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THE t 
 
 BOY'S BOO. 
 
 CONSISTING OF ORIGINAL ARTICLES 
 
 IN 
 
 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 BY 
 MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 God keep and strengthen thee from sin. 
 
 God crown thy life with peace and joy, 
 And give thee grace to enter in 
 
 The City of His rest,— my boy." 
 
 MARY HOWITT 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 TURNER, HUGHES, & HAYDEIV, 
 
 NO. 10 JOHN ST. 
 RALEIGH, N. C.-TURNER & HUGHES. 
 
 1843. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 rJurden.... 147 
 
 The Prisoner's Question 149 
 
 The Farmer 151 
 
 Agriculture . 156 
 
 Birds in Autumn 157 
 
 The Indian King 159 
 
 The Prayer on Bunker's Hill 165 
 
 Jotham's Parable 167 
 
 Dr. Herman Boerhaave 170 
 
 Evening Thought .. 175 
 
 The Death of the Righteous 176 
 
 J)r. Benjamin Franklin , 177 
 
 The Longest Day 187 
 
 Children bringing Water from a Spring 188 
 
 Hon. Roger Sherman 189 
 
 David's Elegy on Jonathan 194 
 
 The Sea Boy 196 
 
 Rev. John Frederick Oberlin 198 
 
 First Winter Morning 309 
 
 On the Admission of Michigan into the Union, 211 
 
 The Storm at Sea 213 
 
 Hon. Stephen Van Rensselaer 215 
 
 New- Year's Morning 224 
 
 The Chair of Uncas 225 
 
 The Crop of Acorns 227 
 
 The Doves 229 
 
 The War-Spirit 232 
 
 The Charter Oak 233 
 
 Peath of an Aged Man 235 
 
 The Doom of Uzziah 238 
 
 The Orphan ... 240 
 
 The Old Man 243 
 
 Close of Life 246 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Exciting stories, have, during our own times, en- 
 tered widely into the literature for unfolding minds. 
 Yet, among reflecting parents and teachers, who feel 
 that a right education is peculiarly the safe-guard of 
 our country, there is an increasing demand for works 
 founded on solidity of principle, and which present 
 knowledge, and morality, without the disguise oi 
 fiction. 
 
 In compliance with this demand, the present vol- 
 ume has been prepared, containing lessons of re- 
 publican simplicity, — of the value of time, — of the re- 
 wards of virtue, of the duties of this life, as they 
 take hold on the happiness of the next. These ob- 
 jects have been kept in view, in the composition 
 both of its prose and poetry, and throughout the va- 
 ried forms of narrative, biography, and didactic es- 
 say. 
 
 Though adapted by the nature of its plan, and di- 
 vision, as a reading-book for schools, it does not 
 limit itself to the sphere of an assistant, in the art 
 of Elocution. The writer hopes that it may sometimes 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 be a companion of the child, who, loving truth for 
 its own sake, voluntarily devotes a part of his lei- 
 sure, to what is useful, and sits in the long winter 
 evenings, reading aloud to his mother, by the quiet 
 fireside. 
 
 Sons of my people, — this book has been con- 
 structed for you, carefully, and with pleasure. May 
 it bear on its pages, a blessing to you, who now, un- 
 der the discipline of education, will so soon emerge 
 from its tutelage, to take the places of the fathers. 
 Then, may you stand forth, amid the green vales, 
 and broad prairies of our native land, like the olive, 
 cheering and enriching those around, — like the oak, 
 transmitting its honours to a future age — like the 
 blessed tree, * whose leaves are for the healing of 
 the nations." 
 
 L. H. S. 
 
 Hartford Conn. 
 March 1st, 1842. 
 
THE 
 
 BOY'S BOOK- 
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 There has never been a period, in the history of 
 the world, when knowledge was so highly prized, as 
 in the present age. Neither has there ever been a 
 country, where it was so universally diffused, as in 
 our own. Some degree of it, is surely within the 
 reach of every person. 
 
 Have you ever thought much of the evils of igno- 
 rance 1 Have you observed how narrow and preju- 
 diced the uneducated mind becomes 1 — how credu- 
 lous and superstitious 1 — how prone to mistakes, 
 with regard to the nature of duty, and the nature of 
 happiness 7 
 
 The poor Burman's highest idea of happiness, is 
 to be turned into a buffalo, and lie down in a field 
 »f high grass, where there are no musquetoes to an- 
 noy. "We want nothing but healthy bodies, and 
 plenty of seals to eat," said the Greenlanders to the 
 first missionaries who sought them out. Ignorance 
 
8 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 i 
 
 augments the value of the things of sense, and sub- 
 stitutes low appetites for the pleasures of intellect. 
 
 A right education is not merely the reading of 
 many books, but the ability of making knowledge 
 useful to ourselves, and others. It is not simply to 
 acquire influence over our fellow-creatures, but to 
 make that influence subservient to moral excellence 
 and piety. 
 
 To have a knowledge of our duties to mankind, 
 and not perform them, is injustice ; to endeavour to 
 discharge them to mankind, and not to God, is im- 
 piety. So that a good education, comprises right 
 motives, as well as good conduct. 
 
 Some minds have found such delight in knowledge 
 that they have conquered many obstacles, and en- 
 dured great hardships, to obtain it. They have 
 never felt that they paid more than it was worth. 
 Let us select a few such instances ; for a philosopher 
 has truly said, that we " yield to facts, when we re- 
 sist speculation." 
 
 Professor Heyne, a German, was so fond of clas- 
 sical studies, that he pursued them for more than 
 thirty years, while struggling with the deepest pov- 
 erty. His father was a weaver, with a large family, 
 and so poor as often to be in want of comfortable 
 food. 
 
 Heyne made great exertions to support himself 
 at the University, which he entered with only a few 
 shillings in his pocket, and so anxious was he not to 
 waste his time, that he seldom allowed himself to 
 sleep more than two whole nights in the week. 
 
 His love of learning sustained him in cheerfulness, 
 amid the most painful exertions. When his merit 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 9 
 
 became known, he was rewarded by being made 
 Professor of Eloquence in the university of Gottin- 
 gen. This honour he retained for many years, and 
 was distinguished both by his lectures and publica- 
 tions. 
 
 Castalio, who translated the Bible into Latin, was 
 the son of poor peasants, and reared by them, in the 
 midst of privations, among the mountains of Dau- 
 phiny. Avaigo, an Italian poet, of the sixteenth 
 century, though working with his father, at the trade 
 of a blacksmith, till he was eighteen years old, 
 found means to cultivate his genius, and to obtain 
 learning. 
 
 The celebrated Ben. Jonson, was a brick-layer 
 and mason. While he worked with his trowel, he 
 carried a book in his pocket, and the labour of his 
 hands did not hinder the improvement of his mind. 
 " Let not those blush, said the historian Fuller, who 
 have, but those who have not a lawful calling, by 
 which to earn their bread." 
 
 Thomas Simpson, an able English scholar, Pro- 
 fessor of Mathematics and Fellow of the Royal So- 
 ciety, was the son of a weaver. His father, who took 
 him into his shop, when a boy, and tried to repress 
 his fondness for reading, at length forbade him 
 even to open a book, and insisted upon his confining 
 himself the whole day to the loom. 
 
 But Thomas Simpson could not give up his love 
 of knowledge. So his father accused him of obstina- 
 cy, and turned him out of his house. He maintain- 
 ed himself for a while, in a neighbouring town, by 
 working at his trade, and thought himself very hap- 
 
10 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 py, to be able to devote a few spare moments to a 
 book whenever he could borrow one. 
 
 He was young when he went to London, and en- 
 tered that great city, an entire stranger and without 
 a single letter of recommendation. Neither had he ; 
 any thing of value, about his person, but a manu- 
 script of his own, on Fluxions. This was pro- 
 nounced superior to any other treatise on that sub- 
 ject in the English language, and his proficiency in 
 science, gained him high reputation and respect. 
 
 William Hutton, was the son of a wool-comber, in 
 Derby, England. "More than once, he says, my 
 poor mother, with an infant on her knee, and others 
 hanging about her, has fasted a whole day, and 
 when food, at last came, divided her share among 
 them." 
 
 From his seventh, to his fourteenth year, he work- 
 ed diligently in a silk-mill, and was then bound ap- 
 prentice to a stocking- weaver. Under all these dis- 
 couragements, he cherished the love and pursuit of 
 knowledge. He became at length, a respected 
 member of the Antiquarian Society, and author of 
 the History of Birmingham, and other publications. 
 
 Edmund Stone, was born in Scotland, more than 
 a hundred years since. His father was gardener, to 
 the duke of Argyle. One day, this nobleman found 
 on the grass, a volume of " Newton's Principia," in 
 Latin, and was much astonished to find that any of 
 his labourers could read it. 
 
 Being told that it belonged to his gardener's son, a 
 youth of eighteen, he said, " how came you to a 
 knowledge of these things'!" Edmund replied, "a ! 
 servant taught me to read, ten years ago. Does one 1 
 
 r 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 11 
 
 need any thing more, than the twenty-six letters, in 
 order to learn every thing else that he wishes?" 
 
 Then the Duke, still more surprised, sat down on 
 a bank, and received from young Edmund the fol- 
 lowing account. " When the masons were at work 
 upon your house, I first learned to read. I observed 
 that the architect used a rule, and compasses, and 
 made calculations. 
 
 "I inquired what was the meaning and use of such 
 things, and was informed that there was a science 
 called arithmetic. I learned it. Then, I was told 
 there was another science, called Geometry. I 
 procured the necessary books, and learned Geome- 
 try. 
 
 "By reading, I found there were good books, on 
 both these sciences, in Latin. I bought a dictionary 
 and learned Latin. Then I understood, that there 
 were good books of the same kind, in French. I 
 bought a dictionary, and learned French. 
 
 "It seems to me, that when we know the twenty- 
 six letters of the alphabet, we may learn what we 
 please." Edmund Stone, was afterwards well 
 known as an author, and published a number of 
 mathematical works. 
 
 In our own country, are many instances of those 
 who have resolutely sought knowledge, amid diffi- 
 culties and obstacles, and while earning a support, 
 by the labour of their hands. Governor Everett, in 
 an eloquent speech on the subject of education, 
 communicated a remarkable letter from Mr. Elihu, 
 Burritt, a blacksmith, of which the following is an 
 extract. 
 
 "I was the youngest of many brethren, and my 
 
12 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 parents were poor. My means of education were 
 limited to a district school. These again were cir- 
 cumscribed by my father's death, which deprived 
 me, at the age of fifteen, of the scanty opportunities 
 which I had previously enjoyed. 
 
 " A few months after his decease, I apprenticed 
 myself to a blacksmith, in my native village. 
 Thither I carried a taste for reading, which I had 
 previously acquired through the medium of a so- 
 ciety library : all the historical works in which, I 
 had at that time perused. 
 
 ' At the expiration of a little more than half my 
 apprenticeship, I conceived the idea of studying 
 Latin. Through the assistance of an elder brother 
 who had obtained a collegiate education by his own 
 exertions, I completed Virgil during the evenings of 
 one winter. 
 
 " After devoting some time to Cicero, and a few 
 other Latin authors, I commenced Greek. It was 
 now necessary, that I should devote every hour of 
 day-light, and a part of the evening, to the duties of 
 my apprenticeship. 
 
 " Still, I carried my Greek grammar in my hat, 
 and often found a moment, while heating some large 
 iron, when I could place my book before me, against 
 the chimney of my forge, and go through with the con- 
 jugation of a verb unperceived by my fellow-ap- 
 prentices. 
 
 "At evening, I sat down unassisted and alone, to 
 the Iliad of Homer, twenty books of which, 
 measured my progress, in that language, during the 
 winter. I next turned to the modern languages, and 
 was much gratified to find, that my knowledge of 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 13 
 
 Latin furnished a key to the literature of most of 
 the languages of Europe. 
 
 " This circumstance gave a new impulse to the 
 desire of acquainting myself with the philosophy, de- 
 rivation, and affinity of the different European 
 tongues. I could not be reconciled to limit myself 
 to a few hours, after the arduous labours of the 
 day. 
 
 " I therefore, laid down my hammer, and went to 
 New-Haven, where I recited to native teachers in 
 French, Spanish, German, and Italian. I returned 
 at the expiration of two years to the forge, bringing 
 with me such books in those languages as I could 
 procure. 
 
 " When I had read these books through, I com- 
 menced the Hebrew with an awakening desire of 
 examining another field ; and by assiduous applica- 
 tion I was enabled in a few weeks to read this lan- 
 guage with such facility that I allotted it to myself 
 as a task, to read two chapters in the Hebrew Bible 
 before breakfast each morning ; this and an hour at 
 noon, being all the time that I could devote to myself 
 during the day. 
 
 " After becoming somewhat familiar with this lan- 
 guage, I looked around me for the means of initiating 
 myself in the rich fields of oriental literature, and 
 to my deep regret and concern, I found my progress 
 in this direction hedged up, by the want of requisite 
 books. 
 
 "I immediately began to devise means of obvi- 
 ating this obstacle ; and, after many plans, I con- 
 cluded to seek a place as a sailor on board some 
 ship bound to Europe, thinking in this way to have 
 2 
 
14 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 opportunities of collecting at different ports, such 
 works in the modern and oriental languages as I 
 found necessary for this object. 
 
 "I left the forge and my native place, to carry 
 this plan into execution. I travelled on foot to Bos- 
 ton, a distance of more than a hundred miles, to find 
 some vessel bound to Europe. In this I was disap- 
 pointed, and while revolving in my mind what steps 
 to take, accidentally heard of the American Anti- 
 quarian Society in Worcester. 
 
 " I immediately bent my steps towards this place. 
 I visited the hall of the American Antiquarian So- 
 ciety, and found here to my infinite gratification, such 
 a collection of ancient, modern, and oriental languages 
 as I never before conceived to be collected in one place, 
 and, upon evincing a desire to examine some of 
 these rich and rare works, I was kindly invited to 
 an unlimited participation in all the benefits of this 
 noble institution. 
 
 " Availing myself of the kindness of the directors, 
 I spent about three hours daily at the hall, which, 
 with an hour at noon, and about three in the even- 
 ing, made up the portion of the day which I appro- 
 priated to my studies, the rest being occupied in ar- 
 duous, manual labour. Through the facilities af- 
 forded by this institution, I have been able to add 
 so much to my previous acquaintance with the an- 
 cient, modern, and oriental languages, as to be able to 
 read upwards of fifty of them, with more or less fa- 
 cility," 
 
 Is there not something like sublimity, in the per- 
 severance by which knowledge is acquired, amid 
 difficulty and discouragement? It surely must give 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 15 
 
 great delight, to be able to uphold the mind under such 
 severe exertions, as have been exhibited, in the va- 
 rious examples, of which we read and hear. 
 
 The possession of knowledge, should lead the 
 young to adopt high and noble motives of action. 
 The ancient republic of Sparta, had an interesting 
 custom, which was calculated to produce such a re- 
 sult. 
 
 On a certain day, the inhabitants formed a pro- 
 cession, divided into three companies, the old, the 
 middle-aged, and the young. Before the festive 
 sports, and exercises commenced, the hoary-headed 
 men, sent from their ranks, a speaker, who said, 
 
 " We have been, in days of old, 
 Wise, generous, brave and bold." 
 
 Those, in the prime of life, then put forth their 
 orator, who addressing the aged fathers of the peo- 
 ple, replied, 
 
 " That, which in days of yore, ye were, 
 We, at the present moment, are." 
 
 Lastly, from the blooming troop, a boy advanced 
 and expressed in a clear, audible tone, the spirited 
 resolution 
 
 " Hereafter, at our country's call, 
 We promise to surpass you all." 
 
 Dear sons of my country, her pride, and her hope, 
 catch the spirit of this Spartan promise. If you 
 cannot surpass the great and the good, who have 
 gone before you, study their excellences, walk in 
 
16 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 their footsteps, and God give you grace to fill their 
 places well, when they are mouldering in the dust. 
 
 Remember that knowledge of the right kind leads 
 to humility. The fully ripened ear of wheat, bends 
 downward. It is the little blade, that holds itself 
 up so pertly. It is the shallow brook that, makes 
 the loudest babbling among the pebbles. 
 
 True learning and goodness bow the soul in ado- 
 ration, before a Being of perfect wisdom. The 
 higher you ascend in knowledge, said a philosopher, 
 the wilder is the region you see beyond you ; — Alps 
 upon Alps, which no human intellect has surmount- 
 ed. 
 
 Let me address to you the words of Alcuin, who 
 wrote in England, more than a thousand years ago : 
 " Oh ye, who enjoy the youthful age, so fitted for 
 your lessons, — Learn ! — Be docile ! — Acquire the 
 conduct and manners so beautiful in the young. 
 
 " Let your early days be adorned with the study 
 of the virtues, that your age may shine in honour. 
 For remember, that the passing hour, like the re- 
 ceding wave, never returns again." 
 
 THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 
 
 Once, in travelling, I saw a very old building. It 
 appeared to be falling into ruins. No smoke issued 
 from its broken chimney. No foot crossed its grass- 
 grown threshold. The casements were gone, and 
 
THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 17 
 
 through their vacant places, the winds whistled, and 
 the rains fell. 
 
 I asked, " what is this building, which is thus suf- 
 fered to decay 3" They answered, "a school-house. 
 But a part of its materials have been used to build 
 a better one, in a more convenient spot, for the vil- 
 lage children." 
 
 So I paused there, a little time, to meditate. And 
 I said to myself, what a variety of scenes may have 
 past, within these tottering walls. Where are the 
 teachers, who in years gone by, sat in the chair of 
 state, and ruled, and gave instruction 1 
 
 In yonder corner, perhaps, was a low bench, for 
 the little ones conning their alphabet. Those little 
 ones have grown up, — grown gray, — and died. The 
 babes whom they rocked in the cradle, have shown 
 the same tenderness to their own babes. "One 
 generation passeth away and another cometh." 
 
 Beneath those windows, where that trim old syca- 
 more looked in, with all its show of green leaves, 
 waving and gossiping in the breeze of summer, I 
 imagine a row of young girls, with their sunny 
 locks, knitting, sewing, or listening with serious 
 faces, while the mistress taught them what it was ne- 
 cessary for them to know, when they became wo- 
 men. 
 
 The snows of winter seem to spread around. The 
 frozen pond in the rear of the school-house, is cov- 
 ered with boys. The clock strikes nine. They 
 hasten to their school. The narrow entry rings 
 with the jingle of their skates, as they throw them 
 down. One or two, who love play better than study, 
 approach with more lingering steps. 
 2* 
 
18 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 Methinks, I see their ruddy faces, as they take 
 their seats. The master raises a stern eye at their 
 clamour, or stifled laughter, and commands them to 
 write their copies, or attend to their sums. But the 
 treatise of arithmetic is thumbed, and the grammar 
 lesson curled into dog's ears, by those whose roving 
 thoughts are among their winter sports. 
 
 Then there was the long sigh of indolence, and 
 the tears of such as were punished. And there was 
 impatience there, and ambition, and hope, and the 
 kindlings of intellect, and the delights of knowledge. 
 The master endeavours to rule each for their 
 good, as the wise magistrate restrains the people by 
 laws. 
 
 I fancy that I behold that teacher walking home- 
 ward, weary and thoughtful when the day was done. 
 He felt sadness for those who did not improve, and 
 over those who did, he rejoiced with a peculiar love. 
 
 Perhaps, he repeated mournfully the words of the 
 prophet, " I have laboured in vain, I have spent my 
 strength for naught." And a voice from heaven, an- 
 swered in his heart, " Yet surely thy judgment is 
 with the Lord, and thy work with thy God." 
 
 Old school-house! — couldst thou speak, I doubt 
 not thou wouldest tell me, that eminent men have 
 been nurtured in thee ; ingenious mechanics, on 
 whom the comfort of the community depends ; ath- 
 letic farmers, laying the forest low, and forcing earth 
 to yield her increase ; physicians whom the sick suf- 
 ferer blesses: eloquent lawyers, wise statesmen, 
 holy priests, who interpret the word of the Al- 
 mighty. 
 
 I wish that the school-houses in our country, were 
 
THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 19 
 
 more commodious and tasteful in their construction 
 more spacious, and airy, surrounded with trees, or 
 beautified with shrubbery. When some of the boys, 
 who read this book, become men, perhaps they will 
 build such a school-house, and present it to the 
 children of their town. 
 
 But it is not so important in what kind of a build- 
 ing we go to school, as what we learn, and how we 
 behave while we are there. Very good things have 
 been learned, in poor, and rude edifices. 
 
 There was once, a benevolent man, who went in 
 a ship, to the great island, or continent of New-Hol- 
 land. He found multitudes of children, growing up 
 neglected and ignorant. He wished much to have 
 them taught But there was no school-house. 
 
 So he collected them under a spreading tree, 
 whose branches could shelter at least one hundred, 
 from the heat of the sun. He hung cards, with 
 painted lessons among the boughs. And there, he 
 taught the poor colonists, to read, to spell, and to 
 sing. 
 
 There are very beautiful birds in that country. 
 Many of them had nests in this large tree. So, 
 there they were, flying about, and tending their 
 young, while the children were learning below; and 
 the chirping of the new-fledged birds, and the war- 
 bling of their parents, and the busy voices of the 
 children, learning to be good, made sweet music in 
 the heart of that benevolent man. Did they not as- 
 cend, and mingle with the praises of angels, around 
 the throne 1 
 
20 the boy's heading-book. 
 
 TAKING FOOD. 
 
 One of the strongest, and earliest impulses of ani- 
 mal nature, is to seek and receive food. The 
 chicken, as soon as it bursts its shell, partakes the 
 aliment provided for it, or follows in the footsteps 
 of its mother, to share in what she may find. The 
 unfledged birds open their mouths wide, to take the 
 morsel, brought them by the parent. 
 
 Hunger is a sensation, appointed by our Creator, 
 to warn us of the necessity of taking that nourish- 
 ment, by which life is sustained. He has given us 
 a relish for food, not that we may indulge in low ap- 
 petite, but that we may remember, periodically, to 
 support in vigour, the body which he has so won- 
 derfully formed. 
 
 Changes are wrought, and a great work goes on 
 within us, whenever we take even so little, as a piece 
 of bread. The teeth are busy with it. The glands, in 
 the neighbourhood of the mouth, pour out moisture, 
 to aid in its preparation. The tongue exerts itself 
 from tip to base, to press it into the oesophagus j 
 and the oesophagus contracts, to deliver it to the 
 stomach. 
 
 It arrives in that curious laboratory, — a new sup- 
 ply. The pylorus, or lower gate of the stomach, 
 closes, that it may not escape, before the proper 
 forces are brought to act upon it. The circulation 
 is quickened, and a great portion of the blood, 
 leaves the surface and extremities, and concentrates 
 
TAKING FOOD. 21 
 
 in the neighbourhood. Thither also, the nervous en- 
 ergy repairs, to render its aid, in the process. 
 
 The new mass of food, after coming in contact 
 with the gastric juices, assumes the consistence of a 
 soft poultice, and is called chyme. Again, being 
 subjected to the action of other powers, it is convert- 
 ed into chyle, a thin, milky substance. Then the ab- 
 sorbent vessels, or lacteals, open their mouths, and 
 by the most acute philosophy, receive only the nu- 
 tritious particles, and reject the rest. 
 
 After passing through these millions of strainers, 
 it is still further refined, in a set of glands, adapted 
 to that purpose, ere it is poured into the veins. 
 Even then, another process awaits it. It must pass 
 through the lungs, and be purified, by meeting the 
 air, before it is fit to be mingled with the arterial 
 blood, and distributed throughout the whole system. 
 
 What astonishing, and complicated machinery, is 
 brought to bear, upon every article of food that we 
 receive. By an action, which the most subtle chem- 
 istry cannot explain, or the most powerful solvent 
 imitate, it is reduced to elements, of which science 
 has no perfect cognizance and made ready for its 
 several claimants. 
 
 In about four hours, from the time of its reception, 
 it mingles with the full tide of the veins, and goes to 
 visit the remotest parts of this wonderful temple 
 which God has made. If the body is in health, every 
 part of it, has its share, in the piece of bread, of 
 which we have spoken. Not a single hair is defraud- 
 ed of its portion of this added wealth. 
 
 Through the invisible pores of the skin some of it 
 escapes, in dampness, like a sigh. The whole sys- 
 
22 the boy's book. 
 
 tern rejoices over its replenished treasury. Can we 
 think of the wonderful work going on within us, and 
 not praise the Almighty Architect? or forget to 
 pray that whether " we eat or drink, or whatsoever 
 we do, we may do all to his glory V 
 
 We should be careful not to injure the exquisite 
 machinery, thus divinely established, either by ex- 
 cess in food, or taking that which is of an injurious 
 quality. The mechanism of the stomach should be 
 respected. Five, or six hours, are considered a cor- 
 rect interval, for it to complete one set of opera- 
 tions, to rest, and to be ready for another. 
 
 When about to perfect its work, if it is interrupt- 
 ed, — if new and crude matter, or intermediate re- 
 pasts of fruit and cake, are pressed into it, like a 
 labourer, perplexed by extra and contradictory 
 tasks, it will be overwearied, and the great object 
 left partially, or poorly accomplished. 
 
 It is ungrateful to disarrange the mechanism, 
 which does so much for us. It is dangerous to per- 
 sist in offending the stomach, for it revenges itself 
 through the nerves. They are its fast friends, — al- 
 ways at its command, and able to inflict varied, and 
 terrible pain. 
 
 Proper food, and drink, taken at proper periods, 
 easily assimilate with the stomach, when the organs 
 of digestion are in health. But alcoholic drinks, for 
 you know alcohol is a poison, are not like other 
 fluids, regularly digested. 
 
 These hurtful stimulants act strongly on the coats 
 of the stomach, and then break through the absorb- 
 ents, into the circulation, with a mutinous force, 
 making every part of the body feel the effect. Dis- 
 
TAKING FOOD. 23 
 
 sections, and chemical analysis, have detected alco- 
 hol lurking in the ventricles of the brain, and the 
 breath of the miserable, intemperate man, proves 
 that his lungs are saturated with it. 
 
 What a sin it is to injure, by any voluntary im- 
 prudence, the delicate and beautiful economy of this 
 mortal frame. Intemperance in drinking, produces 
 innumerable ills and sins, and in a moral and re- 
 ligious community, is stamped with the abhorrence 
 that it merits. Gluttonous eating, is a contemptible 
 habit, unworthy of an immortal mind, and the 
 cause of many diseases. 
 
 An instructor was once explaining to an intelligent 
 little deaf and dumb girl, some historical facts; and 
 among the rest, that the death of Henry the First, of 
 England, was occasioned by a surfeit on lamprey- 
 eels. " Was he foolish V she asked, in her language 
 of gesture. "He was a great king, and a wise 
 man," was the answer. 
 
 "A wise man, and eat too much !" she exclaimed 
 with amazement. " No, no ; though you call him 
 a; great king, he must certainly have been a fool." 
 fier quick, discriminating mind, taught her, that, 
 notwithstanding his regal fame, he literally " died, 
 as the fool dieth." 
 
 The time spent at meals, in every family, is of im- 
 portance. Assembled round the table, more than a 
 thousand times a year, to partake of the bounties of 
 providence, an opportunity is given for the cul- 
 tivation of good manners, good feelings, and grate- 
 ful remembrance of Him, who " giveth us all things 
 richly to enjoy." 
 
 The ancient Spartans, though not favoured with 
 
24 the boy's book. 
 
 that knowledge, or those motives of action which 
 ennoble Christians, considered their stated repasts 
 as seasons for impressing useful lessons. There the 
 young were required to keep silence, and listen re- 
 verently to the words of their superiors in age. 
 
 At the public tables, many precepts for the direc- 
 tion of life were inculcated. Among the rest, the 
 boys who were admitted there, were taught to keep 
 a secret. They were not permitted to repeat, in 
 other places, the conversation which they there 
 heard. As they entered to take their seats, a man 
 pointing to the door, said with solemnity, " nothing 
 that is spoken here, goes out there." 
 
 Better lessons than were known to the Spartans, it 
 is in our power both to learn and to teach. And yet 
 not to report the familiar conversation of the table 
 and the fireside, is often a necessary injunction to 
 the young ; as trouble among domestics, and even 
 misunderstanding between friends, have sometimes 
 arisen from no higher source. 
 
 Correct deportment at table, is of consequence to 
 every young person. They should consult the ac- 
 commodation of those around them, and the comfort 
 of guests, in preference to their own. In travelling, 
 a well-bred person is readily known, by his man- 
 ners at the table. A disposition to complain of de- 
 ficiencies, or a habit of conversing much about dif- 
 ferent articles of food, or varieties of cookery, 
 should be avoided. 
 
 It is not well to devote too much thought to 
 "what we shall eat, or what we shall drink ;" or to 
 permit the gratification of the palate to enter into 
 our estimate of happiness. Zeno, with his simple 
 
TAKING FOOD. 25 
 
 diet of bread, figs, and honey, kept his spirits cheer- 
 ful, and his mind clear for the pursuits of philosophy 
 to the age of more than ninety years. 
 
 We should be temperate in eating and drinking 
 for the sake of the repose of quiet sleep. Both the 
 quantity and quality of what we receive into the 
 stomach, is of consequence. Frightful dreams 
 come more frequently from indigestion, than from 
 any other cause. 
 
 Rich, high-seasoned dishes, and all stimulating 
 drinks, should be avoided by the young. Neither, is 
 it well, to form the habit of taking food between 
 regular meals, or before retiring. This imposes ex- 
 tra labour upon the stomach, which has sufficient 
 employment to convert the stated repasts, into 
 heathful nutriment. 
 
 " I was induced to eat a piece of rich cake, and 
 to drink a glass of wine, just before retiring to bed, 
 said a friend. So I spent most of the night, in 
 climbing sharp cliffs, and hanging over black, deep 
 waters, or fighting monsters with eyes of fire. I 
 tried to call for help, but could utter no sound, — to 
 fly, but my limbs were powerless. Then I knew it 
 was the cake and wine oppressing the stomach, and 
 the stomach revenging its wrongs on me, in the 
 shape of dreams." 
 
 It is desirable to have a free circulation of pure 
 air, in your sleeping apartment, — not to be over- 
 burdened with bed-clothes, — to take an unconstrain- 
 ed position, with the face entirely uncovered, — and 
 to wash, before retiring ; that no particle of dust, or 
 retained perspiration, may obstruct the pores of the 
 skin, in their important functions. 
 3 
 
26 the boy's book. 
 
 Another rule to be observed in order to procure 
 pleasant dreams, is to go to rest, with a cheerful, 
 amiable disposition, and a heart at peace with all 
 mankind. Examine the actions of the day? and for 
 whatever has been done or omitted that conscience 
 regrets, ask in penitent prayer, the forgiveness of 
 your Heavenly Father, and commend yourselves to 
 his protection, and the ministry of holy angels. 
 
 Food taken in gladness and praise is salutary to 
 the system. It does good, like a medicine. Let us 
 ever be sensible of the mercy of our Heavenly Father, 
 in preparing such a wonderful apparatus for its recep- 
 tion, and in so connecting that reception with pleasure 
 that it should neither be neglected, or forgotten. 
 
 Let every repast be preceded by an invocation 
 of the heart to God for his blessing, that it may min- 
 ister to health, vigour, and a sound mind, and that all 
 may be used in his service, for the good of others, 
 and for our own eternal happiness. And while in 
 cheerfulness, and with gratitude, we comply with his 
 appointment to nourish this curious and wonderful 
 form of clay, let us never forget that we should, " eat 
 to live, — but not live to eaL" 
 
 TREATMENT OF ANIMALS. 
 
 A grateful disposition, should teach us to be 
 kind to the domestic animals. They add much to 
 our comfort. How should we bear the winter's cold 
 
TREATMENT TO ANIMALS. 27 
 
 were it not for the coat of wool, which the sheep 
 shares with us 1 How would journeys be performed, 
 or the mail be carried, or the affairs of government 
 be conducted, without the aid of the horse ] 
 
 Did you ever think how much the comfort of fami- 
 lies, depends upon the cow? Make a list of articles 
 for the table, or for the sick, to which milk is indis- 
 pensable. Perhaps you will be surprised to find 
 how numerous they are. 
 
 When the first settlers of New England, came to 
 Plymouth, in the winter of 1620, four years elapsedy- 
 before any cows were brought them. During all 
 this time, their bread was made of pounded corn,, 
 and they had not a drop of milk for the weaned in- 
 fant, or the sickly child, or to make any little delica- 
 cy for the invalid. 
 
 There was great rejoicing in the colony, when a 
 ship arrived, bringing a few, small heifers. Re- 
 member how patiently our good ancestors endured 
 their many hardships ; and when you freely use the 
 milk of which they were so long deprived, be kind 
 to the peaceable, orderly quadruped, from whom it 
 is obtained. 
 
 Domestic animals, are sensible of kindness, and 
 improved by it. They are made happier and more 
 gentle, by being caressed and spoken to, with a 
 pleasant voice. Food, shelter, needful rest, and 
 good treatment, are surely due to them, for their 
 many services to man. 
 
 The Arab treats his horse, like his child, and the 
 noble animal loves him, and strains every nerve to 
 do his bidding. I have seen a horse, when wearied 
 with heat, and travel, erect his head, and show evi- 
 
28 the boy's book. 
 
 dent signs of pleasure, and renew his labours, with 
 fresh zeal, if his master patted his neck, and whis- 
 pered with a kind voice into his ear. 
 
 It is delightful to see the young show a protecting 
 kindness, to such harmless creatures, as are often 
 harshly treated. It seems difficult to say why th& 
 toad is so generally singled out for strong dislike. 
 Is it only because Nature has not given it beauty 1 
 Surely, its habits are innocent, and its temper gentle. 
 
 The scientific gardeners of Europe, encourage 
 toads to live in their gardens, and about their green- 
 houses. They find them useful assistants in guard- 
 ing their precious plants from insects. So, they 
 wisely make them allies, instead of torturing and 
 destroying them. 
 
 A benevolent English gentleman, once took pains, 
 to reclaim a toad from its timid habits. It improved 
 by his attentions. It grew to a very large size, and 
 at his approach, came regularly from its hole, to 
 meet him, and receive its food. 
 
 Ladies, who visited the garden, sometimes desired 
 to see this singular favourite. It was even brought 
 to the table, and permitted to have a desert of insects, 
 which it partook, without being embarrassed by the 
 presence of company. 
 
 It lived to be forty years old. What age it might 
 have attained, had it met with no accident, it would 
 be difficult to say. For it was in perfect health, 
 when wounded by a fierce raven, as it one day was 
 coming from its house, under the steps of the door, 
 which fronted the garden. 
 
 The poor creature languished awhile, and then 
 died, and the benevolent man who had so long pro- 
 
TREATMENT TO ANIMALS. 29 
 
 tected it, took pleasure in relating its history, and in 
 remembering that he had made its life happy. 
 
 Cruelty to animals, is disgraceful, and sinful. If 
 I see even a young child, pull off the wings of an 
 insect, or take pains to set his foot upon a worm, I 
 know that he has not been well-instructed, or else 
 that there is something wrong and wicked in his 
 heart. 
 
 The Emperor Domitian loved to kill flies, and at 
 last became a monster of cruelty. Benedict Arnold, 
 the traitor, when he was a boy, liked to give pain 
 to every thing, over which he could get power. 
 
 He destroyed bird's nests, and cut the little un- 
 fledged ones in pieces, before the eyes of their ago- 
 nized-parents. Cats and dogs, the quiet cow, and 
 the faithful horse, he delighted to hurt and distress. 
 
 I do not like to repeat his cruel deeds. He was 
 told that they were wrong. An excellent lady with 
 whom he lived, used to warn and reprove him. But 
 he did not reform. For his heart was hard, and he 
 did not heed the commands of God. 
 
 He grew up without good principles. He became 
 a soldier, and had command in the army. But he 
 laid a plan to betray his country, and sell it into the 
 hands of the enemy. 
 
 His wickedness was discovered, and he fled. He 
 never dared to return to his native land,' but lived 
 despised, and died in misery. We know not how 
 much of the sin which disgraced his character, sprang 
 out of his hardness of heart, and cruelty to animals. 
 
 Many of the inferior creation, display virtues 
 which are deserving of respect. How many re- 
 markable instances have we heard, of the sagacity 
 3* 
 
30 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 of the elephant, and the grateful attachment, and 
 fidelity of the dog. 
 
 A shepherd., who lived at the foot of the Grampian 
 mountains, one day, in going to look after his flock, 
 took with him his little boy of four years old. 
 Some of his sheep had strayed. In pursuing them, 
 he was obliged to climb rocks, so steep, that the 
 child could not follow. 
 
 The shepherd charged the child to remain where 
 he left him, until he should return. But while he 
 was gone, one of those thick fogs arose, which in 
 that part of Scotland are not uncommon. With 
 difficulty he groped his way back again. But the 
 child was gone. 
 
 All his search was vain. There was sorrow that 
 night, in the lowly cottage of his parents. The next 
 day, the neighbours joined, and continued their pur- 
 suit, for several days, and nights. But in vain. 
 
 "Is my dog lost tool" said the father, as he one 
 day entered his dwelling, and sat down in weariness 
 and despair. " He has come here daily, said his little 
 daughter, while you and mother, have been search- 
 ing for poor Donald. I have given him a piece of 
 cake, which he has taken, and run hastily away." 
 
 The household bread, of the poor, in Scotland, is 
 made of oatmeal, and being not baked in loaves, 
 but rolled out thin, is often called cake. While 
 they were speaking, the dog rushed in, and leaped 
 upon his master, whining earnestly. 
 
 An oatmeal cake was given him. He appeared hun- 
 gry but eat only a small portion of it. The remainder 
 he took in his mouth, and ran away. The shepherd 
 followed him. It was with difficulty, that he kept 
 
TREATMENT TO ANIMALS. 31 
 
 his track, fording a swift streamlet, and descending 
 into a terrible ravine. 
 
 Then he entered a cave. And what was his joy 
 to see there his little, lost son. He was eating heart- 
 ily the bread which the dog had brought him, while 
 he, standing by, and wagging his tail, looked up in 
 his face with delight, as he took the food, which he 
 nobly denied himself. 
 
 It seems that the dog was with the child, when in 
 the dimness of the mist, he wandered away. He 
 must have aided him to pass the deep waters that 
 crossed his path. And when he found shelter in 
 that rude cavern, and mourned for his parents, the 
 faithful dog guarded him like a father, and fed him 
 with a mother's tenderness. 
 
 How can we foil to treat with kindness, a race of 
 animals, who are capable of such virtues. Others, 
 who are less celebrated, often show traits of charac- 
 ter, which are worthy of imitation. Let us hear the 
 opinion of the poet CoWper, on this interesting sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " We too might learn, if not too proud to stoop, 
 To animal instructors, many a good 
 And useful quality, and virtue too, 
 Rarely exemplified among ourselves. 
 Fidelity, that neither bribe, nor threat 
 Can move, or warp, and gratitude for small 
 And trivial favours, lasting as the life, 
 And glistening even from the dying eye." 
 
 Birds give us an. example of tender affection. 
 There is no warfare in their nests. The little bro- 
 thers and sisters dwell together in harmony, till they 
 
32 the boy's book. 
 
 are able to stretch out the newly-plumed wing, and 
 quit the care of the parent. Say they not to us, as 
 they sing among the branches, " live in love f" 
 
 The innocent dove, is cited as a model in the book 
 of God. "Be ye harmless as doves," said our Sa- 
 viour, to his disciples. The stork spreads out its 
 broad pinions, and bears its aged parents, on their 
 journey through the air. It feeds and cherishes them 
 with the same care, that it received in its own help- 
 less infancy. Shall we not learn from it, a lesson of 
 filial piety? 
 
 Once a robin, in returning to her nest, was shot 
 dead. The mate mourned bitterly for her loss, but 
 took her place upon the nest. There he brooded, 
 until the young came forth from the egg, and then 
 he sought food, and fed them like a mother, until 
 they were able to fly away. 
 
 Often while he was performing her duties, and al- 
 ways at the close of day, his plaintive note was 
 heard, lamenting his lost love. Ah ! who could be 
 so wicked as to destroy the nest, or the eggs, or the 
 young, of those affectionate creatures. Our Father 
 in Heaven, " taketh care of sparrows, and feedeth 
 the young ravens that cry." 
 
 THE GOOD BROTHER. 
 
 "I have just been to the funeral of poor Mrs. 
 Howard, said Mrs. Ashley, to her family, as they 
 
THE GOOD BROTHER. 33 
 
 gathered around the tea-table. Her death was very 
 sudden. She dropped down, in a kind of fit, with- 
 out any previous sickness. But I do not think she 
 has ever been well, since her husband was lost at 
 sea, more than a year ago. 
 
 "You cannot think how affecting it was, to see 
 her two children, walking behind the corpse, and no 
 near relation with them, and then the kindness of 
 Edward, to his little sister Julia. I have always 
 heard that he was a remarkably good boy, but his at- 
 tentions to her, were most touching. 
 
 "It seemed as if his heart was so divided between 
 care of her, and grief for the dead, that he did not 
 think of himself at all. When they stood by the 
 grave, of their only parent, and looked down into it 
 so lone, and desolate, there was not a dry eye among 
 the people. 
 
 "The little girl cried so, that she could hardly 
 stand, and her brother tried to support her, as if he 
 was a man. And when the frozen clods falling 
 upon the coffin-lid, made every heart quake, he bent 
 over her as if he hoped to keep the sound from her ; 
 and when all was over, and they turned away, he 
 wrapped her short, thin cloak close over her, and 
 put his arm round her so tenderly, that every one 
 was moved." 
 
 "Dear mother, what will become of those poor 
 children ?" asked Mary Ashley. " I think, my dear, 
 that when the uncle and aunt return home, they will 
 take one or both of them, though their own family is 
 large. It makes it worse for the orphans, that they 
 live so far from neighbours, but we must go out 
 
34 the boy's book. 
 
 there, in the morning, and see what we can do for 
 their comfort" 
 
 When Edward and his sister came home from the 
 funeral, he observed that she shivered, and hastened 
 to make a fire, and drew her chair near to it " Sis- 
 ter, are you warm 1 Dear Julia, speak to me." But 
 the ague was violent, and her teeth chattered, so 
 that she could not articulate. 
 
 A good woman, who came out from the village, 
 made her some warm herb-tea, and put her in bed, 
 but was obliged to go home in the evening, to her 
 own children. So Edward lighted his little lamp, and 
 shaded it from his sister's eyes, and sat down to 
 watch by her side. 
 
 Though he was exceedingly weary, he dared not 
 trust himself to sleep, lest she should need some- 
 thing, for her face was red with fever, and she kept 
 continually asking for drink. He felt as if his heart 
 would break, when sometimes after he had moisten- 
 ed her parched lips, she would cry out as if in a bro- 
 ken dream, "oh mother ! mother !" 
 
 When the morning dawned, she seemed to be in a 
 more quiet sleep, and closing the door behind him 
 gently, he ran to the village, for the physician. 
 " Oh sir, my sister is sick. I am afraid she will die. 
 Please to come down to her. I have no money now. 
 But, sir, I will work and pay you. I will more than 
 pay you, when I get to be a man." 
 
 " How old are you, my good boy ! H " I am almost 
 thirteen, sir, and my sister is ten. There are but 
 two of us. Our mother was buried yesterday, and 
 father died at sea. If Julia should die, I know not 
 what would become of me." 
 
THE GOOD BROTHER. dO 
 
 The kind physician's heart was touched. " Wait, 
 said he, and I will carry you along in my chaise, 
 for it is nearly two miles, and you will be tired to 
 walk back." But Edward said, "Please to excuse 
 me, that I cannot stay. My sister is all alone. I 
 will run and tell her, that you will come soon. May 
 I do so, sir V 
 
 He reached home, almost before she had missed 
 him. "Sweet sister, said he, the good doctor is 
 coming to see you. I think he will make you well. 
 And now, see what a nice fire I shall make for you. 
 I picked up these shavings, and little bits of pine, as 
 I passed by the carpenter's shop in the village, to 
 kindle with. 
 
 "There. How quick it is blazing. Look, Julia, 
 look. And now, I will heat some water, and make 
 some gruel for your breakfast. I know exactly how 
 mother made it, and you used to say how good it 
 tasted." 
 
 But the child moaned, and said she could take no- 
 thing. When the physician came, he pronounced 
 her to have a fever, and left some medicines, which 
 he was so kind as to bring for her. He encouraged 
 Edward, that she might soon be better, and at those 
 cheering words, the poor boy could not refrain from 
 bursting into tears, and followed him out to the 
 chaise, thanking him with all his heart. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley and her daughter, called to see the 
 orphans, and finding how sick Julia was, sent com- 
 forts to her, and food for her brother, and one of 
 their neighbours came to watch, that Edward might 
 get some rest. But whenever he heard his sister 
 mourning in her pain, he was by her side, and if she 
 
3b THE boy's book. 
 
 objected to the bitter medicine, he would say, " do 
 dear sister, take it for my sake," until he prevailed. 
 
 During her sickness, Julia was often irritable, but 
 Edward's patience never failed. He always spoke 
 to her in the kindest tones, and if she gave any 
 trouble to the neighbours who came in to nurse her 
 would say, " pray, forgive her. She is but a child, 
 and weak, and her heart is grieved, because mother 
 is dead." 
 
 At length, the brother of Mrs. Howard, and his 
 wife, returned home. They decided to receive Ju- 
 lia into their family, and she was removed there on 
 her bed. It was thought best that Edward should be 
 apprenticed to a joiner, in the village, and so thank- 
 ful was he, that his sister was recovering, and had 
 found a refuge with her relatives, that he scarcely 
 remembered his own lot must be among strangers. 
 
 Being taken at an earlier age than was usual with 
 mechanics, and much the youngest in a large num- 
 ber of apprentices and journeymen, he was expect- 
 ed to be the waiter of all. Yet whatever hardship 
 befell him, he was patient and gentle-tempered. 
 ! His greatest pleasure was to visit his sister. Sun- 
 Say was his only day of leisure, and he was very 
 punctual in attendance at church ; but he was 
 thankful to be invited to take tea at his uncle's, for he 
 had then the satisfaction of spending several hours 
 with her. 
 
 As years passed on, he found in some of those in- 
 terviews, that she was quite disposed to complain. 
 Her aunt required too much work of her, or her little 
 cousins troubled her. But especially the children 
 at school, did not treat her as she desired. " I dare 
 
THE GOOD BROTHER. 37 
 
 say this comes, she would add, from my not being 
 dressed any better." 
 
 "Dear sister, he would reply, I think you have 
 comfortable clothes, and if they are not whole and 
 neat, that must be your own fault, since you know 
 well, how to wash and mend. You must consider, 
 what a great favour it is, that uncle and aunt should 
 thus stand in the place of parents. For how many 
 orphans like us, suffer for want of food and raiment. 
 
 " If you are not quite as well dressed, as those 
 around you, just put on a pleasanter face, and sweet- 
 er manners than they, to make up the difference. 
 These are things that the poor can have, as well as 
 the rich. They cost no money, but they bring what 
 money will not always buy ; good-will, and love from 
 those we associate with." 
 
 " Edward, I declare you are equal to our old min- 
 ister, for preaching. I hear preaching enough at 
 home. When I see you, I should like to be enter- 
 tained." "Is there any better entertainment than 
 good counsel, dear sister ! 
 
 " But it is time for me to go, as the bell will ring 
 for nine, before I get home." And as he bade her 
 good night, and kissed her, he whispered in her ear, 
 " keep this text in your heart, to remember me by, 
 till we meet again, " I have learned, in whatsoever 
 state lam, therewith to be content." 
 
 As Edward advanced in the knowledge of his busi- 
 ness, a yearly allowance was made him, for his 
 clothing ; and he was delighted to economize, that he 
 might have it in his power, to show his love for his 
 sister, by some appropriate gift This was often in 
 the form of an useful and instructive book. 
 4 
 
On her sixteenth birth-day, he brought her a beau- 
 tiful Bible, in which many passages were marked 
 with his pencil, bespeaking her particular attention. 
 For he thought it the duty of a good brother, to seek 
 the welfare of his sister, not only in this life, but in 
 that which is to come. 
 
 Often did he urge her, in the most affectionate 
 terms, to strive for the consolations of true religion, 
 and trust in an Almighty Protector. "I wish I 
 could but live with you, Edward, she would reply. 
 Then, I have no doubt, I should be always good." 
 
 This wish was nearer its accomplishment, than 
 she had anticipated. Such was Edward's good con- 
 duct, and knowledge of business, that, at the age of 
 twenty-one, his master proposed to take him as a 
 partner ; and as there had been long a mutual at- 
 tachment, between him, and his daughter, he con- 
 sented to their union, and the marriage soon took 
 place. 
 
 It was an unspeakable pleasure to Edward, to re- 
 ceive his sister to his comfortable, and neatly-fur- 
 nished home, and to perceive that she, and his amia- 
 ble young wife, cherished an affection for each other. 
 " Our fire-side is yours, Julia," he said. " But, re- 
 member," he playfully added, " your promise, to be 
 always good if you lived with me. I shall hold you to 
 it. For your improvement and happiness are as dear 
 to me, as my own." 
 
 Her brother's example, — the devotion of his pray- 
 ers, at the family-altar, — his affectionate, consistent 
 deportment, — his desire to do good to all, and the se- 
 renity of his temper, amid the little perplexities of 
 life, awakened a desire to imitate him, and to obtain 
 
THE GOOD BROTHER. 39 
 
 that piety, which he mentioned as the source of his 
 peace and hope. 
 
 Constant effort, and prayer for divine aid, wrought 
 a change in her character. Her irritable disposi- 
 tion seemed to have passed away. To her uncle 
 and aunt, whose care, while with them, she had 
 never fully appreciated, and whose strictness, she 
 too often misunderstood, she now studied to give 
 proofs of her attachment and gratitude. 
 
 When any remarked, how visibly her better quali- 
 ties were unfolding, she meekly replied, " My good 
 brother is my teacher." But he answered, " I think 
 she is taught by the good Spirit of our God." 
 
 Years of happiness were the portion of the good 
 brother, and his family. Little ones rose up around 
 his table like olive-plants, and of these, aunt Julia 
 made herself the instructor and friend. It was her 
 ambition to be assured that next to the father and 
 mother, she was the object of their love. 
 
 But her constitution, which had been always deli- 
 cate, showed symptoms of early decay. Her flesh 
 wasted, and a hollow cough alarmed her affectionate 
 relatives. The good physician who had attended 
 her in her desolate childhood, visited her daily. 
 
 Soon the red hectic sat upon her cheek, and it 
 was but too evident, that the deadly consumption 
 had made her its victim. Edward procured a light 
 carriage, and on every fine summer's day, took her 
 to ride among the scenery that she loved. 
 
 As he was seen driving slowly, and carefully, lest 
 the wheels passing over a stone, might agitate the 
 wasted invalid, or bending down to hear some re- 
 mark made in her faint, broken tones, pitying neigh- 
 
40 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 bours and friends, would bless his untiring sympa- 
 thy, and say, that the ministry of the good brother 
 was almost over upon earth. 
 
 It was during these excursions, so sweet, and 
 mournful, that the failing one, poured into her bro- 
 ther's ear, the fulness of her love and trust in her 
 Redeemer. The thought of parting with her, lost its 
 bitterness, when he heard her say that death came 
 as a friend. 
 
 "Life is lovely," she added, with her faint voice. 
 "You have made it so. But heaven is brighter. 
 And you first pointed me there. If God permit, I 
 will be near you, when I have angel's wings. I will 
 bear you up in my hands, lest you dash your foot 
 against a stone." 
 
 When the last hour came, he supported her in his 
 arms. She tenderly embraced his wife, thanking 
 her for her love, and kissed the little children with 
 her cold, white lips. 
 
 Leaning her head on the shoulder of him who sus- 
 tained her, she gasped long and painfully, ere she 
 could say, " brother, dear brother, farewell. You 
 have been father and mother to me. You led me 
 to the Saviour. Lord, I come ! I come !" 
 
 The pangs of death shook her sore. " Pray ! 
 Pray ! once more for me," she entreated. And her 
 brother, kneeling by the bed, prayed that her pas- 
 sage through the dark valley, might be made easy, 
 
 Then the lips of the dying, moved as if in prayer, 
 and a light of joy came over her face. Those who 
 bent over the pillow, heard the name of " Great 
 Redeemer." But her last whisper was " brotlier, good 
 brother" And her spirit ascended. 
 
GRATITUDE TO TEACHERS. 41 
 
 GRATITUDE TO TEACHERS. 
 
 Thank every person, who confers on you an ob- 
 ligation. Remember all acts of kindness. Cultivate 
 a grateful disposition. To forget favours, or treat 
 with indifference those who have shown them to you 
 are great faults. Even savages despise ingratitude. 
 
 Some have rendered you services that you can 
 never hope to repay. Your parents have, and every 
 day adds to the debt. Other persons have given you 
 gifts, which you are not able to return. Treasure 
 these in your memory, and ask God to requite them. 
 
 Number among your benefactors, those who have 
 given you good advice. But especially, place in the 
 highest rank, those who have laboured to instruct 
 you. For as knowledge is one of the most precious 
 gifts, your teachers are among your best benefactors. 
 
 Be attentive to their precepts, and docile to their 
 commands. After you are removed from their im- 
 mediate care, speak of them with grateful remem- 
 brance. Wherever you meet them, show them a 
 marked respect. "Esteem them very highly in 
 love, for their work's sake." 
 
 Never lay up in your mind, any unpleasant cir- 
 cumstances which may have occured at school. 
 Take only the sweet kernel of the nut, and throw 
 the rough husk away. It is one characteristic of a 
 good boy to love his teachers, and be beloved by 
 them. And he who continues through life, to treat 
 4* 
 
42 the boy's book. 
 
 them with regard, proves that he prizes wisdom, and 
 is capable of gratitude. 
 
 Think of the value of knowledge, and never 
 trouble your teachers to urge, or drive you to acquire 
 it. It is a source of high pleasure. A well-furnish- 
 ed mind is never at a loss for amusement. It need 
 never suffer from loneliness, or in the words of a 
 poet, " feel it solitude to be alone." 
 
 There was a learned man, whose name was Mr. 
 Roger Ascham. He lived in England, about three 
 centuries ago. He was tutor to the Lady Jane Grey, 
 and was once both surprised and pleased, to find 
 her engaged in study, while the rest of the family 
 were pursuing a favourite amusement in the park. 
 
 Though she was quite young, it was the Philoso- 
 phy of Plato, in Greek, which she had chosen to 
 read. "Why do you not join the gay party?" said 
 he. " Because I find more enjoyment in my book, 
 than in those sports," she replied. She had di - 
 covered that there was pleasure in knowledge. 
 
 Knowledge can give the same happiness now, that 
 it gave three hundred years since, to Lady Jane 
 Grey. It does not change with time. Love to read, 
 and to meditate, and to converse about what you 
 learn, and you will hardly fail to think of your 
 teachers with gratitude. 
 
 Knowledge gives the power of being extensively 
 useful. Those must therefore, labour to obtain it, 
 who wish to do good in the world. Our country can 
 show many examples of those who have risen to 
 eminent stations, by the efforts of their own minds. 
 They are called self-made men, and are an honour to 
 its history. 
 
GRATITUDE TO TEACHERS. 43 
 
 Dr. Franklin, assisted his father in making can- 
 dles, and was afterwards a printer's boy. But he 
 found time to read, for he was a lover of knowl- 
 edge. When he grew up, he became a philos- 
 opher, a statesman, an ambassador at the courts of 
 Europe. 
 
 He founded libraries for the poor, and sought to 
 spread knowledge among the people. He made dis- 
 coveries in science, which will cause his name long 
 to be remembered. He is numbered among the 
 benefactors of mankind. 
 
 Was it the possession of wealth, or the aid of 
 powerful friends, that made Franklin so great 1 No. 
 It was simply the love of knowledge, and the good 
 sense to make a right use of it : — that very knowl- 
 edge which your teachers are trying to give you, 
 and for which you are bound to show them grati- 
 tude. 
 
 Make it a rule not to go to bed at night, without 
 having learned something, which you did not know 
 in the morning. Try that the knowledge which you 
 acquire, may add to the comfort of your parents, 
 brothers, sisters, and friends, and make you useful 
 when you grow to be a man. 
 
 Ask your Heavenly Father, every morning and 
 night, for a heart to obey your teachers, and to get 
 knowledge, not for the pride of it, but as a means 
 of doing good. If you continue to do this for a year 
 you will find such pleasure in the habit, that I 
 should hope it would be unnecessary any longer to 
 urge you to love knowledge, or its teachers, because 
 you would continue to do so, of your own accord. 
 
 Alexander the Great, always showed gratitude to 
 
44 the boy's book. 
 
 his instructor, Aristotle. He said, " if I am indebted 
 to Philip, for living, I am indebted to Aristotle for 
 living well" When Stagyra, the native city of Aris- 
 totle, had been destroyed in war, Alexander rebuilt, 
 and beautified it, as a mark of affection for his pre- 
 ceptor. 
 
 After Marcus Aurelius Antoninus became Emperor 
 of Rome, he treated with the greatest respect, those 
 who had given him knowledge. As long as they 
 lived, he cheered them with his gratitude. After 
 their death, he had their statues made of gold and 
 kept them in his domestic chapel, and used to lay 
 garlands of the choicest flowers upon their tombs. 
 
 If heathens showed such tender affection to their 
 teachers, ought we not still more to love those who 
 instruct us in religion 1 For that is worth more to 
 us, than any thing else. It will remain when other 
 possessions perish. 
 
 However long we may be permitted to live on 
 earth, we must leave it at last. If we die without 
 the hope of future happiness, how terrible will be 
 the loss. If we leave this world, with the bright 
 prospect of entering into perfect joy, how unspeak- 
 able will be our gain. 
 
 Regard therefore, with tender love, those who in- 
 struct you how to obtain a mansion in the kingdom 
 of heaven. Ask them to tell you more of that glo- 
 rious country, and how you may learn the language, 
 and imitate the character of its inhabitants. 
 
 Love the teachers of your Sunday-school, and 
 show this love by a respectful deportment. Love 
 your clergyman. He studies and labours that you 
 may become good and happy. Every Sabbath, 3^ou 
 
GRATITUDE TO TEACHERS. 45 
 
 share in his instructions. When he is at home, in 
 his secret chamber, he remembers you in his 
 prayers. 
 
 Take pains to convince him, how grateful and af- 
 fectionate you feel. Meet him with a smiling brow, 
 and respectful manners. It will cheer him when he 
 is weary. Never trifle or behave lightly in his pre- 
 sence. Regard him as the interpreter of the law of 
 the King of kings. 
 
 You will better understand your obligations to the 
 teachers of religion, when you are sick, or draw 
 nigh to death. Then the gilding will fall from many 
 gay things that surround you, and the mist from your 
 own eyes, and you will see more clearly, both this 
 world and the next. 
 
 A child, who was suddenly seized with a fatal epi- 
 demic, said, " Oh father, go to my minister, go to all 
 who have catechised and instructed me in religion, 
 and thank them, in the name of a dying child. How 
 comforting are their words to me now, in this, my 
 time of distress. 
 
 " Thank also; those who have taught me to read 
 and work. I bless God, for his great kindness, in 
 granting me a religious education, and the instruc- 
 tion of teachers and ministers. Thus have I gained 
 a comfort, that the world was too poor to afford." 
 
46 the boy's book. 
 
 NIGHT'S LESSONS. 
 
 Night's lessons! What are they? Does it not 
 shut out the light, that we cannot see 1 Are not the 
 hills veiled, and the solemn mountains ? The loftiest 
 trees, and the humblest flowers, and the brook where 
 we sported, are alike hidden from us. 
 
 We cannot find our way along our accustomed 
 walks. A thick curtain is drawn over the most fa- 
 miliar scenes. The book of Nature is shut. And 
 yet you tell us of Night's lessons. What can they 
 be? 
 
 Every thing around is silent. The noisy wheels 
 and the busy hammer, and the sound of the forge, 
 and the tread of the passing people, are no longer 
 heard. The playful children are at rest. We hear 
 no more the laughter, or the cry of the babe, for it 
 slumbers on the breast of its mother. 
 
 The lowing herd, are in their stalls. Every bird 
 is silent in its nest. The hen broods her young chick- 
 ens, sleeping herself also ; and the watch-dog is quiet 
 in his kennel. No voice speaks to us, throughout 
 the silent frame of nature. What then, are Night's 
 lessons 1 
 
 We are tired. We wish to sleep. Our hands, and 
 our feet are weary. Our limbs, which are growing, 
 ache, and would fain stretch themselves out, and be 
 at rest, that they may expand more perfectly. 
 
 The lessons of our school are over. The lights in 
 the distant windows are extinguished, one after the 
 
night's lessons. 47 
 
 other. The village will soon be lost in slumber. 
 When all the men, and all the women are asleep, 
 must we keep awake to learn lessons 1 
 
 In large cities, there may be heard, now and then, 
 the rushing wheel of the traveller. The watchmen 
 pace their round, and cry, "All is well." In the 
 long, cold nights of Norway, the watchmen who 
 guard the capitol, pronounce in a solemn tone, " God 
 bless our good city of Bergen." 
 
 In the garrison, or the endangered fortress, the 
 armed sentinel keeps watch, lest they should be sur- 
 prised by the foe. But in this peaceful village, there 
 is no need of either sentinel or watchman. Why 
 may we not go to sleep, instead of learning Night's 
 lessons'? 
 
 My son, one of these, you may learn in a moment. 
 Did you say that all will soon be sleeping? No. 
 There is one Eye, that never slumbers. He who 
 made all the people, keepeth watch above the ever- 
 lasting hills. Commit yourself to His care. 
 
 Now, will you learn with me, the second lesson of 
 the night ] Lift your eyes to yon glorious canopy. 
 Seest thou not there, a sentinel, set by the Eternal 
 at the northern gate of heaven 1 The pole-star ! 
 
 The pole-star ! Blessings are breathed upon it, by 
 the weary caravan, fearing the poisonous wind of 
 the desert, — by the red forest-children, seeking their 
 home, beyond the far western prairies, — and by the 
 lonely mariner, upon the pathless ocean. 
 
 The stars! See them! The oil in their lamps 
 never burns out. Those glorious constellations, 
 wheel their mighty course unchanged, while, " man 
 
48 the boy's book. 
 
 dieth and wasteth away, man giveth up the ghost, 
 and where is he V 
 
 Yon brilliant orbs maintain their places, while 
 countless generations pass away, and nations disap- 
 pear and are forgotten. Let us bow in humility be- 
 fore Him, who " bringeth out their host by number* 
 who calleth them all by name, through the greatness of 
 his might, for that He is strong in power, not one 
 faileth." 
 
 Thirteen times in the year, Night, the Teacher, 
 gives extra lessons. Will you be there to learn 
 them] First, she hangs up, a pale crescent in the 
 west. The ancient Jews hailed its infant beam, 
 and answering fires of joy, were kindled on the hills 
 of Palestine. 
 
 Next, she summons forth, a rounded orb, clad in 
 full effulgence, and commits to it, the regency, when 
 the sun retires. Lastly, a slender, waning crescent, 
 appears nightly, like an aged man, ready to descend 
 into the night of the tomb. 
 
 " Soon, as the evening shades prevail, 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
 And nightly to the listening earth, 
 Repeats the story of her birth : 
 While all the stars that round her burn, 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole." 
 
 These are some of Night's lessons. Are you tired 
 of them ! Or will you learn one more 1 Lift up 
 your heart to Him who has given you the past day, 
 with thanks for its blessings,— with penitence for its 
 
INSECTS. 
 
 49 
 
 faults, — with supplication for strength and wisdom, 
 for the time that is to come. 
 
 " Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto 
 night, showeth knowledge of God." Thus meekly 
 and faithfully studying might's lessons, may we 
 find, 
 
 M Even sorrow touch'd by heaven, grows bright 
 With more than rapture's ray, 
 As darkness shows us worlds of light, 
 We never saw by day." 
 
 INSECTS. 
 
 You probably know that insects derive their name, 
 from the Latin word, insecla, signifying to cut, because 
 the bodies of many of them, for instance, the wasp, 
 and the house-fly, seem to be almost divided, or cut 
 in the middle. 
 
 Some of the insect-tribes, are exceedingly beauti- 
 ful. Among these, the butterflies are conspicuous. 
 They are also very numerous, in their varieties. 
 Naturalists count more than a thousand species. 
 Their graceful forms, and brilliant colours, display 
 His skill, who gives the bird its plumage, and the 
 flower its beauty. 
 
 Yet not alone for their external garb, do we ad- 
 mire the insect-race. Some of them are exhibit 
 a degree of intelligence, and a system of habits 
 5 
 
50 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 which are worthy to awaken our curiosity, to inspire 
 us with kindness, or at least to induce the rudest boy 
 to leave them unmolested. 
 
 The bee, has long been quoted, as an example of 
 cheerful industry. It gathers its sweet food with a 
 song, amid the earliest dews of the morning. A bee- 
 hive, on a fine summer's day, is like a busy, and 
 well-ordered city. Throngs are going forth to their 
 accustomed toil, and throngs returning to deposite 
 the fruits of their labours. 
 
 If you look through a glass-hive, you will see 
 some building or repairing the cells, some taking care 
 of their young, and others removing whatever encum- 
 bers, or deforms, the little, pure apartments. Some- 
 times you may observe a group, bearing out a dead 
 body. 
 
 All the toil abroad, — the nursing-care at home, the 
 arts which preserve wealth, and the funeral honours 
 to the dead, go on without interruption, or interfer- 
 ence. " So work the honey-bees," says Shakspeare, 
 " and teach the arts of order, to a peopled king- 
 dom." 
 
 A division of labour is established among them. 
 While some nurse the infants, others collect ma- 
 terials for building, others work as masons, brick- 
 layers, or plaisterers, others, like artists or professors 
 of architecture, plan and polish the cells, and give 
 symmetry to the whole. 
 
 One of the secrets of their prosperity, is a well-ad- 
 ministered government. Their obedience, and at- 
 tachment to the queen, are wonderful. No resistance 
 is made to her authority, and she seems to govern 
 with equal energy and wisdom. 
 
INSECTS. 51 
 
 Bees are said to be capable of attachment to 
 those, under whose care they live. Marmontel, a 
 celebrated French writer, mentions an aunt of his, 
 whom the tenants of the hive, knew and loved. He 
 says, that in damp, or chilly weather, when their 
 wings were torpid, she would take them in her hands, 
 and revive them with her breath, and that so far 
 from hurting her, they distinguished her with a 
 grateful fondness. 
 
 Plutarch, the historian, relates a singular story of 
 the bees of Crete, which, in pursuit of flowers, often 
 passed a cape, or promontory, where high winds pre- 
 vailed. He asserts, that they took with them a par- 
 ticle of gravel, to give weight to their bodies, that 
 they might not be blown away ; as a vessel takes in 
 ballast, ere she pursues her voyage. 
 
 The wasp is by no means a favourite. It presents 
 us with no honied essence, and is often too free with 
 its sting. Still, it displays skill, in the construction 
 of its house, which it builds either on the ground, or 
 in the cavity of a tree, with two entrances, and sur- 
 rounded by a wall. It makes use of the cells, only 
 for the lodgment of its young, and shows great pa- 
 ternal tenderness, and attachment to its home. 
 
 The ants give us lessons of industry and prudence. 
 "Consider their ways and be wise," said king Solo- 
 mon. In summer, they lay up a store, for the win- 
 ter's want. If they have a heavy load to transport, 
 they unite their strength, until it is drawn to the 
 granary. If a single one, labours under too severe 
 a burden, others hasten to its assistance. 
 
 The numerous cells, of their dwellings, are united 
 by little subterranean galleries. If these are mo- 
 
52 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 lested, or destroyed, they remove to a different 
 neighbourhood, and construct another habitation. 
 They are said to possess as much sagacity, as per- 
 severance. 
 
 When Dr. Franklin was ambassador in France, 
 he was once taking his breakfast alone, in Paris, and 
 observed a number of black ants, climbing over the 
 lumps of sugar. He drove them away, but they re- 
 turned. To test their ingenuity, he caused the sugar- 
 bowl to be suspended from the ceiling, a few inches 
 above the table. 
 
 When all was again quiet, the ants returned, and 
 endeavoured to reach the treasure, by standing upon 
 each other's shoulders. Mounted in this manner, 
 the highest one reached earnestly upwards, but in 
 vain. The chain of ants fell, as fast as it was raised 
 like the pride of the builders of Babel. 
 
 After many attempts, they disappeared. The 
 philosopher thought they had given up the mat- 
 ter. Not so. In due time, they were seen de- 
 scending the string, having scaled the walls, tra- 
 versed the ceiling, and like Hannibal, crossed the 
 Alps, to fasten upon the spoil. 
 
 The white ants, or termites, as they are sometimes 
 called, are . very powerful insects. They inhabit 
 warm countries, and their houses are raised in the 
 form of a sugar-loaf, ten or twelve feet in height. 
 Their appetite being as great as their strength, they 
 are very destructive to any object, which they select 
 for food. 
 
 With some of the habits of spiders, we are all ac- 
 quainted. Though the threads of their web are so 
 fine, each one is composed of several strands twisted 
 
INSECTS. 53 
 
 together. Within their establishment, they build a 
 secret cell, as soft as silk, where they lie in ambush 
 seeking for prey. 
 
 Though we cannot praise the amiable qualities of 
 spiders, we may learn from them a lesson of perse- 
 verance. If their house is swept down, they rebuild 
 it. If the stores of food which they had laid up, 
 are destroyed, they hasten to replenish them. They 
 are never discouraged, or dejected. 
 
 When King Robert Bruce was defeated, and un- 
 fortunate, he was once sitting alone, in a rude apart- 
 ment, ready to despair. Almost unconsciously, he 
 fixed his eyes upon a spider, which was toiling to 
 construct its web. 
 
 Many times was it baffled, ere it could fix its filmy 
 line on the point which it desired. Yet whenever it 
 was disappointed, it returned to the charge, with 
 courage and patience. At length it succeeded. 
 
 Robert Bruce, beheld the perseverance of the in- 
 sect, and received instruction. He resumed his own 
 toils, and was victorious. Here was a king learning 
 from a spider, not to be discouraged at difficulties. 
 
 We also will persevere, when we have obstacles 
 to encounter. We will not say, if our studies are 
 difficult, that we cannot comprehend them. If our 
 lessons are long, we will not complain that we are 
 tired, or excuse ourselves, as not having time to get 
 them. 
 
 The bee is never tired of industry, nor does the 
 ant shrink back from the heaviest grain of corn, 
 nor the spider despond when its favourite mansion 
 is destroyed, knowing that it has the power to re- 
 pair it. Let us be as wise as the insects. 
 5* 
 
54 the boy's book. 
 
 The light-giving insects, are wonderful in their 
 construction ; the common fire-fly, glittering in the 
 summer-evening, the glow-worm, holding its steadier 
 lantern to the traveller ; and the brillant cucullo, that 
 sparkles amid the tropics, like a ruby. Let us not 
 carelessly extinguish any lamp, that God has kin- 
 dled, and which man can never relume. 
 
 It is a serious fault in the young, to disturb, or de- 
 stroy innocent insects. A microscope, so displays 
 their exquisite structure, and rich adornment, that 
 we shudder at the thought of destroying them, as if 
 we blotted out a bright trace from the pencil of the 
 Almighty. 
 
 What princely robe can be compared with the 
 embroidery on the beetle's wing 1 — with the fringed 
 plumes of the moth, or the butterfly * Turn your 
 microscope upon them, and answer. Look, in the 
 same manner, at the proboscis, with which the fly 
 tastes the honey-drop, and do not lightly crush out 
 its brief existence. 
 
 A fine writer has called the more brillant insect- 
 tribes, the " winged jewelry of heaven." If the Al- 
 mighty has seen fit to create and decorate them, to 
 quicken their little beating hearts, to give them a 
 most delicate net-work of nerves, and to make the 
 Simple pleasures of their being dear to them, let us 
 beware how we interfere with His design. 
 
 We will not kill any harmless creatures. We 
 will not allow ourselves to give pain to the lowliest, 
 or most deformed. " I would not have for my friend, 
 says Cowper, one who carelessly sets his foot upon 
 a worm." We have duties to perform, to the whole 
 inferior creation. The Father of us all, has placed 
 
USES OF EDUCATION. 55 
 
 them here, for his own wise purposes, but not to call 
 forth the exercise of savage power, or malevolent 
 dispositions. 
 
 USES OF EDUCATION. 
 
 " Make a crusade against ignorance," said one of 
 the Presidents of the United States. You know that 
 the crusades were wars, in which many of the 
 princes of Europe united, to take the city of Jerusa- 
 lem, out of the hands of the Turks. 
 
 There were several crusades, and the first com- 
 menced, more than seven hundred years ago. The 
 soldiers had crosses of red cloth, sewed upon their 
 garments to distinguish them, and marched under the 
 red-cross banner. 
 
 The perseverance with which they surmounted ob- 
 stacles, and the zeal with which their object was pur- 
 sued, for a century and a half, are examples for the 
 young, while acquiring their education. This is 
 what was meant, by making a crusade against igno- 
 rance. 
 
 Look at those nations, where the common people 
 are not able to read and write. In what hopeless 
 vassallage are they crushed. Or if they are roused 
 to faction, or mutiny, with what blind and brute vio- 
 lence, do they follow unprincipled leaders. 
 
 It is one of the distinguished blessings of our own 
 dear country, that no person need to be destitute of 
 
56 the boy's book. 
 
 knowledge. There was an affecting earnestness in 
 the care of the first settlers of New-England, to pro- 
 vide for the interests of education. 
 
 Arriving at Plymouth, as they did, in the depth of 
 winter, obliged to be content with the rudest huts, 
 and sometimes suffering from want of food, as well 
 as fatal sickness, they established schools, amid all 
 the hardships of a new colony, and only a few years 
 had elapsed, ere they laid the foundation of a col- 
 lege. 
 
 Great exertions are now making among wise and 
 good men, to elevate the character of schools. They 
 should be considered as public benefactors. Frede- 
 rick William, the late king of Prussia, was not assidu- 
 ous in establishing an excellent system of education 
 among his people. It was also his object to place a 
 Bible in every cottage. Future generations will 
 honour his memory. 
 
 I hope you feel it a privilege to attend school. 
 When there, give your time and thoughts to the em- 
 ployments that are marked out for you. Avoid tri- 
 fling with idle companions. Keep faithfully every 
 rule. Hold it dishonourable to break a single one. 
 
 If you comply with all the wishes of your instruc- 
 tors you will acquire knowledge with pleasure. 
 Converse freely with your parents and friends, about 
 the studies you are pursuing. You will thus fix them 
 more firmly in your memory, and be also in the way 
 of acquiring additional information. 
 
 "For the soul to be without knowledge is not 
 good," said King Solomon. How many have been 
 willing to labour very hard for an education, and to 
 work with their own hands, to help defray their ex- 
 
USES OF EDUCATION. 57 
 
 penses, while at school, or college. But I never 
 heard any one say that he was sorry, or had taken 
 more pains to obtain knowledge than it was worth. 
 
 In the intervals of school, and during its vacations, 
 spend a part of your time in reading. Select useful 
 books. Those which amuse the fancy are pleasant ; 
 but those which teach wisdom, and impress the ex- 
 amples of goodness and piety, are more proper for 
 the young, who are preparing themselves for the du- 
 ties of untried life. 
 
 After you have made some advance in knowledge, 
 the next step, is to impart it. He who hoards money 
 is a miser. What shall he be called, who locks up 
 knowledge in his own breast ] Open your stores, to 
 those with whom you associate, not from ostentation 
 as king Hezekiah displayed his riches to the Assy- 
 rians, and was punished ; but freely, as the sun-beam 
 visits both the cottage, and the palace. 
 
 Do not choose to talk about trifles, with your com- 
 panions. It is not improper to love play, but it is 
 wrong to devote the greatest part of your time and 
 thoughts to it. In the words of the prophet, it is to 
 spend your "money for that which is not bread, 
 and your labour for that which satisfieth not." 
 
 When you read an improving book, speak to your 
 young friends about it. Relate to them some part of 
 its contents. Ask them to do the same by you. 
 Thank them, when they share with you, these trea- 
 sures of memory, more earnestly, than when they 
 give you any gift which perishes in the using. 
 
 Converse with your class-mates, about the lessons 
 that you have learned together. By imparting good 
 thoughts to the minds of others, and deepening them 
 
58 the boy's eook. 
 
 there, you put your stock of knowledge in trade, and 
 will increase your capital. 
 
 To acquire the benefits of education, is a way of 
 being happy. To dispense them liberally, is a way 
 of doing good. And experience will teach you, that 
 doing good, and being happy, mean the same thing. 
 
 There was once a boy, who made a resolution, that 
 wherever he went, or with whoever he conversed, he 
 would try to make them wiser and better. It was a 
 noble rule, and he faithfully observed it. 
 
 He began with the domestics of the family. Next, 
 he tried his young companions. If he met the ig- 
 norant and vicious, he sought out some pleasant pre- 
 cept, or kind advice, to which they would be likely 
 to listen. And he was soon respected and beloved. 
 
 This excellent habit grew up with him, and was 
 strengthened from above. Throughout the whole of 
 life, he was distinguished by his conversations, his 
 writings, and his charities ; and the blessings of 
 many hearts, and the favour of heaven were his re- 
 ward. 
 
 Are there not some, at your own homes, with 
 whom you can profitably divide your knowledge] 
 Have you any younger brothers and sisters] Ex- 
 plain their little books to them. Teach them simple 
 pieces of poetry. Aid them in their lessons. 
 
 Thus you will acquire influence over them, for it 
 has been justly said, that " knowledge is power." 
 When you perceive that you have this power, strive 
 to improve their characters. If they are out of hu- 
 mour, soothe them. If they are ignorant, or mis- 
 taken, gently set them right. 
 
 Teach them to put every thing in its place, when 
 
USES OF EDUCATION. 59 
 
 they have done with it ; to return whatever they 
 may have borrowed, to the owner ; and to make the 
 best use of their own little possessions. Show them 
 by your own example, how to be industrious, good- 
 tempered, and happy. 
 
 In this way, you will extract the pure gold of 
 knowledge, and turn it to its true use, — the purchase 
 of goodness and virtue. And how can you better re- 
 pay a portion of your immense debt to your parents, 
 than by thus assisting to enrich and beautify the un- 
 folding minds of their little ones "* 
 
 Have you not also, some knowledge, to bestow in 
 charity 1 Can you teach any person to read 1 Un- 
 educated children sometimes do wrong, from very 
 ignorance. It is true benevolence to instruct them 
 in their duty, and to endeavour to make them 
 love it. 
 
 So shall your education, both elevate your own 
 mind, and benefit the souls of others. And so, will 
 you best show your gratitude to our Father in Hea- 
 ven, for the privilege of living in a land where 
 knowledge is free to all. 
 
 Sir William Jones was a man of great learning. 
 He understood twenty-six languages. So distin- 
 guished were his attainments, and his virtues, that it 
 was pronounced a happiness to the world, that he 
 had ever been born. 
 
 But he was not proud of his knowledge. " If, 
 said he, I am asked who is the greatest man, I an- 
 swer, the best : and if I am required to say who is 
 the best, I reply, he who has deserved most of his 
 fellow-creatures." 
 
60 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 THE TREMBLING EYE-LID. 
 
 It was the day before Christmas, in the year 1778, 
 during our war of revolution, that an armed vessel 
 sailed out of Boston. She was strongly built, and 
 carried twenty guns, and a crew of one hundred and 
 five persons; with provisions for a cruise of six 
 months. 
 
 She made a fine appearance, as she spread her 
 broad sails, and steered out of the harbour. Many 
 hearts wished her success. And she bore as goodly 
 a company of bold and skilful seamen, as ever 
 braved the perils of the deep. 
 
 Soon the north wind blew, and brought a heavy 
 sea into the bay. The night proved dark, and they 
 came to anchor with difficulty, near the harbour of 
 Plymouth. The strong gale that buffeted them, be- 
 came a storm, and the storm, a hurricane. 
 
 Snow fell, and the cold was terribly severe. The 
 vessel was driven from her moorings, and struck on 
 a reef of rocks. She began to fill with water, and 
 they were obliged to cut away her masts. The sea 
 rose above her main deck, sweeping over it with its 
 dark surges. 
 
 They made every exertion that courage could 
 prompt, or hardihood endure. But so fearful were 
 the wind and cold, that the stoutest man was not able 
 to strike more than two or three blows, in cutting 
 away the masts, without being relieved by another. 
 
THE TREMBLING EYE-LID. 61 
 
 The wretched people thronged together upon the 
 quarter-deck, which was crowded almost to suffoca- 
 tion. They were exhausted with toil and suffering, 
 but could obtain neither provisions, nor fresh water. 
 These were all covered by the deep sea, when the 
 vessel became a wreck. 
 
 But, unfortunately, the crew got access to ardent 
 spirits, and many of them drank, and became intox- 
 icated. Insubordination, mutiny, and madness en- 
 sued. The officers, remained clear-minded, but lost 
 all authority over the crew, who raved around 
 them. 
 
 A more frightful scene, can scarcely be imagined : 
 the dark sky, — the raging storm, — the waves break- 
 ing wildly over the rocks, and threatening every 
 moment to swallow up the broken vessel, — and the 
 half-frozen beings who maintained their icy hold on 
 life, lost to reason, and to duty, or fighting fiercely 
 with each other. 
 
 Some lay in disgusting stupidity; others, with 
 fiery faces, blasphemed God. Some, in temporary 
 delirium, fancied themselves in palaces, surrounded 
 by luxury, and brutally abused the servants, who 
 they supposed, refused to do their bidding. 
 
 Others there were, who amid the beating of that 
 pitiless tempest, believed themselves in the homes 
 that they never more must see, and with hollow, re- 
 proachful voices, besought bread, and wondered why 
 water was withheld from them by the hands that 
 were most dear. 
 
 A few, whose worst passions were quickened by 
 alcohol, to a fiend-like fury, assaulted or wounded 
 those who came in their way, making their shrieks 
 6 
 
C2 
 
 of defiance, and their curses heard above the roar 
 of the storm. Intemperance never displayed itself 
 in more distressing attitudes. 
 
 At length, Death began to do his work. The mis- 
 erable creatures fell every hour upon the deck, fro- 
 zen stiff and hard. Each corpse, as it became 
 breathless, was laid upon a heap of dead, that more 
 space might be left for the survivors. Those who 
 drank most freely, were the first to perish. 
 
 On the third day of these horrors, the inhabitants 
 of Plymouth, after making many ineffectual attempts, 
 reached the wreck, not without danger. What a 
 melancholy spectacle ! Lifeless bodies, hardened in- 
 to every form, that suffering could devise. 
 
 Many lay in a vast pile. Others sat, with their 
 heads reclining on their knees ; others, grasping 
 the ice-covered ropes ; some in a posture of defence 
 like the dying gladiator : and others, with hands 
 held up to heaven, as if deprecating their awful 
 fate. 
 
 Orders were given to search earnestly for every 
 mark or sign of life. One boy was distinguished 
 amid a mass of dead, only by the trembling of one of 
 his eye-lids. The poor survivors were kindly received 
 into the houses of the people of Plymouth, and every 
 effort used for their restoration. 
 
 The captain and lieutenant, and a few others, who 
 had abstained from the use of ardent spirits, sur- 
 vived. The remainder were buried, some in sepa- 
 rate graves, and others in a large pit, whose hollow 
 is still to be seen, on the south-west side of the bu- 
 rial ground in Plymouth. 
 
 The funeral obsequies were most solemn. When 
 
THE TREMBLING EYE-LID. 63 
 
 the clergyman, who was to perform the last services, 
 first entered, the church, and saw more than seventy- 
 dead bodies, some fixing upon him their stony eyes, 
 and others, with faces stiffened into the horrible ex- 
 pression of their last mortal agony, he was so af- 
 fected, as to faint. 
 
 Some, were brought on shore alive, and received 
 every attention, but survived only a short time. 
 Others, were restored after long sickness, but with 
 limbs so injured by frost, as to become cripples for 
 life. 
 
 In a village, at some distance from Plymouth, a 
 widowed mother, with her daughter, were seen con- 
 stantly attending a couch, on which lay a sufferer. 
 It was the boy, whose trembling eye-lid attracted the 
 notice of pity, as he lay among the deadJ 
 
 " Mother, he said, in a feeble tone, God bless you 
 for having taught me to avoid ardent spirits. It was 
 this that saved me. After those around me grew 
 intoxicated, I had enough to do, to protect myself 
 from them. 
 
 Some attacked, and dared me to fight ; others 
 pressed the poisonous draught to my lips, and bade 
 me drink. My lips and throat were parched with 
 thirst. But I knew if I drank with them, I must 
 lose my reason as they did, and perhaps, blas- 
 pheme my Maker. 
 
 One by one, they died, those poor, infuriated 
 wretches. Their shrieks and groans, still seem to 
 ring in my ears. It was in vain that the captain and 
 other officers, and a few good men, warned them of 
 what would ensue, if they thus continued to drink, 
 
64 the boy's book. 
 
 and tried every method in their power, to restore 
 them to order. 
 
 They still fed upon the fiery liquor. They grew 
 delirious. They died in heaps. Dear mother, our 
 sufferings from hunger and cold, you cannot imagine. 
 After my feet were frozen, but before I lost the use 
 of my hands, I discovered a box, among fragments 
 of the wreck, far under water. 
 
 I toiled with a rope to drag it up. But my strength 
 was not sufficient. A comrade, who was still able 
 to move a little, assisted me. At length, it came 
 within our reach. We hoped that it might contain 
 bread, and took courage. 
 
 Uniting our strength, we burst it open. It con- 
 tained only a few bottles of olive oil. Yet we gave 
 God thank* For we found that by occasionally 
 moistening our lips with it, and swallowing a little, 
 it allayed the gnawing, burning pain in the stomach. 
 
 Then my comrade died. And I laid beside him, 
 like a corpse, surrounded by corpses. Presently, 
 the violence of the tempest, that had so long raged, 
 subsided, and I heard quick footsteps, and strange 
 voices amid the wreck, where we lay. 
 
 They were the blessed people of Plymouth, who 
 had dared every danger, to save us. They lifted in 
 their arms, and wrapped in blankets, all who could 
 speak. Then they earnestly sought all who could 
 move. But every drunkard, was among the dead. 
 
 And I was so exhausted with toil, and suffering* 
 and cold, that I could not stretch a hand to my de- 
 liverers. They passed me again and again. They 
 carried the living to the boat. I feared that I was 
 left behind. 
 
FILIAL VIRTUES OF WASHINGTON. 65 
 
 Then I prayed earnestly, in my heart, " Oh Lord, 
 for the sake of my widowed mother, — for the sake 
 of my dear sister, save me." I believed that the 
 last man had gone, and besought the Redeemer to 
 receive my spirit. 
 
 But I felt a warm breath on my face. I strained 
 every nerve. My whole soul strove and shuddered 
 within me. Still my body was immoveable as mar- 
 ble. Then a loud voice said, " Come back, and help 
 me out with this poor lad. One of his eye-lids trem- 
 bles. He lives." 
 
 " Oh, the music of that voice to me ! The trembling 
 eye-lid, and the prayer to God, and your lessons of 
 temperance, my mother, saved me." Then the lov- 
 ing sister embraced him with tears, and the mother 
 said, "praise be to Him who hath spared my son, to 
 be the comfort of my age." 
 
 FILIAL VIRTUES OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 Some of the most interesting anecdotes of the 
 early years of Washington, are such as connect him 
 with his mother, or were derived from her narrations. 
 She was a dignified and excellent woman, and is re- 
 membered with respect and love, by all who had the 
 honour of her acquaintance. 
 
 Her husband died, while their children were young. 
 So, she had the sole care of their government and 
 education. For this great charge she was eminently 
 6* 
 
g5 THE BOT S BOOK. 
 
 qualified. She was often asked what course she had 
 pursued, in training up her illustrious son. And 
 her reply was, " I only required obedience, diligence, 
 and truth." 
 
 These were the simple rules by which Washing- 
 ton became good and great. They were wrought in 
 with the elements of his character, until his good- 
 ness, became greatness, and his greatness, goodness. 
 Is there any thing, in these three precepts of obe- 
 dience, diligence, and truth, which those who read 
 this book, are unwilling or careless to observe 1 
 Washington, when a boy, was taught to be ac- 
 curate in all his statements. He told things exactly 
 as they were, and repeated words just as they had 
 been spoken. If he had committed a fault, he did 
 not try to conceal it, or lay the blame upon others. 
 
 Whatever his errors were, and the best child in 
 the world, sometimes does wrong, he always spoke 
 of them to his mother, without disguise, and with- 
 out delay. This was the foundation of that noble 
 frankness, and contempt of deceit, which distinguish- 
 ed him through life, and made him revered by all. 
 
 Once, from an indiscretion of his boyhood, a con- 
 siderable loss was incurred. He knew that it would 
 interfere with favourite plans of his mother, give 
 pain to her feelings, and perhaps awaken her severe 
 displeasure. But he did not hesitate in his duty. 
 He went immediately to her, and made a full ac- 
 knowledgment ; and she said, "I had rather this 
 should have taken place, than my son should be 
 guilty of a falsehood." 
 
 She was careful not to injure him by indulgence, 
 or luxurious food. She required him to rise early. 
 
FILIAL VIRTUES OF WASHINGTON. 67 
 
 and never permitted him to be idle. Labours were 
 sometimes assigned him, which the children of 
 wealthy parents might have accounted severe. Thus 
 he acquired strength, firmness of frame, and disre- 
 gard of hardship. 
 
 He was taught to have certain hours, for certain 
 employments, and to be punctual. The systematic 
 improvement of time, thus early taught, was of im- 
 mense service, when the mighty concerns of a na- 
 tion devolved on him. Then he found leisure for 
 the transaction of the smallest affairs, in the midst 
 of the most important and conflicting duties. 
 
 Tt was observed, by those who surrounded his per- 
 son that he neglected nothing, and was never known 
 to be in a hurry. He was remarkable for neatness, 
 yet spent but little time in arranging his dress. 
 
 When our country was in a perilous situation, and 
 he was occupied with its most perplexing affairs, no 
 part of his dress betrayed negligence, and no haste 
 of manner, showed absence of mind. He was un- 
 disturbed by such accidents, as irritate those who 
 have not learned to govern their tempers. 
 
 His habits of early rising, and strict attention to 
 order, gave him time for every thing, so that the 
 pressure of public business, never rendered him in- 
 attentive to private duty, domestic courtesy, or kind 
 hospitality. In winter, he rose two hours before day, 
 and in summer was ready to enjoy the freshness and 
 beauty of the dawn. 
 
 Such benefits did a man, whom the world beheld 
 with admiration, derive from the counsels of a mo- 
 ther, who accustomed him to habits of early rising, 
 order, and industry. His obedience to her, was 
 
68 the boy's book. 
 
 cheerful and unvarying. Even after he attained 
 mature years, and a nation regarded him as its de- 
 liverer and ruler, the expression of her slightest 
 wish was a law. 
 
 From childhood, he repaid her care with the deep- 
 est affection, and yielded his will to her's, without a 
 murmur. At the age of fourteen, having read many 
 voyages, he conceived a desire to go to sea. The 
 office of a midshipman had been prepared for him, 
 and every thing was in readiness for his departure. 
 
 Preparing to take leave of his mother, he found 
 her more distressed than he had ever seen her, and 
 discovered that she had not fully stated to him her 
 objections to this mode of life. He threw himself 
 into her arms, and offered to relinquish his favourite 
 purpose, if she desired. She accepted the noble sac- 
 rifice. 
 
 He watched from the window, the boat which was 
 conveying the officers to the ship, and in which his 
 own baggage had been placed. The bright antici- 
 pations which he had long cherished, faded away. 
 His mother inquired, if he regretted his resolution to 
 remain. «* Indeed, said he, I strongly wished to go, 
 but I cannot make you unhappy." " God will re- 
 ward your filial affection, my son," was the answer. 
 
 Her influence over him, was strengthened by the 
 dignity with which true piety invested her. This 
 gave her elevation of feeling, and serenity of mind. 
 During many periods of our revolution, the fears of 
 the people were distressing, even to despondence. 
 Mistaken reports were often in circulation, which 
 agonized the hearts of those, whose friends were ex- 
 posed to danger. 
 
FILIAL VIRTUES OF WASHINGTON. 69 
 
 More than once was the Mother of Washington 
 told, that our army was defeated, and her son a 
 prisoner. " He is in the hand of God, was her re- 
 ply ; and has been accustomed to act in difficult 
 situations." 
 
 Again, it would be announced to her, "a great 
 victory has been gained by Washington." And she 
 answered, " Give the praise to God." Such equa- 
 nimity, and constant presence of mind, arose from 
 the inspiring confidence of a Christian's faith. 
 
 At length, the blessings of peace and indepen- 
 dence, were granted to our nation ; and Washington, 
 who for eight years, had been divided from the com- 
 forts of home, hasted with filial reverence, to receive 
 his mother's blessing. He, who had been pro- 
 nounced " first in war, first in peace, first in the 
 hearts of his country-men," came to lay his honours 
 at her feet, who planted the seeds of virtue in his 
 soul. 
 
 When a grateful nation, by electing him its first 
 President, conferred on him, the highest gift in its 
 power to bestow, he waited on his mother, at her resi- 
 dence in Fredericksburg, to inform her of his ap- 
 pointment. He was now illustrious and applauded, 
 both by the Old and New World. He had lived 
 more than half a century, without a stain upon his 
 fame. 
 
 Yet he bowed down with the same deep reverence 
 to his maternal guide, as when in childhood, he 
 learned his lessons at her knee, or repeated from 
 the Bible, " my son, forsake not the law of thy mo- 
 ther." 
 
 As she advanced in years, he affectionately urged 
 
70 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 her to make Mount- Vernon her home, — that he might 
 have the pleasure of daily studying her wishes, and 
 promoting her comfort. This filial request was sooth- 
 ing to her feelings, — but she preferred to remain in 
 her own retired abode. 
 
 There was a beautiful spot near her dwelling, 
 shaded with trees, and covered with the freshest 
 turf, where she frequently resorted, when the wea- 
 ther would permit, for reading, meditation, and 
 prayer. Of this secluded retreat, she said to her 
 son, "Let me be buried there, when God shall call 
 my spirit to himself." Washington held this com- 
 mand most sacred. 
 
 When at a very advanced age, his mother was 
 summoned to meet that Being, whom she had trusted 
 in youth, he hastened to give her the last proofs of 
 his affection. He tenderly hung over her, as she 
 breathed her last, and with pious grief closed her 
 eyes. 
 
 In obedience to her request, he laid her, in the 
 shady, secluded dell, where she had chosen her 
 grave. There, beneath those trees, where she had 
 so long been accustomed to hold devout communion 
 with her Maker, she slept, for many years, without a 
 stone. 
 
 Travellers, who have visited Mount- Vernon, often 
 repaired to the lowly bed of the honoured matron, 
 whom the father of his country so strongly resem- 
 bled, both in person, and in mind. Her tomb is now 
 designated by a tasteful marble monument, bearing 
 the beautiful inscription, 
 
 " Mary, the mother of Washington." 
 
FILIAL VIRTUES OF WASHINGTON. 71 
 
 It would be easy to adduce many examples of cele- 
 brated men, who were distinguished for filial af- 
 fection, and on whom a widowed mother has reposed 
 every care, with entire confidence. When Fulton, 
 the inventor of the steam-boat, was young, he had 
 no means of acquiring a subsistence, but by his 
 own industry. 
 
 He had a taste for drawing and painting, and by 
 employments of this kind, obtained a supply for his 
 wants. But the first considerable sum, which he 
 ever earned, he immediately, and joyfully expended, 
 to purchase a small farm for his mother. 
 
 " What would I give," said the talented Charles 
 Lamb, in a letter to a friend, " What would I give 
 to call back to earth, my mother, but for one day, 
 on my knees to ask her pardon, for all those little 
 asperities of temper, which from time to time, have 
 give* her gentle spirit pain. Oh, my friend, culti- 
 vate filial feelings." 
 
 We have now seen the illustrious Washington, 
 the leader of a victorious army, the first magistrate 
 of a grateful people, and the object of admiration to 
 the civilized world, in the character of an obedient, 
 affectionate son. We have traced his virtues back, 
 to that submission to maternal authority, which 
 marked his early yea:*3. 
 
 We have seen visibly descending on him, that 
 blessing promised in the Holy Scriptures, to those 
 who honour their parents. She, whom he ever re- 
 garded with such tenderness and reverence, said 
 he, " learned to command others, by first learning to 
 obey." 
 
 We remember, that it is written of one far greater 
 
72 the boy's book. 
 
 than Washington, that "he was subject unto his 
 mother." Let no son imagine that it is manly to 
 despise the authority of a mother, or that God will 
 forget to punish disobedience and disrespect. 
 
 Those who in the morning of life, are ambitious 
 of future eminence, should lay the foundation m fil- 
 ial virtue. Let them not expect to be either fortu- 
 nate or happy, while they neglect the injunction, 
 "My son, keep thy father's commandment, and for- 
 sake not the law of thy mother.' , 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 « I wish the whole year was but one long sum- 
 mer," said a little girl, to her brother. " I so love to 
 run on the green grass, and to take care of my 
 flowers, and I cannot bear to see them go under the 
 frozen ground, and be covered with the cold ice and 
 
 snow." . _„ 
 
 » Sister, we boys would not agree with you. We 
 should vote for the winter,— the sliding down hill, 
 and the skating. We do not mind the cold ; it only 
 calls more blood into the cheeks, and makes us bold 
 and vigorous." 
 
 The mother, who listened to their conversation, 
 said, "My children, every season has its beauties. 
 Each, is the gift of a Being of love and wisdom. No 
 doubt their change, heightens our enjoyment. Yet, 
 
WINTER. 73 
 
 I have often thought, that winter did not have its 
 due." 
 
 Let us inquire into the case, and see if we cannot 
 give Winter its due. It is very generally spoken 
 against, especially by delicate ladies, and invalids. 
 We would desire to be just to every thing. So, let 
 us seek out the merits of the season of ice and 
 snow. 
 
 Spring gives us buds, Summer, flowers, and 
 Autumn, fruit. But Winter brings frost, and icicles, 
 and piercing cold. The drifted snow lies deep on 
 the plain. The bleak winds blow. Storms confine 
 us to the house, or we go out in them, and feel un- 
 comfortable, perhaps complain. 
 
 Still, this dreary season, has some redeeming vir- 
 tues. In summer, men travel about; they wander 
 wide in pursuit of pleasures. In winter, they seek 
 happiness at. home. Then the sweet affections of 
 the heart, blossom ; and the blessed charities, whose 
 seeds are sown by the fireside, are brought to great- 
 er perfection. 
 
 The little babe sees more of its father, whose busi- 
 ness calls him less from home. It sits longer upon 
 his knee, and imprints many kisses upon his cheek, 
 and winds itself more closely round his heart. The 
 boy sits with his books by the lamp, and talks of 
 his lessons with his mother; and the knowledge 
 which her love softens, is sweet to his soul. 
 
 Under the burning suns of summer, the farmer 
 
 works and is wearied. The short nights, scarcely 
 
 refresh him, after the labour of the long days. But 
 
 the winter is a time of rest. He sits with his family 
 
 7 
 
74 the boy's book. 
 
 around him, by the evening fireside, and reads, and 
 meditates, and gathers wisdom. 
 
 The long evening, and the cheerful fire, open 
 heart to heart. Social feelings expand, and friend* 
 ships flourish. The student gains more time for 
 meditation. Winter-knowledge strikes a deeper 
 root; for the beautiful things of summer dissipate 
 thought, and make the mind desultory. 
 
 Nature enjoys repose. The trees cease from the 
 labour of putting forth leaves, and the plants, 
 willingly lay their meek heads in the snow-cradle. 
 The stream stays its hurrying foot, and the cascade 
 rests from its leaping. The furrowed earth, enjoys 
 a sabbath, and prepares to meet with renewed vigour 
 the season of toil. 
 
 Winter, is also the time for quickening sympathy 
 and benevolence. The poor need fuel, and food. 
 The shivering child must be clad. Go into the cold 
 habitations of the sons and daughters of penury. 
 See what the sick and the sorrowful need, and report 
 their cases to those who have power to relieve them. 
 So, shall you return to your own comfortable dwell- 
 ing, with deeper gratitude, and the thought of having 
 soothed others' pain, shall give you higher, and 
 more sacred joy. 
 
 Were there no winter, there would be less of pru- 
 dent and provident foresight, in the world. This is 
 a virtue, and it strengthens by exercise. The father 
 thinks, during the mild season, what will be neces- 
 sary to make his family comfortable, for approach* 
 ing winter. The mother calculates what garment* 
 will be needed to shield her little ones. 
 
 In those cares there is comfort, because they ar$ 
 
SHELL-FISHES. 7*> 
 
 duties* They are such cares as. quicken industry, 
 and strengthen judgment^ and deepen affection. If 
 there was no winter,, to call them into habitual ex- 
 ercise, the butterfly might have a longer time to 
 flaunt, but the ants would lose their distinctive ex- 
 cellence, and the honey of the bee would have a 
 slighter value. 
 
 Are there not some stores, which are laid up in 
 autumn, to enliven the winter-evening'? — the ruddy 
 apple ? — the enduring pear ] — the varied nuts of the 
 forest? So there are treasures, which may belaid 
 up in winter,, for other seasons, — kind recollections, 
 — useful knowledge, — active sympathies. The ker- 
 nels of such nuts are sweet. The essence of such 
 fruit does not decay. Time cannot, impair their fla- 
 vour. Let us lay them up in abundance. 
 
 Why should we complain so much of a season, 
 that brings us the buds of affection, — the flowers of 
 benevolence, — the fruits of wisdom 1 If winter has 
 in it some mixture of discipline,, let us receive it 
 meekly, with a conviction, that it is for our good. 
 So, shall our winters be remembered in that world 
 where no ice binds the pure stream* and where 
 there is neither storm nor tempest. 
 
 SHELL-FISHES. 
 
 We lcnow very little of the habits of the smaller 
 inhabitants of the deep. Naturalists divide them 
 into a great number of classes. Some of these, are 
 
76 the boy's book. 
 
 called testaceous ; others crustaceous. The former 
 have a hard, permanent shell, capable of growth ; 
 the latter have a thinner covering, which may be 
 cast off for a new one to grow. The oyster is tes- 
 taceous ; the lobster, crustaceous. 
 
 You have doubtless, often admired the variety 
 and delicacy of those exquisitely pencilled shells, 
 which ornament so many parlours and cabinets. 
 They display His skill, who has given to the birds 
 their brilliant plumage, and to the wild flowers of 
 the field, their beauty. 
 
 i In treatises of Conchology, you will find thou- 
 sands of shells classified and arranged, according to 
 their respective orders. We cannot here give even 
 a sketch of the outlines of so extensive a science. 
 All that will be attempted, is to give a few traits of 
 character, of some of the tenants, of those curious 
 mansions. 
 
 The Pinnae, has the power of throwing out fine, 
 silken threads. Hence it has been sometimes called 
 the " silk- worm of the ocean." It adheres strongly 
 to rocks, by a thick tuft of these threads. When 
 broken off' and cleansed, they are capable of being 
 made into useful articles of dress. 
 
 A manufactory of gloves and stockings, from the 
 silk of the Pinnae, is established at Palermo, in Sicily. 
 The females there, sometimes steep it in strong acid, 
 and then press it with a warm iron, which imparts 
 a beautiful yellow-brown colour, like the burnished 
 gold of a beetle's wing. 
 
 The Pinnoe, this industrious silk-spinner, is entire- 
 ly blind. But it lodges in its own shell, a small, quick- 
 sighted crab. This tenant goes out to provide food, 
 
SHELL-FISHES. 77 
 
 and at returning, taps gently at the door of its blind 
 landlord, who readily opens to receive it. 
 
 Still it is not satisfied with paying for its lodging 
 in provisions. It performs a higher office, by an- 
 nouncing when the cuttle-fish, — the mortal foe of the 
 Pinnse, is near ; and thus often saves the life of its 
 sightless companion. 
 
 This league of friendship and defence, under the 
 waters, did not escape the observation of the ancient 
 naturalists. Both Pliny and Aristotle, mention that 
 the Pinnse, was never unattended by this faithful 
 protector and provider, who was literally, " eyes to 
 the blind, and feet to the lame." 
 
 The Solen, or Razor-Sheath, obtains this name, 
 from a resemblance to a case for razors. It is fur- 
 nished with an apparatus for digging, yet cannot as- 
 pire to the honourable title of gardener, as it only 
 excavates a hiding-place for itself. If the sand is 
 soft, it is able to dig a cell, two feet in depth, where 
 it shuts itself up at pleasure, like a solitary student. 
 
 The Lepas, or Sea-Acorn, when the waters are 
 boisterous, shuts its little door, and excludes them, 
 as w r e do the storm. It adheres very closely to 
 rocks, or stones, or the bottoms of vessels. Sailors 
 call the sea-acorns, barnacles, and count them ene- 
 mies, as they are troublesome to ships. A very 
 large, old whale, was taken in the Pacific Ocean, 
 \ whose head was rough, with multitudes of these 
 shells. 
 
 The Chiton, or Coat of Mail, has a shell, like a 
 
 suit of ancient armour. Its valves, eight in number, 
 
 are so constructed, that it can roll itself up like a ball, 
 
 when it chooses. This knight of the deep sea, is 
 
 7* 
 
78 the boy's book. 
 
 often seen walking among the rocks, or attached to 
 waving wreaths of sea-weed and coral. 
 
 The Teredo, has the power of penetrating wood, 
 and derives its name from a Greek word, signifying 
 to tore. It uses one pair of its valves as flood-gates, 
 to admit the water into its dwelling, when it desires. 
 It clings to the sides and bottoms of ships, and other 
 timber, which it perforates. 
 
 The Pholas, like a mason, opens for itself an en- 
 trance into stone. There it hides whenever it 
 chooses to be concealed. Its name, which is from 
 the Greek, signifies something hidden. Though its 
 movements are slow, it succeeds, in penetrating the 
 hardest rocks, even when it is young and feeble; 
 and thus gives us from its cell in the deep sea, a les- 
 son of perseverance. 
 
 The Soldier-snail, if it sees a shell that suits its 
 fancy, and finds the inhabitant weaker than itself, 
 wounds, dislodges it, and takes possession, in the 
 true spirit of a robber chieftain. There it keeps 
 guard, — its head and claws protruding, ready to de- 
 fend the stolen fortress. 
 
 The Trochus, is a pirate. With its strong trunk, 
 toothed at the extremity like a saw, it forces its way, 
 through the most impenetrable shell, and devours the 
 tenant. When it once grapples, nothing can dis- 
 lodge it, and it is sometimes weeks in feeding on the 
 vitals of its prey. Multitudes of shells thrown up 
 on the beach, pierced with round holes, attest its 
 ravages. 
 
 The depths of the sea, like the surface of the 
 earth, have some characters, that are willing to 
 over-reach their neighbours. Lobsters, trouble 
 
SHELL-FISHES. 7() 
 
 oysters, and lie in wait to eat them. When the 
 oyster opens its shell, for fresh air, or a draught of 
 water, its crustaceous friend is ready to dart upon it. 
 
 A fine, fat oyster was once observed upon the 
 beach, opening its door, to meet the approaching 
 tide. A lobster put forth its red hands to sieze the 
 prey, thrice, but in vain. It waited until the oyster 
 should open the fourth time, and then cunningly 
 threw a pebble between the valves, which prevented 
 them from closing, and thus enjoyed the spoil at its 
 leisure. 
 
 When Scallop-Shells find themselves deserted by 
 the tide, they open their valves as wide as possible, 
 and continue to take long leaps, until they reach 
 their native element. Testaceous animals, can en- 
 large their habitations, repair them when they are 
 injured, and stain them of various colours. 
 
 The Argonaut raises itself to the surface of the 
 water, when it chooses. If it is calm, it throws 
 out two or more little arms, for oars ; if a breeze 
 springs up, it spreads a fine membrane, as a sail, 
 and scuds before the wind. If it is apprehensive of 
 danger, it suddenly draws in a quantity of water, 
 whose weight sinks it to the bottom of the sea. 
 
 The Nautilus inhabits a pearly palace, containing 
 thirty or forty apartments. Its own residence is in 
 the largest one, which communicates with all the 
 rest. In fine weather, little fleets of the Nautilus 
 may be seen, fearlessly steering over the mighty 
 ocean. 
 
 To the skill of these tiny, and most expert sailors, 
 guiding their frail, and beautiful barks over the 
 fathomless waters, it is said the art of navigation 
 
80 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 owes its origin. A fine poet gives them the honour 
 of being teachers to the mariner : — 
 
 " Learn of the little Nautilus to sail, 
 Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale." 
 
 The Chama-Gigas, or the Giant-Clam, is the largest 
 of all the testaceous tribes. Linnaeus mentions one, 
 which weighed four hundred and ninety-eight 
 pounds, and furnished a day's provision for one 
 hundred and twenty men ; and the violent closing of 
 whose valves, could snap a cable in sunder. Sir 
 Joseph Banks has recorded that one weighing five 
 hundred and seven pounds, was found in the island 
 of Sumatra. 
 
 A shell of this kind, is placed on a table, at Ply- 
 mouth, when the anniversary of the landing of the 
 ancestors of New-England is celebrated. A very large 
 one, which was given by the Venetians, to Francis the 
 First, of France, is still used as a baptismal font, in 
 the church of St. Sulpice, at Paris. 
 
 Some of the varieties of the Oyster, have colour- 
 ed shells, and the power of leaping to a considerable 
 distance. Darting through the billows, with their 
 brilliant sparkling tints, they have sometimes ob- 
 tained the appellation of the "butterflies of the 
 ocean." 
 
 The Ostrea-Arborea, or Tree-Oyster, is found at- 
 tached to shrubs or roots, which extend into sheltered 
 bays, harbours, or rivers. In tropical regions, it often 
 presents a finely variegated mixture of vivid colours ; 
 and when a bough thus loaded, is washed for the 
 table, it is frequently too heavy for a man to carry. 
 
SHELL-FISHES. 81 
 
 The Pearl-Oysters afford employment, for numer- 
 ous fisheries. The largest, and even the smallest 
 specimens, which are called seed-pearls, have always 
 been highly valued as ornaments, by the wealthy 
 and tasteful. " The pearl of great price," is the 
 image chosen by our Saviour, to express the purity 
 and precious nature of the Gospel. 
 
 Many divers are employed in searching for pearls. 
 The employment is dangerous, and destructive to 
 life. It is so painful, especially when first com- 
 menced, that blood is often forced from the ears, 
 nose, and mouth. 
 
 A diver, who once descended into the straits of 
 Messina, saw there, with horror, enormous polypi, 
 attached to the rocks, whose arms, several feet long, 
 and extending in every direction, might strangle the 
 strongest man in their embrace. The shark, also, 
 with its hideous jaws, yawns upon the daring adven- 
 turer. 
 
 The bottom of the Adriatic, has been ascertained 
 to be a compact bed of shells, of a great thickness. 
 That of the Red-Sea, is a forest of submarine plants, 
 madrepores, sponges, and mosses, interspersed with 
 grottoes, where the coral insect is busied, among its 
 beautiful creations. 
 
 Sometimes the bed of the sea, presents only a sur- 
 face of smooth, bright sand, extending hundreds of 
 miles. In many parts, near America, it is covered 
 with vegetable formation, and looks green like a 
 meadow, where thousands of turtles and sea-mon- 
 sters roam, and seek their food. 
 
 An English vessel once stopped at the barren isl- 
 and of Ascension, which you know is in the Atlan- 
 
82 
 
 tic Ocean, in seven degrees of south latitude, not far 
 from St. Helena, where Buonaparte died. Turtles 
 abound there, and the crew, after feasting on as 
 many as they desired, undertook to carry some 
 home with them. 
 
 But all their captive turtles died on the voyage, 
 except one, who, being very spirited, and having lost 
 an arm, before it would be taken, they named 
 Lord Nelson. When they reached England, it was 
 languid, and almost expiring. So they amused 
 themselves with cutting its name, on the under part 
 of its shell, and threw it into the sea. 
 
 Two years after, the same vessel, touched at the 
 same island. The sailors were again busy in catch- 
 ing turtles. They turned a large one upon its back, 
 that they might the more easily take it, and what 
 did they see? — the words "Lord Nelson" engraved 
 upon it ! 
 
 They also perceived that one of its arms was 
 missing. It was their old acquaintance. But who 
 guided it, two thousand miles, through the depths of 
 the pathless ocean, to its own home ? How did it 
 defend itself, weak and wounded as it was, against 
 the ravenous monsters, of the deep, dark sea 1 
 
 Is home, then, as dear to the wandering denizen 
 of the ocean, as to the bird, who, returning from its 
 annual migration, builds its nest upon the same 
 tree, and gathers crumbs from the same threshold, 
 where its last unfledged brood were reared 1 Who 
 can answer us this question, save He who breathed 
 life into all the inhabitants of the deep 1 
 
 We admire the exquisite beauty of the shell-pala- 
 ces, which are occasionally exhibited to our view, 
 
PATRIOTISM. 83 
 
 But of the habits and instincts of their tenants, our 
 knowledge is small. Still, in the fragments which 
 we gather, we perceive Infinite Goodness active for 
 the frail, as well as the mighty habitants of the 
 world of waters. 
 
 How beautiful and appropriate are the words of 
 the inspired Psalmist, "O Lord, how manifold are 
 thy works. In wisdom hast thou made them all. 
 The earth is full of thy riches. So also, is the 
 great and wide sea." 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 Patriotism, is to be willing to make sacrifices, and 
 endure hardships, for the good of our country. His- 
 tory gives many instances, where property, has 
 been devoted, and life itself laid down, — to aid in 
 liberating a native land from oppression. 
 
 Patriots often become illustrious by their deeds, and 
 their names are conspicuous in the annals of history. 
 Yet there is much true patriotism, on a humbler 
 scale, which never wins the notice of the world. An 
 instance of this, I am going to relate to you. 
 
 During the contest between Great Britain and the 
 United States, which is called the revolutionary war, 
 our army endured many hardships, especially in the 
 severe winter, with which the year 1779 closed, and 
 that of 1780 began. They were then stationed at 
 Morristown, in New Jersey. 
 
 ( 
 
84 
 
 I once knew a soldier of the revolution. His head 
 was white as if covered with snow. He filled a re- 
 spectable rank in society, and was beloved for kind- 
 ness of heart and piety. He was gratified that I 
 asked him for tales of other days, and he told me 
 the following story of the winter at Morristown. 
 
 " Early in the month of November, 1779, said he, 
 our army under General Washington, left the vicini- 
 ty of Hudson River, and the White Plains, to go into 
 winter quarters. Snow had already fallen, — so that 
 we had the prospect of a dreary season. 
 
 The roads were in a most uncomfortable state, 
 from rain, and melting snows, and we marched four 
 days, with feet and limbs continually wet and cold. 
 We reached Morristown, weary and way-worn, and 
 were permitted, the first night, to sleep in the houses 
 and barns of the inhabitants. 
 
 The next morning, early, we were ordered two 
 miles northward, to a thick, dark forest, to cut down 
 trees, and build huts, to shelter us during the winter. 
 Almost every day, snow fell, and the cold was ex- 
 treme. We slept on the frozen ground, wrapped in 
 a single blanket. 
 
 We worked very hard to complete our hovels of 
 logs. In about a week, they were ready to admit their 
 tenants. We took possession of these rude, dark cab- 
 ins, with more joy than a king enters his palace, for 
 we better knew the value of shelter from a storm. 
 
 We now hoped to pass in quietness, the dreary 
 months, till Spring should call us forth, to the ser- 
 vice of our country. But greater trials awaited us. Ere 
 long, provisions began to fail. The severe cold, had 
 frozen much earlier than usual, the waters of the 
 
PATRIOTISM. 85 
 
 Hudson and Delaware, so that no supplies could ar- 
 rive by boats. 
 
 New-Jersey, was not able, for any length of time, 
 to provide from her own resources, for such a mul- 
 titude. Our daily allowance of food, was reduced 
 to one half. Then, to a quarter. Only four ounces 
 of bread, and four of meat, were served to each 
 man, for twenty-four hours. The cravings of hun- 
 ger were intense. 
 
 Still, the afflicting scarcity grew more severe. 
 This scanty pittance was at length dealt out, only 
 once in two days. But the suffering was borne with 
 astonishing patience. The half-famished soldiers 
 sustained themselves, with the love of their country, 
 and the hope of better times. Some, even strove, by 
 amusing and playful conversation, to keep up the 
 spirits of their comrades. 
 
 A deeper trial was reserved for us. Four bitter 
 wintry days and nights, not a morsel of food was 
 given out. None could be procured. The strongest 
 men became weak, — and the voices of the more 
 feeble, grew so faint, as scarcely to be audible. 
 But there was no murmuring. We felt it was the 
 poverty of our beloved country, that we were 
 sharing, — and believed, that in God's good time, re- 
 lief would come. 
 
 After this dreadful abstinence of four days, some 
 wheat was obtained. One gill of raw wheat, was 
 the portion for each soldier. We hastened to boil 
 and eat it, — drinking also the water, in which it had 
 been boiled. 
 
 While we were devouring the food, a gun was 
 heard within the encampment. A lean, miserable 
 8 
 
86. 
 
 dog had wandered thither. The poor animal was 
 immediately shot, and cooked for some of the of- 
 ficers, who were so reduced by famine, as to be 
 thankful for such a repast. 
 
 Another fast of four days ensued, rendered more 
 painful, by the extreme cold ; which threatened to 
 turn every thing into ice. On the fifth morning, be- 
 fore the sun rose, a majestic man was seen, with 
 the bridle of his horse around his arm. 
 
 He stopped at the door of every hut. He af- 
 fectionately asked each soldier "how Tie fared." It 
 was Washington. Tears escaped from his eyes, at 
 the sight of our sorrows. Only the night before, had 
 he learned their full extent. He had not slept. Ere 
 the dawn, he hastened, notwithstanding the terrible 
 cold, to visit us. 
 
 His countenance, and words, revealed the deepest 
 sympathy. At the sight of his distress, many 
 cheerful voices exclaimed, " General, we do not com- 
 plain. We can bear this longer, if it is the will of 
 heaven. We are ready to defend our country, 
 whenever you call us to the field." 
 
 This patience and patriotism, affected Washington 
 still more keenly. He could scarcely command his 
 voice, as he thanked and blessed them. He assured 
 them, that if it were in the power of man, relief 
 should be sent them, before the close of day. 
 
 A little past noon, the steward's call was heard 
 throughout the camp. We rushed to the spot. To 
 each of us, was weighed out, four ounces of beef, as 
 free from bone, as possible. Overcome by the 
 fierceness of appetite, some swallowed it raw, as 
 soon as it reached their hands. 
 
PATRIOTISM. 87 
 
 On the following day, we received four ounces of 
 bread. Much in the same manner, our food con- 
 tinued to be regularly, though scantily, distributed, 
 until winter was past, and spring recalled us to other 
 toils and perils. 
 
 Yet scarcity of provisions, was not the only cause 
 of our suffering at Morristown. The weather was 
 fearfully severe, and our clothing old, and insufficient. 
 Snow, for a long time covered the ground, to the 
 depth of three, and four feet. 
 
 During more than six weeks, not the least thawing 
 was perceived, even in the noon-day sun. No water 
 could be obtained by the soldiers, but melted ice 
 and snow. They were generally destitute of shoes, 
 so that the guard, when they were upon duty, might 
 be tracked by the blood from their feet, reddening 
 their path of snow. 
 
 But every hardship was bravely endured, for the 
 sake of the love, we bare our country. Looking 
 with hope to her independence, we took part in 
 her hard lot, like children with a parent, and 
 suffered hunger, and cold, and nakedness, and the 
 want of all things, without repining." 
 
 Here the aged man finished his story, and when I 
 reflected how many young people there are, who 
 have been always provided with food, warm clothing, 
 and a comfortable shelter, and yet are little thankful 
 for such favours, perhaps, sometimes discontented, I 
 thought it might be well for them to hear, how nobly 
 great sufferings were endured, by men of other times, 
 who loved their country. 
 
 If any of you who now read this account, should 
 ever travel through Morristown, and admire its 
 
SO THE BOY S BOOK. 
 
 beautiful scenery and pure atmosphere, it would be 
 well to search out the spot, where our army were 
 encamped, during that severe winter. 
 
 It would be cheering to those who have borne 
 such hardships, to know that the children of that 
 country, for whose liberties they toiled, remember 
 their services with gratitude. — Become acquainted 
 with the forms in which their patriotism was tried ; 
 that you may be able to tell your own children, how 
 the blessings of our free government were purchased. 
 
 Yet while we praise the patriots of our revolu- 
 tion, let us never forget that war is a great evil. It 
 must ever be considered so, when we take a serious 
 view of the miseries that it occasions. Pain, mourn- 
 ing, and death, the interruption of the honest pur- 
 suits of industry, and those arts of peace, which 
 constitute the prosperity of a nation, are in its train. 
 
 Such wars as are rendered necessary for self-de- 
 fence, or the preservation of liberty, cannot be repro- 
 bated like those which spring from the promptings 
 of ambition, or the desire of conquest. Let us pray 
 that our beloved country may be kept from the evils 
 of war, and that we may be enabled to show our 
 patriotism, not in the field of battle, but by setting 
 an example of every virtue, as good and peaceful 
 citizens. 
 
 THE ONLY SON. 
 
 Frank Wilson was an only son. His parents 
 were among the most respectable people in the 
 
THE ONLY SON. 89 
 
 town where they resided. They were very indul- 
 gent to him. He was a well-disposed, affectionate 
 boy, and did not abuse their kindness. 
 
 He went cheerfully to school, and came regularly 
 home, and was content to do what his father and 
 mother thought best. This good conduct gave to 
 his countenance, an agreeable expression ; so that 
 people were in the habit of saying, they had seldom 
 seen an only child so obedient and happy. 
 
 He had an unmarried uncle, who was very fond 
 of him. He was quite rich, and had said something 
 about making Frank his heir. So, the parents fre- 
 quently consulted him about their son, and he was 
 pleased to give advice respecting his education. 
 " Once, the uncle said, "I think you had better send 
 Frank from home." The father replied, "I do not 
 see the necessity of it. Our schools here, are con- 
 sidered among the best in the country ; and boys 
 are sent to them from other States." 
 
 "That may be," the uncle answered, "and yet 
 he ought to go from home. He is not as manly as 
 other boys. I see him sometimes putting his arm 
 around his mother's neck, or sitting "with her hand 
 in his, which is very childish you know." 
 
 So, Frank felt under restraint when his uncle vis- 
 ited them. He was afraid to show fondness for his 
 parents, or to express his affectionate feelings, on 
 other occasions, lest it should not be manly. 
 
 At length, the uncle prevailed on the parents of 
 Frank, to have him sent from home, for two years 
 before he entered college, engaging to pay the ex- 
 penses of his board and tuition, at a celebrated 
 academy, in a distant State. 
 
90 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 But the mother had many misgivings. She said, 
 " I now know, at least, that my boy is not in bad 
 company. This, I cannot know, when he is away 
 from me. While he studies his lessons by our fire- 
 side, in the evening, I feel that he is not exposed to 
 evil example ; and he is always contented with me." 
 
 " That is the misfortune, sister. He is altogether 
 too contented with you. Your husband is a good 
 deal occupied with his business, and boys brought 
 up by women, are good for nothing. He must be 
 sent from home, or he will never be a man." 
 
 It was in vain, the mother argued, that when the 
 home was a good one, and the school a good one, 
 and the boy making good progress, and in good 
 habits, that a change might be for the worse. Her 
 objections were supposed by the uncle, to spring 
 from unwillingness to part with her son, and as the 
 father had consented, she at length consented also. 
 
 Frank was pleased at the thought of seeing new 
 places, and making new acquaintances. The pre- 
 parations for his wardrobe, and supply of books, 
 being on a more liberal scale, than he had been ac- 
 customed to, nattered his vanity, and kept him in 
 good spirits. 
 
 But when the last trunk was locked, and he sat 
 between his father and mother, expecting every mo- 
 ment, the arrival of the stage-coach, tears came so 
 fast to his eyes, and he felt such a pain at his heart, 
 that he could scarcely heed their parting counsel. 
 
 The sound of the wheels was heard at the door, 
 and he wished to throw himself on his mother's 
 neck, and weep. But his uncle, who was to accom- 
 pany him, jumped out of the coach, and came in. 
 
THE ONLY SON. 91 
 
 So, he said in a hurried voice, " good bye, dear fa- 
 ther, dear mother ! You shall hear from me, as soon 
 as I get there." 
 
 He dared not look back, until the roof of his 
 home, and the elm-trees that overshadowed it, were 
 entirely out of sight. For he felt such a choking 
 sensation, that he feared he should burst into tears, 
 and he dreaded above all things, lest his uncle 
 should call him " Miss Frances" in the presence of 
 strangers. 
 
 In a large school, he found more to try his temper 
 than he had expected. Ho wished to be distinguish- 
 ed for scholarship, but there were many older, and 
 more advanced than himself, and when he had been 
 once or twice disappointed, he did not put forth that 
 energy and perseverance, which are necessary to se- 
 cure success. 
 
 He suffered from that loneliness of heart, which a 
 stranger at school, and especially an only child, 
 feels, when first exiled from the sympathies of 
 home. In the turns of head-ache, to which he had 
 been subject from childhood, he painfully missed 
 maternal nursing, and tenderness. 
 
 But to these trials, he gradually became accus- 
 tomed, and having a good temper, was rather a fa- 
 vourite, among his associates. At length, his room- 
 mate was changed, and a bad scholar, and a bad 
 boy, was placed in this intimate connection with 
 him. It was found that he had not moral courage 
 enough, to say no, when he was tempted to do 
 wrong, and a sad change in his behaviour soon be- 
 came evident. 
 
 Frank had not firmness enough to reprove his 
 
92 the boy's book. 
 
 companion, for what he knew was improper or 
 wicked ; and he who is constantly exposed to evil 
 example, and does not resist it in the fear of God, 
 will be but too apt to follow it. 
 
 The first wrong step was to neglect his lessons, 
 and waste his time. His room-mate taught him 
 to laugh at the censures that followed, and to 
 ridicule in secret, the teachers whom he should 
 have loved. He induced him to read foolish and 
 hurtful books ; and there they were making them- 
 selves merry, when their distant parents supposed 
 they were diligently acquiring knowledge. 
 
 When Frank came home, at his vacations, his un- 
 cle exclaimed, "how improved! how manly !" He 
 had indeed, grown very tall, and bid fair, to possess 
 a fine, graceful form. But his parents scrutinized 
 him more closely, and feared that every change, 
 was not an improvement. 
 
 Simple pleasures no longer satisfied him. He in- 
 sisted on having the most expensive articles. He 
 ceased to ask pleasantly for what he needed, but 
 said through his shut teeth, with a face partly 
 turned away, "I want such, and such things. All 
 the other boys have them." 
 
 The mother was alarmed at the habits of reserve 
 and concealment, which had grown over him. She 
 had early taught him to speak freely of all his con- 
 cerns to her. Now, she felt that she was shut out of 
 his confidence, and that her influence over him for 
 good, must of course decline. 
 
 She endeavoured by every means in her power, to 
 re-instate herself in his affections. Still he kept the 
 veil close about him, and a son who treats kind pa- 
 
THE ONLY SON. 93 
 
 rents with reserve, is either in a wrong course, or in 
 danger of entering it. To any gentle remonstrance, 
 on his change of manners, or conduct, he carelessly 
 replied, " Why, other boys do so. My uncle says, I 
 shall never be a man, till I act like other boys." 
 
 At his entrance into college, he was exposed to 
 more temptations, and less and less inclined to repel 
 them. Let no parent be easy about a son, who be- 
 comes a member of college, without industry, or 
 principle. Good talents, and good temper are not 
 sufficient to protect him ; for the first grow inert 
 without industry, and the sunshine of the latter may 
 be clouded by immoral courses, and the loss of self- 
 approbation. 
 
 Frank's letters to his anxious parents, were but 
 few, and far between. Those to his uncle, were 
 more frequent, because on him he depended, for 
 the supply of his purse. The uncle at first remark- 
 ed, with a laugh, that " he spent money like a man." 
 But in a year or two, it was supposed that he be- 
 came very tired of the free expenses of his nephew, as 
 he ceased to boast of this proof of manliness. 
 
 Frank, who took no pains to devote himself to his 
 studies, was still desirous to be distinguished For 
 something. So, he was fond of speaking of his 
 " rich, old bachelor uncle," and of saying " without 
 doubt, I shall have all his money." Expectations of 
 wealth, and habits of extravagance, hastened his 
 ruin. 
 
 In his third year at college, he came home, sick, 
 and with no disposition to return to his studies. He 
 spoke against the regulations of the Institution, and 
 ridiculed the faculty. He said it was impossible for 
 
94 the boy's book. 
 
 any one to gain an education there, if they applied 
 themselves ever so closely. In short, he blamed 
 every body but himself. 
 
 He had left college, in debt, and in disgrace. His 
 uncle, who had great reason to be offended, told him, 
 that he need no longer expect support from him, for 
 unless his whole course of life was changed, he 
 should select some more worthy relative to receive 
 his bounty, and be the heir of his estate. 
 
 Frank's father took him to his own counting- 
 house. But he disliked business, and had no habits 
 of application. His red, and bloated face, told but 
 too truly what other habits he had formed. And he 
 was pointed at, as the ruined young man. 
 
 Long did the poor mother try to hide the bitter 
 truth from her own heart. Often was she ingenious 
 in palliating his offences, to others, hoping he might 
 yet retrieve his character. She watched for mo- 
 ments of reflection, for glimpses of good feeling, to 
 give force to her remonstrances and appeals. 
 
 But the father said to her, "it is in vain, that we 
 disguise from ourselves, what is known to the 
 whole community. Our son is a sot. I have tried 
 with him, and for him, every means of reformation. 
 But I have reason to think, that all is still in vain." 
 
 We know how intemperance, breaks down grace 
 of form, and destroys beauty of countenance, — how 
 it debases man, who was made in the image of God 
 below the level of the brute creation, and sinks his 
 aspiring and immortal soul, into an abyss of misery. 
 
 Thus it was with Frank Wilson. The pleasant 
 chamber, where his happy infancy, and childhood, 
 had dreamed away nights of innocence, and woke 
 
THE ONLY SON. 95' 
 
 in the morning to health and joy, was now the scene 
 of his frequent sickness, hoarse, senseless laughter, 
 and fearful profanity. 
 
 It is too painful to follow him through the excess- 
 es, that broke the hearts of his parents. But his 
 career was short. The sins of his youth destroyed 
 him. They laid down with hirn in the dust. There 
 was no evidence that he repented, or sought forgive- 
 ness of God. 
 
 His death-bed was horrible. None of those who 
 loved him, could remain by it. With eye-balls 
 starting from their sockets, he shrieked of hideous 
 monsters and fiery shapes that surrounded him. 
 His last struggle, — his last cry, was in wild but 
 weak contention, with those frightful images which 
 a disordered imagination created. 
 
 Thus died, in the agonies of delirium tremens, 
 Frank Wilson, the only son, and idol of his parents. 
 His first false step, was not daring to say no, when 
 he was tempted to evil. His next, was concealing 
 from his parents and teachers, the faults he had 
 committed, and the dangers from which they might 
 have saved him. 
 
 From these two seeds, want of moral courage, and 
 want of confidence in his parents, what a sudden 
 and fatal harvest sprang up, — indolence, — extrava- 
 gance, — contempt of authority, — intemperance, — 
 early death. Let every boy dread the first advances 
 of vice, for the descent is swift, like the swollen 
 and headlong torrent, sweeping every landmark 
 away. 
 
96 the boy's book. 
 
 I 
 
 GOOD MANNERS. 
 
 Good manners, ought to be assiduously cultivated 
 by the young. They are indispensable to a correct 
 education, and prove that its benefits have not been 
 conferred in vain. They procure regard, and re- 
 spect from others, and show a well-balanced char- 
 acter. 
 
 A rude, churlish deportment, marks a low, unfeel- 
 ing mind. No wealth, or learning, or rank, will 
 make amends for it. It is an offence to the Almighty, 
 who, in forming a wonderful body, and uniting it 
 with a rational soul, demands some degree of re- 
 spect for the work of his creation. 
 
 The young should never indulge themselves in 
 careless manners, or coarse language to play-mates 
 or domestics. Good-breeding extends equally to the 
 most familiar associate, and to the poorest person. 
 The feelings of those in inferior stations, should be 
 regarded, as well as those in the highest. 
 
 Good manners win, and preserve attachment. 
 They should be observed in the family circle. 
 They must be worn as daily apparel, not as a suit 
 for company. A truly polite boy, will rise and 
 give a seat to his mother, or bring the hat and cane 
 for his father, or pick up the handkerchief, and 
 working materials of his sister, as readily and grace- 
 fully, as for a visitor or stranger. 
 
 " I do not like to walk arm in arm with my sister," 
 said a child to his mother, " because the boys laugh at 
 
GOOD MANNERS. 9? 
 
 me." "If you allow yourself to be laughed out of 
 what is proper, she replied, when you are a boy, 
 you will be ridiculed out of your duties, and your 
 principles, and your conscience, when you become 
 a man." 
 
 It is a pity to make such a mistake, as to be 
 ashamed of what is honourable. Boys may be as- 
 sured that by affectionate attentions, and ready aid 
 to their mother, their sisters, and other members of 
 the household, and marked civility to all the female 
 sex, they imitate the example of some of the wisest 
 and best of men. 
 
 The smile, — the pleasant tone, — the kind expres- 
 sion, — the courteous bow, are among the lesser 
 means of communicating happiness, which should 
 not be neglected. It is not enough to mean well, — 
 we should let the beauty of good feelings, and right 
 affections, be visible to all. 
 
 Good manners require a person not to talk much 
 of himself, except with relatives and particular 
 friends, who desire him to do so, or unless business 
 requires it. When inclined to obtrude our own feel- 
 ings or affairs upon others, we should recollect 
 that their minds may be supposed to be equally oc- 
 cupied with their own. 
 
 The kindness of heart, on which good manners 
 depend, will prevent making the faults of others, the 
 chosen theme of conversation. It will be more 
 pleasant to bring forward their merits, or cover 
 their errors with tenderness, than in the words of a 
 forcible writer, to "rake among the dead bones of 
 the world, regardless of its living beauty." 
 
 Good-breeding is a happy medium, between diffi- 
 9 
 
98 the boy's book. 
 
 dence and boldness. The diffidence which a boy 
 often feels in the company of strangers, may be ex* 
 cused by the kind-hearted. Still, he should study 
 remedies for it, as for an infirmity, until he is able 
 to enter any room, without either forwardness, or 
 embarrassment, and reply readily and respectfully, 
 to any question that may be addressed to him. 
 
 Diffidence is considered a proof of a susceptible 
 heart, and if thrown too hastily aside, may create 
 danger of rushing into the other extreme, of bold or 
 careless manners. Yet if too long indulged, it be- 
 comes painful to the possessor, and prevents him 
 from doing justice to himself. 
 
 A diffident person should turn his thoughts to- 
 wards those, in whose company he is, with respect, 
 and a desire to make them happy. Let him try to 
 forget self, for selfishness has much to do with diffi- 
 dence, though we usually give it a more amiable 
 name. 
 
 He, who in the presence of others, is indifferent to 
 them, and remembers only himself, will become 
 vain ; and vanity and diffidence combined, make an 
 obstinate disease. A just estimate of ourselves, and 
 of our duties, will lead to propriety of deportment, 
 towards all with whom we associate. 
 
 Though perfect decorum, and the ease of finished 
 manners, cannot always be expected from the young, 
 because they rest both upon self-knowledge, and 
 knowledge of mankind, yet it should be the busi- 
 ness of education, throughout the whole of its pro- 
 gress, to teach and to enforce them. 
 
 A well-bred boy, is immediately singled out, by 
 an observing eye, from the group of his companions. 
 
jg GOOD MANSERS. 99 
 
 His frank, and modest deportment gains confidence 
 and regard. He looks up with a clear eye, when he 
 speaks, or is spoken to, feeling that there is nothing 
 to be ashamed of, but ignorance and vice. 
 
 Good manners give influence. This is so generally 
 confessed, that bad men, study the arts of insinuation 
 to advance their own evil designs. History will 
 show, how often usurpers and tyrants, have assumed 
 fascinating manners, until their purposes were ac- 
 complished. 
 
 Sylla and Cataline, who deluged Rome with 
 blood, knew how to deceive the people, with specious 
 appearances. Absalom " stole the hearts of the men 
 of Israel," when he sought to hurl his father from 
 the throne. 
 
 Since Hypocrisy is so eager to obtain the beauti- 
 ful garments of Virtue, — Virtue must be more care- 
 ful to wear her own wardrobe, and not suffer the 
 "children of this world to be wiser in their genera- 
 tion, than the children of light." The truly good, 
 ought not to be neglectful of the influence that po- 
 liteness will give them. 
 
 Courtesy of manners, was more regarded in for- 
 mer days, than in our own. They were conspicuous 
 in the " gentleman of the old school," or those who 
 lived before our revolution. A few of these vene- 
 rable men still remain, as our models. But how ra- 
 pidly are they passing away. Let the rising gene- 
 ration, while they imitate their goodness, catch the 
 mantle, in which it was arrayed. 
 
 Washington, and his compeers, were remarkable 
 for a dignified politeness. Delicate attention to the 
 weaker sex, and chivalrous protection of the help- 
 
100 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 less, formed a part of their character, and added 
 lustre to their greatness. 
 
 A gentlemen, who was distinguished for true po- 
 liteness, once had charge of an Institution for the 
 Insane. It was observed that he easily ruled the re- 
 fractory, and even fascinated the brutal and obdurate. 
 To an inquiry, what was the secret of this magic 
 power, he replied, "in dealing with these unfortu- 
 nate beings, I ever keep uppermost in my mind, that 
 "God is love." *" ' 
 
 This was the perfection of good manners, — found- 
 ed on love to the human race, — a love, not baffled 
 by the most intricate and perplexing duties, — not 
 daunted by violence, not discouraged by stupidity, 
 but patiently cementing the fragments of the broken 
 mind, and changing even the fierce glance of the 
 maniac, to confidence and gratitude. 
 
 " Be courteous," said an inspired apostle. " When 
 ye enter into a house, salute it," was the command 
 of our blessed Redeemer. We perceive that true 
 politeness is allied to piety. It is kindness of heart, 
 kindly expressed. It teaches to avoid giving cause- 
 less pain to the humblest being. It respects the 
 feelings of all whom God has made. 
 
 Good manners owe a part of their power to the 
 perception of beauty, which our Maker has implant- 
 ed within us. Food for this perception, is scattered 
 among the wild flowers by the way-side, — on the 
 bosom of the blue stream, — in the waving forest, — 
 and amid the vaulted sky. It " Warms in the sun 
 refreshes in the breeze, — glows in the stars, and 
 blosoms in the trees." 
 
 True politeness is moral beauty. We spontane- 
 
WEALTH. 101 
 
 ously yield it our love. Those who are devoid of it, 
 are able to admire it. It imparts happiness. It 
 makes glad the heart of him who cherishes, and him 
 who shares it. Let us strive to obtain it, for it is a 
 form of benevolence, cheering to our fellow-crea- 
 tures, and acceptable to our Father in heaven. 
 
 WEALTH. 
 
 "Father," said a little boy, "I wish you was a 
 rich man]" "Why do you wish so my dear] 
 Have you not proper clothing, and comfortable food, 
 and a good home to shelter you 3 Are you not sent 
 to school 1 and have you not books, from which to 
 gather knowledge V 
 
 " Now, there are dangers in being rich, especially 
 to children. Among these, are the dangers of grow- 
 ing up idle, or selfish, or proud. Perhaps, your 
 Heavenly Father, who knows your heart better than 
 you do, saw that you would not be able to withstand 
 such temptations, and so protected you from them." 
 
 The child acknowledged that he had not thought 
 of all these things before. He promised to be con- 
 tented with the lot, in which he had been placed, 
 and thankful for his opportunities of gaining instruc- 
 tion. So, he put on a happy face and a happy tem- 
 per, and was beloved by all who knew him. 
 
 We see that wealth purchases costly raiment, and 
 9* 
 
102 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 a showy equipage, — a luxurious table, and the at- 
 tendance of many servants. These things strike the 
 senses, and we might be so dazzled, as to consider 
 them essential to happiness, if our senses governed 
 us. 
 
 But why should we permit our senses to govern 
 us] Have we not other means of judging] Can 
 we not look deeper than the surface] When we 
 form our estimate of any man's character or happi- 
 ness, there are other things to be taken into view, 
 besides the contents of his purse, or the magnitude 
 of his estate. 
 
 We should inquire, is he amiable ] Is he well- 
 educated 1 Does he seek the improvement of society 1 
 Does he set a good example ] Is he pious ] Then 
 his wealth is a blessing, for it will enable him to do 
 good, on a larger scale. 
 
 But if he trusts to his possessions, for his respec- 
 tability, — if he seals up his sympathies from those 
 around, — if he despises the industrious in humble 
 stations, and forgets the God who made them to differ, 
 " verily, a poor, wise man, is better than he." 
 
 It is a pity for the young, to form too high an es- 
 timate of wealth, for if they possess it, they will be 
 prevented from labouring after higher excellencies ; 
 and if they do not, they will be led to show that at- 
 tention and reverence to the rich, which should be 
 reserved for the virtuous. 
 
 In communities, where wealth is counted the chief 
 good ; high intellect and learning, even morality 
 and piety, hold but a secondary place. Matter is 
 elevated above mind, and the perishable, prized 
 more than the imperishable. The pyramid is re- 
 
WEALTH. 103 
 
 versed, and the " bag of deceitful weights," is adopt- 
 ted as a true standard. 
 
 In governments, this leads to corruption. It was 
 after the degeneracy of Rome, when virtuous pover- 
 ty ceased to be respected, that the statesman who 
 sought to apply a remedy to the growth of evil, said, 
 that the very first step must be, to take away the un- 
 due estimation of riches. 
 
 The Romans, before they had become debased by 
 luxury and vice, taught their young people, a high 
 moral lesson, when they built the temple of Virtue, 
 in advance of the temple of Honour ; implying, that 
 he who would enter one, must first pass through the 
 other. 
 
 Confucius, the Chinese philosopher, said, "let 
 every man beware of three things : — in youth, of his 
 appetites, — in middle life, of his passions, — in age, 
 of covetousness." We perceive, that the sage of 
 China, had looked beyond the surface of things. 
 
 In the morning of life, when the senses and ap- 
 petites bear sway, it is natural that we should high- 
 ly value whatever affords them gratification. As 
 we pass on, stronger passions assert their dominion. 
 But the last-named ruler, Covetousness, how came 
 he into the throne? Why should man cling more 
 closely to the world, when he is about to leave it ? 
 
 Should we become more sordid, just as we are to 
 be summoned to lay down, all that we have ga- 
 thered upon earth ? About to embark upon the dark 
 sea of death, would it not be wiser, in the words of 
 St. Paul, to the mariners, to " throw out all the wares 
 and lighten the ship V 
 
 Governor Everett says, "Wealth in this country 
 
104 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 may be traced back to industry and frugality ; the 
 paths which lead to it are open to all ; the laws 
 which protect it are equal to all ; and such is the 
 joint operation of the law and the customs of so- 
 ciety, that the wheel of fortune is in constant revo- 
 lution, and the poor in one generation, furnish the 
 rich in the next. 
 
 " The rich man, who treats poverty with arrogance 
 and contempt, tramples upon the ashes of his father 
 or his grandfather; the poor man who nourishes 
 feelings of un kindness, and bitterness, against wealth, 
 makes war with the prospects of his children, and 
 the order of things in which he lives." 
 
 Wealth furnishes many means of obtaining and 
 imparting gratification. Under the guidance of lib- 
 erality and benevolence, it relieves suffering, promotes 
 improvement, opens the channels of enterprize, and 
 gives influence in society, to aid every good work. 
 
 But considered merely as a personal possession, 
 how infirm is it, in the day of sorrow and adversity, 
 For the sick man, it may indeed furnish a bed of 
 down, and costly attendance. Yet can it buy affec- 
 tion 1 Can it reprieve from the mortal pang? Can 
 it give peace of conscience? or acquiescence in the 
 Divine will J 
 
 Of how little value is wealth, without religion. 
 
 This cannot be fully realized until the close of life. 
 
 , Hear the touching testimony, which Patrick Henry, 
 
 ;the eloquent orator, bears, at the conclusion of his 
 
 last will. 
 
 "Now having disposed of my property to my 
 family, there is one thing more, which I wish I 
 could give them, and that is the Christian Religion. 
 
TREES. 105 
 
 If they have this, and I had not given them one 
 shilling, they would be rich ; and if they have it not, 
 and I left them all the world, they would be poor." 
 
 A similar sentiment is breathed in the prayer of 
 a religious poet, 
 
 " Give what Thou wilt, without Thee, we are poor, 
 And with Thee, rich, take what Thou wilt away." 
 
 Doubtless, both these fine passages are founded on 
 the solemn admonition of our blessed Saviour, 
 " What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the 
 whole world, and lose his own soul) Or what 
 shall a man give, in exchange for his soul j* 
 
 TREES. 
 
 You have doubtless, often admired the budding 
 and flowering trees, as they are decked by the 
 beautiful spring, after the cold and nakedness 
 of winter. You have seen how their verdure and 
 shade adds charms to the landscape, or have walk- 
 ed through the forest, delighted with its loftiness 
 and majesty. 
 
 Have you ever reflected on the goodness of the 
 Creator, in forming such a variety of trees, and fit- 
 ting them to different climates, and to the wants of 
 man 1 Beneath the burning suns of India, how re- 
 freshing must be the shade of the lofty Banyan, 
 
106 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 striking down its drooping branches, until each 
 takes root, and thus forming an arched grove, or a 
 magnificent columnar temple. 
 
 Of the picturesque Palm, — the "Prince of the 
 East," as it has been sometimes called ; a distinguish- 
 ed traveller writes, — " When grown to a size for 
 bearing fruit, its leaves are six, or eight feet long, 
 and may be termed branches, for it has no other. 
 The flavour of its ripe dates, is not unlike that of 
 the conserved green citron, which is brought from 
 Madeira. It presents not only a supply of salutary 
 food, but however dreary the region where it is found, 
 gives a never-failing indication of water near its 
 roots. 
 
 "A considerable part of the inhabitants of Egypt, 
 Arabia and Persia, subsist almost entirely upon its 
 fruit. They speak also of its medicinal virtues. 
 Their camels feed upon the date stones, which are 
 ground in hand-mills. The leaves are wrought into 
 couches, baskets, bags, mats and brushes ; from the 
 mid-rib, or longitudinal stem, they make javelins, 
 fences for their gardens, and cages for their poultry ; 
 from the fibres, — thread, ropes and rigging; from 
 the sap is prepared a pleasant liquor, and the trunk 
 furnishes fuel. 
 
 " It is even said, that from one variety of the 
 palm-tree (the phcenioc farinafera) meal has been found 
 among the fibres of the branches, and used for food. 
 The trunk of the date-tree is full of cavities, the 
 vestiges of decayed leaves, exactly adapted to the 
 reception of the human feet and hands ; and it is 
 impossible to view them without believing, that He 
 who in the beginning, fashioned 'every tree, in the 
 
TREES. 107' 
 
 which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed, as meat 
 for man' has there manifested one, among the in- 
 numerable proofs, of his beneficent designs." 
 
 The lofty, India-Rubber tree, or Caoutchouc, may 
 be discerned at a great distance, by its thick crown, 
 and the vast circumference which its branches cover. 
 When the gum, which has become necessary in 
 such a variety of forms, to the civilized world, first 
 flows from an incision made in the bark, it is of a 
 fine white colour, and of the consistence of cream. 
 
 The Bread-Fruit tree, supplies not only food, but 
 raiment ; for the bark is manufactured into a kind of 
 cloth. Captain Cook, in describing it, as he first 
 found it at Otaheite, says, " if a man plant ten of 
 those trees, he can not only procure bread enough 
 for his household, but convert a surplus into money, 
 and lay it up for his children : so abundantly do 
 young trees spring from the roots of the old." 
 
 The Bread-Fruit, is about the size and shape of a 
 child's head, covered with a thin skin, and with a 
 core as large as the handle of a small knife. It is 
 perfectly white, and when roasted over the coals, re- 
 sembles in taste, new wheaten bread, and is a whole- 
 some kind of food. The wood of the tree is used for 
 building, and its broad leaves serve for towels, and 
 table-cloths. 
 
 In South-America is a tree, which some travellers 
 call the Milk-tree. It overflows with a nutritious 
 liquor, resembling the milk of a cow, and having a 
 slight, balsamic flavour. The natives make use of it 
 with their cassava-bread, and are said to increase in 
 flesh, by the diet. 
 
 The Tallow-tree, grows in China, on the banks of 
 
108 
 
 THE BOY S BOOK- 
 
 rivulets. The Chinese steep its seeds in water, and 
 then by pressing them, obtain a thick oil, which' 
 hardening to the consistency of tallow, is made into 
 firm and beautiful, white candles ; and these burn 
 without the least unpleasant odour. The Soap-tree, 
 produces fruit, of the size of a musket-ball, which 
 answers all the purposes of soap, in cleansing 
 linen, though it contains an acid, which sometimes 
 hurts the texture of the finer fabrics. 
 
 The Cinnamon-tree, which was originally found 
 in Ceylon, sends out its young leaves, at first of a 
 delicate rose colour, which changes to yellow, and 
 afterwards to green. Its small white flowers, par- 
 take of the perfume of its spicy bark. From its 
 fruit an oil is extracted, of which candles of a fra- 
 grant odour are manufactured. The bark is cut 
 from the tender shoots, and dried in the sun, which 
 causes it to curl. A dry, rocky soil, gives it the 
 most pungent and aromatic properties. 
 
 The Talipot-tree of Ceylon, grows entirely straight* 
 to the height of sixty or seventy feet, and then sud- 
 denly spreads forth an immense tuft of leaves, with- 
 out boughs ; each leaf bowing on its stem, in a 
 graceful curve, expanding like an enormous fan, 
 large enough to cover ten or twelve men. 
 
 This vast, evergreen crown, surmounting so lofty 
 and upright a shaft, is truly magnificent. When the 
 tree has attained the age of half a century, there 
 bursts from the centre of this crown, a cone, seven- 
 teen feet in height, from which issues a vast yellow 
 flower, composed of numberless blossoms, so ar- 
 ranged on a giant stem and ornamented with tassals, 
 as to tower above the tuft of leaves, like a diadem : 
 
TREES. 109 
 
 and the tree, after having perfected this glorious 
 flower, dies. 
 
 In Russia, great value is attached to the Linden- 
 tree. It is cultivated in almost every hamlet and vil- 
 lage. Furniture, and domestic utensils are formed 
 from its wood, and cords and matting from its rind. 
 Its sweet blossoms perfume the air, prepare a cor- 
 dial for invalids, and nourish multitudes of bees. 
 So delicious is the honey that is produced from the 
 flower, in its earlier stage of bloom, that it is taken 
 from the hives, before the bees have partaken of 
 other food, and brings a high price in the markets 
 of Constantinople. 
 
 The Pitch-Pine of the United States, frequently 
 grows fifty feet in height, before its branches shoot 
 forth with their rich, dark verdure. When the sea- 
 son arrives for collecting its treasures, apertures are 
 made in its bark, and boxes inserted, into which the 
 turpentine flows. Tar is obtained from such por- 
 tions of the bark, as become saturated with oozing 
 turpentine. These are carefully divided from the 
 tree, piled in the shape of a mound, covered with 
 earth, and set on fire. The dark thick liquid called 
 tar, flows forth into a reservoir prepared for it. 
 
 The majestic Oak, strikes root deeply in the earth 
 and survives to a great age. That species of it, 
 which is called the teak, is used much in ship-build- 
 ing, for its hard, enduring qualities, and grows both 
 in Asia and Africa. The great tree in England, 
 known by the name of the Boddington-Oak, was 
 fifty-four feet in circumference, at the ground, and 
 its trunk being hollow, formed a capacious room 
 whose floor, in one direction, measured sixteen feet. 
 10 
 
110 
 
 Immensely large Chestnuts trees, spring from the 
 lava of Mount Etna, in Sicily. Five of these, grow 
 closely side by side, like a clustered column, and 
 are said by some travellers, to be actually united at 
 the surface of the earth, where the circumference of 
 the whole, is two hundred and four feet. The cavi- 
 ty of one of these trees, can contain one hundred 
 sheep, and it has been asserted that thirty people on 
 horseback, have entered it. 
 
 The Elms of our own country, are exceedingly 
 beautiful and graceful. To rear them, in streets, 
 and public squares, is doing good to the public, and 
 to posterity. In the picturesque city of New-Haven, 
 in Connecticut, it is gratefully remembered, that 
 most of the Elms which adorn it, were planted by 
 the hand of the late Honourable James Hillhouse. 
 
 The most majestic Elm, which adorns the public 
 green, in that city, was planted in 1688, by an indi- 
 vidual named William Cooper. He was a poor 
 man, and when the house of his pastor, the Rev. 
 James Pierpont, was erected by voluntary contribu- 
 tion, he, having nothing else to offer, brought two 
 young elms upon his shoulder, and set them out as 
 shade-trees. 
 
 Like the two mites of the widow, they are held in 
 lasting remembrance, while the gifts that the rich 
 men cast into the treasury, are forgotten. Genera- 
 tion after generation has passed away, yet still this 
 labour of love, remains unchanged by winter's 
 blast, or summer's heat, bearing on its verdant 
 crown, the name of a poor and virtuous man, while 
 numbers who were above him in rank, have " no 
 memorial among the people." 
 
TREES. Ill 
 
 The great Duke of Sully, planted thousands of 
 shade-trees, in his beloved France. This is an hon- 
 our, in which the young may easily share. By 
 planting seeds and stones of fruits, in proper spots, 
 and learning how to pay them proper attention, they 
 may add much to the comfort of those whom they 
 love, as well as to their own. Or by rearing a ma- 
 jestic Elm, or Oak, Maple, or Chestnut, they may 
 throw a shelter over the head of the weary traveller 
 in future generations, and leave a beautiful monu- 
 ment to posterity, when they are sleeping in the 
 dust. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott says, " The exquisite delight of 
 a planter, is like that of a painter, in laying on his 
 colours ; every moment he sees their effect coming 
 out. There is no art, or occupation comparable to 
 this, — full of past, present, and future enjoyment. 
 I look back to the time, when there was not a tree 
 here; — I look around, and see thousands of trees 
 growing up, all of which, have received my personal 
 attention. 
 
 "I remember five years ago, looking forward, 
 with the most delighted expectation, to this very 
 hour, and as each year has passed, the expectation 
 has gone on increasing. I do the same now ; — I an- 
 ticipate what this plantation, and that, will presently 
 become, if only taken care of, and there is no spot 
 of which I do not watch the progress. 
 
 " Unlike building, or indeed any other kind of pur- 
 suit, this has no end, and is never interrupted ; but 
 goes on from day to day, from year to year, with 
 perpetually augmenting interest." My sons, you 
 might yourselves enjoy some of those pleasures of 
 
112 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 planting, which Sir Walter Scott, so vividly portrays. 
 Try. Cast into the fresh mould, the stone of the 
 rich peach, or plumb, or apricot, or cherry, which 
 you have just eaten. Learn to transplant, to graft, 
 to inoculate. 
 
 Ask advice of those who are experienced in hor- 
 ticulture. Set out, and train the grape-vine, and see 
 with what delight you will present the full, fragrant 
 clusters, to your parents and the frien ds whom you love. 
 Or if a loftier ambition inspires you, bury an acorn 
 in the tuft, and bequeath an oak. to posterity. Plant 
 a grove, or beautify a square, with the Elm, or Ash, the 
 Maple, or the Plane-tree. 
 
 When you become men, encircle your grounds 
 with green hedges, adorn your enclosures with flow- 
 ering-shrubs, and enrich the waste places, or even 
 the highways, with the tree on which the silk-worm 
 feeds. Remember that he who multiplies what is 
 beautiful in nature, increases the means of softening 
 the taste, and purifying the heart. 
 
 Teach the little ones, who may grow up under 
 your care, never to deform or injure a tree. Show 
 them how wonderfully the sap, which is their life- 
 blood, circulates, and the air-vessels breathe, and 
 the leaves and flowers which hide from winter, come 
 forth in their season ; and lead them to view, in 
 every column of verdure, that, in various forms, 
 beautifies the landscape, the goodness of an Al- 
 mighty Creator. 
 
PEACEFUL DISPOSITIONS. 113 
 
 PEACEFUL DISPOSITIONS. 
 
 The history of every nation tells of the shedding 
 of blood. The most ancient annals record "wars 
 and fightings," ever since man was placed upon 
 the earth. Both savage and civilized nations, have 
 prized the trappings of the warrior, and coveted the 
 glory of victory. 
 
 Yet have there always been some reflecting minds, 
 to lament that the beings whom God had so nobly 
 endowed, should delight to destroy each other. 
 They have felt that there was suffering enough in the 
 world without man's inflicting it on his brother ; and 
 that life was short enough, without being made still 
 shorter by violence. 
 
 Among the most warlike nations, there have been 
 a few calm and philanthropic spirits, to perceive that 
 war was an evil, or to deplore it as a judgment, even 
 before the Gospel breathed "good- will and peace," 
 in an angel's song. Though Rome grew up by 
 bloodshed, and gained her dominion by the sword, 
 yet some of her best Emperors deplored the evils of 
 war. 
 
 Adrian loved peace, and endeavoured to promote 
 it. He saw that war was a foe to those arts and 
 sciences, through which nations become prosperous 
 and refined. He felt that the cultivation of the earth, 
 — the pursuits of commerce, and the progress of in- 
 tellect must alike be obstructed and languish, while 
 the business of men was in the field of battle. 
 10* 
 
114 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 Titus Antoninus Pius desired to live in peace, with 
 every one. " I had rather save the life of one citizen, 
 he nobly said, than destroy a thousand enemies." 
 His successor, Marcus Aurelius, considered war both 
 as a disgrace and calamity. Though the necessity 
 of the times, sometimes forced him into it, his heart 
 revolted, for he was inspired with the love of learn- 
 ing and philosophy. 
 
 Yet these were heathen emperors. They had 
 never imbibed the spirit of the Gospel. They were 
 not followers of Him, whose last accent was a pray- 
 er for his murderers. The maxim of the ancient 
 Jews was, " an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth/' 
 But the precept of Jesus Christ is, " see that ye love 
 one another." The contentious spirit, was not there- 
 fore condemned by the law of Moses, nor by the 
 mythology of the heathen. 
 
 Have you ever thought much, my dear young 
 friends, of the miseries of war] — of the waste of 
 human life which it causes ? — of the bitter mourning 
 which it makes in families? You pity a friend who 
 suffers pain, — a poor cripple upon crutches, — or even 
 a child with a cut finger. 
 
 But, after a battle, what gashes and gaping wounds 
 are seen, — what multitudes of mangled carcasses. 
 How red is the earth, with flowing blood, — how terri- 
 ble* are the groans of the dying, trampled beneath 
 the feet of horses, or suffocated under heaps of dead. 
 How fearful to see strong men convulsed with agony, 
 and imploring help in vain. 
 
 Think too, of the sorrow in their distant homes. 
 Grey-headed parents, from whom the last prop is 
 taken away, lamenting their sons fallen in battle. 
 
PEACEFUL DISPOSITIONS. 115" 
 
 Wives mourning for their husbands, — little children 
 weeping because their fathers must return no more. 
 Neighbourhoods, once happy and prosperous, plung- 
 ed into poverty, by the loss of those who provided 
 them with bread. 
 
 All these evils, and many more, which we have 
 neither room nor time to mention, may come from a 
 single battle. Towns and cities are sometimes burn- 
 ed, and the aged and helpless destroyed. Mothers, 
 and their innocent babes, perish in the ruins of their 
 own beloved abodes. 
 
 War produces cruelty, and bad passions. Men, 
 who have no cause to dislike each other, meet as 
 deadly foes. They raise weapons of destruction, 
 and exult in the misery they inflict. Rulers, should 
 take a solemn view of the sufferings and sins of war, 
 ere they plunge the people into it, for differences 
 which might have been amicably settled. 
 
 War is expensive. The political economist should 
 therefore oppose it. Great Britain, in her last war 
 with France, is said to have spent more than seven 
 hundred millions of pounds. But the immediate 
 cost of armies, is but a part of the expense of war. 
 
 Who can compute the amount of losses by the 
 obstruction of tillage and commerce, and the waste 
 of life ; for every full-grown, able-bodied man, is of 
 value to the country that reared him. We may say 
 with the poet, 
 
 " War is a game, that were their subjects wise, 
 Kings would not play at." 
 
 Howard, who felt that it was more noble to save 
 life than to destroy it, visited the prisons of distant 
 
116 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 lands, to relieve such as have no helper, and bless- 
 ings in foreign languages, were poured upon his 
 head. Buonaparte caused multitudes to be slain, and 
 multitudes to mourn, and died in exile, on a desolate 
 island. When death approached, to strip the pomp 
 from titles, whose bosom must have been the most 
 peaceful, when about to pass into the presence of 
 God] 
 
 The religious sect, who are called Friends, never 
 engage in warfare. The State of Pennsylvania, was 
 settled by them. William Penn, its founder, pur- 
 chased it of the natives, and lived with them in ami- 
 ty. They gathered around him, with their dark, red 
 brows, and gazing earnestly in his face, said, " You 
 are our father. We love you." 
 
 When he purchased the land of them, he appear- 
 ed unarmed, under the spreading branches of a lofty 
 oak, and conferred with their chiefs. He paid them 
 to their satisfaction, gave them gifts, and entered in- 
 to articles of friendship with them and their descend- 
 ants. " This is the only treaty which was confirm- 
 ed without an oath," said an historian, " and the only 
 one, that was neyer broken." 
 
 These men of peace, treated the sons of the forest 
 as brethren. But in other colonies, there were dis- 
 tressing wars. The settlers carried their guns to the 
 corn-field, and laboured in fear, for the safety of 
 their households. The tomahawk and scalping- 
 knife, were sometimes secretly raised, so that when 
 they returned home, there were no wife or children 
 there,— only dead bodies. A savage foe had chosen 
 this terrible form of vengeance, for real or suppos- 
 ed wrongs. 
 
PEACEFUL DISPOSITIONS. 117 
 
 If true glory belongs to those who do great good, 
 to mankind, is not the glory of the warrior, a false 
 glory 1 Does not History sometimes confer on her 
 heroes, a fame which religion condemns 1 — But we 
 ask how are wars to be prevented % Might not one 
 nation act as mediator between others, as a good 
 man makes peace between contending neighbours i 
 
 Why should not one Christian ruler address an- 
 other, as the patriarch Abraham did, his kinsman 1 
 " Let there be no strife, betwixt us, I pray thee ; for 
 we are brethren." If there have been always wars, 
 from the beginning, is this any reason, why there 
 should be, unto the end 1 Do not the Scriptures of 
 Truth, foretel a happy period on earth, when there 
 shall be war no more 1 How beautifully has a poet 
 versified the cheering prediction : 
 
 "No more shall nation against nation rise, 
 Nor ardent warriors meet, with hateful eyes, — 
 Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er, 
 The brazen trumpet kindle rage no more, 
 But useless lances into scythes shall bend, 
 And the broad faulchion in a ploughshare end. 
 For wars shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail, 
 Returning Justice lift aloft her scale. 
 Peace o'er the earth her olive wand extend, 
 And white-rob'd righteousness from Heaven descend." 
 
 War proceeds from the unbridled passions, or 
 restless ambition of men. Unkind and quarrelsome 
 dispositions in children are the germs of such evil 
 fruit. Ought not then, the remedy to be early applied to 
 the heart, from whence they spring 1 For if the 
 love of peace, was planted, and cherished carefully 
 in the breast of every little child, would there not 
 
118 THE BOY'S BOOK 
 
 grow up a generation, who would help to banish 
 war from the earth 1 
 
 Avoid contention with your companions. Use no 
 offensive words, and when you see others disagree, 
 strive to reconcile them. Repress every revengeful 
 feeling. If any one has injured you, do not injure 
 them. Try to set them a better example. If any 
 speak unfavourably of you, it is well to do them 
 some good office. Perhaps you can lend them an 
 interesting, instructive book, whose perusal would 
 lead them to kinder dispositions. 
 
 To render evil for evil, would make perpetual dis- 
 cord in society. Try, therefore, to be gentle and pa- 
 tient to those who seem to dislike you. Their cold 
 treatment may often proceed from some trifle, which 
 your pleasant manners may reconcile. And it is a 
 pity, to lose for any trifle, the benefits of friendly 
 intercourse. 
 
 When in company with your associates, do not 
 insist always on having your own way. If you are 
 in the habit of cheerfully consulting their wishes, 
 they will seek your society, and enjoy it. Thus 
 you will acquire influence over them, and this in- 
 fluence should be exerted for their good. 
 
 You know that he who does good to another, uni- 
 formly, and from a right principle, promotes his 
 own happiness. It is indeed, easy to love those who 
 love us, but to be kind to those, who are unkind to us 
 is not as easy, though it is a nobler virtue. 
 
 " Do not suffer yourself to hate even your ene- 
 mies, said Plutarch, for in doing so, you contract a 
 vicious habit of mind, which will by degrees break 
 out, even upon your friends, or those who are indif- 
 
PEACEFUL DISPOSITIONS. 11& 
 
 ferent to you." This is the advice of a heathen 
 philosopher. But more definite and sublime are the 
 words of our Redeemer, "Love your enemies, that 
 ye may be the children of your Father in Heaven, 
 who doeth good unto the evil and unthankful." 
 
 By preserving peaceful dispositions, and per- 
 suading those who are at variance, to be reconciled, 
 you will be serene and happy. You will be pur- 
 suing an education which will fit you for the society 
 of angels. Have we not read of a country, where 
 there is no war? — where peace and love reign in 
 the bosom of all its inhabitants 1 
 
 That country is Heaven. We hope to dwell there 
 when we die. We would strive to cultivate its spirit 
 while on earth. How else can we be permitted to 
 remain there 1 The scorpion cannot abide in the 
 nest of the turtle-dove, nor the leopard slumber in 
 the lamb's fold. Neither can the haters of peace 
 find a home in those blissful regions. 
 
 That holy Book, which is the rule of our conduct 
 — the basis of our hope, has promised no reward to 
 those who delight in the shedding of blood. But 
 our Saviour, when his dwelling was in tents of clay, 
 — when he taught the listening multitude what they 
 must do, to inherit eternal life, said, "Blessed are 
 the peace-makers, for they shall be called the 
 children of God." 
 
120 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 THE GREY COTTAGE. 
 
 There was a labouring man, who built a cottage 
 for himself and wife. A dark grey rock over-hung 
 it, and helped to keep it from the winds. When the 
 cottage was finished, he thought he would paint it 
 grey, like the rock. And so exactly did he get the 
 same shade of colour, that it looked almost as if the 
 little dwelling sprang from the bosom of the rock 
 that sheltered it. 
 
 After a while the cottager became able to purchase 
 a cow. In the summer she picked up most of her own 
 living very well. But in the winter, she needed to be 
 fed and kept from the cold. So he built a barn for her. 
 It was so small that it looked more like a shed than 
 a barn. But it was quite warm and comfortable. 
 
 When it was done, a neighbour came, and said, 
 " what colour will you paint your barn V s " I had not 
 thought of that," said the cottager. " Then I advise 
 you by all means, to paint it black ; and here is a 
 pot of black paint, which I have brought on purpose 
 to give you." 
 
 Soon, after another neighbour praised his neat shed, 
 and expressed a wish to help him a little about his 
 building. " White, is by far the most genteel colour,'' 
 he added, " and here is a pot of white paint, of 
 which I make you a present." 
 
 While he was in doubt, which of the gifts to use, 
 the oldest and wisest man in the village came to 
 
THE GREY COTTAGE. 121 
 
 visit him. His hair was entirely white, and every 
 body loved him, for he was good as well as wise, 
 r When the cottager had told him the story of the 
 pots of paint, the old man said " he who gave you 
 the black paint, is one who dislikes you, and wishes 
 you to do a foolish thing. He who gave you the 
 white paint, is a partial friend, and desires you to 
 make more show than is wise. 
 
 " Neither of their opinions should you follow. If 
 the shed is either black or white, it will disagree 
 with the colour of your house. Moreover, the black 
 will draw the sun, and cause the edges of your 
 boards to curl and split ; and the white will look well 
 for a little while and then become soiled, and need 
 painting anew. 
 
 "Now, take my advice, and mix the black and 
 white together." So the cottager poured one pot into 
 the other, and mixed them up with his brushes, and 
 it made the very grey colour, which he liked, and 
 had used before, upon his house. 
 
 He had in one corner of his small piece of ground 
 a hop-vine, whose ripe clusters he carefully gather- 
 ed. It was always twined around two poles, which 
 he had fastened to the earth, to give it support. But 
 the cottager was fond of building, and he made a 
 little arbour for it to run upon, and cluster about. 
 
 He painted the arbour grey. So the rock and the 
 cottage, and the shed, and the arbour, were all of the 
 same grey colour. And every thing around looked 
 neat and comfortable, though it was small and poor. 
 
 When the cottager and his wife grew old, they 
 were sitting together, in their arbour, at the sunset 
 of a summer's day. A stranger who seemed to be 
 11 
 
122 the boy's book. 
 
 looking at the country, stopped and inquired, how 
 every thing around that small habitation happened 
 to be the same shade of grey. 
 
 " It is very well it is so," said the cottager, " for 
 my wife and I, you see, are grey also. And we have 
 lived so long, that the world itself looks old and 
 grey to us now." 
 
 Then he told him the story of the black and 
 white paint, and how the advice of an aged man 
 prevented him from making his little estate ridicu- 
 lous when he was young. 
 
 "I have thought of this circumstance, so often 
 that it has given me instruction. He who gave me 
 the black paint, proved to be an enemy ; and he 
 who urged me to use the white, was a friend. The 
 advice of neither was good. 
 
 " Those who love us too well, are blind to our 
 faults ; and those who dislike us, are not willing to 
 see our virtues. One would make us all white ; the 
 other all black. But neither of them are right. 
 For we are of a mixed nature, good and evil, like 
 the grey paint, made of opposite qualities. 
 
 "If then, neither the counsel of our foes, nor of 
 our partial friends, is safe to be taken, we should 
 cultivate a correct judgment, which, like the grey 
 paint, mixing both together, may avoid the evil and 
 secure the good." 
 
PRIVILEGES OF THE POOR. 123 
 
 9| PRIVILEGES OF THE POOR. 
 
 { 
 
 t Do I hear any of you say, "I wonder what is 
 meant by the privileges of the poor ? The rich have 
 indeed, many advantages, and much honour. But as 
 for the poor, I always thought they were to be 
 pitied." 
 
 Now, I assure you, that the poor have privileges, 
 peculiar to themselves, and such as the rich cannot 
 easily share. They are also of such an enduring 
 nature, that it will be found difficult to take them 
 away. Let us examine what they are. 
 
 Perhaps you have seen the son of a rich man, ex- 
 pensively dressed, and riding in a splendid carriage. 
 You have said to yourself, how happy he is ! He may 
 be, or he may not be. That depends on the state 
 of matters within. If his heart is not right, external 
 pomp weighs light in the balance of happiness. 
 
 One of the privileges of the poor, is the industry, 
 they are compelled to practise. This, not only pro- 
 tects from many vices, but promotes health, and self- 
 approbation. Indolence, is a perpetual weariness 
 of spirit, — a perpetual disobedience to the will of our 
 Creator. Surely, the rich are more in danger of it, 
 and of the evils that it brings. 
 
 A celebrated divine has said, "if it was not for 
 industry, men would be neither so healthful, nor so 
 useful, — so strong, nor so patient, so noble, nor so 
 untempted. There is no greater tediousness in the 
 world, than want of employment. Time passes 
 
124 the boy's book. 
 
 over the active man lightly, like a dream, or the 
 feathers of a bird ; but the idler is like a long sleep- 
 less night to himself, and a load to his country." 
 
 Narrow circumstances, by impelling to exertion, 
 are in the end, a blessing. That disposition to in- 
 dolence, which sometimes exists in the young mind 
 is like dampness to metal, — causing rust and ruin, 
 Nothing so readily overcomes this, as the strong ne- 
 cessity of making efforts. 
 
 Have you seen a water-wheel, standing idly in the 
 sun, when the stream was dry 1 But the clouds de- 
 scended, and the swift torrent rushed upon it, and it 
 turned briskly, doing its maker's will. What the 
 stream is, to the water-wheel, is the prompting of ne- 
 cessity, to the mind. 
 
 Admitting that the young assume a high standard 
 of excellence, the feeling that they can derive no aid 
 from wealth, but must depend entirely on themselves 
 acts as a continual stimulant : 
 
 " It is the spur, which the clear spirit doth raise, 
 To shun delights j and live laborious days." 
 
 Those whose object is to obtain an education, yet 
 are obliged to be partially occupied in other labours, 
 value more highly, every fragment of time, than 
 those whose leisure is uninterrupted? A sense of 
 the value of time, is one of the first steps to improve- 
 ment and wisdom. 
 
 Another privilege, is the habit of overcoming ob- 
 stacles. Strength of mind and moral energy, are 
 thus acquired. A life of self-indulgence destroys 
 the power of acquiring that perseverance which is 
 
PRIVILEGES OF THE POOR. 125 
 
 daunted by no difficulty, and without which, genius 
 avails little. 
 
 If distinction is gained, by those who rise from 
 obscure stations, it is rendered more illustrious by 
 the contrast. The fame of Dr. Franklin, is heightened 
 by the circumstance, that he was a printer's bo) r , 
 and the son of a chandler ; and that of Bentley, the 
 celebrated English scholar, by the fact, that he was 
 the son of a blacksmith. 
 
 Winckelman, a distinguished writer on classical 
 antiquities, and the fine arts, was the son of a shoe- 
 maker. He supported himself while at college, 
 chiefly by teaching younger students, and at the 
 same time, aided in maintaining his poor, sickly 
 father. 
 
 Bloomfield, the poet, was the son of a tailor, and 
 an apprentice to a shoemaker. He was busily em- 
 ployed at his trade, while composing the " Farmer's 
 Boy," and being often destitute of paper, retained 
 great numbers of his lines in memory, until he could 
 obtain materials, and time for writing. 
 
 The celebrated Metastasio, was the son of a poor 
 mechanic. The father of Opie, a distinguished por- 
 trait-painter, was a carpenter ; and he, himself, was 
 raised from the bottom of a saw-pit, where he labour- 
 ed as a wood-cutter, to the professorship of painting 
 in the Royal Academy, at London. 
 
 The learned Dr. Prideaux, bishop of Worcester, 
 obtained his education, by walking on foot, to Ox- 
 ford, and getting employment, at first, as assistant, 
 in the kitchen of Exeter College. 
 
 Inigo Jones, the great architect, was the son of a 
 cloth-manufacturer, and it was intended that he 
 11* 
 
126 the boy's book. 
 
 should be a mechanic. Sir Edmund Saunders, 
 Chief Justice, in the reign of Charles the Second, 
 was an errand-boy. 
 
 Dr. Isaac Milnor, who filled the same chair as Profes- 
 sor of Mathematics, at Cambridge, which Sir Isaac 
 Newton occupied, was once a weaver ; as was also, 
 his brother, the author of the well-known Church 
 History. 
 
 Haydn, the celebrated musical composer, was the 
 son of a wheel-wright, who officiated also as sex- 
 ton ; and his mother was a servant in the family of 
 a neighbouring nobleman. 
 
 Dr. White, professor of Arabic, in the University 
 of Oxford, England, was originally, a weaver ; and 
 James Ferguson, the celebrated writer on Astronomy 
 was the son of a day-labourer. 
 
 Having discovered, when quite a child, some im- 
 portant truths in mechanics, he went on, to illustrate 
 them, without teacher or book, and with no other 
 tools, than a little knife, and a simple turning- 
 lathe. 
 
 While in the employment of a farmer, he improv- 
 ed every slight interval of leisure, in constructing 
 models, during the day, and studying the stars at 
 night. He was elected a member of the Royal So- 
 ciety, and king George, the Third, after hearing his 
 lectures, settled on him an annual pension ; while his 
 writings still continue the admiration of men of 
 science. 
 
 Those, who have risen from humble stations, often 
 recur with satisfaction, to the steps through which 
 they had been led, on their upward way. It was 
 pleasing to the wise Emperor Aurelian, to have 
 
PRIVILEGES OF THE POOR. 127 1 
 
 it known that he was the son of a peasant; and 
 Dioclesian felt that the splendour of his sway in 
 Rome was heightened by his obscure birth, in Dal- 
 matia. 
 
 The history of our own country, is brilliant with 
 self-made men. The sons of farmers, and me- 
 chanics, stand in the high places of our land. Their 
 early training in habits of industry, perseverance, 
 and the conquest of obstacles, doubtless strength- 
 ened both their physical and intellectual energies, 
 and prepared them to become illustrious. 
 
 So obvious are the advantages of feeling a neces- 
 sity for exertion, that rich men have sometimes 
 wished to conceal from their children, during the 
 period of their education, the knowledge of that 
 wealth, they were expected to inherit. 
 
 There was once a parent, who endeavoured to per- 
 suade his son, that his possessions were small, 
 hoping he might thus be stimulated to industry. 
 He constantly said, " you must work, — you must be 
 saving, — you cannot depend on me to enrich you." 
 
 For a time, this plan had some effect. But like 
 most other schemes of deception, it was unfortunate. 
 The boy, at length discovered, that his father had 
 houses, and lands, and money, and was informed by 
 talkative companions, that he would inherit them. 
 
 It was most painful to him, to distrust the recti- 
 tude of his father. Henceforth, he had no confi- 
 dence in his word. He became discontented and 
 gloomy, and lost the benefits both of wealth and 
 poverty. 
 
 It would have been safer and more honourable, 
 to have told him the truth, and guarded him against 
 
128 the boy's book. 
 
 the dangers of wealth, by a right education. And 
 now, have I succeeded in convincing you, that there 
 are privileges, which belong to the poor, and to the 
 sons of the poor 1 
 
 If they succeeded in gaining knowledge, and we 
 see that they often do, it would seem that they might 
 be excellent teachers. Remembering the difficulties 
 through which they had themselves passed, they 
 would naturally be skilful and patient guides, and 
 qualified to impart somewhat of the perseverance, 
 and moral energy, by which they had themselves 
 profited. 
 
 If they attain distinguished stations, their sympa- 
 thies ought to be more active, and overflowing than 
 those of other men. They know how to enter into 
 the feelings of the humbler classes of society, and 
 are better qualified to take part in their burdens, 
 and to elevate their character. 
 
 If they obtain wealth, they know how to use it, in 
 the relief of suifering. It is difficult for a man nur- 
 tured in affluence, who has never felt the want of a 
 garment, or a meal, or a shelter, to appreciate their 
 value, or correctly to feel the necessities of those, 
 who ask his charity. 
 
 He who has been led, by a rough road, to a state 
 of competence, can better appreciate the force and 
 beauty, of that inspired description of a compassion, 
 ate Redeemer, who, " though he was rich, yet for om 
 sakes became poor, that we, through his poverty, 
 might be made rich." 
 
 We have been led to search and consider the 
 privileges of the poor, because, being less apparent 
 than those of the rich, they are prone to be over- 
 
THT FATHER. 129 
 
 looked. But we would not deny, that wealth, when 
 under the guidance of virtue, benevolence, and piety, 
 is a great blessing, and a powerful instrument in 
 their cause. 
 
 It is only, when divided from them, or disposed to 
 become their master, that wealth is to be deprecated 
 as a danger. It is only, when forgetful of the good 
 of others, that it ceases to advance the true happi- 
 ness of its possessor. 
 
 Hoarded up, what is wealth 1 A reproach to a 
 rational being. A chain, binding the mind to low 
 worldliness. A weight to the soul, when it separates 
 from the clay, and goes to give account to God, in 
 the day of judgment. 
 
 THY FATHER. 
 
 " Grieve not thy father, as long as he liveth." 
 
 Thy father ! Why, with locks of snow 
 Are thus his sacred temple clad ? 
 
 Why droops he o'er his staff so low, 
 With trembling limbs and visage sad ! 
 
 Care hath his brow with wrinkles scarr'd, 
 His clustering ringlets shred away, 
 
 And time with tyrant sceptre marr'd, 
 The glory of his manhood's sway. 
 
 How oft that, as that hand hath led 
 Thine infant footsteps weak with fear, 
 
130 
 
 THE BOY S BOOK. 
 
 How gently bow'd that reverend head, 
 Thy childhood's broken tale to hear ; 
 
 And when thy wayward feet have stray 'd 
 Mid youthful follies rashly free, 
 
 Those lips invok'd at midnight's-shade. 
 The pardon of thy God for thee. 
 
 If from his speech should dotage flow, 
 Or eye, or ear, be dull and dead, 
 
 Thou, to his second childhood show, 
 The love that smooth'd thy cradle bed. 
 
 Grieve not thy sire ! for if his love 
 
 Unblest, or unrequited be, 
 He, whom thou call'st thy sire above 
 
 Will bend a judge's frown on thee. 
 
 THY MOTHER. 
 
 Who, when thine infant life was young 
 Delighted o'er thy cradle hung 1 
 With pity, soothed each childish moan, 
 And made thy little griefs, her own 1 
 Who watched thy bed in hours of pain 
 Nor smiled, till thou wert well again 1 
 Who sorrowed from thy side to part 
 And bore thee absent on her heart 1 
 Thy Mother, boy ! How canst thou pay 
 Her tender care, by night and day 1 
 
THY MOTHER. 
 
 Who joined thy sports with cheerful air, 
 And joy'd to see thee strong and fair 1 
 Who with fond pride, to guest and friend 
 Would still the darling child commend 1 
 Whose tears in secret flow'd like rain 
 If sin, or woe, thy life did stain 1 
 And who, with prayer's increasing sigh 
 Besought for thee, a home on high ? 
 Thy Mother, boy ! How canst thou pay 
 Her tireless love, by night and gay ] 
 
 Be gentle-temper'd, kind and true, 
 
 Whate'er she bids, delight to do, 
 
 With earnest diligence, restrain 
 
 The word, the look, that gives her pain. 
 
 If weary toil her path invade 
 
 Come zealous forth, and lend thine aid 
 
 Nerve thy young arm, her steps to guide, 
 
 If she is sick, be near her side, 
 
 And by a life of love repay 
 
 Thy Mother's care, by night and day. 
 
 Grave her sweet precepts on thy breast, 
 And be with peace, serenely blest, 
 Wear on thy brow the lofty smile, 
 Of upright duty, free from guile, 
 Fear God, and keep his holy law, 
 And near his throne devoutly draw, 
 But dread his anger's piercing view 
 Shouldest thou withhold the honour due, 
 Nor with a life of goodness pay, 
 Thy Mother's love by night and day. 
 
 131 
 
THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 JOHN AND JAMES WILLIAMS. 
 
 John and James Williams, were the sons of a New- 
 England farmer. In summer, they took an active 
 part in his labours, and during the winter attended 
 to their school-education. Both were fond of books, 
 but their taste and dispositions were different. 
 
 One cold evening in winter, they were sitting be- 
 side a bright fire of wood. Their lamp cast a 
 cheerful ray over the snow-covered landscape. Sev- 
 eral books lay on the table, from which they had 
 been studying their lessons for the following day. 
 
 "John," said the youngest, who was about thirteen 
 years old, "John, I mean to be a soldier. I have 
 lately been reading the life of Alexander of Mace- 
 don, and a good deal about Buonaparte. I think 
 there is nothing in this world, like the glory of the 
 warrior." 
 
 " It does not strike me so, James. To destroy life, 
 and to cause mourning in such a multitude of fami- 
 lies, and to bring so much poverty and misery into 
 the world, seems to me, more cruel than glorious." 
 
 "But John, to be so praised and honoured, — to 
 have hosts of soldiers under your command, and to 
 have the pages of history filled with the fame of 
 your victories, how can you be blind, to such glory 
 as that ] 
 
 " Brother, the minister said last Sunday, that the 
 end of life, was the test of its goodness. Now Alexander 
 the Great, got intoxicated, and died like a madman ; 
 
JOHN AND JAMES WILLIAMS. 133 
 
 and Buonaparte was shut up to pine away on a deso- 
 late island, as if he was a wild beast, chained in a 
 cage." 
 
 " John, your ideas are very limited. I am sorry to 
 see, that you are not capable of admiring heroes. 
 You are just fit to be a farmer. I dare say that to 
 break a pair of steers, is your highest ambition, and 
 to spend your days in ploughing and reaping, is all 
 the glory that you would covet." 
 
 Their father's voice was now heard, calling, " Boys, 
 go to bed." Thus ended their conversation, for that 
 night. These brothers loved each other, and seldom 
 disagreed on any subject, except on trying to settle 
 the point, in what the true glory of the warrior con- 
 sisted. 
 
 Fifteen years glided away, and the season of win- 
 ter again returned. From the same window, a bright 
 lamp gleamed, and on the same hearth glowed a 
 cheerful fire. The farm-house seemed unaltered, 
 but among its inmates, there had been changes. 
 
 The parents, who had then retired to rest, were 
 now mouldering in the grave. They were good and 
 pious, and among the little circle of their native vil- 
 lage, their memory was still held in sweet remem- 
 brance. 
 
 In the corner, which they used to occupy, their 
 eldest son, and his wife, were seated. A babe lay in 
 the cradle, and two other little ones, breathed quietly 
 from their trundle-bed, in the sweet sleep of child- 
 hood. A strong blast, with snow, shook the casement. 
 
 " I always think, said John Williams, about my 
 poor brother, in stormy nights, especially in winter. 
 So many years have past, since we have heard from 
 12 
 
134 
 
 him, and his way of life is so full of danger, that I 
 fear he must be numbered with the dead." 
 
 " Husband, did I hear a faint knock 1 or was it the 
 wind among the trees'?" said his wife. The farmer 
 opened the door, and a traveller entered, leaning 
 heavily on a crutch. His garments were old and 
 thin, and his countenance haggard. 
 
 He sank into a chair, and gazed earnestly around 
 on every article of furniture, as on some recollected 
 friend. Then, extending a withered hand, he utter- 
 ed in a tone scarcely audible, " brother ! brother !" 
 
 That word, opened the tender memories of other 
 years. They hastened to welcome the wanderer, 
 and to mingle their tears with his. " Sister, brother, 
 I have come home to die." They found him too 
 much exhausted to converse, and after giving him 
 comfortable food, induced him to retire to rest. 
 
 The next morning, he was unable to rise. They 
 sat by his bedside, and soothed his worn heart with 
 kindness, and told him the simple narrative of the 
 changes in the neighbourhood, and what had befallen 
 them, in their quiet abode. 
 
 "I have had many troubles, said he, but none 
 have bowed me down, like the sin of leaving home, 
 to be a soldier, without the knowledge of my parents, 
 and against their will. I have felt the pain of 
 wounds, but there is nothing like the sting of con- 
 science. 
 
 "I have endured hunger, and thirst, and imprison- 
 ment, and the misery of sickness in an enemy's 
 land ; and then the image of my home, and my dis- 
 obedience, and ingratitude, were with me when I 
 
JOHN AND JAMES WILLIAMS. 135 
 
 lay down, and when I rose up, and when I was 
 sleepless and sick in the neglected hospitals. 
 
 "In broken visions, I would see my dear mother 
 bending tenderly over me, as she used to do, when I 
 had only a head-ache ; and my father with the 
 great Bible in his hand, reading as he used to do 
 before prayer; but when I cried, out in agony, 'I 
 am no more worthy to be called thy son,' I awoke, 
 and it was all a dream." 
 
 His brother assured him of the perfect forgiveness 
 of his parents, and that duly, at morn, and eve, he 
 was borne upon their supplications, at the family 
 altar, as the son erring, yet beloved. " Ah, yes, and 
 those prayers followed me. But for them I should 
 have been a reprobate, forsaken both of God and 
 man." 
 
 As strength permitted, he told them the story of 
 his wanderings. He had been in battles, on land 
 and sea. He had heard the deep ocean echo to the can- 
 non's thunder, and seen earth drink the red shower 
 from the bosoms of her slaughtered sons. 
 
 He had stood in the martial lists of Europe, and 
 hazarded his life for a foreign power, and had pur- 
 sued in his native land, the hunted Indian flying at 
 midnight, from the flames of his own hut. He had 
 ventured with the bravest, into the deepest danger, 
 seeking every where, for the glory which had daz- 
 zled his boyhood, but in vain. 
 
 He found that it was the lot of the soldier to en- 
 dure hardship, that others might reap the fame. He 
 saw what fractures, and mutilations, what misery, 
 and mourning, and death, were necessary to pur- 
 chase the reward of victory. He felt how light was 
 
136 the boy's book. 
 
 even the renown of the conqueror, compared with 
 the good that he forfeits, and the sorrow that he in- 
 flicts to obtain it 
 
 " Sometimes, he said, just before rushing into bat- 
 tle, I felt a shuddering and inexpressible horror, at 
 the thought of butchering my fellow-creatures. But 
 in the heat of contest, all such sympathies vanished, 
 and madness and desperation possessed me, so that 
 I cared neither for this life nor the next. 
 
 " I have been left wounded on the field, unable to 
 move from among the feet of trampling horses, my 
 open gashes stiffening in the chilly night-air, and 
 death staring me in the face, while no man cared 
 for my soul. Yet I will not distress your kind hearts, 
 by describing my varieties of pain. 
 
 "You, who have always lived amid the influences 
 of mercy, — who shrink to give unnecessary suffer- 
 ing, even to an animal, cannot realize what hardness 
 of heart, comes with the life of a soldier, familiar 
 as he must be with groans, and violence, and cruelty. 
 
 "His moral and religious feelings, are in still 
 greater danger. Oaths, imprecations, and contempt 
 of sacred things, are mingled with the elements of 
 his trade. The sweet and holy influences of the 
 Sabbath, and the precepts of the Gospel, impressed 
 upon his childhood, are too often swept away. 
 
 "Yet though I exerted myself to appear bold and 
 courageous, and even hardened, my heart reproached 
 me. Oh, that it might be purified by repentance, 
 and at peace with God, before I am summoned to 
 the dread bar of judgment, to answer for my deeds 
 of blood." 
 
 His friends flattered themselves, that, by medical 
 
JOHN AND JAMES WILLIAMS. 137 
 
 skill, and careful nursing, he might be restored to 
 health. But he answered " no, it can never be. My 
 vital energies are wasted. Even now, is Death stand- 
 eth at my right hand." 
 
 " When I entered this peaceful valley, my swollen 
 limbs tottered, and began to fail. Then I prayed to 
 the Almighty, whom 1 had so often forgotten, " Oh, 
 give me strength but a little longer, that I may 
 reach the home where I was born, and die there, 
 and be buried by the side of my father and my 
 mother." 
 
 The sick and penitent soldier, sought earnestly for 
 the hope of salvation. He felt that a great change 
 was needed in his soul, ere it could be fitted for the 
 holy employments of a realm of purity and peace. 
 He prayed, and wept, and studied the Scriptures, 
 and listened to the counsel of pious men. 
 
 " Brother, dear brother, he would say, you have 
 obeyed the precepts of our parents. You have chosen 
 the path of peace. You have been merciful even to 
 the inferior creatures. You have shorn the fleece, 
 but not wantonly destroyed the lamb. You have 
 taken the honey, and spared the labouring bee. 
 
 "But I have destroyed man, and his habitation, — 
 the hive, and the honey, — the fleece and the flock. 
 I have defaced the image of God, and crushed out 
 that breath, which I can never restore. You know 
 not, how bitter is the warfare of my soul with the 
 * prince of the power of the air, the spirit that ruleth 
 in the children of disobedience.' " 
 
 As the last hour approached, he laid his cold hand 
 on the head of his brother's eldest child, who had 
 been named for him, and said faintly, "Little James 
 12* 
 
138 the boy's book. 
 
 obey your parents, and never be a soldier. Sister, 
 brother, you have been angels of mercy to me. The 
 blessing of God, be upon you, and your house- 
 hold." 
 
 The venerable minister who instructed his child- 
 hood, and laid his parents in the grave, had daily 
 visited him in his sickness. He stood by his side, 
 as he went down into the valley of the shadow of 
 death. "My son, look unto the Lamb of God." 
 " Yes, father, there is a fullness in Him, for the chief 
 of sinners." 
 
 The aged man lifted up his fervent prayer for the 
 departing soul. He commended it to the boundless 
 compassions of Him who receiveth the penitent, and 
 besought for it, a gentle passage to that world, 
 where there is no more sin, neither sorrow, nor 
 crying. 
 
 He ceased. The eyes of the dying were closed. 
 There was no more heaving of the breast, or 
 gasping. They thought the breath had quitted the 
 clay. They spoke of him as having passed where 
 all tears are wiped from the eyes for ever. 
 
 But again there was a faint sigh. The white lips 
 slowly moved. His brother bending over him 
 caught the last, low whisper, " Jesus ! Saviour ! take 
 a repentant sinner to the world of peace." 
 
THE ROBIN. 139 
 
 THE ROBIN. 
 
 The Spring is near, with its warbling throng, 
 
 And the Robin is on the tree, 
 Through grove and garden, he speeds along, 
 He comes with a song,— «he comes with a song, 
 
 And he'll be a neighbour to thee. 
 
 See, that is his mate by his side, I ween, 
 
 And who are so happy as they 1 
 Their chamber is shaded with curtains green, 
 Three little blue eggs in its bed are seen, 
 
 And their rent with a song they'll pay. 
 
 She broods o'er the nest, while his wing is spread, 
 
 Wherever their food may be found, 
 'Tis to her that he hastes with that morsel of bread, 
 The shot of the fowler f alas, he is dead ! 
 
 He lies bleeding on the ground. 
 
 And all day long, that widow'd bird, 
 
 For her partner call'd in vain, 
 And if at midnight, the branches stirr'd, 
 She thought 'twas his well-known wing she heard. 
 
 But he never return'd again. 
 
 Half famish'd, she sped in her deep despair, 
 
 To search for a crumb or seed, 
 When a truant boy with a reckless air, 
 Climb'd up to her nest, and I cannot bear 
 
 To tell of his cruel deed. 
 
10 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 She hastened back, but what met her view 
 
 As she soar'd with an eager eye 1 
 Her home was wreck'd, and its treasures too, 
 And round and round in her anguish she flew, 
 
 With a loud and frantic cry. 
 
 And there through many a summer's day, 
 
 Her piercing wail was heard, 
 Till once near that desolate home there lay, 
 A famish'd Robin, as cold as clay, 
 
 And I knew 'twas that mourner-bird. 
 
 Then I thought of the boy who rifled her nest, 
 
 How bitter his tears must flow, 
 When conscience should wake in his sinful breast, 
 And trouble his dream, and break his rest, 
 
 With the cry of that Robin's woe. 
 
 SCENES OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Come, tread with me yon changeful dells, 
 Where beauty into grandeur swells, 
 Where the chaf d stream, conflicting hoarse, 
 O'erleaps the mounds that barr'd its course, 
 And threatening wild, with gather'd wrath, 
 Rolls sullen on its rocky path. 
 
 That cliff!* methinks the Indian cry, 
 Peals from its summit shrill and high ; 
 
 * In Norwich, Connecticut, there is a steep rock overhang- 
 ing a branch of the Thames, from which it is said that part 
 of a tribe of vanquished Indians were precipitated by their 
 victors, and perished. 
 
SCENES OF CHILDHOOD. 141 
 
 Back sweeps the past ! the Indian foe, 
 Sinks weltering in the depths below, 
 While peering o'er those ledges steep, 
 Stern watch, the lynx-eyed victors keep. * 
 
 See'st thou yon hills, so bold and sheen, 
 
 With coronet of ever-green 1 
 
 See'st thou close nestling at their feet, 
 
 A village with its fair retreat, 
 
 Where engines clash, with labour glowing, 
 
 And toil to wealth, the way is showing 1 
 
 There, erst, in childish sports I've strayed, 
 
 Amid an unshorn thicket's glade, 
 
 And pleased, from tangled herbage drew, 
 
 The Indian posy's mottled hue, 
 
 Hare-bells, and violets, sweetly blue, 
 
 Or columbines, with purple dy'd, 
 
 Or rich lobelia's crimson pride. 
 
 Press on, press on, for see how near, 
 The city's loftier domes appear, 
 Its roofs in strange confusion blending, 
 Its hallow'd spires to heaven ascending, 
 Its sails their snowy whiteness lending, 
 To the broad river's curving sweep, 
 Which half in shadow seems to sleep. 
 
 Dark forests' rise, in solemn line, 
 As if the bending skies to join ; 
 Green fields their ample robes extend, 
 To catch the treasures that descend, 
 When loaded trees their blossoms fling, 
 Swept by the vernal zephyr's wing. 
 
142 the boy's book. 
 
 Ask ye what spell doth linger here, 
 To make this scenery doubly dear 1 
 Go ask of him who ne'er repines, 
 Where Hecla's fire volcanic shines, 
 Of him, who dead to comfort, dwells 
 In cold Labrador's ice-bound cells, 
 Of him, who clings to Afric's strand, 
 Like infant to a mother's hand. 
 
 The Switzer ask, whose cabin rude, 
 Like bird's nest hangs o'er rock and flood ; 
 The Cambrian, climbing ledges steep, 
 His famish'd mountain goats to keep : 
 Ask the Siberian boor, who knows 
 The horrors of the arctic snows ; 
 Or the swarth islanders, who hear, 
 The dread Pacific thundering near : 
 
 Yes, ask of all, and when they say, 
 
 "This is my spot of birth" 
 Then will ye know, what charm hath made 
 To me, yon well-remember'd glade, 
 River and rock and greenwood shade, 
 
 The Paradise of earth. 
 
 THE LAW. 
 
 The ancient Jews used to call their sons, when they 
 attained the age of five years, " sons of the law." At 
 thirteen, the Roman boys, who were trained in the 
 
THE LAW. 143 
 
 habits of strict obedience by the mother, passed 
 under the sterner discipline of the father, to be pre- 
 pared for the duties of a citizen. 
 
 Parental authority, thus carefully enforced on 
 children, led them when they became men, to sub- 
 mit peacefully, to the law of the land. Have you 
 ever considered what a blessing it is, to be governed 
 by just laws 1 Without them, there is no protection 
 either to property, or to life. 
 
 Look at the countries which are ruled by a despot. 
 Think of the people, who, of old, built the pyramids, 
 or of those who still labour on the canals, and pub- 
 lic works of Egypt, driven from their homes, subject 
 to un pitied toil, with scarce sufficient wages to sup- 
 port existence. Yet to whom could they appeal? 
 He who caused their misery, must be their judge. 
 
 The Greeks, when under the Turkish yoke, strove 
 to conceal the little pittance they had earned, or the 
 slender harvest of their vine and olive, lest it should 
 excite the avarice of their oppressors, and the bread 
 be snatched from their starving households. You 
 will recollect the Turks themselves, are liable to the 
 bastinado, the bow-string, or the scimitar, at the will 
 of a tyrant. 
 
 Even our own ancestors, the people of England, 
 were subject to many encroachments and wrongs, 
 before Magna Charta, the foundation of their liberty 
 was obtained from King John, somewhat more than 
 six hundred years ago, which guards every individ- 
 ual, in the enjoyment of his property, and life, un- 
 less either or both, should be declared forfeit, by the 
 laws of the land. 
 
 How thankful should we be, that the happiness of 
 
144 the boy's book. 
 
 our nation, is protected by those just and equal 
 laws, without which, there is no true liberty. These 
 should be obeyed, and the magistrates who adminis- 
 ter them, respected. In order to become a good citi- 
 zen, principles of submission to just authority, 
 should be carried through the whole of education. 
 
 Sometimes, boys imagine, that to appear to be 
 their own masters, is manly, and to speak lightly of 
 their superiors, gives them consequence. They are 
 mistaken. Insubordination shows either an erring 
 judgment, or a wayward heart. History will show 
 that the greatest and best men, were obedient in 
 their childhood. Reverence for those in authority, 
 is always beautiful in youth. 
 
 A good scholar will be obedient to his teachers. 
 He will learn the rules of the school, and keep 
 them. He will never repay those who labour for 
 his instruction, by subverting their regulations. By 
 his orderly, dignified deportment, and his care to 
 keep the law of knowledge, he proves that he will 
 "become a worthy citizen, perhaps, a wise magis- 
 trate. 
 
 The virtues of a good member of the community 
 have their root in family-order, and filial duty. The 
 first law laid upon every child, is obedience to his pa- 
 rents. Love, submission and respect, are their due. If 
 he is unfaithful in these earliest, simplest requisitions, 
 will he not fearfully fail amid the more complex 
 and difficult duties of life 1 
 
 Is it possible that any of you, can deem of slight 
 importance, your conduct to your parents 1 Stran- 
 gers and travellers in an unexplored country, will 
 you disobey your guides 1 Untaught by experience, 
 
THE LAW. 145 
 
 will you rush into temptation, and disregard the 
 voice of your counsellors 1 Subject to sorrow and 
 affliction, will you be indifferent to your comforters, 
 — ungrateful to the guardians of your helpless in- 
 fancy 1 ' 
 
 Beware of the vanity which whispers, you are 
 competent to direct yourselves. Beware of the unim- 
 pressible temper which despises parental admonition 
 and of the obstinacy that breaks through its restraints. 
 Neither is it enough simply to obey your parents. 
 You are bound to do all in 3 7- our power to promote 
 their happiness. i 
 
 Reflect on their cares and anxieties r their watch- 
 ings and labours for you ; how they have had pa- 
 tience with your ignorance, and loved you amid all 
 your faults, with a changeless love. Can you ever 
 receive favours like these, from any other created 
 being ? j 
 
 Next to your Father in Heaven, love and obey 
 your parents. Conform your wishes to theirs. By 
 your smiling brow, and respectful manners, show 
 them that you find happiness in the exercise of filial 
 affections. For if you carelessly afflict those, whom 
 you can never fully repay, Hope must sigh over 
 the fading promise of your future years. 
 
 When our Saviour, at the age of twelve, reasoned 
 with the Jewish doctors, who boasted of their learn- 
 ing, and skill in argument, he was subject to the 
 commands of his mother, even while she, astonished 
 at his wisdom, " kept all his sayings, and pondered 
 them in her heart." 
 
 Amid the lightnings that wrapped Mount Sinai, in 
 robes of flame, and the thunders that shook it to its 
 
146 
 
 "base, when the people were afraid to come near, 
 and even Moses, the man of God, trembled, the voice of 
 the Eternal, giving the Law, in terror and in majesty, 
 was heard to proclaim " Honour thy father and thy mo- 
 ther." 
 
 Still, He, who " in wrath ever delights to remember 
 mercy, paused with unspeakable condescension to add 
 the cheering promise, " that thy days may be long up- 
 on the land, which the Lord thy God giveth thee." 
 
 Let these words of the Almighty, encourage to 
 perseverance, those who keep reverently the law 
 of their parents, and arrest those who "know the 
 right, and yet the wrong pursue." But whoever, in 
 this respect, stifles the voice of conscience, should 
 remember, that at last, a course of disobedience, 
 will be found to " bite as the serpent, and sting as 
 the adder." 
 
 While we insist on filial duty, as not only binding 
 in itself, but the foundation of other virtues, we feel 
 that not the young alone, are " under tutors and gov- 
 ernors." We all owe the obedience of children, to 
 the Former of our bodies, — the Father of our spirits. 
 The wisest, and the mightiest, to whom he has given 
 his Holy Word, are bound to be governed by it. 
 
 He has placed us in this world, as in a great 
 school. We are all pupils. The Divine Law, is our 
 schoolmaster. It takes cognizance of thoughts, 
 words, and actions. Death announces when our 
 school is over. But he does so, only when our eye 
 is dim, to the light of these lower skies. Then may 
 we find that God's law has been so kept in our 
 hearts, that we may receive " the adoption of sons," 
 and dwell with him for ever. 
 
THE DIVIDED BUBDEN. 147 
 
 THE DIVIDED BURDEN. 
 
 I saw a boy, who toward his cottage-home, 
 A heavy burden bore. The way was steep, 
 And rocky, and his little, loaded arm, 
 Strain'd downward to its full extent, while wide 
 The other, horizontally was thrown, 
 As if to counterpoise the painful weight, 
 That drew him toward the earth. 
 
 A while he paus'd, 
 And set his burden down, just where the path 
 Grew more precipitous, and wip'd his brow 
 With his worn sleeve, and panting breath'd long 
 
 draughts 
 Of the sweet air, while the hot summer sun, 
 Flam'd o'er his forehead. 
 
 But another boy 
 'Neath a cool poplar, in a neighbouring field, 
 Sat playing with his dog, and from the grass 
 Uprising, with light bound, the fence he clear'd, 
 And lent a vigorous hand to share the toil. 
 So, on they went together, grasping firm 
 The basket's handle, with a right, good will, 
 And while their young, clear voices met my ear, 
 I recollected how the Bible said, 
 "Bear one another's burdens," and perceiv'd 
 That to obey God's word was happiness. 
 
 Then as the bee gleans from the humblest flower 
 Sown by the way-side, honey for her hive, — 
 
.148 the boy's book. 
 
 I treasur'd up the lesson, and when eve 
 Call'd home the labouring ox, and to its bed 
 Warn'd the young bird, and shut the lily's cup, 
 I took my little boy upon my knee, 
 And told him of the basket-bearer's toil, 
 And of the friend who help'd him. 
 
 When his eye 
 Swell'd full, and round, and fix'd upon my face, 
 Taking the story to his inmost soul ; 
 I said, " My son, be pitiful to all, 
 And aid them when thou canst. 
 
 For God hath sown 
 Sweet seeds within us, seeds of sympathy 
 Whose buds are virtues, such as bloom for heaven. 
 
 If thy young sister weepeth, kiss the tear 
 From her smooth cheek, and sooth with tender words 
 Her swelling breast ; or if a secret thorn 
 Is in thy brother's bosom ; draw it thence : 
 Or if thy playmate sorroweth, lend an ear, 
 And share with sympathy his weight of woe. 
 
 And when thou art a man, my little one, 
 Still keep thy spirit open to the ills 
 Of foreigner and stranger, of the race 
 Whom Afric's sun hath darken'd, and of those, 
 Poor red-brow'd exiles, from our forest-shades, 
 Where once they ruled supreme. 
 
 Thus shalt thou shun 
 That selfishness, which wrapp'd in its own gifts, 
 Forgets alike the Giver, and the grief 
 Of those who mourn. 
 
THE PRISONER'S QUESTION. 149 
 
 So may'st thou ever find 
 Pity and love, in thine own time of need, 
 If on thy young heart, as a signet-ring, 
 Thou gav'st that motto from a Book Divine, 
 "Bear one another's burdens, and fulfil 
 The law of Christ." 
 
 THE PRISONER'S QUESTION. 
 
 The Chaplain of one of the penitentiaries in the United States, mentions 
 that a prisoner once earnestly inquired of him, if happy spirits ever 
 looked from heaven, upon the friends they had left behind, and at his 
 reply, exclaimed in agony, " My mother ! oh, my mother !" 
 
 He stood within his prison-gate, 
 
 That lonely man of crime, 
 Upon whose brow, an early guilt 
 
 Had done the work of time. 
 
 For where the baleful passions boil, 
 Though form and cheek are fair, 
 
 Their-poison fumes distain the charms, 
 That beauty lavish'd there. 
 
 Then reaching through those iron bars, 
 
 The chaplain's hand he wrung, 
 Who warned him of his Maker's wrath, 
 
 With an unflattering tongue. 
 
 One question more .'" — the holy man 
 
 Turn'd at his eager cry, 
 And bent him toward that darken'd cell, 
 
 With pity in his eye. 
 13* 
 
150 
 
 " Think'st thou, that those who lov'd us here, 
 
 Who now do reign in bliss, 
 E'er from that glorious sphere look down, 
 
 To note the deeds of this ?" 
 
 " We know not, — said his reverend guide 
 
 God's volume doth not say, 
 But nature speaking in our hearts, 
 
 Makes answer that they may." 
 
 Then sorrow seiz'd that erring man, 
 
 The struggle shook him sore, 
 Till unaccustom'd tears fell down, 
 
 Upon his dungeon-floor ; 
 
 " Oh mother ! mother ! if thine eye 
 
 Must see thy darling son, 
 Here, 'mid the vilest of the vile, 
 
 Would that my life were done." 
 
 And long those strain'd and turning orbs, 
 
 Pour'd forth the bitter rain, 
 But Thou, who hear'st the sinner's cry, 
 
 Say, was this anguish vain ! 
 
 Perchance, even then, that mother's prayer, 
 
 Which blest his cradle-bed, 
 Did win its answer for his soul, 
 
 And snatch it from the dead. 
 
THE FARMER. 151 
 
 THE FARMER. 
 
 One of the most desirable occupations, is that of 
 the farmer. How pleasant to be abroad among the 
 works of nature, — to study the adaptation of soil to 
 production, — to prepare the earth for its future crop, 
 — to sow the seed, — to gather in the harvest. 
 
 It is delightful to see the farmer, separating from 
 their lofty stalks, the golden sheaves of corn, or 
 burying his bright scythe, among the dewy, fragrant 
 grass, or hastening with his sickle, to reap the ripen- 
 ed grain. His faithful dog, guards the garment 
 which he throws off, and ere the noon-day heat, 
 seated under a shady tree, he opens his basket of re- 
 freshments, and finds them sweetened by toil. 
 
 How conducive is this kind of industry, to vigour 
 of constitution. Compare the strong frame, and 
 firm muscle of the hardy farmer, with the slender 
 forms, and pallid faces of the throngs who labour in 
 our crowded manufactories, breathing a close atmos- 
 phere, and debarred from healthful exercise, among 
 rural objects. 
 
 Cheerfulness and innocence are connected with 
 the lite of a farmer. Large cities, abound with 
 countless temptations, to extravagance and vice. 
 Vagrant and idle people gather there, desiring to be 
 rich without labour, and thus opening the door to 
 crimes, which, in an agricultural community, are un- 
 known. 
 
152 the boy's book. 
 
 The farmer is the most truly independent man. 
 Let the gains of trade fluctuate as they may, and 
 the glittering hopes of speculation break, like bub- 
 bles in the sun, his subsistence is secure. In the 
 furrows of his plough, bread springs up. His young 
 cattle grow, while he sleeps. 
 
 His snowy flocks, — his green fields of flax, con- 
 tain the elements of his clothing. His wife and 
 daughters sing, while, their busy wheels prepare it. 
 They transmute the milk of his herds, into comforts 
 for his table, while with equal industry, his bees ex- 
 plore the flowery meadows, to bring home honey to 
 his hive. 
 
 His children, so far from being a burden, add to 
 his wealth. They willingly put their hands to such 
 labours, as their strength admits of, and their ruddy 
 cheeks show their healthful contentment. The play- 
 ful lambs, and the young of the domestic fowls, are 
 objects of their care, and they find their happiness 
 in safe and simple pleasures. 
 
 The winter-evenings are a delightful season, in the 
 family of an intelligent farmer. He has then a re- 
 spite from more laborious occupation, and loves to 
 read instructive books, to the group around his fire- 
 side, while the needle, the knitting-needles, the quiet 
 hum of the flax-wheel, or the rocking cradle of the 
 babe, are no disturbance to the listening mind. 
 
 Sometimes, the aged parents of the farmer, may 
 be seen with their hoary hairs, seated in the warm- 
 est corner, and breathing a silent blessing on their de- 
 scendants. Fruit and nuts from his own trees, vary 
 the evening-banquet, and last of all, from the family 
 
THE FARMER. 153 
 
 altar, the prayer of pious gratitude goes up, to the 
 Lord of the harvest. 
 
 From such households, have come forth, some of 
 the most illustrious men, who have adorned the his- 
 tory of our country. Wise rulers, eloquent orators, 
 — ornaments of the learned professions, have "been 
 thus nurtured. They have acknowledged that the 
 industry, — the simplicity, — the subordination of their 
 early years, were the seeds of their greatness. 
 
 The cultivation of land, forms a delightful re- 
 creation, for a man of fortune, and of accomplished 
 mind. It is connected with the sciences, with in- 
 tellectual and philosophical research. The gentle- 
 men-farmers of England, are among the best edu- 
 cated men of the realm. 
 
 Agriculture as a profession, is dignified and deserv- 
 ing of respect. Our farmers, are our true nobility. Let 
 them be careful to enrich their minds with liberal 
 knowledge — to teach their children not to be ashamed 
 of honest industry, and to " hold fast their integrity," 
 for their country's sake. 
 
 The expanse of land in our territory, is so great, 
 that the young should be encouraged to engage in 
 its cultivation. We ought not to import from other 
 countries, those articles of subsistence, which might 
 better be raised at home. 
 
 Why should wheat, hay, eggs, and similar articles 
 be brought us from European countries, of narrow 
 bound, and a heavy population, and our own rich 
 vales and broad prairies, lie waste and uncultivated 1 
 "We do not think much of a country that imports 
 its bread," said some wealthy and judicious foreign- 
 
154 the boy's book. 
 
 ers, when urged to invest their funds, in our alluring 
 speculations. 
 
 Agriculture should be fostered by public opinion. 
 It has been the choice of some of the wisest, most 
 distinguished men. "Let me go home, to plough 
 and plant my few acres," said Cincinnatus, breaking 
 away from all the allurements of power and splen- 
 dour, with which the Roman people surrounded him. 
 
 So, our own Washington retired from the highest 
 honours that a grateful country could bestow, to the 
 cultivation of his farm, and the tranquil shades of 
 Mount Vernon. It was he who admonished the peo- 
 ple to give honour to men, who, with their hands, 
 maintained their families, and brought up children 
 in honest industry. 
 
 His knowledge of history, as well as his observa- 
 tion of mankind, taught him that nations which de- 
 spise the simple pursuits of agriculture, and rush 
 onward to sudden wealth and luxury, degenerate 
 and decline. 
 
 The peaceful occupation of the farmer, was 
 praised by Socrates. "Agriculture, said he, is an 
 employment the most worthy the attention of man, 
 — the most ancient, and the most suitable to his na- 
 ture. It is the common nurse of all persons, of every 
 condition in life, — the source of health, strength 
 plenty, and riches, and of a thousand sober delights, 
 and honest pleasures." 
 
 The true prosperity of a nation, is not so much 
 in the possessions, or the number of its subjects, as 
 in their habit and character. Republics, ought 
 therefore, to strive to give dignity to agriculture, 
 since more than any other form of government, their 
 
THE FARMER. 155 
 
 existence depends on the virtue and intelligence of 
 the people. 
 
 It has been well said, that our country may be 
 compared to an oak, and agriculture to the roots 
 which provide food and the elements of wealth ; 
 manufactures, to the leaves which elaborate and 
 convert to useful purposes, what the roots furnish : 
 and commerce, to the branches, or channel of inter- 
 course, between the roots and leaves. 
 
 "Without the branches, both roots and leaves 
 would be deprived of their reciprocal aids. With- 
 out the leaves, growth must cease. Without the 
 root, — leaves, branches, and trunk must perish. Let 
 us, therefore, cherish and protect all ; but especially 
 let us nurture the root, as the primary source of life 
 and growth, vigour, and utility." 
 
 A statesman and philosopher of our land, has as- 
 serted, that " God made the breast of those who labour 
 in the earth, his peculiar deposit for substantial vir- 
 tues. Corruption of morals, in a mass of cultivators, 
 is a phenomena of which no age or nation, has fur- 
 nished an example. 
 
 " This is a mark set on those, who not looking up 
 to Heaven, for its blessing on their own toil and in- 
 dustry, as does the husbandman, depend for it on the 
 casualties and caprices of customers. For the pro- 
 portion which the aggregate of other classes of citi- 
 zens bears in any state to that of its husbandmen, is 
 the proportion of its unsound to its healthy parts." 
 
 These are strong words. But we will always re- 
 spect farmers. We consider their occupation, not 
 only healthful in itself, but for the health of oui 
 country. And should she ever be in trouble, we be- 
 
156 the boy's book. 
 
 lieve that there will come forth from her quiet farm- 
 houses, strength to defend her liberties, and virtue to 
 preserve them. 
 
 AGRICULTURE. 
 
 Saw you the farmer at his plough, 
 
 As you were passing by ? 
 Or wearied 'neath his noon-day toil 
 
 When summer suns were high 1 
 
 And thought you that his lot was hard % 
 And did you thank your God 
 
 That you and yours were not condemn'd 
 Thus like a slave to plod ! 
 
 Come, see him at his harvest-home, 
 When garden, field, and tree, 
 
 Conspire, with flowing stores to fill 
 His barn and granary. 
 
 His healthful children gaily sport 
 
 Amid the new-mown hay, 
 Or gladly aid, with vigorous arm, 
 
 His task as best they may. 
 
 The dog partakes his master's joy, 
 
 And guards the loaded wain, 
 The feathery people clap their wings, 
 
 And lead their youngling train. 
 
BIRDS IN AUTUMN. 157 
 
 Perchance, the hoary grandsire's eye, 
 
 The glowing scene surveys, 
 And breathes a blessing on his race, 
 
 Or guides their evening praise. 
 
 The Harvest-Giver is their friend, 
 
 The Maker of the soil, 
 And Earth, the Mother, gives them bread, 
 
 And cheers their patient toil. 
 
 Come, join them round their wintry hearth, 
 
 Their heartfelt-pleasures see, 
 And you can better judge how blest. 
 
 The farmer's life may be. 
 
 BIRDS IN AUTUMN. 
 
 November came on, with an eye severe, 
 
 And his stormy language, was hoarse to hear, 
 
 And the glittering garland, of brown and red, 
 
 Which he wreath'd for awhile, round the forest's head, 
 
 In sudden anger he rent away, 
 
 And all was cheerless, and bare, and grey. 
 
 Then the houseless grasshopper told his woes, 
 
 And the humming-bird sent forth a wail for the rose* 
 
 And the spider, that weaver, of cunning so deep, 
 
 Roll'd himself up, in a ball, to sleep, 
 
 And the cricket his merry horn laid by, 
 
 Or-. th« «helf with the pipe of the dragon-fly. 
 
158 the boy's book. 
 
 Soon voices were heard, at the morning prime, 
 
 Consulting of flight, to a warmer clime, 
 
 "Let us go ! let us go !" said the bright-wing d jay, 
 
 And his grey spouse sang from a rocking spray 
 
 "I am tir'd to death of this hum-drum tree, 
 
 I'll go, if 'tis only this world to see." 
 
 "Will you go," ask'd the robin, « my only love V* 
 
 And a tender strain from the leafless grove 
 
 Responded, "wherever your lot is cast, 
 
 Mid sunny skies, or the wintry blast, 
 
 I am still at your side, your heart to cheer, 
 
 Though dear is our nest, in this thicket here. 
 
 « I am ready to go, cried the plump young wren, 
 From the hateful homes of these northern men, 
 My throat is sore, and my feet are blue, 
 I fear I have caught the consumption too, 
 And the Oriole told with a flashing eye, 
 How his plumage was spoil'd by the frosty sky. 
 
 Then up went the thrush, with a trumpet-call, [wall,] 
 And the martins came forth from their box on the 
 And the owlets peep'd out from their secret bower, 
 And the swallows conven'd on the old church tower, 
 And the council of blackbirds was long and loud, 
 Chattering and flying from tree to cloud. 
 
 «The dahlia is dead on her throne," said they, 
 And we saw the butterfly, cold as clay, 
 Not a berry is found on the russet plains, 
 Not a kernel of ripen'd maize remains, 
 Every worm is hid, shall we longer stay, 
 To be wasted with famine, away ! away !" 
 
BIRDS IN AUTUMN. 159 
 
 But what a strange clamour on elm and oak, 
 From a bevy of brown-coated mocking-birds broke ! 
 The theme of each separate speaker they told, 
 In a shrill report, with such mimickry bold, 
 That the eloquent orators stared to hear, 
 Their own true echoes, so wild and clear. 
 
 Then tribe after tribe, with its leader fair, 
 Swept off, through the fathomless depth of air ; 
 Who maketh their course to the tropics bright ] 
 Who nerveth their wing for its weary flight] 
 Who guideth that caravan's trackless way, 
 By the stars at night, and the cloud by day 1 
 
 The Indian fig with its arching screen, 
 Welcomes them in, to its vistas green 
 And the breathing buds of the spicy tree, 
 Thrill at the burst of their revelry, 
 And the bulbul starts, 'mid his carol clear, 
 Such a rushing of stranger- wings to hear. 
 
 O wild-wood wanderers ! how far away 
 From your rural homes in our vales ye stray ; 
 But when they are wak'd by the touch of Spring, 
 We shall see you again with your glancing wing, 
 Your nests 'mid our household trees to raise, 
 And stir our hearts in our Maker's praise. 
 
 THE INDIAN KING. 
 
 Among the early settlers of these United States, 
 were some pious people, called Huguenots, who fled 
 from the persecutions in France, under Louis the 
 
160 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 Fourteenth. It has been said, that wherever the ele- 
 ments of their character, mingled with this New 
 World, the infusion was salutary. 
 
 Industry, patience, sweet social affections, and 
 piety, firm, but not austere, werethe distinctive fea- 
 tures of this interesting race. A considerable num- 
 ber of them, chose their abode in a part of the 
 State of Massachusetts, about the year 1686, and 
 commenced the labours inseparable from the for- 
 mation of a new colony. 
 
 In their vicinity, was a powerful tribe of Indians, 
 whom they strove to conciliate. They extended to 
 them the simple rites of hospitality, and their kind 
 and gentle manners, wrought happily upon the 
 proud, yet susceptible nature of the aborigines. 
 
 But their settlement had not long assumed the 
 marks of regularity and beauty, ere they observed 
 in their savage neighbours, a reserved deportment. 
 This increased, until the son of the forest, utterly 
 avoided the dwellings of the new comers, where he 
 had been pleased to accept a shelter for the night, or 
 a covert for the storm. 
 
 Occasionally, some lingering one, might be seen 
 near the cultivated grounds, regarding the more 
 skilful agriculture of the white inhabitants, with a 
 dejected and lowering brow. It was rumoured that 
 these symptoms of disaffection arose from the influ- 
 ence of an aged chief, whom they considered a 
 prophet, who denounced the " pale intruders ;" and 
 they grieved that thej'- should not have been more 
 successful in conciliating their red brethren. 
 
 Three years had elapsed since the establishment 
 of their little colony. Autumn was now advancing 
 
THE INDIAN KING. 161 
 
 towards its close, and copse and forest exhibited 
 those varied and opposing hues, which clothe in 
 beauty and brilliance, the foliage of New England. 
 The harvest was gathered in, and every family made 
 preparation for the approach of winter. 
 
 Here and there, groups of children might be seen, 
 bearing homeward, baskets of nuts, which they had 
 gathered in the thicket, or forest, It was pleasant 
 to hear their joyous voices, and see their ruddy faces, 
 like bright flowers, amid wilds so lately tenanted by 
 the prowling wolf, the fierce panther, and the sable 
 bear. 
 
 In one of these nut-gatherings, a little boy and 
 girl, of eight and four years old, the only children 
 of a settler, whose wife had died on the voyage 
 hither, accidentally separated from their companions. 
 They had discovered on their way home, profuse 
 clusters of the purple frost-grape, and entering a 
 rocky recess to gain the new treasure, did not per- 
 ceive that the last rays of the setting sun were fading 
 away. 
 
 Suddenly, they were seized by two Indians. The 
 boy struggled violently, and his little sister cried to 
 him for protection, but in vain. The long strides of 
 their captors, soon bore them far beyond the bounds 
 of the settlement. Night was far advanced, ere 
 they halted. Then they kindled a fire, and offered 
 the children some food. 
 
 The heart of the boy swelled high with grief and 
 anger, and he refused to partake. But the poor little 
 girl, took some parched corn from the hand of the 
 Indian, who held her on his knee. He smiled as he 
 saw her eat the kernels, and look up in his face 
 
162 
 
 with a wondering, yet reproachless eye. Then they 
 lay down to sleep in the dark forest, each with an 
 arm over his captive. 
 
 Great was the alarm in the colony, when those 
 children returned not. Every spot was searched, 
 where it was thought possible they might have lost 
 their way. But when at length, their little baskets 
 were found, over-turned in a tangled thicket, one 
 terrible conclusion burst upon every mind, that they 
 must have been captured by Indians. 
 
 It was decided, that ere any warlike measures 
 were adopted, the father should go peacefully to the 
 Indian king, and demand his children. At the ear- 
 liest dawn of morning, he departed with his com- 
 panions. They met a friendly Indian, pursuing the 
 chase, who had occasionally shared their hospitality 
 and consented to be their guide. 
 
 They travelled through rude paths, until the day 
 drew near a close. Then, approaching a circle of 
 native dwellings, in the midst of which was a tent, 
 they saw a man of lofty form, with a coronet of 
 feathers upon his brow, and surrounded by warriors. 
 The guide saluted him as his monarch, and the be- 
 reaved father, bowing down, addressed him. 
 
 " King of the red men, thou seest a father in pur- 
 suit of his lost babes. He has heard that your peo- 
 ple will not harm the stranger in distress. So he 
 trusts himself fearlessly among you. The king of 
 our own native land, who should have protected us, 
 became our foe. We fled from our dear homes, from 
 the graves of our fathers. 
 
 " The ocean-wave brought us to this New World. 
 We are a peaceful race, pure from the blood of all 
 
THE INDIAN KING. 163 
 
 men. We seek to take the hand of our red brethren. 
 Of my own kindred, none inhabit this wilderness 
 save two little buds from a broken, buried stem. 
 
 " Last night, sorrow entered into my soul, because 
 I found them not. Knowest thou, O King, if thy 
 people have taken my babes ] Knowest thou where 
 they have concealed them ] Cause them, I pray thee, 
 to be restored to my arms. So shall the Great Spirit 
 bless thine own tender plants, and lift up thy heart, 
 when it weigheth heavily in thy bosom." 
 
 The Indian monarch, bending on him a piercing 
 glance, said, " Knowest thou me 1 Look in my eyes I 
 Look! Answer me ! Are they those of a stranger!" 
 The Huguenot replied that he had no recollection of 
 having ever before seen his countenance. 
 
 "Thus it is with the white man. He is dim-eyed. 
 He looketh on the garments, more than on the soul. 
 Where your ploughs wound the earth, oft have I 
 stood, watching your toil. There was no coronet on 
 my brow. But I was a king. And you knew it not. 
 
 " I looked upon your people. I saw neither pride, 
 nor violence. I went an enemy, but returned a 
 friend. T said to my warriors, do these men no harm. 
 They do not hate Indians. Then our white-haired 
 Prophet of the Great Spirit rebuked me. He bade 
 me make no league with the pale faces, lest angry 
 words should be spoken of me, among the shades of 
 our buried kings. 
 
 " Yet again I went where thy brethren have rear- 
 ed their dwellings. Yes, I entered thy house. And 
 thou knowest not this brow ? I could tell thine at mid- 
 night, if but a single star trembled through the clouds. 
 
164 the boy's book. 
 
 My ear would know thy voice, though the storm 
 were abroad with all its thunders. 
 
 "I have said that I was a king. Yet I came to 
 thee an hungered. And thou gavest me bread. My 
 head was wet with the tempest. Thou badest me to 
 lie down on thy hearth, and thy son for whom thou 
 mournest, covered me. 
 
 "I was sad in spirit. And thy little daughter, 
 whom thou seekest with tears, sat on my knee. She 
 smiled when I told her how the beaver buildeth his 
 house in the forest. My heart was comforted, for I 
 saw that she did not hate Indians. 
 
 "Turn not on me such a terrible eye. I am no 
 stealer of babes. I have reproved the people who 
 took the children. I have sheltered them for thee. 
 Not a hair of their heads is hurt. Thinkest thou 
 that the red man can forget kindness] They are 
 sleeping in my tent. Had I but a single blanket, it 
 should have been their bed. Take them, and return 
 unto thy people." 
 
 He waved his hand to an attendant, and in a mo- 
 ment, the two children were in the arms of their fa- 
 ther. The white men were hospitably sheltered for 
 that night, and the twilight of the next day, bore 
 upward from the rejoicing colony, a prayer for the 
 heathen of the forest, and that pure praise which 
 mingles with the music around the Throne. 
 
THE PRAYER ON BUNKER'S HILL. 165 
 
 THE PRAYER ON BUNKER'S HILL. 
 
 It was an hour of fear and dread, 
 
 High rose the battle cry, 
 And round in heavy volumes spread 
 
 The war-cloud to the sky. 
 
 'Twas not, as when in rival strength, 
 
 Contending nations meet, 
 Or love of conquest madly hurls 
 
 A monarch from his seat. 
 
 But many a warm cemented tie, 
 
 Was riven in anguish wild, 
 Ere with a foe-man's vengeful eye 
 
 The parent met the child. 
 
 O'er the green hill's beleagurM breast, 
 
 Swept on the conflict high, 
 And many a gallant leader prest 
 
 The trampled turf to die. 
 
 Yet one was there unus'd to tread, 
 
 The path of mortal strife, 
 Who but the Saviour's flock had led 
 
 Beside the fount of life. 
 
 He knelt him where the black smoke wreath/ d 
 
 His head was bow'd and bare, 
 While for an infant land, he breath'd 
 
 The agony of prayer. 
 
 The shafts of death flew thick and fast, 
 
 'Mid shrieks of ire and pain, 
 Wide wav'd his white locks on the blast, 
 
 And round him fell the slain. 
 
166 the boy's book. 
 
 Yet. still with fervency intense 
 He prest the endanger'd spot, 
 
 The selfish thought, the shrinking sense 
 O'ermaster'd, and forgot. 
 
 'Twould seem as if a marble form 
 Wrought in some quarried height, 
 
 Stood fix'd amid that battle storm, 
 Save that the eye was bright. 
 
 Save that the deeply-heaving breast, 
 
 The hand uprais'd in air, 
 The smile, yet moving lips, exprest 
 
 That strong life wrestled there. 
 
 Then loud upon their native soil, 
 Peal'd forth their victor's cry, 
 
 And thinn'd beneath the desperate toil, 
 The wearied host swept by. 
 
 But 'mid that strange and fierce delight, 
 
 A chief of other days, 
 Gave up your falchions broad and bright, 
 
 Your own light arms the praise. 
 
 Or thought ye still how many a prayer, 
 
 Amid the deathful fray, 
 From cottage homes, and heads of care, 
 
 Rose up for you that day] 
 
 The column red with early morn, 
 May tower o'er Bunker's height, 
 
 And proudly till a race unborn 
 Their patriot father's might. 
 
167 
 
 But thou, Oh patriot, old and grey, 
 Thou prophet of the free,* 
 
 Who knelt amid the dead, that day, 
 What fame shall rise to thee 1 
 
 It is not meet that brass or stone, 
 Which feel the touch of time, 
 
 Should keep the record of a faith 
 That woke thy deed sublime. 
 
 We trace it on a tablet fair 
 
 Which glows when stars wax pale, 
 A promise that the good man's prayer 
 
 Shall with his God prevail. 
 
 JOTHAM'S PARABLE. 
 
 The trees of Israel once conven'd 
 
 In conclave, strange and bold, 
 To choose a ruler, though the Lord 
 
 Had been their king of old. 
 And first, the homage of their vow 
 
 They to the Olive paid, 
 But she the flattering suit repelFd, 
 
 And lov'd the peaceful glade. 
 
 * During the battle of Bunker's Hill, a venerable clergy- 
 man of Massachusetts, knelt on the field, with hands upraised, 
 and grey head uncovered, and while the bullets whistled 
 around him, prayed for the success of his people. 
 
168 the boy's book. 
 
 Next, to the fruitful Fig they turn'd, 
 
 On Shechem's shadowy height, 
 And spread the gilded lures of power 
 
 Before her dazzled sight ; 
 But shivering low, in every leaf, 
 
 As the light breeze swept by, 
 Ambition's sinful thought she spurn'd, 
 
 And rais'd to Heaven her eye. 
 
 So then the lowly vine they sought, 
 
 That round her trellis bound, 
 In sweet contentment humbly dwelt, 
 
 Belov'd by all around ; 
 Yet, hiding 'neath her clusters broad, 
 
 With unobtrusive smile, 
 And clinging closer to her prop, 
 
 She 'scap'd th' insidious wile. 
 
 Then up the thorny Bramble spake 
 
 To every lofty tree, — 
 " Come, put your trust beneath my shade, 
 
 And I'll your ruler be." 
 " The Bramble-shade ! the Bramble-shade ! 
 
 Have you forgot the day 
 When Midian's old oppressive yoke 
 
 Was nobly rent away. 
 
 " My glorious sire ! — Have ye forgot 
 How in God's strength he rose ? 
 
 And took his dear life in his hand, 
 And triumph'd o'er your foes ? 
 
j'otham's parable. 169 
 
 So now, if with my father's house, 
 
 Ye have dealt well and true, 
 Rejoice ye in your new-made lord, 
 
 While he exults in you. 
 
 " But, if my slaughter'd brethren's blood 
 
 Still from the dust doth cry, 
 And echo in that Judge's ear, 
 
 Who rules both earth and sky, 
 Then from the bramble, where ye trust, 
 
 Break forth, at midnight hour, 
 The o'erwhelming and vindictive flame, 
 
 And all your host devour." 
 
 That voice the ingrate people heard 
 
 With deep remorse and dread, 
 And deem'd some spirit, strong in wrath, 
 
 Had risen from the dead ; 
 For there, on Gerizzim, he stood, 
 
 Amid its cedars bright, 
 And frown'd one moment on the throng, 
 
 They vanish'd from their sight. 
 
 But fearful was their fiery doom 
 
 On Shechem's leaguer'd tower, 
 When fierce Abimelech arose, 
 
 With war's disastrous power. 
 Each soldier bore a sever'd bough, 
 
 And rear'd a mighty pile, 
 From whence the wild, unpitying flame 
 
 Consum'd the men of guile. 
 15 
 
170 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 And on that tyrant's head there fell 
 
 A weight of wrath and pain, — 
 Dire judgment for usurping guilt, 
 
 And for his brethren slain. 
 The mill-stone, by a woman thrown, — 
 
 A servant's deadly thrust, — 
 Aveng'd the usurper's ruthless deed, 
 
 And crush'd him to the dust. 
 
 DR. HERMAN BOERHAAVE. 
 
 Herman Boerhaave, was one of the best men, 
 and most illustrious physicians. He was the son of 
 a clergyman, and born at a small village in Holland, 
 on the last day of the year 1668. Love of study 
 marked his childhood, and, at the age of fourteen, he 
 was sent to the public school at Leyden. 
 
 His proficiency, while at school, was so great, 
 that in less than a year after he became a member, 
 he was advanced with honour, to the highest class, 
 which is allowed after six months preparation, to 
 enter the University. But scarcely was he admitted 
 there, before a dark shade was cast over his pros- 
 pects, by the death of his father, who left a numer- 
 ous family, in reduced circumstances. 
 
 Still, his efforts to obtain an education, were not 
 checked by sorrow, and he expressed his trust in the 
 guidance and support of that Father who never dies. 
 His desire was to become a clergyman, and after 
 laying a solid foundation in the sciences, he com- 
 
DR. HERMAN BOERHAAVE. 171 
 
 menced the study of the Hebrew language, and of 
 theology. 
 
 The necessity of doing something for his imme- 
 diate support, induced him to resign the pursuits 
 that were most congenial to his taste, and devote 
 himself to the science of medicine. After leaving 
 the university, he suffered much from poverty, and 
 while pursuing a wide range of the studies of na- 
 ture, to aid him in his future profession, was obliged 
 to supply himself with the necessaries of life, by 
 teaching mathematics. 
 
 But afterwards, when he became known as a phy- 
 sician, wealth flowed in upon him, like a flood, so 
 that at the time of his death, he left a fortune of 
 several hundred thousand dollars, as a proof of 
 what honest and well-directed industry, might per- 
 form. Yet he was far from being exorbitant in his 
 charges, or arrogant of his skill, though he had been 
 blest as the instrument of healing, in many difficult 
 and almost helpless cases. 
 
 His feeling and benevolent heart, led him to visit 
 and prescribe for those who were too poor to com- 
 pensate him. " These, said he, are my best patients. 
 God is their paymaster." He was diligent, both 
 night and day, to relieve suffering, and his kind, and 
 sympathetic feelings, so beamed forth in his coun- 
 tenance, that he approached the couch of the sick, 
 like a beneficent spirit. 
 
 Reputation and honour, were the rewards of his 
 knowledge and goodness. He was appointed Pro- 
 fessor of Chemistry, Professor of Botany, and Pro- 
 fessor of Medicine, in the University of Leyden. 
 The Royal Society of London, and the Academy of 
 
172 the boy's book. 
 
 Sciences at Paris, elected him an honorary mem- 
 ber, and distant princes confided pupils to his care. 
 
 When Peter the Great, was in Holland, in 1715, he 
 attended the lectures of Boerhaave, and received 
 lessons from him, as a scholar. Nor was his fame 
 confined to Europe. It spread far among the eastern 
 nations. A letter from a mandarin in China, direct- 
 ed to the "illustrious Boerhaave, physician in Eu- 
 rope," came to him, without mistake or delay. 
 
 Amid all these distinctions, which would have 
 elated a weak or vain mind, he was humble, and full 
 of those amiable qualities, which endeared him to 
 society, and to the domestic circle. At the age of 
 forty-two, he married the daughter of the burgomas- 
 ter of Leyden, and, notwithstanding his household 
 and professional avocations, found time for the 
 composition of several literary works. 
 
 He was an eloquent orator, and spoke with such 
 dignity and grace, that his auditors regretted when 
 his lectures closed. He taught methodically, and 
 with great precision. His pupils found him not only 
 a skilful professor, and an indefatigable instructor, 
 but a tender friend, encouraging their exertions, con- 
 soling them under afflictions, and when necessary, 
 relieving their pecuniary necessities. 
 
 He was a declared foe to all extravagance and ex- 
 cess, yet cheerful, and desirous of promoting the 
 true happiness of the young. He was zealous for 
 the truth, but dispassionate ; constant and affection- 
 ate in friendship ; in every relation of life, virtuous 
 and exemplary. Yet the high esteem which he en- 
 joyed, and his real excellence, did not save him from 
 calumny and detraction. 
 
DR. HERMAN BOERHAAVE- 173 
 
 He was not angry at his enemies, and paid little 
 attention to their unkindness. " The surest remedy 
 against scandal, he would say, is to live it down, by 
 perseverance in well-doing, and by prayer to God 
 to cure the distempered minds of those who traduce 
 and injure us." 
 
 To a friend who admired his patience under great 
 provocations, and asked by what means he had ac- 
 quired such entire self-control, he replied with great 
 frankness, that by nature he was inclined to resent- 
 ment, but that by daily prayer and meditation, he 
 had obtained the command of his passions. 
 
 He was temperate in his mode of life, and recom- 
 mended temperance to others. The continual ac- 
 tivity of his mind, sparkled in his eyes. His manners 
 were unassuming, — his whole appearance simple, 
 and when age and deep study changed the colour of 
 his hair, he was remarkable for that beautiful and 
 venerable aspect which creates respect, and concili- 
 ates affection. 
 
 Piety, and a deep sense of dependence on God, 
 formed the basis of his virtues. Fully sensible of 
 the infirmity of human nature, he arrogated no 
 merit to himself. When he received praise for be- 
 nevolence, or wisdom, he ascribed it to the Great 
 Author of every "good and perfect gift." So pro- 
 found was his humility, that when he heard of any 
 condemned criminal, he would say, " Who knows 
 whether he is not better than 1 1 Or if I have es- 
 caped his sins, I owe it to Divine Goodness." 
 
 He was an early riser ; and it was always his habit 
 as soon as he had dressed, to retire an hour for de- 
 votion, and the study of the Bible. When his friends 
 15* 
 
174 the boy's book. 
 
 expressed surprise at the fatigue he was able to en- 
 dure in his profession, he said, " my morning hour 
 of prayer and meditation, gives me spirit and vigour, 
 for the toils or trials of the day." 
 
 The practice from which he derived such benefit, 
 he urged others, especially the young, to adopt. 
 " Nothing, said he, more conduces to health of body, 
 or tranquillity of mind. Indeed, I know of nothing, 
 which is able to support me, and my fellow-creatures, 
 under the various distresses of life, but a well-ground- 
 ed confidence in a Supreme Being, resting on the 
 principles of Christianity." 
 
 Feeling that a religious physician has it in his 
 power to do good to the soul as well as the body, he 
 made the excellence of the Christian religion, a fre- 
 quent theme of discourse, and on every proper oc- 
 casion, asserted the divine origin of the Scriptures, and 
 their efficacy in making men " wise unto salvation." 
 
 He constantly and feelingly affirmed, that a strict 
 obedience to the doctrines, and a diligent imitation 
 of the examples of our blessed Saviour, was the 
 foundation of true happiness. He asserted, that 
 submission to the will of God, without repining, or 
 searching after hidden reasons, was the duty of a 
 Christian. 
 
 His last illness, was lingering and painful. But 
 his fortitude and patience, never forsook him. He 
 intermitted neither the necessary care of life, nor 
 the serious preparation for its close. The piety 
 which he had cherished from early years, was a 
 fountain of joy and hope, when about to take his de- 
 parture from all <^_rthly things. 
 
 A short time L; fore his dissolution, he received a 
 
EVENING THOUGHT. 175 
 
 visit from an excellent clergyman, and after joining 
 with him in fervent prayer, spoke in a most interest- 
 ing manner, of the nature of the soul. He remarked, 
 that the infirmities of his body, had no power over the 
 mind, — that the strongest pains neither oppressed, 
 nor vanquished it. Hence he drew an affecting 
 proof of its immortality. 
 
 He asserted, that amid the keenest sufferings which 
 had been appointed him, his soul had been always 
 master of itself, always resigned to the pleasure of 
 its Maker. Confirming in sickness, what he had as- 
 serted in health, he added, "he who loves God, ought 
 to think nothing desirable, but what is most pleasing 
 to the Supreme Goodness." 
 
 As death approached, his cheerful trust seemed to 
 increase, and his spirit to rise still more, above the 
 influence of pain. He died on the 25th of Septem- 
 ber, 1738, in the seventieth year of his age, honour- 
 ed and lamented. His works were afterwards pub- 
 lished in five large quarto volumes, and the city of 
 Leyden erected a monument to his memory, bearing 
 his own favourite, and characteristic motto, " Truth 
 unarrayed" 
 
 EVENING THOUGHT. 
 
 Written while at school, at a distance from home. 
 
 Wintry tempest, wild and loud, 
 Scattering snow-wreaths from the cloud, 
 Through my sleeted pane, I see 
 Many a drift uprear'd by thee, 
 
176 
 
 THE BOY S BOOK. 
 
 Where the traveller's foot may fail, 
 As he breasts the northern gale. 
 
 Yet stay, thou rude and sweeping blast, 
 That o'er my native rocks hast past, 
 And tell me if my parents dear 
 Listen'd like me, — thy voice to hear. 
 Oh tell me if their eve was spent 
 In comfort, and in calm content, 
 If glow'd their eye with gladness mild, 
 Or spoke they of their absent child. 
 
 Thou wilt not for my question stay, 
 Thou dost not know, or canst not say. 
 But speed'st unpitying, on thy path, 
 In cold contempt, and headlong wrath, 
 Yet is the fate of those I love 
 Dear to the Power who rules above. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 'Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." 
 Num. xxiii. 10. 
 
 I look'd upon the righteous man, 
 
 And saw his parting breath, 
 Without a struggle or a sigh 
 
 Yield peacefully to Death, 
 There was no anguish on his brow, 
 
 No terror in his eye, 
 The Spoiler launch'd a fatal dart, 
 
 But lost the victory. 
 
DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 177 
 
 I look'd upon the righteous man, 
 
 And heard the holy prayer 
 Which rose above that breathless clay 
 
 To soothe the mourner's care, 
 And felt how precious was the gift, 
 
 He to his dear ones gave, 
 The stainless memory of the just, 
 
 The wealth beyond the grave. 
 
 I look'd upon the righteous man, 
 
 And all our earthly trust, 
 Its pleasure — vanity, and pride, 
 
 Seem'd lighter than the dust, 
 Compar'd with his eternal gain, 
 
 A home above the sky ! — 
 O grant us, Lord, his life to live, 
 
 That we his death may die. 
 
 DR. BENJAMIN FRANKIJN. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin, was the youngest son of a 
 family of seventeen children, and born in Boston, 
 Massachusetts, January 17th, 1706. His parents 
 desired to give him a good education, and at the age of 
 eight years, placed him at school, where by his 
 veadiness to learn, he soon reached the head of his 
 class, and bade fair to become a distinguished 
 scholar. 
 
 But his father being obliged to labour for the sup- 
 port of a numerous family, found himself unable to 
 
178 the boy's book. 
 
 bear the expenses of continuing him at school, and 
 took him at ten years of age, to assist in his own 
 trade of a tallow-chandler. While he was indus- 
 triously employed in the work of the shop, his mind 
 was meditating upon the books he had perused, and 
 devising how to get time to read others. 
 
 Among the very few volumes which his father 
 possessed, was an old, worn copy of Cotton Mather's 
 "Essays to do Good." This he read and pondered, 
 until its contents were impressed upon his memory. 
 It so strongly influenced his character, that, in later 
 years, when he had become distinguished by deeds 
 of philanthropy, he said the foundation was laid in 
 his mind, by the perusal of that book. 
 
 All the little money that he was able to obtain, he 
 laid by, for the purchase of books. The first that 
 he was able to buy, were the works of John Bunyan. 
 His strong taste for reading, determined his father to 
 hind him apprentice to an elder brother, who was a 
 printer. He was then eleven years old, and being 
 active and diligent, made himself very useful in the 
 business. 
 
 He was much happier in his new trade, because 
 he had better opportunities to borrow useful books. 
 These, he was careful to keep perfectly clean, and 
 return in a short time, though he frequently had to 
 borrow some hours from sleep, in order to read them. 
 He soon began to write his thoughts, sometimes in 
 poetry, and sometimes in prose. 
 
 His father praised him for the correctness of his 
 spelling and punctuation, but told him his sentences 
 were rough and unpolished, and recommended to 
 him to study the writings of Addison. By a careful 
 
DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 179 
 
 perusal of the "best authors, he soon became sensi- 
 ble of the force and beauty of a simple and grace- 
 ful style. 
 
 The brother, whose apprentice he was, commenced 
 in 1720, the second newspaper, which had ever ap- 
 peared in America. Benjamin was very busy, in 
 setting the types, printing the sheets, and carrying 
 the papers to subscribers. Here he also inserted 
 some of his own compositions, keeping the circum- 
 stance a strict secret. 
 
 He was gratified to hear people who visited the 
 printing-office, speak in praise of the articles which 
 he had written, and impute them to gentlemen of 
 talents and learning ; — little thinking that the prin- 
 ter's boy, so busy at the press, was their author. 
 He used sometimes to engage in the discussion of 
 important subjects, with a companion, who seemed 
 to partake of his desire for improvement. 
 
 He discovered, that in argument it was best to be 
 candid and open to conviction. " If you desire im- 
 provement from others, he said, do not express your- 
 self fixed in your own present opinions. Those who 
 are modest and sensible, do not love to dispute, and 
 will leave you undisturbed in the possession of your 
 errors. By a positive and dogmatical manner, you 
 can seldom expect to please your hearers, or obtain 
 the concurrence you desire." 
 
 At the age of sixteen, he read a treatise on vege- 
 table diet, which pleased him so much, that he long 
 abstained from animal food. He found that neither 
 his strength, nor his spirits suffered, but at his 
 "boarding-house, they complained of the trouble of 
 preparing extra dishes. So he proposed that his 
 
180 
 
 "brother should allow him half the sum, which lie 
 paid weekly for his board, promising to furnish with 
 it his own provisions. 
 
 He found it easy, not only to keep his word, but 
 to save from the allowance, a small fund for the 
 purchase of books. It also aided him in another 
 favourite object, the economy of time. While his 
 "brother with the apprentices, were gone to their 
 meals, he was left alone in the printing-office, and 
 soon despatching his slight repast, of a biscuit, or a 
 slice of bread, with a glass of water, and perhaps a 
 few raisins, he secured a precious interval for study. 
 Not meeting from his brother any assistance, in 
 his pursuit of improvement, and finding him neither 
 as kind or as liberal as he had reason to expect, he 
 left him, and went to New York, and Philadelphia, 
 in search of employment at his trade. He was in- 
 duced in 1724, to go to England, where he remained 
 j a year and a half, working as a journeyman-printer, 
 ! and gaining a thorough knowledge of his profession. 
 1 3 At his return to his native country, he took up 
 his residence in Philadelphia. He was very diligent 
 in his business, and when he became able, under- 
 took the printing of a newspaper. He dressed plain- 
 ly, and frequented no places of amusement. Per- 
 ceiving that there was too often a false pride about 
 f those who obtained their living by mechanical em- 
 I ployment, he took care to be frequently seen, bring- 
 ( ing in a wheelbarrow, through the streets, the paper 
 "which he purchased for his printing-office. 
 \ Not content with his own improvement, he formed 
 a society, for discussion, and writing, on subjects of 
 importance. Each member was to deposit a few 
 
DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 181 
 
 volumes in the room, where they held their weekly 
 meetings. This library proved so useful, that he 
 was induced to found a larger one, where fifty sub- 
 scribers paid an annual sum for the purchase of 
 books. Thus the first public library in Philadelphia, 
 was founded by one, who had so recently been ail 
 obscure printer's boy. 
 
 At the age of twenty-four, he married Mrs. Rogers, 
 formerly Miss Read, to whom he became attached, 
 when he first arrived in Philadelphia, and at the 
 house of whose father he had boarded, when a 
 stranger, and without resources. She proved an af- 
 fectionate, and congenial companion, entering warm- 
 ly into his system of frugality, and by aiding him in 
 folding and stitching pamphlets, and tending his 
 shop, contributed to his success in business. 
 
 By great economy of time, he was enabled to se- 
 cure an hour or two, each day, for reading. He 
 then commenced by himself, the study of languages. 
 He soon gained such a knowledge of French, as to 
 read it with perfect ease, and then acquired both 
 Italian and Spanish. He was as solicitous for moral 
 as for intellectual improvement, and was equally 
 systematic to attain it. I 
 
 He furnished himself with a tablet, on which he 
 wrote the names of different virtues, — for instance, 
 Temperance, Industry, Frugality, Justice, Tranquil- 
 lity of Temper, and Order in the arrangement of 
 things, and the distribution of time. To each he af- 
 fixed a precept, and then taking them in succession, 
 devoted a week to the particular observation of one 
 virtue ; thus going through the list, week after week, 
 16 
 
182 the boy's book. 
 
 for many years, until he had formed correspondent 
 habits, on which he might depend. 
 
 In speaking of this system, when about eighty 
 years old, he ascribes to his perseverance in it, the; 
 "constant felicity of his life; to the temperance 
 thus established, his long-continued health ; to in- 
 dustry and frugality, the acquisition of his fortune, 
 and the knowledge which enabled him to be an use- 
 ful citizen ; to sincerity and justice, the confidence 
 of his country, and the honourable employments it 
 had conferred upon him." 
 
 He adds, that to the "joint influence of the whole 
 mass of these virtues, even in the imperfect state I 
 was able to acquire them, I impute all that evenness 
 of temper, and cheerfulness in conversation, which 
 make my company still sought for, and agreeable 
 to the young. 1 hope some of my descendants may 
 follow the example, and like their aged ancestor, 
 reap the same benefit." 
 
 His prudence, and excellent judgment, made his 
 advice sought for, and prized. At the age of thirty, 
 he was chosen Clerk of the General Assembly of 
 Pennsylvania. His introduction to public offices of 
 honour, created some envy. He was careful not to 
 lose his temper, but to conciliate those who were un- 
 friendly, as far as he could do so, consistently with 
 manly dignity. 
 
 1 He was once opposed by a man of education and 
 talents. His knowledge of human nature, pointed 
 out a mode of softening his enmity. He sent a po- 
 lite note, requesting the loan from his library, of a 
 valuable book. It was sent, and after a week, was 
 returned, with a note, expressing gratitude. When, 
 
DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 183 
 
 he next met the gentleman, he was treated with 
 civility, and they afterwards became warm friends. 
 
 On this occasion, he remarks, that it furnished a 
 new instance of the truth of a maxim, he learned 
 when a boy, that he who has once done you a kind- 
 ness, will be more ready to do you another, than he 
 whom you have yourself obliged. He adds, what all 
 young persons would do well to adopt as a rule, 
 " how much more profitable it is, prudently to re- 
 move, than to resent, return, or continue, unkind 
 and inimical treatment." 
 
 He turned much of his attention to internal im- 
 provements, — to the regulation of the city-watchmen, 
 — the formation of fire-companies, — the establishment 
 of an academy, — and a hospital for the sick, — the 
 regulation of affairs with the neighbouring Indians, 
 — and the general interests of education. He was 
 chosen member of the Legislature, and became 
 loaded with public offices. ! 
 
 He had a strong taste for philosophical studies, 
 and his experiments in electricity, which resulted in 
 the practical discovery of the protection afforded to 
 "buildings by lightning-rods, rendered his name il- 
 lustrious. The Royal Society of London, before 
 whom his papers on this subject were read, sent him 
 a gold medal, and elected him a member of their 
 honourable body. » 
 
 His theory was readily adopted, and highly ap- 
 plauded in France. His volume on Electricity, was 
 translated into French, Italian, German, and Latin, 
 and its authority admitted by all the philosophers of 
 Europe. Honorary degrees were conferred on him 
 by Yale College, in Connecticut, and Harward Uni- 
 
184 the eoy's book. 
 
 versity at Cambridge. He was appointed Post- 
 Master-General, and rendered that department a 
 source of profit to the country. 
 
 He was resorted to by General Braddock, for ad- 
 vice and assistance, when, in 1754, he made his unfor- 
 tunate campaign, against the French and Indians , 
 and three years after was appointed to proceed to 
 England, to represent the interests of Pennsylvania, 
 at the court of St. James. He remained there, six 
 years, and, at his return, received the thanks of the 
 legislature, for " important services done to that pro- 
 vince in particular, and to America in general," with 
 a compensation of five thousand pounds. 
 i On a second visit to Great Britain, he passed over 
 to Holland, Germany, and France. His fame had 
 preceded him. He was received with high marks of 
 honour, by philosophers and literary men, and pre- 
 sented to Louis the Fifteenth. He was himself an 
 illustration of the truth of that passage from Pro- 
 verbs, which his father had taught him, when a 
 boy; "Seest thou a man diligent in his business 1 ? 
 He shall stand before kings, — he shall not stand be- 
 fore mean men." 
 
 When disagreement commenced between Great 
 Britain and her colonies, he, being in the mother- 
 country, did all in his power to promote a recon- 
 ciliation. Perceiving no prospect of success, he re- 
 turned home in 1775, and the very day after his re- 
 turn, was elected member of Congress, for the State 
 of Pennsylvania. 
 
 He became an earnest advocate for the indepen- 
 dence of the United States, and at the close of the 
 year 1776, was sent as their ambassador to the court 
 
DK. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 195 
 
 of France. His great personal influence there, aris- 
 ing from his reputation as a philosopher, he devoted 
 with true and untiring patriotism, to the good of his 
 beloved country ; and his negotiations, conducted 
 with his characteristic prudence, were highly bene- 
 ficial to its interests. 
 
 In the autumn of 1785, he returned to Philadelphia. 
 His native country had taken her acknowledged seat 
 among the nations, and the venerable statesman was 
 received with affectionate gratitude. In his favour- 
 ite philosophical studies, with occasional attention to 
 public business, he passed his remaining years, 
 cheerful and useful to the last. 
 
 In the sickness which terminated his life, he 
 evinced the most entire resignation, acknowledging 
 amid the severest pains, the goodness and justice of 
 that Being who saw fit that he should be thus afflict- 
 ed. He died on the 17th of April, 1790, having lived 
 eighty-four years, and three months, happily to 
 himself, and usefully to his country, and to man- 
 kind. 
 
 The principal traits in the character of Dr. Frank- 
 lin, which made him distinguished, and which the 
 young should imitate, were industry, — perseverance 
 in improvement, — high sense of the value of time, — 
 prudence, — honesty, and activity for the public good, 
 united with that cheerful temper which made his 
 intellect amiable, and his virtues lovely, to all around, 
 even in extreme old age. 
 
 He is numbered among our most distinguished 
 
 writers. His opinions are marked by philanthropy, 
 
 and shrewd, good sense, and his style by clearness 
 
 and simplicity. An almanac, which he commenced 
 
 16* 
 
186 the boy's book. 
 
 at the age of twenty-five years, and continued to 
 publish for the same period of time, contained much 
 knowledge for the common people, and many wise 
 precepts about economy of time and money. These 
 with the title of the " Sayings of Poor Richard" were 
 afterwards collected, and reprinted in Great Britain, 
 and translated into French. 
 
 Here is some of his advice. " Sloth makes all 
 things difficult; but Industry, all things easy. 
 Sloth, like rust, consumes faster, than labour wears. 
 He who rises late, may trot all day, yet scarce over- 
 take his business at night. It is true, there is much 
 to be done, and perhaps, you are weak-handed, but 
 "by diligence and patience, the mouse ate into the 
 cable. 
 
 "Employ time well; and since thou art not sure 
 of a minute, throw not away an hour. Yet depend 
 not too much upon thine own industry, frugality, and 
 prudence, though they are excellent things ; for 
 without the blessing of Heaven, they may be blast- 
 ed. Therefore ask that blessing humbly, and be not 
 uncharitable to those who at present seem to be 
 without it, but comfort and help them. 
 
 " Nothing can contribute to true happiness, that is 
 inconsistent with duty ; nor can a course of action 
 conformable to it, be finally without an ample reward. 
 For God governs : and he is good. And you will never 
 be without his direction, if you humbly ask it, and 
 show yourself always ready to obey it." 
 
THE LONGEST DAY. 187 
 
 THE LONGEST DAY. 
 
 From us, if every fleeting hour, 
 Improvement's boon may ask, 
 
 The longest day must surely claim, 
 The most important task. 
 
 But since the longest day must end, 
 
 The happiest life decay, 
 Let wisdom's hand, and wisdom's voice, 
 
 Direct our youthful way. 
 
 And when we rise, let morning's eye 
 
 Convey the lesson sweet, 
 And ere we sleep, an angel's sigh 
 
 The sacred rule repeat : 
 
 Patient to render good to all, 
 Within our bounded sphere, 
 
 The active deed, the grateful word. 
 The sympathizing tear : 
 
 To raise the heart to Him who gives 
 Our path with hope to shine, 
 
 Meekly receive the cup of joy, 
 Or tranquilly resign : 
 
 To let no fear disturb the breast, 
 
 No doubt obscure our sky, 
 Since Virtue cannot live uablest, 
 
 Or unrewarded die. 
 
188 the boy's book. 
 
 CHILDREN BRINGING WATER FROM A 
 SPRING. 
 
 Ye have found the wealth of the gushing spring, 
 
 Where the verdant branches meet, 
 And your simple vases have freely fill'd 
 
 With its sparkling waters sweet. 
 
 While watching, perchance, at the cottage door, 
 
 Your mother exults to see 
 Her beautiful ones, returning home 
 
 With their innocent smile of glee. 
 
 And when the heat of the noon is high, 
 
 Your father, amid his care, 
 Will lean on the top of his shining spade, 
 
 And bless the draught ye bear. 
 
 But ye are drinking of childhood's spring, 
 
 Whose bubbling waters clear, 
 Have never a poisonous weed to sting, 
 
 Or a dreg of guilt and fear. 
 
 Have ye heard of a spring that doth never fail, 
 
 'Mid the summer's parching heat 1 
 Which Winter hath never had power to seal 
 
 Or to staunch with his icy feet 1 
 
 Have ye heard of a fount that can cleanse the heart, 
 
 And peace to the lost restore ] 
 Go seek for it now, in the dawn of your life, 
 
 And taste it, and thirst no more. 
 
HON. ROGER SHERMAN. ISO 
 
 HON. ROGER SHERMAN. 
 
 Roger Sherman, was the son of a farmer, and 
 born in Newton, Massachusetts, April 19th, 1721. 
 He received only such means of instruction, as the 
 common, country schools afforded. Those schools 
 more than a hundred years .since, were far inferior 
 to what they now are ; so that his advantages to ac- 
 quire an education, were exceedingly limited. 
 
 Neither was he able constantly to attend even the 
 poor schools, to which he had access. The employ- 
 ments of agriculture, occupied him for a part of the 
 year, during his boyhood ; and, at a proper age, he 
 was bound apprentice to a shoemaker. Yet amid a 
 life of hard labour, he secured some time for the 
 acquisition of knowledge. 
 
 Such was his zeal for mental improvement, that 
 he used to fasten a book before him on his shoe- 
 maker's bench, and when there was a moment to 
 spare from his work, fix his eyes upon it. While 
 his hands were busy, he meditated on what he had 
 read. Thus, he became a cartful, patient thinker, and 
 this is better than to read many books without re- 
 flection. 
 
 By his love of knowledge, and perseverance in 
 overcoming obstacles, he made proficiency not only 
 in arithmetic, geography, and the general principles 
 of history, but in logic, philosophy, the higher 
 
190 THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 "branches of mathematics, political economy, and 
 theology. His conduct was under the guidance of 
 rectitude, and morality, and in his heart was that 
 " fear of God, which is the beginning of wisdom." 
 
 He early made a profession of religion, and so 
 subjected his whole conduct to its precepts, that he 
 became eminent for self-control. He mentioned 
 that in gaining the government of his passions, he 
 was aided by the study of Dr. Watts' treatise on that 
 subject ; and to the close of life, he was distinguished 
 for the mildness, serenity, and sedateness, which he 
 took such pains in youth, to acquire. 
 
 When he had reached the age of nineteen years, 
 his father died, and the care of the family devolved 
 on him. His filial virtues were strongly exemplified, 
 in his constant attentions to the comfort of a mother, 
 who lived to a great age. By his industry on the 
 farm, as well as in his trade, he was enabled also to 
 support a numerous family of brothers and sisters. 
 
 With his fraternal tenderness, he mingled the 
 judgment of a father, in superintending the charac- 
 ter of those, whom Providence had intrusted to his 
 guidance, while he was himself so young. By rigid 
 economy, and self-denial, he was enabled to secure 
 for two of his brothers, those advantages of collegi- 
 ate education, which he had never himself enjoyed. 
 
 At the age of twenty-two, he removed his mother 
 and household, to New-Milford, and entered into the 
 business of a country-merchant. With character- 
 istic simplicity, he performed this journey on foot, 
 taking care to have his shoemaker's tools, conveyed 
 to his new home. Amid his close application to busi- 
 ness, he still found time for scientific pursuits, and 
 
HON. ROGER SHERMAN. 191 
 
 made astronomical calculations for an almanac in 
 New- York, which he supplied for several years. 
 
 Circumstances which seemed to him, like a direct 
 intimation of duty, induced him to apply himself to 
 legal studies. Success attended his indefatigable 
 diligence, and he was soon appointed one of the 
 justices of the court of common pleas, then, a judge 
 of the superior court, and member of the senate, of 
 his native state. After his removal to New-Haven, 
 he held for many years, the office of treasurer to 
 Yale College, and received from that institution, the 
 honorary degree of Master of Arts. 
 
 His opinions as a lawyer, were received with 
 great respect, and his conduct as a judge, was mark- 
 ed by uprightness, and strict adherence to the prin- 
 ciples of justice. Higher honours still awaited him, 
 and he was elected a member of the first Congress, 
 in 1774, where he continued till his death, a period of 
 nineteen years. 
 
 In the summer of 1776, he was appointed one of 
 the five statesmen, who prepared the Declaration of 
 Independence, for the United States. After the 
 blessings of peace, had been vouchsafed to our 
 country, he was chosen delegate to the General Con- 
 vention, to whom the important work was commit- 
 ted of forming a constitution, for its permanent gov- 
 ernment. 
 
 In all these arduous labours, he sought the direc- 
 tion of the Almighty, and depended upon his bles- 
 sing. In a letter to a friend, about this period, he 
 says, "May that kind Providence, which guarded 
 these States, through a dangerous and distressing 
 
192 the boy's book. 
 
 war, to peace and liberty, still watch over, and 
 guide them in the way of safety." 
 
 He was elected to the Senate of the United States, 
 and remained in that dignified body until his death. 
 Here, and through the whole of his congressional 
 life, his application to business was most persevering, 
 and his clear judgment, rational opinions, and in- 
 flexible integrity of principle, won the respect and 
 homage of all men. 
 
 From his extensive acquaintance with history, as 
 well as his knowledge of human nature, he derived 
 great aid, in the elevated sphere of duty which was 
 appointed him. He was also eminently distinguish- 
 ed for good sense, and discretion, in all his words 
 and deeds. " There is Mr. Sherman of Connecticut, 
 who never said a foolish thing in his life," was the 
 tribute of respect, paid him by one of the Presidents 
 of the United States, as he pointed out to a stran- 
 ger, some of the most eminent statesmen, in the hall 
 of Congress. 
 
 Chief Justice Ellsworth, who resembled him in 
 strength of intellect, high integrity of principle, and 
 general structure of character, acknowledged that 
 he had made him his model, from his youth. " And 
 this," said the elder President Adams, "is praise 
 enough for them both." 
 
 Though Mr. Sherman was elevated to some of the 
 highest honours, which his country could bestow, he 
 was never ashamed of the obscurity of his origin. 
 During the revolutionary war, when the expenses of 
 the army, were submitted to the inspection of Con- 
 gress, he informed them, that in the contract for the 
 supply of shoes, the charges were too high. 
 
i HON. ROGEE SHERMAN. 193 
 
 He then gave a particular statement of the cost 
 of leather, other necessary materials, and workman- 
 ship, and demonstrated his assertion, beyond a doubt. 
 The gentleman who attended with him, to this ex- 
 amination, being surprised at the minuteness of his 
 kngwledge, he replied, with frankness and pleasure, 
 " I am by trade, a shoemaker." 
 
 He avoided show and extravagance of every kind, 
 and was a consistent, and noble example of repub- 
 lican simplicity. Age did not impair his usefulness, 
 and his venerable appearance was admired by all. 
 He was a member of the Senate, at the time of his 
 death, which took place July 23d, 1793, at the age 
 of seventy-two, while he was in full possession of 
 his powers of mind and body, and strong in the 
 hope of the gospel which he loved. 
 
 His person was lofty, erect, and well-proportioned, 
 and the expression of his countenance, manly and 
 agreeable. He was twice married, first to Miss 
 Elizabeth Hartwell, and afterwards to Miss Re- 
 becca Prescott, both natives of Massachusetts, and 
 was the father of fifteen children. In the domestic 
 relations of son, and brother, husband, father, and 
 friend, he was most kind and faithful. No public 
 business, however pressing, led him to neglect those 
 sacred, relative duties. 
 
 The principles of truth, and accountability to 
 God, regulated all his conduct. What is right ?— 
 
 what course ought I in conscience to pursue 1 were the 
 
 questions he continually asked himself: and not 
 
 "what is popular ?— what will affect my interest V 1 
 
 Thus his integrity was never questioned, and he 
 
 17 
 
194 the boy's book. 
 
 dwelt always in the clear sunshine of a " conscience 
 void of offence, towards God, and towards man." 
 
 The volume which he most loved and consulted, 
 was the Sacred Scriptures. He was accustomed to 
 purchase a new copy, at every session of Congress, 
 L-to read it daily, and to present it to one of his 
 children, at his return home. How valuable must 
 have been the volume, thus hallowed by his medi- 
 tations and prayers. For the way in which Roger 
 Sherman became great, and surely he was one of 
 our greatest men, was by taking into his heart, m 
 youth, the spirit and precepts of the Word of God. 
 
 DAVID'S ELEGY ON JONATHAN. 
 
 Once, as the exil'd David sadly rov'd 
 By Saul excluded from the land he lov'd, 
 And silent mus'd o'er memory's cherish'd scene, 
 His shepherd home, and native vallies green, 
 The simple joys that cheer'd his youthful view, 
 The constant friend, in every sorrow true, 
 And as his lonely heart, amid its pain, 
 Swell'd with new hope to taste those joys again, 
 A traveller came, whose brow was pale with dread, 
 Rent were his robes, and dust defil'd his head. 
 
 "I saw the battle on Gilboa's height, 
 Where Israel proudly urged her men of might, 
 Before the spear of Gath those legions fled, 
 Her king is slain,— her god-like prince is dead, 
 I saw their robes distain'd,"— he scarcely said, 
 
david's elegy on Jonathan. 195 
 
 And paus'd, — for sorrow shook the exile's frame, 
 Tears o'er his brow in rushing torrents came, 
 While on his trembling harp he breath'd his wo 
 With broken cadence, and in murmurs low. 
 
 Who, on those high and lonely cliffs shall save 
 The uncover'd ashes of the fallen brave ! 
 Who from their summits cleanse the fatal stain 
 Of royal strength, and manly beauty slain 1 
 O wounded Israel ! hide thy tears that flow, 
 Lest proud Philistia triumph in thy wo, 
 Lest listening Gath should taunt thy mourning train, 
 Or haughty Ekron revel in thy pain. 
 
 And ye Gilboa's mountains stern and rude, 
 Whose guilty cliffs received the royal blood, 
 Who saw remorseless on the battle day 
 The shield from God's anointed torn away, 
 Raise not your brows, the dews of heaven to taste, 
 Let no kind shower refresh your parching waste, 
 No purifying stream for you be spilt, 
 Nor sacred offerings expiate your guilt. 
 
 In the dire contest, on the field of might, 
 How bold were they who now lie wrapt in night • 
 The prince's bow, — what mortal force could stay ! 
 The monarch's sword what valour turn away I 
 Like eagles swift, their dauntless course was run, 
 In life united, and in death but one. 
 
 Oh ! lift o'er fallen Saul, the tearful eye 
 Ye Jewish dames, — whose robes in splendour vie, 
 He gave those robes with glitt'ring pomp to shine, 
 And in his tomb your treasur'd joys decline, 
 
196 the boy's book. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen, in danger's hour, 
 Though girt with strength, and doubly armed in power; 
 On their own lands their mingled blood was shed, 
 And vanquish'd legions bow'd the astonish'd head. 
 
 But Oh ! my soul is sad,— my tears descend 
 For thee, my more than brother, more than friend? 
 Long tried and firm, was thy attachment kind,^ 
 Than friendship warmer, more than love refin'd, 
 What shall I say 1— for ill these tones express 
 Thy lost affection or my deep distress. 
 —How are the mighty fallen ! how turn'd away 
 The dauntless sword in war's disastrous day !" 
 
 THE SEA-BOY. 
 
 "Up the main-top-mast, ho !" 
 
 The storm was loud, 
 And the deep midnight muffled up her head, 
 Leaving no ray. 
 
 By the red binnacle, 
 I saw the sea-boy. His young cheek was pale, 
 And his lips trembled. But he dar'd not hear 
 That hoarse command repeated. So he sprang, 
 With slender foot amid the slippery shrouds. 
 
 He, oft by moonlight watch, had lur'd my ear, 
 
 With everlasting stories of his home, 
 
 And of his mother. His fair brow told tales 
 
THE SEA-BOY. 197 
 
 Of household kisses, and of gentle hands 
 That bound it when it ached, and laid it down 
 On the soft pillow, with a curtaining care. 
 
 And he had sometimes spoken of the cheer 
 Xhat waited him, when, wearied from his school, 
 At winter's eve, he came. Then, he would pause, 
 For his high beating bosom threw a chain 
 O'er his proud lips, or else he would have sigh'd, 
 In deep remorse, for leaving such a home. 
 
 And he would haste away, and pace the deck, 
 More rapidly, as if to hide from me, 
 The gushing tear. I mark'd the inward strife 
 Unquestioning, save by a silent prayer 
 That the tear wrung so bitterly, might work 
 The sea-boy's good, and wash away all trace 
 Of disobedience. Now, the same big tear 
 Hung like a pearl upon him, as he climb'd, 
 And grappled to the mast. 
 
 I watch'd his toil, 
 With strange foreboding, till he seem'd a speck 
 Upon the ebon bosom of the cloud. 
 And I remember'd that he once had said, 
 " I fear I shall not see my home again:" 
 And sad the memory of those mournful words, 
 Dwelt with me, as he pass'd above my sight, 
 Into thick darkness. 
 
 The wild blast swept on. 
 The strong ship toss'd. 
 
 Shuddering, I heard a plunge, 
 A heavy plunge, — a gurgling 'mid the wave. 
 I shouted to the crew. In vain ! In vain ! 
 17* 
 
198 
 
 BOOK. 
 
 The ship held on her way. And never more 
 Shall that poor, delicate sea-boy raise his head, 
 To do the bidding of those roughen'd men, 
 Whose home is on the sea. 
 
 And never more 
 May his fond mother strain him to her breast, 
 Weeping that hardship thus should bronze the brow, 
 To her so beautiful, nor the kind sire 
 Make glad by his forgiveness, the rash youth 
 Who wander'd from his home, to throw the wealth 
 Of his warm feelings on the faithless sea. 
 
 REV. JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. 
 
 John Frederic Oberlin, was born August 31st, 
 1740, at Strasburg, in Germany. Kindness and gen- 
 tleness of temper, were visible in his infancy ; and 
 in his childhood, he showed that disposition to do good 
 to others, which distinguished his maturity, and re- 
 mained with him, until the close of life. 
 
 The small sums of money, which were given him 
 by his father, who was poor, he carefully laid by, 
 but not for himself. It was his pleasure to seek out, 
 and relieve sickness and want. Sometimes, when a 
 bill was brought to his father, he would steadfastly 
 watch his countenance, and if he saw it troubled, 
 and imagined that he had not enough to pay the de- 
 mand, he would run for his little box, and empty it, 
 with joy, into his father's hand. 
 
REV. JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. 199 
 
 Piety continued to grow with his growth, and 
 strengthen with his strength. His choice was to be- 
 come a minister of the gospel. At the age of twenty, 
 he became the pastor of Waldbach, a parish situ- 
 ated among the high mountains, which divide France 
 from Germany. This region, is called by the French, 
 ban de la roche, or the district of the rock, and by the 
 Germans, steinthal, or the valley of stone. 
 
 The sterility of this spot, is in accordance with 
 the names that have been given it. Winter begins 
 there, in September, and seldom are the snows 
 melted by June. The inhabitants found it difficult 
 to obtain by tillage, enough for their subsistence, 
 and their ignorance equalled their poverty. 
 
 The predecessor of Oberlin, had endeavoured to 
 raise the character of their schools. He found that 
 one of their best ones, had been kept in a misera- 
 ble cottage, by a wretched old man, who said with 
 great simplicity, that his business had been that of 
 a swine-herd, but that when he became unfit for that 
 work, they had employed him to teach the children. 
 
 To this people, Oberlin went, following the foot- 
 steps of His Divine Master, who pleased not himself, 
 but came to seek and to save the lost. His zealous 
 endeavours, to raise their condition, and reform their 
 habits, were at first misunderstood, and so far from 
 awakening gratitude, led to abuse and persecution. 
 
 But he was neither daunted or discouraged. Hav- 
 ing been informed that some of the disaffected ones, 
 intended him personal violence, he preached from 
 that passage of our Saviour's sermon on the mount, 
 " I say unto you, that ye resist not evil." While 
 the conspirators were ridiculing the sermon, and 
 
200 the boy's book. 
 
 wondering if he would behave as he had advised 
 others to do, he suddenly appeared among them. 
 
 "Here am I, my friends!" he said, with perfect 
 calmness. " You are wishing to do me some harm. Is 
 it not better that I should thus give myself up to you, 
 than that you should be guilty of the meanness of 
 lying in wait to take me 1" Awed by his dignity 
 and piety, they acknowledged their evil designs, and 
 entreated his pardon. He freely forgave them, and 
 they were in future, his friends. 
 
 He showed the same moral courage, when a boy. 
 In the streets of Strasburg, he once saw an unfeeling 
 officer, abusing a sick beggar. Going boldly be- 
 tween them, he reproved the tyrannical man, who 
 being very angry, would have seized him. But the 
 neighbours who loved the child, gathering round, 
 protected him, and rescued the beggar. 
 
 Afterwards, passing in a narrow and lonely way, 
 he saw the same officer approaching him. "Now, 
 thought the boy, perhaps he will punish me. Shall 
 I attempt to escape 1 No, I did my duty to the poor 
 man. God is with me. Why should I fear]" The 
 officer, who had so lately threatened him, passed by, 
 and did him no harm. True piety was the founda- 
 tion of his courage. 
 
 The same holy principle led him to persevere in 
 improving the condition and character of his poor 
 parishioners. He found the roads among them, so 
 exceedingly bad, that intercourse between the ham- 
 lets, was both difficult and dangerous. He induced 
 them to break rocks, and build a wall of considera- 
 ble length, on one side of their mountain-road, to 
 
REV. JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. 201 
 
 keep the earth and stones, from being washed into 
 the vale below. 
 
 He told them they must build a bridge, over a 
 river, they had always been accustomed to ford. 
 "How can these things be done!" they exclaimed. 
 " Gome and see," said Oberlin. Taking a pick-axe, 
 and other implements, he set them an example of 
 their use. When they beheld him, selecting the 
 most difficult work for himself, they willingly exert- 
 ed themselves, and the industry which he taught 
 them, was a new bond of affection. 
 
 Soon, a neat bridge was constructed, and a good 
 road opened, from Waldbach to Strasburg, which 
 was also extended to each of the five hamlets, or 
 little villages, where he ministered. The force of 
 his religious instructions was not impaired by his 
 efforts to make them comfortable, but, on the con- 
 trary, his influence extended and deepened, through 
 these proofs of his love. 
 
 He found them deficient in many of the mechanic 
 arts, which seem necessary to civilization. There 
 were neither blacksmiths to furnish tools for the 
 labourer, nor masons to build chimneys to their 
 houses. He procured several youths to be sent to 
 Strasburg, as apprentices, who, when they had ob- 
 tained their respective trades, returned, and became 
 teachers of others. 
 
 His people, had lived in hovels, built of rocks, 
 against the sides of the mountain, without cellars, or 
 chimne}^s. He taught them how to build neat and 
 commodious cottages, to make gardens, to rear vege- 
 tables, to plant fruit-trees. Soon, this desolate re- 
 gion, as if by magic, was adorned with pleasant 
 
202 the boy's book. 
 
 • 
 
 habitations, eacn surrounded by its little orchard and 
 garden. 
 
 Amid all these labours, the pastor remitted not 
 his care, for the souls of his people. Especially, 
 were the interests of education, dear to him. He 
 instructed such promising young people, as were 
 willing to become teachers, and caused school-houses 
 to be built in each of the five little hamlets. 
 
 Perceiving that while the older children were en- 
 gaged in their studies, the little ones lost much of 
 their time, he collected them together, and had les- 
 sons adapted to their comprehension. His wife, 
 joining her exertions with his, procured two female 
 teachers for each school ; one taught lessons from 
 books, and the other, to spin, to knit, and to sew ; 
 that useful employment, and intellectual knowledge, 
 might advance hand in hand. 
 
 When the pupils were wearied with work, or 
 study, the kind teachers told them stories from the 
 Scriptures, or showed them drawings of animals and 
 plants, explaining their nature and uses. On one 
 day of each week, the scholars assembled, and their 
 good pastor examined them in their different lessons, 
 and added his own instructions. Joy beamed on 
 their faces, when he came among them ; and they 
 called him their father, or sometimes in their affec- 
 tionate manner, " our dear papa, Oberlin." 
 
 He sometimes distributed books among them, as 
 rewards, or lent them, requiring an account of their 
 contents, when they were returned. Every Sabbath, 
 also, he collected the children in the church, heard 
 them recite their Bible lessons, and sing hymns, and 
 
REV. JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. 203 
 
 gave them paternal, religious instruction, with un- 
 wearied tenderness. 
 
 Thus in the secluded region of the Ban de la 
 Roche, we perceive the institution of Infant Schools, 
 Norman Schools, Sabbath Schools, and Sabbath 
 School Libraries, all originating in the active benevo- 
 lence of one man ; and he unprompted and uncheer- 
 ed by intercourse with the philanthropic spirits, who 
 afterwards diffused those blessings, over Europe and 
 America. 
 
 In the year 1784, when Mr. Oberlin was more 
 than forty years old, he was afflicted by the death 
 of his excellent wife, who had been his helper in 
 these efforts to do good. Though deeply mourning, 
 he bowed himself to the Divine Will. He praised 
 God for the holy life she had been enabled to lead, 
 and for the faith that now taught him, that she was 
 happy in Heaven. 
 
 He had received into his family, a young girl to 
 bring up. After the death of Mrs. Oberlin, she ex- 
 tended to her seven motherless children, the care 
 and tenderness, which she had herself received. 
 She engaged in the same works of charity, which 
 she had seen performed, and with the most disinter- 
 ested zeal, took charge of the pastor's house, refusing 
 to receive any compensation for many years of ser- 
 vice. 
 
 It would seem that Oberlin's people, strove to imi- 
 tate his virtues. Their sympathy for orphans was 
 peculiarly conspicuous. When a poor family were 
 thus bereaved, there was always some one ready to 
 receive them. Some households had two or three 
 orphans, maintained like^ their own children. One 
 
204 the boy's book. 
 
 poor woman, supported ten by her labour. Their 
 religion taught them, that such charities were accept- 
 able to God. 
 
 During the distresses of the French Revolution, 
 many fled to these remote villages, and Mr. Oberlin 
 received them into his house, until they could find 
 other refuge. His home, though simply furnished, 
 was the abode of comfort and happiness. No luxu- 
 ries were seen upon his table, but his plain fare was 
 shared with others, in free and true hospitality. 
 
 Every thing in his house and about his grounds 
 was neat, and in order. The walls of his apartments, 
 were covered with maps and drawings of Natural 
 History. Appropriate texts of Scripture, were 
 placed over the several doors. At the entrance of 
 the dining room was written, "Blessed are they 
 who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for 
 they shall be filled." 
 
 He encouraged his people to be constantly indus- 
 trious. Through his agency, they were taught to 
 spin cotton, to dye cloth, to plait straw, and to weave 
 ribands. So prevalent was his example, and influ- 
 ence, that scarcely an idle person, or a beggar was 
 seen among them. 
 
 He not only instructed them in agriculture, horti- 
 culture, and the mechanic arts, and was their pastor 
 and school-master, but their physician also. Early 
 in life he had devoted considerable time to the study 
 of the theory of medicine, and now he patiently 
 climbed the steepest mountains, in the night, as well 
 as the day, and at all seasons of the year, to visit and 
 prescribe for the sick. 
 
 These services made him most dear to the people. 
 
REV. JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. 205 
 
 Nor did he forget to preserve their regard, by his 
 affectionate manners. He never met either man 
 or woman among them, without taking off his hat, 
 and saying some words of kindness. Every child 
 he took by the hand, and showed some little mark 
 of attention, adding often some pleasant advice. 
 
 His own fine manners, were imitated by his peo- 
 ple; so that from having been rude and uncouth, 
 they became insensibly gentle and courteous. It 
 was remarked by strangers who visited them, that 
 though very poor, they were exceedingly polite and 
 happy. 
 
 They sought in every way, to express their grati- 
 tude to their beloved pastor. On one occasion, a 
 son of his, who was travelling in France, in the ser- 
 vice of the Bible Society, was taken sick. He de- 
 sired to reach home, that he might die there, but 
 he could only get within nine miles of his father's 
 house. 
 
 Twelve of the villagers, set out to bring him those 
 nine miles on a litter. But finding that he was not 
 able to bear the open air, they placed him in a cov- 
 ered carriage, and as they went slowly along, re- 
 moved every stone from before it, that no rude mo- 
 tion of the wheels, might disturb the sufferer. His 
 death was peaceful and happy, and they mingled 
 their tears with those of the father, with the most af- 
 fecting sympathy. 
 
 The five villages, to whom Mr. Oberlin ministered, 
 were considerably distant from each other. He 
 therefore preached in each by turns. As he kept no 
 horse, an inhabitant of the parish where he was to 
 officiate, brought one for him every Sabbath morn- 
 18 
 
206 
 
 ing. He took his dinner, with some one of the fam- 
 ilies, and then conversed with every grown person 
 and child belonging to it, on the great concerns of 
 their soul. 
 
 In his sermons, there was an affecting eloquence, 
 and a striking adaptation to the wants of his people, 
 for he was intimately acquainted with all. He usu- 
 ally preached in French, because this language was 
 spoken by the majority of his parishioners. But on 
 every Friday evening, he had service in German, as 
 there were some, who understood it better than 
 French. 
 
 This service was of a most sweet and paternal 
 character. After some explanation of a portion of 
 Scripture, he would say, "My children, are you 
 weary 1" They almost invariably replied, that they 
 desired to hear more. The females brought their 
 knitting- work, for it did not interrupt their attention, 
 and he loved to see them usefully employed. 
 
 The eyes of the people sparkled with delight, 
 when they saw their good minister. He was as a 
 guardian spirit watching over them, and guiding them 
 both for this world, and the next. In his instructions 
 to the young, in Natural History, he was careful to 
 inculcate a knowledge of the nature of plants, and 
 a love of flowers, as a means of softening and re- 
 fining the character. 
 
 He taught them to cultivate in their gardens, 
 many wild plants from the woods, and also to draw 
 and paint flowers. Some of his pupils marked their 
 affectionate remembrance of his seventieth birth-day, 
 by gifts of beautiful wreaths and garlands. He ex- 
 
REV. JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. 207 
 
 pressed his thanks in a pious, paternal letter, in 
 which he says, 
 
 "The beautiful flowers with which the Great 
 Creator has adorned our country, gave you the 
 means of presenting me with this token of your 
 united love. These sweet garlands will soon fade, 
 but I shall never forget the happy feelings they have 
 awakened ; and I earnestly pray that you may be- 
 come unfading flowers in the Paradise of God." 
 
 He lived in the simplest manner, that he might 
 have the more to give to those who needed. A vis- 
 itor to his house, found there four or five families, 
 who had lost their habitations by fire ; to whom he 
 was distributing food, clothing, utensils of industry, 
 and pictures for the instruction of their children. 
 
 " His family," said an English traveller, " do not 
 have as good or delicate food on their table, as our 
 poor people in England ; but they are the happiest 
 Christians, and it is delightful to be here. He treats 
 the poorest, even the children, with affection and 
 respect. It is wonderful to see how changed they 
 all are, since he came among them. They were 
 then very barbarous, but now are gentle and polite, 
 and their good minister, though now more than 
 eighty, is one of the handsomest men I ever saw." . 
 
 Notwithstanding his great age, he continued to in- 
 struct and labour for his people, and when he was 
 no longer able to preach, he bore them day and night on 
 his prayers. His last sickness, was short. He said, 
 "Lord Jesus, take me speedily: nevertheless, thy will be 
 done." A few hours before his death, he joined in 
 an act of devotion, his hands clasped, and his hea- 
 ven-raised countenance, beaming with faith and love. 
 
208 the boy's book. 
 
 He died on the 1st day of June, 1826, at the age 
 of eighty-six, having lived in his parish of Wald- 
 bach, more than sixty years. The grief of his peo- 
 ple was affecting. From every part of that rocky 
 district, they gathered in the midst of a heavy rain, 
 to gaze on the lifeless remains of their pastor, and 
 their friend. 
 
 The funeral procession stretched from the door of 
 his house, to the mouth of his sepulchre, a distance 
 of two miles. Every cottage poured out its inhabi- 
 tants, and the children of the schools, walked two 
 and two, chanting mournful hymns. They paused 
 at the church, in whose burial-ground he was to be 
 laid, and a minister ascending the pulpit, read from 
 a paper, the farewell-address of their venerated sire. 
 
 We have room for only a few of his parting 
 words : " O my dear parish ! God will not forsake 
 thee. Only cleave thou unto Him. Forget thou 
 my name, if thou wilt, but remember that of Jesus 
 Christ, whom I have preached to thee. O friends ! 
 pray, that you may become the beloved sheep of his 
 pasture. Dedicate yourselves to him. 
 
 " Adieu, dear friends, adieu ! I have loved you 
 much. God reward you for your services, your 
 good deeds, the respect and obedience which you 
 have shown to me, his poor, unworthy servant. O 
 my God, Let thine eye watch over this dear people. 
 Let thine ear hear their prayers. Let thine arm be 
 extended, to help and protect them. And grant that 
 young and old, teachers and scholars, ministers and 
 people, may all in due time, meet together in thy 
 paradise." 
 
 The grave was dug beneath the shade of a droop- 
 
PIRST WINTER MORNING. 209 
 
 ing willow. Great was the weeping, when the body 
 of the beloved pastor was let down into its silent 
 depths, and when they realized that they should 
 see his face no more. Then they treasured up with 
 earnest affection, the words he had spoken to them 
 and the prayer rose up from every cottage home, as 
 from a bereaved household, that they might be re-uni- 
 ted with him, at the resurrection of the just. 
 
 FIRST WINTER MORNING. 
 
 Awake, and let the tuneful lay, 
 
 With joy to Heaven's high palace rise, 
 
 Ere the rejoicing King of Day, 
 Returns to light the glowing skies, 
 
 While o'er the hillocks' ice-wrapt heads, 
 
 Refulgent steals his golden hue, 
 And wreathing smoke, aspiring spreads, 
 
 m curling volumes, light and blue. 
 Great Giver of our fleeting days, 
 
 The changeful year is full of Thee, 
 Each opening season speaks thy praise, 
 
 And so, with grateful heart, should we. 
 Deep lies the snow, o'er dale and brake, 
 
 Our bright fire sparkles on the hearth, 
 And laughter from the neighbouring lake, 
 
 Proclaims the graceful skater's mirth. 
 18* 
 
210 
 
 Yet think of those in lowly shed, 
 
 By pining penury darkly prest, 
 For whom no blazing fire is fed, 
 
 No cheering board with plenty drest. 
 
 Oh, haste to seek and save the lost, 
 Raise the warm prayer to Him above, 
 
 So Winter with its links of frost, 
 Shall bind thee to a God of love. 
 
 FalPn are the flowers that deck'd our path, 
 The birds of summer-song are fled, 
 
 And 'neath the bitter tempest's wrath, 
 The groves lie desolate and dead. 
 
 From my lov'd plants, now icy cold, 
 I hear a voice of warning gloom, 
 
 " In us the mournful fate behold, 
 That darkly waits on youthful bloom." 
 
 But when those charms so bright and frail, 
 Must shrink, and wither, and decay, 
 
 Say, is there naught to countervail, 
 The good that time shall take away ? 
 
 Is there no joy to light the eye, 
 
 When beauty, youth, and health, are past ) 
 When all our earthly pleasures fly, 
 
 Like leaves before the wintry blast 1 
 
 There is a joy that checks the throng, 
 Of chilling care, and sorrow's shock, 
 
 That strikes n n anchor deep and strong, 
 In Heaven's imperishable rock. 
 
ON THE ADMISSION OF MICHIGAN INTO THE UNION. 211 
 
 Grant me this joy, and when my soul, 
 Her farewell to the world shall sigh, 
 When unknown seas around me roll, 
 ' And toss their deathful billows high, 
 
 When to yon wintry hills afar, 
 
 To all of earth, these eyes are dim, 
 
 The lustre of my Saviour's star, 
 Shall clearly mark my way to Him. 
 
 ON THE ADMISSION OF MICHIGAN INTO 
 THE UNION. 
 
 Come in, little sister, so healthful and fair, 
 Come take in our father's best parlour a share, 
 You've been long enough at the nurse's, I trow, 
 Where the angry lakes roar, and the northern winds 
 
 blow; 
 Come in, we've a pretty large household, 'tis true, 
 But the twenty-five children can make room for you. 
 
 A present, I see, for our sire you have brought, 
 His dessert to embellish, how kind was the thought ; 
 A treat of ripe berries, both crimson and blue, 
 And wild flowers to stick in his button-hole too, 
 The rose from your prairie, the nuts from your tree, 
 What a good little sister, come hither to me. 
 
 You've a dowry besides, very cunningly stor'd, 
 To fill a nice cupboard, or spread a broad board, 
 
212 the boy's book. 
 
 Detroit, Ypsilanti, Ann Arbour, and more, 
 For the youngest, methinks, quite a plentiful store, 
 You're a prog, I perceive, it is true to the letter, 
 And your sharp Yankee sisters will like you the better. 
 
 But where are your Indians, so feeble and few 1 
 So fall'n from the heights where their forefather's 
 
 grew? 
 From the forests they fade, o'er the waters that bore, 
 The names of their baptism, they venture no more. 
 O soothe their sad hearts, ere they vanish afar, 
 Nor quench the faint beam of their westering star. 
 
 Those ladies who sit on the sofa so high, 
 
 Are the stateliest dames of our family, 
 
 Your thirteen old sisters, don't treat them with scorn, 
 
 They were notable spinsters before you was born, 
 
 Many stories they know, most instructive to hear, 
 
 Go, make them a curtsey, 'twill please them my dear. 
 
 They can teach you the names of those great ones to 
 
 spell, 
 Who stood at the helm, when the war-tempest fell, 
 They will show you the writing, that gleam'd to the 
 
 sky, 
 In the year seventy-six, on the fourth of July ; 
 When the flash of the Bunker-Hill flame was red, 
 And the blood gush'd forth from the breast of the dead. 
 
 There are some who may call them both proud and old, 
 And say they usurp what they cannot hold ; 
 Perhaps, their bright locks have a sprinkle of grey, 
 But then, little Michy, don't hint it, I pray ; 
 For they'll give you a frown, or a box on the ear, 
 Or send you to stand in the corner, I fear. 
 
THE STORM AT SEA. 213 
 
 They, indeed, bore the burden and heat of the day, 
 But you've as good right to your penny as they ; 
 Though the price of our freedom, they better have 
 
 i known, 
 
 Since they paid for it, out of their purses alone, 
 Yet a portion belongs to the youngest, I ween, 
 So, hold up your head with the " Old Thirteen." 
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 
 
 The good ship o'er the Ocean 
 Glides on, while skies are bright, 
 
 And rolling waves, right merrily 
 Propel her homeward flight. 
 
 But clouds and angry tempests, 
 
 Rush from their prison cell, 
 The rocky coast frowns dark and dread, 
 
 The wintry surges swell. 
 
 *Tis night. — Amid the breakers, 
 
 The headlong vessel goes, 
 And groaning, like a wounded man 
 
 Strives with its vengeful foes. 
 
 Pale grows the boldest mariner, 
 For scarce the trumpet's cry, 
 
 Is heard amid contending bla'sts 
 That shake the astonish'd sky. 
 
214 the boy's book. 
 
 How fearful is the tumult, 
 The cry, the shriek, the prayer, 
 
 Are mingled with the deaf'ning storm, 
 In echoes of despair. 
 
 But in the lonely cabin 
 
 Rock'd by the raging sea, 
 There calmly sat a beauteous boy, 
 
 Upon his mother's knee ; 
 
 He sang a hymn of heaven, 
 Then spoke so sweetly mild, 
 
 " The Bible saith our Saviour dear 
 Doth love the little child, — 
 
 It telleth of a happy home, 
 
 Above the stormy sky, 
 Mother ! — He'll take us there to dwell 
 
 We're not afraid to die." 
 
 His smile was pure and peaceful, 
 As the pearl beneath the deep, — 
 
 When the booming battle-thunders 
 Across its bosom sweep. 
 
 Hoarse came the words of horror 
 
 From men of sinful life, 
 While innocence, with soul serene 
 
 Beheld the appalling strife. 
 
 Morn ! Morn ! — The clouds are breaking, 
 The tempest's wrath is o'er, 
 
 The shatter'd bark moves heavily 
 To reach the welcome shore. 
 
HON. STEPHEN VAN RENSSELAER. 215 
 
 Hush'd is the voice of thunder, 
 And quell'd the lightning's flame, 
 
 For prayer had touch'd the gate of Heaven, 
 And answer'ng mercy came. 
 
 HON. STEPHEN VAN RENSSELAER. 
 
 Stephen Van Rensselaer, was born in the city 
 of New York, on the first day of November, 1764. 
 He inherited an estate, or manor, anciently pur- 
 chased of the Indians, by the Dutch government, 
 afterwards confirmed by the charters of two Eng- 
 lish sovereigns, and retained in his family for five 
 generations. Its original colonial extent, was forty- 
 eight miles in length and twenty-four, in breadth, 
 divided centrally, by the waters of the majestic 
 Hudson. 
 
 With this inheritance, was connected the title of 
 "Patroon," a word derived from the Latin Palronus, 
 or Patrician, and signifying in modern times, the 
 proprietor of a large domain, occupied by tenantry, 
 and involving peculiar privileges. But by our revo- 
 lution, the degree of jurisdiction formerly belonging 
 to it, was made to conform in all respects to the na- 
 ture of a republic ; so that it has since implied only 
 the possession of a vast estate, without any of those 
 baronial powers, which two hundred years since, 
 belonged to the patroons, or lords of the manor, of 
 Rensselaerwyck. 
 
216 the boy's book. 
 
 The subject of this sketch, always rejoiced in that 
 change of government, which, though it stripped 
 him of those distinctions of high rank, to which he 
 was born, elevated a whole nation to the blessings of 
 freedom. His disinterestedness led him to rejoice in 
 the good of others, and instead of clinging to any 
 vestige of aristocracy, he v/as an advocate, and ex- 
 ample of republican plainness and simplicity. 
 
 Being deprived of his father, at the age of four 
 years, the formation of his character devolved on his 
 mother, a lady of uncommon talents and piety. She 
 was the daughter of the Hon. Philip Livingston, one 
 of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. 
 On her second marriage, with the Rev. Dr. Westerlo, 
 of Albany, the young Patroon, then ten years of age, 
 "became a resident of that city, and profited by the 
 kind regard, and christian example, of that good 
 divine. 
 
 But especially was he indebted to his maternal 
 guide, for the hallowed precepts which were early 
 incorporated with his character. She impressed on 
 him those stated habits of devotion, which he pre- 
 served unimpaired through life. She induced him 
 in childhood, to read religious books ; and not long 
 before his death, when recounting his obligations to 
 her, he blessed God with tears, for her care over him, 
 in this respect ; mentioning among the volumes 
 placed by her in his hands, Baxter's Saint's Rest, as 
 one which had promoted his progress in piety. 
 
 His love for his mother was ardent, and he ever 
 spoke of her instructions with gratitude. So precious 
 did he consider every memorial of her, that a man- 
 ual of devotion, which she had taught him to employ 
 
HON. STEPHEN VAN RENSSELEAR. 217 
 
 in his boyhood, he continued to use till his dying 
 day, valuing the worn copy on which her hand had 
 rested, more than the most splendid volumes. The 
 mourning-ring, enclosing her hair, he wore constant- 
 ly on his finger, after her death, and directed that it 
 should be buried with him. 
 
 When old enough to prepare for college, he was 
 placed under the care of the Rev. Dr. Witherspoon, 
 of Princeton, New-Jersey, performing the journey 
 from Albany thither, on horseback. After two years 
 of study, he entered Nassau Hall, but as that part 
 of New Jersey was involved in the struggles of war, 
 he removed to the University of Cambridge, Massa- 
 chusetts, where he was graduated with honour, at the 
 age of eighteen. 
 
 He was early elected to the legislature, and to the 
 senate of New York ; to the convention appointed 
 to consider and revise the constitution ; and to the 
 office of Lieutenant-Governor. He occupied a seat 
 in Congress, for several years, where his clear judg- 
 ment, and incorruptible principles won for him uni- 
 versal respect. 
 
 He was ardent and active in every important ef- 
 fort to develop the rich resources of his native 
 state ; and held the offices of President of the Canal 
 Board, and Chancellor of the University of New 
 York. Though proverbially in his temper and 
 habits, a man of peace, yet when required by his 
 station, in the last war with Great Britain, to com- 
 mand on the Niagara frontier, he subjected his feel- 
 ings to his duty, and with true patriotism, was faith- 
 ful in all things. 
 
 The integrity and lofty principle displayed in his 
 
218 the boy's book. 
 
 high public stations, was not surpassed by the 
 beauty of his character in private life. His first 
 wife was the daughter of Gen. Philip Schuyler, so 
 well known in the history of our revolution. His 
 second wife was the daughter of the Hon. William 
 Patterson, of New Jersey, one of the Judges of the 
 Supreme Court of the United States. He was emi- 
 nently happy in his domestic connections, and was 
 the father of a numerous family. Ten children sur- 
 vive him, bearing witness to his untiring efforts for 
 their good, both temporal and eternal. 
 
 Amiable affections in the most intimate relations 
 of life, and benignity of disposition towards all 
 with whom he associated, were striking traits in his 
 character. He loved the young, and delighted to 
 make them happy ; not happy through improper 
 indulgence, but in the paths of cheerful duty. 
 
 Surrounded by almost princely affluence, he es- 
 caped the dangers which it too often brings. Self- 
 ishness and haughtiness, had in him no place. Per- 
 fectly simple and unostentatious in his manners, he 
 regarded the feelings of the poorest and most ob- 
 scure. An instinctive delicacy guided him in the 
 bestowment of his gifts, and humility was the gar- 
 ment in which all his virtues arrayed themselves. 
 
 His mind was of quick perception, and endued 
 with that clear good sense, which is a safer guide 
 amid the conflicting interests of mankind, than the 
 most brilliant imagination. Though his mildness 
 of temper led him to avoid contention, yet he was 
 firm in maintaining just opinions, and the purity of 
 his motives was never questioned. 
 
 Convinced df the importance of agriculture, with 
 
HON. STEPHEN VAN RENSSELAER. 219 
 
 its habits of industry, and morality, to the welfare 
 of a republic, he did all in his power, to encourage 
 and bring it into respect. Immediately after re- 
 ceiving his patrimony, by letting out his lands to far- 
 mers, on very easy terms, he succeeded in bringing 
 almost the whole counties of Albany and Rensselaer, 
 into cultivation. 
 
 Though the low rents, thus early established, 
 caused the income from his lands not to exceed two, 
 and sometimes one per cent, on a very moderate 
 estimate of their value, still as this was more than 
 sufficient for his expenses, and his very liberal chari- 
 ties, he did not attempt to increase the amount de- 
 rived from his tenants. While wealth is an object 
 of such restless, and often sinful pursuit, how beau- 
 tiful the example of a man rising superior to the 
 grasping love of gain, and seeking nobler pleasures 
 than those of accumulation. 
 
 His regard for the interests of education, proved 
 him a true patriot, and philanthropist. The extent 
 of his liberality, in diffusing the blessings of knowl- 
 edge, it is impossible to compute, for he ever strove, 
 according to the rule of the Gospel, to connect his 
 bounties with secrecy. Yet all these sacred charities 
 could not be concealed. The many young men, 
 who were indebted to him for their education, re- 
 member to speak of their benefactor. 
 
 He was long accustomed to send school-masters 
 among the poorer portions of his tenantry, as if 
 they had been his own family. Perceiving it to be 
 desirable that the qualifications of teachers should 
 be increased, he determined to found an institution 
 which should impart instruction in the sciences, as 
 
220 the boy's book. 
 
 they are applicable to the business of common 
 life. 
 
 He proceeded in 1824, to the organization of what 
 is now known as the " Rensselaer Institute," provid- 
 ed a suitable building, a library, an apparatus, and 
 endowed the professorships with liberal salaries. 
 Not content with the yearly expenditure of large 
 sums, in this school, he invited each county in the 
 State of New York, to send him one student to in- 
 struct ; and in the course of three years, this large 
 number of persons, went forth, with a complete 
 practical education, the priceless gift of their patron. 
 During the fourteen years, since this institute was 
 established, numbers of teachers, have been there 
 fitted, to confer benefits on the community. Many 
 of these, have entered the active departments of 
 science, as geologists, engineers, chemists and natu- 
 ralists. Had Mr. Van Rensselaer performed no 
 other act of munificence, this alone, would entitle 
 him to a high rank among the benefactors of man- 
 kind. 
 
 His general benevolence was proverbial. From 
 its fountain in his own heart, it flowed forth, con- 
 tinually enlarging its circle, until it embraced the 
 whole of the human family, whom it was in his 
 power to aid. The humblest sufferer within the 
 range of his walks, as well as the institutions of 
 learning throughout the land, churches and charita- 
 ble societies of every denomination, and the benighted 
 heathen of another hemisphere, all participated in 
 his bounty. 
 
 He sought in his alms-giving, not to be seen, or 
 praised of men. Yet to the close of life, his liber- 
 
HON. STEPHEN VAN RENSSELAER. 221 
 
 ality knew no limit. Just before his decease, he 
 summoned his agent to his chamber, and remarking 
 on the severity of the winter, bade him go, and 
 search out all who were in want, and give them 
 what they might need. 
 
 He held his ample fortune, as in stewardship for 
 his Divine Master, taking his own share with great 
 moderation, and indulging in no luxury save that of 
 doing good. It must be evident that such a charac- 
 ter, could not be formed, without the aid of piety. 
 This was at once its foundation, and its crown. 
 
 He early turned aside from the allurements of the 
 world, and made a profession of the Christian re- 
 ligion. For more than half a century, its saintly 
 spirit shone forth in his life and conversation, and 
 in the strict performance of all its enjoined duties. 
 He was a regular and serious student of the 
 Sacred Volume. He could adopt the expression of 
 the Psalmist, " Thy Word have I hid in my heart, 
 that I might not sin against thee." 
 
 It was his custom to read the Bible through, once 
 every year. Even to the latest period of his life, he 
 spent an hour or more, every morning, in its peru- 
 sal; and in the winter, rose so early as to study its 
 pages by candle-light. Many parts of it were im- 
 pressed on his memory, and in the chamber of lan- 
 guor and decline, it was his constant companion. 
 
 He led a life of prayer. He retired three times a 
 day, for secret communion with his Father in Hea- 
 ven. With his family, he performed a daily service 
 of humble and solemn devotion. This prayerful 
 spirit, sustained and guided him, in all the duties and 
 changes of life. 
 
222 the boy's book. 
 
 He cherished deep reverence for the Sabbath, and 
 strove by his faithful instructions, to impress it on 
 his household. Before the public services, all were 
 called to read the Scriptures, and after church, 
 which he punctually attended, his children were re- 
 quired to repeat to him, the commandments, the 
 catechism, and such hymns as they had committed to 
 memory. 
 
 "How much cause for gratitude," writes one of 
 his sons, "is there, in having so long enjoyed the 
 kind counsel, and sweet society of such a father. 
 The separation is painful, beyond the power of lan- 
 guage to express. But it is consoling to reflect, that 
 the change was most happy for him. It may with 
 truth be said of him, 'Mark the perfect man and 
 behold the upright ; for the end of that man is 
 peace.' " 
 
 His death was most tranquil and happy. Sickness 
 had given him warning, so that he stood ready for 
 the call of his Lord. On the morning of the last 
 day of his life, he read in a devotional book, a medi- 
 tation on death, and marked in his Bible, that pas- 
 sage so beautifully descriptive of heaven, "the in- 
 habitant shall no more say, I am sick." 
 
 Probably he thought not then, that he was so near 
 entering into his rest, as his health had for some 
 time appeared better. But suddenly, he was sum- 
 moned, and so gentle was the flight of his spirit, 
 that the eyes of watching love which were bent up- 
 on him, knew not the moment when it was disen- 
 gaged from clay. He died on Saturday, January 
 26th, 1839, in the seventy-fifth year of his age. 
 
 " Tt was on four o'clock of the afternoon, of tbfl* 
 
HON. STEPHEN VAN EENSSELAEK. 223 
 
 day," says one of his eloquent biographers, "a 
 day which had dawned with as fair a promise of 
 closing on him in life, as any, perhaps, which he had 
 seen for the last two years, that in a small cabinet of 
 his ample mansion, which his infirmities had made 
 his chief asylum, and sanctuary for many months, 
 sitting in his chair, with just warning enough to con- 
 vey the intimation to his own mind, that his hour 
 had come, without enough of previous change seri- 
 ously to alarm the fears of anxious, watchful and 
 trembling hearts around him, the venerable iron 
 bowed his head and died." 
 
 It has been said that to bear prosperity unhurt, is 
 far greater merit than to struggle with adverse for- 
 tune. Yet here we have the example of one, cradled 
 in affluence, living always in the smile of the world, 
 still untouched by the pride of wealth, humble, un- 
 assuming, unrelaxed in moral discipline, exhibiting 
 every public and private virtue, with "simplicity 
 and godly sincerity." 
 
 In this beautifully consistent character, let the 
 young see the power of religion. For it was this 
 which preserved him amid all the temptations of 
 prosperity, in the " meekness of wisdom." It was 
 this which prompted him to make his great wealth 
 the instrument of extended benevolence, girded him 
 to walk in the paths of honour, with a stainless 
 name, and strengthened him to resign the joys of 
 ™.rth, with the clear hope of a blessed immortality. 
 
224 the boy's book. 
 
 NEW-YEAR'S MORNING. 
 
 Wake, dear ones, 'tis the New- Year's morn, 
 And many a wish for you is born, 
 And many a prayer, of spirit true 
 Breaks from paternal lips for you. 
 
 No more the vales with daisies glow, 
 The violets sleep, beneath the snow, 
 The rose her radiant robes doth fold 
 And hides her buds from winter's cold. 
 
 But Spring, with gentle smile shall call 
 Up from their beds, those slumberers all 
 Fresh verdure o'er your path shall swell, 
 The brook its tuneful story tell, 
 And graceful flowers, with varied bloom, 
 Again your garden's bound perfume. 
 
 Ye are our buds ; and in your breast 
 The promise of our hope doth rest. 
 
 When knowledge, like the breath of Spring, 
 
 Shall wake your minds to blossoming, 
 
 May their unfolding germs disclose, 
 
 More than the fragrance of the rose, 
 
 More than the brightness of the stream 
 
 That through green shades, with sparkling gleam 
 
 In peace and purity doth glide 
 
 On to the Ocean's mighty tide. 
 
THE CHAIR OF UNCAS. 225 
 
 The country too, which gave you birth, 
 That freest, happiest clime on earth, 
 To all, to each, with fervour cries, 
 " Oh for my sake, be good, be wise, 
 Seek knowledge, and with studious pain, 
 Resolve, her priceless gold to gain. 
 
 Shun the strong cup, whose poisonous tide 
 To ruin's dark abyss, doth guide, 
 And with the sons of virtue stand, 
 The bulwark of your native land. 
 
 Me would you serve 1 This day begin 
 The fear of God, the dread of sin ; 
 Love, for instruction's watchful care, 
 The patient task, the nightly prayer ; 
 So shall you glitter as a gem, 
 Bound in my brightest diadem." 
 
 THE CHAIR OF UNCAS. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Mohegan, Connecticut, is a rude recess, and a 
 rocky seat, still bearing the name of the Chair of Uncas, where that 
 king sat, when his fort was besieged by the Narragansetts, anxiously 
 watching the river for the supplies of food, which the whites had pro- 
 mised to send to his famishing people. They at length arrived, in a 
 large canoe, under the covert of midnight, and saved his tribe from 
 perishing by famine. 
 
 The monarch sat on his rocky throne, 
 
 Beneath him the waters lay, 
 His guards were the shapeless columns of stone, 
 Their lofty helmets with moss o'ergrown, 
 
 And their spears of the bracken grey. 
 
226 the boy's book. 
 
 His lamps were the fickle stars that beam'd, 
 
 Through the vale of their midnight shroud, 
 And the redd'ning flashes that fitfully gleam'd, 
 When the distant fires of the war-dance stream'd, 
 Where his foes in frantic revel scream'd, 
 'Neath their canopy of cloud. 
 
 Say ! why was his glance so restless and keen, 
 
 As it fell on the waveless tide ] 
 And why, 'mid the gloom of that silent scene, 
 Did the sigh heave his warlike bosom's screen, 
 
 And bow that front of pride 1 
 
 Behind him his leaguer'd forces lay, 
 
 Withering in famine's blight, 
 And he knew with the blush of the morning ray, 
 That Philip would summon his fierce array, 
 On the core of the warrior's heart to prey, 
 
 And quench a nation's light. 
 
 It comes ! It comes ! that misty speck, 
 
 Which over the waters moves ! 
 It boasts not sail, nor mast, nor deck, 
 Yet dearer to him was that noteless wreck, 
 
 Than the maid to him who loves. 
 
 It bears to the warrior's nerveless arm, 
 
 The might of a victor's aim, 
 Its freight is a spell whose mystic charm, 
 Shall protect the tottering sire from harm, 
 And the helpless babe, whose life-blood warm, 
 
 Was to hiss in the wigwams flame. 
 
THE CROP OF ACOKNS. 227 
 
 The eye of the king with that lightning blaz'd, 
 
 Which the soul in its rapture sends ; 
 His prayer to the Spirit of God he rais'd, 
 And the shades of his buried fathers prais'd, 
 
 As toward his fort he wends. 
 
 That king hath gone to his lowly grave ! 
 
 He slumbers in dark decay ; 
 And like the crest of the tossing wave, 
 Like the rush of the blast from the mountain cave 
 Like the groan of the murder'd, with none to save, 
 
 His people have pass'd away. 
 
 The king is gone ! but his chair of stone, 
 
 Still rests on its rugged base, 
 Around it the thorn-tree, and thicket have grown, 
 And n one save the blasts thro' their branches that moan, 
 
 Sigh over his fallen race. 
 
 THE CROP OF ACORNS. 
 
 There came a man, in days of old, 
 To hire a piece of land, for gold, 
 And urg'd his suit in accents meek, 
 " One crop alone, is all I seek, 
 That harvest o'er, my claim I yield, 
 And back to you resign the field." 
 
 The owner, some misgiving felt, 
 And coldly with the stranger dealt, 
 
228 the boy's book. 
 
 But found at length his reasons fail, 
 And honied eloquence prevail, 
 So took the proffer'd price in hand, 
 And for one crop, leas'd out the land. 
 
 The wily tenant sneer'd with pride, 
 
 And sow'd the soil with acorns wide, 
 
 At first, like tiny shoots they grew, 
 
 Then broad and wide, their branches threw, 
 
 But long before those oaks sublime 
 
 Aspiring reach'd their forest prime, 
 
 The cheated landlord mould'ring lay 
 
 Forgotten with his kindred clay. 
 
 Oh ye, whose years unfolding fair, 
 
 Are fresh with youth and free from care, 
 
 Should vice or indolence desire 
 
 The garden of your soul to hire, 
 
 No parley hold, — reject their suit, 
 
 Nor let one seed the soil pollute. 
 
 My son, their first approach beware, 
 With firmness break the insidious snare, 
 Lest, as the acorns grew and throve 
 Into a sun-excluding grove, 
 Thy sins, a dark, o'ershadowing tree, 
 Shut out the light of heaven from thee. 
 
THE DOVES. 
 
 THE DOVES. 
 
 A sea-king on the Danish shore, 
 
 When the old time went by, 
 Launch'd his rude ship for reckless deeds, 
 
 Beneath a foreign sky. 
 
 And oft on Albion's richer coast, 
 
 Where Saxon Harold reign'd, 
 With a fierce foe's marauding hate, 
 
 Wild warfare he maintain'd. 
 
 From hamlet-nook, and humble vale, 
 
 Their wealth he reft away, 
 And shamed not with his blood-red steel, 
 
 To wake the deadly fray. 
 
 But once, within an islet's bay, 
 While summer-twilight spread, 
 
 A curtain o'er the glorious sun, 
 Who sank to ocean's bed, 
 
 He paus'd amid his savage trade, 
 
 And gaz'd on earth and sea, 
 While o'er his head a nest of doves, 
 
 Hung in a linden tree. 
 
 They coo'd and murmur'd o'er their young} 
 
 A loving, mournful strain, 
 And still the chirping brood essay'd, 
 
 The same soft tones again. 
 20 
 
THE BOY S BOOK. 
 
 The sea-king on the rocky beach, 
 
 Bow'd down his head to hear, 
 Yet started on his iron brow, 
 
 To feel a trickling tear. 
 
 He mus'd upon his lonely home, 
 
 Beyond the foaming main. 
 For nature kindled in his breast, 
 
 At that fond dovelet's strain. 
 
 He listen'd till the lay declin'd, 
 
 As slumber o'er them stole, ' 
 " Home, home, sweet home .'" methought they sang j 
 
 It enter'd to his soul. 
 
 He linger'd till the moon came forth, 
 
 With radiance pure and pale, 
 And then his hardy crew he rous'd, 
 
 " Up ! up ! and spread the sail." 
 
 " Now, whither goest thou, master bold V 
 
 No word the sea-king spake, 
 But at the helm all night he stood, 
 
 Till ruddy morn did break. 
 
 " See, captain, yon unguarded isle ! 
 
 Those cattle are our prey ;'* 
 Dark grew their brows, and fierce their speech : 
 
 No word he deign'd to say. 
 
 Right onward, o'er the swelling wave, 
 
 With steady prow he bore, 
 Nor stay'd until he anchor'd fast, 
 
 By Denmark's wave-wash'd shore ; 
 
231 
 
 THE DOVES. 
 
 "Farewell, farewell, brave men and true, 
 
 Well have you serv'd my need ; 
 Divide the spoils as best ye may, 
 
 Rich boon for daring deed." 
 
 He shook them by the harden'd hand, 
 
 And on his journey sped, 
 Nor linger'd till through shades he saw, 
 
 His long-forsaken shed. 
 
 Forth came the babe, that when he left, 
 
 Lay on its mother's knee ; 
 She rais'd a stranger's wondering cry — 
 
 A fair-hair'd girl was she. 
 
 His far-off voice that mother knew, 
 
 And shriek'd in speechless joy, 
 While, proudly, toward his arms she drew 
 
 His bashful, stripling boy. 
 
 They bade the fire of pine burn bright, 
 
 The simple board they spread ; 
 And bless'd and welcom'd him as one, 
 
 Returning from the dead. 
 
 He cleans'd him of the pirate's sin, 
 
 He donn'd the peasant's stole, 
 And nightly from his labours came, 
 
 With music in his soul. 
 
 " Father ! what mean those words you speak, 
 
 Oft in your broken sleep 1 
 The doves 1 the doves ! you murmuring cry, 
 
 And then in dreams you weep : 
 
232 the boy's book. 
 
 " Father, you've told us many a tale, 
 Of storm, and battle wild — 
 
 Tell us the story of the doves," 
 The peasant-father smil'd : 
 
 " Go, daughter, lure a dove to build 
 
 Her nest in yonder tree, 
 And thou shalt hear the tender tone, 
 
 That lured me back to thee." 
 
 THE WAR-SPIRIT. 
 
 War-spirit ! War-spirit ! how gorgeous thy path, 
 Pale earth shrinks with fear from thy chariot of wrath, 
 The king at thy beckoning comes down from his 
 
 throne, 
 To the conflict of fate the armed nations rush on, 
 With the trampling of steeds, and the trumpets, wild 
 
 cry, 
 While the folds of their banners gleam bright o'er 
 
 the sky. 
 
 Thy glories are sought, till the life-throb is o'er, 
 Thy laurels pursued, though they blossom in gore, 
 Mid the ruins of columns and temples sublime, 
 The arch of the hero doth grapple with time ; 
 The muse o'er thy form throws her tissue divine, 
 And history her annal emblazons with thine. 
 
 War-spirit ! War-spirit ! thy secrets are known, 
 I have look'd on the field when the battle was done, 
 
THE CHARTER-OAK. 233 
 
 The mangled and slain in their misery lay, 
 And the vulture was shrieking and watching his prey, 
 And the heart's gush of sorrow, how hopeless and sore, 
 In those homes that the lov'd ones revisit no more. 
 
 I have trac'd out thy march, by its features of pain, 
 While famine and pestilence stalk'd in thy train 
 And the trophies of sin did thy victory swell, 
 And thy breath on the soul, was the plague-spot of 
 
 hell ; ' 
 Death laudeth thy deeds, and in letters of flame, 
 The realm of perdition engraveth thy name. 
 
 War-spirit ! War-spirit ! go down to thy place, 
 With the demons that thrive on the woe of our race ; 
 Call back thy strong legions of madness and pride, 
 Bid the rivers of blood thou hast open'd be dried — 
 Let thy league with the grave and Aceldama cease, 
 And yield the torn world to the Angel of Peace. 
 
 THE CHARTER-OAK. 
 
 When king James Second, sent Sir Edmund Andros, with a guard of 
 armed men, in the year 1637, to Hartford, to demand the charter of Con- 
 necticut, it was secretly conveyed away, and hid in the hollow trunk of 
 an ancient oak, which has since been known by the name of the " Char- 
 ter-oak," and still survives in a vigorous old age. 
 
 Charter Oak, Charter Oak, 
 
 Tell us a tale, 
 Of the years that have fled, 
 
 Like the leaves on the gale. 
 
234 the boy's book. 
 
 For thou bear'st a brave annal, 
 On brown root and stem, 
 
 And thy heart was a casket, 
 For liberty's gem. 
 
 Speak out, in thy wisdom, 
 
 Oracular tree, 
 And we, and our children, 
 
 Will listen to thee, 
 
 For the lore of the aged, 
 
 Is dear in our eyes, 
 And thy leaves and thine acorns, 
 
 As relics we prize. 
 
 I see them, they come, 
 The dim ages of old, 
 
 The sires of our nations, 
 True-hearted and bold. 
 
 The axe of the woodman, 
 
 Rings sharp through the glade, 
 
 And the poor Indian hunter, 
 Reclines in the shade. 
 
 I see them, they come, 
 
 The grey fathers are there, 
 
 Who won from the forest, 
 This heritage fair. 
 
 With their high trust in heaven, 
 When they suffer'd or toil'd, 
 
 Both the tempest and tyrant, 
 Unblenching they foil'd. 
 
DEATH OF AN AGED MAN. 
 
 Charter-Oak, Charier-Oak, 
 
 Ancient and fair, 
 Thou didst guard of our freedom, 
 
 The rudiment rare, 
 
 So, a crown of green leaves, 
 Be thy gift from the skies, 
 
 With the love of the brave, 
 And the thanks of the wise. 
 
 DEATH OF AN AGED MAN. 
 
 Who knows what treasures fill a powerful mind, 
 
 That more than fourscore years hath held its course 
 
 Among the living 1 We, of yesterday, 
 
 Scan not its halls, with ancient pictures bright, 
 
 Nor tread its secret cabinets of thought, 
 
 Where the dim actors of a distant, age, 
 
 Recede and vanish. 
 
 He, who died to-day, 
 Was rich in imagery of other times. 
 Ye might have ask'd him, and he would have told, 
 How, step by step, his native place threw oif 
 Its rude, colonial feathers, for the garb 
 That cities wear ; and how the cow-path chang'd 
 To a thick-peopled street, and the cold marsh, 
 To garden beauty. 
 
236 the boy's book. 
 
 Yes, he could have told, 
 Had ye but ask'd him, how the dark, gaunt forms, 
 Of the poor Indians, glided here and there, 
 Neglected strangers in their fathers' land : 
 For many a story knew he of that race, 
 Now rooted up and perish'd. 
 
 Had ye sat 
 Down at his feet, on some long summer's day, 
 He might have told you, how yon stately roofs, 
 And fair designs of blessed charity, 
 Sprang from a germ, which he had help'd to nurse 
 With prayer and bounteous alms. 
 
 Ah, many a date, 
 And legend, slumber in that marble breast, 
 Which History coveted. For Memory sat 
 With diamond pen, still clearly noting down 
 On her broad tablet, till the step of Death, 
 Stole suddenly upon her. 
 
 Then his voice 
 Bore glorious witness to the faith that lives 
 When Nature dies, and told the weeping friend, 
 How underneath the Everlasting Arms, 
 Broke the rude shock of pain. 
 
 And so his breath, 
 In one unstruggling, quiet sigh went forth, 
 For leaning on the Saviour, he had lov'd, 
 From early years, he found that Heavenly Friend, 
 In the last dreadful hour, remember'd him. 
 
DEATH OF AN AGED MAN. 237 
 
 Here rock'd his cradle, and here yawns his grave. 
 Both ye may scan at once. And yet between 
 Those neighbour-spots, how many a thorny vale, 
 And mountain-tract of flinty memories, 
 His pilgrim-feet have travers'd. 
 
 Still he said, 
 That all his long-drawn, chequer'd path below, 
 Seem'd as a bow-shot, — with so swift a flight 
 The play of boyhood, and the flush of youth, 
 And manhood's ripeness, met the silver hairs, 
 That gave his brow, a crown of righteousness. 
 
 No more you'll see him, leaning on his staff 
 Beside his pleasant door, or measuring still, 
 With slow, yet vigorous step, his wonted way, 
 Along the river's brink, or to his board, 
 Guiding the stranger, or the cherished guest, 
 With the old warmth of hospitality. 
 
 No more he cheers his household with the smile 
 Of tender love, which the cold frosts of age 
 Impair'd not, or in sweet example shows, 
 Those fruits, which mid the tears and clouds of time, 
 Mellow'd to heaven's own hue. 
 
 'Tis sad to see 
 The fathers of our city, one by one, 
 Thus take their dwelling with the silent worm. 
 We shrink to fill their places. 
 
 Reverend men, 
 Of such well-balanc'd and rare energies, 
 Courteous, and dignified, and true of heart, 
 We dread to find their high example gone. 
 We grieve that the insatiate grave must lock 
 The gold of their experience. 
 
239 the boy's book. 
 
 O'er life's tide 
 We steer without them, by a varying chart, 
 Too late lamenting, that we lightly priz'd 
 The pilotage of wisdom, while it dwelt 
 With hoary head among us. 
 
 Grant us grace, 
 Father of all, so to revere the words, 
 Of saintly age, and so to keep the path 
 Of those who go before us to the skies, 
 That shunning snares and pitfalls, we may come 
 To the sure mansions of eternal life. 
 
 THE DOOM OF UZZIAH * 
 
 Uzziah ruPd God's chosen race, 
 
 In plentitude of power, 
 And lauded was his sceptre's sway, 
 
 In palace and in bower. 
 
 Fresh fountains in the desert waste, 
 
 Up at his bidding sprung, 
 And clust'ring vines o'er Carmel's breast, 
 
 A broider'd mantle flung. 
 
 He hasted to the battle field, 
 
 In all his young renown, 
 And wild Arabia's swarthy host, 
 
 Like blighted grass fell down. 
 
 * 2d. Chron. chap. xxvi. 
 
THE DOOM OF TTZZIAH. 
 
 Yet, ah ! within his reckless heart, 
 The seeds of pride grew strong, 
 
 And unacknowledg'd blessings led, 
 To arrogance and wrong, 
 
 So to the temple's holy place, 
 
 With impious step he hied, 
 And with a kindling censer stood, 
 
 Fast by the altar's side. 
 
 But he whose high and priestly brow, 
 
 The anointing oil had blest, 
 Stood forth majestic to rebuke, 
 
 The sacrilegious guest. 
 
 " 'Tis not for thee," he sternly said, 
 " To tread this hallow'd nave, 
 
 And take that honour to thyself, 
 Which God to Aaron gave ; 
 
 " 'Tis not for thee, thou mighty king, 
 
 O'er Judah's realm ordain'd, 
 To trample on Jehovah's law, 
 
 By whom thy fathers reign'd ; 
 
 " Go hence !" and from his awful eye, 
 There seem'd such ire to flame, 
 
 As mingled with the thunder blast, 
 When God to Sinai came. 
 
 Then loud the reckless monarch storm'd, 
 
 And with a daring hand, 
 He swung the sacred censer high, 
 
 Above the trembling band ; 
 
240 the boy's book. 
 
 When lo ! a burning sign of wrath, 
 Did in his forehead flame, 
 
 Behold ! the avenging doom of heaven, 
 The livid plague-spot came : 
 
 And low declin'd his princely head, 
 
 In bitterness of woe, 
 As from the temple-gate he sped, 
 
 A leper white as snow. 
 
 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 There was a church-yard, and an open grave, 
 And a small band of thoughtful villagers 
 Gather'd around it. Pressing near its brink, 
 A slender boy, of some few summers stood, 
 Sole mourner, and with wild and watchful eye 
 Gaz'd on the coffin. 
 
 When they let it down 
 Into the darksome pit, and the coarse earth 
 From the grave-digger's shovel, falling, gave 
 A fearful sound, there rose a bitter wail 
 Prolong'd and deep, such as I never heard 
 Come from a child. 
 
 Then he, who gave with prayers 
 The body to the dead, when the last rite 
 Was over, paus'd with sympathizing look 
 Until the Orphan's wildest sobs grew still 
 And said, 
 
THE ORPHAN. 241 
 
 "Poor "boy ! your mother will not s A eep 
 In this cold bed, for ever. — No ! as sure 
 As the sweet flowers, that now the frost hath chill'd 
 Shall hear the call of Spring, and the dry grass 
 Put on fresh greenness, — she shall rise again, 
 And live a life of joy." 
 
 Bleak autumn winds 
 Swept thro' the rustling leaves, and seem'd to chill 
 The shivering orphan as he bow'd him down, 
 All desolate, — to look into the grave. 
 So, from the group, a kindly matron came, 
 And led him thence. 
 
 When Spring returning, threw 
 Her trembling colours o'er the waken'd earth, 
 I wander'd there again, for well I love 
 At musing twilight, when rude sounds are still, 
 To pay a silent visit to the dead. 
 
 I thought myself alone : but a light step 
 
 Fell on my ear, and that poor, orphan boy, 
 
 Came from his mother's grave. Paler he'd grown 
 
 Since last I saw him, and his little feet 
 
 With frequent tread, had worn the herbage down 
 
 Into a narrow path. 
 
 He started thence, 
 And would have fled away. But when I said 
 That I had stood beside him, when they put 
 His mother in the grave, he nearer drew 
 Inquiring eagerly. 
 
 " Then, did you hear 
 The minister, who always speaks the truth 
 
242 the boy's book. 
 
 Say that she'd rise again ? that just as sure 
 
 As Spring renew'd the wither'd grass and flowers* 
 
 She'd rise again and live !" 
 
 " Yes, but not here, 
 Not here, will she return again to dwell again 
 With you my son :" — 
 
 " This is the very spot 
 Where she was laid. So here she'll rise again. 
 Just here, they buried her. I mark'd it well. 
 And night and morning, since the grass grew green, 
 I've come to watch, and sometimes press'd my lips 
 Close to the place, where they laid down her head, 
 And call'd, and told her that the flowers had come, 
 And now 'twas time to rise. See too, the seeds 
 I planted here, seeds of the flowers' she lov'd, 
 Break the brown mould. — But yet she does not wake 
 Nor answer to my voice." 
 
 " She cannot come 
 To you on earth ; but you shall go to her." 
 
 " I go to her!" and his thin hands were clasp'd 
 So close, that every bone and sinew seem'd 
 Knit fast together, " Shall I go to her ] 
 Let me go now !" 
 
 Then, with a pitying heart, 
 I told him of the Book, that promiseth 
 A resurrection, and a life of bliss 
 To those who sleep in Jesus ; that the word 
 Of God's eternal truth could ne'er deceive 
 The trusting soul, that kept His holy law 
 Obediently, and His appointed time, 
 With patience waited. 
 
THE OLD MAN. 243 
 
 " Oh ! I'll wait His time, 
 And try to do his will, if I may hope 
 After this body dies, to rise again, 
 And live once more, with Mother." 
 
 So, he turn'd 
 From that damp mound, with such a piteous look 
 Of soul subdued and utter loneliness, 
 As haunted memory, like a troubled dream. 
 
 Months fled ; and when again with traveller's haste 
 I pass'd that village, I inquired for him, 
 And one who knew him, told me, how he sought 
 That blessed Book, which teacheth, that the dead 
 Shall rise again, and o'er its pages hung, 
 Each leisure moment, with a wondering love, 
 Until he learned of Jesus, and laid down 
 All sorrow at his feet. 
 
 And then there came 
 A fearful sickness, and in many a cot 
 Were children dead, and he grew ill, and bore 
 His pain without complaint, and meekly died, 
 And went to join the mother that he loved. 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 Why gaze ye on my hoary hair, 
 Ye children young and gay! 
 
 Your locks, beneath the blast of care, 
 Will bleach as white as they. 
 
244 the boy's book. '4 
 
 I had a mother once, like you, 
 
 Who o'er my pillow hung, 
 Kiss'd from my cheek the briny dew, 
 
 And taught my faltering tongue. 
 
 She, when the nightly couch was spread, 
 Would bow my infant knee, 
 
 And lay her soft hand on my head, 
 And bending, pray for me. 
 
 But then there came a fearful day, 
 
 I sought my mother's bed ; 
 Harsh voices warn'd me thence away, 
 
 And told me she was dead. 
 
 I pluck'd a fair white rose, and stole 
 
 To lay it by her side ; 
 Yet, ah, strange sleep enchain'd her soul, 
 
 For no fond voice replied. 
 
 That eve I knelt me down in wo, 
 
 To say a lonely prayer ; 
 And still my temples seem'd to glow, 
 
 As if that hand was there. 
 
 Years fled, and left me childhood's joy, 
 Gay sports, and pastimes dear ; 
 
 I rose, a wild and wayward boy, 
 Who scorn'd the curb of fear. 
 
 Fierce passions shook me like a reed ; 
 
 But ere, at night I slept, 
 That soft hand made my bosom bleed, 
 
 And down I fell, and wept. 
 
THE OLD MAN. 245 
 
 Youth came — the props of virtue reel'd ; 
 
 Yet still, at day's decline, 
 A marble touch my brow congeal'd — 
 
 Blest mother, was it thine 1 
 
 In foreign lands I've travell'd wide, 
 
 My full pulse bounding high ; 
 Vice spread her meshes at my side, 
 
 And pleasure lur'd my eye. 
 
 Even then, that hand, so soft and cold, 
 
 Maintain'd its mystic sway, 
 As when amid my curls of gold, 
 
 With gentle force it lay 
 
 And with it sigh'd a voice of care, 
 
 As from the lowly sod, 
 " My son, my only one, beware ! 
 
 Sin not against thy God." 
 
 Ye think, perchance that age hath stole 
 
 My kindly warmth away, 
 And dimm'd the tablet of the soul ; 
 
 Yet when in manhood's sway, 
 
 This brow the plumed helm display'd, 
 
 That awes the warrior throng, 
 Or beauty's thrilling fingers stray'd, 
 
 My clustering locks among, 
 
 That hallow'd touch was ne'er forgot ; 
 
 And now, though time hath set 
 His seal of frost that melteth not, 
 
 My temples feel it yet. 
 
THE BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 And if I e'er in heaven appear, 
 
 A mother's holy prayer — 
 A mother's hand and tender tear 
 Still pointing to a Saviour dear, 
 Have led the wanderer there. 
 
 XXOSE OF LIFE. 
 
 Chill'd by the piercing blast, 
 Or faint with vertic heat, 
 
 The weary labourer hails the night, 
 And finds its slumber sweet : 
 
 While they whom idle years, 
 
 Of luxury impair, 
 Toss on the reckless couch, or meet 
 
 The dream of terror there. 
 
 The rich man moves in pomp, 
 To him the world is dear, 
 
 And every treasure twists a tie, 
 To bind him stronger here : 
 
 But he whose purest gold, 
 Is in the conscience stor'd, 
 
 Is richer at the hour of death, 
 Than with the miser's hoard. 
 
 When this short day of life, 
 With all its work is done, 
 
 The faithful servant of his God, 
 Doth hail the setting sun ; 
 
CLOSE GF LIF& 247 
 
 But they who waste their breath, 
 
 Dread the accusing tomb, 
 And the time-killer flies from death, 
 
 As from a murderer's doom. 
 
 So give us, Lord, to find, 
 
 When earth shall pass away y 
 That Sabbath-evening of the mind, 
 
 Which crowns a well-spent day, 
 
 That entering to thy rest, 
 
 Where toils and cares are o r er T 
 We, with the myriads of the biesa'd, \ 
 
 May praise Thee, evermore. 
 
 THE END. 
 
NOTICES OP THE " GIRL'S READING BOOK." 
 
 From the " Southern Churchman" — Richmond. 
 " The simple statement of the title of this work, the name 
 of the author, and the number of editions through which it 
 has passed, is as high a recommendation of it as can well be 
 given. We will merely express a wish for the benefit of all 
 our schools for young ladies, that this book may be adopted 
 as one of the most useful, the purest, and the best for which 
 it was written." 
 
 From the " Knickerbocker." 
 " We have read the •' Girl's Reading Book, in Prose 
 and Poetry," from the pen of Mrs. Sigourney, with un- 
 alloyed gratification. It is imbued with those delightful in- 
 culcations for which that author's writings are distinguished, 
 and clothed with the felicitous graces of style which are ever 
 the characteristics of her productions. This book should be 
 in the hands of every school-girl in the United States." 
 
 From the " Richmond Compiler." 
 " This interesting work from the pen of the beloved 
 authoress, Mrs. Sigourney, contains thirty reading lessons 
 in prose and the same number in poetry. It is a work we 
 are glad to see, and she has become her country's benefactor 
 by sending it forth, while she has made an enduring addition 
 to her fame." 
 
 From the " New. York American." 
 " Mrs. Sigourney has given the public a delightful little 
 book, which we prefer to all her other published writings. 
 Its articles are all original — all the work of her own pen — 
 and all written with a beautiful simplicity, suited to the 
 persons for whom the work is designed. The quality of 
 simplicity it is which gives the principal grace to these com- 
 positions. We looked, indeed, to find great warmth and 
 rectitude of feeling, a pure and kindly morality, and a poetic 
 imagination, and we have found them. But we hardly ex- 
 pected to see the author's superior talents performing this 
 task with such perfect ease, without any attempt at display : 
 in short, with such perfect devotedness to the task before 
 them. We hope she will find this laudable exertion of her 
 powers well rewarded by the reception this work meets with 
 the public." 
 
 1 
 
NOTICES OF THE " BOY'S BOOK. 
 
 From the " United States Gazette" — Philadelphia. 
 " The Boy's Book" has been prepared by Mrs. Sigourney- 
 with all the care which her maternal feelings could suggest 
 for such a work, and with the assistance of all those powers 
 to which the world is now doing homage. We are gratified 
 to have occasion to notice, from such a source, a book thus 
 dedicated, and the success which has attended it, is proof of 
 its adaptation to the purpose which it has in. view. The les- 
 sons are instructive and interesting to the young. And 
 Mrs. Sigourney has by this work, and a corresponding volume, 
 entitled the " Girl's Reading Book," added largely to the 
 claims which she already possessed upon the gratitude and 
 respect of the nation at large." 
 
 From the " Boston Weekly- Magazine? 
 " "We are glad to see the abilities and fine taste of Mrs. 
 Sigourney employed in the preparation of books for the use 
 of the young. Their moral and literary welfare may be 
 safely entrusted in her hands. This volume is well worthy 
 of introduction into the schools of our country, as while the 
 slyle is pure and the sentiments elevated, it is replete with 
 interest and useful information. The same publishers have 
 issued the " Girl's Reading Book." Ws commend them 
 to the favorable notice of instructors and parents." 
 
 From " Ziort's Watchman." 
 " This book is beautifully printed, and contains most ex- 
 cellent reading matter, entirely from the pen of the accom- 
 plished authoress. Her name, alone, would be sufficient to 
 recommend it to the favorable notice of the public, and when 
 once examined it cannot but be extensively patronized. And 
 then it should be added, that it is published by Mr. Taylor, 
 than whom, perhaps, there is not a man among us more com- 
 petent to judge of the merits of a work written for educa- 
 tional purposes." 
 
 From the " Corsair." 
 
 " We cannot sufficiently admire the elevated motives that 
 
 have prompted the first poetess in our country to devote her 
 
 talents and time to write a book for schools. Such a work 
 
 commends itself to every parent and to every philanthropist >" 
 
 2 
 
From the " Christian Watchman" — Boston. ^ 
 • " In chasteness, purity of style, and elevation of thought, 
 it is a fine model. Lessens of piety and virtue, and manly 
 sentiment, are intermingled in every page with alluring ease 
 and captivating incident. The influence of such a book as 
 this must be very great, in moulding the minds of those who 
 shall be favored with its perusal." 
 
 From the " Michigan Journal." 
 
 " No higher recommendation of this work can be given # 
 than the name of its accomplished author. We should rejoice ! 
 to see it in the hands of every boy in this State. Unless en- | 
 tirely lost — dead to every noble and generous sentiment of ; 
 our common nature — no child — no young man even — can i 
 read this book without the highest degree of both pleasure 
 and profit. We envy not the individual who can read it 
 without being instructed, softened, delighted. Let such 
 works be introduced into all our families and schools, and we 
 shall hear no more complaints of inattention to books — of 
 the want of a taste for reading. We will guarantee, that 
 every child who is of sufficient age to understand its lan- 
 guage, and who has not been brutalised and ruined by mis- 
 management will read this work of Mrs. Sigourney's with 
 avidity." 
 
 From the " Lady's Companion." 
 
 ,c We know how scarce are valuable school books — those 
 that combine instruction in language and elocution with 
 sound mental aliment, suited to the comprehension of young 
 minds. Desultory selections often fail of this end ; but Mrs. 
 Sigourney has here presented the public with a reading book, 
 written expressly for this object, ' containing lessons of repub- 
 lican simplicity, the value of time, the rewards of virtue, the 
 duties of life,' all beautiful, as we might expect from such a 
 writer." 
 
 From the " Knickerbocker." 
 " Every boy should have this book." 
 
 From tJie " Southern Churchman." — Richmond. 
 " In this age of lax sentiment and lax example, what pa- 
 rent is there, who can well satisfy his conscience in the dis- 
 charge of his duty to his sons, without placing in their hands, 
 as soon as they can read, a volume like the one before us, 
 which will not only please, but will inculcate good morals on 
 Christian principles, regulate the passions, improve the man- 
 ners, form the taste, and inspire the mind with a serious 
 3 
 
regard Tor the truths of the Bible and the everlasting interests 
 of the soul, and this has been done by Mrs. Sigourney, 
 not in a dry and scholastic style, but in a manner the most 
 happy and attractive." 
 
 From the " Richmond Compiler." 
 
 " This is another valuable volume to our country, from the 
 pen of Mrs. Sigourney. Its lessons are inculcated in a 
 manner happily adapted to the youthful mind for which they 
 are intended, and will afford them deep interest as well as 
 instruction." 
 
 From the " Courant." — Hartford. 
 The "Boy's Book;" by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 
 
 It is too late to speak highly of the prose or poetry of Mrs. 
 Sigourney and claim originality ; for her writings have been 
 eulogized by the critics beyond the Atlantic, long ago. But 
 this work, like the " Girl's Reading Book," is to be treated 
 of not as a specimen of splendid composition, (as it is,) but as 
 a class book for American schools. Most of our reading 
 books are printed poorly — on cheap paper, in small type — as 
 if to tempt the scholar to dispose of it as soon as possible. 
 This appears on fine white paper, in the best type. The 
 subjects selected — the vivacity and familiarity of the narra- 
 tives, essays, biographies, and discussions — the appropriate 
 moral inferences often drawn, and the chasteness preserved 
 throughout the work, are recommendations that no good 
 teacher will fail to notice and admire. How excellent the 
 idea that a reading book should be fraught with instruction 
 on those subjects that are familiar to the minds of youth. 
 The lessons read again and again in the school room are 
 never forgotten. What man cannot repeat the pieces he read 
 when a boy at school from beginning to end, and tell every 
 comma and period and caption in the book 7 This work 
 carries out, in the important lessons taught, the idea just 
 noticed. For instance, in i: Taking Food," we find directions 
 given that cannot fail of doing good to the reader. A boy 
 under a good teacher will never forget such a sentence as 
 this. " It is ungrateful to disarrange the mechanism" (of the 
 body) " that does so much for us. It is dangerous to persist 
 in offending the stomach, for it revenges itself through the 
 nerves. They, are its fast friends, — always at its command, 
 and able to inflict varied and terrible pain." Nor this, on 
 another subject, " Cruelty to Animals is disgraceful and 
 sinful. If I see even a young child, pull off the wings of an 
 insect, or take pains to set his foot upon a worm, I know 
 that he has not been well instructed, or else that there is 
 4 
 
something wrong and wicked in his heart." In " The Only 
 Son," (a beautiful story) is this remark, in giving the history 
 of Frank Wilson, " The first wrong step was to neglect his 
 lessons and waste his time. His room-mate taught him to 
 laugh at the censures that followed, and to ridicule- in secret, 
 the teachers whom he should have loved." Hear the closing 
 remark of this history, "Let every boy dread the first advances 
 of vice, for the descent is swift, like the swollen and head- 
 long torrent, sweeping every landmark away." So in " Good 
 Manners," " Wealth," " Trees," the " Grey Cottage," and 
 " The Law," are taught lessons in a lovely way, that every 
 reader will not only learn, but feel and observe. ,Tbe book 
 is exceedingly valuable to all who love literature 5 but above 
 all, it accomplishes its design admirably. It is the best work 
 in the English language for a reading book for boys under 
 twelve years of age. In it is a full demonstration that the 
 author has been a worthy and successful teacher, and that 
 she knows well the duties, trials, and pleasures of a faithful 
 teacher's life. America should adopt it as a " Boy's Book," 
 and not a County or State, or New England only. 
 
 From " The Friend." — Philadelphia. 
 We have had placed in our hands for examination a volume 
 of recent publication from the American press, entitled " The 
 Boy's Book," the production of Lydia H. Sigourney, ex- 
 tensively known and admired as a writer of considerable 
 eminence both of poetry and prose. The volume under 
 notice consists of many chapters on a variety of topics, prose 
 and poetical, the invariable tendency of which is the inculca- 
 tion of moral and pious sentiments, and to encourage the 
 expansion of liberal, gentle, and benevolent affections. Of 
 the prose department in particular, we were much pleased 
 with its style of composition ; the language is simple in struc- 
 ture, yet clear, flowing, and graceful — equally removed on 
 the one hand from the fastidiously affected and ambitious 
 strain so prevalent in these days, and from puerility, dulness, 
 and insipidity on the other. In short, we consider it well 
 adapted for the end proposed, its introduction as a class book 
 in schools for boys of from eight to twelve years, and would 
 be glad to hear of its general adoption as such. The tenor 
 of the sentiments taught, approaches very nearly to the views 
 of Friends in relation to the pacific nature of the gospel dis- 
 pensation, yet in this regard, and in some other respects, a 
 few modifications would be requisite to render the volume un- 
 exceptionable as a class book in Friends' schools. ' 
 5 
 
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