songs to liberty and truth, than to see hiin
there clad in a scarlet robe, and bespattered with applause.
Two young men went home together, part of the way in silence,
and one only gave expression to the feelings of the other when
lie quoted those well-known, trite, and often-quoted lines-lines
full of deepest truth" The self-approving hour whole worlds outweighs
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas;
And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels
Than C(sar with a senate at his heels.'
JOHN W~ESLEY'S DREATM.
DEAN STANLEY.
"IN my Father's house are many mansions."  We do not
know whether 1" those that shall be saved will be few or many."
It may be that those who are able to struggle through the
straight gate will be very few. It may be that the good, and
the true, and the just will be in a minority in the next life, as
they usually are in this life.  But whether few or many, the
Bible reveals to us most clearly the truth which our carnal,
narrow  hearts are -very unwilling to receive —namllely, that
amongst tle good, whom we hope to meet in heaven, there will
be every variety of character, taste, and disposition.  There is
not one;6 mansion " there, but " many; there is not one "gale "
to heaven, but many —there are not gates only on the north, but
" on the east, three gates; on the west, three gates; and on the
south, three gates."  FArom opposite quarters of the theological
compass, from  opposite quarters of the religious world, from
opposite quarters of humlan life and character; through different
expressions of their common faith and hope, through different
modes of conversion, throughl different kinds of instruction and
teaching, through different portions of the Holy Scriptureswill the weary travellers enter the Heavenly City, and meet each
other, " not without surprise," on the shores of the same river
of life. And on those shores they will find a tree bearing, not
the same kind of fruit always and at all times, but "twelve
manner of fruits," for every different turn of mind-for the
patient sufferer, for the active servant, for the holy and humble
uhilosopher, for the spirits of just men now at last made per



FACTS AN-, COUNSELS.                     241
feet; and " the leaves of the tree shall be for the healing," not
of one single church or people only, not for the Scotchman or
the Engllishman only, but for the healing of the nations," —the
Frenchman, the German, the Italian, the lRussian-for all those
from whom, it may be, in this world its fruits have been farthest
removed, but who, nevertheless, have "hungered and thirsted
after righteousness," and who, therefore, " shzal be filled."
And here again, let me tell a third tale of the dark night,
which shows how the light of the other world, in this its most
evangelical aspect, dawned upon the soul of a great teacher
amongst ourselves.  It is said that John WTesley once, in the
visions of the night, found himself, as he thought, at the gates
of hell. He knocked, and asked who were within.'6 Are there
an l Romanl Catholics here? " he asked. "Yes," was the answer,
" a great many."  "Any Church of England men? "  " Yes, a
great many."  "Any Presbyterians? "  "Yes, a great many."'
6; Any Wesleyans? " " Yes, a great many." Disappointed and
dismayed, especially at the last reply, he turned his steps upwards, and' found himself at the gates of Paradise, and here he
repeated the same questions. "Any WesleyTans here? " " No. "'"Any Presbyterians? "  "No."  "Any Church of England
men??"" No." "  Any Roman Catholics? " " No."  " Whom
have you then here?" he asked in astonishment.  "We know
nothing here," was the reply, " of any of those names that you
have mentioned.  The only name of which we know anything
here is' Christian;' we are all Christians here, and of these we
have sa great multitcude which no man can number, of all nations,
and kindreds, and peoples, and tongues."
Yes, we shall be obliged in heaven to meet with Christians,
with good men, of very different opinions.  Had we not better
prepare for that meeting, by consenting to meet with them on
earth? We shall be obliged there to make little of our differences, to put up with diversity of opinions, and ranks, and
pursuits.  Haid we not better moderate our differences here, and
bear and forbear with these diversities in this world? Is it not
a waste of time to try to force all our fellow travellers through
our own gate now, when we shall be obliged hereafter to welcome
those who entered from the western gate, though we have entered from  the eastern, and those who have entered from the
southern gate, though we have entered from the northern?
How wide the gates of heaven stand open! how many different
characters will eb found amongst the elect.
DJURATION OF LIFE.
MANY attempts have been made-all of which appear to me
total failures-to make out the ratio of man's whole life to the




242           FACTS  AIdo  COUNSELS.
portion required for reaching maturity to be. the same as with
other animals.  So far as I can make out, the time for full
growth in the other mamlmals, is one seventh of the natural term
of existence, and in man one fourth at the very utmost. To
take eighty as about man's natural term (when acute diseases
and accidents do not intervene) is rather the outside; and the full
growth of the bones is seldom complete before twenty, often not
till later.
A horse that has not been worked when young, (which nineteen twentieths or more are,) and is complete at five, is not
older at thirty-five than a man at eighty. A dog, which is
complete at or before two years, will live (if allowed) to thirteen
or fourteen.  And I believe the like ratio will hold good with
most of the mammals when fairly used, namely, one seventh of
the life is taken up in reaching maturity. Man, therefore, ought
by the same rule, to reach his regular term at one hundred and
forty years —double the  Psalmist's allowance. As for the
physical cause of the long duration of life in the early ages of
the world, I thinkl the only plausible theory is that which attributes it to the use of the tree of life by our first parents,
before they were expelled from Paradise, which was likely to
have imparted to the constitution of their descendants a
strength, which was slowly and gradually worn out in many
generations.
With reference to the final cause —the purpose to be answered
-great longevity was manifestly of great importance, with a
view to the invention of the arts of life before writing was in
use, that each man might have the benefit of his own very long
experience.-Archbishop Whately.
MEN OF GENIUS.
TAsso's conversation was neither gay nor brilliant. Dante
was either taciturn or satirical. Butler was either sullen or bitinog. Gray seldom talked or smiled. Hogarth and Swift were
absent-minded in company. Milton was very unsociable and
irritable, when pressed into conversation.  Kirwan, though
copious and eloquent in public addresses, was meagre and dull
in colloquial discoulses. Virgil was heavy in conversation.
La Fontaine appeared heavy, coarse and stupid; he could not
speak and describe what he had just seen; but then he was the
model of poetry.  Chaucer's silence was more agreeable than
his conversation.  Dryden's conversation was slow and dull,
his humor saturnine and reserved. Cornelius in conversation
was so insipid that he never failed in wearying; he did not even
speak correctly that language of which he was such a master.
Ben Johnson used to sit silent in company and suck his wine.




FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.                     243
Southey was stiff, sedate, and wrapped up in  asceticism.
Addison was -good company with his intimate friends, but in
mixed company he preserved his dignity by a stiff and reserved
silence. Fox in conversation never flagged; his animation
and vivacity were inexhaustible.  Dr. Bentley was loquacious,
as was also Grotius. Goldsmith " wrote like an angel and talked
like poor poll."  Burke was entertaining, enthusiastic, and interesting in conversation.   Curran was a convivial deity.
Leigh Hunt was a pleasant stream in conversation. - Carlyle
doubts, objects, and constantly demurs.
WORIK WITHOUT WEARINESS.
REV. WM. MORLEY PUNSHON.
ACTION is the destiny and the lot of man. All thu conditions
of his existence suppose his activity. It is so in his physical
frame.  The elastic foot is for speed; the firm, lithe limb, for
endurance; the arm, at once supple and sinewy, for toil; the
eye and the ear for their respective revelries of sight and sound.
It is so in his mental constitution.  By the active exercise of
the powers with which God has endowed him, he canl classify
objects andi understand truth.  He has a memory by which he
can inherit the past, a regal imagination by which he can colonize and almost enact the future.  It is so in his moral nature.
There is a power of perception within him to distinguish between r1ight and wrong; an instinct of worship which, however
he may brutalize, he cannot stifle; yearnings after a nobler life
which neither can debauchery extinguish, nor muglder wholly
kill. -Moreover, God has made the vigor of the faculties contingent upon their exercise.  The muscle will shrink if it be
never strung.  The moveless arml  will stiffen into hopeless catalepsy, while
- " The athlete, worsted in the Olympic games,
Gains strength, at least, for life."
Man was not made simply to live, the mere passive recipient of
external impressions, a lifeless harp upon which each fitfulwindcl
might play; he was made to act, to will, to influence, to become
a power, to be the living centre of ever radiating impressions.
His existence is not to be that of a zoophyte, the mere clinging
of a helpless parasite to its guardian irock; it is to be a life,
beautiful and holy, beating with quick pulses of activity, adventurous with an energy of which insensate mlatter knows not,
and finding in the rapturous doing life's very soul of joy.
But though doing is a necessity of all, well-doing is not now
natural to any.  YWe have lost the inheritance of moral manhood.




24z4           FACTS AN D  COUNSELS.
A strange weakness has paralyzed the sources of our former
power. Distrust and alienation are the mildest forms of feeling
in which we naturaliy think upon God; and so thorough is the
spiritual decrepitude, so great the stoop and ail of our moral
nature, that we can hardly conceive of a time when it was erect
and healthy, and are almost disposed to think upon Eden as
some fable of the classic olden time, or ancient limner's dream.
~Thile this is the actual condition of humanity, there is hope
in its future destiny, and in its present experience too, because
Christianit;y has revealed her glad tidings of great joy. By the
death of Christ, the accepted substitute and propitiation, provision is made for the transformation of the nature, and by the
shedding forth of the Holy Ghost, the application of that provision is secured to the believing soul.  It is quite possible,
therefore, that an entire counteraction should be set up against
the depravity of the Fall; well-doing -may become, as it once
was, n-ot a casual achievement, nor a momentary chivalry, but
the rule of every day, the native and constant forthputting of
the clean heart and of the right spirit.
It is possible that many who did well should grow weary in
well-doing.  The exhortation deprecates this.  Weariness in
well-doing I How readily it creeps even upon the -most vigilant
of us! Who has not felt its tendencies, and had to rise and
shake himself, if, happily, the drowsiness might be removed
from  his soul?  Weariness in well-doing! Under the dread
spell of its inconstancy, fa.ir plans have proved abortive, and
generous youth have languished into premature  age, and Christian consistency has come by a scar upon its beauty, and the
edifice of Christian graces has been stayed in its erection, till
the scoffing world, gazingl' from the unfinished masonry to the
sluggard builder, says, " This man began to build, and was not
able to finish."
The causes of this weariness are manifold, and we may each
of us find them for ourselves if we study the Book that is within.  Was it slothl that overcame us.?  Did we shrink from the
effort of continued resistance to evil, and of perpetual watchfullness against our own insidious sin?  Was it self-co-mplacency
that obtained possession of our hearts; that old serpent of
Tanity which whispered us into carnal security?  Was it anger
which seized us in its petulanlt grasp, because we were not appreciated by our fellows, and were mortified to find the hollow
preference given to inferior men, because some coveted preeminence was denied us, and our efforts to do good cwere met
only with prejudice or scorn?  Was it re.spectability /which
waved us off from commoner fellowship, which bade us leave all
personal toil to the hewers and drawers among the people, and
which told us that we could condone for our forsakefi labor by
our willingnless to direct and to subscribe?  AWas it the slpirit




FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.                      245
of inditerence which exhausted our energies? Had we entered
upon a work too high for us, which demanded sacrifices that our
heroism could not reach, and imposed restraints from which our
passion fretted in rebellion?  Ah! how many are there who
thus rest in luxurious harbors until they lose their roll, or lull
themselves into disastrous, and well nigh hopeless slumber,
upon the worldc's enchanted ground.
But why weary in well-doing? The obligations which pressed
upon us so forcibly in our early decision have not diminished
in their importance or grandeur.  The soul is worth as much.
God's claims are as imperative.  Eternity is as magnificent,
and it is not farther of,; but nearer. HIeaven has not withered
fiom  it-s eternal spring.  Hell is not less certain and real.
There is no change, save only in ourselves.  The motives remain with equal, nay, with greater constraint upon us, -for there
are fewer sands in our life-glass than when we first began. Oh,
to cast off the weariness, and. in recovered strength to go forth
in the service of the Lord I
"' Ye shall reap if ye faint not."  The harvest is certain, and
it is nearing.  Every pulse approximates it.  Every clday is
hastening its approach.  Every Sabbath brings us nearer to the
sound of the joy bells, which, to usher in the eternal Sabbath,
are ringing as for a bridal.  Why be weary now!  Does the
pilgrim  halt when hle is in sight of the shrine?  Though the
racer may be panting and' breathless, surely he will press on
when the goal of his wishes is before him.  Courage, my flagging brother! The call is upon thee, hearken to it, and thine
shall be the recompence of the reward.
THE GiREAT IMOUNTAINS.
J0OHN ItUSKIN,  M.A.
THE lmountains could not stand for a day unless they were
formed of materials altogether different from those which constitute the lower hills and the surfaces of the valleys. A harder
substance had to be prepared for every mountain chain, yet not
so hard but that it mlight be capable of crumblinug down into
earth, fit to nourish the Alpine forest and the Alpine flower;
not so hard but that, in the midst of the utmost majesty of its
enthroned strength, there should be seen on it the seal of death,
and the writing' of the same sentence that had gone forth agoainst
the human frame, " Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."  And with this perishable substance the most inmajestic
forms were to be fiamed that were consistent with the;afety of
man; and the peak was to be lifted, and the cliff rent, as high
and as steeply as possible, in order yet to permit the shepherd




246            FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
to feed his flocks upon the slope, and the cottage to nestle be
neath their shadow.
And observe, two distinct ends were to be accomplished in
the doing this.  It was, indeed, absolutely necessary that such
eminences should be created, in order to fit the earth in any
wise for human habitation; for without mountains the air could
not be purified, nor the flowing of the rivers sustained, and the
earth must have become for the most part desert plain, or stagnant marsh. But the feeding of the rivers, and tile purifying  of
the winds, are the least of the services appointed to thle hills.
To fill the thirst of the human heart for the beauty of God's
working-to startle its lethargy with the deep and pure agitation
of astonishment-are their higher missions.  They are as a
great and noble architecture; first, giving shelter, comfort and
rest; and covered also with mighty sculpture and painted
legend. It is impossible to examine in their connected system,
the features of even the most ordinary mountain scenery, without concluding that it has been prepared in order to unite, as
far as possible, and in the closest compass, every means of delighting and sanctifying the heart of man. " As far as possible,"
that is, as far as is consist;ent with the fulfillent of the sentence
of condemnation on the -whole earth.  Death tmust he -upon the
hills, and the cruelty of the tempest smite them, and the briar
and thorn spring up upon them; but they so smite, as to bring
their rocks into the fairest forms, and so spring, as to mnake the
very desert blossom as the rose.  Even among our own hills of
Scotland and Cumberland, though often too barren to be perfectly beautiful, and always too low to be perfectly sublime, it
is stralnge how mainy deep sources of delight are gathered into
the compass of their glens and vales; and how, down to the
mlost secret cluster of their far-away flowers, and the idlest leap
of their straying streamlets, the whole heart of Nature seems
thirsting to give, and still to. give, shedding forth her everlasting
beneficence with a profusion so patient, so passionate, that our
utmost observance and thankfulness are but, at least, neglect
of her nobleness, and apathy to her love.  But among- the true!
mountains of the greater orders, the Divine purpose of appeal
at once to all the faculties of the human spirit becomes still
more manifest.  Inferior hills ordinarily interrupt, in some degree, the richness of the valleys at their feet; the gray dowins
of southern Eongland, and treeless coteaux of central France,
and gray swells of Scottish moor, whatever peculiar charm they
may possess in themselves, are at least destitute of those which
belong to the woods and fields of the lowlands.  But the great
mountains lift the lowlands on their sides.  Let the reader
imagine, first, the appearance of the most varied plain of some
richly cultivated country; let him imagine it dark with graceful
woods, and soft with deepest pastures; let him fill the space of




FACTS AND     f VNSELS.                   247
it, to the utmost horizon, with innumerable and changeful incidents of scenery and life; leading pleasant streamlets through
its meadows, strewing clusters of cottages beside their banks,
tracing sweet footpaths through its avenues, and animating its
fields with happy flocks, and slow wandering spots of cattle;
and when he has wearied himself with endless imagining, and
left no space without some loveliness of its own, let him conceive
all this great plain, with its infinite treasures of natural beauty
and happy human life, gathered up in God's hand from one end
of the horizon to the other, like a woven garment, and shaken
into deep falling folds, as the robes droop from a king's shoulders; all its bright rivers leaping into cataracts along the hollows of its fall, and all its forests rearing themselves aslant
against its slopes, as a rider rears himself back when his horse
plunges; and all its villages nestling themselves into the new
windings of its glens; and all its pastures thrown into steep
waves of greensward, dashed with dew along the edges of their
folds, and sweeping down into endless slopes, with a cloud here
and there lying quietly, half on the grass, half in the air; and
he will have as yet, in all this lifted world, only the foundation
of one of the great Alps.
They seem to have been built for the human race, as at once
their schools and cathedrals; full of treasures of illuminated
manuscript for the scholar, kindly in simple lessons to the
worker, quiet in pale cloisters for the thinker, glorious in holiness for the worshippers.  And of these great cathedrals of the
earth, with their gates of rock, pavements of cloud, choirs of
stream and stone, altars of snow, and vaults of purple, traversed
by the continual stars-of these, as we have seen, it was written,
nor long ago, by one of the best of the poor human race for
whom it was built, wondering in himself for whom their Creator
could have made them, and thinking to have entirely discerned
the Divine intent in them —'   They are inhabited by the Beasts.'
Mountains are, to the rest of the body of the earth, what
violent muscular action is to the body of man.  The muscles
and tendons of its anatomy, are, in the mountains, brought out
with fierce and convulsive energy, full of expression, passion,
and strength; the plains and the lower hills are the repose and
the effortless motion of the frame, when its muscles lie dormant
and concealed beneath the lines of its beauty, yet ruling those
lines in their every undulation.  This, then, is the first grand
principle of the truth of the earth.  The spirit of the hills is
action; that of the lowlands, repose; and between these there
is to be found every variety of motion and of rest; from the inactive plain sleeping like the firmament, with cities for stars, to
the fiery peaks, which, with heaving bosoms and exulting limbs,
with the clouds drifting like hair from their bright foreheads,
lift up their Titan. hands to Heaven, saying, " I live forever! "




248           FACTS aND  COUNSELS.
EVILS OF MENTAL PRECOCITY.
TIIE premature development of the mind and neglect of the
body, have long been prominent evils in our educational system.
It is often very pleasant to fond parents to see how bright,
intelligent, and witty their children are; and they often find
great satisfaction in showing to others the brilliancy and mental sprightliness of their precocious darlings. Such parents
know not what they are doing. All the praise lavished by such
parental folly, and fond aunts, and doting grandparents, and
injudicious friends, tends to the serious injury and almost certain destruction of their children. Their keen flashes and
sparkling witticisms are but the indic'ations of an over-stretched
mind and a neglected body.  Our many systems of education
thus destroy many children every year.  This neglect of the
physical, and stimulating the mental man, is the more to be deplored, from the fact that this early precocity is wholly unnecessary, because many of the best educated and most useful
men the world has ever seen, were very dull pupils in early
childhood. Andrew Fuller, Sir Walter Scott, and Daniel Webster, were very dull scholars when children; and yet who. has
ever done more in theological discussion than the former?  Or
who, in the whole world of intellect, than the second? Or who
at the bar and in the Senate than the latter? —How to Enjoy
Life.
READERS AND WRITERS.
READING without purpose is sauntering, not exercise. More
is got from one book on which the thought settles for a definite
end in knowledge, than from libraries skimimed over by a
wandering eye. A cottage flower gives honey to the bee, a
kingy's garden none to the butterfly. Youths who are destined
for active careers, or ambitious of distinction in such forms of
literature as require freshness of invention or originality of
thought, should avoid the habit. of intense study for many hours
at a stretch. There is a point in all tensions of the intellect
beyond which effort is only waste of strength. Fresh ideas do
not readily spring up within a weary brain; and whatever exhausts the mind, not only enfeebles its power, but narrows its
scope. We often see men who have over-read at college, entering upon life as languidly as if they were about to leave it.
They have not the vigor to cope with their own generation; for
their own generation is young, and they have wasted the
nervous energy which supplies the sinews of war to youth in
its contest for fame or fortune.
Study with regularity, at settled hours. Those in the forenoon are the best, if they can be secured. The man who has




FACTS AND COUNSELS.                    249
acquired the habit of study, though for only one hour every day
in the year, and keeps to the one thing studied till it is mastered, will be startled to see the progress he has made at the end
of a twelvemlonth. He is seldom overworked who can contrive
to be in advance of his work. If you have three weeks before
you to learn something which a man of average quickness could
learn in a week, learn it the first week and not the third.
Business dispatched is business well done, but business hurried
is business ill done. In learning what others have thought, it
is well to keep in practice the power to thinkl for one's self;
when an author has added to your knowledge, pause and consider if you can add nothing to his. Be not contented to have
learned a problem by heart; try and deduce from it a corollary
not in the book. Spare no pains in collecting details before
you generalize; but it is only when details are generalized that
a truth is grasped. The tendency to generalize is universal
with a11 men who achieve great success, whether in art, literature, or action. The habit of generalizing, though at first
gained with care and caution, secures by practice, a comprehensiveness of judgment, and a promptitude of decision, which
seems to the crowd like the intuitions of genius. Acnd, indeed,
nothing more distinguishes the man of genius from the mere
man of talent, than the facility of generalizing the various details, each of which demands the aptitude of a special talent;
but all of which can be only gathered into a single whole by the
grasp of a mind which may have no special aptitude for any.Bulwer.
THE AGONY OF DOUBT.
THERE is an infidelity with which no good man should have
any sympathy. There are infidels who are such, knowing what
they oppose. There are men who, in no mistake, know the
difference between good and evil, and distinctly knowing it,
choose the evil and reject the good. But there is a state called
infidelity, which deserves compassion rather than indignationthe dreadful state of one who craves light and cannot findl it. I
do think the way we treat that state, is most unpardonably
cruel. It is an awful moment when the soul begins to find that
the props on which it has blindly rested so long, are, many of
them, rotten, and begin to suspect them all; when it begins to
feel the nothingness of many of the traditionary opinions which
have been received with implicit confidence, and in that horrible
insecurity begins also to doubt whether there be anything to
believe at all. It is an awful hour —let him who has passed
through it say how awful-when this life has lost its meaning,
and seems shrivelled into a span; when the grave appears to be




250           FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.
the end of all, human goodness nothing but a name, and the sky
above this universe a dead expanse, black with the void from
which God himself has disappeared. In that fearful loneliness
of spirit, when those who should have been his friends and
counsellors only frown upon his misgivings, and profanely bid
him stifle doubts, which for aught he knows may arise from the
fountain of truth itself; to extinguish, as a glare from hell, that
which for aught he knows may be light from iHeaven, and everything seems wrapped in hideous uncertainty, I know but one
way in which a man may come forth from his agony scathless;
it is by holding fast to those things which are certain still-the
grand, simple landmarks of morality. In the darkest hour
through which a human soul can pass, whatever else is doubtful, this at least is certain. If there be no God and no future
state, yet, even then, it is better to be generous than selfish,
better to be chaste than licentious, better to be true than false,
better to be brave than to be a coward. Blessed beyond all
earthly blessedness in the man who, in the tempestuous darkness of the soul, has dared to hold fast to these venerable landmarks. Thrice blessed is he, who, when all is drear and cheerless within and without, when his teachers terrify him, and
his friends shrink from him, has obstinately clung to moral
good. Thrice blessed, because his night shall pass into clear,
bright day.
I appeal to the recollection of any man who has passed
through that hour of agony, and stood upon the rock at last,
the surges stilled below him, and the last cloud drifted from the
sky above, with a faith, and hope, and trust, no longer traditional, but of his own, a trust which neither earth nor hell shall
shake thenceforth forever. But it is not in this way generally
that men act who are tempted by doubt.  Generally, the step
from doubt is a reckless plunge into sensuality.  Then comes
the darkening of the moral being; and then from uncertainty
and skepticism it may be that the path lies unobstructed, sheer
down into Atheism. But if there be one on earth who deserves
compassion, it is the sincere, earnest, and-may I say it with.
out risk of being misunderstood?-honest doubter. Let who
will denounce him, I will not. I would stand by his side, and
say, Courage, my brother! You are darkening your own soul;
you are contradicting the meaning of your own existence. But
God is your Father, and an Infinite Spirit seeks to mingle itself
with yours. —Rev. _F. W. Robertson, A.M.
SOWING WILD OATS.
TuIS is very bad farming. We appeal to the most inveterate
protectionist, the most distressed farmer that ever lived, the




FACTS AND  COUNSELS.                     251
sturdiest stickler for ploughing as our fathers ploughed, and
sowing as our fathers sowed, whether it would not be the very
worst possible style of farming for a young farmer to sow wild
oats all over his estate-to plant weeds and thistles in every
field.  Would it not be found that the wild oats would destroy
the crops of grain; that the weeds and thistles would overpower
the grass, until the whole presented a wide and melancholy
ruin, which long years and large capital could scarcely bring
again into a profitable state?  As in the physical, so in the
moral world; the seeds of vice once sown are difficult to eradicate, and the wilful cultivation of these in the human heart will
produce a still wider ruin than the worst weeds which ever
mocked the hopes of the husbandman.
An old French writer has said, that " Disgust stands at the
door of all bad places."  It may be so, but it is to be feared
that we too often put her behind the door as we enter; and it is
only when we could come out that we meet her face to face.
We cover up her form cwith all kinds of disguises; we endeavor
to cheat ourselves into the belief that disgust is not her real
name, and that it is not the door of vice at which she stands
sentinel; and as we pass her by, and enter, we console ourselves
with the thought that we are only having a bit of a spree!
that we are in for a lark! or at any rate, that we "9must sow
some of our wild oats."  We are confident in ourselves, have
great reliance on our own correct principles and right intentions, and delude ourselves into the belief that we are only
gaining a little knowledge of the world, and showing ourselves
to be youths of spirit. And a most miserable delusion this isfostered and encouraged by the wretched fallacy we are illustrating; and by the pernicious habit of glossing over vile things
with eulogistic names. We begin, perhaps, by sowing our seeds
with a careful hand, scattering a few here and a few there, with
long intervals between them; we are not alarmed by any very
great expenditure of seed; wve hardly fancy that the correct
principles on which we rely are disturbed or shocked by these
slight deviations from the strict rule of right; we still keep in
the common routine of our duties, while we are imperceptibly
being led into temptations temptations that, by degrees, cause us to scatter
the seeds more thickly, and with fewer intervals between them,.
And we go on "sowing the wild oats" until the days of our
youth are passed, and when a miserable and premature old ag.e
draws on, we find that the tillage is not yet complete; it is only
when infirmities have rendered it impossible to pursue our
former course, that the seed-time is over; and the harvest comes
upon us at once in the shape of pains and penalties grievous to
bear. We forsake not the sowing until the power to sow is departed. We forsake not the sin until the sin forsakes us.
17




262           FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
CULTIVATE GOOD MANNERS.
DEEM it not below the dignity of the occasion, that I urge
upon you the duty of cultivating good manners.  Young men
often make a serious mistake on this point.  They think, if they
only have the substance, the form is of little moment. If they
acquire learning and professional skill, that is all they need.
They can work their way through by main force. It is a mistake. A man may have such extraordinary force of character
and talents as to compel the path of promotion to open before
him. But promotion so gained, is gained at entirely too great
a sacrifice. It is gained in spite of a very heavy drawback.
The same amount of intellectual force, combined with suitable:manners and address, would have accomplished three times the
result. A surgeon may remove a limb with the dull heavy
cleaver of the butcher. But he would hardly be thought to be
wise in preferring such an instrument to the keen, well-tempered
blade suited to his profession. By the use of a sort of brute
force, you may undoubtedly make a certain amount of impression. But if you would cut deeply, or use your force wisely,
look well to your manner. Its power in human affairs is almost
uhbounded.  Who that has ever been brought into contact with
a higohly educated Quakei', such for instance as the late Joseph
John Gurney, but has felt the controlling sway of beautiful
manners?  It was difficult in the presence of that man to say
what it was that affected you so powerfully. Other men have
had a smile equally benignant, a voice equally melodious, a gait
and motion equally graceful, a goodness of heart, a sweetness
of disposition, a gentleness and openness of speech equally in-:spiring confidence. It was somehow the infinite delicacy with
which, whatever there is to chanrm in voice or word or look or
gesture, was in him so finely tempered together that you felt as
if mingling with a being of a superior nature, and yet felt quite
as much at your ease as if talking with those of common clay.
It was real Christian goodness of heart speaking out through
the whole mlan. The very hem of his garment seemed to speak.
To analyze the manner of such a man and detect its hidden
mystery, is like attempting to analyze a delicate perfume. The
most etherial of its occult essences are sure to escape you. You
only know in such a case that there is true Christian charity at
the bottom, that there is varied knowledge and intellectual
power, and that every adventitious advantage of person and dress
is used to give whatever is said or done its very highest and
happiest effect. Such a manner is the fruit of long-continued
and most assiduous cultivation.  It is indeed to some extent a
gift of nature.  But it depends still more.upon culture and art.
It does not lose its power with the loss of youth; on the contrary, it often increases with years. Men and women in extreme




PACTS  AND  C O  NS E L S.                253
old age have been known to possess a sweet attractive grace,
an actual power of fascination, which the young could by no
means equal.
That which I recommend.. to you, is not to be woll from the
dancing master or the tailor. No one can be insensible to tlhe
claims of graceful posture, movement, and costume.  But the
charm of manner of which I have been speaking, lies deepelr
than these. It is no outside varnish.' It springs from real
gooodness of heart, from a life hid with Christ in God.  It is
Christian charity clothing itself siontaneously in fitting external
expression. It gives beauty to the plainest face, it teaches
winning  words and ways to the most ignorant. —John S. Hart,
LL.D.
POVERTY OF THE LEARNED.
OF the heroes of modern literature the accounts are as copious as they are sorrowful.
Xylander sold his notes on Dion Cassius for a dinner. He
tells us that at the age of eighteen he studied to acquire glory,
but at twenty-five he studied to get bread.
Cervantes, the immortal genius of Spain, is supposed to have
wanted food. Camoens, the solitary pride of Portugal, deprived
of the necessaries of life, perished in a hospital at Lisbon, after
having triumphed in the East Indies, and sailed five thousand
five hundred leagues. The Portuguese after his death bestowed
oil the man of g0enius they had starved the appellation of "great."
Vondel, the Dutch Shakspeare, after composing a number of
p)opular tragedies, lived in great poverty, and died at ninety.
years of age; then he had his coffin carried by fourteenl poets,
wvrho without his genius probably partook of his wretchedness.
The great Tasso was reduced to such a dilemma that lhe was
obliged to borrow a crown for a week's subsistence.  He alludes
to his distress, when entreating his cat to assist him during the
iight with the lustre of her eyes, having no candle to see to
write his verses.
Cardinal Bentivoglio, the ornamenteof Italy and of literature,
lang'uiimed in his old age in the most distressful poverty; and
having sold his palace to satisfy his creditors, left nothing behind him but his reputation.
AVugelas, the most polished writer of the French language,
who devoted thirty years to his translation of Quintus Curtius,
(a circumstance which modern translators can have no conception of,) died possessed of nothing valuable but his precious
manuscripts.  This ingenious scholar left, his corpse to the
surgeons for the benefit of his creditors.
Dryden, for less than three hundred pounds, soNl Tonson ten
thousand verses, as may be seen by the agreement.




254:         FACTS AND CO UNSELS.
Purchas, who in the reign of the first James of England spent
his time in compiling his "1 Relation of the World," when he
gave it to the public, for the reward of his labors was thrown
into prison at the suit of his printer.
Louis the Fourteenth honored Racine and Boileau with a
private monthly audience. One day the king asked what there
Vrwas  new in the literary world. Racine answered that hle had
seen a melancholy spectacle in the house of Corneille, wJhom he
found dying, deprived even of a little broth. The lking preserved a profound silence, and sent the dying poet a sum of
money.
Spenser, the child of Fancy, languished out his life in misery.
" Lord Burleig'h," says Granger, who it is said prevented the
queen giving him a hundred pounds, seems to have thought the
lowest clerk in his office a more deservilng person.
Le Sage resided in a little cottage while he supplied the world
with their most agreeable novels, and appears to have derived
the sources of his existence in his old age from the filial exertions of an excellent son, who was an actor of some genius.Curiosities of Literature.
GO ON, SIR, GO ON!
ARAGO says in his autobiography, that his master in mathlematics wrote a word or two Qf advice, which he founld in the
binding of one of his text-books. Puzzled and discouraged by
the difficulties which he met with in his early studies, he was
almost ready to give over the pursuit. Some words which he
found on the waste leaf used to stiffen the cover of his paper
bound text-book, caught his eye and interested him.  " Impelled," he says, "by an indefinable curiosity, I dampened the
cover of the book, and carefully unrolled the leaf to see what
was on the other side. It proved to be a short letter from D'
Alembert to a young person disheartened, like himself, by the
difficulties of mathematical study, who had written to him for
counsel.' Go on, sir, go on,' was the counsel which D'Alembert
gave him. "The difficulties you meet with resolve as you advance. Proceed, and light will dawn and shine with ind.eased
clearness on your path.' That maxim," says Arago, " was my
greatest master in mathematics."  Following out these simple
words, " Go on sir, go on," made him the first astronomical
mathematician of his age. What Christians it would make of
us! What heroes of faith, what sages of holy wisdom, would
we become just by acting out that maxim," Go on, sir, go on!"




FA CTS AND  COUNSELS.                     255
ABOUT SANTO CLAUS.
BY MRS. L. M. CHILD.
SANTO CLAUS has an origin much less ancient than the festival
which keeps him so busily employed; but his history goes far
back into the ancient time, and is, like many others, a singular
mixture of truth and fable. A child namecl Nicholas was born
at Panthera, in Asia Minor, some four or flve hundred years
after the birth of Jesus.  His parents, who were rich andl of
high rank, were converts to Christianity.  This son was born
to them many years after their marriage, and they received him
as an answer to their many prayers.  They wished to express
their gratitude to God by educating him  for the Christian
priesthood, and the unusual sobriety and thoughtfulness of
his boyhood confirmed them in that purpose. While he was yet
a lad, both of his parents died of the plague, and he inherited
their great wealth. But, partly friom  natural tenderness of
heart and conscience and partly from the pious training ble had
received, he did not consider the riches as his own, but as a
sacred trust placed in his hands by the HEeavenly Father.  He
fed the hungry, clothed the naked, redeenmed slaves, endowed
poor maidens with marriage-portions, supported and educated
destitute orphans, and performed all manner of charitable
works, as secretly as possible. As a priest, he was greatly
loved and reverencedl by the poor; and when he became a bishop
he continued to be as humble, self-denying, and benevolent as
ever. After his death the church canonized him; his fame extended far and wide, and he became one of the greatest patron
saints in Italy and in various Northern nations.  He was everywhere reverenced as the helper of the poor and the protector
of the weak against the strong; and hle is so represented in a
great variety of pictures in Catholic countries.  St. George was
a patron saint of knights and gentlemen; blut St. Nicholas was
the patron saint of the poor and weak, of serfs and prisoners,
and especially of little children, who were always taught to believe that all their good gifts came from him. The story of his
benevolent life received the addition of many miraculous incidents, which the untutored populace delighted to believe, and
which artists loved to commemorate in pictures.  It was said
that on the first day of his life he stood up straight in the bath,
folded his little hands, and audibly thankedl  God that he was
born into the world.  It was then the custom for members of
the church to fast on. Wednesdays and Fridays; and, so scrupulous was this baby saint, that he always refused to take his
mother's milk more than once on those dlays.  It is recorded
that a word from his mouth stilled a raging tempest at sea and
saved the lives of many sailors; that his prayers cured the sick,




256           FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
and restored three murdered boys to life. No saint had a more
extensive popularity.  The monks called himi Santo Nicolaus.
The natural tendency to clip familiar words changed this to
Santo Nic'laus, and finally to Santo'Claus.  Under this latter
name the good old bishop is still represented as coming down
our chimneys in the night, with his arms full of Christmas
presents for children.  This is very kind of him considering that
we are Protestants, and never dreamed of doing him reverence
as a saint.  But it seels he keeps on in his old habits of secret
benevolence; and never had he such a charming variety of
things wherewith to fill the mysterious stockings as he has this
year.  If you were to go into some of our book stores, you
would say that they alone might furnish him  with gifts enough
for all the children in the country; they have such a variety
of handsome juvenile books, by the best writers of England and
fAmerica, abounding' with pictures of all sorts of things on earth
and sea and in the air.  It is said that the imeal with which St.
_Nicholas.fed the poolr was miraculously renewed; and it seenms
to be so with the Christmas gifts he brings to us.
A SCORE OF IMPOLITE THINGS,
IN WHICH YOUNG PERSONS RENDER THIEMSELVES DISAGREEABLE.
1. Loud and boisterous laughter.
2. Reading when others are talking.
3, Reading aloud in company without being asked.
4. Talking when otlers are reading.
5. Spitting about the house, smoking or chewing.
6. Cutting finger nails in company.
7. Leaving a church before public worship is closed.
S. Whispering  or lauglhinog in the house of God.
9. Gazing rcdely at strangers.
10. Leaving    a stranger without a seat.
11. A want of respect and reverence for seniors.
12. Correctin g older persons than yourself; especially parents.
13. Receivingo a present without an expression of gratitude.
14. Makino'ourself the hero of your own story.
15. Lauglhing at the mistakes of others.
16. Joking of othe rs in company.
17. Comunencingl talking' before others have finished speaking.
18. Answeriing questions that have been put to others.
19. Commencing to eat as soon as you get to the table, and,
20. In not listening to what one is saying in company-unless you desire to show open contempt for the speaker.  A wellbred person will not make an observation whilst another of the
company is addressing himself to it. —Educational Repository.




FACTS AND  COUNSELS.                     257
THE CHRISTIAN'S BALANCE-SHEET.
"FOR I reckon that the sufferings of the present time are not
worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed
in us."-' Rom. viii. 18.
DR.
" THE SUFFERINGS OF THE PRESENT TIME'
In labors more abundant.
In stripes above measure.
In prisons mnore frequent.
In deaths oft.
Five times received forty stripes, save one.
Thrice was I beaten with rods.
Once I was stoned.
Thrice I suffered shipwreck.
A night and clay I have been in the deep.
In journeys often.
In perils of robbers.
In perils by imy own countrymen.
In perils by the heathen.
In perils in the city.
In perils in the wilderness.
In perils in the sea.
In perils among false brethren.
In weariness and painfulness.
In watching often.
In hui'gel and thirst.
In fastings often.
In cold and nakedness.
Besides those things which are without, that which cometh
upon me daily, the care of all the churches.
Total,.      " Light afflictions, but for a moment.;'
CR.
"THE GLORY TO BE REVEALED IN US."
For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were
dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with
hands, eternal in the heavens.
Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into
the heart of man, the things that God hath prepared for them
that love him.
That he night make known the riches of his glory on the vessels
of mierey which he hath before prepared unto glory.
Henceforth, there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness,
which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give ie at thlat
3Jay; and not to me only, but unto all them also that love
his appearing.




258          FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.
When Christ who is our life shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory.
And so shall we be ever with the Lord.
Total,... "An eternal weight of glory."
The Apostle Paul having carefully examined the foregoing
account, deliberately makes the following declaration: "I am
persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,
nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to
separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our
Lord."
THE VOYAGE DOWN THE DARK RIVER.
WE know but little of the Heavenly state. Everything must
be different from what we see here. All the outward means by
which we are sustained even in doing our duty here, will be
altered or gone.  "Tongues, knowledge, prophecy," shall have
" vanished away."  There is no temple in that city; no church,
no congregation, no liturgy, no directory, no priests, no elders,
no ministers.'" And that city has no need of the sun, neither
of the moon to shine in it."  Even all those lesser lights which
are so cheering on earth; and even all good men, and all those
dear familiar faces which had been our joy and stay on earth,
will not be needed there.  " They which are counted worthy to
obtain that world, neither marry, nor are given in marriage;
neither can they die any more: for they are equal unto the
angels."
But is there then no certainty, no support, no light, in the
great void of the other world?  Not so. There are two Objects in that world, which include all others, and which make
the darkness light, and fill the formless void. " The Lord God
Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. The glory of
God lightens it, and the Lamb is the light thereof."  God and
Christ. These are the two Ideas, these are the two Persons,
rather this is the one Idea, this is the one Person, to see whom,
to be with whom, is to the true believer the sufficient account
of his hope in heaven.  "In Thy light shall we see light," was
the trust of the Psalmist.  In the presence of God, all the difficulties of this world will be at last mlade clear. In the presence
of God, all the goodness and justice and wisdom of this world
will be at last made perfect.' To be with Christ."  This was
the one prayer of the apostle. If the world beyond the grave
is dark, if the thought of God is too vast or wide for us to grasp,
yet the promise of being with Christ is clear and definite to the
humblest as well as to the wisest. We know what He was; we
can figure to ourselves from the Gospels His truth, His love,
His searching knowledge of every soul and character amongst




FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.                     259
us. What He was ile is still. What He is, God is. What support
we should have had from Him, had we known him on earth, we
shall receive tenfold, without let or hindrance, from His ever..
lasting  arms, in that world of which He is at once the Temple
and the Light.  He is the Temple of heaven, for lie is the end
to which all earthly worship tends.  Every ordinance, every
prayer, every hymn, every psalm, every sacred day, every
sacred mem.ory, has or ought to have but one object-to bringo
us nearer to God by making us more like to Christ.  When we
lhave at last come into the presence of Christ, then the means
will cease, for tlhe end will be gained.  " We shall be like him,
for we shall see him as he is."  He is the Ligoht of heaven, for
in Him are combined all the perfections which we see scattered
amongst His faithful servants; all the beauty and glory which
we see divided in the works of creation.
This last and best glimpse into the other world shall be explainedl by a tale, taken, from the dark hours of this world.
An old New Zealand chief, who, like King  Edwin of iNorthumbria, had been converted in middle life to the Christian religion,
and had lived a life of consistent Christian goodness, was at last
brought to his deathbed.  He gathered his friends and family
round him-some pagans still, some Christians-and then he
raised himself up and began to sing one of the ancient songs
of his country, which he had learned in his youth, before his
conversion.  It told of a maiden who had a lover, a faithful
lover; she had not seen him for years; he had gone off into the
distant seas; and now she was determined to seek and to join
him. And so the New Zealand chief sang of her voyage, in
words well-known to those who stood around him, but with a
meaning far deeper than they had ever before put on the words;
for they saw that under the figure of the forlorn maiden he
meant his own soul going forth on its last long voyage; and
under the figure of the lover he mneant that blessed Saviour
whom he hoped now to join in that unknown sea.  He sang
how the maiden, in her frail canoe, went down the dark river;
how she dashed down the foaming rapids; how the steep rocks
closed in on either side; how through the black pass the river
opened into the wide sea: how, in the wide sea, she still was not
afraid, for she looked forward all the more to being with him
whom she loved, forever.
So singinlg, and so transfiguring the old pagan song with the
light of the Gospel, the Christian chieftain passed away. It is
to that outer darkness, of whichl the Saxon chief spoke to the
first missionary of our forefathers, through that dark river, and
into that Lunknown sea —of which the New Zealand chief spoke
to his newly-converted friends,-we must also go. Education,
business, worship, life itself, will all take their proper color, and
their proper proportions, then, and then only, when we re



260C           FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.
member that they are all means to one end, namely, to be like
Christ and to be with Christ.-Dean Stanley.
KEEPING A DIARY.
IF a mani keeps no diary, the path crumbles away behind him
as his feet leave it; and cldays gone by are but little imore than
a blank, broken by a few distorted shadows.  His life is all
confined within the limits of to-day.  Who does not know how
imperfect a thing memory is?  It not merely forgets; it misleads.  Things in memory do not mlerely fade away, preserving'
as they fade their own lineaments so long as they can be seen:
they change their aspect, they change their place, they turn to
sonmething quite different from the fact.  In the picture of the
past, which memory unaided by any written record sets before
us, the perspective is entirely wrong.  How capriciously some
events seemn quite recent, which the diary shows are really far
away; and how unaccountably many things look far away,
which in truth, are not left many weeks behind us! A  man
migoht almost as well not have lived at all as entirely forget
that he has lived, and entirely forget what he did on those departed days.  But I think that almost every person would feel
a great interest in looking back, clay by day, upon what he did
and thought upon that dlay twelve-months, that day three or
five years.  The trouble of writing the diary is very small. A
few lines, a few words, written at the time, suffice, when you
look at theml, to brinog all (what the Yankees call) the surroundings of that season before you.  Many little things come up
again, which  you klnow  quite well you never would have
thouglht of again, but for your glance at those words, and still
which you feel you would be sorry to have forgotten.  There
must be a richness about the life of a person who keeps a diary,
unknown to other men. And a million more little links and
ties must bind him to the members of his family circle, and to
all among whom lie lives.  Life, to him looking back, is not a
bare line, stringing together his personal identity; it is surrounded, intertwined, entangled with thousands alnd thousands
of slight incidents, which give it beauty, kindliness, reality.
Some folks' life is like an oak walking-stick, straight and varnished; useful, but hard and bare.  Other meni's lives (and such
may yours and mine, kindly reader, ever be) are like that oak
when it was not a stick, but a bra nch, and waved, leaf-enveloped, and witih lots of little twigs growing out of it, upon
the sunimmer tree.  And yet more precious than the power of
the diary to call up again a host of little circumstances and
facts, is its power to bring back the indescribable but keenly



FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.                       261
felt atmosphere of those departed days.  The old time comes
over you. It is not merely a collection, an aggregate of facts,
that comes back; it is something far more excellent than thatit is the soul of clays long ago; it is the dear Auld lang syne
itself!  The perfune of hawthorn hedges is there; the breath
of breezes that fanned our gray hair when it made sunny curls,
often smoothed down by hands that are gone; the sunshine on
the grass where these old fingers made daisy-chains; and
snatches of music, compared, with which anything you hear at
the opera is extremely poor.  Therefore keep you a diary, my
friend.
SC0HOOL-CHIII. DREN.
THIS beautifully bright morning of March the 5th, the thermometer being near twelve of.zero of Fahrenheit, at eight
o'clock, found us taking the usual walk of a mile and a half
along Fifth avenue, from  dwelling to office, with our four re
sponsibilities, who go to school near by. Alice, our eight year
old, who was full of talk, said: "Father, I wish I was my
teacher's pet, but I am not; her pets can do as they please, but
she is so strict with the rest of us." "'Who are her pets, my
daugohter?"'~ The ones that know their lessons best." "  Are
they larger or smaller than you?"  " Oh; they are the tiniest
girls in the school.  My teacher says the smallest girls in thlle
school are the smartest."
On another occasion, when told of a girl who was never absent, never missed a word in any of her lessons, I inquired if
she was good-looking.  The reply was: " She is so pale and
thin; and there are sores on her hands and face."
Similar answers have been made in various other cases.
The actual fact is that the good scholars study themselves to
death, and are petted and favored in a great variety of ways;
while those of less mental capacity are treated with an impatience and a sternness which soon gives them  a dislike for
school. for their teachers, and for learning in general, and
Saturdays and Sundays arie the only sunshiny days of the
week to them. I firequently say to my children: " I don't
want you to. strive for'head.' I don't want you to be promoted, for the oftener you are, the harder you -will have to
study.  You have plenty of time, and I would rather see you
eat heartily, and sleep soundly, and know but little, than that
you should know a great deal, and' grow pale, and thin, and
weakly, and die before you are grown up."
Among the most important observuances for school-children,
and which every wise alnd affectionate parent will never lose
sight of, are1. See that they have all the sleep they can take.  Every




262            FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
child under ten should be in bed by eight o'clock, summer and
winter, so that they may have nearly eleven hours' sleep.
Those older, should be in bed at nine, and be required to rise
at six; thus they will have more time for study in the morning,
when the brain is rested and acts sufficiently, andlwill also be
prevented from  injuring their eyes, as very many school-children do, by using artificial light.
2. See to it that every child goes to bed with warm, dry feet,
and that they sleep warmly all night.
3. If you are human, and not a brute, never allow  your
child to go to bed with wounded or iruffled feelings, from  any
angry words, or harsh or hasty conduct on your part.  Always
send them off to school in a happy and affectionate state of
mind; and when they return, let them  be invariably received
with a kindly greeting, and a loving, thankful gladness that
they are once more returned to you in health and safety.
These things are the more necessary, as their ambitions, their
disappointments, their discouragemenlts, and their troubles, in
reference to their schools and their lessons, are as important to
them as yours to you, in the mightier matters of life; alnd if
they find not a baln for all these in the affection, and smiles,
and sympatlhy of their mothers especially, it is to them a misfortune, and to such mothers a disgrace.
4. By all possible means arrange that your children shall
reach school with dry feet and dry clothingo; the neglect of this
has sent many a sweet child to its early grave, the victim of a
mother's carelessness or a teacher's stupidity.
5. School-children should eat with great regularity; thrice a
day is all-sufficient for those above ten.  Frequent eating, and
tempting their appetites with sweetmeats and delicacies, has
been the ground-work of early and life-long dyspepsia to multitudes.
6. Teach children perseveringly the importance of attending
promptly to the calls of nature, and by any and every  means
bring it about that this shall be done before leaving for school
in the morning.  To this end, arrange that they shall be
through with their breakfast an hour before it is necessary to
start for school, even if they have to eat by candle-light.  Cases
of fatal inflammation of the bladder have often occurred in consequence of the ignorance or brutality of teachers in thlis connection.
7. Embrace every opportunity of impressing children's minds
with the fact that teachers arle laboring for their good, alnd
therefore ought to be loved, respected, and obeyed, as their
best friends.-J all's Jouirnal.




FACTS AND  COUNSELS.                       263
THE INTELLIGENCE OF IDIOTS.
IN Great Britain there are fifteen thousand imbeciles, the
greater portion of whom  are not only utterly valueless as
helpers in performing the work of the world, but actually detract largely from  the work of others, insomuch as they require to be watched and taken care of. It is evident that any
attempt to lmake this unfortunate class even partially independent and self-supporting, should be watched with interest, not
only on humanitarian, but on politico-economical grounds.
Two such experiments have been tried in England, institutions
for training imbeciles in manual labor of various kinds having
been started —namely, Earlswood Asylum  and Essex Hall.
It is estimated that in the former of these a little over one
third (thirty-five per cent.)of imbeciles are capable of a certain
degree of culture in some direction, and it is only those who
are thought to belongo to this class who are received at Earlswood.  Thus the institution is a hospital, and not a mere receptacle for hopeless cases.
" The imajority of the children reared here are simply specimens of what is termed' arrested development.' At a very
early age the functions of the brain —at least in regard to its
intellectual operations-appear to have stopped; hence we see
a school full of grown up boys and girls, sometimes of the age
of eighteen or twenty, no more capable of taking care of themselves than children of three or four.  They cannot use their
hands in any ordinary operation; sometimes they don't know
the way to eat with a knife and fork, and, as a rule, the newcomers are utterly incapable of dressing  or undressing  themselves.  Their very actions are those of little children; their
emotions and fears, their joys and sorrows remind us most forciblv of those we witness in a nurser1y of little ones....
The faculty of imitation, which is common to the monkey and
to the child, is the great instrument by which these poor little
ones are taught to exercise their senses, and to acquire the ordinary habits of civilized beings.  They are grouped in classes,
a few of those already instructed being mixed with those who
have to learn.  Finger lessons are the first that are taught.
Most of the children, for instance, on first admission, cannot
button a button, tie a string, nor do the commonest act which
requires any adroit manipulation of the digits; henc, all this
has to be learned.  It is certainly an odd sight to see a group
of girls all actively engaged in buttoning and unbuttoning their
clothes, in pinning them, and in tying and untying strings.  In
a short time, by watching those who are instructed in these
simple arts, they become adepts, and are able to dress themselves with perfect ease.  While witnessing the mechanical
manner and the earnest expression with which these lessons
were performed, we confess we were reminded of the perform



264. FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
ing monkey the Italian organ-grinder carries about with him,
who sweeps with a broom, plays the drum, shoulders and lets
off a musket, alnd does half a score of tricks with equal adroit.
ness.
"Various handicrafts are taught here, and therefore many'
preliminary lessons of a similar character have to be acquired
before the boys are entrusted with tools.  All the tailoring is
done by the inmlates, a regular teacher presiding, and instructino the more advanced in cutting out, sewing, and fitting.  The
workmen give the spectator, however, the idea of being boys at
play, for they come up to him il d  eiagerly show their work, as
the youngest children show their drawings on a slate, delighted
at the smallest praise.  Besides the handicrafts, the b0oys are
taught agricultural pursuits; they cultivate the garden, and
feed the stock-the favorite occupation; they mill the cows,
and do it well too....   The routine instruction of the
asylum  lifts all of these poor children, more or less, into the
scale of rational beingys, able to help themnselves and otlhers;
but in some instances the most encouraonging  results are obtained.  Thus, some of the lads are able to copy engravings in
a surprising manner.  It is done in a purely nmechanical spirit,
it is true, and this very fact affords a proof of the siall intellectual merit of the merely copying capacity; lbut are there not
many persons earning their bread in the world, and clonsidered
to be very clever, by mleans of the same limited powers?"
That great benefit arises from the enablilng of idiots to perform  any useful work, cannot be doubted.  A similar enterprise has been started by Dr. Parrish, in Media, near Philadelphia, which has been quite as successful in its operations as
those in England.  The (London) Daily NiewPs, a short tinme
since in noticing the annual fete at Earlswood Asylum, speaks
as follows of the inmnates:
" One idiot has a special power as a copyist of the finest engravings, and his imitations of Landseer and other well-known
artists are plentifully hung about the walls.. One of
the inmates we saw on Thursday-a smart, active man of
thirty years, in nautical uniform —has constructed a model
ship, and has developed mechanical genius of no mean order.
He was wearing an ivory cravat ornament, manufactured by
himself, which would have done credit to any West End shop,
andl appeared to be exercising an intelligent supervision over
the pastimes of the day.  Ask hin a question, however, and he
stares vacantly and in silence.  Try to rouse him by your admiration of the vessel he has fashioned with such exquisite care
and skill, and  he gibbers unintelligibly, or tells you that'Angels are good —devils bad-angels put top of masts,, devils
down below.' Boots are made by one idiot which have challenged comparison at the English amnd French Exhibitions for




FACTS AND  COUNSELS.                      265
neatness and beauty; and in what is called the'workshopblock.'... The inmates may be seen at work, except on
such festivals as that of Thursday, upon a variety of trades.
Household and laundry-work, mat-weaving, farming, gardening, carpentering, tailoring, shoemaking, plumbing, and basket
making, are all carried on by idiots."
TESTIMONY IN FAVYOR OF TEMPERANCE.
A LATE number of the Tutf, Field, and Far'm contains a
letter from Edward P. Weston, the famous pedestrian, to Rev.
T. L. Cuyler, of Brooklyn, from which we extract the following
wholesome lesson:
" You ask for my'experience as to the effect of alcholic
stimulants on those who aim  at athletic achievements.' In
reply, I am constrained to say that, so far as my judgment and
experience are concerned, the use of intoxicating liquors on
thle occasion of the performance of ally task requiring strength
and nerve, is not only unneccessary, but wholly injurious.
The moment a man partakes of such sthhilulants at such a time,
he ceases to work upon his own strength of manhood, and is
simply using a false power built upon a medicine (fox' liquor is
good for nothing else).  It may help him for the moment, but
the effect is of short duration, and then he is worse than before.
It not only weakens his body, but his nerve, and takes away
his will; and that is not all-it will take away his appetite for
food. I know it is a custom prevalent among those who go
into a reguular course of instruction, or trainiilg (as it is called,)
for a feat of pedestrianism, to give them crackers soaked in
wine at stated intervals.  To my mind, this is not only folly
and a loss of time, but morally wrong. The -man should
always be in training, (all that is necessary,) have his habits
regular, and have a care of that which he eats and when he eats
it. If he can not walk fifty miles a clay without taking wine,
he certainly will not walk long if he makes that his practice.
"Diet is an important consideration in a walk that places a
stronger tax than usual upon the physical system.  And if a
man desires to excel in feats requiring endurance and strength,
he must pay strict attention to a diet based upon thle primitive
laws of health. What I recommend has been proved valuable
by personal experience.  Of meats, beef is the best; and it
slhould be cooked rare, and then eaten with cold -wheat bread,
and good sweet butter; potatoes boiled, mashed or stewed, and
eggs soft boiled.  Too much g'reise should be avoided.  When
you eat, drink hot tea or coffee. Butt, before eating at all, cease
walking, and rest thirty minutes, at least.  The stomach is
heated, and it wants rest as well as the limbs; besides, food




266           FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.
should not be taken into it when heated, for then mastication
is unnatural; instead of seizing hold, as it were, of the food,
the organs are in a state of excitement which induces exhaustion.
"' As a beverage, when on the road, I generally use molasses
and water, and with the best results. It keeps the stomach in
a measure cool; and coolness internally is refreshing to the
whole system.  I first used molasses and water on the road to
avoid the unpleasant tatse of the different qualities of water
drawn friom different wells and springs, and the experiment
was so successful that now I never start on a journey trying to
physical manhood, without it.  When on the march, oatmeal
gfruel and beef-tea are good, as a change from molasses and
water.  Cold coffee and cold tea I also use as a beverage when
walking; and the appetite craves either.  If I am attacked with
sudden pain when taking severe exercise, I lie down flat on my
back, elevate -my feet, and after a short rest, swallow two teaspoonfuls of peppermint and sugar with hot water. This does
away with the use of alcoholic stimulants, since it is the only
emergency in which they could be beneficial; and peppermint,
even in this emergency, I find the best remedy."
A  CHILD'S  INFLUENCE.
Do not say you have no influence: all have some. A gentleman, lectnring in the neighborhood of London, said:
"Everybody has influence, even that child," pointing to a
little girl in her father's arms.
"That's true!" cried the man.
At the close he said to tohe lecturer: "I beg your pardon, sir,
but I could not help speaking.  I was a drunkard, but as I did
not like to go to the public house alone, I used to carry this
child. As I approached the public house one night,  hearing a
great noise inside, she said:
"' Donlt go, father.'
"' Hold your tongue, chi!d.'
"' Please, father, don't go.'
H"'  old your tongue, I say.'
"Presently I felt a big tear fall on my cheek. I could not
go a step further, sir. I turned round and went home, and have
never been in a public house since, thank God for it! I am
now a happy man, sir, and this little girl has done it all; and
when you said that even she had influence, I could not help
saying,' That's true, sir.' All have influence."-Rev. N. Hall.




FACTS A ND COUNS E L S.                  26
SEVEN REASONS FOR ABSTAINING FROM
INTOXICATING  DRINKS.
1. BECAUSE ale, porter, gin, rum, brandy, whisky, etc., all contain a spirit which is calculated to derange the human system.
2. Because none of these drinks, as a habitual beverage, are
ever useful, but always injurious to persons in health, and many
professing Christians, both young and old, have been ruined
by them.
3. Because intemperance obstructs the progress of civilization, education, the religion of Jesus, and every useful reform.
4. Because abstinence is sure and safe, andcl drinking moderately is dangerous, and has led to all the drunkenness in the
world.
5. Because I find I can not effectually warn the drunkard, or
set him an example, unless I am myself an entire abstainer.
6. Because it is important to set a safe example of perfect
sobriety to our children, friends, and associates.
7. Because I find myself by abstaining, healthier, wealthier,
and happier, and better fitted to perform my duty to God and
ina 11.
NARROWNESS  OF  SPECIALTIES.
WE men are not fragments —we are wholes; we are not types,
of single qualities-'we are realities of mixed, various, countless
combinations. Therefore I say to each man: As far as you
can —partly for excellence in your special mental calling, prin —
cipally for completion of your end in existence —strive, while,
improving your one talent, to enrich your whole capital as a
LMAN. It is in this way that you escape from the wretched
narrow-mindednless which is the characteristic of every one who
cultivates his specialty alone. Take any specialty; dine with a
distinguished member of Parliament-the other guests all mem —
bers of Parliament except yourself-you go away shrugging
your shoulders. All the talk has been that of men who seem
to think that there is nothing iii life worth talking about but
the party squabbles and jealousies of the tlouse of Conumnons.
Go and dine next day with an eminent author-all the guests
authors except yourself. As the wine circulates, the talk narrows to tohe last publications, with now and then, on the part
of the least successful author present, a refining- eulogium on
some dead writer, in implied cdisparagement of some living rival.
He wants to depreciate Dickens, and therefore he extols Fielding. If Fielding were alive and D-ickens were dead, how he
would extol Dickens! Go the third day; dine with a traderall the other guests being gentlemen on the stock exchange. A
18




2B8           FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
new specialty is before you; all the world seems circumscribed
to script and the budget. In fine, whatever the calling, let men
only cultivate that calling, and they are as narrow-minded as
the Chinese, when they place on the map of the world the Celestial Empire, with all its Tartaric villages in full detail, and out
of that limit make dots and lines, with the superscription,
"Deserts unknown-inhabited by barbarians!" — Buwer.
YANKEE  GIRLS.
THE paleness in the American girls, though often beautiful,
is too universal. An eye from the old country begins to long
for a rosy cheek. Lowell said that color was a thing of climate,
and that I should find plenty of rosy cheeks among the mountains of Maine, where there is more moisture in the air. It may
be so; I never got to the Maine mountains to see. But, as far
ss my observation went, I never saw any, either on mountain
or valley, in any part of New England. My private impression
is, making all allowance for the influence of dry air,' that the
peculiar paleness of the New England girls connects itself with
too much metaphysics and pie!
I have strong convictions on the subject of pie. Not to
speak of mere paleness, I don't see how the Americans can reconeile it with their notions of what is due to the laws of nature,
to live to the age they do, considering the amount of pie they
eat, and the rapidity with which they eat it. I don't remember that I ever sat down to a dinner in America, even in a
poor man's house, without finding pie of some kind, often of
several kinds, on the table, and without finding that everybody palrtook of it, down to the microscopic lady or gentleman
whom we should call the baby. Pie is indispensable. Take
anything away, but leave the pie. Americans can stand the
prohibition of all intoxicating drinks, but attempt to prohibit
pie, and you would plunge America into a revolution in a day.
Then metaphysics.  In one family which I visited, in the
Connecticut Valley, two of the girls were deep in the study of
algebra and metaphysics, as a voluntary exercise, and shut themselves up, for three hours a day, with Colenso, and Sir William
Hamilton, and Kant. This was, perhaps, exceptional; but the
New England brain is very busy. It develops very soon and
very fast, and begins at an exceedingly early age to exercise
itself with the abstruser studies. Parents. and teachers often
told me that their difficulty, with the girls especially, was, not
to get them urged on, but to get them held back. In one young
ladies' seminary which I visited, they were held back with the
following light studies, in addition to all the ordinary branches:
TVirgil and Horace, Latin prose composition, anatomy and




FACTS AND  COUNSELS.                     269
hygiene, moral philosopy, mental philosophy, and quadratic
equations. To this add pie and hot bread, and what could you
expect but paleness, even among the mountains of Maine?
Paleness and pie notwithstanding, the American girls are
very delightful; and, in one point, they fairly surpass the majority of English girls-they are well educated and well informed....    Some girls are fascinating, whether they are
educated or not; but to be left alone, as one sometimes is, with
a girl who knows nothing, in a room with no piano, is exceedingly embarassing —after the weather has been exhausted.
There is never the same difficulty with American girls. The
admirable educational system  of New England, covering the
whole area of society, has given them education, whether they
be poor or rich; has furnished them with a great deal of useful
information, and has quickened their desire for more.
American girls will talk with you about anything, and feel
(or, what has the same effect, seem to feel) interest in it. Their
tendency is, perhaps, to talk too much, and to talk beyond their
knowledge. With the cleverer (or, as they would say themselves, the " smarter") of them, it seemed to me sometimes to
make no perceptible difference whether they knew anything of
the subject they talked about or not. Mentioning this feature
of American character to a Boston gentleman, he said: " It is
true-I was struck in England with the silence of the people
when they have nothing to say.  One time, travelling in the
carriage with a nobleman, I asked him his opinion of the ballot.
Hle replied:'I have not, considered the subject yet.' Youl
might travel all over America," said my friend, "and never
hear a man say that."  But the American girls generally know
a little of everything, and their general intelligence and vivacity
make them delightful companions.
I had an idea, before going over, that the New England ladies
spent their time over intellectual pursuits, to the neglect of
household duties. I did not find it so. Comparing class with
class, they are quite as good housekeepers as I have seen anywhere. They had need be, for service at present is in a very
wretched condition in America; so much so, that middle-class
families in the country often dispense with servants altogether.
The young ladies can make beds, as well as demonstrate propositions, and their mental philosophy, whatever it amounts to,
never interferes with the perfection of the pies. —Daniel J1' Crea.




270           FACTS AND COUNSELS.
DESPAIR EXPRESSED IN ART.
REV. F. W. ROBERTSON, A.iM.
AT Blenheim, the seat of the DU)ke of Marlborough,   there is a
Madonna, into which the old Catholic painter has tried to cast
the religious conceptions of the Middle Ages, virgin purity and
infinite repose. The look is upwards, the predominant color of
the picture blue, which we know has in itself a strange power
to lull and soothe. It is impossible to gaze on this picture
without being conscious of a calming influence. During that
period of the year in which the friends of the young men of
Oxford come to visit their brothers and sons, and Blenheim becomes a place of favorite resort, I have stood aside near that
picture, to watch its effect on the different gazers, and I have
seen group after group of young undergraduates and ladies,
full of life and noisy spirits, unconsciously stilled before it; the
countenance relaxing into calmness, and the voice sinking to a
whisper. The painter had spoken his message, and human
beings, ages after, feel what he meant to say.
You may perhaps have seen in this town, some years ago, an
engraving in the windows of the printsellers, called the " Camel
of the Desert."  I cannot say it was well executed. The engraving was coarse, and the drawing, in some points, false; yet
it was full of Poetry. The story tells itself. A caravan has
passed through the desert; one of the number has been seized
with dangerous illness, and as time is precious, he has been left
to die, but as there is a chance of his recovery, his camel has
been left beside him, and in order that it may not escape, the
knee of the animal has been forcibly bent, the upper and lower
bones tied together, and the camel couched on the ground incapable of rising.  The sequel is that the man has died, and the
camel is left to its inevitable doom. There is nothing to break
the deep deathfulness of the scene. The desert extends to the
horizon, without interruption, the glowing heat being shown by
the reflection of the sun from the sands in a broad band of light,
just as it glows on the sea on a burning summer day.
Nothing, I said, breaks the deathfulness of the scene; there
is only one thing that adds to it. A long line of vultures is
seen in the distance, and one of these loathsome birds is hovering above the dead and the doomed; the camel bends back his
neck to watch it, with an expression of terror and anguish
almost human, and anticipates its doom. You cannot look at
the print without a vivid sense and conception of Despair. You
go through street after street before the impression ceases to
haunt you. Had the plate been better executed, it is quite
possible it might not have been so poetical. The very rudeness
and vagueness of it leave much to the imagination. Had the




FACTS AND  COUNSELS                       271
plumage of the vulture, or the hair of the camel more accurately
copied the living texture, or the face of the corpse been more
deathlike, so as, instead of kindling the imagination with the
leading idea, to have drawn away the attention to the fidelity
with which the accessories had been painted, the Poetry would
have been lessened.  It is the effort to express a feeling, and
the obstacles in the way of the expression, which tooether constitute the poetical. —Rev. F. Wt. Robertson.
CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.
OuR  Saviour was pittilg on the side of one of the hills near
the western shore of the Sea of Galilee.'These hills were on the
southern border of a broad and fertile meadow, stretching inland
for more than a mile. The red and purple lilies were well known
there, as Pliny has told us, and they readily suggested, by their
colors, the robes which in those clays were a part of the insignia
of monarchs; whence the fitness of the allusion to the apparel of
"Solomon in all his glory."  There could have been no flower
more appropriately "considered," none more forcibly associated
with Solomon and the times of his " glory."  It was at once a
royal and a sacred flower.  It had been wrought upon the
molten sea, and carved upon the two noted pillars of the temple
porch. It was the favorite in the flower imagery of the Song
of Solomon, and now these lilies were blooming upon the plains
and fields before them.  Their grace and beauty were the more
renmarkable in that they grew so freely.  They spring up fromn
every field, sheddingl their fragrance upon every passing breeze,
decorating the thorn as well as the olive, indebted to no one's
care but God's, to his sunshine and his rains alone, for thleir
existence and their beauty.  They had survived the rending
apart of the kingdom.  They had remained upon the fields, and
had  been " clothed " and d renewed  in their wreakness, while
strong ones had been carried into captivity, or scourged by
sword and by pestilence.  " Consider the lilies of the field."
In all this, every lily had its duty to perform-its place to fill
in the cycles of the Creator's great and various purposes. Every
lily-stalk was gifted with its minute channels, up which it drew
the life-sap God had provided-it opened its petals in due
season, and lavishly gave to the passing breeze its grateful incense of fragrance, or it smiled in its beauty under the warm
rays of a spring-tinme sun. There it stood, quietly working out
its duty and its history-" toiling not nor spinning' " -a neverfading xvitness to God's condescending care and mysterious
providence-a picture of a sublime truth enfoldcecd in its petals,
that God's eternal power may be felt and known ir a leaf as
in a world, and that the footurints of God's loving presence.




272           FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.
may be very near us, while to find them we are wandering far
away.-Rev. J. P. 1Vewman.
THE TALENT OF SUCCESS.
EVERY* man must patiently abide his time. He must wait.
Not in listless idleness, not in useless pastime, not in querulous
defection; but in constant, steady, cheerful endeavor, always
willig, illing, fulfilling and accomplishing his task, "that when the
occasion comes he may be equal to the occasion."  The talent
of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well,
without a thought of fame.  If it comes at all, it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after.  It is a
yery indiscreet and troublesome ambition which cares so much
about fane, about what the world says of us, as to be always
looking in the face of others for approval, to be always anxious
about the effect of what we do or say, to be always shouting
to hear the echoes of our own voices.-LonZgfellow.
ON SICKNESS.
AT the first address and presence of sickness, stand still and
arrest thy spirit, that it may, without amazement or affright,
consider that this was that thou lookedst for, and wert always
certain should happen, and that now thou art to enter into the
actions of a new religion, the agony of a strange constitution;
but at no hand suffer thy spirits to be dispersed with fear or
wildness of thought, but stay their looseness and dispersion by
a serious consideration of the present and future employment.
For so doth the Libyan lion,* spying the fierce huntsmlan; he
first beats himself with the strokes of his tail, and curls up his
spirits, making them strong with union and recollection; till,
being struck with a Mauritanian spear, he rushes forth into his
defence and noblest contention, and either scapes into the
secrets of his own dwelling, or else dies the bravest of the forest.
In sickness, the soul begins to dress herself for immortality.
And first, she unties the strings of vanity that made her upper
garment cleave to the world and sit uneasy. Next she puts
off the light and fantastic summer-robe of lust and wanton appetite. Next to this, the soul, by the help of sickness, knocks
off the fetters of pride and vainer comnplacencies.  Then she
draws the curtains, and stops the light from coming in, and
takes the pictures down-those fantastic images of self-love,
and gay remembrances of vain opinion, and popular noises.
Then the spirit stoops into the sobrieties of humble thoughts,
a See Theocritus, Idyll 25, line 230.




FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.                     273
and feels corruption chiding the forwardness of fancy, and
allaying the vapors of conceit and factious opinions. Next to
these, as the soul is still undressing, she shakes off the rough.
ness of her great and little angers and animosities, ancl receives
the oil of mercies and smooth forgiveness, fair interpretations
and gentle answers, designs of reconcilement and Christian
atonement, in their places.
The temptations of this state-such, I mean, which are proper to it —are little and inconsiderable.  The man is apt to
chide a servant too bitterly, and to be discontented with his
nurse, or not satisfied with his physician; and he rests uneasily,
and (poor man!) nothing can please him; and, indeed, these
little indecencies must be cured and stopped, lest they run
into an inconvenience.  But sickness is, in this particular, a
little image of the state of blessed souls, or of Adam's early
morning in paradise, free from the troubles of lust and violences
of anger, and the intricacies of ambition or the restlessness of
covetousness.  For though a man may carry all these along
with him into his sickness, yet there he will not find them; and
in despite of all his own malice, his soul shall find some rest
from laboring in the galleys and baser captivity of sin.-Jeremy
Taylor.
THE  SHINING  CHURCH, AND THE SHINING  LIFE.
STEPHEN OLIN, D.D., L.L.D.
THE Church illuminates the world by the manifestation of its
piety, but its manifested can never exceed its real piety.  Its
power to fulfil this, its most peculiar and essential function, may
therefore be accurately measured by the faith, zeal, and holiness
of its members. A Church may be what the world calls a strong
Church in point of numbers and influence.  A Church may be
made up of men of wealth, men of intellect, men of power, highborn men, and men of rank and fashion; and, being so composed, may be, in a worldly sense, a very strong Church.  There
are many things that such a Church can do. It can launch
ships, and endow seminaries.  It can diffuse intelligence, can
uphold the cause of benevolence, can maintain an imposing
array of forms and religious activities.  It can build splendid
temples, can rear a magnificent pile, and adorn its front with
sculptures, and lay stone upon stone, and heap ornament upon
ornament, till the costliness of the ministrations at the altar
shall keep any poor man from ever entering the portal.  But,
my brethren, I will tell you one thing thatt it cannot do-it calnnot shinme.  It may glitter and blaze like an iceberg in the sun,
but without inward holiness it cannot shine.  Of all that is forrnal and material in Christianity it may make a splendid mani



274             FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
festation, but it cannot shine.  It may turn almost everything
into gold at its touch, but it cannot touch the heart. It may
lift up its marble front, and pile tower upon. tower, and mountain upon mountain; but it cannot touch the mountains, and
they shall smoke; it cannot conquer souls for Christ; it cannot
awaken the sympathies of faith and love; it cannot do Christ's
work in man's conversion.  It is dark in itself, and cannot
diffuse light.  It is cold at heart, and has no overflowing and
subduing influences to pour out upon the lost. And with all
its strength, that Church is weak, and, for Christ's peculiar work,
worthless.  And with all its glitter of gorgeous array, it is a
dark Church-it cannot shine.
On the contrary, show me a Church poor, illiterate, obscure,
unknown, but composed of praying people; they shall be men
of neither power, nor wealth, nor influence; they shall be families that do not know one week where they are to get their bread
for the next.; but with them is the hiding of God's power, and
their influence is felt for eternity, and their light shines and is
watched, and wherever they go there is a fountain of light, and
Christ in them is glorified, and his kingdom advanced.  They
are His chosen vessels of salvation, and His luminaries to
reflect His light.
As the ability of the entire company of believers, or of any
single Church, to perform its duty to God and the world, depends upon their piety, even so it is with the individual
Christian.  If his religionl be merely decent, and formal, and
ostensible, it will be utterly powerless.  If, on the contrary, it
is heartfelt, intense, ax-ci impulsive, it will be irresistible, and
its speechless eloquence will reach hearts and habitations where
the pastor and his preaching can get no access.  In this view
the purest, meekest, most child-like man is often the mlightiest.
Hle who wrestles most earnestly with God in his closet is most
likely to go forth to his converse with men anointed for his
mission.  His garments smell of the spices of Paradise. His
face shines as the face of an angel, and he unavoidably becomes
in his sphere "the light of the world."'  The humble Christian,
without suspecting that he is fulfilling such a ministry, is ever
acting upon others.  To some family or individual he appears
from day to day the impersonation of all they know or heed of
saving Christianity —the living epistle in which they read the
character of the Gospel, its author, and his disciples.  It is
probably safe to affirm that every Christian holds a relation to
some imlmortal soul, on which its final destiny is likely to turn.
Father, brother, neighbor, superior or inferior, he is the man
upoll whose purity, or faith, or zeal, or consistency, or prayers,
or faithful admonition, the salvation of another undying spirit
is suspended.  "Ye are the light of the world."




F ACTS AND  CO UNSELS.                    275
THE NOBLEST MONUMENT.
AT the end: of one of the suburbs of the town, on the righthand side, stands a portico, supported by two columns, and
furnished with iron gates.  On the entablature of the portico is
inscribed a verse -from the Holy Scriptures. This is the entrance
to the cemetery.
Whenever my heart is oppressed by sorrow, I go there, and,
approaching a gray stone shaded by a weeping willow, give vent
to my grief:  The grave lying beneath is small, but a vacant
space has been reserved beside it, (a place I am one day to
occupy.)  The epitaph is comprised in two lines, and contains
only the namle Of the departed one who has gone before me, with
three dates-that of her birth, of our marriage, and of our
earthly separation.  Up to within a short period it had been
mly intention to raise a more imposing monument; during many'
months I dreamed of the combined structure of bronze and
marble to be erected beneath those waving branches. No longer
able to exhibit, in this state of existence, any marks of devotion
to her who reposes there, I indulged in the idea of proving'
thus, at least, mny faithful remenmbrance of her. How many calculations were completed and recommenced with this object in
view! what efforts were macle to increase my savings month by
month! what satisfaction I derived from wearing coarser garments, and the further saving effected by a more frugal table I
At length the necessary sumn was obtained.  I went every day
to the cemetery to measure our funeral couch, and erect *in
thought the cherished mlonument.  One morning as I was there
mentally realizing its form, two little girls passed me; they
were carrying a half-filled watering-pot; beads of perspiration
trickled down their heated foreheads, and both panted for
breath.
" Where are you going so fast, my poor children? I asked."'
"Down there," they replied, " to our father's grave, which we
have plantecd with flowers."
"And you are carrying that water to refresh them? "
" Yes, sir, we are obliged to bring it from the well a long' wav
off, at the end of the walk.  In a short time the well will dry
up, and then our flowers must die."
They said this so piteously that I strove to comfort them by
pointing out the flower-beds which flourished amidst the graves
around.,
"Oh yes, sir! " they exclaimed; "the gravedigger is well
paid to keep those flowers watered; they belong to rich people;
but look yonder at the others!
They then showed me a corner of the cemetery which I had
never visited, with long rows of graves already burnt up by the




276           FACTS  AND  COUNSELS.
sun, where the flowers appeared to be nothing better than yellow and faded leaves.
"That is how our father's grave will look in a few days,"
said the elder of the two children, with emotion.
"So, then, without a supply of water, you nmust give up all
idea of keeping it green and fresh? "
" Yes, indeed, sir.  Poor people are very unfortunate not to
be able to keep the flowers alive round the graves of their
relations."
The elder, who said this, sighed, and then, beckoning   to her
sister, they both took up their watering-pot and went on. I
followed them with my eyes for a long while.
"Dear and pious children, who crave only the means of ornamenting, with a few flowers, the grave of him  whom  they
weep for! And how many others, doubtless, long for the same
source of consolation! Whilst I am contemplating a stately
monument to my departed wife, how nmany, less favored, would
be satisfied with a shrub or a few roses at the foot of the wooden
cross which surmounts their cherished dead! With the price
of the costly materials I might cause enough moisture to flow
from the soil to refresh every one of these faded graves.  The
sacrifice of my vain caprice would be a source of joy to all.
Farewell, then, useless monument, which I had fondly dreamed
of constructing in bronze and marble to the memory of my beloved Louise; in its place I will raise for her one of self-sacrifice
and of true devotion. \W/hat these humble graves stand in need
of, I will bestow in the name of' her who was the better part of
myself; the water which they all thirst for shall gush forth from
the foot of her grave; though dead, she shall still be what she
was when living —a source of material aid to those in want, and
of consolation to those in sorrow."
God be praised for having afforded me the means of honoring
her memory in a manner worthy of herself! To-day the spruing
has been found, and its waters murmur softly as thiey flow beside the trees of the cemetery, bedewing the graves of the poor
equally with those of the miore opulent. — Amile Souznestre.
TRUE   C OUNSELLORIS.
AIniD the duties and difficulties, the cares ana perplexities
of life, how many a pang and tear would it save us if we went
with chastened and inquiring spirits to these " counselling "
oracles?  RI-ow many trials would be- mritigated-hllow  lmany
sorrows soothed, and temptations avoided-if we preceded
every step in life with the inquiry, " VWhat saith the Scrilpture?'
making the Bible a final court of appeal —an arbiter for tllh




FACTS AND  COUN S EL S.                   277
settlement of all the vexed questions in the consistory of the
soul; with the docility of little children listening therein to their
Father's counsel-recognizing every utterance as endorsed with
the words, " Thus saith the Lord."' God keep us from that
saddest phase and dogma of modern infidelity-the Sacred Volume regarded with only that misnamed. " veneration " which the
antiquary bestows on some piece of medireval armor-a relic
and memorial of bygone days, but unsuitable for ani age which
has superseded the cruder views of those old " chroniclers," and
inaugurated a new era of religious development.  Vain dreamers! "For ever, 0 God, thy word is settled in, heaven."  " The
law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul; the testimony of
the Lord is sure, makiny wise the simple."  " The word of the
Lord is tried."  " Thy word is very sure, therefore thy servant
loveth it."  What a crowd of witnesses could be summoned to
give persona[l:vidence of its preciousness and value! How
nmany aching hleads would raise themselves from their pillows
and tell of their obligations to its soothing messages of love
and power! lHow many deathbeds could send their occupants
with pallid lips to tell of the staff which upheld them in the dark
valley! How manyll, ill the hour of bereavement, could lay their
finger on the promise that first dried the tear from their eye,
and brought back the smile to their saddened countenances!
How many voyagers on life's tempestuous ocean, now landed on
the heavenly shore, would be ready to hush their golden harps
and descend to earth with the testimony, that this was the
blessed beacon light which enabled them to avoid the treacherous reefs, and guided them to their desired haven!
Ah, Philosoph y! thou hast never yet, as this Book, taught a
man how to die! Reason! with thy flickering torch, thou hast
never yet guided to such sublime mysteries, such comforting
truths as these! Science! thou hast penetrated the arcana of
nature, sunk thy shafts into earth's recesses, unburied its stores,
counted its strata, imeasured. the height of its massive pillars,
down to the very pedestals of primeval granite.  Thou hast
tracked the lightning, traced the path of the tornado, u1ncurtained the distant planet, foretold the coming of the comet,
and the return of the eclipse. But thou hast never been able
to gauge the depth of man's soul; or to answer the question,
" What must I do to be saved?"
No, no; this antiquated volumne is still the "Book of books,"
the oracle of oracles, the beacon of beacons; the poor man's
treasury; the child's companion; the sick man's health; the
dying man's life; shallows for the infant to walk in; depths for
giant intellect to explore and adore! Philosophy, if she would
but own it, is indebted here for the noblest of her maximsPoetry, for the loftiest of her themes.  Painting has gathered
here her noblest inspiration.  Music has ransacked these golden




9278           FACTS AND  COUNSELS.
stores for the grandest of her strains.  And if there be life in
the Church of Christ,-if her ministers and missionaries are
carrying the torch of salvation through the world, —where is
that torch lighted, but at these same unlying altar-fires? ~When
a philosophy "'falsely so called" shall become dominant, and
seek, with its proud dogmas, to supersede this divine philosophy-when the old Bible of David, and Timothy; and Paul, is
clasped and closed-the only morality and philosophy worth
speaking of will have perished from the earth. Dagon will have
taken the place of God's ark-the world's funeral pile may be
kindclled.c
Love your Bibles.  As they are the souvenirs of your earliest
childhood-the gift of a mother's love, or the pledge of a father's
affection-so let them be your last and fondest treasures, the
keepsakes and heirlooms which you are most desirous to transmit to your children's children.
In taking to you " the whole armor of God,"' forget not " the
sword of the Spirit.L"    What noble words are these, addressed
to a saintly hero more than three thousand years ago; may every
youthful soldier g'irding himself for the great battle of life especially listen to them; they will prove to him, as they did to
Joshua, the sure guarantee of " prosperity " in its nobler sense.
"' Only be thou stroin g and very courageous, that thou mayest
observe to do according to all the law which Moses my servant
commanded thee: turn not from it to the rilght hand or to the
left, that thou mayest prosper whithersoever thou goest.  This
book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou
shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe
to do according to all that is written therein:;for then thou shalt.alce thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success,"
(Joshua i. 7, 8.)
"Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin
ag'ainst thee."-1-Iacdluff.
LOST ARTS.
AND in regard to colors, we are far behind the ancients.
None of the colors in the Egoyptian painting of thousandl s of
years ago are in the least faded, except the green. The Tyrian
purple of the entombed city of Pompeii is as fiesh to-clay
as it was three thousand years ago. Some of the stucco, painted centuries before the Christian era, broken up and mixed, ievealed its original lustre.  And yet we pity the ignorance of
the dark-skinned children of the ancient Egypt.  The colors
upon the walls of Nero's Festal Vault are as fresh as if
painted yesterday. So is the cheek of the Egyptian prince who




F ACTS  AND  COUNtSE LS.                  279
was contemporaneous with Solo-mon, and Cleopatra, at whose
feet Caesar laid the riches of his empire.
And in regard to metals. The edges of the stones of the obelisks of Egypt, and of the ancient walls of IRome, are as sharp
as if but hewn yesterday.  And the stones still remain so
closely fitted, that their seams, laid with mortar, cannot be penetratecl with the edge of a pen-knife. And their surface is exceedingly hard-so that when the French artists engraved two
lines upon an obelisk brought from Egypt, they destroyed in
the tedious task, many sets of the best tools that could be manutacturecd.  And yet these ancient monuments are traced all
over with inscriptions placed upon them in olden time.  This,
with other facts of striking character, proved that they were far
more skilled in metals than we are.  Quite recently it is recorded that, when an American vessel was on the shores of
Africa, a son of that benighted region made, from an iron hoop,
a knife superior to any on board the vessel, and another made
a sword of Damascus excellence from a piece of iron.
Fiction is very old. Scott has his counterparts two thousandl
years ago. A story is told of a warrior who had no time to
wait for the proper forging of his weapon, but seizing it redhot, rode forward, but found to his surprise that the cold air
had tempered his iron into an excellent steel weapon.  The
tempering of steel, therefore, which was new to us a century
since, was two thousand years ago.
Ventilation is deemed a very modern art. But this is not the
fact, for apertures, unquestionably made for the purpose of ventilation, are found in the Pyramid Tomb of Egypt. Yes,
thousands of years ago, the barbarous Pagans went so far as to
ventilate their tombs, while we yet scarcely know how to ventilate our houses.- Wendell Phillips.




REMARKABLE PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.
LOST IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.
BY REV. J. B. FINLEY.
THE following incident is one among many which have occurred in
the history of my life, and which so strikingly illustrates the special
providence of God, that I am induced to send it for publication in the
Repository. Mrs. Boarer, the heroine and narrator of the story, was
the wife of Mr. George Boarer, and. was, by education and parentage,
a Roman Catholic. Her parents were natives of Berkley county, Virginia, and, at the time, were residents of the country in the vicinity
of Sleepy Creek. Early on the morning of the 7th of January, 1800,
she left home on a borrowed horse, to cross the Capin Mountains. to
visit her aged parents. She took with her an infant child, a daughter,
seven months old. The snow upon the mountains was three feet
deep, and the weather was exceedingly cold. For defense, and company's sake, she took with her the house-dog, a, very large spaniel.
Having gained the top of the mountain range, she concluded to leave
the great road, and, by a short cut, arrive the same night at her
father's house.
She had, however, not proceeded far, before she found herself bewildered; and, in consequence, becoming frightened. She dared not
turn back, but wandered about through the mountain until night had
settled its gloom over the world. She then dismounted; and having
fastened her horse to a sapling, she prepared a place, as well as circumstances would admit, where to pass the night. The snow, as before remarked, was three feet deep; the darkness was profound, and
the wind from the north-west broke in a hurricane above her. With
no company but her child, and no protector but her dog, her condition was lonely beyond the imagination to conceive.
Fortunately, she had with her some extra clothing, in the shape of
a cloak and a shawl. Removing, as well as she could, the snow from
beneath a large tree, she took her apparel, and made the best disposition possible with it; and, with her child and her dog, she composed
herself for the night.
Mrs. Boarer stated to me, that for a week previous to undertaking
this journey, she was unusually exercised about her spiritual welfare,
and very frequently took an old prayer-book, and read it.
(280)




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PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                    281
Now, far from her home, desolate and distressed, she felt the need
of close communion with God. The prayers which she had read the
week before came fresh to her mind, which she offered fervently to
her Maker. The night was long and dreary, and she spent it without sleep. Very shortly after fastening her horse, the animal became
uneasy, and, breaking his bridle, started off at full speed.  This
greatly added to her misfortunes, for she had hoped by him to have
reached some settlement the next day.
At length day dawned; and though, by the help of her clothing
and her dog, she had kept herself and child from freezing, yet she
was so benumbed by the cold as almost to be unable to walk and
carry her infant daughter with her. This was Saturday morning.
She now left part of her clothing, and made an effort to return to the
point where she left the great road. After traveling until she was
nearly exhausted, she concluded that, unless she reached the settlenient, she must perish with the cold. Indulging the hope, however,
that she might keep herself from freezing, or be found by some one,
she thought it best to return to the spot where she passed the previous
night. Accordingly, she started back, and, on her way, hung up her
apron on a bush, and afterward a handkerchief, as signs of distress;
in hope, though indeed but a faint hope, that some passing hunter
might see one or the other, and come to her relief. Late in the aftelrnoon of Saturday, and with great difficulty, she regained her lodgingplace.
But feeling now the dread of passing another night in so desolate
a place, and summoning that indomitable spirit of courage, peculiar
to her sex when in difficulty and danger, and seeing the sun fast declining, she determined to change her course, and make one more
desperate effort to gain some settlement. Throwing off part of her
apparel, in order to be less encumbered, she began again to contend
with the snow, rocks, and caverns ofthe mountains, and at length
came to a deep, narrow gorge, down the sides of which she could not
descend with her child.
She looked up and down, but could see no place that offered an
easier passage than the one before her. She hesitated a moment, but
having no other alternative, she threw her child over, and then followed herself. By taking hold of the laurel bushes on the opposite
side of the ravine, she managed to crawl up to the place where her
child lighted, which, to her great joy, she found uninjured, save by
a slight scratch on its face, caused by its falling on the crust of the
snow.  Resuming her journey, she came upon a' hog-path, which
led to a cleft of shelving rocks where these animals were accustomed
to sleep.
She had now traveled-as was afterward ascertained-one mile
and a half. Here she might have remained sheltered for the night;
but fearing the return of the half-starved hogs, and that herself, her
child, and her dog, might all become a sudden prey to their voraciousness, and her family never learn their fate, she immediately resumed




282         PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.
her march, and weary and faint, made her way about three hundred
yards off, to the side of the mountain. Finding her stockings entirely
cut up by the crust of the snow, and her limbs, and ankles, and
feet all bleeding, she yielded the struggle, and, under some pine
hushes hard by, she' obtained a place to sit down; but the snow sinking beneath her, rendered her situation most critical and desperate.
She took care to wrap her clothes around her feet, and body, as
well as she could; then clasping her babe warm to her bosom, she
committed herself to God.
Her faithful dog had not left her, and this night would lie down
just where she bade him; sometimes on her feet and limbs, and
sometimes at her back, changing alternately, as if to keep her from
freezing.  During the night she fell asleep, being exhausted with
labor and with want of food.  This night it snowed and blew, until
the new fall of snow was ten inches deep on the former. When she
awoke, she heard the chickens crowing at the foot of the mountain,
and the dogs barking, so near was she to a house; but the wind was
blowing directly from them to her, which proved extremely unfavorable to her. About the same time she thought she heard the people
feeding their cattle. She called as loud and as long as she could,
but no one came to her relief. This morning she found that her
feet and limbs were badly swelled, and the skin, in many places,
broken.
This discovery went home to her heart, and she commenced to
make her peace with God, and gave herself up to die. She thought
if her infant child were dead, she, too, could die in peace; but, to
leave it to perish with cold and hunger, was a thought more than a
mother's heart could bear. She laid the little thing down to freeze to
death before she should die herself, but when it wept, she would
take it up, and clasp it to her bosom. Despairing at last to make herself heard, as the wind continued to blow violently in a contrary
direction, she resorted to another expedient.  It was this:  She
pinned her child's bonnet around the dog's neck, and sent him to solicit help. The poor animal, as if perfectly understanding her meaning, started off immediately, and was afterward tracked to the house
nearest to his distressed mistress, and then to a mill; but, it being
Sabbath day, and extremely cold, the dwellings were all shut up, and
no one saw him, and in an hour or two he returned, and took up his
station. When it was becoming about feeding time, she commenced
calling again, and a man on the top of a stack of hay heard her, and
told his wife that he heard something on the mountain making a noise
like a person in distress; and he went to a neighbor and told him the
same thing; to which the latter, however, only replied, "I suppose it
must be a panther."
This night was likewise spent in making her peace with God, and
she stated to me, that if she had perished that night, she had no
doubt but that she would have gone to heaven.  Part of the night
was spent in great anxiety about her child. Her faithful dog, as he




PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.                       283
had done before, kept close -to her, and would lay down precisely
where told to.  This circumstance, in connection with that of being
covered witll snow, kept her from freezing to death.
In the morning, which was Monday, she commenced calling, the
third time, for help.  Her clothes were frozen to the ground, and
kept her from rising, and her exhaustion was complete.  She called
like one yielding to despail; but the wind being now favorable, a
mani who was feeding his flock heard her voice, as also did his wife
in the house, who was intimately acquainted with the distressed heroine of our narrative, and who said to her husband,' If Polly Boarer
was near, I should say it was her voice."  James Smyth and John
M'Intyre took their guns, and mounted their horses and started; but
were deceived in their course by the echoes of MIrs. Boarer's voice.
They hunted nearly all day, and returned home, and were about
putting up their horses, Awhen Mr. Smith heard the same plaint of
distress.  The suin was about an hour high, and the long, lingering
beams, strikincg from the far horizon upon the snow-clad wilds, inspired feelings of the deepest gloom and solitude,
They started agzain, but the feeble cry of the perishing woman had
ceased; and just as the men were taking' a wrong direction, she said
that she felt an indefinable, mysterious feeling come over her, which
said that if she only would call again, help would come to her.  She,
therefore, called once more, and was heard, and found.
But a new difficulty now arose.  She was frozen to the ground, and
was almost lifeless, and her faithful dog refused to let the strangers
approach.  At length, however, he was pacified.  She had not shed
a tear until this moment of her rescue.  But now, the tears fell, like
rain-drops from her eyes.  She was speedily conveyed to the nearest
house, where she became insensible, and remained so for twenty-four
hours.  The flesh fell, or rather peeled off her limbs, and many of
her toes came off; so that she was unable to walk until the following
August-a pe.riod of over six months. Her husband supposed that
his wife vwas safe at her father's, and her father never thought that
she had starited to visit his family.  The horse, after becoming free,
did not return home; so that there was no suspicion felt in regard to
her safety.
I leave the reader to his and to her own reflections on this incident.
I have heard the nmother and the daughter tell in love-feast, what I
have here imperfectly told you.  How true, and how applicable
in every condition of life-in poverty or in health, in prosperity o'r
adversity, in sunshine or in storm, in plenty or in distress —that declaration of the merciful Keeper of our race, "My grace is sufficient
for thee!"
19




284         PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
THE WIDOW OF THE PINE COTTAGE.
IT was Saturday night, and the widow of the Pine Cottage sat by
her blazing fagots with her five tattered children at her side, endeavoring, by listening to the artlessness of their juvenile prattle, to dissipate the heavy gloom that pressed upon her mind.  For a year her
own feeble hands had provided for her helpless family, for she had
no supporter; she thought of no friend in all the wide, unfriendly
world around; but -that mysterious Providence, the wisdom of whose
ways are above human comprehension, had visited her with wasting
sickness, and, her little means had become exhausted. It was now,
too, mid-winter, anti the snow lay heavy and deep through all the
surrounding forests, while storms still seemed gathering in the
heavens, and the driving wind roared amidst the bending pines, and
r.ocked her puny mansion.
The last herring smoked upon the coals before her; it was the only
article of food she possessed, and no wonder her forlorn and desolate.
state brought up in her bosom all the anxieties of a mother when she
looked upon her children; and no wonder, forlorn as she was, if she
suffered the heart-swellings of despair to rise, even though she knew
that He whose promise is to the widow and the orphan, cannot forget
his word.  Providence had many years before taken from her her
eldest son, who went from his forest home to try his fortune on the
high seas, since which she had heard no note or tidings of him; and
in latter times, had, by the hand of death, deprived her of the companion and staff of her worldly pilgrimage, in the person of her husband. Yet to this hour she had been upborne —she had not only
been able to provide for her little flock, but had never lost an opportunity of ministering to the wants of the poor and destitute.
The indolent may well bear with poverty, while the ability to gain
sustenance remains.  The individual who has but his own wants to
supply, may suffer with fortitude the winter of want; his affections
are not wounded, his heart not wrung.  The most desolate in populous cities may hope, for charity has not quite closed her hand and
heart, and shut her eyes on misery. But the industrious mother of
helpless and depending children, far from the reach of human charity,
has none of these to console her.  And such an one was the widow
of the Pine Cottage; but as she bent over the fire, and took up the
last scanty remnant of food to spread before her children, her spirits
seemed to brighten up, as by some sudden and mysterious impulse,
and Cowper's beautiful lines came uncalled across her mind:
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace,
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.
The smoked herring was scarcely laid upon the table, when a gentle rap at the door, an-ad the loud barking of a dog, attracted the




PRO VIDENT A.L OCCIURRENCES                   285
attention of the family.  The children flew to open it, and a weary
traveler, in tattered garments, and apparently indifferent health, entered and begged a lodging, ai d a mouthful of food: said he, "it is
now twenty-foul hours since I tasted bread."  The widow's heart
bled anew, as under a fresh complication of distresses; for her sympathies lingered not round her fireside. She hesitated not even now;
rest and share of all she had, she proffered to the stranger.  "We
shall not be forsaken," said she, i" or suffer deeper for an act of
charity."
The traveler drew near the board; but when he saw the scanty
fare, he raised his eyes towards heaven with astonishment.  "And
is this all your store?" said he: " and a share of this do you offer to
one you know not? Then never saw I charity before! But, madam,"
said he, continuing, "do you not wrong your children by giving a,
part of your last mouthful to a stranger?"  "Ah!" said the poor
widow, and the tears gushed to her eyes, "I have a boy, a darling
son, somewhere on the face of this wide world, unless God has taken
him away; and I only act towards you, as I would that others should
act towards him. God who sent manna from heaven can provide for
us as he did for Israel; and how should I this night offend him, if my
son should be a wanderer, destitute as you, and he should have provided for him a home even poor as this, were I to turn you unrelieved away?"
The widow ended, and the stranger springing from his seat, clasped
her in his arms.  1" God, indeed, has provided just such a home for
your wandering son," said he, "and has given him wealth to reward
the goodness of his benefactress-my mother! oh, my mother!"
It was her long lost son, returned from the Indies to her bosom.
He had chosen that disguise, that he might the more completely surprise his family; and never was surprise more perfect, or followed by
a sweeter cup of joy. That humble residence in the forest was exchanged for one comfortable, and indeed beautiful in the valley; and
the widow lived long with her dutiful son in the enjoyment of worldly
plenty, and in the delightful employments of virtue: and at this day
the passer-by is pointed to the luxuriant willow that spreads its broad
and green branches above her grave, while he listens to the recital of
his simple and homely, but not altogether worthless tale.
THE PRESUMPTUOUS MURDERER.
A LITTLE more than fifty years ago, a man by the name of Henry
Thomson called at the house of Mr. John Smith, a resident in a
retired part of England, and requested a night's lodging.  This request was readily granted and the stranger having taken some




NoSG      PROVIDENTIAL  O CCURRENCES.
refreshment, retired early to bed, requesting that he might be awakened at an early hour the following morning.
When the servant appointed to call him entered the room for that
purpose, he was found in his bed, perfectly dead.
On examining his body no marks of violence appeared, but his coun.
tenance looked extremely natural.  The story of his death soon
spread among the neighbors, and inquiries were made who he was,
and by what means he came by his death.
Nothinog certain, however, was known. He had arrived on horseback, and was seen passingo through a neighboring village, about an
hour before he reached the house where he came to his end. And
then, as to the manner of his death, so little could be discovered, that
the jury which was summoned to investigate the cause, returned a
verdict that he died "' by a visitation of God."  When this was done,
the stranger was buried.
Days and weeks passed on, and little further was known.  The
public mind, however, was not at rest. Suspicions existed that foul
mleans had hastened the stranger's death. Whispers to that effect
were expressed, and in the hearts of many, Smith was considered as
the guilty man.
The former character of Smith had not been good. He had lived
a loose and irregular life, involved himself in debt by his extravagances; and, at length, being suspected of having obtained money
wrongfully, he suddenly fled from the town.
More than ten years, however, had now elapsed, since his return,
during which he had lived at his present residence, apparently in
good circumstances, and with an improved character. His former
life, however, was now remembered, and suspicion, after all, fastened
upon him.
At the expiration of two months, a gentleman one day stopped in
the place for the purpose of making inquiry respecting the stranger,
who had been found dead in his bed. He supposed himself to be a
brother of the man. The horse and clothes of the unfortunate mana
still remained, and were immediately known as having belonged to
his brother.  The body also, itself was taken up, and though considerably changed, bore a strong resemblance to him.
He now felt authorized to ascertain, if possible, the manner of his
death. He proceeded, therefore, to investigate the circumstances, as
well as he was able. At length he made known to the magistrate of
the district, the information he had collected, and upon the strength
of this, Smith was taken to jail to be tried for the willful murder of
Henry Thomson.
The celebrated Lord Mansfield was then on the bench. He charged
the grand jury to be cautious as to finding a bill against the prisoner.
The evidence of his guilt, if guilty, might be small. At a future
time it might be greater; more information might be obtained.
Should the jury now find a bill against him, and should he be acquitted, he could not be molested again, whatever testimony should rise




PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.                     287
IIp against him. The grand jury, however, did find a bill, but it was
by a majority of only one.
At length, the time of trial arrived. Smith was brought into court,
and placed at the bar. A great crowd thronged the room, eager and
anxious to see the prisoner and to hear the trial. He himself appeared firm  and collected. Nothing in his manner or appearance
indicated guilt; and, when the question was put to him by the clerk,
"Are you guilty, or not guilty?" he answered with an unfaltering
tongue, and with a countenance perfectly unchanged, " Not guilty."
The counsel for the prosecution now opened the case. But it was
apparent that he had little expectation of being able to prove the
prisoner guilty. He stated to the jury, that the case was involved in
great mystery.  The prisoner was a man of respectability and of
property. The deceased was supposed to have had about him, gold
and jewels to a large amount; but the prisoner was not so much in
want of funds, as to be under a strong temptation to commit murder.
And, besides, if the prisoner had obtained the property he had effectually concealed it. Not a trace of it could be found.
Why, then, was the prisoner suspected?  He woull state the
grounds of suspicion. The deceased, Henry Thomson, was a jeweler,
residing in London, and a man of wealth. He had left London
for the purpose of meeting a trader at Hull, of whom he expected to
make a large purchase.  That trader he did meet; and after the
departure of the latter, Mr. Thomson was known to have had in his
possession jewels and gold to a large amount.
With these in his possession, he left Hull on his return to London.
It was not known that he stopped until he reached Smith's, and the
next morning was discovered dead in his bed. He died, then, in
Smith's house, and if it could be shown that he came to his death in
an unnatural way, it would increase the suspicion, that the prisoner
was in some way connected with the murder.
Now, then, continued the counsel, it will be proved beyond the
possibility of a doubt, that the deceased died by poison. But what
was that poison?  It was a recent discovery of some German chemists, said to be produced from distilling the seed of the wild cherry tree.
It was a poison more powerful than any other known, and deprived
of life so immediately, as to leave no marks of suffering, and no contortions of the features.
But, then, the question was, by whom was it administered?  One
circumstance, a small one indeed, and yet upon it might hang a horrid tale, was, that the stopper of a small bottle of a very singular
description had been found in the prisoner's house. That stopper
had been examined, and said by medical men to have belonged to a
German vial, containing the kind of poison which he had described.
But, then, was that poison administered by Smith, or at his instigation? Who were the prisoner's family? It consisted only of himself,
a housekeeper, and one man-servant.  The man-servant slept in an
out-house adjoining the stable, and did so on the night of Thomson's




238        PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.
death. The prisoner slept at one end of the house, the housekeeper
at the other, and the deceased had been put in a room adjoining the
housekeeper's.
It would be proved, that about three hours after midnight, on sthe
ni-ght of Thomson's death a light had been seen, moving about the
house, and that a figure holding the light was seen to go from the
room in which the prisoner slept, to the housekeeper's room; the light
now disappeared for a minute, when two persons were seen, but
whether they went into Thomson's room, the witness could not swear;
but shortly after they were observed passing quite through the entry
to Smith's room, into which they entered, and in about five minutes
the light was extinguished.
The witness would further state; that, after the person had returned with the light into Snith's room, and before it was extinguished, he had twice perceived some dark object to intervene between
the light and the window, almost as large as the surface of the window itself, and which he described by saying, it appeared as if a door
had been placed before the light. Now, in Smith's room, there was
nothing- which could account for this appearance; his bed was in a
different part; and there was neither cupboard nor press in the room,
which, but for the bed, was entirely empty, the room in which lie
dressed being at a distance beyond it.
The counsel for the prosecution here concluded what he had to say.
During his address Smith appeared in no wise to be agitated or distlessed; and equally unmoved was he while the witnesses testified in
substance what the opening speech of the counsel led the court and
the jury to expect.
Lord Mansfield now addressed the jury. He told them that, in his
opinion, tlie evidence was not sufficient to condemn the prisoner; and
that, if the jury agreed with him in opinion, the court would dischar(ge him. Without leaving -their seats, the jury agreed that the
evidence was not sufficient.
At this moment, when they were about to render a verdict of ac.
quittal, the prisoner rose and addressed the court. He said that he
had been accused of a foul crime, and the jury had said that there
was not sufficient evidence to convict him. Did the jury mean tlhai,
there was any evidence ag ainst him?  Was he to go out of court, with
suspicions resting' upon him after all?  This he was unwilling to do.
He was an innocent man, and if the judge would grant him an opportunity, he would prove it. He would call his housekeeper, who would
confirmi a statement which he would now make.
The housekeeper had not appeared in court.  She had concealed
herself, or had been concealed by Smith. This was considered a
dark sign against him. But he himself now offered to bring her
forward, and stated as the reason, not that he was unwilling that she
should testify, but knowing' the excitement, he was fearful that she
might be bribed to g-ive testimony contrary to fact. But he was now
1ready to relate all the circumstances he knew; she might, then, be




PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.                      289
called, and be examined. If her testimony does not confirm my story,
let me be condemned.
The iequest of the prisoner seemed reasonable, and Lord Mansfield,
contrary to his usual practice, granted it.
The prisoner went on with his statement.  He said he wished to
go out of court relieved fiom the suspicions which were resting upon
him. As to the poison, by means of which the stranger was said to
have died, he knew neither the name of it, nor the effect of it, nor
even of the existence of it, until made known by the counsel. He
could call God to witness the truth of what he said.
And, then, as to Mr. Thomson, he was a perfect stranger to him.
How should he know what articles of value he bad with him!  He
did not know. If he had such articles at Hull, he might have lost
them on the ioad; or, which was more probable, have otherwise disposed of them. And if he died by means of the fatal drug, he must
have administered it himself.
He begged the jury to remember, that his premises had been repeatedly and minutely searched, and that not the most trifling article
that belonged to the deceased, had been discovered in his possession.
The stopper of a vial had been found-but of this he could only say,
he had no knowledge, and had never seen it before it was produced
in court.
One fact had been proved, and only one. That he would explain,
and his housekeeper would confirm his statement. A witness had
testified that some one had gone to the bedroom of the housekeeper,
on the night in question. He was ready to admit that it was he himself.  He had been subject for many years of his life to sudden fits
of illness; he had been seized with one on that occasion, and had
gone to her to procure her assistance in lighting a fire. She had returned with him to his room for that purpose, he having waited for a,
minute in the passage, while she put on her clothes. This would
account for the momentary disappearance of the light. After remaining a few minutes in his room, finding himself better, he had dismissed her, and retired to bed, from which he had not risen when he
was informed of the death of the guest.
Such was the prisoner's address, which produced a powerful effect.
It was delivered in a very firm and impressive manner; and from the
simple and artless manner of the man, perhaps not one present
doubted his entire innocence.
The housekeeper was now introduced, and examined by counsel
for the prisoner.  She had not heard any part of the statement of,
Smith, nor a single word of the trial. Her story confirmed all that
he had said.
To this succeeded her cross-examination by the counsel for the
prosecution. One circumstance had made a deep impression on his
mind; this was, that while the prisoner and the housekeeper were in
the room of the former, something like a door had obstructed the
light of the candle, so the witness testified to the fact, but could not




290        PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
see it. What was thle obstruction?  There was no door —nothing in
the room which could account for this. Yet the witness was positive
that something like a door did, for a moment, come between the -window and the candle. This needed explanation. The housekeeper
was the only person that could give it. Designingl to probe this matter in the end to the bottom, but not wishing to excite her alarm, he
be;an by asking her a few unimportant questions, and among others,
where the candle stood, while she was in Mr. Smith's room.
"In the centre of the room," she replied.
" Well, and was the closet, or cupboard, or whatever you call it,
opened once or twice, while it stood there?"
She made no reply.
"' I will help your recollection," said the counsel; "after Mr. Smith
had taken the medicine out of the closet, did he shut the door, or did
it remain open?"
"He shut it."
"And, when he replaced the bottle in the closet, he opened it
again, did he?"
"-He did."
" And how long was it open the last time?"
" N ot above a minute."
"Well, and when open, would the door be exactly between the
light and the window?"
"It would."
"I forget," said the counsel, " whether you said the closet was on
the right or the left hand side of the window?"
O' n the left hand side."
"Would the door of the closet make any noise in opening?"
"None."
A' Are you certain?"'  am."
"Ha've you ever opened it yourself, or only seen Mr. Smith
open it?"
"I never opened it myself."
"Did you ever keep the key?"
" Never."
"Who did?"
"M Br. Smith always."
At this moment the housekeeper chanced to cast her eye toward
Smith, the prisoner.  His countenance suddenly changed. A cold,
damp sweat stood upon his brow, and his face had lost all its color:
he appeared a living image of death. She no sooner saw him, than
she shrieked and fainted. The consequence of her answers flashed
across her mind. She had been so thoroughly deceived by the manner of the advocate, and by the little importance he had seemed to
attach to her statements, that she had been led on by one question to
another, till she had told him all he wanted to know.




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                     291
She was obliged to be taken from the court, and a physician, who
was present, was requested to attend her. At this time the solicitor
for the prosecution (answering to our state's attorney,) left the court,
but no one knew for what purpose. Presently the physician came
into court, and- stated that it would be impossible for the housekeeper
to resume her seat in the box short of an hour or two.
It was about twelve in the day. Lord Mansfield, having directed
that the jury should be accommodated with a room, where they
could be kept by themselves, adjourned the court two hours. The
prisoner in the mean time was remanded to jail.
It was between four and five o'clock, when the judge resumed his
seat upon the bench. The prisoner was again placed at the bar, and
the housekeeper brought in and led to the box. The court room was
crowded to excess, and an awful silence pervaded the place.
The cross-examining counsel again addressed the housekeeper.  "I
have but a few more questions to ask you," said he; "take heed how
you answer, for your own life hangs upon a thread."
"Do you know this stopper?"
",I do."
To whom does it belong?'
"T o Mr. Smith."
"'When did you see it last?"
"On the night of Mr. Thomson's death."
At this moment the solicitor entered the court, bringing with him
upon a tray, a watch, two money-bags, a jewel-case, a pocket-book,
and a bottle of the same manufacture as the stopper, and having a
cork in it. The tray was placed on the table in sight of the prisoner
and the witness, and from that moment not a doubt remained in the
mind of any man of the guilt of the prisoner.
A few words will bring this melancholy tale to its close.  The
house, where the murder had been committed, was between nine and
ten Imiles distant.  The solicitor, as soon as the cross-examination of
the housekeeper had discovered the existence of the closet, and its
situation, had set off on horseback, with two sheriff's officers, and,
after pulling down a part of the wall of the house, had detected this
important place of concealment. Their search was well rewarded:
the whole of the property belonging to Mr. Thomson was found there,
amounting in value to some thousand pounds; and to leave no room
for doubt, a bottle was discovered, which the medical men instantly
pronounced to contain the very identical poison which had caused the
death of the unfortunate Thomson.   The result was too obvious to
need explanation.
It scarcely need be added that Smith was convicted and executed,
and brought to this awful punishment by his own means. Had he
said nothing —had he not persisted in calling a witness to prove his
innocence, he might have escaped. But God had evidently left him
to work out his own ruin, as a just reward of his awful crime.




2932       PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
THE IHEADLESS NAIL.
TIHERE lived in England, some years since, a clergyman, by the
name of Dr. Donne.  In the earlier part of his ministerial life, he
administered to a congregation out of London.  One day, while
taking a walk around his parish, he entered the churchyard, where
he found the grave-digger employed in digging a grave.  Advancing
to the spot, he stood and watched, for a time, the movements of the
man, at the same time holding such conversation with him, as would
be likely to arise from the gloomy nature of the grave-digger's employment.  In the midst of the work and the conversation, the latter
came upon a skull, which he threw out.
The doctor observing it, picked it up for the purpose of examining
it; in doing which, what was his surprise to notice a nail without a
head, sticking in the bone of the temple.  He said nothing to the
grave-digger about the discovery, but drawing out the nail, he concealed it in the corner of his handkerchief. Having done this, without apparent design, he demanded of the man whether he knew
whose skull that was.
The grave-digger replied that he believed he did.  "In this spot,"
said he, " several years ago, there was buried a man who kept a
brandy shop, at no great distance from this."
" And what character did he sustain?" inquired the doctor.
"Oh," said the grave-digger, " he was an honest man, for all that
I know; but, then, he would drink too much, and one morning, after
a night of intoxication, he was found dead in his bed."
"Had he a wife?" asked the doctor.
Yes."
"And what sort of a woman was she?"
"Quite a clever woman," said the grave-digger;  "only the
neighbors used to reflect on her, because she married another man
the day after her husband was buried."
Is she still living?" asked the doctor.
" Yes," said the grave-dig'ger; " she and her husband occupy the
house which yo70  observe yonder, down the hill."
The conversation here terminated, and the doctor continued his
walk.  There must have been, thought he to himself, as he left the
churchyard, some foul work by which this man came to his death.
After some reflection he determined to proceed to the house, and
make such inquiries as circumstances might seem to justify.
On reaching the place, he introduced himself to the woman, with
whom he entered into a conversation; and among other topics, alluded to her bereavenient of a former husband.  The woman was by
no means backward to converse upon the subject, but affected great
sorrow at her former loss. For a time the doctor listened to her with
apparent sympathy; but, at length, suddenly opening his liandkerchief, he demanded in a stern manner, " Woman, do you know this
nail 9"




PROViDENTIAL  OCCURRENC ES.                       293
Struck -with horror, she instantly confessed her guil]t.
From facts like this we may learn, that important results are often
connected with apparently trifling circumstances; and that what God
designs to disclose, no human foresight or cunning is able to conceal.
NARROW ESCAPE FROM EXECUTION.
SIR EVAN NEPEAN, Of the Home Department, relates the following
respecting himself.  One night during his office as under-secretary,
he felt the most unaccountable wakefulness that could be imagined;
he was in perfect health, had dined early, and -had nothing whatever
on his mind to keep him awake. Still he found all attempts to sleep
impossible, and from eleven till two in the morning, he never closed
an eye.  At length, weary of this struggle, and as the twilight was
breaking, (it was in summer,) he determined to try what would be
the effect of a walk in the park.  There he saw nothing but the
sleepy sentinels.  But in his walk, happening to pass the house-office
several times, he thought of letting himself in with his key, though
without any particular object.  The book of entries of the day before,
still lay on the table, and. through sheer listlessness he opened it.
The first thing lie saw appalled him: "A reprieve to be sent to York
for the coiners ordered for execution."  The execution had been
ordered for the next day.  It struck him that he had received no
return to his order to send the reprieve.  He searched the "' minutes."
He could not find it there.  In alarm  he went to the house of the
chief clerk, who lived in Downing-street, knocked him  up, (it was
then past three,) and asked him if he knew any thing of the reprieve
being sent.  In great alarm, the chief clerk could not remember.
"You are scarcely awake," said Sir Evan, "recollect yourself; it
must have been sent."
The clerk said that he now recollected lie had sent it to the clerk of
the crown, whose business it was to forward it to York.
" Good," said Sir Evan, "but have you his receipt and certificate
that it is gone?"
" NO."
" Then come with me to his house, we must find him, it is early?"
It was now four, and the clerk of the crown lived in Chancery-Lane.
There was no hackney coach to be seen and they almost ran. They
were just in time.  The clerk of the crown had a country house, and
meaning, to have a long holiday, lie was at that moment stepping into
his,gig to go to his villa.  Astonished at this visit of the under secretary of state at such an hour, he was still more so at his business.
"Heavens!" cried he, 1" the reprieve is locked up in my deskl  "
It was brouglht.  Sir Evan sent to the post-office for the truest and
fleetest express.  The reprieve reached York next morning just at
the moment the unhappy men were ascending the cart.




294      PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
PRUDENTIAL TALENT.
To excel others is a proof of talent; but to lknow fwhen~ to
conceal that superiority is a greater proof of prudence.  The
celebrated orator Doimititus Afer, wrhen attacked in a set speech
by Ca ligula, made no reply, affecting to be entirely ovelrcome
by the resistless eloquence of the tyrant.  Ead he replied, lhe
would certainly have conquered, and as certainly have (lied;
but he wisely preferred a defeat, that saced his life, to a victory
that would have cost it.  C. C. Collton.
A TRAVELER SAVED FROM MURDER BY A DOG.
A TRAVELER in Cornwall, England, observed a strange dog following him on the road, which, notwithstanding every effort he used to
drive him back, claimed acquaintance with him.
Beincg benighted in a lonely place, he called at the first inn he met
with, and desired to be accommodated with a room. After supper
the gentleman retired to rest. No sooner had he opened the door,
than the before mentioned dog' rushed in. After some fruitless
efforts to drive the dog away, the gentleman permitted him to stay in
the room, thinking le could do him no harm.  When the gentleman
began to prepare for bed, the dog ran to a closet door and then ran
back to him, looking very wistfully at him. This the dog did several
times, which so far excited the curiosity of the gentleman, that he
opened the closet door, and to his great terror saw a person laid with
his throat cut.  Struck with horror, he began to think of his own
state. To attempt to run away he supposed would be unsafe. He
therefore began to barricade the door with the furniture of the room,
and laid himself on the bed with his clothes on. About nlidnight
two men came to the door and requested admittance, stating that the
gentleman that slept there the preceding night had forgotten something, and was returned for it. He replied the room was his, and no
one should enter it until morning,. They went away, but soon returned
with two or three other men, and demanded entrance; but the gentleman, with an austere voice, threatened if they did not desist he
would defend himself.  -Awed apparently by this bold reply, they
left himl, and disturbed him no more.
In tile' morning he inquired for a barber; one was immediately
sent for, when the gentleman took the opportunity of inquiring into
the character of his host.  The barber replied, he was a neighbor,




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                      295
and did not wish to say any thinog to his disadvantage.'Tlhe gentleman still ur,,ed hIis inquiry, assuring, him that he had notlhing to fear,
till the barber said,'" Sir, if I must tell the truth, they bear a very
bad character; for it has been reportel that persons have called here
who ]lave never been heard of afterward."  Can you, said the gentleman, keep a secret?  On his answerin, in the affirmative, the
gentleman opened the closet door and showed himl thle person with
his throat cut; he then directed the barber to procure a constable
anrd proper assistance with all speed, which was done immediately,
and the host and hostess were both taken into custody to take their
trial at the next assize.  Thy took their tivial, were found guilty of
the murder, condemned and executed.  The dog was never seen by
the gentleman afterward.
ESCAPE FROlM BUFFALOES AND A PANTHER.
IN one of my excursions, says IMr. Hunter, among the western Ine
dians, while seated in the shade of a large tree, situated on a gentle
declivity, with a view to procure some mitigation from the oppressive
heat of the noonday sun, I was surprised by a tremendous rushing
noise. I sprang up, and discovered a herd I believe of a thousand
buffaloes, running at full speed directly toward me; as I supposed
to b:.at off the flies, which at this season inconceivably trouble some
of those animalls.
I placed myself behind a tree, so as not to be seen, not apprehendinlg any (langer, because they ran with too great rapidity and too
closely together to afford any one of them an opportunity of injuring
me while protected in this manner.  The buffaloes passed so near me
on both sides that I could have touchelld several merely by extending
my arm.  In the rear of the herd, was one on which a lihuge panther
had fixed, and was voraciously engaged in cutting oft' the muscles of
its neck.  I did not discover this circumstance till it had nearly passed
beyond rifle-shot distance, when I discharged my piece and wounded
the panther.  It instantly left its hold on the bufialo, and bounded
with great rapidity toward me.  On witnessing the result of my shot,
the apprehensions I suffered can hardly be imagined.  I had, however, sufficient presence of mind to retreat, and secrete myself behind
the trunk of the tree, opposite to its approaching direction.  Here,
solicitous for lwhat possibly might be the result of my unfortunate shot,
I prepared bothl my knife and tomakawk for what I supposed a dreadful conflict with this terrible animal.  In a few moments, however, I
had the satisfaction to hear it in the branches of the tree over my
head.  My rifle had just been discharged, and I entertained fears
that I could not reload it without discovery, and yet exposing myself
to the fury of its destructive rage.  I looked into the tree with the




29a 6      PROVIDENTIAL  OCCU RRENCES.
utmost caution, but could not perceive it, though its groans and vengeance-breathino growls told me that it was not far off, and also what
I had to expect, in case it should discover me. In this situation, with
my eyes almost constantly upward to observe its motions, I silently
loaded my rifle, and then creeping softly round the tree, saw my
formidable enemy resting on a considerable branch about thirty feet
from tile ground, with his side fairly exposed. I was unobserved,
took deliberate aim, and shot it through the heart. It made a single
bound from the tree. to the earth, and died in a moment afterward.
THE EAGLE AND  CHILD.
A PEASANT, with his wife and three children, had taken up his summer quarters in a chalet, and was pasturing -his flock on one of the
rich Alps which overhang the Durance. The oldest boy -was an
idiot, about eight years of age; the second was five years old, and
dumb; and the youngest was an infant. It so happened that the infant was left one morning in charge of his brothers, and the three
had rambled to some distance from  the chalet before they were
missed.
WFhen the mother went in search of the little wanderers, she found
the two elder, but could discover no traces of the babe.  The idiot
boy seemed to be in a transport of joy, while the dumb child displayed every symptom of alarm and terror. In vain did the terrified
parent endeavor to collect what had become of the lost infant.  The
antics of the one and the fright of the other explained nothing. The
dumb boy was almost bereft of his senses, while the idiot appeared
to have acquired an unusual degree of mirth and expression. He
danced about, laughed, and made gesticulations as if he were imitating the action of one who had caught up something of which he was
fond, and hugged it to his heart.  This, however, was some slight
comfort to the poor woman; for she imagined that some acquaintance
had fallen in with the children, and had taken away the infant. But
the day and night wore away, and no tidings came of the lost child.
On the morrow, when the parents were pursuing their search, an
eagle flew over their heads, at the sight of which the idiot renewed
his antics, and the dumb boy clung to his father with shrieks of anguish and affright. The horrible truth then burst upon their minds,
that their infant had been carried off in the talons of a bird of prey,
and that the half-witted elder brother was delighted at his riddance
of an object of whom he was jealous.
On the morning on which the accident happened, an Alpine yager
had been watching near an eagle's seat, under the hope of shooting
the bird on her return to her nest. The yager, waiting in all the
anxious perseverance of a true sportsman, beheld the eagle slowly




PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.                      297
winging her way to the rock behind which he was concealed.
Imagine his horror, when, upon her nearer approach, lie heard the
cries and distinguished the figure of an infant in her fatal grasp. In
an instant his resolution was formed-to fire at the bird at all hazards
the moment she should alight upon her nest, and rather to kill the
child than leave it to be torn to pieces by.-the eagle. With a silent
prayer, and with a steady aim, the mountaineer poised his rifle.  The
ball went directly through the eagle, and in a minute afterward the
gallant hunter of the Alps had the unutterable delight of snatching
the child from the nest and bearing it away in triumph. It was
dreadfully wounded by the eagle in one of its arms and sides, but
not mortally; and within twenty-four hours after it was first missed,
he had the satisfaction of restoring it to its mother's arms.
A REMARKABLE CONFESSION.
A JEWELER, a man of good character and considerable wealth,
having occasion, in the way of business, to travel some distance from
his abode, took along with him a servant.  He had with him some of
his best jewels, and a large sum of money, to which hi:, servant was
likewise privy. The master having occasion to dismount on the road,
the servant watched his opportunity, took a pistol fiom his master's
saddle, and shot him dead on the spot; then, rifling him of his money
and jewels, and hanging a large stone to his neck, he threw him into
the nearest canal.
With the booty thus infamously secured, he made off to a distant
part of the country, where he had reason to believe that neither he
nor his master were known. There he began to trade, in a very low
way at first, that his obscurity might screen him from observation; and
in the course of many years seemed to rise up by the natural progress
of business into wealth and consideration; so that his oood fortune
appeared at once the effect of industry and the reward of virtue.  Of
these he counterfeited the appearance so well, that he grew into great
credit, married into a good family, and, by laying out his hidden
stores discreetly, as he saw occasion, and joining to all a universal
affability, he was at length admitted to a share of the government of
the town, and rose from one post to another, till at last he was chosen
chief magistrate.
In this office he maintained a fair character, and continued to fill
it with no small applause, both as governor and judge; till one day,
as he sat on the bench with some of his brethren, a criminal was
brought before him who was accused of murdering his master.  The
evidence came out full, the jury brought in their verdict that the
prisoner was guilty, and the whole assembly awaited the sentence of




298         PROVIDENTIAL  O C CU RRENCES.
the president of the court (which happened to be himself,) in great
suspense.
Meanwhile he appeared to be in unusual disorder and agitation of
mind: his color changed often. At length he arose fioml his seat,
and coming down from the bench, placed himself just by the unfortunate man at the bar. to the no small astonishment of all present.
"You see before you," said he, addressing'himself to those who had
sat on the bench with him, " a striking instance of the just awards of
Heaven; for this day, after thirty years' concealment, presents to you
a greater criminal than the man just now found guilty."  He then
made an ample confession of his heinous offence, with all its peculiar
aggravations.  "Nor can I," continued he, "feel any relief from the
agonies of an awakened conscience, but by requiring that justice be
forthwith done against me in the most public and solemn manner."
We may easily imagine the amazement of all, especially his fellowjudges. They accordingly proceeded, upon his confession, to pass
sentence upon him, and he died with all the symptoms of a penitent
mind.
WESLEY'S PRESERVATION FROM FIRE.
MR. WESLEY, father of the Rev. John Wesley, was roused from
sleep by the cry of fire from the street; but little imagining that the
fire was in his own house, he opened his bed-room  door and found
the place full of smoke, and that the roof was already burned through.
Directing his wife and two girls to rise and flee for their lives, he
burst open the nursery-door, where the maid was sleeping with five
children. She snatched up the youngest and bade the others follow
her: the three eldest did so; but John, who was then six years old,
was not awakened, and in the alarm was forgotten. The rest of them
escaped-some through the windows, some through the garden-door;
and Mrs. WTesley, to use her own expression, "waded through the
fire."  At this time John, who had not been remembered till that
moment, was heard crying in the nursery.  The father ran to the
stairs, but they were so nearly consumed that they could not bear his
weight; and being utterly in despair, he fell upon his knees in the
hall, and in agony commended the soul of the child to God.  John
had been awakened by the light, and finding it impossible to escape
by the door, climbed up a chest that stood near the window, and he
was then seen from the yard.  There was no time for procuring a
ladder; but one man was hoisted on the shoulders of another, and
thus he was taken out. A moment after the roof fell in.
When the child was rescued, the father cried out, " Come, neighbors, let. us lmeel down; let us give thanks to God! He has given me
all my eight children: let the house go, I am rich enough."




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES                      299
Mr. Wesley remembered this providential deliverance through life
with the deepest gratitude. Under one of the portraits published
during his life, is a representation of a house on fire, with the scriptural inquiry, " Is not this a brand plucked out of the burning?"
PRESERVATION FROM ROBBERS.
Is the year 1785, a widow woman and her family resided in the
city of Diet, in a lonely situation.  She had one son and two daughters, and was supported by some property which her husband had
left her.  One night a person dressed in uniform, with a musket and
broadsword, came to the house and requested lodgings.  "I let no
lodgings, friend," said the widow, " and besides, I have no spare bed,
unless you sleep with my son, which I think very improper on account of your being a perfect stranger to us all."  The soldier
showed a discharge from Diesbach's regiment, which gave him an
excellent character, and a passport from Count Maillebois, governor
of Breda. He was then hospitably entertained and withdrew to bed.
Some hours after a knocking was heard at the door; and it was almost
broken through by some robbers, when the soldier moved softly down
stairs and stripped at the hall door, and the son, having seized a case
of loaded pistols, joined him. Soon afterward the door was forced
in, and two ruffians entered, who were instantly shot. Two associates of the dead men, however, returned the fire, but without effect.
T'he intrepid stranger now rushed forward and killed one with his
bayonet and the other with his gun, thus preserving the lives of his
kind friends.  This veteran's name was Adrian de Gries; he was a
native of Middleburgh, and was upward of seventy years old at the
time of this exploit.
ESCAPE OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.
MAJOR FERGUSON, whocommanded a rifle corps in advance of the
hussars under Kniphausen, during some skirmishing a day or two
previous to the battle of Brandywine, was the hero of a very singular
incident, which he thus relates in a letter to a friend.  It illustrates,
in a most forcible manner, the overruling hand of Providence in
directing the operations of a man's mind in moments when he is least
of all aware of it.
"We had not lain long when a rebel officer, remarkable by a hussar dress, pressed toward our army, within a hundred yards of my
right flank, not perceiving us. He was followed by another, dressed
20




300         PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.
in dark green and blue, mounted on a bay horse, with a remarkably
high cocked hat. I ordered three good shots to steal near to them,
and fire at them; but the idea disgusting me, I recalled the order.
The hussar, in returning, made a circuit, but the other passed within
a hundred yards of us, upon which I advanced from the wood toward
him. Upon my calling, he stopped; but after looking at me, he proceeded. I again drew his attention, and made signs to him to stop,
leveling my piece at him; but he slowly cantered away.  As I was
within that distance at which, in the quickest firing, I could have
lodged half a dozen balls in or about him, before he was out of my
reach, I had only to determine; but it was not pleasant to fire at the
back of an unoffending individual, who was acquitting himself very
coolly of his duty; so I let him alone.
The day after, I had been telling this story to some wounded officers who lay in the same room with me, when one of the surgeons,
who had been dressing the wounded rebel officers, came in, and told
us, that they had been informing him that General Washington was all
the morning with the light troops, and only attended by a' French.officer in a hussar dress, he himself dressed and mounted in every,point as above described. I am not sorry that I did not know at the
-tiXme who it was."
THE MURDERED SON.
Two young men of Virginia, who served in the American army
during the war, having regularly got their discharge, went home to
their friends. One had only a mother living when he left home.
When they had got near home, they fell into a conversation on the
length of time they had been away, and concluded to try whether
their parents would know them; and with this impression, each took
the nearest path home.
The one who had only a mother came in; and, finding his mother
did not know him, he asked for lodging, to whom she replied that she
could not lodge him —that there was a tavern not far from the place,
where he might get lodging, &c. He importuned, but she refused,
till at last he told her he had a little money, and he was afraid to
lodge in a tavern, lest some person should rob him. He took out his
purse and offered it to her keeping. She, struck with the mammon,
consented immediately to his staying. Accordingly he did, had supper, and still never discovered himself to his mother or any of the
family. He was directed to a bed once more in the chamber of her
who conceived him. How safe he must have thought himself then,
compared to the field of battle. But she summoned a negro man,
told him the scheme she had planned, hired him to aid her, where
they murdered him in his bed.
Next day his fellow-soldier came to see his friend; but, on asking




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                    301
for the stranger, could hear nothing of him. He thought it was a
trick to plague him that the old woman denied it, till hearing her
affirm that no stranger had come there the last evening, nor any man,
he asked her if she had not a son who went to the war. She said
she had.' Well," said he, "I left him within a few miles of this
house last evening, and he came here; and he told me he would not
make himself known to you, to see if you had forgotten his looks.
He must be here." The cruel mother fainted at the sentence, confessed her wickedness, and showed her murdered son, crammed in a
closet of the house!
THE SERGEANT AND THE DRUMMER BOY.
JARvIS MUTcHAM was pay-sergeant in a regiment where he was so
highly esteemed as a steady and accurate man, that he was permitted
opportunity to embezzle a considerable part of the money lodged in
his hands for the pay of the soldiers, bounty of recruits, (then a large
sum,) and other charges, which fell within his duty. He was summoned to join his regiment from a town where he had been on the
recruiting service; and this, perhaps, under some shade of suspicion.
Mutcham perceived discovery was at hand, and would have deserted,
had it not been for the presence of a little drummer lad, who was the
only one of his party appointed to attend him. In the desperation of
his crime, he resolved to murder. the poor boy, and avail himself of
some balance of money to make his escape. He meditated this wickedness the more readily, that the drummer, he thought, had been put
as a spy on him.
He perpetrated his crime, and changing his dress after the deed
was done, made a long walk across the country to an inn on the
Portsmouth road, where he halted, and went to bed, desiring to be
called when the first Portsmouth coach came. The waiter summoned
him accordingly; but long afterward remembered that when he shook
the guest by the shoulder, his first words as he awoke were, "I did
not kill him."
Mutcham went to the seaport by the coach, and instantly entered
as an able-bodied landsman or marine, I know not which.  His
sobriety and attention to duty gained him the same good opinion of
the officers in his new service, which he had enjoyed in the army. He
was afloat for several years, and behaved remarkably well in several
actions. At length the vessel came into Plymouth, was paid off, and
some of the crew, among whom was Jarvis Mutcham, were dismissed
as too old for service. He and another seaman resolved to walk to
town, and took the route by Salisbury. It was when within two or
three miles of that celebrated city, that they were overtaken by a
tempest, so sudden, and accompanied with such vivid lightning, and




302        PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
thunder so fearfully loud, that the obdurate conscience of the old
sinner began to be awakened.  He expressed more terror than
seemed natural for one who was familiar with the war of elements,
and began to look and talk so wildly, that his companion became
aware that something more than usual was the matter.  At length
Mutcham complained to his companion that the stones rose from the
road and flew after him. He desired the man to walk on the other
side of the road, to see if they would follow him when he was alone.
The sailor complied, and Jarvis Mutcham complained that the stones
still flew after him, and did not pursue the other.  "But what is
worse," lie added, coming up to his companion, and whispering with
a tone of mystery and fear, "who is that little drummer boy, and
what business as he to follow us so closely?"  "I can see no one,"
answered the seaman.  "What! not see that little boy with the
bloody pantaloons!" exclaimed the secret murderer, so much to the
terror of his comrade that he conjured him, if he had any thing on
his mind to make a clear conscience, as far as confession could do it.
The criminal fetched a deep groan, and declared he was unable longer to endure the life he had led for years. He then confessed the
murder of the drummer; and added, that as a considerable reward
had been offered, he wished his companion to deliver him up to the
magistrates of Salisbury, as he would desire a shipmate to profit by
his fate, which he was now convinced was inevitable. Having overcome his friend's objections to this mode of proceeding, Jarvis Mutchamn was surrendered to justice accordingly, and made a full confession of his guilt. But before the trial, the love of life returned.
The prisoner dellied his confession, and pleaded not guilty. By this
time full evidence had been procured from other quarters. Witnesses
appeared from his former regiment to prove his identity with the
murderer and deserter, and the waiter remembered the ominous
words which he had spoken, when he awoke him to join the Portsmouth coach.
Jarvis Mutcham was found guilty, and executed. When his last
chance of life was over, he returned to his confession, and with his
dying breath averred, and truly, as he thought, the truth of the
vision on Salisbury plain.
JOHN EYRE,
AN anecdote is related of John Eyre, a man whose name is recorded
in the annals of crime as possessing about one hundred and thirty
thousand dollars, and yet being sentenced to transportation for stealing eleven quires of writing paper, which shows in a striking manner
the depravity of the human heart, and may- help to account for the
meanness of the crime of which he stood convicted. An uncle of




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                     303
his, a gentleman of considerable property, made his will in favor of
a clergyman who was his intimate friend, and committed it, unknown
to the rest of the family, to the custody of the divine. However,
not long before his death, having altered his mind with regard to the
disposal of his wealth, he made another will, in which lie left the
clergyman only two thousand, two hundred dollars, bequeathing the
bulk of his large property-to his nephew and heir-at-law, Mr. Eyre.
Soon after the old gentleman's death, Mr. Eyre, rummaging over his
drawers, found his last will, and perceiving the legacy to the clergyman, without any hesitation or scruple of conscience put it into the
fire, and took possession of the whole effects, in consequence of his
uncle being supposed to die intestate.
The clergyman coming to town soon after, and inquiring into the
circumstances of his old friend's death, asked if he had made a will
before he died. On being answered by Mr. Eyre in the negative, thle
clergyman very coolly put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the
former will, which had been committed to his care, in which Mr.
Eyre had bequeathed him the whole of his fortune, amounting to
several thousand dollars, excepting a legacy of about nine hundred
dollars to his nephew.
A FAITHFUL AND AFFECTIONATE DOMESTIC.
A COMPLETE reverse having taken place in the circumstances of a
gentleman, by his too great readiness to lend money to those who deceived him, he was obliged in his old age to dismiss all his domestics.
It was, however, his happiness to have one among them, who, knowing the cause, said to him with tears, "I have now, sir, been your
servant five-and-twenty years; I have always honored and respected
you: you have treated me with the kindness of a master, a father,
and a friend. I have saved some scores of pounds in your service,
that I might be comfortable in my old age; but I cannot live in peace
while I see you in distress. To you, under the good care of Providence, I owe my life; to you I am indebted for much good instruction, and for the salvation of my soul. I beg you will accept of my
purse and all it contains. He that feedeth the ravens and letteth not
a sparrow fall unheeded to the ground, will not forsake me!  I am
yet able for service: suffer me to attend your fortunes, and be your
servant still.  She drew tears from her old master by these and other
affectionate expressions; he wept at her generosity, accepted her offer
of service, and she remained with him.
Now, reader, mark the result, and be encouraged to every act of
kindness to others within your power, especially to those from whom
you have derived your enjoyments, and who may have seen better
days. Not long after she had resumed her place, a relation of her




304        PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
master died and. left him a good fortune. How must this have rejoiced the heart of a servant so attached! But one particular yet
remains. When her master died he bequeathed this faithful servant
a comfortable maintenance.
A MURDEROUS DAUGHTER.
A MAN and his wife were executed at Augsburg for a murder, the'discovery of which, after a long lapse of time, strongly manifests the
impossibility of eluding the all-seeing eye of Providence. The criminal, whose name was Wincze, was originally of Nuremberg, but removed to Augsburg in 1788, where he became a lawyer. In this
city he became intimate in the family of M. Glegg, to whose daughter
he paid his addresses; but the old gentleman not sanctioning his visits,
he met the daughter privately, seduced her, and persuaded her, in
order to remove the only obstacle to their union, to administer poison
to her father. The horrid plan succeeded; no suspicions were entertained, and their union put him in possession of the old man's wealth.
During a period of twenty-one years they lived externally happy, but
in secret a prey to the greatest remorse. At length, unable to endure
any longer the weight of guilt, the wife made confession of the particulars of the atrocious crime which she had been prevailed upon to
commit. The husband was apprehended, and both of them received
the award of justice in an ignomirious death.
THE CRIMINAL DISCOVERED.
IN the beginning of 1815 a circumstance took place that excited
much interest in Paris.  A surgeon in the army, named Dautun,
was arrested at a gambling-house in the Palais Royal, on the testimony of a scar on his wrist. Some time before the officers of the
night had found, while passing their rounds in the different parts of
the city, four parcels tied up. One contained the head, another the
trunk, a third the thighs, and a fourth the legs and arms of a man.
In the teeth, tightly compressed, was a piece of human flesh apparently torn out in the dying struggle. The parts were collected and
put together in their regular order, and exhibited for a number of
days at the Morgue. The mystery which enveloped this dark transaction excited considerable interest, and numbers went to view the
corpse. The general conviction was that the deceased must have
been murdered, but for a number of weeks no light was thrown upon
tlle circumstance. When the body could not be kept any longer, a




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                    305
cast in plaster was taken, fully representing the murdered victim,
which remained for some time exposed to the public.
Dautun happened to be engaged in gambling at the Palais Royal;
he played high and lost; calling for liquor, and being angry because
the waiter was somewhat tardy, Dautun emptied the glass and threw it
at him. It was shivered into a thousand pieces, one of which entered
into Dautun's wrist under the cuff of his coat.  The spectators
gathered round, and learning the accident wished to see the gash;
he drew down his sleeve and firmly pressed it round his wrist; they
insisted on seeing it, he obstinately refused. By this course the
bystanders were led to suppose that something mysterious was involved in this conduct, and they determined at all events to see his
wrist. By force they pushed up his sleeve, and a scar recently
healed, as if made by tearing out the flesh, appeared. The landlord
had been at the Morgue, had seen the murdered man with the flesh
between the teeth, and it struck him in a moment that the flesh was
torn from this man's wrist.  Charging them to keep him safe. he
hastened to call in the legal authorities and arrested him.
Dauton afterward confessed, that being quartered at Sedan, and
without money, he came to Paris to try some adventure.  Knowing
that his brother had a large sum by, him, directly on his arrival he
went to his lodgings, in a retired part of the city, about eight in the
evening. He entered the house unnoticed by the porter, and passing
to his apartment, found his brother asleep. He immediately commenced his work of death: his brother waking up defended himself,
but being in a feeble state of health he was speedily overpowered.
In the struggle he tore out the flesh. Being killed, Dautun cut up
the body, tied it up in four parcels as before mentioned, secured
the money, and retired.
He also confessed that eleven months before this he had murdered
an aunt (who was living with a second husband,) to obtain money.
Her husband was arrested and imprisoned for a number of months,
but as nothing appeared to criminate him, he had been discharged.
THE FATAL ELOPEMENT.
A  YOUNG lady, named D'Aumont, was executed in the city of
Lyons for the supposed murder of' her uncle, the Chevalier de la
Poulone, with whom she had lived in the most affectionate harmony
from her infantile years. Having conceived a passion for a deserving
young officer quartered in the town, and between whom and the
young lady a mutual affection subsisted, she came to a determination
of eloping with him unknown to her uncle, and only admitted one
female servant to her confidence. It unfortunately happened that the
servant was leagued with a private soldier, who meditated the plau of




306        PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
murdering the chevalier. with a view of plundering the house, on the
night the intended elopement should take place, in order that the unhappy niece should be judged the perpetrator of the horrid deed,
which was effected with every degree of barbarity.  The young lady
and the officer were immediately pursued, taken, and committed to
prison. The former was tried and executed on the false evidence of
the female servant, and the officer, her husband, was cashiered, and
sent to the gallies for life.
Some time after, the servant being taken ill, threatened to divulge
the whole matter before a magistrate; to prevent which the soldier,
who had married her, put an end to his wife's existence; but at
length, feeling sincere remorse for these repeated murders, he voluntarily surrendered himself up to justice, confessed the whole affair,
and was publicly executed amidst the execrations of the enraged multitude.
What adds to the dreadful account is, that the young lady who was
executed was not less remarkable for her beauty, than her unaffected
piety and sweet simplicity of manners. A broken heart soon terminated the existence of the wretched officer, who died in six weeks
after the execution of the most amiable sufferer, in the most excruciating tortures.
CONFESSION OF A MURDER IN A DREAM.
THE following is translated from a respectable publication at Basle,
Switzerland:
A person who worked in a brewery quareled with one of his fellowworkmen, and struck him in such a manner that he died on the spot.
No other person was witness to the deed. He then took the dead'body and threw it into a large fire under the boiling-vat, where it was
in a short time so completely consumed, that no traces of its existence
remained.  On the following day, when the man was missed, the
murderer observed, very coolly, that he had perceived his fellowservant to have been intoxicated, and that he had probably fallen
fiom a bridge which he had to cross in his way home, and been
drowned. For the space of seven years after no one entertained any
suspicion of the real state of the fact. At the end of this period the
murderer was again employed in the same brewery. He was then
induced to reflect on the singularity of the circumstance that his crime
had remained so long concealed.  Having retired one evening to rest,
one of the other workmen, who slept with him, hearing him say in
his sleep, "It is now fully seven years ago," aslied him, "What was
it you did seven years ago?"  " I put him," he replied, still speaking in his sleep, "under the boiling-vat." As the affair was not
entirely forgotten, it immediately occurred to the man that his bed



PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.                      30T
fellow must allude to the person who was missing about that time, and
he accordingly gave information of what he had heard to a magistrate.
The murderer was apprehended; and though he at first denied that
he knew any thing of the matter, a confession of his crime was at
length obtained from him, for which he suffered condign punishment.
MURDERER DISCOVERED BY A JOKE.
THE Rev. H. G. Keene states, in his Persian Stories, that the following narrative was related by a person of authority and reputation,
who was one of the party:
A vessel set sail from Bassorah to Bagdad, with several passengers
on board. In the course of the voyage the sailors, by way of a joke,
put a man in irons as he lay asleep, and he became an object of diversion to the whole party, till they drew near the capitol. But when
the sailors wanted to let him loose, the key was nowhere to be found,
and after a long and fruitless search they were compelled to send for
a blacksmith to knock off the fetters. When, however, the blacksmith came, he refused to do what they wanted till he had the
authority of the magistrate; for he thought the man might be some
criminal whom the officers of justice had laid hold of, and that his
fiiends wished to favor his escape.  To the magistrates they accordingly went, who sent down an attendant to see into it. But the
officer, when he had heard their story, and had taken the evidence
of some of the most respectable among the passengers, shook his
head, and with a look of solemnity, said it was much too serious a
case for him to decide. So they repaired in a body to the magistrate,
and carried the poor captive with them.
So strange a procession was sure to attract notice; and a crowd
soon collected about them, each curious to know the prisoner's offense,
and to catch a sight of him: till, at length one man, springing forward, seized the captive by the throat, and exclaimed, "Here is the
villain I have been looking for these two years; ever since he murdered my poor brother." Nor would he quit his hold. till they came
before the magistrate; and the murder being clearly proved, the man,
who had been confined in joke only, was given up to death, as a punishment for the blood that he had shed.
CHURCHILL AND THE TIGER.
THIS gentleman was a native of England, but resided about two
lnile's from V~izagapatam, in India. One evening as lie was reclining




308         PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.
on a sofa, reflecting on the severe loss he had recently sustained in
the death of his wife, and watching the slumbers of his two little
ones who were near him on a bed, he was suddenly alarmed with the
prospect of a terrible death, both for them and himself; but was
as suddenly delivered both from the danger and the fear. A tiger
walked into the house and entered the room; but instead of attacking
its occupants, he beheld his own image in a large mirror: he rushed
forward and broke it into a thousand pieces, and then immediately fled
from the spot.
THE PEARL DIVER AND THE SHARK.
IN diving for pearls, it is usual for the person so employed to carry
a short stick, about nine inches long, and pointed at both ends.
Armed with this, an experienced diver will often fight the shark in
its own domain.  He grasps the stick in the middle; and when
attacked by the shark, he thrusts it into the monster's expanded jaws,
in such a position that, in attempting to seize his victim, the jaws close
upon the two sharp points. The following account of Don Pablo
Ochon's adventure with a tinterero, is given by Mr. Hardy:
"The Placer de la Piedra Negada, which is near Loreto, was supposed to have quantities of very large pearl-oysters around it-a supposition which was at once confirmed by the great difficulty of finding
this sunken rock. Don Pablo, however, succeeded in sounding it;
and, in search of specimens of the largest and oldest shells, dived
down in eleven fathoms water.  The rock is not above a hundred and
fifty or two hundred yards in circumference; and our adventurer
swam round and. examined it in all direction, but without meeting
any inducement to prolong his stay. Accordingly, being satisfied
that there were no oysters, he thought of ascending to the surface of
the water; but first he cast a look upward, as all divers are obliged
to do who hope to avoid the hungry jaws of a monster. If the coast
is clear, they may rise without apprehension.  Don Pablo, however,
when he cast a hasty glance upward, found that a tinterero (the
ground shark,) had taken a station three or four yards immediately
above him, and most probably had been watching during the whole
time that he had been down. A double-pointed stick was a useless
weapon against such a tinterero, as its mouth was of such enormous
dimensions, thlat both man and stick would be swallowed together.
He therefore felt himself rather nervous, as his retreat was now completely intercepted. But under water time is too great an object to
be spent in reflection, and therefore he swam round to another part
of the rock, hoping by this means to avoid the vigilance of his persecutor. What was his dismay, when he again looked, to find the pertinacious tinterero still hovering over him, as a hawk would follow a




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                    309
bird! He described him as having large, round, and inflamed eyes,
apparently just ready to dart from the sockets with eagerness, and a
mouth (at the recollection of which he still shuddered,) that was continually opening and shutting, as if the monster was already, in imagination, devouring his victim, or at least that the contemplation of
his prey imparted a foretaste of the gout!
Two alternatives now presented themselves to the mind of Don
Pablo-one, to suffer himself to be drowned; the other, to be eaten.
He had already been under water so considerable a time, that he
found it impossible any longer to retain his breath, and was on the
point of giving himself up for lost with as much philosophy as he possessed. But what is dearer than life? The invention of man is seldom at a loss to find expedients for its preservation in cases of great
extremity. On a sudden he recollected that on one side of the rock
he had observed a sandy spot, and to this he swam with all imaginable speed; his attentive friend still watching his movements, and
keeping a measured pace with him. As soon as he reached the spot,
he commenced stirring it with his pointed stick, in such a way that
the fine particles rose and rendered the water perfectly turbid, so that
he could not see the monster, nor the monster see him.  Availing
himself of the cloud by which himself and the tinterero were enveloped, he swam very far out in a transvertical direction, and reached
the surface in safety, although completely exhausted. Fortunately
he rose close to some of the boats, and those who were within seeing
him in such a state, and knowing that an enemy must have been persecuting him, and that by some artifice he had saved his life, jumped
overboard, as is their common practice in such cases, to frighten the
creature away by splashing the water; and Don Pablo was taken into the boat more dead than alive."
SAVED FROM DROWNING.
ON the 28th of January, 1838, the river Seine, which had been
frozen for several days, was covered with skaters. It was in vain
that they were told of the expected tide, which must certainly break
the ice; neither the danger which they ran, nor the warning and
efforts of the local authorities, succeeded in producing any effect upon
them. Louis Brune, whose wife and aged mother were then ill, remained all day on the quay, in expectation of the disaster, which he
knew to be inevitable. In vain pressing messages to return home
came friom his family; he firmly refused to leave the spot; and not
even for his meals could he be induced to desert the post he had
assigned to himself. Nor was it long before a rushing noise was
heard; the ice was breaking in every direction; and the precipitate
flight of the crowd increased the disaster. A gentleman and his lady




310         PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES
who were enjoying the pleasures of skating, suddenly disappeared in
a large opening which the breaking ice had formed beneath them.
Brune, who was eagerly looking out, rushed over the ice that bent
beneath his tread, plunged into the river, seized the gentleman and
brought him safely to the shore. No sooner had he accomplished
this, than he once more precipitated himself into the river, and was
fortunate enough in seizing the lady, who had already disappeared
under the ice; but, benumbed by the cold, and his strength failing
him through this unwonted exertion, he in vain endeavored to rise to
the surface: he laid hold of the masses of ice, but merely cut his
hands in the attempt. Notwithstanding the most desperate efforts, he
was on the point of perishing with her whom he endeavored to save,
when a rope was thrown to him; he seized it, and, though not without difficulty, reached the shore with his burden amidst the applause
of the assembled crowd.
REV. E. ERSKINE AND THE MURDERER.
TEHF Rev. Ebenezer Erskine, after traveling at one time toward the
end of the week, from Portmoak to the banks of the Forth, on his
way to Edinburgh, was, with several others, prevented by a, storm
from crossing that frith. Thus obliged to remain in Fife during the
Sabbath, he was employed to preach, it is believed, in Kinghorn.
Conformably to his usual practice, he prayed earnestly in the morning
for the Divine countenance and aid in the work of the day; but suddenly missing his note-book, he knew not what to do. His thoughts,
however, were directed to the command, " Thou shalt not kill;" and
having studied the subject with as much care as the time would permit, he delivered a short sermon on it in the forenoon. Having
returned to his lodging, he gave strict injunctions to the servant that
no one should be allowed to see him during the interval of worship.
A stranger, however, who was also one of the persons detained by
the state of the weather, expressed an earnest desire to see the minister; and having with difficulty obtained admittance, appeared much
agitated, and asked him, with great eagerness, whether he knew him,
or had ever seen or heard of him. On receiving assurance that he
was totally unacquainted with his face, character, and history, the
gentleman proceeded to state, that his sermon on the sixth commandment had reached his conscience; that he was a murderer; that
being the second son of a Highland laird, he had some time before
from base and selfish motives, cruelly suffocated his elder brother,
who slept in the same bed with him; and that now he had no peace
of mind, and wished to surrender himself to justice to suffer the punishment due to his horrid and unnatural crime.  Mr. Erskine asked
him if any other person knew any thing of his guilt.  His answer




PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.                      311
was, that so far as he was aware, not a single individual had the
least suspicion of it; on which the good man exhorted him to be
deeply affected with a sense of his atrocious sin, to make an immediate application to the blood of sprinkliing, and to bring forth fruits
meet for repentance; but at the same time, since his crime hlad hitherto
remained a secret, not to disclose it, or to give himself up to public
justice.  The unhappy gentleman embraced this well intended counsel in all its parts, became truly pious, and maintained a friendly correspondence with Mr. Erskine in future life.
MURDERER DETECTED BY HIS OWN REMARK.
EUGENE ARAM, of Knaresborough, England, was (lescended from
an ancient Yorkshire family, and had cultivated his talenlts with so
much care, that he acquired a knowledge of Latin, Greek, Hebrew,
and Chaldee, and was conversant with history, antiquity, botany, and
poetry; but he associated with low and depraved company, and in
conjunction with Daniel Clark, a shoemaker, and Richard Housman,
a flax-dresser, it was agreed to make use of Clark's credit to borrow
a quantity of silver plate and other valuables from their neighbors,
and then to abscond. Having accomplished their object, they met on
the evening of February 7th, 1744; and either to prevent detection,
or to increase their own share of the plunder, Aram  and Housman
murdered Clark, and concealed his body in St. Robert's Cave.
No trace of the perpetrators of the deed occurred till fourteen
years afterward, when a skeleton was discovered at Thistle Hill, near
Knaresborouglh, which was at first supposed to be Clark's. Hlousman, who was then living, rejected the supposition, and taking up
one of the bones, said, "This is no more one of Daniel Clark's
bones than it is mine."  Suspicion was immediately excited against
Housman, who at length confessed his participation'in the murder,
but that Aram was the perpetrator. Aram, who at that time resided
at Lynn, in Norfolk, was forthwith apprehended, tried, and executed.
What an illustration of the text, "Be sure thy sin will find thee out."
THE MURDERER AND HIS SINGULAR WOU:ND.
A GENTLEMAN who was very ill, sending for Dr. Lake, of England,
told him he found he must die, and gave him the following account
of the cause of his death. He had, about a fortnight before, been
riding over Hounslow-heath, where several boys were playing at
cricket. One of them, striking the ball, hit him just on the toe with




312        PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.
it, looked him in the face, and ran away.  His toe pained him ex.
tremely. As soon as he came to Brentford, he sent for a surgeon,
who was for cutting it off. But unwilling to suffer that, he went
on to London.  When he arrived there, he immediately called
another surgeon to examine it, who told him his foot must be cut off.
But neither would he hear of this; and so. before the next day, the
mortification seized his leg, and in a day or two more struck up into
his body. Dr. Lake asked him whether he knew the boy that struck
the ball? He answered, "About ten years ago I was riding over
Hounslow-heath, where an old man ran by my horse's side, begged
me to relieve him, and said he was almost famished. I bade him begone. He kept up with me still; upon which I threatened to beat
him. Finding that he took no notice of this, I drew my sword, and
with one blow killed him. A boy, about four years old, who was
with him, screamed out his father was killed! His face I perfectly
remember. That boy it was who struck the ball against me, which
is the cause of my death."
ESCAPE FROM THE INDIANS.
JOHN COLTER, a celebrated western hunter, " had occasion to match
himself in a race of a somewhat serious nature with a party of Blackfeet Indians. The incident took place at the head waters of the Missouri, where he was trapping in company with a hunter named Potts.
Aware of the hostility of the Blackfeet tribe, they proceeded with
great caution, setting their beaver-traps at night, and taking them up
in the morning, and remaining concealed during the day.  Early
one morning they were examining their traps in a creek about six
miles from that branch of the Missouri now called Jefferson's Fork,
and were ascending in a canoe, when they suddenly heard a great
noise, resembling the tramping of animals; but they could not ascertain the fact, as the high perpendicular banks on each side of the river
impeded their view. Colter immediately pronounced it to be occasioned by Indians, and advised an instant retreat; but was accused
of cowardice by Potts, who insisted that the noise was caused by
buffaloes, and they proceeded on.
In a few minutes afterward their doubts were removed by a party
of Indians making their appearance on both sides of the creek, to the
amount of five or six hundred, who beckoned them to come ashore.
As retreat was now impossible, Colter turned the head of the canoe,
and at the moment of its touching, an Indian seized the rifle belonging to Potts; but Colter, who was a remarkably strong man, retook
it immediately, and handed it to Potts, who remained in the canoe,
and, on receiving it, pushed off into the river. He had scarcely
quitted the shore when an arrow was shot at him, and he cried out,




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCURRENCES.                    313
Colter, I am wounded."  Colter remonstrated with him on the folly
of attemptino to escape, and urged him to come ashore. Instead of
complying, he instantly leveled his rifle at the Indian and shot him
dead on the spot. This conduct, situated as he w<as, may appear to
have been an act of madness; but it was doubtless the effect of sudden but sound reasoning; for if taken alive, he must have expected
to be tortured to death, according' to their custom.  He was instantly
pierced with arrows so numerous, that, to use Colter's words, "he
was made a riddle of."  They now seized Colter, stripped him
entirely naked, and began to consult on the manner lie should be put
to death.
They were first inclined to set him up as a mark to shoot at; but
the chief interfered, and seizing him by the shoulder, asked him if
he could run fast.  Colter, who had been some time among the
Keekatso or Crow Indians, had in a considerable degree acquired the
Blackfeet language, and was also well acquainted with Indian customs. He knew that lie had now to run for his life, with the dreadful odds of five or six hundred against him, and those armed Indians:
he therefore cunningly replied that he was a very bad runner,
although he was considered by the hunters as remarkably swift.
The chief now commanded the party to remain stationary, and he
led Colter out on the prairie three or four hundred yards, and
released him, bidding him save himself if he could.
At this instant the horrid war-whoop sounded in the ears of poor
Colter, who, urged. with the hope of preservingr his life, ran with a
speed at which himself was surprised.  He proceeded toward the
Jefferson Fork, having to traverse a plain six miles in breadth,
abounding with prickly pear, on which he was every instant treading
with his naked feet. He ran nearly half way across the plain before
he ventured to look back over his shoulder, when he perceived that
the Indians were very much scattered, and that lie had gained ground
to a considerable distance from the main body; but one Indian, who
carried a spear, was much before all the rest, and not more than
ninety or one hundred yards from him. A faint gleam of hope now
cheered the heart of Colter: he derived confidence from the belief
that escape was within the bounds of possibility; but that confidence
was nearly fatal to him, for lie exerted himself to such a degree, that
the blood gushed from his nostrils, and soon almost covered the forepart of his body.
He had now arrived within a mile of the river, when he distinctly
heard the appalling sound of footsteps behind him, and every instant
expected to feel the spear of the pursuer. Again he turned his head,
and saw the Indian not twenty yards from him. Determined, if possible, to avoid the expected blow, he suddenly stopped, turned round,
and spread out his arms. The Indian, surprised by the suddenness
of the action, and perhaps by the bloody appearance of Colter, also
attempted to stop. But, exhausted with running, he fell while
endeavoring to throw his spear, which struck in the ground and




314         PROVIDENTIAL OCCURRENCES.
broke.  Colter instantly snatched up the pointed part, with which he
pinned him to the earth, and then continued his flight.  The foremost
of the Indians, on arriving at the place, stopped till the others came up
to join them, when they set up a hideous yell.  Every moment of
time was improved by Colter, who, although fainting and exhausted,
succeeded in gaining the skirting of the cotton-wood trees, on the
horders of the Fork; through this he pushed, and plunged into the
river. Fortunately for him, a little below the place there was an
island, against the upper end of which a raft of drift timber had
lodged.  He dived under the raft, and, after several efforts, got his
head above water among the trunks of the trees, covered over with
smaller wood to the depth of several feet.  Scarcely had he secreted
himself, when the Indians arrived at the river, screeching and yelling
in a terrific manner.  They were frequently on the raft during the
day, and were seen through the chinklis by Colter, who was congratulating, himself on his escape, until the idea arose that they might set
the raft on fire. In horrible suspense he remained until night; when
hearing no more of the Indians, he dived a second time under the
raft, and swam silently down the stream to a considerable distance,
where he landed, and traveled all night.
Although happy in having escaped from the savages, his situation
was still dreadful.  He was completely naked; the soles of his feet
were stuck full with spines of the prickly pear; he was hungry, and
had no means of killing game, though tantalized with plenty around
him; and he was at least seven days' journey from Lisa's Fort, on
the Bir Horn branch of the Rocke Jaune river.  These were circumstances under which almost any man but an American hunter would
have sunk in despair; yet he arrived at the fort in seven days, having
subsisted on a root much esteemed by the Indians of the Mlissouri.
FIRE ON THE PRAIRIE.
GFEORGE CATLIN was one day riding across an Upper Missouri
prairie, where the grass is seven or eight feet high, with three companions, one an Indian guide of the name of Pah-me-o-ne-qua, or the
*red thunder.  Three of the party sat down to their mid-day meal, but
the Indian stood aloof, sad and thoughtful.  "This is the plain of fire
grass," said be, "where tihe fleet-bounding wild horse mingles his
bones with the red man, and the eagle's wing is melted as he darts
over its surface." Notwithstanding these ominous words, after gazing
long around, he gracefully sank down on the grass, and his relieved
companions chatted cheerfully by his side.   But on  a sudden
"Red Thunder was on his feet-his long arm was stretched over
the grass.' White man,' said he,'see ye that small cloud lifting




PROVIDENTIAL  OCCUJRREINCES.                     315
itself from  the prairie? —he rises! the hoofs of our horses have.
wakled him I The Fire Spirit is awake! —this wind is fiomrn his nostrils, and his face is this way.' No more; but his swift horse darted
under him, and he gracefully slid over the waving' grass as it was
bent by the wind.  Our viands were left, and we were swift on his
trail.  Thlle extraordinary leaps of his wild horse occasionally raised
his red shoulders to view, and he sank again in the waving billows of
grass.  The tremulous wind Was hurrying by us fast, and on it was
borne the agitated wing' of the soaring eagle.  His neck was stretched
for the towering bluff, and the tllrilling  screams of his voice told the
secret that was behind him.  Our horses were swift, and we struggled
bard; yet hope was feeble; for the bluff was yet blue, and nature
nearly exhausted.  The sunshine was dying, and a cool shadow advancing over the plain.  Not daring to look back, we strained every
nerve.  The roar of a distant cataract seemed gradually advancing
on us-the winds increased-the howling tempest was maddening behind us-and the swift-winged beetle and heath hens instinctively
drew their strailght lines over our heads.  The fleet-bounding antelope passed us also; and the still swifter long-legged hare, which
leaves but a shadow as he flies.  Here was no time for thought; but
I recollect the heavens were overcast-the distant thunder was heard
-the lightning' s glare was reddening the scene-and the smell that
came on the winds struck terror to my soul.    *    *
The piercing yell of my savage guide at this moment came back
upon the winds; his robe was seen waving in the air, and his foamin', horse leaping' up the towering' bluff.
Our breath and our sinews, in this last struggle for life, were just
enouhll to bring, us to its summit.  We had risen from a sea of fire!'I-ow sublime,' I exclaimed,' to gaze into that valley, where the
elements of nature are so strangely convulsed!'  Ask not the poet or
painter how it looked, for they canJ tell you not; but ask the nalked
savage, and watch the electric twinge of his manly nerives and muscles'as lie pronounces the lengthened'Hush-sh-,' his hand on his
mcuth, and his glaring eyeballs looking you to the very soul.
I beheld beneath me anl immense cloud of black smoke, which extendled fiom one extremnity of this vast plain to the other, and seemed
majestically to roll over its surface in a bed of liquid fire; and above
this mighllty desolation, as it rolled along, the whitened smoke, pale
with terror, was streaming and rising' up in magnificent cliffs to
heaven.
I stood secure, but tremblingly, and heard the maddening wind,
which hurled this monster o'er the land-I heard the roarling thunde, and saw its thousand lighltnin'gs flash; and then I saw behind
the black and smoking desolation of this storm of fire."
21




SKETCHES AND ANECDOTES ILLUSTRATIVE
OF NATURAL HISTORY.
CAPTURE OF A WHALE.
BY'J. F. COOPER.
TIIE cockswain cast a cool glance at the crests of foam that were
breaking over the tops of the billows within a few yards of where
their boat was riding, and called aloud to his men:
" Pull a stroke or two; away with her into dark water."
The drop of the oars resembled the movements of a nice machine,
and the light boat skimmed along the water like a duck, that approaches to the very brink of some imminent danger, and then avoids
it at the most critical moment, apparently without an effort. While
this necessary movement was making, Barnstable arose, and surveyed
the cliffs with keen eyes, and then, turning once more in disappointment fr'om his search, he said:
" Pull more fiom the land, and let her run down at an easy strolike
to the schooner. Keep a lookout at the cliffs, boys; it is possible
that they are stowed in some of the holes in the rocks, for it's no
daylight business they are on."
The order was promptly obeyed, and they had glided along for
near a mile in this manner, in the most profound silence, when suddenly the stillness was broken by a heavy rush of air, and a dash of
water, seemingly at no great distance from them.
" By heaven i Tom," cried Barnstable, starting, " there is the blow
of a whale."
"Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain, with undisturbed composure; "here is his spout, not half a mile to seaward; the easterly
gale has driven the creater to leeward, and he begins to find himself
in shoal water. He's been sleeping, while he should have been
working to windward!"
"The fellow takes it coolly, too!  He's in no hurry to get an
offing."
"I rather conclude," sir," said the cockswain, rolling over his
tobacco in his mouth very composedly, while his little sunken eyes
began to twinkle with pleasure at the sight, "the gentleman has lost
his reckoning, and don't know which way to head, to take himself
back into blue water."
316




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.                    31Y
"'Tis a fin-back!" exclaimed the lieutenant; "he will soon make
head-way, and be off."
"No, sir,'tis a right whale," answered Tom; "I saw his spout; he
threw up a pair of as pretty rainbows as a Christian would wish to
look at. He's a raal oil-butt, that fellow!"
Barnstable laughed, turned himself away from the tempting sight,
and tried to look at the cliffs; and then unconsciously bent his eyes
again on the sluggish animal, who was throwing his huge carcass at
times for many feet from the water, in idle gambols.  The temptation
for sport, and the recollection of his early habits, at length prevailed
over his anxiety in behalf of his friends, and the young officer inquired of his cockswain:
": Is there any whale-line in the boat to make fast to that harpoon
which you bear about with you in fair weather or foul?"
"I never trust the boat from the schooner without part of a shot,
sir," returned the cockswain; "there is something nateral in the
sight of a tub to my old eyes."
Barnstable looked at his watch, and again at the cliffs, when he
exclaimed in joyous tones:
"Give strong way, my hearties! There seems nothing better to
be done; let us have a stroke of a harpoon at that impudent rascal."
The men shouted spontaneously, and~the old cockswain suffered
his solemn visage to relax into a small laugh, while the whale-boat
sprang forward like a courser for the goal.  During the few minutes
they were pulling toward their game, long Tom arose from his crouching attitude in the stern sheets, and transferred his huge frame to the
bow of the boat, where he made such preparation to strike the whale
as the occasion required.  The tub, containing about half of a whaleline, was placed at the feet of Barnstable, who had been preparing an
oar to steer with, in place of the rudder, which was unshipped in
order that, if necessary, the boat might be whirled round when not
advancing.
Their approach was utterly unnoticed by the monster of the deep,
who continued to amuse himself with throwing the water in two circular spouts high into the air, occasionally flourishing' the broad
flukes of his tail with graceful but terrific force, until the hardy seamen were within a few hundred feet of him, when he suddenly cast
his head downwards, and, without an apparent effort, reared his immense body for many feet above the water, waiving his tail violently,
and producing a whizzing noize, that sounded like the rushing of
winds.  The cockswain stood elect, poising his harpoon, ready for
the blow; but, when he beheld the creature assume this formidable
attitude, he waved his hand to his commander, who instantly signed
to his men to cease rowing.  In this situation the sportsmen rested a
few moments, while the whale struck several blows on the water in
rapid succession, the noise of which re-echoed along the cliffs, like
the hollow reports of so many cannon.  After this wanton exhibition




31i.       NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.
of his terrible strength, the monster sunk again into ]lis native
element, and slowly disappeared fiom the eyes of his pursuers.
"Which way did he head, Tom?" cried Barnstable, the moment
the whale was out of sight.
"iPretty much up and down, sir," returned the cockswain, whose
eye was gradually brightening with the excitement of the sport;
"he'll soon run his nose against the bottom, if he stands long on that
course, and will be glad to get another snuff of pure air; send her a
few fathoms to starboard, sir, and I promise we shall not be out of
his track."
The conjecture of the experienced old seaman proved true, for in
a few minutes the water broke near them, and another spout was cast
into the air, when the huge animal rushed for half his length in the
same direction, and fell on the sea with a turbulence and foam equal
to tha t which is produced by the launching of a vessel, for the first
time, into its proper element.  After this evolution, the whale rolled
heavily, and seemed to rest from further efforts.
His slightest movements were closely watched by Barnstable and
his coclkswain, and, when he was in a state of comparative rest, the
former Save a signal to his crew to ply their oars once more.  A few
long and vioorous strokes sent the boat directly up to the broadside
of the whale, with its bows pointing toward one of tile fins, which
was at tlimes, as the animal yielded sluggishly to the action of the
waves, exposed to view.  The cockswain poised his harpoon with
much precision, and then darted it from  him with a violence that
buried the iron in the body of their foe. The instant the blow was
made, long Tom shouted with singular earnestness:
"Starn all!"
"Stern all!" echoed Barnstable; when the obedient seamen, by
united efforts, forced the boat in a backward direction, beyond the
reach of any blow from  their formidable antagonist.  The alarmed
animal, however, meditated no such resistance; ignorant of his own
power, and of the insignificance of his enemies, hlie sought refu.e in
flight.  One moment of stupid surprise succeeded the entrance of the
iron, when he cast his huge tail into the air with a violence that threw
the sea around him into increased commotion, and then disappeared,
with the quickness of lightning, amid the cloud of foam.
" Snub him!"  shouted Barnstable; "hold on, Tom, he rises
already."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the composed'cockswain, seizing the line
which was running out of the boat with a velocity that rendered such
a manceuvre rather hazardous, and causing it to yield more gradually
round the large loggerhead, that was placed in the bows of the boat
for that purpose.  Presently the line stretched forward, and, rising
to the surface with tremulous vibrations, it indicated the direction in
which the animal might be expected to reappear.  Barnstable had
east the bows of the boat toward that point, before the terrified and
trvounded victim  rose once more to the surface, whose time was,




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.                  319
however, no longer wasted in his sports, but who cast the waters
aside as he forced his way, with prodigious velocity, along their
surface.  The boat was dragged violently in his wake, and cut
through the billows with a terrific rapidity, that at moments appeared
to bury the slight fabric in the ocean. When long Tom belheld his
victim throwing his spouts on high again, he pointed with exultation
to the jetting fluid, which was streaked with the deep red of blood,
and cried:
"Ay, I've touched the fellow's life! It must be more than two
foot of blubber that stops my iron from reaching the life of any whale
that ever sculled the ocean!"
"I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of using the bayonet you have rigged for a lance," said his commander, who entered
into the sport with all the ardor of one whose youth had been chiefly
passed in such pursuits; " feel your line, Master Coffin; can we haul
alongside of our enemy? I like not the course he is steering, as he
tows us from the schooner."
"'Tis the creater's way, sir," said the cockswain; "you know
they need the air in their nostrils when they run, the same as a man;
but lay hold, boys, and let us haul up to him."
The seamen now seized their whale-line, and slowly drew their
boat to within a few feet of the tail of the fish, whose progress became sensibly less rapid as he grew weak with the loss of blood. In
a few minutes he stopped running, and appeared to roll uneasily on
the water, as if suffering the agony of death.
"Shall we pull in and finish him, Tom?" cried Barnstable; "a
few sets from your bayonet would do it."
The cockswain stood examining his game with cool discretion, and
replied to this interrogatory:
" No, sir, no-he's going into a flurry; there's no occasion for disgracing ourselves by using a soldier's weapon in taking a whale. Stain
off, sir, starn off I the creater's in his flurry!"
The warning of the prudent cockswain was promptly obeyed, and
the boat cautiously drew off to a distance, leaving to the animal a
clear space while under its dying agonies. From a state of perfect
rest, the terrible monster threw its tail on high as when in sport, but
its blows were trebled in rapidity and violence, till all was hid firom
view by a pyramid of foam, that was deeply dyed with blood.  The
roarings of the fish were like the bellowings of a herd of bulls, and,
to one who was ignorant of the fact, it would have appeared as if a
thousand monsters were engaged in deadly combat behind the bloody
mist that obstructed the view.  Gradually these effects subsided, and
when the discolored water again settled down to the lonl, and regular
swell of the ocean, the fish was soon exhausted, and yielding passively
to its fate.  As life departed, the enormous black mass rolled on one
side, and when the white and glistening belly became apparent, the
seamen well knew that their victory was achieved.




320       NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.
ANECDOTES OF SERPENTS.
JOCK HIALL.
IN the vicinity of the barracks assigned to European soldiers in
India, there is usually a number of little solitary cells, where the
disorderly members of the corps are confined for longer or shorter
terms, by order of the commanding officer.  In one of these, at
Madras, on a certain occasion, was locked up poor Jock Hall, a Scotsman, belonging to Edinburgh or Leith.  Jock had got intoxicated, and
being found in, that condition at the hour of drill, was sentenced to
eight days' solitary imprisonment.  Soldiers in India have tler bedding partly furnishled by the Honorable Company, and find the remainder for themlselves.  About this part of house furnishing,
however, Hall troubled himself very little, beingo one of those hardy
and reckless beingms on whom privation and suffering seem to make no
impression.  A hard iloor was as good as a down bed to Jock, and
therefore, as he never scrupled to sell what he got, it may be supposed
that his sleeping furniture was none of the most abundant or select.
Such as it was, he was stretched upon and under it one night in his
cell, during his term of penance, and possibly was reflecting lon tlhe
impropriety of in future puttingr  "an enemy in his mouth to steal
away his brains," when, lo! he thought he heard a rustling in the
cell close by him.  At this moment lie recollected that he had not,
as lhe ought to have done, stopped up an air-hole which entered the
cell on a level with its floor,. and also with the rock externally, on
which the building was placed.
A stronlg suspicion of what had happened, or was about to happen,
came over Hall's mind, but he knew it was probably too late to do
any good, could he even find the hole in tle darkness, and get it
closed.  He therefore lay still, and in a minute or two heard another
rustle close to him, which was followed by the cold slimy touch of a
snake upon his bare foot! Who in such a situation would not have
started and bawled for help?  Jock did neither; but lay stone still,
and held his peace, knowing that his cries would most probably have
been unheard by the distant guard.  Had his bedclothes been more
plentiful, lhe might have endeavored to protect himself by wrapping
them closely around him; but this their scantiness forbade.  Accordingly, being aware that, although a motion or touch will provoke
snakes to bite, they will not generally (1o it without such incitement,
Jock held himself as still as if he had been a log.  Meanwhlile hIis
horrible bedfellow, which lie at once felt to be of great size, crept
over his feet, legs, and body, and lastly over his very face.  Nothing
but the most astonishing  firmniess of nerve, and the consciousness
that the moving of a muscle would have signed his deatfh-warrant,
could have enabled the poor fellow to undergo this dreadful trial.
For a whole hour' did the r.eptile crawl backwards and forwards over
Jock's body and face, as if satisfying, itself, seemingly, that it had




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.                321
nothing flo fear from the recumbent object on its own part.  At length
it took up a position somewhere about his head, and went to rest in
apparent security. The poor soldier's trial; however, was not over.
Till daylight he remained in the same posture, flat on his back, without daring to stir a limb, from the fear of disturbing his dangerous
companion. Never, perhaps, was dawn so anxiously looked for by
mortal man. When it did come, Jock cautiously looked about him,
arose noiselessly, and moved over to the corner of his cell, where
there lay a pretty large stone. This he seized, and looked for the intruder. Not seeing the snake, he became assured that it was under
his pillow. He raised the end of this just sufficiently to get a peep
of the creature's crest. Jock then pressed his knee firmly on the pillow, but allowed the snake to wriggle out its head, which he battered
to pieces with the stone. This done, the courageous fellow breathed
more freely.
When the hour for breakfast came, Jock, who thought little about
the matter after it was fairly over, took the opportunity of the opening of the door to throw the snake out. When the officer whose duty
it was to visit the cells for the day, was going his rounds, he perceived
a crowd around the cell door examing the reptile, which was described
by the natives as of the most venomous character, its bite being invariably and rapidly mortal. The officer, on being told that it had
been killed by a man in the adjoining cell, went in and inquired into
the matter.  "When did you first know that there was a snake in the
cell with vou,?" said he. " About nine o'clock last night," was Jock's
reply. " Why didn't you call to the guard?" asked the officer. "I
thought the guard wadna hear me, and I was feared I might tramp
on't, so I just lay still." " But you might have been bit: did you
know that you would have died instantly?"  "-I kent that very
weel," said Hall; " but they say that snakes winna meddle with you
if you dinna meddle with them; sae I just let it, crawl as it likeit."
" Well, my lad, I believe you did what was best after all, but it was
what not one man in a thousand could have done."  When the story
was told, and the snake shown to the commanding officer, he thought
the same, and Jock, for his extraordinary nerve and courage, got a
remission of his punishment. For some time, at least, he took care
how he again got into such a situation as to expose himself to the
chance of passing another night with such a bedfellow.
A SN AIE HUNT.
MR. WATERTON, in his "Wanderings " in Demerara and the adjacent parts of South America, relates the following incident:
I was sitting, says he, with a Horace in my hand, when a negro and
his little dog came down the hill in haste, and I was soon informed
that a snake had been discovered; but it was a young one, called the
bushmaster, a rare and poisonous snake. I instantly rose up, and
laying hold of the eight-foot lance which was close by me, "WVVell.




322       NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.
then, Daddy," said I, " we'll go and have a look at the snale."  I
was barefoot, with an old hat, check shirt, and trousers on, and a pair
of braces to keep them up.  The negro had his cutlass, and we ascended the hill; another negro, armed with a cutlass, joined us, judging' from our pace that there was something to do.  The little dog
came along witll us; and when he had got about half a mile in the
forest, the negro stopped; and pointed to a fallen tree: all was still
and silent.  I told the negroes not to stir from the spot where they
were, and keep the little dog in, and I would go and reconnoitre.  I
advanced up to the place slowly and cautiously.  The snake was well
concealed, but at last I made him out. It was a coulacanara, not
poisonous, but large enough to have crushed any of us to death.  On
measuring hirm afterwards, he was something more than fourteen feet
long.  This species of snake is very rare, and much thicker, in proportion to his length, than any other snake in the forest.  A
coulacanara of fourteen feet in length is as thick as a common boa of
twenty-four.  After skinning this animal, I could easily get my head
into its mouth, as the singular formation of the jaws admits of wonderful extension.
On ascertaining the size of game we had to encounter, I retired
slowly the way I came, and promised four dollars to the negro who
had shown it to me, and one to the other who had joined us..Aware
that the day was on the decline, and that the approach of night
would be detrimental to the dissection, a thought struck me that I
could take him alive.  I imagined that if I could strike him with the
lance behind the head, and pin him to the ground, I might succeed in
capturing him. When I told this to tthe negroes, they begged and
intreated me to let them go for a gun, and bring more force, as they
were sure the snake would kill some of us; but I had been in search
of a large serpent for years, and now having come up with one, it did
not become me to turn soft.  So, taking a cutlass from one of the
negroes, and then ranging both the sable slaves behind me, I told
them to follow me, and that I would cut them down if they offered to
fly. I smiled as I said this; but they shook their heads in silence,
and seemed to have a bad heart of it. When we came to the place,
the serpent had not stirred; but I could see nothing of his head, and
I judged by the folds of his body that it must be at the farthest side
of his den.  A species of woodbine had formed a complete mantle
over the branches of the fallen tree, almost impervious to the rain or
the rays of the sun.  Probably he had resorted to this sequestered
place for a length of time, as it bore the marks of an ancient settlement.  I now took my knife, determining to cut away the woodbine,
and break the twigs in the gentlest manner possible, till I could get a
view of his head.  One negro stood guard close behind me with the
lance, and near him the other with a cutlass.  The cutlass which I
had taken from the first negro was on the ground close by me, in case
of need. After working in dead silence for a quarter of an hour,
with one knee all the time on the ground, I had cleared away enough




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED. -   323
to see his head..It appeared coming out between the first and second
coil of his body, and was flat on the ground.  This was the very
position I wished it to be in. I rose in silence, and retreated very
slowly, making a sign to the negroes to do the same. We were at
this time about twenty yards from the snake's den. I now ranged
them behind me, and told him who stood next me to lay hold of the
lance the moment I struck the snake, and that the other must attend
mny movements. It now only remained to take their cutlasses froom
them; for I was sure if I did not do this, they would be tempted to
strike the snake in time of danger, and thus forever spoil his skin.
On disarming them, if I might judge from their physiognomy, they
seemed to consider it as a most intolerable act of tyranny in me.
Probably nothing kept them from bolting but the consideration that I
was to be between thlem and the snake. Indeed my own heart, in
spite of all I could do, beat quicker than usual; and I felt those sensations which one has on board a merchant vessel in war time, when
the captain orders all hands on deck to prepare for action, while a
strange vessel is approaching under suspicious colors.
We went slowly on in silence, without moving our arms or heads,
in order to prevent alarm as much as possible, lest the snake should
glide off or attack us in self-defense.  I carried the lance perpendicularly before me, with the point about a foot from the ground.  The
snake had not moved; and on getting up to him, I struck him with
the lance on the near side, just behind the neck, and pinned him to
the ground.  That moment the negro next to me seized the weapon,
and held it firm in its place, while I dashed head foremost into the
den to grapple with the shakle, and to get hold of his tail before he
could do any mischief.  On pinning him to the ground he gave a tremendous loud hiss, and the little dog ran away, howling as he went,
We had a sharp fray in the den, the rotten sticks flying on all sides,
and each party struggling for superiority. I called out to the second
negro to throw himself upon me, as I found I was not heavy enough.
He did so, and the additional weight was of great service. I had
now got firm hold of his tail; and after a violent struggle or two he
he gave in, feeling himself overpowered. This was the moment to secure him.  So, while the first negro continued to hold the lance firm
to the ground, and the other was helping me, I contrived to unloose
my braces, and with them tied up the snake's mouth. The snake,
now finding himself in an unpleasant situation, tried to better himself, and set resolutely to work; but we overpowered him. We contrived to make him twist himself round the. shaft of the lance, and
then prepared to convey him out of the forest. I stood at his head,
and held it firm under my arm, one negro supporting the belly, and
the other the tail.  In this order we began to move slowly towards
home, and reached it after resting ten times; for the snake was too
heavy for us to support him without stopping to recruit our strength.
As we proceeded onwards, he fought hard for freedom, but it was
all in vain.




324      NATURAL  HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
SOUTH AMERICAN ADVENTURE.
AN English gentleman, who resided with a, friend in British Guiana,
employed himself chiefly in shooting and fishing in a neighboring river.
One sultry day, tired with unsuccessful sport, he threw his lines, and
drew his canoe to the river's edge, for the purpose of refreshing himself in the water. Having done so, he stretched himself, half-dressed,
on the benches of his boat, with his gun at his head, loaded for a
shot, if a chance should occur. In this position he fell asleep. "I
know not how long I may have slept," he continues, "but I was
roused from my slumber by a curious sensation, as if some animal were
licking my foot. In that state of half-stupor felt after immediately
waking friom sleep, I cast my eyes downward, and never till my dying
day shall I forget the thrill of horror that passed through my frame
on perceiving the neck and head of a monstrous serpent covering my
foot with saliva, preparatory, as immediately flashed upon my mind,
to commencing the process of swallowing it. I had faced death in
many shapes-on the ocean-on the battle-field-but never till that
moment had I conceived he could approach me in a guise so
terrible.  For a moment, and but a moment, I was fascinated.
But recollection of my state soon came to my aid, and I quickly
withdrew my foot from the monster, which was all the while glaring
upon me with its basilisk eyes, and at the same instant I instinctively
grasped my gun, which was lying loaded beside me. The reptile,
apparently disturbed by my motion, (I conceive it had previously,
from my inertness, taken me for a dead carcase,) drew its head below the level of the canoe. I had just sufficient time to raise myself
half Up, pointing the muzzle of my piece in the direction of the serpent, when its neck and head again appeared moving backwards and
forwards, as if in search of the object it had lost.  The muzzle of
my gun was waithin a yard or two of it; nay finger was on the trigger;
I fired, and it received the shot in its head. Rearing up part of its
body into the air with a horrible hiss which made my blood run
cold —and, by its contortions, displaying to my sight great part of its
enormous bulk, which had hitherto escaped my notice-it seemed
ready to throw itself upon me, and to embrace me in its monstrous
coils. Dropping ny gun, by a single stroke of the paddles I made
the canoe shoot up the stream  out of his reach. Just as I was
escaping, I could observe that the shot had taken effect, for blood was
beginning to drop from its head. But the wound appeared rather to
nave enraged than subdued him. Unfortunately, all my shot was
expended, otherwise I woflid most certainly, at a respectable distance, have given him a salutation of the same kind as I had just
bestowed. All that I have described passed in a much shorter time
than I have taken up in recounting it.
"As I went up the stream with all the velocity I could impart to the
canoe, I heard the reeds, among which the animal was apparently
faking refuge, crashing under its weight. I never once thought of




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.                   325
the lines I had left; but hurrying as fast as the canoe would go
through the water, I was not long in reaching the landing-place
below my friend's house. Hastily mooring the canoe, I jumped
ashore, and hurried up to the house, where you may be certain I lost
no time in communicating the almost miraculous escape I had made,
and the wound I had inflicted on the animal.'In that case,' said
Mr. H..,'it cannot escape; we must immediately go in search of it;'
and instantly summoning Cesar, (a black servant,) he told him to
get the guns ready, and to bring two of his fellows with him.'If
you choose to assist us in finishing the adventure you have begun,
and to have a second encounter with your novel antagonist, we shall
show you some of the best and most dangerous sport our country
affords.' I protested that nothing was farther from my intention than
staying behind, and added, that had not my shot been expended, we
should not have parted on so easy terms.'In general, said he,' it is
very dangerous to attack them at close quarters after being wounded,
as they become extremely infuriated; and there are not wanting instances in which life has been sacrificed by doing' so. But we now
take such precaution in approaching them, that it is next to impossible that any accident can happen.' Just as he finished saying this,
Caesar reappeared, himself armed with a club, one of those who
followed him carrying a weapon of the same kind, while the other
was armed with a weapon similar to a billhook.  This, Mr. H. told
me, was to clear a road among' the reeds, if the animal should have
retreated among them; the club being reckoned the best instrument
for a close encounter. We were soon seated in the canoes, and gliding
down the stream as fast as a couple of pairs of brawny arms could urge
us. In a short time we reached the spot where my adventure had
happened. The small part of the bank not covered with reeds bore,
from its sanguine hue, evident proof that the wound the animal had
received could not have been slight. Exactly opposite this the reeds
were crushed and broken, and a sort of passage was formed among
them so wide, that a man could with little difficulty enter. My fiiend
commanded a halt, to see that the arms were in proper order. All
being right, we listened attentively, in order to hear if there was any
noise which might direct us to our enemy. No sound, however, was
heard.  One of the negroes entered first, clearing with his billhook
whatever obstructed our way. He was followed by Mr. H. and me
with our guns; while Caesar and his fellow-servant brought tup the
rear. The reeds were in general nearly double our hight, and at the
same time pretty close. However, we easily made our way through
them, partly assisted by the track which the serpent had evidently made.
"We had penetrated, I should suppose, about thirty yards, when
the fellow who was in advance gave the alarm that we were close
upon the animal. Mr. H. ordered him behind, and advancing along
with me, we saw through the reeds part of the body of the monster
coiled up, and part of it stretched out; but owing to their thickness,
its head was invisible. Disturbed, and apparently irritated by our




328      NATURAL HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.
approach, it appeared, from its movements, about to turn and assail
us. We had our guns ready, and just as we caught a glimpse of its
head we fired, both of us almost at the same moment.  From  the
obstruction of the reeds, all our shot could not have taken effect; but
what did take effect seemed to be sufficient; for it fell, hissing, and
rolling itself into a variety of contortions.  Even yet it was dangerous to approach it. But Caesar, who seemed to possess a great deal
of coolness and audacity, motioning his master and me not to fire
again in the direction of the animal, forced a way through the reeds at
one side, and making a kind of circuit, came in before it, and succeeded
in bitting it a violent blow, which completely stunned it; and a few
repetitions of this gave us the victory.  We could now examine the
creature with safety.  On measuring it, we found it to be nearly forty
feet in length, and of proportional thickness.  Mr. H. informed me
that it was the largest he had seen killed, although he had often seen
others under circumstances which convinced him that they must have
been of a far greater size."
ANECDOTES OF THE ELEPHANT.
ELEPHANT HUNT.
THE life of the Hottentot elephant hunter is indeed one of imminent
peril, and few practice it for many years without being mairned or
crushed to death by the infuriated animals.  They are a brave,
fearless set of men, encountering every species of risk, and enduring
fatigue with a courage that is truly wonderful.  Accompanied by a
few such spirits, the European resident generally sets out on a hunting expedition-indeed it would be madness inl him to enter the bush
without such an escort. We have a spirited account of such an adventure in the following personal narrative of Lieutenant Moodie: "In
the year 1821, I had joined the recently-formed semi-military settlement of Fredericksburg, on the picturesque banks of the Gualana,
bevond the Great Fish River.  At this place our party (consisting
chiefly of the disbanded officers and soldiers of the Royal African
Corps) had already shot many elephants, with which the country at
that time abounded.  The day previous to my adventure I had witnessed an elephant hunt for the first time. On this occasion a large
female was killed, after some hundred shots had been fired at her.
The balls seemed at first to produce little effect, but at length she
received several shots in the trunk and eyes, which entirely disabled
her from making resistance or escaping, and she fell an easy prey to
her assailants.
"6 On the following day, one of our servants came to inform us




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.                      327
that a large troop of elephants was in the neighborhllood of the settlement, and that several of our people were alleady on theihr way to
attack them.  I instantly set off to join the hun.ters, but, from losing
my way in the jungle through which I had to proceed, I could not
overtake them  until after they had driven the elephants from their
first station.  On getting out of the jungle, I was proceeding thrllough
an open meadow on the bankls of the Guallana, to the spot where!
heard the firing,, when I was suddenly warned of approaching danger':
by loud cries of'JPassop/!-Look out l' coupled with my name in
Dutch and Engllish; and at the same moment heard the crackling oi
broken branches, produced by the elephants bursting through!-he
wood, and the tremendous screams of their wrathful voices resomnding among the precipitous banks.  Immediately a largce female, accompanied by three others of a smaller size, issued from the edge of
the jungle which skirted the river margin.'As they were not more
than two hundred yards off, and were proceeding directly towards me,
I had not much time to decide on my motions.  Being alone, and in.
the middle of a little open plain, I saw that I must inevitably be
caught, should I fire in this position and my shot not take effect.  I
therefore retreated hastily out of their direct path, thinking they
would not observe me, until I should find a better opportunity to
attack them.  But in this I was mistaken, for on lookinog back-, I perc:eived, to my dismay, that they had left their former course, and
were rapidly pursuing and. gaining ground on me.  Under these
circumstances, I determined to reserve my fire as a last resource;
and t.urninio off at rilghrt anoles in the opposite direction, I made for
the banks of the small river, with a view to take refuge among the
rocks on the other side. where I should have been safe.  But before
I got within fifty paces of the Liver, the elephants were within
twenty paces of me-thle large female in the middle, and the other
three on either side of her, apparently with the intention of making
sure of me; all of theml  screaming   so tremendously, that I was
almost stunned with tlhe noise.  I immediately tiu'ned round, cocked
my gun, and aimed at the head of the largest, the female.  But the
gun, unfortunately, fiom the powder being damp, hung fire till I was
in the act of taking it from my shoulder, when it went off, and thie
ball merely grazed the side of her head.  Halting only for an instant,
the animal acgain rushed furiously forward.  I fell-I cannot say
whether struck down by her or not.  She then cauglht me with hel
trunk by the middle, threw me beneath her fore feet, and knocked
me about between them for a little space.  I was scarcely in a condi-tion to compute the number of minutes very accurately.  Once she
pressed her foot on my chest with such force, that I actually felt thb.
bones, as it were, bending under the weight; and once she trod on
the middle of my arm, which fortunately lay flat on the ground at
the time.  During this rough handling, hlowever, I never entirely lost
my recollection, else I have little doubt she would have settled my
accounts with this world.  But owing to the roundness of her foot, I




328   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
generally managed, by twisting my body and limbs, to escape her
direct tread.  While I was still undergoing this buffeting, Lieutenant Chisholm, of the R. A. corps, and Diedrick, a Hottentot, had
come up and fired several shots at her, onle of which hit her in the
shoulder; and at the same time her companions, or young ones, retiring, and screaming to her from the edge of the forest, she reluctantly left me, giving me a cuff or two with her hind feet in passing.
I got up, picked up my gun, and staggered away as fast as my aching
bones would allow; but observing that she turned round, and
looked back toward me before entering the bush, I lay down in the
long grass, by which means I escaped her observation.
" On reaching the top of the high bank of the river, I met my
brother who had not been at this dav's hunt, but had run out on being
told by one of the men that he had seen me killed.  He was not
a little surprised at meeting me alone and in a whole skin, though
plastered with mud from head to foot. While he, Mr. Knight, of the
Cape regiment, and I, were yet talking of my adventure, an unlucky
soldier of the R. A. corps, of the name of M'Clane, attracted the
attention of a large male elephant, which had been driven towards
the village.  The ferocious animal gave chase, and caught him imlmediately under the hight where we were standing, carried him some
distance in his trunk, then threw him down, and bringing his four
feet together, trod and stamped upon him for a considerable time, till
he was quite dead. Leaving the corpse for a little, he again returned,
as if to make quite sure of his destruction, and kneeling down,
crushed and kneaded the body with his fore-legs.  Then seizing it
again with his trunk, he carried it to the edge of the jungle, and
threw it among the bushes. While this tragedy was going on, my
brother and I scrambled down the bank as far as we could, and
fired at the furious animal, but we were at too great a distance to be
of any service to the unfortunate man, who was crushed almost to a
jelly.
" Shortly after this catastrophe, a shot from one of the people broke
this male elephant's left fore-leg, which completely disabled him
from running.  On this occasion we witnessed a touching instance
of affection and sagacity in the elephant, which I cannot forbear to
relate, as it so well illustrates the character of this noble animal.
Seeing the distress and danger of her mate, the female before mentioned, (my personal antagonist,) regardless of her own danger,
quitted her shelter in the bush, rushed out to his assistance, walked
round and round him, chasing away the assailants, and still returning to his side and caressing him; and when he attempted to walk,
she placed her flank under his wounded side and supported him.
This scene continued nearly half an hour, until the female received
a severe wound from Mr. C. Mackenzie of the R. A. corps, which
drove her again to the bush, where she speedily sank from the loss of
blood; and the male soon after received a mortal wound also from
the same officer.




NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.   329
"Thus ended our elephant hunt; and I need hardly say that what
we witnessed on this occasion of the intrepidity and ferocity of these
powerful animals, rendered us more cautious in our dealings with
them for the future."
DEXTERITY OF THE ELIEPHANT.
AMONG the most interesting elephants kept in this country, without
any reference to profit, was one which was lately at the Duke of
Devonshire's villa, at Chiswick, the gift of a lady in India. This
animal was a female, remarkable for the gentleness of its disposition;
and from the kindness with which it was treated, and the free range
that was allowed it, probably came nearer to an elephant in a state
of nature than any other which ever appeared in this country. The
house erected for her shelter was of large dimensions, and well ventilated; and she had, beside, the range of a paddock of considerable
extent. At the call of her keeper she came out of her house, and
immediately took up a broom, ready to perform his bidding in sweeping the grass or paths. She would follow him with a pail or wateringpot round the enclosure. Her reward was a carrot and some water;
but previously to satisfying her thirst, she would exhibit her ingenuity by emptying the contents of a soda-water bottle which was
tightly corked.  This she did by pressing the bottle against the
ground with her foot, so as to hold it securely at an angle of about
forty-five degrees, and gradually twisting out the cork with her trunk,
although it was very little above the edge of the neck; then, without
altering the position, she turned her trunk round the bottle, so that
she might reverse it, and thus empty the contents into the extremity
of the proboscis. This she accomplished without spilling a drop, and
she delivered the empty bottle to her keeper before she attempted to
discharge the contents of the trunk into her mouth.
RESENTMENT AND REVENGE.
EVERY one must have read of the mishaps of the Delhi tailor.
This individual was in the habit of giving some little delicacy, such
as an apple, to an elephant that daily passed by his shop, and so accustomed had the animal become to this treatment, that it regularly
put its trunk in at his window to receive the expected gift. One day,
however, the tailor being out of humor, thrust his needle into the
beast's proboscis, telling it to be gone, as he had nothing to give it.
The creature passed on, apparently unmoved; but on coming to the
next dirty pool of water, filled its trunk and returned to the shopwindow, into which it discharged the whole contents, thoroughly
drenching poor Snip and the wares by which he was surrounded.
Again, a painter was desirous of drawing the elephant kept in the
menagerie at Versailles in an uncommon attitude which was that of
holding his trunk upraised in the air, with his mouth open. The




330   NATURlAL HISTORn  ILLUSTRATED.
painter's boy, in order to keep the animal in this posture, threw fruit
into his mouth; but as he had frequently deceived him, and made
him an offer only of throwing the fruit, lie grew angry; and, as if
he had known llhe painter's intention of drawing him was the cause
of the affront that was offered him, instead of revenging himself on
the lad, he turned his resentment on his master, and taking up a
quantity of water in his trunk, threw  it on the paper which the
painter was drawing on, and spoiled it.
A sentinel belonging to the present menagerie at Paris was alwav s
very careful in requesting the spectators not to give the elephants
any thing to eat.  This conduct particularly displeased the female,
whvlo beheld him with a very unfavorable eye, and had several times
endeavored to correct his interference by sprinkling his head with
iwater from her trunk.  One day, when several persons were collected to view these animals, a bystander offered the female a bit of
bread.  The sentinel perceived it; but the moment lie opened his
mouth to give the usual admonition, she, placing herself immediately
before him, discharged in his face a violent stream of water. A general laungh ensued; but the sentinel having calmly wiped his face,
stood a little to one side and continued as vioilant as before.  Soon
afterwards lhe found himself under the necessity of repeating his
admonition to the spectators; but no sooner was this uttered, than the
femiale laid hold of his musket, twirled it round with her trunk, trod
it under her feet, and did not restore it till she had twisted it nearly
ilnto the form of a cork-screw..eIr. Williamson tells an anecdote of an elephant which used to
be called the Pangul, or fool, but which vindicated his claim to another character in a very singular manner.  He had refused to bear
a greater'weight upon a march than was agreeable to him, by constantly pulling part of the load off his back; and a quarter-master
of brigade, 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 the quarter-master, and seizing  hi-m  with his trunk, lifted
hinm into a large tamarind tree which overhung the road, leaving him
to cling to the boughs, and get down as well as lie could. Lieutenant
Shipp, to try this memory of injuries, gave an elephant a large quantity of Cayenne pepper between some bread.  The animal was much
irritated by the offense, and about six weeks after, when the unsuspecting joker went to fondle him, he endured the caresses very placidly, but finished the affair by drenching his persecutor with dirty
water from head to foot.
M EMORY AND FORC   OF HABIT.
A FEMALE elephant that had escaped to the forest, and had enjoyed her liberty for imore than ten years, was at length caught,
along with a numlber of others, in a keddah.  After the others had
been secured, with the exception of seven or ei'ght younr ones, the




NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.  331
hunters, whlo recognized this female, were ordered to call on her by
name.  She immediately came to the side of the ditch within the enclosure, on which some of the drivers were desired to carry in a
plantain tree, the leaves of which she not only took from their hands
wit]:l her trunk, but opened her mouth for them to put a leaf into it,
vwhich they did, stroking and caressing her, and calling to her by name.
One of the trained elephants was now ordered to be brought to her,
and the driver to take her by the ear, and order her to lie down. At
first she did not like the koomkee to come near her, and retired to a
distance, seeming angry; but when the drivers, who were on foot,
called to her, she came immediately, and allowed them to stroke and
caress her as before; and in a few minutes after, permitted the
trained elephants to be familiar. A driver from one of these then
fastened a rope round her body, and instantly jumped on her back,
which at the moment she did not like, but was soon reconciled to it.
A small cord was then put round her neck for the driver to put his
feet in, who, seating himself on the neck in the usual manner, drove
her about the enclosure in the same manner as any of the tame elephants. After this he ordered her to lie down, which she instantly
did; nor did she rise till she was desired. He fed her from his seat,
gave her his stick to hold, which she took in her trunk and put into
her mouth, kept, and then returned it as she was directed, and as
she had formerly been accustomed to do. In short, she was so obedient, that had there been more wild elephants in the enclosure, she
would have been useful in securing them.
in June, 1787, a male elephant, taken the year before, was traveling in company with some others, toward Chittigong, laden with
baggage; and having come upon a tiger's track, which elephants discover readily by the smell, he took fright and ran off to the woods,
in spite of all the efforts of his driver.  On entering the wood, the
driver saved himself by springing from the animal and clinging to
the branch of a tree under which he was passing. When the elephant
had got rid of his driver, he soon contrived to shake off his load.
As soon as he ran away, a trained female was dispatched after him,
but could. not get up in time to prevent his escape.
Eighteen months after this, when a herd of elephants had been
taken, and had remained several days in the enclosure, till they were
enticed into the outlet, there tied, and led out in the usual manner,
one of the drivers, viewing a male elephant very attentively, declared
le resembled the one which had run away.  This excited the curiosity of every one to go and look at him; but when any person came
near the animal struck at. him with his trunk, and in every respect
appeared as wild and outrageous as any of the other elephants. An
old hunter at length coming up and examining him, declared that
he was the very elephant that had made his escape.
Confident of this, he boldly rode up to him on a tame elephant,
and ordered him to lie down, pulling him by the ear at the same
time. The animal seemed taken by surprise, and instantly obeyed
22




332    NATURAL HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.
the word of command, uttering at the same time a peculiar shrill
squeak through his trunk, as he had formerly been known to do, by
which he was immediately recognized by every person who was acquainted with this peculiarity.
A female elephant belonging to a gentleman at Calcutta, being
ordered from the upper country to Chotygone, by ch-ance broke loose
from her keeper, and was lost in the woods. The excuses which the
keeper made were not admitted.  It was supposed that he had sold
the elephant; his wife and family, therefore, were sold for slaves, and
he was himself condemned to work upon the roads. About twelve
years afterward, this man was ordered up into the country to assist
in cat-ling the wild elephants.  The keeper fancied he saw his longlost elephant in a group that was before him.  He was determined
to go up to it; nor could the strongest representations of the great
danger dissuade him from his purpose. When he approached the
creature she knew him; and giving him three salutes by waving her
trunk in the air, knelt down and received him on her back. She afterwards assisted in securing the other elephants, and likewise brought
with her three young ones, which she had produced during her absence.  The keeper recovered his character, and as a recompense
for his sufferings and intrepidity, had an annuity settled on him for
life. This elephant was afterwards in the possession of Governor
Hastings.
SAGACITY OF THE ELEPHANT.
THE following, given on the authority of the Rev. Robert Caunter,
seems to be a purely deliberative act; and that, be it observed, by
the animal when in a wild state, and perfectly unacquainted with the
devices of human training:
" A small body of sepoys stationed at an outpost-Fort de Galle,
in Ceylon-to protect a granary containing a large quantity of rice,
was suddenly removed, in order to quiet some unruly villagers a few
miles distant, who had set our authorities at defiance. Two of our
party happened to be on the spot at the moment. No sooner had
the sepoys withdrawn, than a herd of wild elephants, which had been
long noticed in the neighborhood, made their appearance in front of
the granary. They had been preceded by a scout, which returned
to the herd, and having, no doubt, satisfied them, in a language
which to them needed no interpreter, that the coast was clear, they
advanced at a brisk pace towards the building. When they arrived
within a few yards of it, quite in martial order, they made a sudden
stand, and began deliberately to reconnoitre the object of their attack.
Nothing could be more wary and methodical than their proceedings.
The walls of the granary were of solid brickwork, very thick; and
the only opening into the building was in the centre of a terraced
roof, to which the ascent was by a ladder. On the approach of the
elephants the two astonished spectators clambered into a lofty banyan
tree, in oidecr to escape mischief. The conduct of the four-footed




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.    333
besiegers was such as strongly to excite their curiosity, and they
watched their proceedings with intent anxiety.  The two spectators
were so completely screened by the foliage of the tree to which they
had resorted for safety, that they could not be perceived by the elephants, though they could see very well through the little vistas
formed by the separate branches, what was going on below. Had
there been a door to the granary, all difficulty of obtaining an entrance would have instantly vanished; but four thick brick walls
were obstacles which seemed at once to defy both the strength and
sagacity of these dumb robbers. Nothing daunted by the magnitude
of the difficulty which they had to surmount, they successively began
their operations at the angles of the building. A large male elephant,
with tusks of immense proportions, labored for some time to make an
impression; but after a while his strength was exhausted, and he
retired. The next in size and strength then advanced, and exhausted
his exertions with no better success. A third then came forward, and
applying those tremendous levers with which his jaws were armed,
and which he wielded with such prodigious might, he at length succeeded in dislodging a brick. An opening once made, other elephants
advanced, when an entrance was soon obtained sufficiently large to
admit the determined maurauders.  As the whole herd could not
be accommodated at once, they divided into small bodies of three or
four.  One of them entered, and when they had taken their fill, they
retired, and their places were immediately supplied by the next in
waiting, until the whole herd, upwards of twenty, had made a full
meal. By this time a shrill sound was heard from one of the elephants, which was readily understood, when those that were still in
the building immediately rushed out and joined their companions.
One of the first division, after retiring from the granary, had acted
as sentinel, while the rest were enjoying the fruits of their sagacity
and perseverance. He had so stationed himself as to be enabled to
observe the advance of an enemy from any quarter, and upon perceiving the troops as they returned from the village, he sounded the
signal of retreat, when the whole herd, flourishing their trunks, moved
rapidly into the jungle.  The soldiers, on their return, found that
the animals had devoured the greater part of their rice. A ball from
a field-piece was discharged at them in their retreat; but they only
wagged their tails as if in mockery, and soon disappeared in the
recesses of their native forests."
THE PANTHERS' DEN.
TIE occupants of a few log cabins in the vicinity of the Bayou
Manlatte, a tributary of the noble Bay of Pensacola, situated in the
western part of the then territory of Florida, had been for some
weels annoyed by the mysterious disappearance of the cattle and




334   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
goats, which constituted almost the only wealth of these rude countrymen; and the belated herdsman was frequently startled by the
terrible half-human cry of the dreaded panther, and the next
morning, some one of the squatters would find himself minus of a
number of cloven feet. About this time I happened into the settlement on a hunting excursion, in company with another son of Nimrod, and learning the state of affairs, resolved, if possible, to rid the
"clearing" of its pest, and bind new laurels on our brows.  The
night before our arrival, a heifer had been killed within a few rods
of the cabin, and the carcass dragged off toward the swamp, some
two miles distant, leaving a broad trail to mark the destroyer's path;
this being pointed out to us, Ned and myself resolved to execute our
enterprise without delay-this was to " beard the lion in his den."
Having' carefullv charged our rifles and pistols, and seen that our
bowies were as keen as razors, we set out on the trail, which soon
brought us to the edge of the Bayou Manlatte swamp-which covers
a surface of some thousands of acres, being a dense, muddy hammock
of teti, bay, magnolia, cane, grape-vines, etc. A perpetual twilight
reigned beneath the dense foliage supported by the rank soil, and
our hearts beat a few more pulsations to the minute, as we left the
scorching glare of *the noonday sun, and plunged into the gloomy
fastnesses of the bear and alligator; to these latter gentlemen, whose
clumsy forms were sprawling through the mud on every side, we
gave no further heed other than to keep without the range of the
deadly sweep of their powerful tails, with which they bring their
unsuspecting prey within reach of their saw-like jaws; the bears we
did not happen to meet, or we should most assuredly have given
them some of the balls designed for the panthers.
Well, we followed the trail half a mile into the swamp, when on
an elevated spot, we suddenly encountered the half-devoured body
of the unfortunate heifer, apparently just deserted by the captors.
We cautiously advanced a few paces further over a pavement of
bones, "clean scraped and meatless," and entered an open space,
when a sight met my eyes which certainly made me wish myself safe
at home, or in fact, anywhere else but where I was. About twentyfive feet from us we saw, instead of one, an old she-panther and two
cubs nearly grown, while directly over them, on the blasted and
sloping trunk of an immense gum-tree, crouched the " old he one
of all," lashing his sides fiercely with his tail, and snorting and
spitting like an enraged cat, an example which was imitated by the
three below. Here was a dilemma, on the particularly sharp horns
of which we found ourselves most uncomfortably situated.  To
retreat would induce an immediate attack, the consequence of an
advance would -be ditto; so we stood en tableaux, for a brief second,
our guns cocked and aimed, Ned drawing a bead on the dam, while
I did the same on the sire. It seemed madness to fire. We were
not long uncertain as to our course, for the old fellow suddenly
bounded from the trunk upon me, with a deafening roar. I fired as




NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.   335
he sprang, and the report of my piece was re-echoed by that of Ned's.
I sprang aside, dropping my rifle and drawing' my long and heavy
knife; it was well I did so, for the mortally-wounlded beast alighted
on the very spot I had left.  He turned and sprang upon me. I
avoided the blow of its powerful paw, and grappling with him I
rolled on the turf, winding my right arm tight around his neck, and
hugging close to his body to avoid his teeth and claws, while I dealt
rapid tihrusts with ny knife. I was very powerful; but never was
in a situation where I felt more sensibly the need of exerting all mlly
muscle.  The contest was soon decided —my knife passing through
the brute's heart"And panting from the dreadful close,
And breathless all, the champion rose."
And it was full time that I should do so, for Ned, having put a
ball through the head of the dam, was now manfully battling with
her two cubs; the poor fellow was sore pressed, streaming with
blood fiom numberless scratches, and almost in a state of nature,
for the sharp claws of the cubs had literally undressed him by piecemeal.  His savage assailants, also, bore upon their bloody hides
numerous tokens of his prowess in iwielding' his bowie.
Their system of attack seemed to be to spring suddenly upon him,
striking with their paws, and as they did so, in most cases simultaneously, it was impossible for him to defend himself, strong and
active as he was; and had no assistance been at lland, they would
undoubtedly have gained the victory.  It was a brave sight, thoulgh,
to see the tall, strong hunter, meeting their attacks undauntedly,
standing with his left arm raised to defend his head and throat, and
darting his knife into their tough bodies as he threw them from
him, but to meet the next moment their renewed efforts for his
destruction.
All this I caught at one glance, as I rushed to his rescue.
"Ned!" shouted I, mad and reckless with excitement, "take the
one on your left 1"  And we threw ourselves upon them. I met my
antagonist in his onward leap, and making a desperate blow at him,
my wrist struck his paw, and the knife flew far fi-olm my hand.
There was nothing else for me but to seize him by the loose skin
of the neckl with both hands, and hold on like " grim death," keeping him  at arm's length, while his paws beat a tattoo to a double
quick time on my breast and body, stripping my garments into
ribbons in a most workmanlike manner, and ornamenting my sensitive skin with a variety of lines and characters, done in red-a
process which I did not care to prolong, however, beyond a period
when I could soonest put a stop to the operation.
As I was debating how to attain so desirable an end, the remembrance of the small rifle pistol, in my belt, and which, till now, in
the hurry of the conflict I had forgotten, suddenly flashed upon my
mind, and, disengaging one hand, I drew it forth, cocked it with my




336     NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.
thumb, and the next moment the panther's brains were spattered in
my face.
I turned to look for Ned, and found him trying to free himself
from the dead body of the panther, whose teeth were fastened, in
their death-grip, to the small remnant of his hunting coat which
hung around his neck; I separated the strip of cloth w'ith my recovered knife, and we sank panting to the ground, while our hearts
went up in thankfulness for deliverance from so imminent danger to
life and limb. After resting awhile, we washed the blood-our
blood-from our bodies, and decorating them with " what was left,"
somewhat after the fashion of the Indian who wears only a "breech
clout," we took the scalps of the four panthers, and started on our
homeward march. Our success was speedily known in the clearing,
and in the evening a barbacue was had in our honor, to furnish which
a relation of the unfortunate heifer met with a fate scarcely less terrible. This exploit added not a little to our reputation among the
hunter folk.
ANECDOTES OF THE DOG.
THE LOST CHILD AND THE DOG.
ONE of the most striking instances which we have heard of the
sagacity and personal attachment in the shepherd's dog, occurred
about half a century ago among the Grampian mountains. In one
of his excursions to his distant flocks in these high pasturages, a
shepherd happened to carry along with him one of his children, an
infant about three years old. After traversing his pasture for some
time, attended by his dog, the shepherd found himself under the
necessity of ascending a summit at some distance, to have a more
extensive view of his range. As the ascent was too fatiguing for
the child, he left him on a small plain at the bottom, with strict injunctions not to stir from it till his return. Scarcely, however, had
he g'ained the summit, when the horizon was suddenly darkened by
one of those impenetrable mists which frequently descend so rapidly
amidst these mountains, as, in the space of a few minutes, almost to
turn day into night. The anxious father instantly hastened back to
find his child; but owing to the unusual darkness, and his own trepidation, he unfortunately missed his way in the descent. After a
fruitless search of many hours among the dangerous morasses.and
cataracts with which these mountains abound, he was at length overtaken by night.  Still wandering on without knowing whither, he at
length came to the verge of the mist, and by the light of the moon,
Jiscovered that he had reached the bottom of his valley, and was
within a short distance of his cottage. To renew the search that




NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.   335
night was equally fruitless and dangerous.  He was therefore
obliged to return to his cottage, having lost both his child and his
dog, which had attended him faithfully for years.
Next morning by daybreak, the shepherd, accompanied by a band
of his neighbors, set out in search of his child; but, after a day
spent in fruitless fatigue, he was at length compelled by the approach
of night, to descend from the mountain.  On returning to his cottage, he found that the dog, which he had lost the day before, had
been home, and, on receiving a piece of cake, had instantly gone off
again. For several successive days the shepherd renewed the search
for his child; and still, on returning at evening disappointed to his
cottage, he found that the dog had been home, and, on receivinog his
usual allowance of cake, had instantly disappeared.  Struck with
this singular circumstance, he remained at home one day, and when
the dog as usual departed with his piece of cake, he resolved to follow him, and find out the cause of his strange procedure.  The dog
led the way to a cataract, at some distance from the spot where the
shepherd had left his child. The banks of the cataract, almost
joined at the top, yet separated by an abyss of immense depth, presented that appearance which so often astonishes and appalls the
travelers who frequent the Grampian mountains, and indicates that
these stupendous chasms were not the silent work of time, but the
sudden effect of some violent convulsion of the earth. Down one of
these ruggyed and almost perpendicular descents the dog began
without hesitation to make his way, and at last disappeared into a
cave, the mouth of which was almost upon a level with the torrent.
The shepherd with difficulty followed; but on entering the cave,
what were his emotions when he beheld his infant eating with much
satisfaction the cake which the dog had just brought him, while the
faithful animal stood by, eyeing his young charge with, the utmost
complacence i
From the situation in which the child was found, it appears that
he had wandered to the brink of the precipice, and then either fallen
or scrambled down till he reached the cave, which the dread of the
torrent had afterward prevented him  from quitting.  The dog, by
means of his scent, had traced him to the spot, and afterward prevented him from starving, by giving up to him his own daily allowance.  He appears never to have quitted the child by night or day,
except when it was necessary to go for his food, and then he was
always seen running at full speed to and from the cottage.
WONDERFUL SAGACITY OF A SHEPHERD'S DOG.
JAMIES HIOG, who possessed the best opportunities of studying the
character of the shepherd's dog, mentions that he at one time had a
dog, called Sirrab, an animal of a sullen disposition, and by no
means favorable appearance, which was an extraordinary adept in
managing a flock.  One of his exploits was as follows:  "About




338   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
seven hundred lambs, which were once under his care at weaningtime, brole up at midnight, and scampered off in three divisions
across the hills, in spite of all that the shepherd and an assistant
lad could do to keep them  together.'Sirrab,' cried the shepllerd
in great affliction,' my man, they're a' awa!'  The night was so
dark, that he did not see Sirralh; but the faithful animal hadl heard
his master's words-words such as of all others were sure to set
him most on the alert; and without more ado, he silently set off in
quest of the recreant flock.  Meanwhile the shepherd and his compaenion did not fail to do all that was in their own power to recover
their lost charge; they spent the whole night in scouring the hills
for miles around; but of neither the lambs nor Sirrah could they
obtain the slightest trace.'It was the most extraordinary circumstance,' says the shepherd,'that had ever occurred in the annals
of the pastoral life.  We had nothing for it (day having dawned,)
but to return to our master, and inform him that we had lost his
whole flock of lambs, and knew not what was become of one of
them.  On our way home, however, we discovered a body of lambs
at the bottom of a deep ravine, called the Flesh Cleuch, and the indefatig'able Sirrah standing' in front of them, lookinng all around for
some relief, but still standing true to his charge.  The sun was then
up; and when we first came in view of them, we concluded that it
was one of the divisions of the lambs which Sirral had been unable
to manage, until he came to that commanding' situation.  But what
was our astonishment when we discovered by degrees that not one
lamb of the whole flock was wanting! How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark, is beyond my comprehension.  The
charge was left entirely to himself from  midnight until the rising of
the sun; and if all the shepherds in the forest had been there to
have assisted him, they could not have effected it with greater propriety.  All that I can further say is, that I never felt so grateful to
any creature below the sun, as I did to my honest Sirrah that
mornin g.
EXTRAORDINARY CASE OF SHEEP-STEALING BY A DOG.
A YOUNG farmer in the neighborhood of Innerleithen, whose circumstances were supposed to be good, and who was connected with
many of the best store-farming families in the county, had been
tempted to commit some extensive depredations upon the flocks of
his neighbors, in which he was assisted by his shepherd.  The pastoral farms of Tweeddale, which generally consist each of a certain
-range of hilly ground, had in those days no enclosures: their boundaries were indicated only by the natural features of the country.
The sheep were accordingly liable to wander, and to become intermixed with each other; and at every reckoning of a flock, a certain
rallowance had to'be made for this, as for other contingencies.  For
some time Mr. William  Gibson, tenant in Newby, an extensive farm
stretching from  the neighborhood of Peebles to the borders of




NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.   339
Selkirklshire, had remarked a surprising increase in the amount of his
annual losses.  lie questioned his shepherds severely, taxed them
with carelessness in picking up and bringing home the dead, and
plainly intinmated that he conceived some unfair dealing to be in
progress. The men, finding themselves thus exposed to suspicions of
a very painful kind, were as much chagrined as the worthy farmer
himself, and kept their minds alive to every circumstance which
might tend to afford any elucidation of the mystery.  One day,
while they were summering their lambs, the eye of a very acute old
shepherd, named Hyslop, was caught by a black-faced ewe which
they had formerly missed (for the shepherds generally know every
particular member of their flocks,) and which was now suckling its
own lamb as if it had never been absent.  On inspecting it carefully,
it was found to bear an additional birn upon its face.  Every farmer,
it must be mentioned, impresses with a hot iron a particular letter
upon the faces of his sheep, as a means of distinguishing his own
from those of his neighbors.  Mr. Gibson's birn was the letter T,
and this was found distinctly enough impressed on the face.of the
ewe.  But above this mark there was an 0, which was known to be
the mark of the tenant of Wormiston, the individual already mentioned.  It" was immediately suspected that this and the other missing sheep had been abstracted by that person; a suspicion which
derived strength from thle reports of the neighboring shepherds, by.
whom, it appeared, the black-faced ewe had been tracked for a considerable way, in a direction leading from  Wormiston to Newby.
It was indeed ascertained that instinctive affection for her lamb had
led this animal across the Tweed, and over the lofty bights between
Cailzie and Newby; a route of very considerable difficulty, and
probably quite different fiom that by which she had been led away,
but the m1ost cldiect that could have been taken.  Mr. Gibson only
stopped to obtain the concurrence of a neigboring farmer, whose
losses had been equally great, before proceeding with some of the
legal authorities to Wormiston, where Millar, the shepherd, and his
master, were taken into custody, and conducted to the prison of
Peebles.  On a search of the farm, no fewer than thirty-three score
of sheep belonging to various individuals were found, a11 bearing the
condemnatory 0 above the original hirns; and it was remarked that
there was not a single ewe returned to Grieston, the farm on the
opposite bank of the Tweed, which did not nminny her lambs-that is,
assume the character of mother toward the offspring from which she
had been separated.
The mao'nitude of this crime, the rareness of such offences in the
district, and the station in life of at least one of the offenders, produced a great sensation in Tweeddale, and caused the elicitation of
every minute circumstance that could possibly be discovered respecting the means which had been employed for carrying on such an
extensive system of depredation.  The most surprising part of the
tale is the extent to which it appears that the instinct of dumb




340   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
animals hacd been instrumental both in the crime and in its detection.
While the farmer seemed to have deputed the business chiefly to his
shepherd, the shepherd seemed to have deputed it again, in many
instances, to a dog of extraordinary sagacity, which served him in
his customary and lawful business.  This animnal, which bore the
name of c)arrovw, would not only act under his immediate direction
in cuttinlg off a portion of a flock, and bringing it home to Wormiston,
but is said to have been able to proceed solitarily, and by night, to a
sheep-walk, and there detach certain individuals previously pointed
out by its master, which it would drive home by secret ways, without allowing one to straggle.  It is mentioned that, while returning
home with their stolen droves, they avoided, even in the night, the
roads along the banks of the river, or those that descend to the valley through the adjoining glens.  They chose rather to come along'
the ridge of mountains that separate the small river Leithen firom
the Tweed.  But even here there was sometimes danger; for the
shepherds occasionally visit their flocks even before day; and often
when.Millar had driven his prey from a distance, and while lhe was
yet miles from home, and the weather-gleam  of the eastern hills
began to be tinged with the brightening dawn, he has left them to
the charge of his clog, and descended himself to the banks of the
Leithen, off his way, that he might not be seen connected with their
company.  Yarrow, although between three and four miles from his
master, would continue with care and silence, to bring the sheep
onward to Wormiston, where his master's appearance could be
neither a matter of question nor surprise.
Near to the thatched farmhouse was one of those old square
towers, or peel-houses, whose picturesque ruins were then seen
ornamenting the course of the Tweed, as they had been placed
alternately along the north and south bank, generally from  three to
six hundred yards from it-sometimes on the shin, and sometimes in
the hollow of a hill.  In the vault of this tower, it was the practice
of these men to conceal the sheep they had recently stolen; and
while the rest of their people were absent on Sunday at the church,
they used to employ themselves in canceling with their knives the
ear-marks, and impressing with a hot iron a large 0 upon the face,
that covered both sides of the animal's nose, for the purpose of obliterating the brand of the true owner.  While his accomplices were
so busied, Yarrow kept watch in the open air, and gave notice,
without fail, by his barking, of the approach of strangers.
The farmer and his servant were tried at Edinburgh, in January,
1773, and the proceedings excited an extraordinary interest, not only
in the audience, but among the legal officials.  Hyslop, the principal
witness, gave so many curious particulars respecting the instincts of
sheep, and the modes of distincguishing them  both by natural and
artificial marks, that he was highly complimented by the bench.
The evidence was so complete, that both culprits were found guilty,




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED                     841
and, according to the barbarous policy of those times, they expiated
their crimes on the scaffold.
The general tradition is, that Yarrow was also put to death,
though in a less ceremonious manner; but this has probably no
other foundation than a je  c d'esprit, which was cried through the
streets of Edinburgh as his dying speech. We have been informed
that the dog was in reality purchased, after the execution of Millar,
by a sheep-farmer in the neighborhood, but did not take kindly to
honest courses, and his new master having no work of a different
kind in which to engage him, he was remarked to show rather less
sagacity than the ordinary shepherd's dog.
FRENCH  MERCHANT AND HIS DOG.
A FRNCH merchant having some money due from a correspondent, set out on horseback, accompanied by his dog, on purpose to
receive it. Having settled the business to his satisfaction, he tied
the bag' of money before him, and began to return home. His faithful dog, as if he entered into his master's feelings, frisked round the
horse, barked and jumped, and seemed to participate in his joy.
The merchant, after riding some miles, alighted to repose himself
under an agreeable shade, and taking the bag of money in his hand,
laid it down by his'-side under a hedge, and on remounting, forgot it.
The dog perceived his lapse of recollection, and wishing to rectify it,
ran to fetch the bag, but it was too heavy for him to drag along.
He then ran to his master, and by crying, barking, and howling,
seemed to renmind him of his mistake.  The merchant understood
not his language; but the assiduous creature persevered in its
efforts, and after trying to stop the horse in vain, at last began to
bite his heels.
The merchant, absorbed in some reverie, wholly overlooked the
real object of his affectionate attendant's importunity, but entertained
the alarming apprehension that le was gone mad.  Full of this suspicion, in crossing a brook, he turned back to look if the dog would
drink.  The animal was too intent on his master's business to think
of itself; it continued to bark and bite with greater violence than
before.
" Mercy!" cried the afflicted merchant: " it must be so; my poor
dog is certainly mad: what must I do?  I must kill him, lest some
greater misfortune befall me; but with what regret! Oh, could I
find any one to perform this cruel office for me! But there is no
time to lose; I myself may become the victim if I spare him."
With these words lhe drew a pistol from his pocket, and with a
trembling hand took aim at his faithful servant.  He turned away in
agony as lie fired; but his aim was too sure.  The poor animal fell
wounded, and, weltering in his blood, still endeavored to crawl
toward his master, as if to tax him with ingratitude.  The merchant




342    NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
could not bear the sioght; he spurred on his horse with a heart full
of sorrow, and lamented he had taken a journey which had cost him
so dear.  Still, however, the money never entered his mind; he
only tlhought of his poor dog, and tried to console himself -with the
reflection that he had prevented a greater evil by despatching a nmad
animal, than he had suffered a calamity by his loss.  This opiate to
his wounded spirit, however, was ineffectual: " I am most unfortunate," said. he to himself: " I had almost rather have lost my money
than my dog."  Saying' this, le stretched out his hand to grasp his
treasure.  It was missing; no bag was to be found.  In an instant
he opened his eyes to his rashness and folly.  " Wretch that I am!
I alone am to blame! I could not comprehend the admonition which
my innocent and most faithful friend gave me; and I have sacrificed
him for his zeal.  He only wished to inform me of mly mistake, and
he has paid for his fidelity with his life."
Instantly he turned his horse, and went off at full gallop to the
place where he had stopped.  He saw with half-averted eyes the
scene where the tragedy was acted; he perceived the traces of
blood as he proceeded; he was oppressed and distracted; but in
v~ain did he look for his dog'; he was not to be seen on the road.
At last he arrived at the spot where he had alighted.  But what
were his sensations!  His heart was ready to bleed; he execrated
himself in the madness of despair.  The poor dog, unable to follow
his dear but cruel master, had determined to consecrate his last
rmoments to his service.  He had crawled, all bloody as he was, to
the forgotten bag, and, in the agonies of death, lie lay watching
beside it.  When lihe saw his master, he still testified his joy by the
wagging of his tail.  He could do no more; lie tried to rise, but his
strength was gone.  The vital tide was ebbing fast; even the
caresses of ]his master could inot prolong' his fate for a few rnmoenits.
He stretched out his tongue to lick the hand that was now fondling
him in the agonies of regret, as if to seal forgiveness of the deed
that had deprived him of life.  He then cast a look of kindness on
his master, and closed his eyes in death.
THE DOG AND THIE SHILLING.
A GENTLEMAN of Suffolk, England, on an excursion with his
friend, wvas attended by a Newfoundland dog', which soon became
the subject of conversation.  The miaster, after a warm eulogium
upon the perfections of his canine favorite, assured his companion
that he wrould, uupon receiving the order, return and fetch any article
lie should leave behind, from  any distance.  To confirm this assertion, a marked shilling was put under a large square stone by the
side of the road-being first shown to the dog.  The gentlemen then
rode for three miles, when the dog received his signcal from  the
miaster to return. for the shilling he had seen put under the stone.
Trbe dog turned back; the gentlemen rode on, and reached home;




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.                    343
but, to their surprise and disappointment, the h   Xiherto faithful lessenger did not return during the day. It afterward appeared that
he had gone t to the place where the shilling was deposited, but the
stone being' too large for his strength to remove, he had stayed howling at the place, till two horsemen riding by, and attracted by his
seeminc' distress, stopped to look at him, when one of them alighltinu, removed the stone, and seeing the shilling, put it into his
pocket, not at the the time conceiving it to be the object of the dog's
search.  The dog followed their horses for twenty miles, remained
undisturbed in the room where they supped, followed the chambermaid into the bedchamber, and secreted himself under one of the
beds.  The possessor of the shilling hung his trousers upon a nail
by the bedside; but when the travelers were both asleep, the dog
took them in his mouth, and leaping out of the window, which was
left open on account of the sultry heat, reached the house of his
master at four o'clock in the morning with the prize he had made
free with, in the pocket of which were found a watch and money,
that were returned upon being advertised, when the whole mystery
was mutually unraveled, to the admiration of all the parties.
REMARIKABLE PRESERVATION FROM MURDER BY A DOG.
SIR H. LEE, of Ditchbley, Oxfordshire, ancestor of the late earls
of Lichfield, had a mastiff which guarded the house and yard, but
had never met with any particular attention from his master.  In
short, hie was not a favorite dog, and was retained for his utility
only, and not from any partial regard.
One night, as Sir Harry was retiring to his chamber, attended by
his favorite valet, an Italian, the mastiff silently followed them up
stairs, which he had never been known to do before, and to his
master's astonishment, presented himself in the bedroom.  Being
deemed an intruder, he was instantly ordered to be turned out;
which, being complied with, the poor animal began scratching violently at the door, and hrowling loudly for admission.  The servant
was sent to drive him away. Discouragement, however, could not
check his intended labor of love; he returned again, and was more
importunate to be let in than before.  Sir Harry, weary of opposition, though surprised beyond measure at the dog's apparent fondness for the society of a master who had never shown him the least
kindness, and wishing to retire to rest, bade the servant open the
door that that they might see what he wanted to do.  This done, the
mastiff, with a wag of the tail and a look of affection at his lord,
deliberately walked up, and crawling under the bed, laid himself
down, as if desirous to take up his night's lodging there.
To save further trouble, and not from any partiality for his company, this indulgence was allowed. The valet withdrew, and all
was still. About the solemn hour of midnight the chamber door
opened, and a person was heard stepping across the room. Sir




344   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
Harry started from sleep; the dog sprung from  his covert, and
seizing the unwelcome) disturber, fixed him to the spot. All was
dark: Sir Harry rang his bell in great trepidation, in order to procure a light.  The person who was pinned to the floor roared for
assistance.  It was found to be the favorite valet, who little expected
suich a reception.  He endeavored to apologise for his intrusion, and
to make the reasons which induced him to take this step appear
plausible; but the importunity of the dog, the time, the place, the
manner of the valet, raised suspicions in Sir Harry's mind, and he
determined to refer the investigation of the business to a magistrate.
The terrified Italian, alternately terrified by the dread of punishment, and soothed by the hope of pardon, at length confessed that
it was his intention to murder his master, and then rob the house.
This diabolical design was frustrated solely by the unaccountable
sagacity of the dog, and his devoted attachment to his master. A
full-length picture of Sir Harry, with the mastiff by his side, and the
words, " AMore faithful than favored," is still preserved among the
family pictures.
HUNTING  THE MOOSE.
THE habits of the moose, in his manner of defense and attack,
are similar to those of the stag, and may be illustrated by the following anecdote from the "' Random Sketches of a Kentuckian:"
"Who ever saw Bravo without loving him?  His sloe-black eyes,
his glossy skin, flecked here and there with blue; his wide-spread
thighs, clean shoulders, broad back, and low-drooping chest, bespoke
him the true stag-hound; and none, who ever saw his bounding
form, or heard his deep-toned bay, as the swift-footed stag flew
before him, would dispute his title. List, gentle reader, and I will
tell you an adventure which will make you love him all the more.
"A bright, frosty morning in November, 1838, tempted me to visit
the forest hunting-grounds.  On this occasion, I was followed by a
fine-looking hound, which had been presented to me a few days
before by a fellow-sportsman. I was anxious to test his qualities,
and, knowing that a mean dog will not often hunt well with a good
one, I had tied up the eager Bravo, and was attended by the strange
dog alone. A brisk canter of half an hour brought me to the wild
forest hills. Slackening the rein, I slowly wound my way up a
brushy slope some three hundred yards in length. I had ascended
about half way, when the hound began to exhibit signs of uneasiness, and, at the same instant a stag sprang out from some underbrush near by, and rushed like a whirlwind up the slope. A word,
and the hound was crouching at my feet, and my trained Cherokee,
with ear erect, and flashing eye, watched the course of the affrighted
animal.
" On the very summit of the ridge, full one hundred and fifty yards,




NATURAL  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED.    345
every limb standing out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, the
stag paused, and looked proudly down upon us. After a moment of
indecision, I raised my rifle and sent the whizzing lead upon its errand. A single bound, and the antlered monarch was hidden from
my view. Hastily running down a ball, I ascended the slope; my
blood ran a little faster as I saw the' gouts of blood' which stained
the withered leaves where he had stood. One moment more, and the
excited hound was leaping breast-high on his trail, and the gallant
Cherokee bore his rider like lightning after them.
"Away-away! for hours we did thus hasten on, without once
being at fault, or checking our headlong speed. The chase had led
us far from the starting-point, and now appeared to be bearing up a
creek, on one side of which rose a precipitous hill some two miles in
length, which I knew the wounded animal would never ascend.
" Half a mile further on, another hill reared its bleak and barren
head on the opposite side of the rivulet.  Once fairly in the gorge,
there was no exit save at the upper end of the ravine. Here, then,
I must intercept my game, which I was able to do by taking a nearer
cut over the ridge, that saved at least a mile.
c' Giving one parting shout to cheer my dog, Cherokee bore me
headlong to the pass. I had scarcely arrived, when black with sweat,
the stag came laboring up the gorge, seemingly totally reckless of
our presence. Again I poured forth the' leaden messenger of death,'
Gus meteor-like he flashed by us. One bound, and the noble animal
lay prostrate within fifty feet of where I stood. Leaping from my
horse, and placing one knee upon his shoulder, and a hand upon his
antlers, I drew my hunting-knife; but scarcely had its keen point
touched his neck, when, with a sudden bound, he threw me from his
body, and my knife was hurled from my hand. In hunters' parlance,
I had only' creased him.' I at once saw my danger, but it was too
late. With one bound he was upon me, wounding and almost disabling me with his sharp feet and horns. I seized him by his widespread antlers, and sought to regain possession of my knife, but in
vain. Cherokee, frightened at the unusual scene, had madly fled to
the top of the ridge, where he stood, looking down upon the combat,
trembling and quivering in every limb.
" The ridge road I had taken placed us far in advance of the hound,
whose bay I could not now hear. The struggles of the furious animal had now become dreadful, and every moment I could feel his
sharp hoofs cutting deep into my flesh; my grasp upon his antlers
became less and less firm, and yet I relinquished not my hold. The
struggle had brought us near a deep ditch, washed by the fall rains,
and into this I endeavored to force my adversary, but my strength
was unequal to the effort; when we approached to the very"brink,
lie leaped over the drain. I relinquished my hold and rolled in,
hoping thus to escape him; but he returned to the attack, and throwing himself upon me, inflicted numerous severe cuts upon my face
sand breast before I could again seize him. Locking my arms around




34G   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
his antlers, I drew his head close to my breast, and was thus, by
great effort, enabled to prevent his doing me any serious injury.
But I felt that this could not last long; every muscle and fibre of my
frame was called into action, and human nature could not long bear
up under such exertion. Faltering a silent prayer to Heaven, I prepared to meet my fate.
"At this moment of despair, I heard the faint bayings of the
bhound; the stag, too, heard the sound, and springing from the ditch,
drew me with him. His efforts were now redoubled, and I could
scarcely cling to him. Yet that blessed sound came nearer and
nearer! Oh, how wildly beat my heart, as I saw the hound emerge
from the ravine, and spring forward with a short, quick bark, as his
eye rested on his game. I released my hold of the stag, who turned
upon the new enemy. Exhausted, and unable to rise, I still cheered
the dog, that, dastard-like, fled before the infuriated animal, who,
seemingly despising such an enemy, again threw himself upon me.
Again did I succeed in throwing my arms around his antlers, but not
until he had inflicted several deep and dangerous wounds upon my
head and face, cutting to the very bone.
"Blinded by the flowing blood, exhausted    despairing, I urged
the coward dog, who stood baying furiously, yet refusing to seize his
gname. Oh! how I prayed for Bravo! The thoughts of death were
bitter. To die thus in the wild forest, alone, with none to help!
Thoughts of home and friends, coursed like lightning, through my
brain.  At that moment, when hope herself had fled, deep and clear
over the neighboring hill, came the baying of my gallant Bravo 
I should have known his voice among a thousand. I pealed forth
in one faint shout,'On, Bravo, on!' The next moment, with tigerlike bounds, the noble do came leaping down the declivity, scatteringo the dried autumnal leaves like a whirlwind in his path.' No
pause he knew,' but, fixing his fang's into the stag's throat, he at once
commenced the struggle.
" I fell back completely exhausted. Blinded with blood, I only knew
that a terrible struggle was going on. In a few moments, all was
still, and I felt the warm breath of my faithful dog, as he licked llmy
wounds.  Clearing my eyes from  gore, I saw my late adversary
dead at my feet, and Bravo,'my own Bravo,' as the heroine of a
modern novel would say, standing over me. He yet bore around his
neck a fi:agment of the rope with which I had tied him. He had
gnawed it in two, and following his master through all his windings,
arrived in time to rescue him from a horrible death.
" I have recovered from my wounds. Bravo is lying at may feet.
Who does not love Bravo? I am sure I do, and the rascal knows.t-don't you Bravo?  Come here, sir!"




NIATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.  347
A SKATER CHASED BY A WOLF.
A THRILLING incident in American country life is vividly sketched
mn "Evenings at Donaldson Manor." In the winter of 1844, the
relater went out one evening to skate, on the Kennebec, in Maine, by
moonlight, and having ascended that river nearly two miles, turned
into a little stream to explore its course.
" Fir and hemlock of a century's growth," he says, "met overhead and formed an archway, radiant with frostwork.  All was dark
within; but I was young and fearless; and as I peered into an unBroken forest that reared itself on the borders of the stream, I
laughed with very joyousness; my wild hurrah rang through the
Bilent woods, and I stood listening to the echo that reverberated again
and again, until all was hushed.  Suddenly a sound arose-it seemed
to me to come from beneath the ice; it sounded low and tremulous
at first, until it ended in a low, wild yell.  I was appalled.  Never
*efore had such alnoise met my ears.  I thought it more than mortal; so fierce, and amid such an' unbroken solitude, it seemed as
fahough from the tread of some brute animal, and the blood rushed
back to my forehead with a bound that made my skin burn, and I
ielt relieved that I had to contend with things earthly and not spiritunal;' my energies returned, and I looked around me for some means
of escape.  As I turned my head to the shore, I could see two
da'rk objects dashing through the underbrush, at a pace nearly
double in speed to my own. By this rapidity, and the short yells thley
oceasionally gave, I knew at once that these were the much-dreaded
May wolves.
I had never met with these animals, but fiom the description given
of them, I had very little pleasure in making their acquaintance.
rheir untamable fierceness, and the enduring strength, which seems
ha't of their nature, render them objects of dread to every benighted:raveler.
There was no time for thought; so I bent my head and dashed
madly forward.  Nature turned me toward home.  The light flakes
of snow spun from the iron skates, and I was some distance from my
piursuers, when their fierce howl told me I was their ftugitive.  I did
3hot look back; I did not feel afraid, or sorry, or even glad; one
boughlt of home, the bright faces waiting my return-of their tears
if they should never see me again, and then every energy of body
and mind were exerted for escape. I was perfectly at home on the
ice. Many were the days that I had spent on my good skates, never
thinking that at one time they would be my only means of safety.
]?Yery half minute, an alternate yelp fiom my ferocious followers,
to.d me too certain that they were in close pursuit.  Nearer'and
m'earer they came; I heard their feet pattering on the ice nearer still,
until I could feel their breath, and hear their sniffling scent.
Every nerve and muscle in my frame was stretched to the utmost
tension. Tho trees along the shore seemed to dance in the uncertain
23




348   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
light, and my brain turned with my own breathless speed, yet still
they seemed to hiss forth their breath with a sound truly horrible,
when an involuntary motion on my part, turned me out of my course.
The wolves, close behild, unable to stop, and as unable to turn on
the smooth ice, slipped and fell, still going on far ahead; their
tongues were lolling out, their white tusks glaring from their bloody
mouths, their dlark, shaggyv breasts were fleeced with foam, and, as
they passed me, their eyes glared, and they howled with fury.
The thought flashed on my mind, that, by these means, I could
avoid them, viz: by turning aside whenever they came too near; for
they, by the formation of their feet, are unable to run on the ice except in a straight line.
At one time, by delaying my turning too long', my sanguinary antagonists came so near, that they threw the white foam over my dress
as they sprang to seize me, and their teeth clashed together like the
spring of a fox-trap!
Had my skates failed for one instant, ha.d I tripped on a stick, or
caught my foot in a fissure in the ice, the story I am now telling
would never have been told.
I thought over all the chances; I knew where they would take
hold of me if I fell; I thought how long it would be before I died;
and then there would be a search for the body that would already:
have its tomb! for, oh! how fast man's mind traces out all the dreadL
colors of death's picture, only those who have been so near the grini
original can tell.
But I soon camle opposite the house, and my hounds-I knew
their deep voices-roused by the noise, bayed furiously from their
kennels. I heard their chains rattle; how I wished they would break
them i and then I would hlave protectors that would be peer to the
fiercest denizens of the forest. The wolves, taking the hint conveyede
by tlhe dogs, stopped in their mad career, and after a moment's consideration, turned and fled. I watched them until their dusky forms
disappeared over a neighboring hill; then taking off my skates, [
wended my way to the house, with feelings much better imagined
than described.  But even yet, I never see a broad sheet of ice in
the moonshine, without thinking of the sniffling breath, and those
fearful things that followed me closely down the frozen Kennebec.
A SEA-FOWLING ADVENTURE.
ONE pleasant afternoon in summer, Frank Costello jumped into
his little boat and pulling her out of the narrow creek where she ly
moored, crept along the iron-bound shore until he reached the
entrance of one  of those deep sea-caves so common upon  the
western coast of Ireland.  To thle gloomy recesses of these natural
caverns, millions of sea-fowl resort during the breeding season; and




NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.   349
it was among' these feathered tribes then congregated in the "Puffin
Cave," that Frank meant, on that evening, to deal death and destruction.  Gliding with lightly-dipping oars, into the yawning  chasm, he
stepped nimbly from his boat, and making the painter fast to a projecting rock, he lighted a torch, and, armed only with a stout cudgel,
penetrated into the innermost recesses of the cavern. There he found
a vast quantity of birds and eggs, and soon became so engrossed with
his sport that he paid no attention to the lapse of time, until the hollow sound of rushing waters behind him, made him aware that the
tide, which was ebbing when he entered the cave, had turned, and
was now rising rapidly.  His first impulse was to return to the spot
where he had made his boat fast; but how was he horrified on perceiving that the rock to which it had been secured was now comepletely covered with water.  He might, however, still have reached
it by sw1imming; but, unfortunately, the painter, by which it was
attached to the rock, not having sufficient scope, the boat, on the
rising of the tide, was drawn, stern down, to a level with the water;
and Frank, as lie beheld her slowly fill and disappear beneath the
waves, felt as if the last link between the living, world and himself
had been broken.  To go forward was impossible; and he well
knew- that there was no way of retreating from the cave, which, ili a
few hours, would be filled by the advancing tide.  His heart died
within him, as the thoug'ht of the horrid fate which awaited him,
flashed across his mind. He was not a man who feared to face death;
by flood or field, on the stormy sea and the dizzy cliff, he had dared
it a thousand times with perfect unconcern; but to meet the grirm
tyrant there, alone, to struggle hopelessly with him  for life in that
dreary tomb, was more than his fortitude could bear.  He shriekedaloud in the agony of despair-the torch fell from his trembling hand
into the dark waters that gurgled at his feet, and, flashing for a moment upon their inky surface, expired with a hissing sound that fell
like a death-warning upon his ear.  The wind, which had beent
scarcely felt during' the day, began to rise with the flowing of the
tide, and now drove the tumultuous waves with hoarse and hideous
clamor into the cavern.  Every moment increased the violence of
the gale that howled and bellowed as it swept around the echoing
roof of that rock-ribbed prison; while the hoarse dash of the approaching waves, and the shrill screams of the sea-birds that filled
the cavern, formed a concert of terrible dissonance, well suited for
the requiem of the hapless wretch who had been enclosed in that
living grave   But the love of life, which makes us cling to it iun,
the most hopeless extremity, was strong in Frank Costello's breast 
his firmness and presence of mind gradually returned, and lie resolved not to perish without a struggle.  He remembered that at the
farther extremity of the cavern, the rock rose like a flight of rude
stairs, sloping from the floor to the roof; he had of'ten clambered up
those rugged steps, and le knew that, by means of them, he could
place himself at an elevation above the reach of the highest tide,




350   NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.
But the hope thus suggested was quickly damped, when he reflected
that a deep fissure, which ran perpendicularly through the rock,
formed a chasm ten feet in width, in the floor of the cavern, between
him and his place of refuge.  The tide, however, which was now
rising rapidly, compelled him to retire every instant, further into the
cavern, and he felt that the only chance he had left him for life was
to endeavor to cross the chasm.  Hie was young, active, and possessed of uncommon courage, and he had fiequently, by torch-light,
leaped across the abyss, in the presence of his companions, few of
whom dared to follow his example.  But now, alone, and in utter
darkness, how was he to attempt such a perilous feat?  The conviction that death was inevitable if he remained where he was, decided
him.
Collecting a handful of loose pebbles from one of the numerous channels in the floor, he proceeded cautiously over the slippery
rocks, throwing at every step a pebble before him, to ascertain the
security of his footing.  At length he heard the stone, as it fell from
his fingers, descend with a hollow, clattering noise, that continued
for several seconds.  He knew he was standing on the brink of the
chasmn.  One quick and earnest prayer he offered to the invisible
Power, whose hand could protect him in that dread moment-then,,
retiring a single pace, and screwing every nerve and muscle in his
body to the utmost tension, le made a step in advance, and threw
himself forward into the dark and fearful void. Who can tell the
whirlwind of thought that rushed through his brain in the brief moment that he hung above that yawning gulf?  Should he have miscalculated his distance, or chosen a place where the cleft was widest,
should his footing fail, or his strength be unable to carry him over,
what a death were his! Dashed down that horrible abyss-crashing from rock to rock, until he lay at the bottom a mutilated corpse.
The agony of years was crowded into one moment-in the next, his
feet struck against the firm rock on the opposite side of the chasm,
and he was saved! At least, he felt that he hlad, for the moment,
escaped the imminent peril in which he was placed, and, as he clambered joyfully up the rugged slope- at the end of the cave, he
thought little of the dangers he had still to encounter.
All through that long night he sat on the narrow ledge of a rock,
while the angry waves thundered beneath, and cast their cold spray
every instant over him. With the ebbing of the tide, the sea receded from the cavern; but Frank hesitated to attempt crossing the
chasm  again; his limbs had become stiff and benumbed, and his
long abstinence had so weakened his powers that he shrank from the
dangerous enterprise.
While giving way to the most desponding reflections, a stentorian
hilloa! -rang and echoed through the cavern, and never had the
human voice sounded so sweetly in his ear. He replied to it with a
thrilling shout of joy, and, in a few minutes, several persons with
torches appeared advancing.  A plank was speedily thrust across the




NATURAL HISTORY ILLUSTRATED.   351
fissure, and Frank Costello once more found himself amid a group
of his friends, who were warmly congratulating him upon his miraculous escape. They told him that from his not having returned
home the preceding night, it was generally concluded that he had
been drowned, and a party of his neighbors proceeded in a boat,
early in the morning in search of his body.  On reaching -"Puffin
Hole," they discovered his boat fastened to a rock, and full of water,
as she had remained on the ebbing of the tide. This circumstance
induced them to examine the cavern narrowly, and the happy result
of their search is already known.
THRILLING INCIDENT.
IN mid-winter, about four years since, says Miss Martineau, in her
Norway and the Norwegians, a young man named Hund, was sent
by his master on an errand about twenty miles, to carry provisions
to a village in the upper country.  The village people asked him for
charity, to carry three orphan children on his sledge a few
miles on his way to Bergen, and to leave them at a house on
the road, when they would be taken care of until they could be
brought from. Bergen.  He took the little things, and saw that
the two elder were well wrapped up from the cold. The third he
took within his arms and on his knee, as he drove, clasping it warm
against his breast-so those say that saw them set off, and it is confirmed by one who met the sledge on the road, and heard the children prattling to Hund, and Hund laughing merrily at' their little
talk. Before- they got half way, however, a pack of hungry wolves
burst out upon them from a hollow in the thicket to the right of the
wood. The beasts followed close to the back of the sledge.  Closer
and closer thle wolves pressed.  Hund saw one about to spring at his
throat. It was impossible for the horse to go faster than he did, for
he went like the wind —so did the wolves. Hund, in his desperation,
snatched up one of the children behind him, and threw it over the
back of the sledge. This stopped the pack a little. On galloped the
horse. But the wolves were soon crowded around again, with the
blood freezing to their muzzles. It was easier to throw over the
second child than the first, and Hund did it. But on came again the
infuriated beasts, gaunt with hunger, and raging like fiends for the
prey. It was harder to give up the third-the dumb infant that
nestled in his breast, but Hund was in mortal terror. Again the hot
breath of the wolves was upon him. He threw away the infant and
saved himself. Away over the snow flew the sledge, the village was
reached, and Hund just escaped after all the sacrifice he had made.
But he was unsettled and wild, and his talk for some time, whenever
he did speak, night or day, was of wolves-so fearful had been the
effect upon his imagination.




352             NATURAL HISTORY
ABOUT BIRDS.
AMONG my last letters from  Peekskill, I told you of my
birds.  Their songs were over.  Their life had become prosaic.
There was no poetry of song-no signs of domestic bliss; but
only a poor seed-picking affectation of business preparatory to
their great flight southward.  That many of them have gone to
their damage, I know, as I have seen them in Fulton market.
Rice-birds have been plenty.  What are these but our famous
bob-o'-links?  How they clisportecl themselves in all our fields!
How did they set at naught all the rules of singing, and fill the
air with strains that would have delighted Herr Wragner! But
they went south; beguiled by luxurious living, they turned
their coats, put off the sober black, and failing to reach a
brilliant livery, they only hit a rusty brown.  Is not this the
fate reserved for turn-coats?  Now they are in Fulton market,
the desire of epicures!  Alas for their gibberish! —sounding
like a sweet song broken in pieces, and poured down through the
air like the fragments of a shattered crystal vase-(whew! what
a figure!); —alas for their freakish flight, their saucy balancing
on little weeds, or spires of herdgrass!-has it all ended in
lying here on their naked backs, with fat breasts, waiting for
the gourmand's bite?
What did the gourmand ever do to deserve such fare?  Did
lie hail their coming in spring? No, it was I that did it!-Did
he watch their vagrant courses, their caprices of song, and their
summer buffoonery? No, I was the gentleman that sat so many
hours keeping them company! Did this ridiculous alderman
put off the mowing for a week that they might get their young
fledged and out of the nest, before Mr. Turner's relentless
imower came along?  No, that was my humanity! And now
this all-devouring alderman gets all the birds, and I get nothing
but the faint memories of the summer! But, perhaps you are
an eater of rice birds.  If so, I take all back that I have
said. How do you have them cooked? I will inform you of a
recipe which I heard yesterday from a gentleman who is often
in foreign parts, and has learned some of the secrets of those
who are knowing in luxuries.  Here it is: Sweet potatoes are
boiled, peeled, split in two lengthwise, a space scooped out
large enough for a bird, and when it is snugly in, the other half
returned, tied down, and the whole put into the oven and baked.'l'hat being done, no directions are needed for eating.  The
juice is retained, or if any escapes, it renders the potato all the
more delicious. I suppose the method is as good for all small
birds as for the rice bird.  I am willing to have you let this be
known to the readers of the Ledger-but to let it go no firther,
as I mean to put it in my Millennial Cook Book, in which it
will be shown that all moral and intellectual qualities have a




NATURAL HISTORY.                       353
definite relation to certain articles of food. Of course a world
of trouble will be saved when a man can feed himself into virtue,
and attain to grace by a wise bill-of-fare, rather than by the
somewhat laborious way of self-denial and watchfulness. Should
such a day come, chemistry would not content itself with a bare
analysis of properties and contents. It would assume a moral
function, and point out the bases of moral qualities in all
physical substances. In that day old-fashioned tracts will be
d6ne with. We shall see impressive tracts entitled " Right
Eating is Right Living."  Ethical books will have chapters
headed, " Lamb Chops and their relation to Meekness." " Beefsteak and Courage."'" Coffee and Fortitude," " Black Tea and
Tears. "
Do not laugh. These things are quite as likely to happen, in
that day of all perfection on earth, as a thousand and one other
things which every one ascribes to the Millennium.
But I wander. Let us come back to birds, and all the rather
because some truly English sparrows have just whirled chirping
over the roof, and down into my back yard.  Cheery and plucky
little fellows they are. Brooklyn, as well as New York, is becoming full of them. Their sharp, short, jerking notes, do not
count for much in summer, when all other birds are singing.
But in late autumn and winter, when the very sunlight lies
bhilled along the ground as if frosted, and the trees and vines
have no leaves to move, and there is no productive force in the
air, then, in these November and December days, a flock of
these chirping, fussy, quarrelling, nervous sparrows is ex
ceedingly enlivening.  There is, too, the mute bunting that
hunts seeds along the fence, and on fence borders, plump and
nimble, but dull-colored and, for all that we can hear, as taciturn as deacons at communion times. Yet it is welcome a as'winter-bird, and I defend both the sparrow and the bunting
from prowling cats, that lie and lurk about the contiguous
yards below, with as little taste and conscience as if they were
human, instead of being good and honest cats.
If our neighbors see flying from my window an empty Congress-water bottle, which striking the stone walk covers the
amazed cat with glittering fragments, and sends her through
the weeds like a flash, let it not be set down to the score of nmy
hostility to cats. I am fond of cats. But there must be discipline in the family.  These excursive battles are intended to
rouse up the feline conscience, and to recall the cat to its duties
as a member of society.  Only men are allowed to slay and eat
promiscuously.
But look! There are my flocks!  See! far up in the blue,
those dreamy gulls! They have come from the North, bringing
snow on their wings! The cold has depopulated those hyperborean islands, and rugged crags, where all summer long




354            NATURAL HIS TORY
millions of sea-fowl have brooded and bred their young. There
is not a wing-beat there, not a single hoarse note. The key is
turned, and the polar zone is locked up for the winter.
All the better for me I The broad bay before my windows is
a very playground of gulls. I am never tired of watching
them. But I can make nothing of their moods. That, when
they fly low, skimming the water, or dipping down into it, thl-ey
are feeding is plain enough. But what sends them on some
days far up into the sky-mere specks, white feathers as it were,
where they sail about in a quiet and gentle way, almost without moving their wings?
Why on other days do they seem in a solemn agitation,
flying strangely about the harbor, going and returning, with
some grave errand at heart, which they seem never to accomplish? On some days they do nothing but feed; on others they
seem indifferent to food, and devote themselves to flying. They
are shy or familiar by turns without any seeming reasol —on
some days driving so near to the crowded ferry-boats that a
good staff could reach them, and on others keeping remote friom
all craft in the river. Well, there is no accounting for moods
among  men, and sea-gulls are not much better than human folk,
and must be allowed their idiosyncrasies-with which long
word we'll win}d  up this paper.-lenry Tard Beecher.
IMOSQUITO MURDER.
THERE is something terrifying in killing a satiated mosquito.
To kill a flea is a lively and cheerful operation. You talk to
him ironically when caught, and crack him as you would a,
joke. The bugr, even, you dismiss to limbo with one deep andi
not necessarily loud abjuration, wash your hands, and there is
an end of the matter. You feel no more remorse for having
played the part of Carnifex than does the head master at Eaton,
after the victims of the " Bill " have been brought to the block.
The monster, minute as he is bleeds; and it is your own blood
which is expressed from his crushed carcass. You wonder as
Gloster wondered over Henry's corpse, that he could have sc
much blood in him. The wall is absolutely bespattered, and
that too from the body of an assassin no bigger than a pin's
head. You are appalled, you shudder, for that great crimson
stain on the wall is you. The wretch has robbed you of so
much salt and iron, and, consequently, vitality. The blood is
the life. From your sum of existence how many hours may
not be deducted on. account of the mosquito. —'" The Great
Gircumbendibus," by George Augusta Sala.




NATURAi   HISTOCRY  3.r
FISHING IN THE SARGGOSSA SEA.
BY THE REV. 3. T. GRPA.C,.EY.
TIE Sargossa Sea! why, where in the world,  and what is
that?  Well, well, let. me tell my story.  Lieutenant Ml2aury
says: "There is a river in the midst of the sea."  Such is the
Gulf Stream, with its margin in many places so distinctly
marked that you can readily discern that a ship floats half in
the river and half in the sea.  Ay, and there is a sea in the
midst of thle ocean, and in the sea a flower-garden.  The sea is
named SaSrgossa, and thie flower-garden is of sea-weed, laid out
in ever-varying form.  But I must not anticipate.  I always
tell stories, however, by beginning in the middle and telling
toward  both ends, and must get through this after mny owns
fashion.
There is a long scientific story about how the Gulf Streamr 1Vi
ridged like a house-roof, and about how the drift of spars anut
sea-weed, etc., show this, by floating on the different slopes,,
but never cro'ssing the stream; and then they tell about this.
Gulf Stream curving across the Atlantic, till it meets a current.
that sets southward, along the coast of Africa, until it, in turn,
meets another current that makes its way westward across the
Atlantic, an~d joins yet another current settilig northward, toward the Caribbean Sea, which completes the marvellous circuit
of currents.
Stir the water in a tub round and round violently, and throxw
in bits of straw  and small sticks, and you see them all whir}i
towardc the middle of the water, and finally reach the centre.
Thus spars, drift-wood, and sea-weed gettin g on the inner side
of this circle of currents, must naturally be kept there, ancd
everlastingly float in the centre of this gigantic belt of waters..
The space enclosed by these currents covers many degrees of
latitude and longitude, and is called the Sargossa Sea.
Now, all this may be a very unscientific way of telling what,
the Sargossa Sea is, and is quite as indefinite as to its whereabouts.  I cannot locate it very precisely, because my own belief is that it varies at times in latitude, if not in longitude.
These currents-as, for instance, the Gulf Stream itself-do not.
all the year flow in the same tract, but are a portion of the year
much farther north than at other times.  Of course. the Sargossa Sea must vary with its boundary belt of currents.  But,
substantially, this sea extends from the Cape de Verde Islands
to'the Bermudas, and lies in what are known as "the _Iorse
Latitudes."
Gentle reader, if you do not know what the Horse Latitudes;
are, do not sing the Doxology, but be thankful that you havep
not experienced all that is gloomy, and depressing, and patience-trying in this world.  They say these calne to be namedw,




356o            N A T'NTURA L  H!STORY.
"'  orse Latitudes " because formerly, when men were used to
carry horses to the West-Indies, so many of them died in this
portion of the ocean.  It is familiarly known at sea, too, as the
Doldrims.  A succession of squalls and calms (especially of
the calms) makes you often seriously wonder if you will ever
-get away from that quarter of the globe, and to begin to inquire how many days' provision there is aboard your ship. Do
you wonder, then, we went to fishing?'But the flower-garden!   Well, nearly all over the surface of
this Sargossa Sea floats a species of sea-weed. It is a coarse,
vine-like thing, with a berry about the size of a huckleberry, but
is of a dusky straw color.  There were great, unbroken patches
of this that were extensive enough, and looked firm enough for
a game of base-ball; and then there were delicate strips in every
variety of combination and form, in their varied shapes looking
like a finely designed flower-garden.  It was a panorama of
artistic gardening, and many a new and neat form might have
been learned here, for use in the lawns and gravel-walks of a
more substantial kind of park and lawn culture.
This sea-weed, nay, this mistletoe of the sea, is a sensitive:.and delicate thing, thoulgh it does not look it. It will not live
even in a tub of salt water, unless the water be renewed some
three times a day.  It is a living, rootless plant, or flower (or
sanimal?) that must be fed with some sort of nourishment which
it derives from its mother, the sea.
If, however, it be hermetically sealed in sea-water, it does
not die, but may be kept for years. I have some now in bottles,
which is as beautiful as the day I procured it. But other portions that I put even in salt water, not made air-tight, soon
turned  blackl, withered, and died.
Sometimes this sea-weed would be driven by the waves and
wind into long, narrow strips; and it would always indicate a,shift of the wind sooner than the dog-vane at the mast-head.
We found this as far north as about two thousand miles from
the coast of England, which was, we were informed, very
unusual.
\WTell, but, you say, what about the fishing? For what and
how did you fish?  To say nothing about sharks and grampus,
etc., I answer, we fished for sea-weed. At first, we tried great
Qbunches of huge brass hooks, but these soon broke, and left us
minus " bob, line and sinker."  Then we did it after a less.esthetic modle.  We got the log-lines and fastened to them the
iroln oar-locks from the life boats, and heaved these, harpoonfashion, into a bed of weed, and dracged it on deck. Then we
searched this for shrimps and infinitesimal fishes. Of these last
we found many perfect fishes, not, perhaps, a quarter of an inclh
in length, that suggested many a reflection on the minute care;of Divine Providence, which could watch over such tiny crea



NATURAL  HISTORY.                      357
tures all alone, out in that great sea. Yet, after all, what were
we but other tiny, beings compared to the vast, vast ocean on
whose bosom we were rocked?
And then we fished for jelly-fish —not your great plebeian
blubber, or bladder, or bubble, the mushroom-shaped nettle,
that annoys you when bathing at Newport or Cape May; we
had better taste than that.  That for which we fished was a
tube-like, gelatinous creature, with a single intestine, and which,
by a peculiar contraction of its body, propelled itself, lying
horizontally, through the water. They were of beautiful colors,
for the most part being of deep purple in the centre, and shading off to pure white gelatine at the circumference. We frequently saw scores, or hundreds, of these joined together, and
looking like a great sea-serpent as they rose and fell and propelled themselves through the water.  What the object of thus
being united was, we could not tell, unless it was that, by
simultaneous contraction, they could propel themselves more
steadily and swiftly through the water, and be less driven about
by the violence of the waves.
And then we fished for the nautilus —the Portuguese man-ofwar, the fairy of the jelly-fish tribe, the mimic sailor, who now
furls sail, and drops anichor at every angry wind, and anon sets
sails, which have more exquisite tints than rainbow hues, and
rides gallantry over the waves.  He is a good sailor, and knows
even how to right ship if blown on beam ends. Thus, good
reader, we fished, not for fabulous things in a fabulous sea, but
whiled away many a dull hour, amid the depressing calms of
the equatorial ocean, in studying some illustrated pages of God's
wonder-book of the world, and ever taking our microscopes to
see deeper and yet deeper into the mystery of being. I do not
wish you in the Sargossa Sea, good readers, but can only hope,
if ever you be there, you may be as jolly and as lucky fishermen as were we who fished there in March last.
WHAT A VOLCANO CAN DO.
COTOPAXI, inl 138, threw its fiery rockets three thousand feet
above its crater, while in 1.44 the blazing mass struggling for
an outlet, roared so that its awful voice was heard a distance
of more than six hundred miles. In 1797 the crater of Tunguragua, one of the peaks of the Andes, flung out torrents of
mud which dammed up rivers, opened new lakes, and in valleys
or a thousand feet wide made deposits of six hundred feet deep.
l'he stream from Vesuvius, which in 1737 passed through Torre
del Greco, contained 33,600,000 cubic feet of solid matter;
and in 1794, when Torre del Greco was destroyed a second
time, the mass of lava amounted to 45,000,000 cubic feet. In




358              N A TNATURAL HISTORY.
1679 Etna poured forth a flood which covered eighty-four
square miles of surface, which measured 100,000,000 cubic feet.
On this occasion the scorie formed the Monte Rossi, near
Nicolosi a cone two miles in circumference and 4000 feet high.
The stream thrown out by Etna in 1810 was in motion at the
rate of a yard per (lay for nine months after the eruption; and
it is on record that the lava of the same mountain after a terrible
eruption, was not thoroughly cooled and consolidated ten years
after the event. In the eruption of Vesuvius, A.D. 70, the
scorive and ashes vomited forth far exceeded the entire bulk of
the mountain; while in 1660 Etna disgorged more than twenty
times its own mass. Vesuvius has thrown its ashes as far as
Constantinople, Syria, and Egypt; it hurled stones eight
pounds in weight to Pompeii, a distance of six miles, while
similar masses were tossed 2000 feet above its summit.  Cotopaxi has projected a block of 109 cubic yards in volume a distance of nine miles; and Sambawa, in 1815, during the most
terrific eruption on record, sent its ashes as far as Java, a distance of 300 miles surface, and out of a population of 12,00!
souls only twenty escaped.-Recreative Science.




HIUMOROUS SELECTIONS.
ANECDOTE OF DR. CHAUNCY.
DR. COOPER, who was a man of accomplished manners, and fond
of society, was able, by the aid of his fine talents, to dispense with
some of the severe study that others engaged in. This, however,
did not escape the envy and malice of the world, and it was said, in
a kind of petulant and absurd exaggeration, that he used to walk to
the south-end of a Saturday, and, if he saw a man riding into town
in a black coat, would stop, and ask him to preach the next day.
Dr. Chauncy was a close student, very absent, and very irritable.
On these traits in the character of the. two clergymen, a servant of
Dr. Chauncy laid a scheme for obtaining a particular object from
his master.  Scipio went into his master's study one morning to receive some directions, which the doctor having given, resumed his
writing, but the servant still remained. The master, looking up a
few minutes afterward, and supposing he had just come in, said,
"C Scipio, what do you want?".I want a newcoat, massa." "Well,
go to Mrs. Chauncy, and tell her to give you one of my old coats;"
and was again absorbed in his studies. The servant remained fixed.
After a while, the doctor, turning his eyes that way, saw him again,
as if for the first time, and said, " What do you want, Scip?"  "I
want a new coat, massa."  "Well, go to my wife, and ask her to
give you one of my old coats;" and fell to writing once more.  Scipio
remained in the same posture. After a few moments, the doctor
looked toward him, and repeated the former question, "Scipio, what
do you want?" "I want a new coat, massa."  It now flashed over
the doctor's mind, that there was something of repetition in this
dialogue.  "Why, have I not told you before to ask Mrs. Chauncy
to give you one? get away."  "Yes, massa, but I no want.a black
coat."  "Not want a black coat! why not?"  "W.hy, massa, —I'fraid to tell you, —but I don't want a black coat." "What's the
reason you don't want a black coat? tell me directly."  "O  massa,
I don't want a black coat, but I'fraid to tell the reason, you so passionate."  "You rascal! will you tell me the reason?" " 0! massa,
I'm sure you be angry."  "If I had my cane here, you villain, I'd
break your bones: will you tell me what you mean?"  "I'fraid to
tell you, massa; I know you be angry." The doctor's impatience
was now highly irritated, and Scipio, perceiving, by his glance at
the tongs, that he might find a substitute for the cane, and that he
was sufficiently excited, said, "Well, massa, you make me tell, but
I know you be angry-I'fraid, massa, if I wear another black coat,
359




360           HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.
Dr. Cooper ask me to preach for him I" This unexpected termination realized the servant's calculation; his irritated master burst
into a laugh,-" Go, you rascal, get my hat and cane, and tell Mrs.
Chauncy she may give you a coat of any color; a red one if you
choose."  Away went the negro to his mistress, and the doctor to
tell the story to his friend, Dr. Cooper.
HILL AND THE ANTINOMIAN.
ROWLAND HILL would have tried the critical sagacity of the most
erudite.  His eccentricities are of great notoriety. With many
strong points of character, he combined notions prodigiously odd.
One of those restless infesters of places of worship, commonly called
Antinomians, one day called on Rowland Hill, to bring him to
account for his too severe and legal gospel.  " Do you, sir," asked
Rowland, "hold the ten commandments to be a rule of life to Christians?"  " Certainly not," replied the visitor.  The minister rang
the bell, and on-the servant making his appearance, he quietly added,
"John, show that man the door, and keep your eye on him until he
is beyond the reach of every article of wearing apparel, or other
property in the hall!"
THE SLANDEROUS PARROT.:WE remember a parrot which belonged to a lady, which was the
innocent means of getting his mistress into a very unfortunate scrape.
A friend of hers having called one forenoon, the conversation of the
two ladies took that turn toward petty scandal, to which we grieve
to say, it is but too frequently bent. The friend mentioned the
name of a lady of their acquaintance.  "Mrs. —!" exclaimed the
owner of the parrot, "Mrs. -  drinks like a fish!"  These words
were hardly uttered, when the footman, in a loud voice, announced
"Mrs. -!" and as the new visitor, a portly, proud dame, came
sailing into the room, "Mrs. -!" exclaimed the parrot, "Mrs.
--  drinks like a fish!"  Mrs. ~-  wheeled around, with the celerity of a troop of heavy dragoons, furiously to confront her base
and unknown maligner.  "Mrs. -!" cried the'parrot again,
"MIrs.    drinks like a fish!"  "Madam," exclaimed Mrs.    to
the lady of the house, "this is a piece of wickedness toward me
which must have taken you no short time to prepare. It shows the
blackness of your heart toward one for whom you have long pretended a friendship; but I shall be revenged."  It was in vain that
the mistress of the parrot rose and protested her innocence; Mrs.
-  flounced out of the room in a storm of rage, much too loud to
admit of the voice of reason being heard.  The parrot, delighted
with his new caught up words, did nothing for some days but shout




HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.                       361
out, at the top of his most unmusical voice, "Mrs.     rs.
drinks like a fish!"  Meanwhile, Mrs. —'s lawyers having once
taken up the scent, succeeded in ferreting out some information,
that ultimately produced written proofs, furnished by some secret
enemy, that the lady's imprudence in the propagation of this scandal had not been confined to the instance we have mentioned.  An
action at law was raised for defamation.  The parrot was arrested
and carried into court, to give oral testimony of the malignity of the
plot which was supposed to have been laid against IMrs.- -'s good
fame; and he was by no means niggardly of his testimony, for, to
the great amusement of the bench, the bar, and all present, he was
no sooner produced, than he began, and continued loudly to vociferate, "Mrs. -~! Mrs. -         drinks like a fish i" until judges and;
jury were alike satisfied of the merits of the case; and the result
was, that the poor owner of the parrot was cast with immense
damages.
EPITOME OF WAR.
THE history of every war, says the Ettrick Shepherd, in his "Lay
Sermons." is very like a scene I once saw in lNithsdale.  Two boys
from different schools met one fine day upon the ice.  They eyed
each other with rather jealous and indignant looks, and with defiance on each brow.
" What are ye glowrin at, Billy?"
"WVhat's that to you?  I'll look where I have a mind, an' hinder
me if ye daur."
A hearty blow was the return to this, and there was such a battle
begun! it being Saturday, all the boys of both schools were on
tile ice, and the fight instantly became general and desperate.  At
one time, they fought with missile weapons, such as stones, and
snowballs; but, at length, they coped in a rage, and many bloody
raps were liberally given and received.  I went up to try if I could
pacify them; for by this time a number of little girls had joined inl
the affray, and I was afraid they would be killed; so, addressing
the one party, I asked what they were pelting the others for? what
they had done to them?
"0, neathing' at a' man; we just want to give them  a good
thrashin'!"
After fighting until they were quite exhausted, one of the principal heroes stepped forth between, covered with blood, and his clothes
torn to tatters, and addressed the belligerent parties thus:
"' Weel, I'll tell you what we'll do wi' ye: if ye'll let us alane,
we'll let you alane."
There was no more of it; the war was at an end, and the boys
scattered away to their play.
I thought at the time, and have often thought since, that that tri



362           HUMOROUS SELECTIONS
vial affray was the best epitome of war in gelneral, that I had ever
seen. Kinos and ministers of the state are just a set of grown-up
children, exactly like the children I speak of, with only this material
difference, that instead of fighting  out the needless quarrels they
have raised, they sit in safety and look on, while they send out their
innocent but servile subjects to battle; and then, after a waste of
blood and treasure, are glad to make the boy's conditions, " If ye'll
let us alane, we'll let you alane."
COURTSHIP OF A BASHFUL CLERGYMAN.
THIE Rev. John Brown, of Haddington, the well known author of the
self-interpreting Bible, was a man of singular bashfulness. In token
of the truth of this statement, it need only be stated that his courtship lasted seven years.  Six years and a half had passed away,
and the reverend gentleman had got no further forward than he had
been the first six days. This state of things became intolerable.
A step in advance must be made, and Mr. Brown summoned all his
courage for the deed.
"Janet," said he, as they sat in solemn silence, " we've been acquainted now for six years an' mair, and I've ne'er gottan a kiss
yet.  D'ye think I might take one, my bonnie girl?"
"Just as you like, John; only be becoming and proper wi' it."
"Surely, Janet, we'll ask a blessing'."
The blessing was asked, the kiss was taken and the worthy divine
most rapturously exclaimed:
"Oh, woman! but it's gude.  We'll return thanks."
Six months after made this happy couple man and wife; and,
added his descendant, who humorously told the tale; a happier
couple never spent a long and useful life together.
THE NEW COAT AND OLD BLANKET.
A.N Indian and a white man, being at worship together, were both
brourght under conviction by the same sermon.  The Indian was
shortly after led to rejoice in the pardoning mercy.  Tile white man,
for a long time, was under distress of mind, and at times almost
ready to despair, but at length he was brought to a comfortable experience of forgiving love. Some time after, meeting his red brother,
he thus addressed him:  "How is it, that I should be so long under
conviction, when you found comfort so soon?"  " Ohl, brother," replied the Indian, "me tell you; there come along a rich prince, he
propose to give you a new coat; you look at your coat, and say I
don't know; my coat is pretty good; I believe it will do a little
longer. He then offer me a new coat; I look on my old blanket; I




HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.                     363
say, this good for nothing; I fling it right away, and accept the new
coat. Just so, brother, you try to keep your own righteousness for
some time; you loth to give it up: but I, poor Indian, had none;
therefore I glad at once to receive the righteousness of Lord Jesus
Christ."
THE WISE  COACHMAN.
AN old gentleman in the county of Herts, having lost his coachman by death, who had served him many years, advertised for a
successor. The first who applied, giving a satisfactory account of
his character and capacity for such a place, was asked how near he
could drive to the edge of a wood, where a sloping bank presented
danger. He replied, "to an inch."  The old gentleman ordered
him to be supplied with suitable refreshment, and to leave his address, adding, that if he wished for his services, he should hear from
him in a day or two. Shortly afterward, a second applied, who underwent the same examination as the former, and replied to the last
question, that he could drive " to half an inch," and had often done
it; he also received the same dismission with the. same civilities as
the former man. Soon afterward a third applied, and on being
asked the same question, namely, how near he could drive to the
edge of a sharp declivity, in case of necessity, coolly replied,' Really, I do not know, sir, having never tried: for it has always
been my maxim to get as far as possible from such danger, and I
have had my reward in my safety, and that of my employers."
With this reply the old gentleman expressed his entire satisfaction,
and informed the man if he could procure a proper recommendation,
wages should not part them, adding, "I am grown old and timid,
and want a coachman on whose prudence and care I can rely, as
well as his skill."
SHORT MEASURE.
TIIE following incident in the life of William Dawson, a very
humble, but a, very excellent preacher, late of Barnbow, near Leeds,
beautifully illustrates the power of the plainly preached word.
" He was preaching in the neighborhood of Leeds, on Daniel v:
27: " Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting."
A person who traveled the country in the character of a peddler,
and who was exceedingly partial to him as a preacher, was one of
Mr. Dawson's auditors.  The person referred to, generally carried
a stick with him, which answered the double purpose of a walkingstick and a "yard-wand;" and having been employed pretty freely
in the former capacity, it was worn down beyond the point of justice, and procured for him an appellation of "Short Measure."  He
atood before Mr. Dawson, and being rather noisy in his religious
24




364          IHUMOROITS  SELECTIONS.
professions, as well as ready with his responses, he manifested signs
of approbation while the scales were being described and adjusted,
and different classes of sinners were placed in them, and disposed
of agreeably to the test of justice, truth and mercy,-uttering in a
somewhat subdued tone, yet loud enough for those around to hear,
at the close of each particular —" Light weight" —" short again," etc.
After taking up the separate characters of the flagrant transgressor
of the law of God, the hypocrite, the formalist, etc., Mr. Dawson at
length came to such persons as possessed religious light, but little
hallowed feeling, and the semblance of much zeal, but who employed
false weights and measures. Here, without adverting in his mind
to the case of his noisy auditor, he perceived the muscles of his face
working, when the report of "short measure" occurred to him. Resolved, however, to soften no previous expression, and to proceed
with an analysis and description of the question, he placed the delinquent, in his singularly striking way, in the scale, when, instead
of the usual response, the man, stricken before him, took his stickthe favorite measure, from under his armn-raised one foot from the
floor, doubled his knee, and, taking hold of the offending instrument
by both ends, snapped it into two halves, exclaiming, while dashing
it to the ground, "Thou shalt do it no more!"  So true is it, to.employ the language of an eminent minister, "that no man ever
offended his own conscience, but first or last it was revenged upon
him for it."
PERSEVERANCE  OF THE SAINTS.
A PERSON, who suspected that a minister of his acquaintance was
not sufficiently Calvinistic, went to him and said, "Sir, I am told
that you are against the perseverance of the saints."  "Not I,
indeed," answered he, "it is the perseverance of sinners that I oppose."  " But that is not a satisfactory answer, sir. Do you think
that a child of God cannot fall very low, and yet be restored?" He
replied, "'I think it will be very dangerous to make the experiment."
THE MOUNTAIN  DOCTOR.
A WEALTHY farmer, much affected with hypochondria, came to
Langenau, to consult Michael Scuppach, better known by the appellation of the mountain doctor.  "I have seven devils in my body,"
said he, "no fewer than seven."  " There are more than seven,"'
replied the doctor, with the utmost gravity; "if you count them
right you will find eight."  After questioning the patient concerning
his case, he promised to cure him in eight days, during which time,
he would every morning rid him of one of his troublesome inmates,
at the rate of one louisd'or each. " But," added he, "as the last




HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.                       365
will be more obstinate and difficult to expel than the others, I shall
expect two louisd'ors for him. The farmer agreed to these terms:
the bargain was struck, and the doctor, impressing upon all present
the necessity of secrecy, promised to give the nine louisd'ors to the
poor of the parish. Next morning, the imaginary demoniac was
brought to him, and placed near a kind of machine, which he had
never seen before, by which means he received an electric shock.
The farmer roared out lustily.  "There goes one 1" said the doctor,
with the utmost gravity. Next day the same operation was repeated: the farmer bellowed as before, and the doctor coolly remarked,
"Another is off!" In this manner he proceeded to the seventh..
When he was preparing to attack the last, Scuppach reminded his
patient that he had need of all his courage, for this was the captain
of the gang, who would make a more obstinate resistance than any
of the others. The shock was at this time so strong, as to extend
the demoniac on the floor.  " Now they are all gone 1" said the doctor, and ordered the farmer to be put to bed.  On recovering himself, the latter declared he was completely cured; he paid the nine
louisd'ors with abundance of thanks, and returned in the best spirits
to the village.
Creditable witnesses attest this extraordinary cure, which proves
the acuteness of the doctor, as well as the truth of Solomon's proverb, that with a fool we must sometimes talk like a fool.
ANECDOTE  OF KING  GEORGE III.
IT is known that the king, after the close of the American revolu-.
tionary war, ordered a thanksgiving to be kept through the kingdom.
A noble Scotch divine, in the presence of his majesty, inquired,
" For what are we to give thanks?-that your majesty has lost thirteen of his best provinces?"  The king answered, " No 1"  " Is it,
then (the divine added), that your majesty has lost 100,000 lives
of your subjects in the contest?"  " No, no!" said the king.  " Is
it, then, that we have expended and lost a hundred millions of
money, and for the defeat and tarnishing of your majesty's arms?"
"No such thing!" said the king pleasantly.  "What, then, is the
object of the thanksgiving?"  "Oh, to give thanks that it is no
worse."
TWO PAILS OF WATER.
THi Royal Society, on the day of its creation, was the whetstone
of the wit of their patron, Charles II. With a peculiar gravity of
countenance, he proposed to the assembly the following question, for
their solution:-" Suppose two pails of water were fixed in two different scales, equally poised, and which weighed equally 4like, and




3G6           HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.
that two live bream, or small fish, were put into either of these pails,
he wanted to know the reason why that pail, with such addition,
should not weigh more than the other pail which stood against
it." Every one was ready to set at quiet the royal curiosity; but it
appeared that every one was giving a different opinion. One, at
length, offered so ridiculous a solution that another of the. members
could not refrain from a loud laugh; when the king, turning to him,
insisted that he should give his sentiments as well as the rest. This
he did without hesitation, and told his majesty, in plain terms, that
he denied the fact.  On which the king, in high mirth, exclaimed,
"Odds fish, brother, you are in the right 1"
LOOK AT HOME.
THE Rev. John Hurrion, a christian minister in Norfolk, England,
had two daughters who were fond of dress, and on this account gave
him great grief. He had often privately reproved them, but in vain;
at length, while preaching one Lord's day, he took occasion to notice,
among other things, pride in dress. After speaking for some time
on the subject, he suddenly stopped and said with much feeling,
"' But you will say, look at home. My good friends, I do look at
home, until my heart aches."
CUNNING  DEVICE.
AFTER the signal defeat of the French at this memorable action,
Leipsic became full of a mixed medley of soldiers, of all arms and of
all nations; of course, a great variety of coin was in circulation there;
a British private, who was attached to the rocket-brigade, and who
had picked up *a little broken French and German, went to the
largest hotel in Leipsic, and displaying an English shilling to.the
landlord, inquired if this piece of coin was current there.  "Oh
yes," replied he, "you may have whatever the house affords for that
money: it passes current here at present." Our fortunate Bardolph,
finding himself in such compliant quarters, called about him most
lustily, and the most sumptuous dinner the house could afford,
washed down by sundry bottles of the most expensive wines, was
dispatched without ceremony. On going away, he tendered at the
bar the identical shilling which the landlord had inadvertently led
him to expect was to perform such wonders.  The stare, the shrug,
and the exclamation elicited from "mnine host of the garter," by such
a tender, may be more easily conceived than expressed. An explanation, very much to the dissatisfaction of the landlord, took place,
who quickly found not only that nothing more was likely to be got,
but also that the laugh would be tremendously heavy against him.




HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.                      367
This part of the profits he had a very christian wish to divide with
his neighbor. - Taking, therefore, his guest to the street-door of his
hotel, he requested him to look over the way.  "Do you see," said
he, "that large hotel opposite?  That fellow, the landlord of it, is
my sworn rival, and nothing can keep this story from his ears, in
which case I shall never hear the last of it. Now, my good fellow,
you are not only welcome to your entertainment, but I will instantly
give you a five-frank piece into the bargain, if you will promise, on
the word of a soldier, to attempt the very same trick with him tomorrow that succeeded so well with me.to-day." Our veteran took
the money, and accepted the conditions; but having buttoned up the
silver very securely in his pocket, he took his leave of the landlord
with the following speech, and a bow that did no discredit to Leipsic.
"Sir, I deem myself in honor bound to use my utmost endeavors to
put your wishes in execution; I -shall certainly do all I can, but
must candidly inform you that I fear I shall not succeed, since I
played the very same trick with that gentleman yesterday; and it is
to his particular advice alone that you are indebted for the honor
of my company to-day."
THE MISER OF MARSEILLES.
AN old man, of the name of Guyot, lived and died in the town
of Marseilles, in France. He amassed a large fortune by the most
laborious industry, and the severest habits of abstinence and privation. His neighbors considered him a miser, and thought that he
was hoarding up money from mean and avaricious motives.  The
populace pursued him, whenever he appeared, with hootings and
execrations, and the boys sometimes threw stones at him. He at
length died, and in his will were found the following words: —
" Having observed from my infancy that the poor of Marseilles are
ill supplied with water, which can only be purchased at a great price,
I have cheerfully labored the whole of my life to procure for them
this great blessing; and I direct that the whole of my property shall
be laid out in building an aqueduct for their use."
HOW TO OVERCOME EVIL.
"I ONcE had a neighbor," says Mr. White, "who, though a clever
man, came to me one hay-day, and said:'Esquire White, I want
you to come and get your geese away.''Why,' said I,'what are
my geese doing?''They pick my pigs' ears when they are eating,
and drive them away, and I will not have it.''What can I do?'
said I.'You must yoke them.''That I have not time to do now,'
said I;' I do not see but they must run.''If you do not take care
of them I shall,' said the clever shoemaker, in anger.'What do




368           HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.
you say, Esquire White?''I cannot take care of them now; but I
will pay you for all damages.'Well,' said he,'you will find that
a hard thing, I guess.'
"So off he went, and I heard a terrible squalling among the
geese. The next news from the geese was that three of them were
missing.  My children went and found them terribly mangled and
dead, and thrown into the bushes.
"'Now,' said I,' all keep still, and let me punish him.' In a few
days the shoemaker's hogs broke into my corn. I saw them, but let
them remain a long time. At last I drove them all out, and picked
up the corn which they had torn down and fed them with it in the
road. By this time the shoemaker came in great haste after them.
"'Have you seen any thing of my hogs?' said he.'Yes, sir;
you will find them yonder, eating some corn which they tore down
in my field.''In your field?''Yes, sir,' said I;'hogs love corn,
you know-they were made to eat.''How much mischief have
they done?''0, not much,' said I.
"Well, off he went to look, and estimated the damage to be equal
to a bushel and a-half of corn.
"''Oh, no,' said I,'it can't be.''Yes,' said the shoemaker;'and I will pay you every cent of damage.''No,' said I,'you
shall pay me nothing.  My geese have been a great trouble to you.'
" The shoemaker blushed and went home. The next winter,
when we came to settle, the shoemaker determined to pay me for
my corn.'No,' said I;'I shall take nothing.'
"After some talk we parted; but in a day or two I met him in
the road, and fell into conversation in the most friendly manner.
But when I started on he seemed loth to move, and I paused. For
a moment both of us were silent. At last he said:' I have something laboring on my mind.''Well, what is it?'' Those geese.
I killed three of your geese, and shall never rest until you know
how I feel. I am sorry.' And the tears came in his eyes.'Oh,
well,' said I,'never mind; I suppose may geese were very provoking.'
~" I never took any thing of him for it; but whenever my cattle
broke into his field after this, he seemed glad; because he could
show how patient he could be.
"NAow," said the narrator, "conquer yourself, and you can conquer with kindness where you can conquer in no other way."
DYSPEPSIA.
A WEALTHY manufacturer from the west of Scotland, while at
Edinburgh on business, called upon Dr. Gregory for his advice. He
was a man of middle stature, rather corpulent, with a rosy complexion, and whose exterior altogether spoke the comfortable liver.
After seating himself, the following dialogue ensued:




HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.                      369
GENTLEMAN.-Well, Dr. Gregory, I ha' come up to Edinbro' in
the way o' business, and I just thought I would take your advice
about my health.
DocTo. —Your health, sir! What's the matter with you?
" I'm no just sae weel i' the stomach as I'd like to be."
"The stomach! I suppose you are a drunkard or a glutton,
then, sir."
"Na, na, Dr. Gregory, ye canna say that-ye canna say that; ye
maun ken that I'm a sober mon and a temperate mon, and a deacon
of the kirk, as my worthy father was afore me."
"Well, let us see. What do you eat and drink? What do you
take for breakfast?"
" I take coffee or tea, wi' toast, and a fresh egg, or a blt o' salmon, though I have no' much appetite for breakfast."
"Yes; and then you take something by way of lunch between
breakfast and dinner."
" I canna say I care ower much about the lunch; but can take a
bit o' bread and cheese, and a glass o' ale, if it be there, but canna
say I care ower much about it."
"Well, what do you eat for dinner?"
"d0, I'm  no very particular, though I maun say I like my
dinner."
"I suppose you take soup first?"
"Yes, I canna say, I don't like my soup."
" And a glass of porter or brandy and water with it?"
"Yes, I like a glass o' something with the soup."
"And then you have fish, or beef and mutton, with vegetables?"
1" Yes."
"And a glass of ale or porter with them?"
"Yes, I take a glass o' ale now and their, wi' my meat."
"And then you have boiled fowl and bacon, or something of that
sort, I suppose?"
" I maun say I like a bit o' fowl and bacon now and then."
"And a glass of something with them?"
" Yes."
"And after the fowl you have pudding?"
" I'm na fond o' pudding, but I can take a bit, if it be there."
"And you must drink wine with the pudding?"
"I canna tak ower much o' the wine; but if I ha' a friend wi' me,
I take a glass or so."
"And then you have cheese or nuts?"
"Yes, the gude wife is ower fond o' them; but I canna say I care
much about them."
"But you take a glass of wine or two with your nuts?"
"Yes, a glass or two."
"Well, you do not finish your dinner without whisky punch?"
" I find my dinner sets better on my stomach with a little punch;
so I tak a glass or so."




370           HUMOROUS  SELEOCTIONS.
"And you have tea, I suppose?"
"Yes, I maun take my tea wi' the gude wife."
"And a glass of something with it?"
"Yes, I can take a bit o' something if it be there."
"But you do not go to bed without your supper?"
"Na, na, Gregory, I canna say I like to gang to bed without my
wee bit supper."
"And what do you eat for supper?"
" O, a bit o' any thing-a bit o' salmon, or boiled tongue, or cold
fowl."
"And a glass of something with it?"
C" Yes."
"And can you go to bed without a night-cap of hot punch?"
" I maun say I sleep better for a glass o' hot punch, though I
canna say I'm ower fond o' the habit."
"Well, sir, you're a fine fellow! You come to me with a lie in
your mouth, and tell me you are a sober man, and a temperate man,
and a deacon of the kirk, as your worthy father was before you;
and you make yourself out, by your own statement, to be a glutton,
and a wine-bibber, and a whisky-tippler, and a beer-swiller, and a
drinker of that most abominable of all compositions, called punch.
Go home, sir, and reform yourself, and become temperate in your
eating and drinking, and you will have no need of my advice."
THE MISER IN THE WELL.
AN old bachelor, possessed of a fortune of $50,000, meeting a
friend one day began to harangue him very learnedly upon the detestable sin of avarice, and gave the following instance of it: "About
three years ago," said he, " by a very odd accident I fell into a well,
and was absolutely within a very few minutes of per'ishing before I
could prevail upon an unconscious dog of a laborer, who happened
to be within hearing of my cries, to help me out for a shilling. The
fellow was so rapacious as to insist upon having twenty-five cents,
for above a quarter of an hour, and I verily believe he would not
have abated me a single farthing if he had not seen me at the last
gasp; and I determined rather to die than submit to his extortion!"
HENRY VIII. AND THE ABBOT OF READING.
HENRa the Eighth having been hunting in Windsor Forest, went
down about dinner time to the Abbey of Reading, where, disguising
himself as one of the king's guard, he was invited to the Abbot's
table. Here, his tooth being whetted by the keen air of the forest,




P i                                                                                         -      ------
iiir ill! ~...1I~~,
i ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~.
1~








HUMORO US  SELECTIONS.                     311
he fed so lustily on a surloin of beef, that his vigorous appetite was
noticed by the master of the ceremonies.  "Well fare thy heart,"
quoth the abbot, " I would give a hundred pounds if I could feed
so heartily on beef as thou dost.  Alas! my weak and squeazie
stomach will hardly digest the wing of a rabbit or chicken."  The
monarch having satisfied his palate, thanked the abbot for his good
cheer, and departed undiscovered.  Some weeks afterward, the
abbot was arrested, conveyed to London, sent to the Tower, and
allowed no food for several days, but bread and water. This treatment, together with his fears for the consequence of the king's displeasure, soon removed the effects of repletion; and at last, when a
surloin was one day placed before him, he ate as freely as a famished
plowman.  When he had finished his meal, the king, who had
been a hidden spectator, burst from his concealment.  " My lord,"
said the laughing monarch, " presently deposit your hundred pieces
of gold, or else no going hence all the days of your life. I have
been the physician to cure your squeazie stomach; and now, as I
deserve, demand my fee for so doing." The abbot knowing that
argument was of no availwith the stern Henry, paid the money, and
returned home; rejoicing that he had escaped so easily.
ANECDOTE OF A VENTRILOQUIST.
THosE persons who speak without moving the lips, and who modify their voice so as to make it appear to proceed from different
places or persons, while themselves seem unconnected with what is
passing, are called ventriloquists. Bordeau, who was a learned
critic of the sixteenth century, relates the following anecdote.
Louis Brabant was valet-de-chambre to Francis I, and accosted a
widow, with whose daughter (a rich and handsome heiress,) he was
in love, in a voice perfectly resembling that of her dead husband,
exclaiming, " Give my daughter in marriage to Louis Brabant. I
now endure the inexpressible torments of purgatory, for having refused her to him; you will thus provide a worthy husband for your
daughter, and procure everlasting repose to the soul of your poor
husband."
The widow could not, for a moment, resist so dreadful a summons, but immediately received Louis for her son-in-law; when the
formalities of his marriage rendering it necessary for him to exhibit
some show of riches, he contracted an intimate acquaintance with
one Cornu, an old and rich banker at Lyons, and during an interval
of silence, after a preparatory conversation on demons and specters,
a voice was heard, which, to the astonished banker, seemed to be
that of his deceased father.
It complained, as in the former case, of his dreadful situation in
purgatory, and called upon his son, "to deliver him instantly, by




312           HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.
putting into the hands of Louis Brabant, a sum for the redemption,
from the Turks, of the Christians then in slavery; and threatened
him with eternal damnation, if he did not take this method of expiating his own sins;" when the wary banker, demurring to the
demand, made an appointment with the ghost's delegate for the
next day; and, to render any design of imposing upon him utterly
abortive, he took Louis into the open fields, where no confederate
could possibly be concealed; but, wherever the banker conducted
his associate, his ears were assaulted with the complaints and groans,
not only of his father, but of all his deceased relations, imploring
him, for the love of God, and in the name of every saint in the
calendar, to have mercy on his own soul and theirs, by effectually
seconding, with his purse, the intentions of his worthy companion;
until Cornu, who could no longer resist the voice of heaven, carried
his guest home, and gave him the sum of ten thousand crowns.
The secret, however, was made public some time afterward; and
the usurer was so much affected by the loss of his money, and the
mortifying railleries of his neighbors, that he took to his bed, and
died.
THE ABBE OF CALVADOS.
IN a village of Calvados, in the month of October, 1820, was
buried an old man, who had retired from business, and owned some
national property. Before his death, he was desirous of receiving
the sacrament, and the priest gave him absolution, on condition that
he would restore some acres to the church, which he promised to
do; but death came before the notary.  His property, therefore,
wholly descended to his son, a simple youth. On the night after
his father's funeral, the young man was awakened by a violent noise,
accompanied with a vivid light, which in a moment disappeared.
Being no stranger to fear, he shook as he lay in his bed, and tried
to call out for help; but a cold and moist hand closed his lips, and
completed his amazement. He fancied that he beheld a specter,
covered with a long white mantle, pass before him, and in a sepulchral voice uttered these words: "Badly obtained; the soul of P —
must go into torments, if his son makes not restitution."  Another voice,
weak and failing, continued: "AMy son, restore the ill-gotten property,
or else," the sepulchral voice added, 1"I shall come night after
night to drag you by your feet."  These words were followed by
total silence; the youth slept no mere; and the next morning he
went to relate to the priest and his family the vision of the night.
The priest and some of the neighbors advised him to give up his
property; but a young kinsman, just come from school, maintained
that the dead do not come back again, and that the possessors of
national property are no more likely to have their feet dragged by
ghosts than their neighbors. Then taking the young heir aside, he




IHUMOROUS SELECTIONS.                     373
offered to lie in the bed in his place, if he would keep it a secret,
and would promise to wait one day more before he gave up the property.  This proposal was accepted, and the young kinsman took
possession of the other youth's bed for that night. Between twelve
and one o'clock, he heard some person gently open the window, and
at the same time beheld a phantom enter, who chame up as if to
speak to him with a threatening gesture.  "So far so good;" said
he, mentally, "as he mistakes me for another person, spirits are
not omniscient."  He then slipped out of bed as quietly as he could,
seized the phantom with both his hands, and threw him in a moment
into a little dark closet, which he shut and locked very carefully.
The specter finding himself a prisoner, began to cry out for mercy;
but the youth went to call in his neighbors, who soon recognized,
in the semblance of a ghost, a young abbe, who, although as yet
only in deacon's orders, had been desirous to give a proof of his
zeal for the church of Rome.
OLD COOKE, THE MISER.
THERE was no greater pest to the medical tribe than old Cooke,
the miser. Many are the anecdotes of the tricks this avaricious old
man used to play, to cheat medical men and save his money: such
as putting on ragged clothes, and going as a pauper to Mr. Saunders
and other gentlemen, to have gratuitous advice for his eyes-getting
a letter for the dispensary, and attending there as a decayed tradesman, for several weeks, until detected.
Having a wound in his leg, he employed a Mr. Pigeon, that lived
nearly opposite to him, in White-lion-street, Pentonville, to cure it.
" How long do you think it will be before you can cure it?"  "A
month." "And how much must I give you?" Pigeon, who saw
the wound was not of any great importance, answered, "A guinea."
" Very well," replied Cooke; " but mark this -- a guinea is an
immense sum of money, and when I agree for sums of such magnitude, I go upon the system of no cure, no pay; so, if I am not cured
by the expiration of the month, I pay you nothing." This was
agreed to: after diligent attendance for several days, the wound was
so near being healed, that Cooke expressed himself satisfied, and
would not let Pigeon see it any more. However, within two or
three days of the month being up, the old fellow got some sort of
plaster with euphorbium in it, from a farrier, and made a new wound
on the place, where the former had been, and, sending for Pigeon
on the last day of the month, showed him that his leg was not well,
and that, of course, the guinea he had agreed for was forfeited.
This story the old fellow used to tell of himself with great satisfaction, and used to call it " plucking a Pigeon."
When on:his death-bed, he sent for several medical men (some
would not attend); among those who went to him, Mr. Aldridge,




374           HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.
of Pentonville, was one. Him he permitted to send some medicine.
At one of the interviews he earnestly entreated Mr. Aldridge to tell
him candidly, how long he thought he might live. The anwer was,
he might probably last six days.  Cooke, collecting all his strength,
and starting up in bed, exclaimed: "Are you not a dishonest
man?-a rogue, a robber, to serve me so!"  "As how?" asked Mr.
Aldridge, with surprise.  "Why, sir, you are no better than a pickpocket; to go to rob me of my gold, by sending in two draughts a
day to a man that all your physic will not keep alive above six
days! Get out of my house and never come near me again!"
CONVERTING THE SCOLDS.
IN an early period of the ministry of the Rev. John Wesley, he
visited Epworth, in Lincolnshire, where his father had formerly been
minister, but found the people greatly opposed to what they considered his new notions. He tells us in his journal, that many persons
were convinced of the importance of the truths he delivered from the
tombstone of his father, some of whom were conveyed in a wagon
to a neighboring justice of the peace to answer for the heresy with
which they were charged. Mr. Wesley rode over also. When the
magistrate asked what these persons had done, there was a deep
silence; for that was a point their conductors had forgotten. At
length one of them  said, "Why, they pretend to be better than
other people; and beside, they pray from morning to night."  He
asked,'-But have they done any thing beside?"  " Yes," said an
old man. " an't please your worship, they have convarted my wife.
Till she went among them she had such a tongue; and now she is
as quiet as a lamb."  "Carry them back, carry them back," replied
the justice, "and let them convert all the scolds in the town."
THE LAWYERS' PATRON.
ST. EVONA, a lawyer of Britain, went to Rome, to entreat the pope
to give the lawyers of that country a patron, to which the pope
replied, that he knew of no saint, but what was disposed of to other
professions.  At this Evona was very sad, and earnestly begged
the pope to think of them. At last his holiness proposed to St.
Evona, that he should go round the church of San Giovanni di Laterano blindfold, and after he should have said a certain number of
Ave Marias, that the first saint he should lay hold of should be his
patron. This the good old lawyer willingly undertook, and at the
end of his Ave Marias, stopped at St. Michael's altar, where he laid
nold of the devil, under St. Michael's feet, and cried out, "this is




HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.                     375
our saint, let him be our patron."  Being unblinded, and seeing
what a patron he had chosen, he went to his lodgings so dejected,
that a few months after he died. His reputation for honesty was,
however, so great, that a witty Frenchman wrote upon his tomb at
Rome, " St. Evona un Breton avocat non larron, hallelujah,"
WILLIAM  LADD AND HIS NEIGHBOR.
"I HID," the Apostle of Peace used to say, in relating the anecdote, "a fine field of grain, growing upon an out-farm at some distance from the homestead.  Whenever I rode by I saw my neighbor
Pulsifer's sheep in the lot, destroying my hopes of a harvest. These
sheep were of the gaunt, long-legged kind, active as spaniels; they
would spring over the highest fence, and no partition-wall could
keep them out. I complained to neighbor Pulsifer about them, sent
him frequent messages, but all without avail. Perhaps they would
be kept out for a day or two; but the legs of his sheep were long,
and my grain more tempting than the adjoining pasture.  I rode by
again-the sheep were still there; I became angry, and told my men
to set the dogs on them; and if that would not do, I would pay them
if they would shoot the sheep.
"I rode away much agitated; for I was not so much of a peace
man then as I am now, and I felt literally full of fight. All at once
a light flashed in upon me. I asked myself,'Would it not be well
for you to try in.your own conduct the peace principle you are teaching to others?' I thought it all over, and settled down in my mind
as to the best course to be pursued.
"The next day I rode over to see neighbor Pulsifer. I found
him chopping wood at his door.' Good morning, neighbor!' No
answer.'Good morning!' I repeated.  He gave a kind of grunt
without looking up.' I came,' continued I,' to see about the sheep.'
At this, he threw down his ax and exclaimed, in an angry manner:'INow are n't you a pretty neighbor, to tell your men to kill my
sheep?  I heard of it; a rich man, like you, to shoot a poor man's
sheep!'
"'I was wrong, neighbor,' said I;'but it won't do to let your
sheep eat up all that grain; so I came over to say that I would take
your sheep to my homestead pasture and put them in with mine;
and in the fall you may take them back, and if any one is missing
you may take your pick out of my whole flock.'
"Pulsifer looked confounded; he did not know how to take me.
At last he stammered out:'Now,'Squire, are you in earnest?'' Certainly I am,' I answered;'it is better for me to feed your sheep
in my pasture on grass, than to feed them here on grain; and I see
the fence can't keep them out.'
"After a moment's silence,'The sheep shan't trouble you any




376           HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.
more,' exclaimed Pulsifer.'I will fetter them all. ~But I'll let
you know that, when any man talks of shooting, I can shoot,
too; and when they are kind and neighborly, I can be kind,
too.' The sheep never again trespassed on my lot.  And, my
friends," he would continue, addressing the audience, "remember
that when you talk of injuring your neighbors, they will talk of
injuring you. When nations threaten to fight, other nations will be
ready, too. Love will beget love; a wish to be at peace will keep
you in peace. You can overcome evil with good. There is no
other way."
THE DUELIST OUTWITTED.
THE Rev. J. Cooke, of Maidenhead, many years ago, published a
very interesting pamphlet, containing the dying confession of a deist,
under the title of, "Reason paying homage to Revelation."  Soon
after its publication, a great commotion was excited in Maidenhead
and its neighborhood. The brother of the deceased gentleman conceived himself injured, and sent a message to Mr. Cooke, demanding the satisfaction of a gentleman. Mr. C. replied, "I am quite
prepared to give Mr. -- the satisfaction of a Christian gentleman;
and, according to the laws of honor, as he has sent the challenge,
it rests with me to choose time, place, and weapons. I do not choose
to fight with pistols; my weapon is a sword; and if he will meet me
in this parlor to-morrow at noon, with any witnesses he may desire,
I shall be prepared to meet him with'the sword of the Spirit, which
is the word of God.' My character, my principles, my office, forbid
me using any other weapons." It need not be added that his opponent did not admire this method of meeting the challenge, and Mr.
Cooke heard no more of him.
COBBETT'S RECOMMENDATION.
COBBETT, when challenged to fight, recommended the challenger to
draw a Cobbett in chalk upon the floor, and if he succeeded in hitting
it, to send him instant word, in order that he might have an opportunity of acknowledging that, had the true Cobbett been there, he,
in all probability, would have been hit, too. But hit or no hit, the
bullets could have no effect whatever, he maintained, on the original causes of the quarrel.
ANSWERING A CHALLENGE MATHEMATICALLY.
THIE eccentric mathematician, Professor Vince, of King's College,
Cambridge, being once engaged in a conversation with a gentleman
who advocated "dueling," is said to have thrown his adversary




HUMOROUS SELEOC TIONS.                   377
completely zors du combat, by the following'cute and characteristic
reply to his question: "But what could you do, sir, if a man told
you to your face,' You lie?' " " What could I do? why I wouldn't
knock him down, but I'd tell him to prove it. Prove it, sir, prove
it, I'd say. If he couldn't, he'd be the liar, and there I should
have him; but, if he did prove that I lied, I must e'en pocket the
affront; and there I expect the matter would end."
LORD TENTERDEN'S RETORT.
THE obscurity of Lord Tenterden's birth is well known, but he
had too much good sense to feel any false shame on that account.
We have heard it related of him, that when in an early period of
his professional career, a brother barrister, with whom he happened
to have a quarrel, had the bad taste to twit him on his origin, his
manly and severe answer was, " Yes, sir, I am the son of a barber;
if you had been the son of a barber, you would have been a barber
yourself."
THE POPE AND THE AMBASSADORS.
IT is related of Pope Clement XIV (Ganganelli), that when he
ascended the papal chair, the ambassadors of the several states represented at his court waited on him with their congratulations.
When they were introduced and bowed, he returned the compliment
by bowing also; on which the master of the ceremonies told his
highness that he should not have returned their salute. " O, I beg
your pardon," said the good pontiff, "I have not been pope long
enough to forget good manners."
CICERO'S RETORT.
THIS Roman orator was one day sneered at by one of his opponents, a mean man of noble lineage, on account of his low parentage.
"You are the first of your line," said the railer; "and you,"
rejoined Cicero, " are the last of yours."
I DO NOT MEAN THAT.
A GENTLEMAN who had been conspicuous in aiding a missionary
collection, was met the following day by one of dissimilar habits,
who chided him for the absurd eccentricity of which he deemed him




3718         1HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.
guilty in giving to such an object and in such profusion. It was
preposterous, he said, to be sending heaps of money abroad, to be
spent, no one knew how, while there were so many unemployed and
starving in. " I will give -. pounds to the poor of --- if
you will give an equal sum;" said the Christian friend.  "I did not
mean that," replied the objector; "but," continued he, "if you
must go from home, why so far? Think of the miserable poor of
Ireland."  "I will give -- pounds to the poor of Ireland, if you
will give the same."  "I do not mean that either," was the reply.
No, it is neither this nor that, which this class of objectors exactly
mean; but simply to vail their criminal parsimony by excepting
against the proceedings of liberal men, whom, if they could not condemn, they must, for very shame, in some degree imitate.
KING HENRY AND THE POOR CITIZEN.
HENRY IV, of France, was standing one day with some of his
courtiers, at the entrance of a village, and a poor man passing by
bowed down to the very ground; and the king, with great condescension, returned his salutation just in the same manner; at which one
of his attendants ventured to express his surprise, when the monarch
finely replied to him,-"Would you have your king exceeded in
politeness by one of the lowest of his subjects?"
THE RECTOR AND THE POOR BOY.
AN indigent boy applied for alms at the house of an avaricious
rector, and received a dry mouldy crust. The rector inquired of the
boy if he could say the Lord's Prayer, and was answered in the
negative. " Then," said the rector, " I will teach you that." "Our
Father 1"  " Our Father!" said the boy, "is he zmy Father as well
as yours?"  "Yes, certainly."  "Then," replied the boy, "how
could you give your poor brother this mnouldy crust of bread?"
THE CAPTAIN'S REQUEST.
" MY lads," said a captain, when about to take command of a ship,
reading his orders to the crew on the quarter-deck, "there is one
law I am determined to make, and I shall insist on its being kept.
It is a favor, indeed, I will ask of you, and which, as a British officer, I expect will be granted by a crew of British seamen. What
say you, my lads? are you willing to grant your new captain one
favor?"  "Ay, ay," cried all hands, "let's know what it is, sir."




HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.                      319
"Well, my lads, it is this: that you must allow me to swear tile first
oath in this ship. No man on board must swear an oath before I
do; I am determined to swear the first oath on board. What say
you, my lads, will you grant me this favor?"  The men stared, and
stood for a moment quite at a loss what to say. "They were
taken," one said, "all aback."  "They were brought up," said
another, " all standing."  The appeal seemed so reasonable, and the
manner of the captain so kind and prepossessing, that a general
burst from the ship's company answered, "Ay, ay, sir," with their
usual three cheers. Swearing was thus wholly abolished in the
ship.
THE UNFASHIONABLE BOW.
WHEN Sir William Johnson returned the salute of a negro who
had bowed to him, he was reminded that he had done what was
very unfashionable.  "Perhaps so," said Sir William, "but I would
not be outdone in good manners by a negro."
FAITH  OF THE COLLIER.
IMPLICIT faith has been sometimes styledfJdes carbonaria, from the
story of one who, examining an ignorant collier on his religious principles, asked him what it was that he believed. He answered, "1
believe what the church believes." The other rejoined, "What,
then, does the church believe?" He replied, readily, " The church
believes what I believe."  The other, desirous, if possible, to bring
him to particulars, once more resumed his inquiry. " Tell me, then,
I pray you, what it is which you and the church both believe."  The
only answer the collier could give was, "Why, truly, sir, the church
and I both —believe the same thing."
THE MONK AND THE MAGPIE.
ST. ANTHONY is thought to have had a great command over fire, and
the power of destroying by that element those who incurred his displeasure. A certain monk of St. Anthony one day assembled his congregation under a tree where a magpie had built her nest, into which
he had found means to convey a small box filled with gunpowder,
and out of the box hung a long, thin match that was to burn slowly,
and that was hidden among the leaves of the trees. As soon as the
monk or his assistant had touched the match with a lighted coal, the
friar began his sermon; in the meanwhile the magpie returned wU
her nest, and finding in it a strange body which she could not
25




380          HIUMOROUS SELECTIONS.
remove, she fell into a passion and scratched with her feet most
vehemently. The friar affected to hear without emotion, and continued his sermon with great composure, only he would now and
then lift up his eyes toward the top of the tree, as if he wanted to
know what was the matter. At last, when he judged that the match
was near reaching the gunpowder, he pretended to be out of
patience; he cursed the magpie, wished St. Anthony's fire might consume her, and went on again with his sermon. But he had scarcely
proceeded two or three periods, when the match on a sudden produced its effect, and blew up the magpie with its nest; which miracle wonderfully raised the character of the friar, and proved afterward very beneficial to him and his convent.
MIRACLE OF THE OMELET.
A PRIEST in extreme poverty resolved to get credit for a miracle.
HIe put the yolks of several eggs in a hollow cane, and stopped the
end with butter; then, walking into an alehouse, he begged to fry
a single egg for his dinner. The smallness of his repast excited
curiosity, and. they gave him a morsel of lard. He stirred the lard
with his cane, and, to the wonder of the surrounding peasants, produced a handsome omelet.  This miracle established his fame; he
sold omelets and got rich by his ingenuity.
SENIOR WRANGLER.
TiE Senior Wrangler, of a certain year, piping hot from the
Senate House at Cambridge, went to the play at Drury-Lane. It
so happened, that a certain great personage entered at the same
moment, on the other side of the house, but unobserved by the mathematician. The whole house testified their respect, by a general'ising and clapping of hands. Our astonished academic instantly
exclaimed, to the no small amusement of his London friends, " Well,
well, this is more than I expected; how is it possible that these good
people should so soon have discovered thlat I ain the Senior
Wrangler."
THE BEDLAMITE.
IT proceeds rather fiom revenge than malice, when we hear a man
affirm that all the world are knaves. For before a man draws this
conclusion of the world, the world has usually anticipated him, and
concluded all this of him who makes the observation. Such men
may be compared to Brothers, the prophet, who, on being asked how




HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.                     381
le came to be clapped up into Bedlam; replied, I and the world
happened to have a slight difference of opinion; the world said I
was mad, and I said the world was mad; I was outvoted, and here
I am.
SOME reputed saints that have been canonized, ought to have been
cannonaded; and some reputed sinners that have been cannonaded,
ought to have been canonized.
AN Irishman fights before he reasons, a Scotchman reasons before
he fights, an Englishman is not particular as to the order of precedence, but will do either to accommodate his customers. A modern
general has said, that the best troops would be as follows: an Irishman half drunk, a Scotchman half starved, and an Englishman with
his belly full.
IF you cannot avoid a quarrel with a blackguard, let your lawyer
manage it, rather than yourself. No man sweeps his own chimney,
but employs a chimney-sweeper, who has no objection to dirty Work,
because it is his trade.
HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND A JOKE.
THERE are many good-natured fellows, who have paid the forfeit of their lives to their love of bantering and raillery.  No
doubt they have had much diversion, but they have purchased
it too dear. Although their wit and their brilliancy may have been
often extolled, yet it has at last been extinguished forever; and by
a foe, perhaps, who has neither the one nor the other, but who
found it easier to point a sword than a repartee. I have heard of a
man in the province of Bengal, who had been a long time very successful in hunting the tiger. His skill gained him great eclat, and
insured him much diversion; at length he narrowly escaped with
his life; he then relinquished the sport, with this observation:
"Tiger hunting is very fine amusement, so long as we hunt the
tiger; but it is rather awkward when the tiger takes it into his head
to hunt us." Again, this skill in small wit, like skill in small arms,
is very apt to beget a confidence which may prove fatal in the end.
We may either mistake the proper moment, for* even cowards have
their fighting days, or we may mistake the proper man. A certain
Savoyard got his livelihood by exhibiting a monkey and a bear; he
gained so much applause from his tricks with the monkey, that he
was encouraged to practice some of them on the bear; he was dread



382           HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.
fully lacerated, and on being rescued with great difficulty from the
gripe of bruin, he exclaimed: " What a fool was I not to distinguish
between a monkey and a bear! A bear, my friends, is a very grave
kind of personage, and as you plainly see, does not understand a
joke 1"
AN  INTERMITTENT.
IT is better to have recourse to a quack, if he can cure our disorder, although he cannot explain it, than to a physician, if he can
explain our disease, but cannot cure it. In a certain consultation
of physicians, they all differed about the nature of an intermittent,
and all of them were ready to define the disorder. The patient was
a king. At length an empiric, who had been called in, thus interposed: " Gentlemen, you all seem to differ about the nature of an
intermittent, permit me to explain it: an intermittent, gentlemen, is
a disorder which I can cure, and which you cannot."
DID NOT HE SAY BEANS?
Two travelers put up for the night at a tavern. Early in the
morning they absconded without reckoning with their host, also stealing from him a bag of beans. A few years after they passed that
road in company again. Again they asked for lodgings at the same
inn. The identical landlord was yet at his post. In the evening
the landlord was busy in one corner of the bar-room, talking in a
suppressed voice with one of his neighbors, about a swarm of bees.
His two dishonest guests were seated in another part of the room,
and indistinctly hearing the talk about bees, one says to the other,
<' Did he not say beans?"," I think he did," was the reply; and
quickly they were missing.
WHITEFIELD AND ELECTIONS.
WHEN Mr. Whitefield was in the zenith of his popularity, Lord
Clare, who knew that his influence was considerable, applied to him,
by letter, requesting his assistance at Bristol, at the ensuing general
election. To this request Mr. Whitefield replied, that in general
elections he never interfered; but he would earnestly exhort his lordship to use great diligence to make his own particular calling and
election sure i




E:UMOROUS SELECTIONS.                    383
NEW  USE FOR JACOB'S LADDER.
A WELSH clergyman, invited to assist in the ordination of a minister in some part of England, was appointed to deliver the address
to the church and congregation; and having been informed that their
previous minister had suffered much from pecuniary embarrassment,
although the church was fully able to support him comfortably, he
took the following singular method of administering reproof.
In his address to the church, he remarked: "You have been
praying, no doubt, that God would send you a mall after his own
heart to be your pastor. You have done well. God, we hope, has
heard your prayer, and given you such a minister as he approves,
who will go in and out before you, and feed your souls with the
bread of life. But now you have prayed for a minister, and God has
given you one to your mind, you have something more to do; you
must take care of him; and in order to his being happy among you,
I have been thinking you have need to pray again.'Pray again?
Pray again? What should we pray again for?' Well, I think you
have need to pray again.'But for what?' Why, I'll tell you.
Pray that God would put Jacob's ladder down to the earth again.'Jacob's ladder! Jacob's ladder! What has Jacob's ladder to do
with our minister?' Why, I think if God would put Jacob's ladder
down, that your minister could go up into heaven on the Sabbath
evening after preaching, and remain there all the week; then he could
come down every Sabbath morning so spiritually minded and so full
of heaven, that he would preach to you almost like an angel.' Oh,
yes, that may be all very well; and, if it were possible, we should
like it; but then, we need our minister with us during the week, to
attend prayer-meetings, visit the sick, hear experience, etc., etc., and
therefore must have him always with us; we want the whole of his
time and attention.' That may be, and I will admit the necessity of
his daily attention to your concerns; but then, you will remember,
that if he remains here he must have his bread and cheese; and I
have been told that your former minister was often wanting the common necessaries of life, while many of you can enjoy its luxuries;
and, therefore, I thought, if God would put Jacob's ladder down,
your present minister might preach to you on the Sabbath, and by
going up into heaven after the services of the day, save you the
painful necessity of supporting him."
SENDING TO HEAVEN FOR A MINISTER.
THE people of one of the out-parishes of Virginia, wrote to Dr.
Rice, who was then at the head of the Theological Seminary in
Prince Edward, for a minister. They said they wanted a man of first



384           HUMOROUS SELE C TIONS.
rate talents, for they had run down considerably, and needed building up. They wanted one who could write well, for some of the
young people were very nice about that matter. They wanted one
who could visit a good deal, for their former minister had neglected
that, and they wanted to bring that up. They wanted a man of very
gentlemanly deportment, for some thought a great deal of that. And
so they went on, describing a perfect minister. The last thing they
mentioned was —they gave their last minister $350; but if the doctor would send them such a man as they had described, they would
raise another $50, making it $400. The doctor sat right down and
wrote them a reply, telling them they had better forthwith make out
a call for old Dr. Dwight, in heaven; for he did not know of any one
in this world who answered this description. And as Dr. Dwight
had been living so long on spiritual food, he might not need so much
for the body, and possibly he might live on $400.
PREACHING  ON  THE TIMES.
IN 1648, it was a question asked of the brethren, at the meetings
of ministers, twice in the year, " If they preached the duties of the
times?"  And when it was found that Leighton did not, he was reproved for his omission; but he replied, " If all the brethren have
*preached on the timnes, may not one poor brother be suffered to preach
on eternity?"
HALL'S OPINION OF A SERMON.
A CONCEITED minister having once delivered a sermon in the hearing of Mr. Hall, pressed him, with a disgusting union of self-complacency and indelicacy, to state what he thought of the sermon.
Mr. Hall remained silent for some time, hoping that his silence would
be rightly interpreted; but this only caused the question to be
pressed with greater earnestness. Mr. Hall at length said, " There
was one very fine passage, sir." "I am rejoiced to hear you say so.
" Pray, sir, which was it?" "Why, sir, it was the passage from the
pulpit into the vestry."
BARROW AND ROCHESTER.
THE celebrated Lord Rochester one day met Dr. Barrow in the
Park, and being determined, as he said, to put down the rusty piece
of divinity, accosted him by taking off his hat, and, with a profound
bow, exclaimed, " Doctor, I am yours to my shoe-tie."  The doctor
perceiving his aim, returned the salute with equal ceremony: "}~My




HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.                       385
lord, I am yours to the ground."  His lordship then made a deeper
congee, and said, " Doctor, I am yours to the center."  Barrow replied, with the same ceremony, " My lord, I am yours to the antipodes;" on which Rochester made another attempt, by exclaiming,
"Doctor, I am yours to the lowest pit of hell."  " There, my lord,"
said Barrow, "I leave you," and immediately walked away.
THE SPIRITUAL MONK.
A CERTAIN brother came to the convent of Mount Sinai, and finding all the monks at work, shook his head, and said to the abbot,
"' Labor not for the meat which perisheth," and, " Mary hath chosen
that good part."  "Very well," said the abbot, and ordered the
good brother to a cell, and gave him a book to read. The monk retired, and sat hour after hour all day long alone; wondering much
that nobody called him to dinner, or offered him any refreshment.
Hungry, and wearied out, the night at length arrived: he left his
solitary cell and repaired to the apartment of the abbot. " Father,"
says he, " do not the brethren eat to-day?"
" Oh, yes," replied the abbot, " they have eaten plentifully."
<' Then how is it, father," said the monk, "that you did not call me
to partake with them?"  " Because, brother," replied the abbot,
"you are a sgiitrucl nmazn, and have no need of carnal food. For our
part, we are obliged to eat, and on that account we work; but you,
brother, who have chosen' the good part,' you sit and read all the
day long, and are above the want of the meat that perisheth."' Pardon me, father," said the monk, "I perceive my mistake."
No two things differ more than hurry and despatch. Hurry is thei
mark of a weak mind, despatch of a strong one. A weak man in
office, like a squirrel in a cage, is laboring eternally, but to no purpose, and in constant motion without getting on a jot; like a turnstile, he is in everybody's way but stops nobody; he talks a great
deal, but says very little; looks into everything, but sees into nothing; and has a hundred irons in the fire, but very few of them are
hot, and with those few that are, he only burns his fingers.
KEEN RETORT.
COUNT STACKELBERG was sent on a particular embassy by Catharine
of Russia, into Poland; on the same occasion, Thurgut was despatched by the emperor of Germany. Both these ambassadors were
strangers to each other.  When the morning appointed for an audience arrived, Thurgut was ushered into a magnificent saloon, where,
seeing a dignified looking man seated and attended by a number of




356           HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.
Polish noblemen, who were standing most respectfully before him,
the German ambassador (Thurgut,) concluded it was the kinog, and
addressed him as such, with the accustomed formalities. This dignified looking creature turned out to be Stackelberg, who received the
unexpected homage with pride and silence. Soon after the king entered the presence-chamber, and Thurgut, perceiving his mistake,
retired, much mortified and ashamed. In the evening, it so happened
that both these ambassadors were playing cards at the same table
with his majesty. The German envoy threw down a card, saying,
" The king of clubs 1' " A mistake!" said the monarch; " it is the
knave t" " Pardon me, sire," exclaimed Thurgut, casting a significant glance at Stackelberg; " this is the second. time to-day I have
mistaken a knave for a king  "  Stackelberg, though very prompt
at repartee, bit his lips, and was silent.
EARL OF BERKELY AND THE HIGHWAYMAN.
IT is recorded of the late Earl of Berkely, that he was suddenly
awakened at night in his carriage by a highwayman, who forcing a
pistol through the window, and presenting it close to his breast, demanded his money, exclaiming at the same time, that he had heard
his lordship had boasted that he never would be robbed by a single
highwayman, but that he should now be taught the contrary. His
lordship putting his hand into his pocket, replied: "Neither would
I now be robbed, if it was not for that fellow who is looking over
your shoulder."  The highwayman turned round his head, when his
lordship, who had drawn a pistol from his pocket, instead of a
purse, shot him on the spot.
JESUITS.
IT was observed of the Jesuits, that they constantly inculcated a
thorough contempt of worldly things in their doctrines, but eagerly
grasped at them in their lives. They were "wise itn their generation,"
for they cried down worldly things, because they wanted to obtain
them, and cried up spiritual tthings, because they wanted. to dispose
of them.
RHEUMATISM.
"WHAT keeps our friend farmer B. away from us?" was the
anxious question proposed by our vigilant minister to his clerk. "I
have not seen him amongst us," continued he, " these three weeks;
I hope that it is not Socinianisnm that keeps him away."  " No, your
honor," replied the clerk, "it is something worse than that."




HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.                       387
"VWorse than Socinianism! God forbid it should be deism."  " No,
your honor, it is something worse than that."  " Worse than deism i
Astonishing! I trust it is not atheism 1" " No, your honor, it is
something worse than that."  "Worse than atheism! impossible;
nothing can be worse than atheism!"  " Yes it is, your honor, it is
rheumatism i"
A PENITENT ROGUE.
A ROMAN Catholic, who had filled up the measure of his iniquities, as far as he dared, went to the priest to confess and obtain absolution. He entered the apartment of the priest, and addressed
him:." Holy father, I have sinned."
The priest bid him kneel before the penitential chair. The penitent was looking about, and he saw the priest's gold watch lying upon
the table within his reach. He seized it and put it in his bosom.
The priest approached him, and requested him to acknowledge the
sins for which he wished absolution.
"Father," said the rogue, "I have stolen, and what shall I do?"
" Restore," said the priest, "the thing you have stolen to its rightful owner."
" Do you take it?" said the penitent.
"No, I shall not," said the priest; you must give it to the
owner. "
"' But he has refused to take it."
" If this be the case you may keep it."
The priest granted him full absolution. The penitent knelt and
kissed his hand, craved his benediction, crossed himself, and departed
with a clear conscience, and a very valuable gold watch into the
bargain.
THE CHEATER CHEATED.
THERE is no end to the dishonest tricks of professional gamblers.
One of these gentry will often deal himself six or seven cards when
he should have but five, and if he can make a good hand by laying
out the two poorest in his lap, he will do so; or if lie cannot make
a good hand, he will take the two best to help him in his next hand.
The following case, which occurred on a western steamboat, shows
how men will play more than their number. A gambler was playing with a man whom he mistook for a green Hoosier that knew nothing of playing scientifically.  But he was sadly deceived.  The
gambler, from the beginning, played somewhat carelessly, supposing
it needed no science to beat the Hoosier; but the gambler lost, and
commenced playing as scientifically as he could. He still lost, and
finally lost nearly all he had, before he quit; and after quitting they
went to the bar to drink. The gambler said to the Hoosier, c" You
beat any man for luck I ever played with; I've lost my money with




388            HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS.
you, and it makes no difference; I will be honest with you; you did
not know it, but I played six cards all the time, and yTour luck beat
it."  " Well," said the Hoosier, " since you have been so frank, I
will also be fiank; I have played seven cards all the way through
from the word go; besides stocking and palming occasionally for the
sake of variety." The gambler was greatly surprised, and swore that
he would not have supposed, that ble much more than knew one card
from another; but he was deceived in the man, and it would not
have done for him to have shown any anger, as he first confessed
having cheated the Hoosier, who was in fact a most expert gambler,
and had purposely assumed that disguise.
MARLBORO' AND HIS SERVANT.
THE Duke of Marlborough possessed great command of temper,
and never permitted it to be ruffled by little things, in which even
the greatest men have occasionally been found unguarded.  As he
was one day riding wtth Commissary Marriot, it began to rain, and
he called to his servant for his cloak.  The servant not bringing it
immediately, he called for it again. The servant being embarrassed
with the straps and buckles, did not come up to him.  At last, it
raining very hard, the duke called to him again, and asked him what
he was about, that he did not bring his cloak.  " You may stay,
sir," grumbled the fellow, "if it rains cats and dogs, till I can get
at it."  The duke turned round to Marriot, and said, very coolly,
" Now I would not be of that fellow's temper for all the world."
RELICS AT AIX LA CHAPELLE.
DOCTOR RAFFLES, in his tour through Europe, in 1817, visited the
church of the Minorites in Aix La Chapelle.  After describing sundry antiquities, among which were " the remains of one of the
children whom  Herod killed in the hope of destroying Christ," he
proceeds:
"All this was interesting, but the cream of the antiquities yet remained.'We were conducted to the vestry, or robing place of the
priest, where a young man, whose province it is to expose these wonders to the gaze of the credulous, threw open the curiously painted
doors of an immense recess, where in an instant we were dazzled with
a profusion of gold and precious stones, wrought into various forms,
to contain or emblazon the precious and sacred relics..*  *- e  e   We were shown, 1. The girlle of Jesus Christ,
brought fiom Jerusalem  by Charlenmagne., and with that monarch's
seal annexed to it. 2. Girdle of the Virgin Mary, derived from the
same quarter.  3. A bone of the Virgin Mary's father.  4. A bit of
the cord with which Jesus was bound when he was scourged.  5. A




HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.                      389
prickle from the crown of thorns. 6 A bit of the sponge with which
they supplied the vinegar. 7. A bit of one of the nails by which
he was fastened to the cross. S. And lastly, some sweat which fell
from him in the garden of Gethsemane. To this may be added a
link of the chain with which Peter was chained at Rome i a bit of
the bone of Simeon's arm, with which he embraced the infant Jesus!
a rib of St. Stephen i and a tooth of St. Thomas!"
I thought of the sailor, who, after his messmates had told some
wonderful stories of what had been found in the bellies of whales
and sharks, and such monsters, determining to outstrip them all,
said he had once been present at the catching of a fish, out of whose
belly, when opened, there came a ship, with all its masts and rigging,
and the whole of the crew.
DRAWING AN INFERENCE.
A YouNG clergyman who had delivered a discourse in the place of
an aged brother minister, requested the opinion of the latter respecting it.
"Oh," said he, plainly, " many of the words you used were beyond the comprehension of your hearers. Thus, for instance, the
word'inference,' perhaps not half of my parishioners understand
its meaning." "Inference, inference!" exclaimed the other, "why,
every one must understand that."  "I think you will find it not so.
There's my clerk, now; he prides himself upon his learning, and in
truth, is very intelligent;  we will try him. Zechariah, my brother
here wishes you to draw an inference; can you do it?"
" Why, I am pretty strong, but Johanadab, the coachman, is
stronger than I; I'll ask him." Zechariah went out a few moments,
to look after the coachman, and returned.  "Johanadab says he
never has tried to draw an inference, sir; but he reckons his horses
can draw any thing that the traces will hold  "
A NOBLEMAN  REPROVED  BY HIS SERVANT.
A NOBLEMAN seeing a large stone lying near his gate, ordered his
servant, with an oath, to send it to hell. " If," said the servant, " I
were to throw it to heaven, it would be more completely out of your
lordship's way."
TARRYING AT JERICHO.
A VERY young clergyman who had just left college, presented a
petition to the king of Prussia, requesting that his majesty would appoint him inspector in a certain place where a vacancy had just happened. As it was an office of much consequence, the king was
offended at the presumption and importunity of so young a man,




390           HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.
and instead of any answer to the petition, he wrote underneath, "2
book of Samuel, chap. x. ver. 5," and returned it. The young clergyman was eager to examine the quotation, but, to his great disappointment, found the words, " Tarry at Jericho until your beards
be grown."
WHERE YOU OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN.
A CLERGYMAN who was in the habit of preaching in different parts
of the country, was once at an inn, where he observed a horse-jockey
trying to take in a simple gentleman, by imposing upon him a brokenwinded horse for a sound one. The parson knew the bad character
of the jockey, and taking the gentleman aside, told him to be cautious of the person he was dealing' with. The gentleman finally declined the purchase, and the jockey, quite nettled, observed, " Parson, I would much rather hear you preach than see you privately
interfere in bargains between man and man, in this way." "Well,"
replied the parson, "if you had been where you ought to have been
last Sunday, you might have heard me preach." "Where was
that?" inquired the jockey. " In the state prison," returned the
clergyman.
LORENZO DOW  AND THE THIEF.
THE celebrated itinerant preacher, Lorenzo Dow, while traveling
one Sunday to the place where he had an appointment to preach, in
passing a house, overheard a man who was standing at the door,
swearing bitterly. Dow went up to him and inquired the cause.
The man answered that he had an ax stolen the night before by some
person. " Come along with me to meeting," said the preacher, "-and
I will find your ax."  The man consented, and when they arrived
near the church, Dow stopped and picked up a pretty large stone,
which he carried with him into church, and laid upon the front of
the pulpit. The subject of his sermon was very well fitted to his
particular object, and when in the middle of it he stopped short, took
the stone in his hand, and raising it with a threatening attitude, said,
" A man in this neighborhood had an ax stolen last night, and if the
person who stce it doesn't dodge, I will hit himn on the foreehead with
this stone," at the same time making a violent effort to throw it, when
a person present was observed to dodge his head violently, and it
scarce need be added, proved to be the guilty person i
IHANDSOMELY  DECLINED.
THE late Bishop Doane of New Jersey, was strongly opposed
to temperance, and his side-board and tables were loaded with
brandy, wine, etc.




HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.                     391
On one occasion, Rev. Mr. Perkins, of the Sons of Temperance, dined with the Bishop, who, pouring out a glass of wine,
desired him to drink with him.
"Can't do it, Bishop!' Wine is a mocker.'"' Take a glass of brandy then."
"Can't do it Bishop!'Strong drink is raging.' "
By this time the Bishop, becoming somewhat restive and
excited, remarked to Mr. Perkins:
" You'll pass the decanter to the gentleman next to you?"
" No, Bishop, I can't do that!'Wo unto him that putteth the
bottle to his neighbor's lips.''"
ELECTRIC MARRIAGE.
THE telegraph between Paris and Havre lately concluded a
marriage worthy of this fast age:
Lover.-" Saw  your daughter last night. Party. What
dowry? "
Father.-" Fifty thousand francs."
Lover.-" Not enough. "
Father.-" How much?"
Lover.- " Hundred thousand."
Father.-" Can't come to it.7"
Lover.-" Sorry; love her; rich; say eighty thousand."
Father. —' All right. 7
Lover.-" Offer heart and hand."
Father.-" Accepted."
Lover. —" Leave by 2.40 train."
Father.-" Ordered wedding dress."
Lover.-" Eternal love to daughter."'
Father.-" Of course.'
HOW NOVELS ARE WRITTEN.
ALEXANDRE DUMAS published some time ago in a daily Paris
paper, a novel, in which the heroine, prosperous and happy, is
assailed by consumption. All the gradual symptoms were most
touchingly described, and the greatest interest was felt for the
heroine.
One day the Marquis de Dalomieu called on him. " Dumas,"
said he, " have you composed the end of the story now publishing in the  "'
" Of course."
" Does the heroine die at the end? "
" Of course, dies of consumption. After such symptoms as
I have described, how could she live?"




392          H U M O R O U S SELECTIONS.
" You will have to -make her live. You must change the
catastrophe."
"I cannot."
"Yes, you imLust; for on your heroine's life depends my
daughter's."
"Your daughter's!"
" Yes; she has all the various symptoms of consumption you
have described, and watches mournfully for every new number
of your novel, reading her own fate in your heroine's. Naow, if
you make your heroine live, my daughter, whose imagination
has been deeply impressed, vill live too. Come, a life to save
is a temptation."
" Not to be resisted."
Dumnas changed his last chapters.  His heroine recovered
and was happy.
About five years afterwards Dumas met the 2Marquis at a
party.
" Ah! Ditlmas," he exclaimed," let me introduce you to my
daughter; she owes her life to you. There she is."
" That fine, handsome woman, who looks like Jeanne dcl'Arc? "
" Yes, she is married, and has had four children."
" And my novel four editions," said Dumas; " so we are
quits. "
BREA3D AND BABIES.
WE are constantly asked, if women vote, what will become of
the bread and babies?
In view of the heavy bread, and badly cooked food we find on
most tables, and the shocking mortality among infants, we contemplate with wonder and pity the blind faith of man, in the
maternal and culinary intelligence of the "weak-minded," who
have no aspirations beyond Hecker's flour, Mrs. Winslow's
soothing syrup, and Wheeler and Wilson's sewing machine.
Seeing that women have devoted themselves through the ages
to domestic economy, and failed, as miserably as men have in
the art of government, we have, after mature thought, come to
the conclusion, that just as womans' enlightened interest in political questions will improve the state, so man's skill and
science are necessary to redeem the home from its present disorder, disease and death. If there are two things we thoroughly
understand they are babies and bread, and for our knowledge
of both these divine arts we are indebted to philosophical,
scientific gentlemen.
The only valuable work we ever saw on infancy was written
by a man, Andrew Combe, of Scotland, a close observer, a
sound thinker, and a learned physiologist.  We shall never




I HUM O R O U S SELECTIONS.               393
forget how tempest-tossed we were when we first found ourself
the happy possessor of a male child, without the slightest knowledge of what to do for his comfort and protection. An ignorant nurse fidgeted round the room day and night, sang melancholy ditties, and rocked vehemently, while the child. cried
continually, with a loud voice, and we wept, prayed, and philosophized by turns. Reasoning on general principles, we at
last came to the conclusion that inasmuch as the child was large
and x;igorous, there must be some mistake on the part of the
nurse, that he was not quiet and comfortable, and we fortified ourself in that opinion by a faithful reading of what Mr. Combe
had to say on babies in general. The result of this consideration
of his opinions, was a prompt revolution in the whole nurseiy
department, and a transfer of pain from the baby to the nurse,
who stood humbledc and chagrined as she saw her time-honored
system summarily set aside —the pins, paregoric, catmint, and
cradle driven out-while pure air, sunlight, and common sense
walked in. Oh! what sighs, what groans, what doubtful shaking's of the head, what suppressed laughter and whisperings in
the hall we heard, during the first few days after the inauguration of that dynasty of health, happiness, and rest to that
new-born soul.
When the three hours' cry began that day, which ancient
dames assured us was a custom that had been faithfully kept
by all the sons of Adam; from time immemorial, we ordered the
little sufferer to be promptly stripped to the skin, and put in a
warm bath; that brought instant relief, after which he was
dressed in a few light garments, hung on the shoulders, with no
swaddling bands, no pressure on the lungs or bowels, and laid
down to sleep. He was fed (according to Combe) every two
hours by day, and but once during the night. After that we
had peace, though eternal vigilance on our part was its price.
The custom of pinning babies up as tight as a drum is both
cruel and absurd. We asked the antiquarian who tortured our
first-born in that way, why she did it?  " The bones of young
babie' are so soft and their flesh so tender," said she,;'that
they are in constant danger of dissolution, unless tightly
pinioned together."  We soothed her fears by pointing to the
fact that colts and calves, puppies and kittens, all lived and
flourished without bandages, and for the benefit of the race we
said we would make the experiment on one of the human family.
If babies are regularly fed, bathed, and comfortably dressed,
and in a pure atmosphere, they will be quiet and healthy. The
ignorance of women on these subjects is truly lamentable. We
have seen children a year old that had never tasted water, when
they should have it half a dozen times a day, from the hour of
their birth. We have found fathers who worked hard all day,
complain bitterly of being disturbed at night by crying children,




394          HUMOROUS SELECTIONS.
hence the common use of Mrs. Winslow's soothing syrup, which
only tends to increase the irritable condition of the nervous
system, and permanently weaken the brain.
Young mothers no doubt imagine that this Mrs. Winslow is
some experiienced, humane, old lady, who loves little children,
knows just how to soothe them to sleep, and pilot them through
all the pitfalls of infancy, while, in fact, this abominable syrup
is compounded by some ignorant man, in whiskers, broadcloth,
and boots, who lives and fattens on his ill-gotten gains, while
babies are sent by the hundreds to untimely graves, or made
idiots and lunatics for life.-Alirs. Ei. Cady Stanton.
MUSTERED IN.
THE boys of the One Hundred and Seventeenth New York,
tell a good joke in regard to the "muster in " of a darkey
attached to that regiment, who became fearful he would be deprived of his pay unless he was joined to the service. A huge
mustard plaster was applied to his back, about a foot below
where the rear buttons of his coat were placed, and under the
belief that all soldiers were served in the same manner, as a sort
of military institution, he wore it until the pain became unendurable, at which time he was formerly declared "Jifustered in,"
according to the laws in such cases made and provided.  If
that darkey didn't get his wages it was not because he failed to
suffer for his country as a patriot, duly put through by the One
Hundred and Seventeenth.
GENERAL LANDER AND THE BIBLE.
THE beautiful illustration presented with such painstaking
labor, and admirable taste, by Professor H. B. Hackett, of the
value of religion to the soldier, are in keeping with his own high
character as a Christian philanthropist.  Everybody will read
with pleasure the incident here narrated by the excellent author
named.
One day, a staff officer caught General Lander with a Bible
in his hand, and had the curiosity to inquire of him-" General,
do you search the Scriptures? "  To this plain interrogatory,
General Lander promptly replied:  My mother gave me a
Bible, which I have always carried with me. Once on the
Rocky Mountains I had only fifteen pounds of flour. We used
to collect grasshoppers at four o'clock in the day, to catch some
fish for our supper at night. It was during the Mormon wvar,
and my men desired to turn back. I was then searching for a




HUiMOROUS SELECTIONS.                    39.5
route for the wagon road.' I will turn back if the Bible says
so," said I, "and we will take it for an inspiration." I opened
the book at the following passage: " Go on and search the
mountain, and the gates of the city shall not be shut against
you..' All concurred in the definite statement of the passage,
and the heroic explorer once more led his men into the wild
country of the Indians. And yet Lander was not one to boast
of his devotional practices. That he was " caught " by a staff
officer was doubtless literally true, "-with a Bible in his hand,"
for he was not one that read his Bible "to be seen of men."
Such' Memorials of the war' as the above, constitute, at this
era, the most interesting and profitable reading for the youth
of our families and Sabbath schools.
THE LADY IN GIRAY SILK.
A MOST amusing story is told of Judge B ——, now occupying
a high post in the Pennsylvania State government. Travelling
some years since by rail to Harrisburg, on a blazing hot day,
with some friends, the iron horse had stopped to water, wlhen
suddenly he drew his white handkerchief from his pocket and
began vigorously waving it in the air, at the same time bobbing
his head out of the window in a very energetic manner.
"What are you about, judge?"  asked Mr. Q — -, without
rising from his seat.
"' Why, don't you see yonder? There's a lady waving a white
handkerchief, and I'm returning the salute."
"Who is She, judge? " asked Mr. Q —, as he lounged in
one corner.
Well, the fact is, I don't exactly know: I'm quite aearsighted, and I can't recognize her; but she is dressed in gray
silk, and stands yonder, under a big maple tree, near my friend
John B-' s house.'"
Mr. Q — hobbled over to the judge's side and gazed in the
direction indicated, but saw only that the judge had been exchanging salutes for ten minutes with an iron gray mare, whose
long white tail, as it flapped away the flies, had been taken by
him for a white handkerchief, waved by a lady in a gray silk
dress.
The buttons that were subsequently picked up in that car are
said to have been exceedingly numerous. The judge didn't
swear,'but he changed the subject to saw-mills, the only intelligible portion of which being the frequent repetition of the
word " dam."
26




TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.
THE PLEASURE BOAT.
THE course of the inebriate is fearfully rapid - when a young
man in the prime of life lifts to his lips the poisoned chalice of death
and destruction, and laughs and sneers at the admonitions of his
friends, his course to ruin and blackness, to the vortex of misery and
death, is like the speed of the devastating tornado. To more pathet%ially illustrate the rapid strides of the drunkard to an untimely
grave, I will relate an affecting scene that transpired on the coast of
Norway some twenty years ago, and has not to my knowledge ever
appeared in print before. We have all heard of the awful whirlpool
called the Maelstroom; it is but a few leagues from the west coast
of the kingdom above mentioned. Its suction affects the water to
many miles around it; and those who are so unfortunate as to come
within the circle of its influence, can seldom make an effort so powerful as to escape —they are generally drawn into its funnel and perish. On the shore nearly opposite this whirlpool, one fine afternoon
in the month of July, a party of young ladies and gentlemen agreed
to take an excursion that evening in a pleasure boat. They were
young and thoughtless, and not accustomed to the dangers of the
sea -the young men could not ply the oars as effectually as those
more accustomed to the water; but they supposed there could be
no danger. All nature seemed to smile'- the sunbeams briskly
played upon the bosom of the ocean; calmness had thrown its
oily wand upon the billow, and it slept.  The water presented
a smooth, unruffled surface —it seemed a sea of glass; the most
timorous would scarcely have suspected that danger, in its most
terrific form, was lurking just beneath the surface - but so it was,
while the mirrored and glassy surface slept without a ripple. Just
beneath, the circling current, formed by the suction of the whirlpool
at that state of the tide, swept round and round at the distance of
many miles with fearful velocity. The evening come - the young
people assembled on the beach.  The mellow moonbeam  would
tremble for a moment and then sleep on the calm, unagitated breast
of the ocean. The pleasure boat was unmoored; the party gaily
entered; the boat was moved from the shore; it was soon under
way —it was rapidly propelled by those at the oars. But:it was
soon discovered that it would skim gently over the bosom of the deep
when the motion produced by the oars had ceased. They allowed
the boat to glide gently along-they felt no danger- all was
thoughtless hilarity.  The motion of the boat became gradually,
396












TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                     397
but to them insensibly, more rapid; (mark the progress,) they were
moved by the influence of the whirlpool.  Their motion was rotary;
they were insensibly drawn round in a huge circle with awful iapidity; they soon came round almost to the same spot from which
they sailed. At this critical moment, the only one in which it was
possible for them to be saved, a number of persons on shore wl:o
knew their danger, discovered them, and inslantly gave the alarm;
they entreated those in the boat to make one desperate effort and
reach the shore, if possible. When they talked of dangelr, the party
of pleasure laughed at their fears, and passed along wichoun  making'
one effort to deliver themselves from  impending ruin.  The boat
moved on, the rapidity of its motions continually increasing, and the
circle round which it was drawn by its rotary movement becoming
smaller. It soon appeared a second time to those on the land. Again
they manifested their anxiety for the safety of those whose danger
they saw, but who, if delivered at all, must be delivered by their
own exertions, for those on shore, even if they launched a boat and
rushed into the very jaws of peril, could not save them while they
were determined to remain inactive, and be carried by the accelera-.ted velocity of the water round this mouth of the sea, ready at once
to swallow both themselves and the boat.  They, still moved along
in merriment; peals of laughter were often heard —sneers were the
only thanks given to those who would with delight have saved them.
For a time they continued to move round in all their thoughtlessness.
But the tide began to ebb; presently they heard the far-off roar of
the tremendous vortex below, like the wails and howlings of demons- it sounded like the hoarse, unsteady bellowings of an earthquake, or like a distant sea in a storm. By this time the boat ever
and anon would quiver like an aspen leaf, and then shoot like light-.
ning through the now troubled sea. The roar of the awful abyss
was the knell of death - solemnity now began to banish mirth from
the countenances of those in the devoted pleasure boat.  They half
suspected danger was near - soon they felt it. When they came
again in sight of land, their cries would have pierced a heart of
stone. 0.! help, for mercy's sake! were now the exclamations of
despair; but alas! no human aid could reach them. A thick black
cloud, as if to add horror to this scene of distress, at this moment
shrouded the heavens in darkness, forked lightnings gleamed, and
the hoarse, rebellious artillery of heaven boomed across the roaring
and blackened waters. The oars were plied with every nerve; they
snapped, and their fragments were hurried into the yawning abyss.
The boat, now trembling, now tossed, now whirled suddenly round,
now lashed by the spray, was presently thrown with violence into the
jaws of death, opened wide to receive it and the immortals whom it
carried.  Oh! think of the feelings of those on shore, when, far
away upon that awful ocean, by the vivid flashes of lightning, a party
of their friends, young and in the morning of life, could be seen hurrying on to that fearful abyss - and at intervals, between the faint




398          TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.
bellowings of far-off thunder, hear their cries of distress! Thus perished the pleasure boat and all that sailed in it. And thus perish
thousands in the vortex of dissipation, who at first smoothly sail
round the uttermost verge of it; who were scarcely, as they supposed, within the sphere of its influence, and who would laugh at
those who were so faithful as to warn them of their danger, and still
sail  ound and round, drawing nearer and more near to the awful
precipice, their motion imperceptibly growing more rapid, till at last,
when too late, they see their danger, but cannot reform, and they are
plunged into the yawning chasm, which opens wide to receive them.
I ask those who are young like myself, to lay this sketch up in the
store-house of their memory -those who thoughtlessly tamper with
the hydra monster. It may perhaps save some - may it save many
-may it save all who read it, from a drunkard's untimely death,
from filling a drunkard's grave.
THE REAL "TEMPERANCE CORDIAL."
" WELL," said Andrew Furlong to James Lacey, "well! that ginger cordial, of all the things that I ever tasted, is the nicest and
warmest. It's beautiful stuff and so cheap."
"What good does it do you, Andrew? And what want you of
it? " inquired James Lacey.
"What good does it do me?" repeated Andrew, rubbing his
forehead in a manner that showed he was perplexed by the question;
"why no great good to be sure; and I can't say I've any want of
it; for since I became a member of the Total Abstinence Society,
I've lost the megrim in my head and the weakness I used to have
about my heart.  I'm as strong and hearty in myself as any one can
be, God be praised! And sure, James, neither of us could turn out
in such a coat as this, this time twelvemonth."
"And that's true," replied James, "but we must remember,
that if leaving off whisky enables us to show a good habit, taking
to'ginger cordial,' or any thing of that kind, will soon wear a hole
in it."
"You are always full of your fun," replied Andrew, "how can
you prove that?''
"Easy enough," said James. "Intoxication was the worst part
of a whisky-drinking habit; but it was not the only bad part. It
spent TIME, and spent what well managed time always gives, money.
Now, though they do say- mind I'm not quite sure about it, for
they may put things in it they don't own to, and your eyes look
brighter, and your cheek more flushed than if you had been drinking
nothing stronger than milk or water- but they do say that ginger
cordials, and all kinds of cordials, do not intoxicate. I will grant
this, but you cannot deny that they waste both time and money."




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                     399
" Oh, brother!" exclaimed Andrew, " I only went with two of
three other boys to have a glass, and I don't think we spent more
than half an hour, not three quarters, certainly; and there's no
great harm in laying out a penny or two-pence that way now and
again."
"Half an hour, even, breaks a day," said James, " and what is
worse, it unsettles the mind for work; and we ought to bevery careful of any return to the old habit, that has destroyed many of us,
body and soul, and made the name of an Irishman a byword and a
reproach, instead of a glory and an honor. A penny, Andrew,
breaks the silver shilling into coppers; and two-pence will buy half
a stone of potatoes-that's a consideration. If we don't manage to
keep things comfortable at home, the women won't have the heart to
mend the coat. Not," added James, with a sly smile, "that I can
deny having taken to temperance cordials myself."
" You!" shouted Andrew, " you! a pretty fellow you are to be
blaming me, and then forced to confess you have taken to them
yourself. But I suppose they'll wear no hole in your coat? Oh, to
be sure not, you are such a good manager!"
" Indeed," answered James, " I was any thing but a good manager
eighteen months ago; as you well know, I was in rags, never at my
work of a Monday, and seldom on Tuesday. My poor wife, my gentle Mary, often bore hard words; and although she will not own it,
I fear still harder blows, when I had driven away my senses. My
children were pale, half-starved, naked creatures, disputing a potatoe with the pig my wife tried to keep to pay the rent, well knowing
I would never do it. Now    "
" But the cordial?" interrupted Andrew, "the cordial! Sure, I
believe every word of what you've been telling me is as true as the
gospel; ain't there hundreds, ay, thousands, at this moment, on Ireland's blessed ground, that can tell the same story. But the cordial I
and to think of your never owning it before; is it ginger, or anniseed, or peppermint?"
"None of these, and yet it's the rale thing, my boy."
"Well, then," persisted Andrew, "let's have a drop of it; you're
not going, I'm sure, to drink by yourself; and as I've broke the afternoon    "
A heavy shadow passed over James's face, for he saw that there
must have been something hotter than even ginger, in the "temperance cordial," as it was falsely called, that Andrew had taken, or else
he would have endeavored to save lost time, not to waste more; and
he thought how much better the real temperance cordial was, that,
instead of warming the brain, only warms the heart.
" No," he replied, after a pause; " I must go and finish what I
was about; but this evening at seven o'clock, meet me at the end of
our lane, and then I'll be very happy of your company."
Andrew was sorely puzzled to discover what James' cordial could
be, and was forced to confess to himself that he hoped it would be




400         TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
different from what he had taken that afternoon, which certainly had
made him feel confused and inactive.
At the appointed hour the friends met in the lane.
"Which way do we go?" inquired Andrew.
"Home," was James' brief reply.
"Oh, you take it at home?" said Andrew.
"I make it at home," answered James.
"Well," observed Andrew, "that's very good of the woman that
owns ye. Now, mine takes on so about a drop of any thing, that
she's as hard, almost, on the cordials, as she used to be on the
whisky."
"My Mary helps to make mine," observed James.
" And do you bottle it, or keep it on draught?" inquired Andrew;
very much interested in the " cordial " question.
James laughed very heartily at this, and answered:
" Oh, I keep mine on draught -always on draught; there's nothing like having a plenty of a good thing, so I keep mine always on
draught;" and then James laughed again, and so heartily, that Andrew thought surely HIS real temperance cordial must contain something quite as strong as what he had blamed him for taking.
James's cottage door was open, and as they approached it, they
saw a good deal of what was going forward within. A square table placed in the center of the little kitchen, was covered by a clean
white cloth, and knives, forks, and plates for the whole family, were
ranged upon it in excellent order; the hearth had been swept, the
house was clean, the children rosy, well-dressed, and all doing something. Mary, whom her husband has characterized as "the patient,"
was busy and bustling in the very act of adding to the coffee, which
was steaming on the table, the substantial accompaniment of fried
eggs and bacon, with a large dish of potatoes.
When the children saw their father, they ran to meet him with a
great shout, and clung around to tell him all they had done that day.
The eldest girl declared she had achieved the heel of a stocking;
one boy wanted his father to come and see how straight he had
planted the cabbages; while another avowed his proficiency in addition, and volunteered to do a sum instanter upon a slate, which he
had just cleaned. Happiness in a cottage seems more real than it
does in a gorgeous palace. It is not wasted in large rooms; it is
concentrated; a great deal of love in a small space; a great, great
deal of joy within narrow walls, and compressed, as it were, by a
low roof. Is it not a blessed thing that the most narrow means become enlarged by the affections? That all our best and purest affections will grow and expand in the poorest worldly soil; and that
we need not be rich to be happy?
James felt all this and more when he entered his cottage, and was
thankful to God, who had opened his eyes, and taught him what a
number of this world's gifts that were within even his humble reach,
might be enjoyed without sin. He stood, a poor, but happy father,




TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.                      401
within the sacred temple of his home: and Andrew had the warm
heart of an Irishman, beating in his bosom and filling with joy.
" I told you," said James, " I had the true temperance cordial at
home; do you see it in the simple prosperity by which, owing to the
blessings of temperance, I am surrounded? Do you not see it in the
rosy cheeks of my children, in the smiling eyes of my wife?  Did I
not tell truly that she helped to make it? Is not this true cordial,"
he continued, while his own eyes glistened with many tears, " is not
the prosperity of this cottage a true temperance cordial? And is it
not always on draught, flowing from an ever-filling fountain? Am I
not right, Andrew; and will you not forthwith take my receipt, and
make it for yourself? You will never wish any other; it is warmer
than ginger, and sweeter than anniseed. I am sure that you will
agree with me, that a loving wife, in the enjoyment of the humble
comforts which an industrious, sober husband can bestow-smiling,
healthy, well-clad children-and a clean cabin, where the fear of
God banishes all other fears-make the true temperance cordial!"
EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE UPON NATIONAL
INDUSTRY.
THE results of national industry depend on the amount of welldirected intellectual and physical power.  But intemperance paralyzes and prevents both these springs of human action.
In the inventory of national loss by intemperance, may be set
down the labor prevented by indolence, by debility, by sickness, by
quarrels and litigations, by gambling and idleness, by mistakes and
misdirected efforts, by improvidence and wastefulness, and by the
shortened date of human life and activity. Little wastes in great
establishments constantly occurring, may defeat the energies of a
mighty capital.  But where the intellectual and muscular energies
are raised to the working point daily by ardent spirits, until the agriculture, and commerce, and arts of a nation move on by the power
of artificial stimulus, that moral power cannot be maintained which
will guarantee fidelity, and that physical power cannot be preserved
and well directed, which will insure national prosperity. The nation
whose immense enterprise is thrust forward by the stimulus of ardent
spirits, cannot ultimately escape debility and bankruptcy.
When we behold an individual cut off in youth or in middle age,
or witness the waning energies, improvidence, and unfaithfulness of
a neighbor, it is but a single instance, and we become accustomed to
it; but such instances are multiplying in our land in every direction,
and are to be found in every department of labor, and the amount
of earnings prevented or squandered is incalculable: to all which
imust be added the accumulating and frightful expense incurred for




402           TEMPERA  CE  SELECTIONS.
the support of those and their families whom intemperance has made
paupers. In every city and town the poor-tax, created chiefly by
intemperance, is augmenting.  The receptacles for the poor are becoming too strait for their accommodation. We must pull them down
and build greater to provide accommodations for the votaries of inebriation; for the frequency of going upon the town -has taken away
the reluctance of pride, and destroyed the motives to providence
which the fear of poverty and suffering once supplied.  The prospect of a destitute old-age, or of a suffering family, no longer
troubles the vicious portion of our community. They drink up their
daily earnings, and bless God for the poor-house, and begin to look at
it as, of right, the drunkard's home, and contrive to arrive thither as
early as idleness and excess will give them a passport to this sinecure of vice. Thus is the insatiable destroyer of industry marching
through the land, rearing poor-houses, and augmenting taxation:
night and day, with sleepless activity, squandering property, cutting
the sinews of industry, undermining vigor, engendering disease, paralyzing intellect, impairing moral principle, cutting short the date of
life, and rolling up a national debt, invisible, but real and terrific as
the debt of England; continually transferring larger and larger
bodies of men from the class of contributors to the national income
to the class of worthless consumers.
Add to the loss sustained by the substraction of labor and the
shortened date of life, the expense of sustaining the poor created by
intemperance, and the nation is now taxed annually more than the
expense which would be requisite for the maintenance of government,
and for the support of all our schools and colleges, and all the religious instruction of the nation.  Already a portion of the entire
capital of the nation is mortgaged for the support of drunkards.
There seems to be no other fast property in the land, but this inheritance of the intemperate: all other riches may make to themselves
wings and fly away. But until the nation is bankrupt, according to
the laws of the state the drunkard and his family must have a home.
Should the pauperism of crime augment in this country as it has
done for a few years past, there is nothing to stop the frightful results which have come upon England, where property is abandoned
in some parishes because the poor-tax exceeds the annual income.
You who are husbandmen are accustomed to feel as if your houses
and lands were wholly your own; but if you will ascertain the percentage of annual taxation levied on your property for the support
of the intemperate, you will perceive how much of your capital is
held by drunkards, by a tenure as sure as if held under mortgages
or deeds of warranty.  Your widows and children do not take by
descent more certainly, than the most profligate and worthless part
of the community. Every intemperate and idle man whom you behold tottering about the streets and steeping himself at the stores,
regards your houses and lands as pledged to take care of him, annually puts his hands deep into your pockets, and eats his bread in




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                     403
the sweat of your brows, instead of his own: and with marvellous
good-nature you bear it. If a robber should break loose on the
highway to levy taxation, an armed force would be raised to hunt
him from society. But the tippler may do it fearlessly in open day,
and not a voice is raised, not a finger is lifted. - BEECHER.
A TEMPERANCE SHIP.
REV. T. HARRISON, at a temperance meeting, some time ago, in
Cincinnati, related the following occurrence, which well deserves a
place in this department of " GATHERED TREASURES:"
"When," said he, "I was about to leave England, two vessels
were just ready for sailing; one was a "temperance ship," while
the other allowed the use of ardent spirits. Of course I gave a decided preference to the former; and as'the path of duty is the path
of safety,' we nobly braved the thousand dangers of the sea, and,
without the loss of one, arrived at' The land of the free, and the home of the brave.'
Two or three weeks.after our arrival, I saw it stated in a newspaper
that the other vessel was lost, solely in consequence of improper
directions being given by the mate when in a. state. of intoxication,
and that nearly all the passengers perished.  I have not words to
express the feelings which rose in my breast, when I read of this
occurrence-my soul was overpowered; and I scarcely need say,
that my attachment to the cause of temperance became stronger and
more intense than ever. 0 were I to remain silent on this delightful
and inspiring theme, the ocean might lift its voice of storms against
me, and boil with fury and indignation at my stupendous ingratitude'I"
TRAFFIC  IN ARDENT SPIRITS A  GREAT NATIONAL
EVIL.
IT employs a multitude of men, and a vast amount of capital, to
no useful purpose. The medicinal use of ardent spirits is allowed;
for this, however, the apothecary can furnish an adequate supply:
but considered as an article of commerce for ordinary use, it adds
nothing to animal or social enjoyment, to muscular power, to intellectual vigor, or moral feeling. It does, indeed, produce paroxyms
of muscular effort, of intellectual vigor, and of exhilarated feeling;
but this is done only by an improvident draught upon nature by anticipation, to be punished by a languor and debility proportioned to
the excess. No man leaves behind him a more valuable product of




404          TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.
labor, as the result of artificial stimulus, than the even industry of
unstimulated nature would have produced; or blesses the world
with better specimens of intellectual power; or instructs it by a better example; or drinks enjoyment from a fuller, sweeter cup, than
that which nature provides. But if the premises are just, who can
resist the conclusion?  To what purpose is all this waste?  Is it not
the duty of every man to serve his generation in some useful employment?  Is not idleness a sin?  But in what respect does that
occupation differ from idleness which adds nothing' to national prosperity, or to individual or social enjoyment? Agriculture, commerce, and the arts are indispensable to the perfection of human
character, and the formation of the happiest state of society; and if
some evils are inseparable from their prosecution, there is a vast
overbalancing amount of good.  But where is the good produced by
the traffic in ardent spirits, to balance the enormous evils inseparable
from the trade? What drop of good does it pour into the ocean of
misery which it creates? And is all this expense of capital, and
time, and effort to be sustained for nothing?  Look at the mighty
system of useless operations-the fleet of vessels running to and fro
-the sooty buildings throughout the land, darkening the heavens
with their steam and smoke-the innumerable company of boats, and
wagons, and horses, and men, a more numerous cavalry than ever
shook the blood-stained plains of Europe, a larger convoy than ever
bore on the waves the baggage of an army, and more men than
were ever devoted at once to the work of desolation and blood. All
these begin, continue, and end their days in the production and distribution of a liquid, the entire consumption of which is useless.
Should all the capital thus employed, and all the gains acquired, be
melted into one mass, and thrown into the sea, nothing would be
substracted from national wealth or enjoyment. Had all the men
and animals slept the whole time, no vacancy of good had been
occasioned.-BEECHER.
A PATRIOT OF'76.
AN old gentleman, once the governor of the state in which he
lives, who had long been afflicted with a disease for which ardent
spirits had been prescribed as a remedy, at a temperance meeting
said:
" Friends and neighbors: I am now more than seventy years of
age-you all know my state of health. I have been trying an experiment for two months past in abstaining from the use of ardent
spirits, which affords me much relief from the great distress I at
times experience.  My suffering has been great, but less than I
feared. In the war of the revolution, I commanded a company of
militia in this state. At the approach of the enemy to Bennington,
I had just recovered from a fever that had confined me to my bed




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                     405
for many days-I had not then left my room. The alarm was given,
the militia called out; and I, in opposition to the entreaties and expostulations of my friends, marched at the head of my company for
Bennington. In our march we had to ford a river; a sturdy soldier
shouldered and carried me over on his back. We met the enemyfought-conquered —and returned in safety to our families. I thus
put my life in jeopardy to aid in serving my country, and I am willing to do it again. An enemy more powerful and subtle than the
British, is destroying firesides, and trampling with iron hoofs the
fairest portions of our land. I present myself to join your ranks in
this war of extermination, and enlist under your banner, bearing the
motto, "Total Abstinence."  This step will no doubt shorten my
days. Be it so: I stand ready to sacrifice my life in the cause, and
I freely subscribe your pledge, totally and forever to abstain from
the use of ardent spirits."
FIRST AND LAST VISIT TO A DRAM SHOP.
TIMoTHY TRUESDELL is the name we shall assign a rery worthy,
industrious, and thriving mechanic of New York, who became a burden to himself, a curse to his family, and a nuisance to society at
large. A writer, in strong language, says of him, that during his
devotion to strong drink, " he would have uncorked the bottle amid
the quakings and thunders of Mount Sinai, and drained it by the crater of exploding Vesuvius." Yet this miserable and abandoned
drunkard was cured-cured by a woman's love, mingled with a woman's independence.
Timothy Truesdell had a wife and five beautiful children; yet he
neglected his work, squandered his earnings, which daily grew
smaller, and spent his time at the pot-house, till the nigh prostration
of all his faculties, or the distasteful words, "no more trust 1" warned
him to seek the shelter of his wife's care and protection. His children could not go to school, because learning was dear, and rum was
cheap; the landlord dunned for his rent, and Mrs. Truesdell was
obliged to keep at home, as she had no dress fit to appear abroad in,
having pawned the last to pay a fine imposed upon her spouse by the
police court. Misery, utter destitution, and famine, stared the unhappy family in the face. It is impossible to exaggerate the picture,
even had we room or inclination. Mrs. Truesdell was a heroine,
though not of romance. She loved her worthless husband, and had
borne his neglect, the tears of her children, the gripe of famine, and
the railing of the drunkard, without repining. Never had her exertions slackened-never had a harsh word passed her lips. At night,
when she put her children to sleep, she wept and watched for his
coming, and when he did come, drunk, as usual, she undressed and
assisted him  to bed, without a murmur of reproach. At length,




406         TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
her courage, well nigh exhausted, she resolved upon one last, desperate effort.
At night, having disposed of her three oldest children, she took
the two youngest by the hand, and bent her steps to the groggery
her husband was accustomed to frequent. She looked into the window, and there he sat, in the midst of his boon companions, with his
pipe in his mouth, and his glass in his hand. He was evidently excited, though not yet drunk.  Great was the astonishment of that
bad company, and enormous Mr. Truesdell's dismay and confusion,
when his wife, pale as marble, and leading two tattered and barefooted babes, stepped up to the bar, called for three glasses of brandy
toddy, and then sat down by his side.
"What the devil brings you here, Mary?" said he, morosely.
" It is very lonesome at home, and your business seldom allows
you to be there," replied the meek wife. "There is no company
like yours, and as you cannot come to me, I must come to you. I
have a right to share your pleasures as well as your sorrows."
"But to come to such a place as this!" expostulated Tim.
" No place can be improper where my husband is," said poor Mary.
"Whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder."  She
took up the glass of spirit.
" Surely, you are not going to drink that?" asked Tim, in huge
astonishment.
" Why not?  You say you drink to forget sorrow, and if brandy
has that effect, I am sure no living creature has so good an excuse
for drinking as I. Besides, I have not eaten a mouthful to-day, and
I really need something to support my strength.
" Woman! woman! you are not going to give the children such
stuff as that 1" cried Tim, as she handed each of the children a glass
of liquor.,"Why not?  Can children have a better example than their
father's? Is not what is good for him, good for them also? It will
put them to sleep, and they will forget that they are cold and hungry. Drink, my children; this is fire, and bed, and food, and clothing. Drink-you can see how much good it does your father.
With seeming reluctance, Mary suffered her husband to conduct
her home, and that night he prayed long and fervently, which he had
not done before for years.
The next evening, as he returned homeward with a steady step,
he saw his oldest boy run into the house, and heard him exclaim,
"O, mother, here comes father, and he is not drunk!" Tears coursed
down the parent's cheek, and from that hour he has not tasted strong
drink. He had never been vicious or unfeeling, and as soon as his
emancipation from the thraldom of a debasing appetite became
known, friends, employment, and prosperity, returned to him. As
for Mrs. Truesdell, she is the happiest of women; and never thinks,
without joy and gratitude, of her first and last visit to the dram shop.




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                    407
THE RUMSELLING DEACON.
DURING the last month, I called at the shop of a deacon in this
city, and the following dialogue ensued between us.
"Pray, deacon," said I, " do you continue to sell rum?"
"Why, yes, sir;" he replied, " I sell a little."
"I looked over your bills last evening," I continued, " and I find
I paid you more than four hundred dollars for grain last year, and I
have paid you nearly that amount annually for several years. I must
quit, deacon, unless you give up the sale of spirits."
"Really, Mr. Sargent, I don't sell much. I should be very sorry
to lose your custom."
" It is of no importance, deacon, how much, or how little you sell.
It is a scandal to the cause of religion to have deacons selling rum.
I had rather ten common persons should sell it than one deacon.
You have confessed to me that your clergyman disapproves of your
conduct, and has talked with you on the subject."
" Why, Mr. Sargent, it would be a great loss to me, to give it up;
my grain customers would go to other stores, and -"
"Deacon, I am astonished to hear you talk in this manner. I
should have quitted you long ago, but for the hope of prevailing
upon you to give up this ugly business. We have talked upon this
subject frequently. I at one time supposed you would give it up,
when poor Johnson died."
" Well, I don't know as'twas ever proved he had his liquor at
my shop."
":No, deacon, it was never proved except by his dying declaration.
Johnson was not a very intemperate man; he had money laid up in
the savings' bank; he was driving a load of manure into the country,
and bought a bottle of gin at your shop. He drank till he was
drunk, fell over the tongue of his wagon, in attempting to jump upon
it, and was crushed beneath the wheels. This happened within a
few rods of my own residence in Roxbury. This poor fellow was
removed to the poor'-house, and died there a few days after!"
"I really don't want to lose your custom, Mr. Sargent."
"Well, deacon, I will not drive you to a decision in this sudden
manner. Think of it seriously, and I believe you will give it up. It
is a horrible occupation for a deacon. I will call to learn your determination in a few days."
At the end of three days I called again. The deacon came readily to the side of my chaise, as I drew up before his door.
"Well, deacon," said I, " what is your decision?"
"Why, I've pretty much made up my mind to give that up."
"Really, deacon," said I, " I am rejoiced."
"Oh, sir," cried the deacon, hastily interrupting me, "not the
traffic, but my office in the church!"




408          TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
FATHER, HADN'T YOU BETTER  TAKE A SHEEP, TOO?
A VALUED friend, and an able farmer, about the time the temperance reform was beginning to exert a healthful influence, said to his
newly hired man, " Jonathan, I did not think to mention to you when
I hired you, that I think of trying to do my work this year without
rum. How much'more must I give you to do without?"
" Oh," said Jonathan, I " don't care much about it, you may give
me what you please."  " Well," said the farmer, "I will give you
a sheep in the fall, if you wish to do without."
1" Agreed," said Jonathan.
The oldest son then said: "Father, will you give me a sheep if I
do without rum?"
" Yes, Marshall, you shall have a sheep if you will do without."
The youngest son, a stripling, then said: " Father, will you give
me a sheep, if I do without?"
"Yes, Chandler, you shall have a sheep also, if you do without
rum."
Presently, Chandler speaks again: "Father, hadn't you better
take a sheep, too?"
The farmer shook his head. He hardly thought that he could
give up the " good creature" yet. But the appeal was from a source
not to be easily disregarded; the result was, the demon rum was
banished from the premises, to the great joy, and ultimate happiness
of all concerned.
THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN.
AT a certain town-meeting, the question came up whether any
person should be licensed to sell rum. The clergyman, the deacon,
and physician, strange as it may now appear, all favored it. One man
spoke against it, because of the mischief it did. The question was
about to be put, when all at once there arose from one corner of the
room, a miserable female. She was thinly clad,'and her appearance
indicated the utmost wretchedness, and that her mortal career was
almost closed. After a moment of silence, and all eyes being fixed
upon her, she stretched her attenuated body to its utmost hight, and
then her long arms to their greatest length, and raising her voice to
a shrill pitch, she called upon all to look upon her. "' Yes!" she
said, " look upon me, and then hear me. All that the last speaker
has said relative to temperate drinking, as being the father of drunkenness, is true. All practice, all experience, declare its truth. All
drinking of alcoholic poison, as a beverage in health, is excess. Look
upon me. You all know me, or once did. You all know I was
once the mistress of the best farm in the town. You all know, too,
I had one of the best, the most devoted of husbands. You all know
I had fine, noble-hearted, industrious boys. Where are they now?




TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.                       409
You all know. You all know they lie in a row, side by side in yonder churchyard; all, every one of them, filling the drunkard's
grave! They were all taught to believe that temperate drinking
was safe; excess alone ought to be avoided; and they never acknowledged excess. They quoted you, and you, and you," pointing with
her shred of a finger to the priest, deacon, and doctor, " as authority. They thought themselves safe under such tender teachers.
But I saw the gradual change coming over my family and prospects,
with dismay and horror; I felt we were all to be overwhelmed in
one common ruin; I tried to ward off the blow; I tried to break the
spell, the delusive spell, in which the idea of the benefits of temperate drinking had involved my husband and sons; I begged, I
prayed; but the odds were greatly against me.
" The priest said the poison that was destroying my husband and
boys, was a good creature of God; the deacon (who sits under the
pulpit there, and took our farm to pay his rum bills,) sold them the
poison; the physician said a little was good, and excess ought to be
avoided. My poor husband and my dear boys fell into the snare,
and they could not escape, (there were no Washingtonians then,)
and one after another was conveyed to the dishonored grave of the
drunkard. Now look at me again; you probably see me for the last
time; my sand has almost run. I have dragged my exhausted frame
from my present abode-yourpoor-house-to warn you all —to warn
you, deacon! to warn you, false teacher of God's word 1" and
with her arms high flung, and her tall form stretched to its utmost, and her voice raised to an unearthly pitch, she exclaimed: " I
shall soon stand before the judgment-seat of God; I shall meet you
there, you false guides, and be a witness against you all."  The miserable female vanished-a dead silence pervaded the assembly-the
priest, deacon, and physician hung their heads-the president of the
m'eeting put the question: shall we have any more licenses to sell
alcoholic poisons, to be sold as a beverage? The response was
unanimous, no!
COLD WATER AND PROSPERITY.
WE had the pleasure of hearing James Buchanan, Esq., deliver
an address before the Howard Society, on which occasion he related
the following circumstances:
Several years ago a gentleman dined with him, who had risen, by
his own industry and integrity alone, from humble life to a proud
elevation in society. On being invited to take a glass of wine, the
following conversation ensued:
" Do you allow persons at your table to drink what they please?"
asked the guest.
"Certainly," replied Mr. Buchanan.
"Then I'll take a glass of water."




410          TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
"Ah, indeed! And how long have you drank cold water?"
"Ever since I was eleven years old."
"Is it possible!  And pray, what induced you to adopt the principle of total abstinence?"
"Seeing a person intoxicated."
"Well," continued Mr. Buchanan, " if you have had the firmness
of purpose to continue up to this time without taking intoxicating
drinks, I do not wonder that you have reached your present position."
Mr. Buchanan afterwards learned that the person he saw intoxicated was his father!
CHILD'S PRAYER FOR A DRUNKEN FATHER.
A DRUNKARD who had run through his property, says Dr. Schnebly,
returned one night to his unfurnished home. He entered his empty
hall; anguish was gnawing at his heart-strings, and language
is inadequate to express his agony as he entered his wife's apartment, and there beheld the victims of his appetite, his lovely wife
and darling child. Morose and sullen, he seated himself without a
word; he could not speak, he could not look upon them.  The
mother said to the little angel by her side, "Come, my child, it is
time to go to bed;" and that little babe, as was her wont, knelt by
her mother's lap, and gazing wistfully into the face of her suffering
parent, like a piece of chiseled statuary, repeated her nightly orison;
and when she had finished, the child (but four years of age,) said to
her mother, "Dear ma, may I not offer up one more prayer?"
"Yes, yes, my sweet pet, pray;" and she lifted her tiny hands,
closed her eyes, and prayed, " Oh God i spare, oh, spare my dear
papa 1"  That prayer was wafted with electric rapidity to the throne
of God. It was heard on high —'twas heard on earth. The responsive " amen! " burst from that father's lips, and his heart of
stone became a heart of flesh. Wife and child were both clasped
to his bosom, and in penitence he said, "IIXy child, you have saved
your father from the grave of a drunkard. 1'll sign the pledge!"
PRUDENT USE OF ARDENT SPIRITS.
INTEMPERANCE is a disease as well. as a crime, and were any other
disease as contagious, of as marked symptoms, and as mortal, to
pervade the land, it would create universal consternation; for the
plague is scarcely more contagious or deadly; and yet we mingle
fearlessly with the diseased, and in spite of admonition we bring into our dwellings the contagion, apply it to the lip, and receive it into
the system.








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TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.                      411
I know that much is said about the prudent use of ardent spirits,
but we might as well speak of the prudent use of the plague-of fire
hlanded prudently. around among powder —of poison taken prudently
every day-or of vipers and serpents introduced prudently into our
dwellings, to glide about as a matter of courtesy to visitors and of
amusement to our children.
First or last, in spite of your prudence, the contagion will takethe fatal spark will fall upon the train —the deleterious poison will
tell upon the system-and the fang of the serpent will inflict death.
There is no prudent use of ardent spirits, but when it is used as a
medicine. All who receive it into the system are not destroyed by
it: but if any vegetable were poisonous to as many, as the use of
ardent spirits proves destructive, it would be banished from the
table-it would not be prudent to use it at all. If in attempting to
cross a river upon an elastic beam, as many should fall in and be
drowned as attempt to use ardent spirits PRUDENTLY and fail, the
attempt to cross in that way would be abandoned-there would be
no prudent use of that mode of crossing.  The effect of attempting
to use ardent spirits prudently, is destructive to such multitudes, as
precludes the possibility of prudence in the use of it.  When we
consider the deceitful nature of this sin, and its irresistible power
when it has obtained an ascendency, no man can use it prudently, or
without mocking God can pray while he uses it, " lead us not into
temptation." There is no necessity for using it at all, and it is presumptuous to do SO.-BEECHER.
DEATH'S PRIME MINISTER.
DEATH, the king of terrors, was determined to choose a prime
minister, and his pale courtiers, the ghastly train of diseases, were
all summoned to attend, when each preferred his claim to the honor
of this illustrious office. Fever urged the numbers he had destroyed;
cold Palsy set forth his pretensions by shaking all his limbs; Gout
hobbled up, and alleged his great power in racking every joint; and
Asthma's inability to speak was a strong though silent argument in
favor of his claim. Stone and Colic plead their violence; Plague his
rapid progress in destruction, and Consumption, though slow, insisted
that he was sure.
In the midst of this contention, the court was disturbed with the
noise of music, dancing, feasting, and revelry; when immediately
entered a lady, with a bold, lascivious air, and flushed, jovial countenance. She was attended, on the one hand by a troop of bacchanals, and on the other, by a train of wanton youths and damsels,
who danced half naked to the softest musical instruments. Her
name was INTEMPERANCE. She waved her hand, and thus addressed
the crowd of diseases: " Give way, ye sickly band of pretenders,
27




412         TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.
nor dare to vie with my superior merits in the service of this
monarch! Am I not your king? Do you not receive your power
of shortening human life almost wholly from me.? Who then so fit
as myself for this important office?" The grisly monarch grinned a
smile of approbation, placed her on his right-hand, and she immediately became his principal favorite and prime minister.-ADDISON.
THE MOUTH AND  THE GOGGLES.
A LANDLORD, who gave to every customer an example of his
moderate drinking, complained of the badness of his eyes, and asked
a Quaker what he should do for them, removing his goggles and submitting his swollen, inflamed eyes to the examination of his customer.
"My advice, friend," replied the Quaker, "is that thou shouldest
put thy brandy on thy eyes, and tie thy goggles over thy mouth!"
RIGHT NAMES.
A BROTHER preacher, who happened to be lodging with Rev.
Robert Hall, whispered to him that he was in the habit of taking a
little refreshment after preaching. The refreshment called for was a
glass of brandy and water.  "You cannot have it by that name, my
dear sir," replied Mr. Hall; "call it by its proper name and you
shall have it."  "And pray what is that?"  "Not refreshmentbut liquid poison and distilled damnation!"
SHINGLING A HOUSE.
JAMES A —-, a reformed man, had fallen almost asleep, it being
nearly midnight, when he heard the landlord's wife say, " I wish
that man would go home, if he's got one to go to."
(" Hush, hush 1" said the landlord, " he'll call for something else
directly."
"I wish he would make haste about it, then; for it's time every
honest person was in bed," said the wife.
"He's taking the shingles off his house and putting them on
ours," said the landlord.
At this time James began to come to his right senses, and commenced rubbing his eyes and stretching himself, as if just awoke,
saying, "I believe I'll go."
-" Don't be in a hurry, James," said the landlord.
"Oh, yes, I must go," said James, "good night!" and off he
started.




TEMPERAN CE SELECTIONS.                     413
After an absence of some time, the landlord met and accosted
him.
" Hallo,'Jim! why ain't you been down to see us?"
"Why," said James, " I had begun to take the shingles off my
house, and it began to leak! so I thought it was time to stop the
leak, and I have done it."
The tavern keeper was astonished, went home to tell his wife all
about it, and James ever since has left rum alone, and attended to his
own business. He is now a happy man, and his wife and children
happier than ever.
SMITH, THE RAZOR STROP MAN.
MR. SMITr, the far-famed, " Razor Strop Man," was once endeavoring to get an inveterate grogseller to sign the pledge, but his
arguments and entreaties were alike unavailing, and the grogseller,
as quite a number of his peculiar friends and customers were standing around, determined, if he could, to pass the matter off as a joke
at the expense of Smith.
" Look here, Smith," exclaimed the hero of toddy-sticks, "I understand that you get a dollar a-head for every man you get to sign
the pledge."
"Who do you think pays it?" inquired Smith.
"Why, the temperance society, I'spose; but I'll tell you what it
is, Smith, you don't get a dollar on my head."
" Well," answered Smith, looking rather comical at the grogseller,
" they would be fools to pay a dollar for such a head as yours, when
they can get a sheep's head, pluck and all,. for a shilling!"
The knight of the toddy-stick had nothing more to say.
RUM  COLOR.
NOT long since a religious society in Connecticut met to decide
what color they should paint their meeting-house.  Some proposed
one color and some another. At last said one, " I move we paint it
rum-color; for Deacon Smith has had his face painted that color for
a number of years, and it grows brighter and brighter every year!"
"SOMETHING  TO  DRINK."
A GOOD story was recently told at a temperance meeting in New
Hampshire. A stranger came up to a Washingtonian with the inquiry:
" Can you tell me where I can get any thing to drink?"
"Oh, yes," said the other, "follow me."




414          TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
The man followed him through two or three streets, till he began
to be discouraged.
"How much further must I go?" said he.
"Only a few steps further," said the Washingtonian; "there is
the pump!"
The man turned about and " moved his boots."
PLUCKING  THE FRUITS.
DR. HEWITT once related the following anecdote in a temperance
lecture:
He said that a blacksmith in one of the villages which he had
visited, had in possession, but under a mortgage, a house and piece
of land, and, like too many others, he was fond of the social glass.
But, in about three months after he had joined the temperance
society, he observed one morning his wife busily employed setting
out rose bushes and fruit trees. "My dear," said he, "I have
owned this lot for five years, and yet I have never known you before
to manifest any desire to improve and ornament it in this manner."
" Indeed," was her reply, " I had no heart to do it, until you joined
the temperance society. I had often thought of it before, but I was
persuaded that should I do it, some stranger would pluck the roses
and eat the fruit. Now, I know that, with the blessing of Providence, this lot will be ours; and that we and our children shall enjoy its products.  We shall pluck the roses and eat the fruit."
PRODIGAL SON.
A YouNG wife remonstrated with her husband, a dissipated spendthrift, on his conduct.  "My love," said he, "I am only like the
Prodigal Son; I shall reform by-and-by."  "And I will be like the
Prodigal Son, too," she replied, " for I will arise and go to my
father 1" And accordingly off she went.
A  MATCH  FOR A DISTILLER.
A DISTILLER went to hear a reformed drunkard, thinking to browbeat him by his presence. The reformed man, with much eloquence,
compared alcohol to Juggernaut, and said he had a temple in that
place, pointing to the distillery, whose floor was strewed with human
bones, and if he had a chance he should like to preach a sermon
there.  On coming out, the distiller said: "So, old fellow, you
would like to preach in my temple, would you; when will you




TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.                      415
come?"  "As soon as you get a congregation together," said the
reformed man. " And what will be your text," was asked?  "Out
of the belly of hell cried I, and Thou heardst my voice 1" The distiller was confounded.
THE VILEST OF MEN.
A GENTLEMAN stepped into a tavern, and saw a wretched drunkard,
once a respectable man, waiting for his liquor.  He thus accosted
him:
G ——, why do you make yourself the vilest of men?"
" I aint the vilest," said the drunkard."
" Yes, you are," said the gentleman; " see how you look. Drink
that glass, and you will be in the gutter."
" T deny your pozi-zi-tion," said the drunkard. Who-who is the
vi-vilest, the temp-tempted, or the tempter? Who-who was worworst, Sa-Satan, or Eve?"'" Why Satan," said the gentleman.
"Well —well, be-behold the tempter!" said he, pointing to the
bar. The argument was irresistible.  The bar-keeper flew into a
passion, and turned the poor fellow out of the house without his
dram.
THE FOUR MILE WALK.
ONE of the best stories of the season is told by Sandy Welsh, of a
man who was in the country on a visit, where they had no liquor.
He got up two hours before breakfast, and wanted his bitters. None
to be obtained, of course he felt bad. " How far is it to a tavern?"
he asked. " Four miles."  So off the thirsty soul started-walked
the four miles in a pleasant frame of mind, arrived at the tavern, and
found it was a temperance house!
A RUMSELLER NO GOOD CITIZEN.
THE Rev. John Chambers, of Philadelphia, in a speech before the
American Union, said:
"A dealer in liquor was tried for some crime, convicted, and sentenced by Judge Parsons. The next day a lawyer waited upon the
judge, and told him he could show a defect in the proceedings
wherefore the man should be released. " O," said the judge, "that
matter's settled."  "But," said the lawyer, "he is a worthy man."
" A worthy man 1" said the judge, " and make drunkards?" " But,"
said the lawyer "he is a good citizen."  " A good citizen," said the




416         TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
judge, " and fill up our jails and alms-houses, and cause our men to
commit murder, and arson, and every iniquity?  That question's
settled, sir, and the man must abide by the law." The name of that
judge was PARSONS, and may God send us more such parsons as this!"
THE FATHER AND  HIS DAUGHTER.
DR. BEECHER, at a temperance meeting, related the following anecdote: "A gentleman walking the streets of London, saw a frightened horse with a cab running down the street with tremendous fury,
and a little girl in the middle of the street, who might in an instant
be killed.  Forgetting his own safety, he instantly rushed to the
child's rescue, snatched her in his arms, and bore her to the sidewalk, when the thought struck him, how would the parents of this
child have felt, had she been killed. As he sat her down, he looked
her in the face, and it was his own daughter.  Little do parents,"
said he, "know, when they are rescuing children from the drunkard's path, how often the one saved, proves to be one of their own
children."
THE MONKEY AND THE DRUNKARD.
MR. POLLARD states that in his drinking days, he was the companion of a man in Arundel county, Maryland, who had a monkey
which he valued at a thousand dollars. "We always took him out
on our chestnut parties. He shook off all our chestnuts for us, and
when he could not shake them off, he would go to the very end of
the limb and knock them off with his fist. One day we stopped at a
tavern and drank freely. About half a glass of whisky was left,
and Jack took the glass and drank it all up. Soon he was merry,
skipped, hopped, and danced, and set us all in a roar of laughter.
Jack was drunk.
"  We all agreed, six of us, that we would come to the tavern next
day, and get Jack drunk again, and have sport all day. I called at
my friend's house next morning, and we went out for Jack. Instead
of being as usual on his box, he was not to be seen. We looked in
side, and he was crouched up in a heap. " Come out here," said his
master. Jack came out on three legs; his fore-paw was upon his
head. Jack had the headache; I knew what was the matter with
him. He felt just as I felt many a morning. Jack was sick and
couldn't go. So we waited three days. We then went, and while
drinking, a glass was provided for Jack. But where was he? Skulking behind the chairs. " Come here, Jack, and drink." said his
master, holding out the glass to him. Jack retreated, and as the
door was opened, slipped out, and in a moment was on top of thet
house. His master went out to call him down, but he would not




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS                     417
come. He got a cow-skin and shook it at him. Jack sat on the ridgepole, and refused to obey. His master got a gun and pointed it at
him. A monkey is much afraid of a gun. Jack slipped over the
back side of the house. His master then got two guns, and had one
pointed at each side of the house, when the monkey, seeing his predicament, at once whipped upon the chimney, and got down in one of the
flues, holding on by his fore-paws! The master was beaten.  The
man kept that monkey twelve years, but could never persuade him
to taste another drop of whisky. The beast had more sense than a
man who has an immortal soul, and thinks himself the first and best
of God's creatures on earth."
A PATRIOT'S RESOLUTION.
AN old man of more than fourscore years, afflicted with a bodily
infirmity, for which he had been advised by a physician to use ardent
spirit as a medicine, was presented with the total abstinence pledge.
After reading it he said:
" That is the thing that will save our country. I will sign it!"
" No," said one, " you must not sign it, because ardent spirit is
necessary for you as a medicine."
" I know," said he, " I have used it, but if something is not done,
our country will be ruined, and I will not be accessory to its ruin. I
will sign it."
"Then," says another, " you will die."' Well," said the old man, in the true spirit of'76, "for my country I can die;" and he signed the pledge, gave up his medicine, and
his disease fled away.
It was the remedy that kept up the disease, and when he had renounced the one, he was relieved of the other. So it probably would
be in nine cases out of ten where this poison is used as a medicine.
WESLEY AND THE DYSPEPTIC CLERGYMAN.
WnEN stationed in the city of Bath, says Rev. Mr. Towle, I was
introduced into the company of an aged man, whom I understood to
have been intimate with Mr. Wesley, and once a useful local
preacher. We entered into conversation about Mr. Wesley's times,
when, among other things, he observed: " On one occasion, when
Mr. Weslev dined with me, after dinner, as usual, I prepared a little
brandy and water.  On perceiving this, with an air of surprise, he
cried: "What! my brother, what's that?" " It's brandy," says I;
"my digestion is so bad, I am obliged to take a little after dinner."
"How much do you take?" said he, " let me see."  "Only about a
table-spoonful."  "Truly," said he, " that is not much; but one




418         TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
table-spoonful will soon lose its effect, and then you will take two,
from two, you will get to a full glass; and that, in like manner, by
habituating yourself to it, will lose its effect, and then you will take
two glasses, and so on, till, in the end, perhaps, you will become a
drunkard. Oh, my brother, take care what you do!"
Happy had it been for that man, if he had taken the timely warning of his good friend Wesley. But, alas! he trifled with his little
drop2s, until he actually did become a drunkard, ruined his reputation, and at the very time I had an interview with him, he was a poor,
old, miserable backslider, apparently within a few steps of the grave.
THE INTOXICATED HORSEMAN.
THE following event, says a correspondent of the Charleston Intelligencer, occurred in my native town: A young man, about twenty
years of age, of the name of G, on a public day, being somewhat intoxicated, rode down the main street with considerable rapidity, and meeting a friend, he reined in his horse, which was skittish,
in order to converse with him. Not many words had passed, when
the young man's friend requested him to turn about and go with him
to the " North Woods." "I'll go to hell first!" was the reply. The
words hardly escaped his lips, when his horse suddenly reared himself on his hind legs, and pitching backwards, fell on his rider, and
crushed him to death! He was taken up a corpse, and carried into
an adjoining house, where I saw him. He was taken at his word!
Oh! where is his soul!
TIMING IT.
A MINISTER in the Highlands of Scotland, found one of his parishioners intoxicated. The next day he called to reprove him for it.
"It is very wrong to get drunk," said the parson.
"I ken that," said the guilty person, "but then I dinna drink as
meikle as you do!"
"What, sir! how is that?"
"Why, gin it please ye, dinna ye aye take a glass o' whisky and
water after dinner?"
"Why, yes, Jemmy, surely I take a little whisky after dinner
merely to aid digestion."
{" An dinna ye take a glass o' whisky toddy every night before ye
gang to bed?
1" Yes, to be sure, I just take a little toddy at night to help me
sleep!"
1" Weel," continued the parishioner, " that's jist fourteen glasses a
week, an about sixty every month. I only get paid off once a month,
an then if I'd take sixty glasses, it wad make me dead drunk for a




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                     419
week; now ye see the only difference is, ye time it better than I do!"
This is pretty much the view most people take of this matter; a
moderate drinking clergyman may talk to his drunken parishioner till
doomsday, but he will never make him a sober man so long as he
drinks himself.
DEACON BARNES AND THE DRUNKARD.
A MAN once addicted to intemperance, but who for some months
had entirely abstained, though he had not joined the temperance society, took occasion, not long since, to relate, in a temperance meeting, his experience in regard to the influence of temperate drinkers
of respectable standing in society, upon the habits of the drunkard.
"6 Many a time," said he, " have I gone to Captain Johnson's tavern
and waited for half an hour, or an hour, for some respectable man to
come in and go to the bar, and call for liquor. After a while, Deacon Barnes would come in and call for some spirit and water. Then
I could get up to the bar and do as he did."
Deacon Barnes hearing of this, asked him if it was so.
" It is," said the man.
"Well," rejoined the deacon, "you shall hang on me no longer.
I joined the temperance society yesterday."
" Did you?"
"Yes."
" Well, then, I will join to-day, for I can do without liquor as long
as Deacon Barnes can."
He did join, and remained a consistent temperance man afterwards.
"THERE GOES A TETOTALER!"
A DRUNIARD assailed a Washingtonian, but could only say, "there
goes a tetotaler 1" The gentleman waited until the crowd had collected, and then turning upon the drunkard, said, "( there stands a
drunkard!  Three years ago he had the sum of eight hundred
pounds; now he cannot produce a penny. I know he cannot. I
challenge him to do it, for if he had a penny he would be at a public
house. There stands a drunkard, and here stands a tetotaler, with
a purse full of money, honestly earned, and carefully kept. There
stands a drunkard! Three years ago he had a watch, a coat, shoes,
and decent clothes; now he has nothing but rags upon him, his watch
is gone, and his shoes afford free passage to the water. There stands
a drunkard; and here stands a tetotaler, with a good hat, good
shoes, good clothes, and a good watch, all paid for. Yes, here stands
a tetotaler! And now, my friends, which has the best of it?"
The bystanders testified their approval of the tetotaler by loud
shouts, while the crest-fallen drunkard slunk away, happy to escape
further castigation.




420         TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS.
HOW  TO KEEP THE PLEDGE.
A  REFORMED drunkard residing near Baltimore, Gen. J —T-, stated, that at fourteen -he joined the church; but when
he became a voter, he formed, at political meetings, the habit of
drinking, and gradually sunk into profaneness and excess until he
made way with some two quarts of brandy in a day-and when his
money failed, would keep himself drunk on cider, which was almost
the only product of his neglected farm. As the last hope of relief
from the intolerable sufferings thus brought upon himself and family,
he signed the pledge of total abstinence; and knowing how strong
might be the temptation to break it, he loaded a pistol with powder
and ball, carried it with him, and resolved that if the cup should
ever again approach his lips, he would at once put the pistol to his
head and terminate his life.
He carried the pistol in his pocket seven montlhs, when, riding
alone one dark night, he reflected: "This cannot be the way to get
strength to resist temptation-this cannot be pleasing to GOD."  He
continued to reflect, and at length stopped his horse, tied him,
kneeled by the side of a fence, and prayed to God to give him
strength to keep the pledge. He continued to pray till he could
rest in the promise, "my grace is sufficient for thee."  He rose from
his knees, calmly trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, to keep him from
falling. He was again received as a member of the church, and
now lives the life of a consistent Christian.
THE BAD LUMP.
THE following incident we relate on the authority of the old sailor,
who delivered a temperance lecture on board a steamboat running
between New York and New Haven.
Having found a man who was divested of all decent clothing, and
in a wretched state of health in consequence of drinking, he induced
him, amidst the discouragements of the tavern-keeper, at whose
house he had found him, to sign the temperance pledge for one year.
The landlord prophesied that he would not keep the pledge a year,
or that if he did he would never renew it. As the year was coming
to a close, the old sailor called upon the man, and secured his signature again. He signed it for 999 years, with the privilege of a lifelease afterward! When the day arrived upon which his first pledge
expired, he roguishly went to visit his old friend the tavern-keeper.
"There he comes," said the eager rumseller, "he will have a great
spree now to pay for his long abstinence."  When he arrived at the
tavern, he complained of a bad feeling at his stomach, and of various
evils, among which was a bad lump on one side, which had been
growing for a number of months. "Ah," said the landlord, "did I




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                    421
not tell you it would kill you to break off drinking so suddenly? I
wonder you have lived as long as you have. Come, what will you
take?" and suiting the action to the word, he placed a decanter
before him.
"But," said the visitor, "I have signed the pledge again for 999
years, with the privilege of a life-lease after it!"
"What a fool!" said the landlord; "if you go on as you have
done, you will not live another year."
"Do you really think so, landlord?"
"Certainly. Come, what will you take?"
"Oh, no, landlord; I have signed the pledge again, and then this
terrible lump on my side. I do not believe that drinking will make
it any better."
"It is all," said the landlord, "because you left off drinking.
You will have a bigger lump than that on the other side before long,
if you continue another year as the last."
"Do you think I will?  Well, then, so be it. I will not violate
my pledge, for look here, landlord (pulling out a great purse, with
a hundred dollars in silver shining through. the interstices), that is
my lump which has been growing for so many months, and, as you
say, is all in consequence of signing the pledge. This is what you
would have had, if I had not signed it; and if I have a bigger one
than that for 999 years, I will not go to drinking again i"
THE DRUNKARD  IN TEARS.
LAST week, while absent from home, we were detained for an
hour or two by the rain at a hotel in one of the villages of our state.
While sitting by the fire in the bar-room, our attention was attracted
to an individual who came in, and walking up to the bar called for
something to drink. "Have you any money?" he was asked. "No,"
said he. "Then you can have nothing here."  The poor fellow
turned from the bar and walked to the door. There was something
about him that won our sympathy, and we arose from our seat and
followed him. We found him standing upon the porch, bathed in
tears. "Friend," said we, "you seem to be greatly grieved that
you cannot obtain liquor; surely you are better without it." "It is
not that, sir, it is not that that grieves me, it is the remembrance of
other days." Then, pointing to a fine farm that lay across the road,
he said, " Do you see that farm? It was once mine-it now belongs
to the keeper of this house; I have lost, and he has gained it by my
intemperance. But that is not all-I had a wife who loved me dearer
than her own life. My intemperance has killed her-she lies in yonder graveyard; and sometimes when I feel as I do now, I go there
and weep: but what avail my tears! they will not bring her backshe is gone forever. And now, sir, as you have just seen, when I




422          TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.
an: almost dying for a dram, this man, who has robbed me of my
lands, and assisted me to kill my wife, refuses to let me have it because I have not the money."
A RUMSELLER'S DREAM.
WELL, wife, this is too horrible! I cannot continue this business
any longer.
Why dear, what's the matter now?
Oh, such a dream! Oh, I cannot endure it!  Oh, if ever I sell
rum again!
My dear, you are frightened.
Yes, indeed, I am; another such a night will I not pass for
worlds.
My dear, perhaps —--
Oh, don't talk to me! I am determined to have nothing more to
do with rum, any how.  Do you think, Tom Wilson came to me
with his throat cut from ear to ear, and such a horrid gash, and it
was so hard for him to speak, and so much blood, and, said he, see
here, Joe, the result of your rumselling.  My blood chilled at the
sight, and just then the house seemed to be turned bottom up, the
earth opened, and a little imp took me by the hand, saying, follow
me. As I went, grim devils held out to me cups of liquid fire, saying, drink this. I dared not refuse.  Every draught set me in a
rage. Serpents hissed on each side, and from above reached down
their heads and whispered ruznseller!  On, and on, the imp led me
through a narrow pass. All at once he paused and said, are you
DRY?  Yes, I replied.  Then he struck a trap door with his foot,
and down, down we went, and legions of fiery serpents rushed after
us, whispering, rumseller! rumseller! At length we stopped again,
and the imp asked me as before, are you DRY? Yes, I replied. He
then touched a spring-a door flew open. What a sight! there were
thousands, aye, millions of old, worn-out rum-drinkers, crying most
piteously, rum, rum, give me more rum! When they saw me, they
stopped a moment to see who I was-then the imp cried out, so as to
make all shake again, rumseller! and hurling me in, shut the door.
For a moment they fixed their ferocious eyes upon me, and then
uttered a united yell, which filled me with such terror, I awoke.
There wife, dieam or no dream, I will never sell another drop.
HARVESTING WITHOUT LIQUOR.
IN the early stage of the temperance reformation a farmer, residing near " the gap" of the Blue Mountains, who had been for many
years an intemperate man, was induced to sign the total abstinence




TEMPERANCE  SELECTIONS.                     423
pledge, and in a very short time afterward united himself with the
Methodist church. The rumseller and his dependants were sorely
dismayed at this extraordinary change, as they termed it, and set
their wits to work to lure him back.
The time of harvesting having arrived, and the farmer having
many acres of wheat to be cut, the anti-temperance men assembled
with their cradles in their hands, and demanded their accustomed
allowance of rum.
" Not a drop shall be given," firmly replied the farmer.
"We will not cut your wheat without it."
"Then it shall rot in the field."
The faithful followers of alcohol now returned to their respective
homes, and left the "obstinate farmer" to his fate. His wheat had
begun to "fall in the stubble," yet he placed his reliance on God,
and commending himself to him, he retired to rest. Early in the
morning he was awakened from his slumber by a shout which
seemed to speak the very soul of joy. He looked out, and beheld a
large number of men, with cradles in their hands, the foremost bearing a broad banner, with the words, " TOTAL ABSTINENCE," inscribed
upon its ample folds.
" What can all this mean?" said the farmer, gazing with astonishment upon a scene which seemed rather the work of magic than
reality.
"Isn't there a tetotaler somewhere about these parts, who has a
field of grain to be cut?" inquired one of the crowd.
" Yes," replied the farmer, "I am he."
"Well, we've come to cut it," was the response.
The farmer hurried down to greet his kind-hearted visiters, who,
having heard of his circumstances, had traveled many miles to give
him a helping hand. He pointed to the field, the banner was erected
in its midst, the men worked like good tetotalers, and in a few hours
the farmer's crop was saved!
A TAVERN SIGN.
" M  dear," said an affectionate husband, " you are good at contriving things, I wish you would find some suitable design to paint
on the sign for our new tavern."
"I'll do no such thing. I don't like your going to tavern-keeping.
It's a dirty business, and the temperance men are making such a
fuss about it, that it will soon come to nothing."
" There's no use talking, for my mind's made up.  I've got a
license, and paid for it, and I must use it. I want something neat
and appropriate to paint on the sign."
" Well, I'll tell you what. Make a great big horn, and paint your.
self crawling out of the little end of it!"




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
THE WIDOW AND HER SHIPWRECKED SON.
IN the north of England, in a small inland village, a lieutenant of
the British navy, after serving his country for many years, took up
his abode. He had a pious wife and six or seven children. She sent
them to the village Sabbath school; but the eldest, a boy of fourteen
years, seemed determined to profit by neither maternal love, nor
pious instructions at school. He played and mingled with a class of
wicked idlers that infested the village, and would have been as bad
as the worst of them, but for his father's rigid discipline. That,
alone, restrained him from rushing into excesses of wickedness and
riot. But that father died, and left his widow to combat the idleness
of her boy alone. No, not alone; for she sought the help of her
God.
The father being dead, the son grew worse. He was ungovernable; and the afflicted widow wept, as with a broken heart, over her
recreant child. Unable to restrain him, she adopted a very common
mode in England of disposing of idle lads. She resolved to send him
to sea. It was a painful alternative; but he could not grow worse,
she thought, and possibly the severe discipline of a ship might humble his proud spirit and lead him to reflection.
A ship was obtained for him. The bustle of preparation began
and was over. Unknown to the youth, the mother placed a bible in
his chest, with a secret hope that its light might lead him to his heavenly Farler, when he should be far-off on the deep blue sea. Many
were the prayers that mother offered for her son; many the counsels
she gave him from the fullness of her heart. The day of separation
came. 0, it was a day of trial to all but to him who was the occasion of all the sadness of that family. Warm were the tears she
shed, as, pressing him to her bosom, she bade him adieu, and commended his wayward heart to God.
Many years had passed and the wanderer had not returned. The
ship had perished at sea, and the widow mourned her son as dead;
and what was worse, she trembled for the safety of his undying soul.
Could she have been assured of his safety in the better world, her
pained heart would have been at rest. But she wept over him as
do-ubly lost.
It was a stormy night in mid-winter. The wind howled, the rain
424




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~~~~~                                       -                                   ___~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~








MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  425
poured down in torrents, and deep darkness obscured the sky. The
widow and her children sat beside the cheerful fire, and a chastened
cheerfulness overspread the circle, though now and then a cloud of
melancholy gathered over the mother's brow, as the driving storm
reminded hereof her lost son, when a slight tap was heard at the
door. It was opened. A sailor stood there, way-worn and weatherbeaten. He begged a shelter from the storm. It was not in that
mother's heart to refuse a sailor on such a night, and she offered him
her fireside and her food.
When he had refreshed himself, she modestly questioned him of
his condition. His tale was soon told. He had been shipwrecked,
and he was going home poor and penniless to his mother. He had
been shipwrecked before. The widow asked him to tell the story of
his sufferings.
He said that in a violent gale, the ship ran ashore and went to
pieces. The crew were either drowned or dashed to death upon the
rocks. Himself and another were the only persons who reached the
shore. They were thrown high upon the beach by a powerful wave.
His companion was senseless at first, but at last revived-alas! but
to die.  "He was a sweet youth," the sailor observed: " once he
was the terror of the ship, for his excessive devotion to vice. But
suddenly he had changed. He became a serious, praying man; as
remarkable for piety now, as for vice before. When he revived a
little on the beach," said the sailor, " he pulled a bible from his bosom and pressed it to his lips. It was this blessed book, he told me,
that led him to change his way of life. Rummaging his chest one
day, he found a bible; his first impression was to throw it away;
but chancing to see his mother's writing, he paused to examine it.
It was his name. It made him think of his mother; of her instructions, and the instructions of his teachers; and then he saw his sins,
and felt he was a sinner.  Overwhelmed, he sunk upon his knees,
beside his chest, and wept and prayed, and vowed to change his way
of life. And he did change it; for he became a decided Christian.
After telling me about this change," continued the sailor, " he gave
me his bible, and bade me keep it for his sake; and then falling back
upon the sand, he expired with a half-offered prayer upon his lips."
As the sailor concluded, the widow, who had listened with deep
interest and feeling, inquired:
"Have you got that bible, my friend?"
"Yes, madam," said he; and he took from his bosom what appeared to be a bunch of old canvass. Carefully removing several
envelops, he at last produced a small pocket bible, and gave it into
the hands of the lady.
Tremblingly and hastily she seized it. She turned to the blank
page, when lo! her child's name in her own writing. A death-like
paleness overspread her usually pale cheek, as she made the discovery, and exclaimed, "'tis his!'tis his! my son! my son!"
Here, then, we see the idle Sunday scholar, at sea, away from the




426   MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
means of grace, suddenly profiting by the instructions of years past.
His soul felt the inspiring leaven a teacher had placed within it, and
grew ripe for paradise, when the teacher mourned his labor lost.
How encouraging! How cheering! Labor on, dear teacher, in
hope.  Parents, despise not Sabbath school instruction, for your
child may in like manner be saved.
ALL FOR THE BEST.
IT was a frequent saying of the good Bernard Gilpin, when exposed to losses and troubles, "Ah! well; God's will be done; it
is all for the best."
Towards the close of Queen Mary's reign, Bernard Gilpin was
accused of heresy before the merciless Bishop Bonner; he was
speedily apprehended, and he left his quiet home, "nothing doubting," as he said, " that it was all for the best," though he was well
aware of what might await him; for we find him giving directions
to his steward, " to provide him a long garment that he might go
the more comely to the stake, at which he would be burnt."
While on his way to London, by some accident, he had a fall and
broke his leg, which put a stop for some time to his journey. The
persons in whose custody he was, took occasion thence maliciously
to retort upon his habitual remark.  "What," said they, "is this
all for the best? You say, master, that nothing happens which is
not for our good; think you your broken leg is so intended?"
1" Sirs, I make no question but it is," was the meek reply, and so
in truth it proved; for, before he was able to travel, Queen Mary
died, the persecution ceased, and he was restored to his liberty and
friends.
THE JEW AND HIS DAUGHTER.
AN aged clergyman, in the western part of Virginia, as he was
preaching to a large audience, observed a man in the congregation,
who had in every respect the appearance of a Jew. He was well
dressed, and appeared absorbed in deep and devout attention during
the services; at the close of which, the clergyman went to him, and
thus addressed him: " Sir, am I not correct in supposing that I am
addressing one of the children of Abraham?"  "You are, sir."
"But how is it that I meet a Jew in a Christian assembly."
The substance of his narrative was as follows: He was a very
respectable man, of superior education, who had lately come from
London, with his books, his riches, and an only child, a daughter,
in her seventeenth year. He had found a beautiful retreat on the
fertile banks of the Ohio, had buried his wife before he left Europe,




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   427
and now knew no pleasure, except in the society of his beloved
child. She was, indeed, worthy of a parent's love-she was extremely beautiful in her person, but possessed the superior charms
of a cultivated mind and amiable disposition; no pains had been
spared on her education. She could read and speak with fluency
several different languages, and her manners were most pleasing.
No wonder, then, that a father, far advanced in age, should place
his whole affection on this only child of his love; especially as he
knew no source of happiness beyond the world. Being a strict Jew,
he educated her in the strictest principles of his religion.
It was not long since that his daughter was taken ill; the rose
faded from her cheek, her eye lost its fire, her strength decayed, and
it soon became apparent that her disease was incurable and fatal.
The father hung over the bed of his daughter, with a heart ready to
burst with anguish. He often attempted to converse with her, but
seldom spoke, except by the language of tears. He spared no trouble
or expense in procuring medical assistance, but no human skill could
turn aside the arrow of death.
The father was walking in a small grove near his house, weeping,
when he was sent for by his dying daughter. With a heavy heart
he entered the door of her chamber, soon, he feared, to be the
chamber of death.  He was now to take a last farewell of his child,
and his religious views gave him but a feeble hope of meeting her
hereafter. The child grasped the hand of her parent, and addressed
him with all the energy which her expiring strength permitted.
"Father, do you love me?"
"My child, you know I love you-that you are more dear to me
than all the world beside."
" But father, do you love me?"
" Why, my child, will you give me pain so exquisite?  Have I,
then, never given you any proofs of my love?"
" But, my dearest father, do you love me?" The father could
not answer. The child added: " I know, mny dear father, you have
been the kindest of parents, and I tenderly love you. Will you
grant me one request? 0, my father, it is the dying request of
your daughter, will you regard it?"
" My dearest child, ask what you will, though it take every
shilling of my property; whatever it may be, it shall be granted-I
will grant it."
"My dear father, I beg you never again to speak against Jesus of
NVazareth."
The father was dumb with astonishment.  "I know," continued
the dying girl, "I know but little about this Jesus, for I was never
taught, but I know that he is the Savior, for he has manifested
himself to me since I have been sick, even to the salvation of my
soul; I believe he will save me, although I had never loved him
before; I feel that I am going to him; that I shall be ever with
him. And now, my father, do not deny me; I beg that you will
28




428    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
never again speak against this Jesus of Nazareth. I entreat you to
obtain a testament which tells of him, and I pray that you may
know him.; and when I am no more, that you may love and always
serve him."
The exertion here overcame the weakness of her feeble body; she
stopped, and her father's heart was too full even for tears.  He left
the room in great horror of mind; and before he could recover himself, the spirit of his beloved daughter had taken its flight, we may
trust, to the Savior whom, though she scarcely knew, she yet loved
and honored. The first thing the parent did, after committing to
the dust this, his only and beloved child, was to procure a New
Testament, which he read diligently; and taught by the Spirit from
above, is now numbered among the meek and humble followers of
his once despised Savior.
THE SUNDAY PARTY.
As I was walking one Lord's day to the house of God, I saw a
party of young people on before me, whose volatile manners ill accorded with the sanctity of the day, and just as I was passing them,
I heard one say:
" Indeed, I think we shall do wrong-my conscience condemns
me- I must return."
" There can be no harm," replied another, "in taking an excursion on the water, especially as we have resolved to go to a place of
worship this evening."
"I must return," rejoined a female voice; my conscience condemns me. What will my father say if he hears of it?"
By this time they had reached the bridge; and one of the party
was busily engaged with a waterman, while the rest stood in close
debate for a few minutes, when they all moved toward the water.
Two of the gentlemen stepped into the boat, two more stood at the
water's edge, and the females were handed one by one into the boat.
It was a fine morning, though rather cold, and the tide was running
at its usual rate; many were gazing on them, when a. naval officer
standing near, called to them through the ballustrades, and said:
" A pleasant morning to you."
One of the gentlemen suddenly arose to return the compliment,
but from some cause which I could not perceive, he fell over into the
water. This disaster threw the whole party into the utmost consternation, and each one, instead of remaining in his seat, rushed to the
side of the boat over which their companion had fallen, which upset
it, and all were instantaneously plunged into the deep..The shriek
which the multitude of spectators gave, when they beheld this calamity, exceeded any similar noise I ever heard; several females
fainted-boats immediately put off, and in a few minutes, the watermen rescued one, and another, and another, from a premature grave.




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   429
Having picked up all they could find, the different boats were rowed
to the shore, where some medical gentlemen were in waiting; but
when the party met together, no language can describe the horror
which was depicted on every countenance, when they found that
two were still missing.
" Where is my sister?" said the voice which had said, only a few
minutes before, "Ithere can be no harm in taking an excursion on
the water, especially as we have resolved to go to church in the
evening."
" Where's my Charles?" said a female, who had appeared the
most gay and sprightly when I first saw them.
At length two boats, which had gone a considerable distance, were
seen returning; on being asked, if they had picked up any, they
replied, " Yes-two." This reply electrified the whole party; they
wept for joy, and so did others who stood around them.
"Here's a gentleman," said the boatman; but I believe he's
dead."
"Where's the lady," said the brother, "is she safe?"
"' She is in the other boat, sir."
" Is she alive?-has she spoken?"
" No, sir; she has not spoken, I believe."
"Is she dead? oh, tell me."
"I fear she is, sir."
The bodies were immediately removed from the boats to a house
in the vicinity, and every effort was employed to restore animation,
and some faint hopes were entertained by the medical gentlemen
that they should succeed. In the space of little more than ten
minutes, they announced the joyful news, that the gentleman began
to breathe; but they made no allusions to the lady.  Her brother
sat motionless, absorbed in the deepest melancholy, till the actual
decease of his sister was announced, when he started up, and became
almost frantic with grief. He exclaimed: "Oh, my sister! my
sister! would to God I had died for thee!" They were all overwhelmed with trouble, and knew not what to do.
"'Who will bear the heavy tidings to our father?" said the
brother, as he paced the room backward and forward, like a maniac
broke loose from the cell of misery.  "' Oh, who will bear the heavy
tidings to our father?"  He paused-a death-like silence pervaded
the whole apartment; he again burst forth in the agony of despair:
"I forced her to go against the dictates of her conscience; I am her
murderer; I ought to have perished, and not my sister. Who will
bear the heavy tidings to our father?"
"I will," said a gentleman, who had been unremitting in his
attentions to the sufferers.
"Do you know him sir?"
"Yes, I know him."
"Oh! how can I ever appear in his presence? I enticed one of the
best of children to an act of disobedience, which has destroyed her!"




430   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
THE DOCTRINE OF TRANSUBSTANTIATION.
A ROMAN Catholic gentleman in England being engaged to marry
a Protestant lady, it was mutually agreed that there should be no
contests on the subject of religion. For some years after their
union, this agreement was scrupfilously observed; but in the course
of time, the priest,who had paid them frequent visits, expecting to
find no difficulty in making a convert of the lady, began to talk upon
the peculiarities of his religion. He particularly insisted upon the
doctrine of transubstantiation, and grew troublesome by his importunity. To avoid being further teazed by him, she one day seemed
to be overcome by his arguments, and agreed to attend at mass with
her husband the following Sabbath, provided she might be allowed
to prepare the wafer herself.  The priest, not suspecting any thing,
and glad on any terms to secure such a convert, gave his consent.
The lady accordingly appeared at the chapel with her husband, and
after the consecration of the wafers, which she had brought with
her, she solemnly demanded of the priest, whether it was really
converted into the body of Christ? To which question, he without
hesitation replied, that there'wvas a conversion made of thze whole substance of the bread into the body of C]hrist, and that there remained no
more of its form or substance.
"If this be really the case," said she, "you may eat the wafer
without any danger; but as for myself, I should be afraid to touch
it, as it is mixed with arsenic." The priest was overwhelmed by a
discovery so unexpected, and was too wise to hazard his life upon a
doctrine, for which he had, however, contended with all the earnestness of perfect assurance.  The lady's husband was so struck by
this practical confutation of a doctrine which he had before implicitly
believed, that he never afterwards appeared at the mass.
OLD FATHER MORRIS.
THE manner in which this aged New England clergyman illustrated some topics, is shown in the following extract from an article
in the " Lady's Book," written by Mrs. H. B. Stowe.
Sometimes he would give the narration an exceedingly practical
turn, as one example will illustrate:
He had noticed a falling off in his little circle, which met for social prayer, and took occasion, the first time he re-collected a tolerable audience, to tell concerning " the conference-meeting which the
disciples attended," after the resurrection.
" But Thomas was not with them," said the old man, in a sorrowful voice. "Why! what could keep Thomas away?"  " Perhaps," said he, glancing at some of the backward auditors, " Thomas
had got cold-hearted, and was afraid they would ask him to make




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   431
the first prayer, or, perhaps," said he, looking at some of the farmers, " Thomas was afraid the roads were bad; or, perhaps,"
added, after a pause, "Thomas had got proud, and thought he
could not come in his old clothes." Thus he went on, significantly
summing up with great simplicity and emotion, he added, " but only
think what Thomas lost, for in the middle of the meeting, the Lord
Jesus came, and stood among them! How sorry Thomas must
have been!" This representation served to fill the vacant seats for
some time to come.
Father Morris sometimes used his illustratic talent to a very good
purpose in the way of rebuke. He had on his farm a fine orchard
of peaches, from which some of the ten and twelve-year-old gentlemen helped themselves more liberally than the old gentleman thought
expedient.
Accordingly he took occasion to introduce into his sermon one
Sunday, in his little parish, an account of a journey he took, and
how he saw a fine orchard of peaches, that made his mouth water to
look at them.
" So," says he, "I came up to the fence, and looked all around,
for I would not have touched one of them without leave, for all the
world. At last I spied a man, and, says I:
" Mister, won't you give me some of your peaches?"
So the man came, and gave me nigh a handful. And while I
stood there eating, I said:
" Mister, how do you manage to keep your peaches?"
" Keep them!" he said, and stared at me. " What do you mean?"
"Yes," said I, " don't the boys steal them?"
" Boys steal them?" said he, " no indeed!"
c" Why, sir," said I, "I have a whole lot full of peaches, and I
cannot get half of them (here the old man's voice grew tremulous,)
because the boys in my parish steal them so."
"Why, sir," said he, "don't their parents teach them not to
steal?"
" And I grew all over in a cold sweat, and told him I was afraid
they didn't."
"Why, how you talk," says the man, "' tell me where you live."
"Then," says Father Morris (the tears running over,) "I was
obliged to tell him I lived in the town of G-."
After this, Father Morris kept his peaches.
A RASH FATHER.
IN the neighborhood of Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, there lived a few
years ago, a laboring man, who having a cross child, frequently
wished, with an oath, that his next child might be both deaf and
dumb. He afterward had three children, all of whom were deaf
and dumb.




432  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
ADVANTAGES OF RELIGIOUS TRAINING.
REV. T. HARRISON, in preaching a sermon, some years ago, in
Springfield, Ohio, on the advantages of parental instruction in connection with Sabbath school efforts, related the following striking circumstance:
" In childhood, I became acquainted with a little boy who attended
the same Sabbath school as myself.  He was a fine child, and promised to make an interesting youth. As life advanced, however, he
forsook his Sabbath school, and became addicted to evil practices,
commencing with Sabbath breaking, and then proceeding to intemperance, profanity, and other ruinous vices. His parents, though
occasional attenders on public worship, neglected his spiritual interests; and as he ripened in years, he ripened in crime. At length, he
attacked a man on the highway, took from him his money, and nearly
deprived him of life. He was apprehended, brought to trial, and
sentenced to be hung.  On the other hand, I, after remaining for
sometime a scholar in the Sabbath school, was appointed a teacher.
My parents also endeavored to bring me up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.  Often has a pious father shed tears of holy
sympathy and affection, while giving me religious advice. Their efforts were not in vain. By the blessing of God, my feet were restrained from the ways of wickedness, and I was led in the paths of
righteousness and peace. It so happened that I witnessed the execution of my school-fellow; and the impression which was then made
on my mind, will never, no never, be effaced. I saw him ascend the
scaffold-I saw his arms pinioned, and his feet bound together-I
saw his eyesight excluded forever from the glorious light of day, and
the beautiful scenery of nature, by a dismal cap-I saw the rope tied
around his neck-I saw his footing torn from under him-sand there he
was, a sad spectacle between heaven and earth, his pinioned body
rapidly moving backward and forward. I looked and looked again;
but the sight was more than I could bear: my eyes grew dim-my
heart turned sick; and to the best of my ability, I retired from the
horrifying scene.  And never, in all my life, did virtue appear more
beautiful, and religion more precious, than at that hour.'Twill save us from a thousand snares
To mind religion young:
Grace will improve our following years
And make our virtue strong."
ANECDOTE OF GENERAL JACKSON.
THE Hon. -, who as a Baptist preacher and lieutenant
governor, had at one and the same time been in the service of the
Lord, an- of the state of Illinois, becoming dissatisfied with the




MORAL AND  1IELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   433
honors or profits, or both, of the posts he held, determined to resign
them, and devote his time and talents to the assistance of the administration in carrying on the general government of the country. Accordingly he went to Washington, and laid his case before the president. He stated his pretensions and his wishes, narrated at some
length all the prominent events of his political life, dwelling especially upon his untiring devotion to the democratic party, the sacrifices he had submitted to, the exertions he had made in its behalf,
and its consequent indebtedness to him; but said not a word of what
he had done for the cause of religion.  General Jackson heard the
clerical aspirant through in silence, and after musing a moment, put
the following question to him:
" Mr. K., are you not a minister of the gospel?"
"I am, sir," was the reply.
" Then, sir," said the general, with his usual quiet dignity, " you
hold already a higher office than any in my gift-an office whose duties, properly performed, requires your whole attention; and really
I think the best that I can do for you will be to leave you at liberty to
devote your whole time to them; for, from what you tell me, I fear
that hitherto they have been somewhat neglected."
CHRISTIAN FIRMNESS.
WHEN the Rev. Mr. Baird was once pleading the cause of France,
he related the following, which he received from the lips of one of the
evangelists, employed by the Missionary Society of Paris. This evangelist was preaching in one of the towns of France, and a lady, the
wife of one of its wealthiest citizens, attended at the chapel, and became deeply interested in the subject of her soul's salvation. Her
husband, who was an infidel, opposed her violently; and, at length,
when she became a decided Christian, told her that if she went to the
chapel again, he would take her life. Knowing well the character of
the man, and firmly believing that he would execute his threat, she
called upon the minister to ask his advice. I know not, said he, what
to give, but we will pray to God for wisdom. They kneeled, and
prayed together. She arose from her knees, and without saying a
word, returned home. The next Sabbath she was found at the house
of God, listening, as if for the last time on this side of the eternal
world. At the close of the service she returned, and upon entering
her house, her husband met her, when the following conversation ensued: "Have you been to the chapel?"  " Yes."  " Did not I tell
you that I would kill you if you went again?  How dared you to
go?" " Yes, but we must obey God rather than man." Perceiving
that he hesitated, she embraced the opportunity of expostulating with
him.  "Why," said she, " do you intend to kill me?  Have I been
a worse wife to you, a worse mother to your children, since I became
a Christian?"  "No," replied he, letting his weapon fall from his




434  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
hand, " no, and I promise never to oppose you any more. And now,"
continued he, "I wish you toprayfor me."  They bowed before the
mercy-seat, and she poured out her soul in prayer for him. He is
now one of the most active members of the church.
THE FIRST STEP IN CRIME.
No man becomes a villain in a day. Congenial as sin is to the
natural heart, and inclined as the wicked may be to the pursuits of
vice, there is a first step in the path of every crime. At that point
in the career of guilt the man would have shuddered at the thought
of deeds which he afterwards performs without remorse. He never
dreamed of the extremity to which one transgression will lead.
Several examples occur to mind just now.
A young lawyer, with connexions of the highest respectability,
and talents to secure for him an elevated rank in his profession, married a lovely woman, and entered on life with the brightest prospects
of success and happiness. The increasing expenses of a family demanded an increasing income, and as business did not advance as
rapidly as he desired, in an evil hour he placed the names of some
of his best friends to a note, and drew a sum of money from the
bank.  He promised himself that before it was due, he should be
ready to meet it, and his crime would never be known. The note was
renewed by forgery. It was an easy mode of raising money, and
became easier the oftener he employed it. For a season he was successful, but when was dishonesty the best policy in the end?
His guilt was discovered. He fled from justice, and was hunted
through the woods in winter like a beast. His young wife woke
almost in madness, to the consciousness that she was the wife of a
felon. His retreat was at length cut off. He was arrested, but escaped again.
He flew to the chamber of his wife. The embrace was short and
full of agony. He wept; and she wrung her hands, but uttered no
reproach. She loved him too much even in his shame. He must fly
again. He did fly, and was again arrested and brought to trial. The
case was a plain one. There was no defense-there could be none.
He was sentenced to the state prison for a term of years. His measure of iniquity was full. Now and then an old acquaintance looked
in upon his cell where he pursued his solitary toil, but he never looked
up. They said he was pining away, and they made an effort to procure his pardon and release. But death was before them, and he went
from prison to judgment.
I went into the hospital of the prison at Sing Sing some years ago,
and there lay, in the last struggles of life, a man of fine form and
noble countenance. He was raving in delirium, and soon died mad.
I asked his name and history, and found that he was a young lawyer




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES. 435
from the city of New York, who had begun his course of crime by
stealing paltry articles of clothing from his associates: soon he laid
his hands on money; and by-and-by he was detected when far advanced in guilt. His end I have just mentioned. He was a child of
luxury and had never known want. And when he lay dying in that
prison hospital, cut off from the tenderness and sympathy that would
have softened a death-bed in the house of parental love, I thought
how truly, "t the way of the transgressor is hard."
A clerk in a store, a teller in a bank, an agent in his office, constantly handling the money of others, is tempted to apply a little to
his own use, with the promise made to himself that he will restore it,
and speedily. But he finds it easier to borrow than to pay, when no
one calls him to an account. The more he takes, the more he wants
to take. He begins a course of extravagance, and falls into sins that
require money to secure their indulgence. Hu speculates, in hopes
of paying all back at once; every plunge increases his embarrassments; his guilt breaks out; he flies from justice, a lost, self-ruined
man. What to him are the arrows that have pierced the fond hearts
of too confiding friends. He planted those arrows, but can never
draw them.
Now there was a time when that man was what the world calls
virtuous. He would have trembled at the thought of crime; and he
did tremble and turn pale when he committed his first offense. It
disturbed his sleep that night, and when he met his employer the
next morning, he thought he was suspected and trembled again. But
that step taken, the next was easy.
THE BAG OF DUCATS.
A CAUSE was tried before a young cadi of Smyrna, the merits of
which were as follows: A poor man claimed a house which a rich
man usurped. The former held his deeds and documents to prove
his right; but the latter had provided a number of witnesses to invalidate his title. In order to support their evidence effectually, he
presented the cadi with a long bag containing five hundred ducats.
When the day arrived for hearing the cause, the poor man told his
story, and produced his writings, but could not support his case by
witnesses; the other rested his whole case on his witnesses, and his
adversary's defect in law, who could produce none: he urged the
cadi, therefore, to give sentence in his favor. After the most pressing solicitations, the judge calmly drew out from under his sofa the
bag of ducats which the rich man had given him as a bribe, saying
to him very gravely, "You have been much mistaken in the suit, for
if the poor man can produce no witnesses in confirmation of his right,
I myself can produce at least five hundred." He then threw away




436   MORAL AND  RELIG1OUS  ANECDOTES.
the bag with reproach and indignation, and decreed the house to the
poor plaintiff.  Such was the noble decision of a Turkish judge,
whose disinterested conduct was the reverse of that of the unjust,
time-serving Felix.
ITALICS.
THE late Mrs. Graham of New York regarded with particular esteem the works of Dr. Owen, the Rev. William Romaine, and the
Rev. John Newton, and read them with pleasure and profit. One
day she remarked to Mr. B. that she preferred the ancient writers on
theology to the modern, because they dealt more in italics.  "Dear
mother," he replied, " what religion can there be in italics?"  (c You
know," said she, " that old writers expected credit for the doctrines
they taught, by proving them from the word of God to be correct;
they inserted the scripture passages in italics, and their works have
been sometimes one-half in italics. Modern writers on theology, on
the contrary, give us a long train of reasoning to persuade us to-their
opinions, but very little in italics i"
THE BOY THAT WOULD NOT LET HIS SISTER WANT.
A FRENCH paper says that Lucille Romee, a pretty little girl with
blue eyes and fair hair, poorly, but neatly clothed, was brought before the Sixth Court of Correction under a charge of vagrancy.
"Does any one claim you?" asked the magistrate.
"Ah! my good sir," said she, "I have no longer any friends;
my father and mother are dead-I have only my brother James, but
he is as young as I am. Oh, dear! what could he do for me!"
"The court must send vou to the house of correction."
"Here I am, sister-here I am! do not fear!" cried a childish
voice from the other end of the court.  And at the same instant a
little boy, with a sprightly countenance, started forth from amid the
crowd, and stood before the judge.
" Who are you," said he.
"James Romee, the brother of this poor little girl."
"Your age?"
" Thirteen."
"And what do you want?"
"I come to claim Lucille?"
"But have you the means of providing for her?"
"Yesterday I had not, but now I have. Don't be afraid Lucille."
"Oh, how good you are, James!"
"But let us see, my boy," said the magistrate; "the court is disposed to do all it can for your sister. However, you must give us
some explanation."




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   437
"About a fortnight ago, sir," continued the boy, "my poor
mother died of a bad cough, for it was very cold at home. We
were in great trouble. Then I said to myself, I will become an artizan, and when I know a good trade I will support my sister. I went
apprentice to a brush-maker.  Every day I used to carry her half
my dinner, and at night I took her secretly to my room, and she
slept on my bed, while I slept on the floor, wrapped in my blouse.
But it appears the poor little thing had not enough to eat, for, unfortunately, one day she begged on the boulevard. When I heard she
was taken up, I said to myself,'come, my boy, things cannot last
so; you must find something better.' I very much wished to become
an artizan, but at last decided to look for a place.  I have found a
very good one, where I am lodged, fed, and clothed, and have
twenty francs a month. I have also found a good woman, who, for
these twenty francs, will take care of Lucille and teach her needlework. I claim my sister."
" My boy," said the magistrate, " your conduct is very honorable.
The court encourage you to persevere in this course and you will
prosper."
The court then decided to render up Lucille to James, and she
was going from the bar to join her brother, when the magistrate
smilingly said, "You cannot be set at liberty until to-morrow."
" Never mind, Lucille, I will come and fetch you early to-morrow.
(To the magistrate,) I may kiss her, may I not, sir?"
He then threw himself into the arms of his sister, and both wept
warm tears of affection.
BENEFITS OF THE SABBATH.
IN the year 1832, the British House of Commons appointed a
committee to investigate the effects of laboring seven days in the
week, compared with those of laboring only six, and resting one.
That committee consisted of Sir Andrew Agnew, Sir Robert Peel,
Sir Robert Inglis, Sir Thomas Baring, Sir George Murray, Fowell
Buxton, Lord Morpeth, Lord Ashley, Lord Viscount Sandon, and
twenty other members of parliament. They examined a great number of witnesses, of various professions and employments. Among
them  was John Richard Farre, M. D., of London, of whom they
speak as "an acute and experienced physician."  The following is
the testimony:
"I have practised as a physician between thirty and forty years;
and during the early part of my life, as the physician of a public
medical institution.  I had charge of the poor in one of the most
populous districts of London. I have had occasion to observe the
effect of the observance and non-observance of the seventh day of
rest during this time. I have been in the habit, during a great many




438  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
years, of considering the uses of the Sabbath, and of observing its
abuses. The abuses are chiefly manifested in labor and dissipation.
Its use, medically speaking, is that of a day of rest.
"As a day of rest, I view it as a day of compensation for the inadequate restorative power of the body under continued labor and
excitement. A physician has always respect to the preservation of
the restorative power; because, if once this be lost, his healing office
is at an end. A physician is anxious to preserve the balance of circulation, as necessary to the restorative power of the body.  The
ordinary exertions of man run down the circulation every day of his
life; and the first general law of nature, by which God prevents man
from destroying himself, is the alternating of day and night, that repose may succeed action.  But, although the night apparently
equalizes the circulation, yet it does not sufficiently restore its
balance for the attainment of a long life. Hence, one day in seven,
by the bounty of Providence, is thrown in as a day of compensation,
to perfect by its repose the animal system.
"I consider, therefore, that, in the bountiful provision of Providence for the preservation of human life, the sabbatical appointment
is not, as it has sometimes been theologically viewed, simply a precept partaking of the nature of a political institution, but that it is to
be numbered among the natural duties, if the preservation of life be
admitted to be a duty, and the premature destruction of it a suicidal
act."
PYTHEUS.
IT is related of Pytheus of Lydia, that possessing valuable gold
mines, he entirely neglected the cultivation of his lands, which naturally became so unprofitable as not to afford the common necessaries
of life. His wife, who showed herself possessed of as much good
sense as wit, at a banquet-supper, which Pytheus had ordered to be
prepared, directed that all the dishes should be filled with gold, in
different shapes and states, instead of viands.  On the removal of
the covers, this ingenious woman exclaimed to the guests, " I set before you what we have in greatest abundance, for we cannot reap
what we do not sow."
MAKING BRIEFS ON SUNDAY.
THE distinguished Dr. Wilson, pastor of the First Presbyterian
Church in Philadelphia, for a number of years before he became a
preacher of the gospel, was an eminent lawyer in the state of Delaware.  He was accustomed, when pressed with business, to make out
his briefs and prepare for his Monday's pleading on the Sabbath.




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.   439
But he so uniformly failed during the week in carrying out his Sunday plans, that it arrested his attention.  As a philosopher, he
inquired into the cause of his uniform failure, and came to the
conclusion that it might be, and probably was on account of his
violation of the Sabbath by employing it in secular business.  He,
therefore, from that time, abandoned the practice of doing any thing
for his clients on that day.  The difficulty ceased.  His efforts on
Monday were as successful as on other days.
RETURNING  GOOD  FOR EVIL.
THERE was a Christian in New Jersey that had a neighbor of sucn
a malevolent and savage character, as made him a plague and terror
to those with whom he became offended.  Forgiveness, or mercy,
nobody expected from him.
One day he found the hogs of his good neighbor in his cornfield.
lie drove them out, and came to their owner in a storm of passion,
nlaking a great bluster about the damage done to his crop.  "If I
ever see them in my corn again," said he, " I'll kill them —that I
will."
On he went, raving and scolding, his eyes flashing fire every
word he spoke. But the good man kept calm as a summer's evening, and said nothing but what was kind and good-natured in reply.
Mr. Wrath, after he had spent all his fury, went off very much
vexed to see that none of it took effect.
The good man shut up his swine at once. But, impatient for their
favorite and new-found food, they soon made their escape, and got
into the same cornfield again, without the knowledge of their owner.
Mr. Wrath discovered them, and at once attacked them with might
and. main; as much as to say, (like a duelist,) " Nothing but your
blood will give me satisfaction!"  He did, indeed, slaughter three
or four of them before they could make their retreat. Then, to cap
the climax, and aggravate his neighbor's feelings to the utmost, he
put the dead bodies on a sled, or cart, and drew them over to his
neighbor's house.  He threw them down before the door, saying,
with sarcastic bitterness, " Your hogs got into my corn again, and I
thought I would bring them home!"
The owner of the swine kept perfectly cool, giving no look or word
of resentment at the injury done to him. He might have gone to
law with Mr. Wrath, and, perhaps, made him smart severely for destroying his property and insulting him as he did. But he thought
it best to keep out of the law; and every man should think so, except when driven to it by a sense of duty.
The next year he himself had a cornfield situated in a similar way
beside the road.  Now it so happened that neighbor Wrath had
somo unruly swine running in the street, which got into the good




440  MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
man's cornfield, and committed a depredation similar to that which
his had done in Mr. Wrath's cornfield the year before. He went to
Mr. Wrath, and told him what mischief his vagrant swine had done,
and requested him to shut them up. But he paid no attention to
the request.
Soon after they got into the same field again. The Christian discovered them; and he hit on a good-natured and witty expedient of
contrasting his own temper and conduct with those of his neighbor
under similar circumstances. Instead of killing them, and carrying
them home dead, he caught them, tied their legs carefully, and drew
them with his team to their owner's door.  "Neighbor," said he,
kindly, " Ifound your hogs in my corn again, and I thought I would
bridng them home! "
Never was a man more completely confounded! He saw the wide
difference between his neighbor's conduct and his own: he looked on
the living swine, but he thought of the dead ones! It was too much.
He told his neighbor that he was very sorry, and that he would pay
all damages the hogs had done. He offered to pay him, too, for the
hogs he had killed the year before!'":No," replied the other, "I
shall make no account of the damages your hogs have done; and I
shall take nothing for what you did to mine. I let that pass."
Mr. Wrath was completely overcome. He concluded at once to
yield, and retreat from a contest where such unequal odds were
against him. He was as kind and generous to his Christian neighbor afterwards, as he was mischievous and cruel before.
THE INFIDEL'S DEATH.
A SOCIETY of infidels were in the practice of meeting together on
Sabbath mornings to ridicule religion, and to encourage each other
in all manner of wickedness. At length they proceeded so far as to
meet, by previous agreement, to burn their bibles. They had lately
initiated a young man into their awful mysteries, who had been
brought up under great religious advantages,'and seemed to promise
well; but on that occasion, he proceeded the length of his companions, threw his bible into the flames, and promised, with them,
never to go into a place of religious worship again. He was soon
afterward taken ill.  He was visited by a serious man, who found
him in the agonies of a distressed mind. He spoke to him of his
pas, ways. The poor creature said: "It all did well enough while
in health, and while I could keep off the thoughts of death;" but
when the Redeemer was mentioned to him, he hastily exclaimed:
" What's the use of talking to me about mercy?"  When urged to
look to Christ, he said: " I tell you it's no use now;'tis too late-'tis too late! Once I could pray, but now I can't." He frequently




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   441
repeated, "I cannot pray-I will not pray." He shortly afterward
expired, uttering some of the most dreadful imprecations against
some of his companions in iniquity who came to see him, and now
and then saying: "My bible! oh, the bible 1"
THE PIOUS BOATSWAIN  IN A STORM.
ON board an East-Indiaman was a pious boatswain, whom, on this'account, the crew looked upon as a strange man.  The ship was
overtaken with a storm so dreadful, that, after every effort to preserve life, the captain said: "All that could be done had been done
-it was impossible the vessel could weather it."  The ship seemed
sinking-the captain withdrew into the cabin  the men were some on
their knees, and others with horror hanging on parts of the rigging.
All expected the vessel would founder.  The boatswain had been
very active, and apparently unalarmed during the whole of the gale.
At this moment, when a heavy wave struck the ship, and seemed as
if it would instantly sink her, looking up with a smile, he exclaimed:
"' Blessed be God, all is right!" and he began to sing. The storm
afterwards abated, and the vessel was saved. Thus amid the storm
of life, on the dark ocean of death, and amid the terrors of the
judgment-day, the Christian may still smile, and exultingly exclaim:
"Blessed be God, all is right 1"
NAPOLEON'S OPINION  OF CHRIST.
"I KNOW men," said Napoleon at St. Helena, to Count de Montholon, " I know men, and I tell you that Jesus is not a man! The
religion of Christ is a mystery, which subsists by its own force, and
proceeds from a mind which is not a human mind. We find in it a
marked individuality, which originated a train of words and actions
unknown before. Jesus is not a philosopher, for his proofs are miracles, and from the first his disciples adored him.
" Alexander, COesar, Charlemagne, and myself, founded empires;
but on what foundations did we rest the creations of our genius?
Upon force. Jesus Christ founded an empire upon love; and at this
hour millions of men would die for him!
" I die before my time, and my body will be given back to the
earth, to become food for worms. Such is the fate of him who has
been called the great Napoleon. What an abyss between my deep
mystery and the eternal kingdom of Christ, which is proclaimed,
loved, and adored, and is extending over the whole earth!"
Turning to Gen. Bertrand, the emperor added: "If you do not
perceive that Jesus Christ is God, I did wrong to appoint you
general i"




442   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS ANE CDOTES.
A SUCCESSFUL RETORT.
A CLERGYMAN was once accosted by a doctor, a professed deist,
who asked him " if he followed preaching to save souls."  " Yes."
"Did you ever see a soul?"  " No."  "Did you ever hear a soul?"
"[No."  "Did you ever taste a soul?"  "No."  "Did you ever
smell a soul?"  "No."  "Did you ever feel a soul?"  "' Yes."
" Well," said the doctor, " there are four of the five senses against
one upon the question, whether there be a soul."
The clergyman then asked, "if he were a doctor of medicine?"
"Yes."  "Did you ever see a pain?"  "No."  "Did you ever
hear a pain?"  ",No."  "Did you ever taste a pain?"  "No."
"Did you ever smell a pain?"  "No."  "Did you ever feel a
pain?"  "Yes."
"Well, then," said the clergyman, " there are also four senses
against one, upon the question, whether there be a pain, and yet,
sir, you know that there is a pain, and I know that there is a soul."
A NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME.
WHEN the pious Bishop Beveridge was on his deathbed, he did
not know any of his friends or connexions. A minister with whom
he had been well acquainted, visited him; and when conducted into
his room he said: "Bishop Beveridge, do you know me?"  " Who
are you?" said the bishop. Being told who the minister was, he
said that he did not know him. Another friend came, who had been
equally well known, and accosted him in a similar manner. " Do
you know me, Bishop Beveridge."  "Who are you?" said he.
Being told it was one of his intimate friends, he said he did not know
him. His wife then came to his bedside and asked him if he knew
her. "Who are you?" said he. Being told she was his wife, he
said he did not know her.  " Well," said one, " Bishop Beveridge,
do you know the Lord Jesus Christ?"  "JEsus  CHRIST!" said he,
reviving, as if the name had upon him the influence of a charm,
"0! yes, I have known him these forty years. Precious SAVIoR!
HE IS MY ONLY HOPE."
A GOOD REASON FOR NOT GOING TO WAR.
FREDERIC, Elector of Saxony, intending to war against the Archbishop of Magdeburg, sent a spy to inquire into his preparations;
and being informed that he gave himself up to prayer and fasting,
committed his cause to God alone. "Let him fight that will," said
he; "I am not mad enough to fight with the man, who makes G6od
nis refuge and defense."




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   443
THE FARMER AND THE SOLDIERS.
Soon  aftel the surrender of Copenhagen to the English, in the
year 1807, detachments of soldiers were, for a time, stationed in the
surrounding villages.  It happened one day that three soldiers, belonging to a Highland regiment, were sent to forage among the
neighboring farmal-houses.  They went to several, but found them
stripped and deserted.  At length they came to a large garden or
orchard, full of apple trees, bending under the weight of fruit. They
entered by a gate, and followed a path which brought them to a neat
farm-house. Every thing without bespoke quietness and security;
but as they entered by the front door, the mistress of the house and
her children ran screaming out by the back. The interior of the
house presented an appearance of order and comfort superior to
what might be expected from people in that station, and from the
habits of the country. A watch hung by the side of the fireplace,
and a neat bookcase, well filled, attracted the attention of the elder
soldier. He took down a book: it was written in a language unknown to him, but the name of Jesus Christ was legible on every
page. At this moment, the master of the house entered by the door
through which his wife and children had just fled.
One of the soldiers, by threatening signs, demanded provisions:
the man stood firm and undaunted, but shook his head. The soldier
who held the book, approached him, and pointing to the name of
Jesus Christ, laid his hand upon his heart, and looked up to heaven.
Instantly the farmer grasped his hand, shook it vehemently, and
then ran out of the room. He soon returned with his wife and children laden with milk, eggs, bacon, etc., which were freely tendered;
and when money was offered in return, it was at first refused. But
as two of the soldiers were pious men, they, much to the chagrin of
their companion, insisted upon paying for all they received. When
taking leave, the pious soldiers intimated to the farmer that it would
be well for him to secrete his watch: but, by the most significant
signs, he gave them to understand that he feared no evil, for his trust
was in God; and that though his neighbors, on the right hand and
on the left, had fled from their habitations, and by foraging parties
had lost what they could not remove, not a hair of his head had
been injured, nor had he even lost an apple from his trees.
" The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear
him, and deliveieth them."
ROWLAND HILL AND HIS GARDENER.
THE Rev. Rowland Hill had great reason to rejoice in the consistent lives and zealous devotion to God, of many of his people at
Wotton.  There was among them a person of the name of Rugg, of
29




444    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
a piety so deep, and of a life so useful and unblemished, that even
his enemies admired and were awed by his character. Mr. Hill's
gardener at Wotton, who had always passed for an honest, quiet
sort of man, was at length discovered to have been the perpetrator
of several burglaries, and other daring robberies in the neighborhood,
though he had, till caught in the fact, never been even suspected.
He was tried at Gloucester, condemned, and executed. It need
scarcely be said that his master visited him in jail.  During his interview with him there, he confessed the many crimes of which he had
been guilty.  " How was it, William," he inquired, " that you never
robbed me, when you had such abundant opportunity?"  "Sir,"
replied he, " do you recollect the juniper bush on the boider against
the dining-room? I have many times hid under it at night, intending, which I could easily have done, to get into the house and plunder it; but, sir, I was afraid: something said to me, he is a man
of God: it is a house of prayer; if I break in I shall surely be found
out: so I never could pluck up courage to attempt it." In another
conversation, he told him: " Sir," I well know that old Mr. Rugg
was in the habit of carrying a deal of money in his pocket: times
and times have I hid behind the hedge of the lane leading to his
house: he has passed within a yard of me, when going home from
the prayer-meeting, again and again; I could not stir; I durst not
touch so holy a man.  I was afraid. I always began to tremble as
soon as he came near me, and gave up the thought altogether, for.1 knelw hbe was a holy man."
DYvING CONFESSION OF BORGIA.
IT is said of the celebrated Caesar Borgia, that in his last moments
he exclaimed: " I have provided, in the course of my life, for every
thin g except death; and now, alas I I am to die, although entirely
unprepared."
I WON'T DIE NOW.
THE following affecting account was written in 1775, by a Christian minister in London, to the Rev. Dr. Ryland, who then resided
at Northampton:  A young lady, who was educated at an academy
at Bedford, but who afterward resided in town, became dangerously
ill. Her father, a true Christian, procured for her a lodging in the
neighborhood, to try the effects of a change of air. Finding her
disorder prevail, he thought it hiMgh time for her to be concerned
about her soul, and asked her what she thought of eternity. She
replied: "Do not talk to me about eternity.  You want me out of
she way; but I shall live long enough to enjoy all that you have in




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   445
the world."  He left her.  Ntext evening, the mistress of the house
where she was, said, " Ma'am, I think you look a good deal worse."
"Worse! I anm much better. Why do you talk to me about death?"
" You certainly arpe worse; do let the servant sit up with you tonight."  "No, I am  not about to die."  They went to bed; at
four in tile mornling she awoke her servant, who asked, " What is
amiss, ma'am?"  " Amiss! I'm dying, I'm dying!"  The family
was called up; the mistress, coming in to see her, was thus addressed:
"I won't die now; I am  determined I won't die; I will live."
Getting worse and worse, she said, "I feel I must die," and in an
agony screamed out, "Lord! what must I do?"  Her servant replied, "You must turn to the Savior."  She fell back on the bed,
and in a moment expired.
BUNYAN IN PRISON.
TIIE respectability of Bunyan's character and the propriety of his
conduct while in prison at Bedford, appear to have operated very
powerfully on the mind of the jailer, who showed him much kindness, in permitting him to go out and visit his friends occasionally,
and once to take a journey to London.
The following anecdote is told respecting the jailer and Mr. Bunyan: It being known to some of his persecutors, in London, that he
was often out of prison, they sent an officer to talk with the jailer on
the subject: and, in order to discover the fact, he was to get there
in the middle of the night.  Bunyan was at home with his family,
but so restless that he could not sleep; he therefore acquainted his
wife, that, though the jailer had given him liberty to stay till the
morning, yet, from his uneasiness, he must immediately return. He
did so, and the jailer blamed him for coming in at such an unseasonable hour. Early in the morning the messenger came, and interrogating the jailer said, " Are all the prisoners safe?"  ".Yes."' Is
John Bunyan safe?"   "Yes."   "Let me see him."  He was
called, and appeared, and all was well.  After the messenger was
gone, the jailer, addressing Mr. Bunyan, said: "Well, you may go
in and out again just when you think proper,- for you know when
return better than I can. tell you."
THE CZAR AND THE NOBLEMAN'S DINNER.
ALEXANDER MENZIKOFF, who rose to the highest offices of state in
Russia, durin'g the reign of Peter the Great, was born of parents so
excessively poor, that they could not afford to have him taught to
read and write.  After their death, he went to Moscow to seek for




446    MORAL:AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
employment, where he found an asylum with a pastry-cook. He had
a very fine voice, and soon became known in that great city from the
musical tone of his cry when vending his master's pastry in the
street. HIis voice also gained him admission into the houses of maniy
noblemen; and he was fortunate enough one day to be in the kitchen
of a great lord with whom the emperor was to dine. While Menzikoff was there, the nobleman came into the kitchen and gave directions about a particular dish, to which he said the emperor was very
partial; into this dish he dropped (as he thought unperceived,) a
powder. Menzikoff observed it, but taking no notice, immediately
left the house; and when he saw the emperor's carriage coming, he
began to sing very loud. Peter, attracted by his voice, called him,
and bought all the pies he had in his basket. He asked some questions of Menzikoff, and was so much pleased with his answers, that
he commanded him to follow him to the nobleman's house, and wait
behind his chair.  The servants were surprised at this order, but it
proved of the greatest importance to Peter; for when the nobleman
pressed his royal guest to take of this favorite dish, his new servant
gently pulled him by the sleeve, and begged lie would not touch it
till he had spoken to him.  The emperor immediately withdrew with
Menzikoff, who informed his imperial master of his suspicions. The
czar returned to the company, and suddenly turning to his host
pressed him to partake of the favorite dish. Terrified at this command, he said, " it did not become the servant to eat before his master." The emperor then offered it to a dog, who greedily devoured
its contents, and shortly afterwards expired in the greatest torments i
TWO STRINGS TO OUR BOW.
"WELL, Hodge," said a smart looking Londoner to a plain cottager, who was on his way home from church, " so you are trudging
home, after talking the benefit of the fine balmy breezes in the country this morning."  "Sir," said the man, " I have not been strolling
about this sacred morning, wasting my time in idleness and neglect
of religion; but I have been at the house of God, to worship him,
and hear his preached word."  "Ah! what then, you are one of
those simpletons, that in these country places are weak enough to believe the bible?  Believe me, my man, that book is a pack of nonsense, and none but weak and ignorant people now think it true."
"Well, Mr. Stranger, but do you know, weak and ignorant as we
are, we like to have two strings to our 6ow?"  I" Two strings to your
bow i What do you mean by that?" "Why, sir, I mean that to
believe the bible, and act up to it, is like having two strings to one's
bow; for if it is not true, I shall be the better man for living according to it; and so it will be for my good in this life-that is one string;
and if it should be true, it will be better for me in the next life



MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   447
that is another string, and a pretty strong one it is.  But, sir, if you
disbelieve the bible, and on that account do not live as it requires,
you have not one string to your bow.  And oh! if its tremendous
threats plrove TRUE, oh, think! what then, sir, will become of You?"
This plain appeal silenced the coxcomb, and made him feel, it is
hoped, that he was not quite so wise as he supposed.
LOUIS XV.
WHEN a prince of the blood royal of France disgraced himself by
committing robbery and murder in the streets of Paris, Louis XV.
would not grant a pardon, though eagerly solicited to do so by a deputation from the parliament of Paris, who tried him, and suspended
their sentence till the royal pleasure should be known.  " ly lords
and counsellors," said the king, "' return to your chambers of justice, and promulgate your decree."  " Consider," said the first president, " that the unhappy prince has your majesty's blood in his
veins."  " Yes," said the king,'; but the blood has become impure,
and justice demands that it should be let out; nor would I spare my
own son for a crime, for which I should be bound to condemn the
meanest of my subjects." The prince was executed on the scaffold
in the court of the grand Chatelet, on the 12th of August, 1729.
ANECDOTE OF WINFIELD  (AFTERWARD GEN.) SCOTT.
THE following anecdote was related to a gentleman, during a night
lie spent in a farm-house in Virginia, some few years ago:
In December, 17-, toward the close of a dreary day, a woman
with an infant child were discovered half buried in the snow, by a
little Virginian, seven years old. The lad was returning from school,
and hearing the moans of some one in distress, threw down his
satchel of books, and repaired to the spot whence the sound proceeded, with a firmness becoming one of riper years. Riaking the
snow from the benumbed body of the mother, and using, means to
awaken her to a sense of her deplorable condition, the noble youth
succeeded in getting her upon her feet; the infant nestling onl its
mother's breast, turned its eyes toward their youthful preserver and
smiled, as it seemed, in gratitude for its preservation.  With a countenance filled with hope, the gallant youth cheered the sufferer on,
himself bearing within his tiny arms the infant child, while the mother
leaned for support on the shoulder of her little conductor. "My home
is hard by," would he exclaim, as oft as her spirits failed; and thus,
for three miles, did he cheer onward to a happy haven, the mother
and child, both of whom otherwise must have perished, had it not
been for the humane feeling and perseverance of this noble youth.




441  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
A warm fire and kind attention soon relieved the sufferer, who, it
appeared, was in search of her husband, an emigrant from New
]Hampshire, a recent purchaser of a farm in the neighborhood of, near this place. Diligent inquiry for several days found him,
and in five months after, the identical house in which we are now
sitting was erected, and received the happy family.  The child grew
up to manhood, entered the army, lost a limb at New Orleans, but
returned to end his days, a solace to the declining years of his aged
parents.
"Where are they now?" I asked the narrator.
"Here," exclaimed the son.  "I am the rescued one-there is
my mother, and here, imprinted on my naked arm, is the name of
the noble youth, our preserver!"
I looked, and read, " Winfield Scott."
THE KING AND THE SOLDIER.
A KING was riding alone in disguise, and seeing a soldier at a public-house door, stopped, and asked the soldier to drink with him; and
while they were talking the king swore.
The soldier said, " Sir, I am sorry to hear a gentleman swear."
His majesty took no notice, but soon swore again.  The soldier said,
"Sir, I'll pay palt of the pot if you please, and go o; for I so hate
swearing, that if you were the king himself, I should tell you of it."
" Should you indeed?" said the king.  "I should," said the soldier. His majesty said no more, but left him. A while after, the
king having invited some of his lords to dine with him, the soldier,
was sent for; and while they were at dinner, he was ordered into
the room, and to wait awhile. Presently the king uttered an oath;
the soldier immediately, but with great modesty, said, " Should not
ay lord, the king, fear an oath?" The king, looking first at the lords,
then at the soldier, said, " There, my lords, is an honest manl: he can
respectfully remind me of the great sin of swearing; but you can sit
and let me send my soul to hell by swearing, and not so much as tell
m]e of it."
A MERITED RE3BUKE.
Mir. LoCKE, having been introduced by Lord Shaftesbury to the
Duke of Buckingham  and Lord. Halifax, these three noblemen, instead of conversing with the philosopher, as might naturally have
been expected, on literary subjects, in a very short time sat down to
cards. Mr. Locke, after looking for some time, pulled out his pocketbook, and began to write with great attention.  One of the company
observing this, took the liberty of asking- him what he was writing.




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   449
"My lord," said Locke, " I am endeavoring, as far as possible, to
profit by my present situation; for having waited with impatience for
the honor of being in company with the greatest geniuses of the age,
I thought I could do nothing better than to write down your conversation; and, indeed, I have set down the substance of'what you have
said this hour or two." This.well-timed ridicule had its desired effect,
and these noblemen, fully sensible of its force, immediately quitted
their play, and entered into a conversation more rational, and better
suited to the dignity of their characters, and it may be added, better
fitted to improve time, than so unprofitable a diversion.
TAMERLANE AND BAJAZET.
TAMERLANE THE GREAT, having made war on Bajazet, emperor of the
Turks, overthrew him in battle and took him prisoner.  The victor
gave the captive monarch at first a very civil reception; and entering
into familiar conversation with him, said, "Now, king, tell me fireely
and truly what thou wouldst have done with me had I fallen into thll
power?"  Bajazet, who was of a fierce and haughty spirit, is said
to have thus replied: " Had the gods given unto me the victory, I:
would have enclosed thee in an iron cage, and carried thee about with
me as a spectacle of derision to the world." Tamerlane wrathfully
replied: "Then, proud man, as thou wouldst have done to me, even
so shall I do unto thee." A strong iron cage was made, into which
the fallen emperor was thrust; and thus exposed like a wild beast,
he was carried along in the train of the conqueror.  Nearly three
years were passed by the once mighty Bajazet in this cruel state of
durance; and at last being told that he must be carried into Tartary,
despairing of then obtaining his freedom, he struck his head with
such violence against the bars of his cage, as to put an end to his
wretched life.
THE HONEST  COTTAGER.
IN a little town five miles from St. Petersburgh, lived a poor German woman. A small cottage was her only possession, and the visits
of a few shipmasters, on their way to Petersburgh, her only livelihood. Several Dutch shipmasters having supped at her house one
evening, she found, when they were gone, a sealed bag of money
under the table. Some one of the company had no doubt forgotten
it, but they had sailed over to Cronstadt, and the wind being fair,
there was no chance of their putting back.  The good woman put
the bag in her cupboard, to keep it till it should be called for. Full
seven years elapsed, however, and no one claimed it; and though
often tempted by opportunity, and oftener tempted by want, to make




450   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
use of the contents, the poor woman's good principles prevailed, and
it remained untouched.
One evening some shipmasters again stopped at her house for refreshment. Three of them were English-the fourth a Dutchman.
Conversing on various matters, one of them asked the Dutchman if
he had ever been in that town before. "Indeed I have," replied he.
"I know the place but too well: my being here cost me once seven
hundred rubles."  "How so?"  "Why, in one of these wretched
hovels, I once left behind me a bag of rubles."  " Was the bag
sealed?" asked the old woman, who was sitting in the corner of the
room, and whose attention was roused by the subject.  "Yes, yes,
it was sealed, and with this very seal here at my watch chain."
The woman knew the seal instantly.  " Well, then, by that you may
recover what you have lost."  " Recover it, mother i no, no, I am
rather too old to expect that; the world is not quite so honest-besides it is full seven years since I lost the money. Say no more
about it —it always makes me melancholy."
Meanwhile the good woman slipped out, and presently returned
with the bag.  "See here," said she, "honesty is not so rare, perhaps, as you may imagine;" and she threw the bag on the table.
The guests were astonished, and the owner of the bag, as may be
supposed, highly delighted. He seized the bag, counted out one
hundred rubles and gave them to the old woman, who thus, at
length, was handsomely rewarded for her honesty.
THE DROWNING LADY.
A GAY lady in New England once had occasion to go to a neighboring town, where she lhad often been before. In the immediate vicinity
was a stream which she had to go near, and which at this period was
high. With a view of showing her courage to a young person whom
she had taken with her as a companion, she went into the stream with
her horse, and in a very little time was thrown into the water-had
already sunk once or twice to the bottom, and felt that she was within
a few moments of an eternal world, without being prepared for so
great a change.
It so happened that a young man in another neighboring town had
felt a powerful impression on his mind that morning, that he should
visit the same place. He had no business to transact; but, being
forcibly impressed with the importance of going thither, he invited a
young man to accompany him. Arriving at the side of the stream
just as the young ladies were about to cross it, they saw it was improbable that they could ford it; yet, as the ladies went, they determined to follow.
By the time the young lady was thrown from her horse, the others
had nearly reached the opposite shore; but, perceiving her danger,




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   451
one of them immediately followed her on his horse, and in the last
moment of life, as it then appeared, she caught hold of the horse's
leg; lie thus secured her, and snatching hold of the other drowning
young lady, she was saved also. After the use of proper remedies,
they recovered; and the young gentlemen, believing that the design
of their coming from home was now answered, returned back.
The impression made on the mind of this young lady was permanent, and she was led to reflect on the sills she had committed against
God, to pray for the pardon of her guilt, and to devote herself to the
Divine service. She embraced the mercy of the Lord, believing in
the Redeemer, who alone saves from the wrath to come.
In the same town with herself lived a young gentleman, who had
often spent his hours in vain conversation with her. On her return
home, he went to congratulate her on her escape, and, to his surprise, found she attributed her deliverance to the power of God, and
urged him to seek that grace which they had both neglected.  Her
serious conversation was blest to his conversion, and he became a
faithful minister of Jesus Christ.
FATHER  HARRISON.
THE following anecdote is given by Rev. T. Harrison, in reference
to his father, Rev. R. Harrison, formerly of Yorkshire, England, and
latterly of Springfield, Ohio.
One day he had a payment of five pounds, or about twenty-five
dollars, to make by twelve o'clock at noon. Not having the money
by him, and not wishing to trouble any one with the borrowing of it,
he petitioned the God of all wealth, in his family devotions, that, if
it was his will, a way might be opened by which he could meet his
obligation and liquidate the debt. About two hours afterward, a
gentleman, who lived in the country about four miles distant, and
who had been converted by his instrumentality, rode up to his residence, and, after alighting, remarked:  "Brother Harrison, it was
impressed on my mind this morning that I was to come to town, and
bring you five pounds.  Please accept it from a Christian brother
that loves you for your labors in the cause of Christ."
THE BULLET AND THE TEXT.
DR. JOHN EVANS, the author of some excellent sermons on the
Christian temper, introduced on one occasion, a sermon to young
people, in the following manner:
" Shall I be allowed to preface this discourse with relating a passage concerning an acquaintance of mine, who has been many years
dead, but which I remember to have received, when young, from




452  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
himself?  When he was an apprentice in this city, the civil war began; his inclination led him into the army, where he had a captain's
commission. It was fashionable for all the men of that army to carry
a bible along with them; which, therefore, he and many others did,
who yet made little use of it, and hardly had aly sense of serious
religion.  At length he was commanded, with his company, to storm
a fort, where they were, for a short time, exposed to the thickest of
the enemy's fire. When he had accomplished his enterprise, and the
heat of the action was over, he found that a musket ball had lodged
in his bible, which was in his pocket, upon such a part of his body
that it must necessarily have proved mortal to him, had it not been
for this seasonable and well-placed piece of armor. Upon a nearer
observation, he found the ball had made its way so far in his bible
as to rest directly upon that part of the first unbroken leaf where the
words of my text are found.  It was Eccles. xi. 9:  "Rejoice, O
young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days
of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight
of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will
bring thee into judoment."
"'As the surprising' deliverance, you may apprehend, much affected
him, so a passage, which his conscience told him was very apposite
to his case, and which Providence in so remarkable a way pointed to
his observation, made the deepest and best impression on his mind;
and, by the grace of God, he from that time attended to religion in
earnest, and continued in the practice of it to a good old age-fre(quently making the remark with pleasure, that his bible had been
the salvation of both of his body and his soul."
THE FUTURE.
A LADY had written on a card, and placed in her garden house on
the top of an hour-glass, a beautiful and simple stanza from one of
the fugitive pieces of John Clare, the rural poet; it was at the season
of the year when the flowers wele in their highest beauty:
"To think of summers yet to come,
That I am not to see;
To think a weed is yet to bloom,
From dust that I shall be!"
The next morning she found penciled on the back of the same card:
"To think when heaven and earth are fled,
And times and seasons o'er,
When all that CAN die shall be dead,
That I must die no mlore!
Ah! where will then my portion be?
How shall I spend cterity! "




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   453
HOW  TO CURE A HUSBAND.
A WOMIAN, whom ler husband used frequently to beat, went to a
cunning man to inquire how she mignt cure him of his barbarity.
The sagacious soothsayer heard her complaint; and after pronouncing some hard words, and using various gesticulation, while he filled
a phial with a colored liquid, desired her, whenever her husband
was in a passion, to take a mouthful of the liquor, and keep it in her
mouth for five minutes. The woman, quite overjoyed at so simple a
remedy, strictly followed the counsel which was given her, and, by
her silence, escaped the usual chastisement. The contents of the
bottle being at last expended, she returned to the cunningl man, and
anxiously begged to have another possessed of the same virtue.
"Foolish woman!" said the man, "there was nothing in the bottle but brown sugar and water. When your husband is in a passion,
hold your tongue, and, my life for it, he will not lay a finger upon
you."'
TRIAL OF FAITH.
WHEN Constantine was chosen emnperor he found several Christians
in office, and he issued an edict requiring them to renounce their
faith, or quit their places. Most of them gave up their offices to preserve their consciences-but some cringed and renounced christianity.
Wllen the emperor had thus made full proof of their disposition and
character, he removed all who thus basely complied with his supposed wishes, and retained the others, saying, "that those who
would desert or deny their Divine Master, would desert him, and
were not worthy of his confidence."
THE HONEST INSOLVENT.
A GENTLEMAN of Boston, says a religious journal, who was unfortunate in business thirty years aoo, and consequently unable at
that time to meet his engagements with his creditors, after more than
twenty years of toil, succeeded in paying every creditor, (except one
whose residence could not be ascertained,) the whole amount due
them. He has in that twenty years brought up and educated a large
family: but still he owed one of his former creditors. He was not
satisfied to keep another's property. I-e made inquiry, and received
information that the party had died some years since. He again pursued his inquiry respecting the administrator, and ascertained his
name and residence, wrote to him, acknowledged the debt, and requested him to inform him of the manner he would receive the
money.  Afterward he remitted the whole amount, principal and
interest.




454    MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  A NECDOTES.
OPINIONS OF EMINENT MEN ON THE BIBLE.
AMONG men of education and talents, those who have been known
as enemies of the bible have, for the most part, unhesitatingly acknowledged their ignorance of its contents, or at least that they were
not familiar with its pages; while the invariable testimony of all who
have candidly studied it, has been in favor of its claims to divine
authority, and to the sublimity, purity and wisdom of its precepts.
The testimony following, will be very generally respected.
The venerable John Quincy Adams a short time before his death
stated to a friend, that ever since he was thirty years old, he had
been accustomed, among the first things, to read the bible every
morning. With few interruptions, he followed the practice over half
a century.
Dr. Samuel Johnson is distinguished as a writer on morals; his
compositions have seldom been excelled in energy of thought and
beauty of expression.  To a young gentleman, who visited him on
his deathbed, he said: " Young man, attend to the voice of one who
has possessed a certain degree of fame in the world, and who will
shortly appear before his Maker: read the bible every day of your
life."
At the time when the celebrated Dr. Franklin lay upon his deathbed, he was visited by a young man who had a great respect for his
judgment in all things; and having entertained doubts as to the
truth of the scriptures, he thought that this awful period afforded a
suitable opportunity of consulting the doctor on this important subject. Accordingly, he introduced it in a solemn and weighty manner,
inquiring of Franklin what were his sentiments as to the truth of the
scriptures.  On the question being put, although he was in a very
weak state, and near his decease, he replied: "Young man, my
advice to you is, that you cultivate an acquaintance with, and a firm
belief in, the holy scriptures: this is your certain interest."
When Sir Walter Scott returned, a trembling invalid from Italy,
to die in his native land, the sight of his " sweet home," so invigorated his spirits, that some hope was cherished, that lhe might recover.  But he soon relapsed.  He found that he must die.
Addressing his son-in-law, he said, " Bring me a 0ook:."  " What
book?" replied Lockhart.  " Can you askli," said the expiring'
genius, whose fascinating novels have charmed the world, but have
no balm for death, " can you ask what book? there is but one."
THE SCOTCH BAKER IN LONDON.
A ROTUND, full-priced baker, who was in the habit of bringing his
miserable debtors into " Westminster Court of Requests," one day
stepped into the plaintiffs' box with papers and ledger in hand, to




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.   455
make good his claim for twenty-five shillings, for bread supplied to
a Mr. John Howard.
A tall young woman, wearing a handsome fur mantilla, and evidently careful to exhibit the externals of gentility, presented herself
to answer the demand.  Her age might be either eighteen or twentyeight; the hollow cheek and spare form, produced by early sorrow
or privation, or both, prevented a closer approximation to the truth.
A Commissioner.-Is the amount disputed?
Young Lady.-Certainly not. I have only to say, on the part of
my father, that he sincerely regrets his inability to settle the amount
at once.
Chairman.-How will you pay it?
Young Lady.-I have five shillings to offer now, and my father
wishes to have the indulgence of paying the rest at half-a-crown a
week.
Commissioner.-The bill is for bread, and it has been standing for
some time. Judging from your appearance, I should think your
father cannot be in such circumstances as to make it difficult to procure the few shillings left unpaid on this bill.
Young Lady.-Appearances are often deceitful. It is equally
distressing to my father and myself to ask even for one day; but
unexpected sickness in our family has totally exhausted our little
mleans.
Baker (pocketing the money).-Twa and saxpence a-week is not
enough. Ye gang about toon wi a grand boa, and a fine silk dress,
while my wife maun wear a plaid shawl and a cotton goon, because
the likes o' ye will eat an honest mon's bread wi'oot paying for't.
That fine tippet ye hae gotten on maun hae cost, may be sax gowden
guineas.
"It is true," said the young lady, coloring, " my dress may appear
rather extravagant, and if I could with prudence dress at less cost, I
would do so; but upon a respectable exterior, on my part, as a
teacher of music, depends the subsistence of a sick father and two
young sisters.  (The baker shut his book abruptly, and thrust his
papers into his pocket.)  As for the boa you allude to, that was
pledged this morning to raise a few shillings to pay you the five you
have just received, and to provide food for those who have tasted
little else beyond dry bread for the last week. The tippet I have
on was kindly lent me by my landlady, as the day is wet and cold."
"Well, Mr. Baker," said the chairman, in a tone of compassion,
"perhaps you will agree to the young lady's terms?"
" Oh, aye," said the baker, " twa and saxpence a month. Pit it
down if you wull."
Chairman.-Two and sixpence a-week was offered.
" Mak it just what ye like," said the baker.
The order was made and handed to the young lady. As she was
leaving the court, the baker stopped her. " Gie me haud o' that
bit paper," said the baker.  The request was complied with.




456    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
N oo," said the baker, thrusting some silver into her hand, " tak
bock your croon-piece, and dinna fash yoursel at a' wi' the weekly
payment. Ye shall hae a four pund loaf ilka day at my shope, and
ye may pay me just when ye're able, and if I niver git the siller,
may be I'll niver miss it; but mind, young leddy," said he angrily,
"gin ye deal wi' ony ither baker, I'se pit this order in force agin
yere father."
The young lady looked her gratitude. The baker had vanished.
POOR JONATHAN.
IN a large and populous village in Yorkshire, England, lived a
poor but pious man called Jonathan. He was greatly paralyzed by
disease; had a wife and two or three children chiefly depending on
him for support; and was industrious and persevering in his efforts
to provide for his family, all of whom were content with homely fare.
At the time the writer of this account knew him, he might be from
forty to fifty years of age.  Among other occurrences of his life,
he says, I distinctly recollect the following, which he related to me:
During the time of harvest, while employed in gathering the fruits
of the earth, he accidentally slipped fiom the top of a barley-mow,
and sprained his ankle, in consequence of which he was confined to
his room and bed for some weeks. It is unnecessary to state that in
the meantime his family must have felt the loss of his weekly labor
and income. His wife, on one occasion, went up stairs into his room
weeping.  "What is the matter?" said Johathan; "what is distressing thee?"  "Why, the children are crying for something to
eat, and I have nothing to give them," was the affecting reply.
"Hast thou faith in God?" asked Jonathan.  "Dost thou believe in
Providence and in his word? Has he not said,'bread shall be given
thee, and thy water shall be sure?' Isa. 33: 16. Kneel down," he
continued, " at the bedside, and pray to God. Tell him how thy
children are circumstanced; that they have no bread; that thou
hast nothing wherewith to buy them any; and I will also pray. Who
can tell what God may do? He heareth prayer."
Jonathan and his wife prayed earnestly together; they pleaded
the promises of God, and waited the result. Soon after a person
came to the door with a loaf of bread. She came from a house in
the immediate neighborhood of Jonathan, the occupier of which was
one of several branches of a family who were proprietors of very extensive iron-works carried on in the village where Jonathan lived.
No sooner did the good woman receive the loaf of bread than she
ran to Jonathan to tell him how God had answered their prayer.
"Now," said Jonathan, "before any thing else be done, kneel down
at the bedside and return thanks to God for having heard our
prayer." She did so; they praised his name together; they then




M[ORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  457
ate their food with gladness and singleness of heart. Not many
hours elapsed before another kind interposition of Providence presented itself. A second visitor brought them a joint.of meat. When
this was told Jonathan, he replied to his wife, " Ay! see i God is
better than his word i He promised bread, and he sends flesh in
addition. Kneel down and thank him again."
I will add one more anecdote of pious Jonathan. He had a relative, in good circumstances, a few miles distant, whom he occasionally visited. He embraced an opportunity of paying a visit to that
person on the same day on which he attended a quarterly religious
meeting observed by the denomination of Christians to which he belonged. It so happened that a party of friends dined with his relative that day, who were sufficiently forward to taunt Jonathan with
his religion and religious profession. Before he left the table, wine
was brought, and Jonathan was urged and urged again to partake.
They had their design in this, which Jonathan perceived.  When
pressed, he said, " Well, for once I will drink like a beast." He then
took what he deemed sufficient and prepared to withdraw.  " How
so?" said one: " did you not say you would drink like a beast?
Methodists, I see, will not swear, but they will lie."  " I am not
chargeable with that," said Jonathan; "how does a beast drink?
Just as much as nature requires, and no more. I have done so.
Beware you do not make yourselves worse than beasts."  Jonathan
left them to reflect upon the admonition. Reader, do not despise
good men, though they are poor; and learn not to look upon the
wine when it is red.  "Who hath wo? Who hath sorrow?  Who
hath contention?  They that tarry long at the wine?"
A YOUNG REOCRUIT.
A YOUNGc man in England whose manner indicated a well-cultivated
mind, and commanded respect, went to a recruiting-officer requesting
to be enlisted.  Appearing to be greatly embarrassed, the officer
asked him the cause of it. With tears he replied, 1" I tremble lest
you should deny my request."  " No," said the officer, " I accept
your offer most heartily; but why should you fear a refusal?" I" Because the bounty which I expect may perhaps be too high." "How
much then do you demand?" said the officer. "It is no unworthy
motive, but an urgent claim that compels me to ask ten guineas; and
I shall be the most miserable of mankind if you refuse me."  "Ten
guineas i" said the officer; "that indeed is very high; but I am
pleased with you: I trust to your honor for the discharge of your
duty, and will strike the bargain at once. Here are ten guineas; tomorrow we depart."  The young man, overwhelmed with joy, asked
leave to return home, and promised to be back within an hour.
The officer gave permission, and induced by curiosity, followed him




458   MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
at some distance. He went to the town-prison, where he knocked
and was admitted. The officer, while standing at the door of the
prison, overheard the young man say to the jailer, "Here is. the
money for which my father is imprisoned. I put it into your hands,
and request you will conduct me to him immediately, that I may
release him from his misery."  The jailer did as he was requested.
After the delay of a few minutes, the officer followed him. What a
scene! He saw the son in the arms of a venerable and aged father,
who, without uttering a word, pressed him to his heart and bedewed
him with tears. The officer approached them, and said to the old
man, " Compose yourself, I will not deprive you of so worthy a son.
Permit me to restore him to you, that I may not regret the money
which he has employed in so virtuous a manner."  The father and
son fell upon their knees at his feet. The young man refused at first
to accept of this proffered freedom; but the generous officer insisted
that he should remain with his father. He accompanied them both
from the prison, and took his leave, with the pleasing reflection of
having contributed to the happiness of a worthy son and an unfortunate father.
DISTRICTS IN PURGATORY.
A WOMAN and two children, says Doctor Brownlee, called on a
lady in Broadway, New York, to ask alms.  The woman was dressed
in black, and said that she was left a widow, with the children she
had accompanying her, in distressed circumstances, and she urged
her request for alms with considerable earnestness.  The lady informed her that she could give her no money, but offered her food
and articles of clothing if she might need them. But these would
not do; the widow wanted money, and she insisted so earnestly on
the gift of money, that the lady asked her into the house, and entered into conversation with her, when she drew from the widow the
following story:
" My husband," said she, " died a few weeks ago, and since that
I've had no peace. Priest      called on me soon after, and reproved me for not paying over to him the sum of money necessary
for his release from that place of torment. I asked him how much
that would be?' Oh,' said he,'we have different prices for different souls. For saying mass for some we have one hundred dollars, for others fifty, and for others less. The least sum I can accept
for praying the soul of your departed husband out of that place of
torment is twenty-four dollars.' And now he gives me no peace, because, you know, I have not the money, and what can I do for the
soul of my poor husband?"
The lady took a bible, and handing it to the afflicted widow, slid
to her: " Here, take this bible, and go to the priest you speak of, and
request him to fold down a leaf on that place which teaches the




MORtAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTE S.   459
doctrine of purgatory, and then you bring the bible back to me, and I
will give you the whole amount you want to pay for the praying your
husband out of that place of torment."
The poor Romanist was delighted with this proposal.  She took
the bible, and made off in great haste to the priest; but she was
not gone a great while; she soon returned more sorrowful than before. She told the lady, in great distress, that she carried the bible
to the priest, and informed him how he could put her in the way of
obtaining the whole amount necessary to procure the release of her
husband's soul from the torments of purgatory. But, alas i instead
of turning down a leaf in her bible upon a place where it teaches the
doctrine of purgatory, he flew into a violent rage, and ordered her
from his presence, saying: " See that the twenty-four dollars are forthcoming, or I'll put you under penance for having in your presence
that heretical book and your husband shall never be released from
purgatory till the money is paid down; and, mind you, no other
priest but myself can pray him out, for he is in my district/"
I'LL TAKE BACK MY MONEY.
AN Italian noble being at church one day, and finding a priest who
begged for the souls in purgatory, gave him a piece of gold. "Ah!
my lord," said the good father, "you have now delivered a soul."
The count threw upon the plate another piece.  "Here is another
soul delivered," said the priest. " Are you positive of it?" replied
the count. " Yes, my lord," replied the priest, "I am certain they
are now in heaven."  " Then," said the count, "I'll take back my
money, for it signifies nothing to you now; seeing the souls are already got to heaven, there can be no danger of their returning to
purgatory."
MADEMOISELLE SOMBRUIL.
DURING1 the French revolution, Mademoiselle Sombruifl had been
eight days with her father in prison, when the unhappy massacres of
September commenced. After many prisoners had been murdered,
and the sight of blood continually flowing, seemed only to increase
the rage of the assassins, while the wretched inmates of the prison
endeavored to hide themselves from the death that hovered over
them, Mademoiselle Sombruil rushed into the presence of the murderers who had seized her father.  " Barbarians i" she cried, " hold
your hands, he is my father i" She threw herself at their feet. In
one moment she seized the hand that was lifted against her father,
and in the next she offered her own person to the sword, so placing
herself that the parent could not be struck but through the body of
his child. So much courage and filial affection in so young a girl,
30




460   MORAL AND  LGELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
for a moment diverted the attention of the assassins. She perceived
that they hesitated, and seized on the favorable opportunity. While
she entreated for her father's life, one of the monsters proposed the
following condition: "Drink," said he, " a glass of blood, and save
your father." She shuddered, and retreated some paces; but filial
affection gained the ascendancy, and she yielded to the horrible condition. "Innocent or guilty," said one of those who performed the
office of judge, " it is unworthy of the people to bathe their hands in
the blood of the old man, since they must first destroy this virtuous
girl."  A cry of " pardon 1" was heard.  The daughter, revived by
this signal of safety, threw herself into her father's trembling arms,
which scarcely had power to press her to his bosom, being overcome
by such powerful affection and so providential a deliverance. Even
the most outrageous assassins were unable to restrain their tears; and
the father and daughter were triumphantly conducted to a place of
comfort and safety.
THE INDIAN CONVERT.
c" Do you remember," said an Indian convert to a missionary,
"that a few years ago a party of warriors came to the vicinity of
the tribe to whom you preach, and pretending friendship, invited the
chief of the tribe to hold a talk with them?"
"' Yes," replied the missionary, " I remember it very well."'
"Do you remember," continued the Indian, "that the chief, fearing treachery, instead of going himself, sent,one of his warriors to
hold the talk?"
" Yes," was the reply.
"And do you remember," proceeded the Indian, "that warrior
never returned, but that he was murdered by those who, with promises of friendship, had led him into their snare?"
"I remember it all very well," replied the missionary.
"Well," the Indian continued, weeping with emotion, " I was one
of that band of warriors. As soon as our victim was in the midst
of us, we fell upon him with our tomahawks and cut him to pieces."
This man became one of the most influential members of the
christian church, and reflected with horror upon those scenes in
which he formerly exulted. He gave his influence and his prayers,
that there might be glory to God in the highest, peace on earth and
good will to men.
FREDERICK AND HIS PAGE.
FREDERICK OF PRUSSIA, one day rung his bell, and nobody answering, he opened his door, and found his page fast asleep in an elbow(chair. He advanced toward, and was going to awaken him, when




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.    46['he perceived part of a letter hanging out of his pocket. His curiosity prompting him to know what it was, he took it out and read it.
It was a letter from this young man's mother, in which she thanked
him for having( sent her a part of his wages to relieve her misery;
and finished with telling him that God would reward him for his dutiful affection. The king, after reading it, went back softly into his
chamber, took a bag full of ducats, and slipped it with the letter into
the page's pocket. Returning to his chamber, he rang the bell so
loudly that it awakened the page, who instantly made his appearance.
4 "You have had a sound sleep," said the king. The page was at a
loss how to excuse himself; and putting his hand into his pocket by
chance, to his utter astonishment he there found a purse of ducats.
He took it out, turned pale, and looking at the king, shed a torrent
of tears without being able to utter a single word. " What is that?"
said the king; " what is the matter?"  " Ah  sire," said the young
man, throwing himself on his knees, "somebody seeks my ruin! I
know nothing of this money which I have found in my pocket!"
"My young friend," replied Frederick, " God often does great things
for us, even in our sleep.  Send that to your mother; salute
her on my part, and assure her that I will take care of both her and
you. "
PRESERVATION OF A FAMILY.
A CREDIBLE historian informs us, that about one hundred and fifty
years ago, there was,an earthquake in Switzerland, which precipitated part of a mountain upon a village that stood beneath it, and
crushed every house and inhabitant to atoms, except the corner of
one cottage, where the master of the house, with his poor family,
were together praying to God.
EUCLID.
EIcLID, a disciple of Socrates, having offended his brother, the
brother cried out in a rage, " Let me die if I am not revenged on
you one time or other;" to whom Euclid replied, " And let me die if
I do not soften you by my kindnesses, and make you love me as well
as ever."  What a reproof to unforgiving professors of Christianity!
SERGEANT FORBES.
MANY years ago, in a regiment of soldiers stationed at Edinburgh,
there was a sergeant named Forbes, a very abandoned man, who got
in debt for liquor wherever he could.  His wife washed for the.




462   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECPOTES.
regiment, and thus obtained a little money. She was a pious woman,
but all her attempts to reclaim him were long unsuccessful. During one
uf Mr. Whitefield's visit to that city, she offered her husband a sum
of money if he would for once go and heal him. This was a strong
inducement, and he engaged to go. The sermon was in a field, as
no building could have contained the audience. The sergeant was
rather early, and placed himself in the middle of the field, that lie
might file off when Mr. Whitefield ascended the pulpit; as he only
wished to be able to say that he had seen him. The crowd however
increased; and when Mr. Whitefield appeared they pressed forward,
and he found it impossible to get away. The prayer produced some
impression on his mind, but the sermon most deeply convinced him of
his sinfulness and danger. He became an altered man, and proved
the reality of his conversion by living for many years with the strictest economy, in order to liquidate the claims of every one of his
creditors.
JUDGE BULLER.
JUDGE BULLER, when in the company of a young gentleman of
sixteen, cautioned him against being led astray, by the example or
persuasion of others, and said: "If I had listened to the advice of
some of those who called themselves my friends when I was young,
instead of being a judge of the king's bench, I should have died
long ago a prisoner in the king's bench."
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
ThIS eminent man was governor of Flushing, (Neth.) and general
of the horse under his uncle, the earl of Leicester. His valor, which
was esteemed great, and not exceeded by any of his age, was at least
equalled by his humanity. After le had received his death-wound
at the battle of Zutphen, and was overcome with thirst from excessive bleeding, he called for drink, which was soon brought him. At
the same time, a poor soldier, dangerously wounded, was carried
along, who fixed his eager eyes upon the bottle just as Sir Philip
was lifting it to his mouth. Sir Philip immediately presented it to
him, with the remark: " Thy necessity is greater than mine."
THE BROTHERS AND THE SNOW-STORM.
IN the year 1804, some young men of the Morayshire and Inverness-shire militia, being quartered at Edinburgh, obtained a short
furlough.  They were seven in number, two of them being brothers,




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.    463
named Forsythe.  They had to walk, in the very depth of winter,
one hundred and thirty miles. As they proceeded, they were overtaken by one of those sudden snow-storms which are usual in the
mountains. And now the night began to close in around them,
while the snow and the wind still grew thicker and stronger. At.
last, being bewildered by the shade of the evening, which was rendered yet more dismal by the incessant snow-drift, they strayed, as
might be expected, firom the right path, and exhausted their strength.
They could just see one another; but the storm was so violent,
they could not converse. Thus struggling onward, and scarcely
knowing where they went, one of them sank in a hollow in the rock,
and was burlied. The others passed on, unconscious of his loss.
Soon after, the younger Forsythe also dropped down, being quite
spent. His body lay in the pathway of the rest, but being much
weakened themselves, they, without helping him, stepped on; all
did so but one.  This one was the elder Forsythe, who knowing that he had a brother among the party, stooped when he came
up to him, and felt his features. Having in this manner assured
himself that it was his own brother, he, without hesitation, took
him  up, and placed him  on his back. And now the number
rapidly diminished; one after another perished, being frozen to
death. Forsythe yet went on, bearing his burden, which neither his
fatigue, nor the difficulties of the way, could induce him to cast off.
As long as he had any strength, he persevered, holding his brother
on his back, until at length, his powers giving way before his affection, he sank beneath the weight, and immediately expired. Before,
however, he thus died, it appeared that he had succeeded in saving
his brother, though he lost himself: for the younger Forsythe had
been gradually reanimated by the warmth of his brother's body;
and, when he dropped, was so thoroughly aroused, that he was
enabled to reach his home, having escaped death by his brother's
generous sacrifice of himself, and had the melancholy duty imposed
upon him of attending his kind brother's funeral.
WASHINGTON'S REGARD FOR HIS MOTHER.
GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON when quite young, was about to
go to sea as a midshipman; every thing was arranged, the vessel lay
opposite his father's house, the little boat had come on shore to take
him off, and his whole heart was bent on going. After his trunk
had been carried down to the boat, he went to bid his mother farewell, and saw the tears bursting from her eyes. However, he said
nothing to her; but he saw that his mother would be distressed if he
went, and perhaps never be happy again. He just turned around
to the servant and said, " Go and tell them to fetch my trunk back.
I will not go away to break my mother's heart."  His mother was




464   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
struck with his decision, and she said to him: "George, God has
promised to bless the children that honor their parents, and I believe
he will bless you."
FREDERICK THE GREAT AND SERGEANT THOMAS.
IT is well known that Frederick the Great took pride in having his.soldiers well disciplined; and was therefore particularly attentive to
the conduct of the subalterns.  It is perhaps not so well known.
that he sometimes manifested a real respect for religious people; for
few men could more clearly discern the excellence of the conduct
produced by holy principles.  While, therefore, he sneered at Christianity, he sometimes promoted to offices of trust those who consistently maintained it.
A sergeant, of the name of Thomas, who was very successful in
training his men, and whose whole deportment pleased the king, was
often noticed by him. He inquired respecting the place of the sergeant's birth, his parents, his religious creed, and the place of worship which he frequented.  On being informed that he was united
with the Moravians, and attended their chapel in William-street, he
exclaimed, " Oh! ol! you are a fanatic, are you? Well, well; only
take care to do your duty, and improve your men."
The king's common salutation after this, was: "Well, how do you
do? how are you going on in William-street "  His majesty at
length, in conversation with Thomas's colonel, mentioned his intention of promoting the sergeant to an office in the commissariat
department, upon the death of aged man who then filled it.
The colonel, in order to encourage Thomas, told him of the king's
design. Unhappily this had an injurious effect upon the mind of the
sergeant; for, alas! such is the depravity of the human heart, that
few can endure the temptation of prosperity without sustaining
spiritual loss. Thomas began to forsake the assemblies of his Christian brethren; and when reproved by his minister, he said, "his
heart was with him, but he was afraid of offending' the king."  The
minister told him to take good heed that his heart did not deceive
hirm. Soon after the sergeant's religious declension, hie was againm
accosted by the king, with, "Well, how do you do? how are your
friends in William-street?"  "I do not know, please your majesty,"
was the reply.  "Not know! not know!" answered the king;
"have you been ill?"  "No, please your majesty," rejoined the
sergeant; "but I do not see it necessary to attend there so often as
I used to do."  "Then you are not so great a fanatic as I thought
you,;" was the royal answer.
In a short time the aged officer died, and the colonel waited upon
his majesty to inform him of the vacancy, and to remind him of his
intention to raise Sergeant Thomas to the situation.  "No, no!" said
the king, " hee shall not have it; he does not go so often to William



MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  465
street as he used to do." Surprised with this peremptory refusal,
the colonel withdrew, and on his return found his sergeant waiting
for the confirmation of his appointment. "I do not know what is
the matter with the king to-day," said the colonel, "but he will not
give you the situation. He says you do not go so often to Williamstreet as you used to do. I do not know what he means; but I suppose you do."  Struck in a moment with the awful impropriety of
his conduct, he bowed to the colonel, and departed to humble himself before God. He ever after adored the Divine mercy, which did
not leave him fully to realize the scriptural threatening: " The prosperity of fools shall destroy them."
DOD'S SINGULAR VISIT.
IT is recorded of Mr. Dod, one of the Puritan ministers, that being
one evening late in his study, his mind was strongly inclined, though
he could assign no reason for it, to visit a gentleman of his acquaintance, at a very unseasonable hour.  Not knowing the design of
Providence, he obeyed and went. When he came to the house, after
knocking a few times at the door, the gentleman himself came, and
inquired if he wanted him upon any particular business. Mr. Dod
having answered in the negative, and signified that he could not rest.
until he had seen him, the gentleman replied: "0, sir, you are sent
of God at this very hour, for I was just now going to destroy
myself 1" and immediately pulled the halter out of his pocket, by
which he had intended to commit the horrid deed, which was thus
prevented.
LOSING, BUT LIBERAL.
A WEALTHY merchant, having lost by one shipwreck, to the value
of fifteen hundred pounds, ordered his clerk to distribute one hundred pounds among poor ministers and people; adding, that if his
fortune was going by fifteen hundred pounds at a lump, it was high
time to make sure of some part of it before it was gone.
SAVED  FROM  A ROBBER Bk RAIN.
A MERCHIANT was one day returning from market. He was on
horseback, and behind him was a valise filled with money. The
rain fell with violence, and the good old man was wet to. his skin.
At this he was vexed, and murmured because God had given him
such bad weather for his journey.
He soon reached the borders of a thick forest. What was his




466   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
terror on beholding on one side of the road a robber, with leveled
gun, aiming at him and attempting to fire,  But the powder being
wet by the rain, the gun did not go off, and the merchant, giving
spurs to his horse, fortunately had time to escape.
As soon as he found himself safe, he said to himself: "How
wrong was I, not to endure the rain patiently as sent by Providence.
If the weather had been dry and fair, I should not, probably, have
been alive at this hour, and my little children would have expected
my return in vain. The rain which caused me to murmur, came at
a fortunate moment, to save my life and preserve my property."
And thus it is with a multitude of our afflictions; by causing us
slight and short sufferings, they preserve us from others far greater,
and of longer duration.
WHY DO YOU PLANT TREES?
A VERY poor and aged man, busied in planting and grafting an
apple tree, was rudely interrupted by the interrogation: "Why do
you plant trees, who cannot hope to eat the fruit of them?" He
raised himself up, and, leaning upon his spade, replied: "Some one
planted trees before I was born, and I have eaten the fruit; I now
plant for others, that the memorial of my gratitude may exist when
I am dead and gone."
RESTITUTION.
THE following remarkable instance of the force of conscience
occurred, in 1835, in the neighborhood of London. A lady, about
thirty-eight years of age, elegantly dressed, entered the shop of
MIr.-, a respectable pastry cook, in a state of great mental excitement, and inquired if Mr. —--- were still alive. On being answered,
in the most earnest manner begged to see him. Being engaged in
superintending the making of some confectionary, he begged to be
excused, and referred her to his daughter, who, he said, would wait
upon her. The daughter immediately withdrew with her into the
parlor; when, after sitting a few moments in silence, she burst into
a flood of tears. When she became more composed, she stated, that
upward of twenty years since, she was a boarder at a highly respectable boarding-school in that neighborhood, which school Mr. —
had for nearly forty years supplied with pastry, etc.; and while
there, she was in the habit of abstracting small articles fiom his
tray, unknown to the person who brought it. She had now been
married some years, was the mother of six children, and in the
possession of every comfort this world could afford; but still the
remembrance of her youthful sin had so haunted her conscience,
that she was never happy. Her husband perceiving her unhappiness, had, after many fruitless endeavors, at last got possession of




MORAL  AND  RELIGIO  S ANECDOTES.  467
the cause, when he advised her, for the easement of her conscience,
to see if Mr. —  were alive, and to make him or his family a recompense; and as she was going to leave London on the following day,
perhaps forever, she had then come for that purpose. Mr., on
being informed of the object of her visit, told her not to make herself any longer unhappy, as she was not the only young lady who
had acted in that manner. After begging his forgiveness, which he
most readily granted, she insisted on his acceptance of a sum of
money, which, she said, she believed was about the value of the
articles she had stolen; and after remainining about an hour, she
departed, evidently much happier.
CONTENTMENT.
A KING, walking out one morning, met a lad at the stable door,
and asked him: "Well, boy, what do you do? what do they pay
you?"  " I help in the stable," replied the lad; "but I have nothing
except victuals and clothes."  "Be content," replied the king, "I
have no more."
ANOTHER.
AN Italian bishop struggled through great difficulties, without
repining or betraying the least impatience.  One of his intimate
friends, who highly admired the virtues which he thought it impossible to imitate, one day asked the prelate if he could communicate
the secret of being always easy. "Yes," replied the old man; "I
can teach you my secret with great facility; it consists in nothing
more than making a right use of my eyes."  His fiiend begged of
him to explain himself.  "Most willingly," retulrned the bishop.
" In whatever state I am, I first of all look up to heaven, and remember that my principal business here is to get there; I then look down
upon the earth, and call to mind how small a place I shall occupy in
it, when I die and am buried; I then look abroad into the world, and
observe what multitudes there are who are in all respects more unhappy than myself. Thus I learn where true happiness is placed;
where all our cares must end; and what little reason I have to repine
or to complain."
EXCOMMUNICATING A PRINCE.
WILLIAM IX, Duke of Aquitaine and Earl of Poitiers, was a violent
and dissolute prince, and often indulged himself in improper behavior at the expense of religion.  Though he had contracted a very
suitable marriage, and one with which he was satisfied for some
time, he parted from his wife without reason, to marry another, who
pleased him better. The bishop of Poitiers, where he resided, was
a holy prelate, named Peter. He could not brook so great a scandal;




46,8    IORAL AND  RELIGIOUS. ANECDOTES.
and having employed all other means in vain, he thought it his duty
to excommunicate the duke.  As he began to pronounce the anathema, William furiously advanced, sword in hand, saying: " Thou
art dead if thou proceedest."  The bishop, as if afraid, required a
few moments to consider what was most expedient.: The duke
granted it, and the bishop courageously finished the rest of the formula of excommunication.  After which, extending his neck:  "Now
strike," said he, "I am quite ready."  The astonishment which this
intrepid conduct produced in the duke, disarmed his fury, and saying
ironically: "I don't like you well enough to send you to heaven,"
he contented himself with banishing him.
THE SHEPHERD  OF SALISBURY PLAIN.
MANY of our readers are acquainted with that beautiful tract,' The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain."  The substance of this narrative is a correct account of David Saunders, of West Lavington, who
died about the period of its publication.  The conversation represented as passing between the shepherd and a Mr. Johnson, really
took place with Dr. Stonchouse, a neighboring clergyman, who afterward befriended the shepherd on many occasions.
Dr. Stonehouse, who was on a journey, and somewhat fearful,
from the appearance of the sky, that rain was at no great distance,
accosted the shepherd with asking what sort of weather he thought
it would be oni the morrow.  " It will be such weather as pleases
me," answered the shepherd.  Though the answer was delivered in
the mildest and civilest tone that could be imagined, Dr. S. thought
the words themselves rather rude and surly, and asked him how that
could be.  "Because," replied the shepherd, "it will be such
weather as shall please God; and whatever pleases him always
pleases me."
Dr. S. was quite satisfied with this reply, and entered into conversation witih the shepherd in the following manner: "Yours is a
troublesome life, honest friend."  " To be sure, sir," replied the
shepherd, "'tis not a very lazy life; but'tis not near so toilsome as
that which my great Master led for my sake, and he had every state
and condition of life at his choice, and chose a hard one, while I
only submit to the lot that is appointed nce."'s You are exposedeto
great cold and heat," said the gentleman.  "True, sir," said the
shepherd; "but then I am not exposed to great temptations; and
so throwino one thing against another, God is pleased to contrive to
make things more equal than we poor, ignorant, short-sighted creatures are apt to think. David was happier when he kept his father's
sheep, on such a plain as this, and singing some of his own psalms,
perhaps, than ever he was when he became king of Israel and
Judlah."




MiORAL  A-ND  RELIGIOUS  AN ECDOTES.   469
"You think, then," said the gentleman, "that a laborious life is a
happy one?"
"I do, sir; and more especially so, as it exposes a mall to fewer
sins.  If King Saul had continued a poor laborious man to the end
of his days, he,might have lived happy and honest, and died a natural death in his bed at last, which-you know, sir', was more than he
did."
God blessed Saunders with an excellent wife and numerous offspring: he had sixteen children, and twelve of them, at one time,
were "like olive branches around his table."  It is not to be supposed that a poor shepherd, with such a family, could be without
difficulties, especially as his wife suffered much from  sickness.  His
wages were but six shillings and threepence weekly, (about one dollar and forty cents,) out of which he was sometimes obliged to pay
a boy for assistance; but when times of peculiar necessity occurred,
God always raised hinm  up a friend.  Dr. (afterward Sir James)
Stonehouse repeatedly assisted him; and sometimes his good neighbors, in humbler life, united to supply his wants.  In one of his letters in his old age, he thus writes with much christian simplicity:
"As for my part, I am but very poorly in body, having very sore
legs, and cannot perform the business of my flock without help.  As
to the things of this world, I have but little share; having my little
cot to pray and praise God in, and a bed to rest on: so I have just
as much of this world as I desire.  But my garment is worn out,
and some of my christian friends think they must put their mites together and buy me one, or else I shall not be able to endure the cold
in the winter; so I can say, Good is the Lord! He is still fulfilling
his promise —  I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee!' 
THE PARTITION FENCE.
Two neighbors, who were brothers by marriage, had a difficulty
respecting their partition fence. Although they had mutually erected
a substantial fence, four and one-half feet in hight on the line separating the sheep pasture of one from the grain field of the other, yet
the lambs would creep through the crevices and destroy the grain.
Each asserted it to be the duty of the other to chink the fence.
After the usual preliminaries of demands, refusals, threats, challengues, and mutual recriminations, they resolved to try the glorious
uncertainty of the law.  They were, however, persuaded by their
fiiends to the more amicable mode of submitting  the defense to the
final determination of a very worthy and intelligent neighbor, who
was forthwith conducted to the scene of trouble, and in full view of
the premises.  Each party in turn, and in a speech of some length,
asserted his rights, and set forth the law and the facts; at the conclusion of which, the arbitrator very coolly remarled: "Gentlemen,




470  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
the case involves questions of great nicety and importance, not only
to the parties in interest, but to the community at large; and it is my
desire to take suitable time for deliberation, and, also, for advisement with those who are learned in the law, and most experienced
customs of good neighbors; in the meantime, however, I will just
clap a billet or two of wood into tohe sheep holes."  In ten minutes
time, with his hands, he effectually closed every gap.
The parties silently retired, each evidently heartily ashamed of
his own folly and obstinacy. The umpire has never been called
upon to pronounce final judgment in the case; so the law remains
unsettled unto this day.
BOLINGBROKE.
BOLINGBROKE left one of his publications to be published after his
death by Mallet, a brother unbeliever.  Dr. Johnson, when asked
his opinion of the legacy, exclaimed: "A scoundrel! who spent his
life in charging a pop-gun against christianity; and a coward, who,
afraid of the report of his own gun, left half a crown to a hungry
Scotchman to pull the trigger after his death."
THE SHIPWRECKED SAILOR AND THE BIBLE.
Fox, the martyrologist, informs us of an English sailor, who, being
shipwrecked, lost all his property except his bible, which he was determined to save, and of which he took more care than of his money.
Having clung to the wreck until all others on board perished, he
committed himself to sea, with his bible tied round his neck with a
handkerchief. After floating' upon the water for a long time, supported by a piece of the mast, he was happily discovered by the
crew of another vessel, sitting upon the broken fragment which preserved him from a watery grave; and when thus almost miraculously
delivered from starvation and death, he was reading the bible i
WESLEY'S SIMPLICITY.
THE greatness of Wesley consisted, to no small extent, in his simplicity.  Yet this very simplicity he had to cultivate. When he first
began his ministry, his style was so lofty that several hearers complained they could not understand him. Learning this, he resolved
to change his course; and to the individual who informed him of the
complaints, he observed: "I will make them understand me." How
far he succeeded, may be seen from the following circumstance.  In
June, 1790, the year before he died, he preached at Lincoln, taking




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  AiNELCDOTES    471
for his text, Luke x. 42: "One thing is needful."  As the congregation was dispersing, a lady remarked, in a tone of great surprise,
to a friend that accompanied her: "Is this the great Mr. Wesley, of
whom we hear so much in the present day? Why, the poorest might
have understood him."  Her friend replied: " In this, madam,. he
displays his greatness; that while the poorest can understand him,
the most learned are edified, and cannot be offended."
A PENITENT YOUTH.
A DRAPER in Yarmouth, England, discovered that a lad in his service had stolen his property.   He was tried, found guilty, and
sentenced to seven years' transportation; but, on account of some
favorable traits in his character, application was made to the secretary of state, and the punishment was mitigated to five years' imprisonment in the MIillbank penitentiary.  At the expiration of three
years his conduct induced the authorities to release him, when he
went at once to Yarmouth, called on his former employer, and, ill
the spirit of a sincere penitent, expressed his sorrow for his dishonesty and ingratitude to so good a master, and said: "Sir, I have
taken care of the money that I took away, and am now come to return your property." The gentleman was surprised at this announcement; and seeing him put his hand in his pocket, began to expect
to receive a few pounds. Great was his astonishment when the
lad handed to him  one hundred and two pounds, sixteen shillings
and sixpence-nearly five hundred dollars.
WASHINGTON AT THE COMMUNION.
WHILE the American army, under the command of Washington,
lay encamped in the environs of Morristown, N. J., it occurred that
the service of the communion, (there observed semi-annually only,)
was to be administered in the Presbyterian church of that village.
On a morning of a previous week, the general, after his accustomed
inspection of the camp, visited the house of the Rev. Dr. Jones, then
pastor of that church, and, after the usual preliminaries, thus accosted him: " Doctor, I understand that the Lord's supper is to be
celebrated with you next Sunday; I would learn if it accords with
the canons of your church to admit communicants of another denomination?"   The doctor rejoined: "Most certainly; ours is not
the Presbyterian table, general, but the Lord's table; and we hence
give the Lord's invitation to all his followers of whatever name."
The general replied: "I am glad of it; that is as it ought to be;
but as I was not quite sure of the fact, I thought I would ascertain




472   MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
it froom yourself, as I propose to join with you on that occasion.
Though a member of the Church of England, I have no exclusive
partialities."  The doctor reassured him of a cordial welcome, and
the general was found seated with the communicants the next
Sabbath.
DEATH  OF JULIAN.
THE Roman emperor, Julian, a determined enemy of Christianity,
was mortally wounded in a war with the Persians.  In this condition, we are told that he filled his hand with blood, and casting it
into the air, said: " 0 Galilean! thou hast conquered!"  During
this expedition, one of Julian's followers asked a Christian 6f Antioch, " What the carpenter's son was doing?"  " The Maker of the
world," replied the Christian, "whom vou call the carpenter's son,
is employed in making a coffin for the emperor."  In a few days
after, news came to Antioch of Julian's death.
TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.
ON John's river, in the county of Burke, there lived a worthy old
gentleman by the name of Copening. He was a man well at ease in
point of worldly substance, and was known far and near for his
charity and hospitality.  There happened in the year, a remarkable scarcity of provisions, especially grain.  Money was also scarce,
and times every way hard. Hunger-aching, maddening hungerwas felt by a few in every neighborhood; and, in some cases, we
have heard of its proceeding to starvation; but to the honor of our
country, and to the honor of human nature, be it said, these cases
were extremely rare. In these difficult times, however, old Mr.
Copening happened to have a large and well-filled corn crib, which
for a long' time he would not open.  Grain became scarce, the prices
rose higher, and still the old man held up his corn, as some supposed
for a higher price. At length Mr. Copening began to let his corn
go-but money could not buy it.  To those who had money lhe
would say: " You can get something to preserve life for your
money; there are many who have no money, and being without
food, they must perish, unless those who are blessed with the means
shall feed them."  Of course, the number who came without money
and put up piteous tales was great. But this was foreseen, and before he had opened his crib, Copening had taken pains to find out,who were really objects requiring his assistance.
A man, bringing a bag with him, came to Copening from a distant
neighbo-rhood, and told the usual story of wife and children being
without bread, and being sorely wrought with hunger, etc., but no,;orn was to be had: andl the disappointed man, with a heavy heart,




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  413
turned his steps homeward, and for a time was no more thought of.
In the course of the afternoon, however, word came to old Mr.
Copening that a suspicious looking stranger, with a bag on his
shoulder, was seen lurking about his premises.  A few particulars
more satisfied him that it was the applicant for charity who had visited him that morning, and that he had a design to rob his crib that
night; accordingly, himself and another of his family secreted themselves and waited events.  But they did not wait long before the
stranger, with a bag on his shoulders, was seen making his way to
wards the crib; the crib was opened, not a dog was heard to bark,
or the least difficulty opposed to his purpose. He entered, and with
a deliberation, or rather hesitation, that surprised the observers, he
proceeded to fill the bag. This being done, he tied it; and unlike
such visitors generally, he continued on the spot with his hand still
on the bag, apparently in great mental agony. At length he rose
suddenly, untied the bag, poured out the corn, and said: "I will
trust to Providence one day longer."  He departed in peace, but he
did not trust in Providence in vain. Old Air. Copening being satisfied from his own observation, that this man was indeed in a state of
extreme suffering-lmoreover that he was of an honest heart-sent
his son on the next morning with a full bag of corn, with a message
that, when that was done, to let him know it, and he should have
corn whenever he wished it.
STRETCHING IT.
A VERY respectable linen merchant in Coleraine, offered Dr. Clarke,
when a youth, a situation in his warehouse, which was accepted by
him, with the consent of his parents. Mr. B1 — knew well that his
clerk and overseer was a religious man, but he was not sensible of
the extent of principle which actuated him.  Some differences arose
at times about the way of conducting the business, which were settled pretty amicably. But the time of the great Dublin market approached, and Mr. B. -- was busy preparing for it. The master
and man were together in the folding-room, when one of the pieces
was found short of the required number of yards.  "Come," said
Mr. B —, "it is but a trifle.  We shall soon stretch it, and make
out the yard.  Come, Adam, take one end, and pull against me."
Adam had neither ears nor heart for the proposal, and absolutely refused to do what he thought a dishonest thing. A long argument
and expostulation followed, in which the usages of the trade were
strongly and variously enforced; but all in vain. Adam kept to his
purpose, resolving to suffer rather than sin.  Mr. -- was therefore
obliged to call for one of his men less scrupulous, and Adam retired
quietly to his desk. Soon after lMr. 3B, in the kindest manner,
informed his "young friend," as he seemed always proud to call




474  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
him, that he was not fit for worldly business, and wished him to look
out for some employment more congenial to his own mind; adding,
that he might depend on his friendship in any line of life into which
he should enter.
These things may be counted little in the life of such a man, but
not so in the sight of God.
T'HE BLOOD OF JESUS CHRIST CLEANSETH  FROM ALL
SIN.
A CERTAIN man on the Malabar coast had inquired of various
devotees and priests how he might make atonement for his sin, and
at last he was directed to drive iron spikes, sufficiently blunted,
through his sandals, and on these spikes he was to place his naked
feet and walk, if I mistake not, two hundred and fifty coss, that is
about four hundred and eighty miles.  If through loss of blood, or
weakness of body, he was obliged to halt, he might wait for healing
and strength. He undertook the journey, and while he halted under
a large shady tree, where the Gospel was sometimes preached, one
of the missionaries came and preached in his hearing, from these
words: /The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin. While he'was preaching, the man rose up, threw off his torturing sandals and
cried aloud: This is what wcant! and he became a lively witness
that the blood of Jesus Christ does cleanse from all sin indeed.
TRUE HONOR.
"S True honor is not derived from others, but originates only from ourselves."
CICERO.
A PORTUGUESE, who, from  obscurity, had raised himself by the
most distinguished merit to a peerage of the kingdom, being in company with several of the most ancient families in Lisbon, became the
subject of their wit and raillery on account of his infant nobility.
With a design, therefore, to pique him in the tenderest point, they
turned their discourse alone on the honors derived from nobility of
birth, each extolling the great achievements of his distinguished ancestors in the warmest terms of panegyric. At last it came to this
nobleman, as is the custom of the country, to give his sentiments;
when the rest of the company were scarcely able to contain themselves from laughter, expecting that he must leave the room in extreme disorder. But how great was their astonishment, and even
their shame, when this truly illustrious personage with the greatest
composure and good humor, addressed them thus: " My lords, I acknowledge that all of you have given a very flattering account of the
immortal deeds of your ancestors; but from this I can only gather,




MORAL  AND  RtELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   475
that the honors you enjoy were thus simply delivered by hereditary
succession in your hands; but, my lords, my plea is widely different:
I have the virtuous satisfaction of saying more than you all —that I
obtained all my honors by my own immediate actions, and shall,
therefore, have the superior pleasure of transmitting them, unsullied
to my successors, for them to boast of 1"
THE HERMIT.
"ONE day a friend took me," says George Shadford, "to see a
hermit in the woods. After some difficulty we found his hermitage,
which was a little place like a hog-sty, built of several pieces of
wood, covered with bark of trees; and his bed consisted of dry
leaves.  There was a narrow, beaten path, about twenty or thirty
yards in length, by the side of it, where he frequently walked to
meditate. If one offered him food, he would take it, but if money
was offered him, he would be angry.  If any thing was spoken to
him which he did not like, le broke out into a violent passion. He
had lived in this cell seven cold winters; and after all his prayers,
counting his beads, and separating from the rest of mankind, still
corrupt nature was all alive within him. Alas i alas! what will it
avail us whether we are in England or Ireland, Scotland or America;
whether we live amongst mankind, or retire into a hermitage, if we
still carry with us our own hell-our corrupt, evil tempers!"
RELIEF IN DISTRESS.
THE following simple and affecting narrative is related by Dr.
Krummacher, of Elberfield, in Prussia, in his valuable work entitled,
"Elisha the Tishbite:"
Who else was it but the God of Elijah, who, only a short time
ago, in our neighborhood, so kindly delivered a poor man out of his
distress; not, indeed by a raven, but a poor singing bird? You are
acquainted with the circumstance. The man was sitting early in the
morning at his house door; his eyes were red with weeping, and his
heart cried to heaven, for he was expecting an officer to come and
distrain him for a small debt. And whilst sitting thus with a heavy
heart, a little bird flew through the street, fluttering up and down as
if in distress, until at length, quick as an arrow, it flew over the
good man's head into his cottage, and perched itself within an empty
cupboard.  The good man, who little imagined who had sent him
the bird, closed the door, caught the bird and placed it in a cage,
where it immediately began to sing very sweetly, and it seemed to
the man as if it were in tune of a favorite hymn —" Fear thou not
31




4      l6 MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
when darkness reigns;" and as he listened to it, he found it soothe
and comfort his mind.
Suddenly some one knocked at the door.  "Ah, it is the officer!"
thought the man, and he was sore afraid. But no, it was the servant
of a respectable lady, who said that the neighbors had seen a bird fly
into his house, and she wished to know if he had caught it. " Oh,
yes, answered the man, " and here it is;" and the bird was carried
away. A few minutes after, the servant came again.  "You have
done my mistress a great service," said she; "she sets a high value
upon the bird which had escaped from her.  She is much obliged to
you, and requests you to accept this trifle, with her thanks."  The
poor man received it thankfully, and it proved to be neither more nor
less than the sum he owed! And when the officer came, he said:
"Here is the amount of the debt; now leave me in peace, for God
has sent it me."
REMARKABLE DETECTION OF AN IMPOSTER.
A JEWELER, who carried on an extensive trade, and supplied the
deficiencies of one country by the superfluities of another, leaving
his home with a valuable assortment of diamonds, for a distant region, took with him his son and a young slave, whom he had purchased in his infancy, and had brought up more like an adopted
child than a servant. They performed their intended journey, and
the merchant disposed of his commodities with great advantage; but
while preparing to return, he was seized by a pestilential distemper,
and died suddenly in the metropolis of a foreign country. This accident inspired the slave with a wish to possess his master's treasures,
and relying on the total ignorance of strangers, and the kindness
every where shown him by the jeweler, he declared himself the son
of the jeweler, and took charge of the property.  The true heir of
course denied his pretensions, and solemnly declared himself to be
the only son of the defunct, who had long before purchased his opponent as a slave. This contest produced various results. It happened that the slave was a young man of beautiful person, and of
polished manners, while the jeweler's son was ill-favored by nature,
and said to be injured in his education by the indulgence of his parents. This superiority operated in the minds of many to support
the claims of the former; but since no certain evidence could be
produced on either side, it became necessary to refer the dispute to
a court of law. There, however, from a total want of proofs, nothing
could be done. The magistrate declared his inability to decide on
unsupported assertions, in which each party was equally positive.
This caused a report of the case to be made to the prince, who, having heard the particulars, was also confounded, and at a loss how to
decide the question. At length, a happy thought occurred to the,hief of the judges, and he engaged to ascertain the real heir. ThE




]MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.    417
claimants being summoned before him,"he ordered them to stand
behind a curtain prepared for the occasion, and to project their heads
through two openings, when, after hearing their several argurments,
he would cut off the head of him who should prove to be the slave.
This they readily assented to; the one fiom a reliance on his honesty, and the other from a confidence of the impossibility of detection.
Accordingly, each taking his place as ordered, thrust his head through
a hole in the curtain. Ain officer stood in front with a drawn cinneter
in his hand, and the judge proceeded to the examination.  After a
short debate, the judge cried out, " Enough, enough 1 strike off the
villain's head 1" and the officer, who watched the moment, leaped
toward the two youths; the imposter, startled at the brandished
weapon, hastily drew back his head, while the jeweler's son, animrated by conscious security, stood unmoved.  The judge immediately
decided for the latter, and ordered the slave to be taken into custody
to receive the punishment due to his diabolical ingratitude.
MONSIEUR DE SALLO AND THE ROBBER.
IN the year 1662, when Paris was afflicted with a long and severe
famine, Monsieur de Sallo, returning from ah evening's walk, accompanied with only a page, was accosted by a man who presented his
pistol, and in a manner far from hardened resolution, asked him for
his money. M. de Sallo, observing that he came to the wrong person,
and that he could obtain but little from him, added: "I have but
three pistoles, which are not worth a scuffle, so, much good may it
do you with them; but, like a friend, let me tell you, you are going
on in a very bad way."  The robber took them, and without asking
him for more, walked away with an air of dejection and terror.
The fellow was no sooner gone than M. de Sallo ordered his page
to follow the robber, to observe where he went, and to bring him an
account of all he should discover.  The boy obeyed, pursued him
through several obscure streets, and at length saw him enter a baker's shop, where he observed him change one of the pistoles and
buy a large brown loaf; with this salutary purchase, the robber went
a few doors further, and entering an alley, ascended several flights
of stairs.  The boy crept up after him to the topmost story, where
he saw him go into a room which was not otherwise illuminated than
by the friendly light of the moon; and peeping through a crevice,
he perceived the wretched man cast the loaf upon the floor, and,
bursting into tears, cry out: " There, eat your fill; this is the dearest
loaf I ever bought; I have robbed a gentleman of three pistoles; let
us husband them well, and let me hear no more teazings; for, soon
or late, these things must bring' me to ruin."  His wife, having
calmed the agony of his mind, took up the loaf, and cutting it, gave
four pieces to four poor starving children.




478   MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
The page, having performed his commission, returned home and
gave his master an account of all he had seen and heard. De Sallo,
who was much moved, (what christian breast can be unmoved at
distress like this!) commanded the boy to call him, at five the next
morning. He rose accordingly, and took his boy to show him the
way: he inquired of his neighbors the character of a man who lived
in such a garret, with a wife and four children; by whom he was
informed that he was a very industrious man, a tender husband, and
a quiet neighbor; that his occupation was that of a shoemaker, and
that he was a neat workman; but was overburdened with a family,
and struggled hard to live in such dear times.  Satisfied with this
account, M. de Sallo ascended to the shoemaker's, and knocking at
the door, it was opened by the unhappy man himself; who, knowing
him at first sight to be the gentleman whom he had robbed, prostrated himself at his feet. M. de Sallo desired him to make no noise,
assuring him he had not the least intention to hurt him. " You have a
good character," said he, "among your neighbors, but you must
expect your life will be cut short -if you are so wicked as to continue
the freedom you took with me. Hold your hand; here are thirty
pistoles to buy leather; husband it well, and set your children a laudable example. To put you out of further temptations to commit such
ruinous and fatal crimes, I will encourage your industry. I hear you
are a neat workman; you shall therefore now take measure of me
and my lad for two pairs of shoes each, and he shall call upon you
for them." The whole family seemed absorbed in joy; amazement
and gratitude in some measure deprived them of speech. M. de Sallo
departed, greatly moved, and with a mind replete with satisfaction at
having saved a man from the commission of guilt, from an ignominious death, and perhaps from everlasting misery.
Never was a day much better begun; the consciousness of having
performed such an action, whenever it recurs to the mind, must be
attended with pleasure, and that self complacency which is more
desirable than gold, will be ever the attendant on such truly christian
character.
THE GRATEFUL SOLDIER.
THE Rev. John Craig, a distinguished minister and colleague of
Knox, having gone to reside in Bologna, in a convent of Dominicans,
found a copy of " Calvin's Institutes," which God made the means
of his conversion to the reformed faith. He was seized as a heretic,
soon after, and carried to Rome, where he was condemned to be
burnt; but on the evening preceding the day of execution the reigning pontiff died, and according to custom, the doors of all the prisons
were thrown open. All others were released; but heretics, after
being permitted to go outside the walls, were re-conducted to their
cells. That night, however, a tumult was excited, and Craig and




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   479
his companions escaped. They had entered a small inn at some distance from Rome, when they were overtaken by a party of soldiers
sent to apprehend them. On entering the house, the captain looked
Craig steadfastly in the face, and asked him if he remembered having once relieved a poor wounded soldier in the neighborhood of Bologna?  Craig had forgotten it. "But," said the captain, "I am
the man; I shall requite your kindness; you are at liberty; your
companions I must take with me; but for your sake I shall treat
them with all possible lenity." He gave him all the money he had,
and Craig escaped. But his money soon failed him; yet God, who
feeds the ravens, did not.  Lying at the side of a wood, full of
gloomy apprehensions, a dog came running up to him with a purse
il his teeth. Suspecting some evil, he attempted to drive the animal
away, but in vain. He at length took the purse, and found in it a
sum of money which carried him to Vienna.
FRIENDSHIP TO A ROBBER.
A YOUNa man was stopped in a little street in one of the cities of
France; his purse or his life was demanded. A courageous and
sensible heart soon distinguishes between the voice of the unfortunate
wretch, whom misery drags to crime, and that of the villain whose
wickedness prompts him to it. The young man thought it was an
unfortunate persoli whom he ought to save.
" What do you ask, miserable creature, what do you ask?" said
he, in an imposing tone to his agressor.
"Nothing, sir," answered a sobbing voice; "I ask nothing of
you."
"Who are you? what do you do?"
"I am a poor journeyman shoemaker, without the means of supporting my wife and four children."
"I do not know whether you speak the truth. Where do you
live?"
In such a street, at a baker's house."
" We shall see, lead the way."
The shoemaker, awed by his firmness, led him to his abode as he
would have led him to the bottom of a dungeon. They arrived at
the baker's. There was none but a woman in the shop.
"Madam, do you know this man?"
"Yes sir, he is a poor journeyman shoemaker who lives in the
fifth story, and who has much difficulty in supporting his numerous
family."
"How can you let him want bread?"
"Sir, we are young people, newly established; we cannot give
much; my husband does not wish me to give more than twenty-four
cents credit to this man."




480    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
"Give him two loaves of bread.  Take these two loaves, and
mount to your room."
The shoemaker obeys, as much agitated as if he were about to
commit some crime, but in a very different kind of trouble. They
enter. The wife and children eagerly take the food which is offered
them.   The young man has seen too much. He goes out, after giving two louis to the baker's wife, with orders to supply the family
with bread according to their wants.  Some days after he returns
to see the children, to whom he has given a second life, and he tells
their father to follow him. He conducts his poor protege into a shop,
well built and well furnished with tools, and all the necessary materials for working at his trade.  "Would you be contented and happy
if this shop were yours?"
Ah, sir, but alas 1"
"What?"
" I have not the freeman's right, and it costs ""Take me to the syndic jury."
The license was bought, and the shoemaker placed in the shop.
The author of so fine an act of humanity, was a young man about
twenty-seven years old. It is calculated that the establishment of
this workman cost him from three to four thousand livres. He is not
known, and useless researches have been made to discover him.
MR. SCOTT AND THE DUELIST.
THE preaching of the Rev. J. Scott, who had been a captain in the
army, having been instrumental in the conversion of a young lady,
the daughter of a country gentleman, her father was greatly
offended, because she would not join in the usual amusements of
their circle. Looking upon  Mr. Scott as the sole cause of what he
regarded as the melancholy of his daughter, he lay in wait to shoot
him. Mr. Scott, being providentially apprised of it, was enabled to
escape the danger.  The diabolical design of the gentleman being
thus defeated, he sent Mr. Scott a challenge.  Mr. Scott might have
availed himself of the law, and prosecuted him; but he took another
method. He waited upon him at his house, was introduced to him
in his parlor, and, with his characteristic boldness and intrepidity,
thus addressed him: "Sir, I hear that you have designed to shoot
me, by which you would have been guilty of murder; failing in this,
you have sent me a challenge.  And what a coward must you be,
sir, to wish to engage with a blind man l" (alluding to his being
short-sighted).  "As you have given me the challenge, it is now nay
right to choose the time, the place, and the weapon; I therefore, sir,
appoint the present moment, the place where we now are, and the
sword for the weapon, to which I have been the most accustomed."
The gentleman was evidently greatly terrified; when Mr. Scott,




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   431
having attained his end, produced a pocket bible, and exclaimed:
" This is my sword, sir; the only weapon I wish to engage with."
"Never," said Mr. Scott to a friend, to whom he related this anecdote, "never was a poor, careless sinner so delighted with the sight
of a bible before!"
Mr. Scott reasoned with the gentleman on the impropriety of his
conduct, in treating him as he had done, for no other reason but
because he had preached the truth.  The result was, the gentlelan
took him by the hand, begged his pardon, expressed his sorrow for
his conduct, and became afterward very friendly to him.
DYING FOR  HIS MASTER.
A. GENTLEMAN was traveling, with his valet de chambre, in a
sledge, through one of the extensive forests'of Poland, when they
were suddenly attacked by a number of wolves, which leaped furiously at the carriage.  The servant, who instantly perceived that
either he or his master must fall a victim to theirs fury, exclaimed:
"Protect my wife and children;" and instantly rushing into the
midst of them, perished in a moment, and by this generous act saved
his master, who fled from the danger, by driving forward with the
greatest rapidity.
THE INFIDEL'S DYING  DAUGHTER.
COLONEL ALLEN, of Vermont, was an avowed deist, and the author
of several works against the christian religion.  But how little faith
he possessed in the hour of danger and of death is evinced by the
following fact: While reading some of his own writings to a friend
who was on a visit to his house, he received information that his
daughter was at the point of death. His wife was a pious woman,
who had instructed the daughter in the principles of Christianity.
When the father appeared at the bed-side, his daughter said to him,
"I am about to die; shall I believe in the principles you have taught
me, or shall I believe in what my mother has taught me?" On
hearing this question, lie became much agitated, and after waiting
a few minutes, replied: -' Believe in what your mother has taught
you. "
INCONSIDERATE REQUEST.
IT is of great importance that we should entreat the Spirit of God
to enable us to pray as we ought.  It is quite possible to ask for
what may appear to us good things, but which, if we had them,
would prove evil.  Rachel, indulging a petulant disposition said:




482  MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.
" Give me children, or I die:" her desire was granted, and, as the
result, she died.
The late Mr. Kilpin, of Exeter, writes: "I knew a case, in which
the minister, praying over a child apparently dying, said:'If it be
thy will, spare —.' The poor mother's soul yearning for her beloved,
exclaimed:'It must be his will!  I cannot bear ifs.' The minister
stopped.  To the surprise of many the child recovered; and the
mother, after almost suffering martyrdom by him while a stripling,
lived to see him hanged before he was two-and-twenty! Oh! it is
good to say,' Not my will, but thine be done.' "
DISCARDED LOVER.
ELIZA EMBERT, a young Parisian lady, resolutely discarded a gentleman to whom she was to have been married the next day, because
he ridiculed religion. Having given him a gentle reproof for some
impropriety, he replied "that a man of the world would not be so
old-fashioned as to regard God and religion."  Eliza immediately
started; but soon recovering herself, said: "From this moment, as
I discover you do not respect religion, I cease to be yours."
A SUBMISSIVE WIFE.
A MARRIED woman was effectually called by Divine grace, and
became an exemplary Christian, but her husband was a lover of sinful pleasure. When spending an evening as usual with his jovial
companions at a tavern, the conversation happened to turn on the
excellencies and faults of their wives; the husband just mentioned
pronounced the highest encomiums on his wife, saying she was all
that was excellent, only she was religious.    "Notwithstanding
which," said he, "such is the command she has of her temper, that
were I to take you, gentlemen, home with me at midnight and order
her to rise and get you a supper, she would be all submission and
cheerfulness 1" The company regarded this merely as a vain boast,
and dared him to make the experiment by a considerable wager.
The bargain was made, and about midnight the company adjourned
as proposed. Being admitted: "Where is your mistress?" said the
husband to the maid servant who sat up for him. "She is gone to
bed, sir." " Call her up," said he. "Tell her I have brought some
friends home with me, and desire she would get up and prepare
them a supper." The good woman obeyed the unreasonable summons, dressed, came down, and received the company with perfect
civility; told them she happened to have some chickens ready for
the spit, and that supper should be got as soon as possible. It was
accordingly served up, when she performed the honors of the table




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES. 483
with as much cheerfulness as if she had expected company at a
proper season.
After supper the guests could not refrain from expressing their
astonishment.  One of them particularly, more sober than the rest,
thus addressed himself to the lady: "Madam," said he, "your
civility fills us all with surprise. Our unreasonable visit is in consequence of a wager, which we have certainly lost. As you are a
very religious person, and cannot therefore approve of our conduct,
give me leave to ask what can possibly induce you to behave with
so much kindness to us?"  "Sir," replied she, "when I married,
my husband and myself were both unconverted.  It has pleased
God to call me out of that dangerous condition. My husband continues in it. I tremble for his future state. Were he to die as he is,
he must be miserable forever; I think it therefore my duty to render
his present existence as comfortable as possible."
This wise and faithful reply affected the whole company.  It left
a deep impression on the husband's mind.  " Do you, my dear,"
said he, "really think I should ~be eternally miserable?  I thank
you for the warning.  By the grace of God I will change my conduct." From that time he became another man, a serious Christian,
and consequently a good husband.
ADMIRAL WILLIAMS.
THiE late Admiral Williams, when a young man, was gay and so
addicted to expensive pleasures that no remonstrances could reclaim
him. When his father died, he met the rest of the family to hear
the will read. His name did not occur among the other children,
and he supposed the omission was a mark of his father's resentment
against him.  At the close of it, however, he found that he was
mentioned as residuary legatee, in these words: "All the rest of my
estate and effects I leave to my son Peere Williams, knowing that
he will spend it all."
On hearing this he burst into tears.  "My father," said he, "has
touched the right string, and his reproach shall not be thrown
away."  His conduct from that time was altered, and he became an
honor to the christian profession.
REMORSE AND SUICIDE.
IN the year 1832, died in Essex, England, under very painful circumstances, a young man who had once promised to be happy and
useful.  He was apprenticed to a respectable shopkeeper, who
insisted on his always being at home by a certain hour in the evening. For some time he appeared very attentive to his business, and




484   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
was useful to his master; but he unhappily acquired the habit of
walking about the streets in an evening, and soon after formed very
improper connections at a public house.  He was seriously admonished, and at times appeared to feel the impropriety of his conduct;
but the sins he cherished hardened his heart, and his irregularities
became confirmed.  At lengoth, his master, on returning from  a
journey, heard complaints of his conduct, which led him to threaten
that unless his conduct was altered, he would cancel his indentures.
He now felt that his sins were hastening him  to the ruin against
which he had often been warned; he had lost alike the confidence
of his master and his parents.  Stung by the convictions of his guilt,
he repaired to his room, when he knew that he would be expected
at dinner, and committed suicide; thus rushing into the presence of
his Judge uncalled, and every way unprepared.  Who call conceive
the acuteness of his anguish, when he found himself in the presence
of that God whose laws he had trampled under his feet, but from
whose wrath he found it impossible to escape?
SIR EARDLEY WILMOT.
IN the evening of the day that Sir Eardley Wilmot was appointed
chief justice of England, one of his sons, a youth of seventeen, attended him to his bedside.  " Now," said he, "Imy son, I will tell
you a secret worth your knowing and remembering.  The elevation
I have met with in life, particularly this last instance of it, has not
been owing to any superior merits or abilities, but to my humility;
to my not having set up myself above others, and to a uniform endeavor to pass through life void of offense toward God and man."
REWARDING GOOD FOR EVIL.
A SLAVE in one of the West India Islands, originally from Africa,
having been brought under the influence of religious instruction, became so valuable to his owner on account of his integrity and general
good conduct, that his master employed him to assist in the management of his plantation.  On one occasion, his owner wishing to purchase twenty additional slaves, employed him to make the selection
from those who were offered for sale. Soon after commencing his
examination of those who were in the market, he fixed his eye intently
on an old decrepit slave, and told his master he must take him for
one.  Thile master was greatly surprised, and objected, but the slave
entreated so earnestly for this indulgence, that the offer of the seller
to add the old man to the twenty, without increasing the price, was
accepted. The newly purchased slaves were conducted to the plantation and placed under the charge of the slave who had made tho




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.  485
selection. On the poor old decrepid African he bestowed uncommon
care. He took him to his own habitation, and laid him on his own
bed; he fed him at his own table, and gave him drink out of his
own cup; when he was cold he carried him into the sunshine; and
when he was hot, he placed him in the shade of the cocoa-nut trees.
The master, astonished at the careful attention bestowed by him upon
his fellow slave, interrogated him on the subject. " Is that old man,"
said he, " your father, that you take so much interest in him?"
" No, massa," answered the poor fellow, " he no my fader."  " Perhaps, then, he is your elder brother?" " No, massa, he no my broder." " Then he must be your uncle, or some other relation." " No,
massa, he be no of my kindred at all; he be no my friend."
" Why, then, do you bestow upon him so much care and attention?"  "Oh, massa," replied the slave, "he be my old enemy; he
sold me to the slave-dealer, and my bible tell me to love my enemy;
when he hunger, feed him, when he thirst, give him drink, and so
me only do what my bible tell me."
ARCHBISHOP SHARP AND THE HIGHWAYMAN.
IT was his lordship's custom to have a saddle horse attend his
carriage, that, in case of fatigue from sitting, he might refresh himself with a ride. As he was thus going to his episcopal residence,
a decent, well-looking young man came up to him, and with a trembling hand and faltering tongue, presenting a pistol to his breast,
demanded his money. The archbishop, with great composure, turned
about, and looking steadfastly at him, desired him to remove that
dangerous weapon, and tell him fairly his condition. "Sir i sir i"
with great agitation, cried the youth, "your money instantly!"
" Hear me, young man," said the archbishop, " you see I am a very
old man, and my life is of very little consequence; yours is far otherwise. I am named Sharp, and am archbishop of York; my carriage and servants are behind; tell me what money you want, and
who you are, and I'll not injure you, but prove a friend. Here, take
this, and now ingenuously tell me how much you want to make you
independent of so destructive a business as you are engaged in?'
" 0, sir," replied the man, "I detest the business as much as you.
I am-but at home there are creditors who will not stay. Fifty
pounds, my lord, indeed would do what no tongue can tell." "Well
sir, I take your word; and upon my honor, if you will, in a day or
two, call on me at, with what I have now given shall be made
up that sum."  The highwayman looked at him, was silent, and went
off; and at the time appointed actually waited on the archbishop,
and assured his lordship that his words had left impressions, which
nothing could ever destroy.
Nothing more transpired for a year and a half, or more; when one




486    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
morning a person knocked at his grace's gate, and with peculiar earnestness, desired to see him. He entered the room where his lordship
was, but had scarce advanced a few steps before his countenance
changed, his knees tottered, and sank almost breathless on the floor.
On recovering, he requested an audience in private. The apartment
being cleared, " My lord," said he, " you cannot have forgotten the
circumstance at such a time and place; gratitude will never suffer
them to be obliterated from my mind. In me, my lord, you now behold that once most wretched of mankind: but now, by your inexpressible humanity, rendered equal, perhaps superior, in happiness,
to millions. Oh, my lord, (tears for a while prevented his utterance,)'tis you,'tis you that has saved me, body and soul;'tis you that
has saved me a dear and much loved wife, and a brood of children
whom I hold dearer than my life. Here are fifty pounds; but never
shall I find language to testify what I feel. Your God is your witness; your deed itself is your glory; and may heaven and all its
blessings be your present and everlasting reward. I was the younger
son of a wealthy man; your lordship knows him —my marriage
alienated his affections, and my brother withdrew his love, and left
me to sorrow and penury. A month since, my brother died a bachelor and intestate. What was his became mine; and by your astonishing goodness, I am now at once the most penitent, the most
grateful and happiest of my species."
THE ARGYLESHIRE FISHERMAN.
Two fishermen, a few years ago, were mending their nets on board
their vessel on one of the lakes in the interior of Argyleshire, at a
considerable distance from the shore, when a sudden squall upset
their boat. One of them could not swim, and the only oar which
floated was caught by him that could swim. His sinking companion
cried: " Ah, my poor wife and children, they must starve now i"
" Save yourself, I will risk my life for their sakes!" said the other,
thrusting the oar under the arm of the drowning man. He committed himself instantly to the deep, expecting to perish for the safety
of his companion. That moment the boat struck the bottom, and
started the other oar by their side, and thus both were enabled to
keep afloat till they were picked up.
BENEFICENCE OF LUTHER.
DISINTERESTEDNESS was a leading feature in the character of Luther:
superior to all selfish considerations, he left the honors and emolurtments of this world to those who delighted in them. The poverty




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   487
of this great man did not arise from wanting the means of acquiring
riches; for few men have had it in their power more easily to obtain
them. The Elector of Saxony offered him the produce of a mine at
Sneberg; but he nobly refused it; " lest," said he, " I should tempt
the devil, who is lord of these subterraneous treasures, to tempt me."
The enemies of Luther were no strangers to his contempt for gold.
When one of the popes asked a certain cardinal, why they did not
stop that man's mouth with silver and gold; his eminence replied:
" That German beast regards not money!"  It may easily be supposed that the liberality of such a man would often exceed his means.
A poor student once telling him of his poverty, he desired his wife
to give him a sum of money; and when she informed him they had
none left, he immediately seized a cup of some value, which accidentally stood within his reach, and giving it to the poor man, bade
him go and sell it, and keep the money to supply his wants. In one
of his epistles Luther says: " I have received one hundred guilders
firom Taubereim; and Schartts has given me fifty; so that I begin to
fear lest God should reward me in this life. But I will not be satisfied with it. What have I to do with so much money? I gave half
of it to P. Priorus, and made the man glad."
THE HEROIC PEASANT.
THE following generous instance of heroism in a peasant, has somewhat even of the sublime in it. A great inundation having taken
place in the north of Italy, owing to an excessive fall of snow in the
Alps, followed by a speedy thaw, the river Adige carried off a bridge
near Verona, except the middle part, on which was the house of the
toll-gatherer, who, with his whole family, thus remained imprisoned
by the waves, and in momentary expectation of certain destruction.
They were discovered from the banks, stretching forth their hands,
screaming, and imploring succor, while firagments of this only remaining arch were continually dropping into the impetuous torrent.
In this extreme danger, the Count of Pulverini, who was a spectator,
held out a purse of one hundred sequins, as a reward to any adventurer who would take a boat and save this unhappy family. But the
risk of being borne down by the rapidity of the stream, and being
dashed against the fragment of the bridge, and of being crushed by
the falling of the heavy stones, was so great that not one of the vast
number of lookers-on had courage enough to attempt such an exploit.
A peasant passing along, was informed of the promised reward. Immediately jumping into a boat, he, by amazino strength of oars,
gained the middle of the river, and brought the Coat under the pile,
when the whole terrified family safely descended into it by means of
a rope. " Courage," cried he, "now you are safe!" By a still
more strenuous effort, and great strength of arm, he brought the




488   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
boat and family to shore. "Brave fellow 1" exclaimed the count,
handing the purse to him; "here is your promised recompense."
"I shall never expose ny life for money," answered the peasant;
"my labor affords a sufficient livelihood for myself, my wife and my
children; give the purse to this poor family who has lost its all!"
SERIOUS REPARTEE.
A LADY traveling in the stage, in company with Mr. James Hervey
(author of Meditations), expatiated largely on the pleasure derived
from theatrical amusements: "They afford me," says she, "three
sources of pleasure.  The pleasure of anticipation, before I attend —
the pleasure I enjoy while present-and the pleasure of reflecting
on the subject, the next day." Mr. Hervey observed: "Madam,
there is one source of pleasure you have omitted." She asked with
surprise what that could be? He replied: " The pleasure it will
afford you on a dying bed." This struck her with force, and was
instrumental of making her hopefully pious.
THE SADDLE-BAG  IN  THE WRONG  BOAT.
THE Rev. T. Charles, who was well known as a holy and useful
minister in Wales, had once a remarkable escape from death. In
one of his journeys to Liverpool, his saddle-bag was, by mistake,
put into a boat different from that in which he intended to go, which
made it necessary to change his boat, even after he had taken his
seat.  By this change, so contrary to his intentions, he was
graciously preserved; for the boat in which he meant to sail was
lost, and all its passengers were drowned.
A  THRILLING  EXORDIUM.
IN a seaport town, on the west coast of England, some years ago,
there was notice given of a sermon to be preached one Sunday
evening, in a dissenting chapel.  The preacher was a man of great
celebrity in his callingo; and that circumstance, together with the
pious object of the discourse —to enforce the duty of the strict observance of the Sabbath- attracted an overflowing audience.  After
the usual prefatory prayer and hymn of praise, the preacher gave
out the text, and was about to proceed with his sermon, when he
suddenly paused, leaned his head on the pulpit, and remained silent
for a few moments. It was imagined that he had become indisposed; but he soon recovered himself, and addressing the congrega



MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  489
tion, said, that before enteringg upon his discourse, lie begged to
narrate to them  a short anecdote.  "It is now exactly fifteen
years," said he, " since I was last in this place of worship; and the
occasion was, as many here may probably remember, the very same
which has now brought us together..Among those who came
thither that evening were three dissolute young men, who came not
only with the intent of insulting and. mocking the venerable pastor,
but even with stones in their pockets to throw at him, as he stood in
his pulpit.  Accordingly they had not listened long to the discourse,
when one of them said impatiently:' Why need we listen any longer
to the blockhead? throw 1' but the second stopped him, saying,' Let
us first see what he makes of this point.' The curiosity of the latter
was no sooner satisfied, than he said:'Ay, itsonly as I expected,
throw, now!' But here the third interposed, and said:'It would
be better altogether to give up the design which had brought them
there.' At this remark, his two associates took offense, and left the
church, while he himself remained to the end.  Now, mark, my
brethren, continued the preacher, with much emotion, what were
afterward the several fates of these young men? The first was hanged
many years ago at Tyburn, for the crime of forgery; the second is
now lying under sentence of death, for murder, in the jail of this city.
The third, my brethren,"-and the speaker's agitation here became
excessive while he paused, and wiped the large drops from his brow"' the third, my brethren, is he who is now about to acddclress you.  _iswen
to him."
POWER OF RELIGION.
LORD      was a man of the world.  His pleasures were drawn
from his riches, his honors, and his friends.  His daughter was the
idol of his heart. Much had been expended for her education; and
well did she repay, in her intellectual endowments, the solicitude
of her parents.  She was highly accomplished, amiable in her disposition, and winning in her manners.  They were both strangers
to God.
At length Miss   i attended a Dissenters' meeting in London;
was deeply awakened, and was soon happily converted. Now she
was delighted in the service of the sanctuary, and in social meetings.
To her the charms of christianity were overflowing. She frequented
those places, where she met with congenial minds, animated with
similar hopes.
The change was marked by the fond father, with painful solicitude. To see his lovely daughter, thus infatuated, was to him an
occasion of deep grief; and he resolved to correct her erroneous
notions on the subject of the real pleasure and business of life.  He
placed at her disposal large sums of money, hoping she would be
induced to go into the fashions and extravagances of others of her




490    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
birth, and leave the meetings. But she maintained her integrity.
He took her long journeys, and conducted in the most engaging
manner, in order to direct her mind from religion; but she still
delighted in the Savior.
After failing in many projects, which he fondly anticipated would
be effectual, he introduced her into company, under circumstances
that she must either join in the recreation of the party, or give
offense.  Hope lighted up in the countenance of this affectionate,
but misguided father, as he saw his snare about to entangle the
object of his solicitude. It had been arranged among his friends,
that several young ladies on the approaching festive occasion, should
give a song, accompanied by the pianoforte!
The hour arrived; the party assembled. Several had performed
their parts, to the great delight of the party, which was in high
spirits.  Miss -     was now called on for a song, and many hearts
beat high in hopes of victory. Should she decline, she was disgraced. Should she comply, their triumph was complete. This
was the moment to seal her fate. With perfect self-possession she
took her seat at the pianoforte, ran her fingers over its keys, and
commenced playing and singing in a sweet air the following words:
No room for mirth or trifling here,
For worldly hope or worldly fear,
If life so soon is gone;
If now the Judge is at the door,
And all mankind must stand before
The inexorable throne;'
No matter which my thoughts employ,
A moment's misery or joy;
But oh! when both shall end I
Where shall I find my destined place?
Shall. I, my everlasting days,
With fiends or angels spend?
She arose from her seat.  The whole party was subdued. -Not a
word was spoken. Her father wept aloud. One by one they left
the house. Lord -    never rested until he became a Christian.
He lived an example of christian benevolence-having given to
benevolent christian enterprises, at the time of his death, nearly
half a million of dollars.
THE KING'S LAST LOAF.
ALFRED THE GREAT, who died in the year 900, was of a most amiable disposition, and, we would hope, of genuine piety. During his
retreat at Athelney, in Somersetshire, after his defeat by the Danes,
a beggar came to his little castle, and requested alms. His queen
informed Alfred that they had but one small loaf remaining, which
was insufficient for themselves and their friends, who were gone in




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  491
search of food, though with little hope of success. The king replied:
"c Give the poor Christian one-half of the loaf. He that could feed
five thousand men with five loaves and two fishes, can certainly
make the half loaf suffice for more than our necessity." The poor
man was accordingly relieved, and Alfred's people shortly after
returned with a store of fresh provisions!
BLAIR'S EXTREMES.
MR. ROBERT BLAIR, in a memoir of his life, written by himself,
says: "That year (1615), having, upon an evening, been engaged
in company with some irreligious'persons, when I returned to my
chamber, and went to my ordinary devotion, the Lord did show so
much displeasure and wrath, that I was driven from prayer, and
heavily threatened to be deserted of God. For this I had a restless
night, and resolved to spend the next day in extraordinary humiliation, fasting, and prayer; and toward the evening of that day, I
found access to God, with sweet peace, through Jesus Christ, and
learned to beware of such company; but then I did run into another
extreme of rudeness and incivility toward such as were profane and
irreligious, so hard a thing is it for short-sighted sinners to hold the
right and the straight way."
THE STUDENT'S TRICK.
A YOUNG man of eighteen or twenty, a student in a university,
took a walk one day with a professor, who was commonly called the
student's friend, such was his kindness to the young men whom it
was his office to instruct.
While they were walking together, and the professor was seeking
to lead the conversation to grave subjects, they saw a pair of old
shoes lying in their path, which they supposed to belong to a poor
man who was at work close by, and who had nearly finished his
day's work.
The young student turned to the professor, saying: "Let us play
the man a trick; we will hide his shoes, and conceal ourselves
behind those bushes, and watch to see his perplexity when he cannot find them."
"My dear friend," answered the professor, "we must never
amuse ourselves at the expense of the poor. But you are rich, and
you may give yourself a much greater pleasure. Put a dollar into
each shoe, and then we will hide ourselves."
The student did so, and then placed himself with the professor
behind the bushes close by, through which they could easily watch
the laborer, and see whatever wonder or joy he might express.
32




492   MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
The poor man soon finished his work, and came across the field
to the path, where he had left his coat and shoes. While he put on
the coat, he slipped one foot into one of his shoes; but feeling something hard, he stooped down and found the dollar. Astonishment
and wonder were seen upon his countenance; he gazed upon the
dollar, turned around, and looked again and again; then he looked
around him on all sides, but could see no one. Now he put the
money in his pocket and proceeded to put on the other shoe, but
how great was his astonishment when he found the other dollar 1
His feelings overcame him; he fell upon his knees, locked up to
heaven and uttered aloud a fervent thanksgiving, in which he spoke
of his wife, sick and helpless, and his children without bread, whom
this timely bounty, from some unknown hand, would save from
perishing.
The young man stood there deeply affected, and tears filled his
eyes.
"Now," said the professor, "are you not much better pleased
than if you had played your intended trick?"
" O, dearest sir," answered the youth, " you have taught me a lesson now that I will never forget. I feel now the truth of the words
which I never before understood:'it is better to give than to
receive.'"
THE BANKRUPT QUAKER.
A PERSON of the Quaker profession, says a London paper, having
through misfortune become insolvent, and not being able to pay
more than eleven shillings to the pound, formed a resolution, if
Providence smiled on his future endeavors, to pay the whole amount,
and in case of death he ordered his sons to liquidate his debts by
their joint proportions. It pleased God, however, to spare his life,
and after struggling with a variety of difficulties (for his livelihood
chiefly depended on his own labor), he at length saved sufficient to
satisfy every demand. One day the old man went with a considerable sum to the surviving son of one of his creditors, who had been
dead thirty years, and insisted on paying him the money he owed
his father, which he accordingly did with heart-felt satisfaction.
ONE JOURNEY THROUGH THE WORLD.
WHEN I was a young man, there lived in our neighborhood a
Christian who was universally reported to be a very liberal man, and
uncommonly upright in his dealings. When he had any of the produce of his farm to dispose of, he made it an invariable rule to give
good measure-over good, rather more than could be required of




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  493
hinm. One of his friends observing him frequently doing so, questioned him. why he did, told him he gave too much, and said it
would not be to his advantage. Now, my friends, mark the answer
of this good man: " God Almighty has permitted me but one journey through the world, and when gone I cannot return to rectify
mistakes."  Think of this, friends, "but one journey through the
world!"
RESCUING  A  DROWNING  BOY.
THE Rev. Mr. Kelly, of the town of Ayr, once preached an excellent sermon from the parable of the man who fell among thieves.'He was particularly severe on the conduct of the priest, who saw
him, and ministered not unto him, but passed by on the other side;
and, in an animated and pathetic flow of eloquence, he exclaimed:
"What i not even the servant of the Almighty! he whose tongue
was engaged in the work of charity, whose bosom was appointed
the seat of brotherly love, whose heart the emblem of pity; did he
refuse to stretch forth his hand, and to take the mantle from his
shoulders to cover the nakedness of woe?  If he refused, if the
shepherd himself went astray, was it to be wondered at that the
flock followed?" Such were the precepts of the preacher, and he
practiced what he preached. The next day, when the river was
much increased, a boy was swept overboard from a small boat by
the force of the current.  A  great concourse of people were
assembled, but none of them attempted to save the boy; when Mr.
Kelly threw himself from his chamber window into the current, and
at the hazard of his own life saved that of the boy.
THE QUAKER AND  THE PRIVATEER.
A QUAKER, unknown to his family and friends, had joined with
some others in fitting out a privateer to act against the French, who
had allied themselves to the American states while in arms against
Great Britain. The privateer was successful, and when peace was
concluded, there was a considerable dividend for the proprietors.
The Quaker received his share among the rest; but his conscience
reproached him for what he had done. He considered himself guilty
of robbery. About this time he was brought by affliction to the
gates of death, which greatly increased his distress. He frequently
exclaimed: "Oh, that ill-gotten money!"  Neither his wife nor
friends knew what he meant. At length he resolved, that should
the Lord raise him up, he would make restitution to the injured
parties, if they could be found. The Lord did raise him up, and
he sent his son to Paris with the sum, directing him to advertise in




494    MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.'the sum, directing him to advertise in the Paris Gazette, that any
person who had suffered by such a privateer, upon coming and
proving his losses, would be refunded in proportion to his share in
the prizes. This was accordingly done, to the astonishment of all
France.
AN APT REJOINDER.
AN American minster, who was earnestly exhorted to take a
decided stand on a great moral question, excused himself by saying:
"You know ministers must live!"  " No," said his friend, "I was
not aware of that; I thought they might die for the truth's sake!"
I DON'T WANT TO  GO TO  HEAVEN.
THERE was a clergyman, who was of nervous temperament, and
often became quite vexed, by finding his little grandchildren in his
study. One day, one of these little children was standing by his
mother's side, and she was speaking to him of heaven.
" Ma," said he, " I don't want to go to heaven."
" Do not want to go heaven, my son?"
"No, ma, I'm sure I don't."' Why not, my son?"
"Why, grandpa will be there, won't he?"
"Why, yes, I hope he will."
"Well, as soon as he sees us, he will come scolding along, and
say:'Whew, whew! what are these boys here for?' I don't want
to go to heaven if grandpa is going there."
THE TWO  GARDENERS.
Two gardeners, who were neighbors, had their crops of early
peas killed by frost; one of them came to condole with the other on
~this misfortune. "Ah!" cried he, "how unfortunate we have been,
neighbor! do you know I have done nothing but fret ever since.
But you seem to have a fine healthy crop coming up already; what
are these?"  "These!" cried the other gardener, "why these are
what I sowed immediately after my loss."  "What! coming up
already?" cried the fietter.  " Yes; while you were fretting, I was
working." "What! don't you fret when you have a loss?"  "Yes;
but I always put it off until after I have repaired the mischief."
"' Why, then you have no need to fret at all."  " True," replied the
industrious gardener; " and that's the very reason."




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES  495
BUFFON AND EARLY RISING.
BUFFON, the celebrated naturalist, rose always with the sun, and he
used often to tell by what means he accustomed himself to get out
of bed so early. " In my youth," he said, "I was very fond of sleep;
it robbed me of a great deal of my time; but my servant Joseph
was of great service in enabling me to overcome it. I promised to
give Joseph a crown every time that he could make me get up at
six. The next morning he did not fail to awake and torment me;
but he received only abuse. The day after he did the same with no
better success; and I was obliged at noon to confess that I had lost
my time. I told him that he did not know how to manage his business; that he ought to think of my promise, and not mind my threats.
The day following he employed force; I begged for indulgence; I
bid him begone; I stormed; but Joseph persisted. I was therefore
obliged to comply, and he was rewarded every day for the abuse
which he suffered at the moment when I awoke, by thanks, accompanied by a crown, which he received about an hour after. Yes, I am
indebted to poor Joseph for ten or a dozen of the volumes of my
work."
CYRUS.
CYRus, when quite a youth, at the court of his grandfather, Astyages, undertook one day to perform the office of cup-bearer. He
delivered the cup very gracefully, but omitted the usual custom of
first tasting it himself.  The king reminded him of it, supposing he
had forgotten the practice. "No, sir," replied Cyrus; "but I was
afraid there might be poison in it; for I have observed that the lords
of your court, after drinking, become noisy, quarrelsome, and frantic;
and-that even you, sir, seem to have forgotten that you are a king."
"Does not the same thing," replied Astyages, "happen to your
father?"  " Never," answered Cyrus. "H ow so?"  "Why when
he has taken what he sees proper, he is no longer thirsty, that is all."
THE GOD WAS WITHIN.
WHILE Mr. Kirkland was a missionary to the Oneidas, being unwell, he was unable to preach on the afternoon of a certain Sabbath,
and told Peter, one of the head men of the Oneidas, that he must
address the congregation. Peter modestly and reluctantly consented.
After a few words of introduction, he began a discourse on the character of the Savior.  "What, my brethren," said he, "are the
views which you form of the character of Jesus? You will answer,




496   MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
perhaps, that he was a man of singular benevolence. You will tell
me that he proved this to be his character, by the nature of the miracles which he wrought. All these, you will say, were kind in the
extreme. He created bread to feed thousands who were ready to
perish. He raised to life the son of a poor woman, who was a widow,
and to whom his labors were necessary for her support in old age.
Are these, then, your only views of the Savior? I will tell you,
they are lame.  When Jesus came into the world, he threw his
blanket around him, but the God was within."
THE DYING COAL-MINER.
STEPHEN KARKEET, twenty-five years old, whilst employed under
ground in a mine, in the parish of Newlyn, was buried alive, by the
falling together of the shaft in which he was, at the depth of five
fathoms from the surface. The first person who arrived at the spot
was a man named George Trevarrow, who called to know if any
living being was beneath, when Karkeet answered, in a firm voice:
" I feel the cold hand of death upon me; if there is any hope of my
being rescued from this untimely grave, tell me; and if not, tell me."
Trevarrow at once informed him that there was not a shadow of hope
left, as upwards of four tons of rubbish had fallen round and upon
him, and that suffocation must inevitably take place before human
aid could afford relief.  On hearing which, Karkeet exclaimed:
"All's well; it is the Lord! let him do what seemeth him good.
Tell my dear father and mother not to be sorry as those without hope
for me;'tis now only that I am happy-'tis now that I feel the advantages of a religious life; now I feel the Lord is my stronghold;
and now I feel I am going to heaven." Here his voice failed him;
he never spoke again.
GUSTAVUS AND THE PEASANT GIRL.
GusTAVUS III., king of Sweden, passing one morning on horseback through a village in the neighborhood of his capital, observed
a young peasant girl, of interesting appearance, drawing water at a
fountain by the wayside. He went up to her and asked her for a
draught. Without delay she lifted up her pitcher, and with artless
simplicity put it to the lips of the monarch. Having satisfied his
thirst, and courteously thanked his benefactress, he said:
"My girl, if you would accompany me to Stockholm, I would endeavor to fix you in a more agreeable situation."
"Ah, sir," replied the girl, "I cannot accept your proposal. I
am not anxious to rise above the state of life in which the providence




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  491
of God has placed me; but, even if I were, I could not for an instant hesitate."
"And why?" rejoined the king, somewhat surprised.
"Because," answered the girl, somewhat coloring, " my mother
is poor and sickly, and has no one but me to assist and comfort her
under her many afflictions: and no earthly bribe could induce me
to leave her, or to neglect the duties which affection requires from
me."
"Where is your mother?" asked the monarch.
" In that little cabin," replied the girl, pointing to awretched hovel
beside her.
The king, whose feelings were interested in favor of his companion, went in, and beheld stretched on a bedstead, whose only covering was a little straw, an aged female, weighed down with years,
and sinking under infirmities. Moved at the sight, the monarch addressed her: "I am sorry, my poor woman, to find you in so destitute and afflicted a condition."
- "Alas, sir," answered the venerable sufferer, "I should be indeed
to be pitied, had I not that kind and attentive girl, who labors to
support me, and omits nothing she thinks can afford me relief. May
a gracious God remember it to her for good," she added, wiping
away a tear.
Never, perhaps, was Gustavus more sensible, than at that moment,
of the pleasure of occupying an exalted station. The gratification
arising from the consciousness of having it in his power to assist a
suffering fellow-creature, almost overpowered him; and putting a
purse into the hand of the young villager, he could only say: "Continue to take care of your mother; I shall soon enable you to do so
more effectually. Good-bye, my amiable girl, you may depend on
the promise of your king."
On his return to Stockholm, Gustavus settled a pension for life on
the mother, with the reversion to her daughter at her death.
EARL RODEN.
THE following anecdote is related by the Rev. Dr. Sprague in his
letters giving an account of his journey to Europe, as being well
authenticated:
When George IV. was in Ireland, he told lord Roden that on a
particular morning he was coming to breakfast with him. He accordingly came, and bringing with him two or three of the nobility,
happened to arrive just as his lordship and family assembled for domestic worship. Lord Roden being told his guest had arrived, went
to the door and met him with every expression of respect, and seated
him and the gentlemen that accompanied him in his parlor. He then
turned to the king, and said: " Your majesty will not doubt that I




498    MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
feel highly honored by this visit; but there is a duty which I have
not yet discharged this morning, which I owe to the King of kingsthat of performing domestic worship; and your majesty will be kind
enough to excuse me while I retire with my household and attend
to it."  " Certainly," replied the king, "but I am going with you;"
and he immediately rose and followed him into the hall where the
family were assembled; and taking his station in an old arm-chair,
remained during the family devotions.
This anecdote certainly reflects honor upon his lordship and the
king; while it exhibits in the one the dignity of unyielding christian
principles, it displays in the other the courtesy of a gentleman, and
the regard felt for a consistent religious character.
AN HONEST PEASANT.
A RUSSIAN was traveling from Tobolsk to Beresow. On the road
he stopped one night at the hut of an Ostiak. In the morning, on
continuing his journey, he discovered that he had lost his purse,
containing about one hundred roubles.
The son of the Ostiak found the purse while out hunting, but instead of taking it up, went and told his father, who was equally unwilling to touch it, and ordered his son to cover it with bushes.
A few months after this the Russian returned and stopped at the
same hut, but the Ostiak did not recognize him. He related the loss
he had met with.
The Ostiak listened very attentively, and when he had finished,
" You are welcome," said he; "here is my son who will show you
the spot where it lies; no hand has touched it but the one which
covered it over, that you might recover what you have lost."
HE WILL NEVER MAKE A MERCHANT.
A COUNTRY gentleman not long since, placed a son with a merchant
in -    street. And for a season all went on well. But, at length,
the young man sold a dress to a lady; and as he was folding it up,
he observed a flaw in the silk, and remarked: " Madam, I deem it
my duty to tell you there is a fracture in the silk."
This spoiled the bargain. But the merchant overheard the remark;
and had he reflected a moment, he might have thus reasoned with
himself: "Now I am safe, while my affairs are committed to the
care of an honest clerk."
But he was not pleased; so he wrote immediately to the father to
come and take him home; "for," said he, "he will never make a
%terchant!"




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  499
The father, who had brought up his son with the strictest care,
was not a little surprised and grieved, and hastened to the city to ascertain wherein his son had been deficient.  Said the anxious father,
"And why will he not make a merchant?"
Merchant.  Because he has no tact.  Only a day or two since, he
volhuntarily told a lady, who was buying silk, that the goods were
damaged, and so I lost the bargain. Purchasers must look out for
themselves. If they cannot discover flaws, it will be foolishness in
me to tell them of their existence.
Father. And is this all the fault?
Merchant. Yes: he is very well in other respects.
Father.  Then I love my son better than ever; and I thank you
for telling me of the matter; I would not have him in YouJ STORE
another day for the world.
A HEROIC SERVANT.
THE servant of a lady, sojourning at Ramsgate for the benefit of
her health, in the summer of 1833, happened to be walking under
the cliffs at the flowing of the tide. He heard the voice of some one
crying for assistance, which he discovered to have pioceeded from a
woman, with her two children in her arms, embayed by the sea, and
up to her waist in the water.  He immediately rushed to her assistance, and rescued her and her two children from her perilous situation. On hearing the mother exclaim that there was another, he
again dashed into the water, when he found a male child struggling
to clamber up a rock, and an old woman, the latter having been twice
washed away by the waves; both of whom he also succeeded in
rescuing from a watery grave. On reaching his mistress' house, the
excitement and exhaustion produced by his efforts were such, that it
was with difficulty he was restored from a long fainting fit. It is
worthy of remark, that the man was unable to swim.
TESTIMONY OF SEVERAL CHRISTIANS.
Two aged disciples, one eighty-seven years old, one day met.
Well, inquired the younger of his fellow-pilgrim, how long have you
been interested in religion? "Fifty years," was the old man's reply.
Well, have you ever regretted that you began so young to devote
yourself to religion?  " 0 no," said he, and the tears trickled down
his furrowed cheeks; "I weep when I think of the sins of my youth.
It is this which makes me weep now."
Another man of eighty, who had been a Christian fifty or sixty
years, was asked if he was grieved that he had become a disciple of




500    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
Christ. "0  no," said he; "if I grieve for any thing, it is that I did
not become a Christian before."
A christian friend visited a woman of ninety, as she lay on her last
bed of sickness. She had been hoping in Christ for half a century.
In the course of conversation she said: " Tell all the children that an
old woman, who is just on the borders of eternity, is very much
grieved that she did not begin to love the Savior when a child. Tell
them youth is the time to serve the Lord."
Said an old man of seventy-six: "I did not become interested in
religion till I was forty-five; and I often have to tell God, I have
nothing to bring him but the dregs of old age."
Said another man, between sixty and seventy years of age: "I
hope I became a disciple of the Lord Jesus when I was seventeen;"
and he burst into tears as he added, "and there is nothing which
causes me so much distress as to think of those seventeen yearssome of the very best portion of my life —which I devoted to sin and
the world."
PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.
WHEN this amiable princess was quite young, a noble and pious
lady devoted much of her time in teaching her the principles of virtue and piety.  The princess was anxious to give some testimony of
her esteem for the character of this peeress, and one day presented
her with a gold pencil-case. According to the established etiquette
in such cases, her ladyship was kneeling to receive it, when the
princess threw her arms around her neck and, weeping, requested
her to rise.  "What 1" said she, shall the venerable Lady Ekneel before a child? No, that I can never permit. It is I who
ought to kneel, and who feel myself honored by your acceptance of
a trifle, as a mark of my reverence for your worth, and of my gratitude for your valuable instructions, which I can never either forget
or repay."
THE DEACON'S TWO CENTS.
A MINISTER who was urged by his people to go out on a begging
excursion, to solicit money to liquidate a debt on their meeting-house,
put up on Saturday night with the deacon of a church to which he
was to present the subject on the ensuing Sabbath. He seemed to
be quite wealthy, and as he treated his guest with great cordiality
and kindness, the preacher cherished glowing expectations of a very
generous contribution from his purse.~. On the Sabbath, after setting
forth the claims of his object in as forcible and eloquent a manner as
possible, the plates were passed around for money. As the deacon
sat near the pulpit, the preacher could not resist the temptation of




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.   501
rising up a little and peering over the pulpit to witness the expression of the good man's liberality. As the plate approaches the deacon, he leisurely puts his hand into his pocket. The preacher's
heart palpitates with anxiety. But, alas! the deacon just drops from
his thumb and fingers two red cents upon the plate and lets it pass!
The preacher suddenly sank back into his seat, and hope and faith
died within him.  The collection, it seems, was small, and the
preacher, mortified and indignant, went straight back to his people,
told them the story of the two cents, and assured them they must
raise the funds needed themselves or send some one else forth to beg
besides him. The people caught his spirit-they determined to solicit no further-increased their subscriptions, and paid their debts
themselves.
DR. WILSON.
TaE benevolent Dr. Wilson once discovered a clergyman at Bath,
who, he was informed, was sick, poor, and had a numerous family.
In the evening he gave a friend fifty pounds, requesting him to deliver it in the most delicate manner, and as from an unknown person.
The friend said: "I will wait upon him early in the morning." " You
will oblige me, sir, by calling directly. Think of what importance
a good night's rest may be to that poor man."
A GRATEFUL WOMAN.
A PERSON applied to a pious woman, requesting her husband to become bound for an amount which, if ever demanded, would sweep
away all his property. On her replying: " My husband will attend,
sir, whenever you may appoint;" a bystander asked her: " Do you
know what you are engaging to do, and that perhaps this may be
the means of leaving you destitute?" She replied: " Yes, I do; but
that gentleman found us in the greatest distress, and by his kindness
we are surrounded with comforts; now, should such an event take
place he will only leave us where he found us."
LINKS AND THE MURDERER.
PETER LINKS, a Namacqua, was the brother of Jacob Links, who
was murdered when on a journey into the country with Mr. Threlfall, the Wesleyan missionary. After we heard of his brother Jacob's
murder, Peter, when speaking on the subject, said: "Oh that I
could find the murderer that took away my brother's life! I would
not care what distance I might have to travel; I would not mind any




502  MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
exposure, fatigue, or danger; I would not care what expense I might
incur, if I could only lay hold of that man."  Being aware that men
in their savage state cherish an indomitable spirit of revenge, but believing Peter to be a decidedly pious character, I was a little astonished at his language, and rather hastily inquired: "Well, supposing
you could find the man, what would you do to him?" "Do to him?"
said Peter; " Mynheer, I would bring him to this station, that he
might hear the gospel, and that his soul might be converted to God."
THE REWARD OF WAR.
THE Duke of Marlborough observing a soldier leaning pensively
on the butt end of his musket, just after victory had'declared itself
in favor of the British arms at the battle of Blenheim, accosted him
thus: "Why so pensive, my friend, after so glorious a victory?"
" It may be glorious," replied the brave fellow, " but I am thinking that all the human blood I have spilled this day has only earned
meJfourpence."
FRIENDSHIP OF DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
WHEN Damon was sentenced, by Dionysius of Syracuse, to die
on a certain day, he begged permission, in the interim, to retire to
his own country, to set the affairs of his disconsolate family in order.
This the tyrant intended peremptorily to refuse, by granting it, as
he conceived, on the impossible conditions of his procuring some one
to remain as hostage for his return, under equal forfeiture of life.
Pythias heard the conditions, and did not wait for an application
upon the part of Damon: he instantly offered himself as security
for his friend; which being accepted, Damon was immediately set
at liberty. The king and all the courtiers were astonished at this
action; and therefore, when the day of execution drew near, his
majesty had the curiosity to visit Pythias in his confinement. After
some conversation on the subject of friendship, in which the tyrant
delivered it as his opinion, that self-interest was the sole mover of
human actions; as for virtue, friendship, benevolence, love of one's
country, and the like, he looked upon them as terms invented by the
wise to keep in awe and impose upon the weak: " My lord," said
Pythias, with a firm voice and noble aspect, " I would it were possible that I might suffer a thousand deaths, rather than my friend
should fail in any article of his honor. He cannot fail therein, my
lord: I am as confident of his virtue, as I am of my own existence.
But I pray, I beseech the gods, to preserve the life and integrity of
my Damon together: oppose him, ye winds, prevent the eagerness
and impatience of his honorable endeavors, and suffer him not to
arrive, till by death I have redeemed a life a thousand times of more




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.  503
consequence, of more value, than my own; more estimable to his
lovely wife, to his precious little children, to his friends, to his
country.  Oh, leave me not to die the worst of deaths in my
Damon." Dionysius was awed and confounded by the dignity of
these sentiments, and by the manner in which they were uttered: he
felt his heart struck by a slight sense of invading truth: but it served
rather to perplex than undeceive him.  The fatal day arrived.
Pythias was brought forth, and walked amid the guards with a
serious but satisfied air, to the place of execution. Dionysius was
already there; he was exalted on a moving throne, which was drawn
by six white horses, and sat pensive and attentive to the prisoner.
Pythias came, he vaulted lightly on the scaffold, and beholding for
some time the apparatus of his death, he turned with a placid coun-:tenance, and addressed the spectators: "My prayers are heard," he
cried, "the gods are propitious; you know, my friends, that the
winds have been contrary till yesterday. Damon could not come,
he could not conquer impossibilities; he will be here to-morrow, and
the blood which is shed to-day shall have ransomed the life of my
friend. Oh, could I erase from your bosoms every doubt, every
mean suspicion of the honor of the man for whom I am about to
suffer, I should go to my death, even as I would to my bridal. Be
it sufficient in the meantime, that my friend will be found noble;
that his truth is unimpeachable; that he will speedily prove it;
that he is now on his way, hurrying on, accusing himself,
the adverse elements, and the gods: but I haste to prevent his
speed; executioner do  your office."  As he pronounced the
last words, a buzz began to rise among the remotest of the people; a distant voice was heard, the crowd caught the words, and
"Stop, stop the execution!" was repeated by the whole assembly: a
man came at full speed: the throng gave way to his approach: he
was mounted on a steed of foam; in an instant he was off his horse,
on the scaffold, and clasped Pythias in his arms.  "You are safe,"
he cried, "you are safe, my friend, my beloved fiiend: the gods be
praised, you are safe, I now have nothing but death to suffer, and
am delivered from the anguish of those reproaches which I gave
myself for having endangered a life so much dearer than my own."
Pale, cold, and half speechless in the arms of his Damon, Pythias
replied in broken accents: "Fatal haste! Cruel impatience! What
envious powers have wrought impossibilities in your favor 1 But I
will not be wholly disappointed. Since I cannot die to save, I will
not survive you." Dionysius heard, beheld, and considered all with
astonishment.  His heart was touched, he wept, and leaving his
throne, he ascended the scaffold: "Live, live, ye incomparable
pair!" cried he: "ye have borne unquestionable testimony to the
existence of virtue; and that virtue equally evinces the existence
of a God to reward it. Live happily, and with renown: and, oh!
form me by your precepts, as ye have invited me by your example,
to be worthy of the participation of so sacred a friendship."




504    MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
ERSKINE'S DELIVERANCES.
REV. HENRY ERSKINE was often in great straits and difficulties.
Once when he and his family had supped at night, there remained
neither bread, meal, flesh, nor money in the house. In the morning the young children cried for their breakfast, and their father
endeavored to divert them, and did what he could at the same
time to encourage himself and wife to depend upon that Providence that hears the young ravens when they cry. While thus
engaged, a countryman knocked hard at the door, and called
for some one to help him off with his load. Being asked whence
he came, and what he would have, he told them he came from
Lady Reburn with some provisions for Mr. Erskine. They told
him he must be mistaken, and that it was more likely to be for
another Mr. Erskine in the same town. He replied, no, he knew
what he said, he was sent to Mr. Henry Erskine, and cried, " Come,
help me off with my load, or else I will throw it down at the
door." Whereupon they took the sack from him, and on opening
it, found it well stored with fish and meat.
At another time, being at Edinburgh, he was so reduced that he
had but three half-pence in his pocket. When he was walking about
the streets, not knowing what course to steer, one came to him in a
countryman's habit, presented him with a letter in which were
inclosed several Scotch ducatoons, with these words written: "Sir,
receive this from a sympathizing fiiend. Farewell."  Mr. Erskine
never could find out whence the money came.
At another time, being on a journey on foot, his money fell short
and he was in danger of being reduced to distress. Having occasion
to fix his walking-stick in some marshy ground, among the rushes,
he heard something tinkle at the end of it; it proved to be two halfcrowns, which greatly assisted in bearing his charges home. In
days of persecution and poverty God wonderfully interposes for his
people.
SERGEANT GLANVILLE.
THE father of that eminent lawyer, Mr. Sergeant Glanville, who
lived in the days of Charles II. had a good estate, which he intended
to settle on his eldest son; but he proving vicious, and affording no
no hope of reformation, he devolved it upon the sergeant, who was
his second son. Upon his father's death the eldest son, finding that
what he had hitherto considered as the mere threat of his father was
really true, became greatly dejected, and in a short period his character underwent an entire change. His brother observing this, invited
him with a party of his friends to a feast; and after several other
dishes had been removed, he ordered one, covered up, to be set
before his brother, which on being examined was found to contain




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.   505
the writings of the estate. The sergeant then told him that he baa
now done what lie was sure their father would have done had he
lived to witness the happy change they all saw, and that he therefore
freely conveyed to him the whole property.
A TURKISH FEMALE MARTYR.
THE following fact, while it shows the intolerance of the mildest
nation of the Turkish empire, at the same time illustrates the powerful influence of the Gospel and the holy fortitude with which it
blesses its possessor:
A Turkish woman being divorced from her husband, lived with a
Greek for two years.  She avowed herself a Christian, and having
offended one of her servants, he went to her father, a man of some
consequence, to state the fact. Some soldiers were sent to take her
into custody; on examination she confessed herself to be a Christian,
and was sentenced to be drowned in the Nile. Seated on an ass, she
was conducted amid the maledictions of the multitude to the Boulac;
they took her in a small boat on the stream, stripped her of her
dress and ornaments, in which they were hastened by her declaration: " I shall die a Christian;" bound her arms behind her back
and cast her into the Nile, where she expired.
Happy, indeed, are those who like us can enjoy their christian
privileges unmolested; but awful is their condition who have these
privileges and do not improve them.
FRANKLIN  AND  HIS PAPER.
SooN after his establishment in Philadelphia, Franklin was offered
a piece for publication in his newspaper. Being very busy, he
begged the gentleman would leave it for consideration. The next
day the author called and asked his opinion of it. "Why, sir,"
replied Franklin, "I am sorry to say I think it highly scurrilous and
defamatory. But being at a loss on account of my poverty, whether
to reject it or not, I thought I would put it to this issue, —at night,
when my work was done, I bought a two-penny loaf, on which I
supped heartily, and then wrapping myself in my great coat, slept
very soundly on the floor till morning; when another loaf and mug
of water afforded a pleasant breakfast. Now, sir, since I can live
very comfortably in this manner, why should I prostitute my press
to personal hatred or party passion for a more luxurious living?"
One cannot read this anecdote of our American sage, without
thinking of Socrates' reply to king Archelaus, who had pressed him
to give up preaching in the dirty streets of Athens, and come and




506  MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
live with him in his splendid courts: "-Meal, please your majesty, is
a half-penny a peck at Athens, and water Iget for nothing!"
THE POOR ARTIST.
MR. H --—, an ingenious artist, being destitute of employment,
and reduced to great distress, had no other resource than to solicit
the aid of an elder brother who was in good circumstances. To
him therefore he applied, and begged some little hovel to live in,
and some provision for his support. The brother was melted into'tears, and said: "You, my dear brother! you live in a hovel! you
are a man; you are an honor to the family. I am nothing. You
shall take this house and the estate, and I will be your guest if you
please."  The brothers thus affectionately lived together, as if it
were common property, till the death of the elder put the artist in
possession of the whole.
BROTHER OF iESCHYLUS.
~EscHYLvs, one of the most celebrated poets of Greece, lived about
four hundred years before Christ. With his two brothers, Cynegirus
and Aminius, he distinguished himself in the battles of Marathon,
Platiea and Salamis.  But his countrymen forgot their obligations
both to his valor and his genius, and in compliance to the voice of
popular clamor, he was unjustly sentenced to death, and would have
been immediately executed had not his brother Aminius, who had
lost a hand in the service of his country, at the battle of Salamis,
promptly throwing off his cloak, presented his maimed arm to the
view of his brother's judges. The appeal, though silent, was powerful, and 2Eschylus was in consequence pardoned.
VESSEL SAVED BY A DOLPHIN.
MR. COLSTONE, an eminent merchant of Bristol, who lived a century ago, was remarkable for his liberality to the poor, and equally
distinguished for his success in commerce. The providence of God
seemed to smile, in a peculiar manner, on the concerns of one who
made so good a use of his affluence. It has been said that he never
insured, nor ever lost a ship. Once, indeed, a vessel belonging to
him on her voyage home, struck on a rock, and immediately sprang
a leak, by which so much water was admitted as to threaten speedy
destruction. Means were instantly adopted to save the vessel, but




MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.  507
all seemed ineffectual, as the water rose rapidly. In a short time,
however, the leak stopped without any apparent cause, and the vessel reached Bristol in safety.  On examining her bottom, a fish, said
to be a dolphin, was found fast wedged in the fracture made by
the rock when she struck; which had prevented any water from entering during the remainder of the voyage. As a memorial of this
singular event, the figure of a dolphin is carved on the staves which
are carried in procession, on public occasions, by the children who
are educated at the charity schools founded by Mr. Colstone.
SUICIDE PREVENTED.
A PIEDMONTESE nobleman, into whose company I fell at Turin,
(says Mr. Rages, of Italy,) told me his story without reserve, as
follows:
" I was weary of life, and after a day such as few have known,
and none would wish to remember, was lounging along the street to
the river, when I felt a sudden check: I turned, and beheld a little
boy, who caught the skirt of my coat in his anxiety to solicit my notice, whose look and manner were irresistible. Xot less was the
lesson he had learned: " There are six of  us, and we are dying for
food." Why should not I, said I to myself, relieve this wretched
family? I have the means, and it will not delay me many minutes.
But what if it does?  The scene of misery he conducted me to, I
cannot describe; I threw them my purse, and their burst of gratitude overcame me. It filled my eyes, it went as cordial to my heart.
I will call again to-morrow, I said. Fool that I was, to think of
leaving a world where so much pleasure was to be had, and so
cheaply."
WORK FOR THE DAY BEFORE DEATH.
RABBI ELIEZER said: " Turn to God one day before your death."
His disciples said: " How can a man know the day of his death?"
He answered them: "Therefore you should turn to God TO-DAY.
Perhaps you may die to-morrow; thus, every day will be employed
in returning."
RESIGNATION.
A LADY who had lost a beloved child, was so oppressed with grief
that she even excluded herself from the society of her own family,
and kept herself locked in her chamber; but was at length prevailed
on by her husband to come down stairs and to take a walk in the
garden. While there, she stooped to pick a flower, but her husband
33




508   MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
appeared as though le would hinder her. She plaintively said:
"What! deny a flower!"  He replied: "You have denied God
your flower, and surely you ought not to think it hard in me to deny
you mine."
It is said the lady suitably felt the gentle reproof, and had reason
to say: "A word spoken in season, how good is it!"
ANOTHER.
EBENEZER ADAMS, an eminent member of the society of Friends,
on visiting a lady of rank, whom he found, six months after the death
of her husband, on a sofa covered with black cloth, and in all the
dignity of wo, approached her with great solemnity, and gently taking her by the hand, thus addressed her: "So, friend, I see then
thou hast not yet forgiven God Almighty."  This reproof had so
great an effect on the lady that she immediately laid aside the symbols of grief, and again entered on the important duties of life.
LOSING A SEAT IN CONGRESS.
"SIRp, bring me a good plain dinner," said a melancholy looking
individual to a waiter at one of our principal hotels.
The dinner was brought and devoured, and the eater called the
landlord aside and thus addressed him:
"You are the landlord?"
" Yes."
"You do a good business here?"
" Yes 1" (in astonishment.)
"You make, probably, ten dollars a day clear?"
" Yes."
" Then I am safe. I cannot pay for what I have consumed; I
have been out of employment seven months; but have engaged to
go to work to-morrow. I had been without food four-and-twenty
hours when I entered your place. I will pay you in a week."
" I cannot pay my bills with such promises," blustered the landlord, and "I do not keep a poor-house. You should address the
proper authorities. Leave me something for security."
" I have nothing."
"I will take your coat."
"If I go into the streets without that such weather as it is, I may
get my death."
"You should have thought of that before you came here."
"Are you serious?  Well, I solemnly aver that in one week from
now I will pay you."
" I will take the coat."
The coat was left, and a week afterwards redeemed. Seven years




MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  ANE2)DOTES.   509
lafter that a wealthy man entered the political arena, and was presented at a caucus as an applicant for a congressional nomination.
The principal of the caucus held his peace; he heard the name and
the history of the applicant, who was a member of the church, and
one of the most respectable citizens. He was chairman. The vote
was a tie, and he cast a negative, thereby defeating the wealthy applicant, whom he met an hour afterwards, and to whom he said:
"You don't remember me?"
N" N'O."
"I once ate a dinner at your hotel; and, although I told you I
was famishing, and pledged my word and honor to pay you in a week,
you took my coat, and saw me go out into the inclement air at the
risk of my life, without it."
"Well, sir, what then?"
" Not much.  You called yourself a Christian.  To-night you were
a candidate for nomination, and butfor me you would have been elected
to Congress i"
Three years after, the christian hotel keeper became,bankrupt,
and sought a home in Bellevue. The poor dinnerless wretch that
was, afterwards became a high functionary in Albany.
PAINFUL EFFECTS OF A JOKE.
A GENTLEMAN in        attended the preaching of Dr. Clarke, and
was deeply convinced of sin. With strong prayer and tears he sought
pardon, but found it not. Being confined by sickness soon after, he
sent for Dr. Clarke, who came; but learning how long he had
mourned, and with what earnestness he had sought salvation, he
secretly wondered at God's so long withholding freedom from such
deep repentance; and finding the lamp of life burning low, and mental agony hurrying on its extinction, with tender but firm language
he said:': It is not often, Mr. a, that God thus deals with a soul
so deeply humbled as yours, and in his own appointed way seeking
redemption. Sir, there must be a cause. You have left something
undone which it is your duty and interest to have done. God judge
between you and it."
Fixing his eyes intently on Dr. Clarke, the gentleman gave the
following narration: "In the year —, I was at -, and took my
passage in the ship --— for England. Before sailing, some merchants put on board a small bag of dollars, which were given in
charge to the captain for such and such parties. I saw the transaction, and noticed the captain's carelessness, who left the bag day
after day rolling upon the locker. For the simple purpose of frightenin' him I hid it. He made no inquiries, and we arrived at -.
I still retained it till it should be missed. Months passed, and still
no iinquiry was made.  The parties to whom it had been consigned
came to the captain for it. He remembered reccivino it in charge,




510     MORAL AND RELIGIOUS  ANECDOTES.
but no more. It must have been left behind. Search was made,
letters written, but it could not be found. All this occupied some
months. I had now become alarmed and ashamed to confess, lest
I should implicate my character.
" The captain was sued, and, having nothing to pay, was cast
into prison.. He maintained his innocence as to the theft, but confessed his carelessness. He languished two years in prison, and
died. Guilt by this time had hardened my mind. I strove to be
happy in the amusements of the world, but all in vain. Under your
preaching the voice of God broke in upon my conscience. I have
agonized at the throne of mercy for the sake of Christ for pardon;
but God is deaf to my prayer. I must go down to the grave unsaved."
Dr. Clarke suggested to the dying penitent that God claimed from
him not only repentance, but restitution. The widow and fatherless
children still lived. The gentleman readily consented. The sum,
with interest and compound interest, was made up and given to the
widow, to whom the circumstances were made known. The dying
man's mind was calmed, and soon, in firm hope of pardon, he died.
A PRAYER  WITHOUT SUBMISSION.
DR. EDMUND CALAMY relates, in his life, that some persons of the
name of Mart, in whose family he resided for some time, had a son
who discovered the most wicked and impious disposition. When
confined in prison he wrote letters professing penitence; but as soon
as he had an opportunity he returned to his former sin.
This young man had been the darling both of his father and
mother; and the latter had set her affections upon him to so great
a degree, that when she saw him a monster of wickedness, she became deranged and attempted to destroy herself, which she at length
effected. So far from being suitably impressed with this awful event,
her son now proceeded to greater lengths in wickedness. At length
he professed to be sorry for his depraved course, and applied to the
Rev. Samuel Pomfret to intercede for him with his father. He was
made ready for sea, but unhappily became connected with a gang
of villains, and on the very night before he was to set sail he robbed
Mr. Pomfret, was pursued, tried, and condemned to die.
On the Sabbath preceding the Wednesday on which he was condemned to die, his father entreated Dr. Calamy to accompany him
that evening to his cell in Newgate, to converse with his unhappy
son, and to give his opinion as to the propriety of seeking to obtain
his pardon. The doctor went, and found him in a very awful state
of mind, resenting different things which he conceived his father had
done wrong, and saying that he might obtain a pardon for him if he
would but part with some of his money. In vain did the doctor




MORAL AND  RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES.                511
expostulate with him on the improper feelings he manifested, and entreat him to humble himself before God on account of his sins, not
only as his solemn duty, and the way to secure the salvation of his
soul, but as the only way of engaging his friends to obtain for him
a reprieve. His reply was: " Sir, I scorn any thing of that nature,
and would rather die with my company."  The doctor reasoned
with him on the existence of an hereafter, charged him with the
death of his mother, taxed him with the murder of some persons
abroad whose blood he had actually shed, and showed him the
heavy punishment he must endure in an eternal world unless he
turned to God, repented of his sins, and sought and obtained pardon
through the atonement of the Lord Jesus. He admitted the truth
of all these things, but was full of trifling unconcern. He frankly
-said that he had no hope of being better in his character, and that,
on the contrary, he was satisfied he should grow worse. The next
morning he was visited by Dr. Jekyl, who asked him whether, during the whole time he had been confined in Newgate, he had once
bowed his knees to the great God, making it his earnest request to
him to give him a sense of his sins, and to create in him a tender
heart. He admitted that he had not, nor did he think it of any use.
He was promised that if he would relent and pray morning and evening for the grace of God, an effort should be made, with every probability of success, for a reprieve, and subsequently a pardon. But
he would make no engagement, and was hung on the day appointed.
On the day of his execution the father of this unhappy young
man told Dr. Calamy, that when the culprit was a very young child,
and their only child, he was exceedingly ill with a fever, and that
both his wife and himself, thinking their lives were bound up in the
life of the child, were exceedingly importunate with God in prayer
that his life might be spared.  A pious woman expostulated with
him on tile vehemence he manifested, and said she dreaded the consequence of his praying in such a way, and that it became him to
leave the matter to an infinitely wise God. At length the father
said: " Let him prove what he will, so he is but spared I shall be
satisfied." The old man added: "' This I now see to have been my
folly. For, through the just hand of God I have lived to see this
wretched son of mine a heart-breaking cross to them that loved him
with the greatest tenderness, a disgrace to my whole family, and
likely to bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. I read
my sin very distinctly in my punishment; but must own that God is
righteous in all his ways and holy in all his works."




GEMS OF THOUGHT,
THE WORLD WAS MADE WITH A BENEVOLENT DESIGN,
IT is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, the water, teem
with delighted existence. In a spring-noon, or a summer-evening,
on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd
upon my view. " The insect youth are on the wing." Swarms of
new-born flies are trying their pinions in the air. Their sportive motion, their wanton mazes, their gratuitous activity, their continual
change of place without use or purpose, testify their joy and the exultation they feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee among
the flowers in spring is one of the most cheerful objects that can be
looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment; so busy and so
pleased: yet it is only a specimen of insect life, with which, by reason of the animal being half domesticated, we happen to be better
acquainted than we are with that of others.  The whole winged insect tribe it is probable, are equallyintent upon their proper employments, and under every variety of constitution, gratified, and perhaps equally gratified, by the offices which the Author of their
nature has assigned to them. But the atmosphere is not the only
scene of enjoyment for the insect race. Plants are covered with
aphides, greedily sucking their juices, and constantly, as it should
seem, in the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted but this is a state
of gratification; what else should fix them so close to the operation,
and so long?  Other species are running about with an alacrity in
their motions which carries with it every mark of pleasure. Large
patches of ground are sometimes half covered with these brisk and
sprightly natures. If we look to what the waters produce, shoals of
fish frequent the margins of rivers, of lakes, and of the sea itself.
These are so happy that they know not what to do with themselves.
Their attitudes, their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, their frolics in it (which I have noticed a thousand times with equal attention
and amusement,) all conduce to show their excess of spirits, and
are simply the effects of that excess. Walking by the sea-side on a
calm evening upon a sandy shore, and with an.ebbing tide, I have
frequently remarked the appearance of a dark cloud, or rather very
thick mist, hanging over the edge of the water to the hight, perhaps
of half a yard, and of the breadth of two or three yards, stretching
along the coast as far as the eye could reach, and always retiring
with the water. When this cloud came to be examined, it proved to
be nothing else than so much space filled with young shrimps in the
512




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       513
act of bounding into the air from the shallow margin of the water, or
from the wet sand. If any motion of a mute animal could express
delight, it was this; if they had meant to make signs of their happiness, they could not have done it more intelligibly. Suppose, then,
what I have no doubt of, each individual of this number to be in a
state of positive enjoyment, what a sum, collectively. of gratification
and pleasure, have we here before our view!
The young of all animals appear to me to receive pleasure simply
from the exercise of their limbs and bodily faculties, without reference to any end to be attained, or any use to be answered by the ex-.
ertion. A child, without knowing any thing of the use of language,
is in a high degree delighted with being able to speak. Its incessant
repetition of a few articulate sounds, or perhaps of the single word
which it has learned to pronounce, proves this point clearly.  Nor is
it less pleased with its first successful endeavors to walk, or rather to
run (which precedes walking,) although entirely ignorant of the importance of the attainment to its future life, and even without applying it to any present purpose. A child is delighted with speaking,
wthout having any thing to say; and with walking, without knowing
where to go. And, prior to both these, I am disposed to believe
that the waking hours of infancy are agreeably taken up with the
exercise of vision, or perhaps, more properly speaking, with learning
to see.
But it is not for youth alone that the great Parent of creation hath
provided. Happiness is found with the purring cat no less than with
the playful kitten; in the arm-chair of dozing age, as well as in either
the sprightliness of the dance or the animation of the chase.  To
novelty, to acuteness of sensation, to hope, to ardor of pursuit, succeeds what is, in no inconsiderable degree, an equivalent for them
all, "perception of ease." Herein is the exact difference between
the young and the old. The young are not happy but when enjoying pleasure; the old are happy when free from pain. And this
constitution suits with the degrees of. animal power which they respectively possess.  The vigor of youth was to be stimulated to
action by impatience of rest; whilst to the imbecility of age, quietness and repose become positive gratifications.  In one important
step the advantage is with the old. A state of ease is, generally
speaking, more attainable than a state of pleasure.  A constitution,
therefore, which can enjoy ease, is preferable to that which can taste
only pleasure. This same perception of ease oftentimes renders old
age a condition of great comfort, especially while riding at its anchor
after a busy or tempestuous life.  It is well described by Rosseau to
be the interval of repose and enjoyment between the hurry and end
of life.  How far the same cause extends to other animal natures,
cannot be judged of with certainty.  The appearance of satisfaction
with which most animals, as their activity subsides, seek and enjoy
rest, affords reason to believe that this source of gratification is appointed to advanced life under all or most of its various forms. In




514               GEMS  OF THOUGHT.
the species with which we are best acquainted, namely, our own, I
am far, even as an observer of human life, from thinking that youth
is its happiest season, much less the only happy one.-PALEY.
THE STAR  OF BETHLEHEM.
LATE one night, when all was still around a rude hostelry in Judea, save, perchance, the rippling of the wind through the tree-tops,
a young mother gave birth to a son. She was one of a company of
poor travelers, who had taken up their night lodgings in a stable.
Such a birth was no uncommon thing among the poorer classes; and
yet Heaven never bent over a universe just rolled into being with
such intense, absorbing interest, as it did over that unconscious babe,
as it lay with feeble, fluttering breath upon its mother's bosom. The
heavens were quiet above-the inmates of the low inn slumbered
peacefully —the shepherds were dreaming, free from  care, amid
their flocks on the fresh hill-sides, and all nature was at rest when
the birth-throes of that fair young mother brought troops of angels
from the throne of God.
But suddenly a change seemed to pass over nature, mysterious
influences were in the air, the slumberers on the hill-side and in the
valley felt a strange unrest, and arose and came forth into the open
air. Whisperings were about them, and sounds like the passage of
swift wings, all sweeping onward to one place, and then on the
darkness of night a new star arose, bathing the landscape in mellow
splendor, and flooding that rude inn and ruder stable with light that
dazzled the beholder.  There it stood, beautiful and bright, pointing
with its steady beam to that slumbering babe. Encompassed in. the
still glory, the wondering shepherds turned in alarm one to another,
but saw in the shining countenance of each only cause of greater
fear. While they thus stood hesitating what to do, an angel hovered
above them, saying: I" Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings
of great joy, which shall be to all people: for unto you is born this
day, in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord."
Suddenly, crowds on crowds of radiant beings swept around them,
singing, " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill to men." Oh, how that glorious anthem arose and fell along
the Judea mountains. "d Glory to God in the highest!" from voices
tuned in heaven for ages to melody, and sent up in one exultant
shout from that excited host, burst again and again on the ear.
The heavens trembled with the song, and far away, beyond the
reach of watching shepherds, or listening men, were louder shouts,
and more entrancing melody.
With that shout and that song on their lips, the host of glad
angels wheeled away to heaven, and all was still again. But still
that star kept shining on, and lo! the shepherds from the hill-tops,




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                      515
and wise men from afar, guided by its finger of light, came to where
its beam fell on the infant in the manger, and worshipped him there.
Strange occupants were in that stable. The wise and proud were
there kneeling.  Angels had been there adoring.  The Son of God
was there sleeping in a human mother's arms. That stable was
greater than the palace of a king, for its manger cradled the "KING
of kings, Emmanuel, The Wonderful, Counsellor, Prince of Peace,
Redeemer, Savior of men," were all embraced in that helpless
infant. There it lay, calm, and fair, and lovely, the companion of
cattle, and yet the Maker of the earth, and the adored of heaven —
the son of a carpenter, and the "Son of God."  The feeble arm
could scarcely lift itself to its mother's neck, yet on it the universe
stood balanced. Its voice was faint, low, and infantile, and yet, at
its slightest cry, myriads on myriads of angelic beings would crowd
to its relief. A few hours measured its existence, and yet it lived
before the stars of God. Born to die, and yet the conqueror of
death.  No wonder that star beamed on its face, for it did more
than declare its heavenly birth, or direct the wise men to where it
was cradled. It was pointing to the great solution of the problem
of life, and of the profoundest mystery of heaven. For four thousand years the world had summoned its thought and energies, and
exhausted its wisdom on the single question, " How shall man be
just with God!" The smoke of the first altar-fire kindled on the
yet unpeopled earth, as it curled slowly heavenward, was burdened
with this question.  From the borders of deserted Eden, from the
top of Mount Ararat, from the Bethel of Abraham, and from the
tents of Jacob, had the sacrificial flame burned skyward in vain.
The priests of Aaron had stood before the altar, and struggled for
ages with the mighty problem, and lo! the " Star of Bethlehem"
pointed to that babe as its solution.  The long wanderings of the
Hebrews, the miracles that preserved them, the imposing ceremonies
of their religion, the "ark of God," the "mercy-seat," the pomp of
temple worship, what did they all mean? That silent star pointed
to the reply.  Altars and sacrifices, prayers and prophecies, all
were to end here.  For four thousand years the earth had been rolling on its axis to bring about one event, and lo! it was accomplished.
To the thousand inquiries of the human heart, to its painful questionings, to all its hopes and fears for so long a period, this was the
answer and the end. Like a shadow for ever fleeing, had the mystery of justification baffled both the thoughtful and inspired. The
Hebrew with his temple worship and his offerings; the pagan with
his heathen rites and his gods; the philosopher with his reason and
his conscience, and the poet with his imagination, had pondered
for ages over it. Watchings and fastings, self-humiliation, long
pilgrimages, self-immolation, and death, had been cheerfully, nay,
joyfully endured, to solve it. Too high for the rapt prophet, too
deep for the sage, it still remained to sadden and excite the heart of




.516              GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.
man, till the " Star of Bethlehem" arose on the plains of Judea.
Then the problem was solved and the mystery explained, but by
One greater than all.
The long line of David, unbroken through so many centuries,
was maintained solely to secure the birth of that child. Rapt in
holy enthusiasm, Isaiah and Jeremiah, and all the prophets of God,
had spoken of a King of Israel yet to come, whose throne should
excel all the thrones of earth, and in the sublimest strains of eloquence. spoken of the glory of his kingdom and the splendor of his
reign. Through ages of oppression, through long years of captivity,
from the depths of suffering, had prophets and people looked forward to the coming of the " Redeemer of Israel," and now, as if to
mock their hopes, that silent star pointed to the babe of a carpenter's
wife as the fulfillment of all.
Oh what a bitter disappointment, to be told that the King of
GClory, the Prince of Peace, the Redeemer of Israel, the hope of
the human heart, were in that infant, coarsely clad and laid in a
manger.
Yet that star said more than all this. To the longings after immortality-to the dim hopes-the painful bitter cry of the human
soul after a life to come, it still cast its dazzling rays on that rude
manger. The sad soul may question on and struggle on; but the
sleeper there alone can satisfy its desires.  It may range the fields
of thought-exhaust all learning and all philosophy-dive into its
own unfathomed depths; yet there alone is unfolded the mystery.
"Life and immortality" are in that manger-so speaks the everbeaming star. Kneel there with thy soul, which has fallen back
exhausted from the fearful hights it has endeavored to climb unaided; fling' thy philosophy, thy pride, as well as thy fears away,
and let the light of that wondrous star fall on thy countenance, and
its ray subdue and gladden thy spirit.  Painful doubts and appalling
fears, lest the sinful heart could never be accounted pure —unsatisfied longings and shadowy visions of a life to come, are all over.
Oh, with what thrilling eloquence that silent star spoke to the
bewildered, melancholy race of men!
Not only did it point to the only way of justification, and reveal
the life of the soul, when its earthly clog is cast away, but it shed
light on the grave of the body-cast the first ray that ever fell within
its dark and voiceless chambers. It said, as it shone, "Behold the
resurrection and the life:" " There is the first-fruits of them that
sleep." Wondrous beam, penetrating to the caverned dead, casting
unearthly splendor on the charnel-house, and flooding with light
and glory the mutilated fragments which the worm  and corruption
have left.  To the "whole creation, travailing in pain and groaning," waiting for the redemption of the body, it said, in accents
sweeter than ever yet fell on mortal ears, "Be still —that babe shall
open the portals of death, and lead captivity captive."
To the heavens above it also spoke a language. It solved the




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       517
mystery of redemption-showed how mercy and justice could be
united; and revealed the length, and breadth, and depth, and hight
of the love of God-a length that reaches from everlasting to everlasting, " a breadth that encompasses every intelligence and every
interest; a depth that reaches the lowest state of human degradation and misery, and a hight that throws floods of glory on the
throne and crown of Jehovah."
Two great events mark the long history of the earth.  One is the
coming of Christ in a human form as the " Babe of Bethlehem," to
save and redeem-the other is to be his coming in the plenitude of
his divinity to judge the world. A single star arose and beamed on
his birth: at his second appearance, the stars of heaven shall all be
quenched, the sun " be turned into darkness, and the moon into
blood."-HEADLEY.
GRANDEUR OF ASTRONOMICAL DISCOVERIES
IT was a pleasant evening in the month of May; and my sweet
child, my Rosalie, and I had sauntered up to the castle's top to enjoy
the breeze that played around it, and to admire the unclouded firmament that glowed and sparkled with unusual lustre from pole to
pole.  The atmosphere was in its purest and finest state for vision; the milky way was distinctly developed throughout its whole
extent; every planet and every star above the horizon, however
near and brilliant, or distant and faint, lent its lambent light or
twinkling ray to give variety and beauty to the hemisphere; while
the round, bright moon (so distinctly defined were the lines of her
figure, and so closely visible even the rotundity of her form,) seemed
to hang off from the azure vault, suspended in midway air; or stooping forward from the firmament her fair and radiant face, as if to
court and return our gaze.
We amused ourselves for some time, in observing through a telescope the planet Jupiter, sailing in silent majesty with his squadron
of satellites along the vast ocean of space between us and the fixed
stars; and admired the felicity of that design, by which those distant
bodies had been parcelled out and arranged into constellations; so as
to have served not only for beacons to the ancient navigator, but, as
it were, for landmarks to astronomers at this day; enabling them,
though in different countries, to indicate to each.other with ease the
place and motion of those planets,. comets, and magnificent meteors,
which inhabit, revolve, and play in the intermediate space.
We recalled and dwelt with delight on the rise and progress of the
science of astronomy; on that series of astonishing discoveries
through successive ages, which display in so strong a light, the force
and reach of the human mind; and on those bold conjectures and
sublime reveries, which seem to tower even to the confines of divinity, and denote the high destiny to which mortals tend: that thought,




518                GEMS OF THOUGHT.
for instance, which is said to have been first started by Pythagoras,
and which modern astronomers approve; that the stars which we call
fixed, although they appear to us to be nothing'more than large
spangles of various sizes, glittering on the same concave surface,
are, nevertheless, bodies as large as our sun, shining like him, with
original and not reflected light, placed at incalculable distances asunder, and each star the solar centre of a system of planets, which revolve around it as the planets belonging to our system do around the
sun; that this is not only the case with all the stars which our eyes
discern in the firmament, or which the telescope has brought within
the sphere of our vision, but, according to the modern improvements
of this thought, that there are probably other stars, whose light has
not yet reached us, although light moves with a velocity of a million
times greater than that of a cannon ball; that those luminous appearances, which we observe in the firmament, like flakes of thin, white
cloud, are windows, as it were, which open to other firmaments, far,
far beyond the ken of human eye, or the power of optical instruments, lighted up like ours, with hosts of stars or suns; that this
scheme goes on through infinite space, which is filled with thousands
upon thousands of these suns, attended by ten thousand times ten
thousand worlds, all in rapid motion, yet calm, regular, and harmonious, invariably keeping the paths prescribed to them; and these
worlds peopled with myriads of intelligent beings.
One would think that this conception, thus extended, would be
bold enough to satisfy the whole enterprise of the human imagination.  But what an accession of glory and magnificence does Doctor
Herschell superadd to it, when, instead of supposing all those suns
fixed, and the motion confined to their respective planets, he loosens
those multitudinous suns themselves from their stations, sets them all
into motion with their splendid retinue of planets and satellites, and
imagines them, thus attended, to perform a stupendous revolution,
system above system, around some grander, unknown centre, somewhere in the boundless abyss of space! —and when, carrying on the
process, you suppose even that centre itself not stationary, but also
counterpoised by other masses in the immensity of spaces, with which,
attended by their accustomed trains of
"Planets, suns, and adamantine spheres
Wheeling unshaken through the void immense,"
it maintains harmonious concert, surrounding in its vast career, some
other centre still more remote and stupendous, which in its turn" You overwhelm me," cried Rosalie, as I was laboring to pursue
the immense concatenation; " my mind is bewildered and lost in the
effort to follow you, and finds no point on which to rest its weary
wing'." " Yet there is a point, my dear Rosalie-the throne of the
Most High.  Imagine that the ultimate centre to which this vast and
inconceivably magnificent and august apparatus is attached, and
around which it is continually revolving. Oh! what a spectacle for




GEMS OF  THOUGHT.                      519
the cherubim and seraphim, and the spirits of the just made perfect,
who dwell on the right hand of that throne, if, as may be, and probably is, the case, their eyes are'permitted to pierce through the
whole, and take in, at one glance, all its order, beauty, sublimity,
and glory, and their ears to distinguish that celestial harmony, unheard by us, in which those vast globes, as they roll on in their respective orbits, continually hymn their great Creator's praise." —
WIRT.
GOODNESS OF DEITY DISPLAYED IN THE BEAUTY OF
CREATION.
WERE all the interesting diversities of color and form to disappear,
how unsightly, dull, and wearisome would be the aspect of the world!
The pleasures conveyed to us by the endless varieties with which
these sources of beauty are presented to the eye, are so much things
of course, and exist so much without intermission, that we scarcely
think either of their nature, their number, or the great proportion
which they constitute in the whole mass of our enjoyment. But,
were an inhabitant of this country to be removed from its delightful
scenery to the midst of an Arabian desert, a boundless expanse of
sand, a waste, spread with uniform desolation, enlivened by the murmur of no stream, and cheered by the beauty of no verdure; although
he might live in a palace, and riot in splendor and luxury, he would,
I think, find life a dull, wearisome, melancholy round of existence;
and amid all his gratifications would sigh for the hills and valleys of
his native land, the brooks, and rivers, the living lustre of the
spring, and the rich glories of autumn.  The ever-varying brilliancy
and grandeur of the landscape, and the magnificence of the sky, sun,
moon, and stars, enter more extensively into the enjoyment of mankind, than we perhaps ever think, or can possibly comprehend, without frequent and extensive investigation.  This beauty and splendor
of the objects around us, it is ever to be remembered, is not necessary to their existence, nor to what we commonly intend by their
usefulness. It is, therefore, to be regarded as a source of pleasure,
gratuitously superinduced upon the general nature of the objects
themselves, and, in this light, as a testimony of the-Divine goodness
peculiarly affecting.-DwIGHT.
SCENERY OF THE ALPS.
NOTHING can be finer or more exact than Mr. Pope's description
of a traveler straining up the Alps. Every mountain he comes to he
thinks will be the last: he finds, however, an unexpected hill rise
before him; and that being scaled, he finds the highest summit'almost
at as great a distance as before. Upon quitting the plain, he might




520              GEMS OF  THOUGHT.
have left a green and fertile soil, and a climate warm and pleasing.
As he ascends, the ground assumes a more russet color, the grass
becomes more mossy, and the weather more moderate. When he is
still higher, the weather becomes more cold, and the earth more barren. In this dreary passage he is often entertained with a little valley of surprising verdure, caused by the reflected heat of the sun,
collected into a narrow spot on the surrounding hights. But it much
more frequently happens that he sees only frightful precipices beneath, and lakes of amazing depth, from whence rivers are formed,
and fountains derive their original. On those places next the highest summits vegetation is scarcely carried on; here and there a few
plants of the most hardy kind appear. The air is intolerably coldeither continually refrigerated with frosts, or disturbed with tempests. All the ground here wears an eternal covering of frost and
snow, that seem continually accumulating. Upon emerging fiom this
war of the elements, he ascends into a purer and serener region,
where vegetation is entirely ceased-where the precipices, composed
entirely of rocks, rise perpendicularly above him: while he views
beneath him all the combat of the elements, clouds at his feet, and
thunders darting upwards from their bosoms below. A thousand
meteors, which are never seen on the plain, present themselves.
Circular rainbows, mock suns, the shadow of the mountain, projected upon the body of the air, and the traveler's own image reflected as in a looking-glass upon the opposite cloud.-GOLDSMIT.
FACULTIES OF THE HUMAN SOUL.
CONSIDER, in the first place, the many excellent faculties of the
human soul; the imagination, memory, reason, judgment, will; the
power it has of receiving such a multitude of ideas from external
objects; of depositing them in the storehouse of the memory for
many years; of drawing them out again for use whenever it thinks
fit; of comparing, arranging, combining, and diversifying them'in
such an infinite number of ways; of reflecting, meditating, and reasoning upon them; of comprehending such a prodigious number of
different arts and sciences; of creating the exquisite beauties and
refined delights of music, painting, and poetry; of carrying on,
through a long train of dependent propositions, the most abstruse
and intricate speculations; of extracting, from a few plain, self-evident axioms, a demonstration of the most sublime and astonishing
truths; of penetrating into every part of the material, the vegetable,
the animal, the intellectual world; of conceiving and executing so
many wise and beneficial designs; of turning its eye inward upon
itself; of observing and regulating its own movements; of refining,
purifying, and exalting its affections; of bringing itself, by a proper
course of discipline and self-government, to bear with patience the




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                      521
acutest pains and the heaviest afflictions; to face with intrepidity the
greatest dangers; to restrain its strongest passions; to resist the
most inviting temptations; to exert, upon occasion, the most heroic
fortitude; to renounce, for the sake of conscience and of duty, all
that the world has to give; to abstract itself from all earthly enjoyments; to live as it were out of the body; to carry its views and
hopes to the remotest futurity, and raise itself to the contemplation
and the love of divine and spiritual things. Consider, now, whether
it be probable, that a being possessed of such astonishing powers as
these, should be designed for this life only; should be sent so richly
furnished into the world merely to live a few years in anxiety and
misery, and then to perish forever? Is it credible, is it possible,
that the mighty soul of a Newton should share exactly the same fate,
with the vilest insect that crawls upon the ground; that, after having
laid'open the mysteries of nature, and pushed its discoveries almost
to the very boundaries of the universe, it should on a sudden have
all its lights at once extinguished, and sink into everlasting darkness
and insensibility? To what purpose all this waste and profusion of
talents, if their operation is to be limited to this short period of existence? Why are we made so like immortal beings if mortality is to
be our lot? What need was there that this little vessel of ours
should be fitted out and provided with stores sufficient to carry it
through the vast ocean of eternity, if, at the same time, its voyage
was meant to be confined within the narrow straits of the present
afe?  Instinct would have served for this purpose as well as reason;
would have conducted us through the world with as much safety,
and with less pain, than all our boasted intellectual endowments.PORTEUS.
PERPETUAL PROGRESS OF THE SOUL TO PERFECTION.
ANOTHER presumption in favor of a future state, is the perpetual
progress of the soul toward perfection, and its endless capacity of further improvements and larger acquisitions.  This argument has been
set in so strong and beautiful a light, by one of our finest writers,
(Mr. ADDISON,) that it is hardly possible to do justice to it in any
other words than his own. " A brute," says he, " arrives at a point
of perfection which he can never pass. In a few years he has all
the endowments he is capable of, and were he to live ten thpusand
more he would be the same thing that he is at present.  Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplishments, were her faculties
full blown and incapable of further enlargement, I could imagine she
might fall away insensibly, and then drop at once into a state of annihilation.  But who can believe that a thinking being, which is in a
perpetual progress of improvements, and traveling on from perfection to perfection, must perish at her first setting out, and be stopped
short in the veiy beginning of her inquiries?  Death overtakes her




522               GEMS OF THOUGHT
while there is yet an unbounded prospect of knowledge open to her
view, whilst the conquest over her passions is still incomplete, and
much is still wanted of that perfect standard of virtue, which she is
always aiming at but can never reach. Would an infinitely wise
Being create such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose; or can he
delight in the production of such abortive intelligences? Would he
give us talents which are never to be fully exerted, and capacities
which are never to te filled?  Is it not far more reasonable to suppose, that man is not sent into the world merely to propagate his
kind; to provide himself with a successor, and then to quit his
post: but, that those short-lived generations of rational creatures,
which rise up and disappear in such quick succession, are only to
receive their first rudiments of existence here, and then to be
translated into some more friendly climate, where they may spread
and flourish; where they may go on from  strength to strength;
where they may shine forever with new accessions of glory, and
brighten to all eternity?-PORTEUS.
WHERE SHOULD THE SCHOLAR LIVE?
WHERE should the scholar live? In solitude or in society? In
the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart of
nature beat, or in the dark gray city, where he can hear and feel the
throbbing heart of man?  I will make answer for him, and say, in
the dark, gray city.  Oh, they do greatly err who think, that the
stars are all the poetry which cities have; and therefore, that the
poet's only dwelling should be in sylvan solitudes, under the green
roof of trees. Beautiful, no doubt, are all the forms of nature, when
transfigured by the miraculous power of poetry: hamlets and harvest-fields, and nut-brown waters, flowing ever under the forest, vast
and shadowy, with all the sights and sounds of rural life. But after
all, what are these but the decorations and painted scenery in the
great theatre of human life? What are they but the coarse materials
of the poet's song?  Glorious, indeed, is the world of God around
us, but more glorious the world of God within us. There lies the
land of song; there lies the poet's native land.  The river of life,
that flows through streets tumultuous, bearing along so many gallant
hearts, so many wrecks of humanity; the many homes and households, each a little world in itself, revolving round its fireside, as a
central sun; all forms of human joy and suffering brought into that
narrow compass; and to be in this, and be a part of this; acting,
thinking, rejoicing, sorrowing, with his fellow-men; such, such should
be the poet's life. If he would describe the world, he should live in
the world. The mind of the scholar, also, if you would have it
large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds. It is
better that his armor should be somewhat bruised even by rude encounters, than hanh? for ever rusting on the wall. Nor will his themes




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       523
be few or trivial, because apparently shut in between the walls of
houses, and having merely the decorations of street scenery. A ruined character is as picturesque as a ruined castle.  There are dark
abysses and yawning gulfs in the human heart, which can be rendered passable only by bridging them  over with iron nerves and
sinews, as Challey bridged the Savine in Switzerland, and Telford
the sea between Anglesea and England, with chain bridges.  These
are the great themes of human thought; not green grass, and flowers, and mloonshine.  Besides, the mere external forms of nature
we make our own and carry with us into the city, by the power
of memory. —LoNGFELLOW.
GLORY.
THE crumbling to'mbstone and the gorgeous mausoleum, the sculptured marble and the venerable cathedral, all bear witness to the instinctive desire within us to be remembered by coiming generations.
But how short-lived is the immortality which the works of our hands
can confer! The noblest monuments of art that the world has ever
seen are covered with the soil of twenty centuries.  The works of
the age of Pericles lie at the foot of the Acropolis in indiscriminate
ruin.  The plowshare turns up the marble which the hand of Plhidias
had chiselled into beauty, and the Mussulman has folded his flock
beneath the falling columns of the temple of Minerva. But even the
works of our hands too frequently survive the memory of those who
have created them. And were it otherwise, could we thus carry
down to distant ages the recollection of our existence, it were surely
childish to waste the energies of an immortal spirit in. the effort to
make it known to other times, that a being whose name was written
with certain letters of the alphabet onlce li ed, and flourished, and
died. Neither sculptured marble, nor stately column can reveal to
other ages the lineaments of the spirit; and these alone can embalm
our memory in the hearts of a grateful posterity.
As the stranger stands beneath the dome of St. Patl's, or treads,
with religious awe, the silent aisles of Westmin.ster Abbey, the sentimnent which is breathed from every object around him is, the utter
emptiness of sublunary glory....... The fine' arts, obedient to private
affection, or public gratitude, have here embodied, in every form, the
finest conceptions of which their age was capable.  Each one of
these monuments;'has been watered by the tears of the widow, the
orphan, or the patriot. But generations have passed away, and
mourners and mourned have sunk together into folrgetfulness.  The
aged crone, or the smooth-tongued beadle, as now Lhe hurries you
through aisles and chapel, utters, with measured cadence and unmeaning tone, for the thousandth time, the name and lineage of the
once honored dead; and then gladly dismisses you, to repeat again




524               GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.
his well-conned lesson to another group of idle passers-by.  Such, in
its most august form, is all the immortality that matter can confer.
It is by what we ourselves have done, and not by what others have
done for us, that we shall be remembered by after ages.  It is by
thought that has aroused my intellect from its slumbers, which has
" given lustre to virtue, and dignity to truth," or by those examples
which have inflamed my soul with the love of goodness, and not by
means of sculptured marble, that I hold communion with Shakspeare and Milton, with Johnson and Burke, with Howard and Wilberforce.-WAYLAND.
CHRISTIANITY THE TRUE SOURCE OF REFORM.
THE great element of reform  is not born of human wisdom; it
does not draw its life from human organizations.  I find it only in
CHRISTIANITY.  "Thy kingdom  come 1"  There is a sublime and
pregn-ant burden in this prayer.  It is the aspiration of every soul
that goes forth in the spirit of reform.  For what is the significance
of this plrayer?  It is a petition that all holy influences would penetrate, and subdue, and dwell in the heart of man, until he shall
think, and speak, and do good, from the very necessity of his being.
So would the institutions of error and wrong crumble and pass away.
So would sin die out from the earth. And the human soul, living
in harmony with the Divine Will, this earth would beccome like
heaven.
It is too late for the reformers to sneer at Christianity —it is foolishness for them to reject it. In it are enshrined our faith in human
progress —our confidence in reform.  It is indissolubly connected
with all that is hopeful, spiritual, capable in man.  That men have
misunderstood it, and perverted it, is true.  But it is also true that
the noblest efforts for human melioration have come out of it-have
been based upon it. Is it not so? Come, ye remembered ones,
who sleep the sleep of the just, who took your conduct from the line
of christian philosophy-come from your tombs and answer!
Come, Howard, from the gloom of the prison and the taint of the
lazar-house, and show us what philanthropy can do when imbued
with the spirit of Jesus.  Come, Eliot, from the thick forest, where
the red-man listens to the word of life: come, Penn, from thy sweet
cofinsel and weaponless victory; and show what christian zeal and
love can accomplish with the rudest barbarians or the fiercest hearts.
Come, Raikes, from thy labors with the ignorant and the poor, and
show us with what an eye this faith regards the lowest and least of
our race, and how diligently it labors, not for the body, not for
the rank, but for the plastic soul, that is to course the ages of immortality.
And ye, who are a great number-ye nameless ones-who have




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       525
done good in your narrower spheres, content to forego renown on
earth, and seeking your reward in the record on high, come and tell
us how kindly a spirit, how lofty a purpose, or how strong a courage,
the religion ye professed can breathe into the poor, the humble, and
the weak.
Go forth, then, Spirit of Christianity, to thy great work of REFORM 1
The Past bears witness to thee in the blood of thy martyrs, and the
ashes of thy saints and heroes. The Present is hopeful because of
thee.  The Future shall acknowledge thy omnipotence.-CHAPIN.
A  CITY NIGHT  PIECE.
THE clock has just struck two; the expiring taper rises and sinks
in the socket; the watchman forgets the hour in slumber; the laborious and the happy are at rest; and nothing wakes but meditation,
guilt, revelry, and despair. The drunkard once more fills the destroying bowl; the robber walks his midnight round; and the suicide lifts
his guilty arm against his own sacred person.
Let me no longer waste the night over the page of antiquity or the
sallies of contemporary genius, but pursue the solitary walk, where
vanity, ever changing, but a few hours past walked before mewhere she kept up the pageant, and now, like a froward child, seems
hushed with her own importunities.
What a gloom hangs all around! The dying lamp feebly emits a
yellow gleam; no sound is heard but of the chiming clock or the
distant watch-doo; all the bustle of human pride is forgotten.  An
h our like this may well display the emptiness of human vanity.
There will come a time when this temporary solitude will be made
continual, and the city itself, like its inhabitants, fade away, and leave
a desert in its room.
What cities, great as this, have once triumphed in existence, had
their victories as great, joy as just and as unbounded, and, with
short-sighted presumption, promised themselves immortality 1 Posterity can -hardly trace the situation of some; the sorrowful traveler
wanders over the awful ruins of others; and, as he beholds, he
learns wisdom, and feels the transcience of every sublunary possession.
Here, he cries, stood their citadel, now grown over with weeds;
there their senate house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile.
Temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap
of ruin.  They are fallen, for luxury and avarice first made them
feeble. The rewards of state were conferred on amusing, and not
on useful members of society.  Their riches and opulence invited
the invaders, who, though at first repulsed, returned again, conquered by perseverence, and at last swept the defendants into undisting'uished destruction.




526               G'EIIMS OF THOUGHT.
How few appear in those streets, which but some few hours ago
were crowded i And those who appear now no longer, wear their
daily mask, nor attempt to hide their lewdness or their misery.
But who are those who make the street their couch, and find a
short repose from wretchedness at the doors of the opulent?  These
are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are too
humble to expect redress, and whose distresses are too great even for
pity. Their wretchedness excites rather horror than pity. Some
are without the covering even of rags, and others emaciated with
disease.  The world has disclaimed them: society turns its back
upon their distress, and has given them up to nakedness and hunger.
These poor shivering females have once seen happier days, and been
flattered into beauty.
Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings of
wretches I cannot relieve?  Poor houseless creatures! the world
will give you reproaches, but will not giveyou relief.  The slightest
misfortunes of the great, the most imaginary uneasiness of the rich,
are aggravated with all the power of eloquence, and held up to engage our attention and sympathetic sorrow.  The poor weep unheeded, persecuted by every subordinate species of tyranny; and
every law which gives others security, becomes an enemy to them.
Why was this heart of mine formed with so much sensibility? or
why was not my fortune adapted to its impulses? Tenderness without the capacity of relieving, only makes the man more wretched
than the object which sues for assistance.- GoLDSMITH.
LIFE-AN ALLEGORY.
IT is now morning.  Still and glassy lies the lake, within its
green and dewsprent shores. Light mist hangs around like a skiey
veil; and only reveals the uncertain outlines of woods and hills.
The warm, vernal air is just stirring in the valleys, but has not yet
ruffled the water's mirror.  Turns the eye upward, the misty vault
opens into the calm, clear heavens, over which there seems suffused
a genial spirit's breath.  Far distant on the horizon flash out the
gilded and reddening peaks, and from yonder crown of snow, a sudden radiance announces the risen sun. Now in the east stream the
golden rays through the soft blue vapor. The breeze freshens, and
comes loaded with fragrance from the woods. A faint, dark curl
sweeps over the water; the mist rolls up, lifts itself above meadow
and hill, and in gathered folds hangs light around the mountains.
Away on the level lake till it meets the sky, silvery gleams the
sheeted wave, sprinkled with changeful stars, as the ever-rising
breeze breaks it in ripples. Now the pennon, that hung loose
around the mast, rises and fitfully floats. We spread the sail, and
casting off from the shore glide out with cheerful hearts on our voy



GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                      527
age. Before us widens the lake; rock after rock receding back on
either hand, and opening between still bays, hung round with
sparkling woods, or leading through green meadow vistas to blue
sunny hills.
It is now noon. In the middle lake speeds the bark over light
glancing waves.  Dark opens down the clear depth. White toss
the crests of foam, and as the sail stoops to the steady wind, swift
flies the parted water round the prow, and rushing pours behind the
stern.  The distant shores glow bright in the sun, that alone in the
heaven looks unveiled with vivifying goodness over the earth. How
high and broad swells the sky! The agitated lake tosses like a wide
field of snowy blossoms.  Sweep after sweep of the long-retiring
shores; hill gleaming over hill, up to the shadowy mountains; and'over these, Alpine needles, shooting pearly white into the boundless
azure-all lie still and happy under the ever-smiling sun.
And now it is evening.  The sun is sinking behind the dark
mountains, and clouds, scattered far in the east, float soft in rosy
light.  The sun is now hidden, and strong and wide sweeps up its
golden flame, like the holy blaze of a funeral pile.  The breeze
slackens, the waves subside in slumber, and slowly the bark steers
into its sheltering bay. Long shadows stretch from hill to valley,
fall like dark curtains on the lake, and a solemn, subdued serenity
broods, like a protecting spirit, over the hushed and quiet earth.
Only the far summits yet retain their brightness. Faint blushes
stain the eternal snows, recalling the first dawning roses, like the
memory of early joys in the tranquil moments of departing. age.
These, too, fade; but the evening star looks bright from the blue
infinite, and like the herald of a better world, leads us softly to our
haven. —P ERCIVAL.
BEAUTY.
THE presence of a higher, namely, of the spiritual element, is
essential to its perfection.  The high and divine beauty which can
be loved without effeminacy, is that which is found in combination
with the human will, and never separate.  Beauty is the mark God
sets upon virtue.  Every natural action is graceful.  Every heroic
act is also decent, and causes the place and the bystanders to shine.
We are taught by great actions that the universe is the property of
every individual in it. Every rational creature has all nature for his
dowry and estate.  It is his, if he will. He may divest himself of
it; he may creep into a corner, and abdicate his kingdom, as most
men do; but he is entitled to the world by his constitution. In proportion to the energy of his thought and will, he takes up the world
into himself.  "All those things for which men plow, build, or sail,
obey virtue," said an ancient historian.  ( The winds and waves,"
said Gibbon, " are always on the side of the ablest navigators." So




528                GEMS OF  THOUGHT.
are the sun and moon, and all the stars of heaven. When a noble
act is done-perchance in a scene of great natural beauty; when
Leonidas and his three hundred martyrs consume one day in dying,
and the sun and moon come each and look at them once in the steep
defile of Thermopylae; when Arnold Winkelried, in the high Alps,
under the shadow of the avalanche, gathers in his side a sheaf of
Austrian spears to break the line of his comrades; are not these heroes entitled to add the beauty of the scene to the beauty of the deed?
When the bark of Columbus nears the shores of America; before
it, the beach lined with savages, fleeing out of all their huts of cane;
the sea behind; and the purple mountains of the Indian Archipelago
around, can we separate the man from the living picture?  Does not
the New World clothe his form with her palm-groves and savannahs
as fit drapery? Ever does natural beauty steal in like air, and envelope great actions. When Sir Harry Vane was dragged up the Tower-hill, sitting on a sled, to suffer death, as the champion of the
English laws, one of the multitude cried out to him: "You never sat
n so glorious a seat."
Charles II., to intimidate the citizens of London, caused the patriot Lord Russel to be drawn in an open coach, through the principal streets of the city on his way to the scaffold.  " But," to use
the simple narrative of his biographer, "the multitude imagined
they saw liberty and virtue sitting by his side." In private places,
among sordid objects, an act of truth or heroism  seems at once to
draw to itself the sky as its temple, the sun as its cradle. Nature
stretcheth out her arms to embrace man, only let his thoughts be of
equal greatness.  Willingly does she follow his steps with the rose
and the violet, and bend her lines of grandeur and grace to the decoration of her darling child. Only let his thoughts be of equal
scope, and the frame will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in
unison with her works, and makes the central figure of the visible
sphere. —EMERsoN.
PUBLIC VIRTUE.
I IHOPE, that in all that relates to personal firmness, all that concerns a just appreciation of the insignificance of human life-whatever may be attempted to threaten or alarm a soul not easily swayed
by opposition, or awed or intimidated by menace —a stout heart and
a steady eye, that can survey, unmoved and undaunted, any mere
personal perils that assail this poor, transient, perishing frame, I may,
without disparagement, compare with other men.  But there is a
sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do not possess, a
boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot covet.
I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare and happiness
of my country.  That I cannot, I have not the courage to do. I
cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested, a power




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       529
conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement,
but for my country's good, to check her onward march to greatness
and glory.  I have not courage enough.  I am  too cowardly for
that.  I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a trust, lie
down, and place my body across the path that leads my country to
prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different
from that which a man may display in his private conduct and persohnal relations.  Personal or private courage is totally distinct from
that higher and nobler courage which prompts the patriot to offer
himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good.
Apprehensions of the imputations of the want of firmness sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the
greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of
courage.  But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and offensive in
private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes, in
the conduct of public affairs.  The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle of his
own personal interests.  All his thoughts are withdrawn from his
country, and concentrated on his consistency, his firmness, himself.
The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriotism, which,
soaring towards heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish
things, and is and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought of the good
and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable
bosom.  That patriotism, which, catching its inspirations from the
immortal God, and leaving, at an immeasurable distance below all
groveling, personal interests and feelings, animates and prompts to
deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itselfthat is public virtue; that is the noblest, the sublimest of all public
virtues. -CLAY.
THE COLOR OF SOUNDS.
EVERY one who has attentively listened to sounds, must have noticed that, besides their acuteness and gravity, loudness or softness,
shape and figure, there is another quality which musicians have
agreed to denominate color.  The answer of the blind man, who, on
being asked what idea he had of scarlet, replied that it was like the
sound of a trumpet, is less absurd than may at first be apprehended.
If, as Sir Isaac Newton supposed, the impulse upon the nerves of the
eye produced by color, is similar in kind or degree, to that produced
upon the ear by sounds, the impression upon the sensorium, or seat
of sensation, in the brain, will probably be the same, or so nearly so,
that the ideas of the respective external objects will be associated in
the mind. According to this theory, the different musical instruments
may be characterized by corresponding colors, so as to be fancifully
classed in the following manner:




530                 GEMS OF THOUGHT.
WIND INSTRUMENTS.
Trombone............................................Deep red.
Trumpet........................................... Scarlet.
Clarionette...........................................Orange.
Oboe....................................... Yellow.
Bassoon Alto.........................................Deep yellow.
Flute................................Sky blue.
Diapason...........................................Deeper blue.
Double diapason....................................Purple.
Horn................................................Violet.
STRINGED  INSTRUMENTS.
Violin......... Pink.
Viola.......................R.........................Rose.
Violincello....................................... Red.
Double bass............................               Deep crimson.
In addition to what the preceding scale expresses, let it be understood that the lowest notes of each instrument, partake of the darkest shades of its color, and as they ascend they become of a lighter
hue.  The symphony in the Creation, which represents the risingsun, is an exemplification of this theory.  In the commencement of
this piece our attention is attracted by a soft-streaming note from the
violins, which is scarcely discernible till the rays of sound, which
issue fi'om the second violin, diverge into the chord of the first, to
which is gradually imparted a greater fullness of color, as the viols
and violincellos steal in with expanding harmony.  At the fifth bar,
the oboes begin to shed their yellow lustre, while the flute silvers
the mounting rays of the violins as the notes continue ascending to
the highest point of lig'htness; the orange, the scarlet, and the purple unite in the increasing splendor, and the glorious orb at length
appears refulgent with the brightest beams of harmony.
In the human voice, the shades of color are still more perceptible.
The lowest tones are formed in the chest, partake of the most sombre
hues, and forcibly express our inmost feelings; as they ascend, they
become more bright and cheerful, expressing' the more lively sensation of mirth and joy.  It is in the utterance of these tones that we
disclose where the soul of music lies concealed. -GARDINER.
THE PRIMITIVE CHRIS2TIANS.*
THiEY are not distinguished from other men by their place of residence, their language, or manners.  Though they live in the cities
of the Greeks and barbarians, each where his lot is cast; and in
clothing, food, and manner of life, follow the customs of their country, yet they are distinguished  by a wonderful and  universally
* From an epistle to Diognetus written early in the second century.




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                      531
astonishing walk and conversation.  They dwell in their own native
land, but as foreigners; they take part in every'thing as citizens,
they endure every thing as foreigners. Every foreign land is to them
as their native country; and their native country as a foreign land.
They live in the flesh, but not after the flesh.  They dwell on the
earth, but they live in heaven; they obey the existing laws, but by
their life elevate themselves above the laws. They love all men, and
are persecuted, misunderstood, and condemned by all.  They are
slain and made alive; they are poor, and imake many rich; they
suffer want in every thing, and possess abundance in every thing.
They are cursed, and they bless.  In one word, what the soul is in
the body, that Christians are in the-world. As the soul is diffused
through all the members of the body, so the Christians are spread
through all the cities of the world.  The soul, indeed, dwells in the
body, but is not of the body: so Christians dwell in the world, but
they are not of the world. The invisible soul is shut up in the visible body, and so men know Christians as inhabitants of the world,
but their life is hid with Christ in God. The flesh hates and fights
the soul, though the soul does no injury to the flesh, but only prevents its giving itself up to its lusts; so also the world hates Christians; they do it no harm, but only set themselves against its lusts.
The soul loves its hating flesh, and so Christians love those by whom
they are hated.  The soul is shut up in the body, and yet it is that
by which it is held together; and Christians are held to their post in
the world, and it is they who hold the world together. The immortal soul dwells in the mortal body, and Christians dwell as strangers
in the corruptible world, and await the unchangeable life in heaven.AUGUSTI..
CENSORIOUSNESS.
THER:E is an uncommon beauty, force, and propriety in that caution
which our Savior gives us: "And why beholdest thou the mote that
is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine
own eye; or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the
mote out of thine eye, and behold a beam is in thine own eye?
Thou hypocrite! first cast the beam out of thine own eye, and
then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's
eye."  InY which words these four things are plainly intimated: first,
that some are much more quick-sighted to discern the faults and
blemishes of others than their own; can spy a mote in another's eye,
sooner than a beam in their own. Second, that they are often the
most forward to correct and cure the foibles of others, who are most
unqualified for that office. The beam in their own eye makes them
altogether unfit to pull out the mote from their brother's.  A man
half blind himself should never set up for an oculist.  Third, they




532                GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.
who are inclined to deal in censure, should always begin at home.
Fourth, great censoriousness is great hypocrisy.
This common failing of human nature the heathen were very sensible of, and imaged it in the following manner: Every man (say
they,) carries a wallet, or two bags with him; the one hanging before
him, and the other behind him; into that before he puts the faults
of others; into that behind his own, by which means he never sees
his own failings, while he has those of others always before his eyes.JoHN MASON.
TENDENCY OF THE HUMAN MIND TO FUTURITY.
THERE is, in the human mind, a constant and naturzal tendency toward futurity.  Our thoughts are perpetually wandering from  the
present moment, and looking forward to something that is to take
place hereafter. Be our happiness ever so great, yet it is not sufficient to gratify and content the soul. There is always a void left
in it, which can never be filled up without calling in the aid of futurity, without the anticipation of something more than we at present
possess.  Whatever may chance to be our ruling passion, whether
it be the love of wealth, of power, of honor, of pleasure, we are
scarce ever satisfied with that share of it which we enjoy; but are
always thirsting and reaching after more, are perpetually forming
projects from which we promise ourselves greater satisfaction than
any we have yet experienced. There is constantly some favorite
object in view, some point to be obtained; and " we are continually
hurrying over some period of our existence, in order to arrive at
certain imaginary stations or resting places," where we hope to find
that quiet and content which has hitherto eluded our search. We
reach those wished-for stations, but "we find no rest for the sole of
our feet."- Gen. viii. 9. The imaginary horizon of our project flies
before us as we advance; no sooner do we gain one eminence, than
another instantly appears beyond it; and when that is passed, still
others present themselves in endless succession to our view.  Thus
are we continually drawn on through life with the same delusive
expectations. We live upon the future, though the future constantly
deceives us; we continue grasping at distant happiness, though it
always escapes out of our hands, and go on to the very end, pressing
forward toward some imagined good, with the same eagerness and
alacrity as if we had never suffered the least disappointment in our
pursuit.-PoRTEUS.
STRENGTH OF MIND.-Strength of mind is an attachingo, as well as
a ruling power; all human creatures, women especially, become
attached to those who have power over their own minds. —Miss
EDGEWORTtt.




GEMS  OF  THOUGIHT.-                   533
CONTENTMEINT.
EVERY misery that I miss is a new mercy, and therefore let aus be
thankful.  There have been, since we met, others that have met
disasters of broken limbs, some have been blasted, others thunderstricken, and we have been freed from these, and all those many
miseries that threaten human nature; let us therefore rejoice and be
thankful.  Nay, which is a far greater mercy, we are free from the
insupportable burthen of an accusing conscience, a misery that none
can bear; and therefore let us praise Him for His preventing grace,
and say every misery that I miss is a new mercy.
Let me tell you, scholar, I have a rich neighbor that is always so
busy that he has no leisure to laugh; the whole business of his life
is to get -money, and more money that he may still get more and more
money; he is still drudging on, and says that Solomon says, "the
hand of the diligent maketh rich;" and it is true indeed, but he considers not that it is not in the power of riches to make a man happy;
for it was wisely said by a man of great observation: " that there be
as many miseries beyond riches as on this side of them," and yet
God deliver us from pinching poverty, and grant that, having a competency, we may be content and thankful.  Let us not repine, or so
much as think the gifts of God unequally dealt if we see another
abound with riches; when, as God knows, the cares, which are the
keys that keep those riches, hang often so heavily at the rich man's
girdle, that they clog him with weary days and restless nights, even
when others sleep quietly. We see but the outside of the rich man's
happiness; few consider him to be like the silk-worm, that when she
seems to play is at the very same time spinning her own bowels, and
consuming herself.
I have heard of a man who was angry with himself because he
was no taller, and of a woman that broke her looking-glass because
it would not show her face to be as young and handsome as her next
door neighbor's was. And I knew another to whom God had given
health and plenty, but a wife that nature had made peevish, and her
_usband's riches had made purse-proud, and must, because she was.ich, and for no other virtue, sit in the highest pew in the church,
rhich being denied her, she engaged her husband into a contention
0or it, and at last into a law-suit with a dogged neighbor who was as
iich as he, and had a wife as peevish and purse-proud as the other;
and this law-suit begot higher oppositions and actionable words, and
more vexatious and law-suits, for you must remember that both were
rich, and must therefore have their wills. Well, this willful, purseproud law-suit lasted during the life of the first husband, after which
his wife vexed and chid, and chid and vexed till she also vexed and
chid herself into her grave; and so the wealth of these poor rich
people was curst into a punishment, because they wanted meek and
thankful hearts, for they only can make us happy. I know a man
that hlad health and riches, and several houses, all beautiful and




534                GEMS OF TIHOUGIIT.
ready furnished, and would often trouble himself and family to be
removing from one house to another, and being asked by a friend
why he removed so often from one house to another, replied, " it was
to find content in some of them."  But his friend, knowing his temper, told him that if he would find content in any of his houses, he
must leave himself behind him, for content will never dwell but in a
meek and quiet soul.
And this may appear if we read and consider what our Savior says
in St. Matthew's gospel, for he there says, " Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed be the pure in heart, for
they shall see God. Blessed be the pure in spirit, for theirs is the
kingdom of heaven: and blessed be the meek, for they shall inherit
the earth."  Not that the meek shall not also obtain mercy, and see
God, and be comforted, and at last come to the kingdom of heaven,
but in the mean time he, and he only, possesses the earth as he goes
towards that kingdom, by being humble and cheerful, and content
with what his good God has allotted him; he has no turbulent, repining, vexatious thoughts that he deserves better, nor is vexed when
he sees others possessed of more honor or more riches than his wise
God has allotted for his share; but he possesses what he has with
a meek and contented quietness-such a quietness as makes his
very dreams pleasing both to God and himself.-IZAAK WALTON.
CURIOUS EXTRACT,  DEPICTING  OLD  ENGLISH
MANNERS.*
MONDAY morning.  Rose at four o'clock and helped Katherine to
milk the cows; Rachel the dairy-maid, having scalded her Ehand in
so bad a manner the day before.  Gave a penny to Robin to get
something comfortable from the apothecary's.  Six o'clock.-The
buttock of beef a little too much boiled, and the beer a little of the
stalest. Seven o'clock. —Went to walk with the lady, my mother, in
the court-yard; fed five-and-twenty poor men and women; chid
Robin for expressing some ill-will at attending with broken meat.
Ten o'clock.-Went to dinner. John Gray a most comely youth, but
what is that to me?  A virtuous maiden should be entirely under
the direction of her parents. John ate but little, and stole many
tender looks at me. Said women could never be handsome who
were not good-tempered.  I think my temper is not intolerable.
John likes white teeth: my teeth are of a pretty good color. Rose
at eleven from the table, the company being desirous of a walk in
the fields   John Gray would lift me over every stile, and twice
pressed my hand.  I cannot say I have any objection to John
Gray; he plays at prison-bars as well as any country gentleman,
and is remarkably dutiful to my lord and lady, his parents: he never
* From Lady Elizabeth Woodville's Journal, 1450.








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GEMS OF THOUGHT.                         535
misses church.  Three o'clock.-Poor James Robinson's house burnt
down by accident. John Gray proposed a subscription among the
company for the relief of the farmer, and gave as much as four
pounds himself with this benevolent intent; never saw him look so
comely as at this moment. Four o'clock.-Went to prayers.  Six.Fed the hogs and poultry. Seven. —Supper on table, delayed to that
late hour on account of Farmer Robinson's misfortune.  The goosepie too much baked, pork roasted to rags. I must talk to the cook
about this fault. Nine o'clock.-All in bed.  These late hours very
disagreeable: said my prayers a second time, John Gray having disturbed my thoughts too much the first.
[She was married to this Sir John Gray, who in the prime of life
fell at the battle of St. Albans, 1460. He being a zealous Lancasterian, his estates were confiscated, and the widow returned to the
family-house at Grafton.  Hearing that Edward the Fourth was
hunting in Wittlebury Forest, she sought the monarch for the purpose of petitioning the restoration of her husband's lands to her, and
her impoverished children.  Ignorant of the king's person, she inquired of a young stranger if he could direct her to him, when he
told her he himself was the object of her search.  She threw herself at his feet, and implored his compassion. He raised her from
the ground, with assurances of favor; and, captivated with her person and manners, privately married her at Grafton House, on the 1st
of May, 1464.  On the Michaelmas following she was declared
queen, and received the compliments of the nobility in the abbey at
Reading.  She was the mother of Edward the Fifth and Richard
Duke of York, who were smothered in the Tower by order of their
uncle, Richard the Third, which barbarous deed Tyrrel, the governor, confessed he had perpetrated, when executed in the following
reign.] —Baker's History of Northampton.
-0 e ese444SORROW FOR THE DEAD.
THE sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse
to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal, every other
affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open,
this affliction we cherish and brood over in secret. Where is the
mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a
blossom fiom her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where
is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents,
though to remember be but to lament?  Who, even in the hour of
agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? No: the
the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of
the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when,
the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection; when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over




536               GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.
the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into
pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its lovelinesswho would root out such a sorrow from the heart?  Though it may
sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, or
spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it, even for a song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry?  No:
there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song.  There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from  the charms of
the living! Oh! the grave! the grave!  It buries every errorcovers every defect-extinguishes every resentment.  From  its
peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections.
Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel
a compunctious throb, that he should ever have warred with the poor
handful of earth that lies mnouldering before him?-IRvING.
LIBERTY.
TILL men have been some time free, they know not how to use
their freedom. The nations of wine-countries are always sober. In
climates where wine is a rarity, intemperance abounds. A newlyliberated people may be compared to a northern army encamped on
the Rhine or Xeres.  It is said that when soldiers in such a situation
first find themselves able to indulge without restraint in such a rare
and expensive luxury, nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon,
however, plenty teaches discretion, and after wine has been for a few
months their daily fare, they become more temperate than they had
ever been in their own country.  In the same manner the final and
permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom, moderation, and mercy. Its
immediate effects are often atrocious crimes, conflicting errors, scepticism on points the most clear, dogmatism on points the most mysterious. It is just at this crisis that its enemies love to exhibit it.
They pull down the scaffolding from the half-finished edifice; they
point to the flying dust, the falling bricks, the comfortless rooms, the
frightful irregularity of the whole appearance, and then ask in scorn
where the promised splendor and comfort are to be found? If such
miserable sophisms were to prevail, there would never be a good
house, or a good government in the world.
Ariosto tells a pretty story of a fairy, who, by some mysterious
law of her nature, was condemned to appear at certain seasons in
the form of a foul and: poisonous snake. Those who injured her
during the period of her disguise, were forever excluded from participation in the blessings which she bestowed. But to those who, in
spite of her loathsome aspect, pitied and protected her, she afterwards revealed herself in the beautiful and celestial form that was
natural to her, accompanied their steps, granted all their wishes,
filled their houses with wealth, made them happy in love, and victo



GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                      537
rious in war.  Such a spirit is Liberty! At times she takes the
form of a hateful reptile.  She grovels, she hisses, she stings. But
wo to those who in disgust shall crush her.  And happy are those
who, having dared to receive her in her degraded and frightful
shape, shall at length be rewarded by her in the time of her beauty
and her glory.
There is only one cure for the evils which newly-acquired freedom
produces, and that cure is freedom!  When a prisoner leaves his
cell he cannot bear the light of day; lie is unable to discriminate
colors, or recognize faces. But the remedy is not to remand him to
his dungeon, but to accustom him  to the rays of the sun. The
blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder nations which have become half blind in the house of bondage. But
let them gaze on, and they will soon be able to bear it.  In a few
years men learn reason. The extreme violence of opinions subsides.
Hostile theories correct each other.  The scattered elements of truth
cease to conflict, and begin to coalesce; and, at length, a system of
consistence and order is educed out of the chaos.
Many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as
a self-evident proposition, that no people ought to be free till they
are fit to use their fieedom.  The maxim is worthy of the fool in the
story, who resolved not to go into the water till he had learnt how to
swim. If men are to wait for liberty till they become wise and good
in slavery, they may indeed wait for ever.-MACAULAY.
DEMO CRACY.
THAT is the best government which desires to make its people
happy, and knows how to make them happy. Neither the inclination nor the knowledge will suffice alone, and it is difficult to
find them together. Pure democracy, and pure democracy alone,
satisfies the former condition of this great problem.  That the governors may be solicitous only for the interests of the governed, it is
necessary that the interests of the governors and the governed should
be the same. This cannot often be the case where power is intrusted
to one or to few. The privileged part of the community will doubtless derive a certain degree of advantage from the general prosperity
of the state, but they will derive a greater from oppression and exaction.  The king will desire a useless war for his glory, or a pare
aux cerfs for his pleasure.  The nobles will demand monopolies and
lettres.de-catchet.  In proportion as the number of governors is increased, the evil is diminished. There are fewer to contribute and
more to receive.  The dividend which each can obtain of the public
plunder becomes less and less tempting. But the interests of the
subjects and the rulers never absolutely coincide till the subjects
themselves become the rulers, that is, till the government be either
immediately or mediately democratic.-MACAULAY.




538               GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.
THE CHRISTIAN'S LIFE NOT ALL  SORROW.
"MAN is born to trouble," says Job.  Many are the afflictions of
the righteous; bitter the cup which the children of God have placed
to their lips; dark the clouds that lower above their pathway; alnd
gloomy the wilderness through which they travel to Mount Zion, the
city of God. Yet, 0 Christian! the cup is not all bitter, the clouds
not all darkness, nor the wilderness all gloom.  The Savior's kind
love sweetens the bitterness of the cup, fringes the clouds with rays
of mercy, and throws a beam of heavenly light across the dark gloom
of the wilderness waste. How sweet to have a resting-place when the
soul is weary-to find a secure haven when the tempest is gathering,
when the professed friends in whom we have trusted, leave us to contend alone with the surging elements.  When afflictions surround
our path-when the head reclines weariedly on its languid pillowwhen all the beautiful scenes of earth recede from the vision, and.
the tendrils of holy affection, woven in the deep recesses of the heart,
begin to break by the iron hand of death: sweet is it to realize that
the poor tempest-tost soul can find that resting-place in the bosom of
her God.-J. BROOKWELLL PEAT.
SYMPATHY.
SYMPATHY we consider one of the primal principles of efficient
~enius.  It is this truth of feeling which enabled Shakspeare to depict so strongly the various stages of passion, and the depth, growth,
and gradations of sentiment. In whom does this primitive readiness
to sympathize —to enter into all the moods of the soul-continue beyond early life, so often as in men devoted to imaginative objects?
How frequently are we struck with the childlike character of artists
and poets! It sometimes seems as if, along with childhood's ready
sympathy, many of the other characteristics of that epoch were projected into the more mature stages of being.
It is by their sympathy, their sincere and universal interest in humanity, that the sweetest poets, and the most renowned dramatists,
are enabled to write in a manner corresponding with the heavenattuned, unwritten music of the human heart.-TucxERMAN.
PRUDENE.-Tehere is a prudence that coexists with morality.
This is a holy prudence; the steward, faithful and discreet, the
eldest servant in the family of faith, born in the house, and made the
ruler over his lord's household.  In general, morality may be cornpared to the consonant; prudence to the vowel. The former cannot
be uttered (reduced to practice) but by means of the latter.COLERIDGE.




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                         539
BOOKS.
BooKS are of incalculably immense advantage. They furnish us
with the choice thoughts and choice sayings of the wisest and best
men that have adorned our world.  We esteem it a high privilege to
be admitted into the society of an individual of brilliant intellect and
vast stores of knowledge; but the privilege is not one-thousandth
part so great as that of being permitted to peruse standard books.
They introduce us into the society of illustrious men that lived centuries ago; and through their agency, these illustrious men hold
converse with us on topics that engaged their attention the most of
their lives. By books the laws of Moses, Solon, and Lycurgus, are
still extant: by books the strains of David, Homer, Virgil, and
Milton, are still sung: by books the orations of Demosthenes,
Cicero, Burke, and Patrick Henry, are still thundered forth: by
books, the wise sayings of Solomon, Socrates, Plato, Confucius, and
Bacon, are still heard: by books, in short, all that is splendid in
history, all that is grand in legislation, all that is profound in philosophy, all that is valuable in science, all that is useful in art, all that is
rich in eloquence, all that is beautiful in poetry, all that is sublime in
music, and all that is divine in theology, still exists.  0, how great
and glorious are the advantages of the present age of the world!
By the simple means alluded to, the wisdom of six thousand years
is placed within the reach of all. Every man can converse with
earth's most celebrated philosophers over his own fireside. Thanks
be to God for the grand invention of books!-T. HARRISON.
POLITENESS.
THE tolerance with which we receive the opinions of others is a
part, and an indispensable part, of that general refinement of manners to which we give the name of politeness. But politeness itself,
in all its most important respects, indeed, in every respect in which
it is to be separated from the more fluctuating and arbitrary forms
and ceremonies of the month and year, is nothing more than knowledge of the human mind directing general benevolence. It is the
art of producing the greatest happiness, which in the more external
courtesies of life can be produced, by raising such ideas or other
feelings in the minds of those with whom we are conversant, as will
afford the most pleasure, and averting, as much as possible, every
idea which may lead to pain. It implies, therefore, when perfect, a
fine knowledge of the natural series of thoughts, so as to distinguish
not merely the thought which will be the immediate or near effect of
what is said or done, but those which may arise still more remotely;
and he is the most successful in this art of giving happiness, who
sees the future at the greatest distance.  It is this foresight, acquired
35




540              GEMS OF THOUGHT.
by attentive observation of the various characters of mankind in a
long intercourse with society, which is the true knowledge of the
world; for the knowledge of the mere forms and ceremonies of the
world, which is of far easier acquisition, is scarcely worthy of being
called a part of it. The essential and the only valuable part of politeness, then, is as truly the result of study of the human mind, as
if its minutest rules had formed a regular part of our system of
intellectual and moral philosophy.-DR. BROWN.
MAY YOU DIE AMONG YOUR KINDRED.
IT is a sad thing to feel that we must die away from our home.
Tell not the invalid who is yearning after his distant country, that
the atmosphere around him is soft; that the gales are filled with
balm, and the flowers are springing from the green earth: he knows
that the softest air to his heart would be the air which hangs over
his native land; that more grateful than all the gales of the south,
would breathe the low whispers of anxious affection; that the very
icicles clinging to his own eaves, and the snow beating against -his
own windows, would be far more pleasant to his eyes, than the bloom
and verdure which only more forcibly remind him how far he is from
that one spot which is dearer to him than the world beside. He may,
indeed, find estimable friends, who will do all in their power to promote his comfort and assuage his pains;. but they cannot supply the
place of the long known and long loved; they cannot read as in a
book the mute language of his face; they have not learned to wait
upon his habits, and anticipate his wants; and as he has not learned
to communicate, without hesitation, all his wishes, impressions, and
thoughts, to them, he feels that he is a stranger; and a more desolate feeling than that could not visit his soul. How much is expressed by that form of Oriental benediction, Maiy you die among
your kindred.-GREENWOOD.
HoPE. —True hope is based on energy of character.  A strong
mind always hopes, and has always cause to hope, because it knows
the mutability of human affairs, and how slight a circumstance may
change the whole course of events. Such a spirit, too, rests upon
itself; it is not confined to partial views, or to one particular object.
And if at last all should be lost, it has saved itself, its own integrity
and worth. Hope awakens courage, while despondency is the last
of all evils; it is the abandonment of good, the giving up of the
battle of life with dead nothingness.  He who can plant courage in
the human soul is the best physician. —Vo  KNEBEL.




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       541
WORK.
THE only happiness a brave man ever troubled himself with asking much about, was happiness enough to get his work done. Not,
I can't eat, but I can't work, that was the burden of all wise complaining among men.  It is after all, the one unhappiness of a mall
that he cannot work, that he cannot get his destiny, as a man, fulfilled. Behold the day is passing swiftly over, our life is passing
swiftly over, and the night cometh, when no man can work.  The
night once come, our happiness, our unhappiness, it is all abolished,
vanished, clean gone, a thing that has been. But our work, behold
that is not abolished, that has not vanished; our work, behold it
remains, or the want of it remains; for endless time and eternity
remains, and that is the sole question with us forever more! Brief,
brawling day, with its noisy phantasms, its poor, paper crowns, tinsel
guilt, is gone! and divine, everlasting night, with her star diadems,
with her silences, and her veracities, is come! What hast thou done,
and how?  Happiness, unhappiness, all that was but the wages thou
hadst; thou hast spent all that in sustaining thyself hitherward, not
a coin of it remains with thee, it is all spent, eaten; and now thy
work, where is thy work?  Swift, out with thy work!-CARLYLE.
EFFECT OF A BRIGHT DISTANCE OVER A DARK
HORIZON.
WHATEVER beauty there may result from effects of light on fore~
ground objects, from the dew of the grass, the flash of the cascade,
the glitter of the birch trunk, or the fair daylight hues of darker
things, (and joyfulness there.is in all of them,) there is yet a light
which the eye invariably seeks with a deeper feeling of the beautiful,
the light of the declining or breaking day, and the flakes of scarlet
cloud burning like watch-fires in the green sky of the horizon; a
deeper feeling, not perhaps more acute, but having more of spiritual
hope and longing, less of animal and present life; more manifest
invariably in those of more serious and determined mind, (I use the
word serious, not as being opposed to cheerful, but to trivial and
volatile,) but, I think, marked and unfailing even in those'of the least
thoughtful dispositions. I am willing to let it rest on the determination of every reader, whether the pleasure he has received from
these effects of calm and luminous distance be not the most singular
and memorable of which he has been conscious; whether all that is
dazzling in color, perfect in form, gladdening in expression, be not
of evanescent and shallow appearing, when compared with the still
small voice of the level twilight behind purple hills, or the scarlet
arch of dawn over the dark, troublous-edged sea.
It is not then by a nobler form, it is not by positiveness of hue,




542               GEMS OF  TELOUGHT.
it is not by intensity of light, (for the sun itself at noonday is effectless upon the feelings,) that this strange distant space possesses its
attractive power. But there is one thing that it has, or suggests,
which no other object of sight suggests in equal degree, and that is
INFINITY. It is of all visible things the least material, the least finite,
the farthest withdrawn from the earth prison-house, the most typical
of the nature of God, the most suggestive of the glory of his dwelling-place. For the sky of night, though we may know it boundless,
is dark, it is a studded vault, a roof that seems to shut us in and
down, but the bright distance has no limit, we feel its infinity as we
rejoice in its purity of light.-RUSKIN.
ACCOMPLISHMENTS.
NOT a few of the evils of the present day arise from a new and
perverted application of terms; among these, perhaps, there is, not
one more absurd, misunderstood, or misapplied, than the term  accomplishments.. This word, in its original meaning, signifies comwpleteness, perfection. But I may safely appeal to the observation of
mankind, whether they do not meet with swarms of youthful females,
issuing from  our boarding schools, as well as emerging from the
more private scenes of domestic education, who are introduced into
the world under the broad and universal title of accomplished young
ladies, of all of whom it cannot very truly and correctly be pronounced that they illustrate the definition, by a completeness which
leaves nothing to be added, and a perfection which leaves nothing to
be desired. HANNAH MORE.
ATHEISM.
I HAD rather believe all the tables in the Legend, and the Talmud,
and the Alcoran, than that this universal, frame is without mind.
And therefore God never wrought miracle to convince Atheism, because his ordinary works convince it.  It is true that a little philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion. For while the mind of
man looketh upon second causes scattered, it may sometimes rest in
them, and go no further; but when it beholdeth the chain of them
confederate and linked together, it must needs flee to Providence and
Deity. Nay, even that school, which is most accused of Atheism,
doth most demonstrate religion: that is, the school of Leucippus, and
Democritus, and Epicurus. For it is a thousand times more credible
that four immutable elements, and one immutable fifth essence, duly
and eternally placed, need no God, than that an army of infinitE
small portions, or seeds unpiced, should have produced this ordei




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       543
and beauty without a Divine Marshal. The scripture saith: "The
fool hath said in his heart, there is no God:" it is not said, The fool
hath thought in his heart.  So as he rather saith it by rote to himself,
as that he would have, than that he can thoroughly believe it, or be
persuaded of it. For none deny there is a God, but those for whom
it maketh that there were no God. It appeareth in nothing more,
that Atheism is rather in the lip, than the heart of man, than by
this-that atheists will ever be talking of that their opinion, as if
they fainted in it within themselves, and would be glad to be strengthened by the consent of others.-LORD BAcoN.
METHOD.
METHOD, in the administration of minute things, is what ptrseverance is in the fixedness of the principal idea. Man being unable to
obtain any thing from nothing, and having the power only to collect,
his creations are mere combinations, which are more learned in proportion as they are complex and composed of various elements.
Order, then, is the first merit of his works. As it alone constitutes
their beauty, so it alone warrants their solidity and usefulness; for it
determines the relations of parts to each other, and the relation of
the whole to the end.  Order draws the general plan, estimates acvantages, decides conditions, foresees difficulties, and marks favorable
occasions. Method establishes the preliminaries, and prepares the
materials of the edifice.  The elements upon which we are to work
are offered to us scattered, and in heterogeneous medleys; method
draws them out, compares, classes, and puts them at our disposal,
furnishing us with the means of judging, at a glance, of the relative
fitness of each, and of the place it should occupy in the structure.
Method creates means of execution, adjusts the parts, and regulates
the course of successive operations, so that each may profit by those
which precede, and prepare for those which are to follow. It does
not suffer an instant of time, a single effort, or any portion of matter
to be lost; it prevents lassitude or disgust, because at every step it
allows us to measure our progress; it keeps up strength and gives
encouragement, by the secret influences of the harmony which
breathes from it. Method judges of the advantages, the use, and
the seasonableness of what has been executed; it furnishes means
of preservation, and puts them within reach; it alone can render
wealth profitable, and prevent that confusion through which nothing
is properly used.  It simplifies what is complicated, and diffuses
universal light.  It serves as an aid to the memory, as inspiration to
imagination, and as light to the judgment.  It calms and gives energy to the will, and produces facility and security in action. Even
to see order reign around us, enables us to do every thing better.
and feel a certain degree of inward serenity. The order which is




544               GEMS OF  THO UGIHT.
diffused without penetrates us by a secret sympathy, and puts us
involuntarily in unison with itself. And method supposes beforehand the power of governing at once, both our minds and the movements of our souls.  It is a privilege of internal liberty. It is an
expression of law, that is of enlightened authority. It is the very
genius of reason, ruling all the faculties of our being. —DEGERANDO.
THE ATONEMENT.
WHATEVER difficulty there may be in the conception of vicarious
punishments, it is an opinion which has had possession of mankind
in all ages.  There is no nation that has not used the practice of
sacrifices. Whoever therefore denies the propriety of vicarious punishments, holds an opinion which the sentiments and practice of
mankind have contradicted from the beginning of the world.  The
great sacrifice for the sins of mankind was offered at the death of the
Messiah, who is called in scripture, " The Lamb of God that taketh
away the sins of the world."  To judge of the reasonableness of
the scheme of redemption, it must be considered as necessary to the
government of the'universe, that God should make known his perpetual and irreconcilable detestation of moral evil. He might indeed
punish, and punish only the offenders; but as the end of punishment
is not revenge of crimes, but propagation of virtue, it was more
becoming the Divine clemency to find another manner of proceeding,
less destructive to man, and at least equally powerful to promote
goodness.  The end of punishment is to reclaim  and warn. That
punishment will both reclaim and warn, which shows evidently such
abhorrence of sin in God as may deter us from it, or strike us with
vengeance when we have committed it? This is effected by vicarious punishment. Nothing could more testify the opposition between
God and moral evil, or more amply display his justice to men and
angels, to all orders and succession of beings, than that it was necessary for the highest and purest nature, even for Divinity itself, to
pacify demands of vengeance by a painful death, of which the natural
effect will be, that when justice is appeased, there is a proper place
for the exercise of mercy.  The peculiar doctrine of Christianity is,
that of a universal sacrifice and perpetual propitiation.  Other
prophets only proclaimed the will and the threatenings of God;
Christ satisfied his justice.-DR. JOHNSON.
A TRUE FRIEND is not born every day; it is best to be courteous
to all-intimate with few; for though perhaps we may have less
cause for joy, I am sure we shall have less occasion for sorrow.




GEMS OF THOUGHT                           545
EFFECTS OF LOVE AND HAPPINESS ON THE MIND.
THERE needs no other proof that happiness is the most wholesome
atmosphere, and that in which the immortality of man is destined
ultimately to thrive, than the elevation of soul, the religious aspiration, which attends the first assurance, the first sober certainty of
true love. There is much of this religious aspiration amidst all
warmth of virtuous affections.  There is a vivid love of God in the
child that lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and clasps
its arms about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps unconsciously)
for the brightness of his earth, on summer evenings, when a brother
and sister, who have long been parted, pour out their heart-stores
to each other, and. feel their course of thought brightening as it runs.
WVhen the aged parent hears of the honors his children have won, or
looks round upon their innocent faces as the glory of his decline, his
mind reverts to Him who in them prescribed the purpose of his life,
and bestowed its grace. But religious as is the mood of every good
affection, none is so devotional as that of love, especially so called.
The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity,
of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the human creature shoots
up into the angel; there is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity-nothing in hell too appalling for its heroism-nothing in heaven
too glorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified by
that most mysterious power, union with another spirit, it feels itself
set well forth on the way of victory over evil, sent out conquering
and to conquer.  There is no other such crisis in human life.  The
philosopher may experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his
principle of balancing systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he
actually saw the creative hand in the act of sending the planets forth
on their everlasting way; but this philosopher, solitary seraph as he
may be regarded amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment
no emotions so divine as those of the spirit becoming conscious that
it is beloved-be it the peasant girl in the meadow, or the daughter
of the sage reposing in her father's confidence, or the artisan beside
his loom, or the man of letters musing by his fireside.  The warrior
about to strike the decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with the solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of
such lofty resolution as those who, by joining hearts, are laying
their joint hands on the whole wide realm of futurity for their own.
The statesman who, in the moment of success, feels that an entire
class of social sins and woes is annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimate a thankfulness as they who are
aware that their redemption is come in the presence of a new and
sovereign affection. And these are many-they are in all corners
of every land. The statesman is the leader of a nation, the warrior
is the grace of the age, the philosopher is the birth of a thousand
years; but the lover, where is he not?  Wherever parents look
round upon their children, there he has been-wherever children




546               GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.
are at play together, there he will soon be-wherever there are roofs
under which men dwell, wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating
with human voices, there is the lover, and there is his lofty worship
going on, unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness of the eye, the
majesty of the presence, and the high temper of the discourse.HARRIET MARTINEAU.
FAME.
AMONG the variety of principles by which mankind are actuated,
there is one, my dear Asem, which I scarcely know whether to consider as springing from grandeur and nobility of mind, or from a refined species of vanity and egotism.  It is that singular, although
almost universal desire, of living in the memory of posterity, of occupying a share of the world's attention when we shall long since have
ceased to be susceptible either of its praise or censure. Most of the
passions of the mind are bounded by the grave; sometimes, indeed,
an anxious hope or trembling fear will venture beyond the clouds
and darkness that rest upon our mortal horizon, and expatiate in
boundless futurity; but it is only this active love of fame which
steadily contemplates its fruition in the applause or gratitude of
future ages. Indignant at the narrow limits which circumscribe
existence, ambition is for ever struggling to soar beyond them: to
triumph over space and time, and to bear a name at least above the
inevitable oblivion in which every thing else that concerns us must
be involved. —WASHINGTON IRVING.
THE ROSE.
I SAW a rose perfect in beauty; it rested gracefully upon its stalk,
and its perfume filled the air. Many stopped to gaze upon it, many
bowed to taste its fragrance, and its owner hung over it with delight.
I passed it again, and behold it was gone-its stem was leafless-its
root had withered; the enclosure which surrounded it was broken
down. The spoiler had been there; he saw that many had admired
it; he knew it was dear to him who planted it, and beside it he had
no other plant to love. Yet he snatched it secretly from the hand
that cherished it; he wore it on his bosom till it hung its head and
faded, and, when he saw that its glory had departed, he flung it
rudely away. But it left a thorn in his bosom, and vainly did he
seek to extract it; for now it pierces the spoiler, even in his hour of
mirth. And when I saw that no man, who had loved the beauty of
the rose, gathered again its scattered leaves, or bound up the stalk
which the hands of violence had broken, I looked earnestly at the
spot where it grew, and my soul received instruction. And I said,
Let her who is full of beauty and admiration, sitting like the queen




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                       547
of flowers in majesty among the daughters of women, let her watch
lest vanity enter her heart, beguiling her to rest proudly upon her
own strength; let her remember that she standeth upon slippery
places, " and be not high-minded, but fear."-MRs. SIGOURNsY.
THE IVY  AND  THE OAK.
AN interesting volume, entitled "Algic Researches," contains the
following allegory:
A vine was growing beside a thrifty oak, and had just reached
that hight at which it requires support. " Oak," said the ivy vine,
"bend your trunk so that you may be a support to me."  "My
support," replied the oak, "is naturally yours, and you may rely
on my strength to bear vou up, but I am too large and too solid to
bend. Put your arms around me, my pretty vine, and I will manfully support and cherish you, if you have an ambition to climb,
even as high as the clouds. While I thus hold you up, you will
ornament my trunk with your pretty green leaves and shining
scarlet berries. They will be as frontlets to my head, and I shall
stand in the forest like a glorious warrior, with all his plumes. We
were made by the Master of life to grow together, that by our union
the weak should be made strong, and the strong render aid to the
weak."
"' But I wish to grow independently," said the vine; " why cannot
you twine around me, and let me, grow up straight, and not be a
mere dependent upon you?"  " Nature," answered the oak, "did
not design it.  It is impossible that you should grow to any hight
alone; and if you try it, the winds and rain, if not your own weight,
will bring you to the ground. Neither is it proper for you to run
your arms hither and yon, among the trees. The trees will begin
to say it is not my vine-it is a stranger-get thee gone, I will not
cherish thee. By this time thou wilt be be so entangled among the
different branches, that thou canst not get back to the oak; and nobody will then admire thee, or pity thee."
" Ah me!" said the vine, "let me escape from such a destiny,"
and with this, she twined herself around the oak, and they both grew
and flourished together."
EARTHLY JoYs.-As Jonah's gourd —having done him no service
in the night when he needed it not-withered in the morning, when
he hoped for most benefit by it against the ensuing heat of the day:
so the blessings of this world frequently wither at such times as we
looked to find the most freshness in the refreshment from them.ARROWSMITH.




548               GEMS OF THOUGHT.
INCONSISTENCY OF HUMAN DESIRES.
EVERY THING is marked at a settled price. Our time, our labor,
our ingenuity, is so much ready money, which we are to lay out to
the best advantage. Examine, compare, choose, reject; but stand
to your own judgment, and do not, like children, when you have
purchased one thing, repine that you do not possess another, which
you would not purchase. Would you be rich? Do you think that
the single point worth sacrificing every thing else to?  You may
then be rich. Thousands have become so from the lowest beginnings, by toil, and diligence, and attention to the minutest articles
of expense and profit.  But you must give up the pleasures of leisure, of an unembarrassed mind, and of a free, unsuspicious temper.
You must learn to do hard, if not unjust things; and as for the embarrassment of a delicate and ingenuous spirit, it is necessary for you
to get rid of it as fast as possible. You must not stop to enlarge
your mind, polish your taste, or refine your sentiments; but must
keep on ini one beaten track, without turning aside to the right hand
or the left. " But," you say, " I cannot submit to drudgery like
this; I feel a spirit above it."'Tis well, be above it then; only do
not repine because you are not rich. Is knowledge the pearl of price
in your estimation?  That, too, may be purchased by steady application, and long, solitary hours of study and reflection.  "But," says
the man of letters, " what a hardship is it that many an illiterate fellow, who cannot construe the motto on his coach, shall raise a fortune, while I possess merely the common conveniencies of life." Was
it for fortune, then, that you grew pale over the midnight lamp, and
gave the sprightly years of youth to study and reflection? You have
then mistaken your path, and ill-employed your industry.  "What
reward have I then for all my labor?"  What reward?  A large,
comprehensive soul, purged from vulgar fear and prejudices, able to
interpret the works of man and God. A perpetual spring of fresh
ideas, and the conscious dignity of superior intelligence. The most
characteristic mark of a great mind is to choose some one object
which it considers important, and pursue that object through life. If
we expect the purchase, we must pay the price.-Mas. BARBAULD.
THE GLORY OF CHRIST. —The glory of Christ is not like the airy
phantom which men call glory, but hath everlasting weight and solidity; it not only sends forth light, but is light; and all that can be
conceived of splendor, excellence, durability, and bliss, meets in this
glory, as its sole and substantial essence. The believer, therefore, is
said to enjoy in Christ an exceeding, eternal weight of glory; exceeding all conception and comparison; eternal in its enjoyment and
duration.-AMBROSE SERLE.




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                        549
THE HIGH  CALLING OF GOD IN  CHRIST JESUS.
THE high calling of God in Christ Jesus! I have no fear of displeasing God, or of dishonoring his institutions, by repeating this
proclamation. I have no apology to make to men or angels, for
inviting attention to this theme.  This calling! this high calling!
this high calling of God! this high calling of God in Christ Jesus!
Rather-I ask audience-I claim audience; with a sublime confidence, with a Divine assurance that it will be well rewarded. I claim
the audience of both sexes; of manhood in all its strength; and of
womanhood in all its beauty. I claim the audience of all ages; of
childhood in its bloom; of youth in its radiance; of mat-arity in its
activity; and of decrepitude in its stillness and tears. I claim the
audience of all classes: of the hunter, the fisherman, and factor; of
the'shepherd, the herdsman, and drover; of the slave, the overseer,
and planter; of the laborer and farmer; of the miner and coiner;
of the diver and jeweler; of the operative and manufacturer; of
the mechanic and merchant; of the sailor and soldier; of the artist
and scholar; of the lawyer, physician, and pastor; of the legislator,
the judge, and magistrate; and of all others that intervene among
these gradations.  I claim  the audience of all conditions: of the
richest and poorest; of the fairest and roughest; of the wisest and
dullest; of the noblest and meanest; of the mightiest and weakest:
I challenge, in particular, the blind, that they may see; and the
deaf, that they may hear; and the dumb, that they may speak; and
the lame, that they may leap; and the sick, that they may revive;
and the leprous, that they may be clean; and the paralytic, that they
may be composed; and the maimed, that they may be whole; and
the lunatic, that they may be calm; and the demoniac, that they
may be dispossessed; and the imprisoned, that they may be free;
and the dead, that they may rise; and all, to give audience. I claim
the audience of all schools, in art and science; in philosophy and
literature: of all parties, in patriotism and philanthropy, in politics
and social reform: and of all sects in theology, ecclesiasticism, and
ritualism.  I claim the audience of all these, and of all other divisions of humanity, let them belong to what race, to what nation, to
what tribe, or to what family, they may. I claim the audience of
mankind, in whole. Nay, more: I claim the audience of the whole
heavenly host; to whom it is given, as occasion requires, to descend
from their bowers of bliss, and minister to mankind. Nay, more:
I claim the audience of all the inhabitants, of all the worlds, of all
the systems, in all the universe.  I claim the audience of all, with
no apology to make to any: the audience of all sages and saints;
of all angels and archangels; of all cherubim and seraphim;'of all
thrones, and dominions, and principalities, and powers; of all the
morning stars, that fill immensity with the light of joy; and of all
the sons of God, that fill eternity with the music of praise: but with
no apology, for any sage or saint; for any angel or archangel; for
any cherub or seraph; for any throne, or dominion, or principality,




550               GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.
or power; for any morning star, in all immensity, or any son of God,
to all eternity. Rather, I honor them, by this claim: and they will
prize the compliment as an augmentation of their felicity.  I hail
them, from afar, by the silver trumpet of Isaiah: "Hear, O heavens! and give ear, O earth! for the Lord hath spoken!" and lo! all
the hum of all their interests, and all the roar of all their motions,
are succeeded by the hallowed silence that thrills at the opening of
the mind of God. I hail the earth alone, by the silver trumpet of
Jeremiah: "O earth! earth  earthearth! hear the word of the Lord!"
I extend the cry, to every moon; to every planet; to every comet;
and to every sun: to every star in the milky way; and to every star
in every misty nebula-to every star of every form, of every hue,
in every region, of the whole creation, saying:' O0 star! star! star!
hear the word of the Lord!" And if any moon, or any planet, or
any comet, or any sun, or any star: if any sage on earth, or any
saint in heaven; or any angel, or any archangel, or any cherub, or
any seraph, or any throne, or any dominion, or any principality, or
any power, or any morning star, or any son of God, demand of me,
in this universal stillness, why it is that I have thus stopped their
movement and hushed their harmony? what it is that the Lord hath
spoken? and what is the nature of the word that I wish them to hear?
I reply to them, one and all, with a sublimity of style which is still
but a poor expression of the infinitely greater sublimity of spirit:
"I have no apology to make for this interruption.  You will rejoice
in my message. I come with the humility of a child in my heart,
and with the simplicity of a child upon my lips, to repeat the divinest of all the utterances of our common Father: I come to recite
in your hearing, the high calling of God in Christ Jesus!"  And
lo! is it not as I said? They do prize the compliment! They do
rejoice in the message! The stars are brighter and stiller than ever.
The immortal intelligencies that dignify their spheres, have but one
feeling —the radiance of the truth, and the rapture of the love,
evolved by the essential inspiration of —Te high calling of God in
Christ Jesus!/-STOCKTON.
THE VOICE OF CREATiON.-The works of Creation, as they unfold
themselves in all their variegated loveliness and splendor, I cannot
but love. I love the mighty and majestic ocean, the loud anthem of
the cataract, the onward-flowing river, and the sweet murmuring of
pleasant streams; the rich drapery of old and venerable forests, the
green fields, the beauty and incense of flowers, and the music of the
birds; the wondrous orbs that shine in the far-off blue of heaven,
illuminating the wide canopy with beams of holy light, worlds upon
worlds, performing their onward march to the grand music of time I
All these I love, and love fervently. There is a voice here, that if
listened to and obeyed, will teach man to be holier and happier, and
will lead him higher than their created beauty, even to the footstool
z3f the eternal. —J. BROOKWELL PEAT.




GEMS  OF THOUGHT.                     551
PREACHING OF IMMORTALITY TO THE INDIANS.
THOMAS STORY and his companion went to a town of the Chickahomnine Indians, and spake to them concerning the immortality of the
soul, and told them that God had placed a witness in the heart of
every man, which approves that which is good, and reproves that
which is evil.
The Sagmore then pointed to his head, and said, that was treacherous; but pointing to his breast, said it was true and sweet there.
And then he sent forth his breath, as if he had poured out his soul
unto death; and signing up toward heaven with his hand, raised a
bold, cheerful, and loud Hey, as if the soul ascended thither in a triumphant manner; and then pointing to his body, from thence put
his hand toward the earth, to demonstrate his opinion that the body
remains there when the soul is departed and ascended.
LUTHER AND THE FRIARS.-God, in the beginning, made but only
one human creature, which was a wise council: afterwards he created also a woman; then came the mischief.  The friars follow God's
first council, for they live alone, without marrying; wherefore, according to their rule and judgment, it had been good, nay better,
that God had remained by his first determination and council, namely,
that one man alone had lived.-LUTHER.
RESIGNATION TO THE PATH APPOINTED US IN LIFE.-It pleases
Heaven to give us no more light in our way, than will leave virtue in
possession of its recompense.
Grant me, gracious God! to go cheerfully on the road which
thou hast marked out; I wish it neither more wide or more smooth;
continue the light of this dim taper thou hast put into my hands: I
will kneel upon the ground seven times a day to seek the best track
I can with it, and having done that, I will trust myself and the issue
of my journey to thee, who art the fountain of joy, and will sing
songs of comfort as I go along. —STERNE.
MORALITY. —Morality is the body, of which faith in Christ is the
soul; so far indeed its earthly body, as it is adapted to its state of
warfare on earth, and the appointed form and instrument of its communion with the present world; yet not terrestrial, nor of the world,
but a celestial body, capable of being transfigured from glory to
glory, in accordance with the varying circumstances and outward
relations of its moving and informing spirit.-COLERIDGE.




552               GEMS OF THOUGHT.
MAN.
MAN is so great, that his greatness appears even in the conscious.
ness of his misery. A tree does not know itself to be miserable. It
is true, there is misery in knowing one's self miserable; but there is
greatness also. Thus all man's miseries prove his greatness. They
are the miseries of a mighty potentate, of a dethroned monarch.
Man is but the weakest reed in the universe, but he is a reed that
thinks; it does not need the universe to crush him-a breath of air,
a drop of water is enough to kill him. But even if the material universe should overwhelm him, man would be more noble than that
which destroys him; because he knows that he dies, while the universe knows nothing of its advantage over him. Our true dignity,
then, consists in thought-thence we must derive our elevation.
LIVE FOR SOMETHING.-Thousands of men breathe, move and
live —pass off the stage of life, and are heard of no more. Why?
None were blessed by them; none could point to them as the means
of their redemption; not a line they wrote, hot a word they spoke,
could be recalled, and so they perished: their light went out in darkness, and they were not remembered more than insects of yesterday.
Will you thus live and die, 0 man immortal? Live for something.
Do good, and leave behind you a monument of virtue, that the
storms of time can never forget. Write your name in kindness, love,
and mercy, on the hearts of those you come in contact with, and you
will never be forgotten. Good deeds will shine as brightly on the
earth, as the stars of heaven. —CE ALMERs.
INFLUENCE.-Influence is to be measured, not by the extent of
surface it covers, but by its KIND. A man may spread his mind, his
feelings, and opinions, through a great extent, but, if his mind be a
low one, he manifests no greatness. A wretched artist may fill a city
with daubs, and, by a false, showy style, achieve a reputation; but
the man of genius, who leaves behind him one grand picture, in
which immortal beauty is embodied, and which is silently to spread
a true taste in his art, exerts an incomparably higher influence.
No WISDOM WITHOUT THOUGHT. —He that never thinks never can
be wise.  Perpetual levity must end in ignorance: and intemperance, though it may fire the spirits for an hour, will make life short
or miserable.  Let us consider that youth is of no long duration,
and that in maturer age, when the enchantments of fancy shall
cease, and phantoms of delight dance no more about us, we shall
have no comforts but the esteem of wise men, and the means of
doing good.-DR. JOHNSON.




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       553
THE VANITY OF EARTHLY THINGS.
WHEN I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy
dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a
tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of
the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those
whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who
deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the
holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I
reflect, with sorrow and astonishment, on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the
tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago,
I consider that great day when we shall all of us be conitemporaries,
and make our appearance together. —ADDIsoN.
REFORM THYSELF.
THE present is generally styled the age of reform.  This we do
not feel disposed to controvert. It cannot, however, be denied, that
mankind are wofully deficient in the greatest of all reforms —individual reform.  Societies for the reformation of others are multiplied
almost ad infinitum; but efforts for personal reformation are much
neglected. Editors universally complain of the corrupt state of the
press, and yet most of them  aid in the perpetuation of that corruption. Infidels, as well as Christians, mourn, or profess to mourn,
over the evils of society; while those evils are augmented by their
own wrong doings.  Reformers must take an  entirely different
course-first reform themselves, and then their influence will be felt
with a hundred-fold more force on others.
"Man know thyself: all wisdom centres there."
So said the profound, though poetical writer, Young. And until
this wisdom is acquired, and likewise exhibited in the life, no thorough reform can take place in the world.-T. HARRISON.
INFLUENCE OF WOMAN.-The influence of woman, in giving sweetness and purity to the character of the other sex, is acknowledged
by the most candid infidel writers, as well as by all Christians. Lord
Byron, whose principles and habits were far below the proper standard, once remarked, that when in the society of a virtuous and
intelligent female, he invariably felt a desire to be a better man. If
such is the power of woman, it becomes her well to reflect on her
responsible station, and to aim most sacredly at the preservation of
her own uprightness and dignity.-T. HARRISON.




554               GEMS OF THOUGHT.
RESOLUTION.
RESOLUTION is omnipotent; and if we will but solemnly determine
to make the most and best of our powers and capacities, and if, to
this end, with Wilberforce, we will but seize and improve even the
shortest intervals of possible action and effort, we shall find that
there is no limit to our advancement. Without this resolute and
earnest purpose, the best aid and means are of little worth, but
with it, even the weakest are mighty. Without it, we shall accomplish nothing, with it, every thing. A man who is deeply in earnest
acts upon the motto of the pickaxe on the old seal: "Either I will
find a way or make one." He has somewhat the spirit of Buonaparte,
who, when told on the eve of battle that circumstances were against
him, replied: " Circumstances! I make and control circumstances,
— not bow to them!" In self-cultivation, as in every thing else, to
think we are able is almost to be so; to resolve to attain is often
almost attainment. Everywhere are the means of progress, if we
have but the fixed purpose to use them. And if, like the old philosopher, we will but take as our motto, " Higher-for ever higher,"
we may rise by them all. He that resolves upon any great end, by
that very resolution has scaled the chief barrier to it. And he who
seizes the grand idea of self-cultivation, and solemnly resolves upon
it, will find that idea, that resolution, burning like a living fire within, and ever putting him upon his own improvement.  He will find
it removing difficulties, searching out or making means, giving courage for despondency, and strength for weakness; and, like the star
in the east to the wise men of old, guiding him nearer and still nearer
to the sun of all perfection. If we are but fixed and resolute on
self-improvement, we shall find means to it on every side, at every
moment, and even obstacles and oppositions will but make us like
the fabled specter-ships, which " sail the fastest in the very teeth of
the wind."-REV. TRYON EDWARDS.
ON PROVIDENCE.
IF God should manage his ways according to our prescriptions,
what satisfaction would God have? or what satisfaction would the
world have? He might be unjust to himself and unjust to others.
Your own complaints Would not be stilled when you should feel the
smart of your own counsels; yet if they were, what satisfaction
could there be to the complaints of others, whose interests, and
therefore judgments and desires lie cross to yours?  Murmur not,
therefore; whatsoever is done in the world is the work of a wise
agent, who acts for the perfection of the whole universe; and why
should I murmur at that which promotes the common happiness and
perfections of any one particular person?  Must a lutinist break all
is strings because one is out of tune?-CHARNOCK.




GEMS OF THOUGHIT.                         555
THE PILGRIMS OF THE MAYFLOWER
METHINKS I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous vessel, the
Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects of a future
state, and bound across the unknown sea.  I behold it pursuing,
with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns
rise and set, and weeks and months pass, the winter surprises them
in the deep, but brings them  not the sight of the wished-for shore.
I see them now scantily supplied with provisions, crowded almost to
suffocation in their ill-storedl prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a,
circuitous route; and now driven in fury before the ragiIng tempest,
on the higih and giddy waves.  The awful voice of the storm howls
through the rigging.  The laboring aasts seem straining from their
base; the dismal sound of the pumps is heard; tlie ship leaps, as it
were, madly from  billow to billow; the ocean breaks, and settles
with enlgulfing floods over the deck, and beats with deadening
weig-ht against the staggered vessel.  I see them, escaped from
these perils, pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, and landed
at last, after a five months' voyage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth; weakl and weary from  the voyage, poorly armed, scantily
provisioned, depending on the charity of their shipmaster for a
draug-ht of beer on board, drinkingo nothing but water on shore,
without shelter, without means, surrounded by hostile tribes.  Shut
now the volume of history, and tell me, on any principle of human
probability, what shall be the fate of this handftul of adventurers.
Tell me, man of mil-ita-y science, in how many months were they
all swept off by the thirty savage tribes, enumerated within the
early limits of New England?  T'ell me, politici'an, how long did
this shadow of a colony, on which your conventions and treaties had
not smiled, languish on the distant coast?  Student of history, compare for me the baffled projects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures of other times, and find the parallel of this 1 Was
it the Vwinter's storm, beating' upon the houseless heads of women
and children; was it hard labor and spare meals; was it disease;
was it the tomahawk; was it the deep malady of a blighted hope, a
ruined enterprise, and a broken: heart, aching in its last moments at
the recollection of the loved and left, beyond the sea; was it some,
or all of these united, that hurried this forsaken company to. their'
melancholy fate?  And is it possible that neither of these causes,.
that not all combi;ned, were able to blast this bud of hope?  Is it
possible that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so worthy-not so
much of admiration as of pity-there has goune forth a progress so
steady, a growth so wonderful, a reality so important, a promise,
yet to be fulfilled, so glorious?-EDwARD EVERETT.
DEAT..- Death is the liberator of' him whom  freedom cannot re
lease, the physician of him  whom  medicines cannot cure, and the
comforter of him whom time cannot console...
36




556               GEMS OF  THOUGHT.
THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON.
A GENTLEMAN, speaking of Caesar's benevolent disposition, and of
the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes:
"How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon!"  How
came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall
private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a
man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How
dared he cross that river! O! but he paused upon the brink! He
should have perished upon the brink ere he had crossed it I Why
did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the
point of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye, takin taking the
measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of
conscience!'Twas that made Caesar pause on the bank of the Rubicon.  Compassion! What compassion! The compassion of an
assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to
cut   Caesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the
Rubicon?  The boundary of Caesar's province. From what did it
separate his province?  From his country. Was his country a
desert?  No; it was cultivated and fertile; rich and populous. Its
sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity  Its daughters were
lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant!
Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant!
Liberty was its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon! What was Caesar,-that stood upon the bank of that stieam?
A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country i
No wonder that he paused-no wonder if, his imagination wrought
upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of water; and
heard groans instead of murmurs! No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot! But, no! he cried:
"The die is cast!"  He plunged! lie crossed!-and Rome was
free no more!-KNOWLES.
COMPENSATION~.-There is a touching anecdote of one, endowed
with rank and fortune, chancing to enter a poor cottage, where some
six or eight healthy, ruddy children were waiting with longing looks,
the final distribution of the last morsel of an exhausted loaf. "Here
are the mouths, but vWhere is the meat?" exclaimed the child of
luxury in the house of want. Some time after, the cottage mother
having an errand to the noble mansion of her visiter, found the doors
and windows closed; silence and sorrow reigned through the splendid hall; the lady had that day lost her only child.  The remark in
the cottage came into her thoughts.  "Here is the meat, but where
are the mouths?" said the child of poverty in the mansion of
wealth and splendor.-CAROLINE MAY.




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       551
HIIGHER MANIFESTATIONS OF CHRISTIANITY.
ALREADY the Gospel, ini its expansive diffusion, is every where
received as the solar light of the philosophical world, and the mount
of vision from which we survey the living landscape of mind and
morals outspreading before and about us. And as such, by an exhibition of its lofty motives and grand results, and borrowing impulse
alike from the interests of time and the awards of eternity, it has
curbed the lawlessness of genius in the instance of the loftiest minds,
has directed and purified its flame, and sent it kindling to the throne
of God! It has pressed the phenomena of nature-extending
throughout the infinitely little and the infinitely great, comprehendinl, all the gradations of earthly littleness and heavenly grandeurinto its own service.  Guided by the Gospel, the field of nature and
the tablet of the human mind become a book which all can read, and
reading, none dispute.
But for Christianity, large portions of the world's history would
have been lost, and its most eventful fortunes unknown. It is in her
keeping, we are to look for the most valuable treasures of human
lore.  She has rescued from the grasp of oblivion, and the withering
scorn of pagan hate and infidel meanness, spoils that belong to eternity! It is under her guidance we see the bark of knowledge, where
all beside was wreck, booming in safety over the rolling seas of time!
When nations without number, for ages uncounted, trod a moral
waste and wandered on, without stumbling upon the landmarks of
the desolation, the star of Bethlehem cast its radiance over the travel
of earth, and lit the wanderer home to God i She did mnore. Not
only did she eclipse, by the splendor of her revelations, the wisdom
of paganism, and give its mythology to the ridicule of childhood,
but in wrath she led the Gaul and the Goth, and the gods of Greece
and of Rome crumbled upon their altars-the startled East shranLk
back, and the nations of the West waxed pale before her deeds!
This work of mental regeneration is going on. Whether we look
at individual or social man, the fireside or the map of nations, the
familes and kingdoms of earth, are submitting, one after another, to
her gently subduing scepter, and soon the uttermost parts of the earth
shall share the heavenly illumination, and pagan lands of every lip
and every name become the resting-place of Heaven's light. —B ASCOSM.
DESPISE NO ONE.-The Jews would not willingly tread upon the
smallest piece of paper in their way, but took it up; "for possibly,"
said they, "the name of God may be on it."  Trample not on any:
there may be some work of grace there thou knowest not of. The
name of God may be written on that soul thou treadest on: it may
be a soul that Christ thought so much of, as to give his precious
blood for it; therefore despise it not.-LEIGHITON.




558              GEMS OF THOUGHT.
THE HAND OF GOD SEEN IN THE DISCOVERIES OF
THE AGE.
WHATEVER evils arrest, or pervert the growth of civilization, we
believe Christianity is competent to remove. It does not indeed act
directly upon physical nature. But it puts man in such a poskion as
that he can overcome its obstacles to improvement, and employ its
vast powers in the furtherance of divine designs. It points him to
the treasures of the Universe, and bids him seek them. We are not
authorized to think that God has had no agency in those important
inventions and discoveries, which have so signally promoted the welfare of humanity. Who can tell how many ways he may have of
operating upon mind?  The idea of unlimited intelligence and power,
opens a boundless field for contemplation; though we cannot trace
the footsteps of Jehovah in it, nor hear his voice, nor behold his radiance, yet may we be assured that he is there in the plenitude of
his might, and magnificence of his glory. If the veil that hides him
were lifted, we should see him nearer to the scenes amid which we
dwell, than in the happiest moments of faith we imagine him to be,
leading man to ascertain facts, and apply means, that may place him
on vantage-ground, and give him a firmer hold upon his natural
birthright.  The silence of Christianity with regard to such subjects
is admitted. Let us not however misunderstand it. Let us not take
advantage of it, to indulge the spirit of carnal pride.  The voice of
Christianity is silent, after it has made known the close relation, subsisting between God and his material works, and declared his presence to be constantly diffused throughout every portion of the vast
universe. The illustrations of his Providence, that it employs, are
drawn from the most insignificant objects surrounding us; while the
favorite images that adorn and exemplify the operations of mediatorial grace, are derived from those departments of physical nature,
which are visibly the most dependent upon his ever-active energy.
Such is the preparation for its silence! If this impressive reserved-:ness had preceded the anouncements above mentioned, our faith in
the temporal welfare of society had realized no consoling refuge of
this kind; but as it is, we feel warranted in believing, that in the introduction of those mighty instrumentalities, which anticipate the
ordinary labor of years, and augment individual power so wonderfully, God has exerted no unimportant agency.-LPsco IB.
ORIGIN OF THE WORD BRITON.-Our primitive ancestors distinguished themselves, in pride or simplicity, as Brith and Brithon;
Brith signifying stained, and Brithon a stained man.  The predilection for coloring their bodies, induced the civilized Romans to desig.
nate the people who were driven to the Caledonian forests as Picts,
or a painted people.-D'IsRAELI.




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                       559
HAPPINESS OF THE CHILD OF GOD.
THAT soul whose zeal is regulated by an enlightened understanding, nourished by a calm, dispassionate love of truth, and founded
upon a firm adherence to the moral attributes of God, is a plant of our
heavenly Father's right-hand planting, and shall be useful and happy
here, and inherit eternal life hereafter.  Being delivered from the
dark shades of ignorance, the. contradicting influence of partiality,
and the tyrannical ascendancy of appetite, the mind is free to think,
and judge, and exercise its pious affections without obstruction, in
which consists " the glorious liberty of the children of God."  Free
from the pitiful shackles of bigotry, such a soul enjoys a most pleasant and reviving range through all the wonders of redeeming love.
The attributes, and works, and providence, and grace of God, afford
abundant matter for his pious meditations.  His active mind travels
through the beauties of creation, and adores that beneficent hand
which sends us rain from heaven, and fills our hearts with food and
gladness.  He turns to the pages of revelation, explores the opening
beauties of the moral law, surveys the wonderful goodness of God
manifested in the flesh, then rising on the wings of contemplation,
with ecstacy of thought, to those salubrious regions of ineffable tranquility, "where momentary ages are no more."  His soul adheres
to God, as to the centre of all its desires. He finds no pleasure in
existence equal to that of doing good. He looks over the face of the
earth, with conscious friendship for every living creature. He mourns
over the ignorance and wickedness of men, and melts into sympathetic tears for the misery of Adam's children. His enlarged and
generous mind embraces the different nations of the earth with affection, and beseeches Heaven to bless all his brethren of the human
trace.-SHINN.
STANDING UPON PEDIGREE.
CRANTZ, in his Saxon History, tells us of an Earl of Alsatia, surnamed Iron on account of his great strength, who was a great favorite with Edward the Third, of England, and much envied, as favorites
are always sure to be, by the rest of the courtiers.  On one occasion,
when the king was absent, some noblemen maliciously instigated the
queen to make trial of the noble blood of the favorite, by causing a
lion to be let loose upon him, saying, according to the popular belief,
that, if " the earl was truly noble, the lion would not touch him."
It being customary with the earl to rise at break of day, before any
other person in the palace was stirring, a lion was let loose during the
night, and turned into the lower court. When the earl came down
in the morning, with no more. than a night-gown cast over his shirt,
he was met by the lion, bristling his hair, and growling destruction
be!twaqrl  his teeth.  The earl, not in the least daunted, called out,




560              GEMS  OF THOUGHT.
with a stout voice, "Stand, you dog."  At these words, the lion
crouched at his feet, to the great amazement of the courtiers, who
were peeping out at every window to see the issue of their ungenerous project. The earl laid hold of thelion by the mane, turned him
into his cage, and placing his night-cap upon the lion's back, came
forth without ever casting a look behind.  " Now," said the earl,
calling out to the courtiers, whose presence at the windows instantly
convinced him  of the share they had in this trial of his courage,
"let him amongst you all, that standest most upon his pedigree, go
and fetch my night-cap."
A DISPOSITION TO DEGRADE OTHERS.
Too much, even in later life, I have perceived in men that pass
for good men, a disposition to degrade (and if possible to degrade
through self-degradation,) those in whom unwillingly they feel any
weight of oppression to themselves, by commanding qualities of intellect or character.  They respect you: they are compelled to do
so, and they hate to do so. Next, therefore, they seek to throw off
the sense of this oppression, and to take vengeance for it, by cooperating with any unhappy accidents in your life to inflict a sense
of humiliation upon you, and, if possible, to force you into becoming
a consenting party to that humiliation.  Oh! wherefore is it that
those who presume to call themselves tile " friends" of this or that
woman, are so often those, above all others, whom in the hour of
death that man or woman is most likely to salute with the valecliction: Would God I had never seen your face!-DE QUINCEY.
RELIGION AND SCIENTCE.-Religion and science are more powerfully
at work at present than in anlly former period of time, in removing
the physical and moral evils of the world, and in elevating man to
his highest state of earthly existence. In some periods, the work has
been scarcely perceptible, but now it is visible to the most ordinary
observer. Changes are taking place, and improvements are being
effected, which are the wonder of all minds.  Glorious will be the
consummation.  T. HARRISON.
THIE MIND NEVER STATIONARY.-The human mind is never stationary;
when it is not progressive, it is necessarily retrograde.  He who imagines at any period of his life, that he can advance no further in
moral or intellectual improvement, is as little acquainted with the
extent of his own powers as the voyager was with that of the terrestrial globe-who supposed he had erected pillars at the end of the
world, when he had only left a monument how much further he
might have proceeded.-CIcERo.




GEMS  OF  THOUGHT.                     561
PRAYER WITH DEVOTION.
THE Pharisee is said to pray with himself; God and the Pharisee
were not together, there was only the Pharisee and himself. Paul
knew not what to pray for without the Holy Ghost joined himself
with him, and helped him with groans unutterable; but the Pharisee
had no need of that;'twas enough that he and himself were together
at this work, for he thought, without doubting, that he and himself
together could do. How many times have I heard ancient men,
and ancient women, at it, with themselves, when all alone in some
private room, or in some solitary path; and in their chat, they have,
been sometimes reasoning, sometimes chiding, sometimes pleading,
sometimes praying, and sometimes singing; but yet all has been
done by themselves when all alone; but yet so done, as one that
had not seen them must needs have concluded that they were talking,
singing, and praying with company; when all that they had said,
they did it with themselves, and had neither auditor nor regarder.
So the Pharisee was at it with himself; he and himself performed,
at this time, the duty of prayer.-BUNYAN.
A FIRM AND RELIGIOUS BELIEF. — I envy no quality of the
mind or intellect of others,-not genius, wit, nor fancy; but if I
could choose what would be the most delightful, and, I believe, most
useful to me, I prefer a firm religious belief to any other blessing;
for it makes discipline of good, creates new hopes when earthly
hopes vanish, and throws over the decay, the destruction of existence,
the most gorgeous of all lights; awakens life in death, and from corruption and decay, calls up beauty and divinity; makes an instrument of misfortune and of shame the ladder of ascent to paradise;
and far above all combinations of earthly hopes, calls up the most
delightful visions of palms and amaranths,-the gardens of the blest,
and the security of everlasting joys, where the sensualist and the
skeptic view only gloom, decay, annihilation, and despair.-SIR H.
DAVY.
KINDNESS TO THE DEAD.-Certainly it is the noblest thing in the
world to do an act of kindness to him, whom we shall never see,
but yet hath deserved it of us, and to whom we would do it if he
were present; and unless we do so our charity is mercenary, and
our friendships are direct merchandise, and our gifts are brocage;
but what we do for the dead, or to the living for their sakes, is gratitude and virtue, for virtue's sake, and the noblest portion of humanity.-BISHOP TAYLOR.




562               -GEMS OF THOUGHT.
ALL BEAUTY IS OF GOD.
THE Golden Gates of Day opening on the palmy East: the
Night's pale Regent, and the countless stars; the fruits of the
earth, the flowers of the field; the valley, the mountain, the
streamnlet and the ocean! Love and truth are of God, for they
are beautiful in their purity and immutability!  Music is of
Godl, for to its sacred voice sang the Morning Stars when they
hymned his glory and his praise! Wisdom  is of God, for
it is Beauty intellectual; and Virtue, for it is Beauty moral.
Penitence is of God, for it is the portal of heaven! Conscience, the soul's monitor; Sorrow, its chastener; Hope, its
comforter, and Peace, its reward, are of God, for they are beautiful in their fidelity, patience, constancy, and celestial quietude! Justice and Mercy are of God, for they are the Beauty
of Holiness, and Holiness is God Himself in his -Beatitude and
Beauty.- Uncle Timothy.
VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR ETERNAL.
WHEN we contemplate the idea unfolded, even without reference to ourselves, we see around us a communityin which no
one can labor for himself without at the same time laboring for
his fellow-men, or can labor for others without also laboring for
himself; where the success of one member is the success of all,
and the loss of one a loss to all: —a picture which, by the harmony it reveals in the manifold diversity of being, introduces a
cordial feeling of satisfaction to the mind, and powerfully
raises the soul above the things of time.
But the interest is heightened when we turn our thoughts to
ourselves, and contemplate ourselves as members of this great
spiritual community. The feeling of our dignity acnd our
power is increased when we say-what each of us may say"' My existence is not in vain and aimless: I am a necessary
link in the great chain of being which reaches from the awakening of the first man to perfect consciousness of his existence,
onward through eternity; all the great and wise azd noble that
have ever appeared among men —those benefactors of the
human race, whose names I find recorded in the world's history,
and the many others whose benefits have outlived their names
— all have labored for me; I have entered into their labors; I
follow their footsteps on this earth where they dwelt, wrhere
they scattered blessings as they went along. I may, as soon as
I will, assume the sublime task which they have resigned, of
making our common brotherhood ever wiser and happier; I
may continue to build where they had to cease their labors; I
may bring nearer to its completion the glorious temple which
tJhev had to leave unfinished."




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                     563
"But" —some one may say —" I too, like them, must rest
from my labors."  Oh! this is the sublimest thought of all! If
I assume this noble task, I can never reach its end; and so
surely as it is my vocation to assume it, I can never cease to
act, and hence can never cease to be. That which men call
Death cannot interrupt my activity; for my work must go on
to its completion, and it cannot be completed in Time; —hence
nmy existence is limited by no Time, and I am Eternal: —with
the assumption of this great task, I have also laid hold of Eternity. I raise my head boldly towards the threatening rock, the
raging flood, or the fiery tempest, and say —" I am Eternal, and
I defy your might! Break all upon me!-and thou Earth, and
thou Heaven, mingle in the wild tumult, and all ye elements,
foam and fret yourselves, and crush in your conflict the last
atom of the body which I call mine! —my WILL, secure in its
own firm purpose, shall soar undisturbed and bold over the
wreck of the universe:-for I have entered upon my vocation,
and it is more enduring than ye are: it is ETERNAL, and I am
ETERNAL like it."-7Johann Gottlieb Fichte.
DEATH OF ARTIHUTR HENRY JIALLAM.
IT is needless to tell what was the promise of his son Arthur,
whose qualities and honors were the joy and pride of his life.
The young man was advanced in his professional studies, was
engaged to a sister of Alfred Tennyson, and had the prospect
of the brightest of lives, when he went on the Continent with
his father, for a tour of recreation. At a German town he was
slightly unwell with a cold; and Mr. Hallam went alone for his
afternoon walk, leaving Authur on the sofa. Finding him
sleeping on his return, he took a book and read for anl hour;
and then he became impressed with the extreme stillness of the
sleeper. The sleeper was cold, and must have been dead from
almost the moment when he had last spokel. In like manner
died the eldest daughter; and in like manner the cherished
wife-an admirable woman. * * * There was still a son, Henry,
but lie died too in opening manhood; and then there was but
one daughter, and she married, to cheer his old age. Yet he
seemed always cheerful. IIis social disposition, and his love of
literature, and his generosity of spirit, and his kindly sympathies, kept him fresh and bright for many a long year after the
sunshine of his life seemed to be gone.-Harrielt 3fartineau.
00.0 —




664               GEMS OF THOUGHT.
GRANDFATHIER'S REYElRIE.
BY THEODORE PARKER. (FROM HIS SERMON ON " OLD AGE.")
GRANDFATHER is old. His back is bent.  In the street he
sees crowds of men looking dreadfully young, and walkinng
fearfully swift.  He wonders where all the old folks are.  Once
when a boy, he could not find people young enough for him,
and sidled up to any young stranger he met on Sundays, wondering why God made the world so old. Now he goes to Comnencement to see his grandson take his degree, and is astonished at the youth, of the audience.  " This is new," he says;
"it did not use to be so fifty years ago."  At meeting, the minister seems surprisingly young, and the audience young'.  He
looks round, and is astonished that there are so few venerable
heads.  The audience seem not decorous.  They come in late,
and hurry off early, clapping the doors after them with irreverent bang.  But grandfather is decorous, well mannered, early
in his seat; if jostled, he jostles not again; elbowed, he returns
it not; crowded, he thinks no evil.  He is gentlemanly to the
rude, obliging to the insolent and vulgar; for grandfather is a
gentlenan; not puffed up with mere noney, but edified with
well-grown manliness.  Time has dignified his good manners.
It is night.  The family are all abed.  Grandfather sits by
his old-fashioned fire. HIe draws his old-fashioned chair nearer
to the hearth.  On the stand which his mother gave him are
the candlesticks, also of old time.  The candles are three quarters burnt down; the fire on the hearth also is low.  He has
been thoughtful all day, talking half to himself, chanting a bit
of verse, humming a snatch of an old tune. He kissed his pet
granddaughters more tenderly than common, before she went to
bed. IIe takes out of his bosomi a little locket; nobody ever
sees it.  Therein are two little twists of hair.  As Grandfather
looks at them, the outer twist of hair becomes a whole head of
ambrosial curls.  He remembers stolen interviews, 1meetings by
moonlight. Ite remembers how sweet the evening star looked,
and how lie laid his hand on another's shoulder, and  said,
" You are my evening star."
The church-clock strikes the midnight hour. He looks in his
locket again.  The other twist is the hair of his first-born son.
At this same hour of midnioght, once, many years ago, he knelt
and prayed, when the lobng agony was over-" My Godl, I
thank thee that, thoungh I am a father, I am still a husband,
too! What am I, that unto me a life should be given and
another spared!" [Now he has children, and children's children, the joy of his old age. Bu t for mrany a ye.ar his wife has
looked to him fromi  beyond the evening star.  She is still the
eveu-ing star herself, yet more beautiful; a star that never sets;
not mortal wife now, but angel.




iim
Aj ~   ~~ ~    ~~~l~    ~,v?~l








GEMS OF THOUGHT.                      565
The last stick on his andirons snaps asunder, and falls outward. Two faintly-smoking brands stand there. Grandfather
lays them  together, and they flame up; the two smokes are
united in one flame. " Even so let it be in heaven," says Grandfather.
INTEIRPREETATION OF SCFIPTURE.
PuT the matter thus. For more than a thousand years the
Bible, collectively taken, has gone hand in hand with civilization, science, law —in short, with the moral and intellectual
cultivation of the species, always supporting, and often leading
the way. Its very presence, as a believed Book. has rendered
the nations emphatically a chosen race, and this too in exact
proportion as it is more or less generally known and studied.
Of those nations, which in the highest degree enjoy its influences, it is not too much to affirml that the differences public
and private, physical, moral and intellectual, are only less
than what might be expected from  a diversity in species.
Good and holy men, and the best and wisest of manllkind, the
kingly spirits of history, enthroned in the hearts of mighty
nations, have borne witness to its influences, have declared it
to be beyond compare the most perfect instrument, the only
adequtate organ of -Innmanity;-the organ and instrument of
all the gifts, powers, and tendencies, by which the individual
is privileged to rise above himself-to leave behind, and lose
his diviciual phantom self, in order to find his true Self in that
Distinctness where no division can be-in the Eternal I A8i,
the Ever-living WORD, of whom all the elect, friom the archangel
before the throne to the poor wrestler with the Spirit until the
brealcing of day, are but the fainter and still fainter echoes.
And are all these testimonies and lights of experience to lose
their value and efficiency, because I feel no warrant of history,
or Holy Writ, or of my own heart for denying, that in the
framework and outward case of this instrument a few parts
may be discovered of less costly materials and of meaner
workmanship?  Is it not a fact that the Books of the New
Testament were tried by their consonance with the rule, and
according to the analogy of Faith?  Does not the universally
admitted canon.-that each part of Scripture must be interpreted by the spirit of the whole-lead to the same practical
conclusion as that for which I am now contending;-namely,
that it is the spirit of the Bible, and not the detached words
and sentences, that is infallible and absolute? Practical, I
say, and spiritual too;-and what knowledge not practical or
spiritual are we entitled to seek in our Bibles? Is the gLace
of God so confined-are the evidences of the present and




666             GEMS OF THOUGHT.
actuating Spirit so dim and doubtful-that to be assured of
the same we must first take for granted that all the life and
co-agency of our humanity is miraculously suspended?
Whatever is spiritual, is eo nomine supernatural; but must
it be always and of necessity miraculous?  Miracles could
open the eyes of the body; and he that was born blind beheld
his Redeemer. But miracles, even those of the Redeemer
himself, could not open the eyes of the self-blinded, of the
Sadducean sensualist, or the self-righteous Pharisee;-while
to have said, I saw thee under the fig tree, sufficed to make a
Nathanael believe.-S. T. Coleridge.
WOMEN AND CHARITY WORK.
WE cannot look around us without seeing that a demand
has not only been created, but becomes every day increasingly
urgent, for a supply of working women at once more efficient
and more effective. I use the words advisedly as distinct in
meaning; women and men too are efficient through energy and
experience, and effective through higher gifts and sympathieshigher aims and motives; materially efficient, morally effective.
Meantime, with no want of zeal or aptitude, there is such a
lamentable deficiency in training, in knowledge, in the means
or opportunity of acquiring either, that I should despair-if I
were not too old to despair-if I had not so often counted up
the price we have to pay for truth, and the penance we must
pay for falsehood too. If, among the hapless women I see
struggling to bring their external existence into harmony with
their inner life-or what is harder still, to bring their inner
life into subjection to harsh and deteriorating circumstanceone half should go distracted, and the other half turn ILoman
Catholics, I might "even die with pity;" but certainly not
yield up one inch of the ground I have taken, nor one iota of the
faith that is in me.
I remember that, when speaking on these subjects to a very
benevolent and accomplished man-a clergyman —he said,
thoughtfully: "I have little doubt that you are right; and yet,
if there be such a Divine law involving all human well-being
and progress in its recognition, how is it that it has not been
more distinctly revealed to-s? how is it that it comes to us
now like a novelty to be subjected to the examination of the
sceptical and the carping of the foolish?"
I did not answer.
We know that there has existed from the commencement oi
the creation a law of God, binding the whole universe into one
harmonious whole, guiding the planets in their orbits, connecting our own world with far-off worlds of light and life, and




GE1MS OF THOUGHT.                      561
at the same time so regulating our least movements on this
earth, that we cannot put one foot before the other, but in
subjection to it. Yet of the existence of this law we knew
nothing, till, one hundred and fifty years ago, the fall of all
apple revealed it to Newton; and to what revelations most
important to our well-being has it not since led! A.nd may
there not be a law of moral and physical life as universal, as
essential, as eternal, which in its agency has always been felt,
and yet in its relation to happiness and progress, is only just
beginning to be understood, and not yet fully applied? I do
not say it is so; but may it not possibly be so? —lars. Jacneson.
DIFFICULTY THE CONDITION OF LITERARY
SUCCESS.
IT is a vulgar error that Literature is incompatible with less
intellectual pursuits. "' Prior," writes Swift in his Journal to
Stella, "hates his Commission of the Customs because it
spoils his wit. He says he dreams of nothing but cockets, and
dockets, and drawbacks, and  other jargon words of the
Custom-House."  This is affectation. Prior's was an easy and
and gentleman-like employment, with a very liberal remuneration. What a contrast to the ill-paid drudgery that broke the
heart of Burns! "' Let poetry be your staff, not your crutch,"
said Sir Walter Scott. As the sole means of providing for the
day that is passing, Literature is indeed a painful calling I its
success depending more on public caprice than desert'; the
popular idol being too often as worthless as he is ephemeral.
Literature, without the healthful excitement of active employment, produces bodily lassitude and mental depression. Was
Cowley contented at his classic retirement at Chertsey? Was
Shenston happy at his lovely Leasowes? Coleridge regretted
that he had no pursuit but poetry and philosophy. The bustle
of the world (not its turmoil and selfishness!) braces the mind
after an interval of study, as the quiet of the closet strengthens
it for renewed exertion. However men may effect to hold
cheap the intellectual world, it is there only that the truly
noble can enjoy communion with kindred spirits. But this
high privilege demands some grosser sacrifices. To postpone
a sensual pleasure is the first step toward its abandonment.
We sow resignation, and we reap content. Difficulty is the
condition of success. We must learn "to scorn delights, and
live laborous days.'"-Democritus in London.




~5 d 8          GEMS OF THOUGHT.
OBLIGATION OF PARENTS TO EDUCATE THEIR
CHILDREN.
I HIAVE already observed that, owing to the absence of any
recognized general principles, liberty is often granted where it
should be withheld, as well as withheld where it should be
granted; and one of the cases in which, in the modern European world, the sentiment of liberty is the strongest, is a case
where, in my view, it is altogether misplaced. A  person
should be free to do as he likes in his own concerns; but he
oughlt not to be free to do as he likes in acting for another
under the pretext that the affairs of another are his own affairs.'llhe State, while it respects the liberty of each in what specially
oregalrds himself, is bound to maintain a vigilant control over
hins exercise of any power which it allows him to possess over
others.  This obligation is almost entirely disregarded in the
calse of the family relations, a case, in its direct influence on
human happiness, more important than all others taken together.  The almost despotic power of husbands over wives
needs not to be enlarged upon here, because nothing more is
needed for the complete removal of the evil, than that wives
should have the same rights, and should receive the protection
of law in the same manner, as all other persons; and because,
on this subject, the defenders of established injustice do not
avail themselves of the plea of liberty, but stand forth openly
as the champions of power. It is in- the case of children, that
misapplied notions of liberty are a real obstacle to the fulfilment by the State of its duties.  One would almost think that
a man's children were supposed to be literally, an(ld not metaphorically, a part of himself, so jealous is opinion of the smallest interference of law with his absolute and exclusive control
over them; more jealous than of almost any interference with
his own freedom of action: so much less do the generality of
mankind value liberty than power.  Consider, for example, the
case of education. Is it not almost a self-evident axiom, that
the State should require and compel the education, up to a certain standard, of every human being who is born its citizen?
Yet who is there that is not afraid to recognize and assert this
truth? Hardly any one, indeed, will deny that it is one of the
most sacred duties of the parents (or, as law and usage now
stand, the father), after summoning a human being into the
world, to give to that being an education fitting him to perform
his part well in life, towards others and towards himself. But
while this is unanimously declared to be the father's duty,
scarcely anybody, in this country, will bear to hear of obliging
him to perform it.  Instead of his being required to make any
exertion or sacrifice for securing education to the child, it is
left to his choice to accept it or not when it is provided gratis!




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                      569
It still remains unrecognized, that to bring a child into existence without a fair prospect of being able, not only to provide
food for its body, but instruction and training for its mind, is a
moral crime, both against the unfortunate offspring and against
society; and that if the parent does not fulfil this obligation,
the State ought to see it fulfilled at the charge, as far as possible, of the parent. —John Stewart Mill.
UNNATURAL PUNISHMENT OF CHILDREN.
In the first place, observe that, in states of rapid transition
like ours, which witness a long-drawn battle between old and
new theories and old and new practices, the educational methods
in use are apt to be considerably out of harmony with the
times. In deference to dogmas fit only for the ages that uttered
them, many parents inflict punishments that do rviolence to their
own feelings, and so visit on their children runnatural reactions;
while other parents, enthusiastic in their hopes of immediate
perfection, rush to the opposite extreme.  And ther observe,
in the second place, that the discipline on which we are insist.ing is not so much the experience of parental approbation or
disapprobation, which, in most cases, is only a secondary consequence of a child's conduct; but it is the experience of those
results which would naturally flow from the conduct in the absence of parental opinion or interference. The truly instructive and  salutary consequences are not those inflicted by
parents when they take upon themselves to be Nature's proxies;
but they are those inflicted by Nature herself.  We will endeavor to make this distinction clear by a few illustrations,
which, while they show what we mean by natural reactions as
contristed with artificial ones, will afford some:cldirectly practical suggestions.
In every family where there are young children there almost
daily occur cases of what mothers and servants call " making a
litter." A child has had out its box of toys, and leaves them
scattered about the floor. Or a handful of flowers, brought in
from a morning walk, is presently seen dispersed over tables
and chairs.  Or a little girl, making doll's-clothes, disfigures
the room with shreds. In most cases the trouble of rectifying
this disorder falls anywhere but in the right place: if in the
nursery, the nurse herself, with many grumblings about " tiresome little things," etc., undertakes the task; if below stairs,
the task usually devolves either on one of the elder children or
on the housemaid; the transgressor being visited with nothing
more than a scolding. In this very simple case, however, there
are many parents wise enough to follow out, more or less consistently, the normal course-tha+ of making the child itself




570             G EMS OF THOUGHT.
collect the toys or shreds.  The labor of puttincg the things in
order is the true consequence of having plit them in disorder.
Every trader in his office, every wife in her household, has
daily experience of this fact. And if education be a preparation for the business of life, then every child should also, froma
the beginning,  have daily experience of this fact.' If the
natural penalty be met by any refractory behavior (which it mlay
peblrhaps be where the general system of moral discipline previously pursued has been bad), then the proper course is to let
the child feel the ulterior reaction consequent on its disobedience. Having refused or neglected to pick up and put away
the things it has scattered about, Sland having thereby entailed
the trouble of doing this on some one else, the child should, on
subsequent occasions, be denied the means of giving this
trouble. When next it petitions for its toy-box, the reply of
its mamma should be-" The last time you had your toys you
left them lying on the floor, and Jane had to pick them up.
Jane is too busy to pick up every day the things you leave
about; and I cannot do it myself.  So that, as you will not
put away your toys when you have clone with them, I cannot
let you have them."  This is obviously a natural consequence,
neither increased nor lessened; and must be so recognized by a
child. The penalty comes, too, at the moment when it is most
keenly felt. A new-born desire is balked at the moment of
anticipated gratification; and the strong impression so produced can scarcely fail to have an effect on the future conduict:
an effect which, by consistent repetition, will do whatever can
be done in curing the fault. Add to which, that, by this
method, a child is early taught the lesson which cannot be
learnt too soon, that in this world of ours pleasures are rightly
to be obtained only by labor.
Take another case. Not long since we had frequently to
disten to the reprimands visited on a little girl who was scarcely
ever ready in time for the daily walk. Of eager disposition,
and apt to become thoroughly absorbed in the occupation of
the moment, Constance never thought of putting on her things
until the rest were ready.  The governess and the other
children had almost invariably to wait; and from the mamma
there almost invariably came the same scolding. Utterly as
this system failed it never occurred to the mamma to let Constance experience the natural penalty. Nor, indeed, would she
try it when it was suggested to her. In the world the penalty
of being behind time is the loss of some advantage that would
else have been gained: the train is gone; or the steamboat is
just leaving its moorings; or the best things in the market are
sold; or all the good seats in the concert-room are filled. And
every one, in cases perpetually occurring,. may see that it is
the prospective deprivations entailed by being too late which




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                     571
prevent people from being too late. Is not the inference
obvious?  Should not these prospective deprivations control
the child's conduct also? If Constance is not ready at the appointed time, the natural result is that of being left behind,
and losing her walk. And no one can, we think, doubt that
after having once or twice remained at home while the rest
were enjoying themselves in the fields, and after having felt
that this loss of a much-prized gratification was solely due to
want of promptitude, some amendment would take place. At
any rate, the measure would be more effective than that perpetual scolding which ends only in producing callousness.
Again, when children, with more than usual carelessness,
break or lose the things given to them, the natural penaltythe penalty which makes grown-up persons more careful-is
the consequent inconvenience. The want of the lost or damaged
article, and the cost of supplying its place, are the experiences
by which men and women are disciplined in these matters;
and the experience of children should be as much as possible
assimilated to theirs. We do not refer to that early period at
which toys are pulled to pieces in the process of learning their
physical properties, and at which the results of carelessness
cannot be understood; but to a later period, when the meaning
and advantages of property are perceived. When a boy, old
enough to possess a penknife, uses it so roughly as to snap the
blade, or leaves it in the grass by some hedge-side, where he
was cutting a stick, a thoughtless parent, or some indulgent
relative, will commonly forthwith buy him another; not seeing
that, by doing this, a valuable lesson is lost. In such a case, a
father may properly explain that penknives cost money, and
that to get money requires labor; that he cannot afford to purchase new penknives for one who loses or breaks them; and
that until he sees evidence of greater carefulness he must decline to make good the loss. A parallel discipline may hbe used
as a means of checking extravagance.
These few familiar instances, here chosen because of the
simplicity with which they illustrate our point, will make clear
to every one the distinction between those natural penalties
which we contend are the truly efficient ones, and those artificial penalties which parents commonly substitute for them. —
Herbert Spencer.
37




572              GEMS OF THOUGHT.
WORK AND PLAY.
ILet us go directly to nature for our first lesson in the meaning and mission of work and play. The boy is born into the
world a delicate organism-a soft bundle of brains and nerves,
and bones and muscles, and vessels and limbs, without
will, and without the power of self-support and self-direction.
The first months of his life are passed in a kind of unconscious
consciousness, and nothing higher is expected of him than that
he pull the whiskers of his father, and smile appreciatingly when
his mother talks nonsense to him. Soon he begins to grasp, or
to reach after, the things he sees-a pearl-button, a coffee-pot, a
chllandelier, or a church-steeple; and we feel that great progress
has been made when he can shake his rattle-box three times
and repeat, even if the performance be slightly spasmodic and
irregular. The months pass away, and he stands upon his feet;
and after a brief and delightful tutelage, he waddles about
wherever his impulses lead him. He takes trips of ten feet
upon his father's cane, which not unfrequently proves refractory
and throws him. He frolics with the kittens, Or hugs them to
death. He builds block-houses, and knocks them down. He
excavates convenient sand-banks. He delights, above all things,
in the open air, and runs because he loves to run; but whether
within doors or without, he is always in mischief. From. morning to night his little muscles are in motion; and when compelled, at last, to go to bed, he relinquishes his play with tears.
Year by year, as he grows up through boyhood, the range of
his play is widened. He drives other boys four-in-hand, or
plays at ball, or slides down hill, or runs races, or wrestles, or
goes hunting and fishing.
Now, what makes this boy play? And what does this play
do for him?
He plays because he cannot help it-because in the central,
motive forces of his nature God has written the command to
play. He has no end beyond the gratification of his momentary
and shifting impulses. lie plays because the life within him
exults in action, and delights in expenditure. Tired in one
direction of amusing or pleasant effort, he turns toward another;
and thus, one by one, or group by group, he calls into activity
all the faculties of his mind and all the functions of his body.
He has no object, I repeat, in this constant action and constant
change; but God has. This play is for the symmetrical development of the boy, of all the powers of which he is the possessor;
and no boy without play was ever well-developed, or ever can
be. A boy who does not play, and does not love to play, is not
a healthy boy, mentally, morally, or physically, no matter how
many precious hymns he can repeat, nor how well he can say
his catechism. Play is the Creator's ordained means for the




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                     573
development of the child. I am aware that it drives weakheaded mothers crazy, and aggravates the aggregate of the shoebill, and makes terrific work with trousers; but it makes men,
and, as a general rule, the boy that plays the best, mnakes the
best man.
There is a sad amount of fighting against Heaven in the attempts made by irritable and impatient parents to repress the
playful manifestations of their children.  Carefully and reverently I declare that God impels, nay, compels, the child to
play, and that those who strive to crush the spirit of play in
children for the security of their own ease and comfort, or from
mistaken notions of the nature and the mission of play, oppose
Him as really as when they set themselves against any movemient or policy in Itis moral universe.
Play is a sacred thing, a divine ordinance, for developing in
the child a harmonious and healthy organism, and preparing
that organism for the commencement of the work of life. I
insist upon this. I insist that play is not only an innocent
thing in itself, but that it is an essential portion of the divinely
appointed means for the development of the race into its highest
earthly estate.-J. G. Holland.
TEMPTATIONS OF THE INTELLECTUAL.
EVERY gift of God. has its own special temptations, and intellect has temptations, more like those of Satan than of mankind. Others forget God, ignore God, steal away from Him,
rob Him of their hearts, and give them to the world. But they
do not come face to face with Him. The teml)tation of intellect
is to measure itself against God, to criticise God, to dispute
His Being, to dethrone Him in His creation, to set up His laws
against Himself, to question His Providence, to doubt his Wisdom, to pull to pieces His revelation, to mend it for Him, to
make conditions with Him, on what terms it will acknowledge
Him, to require Him to abdicate His absolute sovereignty, to
set up an idol in His room; to re-create their Creator, instead
of being "re-created by Hiln in Christ Jesus."  And yet withal
they often mean, poor things, nothing less. They have got
loose from the old beliefs in God; they have lost all knowledge
of things supernatural, nay, even of their own eternal existence.
Yet some of them have gifts, which might be used to the great
glory of God, if they would but cease to measure by their own
created Intelligence the Mind of the Uncreated, which conceived
their's, and of which their's is a little spark. These, and especially at the Universities, where intellect has often not yet
taken its side,-either to be willingly beneath God or to be
against Him,-would be a special subject of prayer, that they




574              GEMS OF THOUGHT.
might find their wisdom in the Uncreated Wisdom and their
knowledge from the Omniscient.-Dr. Pusey.
ANGELS OF THE HOUSE.
I know a man. He is not a Christian, His daily life is not in
accordance with even principles of morality. He has three
beautiful, well-behaved children. The other day he told me
this incident of one of them, his little girl, three or four years
old.
Said he-" Perhaps some people would think it sacrilege, but
I don't; but for some time back I have been in the habit of
reading the Bible and of having prayers every night before the
children go to bed. I have done it because it has a good influence on the children, and because I hope it may have a good
influence on myself. Last night I went to'Lodge' (he is a
Mason), and did not get home till after 11 o'clock.  The children, of course, were all abed, and I supposed asleep. Before
going to bed I knelt down by my bed to pray, and had been
there but a moment when I heard Nobie get up from her bed
in the next room, and her little feet came pattering across the
floor toward me. I kept perfectly still, and she came and knelt
down beside me without saying a word. I did not notice her,
and in a moment, speaking just above her breath, she said,' Pa,
pray'oud.' I prayed. I kissed her, aundishe went back to bed;
and I tell you, G —, I have had nothing affect me so for the last
ten years. I have thought of nothing else all dlay long but just
that little-' Pa, pray'oud,' "-Dr. THaven.
WORK AND ACHIEVEMENT
It is in achievement that work throws off all its repulsive
features, and assumes the form and functions of an angel. Before her, like a dissolving scene, the forest fades, with its wild
beasts and its wild men, and under her hand smiling villages
rise among the hills and on the plains, and yellow harvests
spread the fields with gold. The city, with its docks and warehouses, and churches and palaces, springs at her bidding into
being. The trackless ocean mirrors her tireless pinions as she
ransacks the climes for the food of commerce, or flames with
the torches of her steamsped messengers.  She binds states and
marts and capitals together with bars of iron, that thunder with
the ceaseless rush oi life and trade.  She pictures all scenes of
beauty on canvas, and carves all forms of excellence in marble.
Into huge libraries she pours the wealth of countless precious
lives  She erects beautiful and convenient homes for men and




GEMS OF THOUGHT.                     575
women to dwell in, and weaves the fibres which nature prepares
into fabrics for their covering and comfort.  She rears great
civilizations that run like mountain-ranges through the level
centuries, their summits sleeping among the clouds, or still
flaming with the fire that fills them, or looming grandly in the
purple haze of history. Nature furnishes material, and work
fashions it. By the hand of art, work selects, and moulds, and
modifies, and re-combines that which it finds, and gives utterance
and being to those compositions of matter and of thought which
build for man a new world, with special adaptation to his desires,
tastes, and necessities. Man's record upon this wild world is
the record of work, and of work alone.
Work explores the secrets of the universe, and brings back
those contributions which make up the sum of human knowledge.
It counts the ribs of the mountains and feels the pulses of the
sea, and traces the foot-paths of the stars, and calls the animals
of the forest and the birds of the air and the flowers of the field
by name. It summons horses of fire and chariots of fire from
heaven, and makes them the bearers of its thought.  It plunders
the tombs of dead nationalities, and weaves living histories
from the shreds it finds. It seeks out and sets in order the
secrets of the soil, and divides to every plant its food. It
builds and binds into unity great philosophies, along which run
the life and thought of ages. It embalnls the life of nations in
literatures, in whose crypts are scattered seeds of thought that
only need the light to spread into harvests of bread for living
generations.
How wonderful a being is man, when viewed in the light of
his achievements! It is in the record of these that we find the
evidence of his power and the credentials of his glory. Into
the results of work each generation pours its life; and as these
results grow in excellence, with broader forms and richer tints
and nobler meanings, they become the indexes of the world's
progress. We estimate the life of a generation by what it does;
and the results of its work stand out in advance of its successor,
to show it what it can do, and to show it what it must do, to
reach a finer consummation. Thus the results of work become
the most powerful stimulus of the worker.  They inspire emulation; they instruct in mode and style; they feed perennially
the springs of ambition. —J. G. Holland.
CLEANLINESS RE.COMMENDED.
CLEANLINESS may be recommended under the three following
heads: as it is a mark of politeness; as it produces affection;
and as it bears analogy to purity of mind.
First. It is a mark of politeness; for it is universally agreed




576               GEMS OF THOUGHT.
upon, that no one unadorned with this virtue can go into company without giving a manifest offence.  The different nations
of the world are as much distinguished JBy their cleanliness, as
by their arts and sciences. The more advanced in civilization,
the more they consult this part of politeness.
Secondly. Cleanliness may be said to be the foster-mother of
affection.  Beauty commonly produces love, but cleanliness preserves it. Age itself is not unamiable while it is preserved clean,
and unsullied; like a piece of metal constantly kept smooth and
bright, we look on it with more pleasure than on a new vessel
that is cankered with rest.
I mighlt further observe, that as cleanliness renders us agreeable to others, so it makes us easy to ourselves; that it is an
excellent preservative of health; and that several vices destructive both to body and mind, are inconsistent with the habit of it.
In the third place, it bears a great analogy with purity of
mind, and naturally inspires refined sentiments and passions.
We find from experience, that through the prevalence of custom
the most vicious actions lose their horror, by being made familiar
to us. On the contrary, those who live in the neighborhood of
good examples, fly from the first appearance of what is shocking;
andl thus pure and unsullied thoughts are naturally suggested
to the mind by those objects that perpetually encompass us,
when they are beautiful and elegant in their kind.
In the East, where the warmth of the climate makes cleanli..
ness more immediately necessary than in. colder countries, it is
a part of religion; the Jewish law (as well as the Mahometan,
which in some things copies after it) is filled with bathings,
purifications, and other rites of the like nature; and we read
several injunctions of this kind in the book of Deuteronomy.Addison.




I N D EX.
A                          PAG                                                                   PAGE
Alpine Hunter's miraculous Escape..........  32   Bristol Merchant, The............................ 232
A Thrilling Sketch..................................  97   Brutus, Another.....................................  234
Aunt Kindly...............................        85   Balance-Sheet, The Christian's.................  257
American Settlements, a Tale of the Early  118    Birds..................................................... 352
Abby's year in Lowell............................. 126   Bedlamite, The................................. 3...... 80
Astronomers, Eminent...........................   150   Barrow  and Rochester..................                                  38......    38
Anecdotes of the Early Painters................    169    Bread and Babies................................    392
Angelo, Michael..............................     171    Bible, General Lander and The................. 394
Adams, John, supposed  Speech of............ 197   Boat, The Pleasure................................. 396
Arnold and Tallyrand..............................          217   Barnes and the Drunken Deacon..............   419
Anecdote of James Otis............................ 218    Boy that would not let his Sister want......  436
Another Brutus.............................                 234    Borgia, Dying Confession of.................... 444
Arnold and Wordsworth, their Triumph.... 239    Bunyan  in Prison................................  445
Agony of Doubt..................................    249   Bow, two Strings to one....................... 446
Art, Despair Expressed in........................ 270   Baker, The Scotch, in London..................  454
Anecdotes Illustrative of Natural History.. 316    Buller, Judge.................................    462
"       Of the Elephant......................   326   Brothers, The, and  the Snow  Storm......... 462
"           "      Dog.............................. 336   Bolingbroke........................................... 470
About Birds.................................    352   Blair's Extremities..................................    491
Abbe, The, of Calvados............................. 372   Boy, Rescuing a Drowning....................... 493
Anecdote of King  George III...................  365   Buffon and Early Rising..........................   495
Ardent Spirits, Traffic in, a National Evil... 403   Beauty.............................................. 527
All for the Best...................................   426   Briton, Origin of the  Word......................   558
Artist, the Poor....................................  506    Belief, A  Firm  and Religous.....................  561
iEschylus, Brother of...............................  506   Beans?   Did not he say........................... 382
Ardent Spirits, Prudent use of.................. 410   Boatswain, The pious, in a Storm............. 441
Astronomical Discoveries.........................   517    Beauty, all of God................................. 562
Alps, Scenery of.................................... 519
Accomplishments......................          542
Atheism...                 542  Coal and Sunbeams...................                             48
Atheis................................................            Coal and Sunbeams.................................
Atonement, The..................................... 544    Catharine of Russia................................   50
Angels of.the House............................ 574   Compulsory Solitude............................    100
Achievement, Work  and....................... 574                   Copernicus............................................. 150
Ciambue and Giotto................................. 169
B                                    Clay, Henry..................................                 180
Books..................................................1, 539    Cousin  Victor.................................                  183
Battle of Bunker Hill..............................   15   Character of Washington................  187
Blind-Preacher, The...............................  65   Channing, William  Ellery.................. 200
Burning Prairie, The....................   78   Confession of Rosseau............................. 226
Brothers' Quarrel, The...................  82   Cromwell and the Florentine Merchant.                         228
Birch, Harvey, Escape of........................ 109    Courage, True Moral................... 229
Burning of the Richmond Theatre, 1811....  79    Charity, John  Wesley's................  230
Boy, The Kidnapped.....................   114    Contentment....................................467, 533
Bounarotte, Michael Angelo..................... 171    Christian's Life not all Sorrow.................. 538
Baron Rothschild, Curious Stories of....... 182 " Testimony of Several.............  499
Benjamin  Franklin..................................    192 " The  Primitive.................   530
577




5T8                                                   INDEX.
PAGE                                                             PAGE
Christianity, higher Manifestation............ 557 1 Did not He say Deans?............................  382
The True Source of Reform......................  524   Drawing an Inference..............................  889
Children, Obligations of Parents to Educate 568   Dram  Shop, First and Last Visit to a......... 405
" School...................................... 261   Deacon, The Rum  Selling.........................  407
" Unnatural Punishment of.......... 569   Death's Prime Minister............................ 411
Cultivate Good Manners..........................  252   Drink, Something to................................ 413
Consider the Lilies of.the Field................. 271   Distiller, Match for a............................... 414
Church, the Shining................................ 273   Drunkard, The Monkey and The............... 416
Counsellors, True....................................   276                    The, in  Tears..........................   421
Criminal, The Discovered.........................  304   Ducats, The bag of................................... 435
Confession of a Murder in a Dream...........  306   Death, The Infidel's................................  440
Churchill and the Tiger............................ 307   Die, I won't now.....................................    444
Child, a lost, fed by A'Dog........................ 359   Dod's Singular Visit................................ 465
Chauncy, Dr., anecdote of........................  359   Distress, Relief in.................................... 475
Courtship of a Bashful Clergyman............   362   Dying for his Master...............................   481
Cunning Device.......................................     366   Discarded Lover......................................   482
Converting the Scolds..............................   374   Deacon's Two Cents, The......................... 500
Cicero's Retort........................................   377   Damon and Pytias.................................  502
Captain's Request................................... 378   Deity, Goodness of, Displayed in Creation... 519
Cheater Cheated......................................   387   Democracy.............................................     537
Child's prayer for a Drunken Father......... 410   Die, May you, among your kindred........... 540
Clergyman, The Dyspeptic and Wesley......  417   Desires, Inconsistency of IHIuman.............. 548
Crime, The First Step in.......................... 434   Death.......................................                     555
Czar, The, and the Nobleman's Dinner...... 445   Despise no one........................................  557
Cottager, The Honest.............................. 449   Disposition, A, to degrade others............   560
Convert, The Indian................................  460
Cyrus...................................................  495                                 E
Coal Miner, The Dying............................ 496   Extrication of a Frigate from  the Shoals...  90
Charlotte, Princess..................................  500   Explosion of the Steamer Mozelle............   97
Confession, a Remarkable........................ 297   Eminent Astronomers.............................. 150
Congress, losing a.Seat in........................ 508   Eloquence and Humor of Patrick Henry... 215
Censoriousness...................................... 531.Eloquent Speech of Logan, The Chief....... 219
Christ, Glory of...................................... 548   Evils of Mental Precocity......................... 248
Creation, the Voices of............................. 550   Elopement, The Fatal.............................. 305
Compensation......................................... 556   Erskine, Rev. E. and  the Murderer...........     310
Cleanliness recommended........................ 575   Escape of General Washington................. 209
"    from  the Indians.......................... 312
D  from  Buffaloes and a Panther....... 205
Destruction of a Family of the Pilgrims....  68   Elephant Hunt................................. 326
ElL         ephryan  fr  o litbt Hut...................... 826
Death of Pliney the Elder......................... 222330
Disadvantages, Working, Under................. 236,Epitome of War...................................  01
Duration of Life...................................... 241   Evil, How  to overcome............................36
Doubt, the Agony of.............................. 29   Earl of Berley and  the Highwayman......  386
Diary, Keeping  a.................................. 260   Electric Marriage...................................             91
Despair Expressed in Art.             270....Euclid.....       4617
Despair Expressed in Art........................ 270   Euclid...............................................   461
Domestic, a Faithful and Affectionate........ 303   Excommunicating a Prince..................... 467
Eclmuiaing goodince........................ 484
Daughter, a Mlurderous............................  304   Evil, Rewarding good for..484
Dog, Anecdotes of the..............................  336   Exordium, a Thrilling.............................  488
aLost Child fed by a...........................                                                                     497
ccSagacity of....................................  337   Erskine's Deliverances........................... 504
" Sheep Stealing by a......................... 338
French Merchant and  His................ 341 
The, and The Shilling...................... 342   Firmness of Religious Principle..........  28
"   iemarkable Preservation from  Mur-                         Frigate, Extrication of, from  the Shoals.....  90
der by a.................................... 343   Ferguson..............................................159
Dyspesia............................................... 368   Franklin, Benjamin............................. 192




INDEX.                                                             579
PAGE                                                               PAGE
Franklin, first Entrance of, into Phila...... 193   Hill and The Antinomian....................... 360
Franklin, Grand Electric Experiment of.... 194  Henry VIII. and the Abbot of Reading..... 370
Farmer's Brother, Speech of..................... 220   Hall's Opinion of a Sermon....................... 334
Fitzwilliam, Earl, and the honest Farmer.. 233    Handsomely Declined.............................. 390
Facts and Counsels................................    235   Horseman, The Intoxicated.................... 418
Fire on the Prairie.................................. 314   Hill, Rowland, and his Gardener..............  443
Fishing in the  Sargossa Sea..................... 355   Harrison................................        451
Faith of the Collier.................................  379   Husband, How  to  Cure a........................  453
"    Trial of......................................  453   Honest Insolvent, The............................. 453
Father and his Daughter, The.................. 416   Honor, True...........................................                    74
" A  rash........................................    431   Hermit, The....................................     475
Fruits, Plucking the................................ 414   Heaven, I don't want to go to.................. 494
Firmness, Christian.............................                433  ope..................................................... 540
Farmer and the Soldiers........................... 434   Horizon, Effect of a Bright Distance on  a
Frederick the Great and Sergeant Thomas 464                           Dark...................................................   541
4' and his Page........................... 460   Happiness of the Child of God.................. 559
Family, Preservation of a........................ 461   Hallam, Arthur Henry, Death of............ 563
Forbes, Sergeant..................................... 461
Fence, The Partition..............................  469                                           I
Friendship Toward a Robber....................  479 Ice  Under The
Fisherman, The Argyleshire.shire..... 486 
Incident on a Canadian  River..................  88
Faculties of Human Soul......................... 520
Integrity of Washington........................   190
Indian Speeches...............................             219
Indian, The Lone....................................   78
G                                   Indians, Surprise and Destruction of the
Gutridge, Jerry..................................... 118             Pequod.......................................    144
Galileo...................................................   156   Indians, Preaching of Immortality to the.. 551
Giotto......................................... 169   Impolite  Things, A  Score of.................. 256
Gifford, Wm.........................................  177   Idiots, The Intelligence of....................... 263
Genius, Men of..................................... 242   Influence of a Child.................................   66
Go on, sir, go on!.................................... 254    I do not mean that................................. 377
Girls, Yankee........................................   268    Interment, An................................ 382
Good for Evil........................................ 439   Intemperance, Effects of, on  National InGa.rdeners, The Two................................  494             dustry........................................         401
God, The, was Within............................. 495   Italics........................................                     436
Gustavus and  the Peasant Girl................ 496   Infidel's Death, The................................ 440
Glanville, Sergeant.................................   504   Imposter, Remarkable  Detection of........ 476
Geins of Thought....................................    512   Infidel's Dying Daughter, The............... 481
Glory..................................................... 523   Ivy and the Oak, The............................. 547
God, high calling of, in  Christ Jesus......... 549   Influence......................................... 552
" Seen in the Discoveries of the Age.... 558   Intellectual, Temptations of the............... 573
Grandfather's Reverie............................. 564
J
H                                    Jones, Sir Wm........................................    165
Hunters, The Alpine, Miraculous Escape of  32   John Randolph, Death of........................ -225
Humble Happiness, or Splendid Misery.....  38   John Eyre...................................      302
Hoity Toity (Providence)........................  41   Jack Hall and his Serpent Bedfellow......... 320
Honest Lawyer's Fee............................   85   Joke, He does not Misunderstand a.......... 381
Humanity, God, The..............................  105   Jacob's Ladder, New  use for..................... 383
Ho-na-yu-wus, or Farmer's Brother, Speech                          Jesuits................................................... 386
of....................................................... 220   Jew  and His Daughter, The..................... 426
HIume and Whitefield...........................    232   Jackson, General, Anecdote of................. 432
History, Natural...............................   326   Jonathan, Poor...................................   456
Hunting, The Moose................................ 344   Julian, Death  of..................................  472
" Elephant............................... 326   Jesus Christ, Blood of, Cleanseth............ 474
Humorous Selections...................         6....... 359   Journey, The, through the World.............492




580                                                  INDEX.
K                        PAGE                                                            PAGE
Joke, Painful, Effects of a........................ 509   Measure, Short.......................3..........     363
Joys, Earthly........................................ 547   Mountain, Doctor, The...................... 364
Kindly Aunt.......................................... 103   Miser of Marseilles, The.......................... 367
Kiddnapped Boy, The.............................. 114   Miser, The, in the Well............................   370
King Henry and the Poor Citizen............. 378   Monk, The, and the Magpie..................... 379
King and the Soldier.............................. 448   Miracle of the Omelet.............................. 379
King's last Loaf, The............................... 490   Minister, Sending to Heaven for a............. 383
Keeping a Diary...................................  260   Monk, The Spiritual................................  385
Kindness to the Dead......................... 561-  Marlboro' and His Servant......................   388
Marriage, The Electric............................. 391
L                                 Mustered In........................................... 394
Lives and Incidents of Eminent Men.......   150   Mouth, The, and  the Goggles................... 412
Live not to Yourself...............................  11   Men, Vilest of................ 415
@Lawyer-s cc, An Honest...     85 r Moral and Religious Anecdotes.................   424
Lawyer's Fee An Honest.........................  8.
Longfello~w...................18.......................... 6   Morris, Old Father.................................  430
Logan, Eloquent Speech of..... 220                                Money,  I'll take backl my.......................   459
Log,Macloiselle SomElruilt Speechof.............                                                              459
Luther Summoned to Worms.................... 227   Mademoiselle Sombruil...
Life, Duration of.....................................241   Monsieur de Sallo, and The Robber...........   477
Learned, Poverty of the..........................253   Merchant, I-e willnever make a.............. 448
Lilies of the Field..............................  271   Martyr, A  Turkish Female...................... 505
Lost Ats                                               278      Manners, Old English............................. 534
LonMethod............................. I......... 543
Lost in the Mountains............................         280543
L~ th Hmone to.. 3VMorality a...................    551
Lawyers         Patons  Th............................ 3        Mind, Tendency of, to   uturity..............................23
Lord Lenderdenl's Retolrt........................   377532
MosNever Stationa, a......e..o.................   560
Lorenzo Dow  and the Thief.....................  390                   Ne    er St ati            onary                 5
Lander, Gener <al, and the Bible..               394        "   Effects ofLoveand Happiness, on The 545
LandTer, Geinerl, and the Bible................. 39              an....................................................... 552
Lady, The, In  Gray Silk.......................                M 395
Louis XV.............................................. 447
Lady, The Drowning.............................. 450                                        N
Losing but Liberal...................................................................      56
Lover, A  Discarded..................... 482   Nightingale, Florence............................ 237
Luther, Beneficence of............................ 486   Narrowness of Specialties.......................   267
Links and the Murderer.........................          501   Narrow  Escape fro   Executio..............  293
Life an  Allegory.................                      526   Nobleman Reproved by his Servant......... 389
Liberty........................................        536   Novels, how  Wriitten...............................   391
Luther and the Friars.............................   551   Names, Right..........................                      412
Live for Something.............................  552   Napoleon's Opinion of Christ........1....... 441
Name above Every Name............                      442..........442
M                                 Night Piece, A  City.................................. 525
Moral Tales and Sketches........................    1
Men, Great, The Tools they Work with....... 10
Misery, Splendid..........................              38   Otis, James, Anecdote of................... 218
Mozelle, Explosion of the Steamer.......,....   97   Old Cook, The Miser............................... 373
Michael Angelo.......................... 171
Murray's Habits ofStudy.......................  25                                           P
Men of Genius........................ 242   Preacher, The Blind............6..................  65
Mental Precocity, Evils of...................    248   Pilgrims, Destruction of a Family of.........  68
Manners, Cultivate Good......................... 252   Perfection, I have seen an End of7all........  74
Monument, The Noblest...................  275   Perilous Incident on a Canadian River......  88
Murderer, The Presumptuous.................. 285   Pequocl  Indians, Surprise and  Destruction
"      discovered by a Joke............... 307             of..................................................  144
"    detected by his own remark..................... 311  Patrick Henry, Eloquence and Humor of 215
"i     and his singular wound, The..... 311   Pliny, The Elder, Death of...................... 222
Murdered Son, The............................. 300   Poverty of the Learned........2................   253
Moose, Hunting  the................................. 344   Prudential Talent....................                     294




I NDEX.                                                               581
PAGE                                                                 PAGE
Preservation from   Fire, Wesley's.............. 298   Repartee, Serious................................ 488
" Robbers......................... 299   Religion, Power of..                                                           489
Pearl Diver and  the Shark....................... 308                      "      and  Suicide.............................   560
Panther's Den, The................................ 333                    Rose, The.....................................          546
Parrot, The Slanderous.......;.................. 360    Request, Inconsiderate........................                          481
Perseverance of the Saints....................... 364    Rejoinder, An  apt..................................  494
Pope and  the Ambassadors, The...............   377    Resignation........................                                        507
Preaching on the Times...........................  34a    Resignation to Appointment of God..........   551
Pleasure Boat, The..................................  396   Reform  Thyself.................................     553
Patriot of'76, A.....................................  404   Resolution.............................................. 554
Prosperity, Cold Water and...................... 409   Rubicon, Passing  The.............................. 556
Prodigal  Son.........................................  414
Patriot's  Resolution, A............................ 417
Pledge, I-Iow  to  Keep the.........................  420
Party, The Sunday................................    428    Sketches and Moral Tales........................                         1
Pytheus.................                                     438    Sea and  its Dangers.................................  25
Purgatory, Districts in............................ 458    Splendid Misery, or Hunm ble Happiness......   38
Providence, Trust in................................ 472    Sunbeams, and Coal................................. 48
Peasant, The heroic................................. 487    Sir Wmn. Jones....................................... 165
"      an honest................................. 498    Supposed  Speech of John Adamls.............. 197
Prayer, A, without Submission................. 510   Speeches, Indian..................................... 219
Prudence........................................             538    Study, Dr. Murray's     Habits of.................    235
Politeness.............................................. 539    Sowing    wild Oats..................................  250
Providence............................................. 554    Santa Claus, About................................. 255
Pilgrims of the May Flower..................... 555    School Children......................................                     261
Pedigree, Standing upon.......................... 559    Seven  Reasons for abstaining from  IntoxiPrayer, without Devotion........................ 561                    cating Drinks.............................. 267
Parents,  Obligation  of, to  Educate  their                          Specialties, Narrowness of...................... 267
Children.............................................     568    Success, The talents of............................ 272
Punishment of Children, Unnatural..........  569    Saved from  Drowning.............................. 309
Sketches and Anecdotes illustrative of NatQ                                        sural History.................................           316
Serpent, Stories of.................................. 320
Quarrel, The Brothers'.............................   82
South American  Adventures...................    324
Quak er, The Bankrupt............................   492
The, and the  Privateer........43                       Sagacity of the Elephant......................... 332
" The, and the Privateer................               493
Shark and the Pearl Diver....................... 308
Sea Fowling Adventure..........................             348
KR                                   Sargossa  Sea, Fishing in the..................... 355
Religious Principle, Firmness of............... 28   Slanderous Parrot.................................. 360
Rothschilds, Some Curious Stories of......... 182   Short Men sure........................................                         363
Randolph, John, Death of........................ 225   Senior Wrangler.............................                               380
Readers and  Writers............................... 248   Shingling a House................................... 412
Resentment of the Elephant.................... 329   Smith, the Razor Strap Man..................     418
Rector, The, and the Poor Boy.................. 378   Sign, A  Tavern....................................... 428
Retort, Keen.......................................... 385   Sabbath, Benefits of............................... 487
Rheumatism......................................            386   Sunday, Working  brings on..................... 438
Rogue, A  penitent................................... 387    Successful, Retort................................... 442
Relics at Aix La Chapelle........................ 388   Scott, General, Anecdote of................... 447
Rumselling  Deacon.....................;........ 407   Sidney, Sir Philip.................................... 462
Rum  Color...............................       413    Sickness..............................           272
Rums eller's  Dream...........................               422    Shepherd of Salisbury Plain, The............. 468
Religious Training, Advantages of........... 432   Sailor, and the Bible, the Shipwrecked...... 470
Rebuke, A  Merited................................ 448   Stretching it..........................................  473
Recruit, A  Young................................. 457    Soldier, The Grateful.............................  478
Robber, Saved  from  a, by Rain................. 465    Scott and the Duelist............................... 480
Restitution.............................................     466   Sharp, Archbishop, and the Highwayman.. 485
Remorse and Suicide................. 483   Saddle-Bag, The, in the wrong Boat.......... 488




582                                                   INDEX.
PAGE                                                            PAGE
Student's Trick, The..............................    491   Volcano, What a, can do......................... 357
Servant, a Heroic.............................        499   Ventriloquist, Anecdote of a..................... 371
Suicide prevented.................................... 507   Vilest of Men, The................................. 415
Star of Bethlehem..............................    514   Vessel Saved by a Dolphin..................... 506
Soul, Perpetual Progress of its Perfection... 521   Virtue, Public................................     528
Scholar, Where he should Live.................  522   Vanity of Earthly things...................... 553
Sounds, Color....................................... 529
Sorrow  for the Dead................................. 535
Sympathy..............................................   538   Wallace James....................................... 132
Scholar, Vacatiof of the, Eternal............  562   Widow's Son, The................................... 138
Scripture, Interpretation of..................... 565   Washington, Integrity of........................ 190
Success, Literary, Difficulty the Condition of 567                      "       Character of....................... 187
William  Ellery Channing........................ 200
William  Tell.................................... 202
T  Wesley's Charity...........................     230
Tools, The Great Men work with...............  10   Whitefield's Preaching........................... 231
Tempest, The......................................  13   Wilmont, Sir Edward.............................  484
Toity, Hoity..................................         41   Work and Play....................................... 572
Twins, The.....................................        76   Work and Achievement.......................... 574
Theatre, Burning of the Richmond...........  79   Wordsworth and Arnold.........................  239
Tallyrand and Arnold.............................. 217   Working under Disadvantages................ 236
True Moral Courage..............................  229   Wesley, John, Dream  of.......................... 240
Triumph of Arnold and Wordsworth......... 239   Work without Weariness.........................  243
The great Mountains...............................   245   Widow  of Pine Cottage........................... 284
The Christian's Balance Sheet.................. 257   Wesley's preservation from  the Fire.........  298
The Voyage down the Dark  River............ 258   Washington, Escape of............................ 299
The Intelligence of Idiots........................ 263   Whale, Capture of a................................ 316
Temperance, Testimony in favor of........... 265   What a Volcano can do............................ 357
The Talent of Success............................ 272   War, Epitome of.................................... 361
The Noblest Monument...........................  275   Water, Two pails of................................. 365
The Shining Church and the Shining Life.. 273   William  Ladd and his Neighbor................  375
True Counsellors....................................     276   Whitefield and Elections....................... 382
The Widow  of Pine Cottage..................... 284   Where you ought to have been............ 390
The Headless Nail................................ 292   Woman, The mysterious.......................... 408
The Eagle and Child............................ 296   Walk, The four Mile...........................   415
The Sergeant and the Drummer Boy......... 301   War, A  good reason for not going to.......... 442
The wise Coachman................................ 363   Washington's regard for his Mother........... 463
Tarrying at Jericho................................ 389   Wesley's Simplicity...........................   470
Temperance  Selections............................  396   Washington at the Communion............... 471
Temperance Cordial, The real.................. 398   Wife, A  Submissive............................  482
Temperance Ship, A................................ 403   Williams, Admiral..............................   483
Turning it...................................           418   Wilson, Dr............................................  501
Teetotaler, There goes a........................... 419   Woman, A  grateful.............................     501
Transubstantiation, The doctrine of........... 430   War, The reward of..................I......... 502
Tamerlane and Bajazet............................ 449   Work for the Day before Death................ 507
Text, The Bullet and the........................ 451   World was made with a benevolent design,
Trees?   Why do you plant...................... 466              The..................................    512
Temptation.......................................   573   Work.......................................      541
Wisdom,'No, without Thought................. 552
U                                 Woman, Influence of............................. 553
Under the Ice....................................    32.....
Unfashionable Bow, The.......................... 379                                       Y
Youth..............................................1....    1
V                                 Yourself, Live not to........................  11
Victor Cousin......................................     183   Yankee Girls.................................    268
Voyage down the dark River, The............ 258   Youth, A  Penitent............................... 471




INDEX OF AUTHORS.
Adams, J., 218.                               Jameson, Mrs., 566.
Arrago, 254.                                  Knowles, 556.
Ames, F., 187.                                Longfellow, 272, 522.
Addison J., 553, 575.                         Luther, Martin, 551.
Arrowsmith, 547.                              Lipscomb, 558.
Augusti, 530.                                 Leighton, 557.
Bancroft, George, 200.                        Macaulay, 536, 537.
Baker, 534.                                    Martineaw, Miss, 545, 563.
Bascom, Bishop, 557.                          May, Caroline, 556.
Bacon, Lord, 542.                             Macduff, J. R., 276.
Barbauld, Mrs., 548.                          Mason, John, 531.
Beecher, Lyman, 401, 405, 410.                Macmillan, Hugh, 48.
Beecher, H. W., 352.                          Mill, J. S., 568.
Bishop, 561.                                  More, Hannah, 542.
Brown, Dr., 539.                               licCrea, Daniel, 268.
Bunyan, John, 561.                            Naville, Ernest, 105.
Bulwer, E. Lytton, 248, 267.                  Newman, J. P., 271.
Camden, Charles, 41.                          Olin, Stephen, 273.
Chapin, E. H., 524.                           Parson, Country, 236.
Chalmers, Thos., 552.                         Paley, 512.
Carlyle, Thos., 541.                          Parker, Theodore, 1 3, 564.
Charnock, 554.                                Percival, 526.
Clay, Henry, 528.                             Peat, J. Brookwell, 25, 538, 550.
Cicero, 569.                                  Phillips, Wendell, 278.
Child, L. Maria, 255.                         Porteus, 520, 521, 523.
Cooper, J. Fenimore, 15, 90, 109, 816.        Prentice, G. D., 13, 73.
Coleridge, S. T., 538, 551, 565.              Punshon, Winm. Morley, 243.
Colton, C. C., 294.                           Pusey, Dr., 573.
Davy, Sir H., 561.                            Robertson, F. W., 239, 240, 270.
Degerando, 543.                               Rueskin, 245, 541.
D'Israeli, 253, 558.                           Stanley, Dean, 240, 258.
Dwight, T., 519.                               Stanton, Mrs., 392.
DeQuincy, 560.                                 Serle, Ambrose, 548.
Democritous, 567.                              Sedgwick, Miss, 68,144.
Edgeworth, Miss, 532.                          Sigourney, Mrs., 74, 546.
Everett, 555.                                  Shinn, Asa, 559.
Emerson, Rt. W., 527.                          Smiles, 10.
Edwards, Tyron, 554.                           Spencer, Herbert, 569.
Francis, Miss, 78.                             Stern, 551.
Finley, J. B., 280.                            Stone, Mrs., 138.
Fichte, J. G., 562.                            Souvestre, Enile, 1, 100, 275.
Gardiner, 529.                                Stockton, T. H., 549.
Gracy, J. T., 355.                            Stuber, 193.
Greenwood, 540.                               Taylor, Jeremy, 272.
Goldsmith, 519, 525.                          Tuckerman, 538.
Hart, J. 8., 235, 252.                        Thomson, Bishop, 38.
Hall, Dr., 261.                               Todd, J., 11.
Ilarrison, T., 539, 553, 560.                 Timothy, Uncle, 562.
Haven, Dr., 5744.                             Von Knebel, 540.
IIall, Newman, 266.                           Whately, 241.
HIeadley, 514.                                Wayland, Francis, 523.
Holland, J. G., 572, 574.                     Walton, Isaac, 533.
Irving, W., 535, 546.                         Webster, Daniel, 197.
Jefferson, Thos., 219.                        Weston, E. P., 265.
Johnson, Dr., 544, 552.                       Wirt, Wm., 65, 215, 517.
583