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WOODWORTH, he 0 "SSO PR we aie dixeeets.” “wov's anp erat’s LipgaRr” “sronms asouT ye ee” Rake kpeet weape,” wro, Ero, | SS 3 ts Sxare” > e AUBURN: : DERRY AND MILLER. 1882. ® AND THE HEART. ad BOOK OF GEMS, i Prag) y N Ps : » a" oe wer Po ea ay : Mein 8 “e a , a 5 eee: Oe Gs heel ak fh. = e a 0 P-0 ae Pak TY 4 Ri a er SECOND THOUSAND. THE YOUTH’S BOOK OF GEMS. MIND AND THE HEART. WITH ONE HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS. BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH, AUTHOR OF “UNCLE FRANK'S HOME STORIES,” “Boy’s AND GIRL’S LIBRARY” “STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS,” “STORIES ABOUT BIRDS,” ETO, ETO. AUBURN: DERBY AND MILLER. 1852. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH, In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York. etait il imenticareanatsianeianibiencantnnmaniaeesai alee Epa LLL LAL AL STEREOTYPED BY THOMAS B. SMITH 216 William St., N. Y. PAGE | PAGE PAGE A Boston Boy, 365 Drowned . 366 | Jack Mason’s Stories, 322 A Common Mistake, 66 | Duke of W n, Anecdote of, 382 aps om Thompson and the Black- A Cunning Fox, 332 berries, 205 Admirable Example, 145 | Earl Fitzwilliam and the Farmer, 65 . Jenn 129 Age of the American States, 131 | Early Drinking, Danger of, 96 | Jonah’s Go 89 A Large Business, 367 Easter Day, 138 John Anderson my jo John, 135 A Leap for Life, 110 Editorial Table-Talk, 34, 68, 99, 132 Alexander and Bucephalus, 19 | _ 162, 196, 227, 260, 291, 325, 356, 385 Katydid, 20 American Rustic Hospitality, 313 | Enemies, how to treat them, 338 | Kites in China, 116 Anclont Lighting Rods, 171 | English Bible? 940 | Large Serpents, Anecdotes of, 333 Ancient Lightnin | English Bible, Ancient Thobes, ’ 269 | Ettrick Shepherd, 55 | Laug Bi 327 A New Taste, 349 | Europe, Letters from, 266 | Letters from Euro 206, 344 Animals, Instinct of, 14 Liberty and Religion, 122 An Indian Story, 67 | Farming in the Western Country, 350 | Liberty, Spirit of, 17 A Noble Boy, 380 Farming, Lights and Shadows of, 236 Light, ee seal 30 April-Fool kgg, 156 | First Thank-Offering, 311 Little Girls, a Word to, 194 Arabian Nights, 290 | Fish Fascinated by Music, 173 | Little Grave, 192 Ass and Race Horse—A Fable, 243 Fisherinan and the Little Fish, 139 | Little Hero of Haarlem, 308 A Visit to the Locksmith’s, 381 | Floating Islands, 223 | Little Miners, 185 Awkward Mistake, 93. | Florisis, Visit to, 153 Little Reasoner, 183 | Flowers, 167 | Little Workers, a Lesson from, 362 - Bad Memory, 137 | Fox-Hounds, Kennel of, 244 | Long-toed Shoes, 235 Baron Von Humboldt, 284 | Fox aa 270 | Lying, 125 Bash-Bish, 242 | Fruit and Blossoms, 21 Bat, Anecdotes of, 347 | Funny Mistake, 128 | Man’s Life, Changes in, 346 Bees, Habits of, 121 | Funny Quarrel, 217 | May Song—Music, 166 Bird of Paradise, 207 Mermaids, Chapter on, 31 Blind Boy at Play, 343 | Galileo, 23 | Mice fond of Music, 176 Blossoms and Fruit, 21 | Generosity of an Elder Brother, 355 | Monkey’s Memory, 217 Bonfire, 159 | Gencrous Blacksmith, 158 | Monkey and Telescope—A Fable, 349 Boys and Fruit, 194 | Geyser Springs, 289 | Money, Continental, 49 Brotherly Affection, 373 | “Give us our Daily Bread,” 278 | Mother’s Last Lesson, 312 Bucephalus and Alexander, 19 | Goats, Stories about, 219 | Mouse in Liquor, 365 Business First and then Pleasure, 145 | Going to the Fire, 65 | My Children, a Letter to, 225 re | Gold Repeater, 58 | My Early Friend, 105 mee Ann, 209 | Grasshopper, Song of, 283 | My Heart’s in the 231 Call yeme Poor 2? 93 | Great Earthquake at Lisbon, 306 | My Mother’s Voice, 156 Caraccas, Earthquake in, 222 My Sister, 7 Carriages in Olden Time, 11 | Hail in India, 354 ‘ Charlie Cleveland and Father Hall, Robert, 60 | Nature, Perfection of, 118 Blinker, 232 | Hard Reading, 380 | Never be Idle, 348 Chide Mildly the Erring, 206 | Harry and his Dog, 143 | Never give a Kick for a Hit, 370 Children, are they all Kings ? 87 | Harvest, 246 | Never Hold Malice. 382 Children, Sorrows of, 324 | Hebrew Mother and her Child, 40 | New York, Early History of, 254 Clara Sinclair, 286 | Hindoo Mother, 149 Clovis, Anecdote of, 268 Honest Farmer, 150 | Obedience and Di 88 Corie, Come Away, 249 Honcst Negro, 352 | Obey God rather than Man, £07, 346 Conceit, 378 Hopkinson, Judge, 108 | Obstinate Boy, 245 Contentment, 265 Hornet’s Nest, 316 | Old Man and Princess, 210 Contrary Boy, 368 Horse, Sagacity and Attachment Conversation about Death, 378... of, ' 77 | Paris, 136 Count and Peasant, 91 Howard’s Opinion of Swearers, 48 | Parrot, Anecdotes of, 295 Country Lad and the River, 363 | How Smart we are, 125. Passing through a Thunder Cloud 305 w Tree, 226 Humming Birds, 303 Philosophy Outdone, 141 zy Ann, 273 | Pitch, a Lake of, 324 Curious Beetle, 195 | Idiot’s Death, 276 Politeness, 67 | Idleness, Beware of, 66 Pool of Bethesda, 364 Deaf Old Men, 15 | Il Temper, 243 Pope in the Fourteenth Century, 180 Deer, Strange Instinct of, 178 Imagination, Freaks of, 216 Powder Plot, 61 Depth of Different Seas, 279 Incidents at the West, 123 Praying and Trying, 311 Dicky Morton, 46 Indiana, a Word about, 252 President Fillmore, 263 Dick, the Squirrel, 97 Indian Customs, 302 Prim, the End of, 2838 Do as you would be done by, 47 , Indian Story, 272 Printing, a Chapter on, 71 Dogs, Stories about, 45, 271 Italian Customs, 253 Providence, Trust in, 193 Don’t Kill the Birds, 321 “It’s of No Use,” 275 ' Providential Guest, 384 INDEX. een PAGE Puss ana Dash, 172 Quaker and Commissioner, 259 Quarrelsome Children, 174 Queer Notion, 206 Rats, Ingenuity of, 98 Rat ‘with a Bell A Fable, ill Reindeer in Norway, 298 Rocking Stones, 94 Scandal, 25 Scene in Boston, 355 Schoolboy Days, 26 Sebastian Cabot, 115 Seeds, Long Vitality of, 114 Biborian Sledge Dogs 191 iberian Sir Humphrey Davy, Boyhood of, 339 Sir John Franklin, 359 Silk and Silk Worms, 114 Stag Proud of his Horns, 148 Star-Spangled Banner, 199 Sleep, Necessity of, 341 Snow in the Arctic Regions, 301 Something about the Sulks, 320 Song of the Snow—Music, 358 Spiders fond of Music, 205 Spring, 150 Squirrel Family, Anecdotes of, 342 Squirrel Robbing, 329 Stork, Anecdotes of, 318, 375 Swearers, Howard’s Opinion of, 48 The Autumn Leaf, 175 The Bad Spectacles, 223 Brother and Sister—Frontis- piece, Brother and Sister Conversing, 8 PAGE The Bee-Tree, 117 The Beggar Girl, 215 The Bird’s Complaint, 184 The Bird’s Nest, 157 The Bichow and the Birds, 376 The Blue-Bird, 151 The Boy and his Bobolink—Mu- sic, 102 The Burial of Sir J ohn Moore, a The Bustard, The Cat a Fisherman, 179 The Child and the Cloud, 54 The Child’s First Prayer—Music, 38 The a, 85 The Dog and his Shadow, 64 The Dog afd the Mirror—A Fa- ble, 103 The Donkey, 112 The Fly, the Bee, and the Ant, 314 The Four Words, 95 The Geysers 374 The Honest Jew, 53 The Ignis Fatuus, 42 The Intemperate Girl, 24 The Lamb and the Critics, 329 The Lament of the Weary One, 310 The Nature of Earthly Attach- ments, 312 The Old State, 140 The Princo and the Pig, 316 The Rainy Day, 126 The Scent of the Rose, 210 Tho Spider and Sailor, 25 The Starling, 257 The Summer Time, 226 The Talisman, 211 ENGRAVINGS. Dick the Squirrel, Indian Girl’s Song, The Dog and the Mirror, 103 Brother and Sister among the A Primitive Dwelling, 104 Birds, . 9 | Judge Hopkinson, 108 Carriages in Olden Time, 11 | Sebastian Cabot, 115 The Horse Litter, 12 | Burial of Sir John Moore, 119 The Sedan Chair, 12 | The Stag and his Mate, 123 Sedan Chair, of a Later Style, 13 | Jenny Lind, 129 A Coachman of the Olden Time, 14 | John Anderson and Wife, 135 Alexander taming Bucephalus, 18 | The Fisherman and the Little Blossoms and Fruit, 21 Fish, 139 Galileo, 23 | Harry and his Dog, 142 Boys Let Loose from School, 26 | The Stag Proud of his Horns, 148 Statue of Wesley at Richmond, The Blue Bird, 151 England, Flower Vase, 153 Mermaid, 31 | The Bird’s Nest, 157 The Young Gleaner, 39 | Flower Scene, 167 The Ignis Fatuus, 42 | Puss and Dash, 172 Shepherd 44 | Mice fond of Music, 176 Continental Money, 49 | The Pope in the Fourteenth Cen- Greenough’s Statue of Washing- ee, 180 ton, 52 | The Bird’s Complaint, 184 Birthplace of the Ettrick Shep- William in Distress, 186 herd, 55 | The Little Grave, 192 The Dog and his Shadow, 64 | A Curious Beetle, 195 R. Hoe and Co.’s Patent Type- Star-Spangled Banner, 199 Revolving Press, 71 | Whale Capsizing a Boat, 202 Interior of a Printing Office, 72 | Bird of Paradise, 207 Hand Press, 79 | Old Garrison House at Cape ates ve Machine, = _s i 209 Crocodile, e ir 215 Jonah and his Gou G _— 218 rd, 89 Rocking Stone at Fall River, Mass. 94 } oats, My Pe* Goat, PAGE The Three Syntactical Combina- tions, 50 The Time Piece, 10 The Way to Contentment—Mu- sic, 294 The Wild Sheep, 383 The Wreck, 241 The Yellow Bird’s Lament, 315 The Young Gleaner, 39 Thy Brother has Fallen, 352 Time, 377 Tommy and his Papa, 330 True Duncan and the Cat, 113 Umbrellas, Origin ol, 313 Wars, How they Happen, 258 Washington, Greenough’s Statue of, 52 Water, 253 Water is Best, 297 oe 124 Wesley, John, 29 Whale Catching, Perils of, 201 Whale Fishing, Perils of, 250 What a Poor Boy can Do, 265 What I Know, 57 Which was the Wisest ? 131 White Mouse, 299 Wicked Young Emperor, 317 a Cottage, 168 William Penn, 353 Wreck of the Forfarshire, 146 Young Men, Hints to, 214 Young Men, What they have Done, 255 View of the City of Philadel- phia, 224 My Heart’s in the Highlands, 231 The Farmer’s Boy, 236 The Wreck, 241 A Harvest Scene, 246 Come, Come Away, 249 Peter Stuyvesant, 254 The Starling, 257 Millard Fillmore, President of the United States, 263 ‘Ancient Thebes, 269 Crazy Ann, 273 John Layton, 274 “ Give us our Daily Bread,” 278 Baron Von Humboldt, 284 Arabian Nights Scene, 290 Anecdotes of the Parrot, 295 A Humming Bird among the Flowers, The Lament of the Weary One, 310 The Yellow Bird’s Lament, 5 Jack Mason’s Stories, seueting Bill, 327 necdotes of Large Se ts, 333 A South American a. 336 Anecdotes of the Squirrel Fami- MER William Penn, 353 Sir John Franklin, 359 The Pool of Bethesda, 364 The Bustard, 371 The Bishop and the Birds, 376 The Wild Sheep, 383 8 ke My Sister. BY THEODORE THINEER, Ir is twilight, and I am alone. Now come before me, from the spirit land, the forms of those I love. I am no longer alone. Though the busy, bustling, visible world is shut out from the mind, familiar faces, long missed from earth, hover near me, and look kindly upon me. My sister! I see her glad smiles, hear her accents of love, converse with her, as in earlier days, ere her spirit departed. O this still, serious, solemn hour of twilight! I bless my heavenly Father for the associations which cluster around it, for the thoughts of the past which it calls up, for the images of loved and lost ones which it oS TK Vy 277 ; EM bipy ee eae. as ““ ~ 8 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. reveals. My sister! The snows of two winters have fallen upon her grave ; and yet her form appears before me as dis- tinct, almost, as if it were pictured on the outward eye. Is this vision all un- ' yeal? Has the spirit world, then, no connection with the physical world ? Is there no communion of spirits on earth with kindred spirits from the bet- ter land? I donot know. What mys- teries hang over the spirit world ! My sister! The scenes through which we passed together are spread out again before the soul’s eye, with the fresh- ness, the clearness, the vividness of reality. The home of my childhood was in the country. The mansion where we dwelt was nestled amid a thousand rural charms. They have all left their images in my affections ; and she, that cherished sister, is associated closely with each one of them. We climbed the high hills together, in the summer time, and together strayed through the fields, and meadows, and forests, after wild flowers. The influence of a kind and amiable sister over a brother, in childhood and early youth, is exceedingly desirable. It softens, polishes, humanizes him. Many a time, when my impulsive and rougher spirit has been on the point of commit- ting some petty act of mischief, has the gentle voice of my sister dissuaded me from it. I remember that, one bright and beautiful day in early autumn, when I was bent on playing the truant from school, and had settled my whole plan of operations, even—I blush to say it— the writing of a false apology to the village schoolmaster, that gentle girl, leaning lovingly on my shoulder, and, pleading with me, as an angel might have done, to heed the voice of con- science, and do right, won me, sent the crimson current of shame through my face, and made me tear the note I was penning into a hundred fragments, while I asked God to save me from ever cher- ishing such guilty thoughts again. In our wanderings amid the forest, separated only by a meadow and a nar- row brook from our dwelling, we one day found a sparrow’s nest, with three or four little sparrows in it, too young to fly. The old birds left the nest as we approached, and hovered around, not far off, showing a great deal of love for their offspring, and evidently not a little afraid that they were soon to be childless. Both my sister and myself looked upon this scene for some minutes with a great deal of interest. We ex- amined the nest, and admired the skill and ingenuity which the birds had dis- played in building it. How nicely it was braided together. There were coarse straws and sticks on the outside of it, and on the inside, there were fine hairs, and little bits of cotton, and wool, and thistle down, curiously and beauti- fully interwoven. piece of workmanship, that little spar- row’s nest. ing at it, 1 thought it would be a fine thing to take those little sparrows home It was a charming Well, as I stood there look- with us, nest and all. I had never had any tame birds ; and I did not doubt that I could soon make these sparrows so tame that they would come and hop upon my shoulder, when I called them. Forgetting every kind and gen- erous feeling, in this one selfish desire, I was about to climb up the tree, and secure the helpless sparrows, when my sister made such an appeal to my better <= ie. ae wk pana aa THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 9 PRE FEEREFSEREEHEERPTEHRTTTEPeTreneennneneennileinminenimteinistieitinntininienindammniasiiiieaiitiinitauia, seid feelings, that my arm was entirely un- | never could harm one of the dear little nerved. I did not violate the peace of | things since. that happy family, but left them chirp-| I remember once having killed a robin ing their gratitude and gladness. Boys | withastone. Idid it rather through care- have often strong temptations to rob the | lessness than by design, however. The nests of the beautiful birds that cluster | robin was as busy as he could be pick- around the abodes of men, so confid- ing currants in our yard, when I threw ingly, so lovingly. I have had some|a stone at him, to frighten him away. such temptations. But never, since my |The stone hit the poor fellow, how- sister’s eloquent plea ever—strange enough, I always thought, for the young spar- | for I was a very indifferent marksman— rows, have I yielded | and he fell down from the bushes, flut- to this temptation. | tered a few minutes, gasped a few times That plea has secur- | for breath, and died. I wept along time ed the happiness of | about that tragic affair. The image of many a forest war-|the dying robin did not leave my mind bler. I owe much | for the entire summer, and I did not of the good-will IJlove to go near the spot where he died have ever cherished | for months afterward. toward the birds to] That was a sad day for us all, when the tenderness with |we learned that this cherished sister which she always | must die, and it was a sadder day still treated them. Ij when the dreaded hour arrived. Yet — her end was calm and peaceful.. Her- . Pep sun went down while it was yet day. ey But it went down unclouded. “I am weary, brother,” said she, “let me sleep.” She did sleep—slept the long sleep of death, and her tired spirit found repose. My sister! how like a flood do thoughts of her kind and loving heart; of her deep, warm, active piety; of her cheerful, patient, trustful spirit ; of her happy frame, while sinking under the influence of disease—how do these thoughts, and such as these, rush into my mind, as I muse on the past at this calm hour of twilight— “In the still hour of thought, when we are free To leave the real world for things which seem.” “For things which seem.” But are they seeming only ? Vee Dee ca Drea Dann ip Dr? ~ “pee an apr pt — || * 10 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. es The Time-Piece. A NEW YEARS THOUGHT. BY WM. OLAND BOURNE, Tick! tick! tick! How swift the moments go! Tick! tick! tick! How rapid the minutes flow! They come and they pass! They sparkie and fiy! The sands in the glass Cease running for aye! Tick ! tick! tick! How swift the pulses beat! Tick! tick! tick! The throbs of the heart repeat! - The young blood leaps Full of life in the veins! The young heart keeps In the lightest of strains ! No thought of the morrow— Of sadness or sorrow— Of labor and care— Of sin and its snare— Of danger and trial— Of stern self-denial— Of anxious sighs— Of doubt— Of unheard cries— Or storms and darkness round about. One ! With a dolorous tone This sound alone Falls deep on the ear of night! Is the town-clock right ? Has an hour so swiftly sped ? Gone by with the silent dead? And the New Year come to birth To haste o’er the rolling earth, And after a while in its turn to die, With the ashes of hope in its urn to lie! Two! The moaning winds are sad! Ding! dong! With its accents strong It speaks to the good and bad ! Two worlds—two lives—two ways— This world and that to come! This life and giory’s home: One path that leads from heaven, And one to us is given To lead us on in Faith’s celestial rays! Tick! tick! tick ! Swiftly the hours are flying! Tick ! tick! tick! How swiftly we are dying ! Yet we hail the Year Which shall lay us by- For we do not fear We shall this year die ! «“ Oh, not for me shall the angel call!” Is the voice of hope and the cry of all! Tick ! tick! tick! Let the year to Gon be given! Tick! tick! tick! Let it take us near to heaven! In the path of peace— In the strength of hope— Where the portals ope Which shall never cease ! One! Two! THREE! The year is on its way ! | Oh, Farner ! let me be Thy servant every day ! And when this Life’s Old Year Has passed, and I shall hear The Angel call my waiting soul, Let me with THEE be found, Where glory circles round, And Heaven’s New Year in endless bliss shall roll ! LOWVILLE, N. ¥. THE YOUTH’S CABINET iL Carriages in Olden Time. T is amusing. to look back a few hundred years on the pages of his- tory, and take a note of the way our ancestors did things. We can scarcely help laughing, for instance, at the parade they made about the intro- duction of carriages. In the year 1564, a man by the name of Booneu, a Dutch- man, became Queen Elizabeth’s coach- man; and he, it is said, was the first to bring the use of coaches into England. After a while, certain ladies of the court followed the example of the queen, and procured carriages for their use. Eliza- beth did not like it, however. She was jealous of the ladies. However, it was not long after this, before the nobility pretty generally rode in carriages. At this early day, the coachman did not usually sit on the coach, but on the back of the horse. You see how they managed, by the picture at the head of this article. Before the close of the six- teenth century, however, the modern mode of driving became the more com- mon one, Toward the end of the reign of Eliza- beth, the use of coaches had spread all had become so plenty, that some people thought, as many people now-a-days think, in relation to other improvements, that they ought to be put down. So a bill was proposed in Parliament, “to restrain the excessive use of coaches within this realm of England.” The bill did not pass, I believe; but it had a good many supporters, strange as it may seem. You will, perhaps, wonder what could be the objections of our an- cestors to the use of coaches. They were such as these: “that they endan- gered life in the streets; that they en- couraged idleness and luxury; that they increased the poverty of the poor; and that they destroyed the trade of the London watermen, a numerous class of citizens.” In 1623, a satirical pamphlet was written about coaches, by John Taylor, sometimes called the “water poet,” a name he obtained from having once been a waterman. This pamphlet was very severe. The incensed man called the coaches all manner of hard names. The title of the satire was “The World on Wheels.” The book is embellished, if over the realm. In the year 1601, they | that term can be used in this connection, 12 with a coarse wood-cut, representing the world dragged along on carriage wheels by Satan, with a fashionable lady for an assistant. The writer says, “I think such an impudent, proud, saucy intruder, never came into the world before, as a coach is; for it hath driven many honest fa- milies to all misdeeds, hospitality to ex- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. tortion, plenty to famine, humility to pride, compassion to oppression, and all earthly goodness almost to utter con- fusion. Oh, beware of a coach as you would do of a tiger, a wolf, or a levia than. I'll assure you it eats more, though it drinks less, than the coachman and his whole team.” Such were some | of the arguments used against coaches. THE HORSE LITTER. jesty declared that the lives and limbs In 1634, the coach found very power- ful enemies in the shape of sedan chairs | of his subjects being greatly endangered and horse-litters. The latter vehicle is | by the number of coaches in London represented in the second engraving. | and Westminster, this new style of con- Sir Saunders Duncombe, about that veyunes would be a good substitute. time, brought the sedan chair into fash- |The sedan which was in use about this ion; and the king granted him the priv- ‘time, is represented by the following lege of “letting sedan chairs to hire for engraving, which also shows how it was the term of fourteen years.” His ma- ‘borne from place to place. The vehicle THE SEDAN CHAIR, ? s 4 q i — = a —————— THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 13 is a square, ugly box, as you will see— looking, for all the world, not very re- markably unlike the picture of Noah’s ark, as it appears in the early copies of the New England Primer, over which I used to expend a large fund of wonder and amazement, in my school-boy days. Sedans, when they were first introduced into England, were constructed much more rudely than they were in after years. The next cut represents one of these sedans that has a much more ele- gant appearance than the one previously described. ‘There are curtains on the sides of the vehicle, as you see; and, take it altogether, it looks as if it might be a very comfortable mode of travel- ing. 4 SEDAN CHAIR, OF A LATER STYLE, But sedans, borne by men, after a while, became, if possible, more un pop- ular than coaches, among a certain class of people. ‘When the Duke of Buck- ingham came to be carried about the streets in a chair upon men’s shoulders,” according to the chronicles of the time, “the clamor and noise of it were so ex- travagant, that the people would rail on him in the streets, indignant that men should be brought to so servile a condi- tion as horses.” “ The king and his courtiers were accused of “ degrading Englishmen into slaves and beasts of burden.,”’ Not long after this, this style of sedan went entirely out of use in England. But the horse-litter still continued in fashion, being used particularly on state occasions. In 1638, we find it described as used in the procession in honor of the queen mother, Mary de Medicis, when she visited London, to see her daughter, the wife of the first Charles, The popular clamor against coaches continued among the lower classes to a still later day, as will be inferred from the following stanza taken from’ a ballad entitled, “The Coaches’ Overthrow,” published not long before the Revolu- tion : “ Coach-makers may use many trades, And get enough of meanes ; And coach-men may turne off their jades, And help to drain the fens. Heigh doune, derry, derry doune, With the hackney coaches doune ! The sythe and flail, Cart and plow tail, Doe want them out of toune.” 14 The next cut shows you a coachman, as that class of people appeared soon A COACHMAN OF THE OLDEN TIME. after the Restoration. If such a looking man should make his appearance in our streets in these days, I am not sure but he would have an invitation to exhibit himself in the museum. But his stuffed boots, his odd-looking hat, to say no- thing about his coat and pantaloons, were regarded as quite in good taste, in the time of the second Charles. How fashion rules over taste! —————>__— Instinct of Animals. ERHAM quotes Olaus, in his ac- count of Norway, as_ having himself witnessed the fact of a fox dropping the end of its tail among the rocks on the sea-shore, to catch the crabs below, and hauling up and devouring such as laid hold of it. On our own sea coast, rats also have been known to add a new dish to their dietary, by taking crabs; though it is not easy to imagine how the capture is THE YOUTH’S CABINET. effected, and certainly it is not by angling with the same pensile organ. On the credit of several persons, however, it is known that rats have skilfully employed their tails in drawing oil through the narrow neck of a jar, when unable to reach it in any other manner. Mr. Mur ray observed a dormouse to dip its tail into a dish of milk, and then carry it, smeared with the fluid, to its mouth; and similar ingenuity has been witnessed ‘in its conveyance of water, when the ‘little creature could not otherwise ob- tain a supply. The modes employed by dogs of different races in capturing and devouring the crab, and especially that pugnacious species, the velvet crab (Por- tunus puber,) well illustrate the experi- ence which has become propagated in the breed over the ignorance of the un- initiated. On the first discovery of the prey, a terrier runs in to seize it, and is immediately and severely bitten in the nose. But a sedate Newfoundland dog of my acquaintance proceeds more s0- berly in his work: he lays his paw on it, to arrest it in its escape; then, tumbling it over, he bares his teeth, and seizing it with the mouth, throws the crab aloft; it falls upon the stones, the shell is cracked beyond redemption, and then the dainty dish is devoured at leisure.— Couch’s Illustrations of Instinct. sleet «A zrrrte boy on his death-bed, urging his father to repentance, said, ‘Father, I am going to heaven; what shall I tell Jesus is the reason why you won't love him!’ Before the weeping father could answer, the child had fallen asleep in Jesus.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 15 The Deaf Old Men — @ HAVE got a laughable story | every shilling I’m worth. I’ve never to tell you about two been intoxicated since the last election: old men, which you will | and as to money, I never borrowed a find a good moral in; farthing of him in my life, or of any- for it is a great shame, | body living—and I’ll go tell him so to and very wicked, to pick he face, that I will—the lying old g Sport out of the infirmities of | rogue!” and he would take up his stout mankind, even if we do no in- = walking-staff. and sally out to put jury to any one. I well remem- | his threat into execution, Before this, ber a waggish youth who would | however, the young scamp had been to have fun, whatever it might cost him, | old Billy Barton, cramming him with a and never seemed so happy as when he parcel of lies, and telling him what his was about some work of mischief; and | uncle had said about him, when he could amuse himself no other “Mr. Barton!” he would holla into way, he would begin playing trick: with | his ear, while old Billy was taking his his deaf uncle. There was an old neigh- | walk at the other end of the town, “my bor, who lived opposite, quite as dull _uncle says you undid his stye-door last of hearing as his uncle was, for neither | night, and let his pigs out—somebody the one nor the other could hear him- | saw you—and they’ve eaten up all the self speak; and it was the delight of , peas and young cabbage, and rooted up this Scapegrace of a nephew to set these | the flower-beds, and done five pounds’ w> deaf old men together by the ears ;| worth of damage—and he’s gone to and as neither of them could hear what get a warrant out against you—and I the other said, you may readily imagine | thought I would tell you, that you what a droll scene an explanation must might make it up with him without going have been between them. This grace- | to law.” less young scamp first poured his poison} You may easily fancy how old Billy into the ear of one, then into the ear of raved and stormed after such a charge the other. Every two or three days he/as this, for deaf as he was, he could would say to his deaf relative, « Uncle, | make himself heard; and how he set old Billy Barton says you get drunk | off at once to repel the accusation and every night—that you run up a score | defend himself—not having time, in the everywhere, when any one will trust [heat of his passion, to ‘inquire who this you—and that you owe money to every | “somebody” was, that had seen him, publican in the place—and have never and brought the charge against him. paid him the last half-guinea he lent! Meantime the young scamp used to you, uncle—and he stops everybody he | run and assemble his companions in the meets to tell them of it!” Street, to witness, as he would say, “He’s an old rascal—and doesn’t | « such a row between his uncle and old speak the truth—and I’ll have an action Barton ;” and the nephew so managed against him—that I will—if it costs me | matters, and measured his distance, that the two old men were almost sure to | would begin to collar one another, and meet in the greatest thoroughfare in | no doubt there would soon have been @ town. At it they would go as fast as | fight between them, had not some peace- ever their tongues could rattle, blowing | loving neighbor have interfered, and, al- one another up—foaming and raving, | though he failed in reconciling them, and stamping their sticks upon the patched up for the time a temporary ground, and clenching their fists in each | cessation of hostilities. other’s faces—neither of them hearing | So matters progressed, till the fre- a word which the other said, but from | quency of their quarrels caused some the earnest manner, and vehemence of mutual friend to interfere, and inquire action, each believing the other was | into the cause ; when, to the astonish- maintaining the accusation which the | ment and amusement of them both, mischief-making young nephew had first | “my nephew” was found out; and founded. «You say I get drunk every | heartily did they laugh as the explana- night,” the deaf old uncle would ex- tion was in turns hammered into their claim, stamping his stick as he spoke. | ears ; and a dozen times did the merry «You say I turned your pigs out of the | old men rise and shake hands ; then sit stye last night ” old Barton would ex- | down again to laugh ; for the friend claim, shaking his cane at him. ‘Show me the man I ever owed a shilling to in my life!” roared out the one. “I never did anybody an injury since I was born!” bellowed the other. “I'll have an action against you for damaging my character,” shouted the uncle, loud enough to be heard half way down the street, so loud, indeed, that the word damage struck the dull drum of deaf Billy’s ear, and he echoed between his teeth—‘‘ Damages, you old rogue, you let ’em out yourself—you know you did, on purpose to injure my character, because I voted against you at the last election—you rabid old Tory, you!” «“T’ve got as many half-guineas as you,” hollaed out the old uncle; “and have no need to borrow of anybody! you vile, wicked, slandering, old rascal! I shall see you some morning whipped at a cart’s tail! Oh! I wish the good old pillories still stood !” and he would bring his huge stick within a foot of poor harmless deaf Billy’s face; then they scene of excellent mischief, which they had agreed to put into operation ; and the thought of it so tickled their old again louder than they even did when abusing each other. Nay, I verily be- lieve, that from the bottom of their had so many quarrels without any cause, up,” as they called it, in the presence of their common enemy. Nor was it long before an opportunity presented itself; for the nephew had been at his their designs, that he, suspecting nothing, bade us, as he’d often done, to “ make haste, and come along, to see such a row between his uncle and old Barton.” Wicked fellows that we were! No hounds ever set off with more willingness to hunt a fox, than we did to see a rup | | fancies with delight, that they roared — hearts, they were glad that they had — merely for the sake of the “making it: old work, and they pretended, as usual, to believe all that he said ; and so well did they mimic a passion, and conceal” who reconciled them had concocted a sh ei Rs, pw tae 3 — THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ture between these two deaf old men; and, with the nephew at our head, away we went, helter-skelter, his laugh the loudest of all, and ringing out above all others, as if the entertainment had been got up for his sole amusement. Up he ran, rubbing his hands, and kicking his heels with delight, as he shouted, “ Now they’re going to begin: take your places! Act first, Billy Barton stole uncle’s chickens ; Act second, enter uncle to rob Billy Barton’s apple-tree,—which, 17 Then came old Barton, with, “I turned your uncle’s pigs out, did I!” Bang. Then again the uncle chimed in, with, ‘I robbed Billy Barton’s apple-tree, did I!” Thump. Then again Barton took up the chorus, with, “I stole your uncle’s chickens, did I!’ Whack. And all this was diversified with an accom- paniment of cuts and capers on the part of the culprit—now a shoulder up, and then a leg. His uncle said, when he had done, “that he had made him, for once in his life, dance without a fiddle ; you know, we did for him. Up go the sticks; now for it! a real fight this time! Lay on, uncle! Strike hard, Billy!” And, without hearing, they both took him at his word; for they seized him in an instant, each laying hold of one side of his collar; and need I tell you, that we, who had so often laughed at his wickedness, were de- lighted to see him caught in his own trap? And, instead of pitying him, we only echoed his own words, and ex- claimed, “ Lay on, uncle! strike hard, Billy !’—and, although they broke no and it would be a great pity, after telling so many tales, that they should be left without a moral.” Everybody in the whole village said that it served the nephew right.—Boy’s Own Library. The Spirit of Liberty. oon after the close of the war, a boy was offering some caged birds bones, I can assure you they gave him such a thrashing as caused him to re- deaf old men together by the ears, _ the astonished look of the nephew when they seized upon him—how he turned up the whites of his eyes first at one, then at the other, while his visage length- ened; and said, as plain as a counte- ‘hance can speak, «“ caught at last !” ‘But what made it most effective was, that both the old men laughed heartily the whole of the time they were beating him. First, the uncle began with, «] get drunk every night, do I!” Tap, member the day when he first set two And long as it is since, I can scarcely refrain from laughing, while recalling for sale in a market-town, when a sailor came up and inquired the price of them. ‘Sixpence a-piece,” replied the boy. ‘I did not ask how much a-piece, but how much for the lot.” The boy, after some calculation, answered, “Six shillings and sixpence.” The sailor instantly handed him the money, and opening the cage door, per- mitted the birds to escape. The boy in astonishment cried out, “ What are you doing? you will lose your birds.”— “Very well,” said the sailor, “I have been shut up three years as a prisoner of war, and I am resolved never to see anything confined in prison that I can make free,” _ 18 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. own shadow, which had before appeared to frighten him. Then he threw off his RE is a story about Alexander cloak, and sprang upon the back of the the Great and his favorite horse, horse, and let him go as fast as he named Bucephalus, which our pleased. The animal flew across the ) readers ought to hear. A very plain, at the top of his speed, while the spirited horse had been sent to | king and his courtiers looked on, at first Philip, Alexander’s father, when | with extreme fear, but afterward with the greatest admiration and pleasure. When Bucephalus had got tired of run- parks connected with the palace, and | ning, he was easily reined in, and Alex- the king and many of his courtiers went ander returned to the king, who praised to see him. The horse pranced about so him very highly, and told him that he furiously, that everybody was afraid of | deserved a larger kingdom than Mace- him. He seemed perfectly unmanage- don. Alexander had a larger kingdom, able. No one was willing to risk his | some years after—a great deal larger one life by mounting such an unruly animal, | —though thatis a part of another story. Philip, instead of being thankful for the | | Bucephalus became the favorite horse present, was inclined to be ‘1 ill humor | of Alexander, and was very tractable about it. In the meantime, the boy and docile, though full of life and spirit. He would kneel upon his fore legs, at Alexander and Bucephalus. the latter wasa boy. ‘This horse was taken out into one of the ES Alexander stood quietly by, watching all the motions of the horse, and seem- ing to be studying his character. Philip had decided that the horse was useless, and had given orders to have him sent back to Thessaly, where he came from. Alexander did not much like the idea of losing so fine an animal, and begged his father to allow him to mount the horse, Philip at first refused, thinking the risk was too great. But he finally consent- ed, after his son had urged him a great while. So Alexander went up to the horse, and took hold of his bridle. He patted him upon the neck, and soothed him with his voice, showing him, at the same time, by his easy and unconcerned manner, that he was not in the least afraid of him. Bucephalus was calmed and subdued by the presence of Alex- ander. He allowed himself to be caress- ed. Alexander turned his head in such a direction as to prevent his seeing his that he might mount more easily. A great many facts are related of the feats of Bucephalus, as a war-horse. He was not willing to have any one ride him but Alexander. When the horse died, his master mourned for him a great deal. He had him buried with great solemnity, and built a small city on the spot of his interment, which he named Bucevhalia, in honor of his favorite. —_——_.>—_——- Impromptu, ADDRESSED BY A PRIEST TO THE LEGI#s- LATURE OF CONNECTICUT. “ For cut-ting all connect-ions famed, Connect-i-cut is fairly named ! I twain connect in one, but you Cut those whom I connect in two: Each legislator seems to say, What you Connect I cut away.” the command of his master, in order — SS 8 ek ee ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS. io 1 aioe Ga oui ar THE YOUTHS CABINET. Blossoms and Fruit. BY THE MAN WITH THE MAGNET. BLOSsoms ast summer I passed through an orchard belonging to my kind and obliging friend Captain Nash. It was in the month of June, that sweet and charming month, when the apple trees are in bloom, filling the air with their delicious fragrance. Those who have never seen an orchard of apple trees at this season of the year, cannot imagine how much beauty there is in these blossoms, and how much I was delighted with the appearance of the Sweetness there is in their odor. orchard. So was the captain, who was with me at the time, We seated our- selves under the shadow of one of these trees, and talked together, for a good while, about the kindness and love of God, in Scattering everywhere in the earth so much beauty and loveliness, We both agreed, too, that there was a fine prospect of fruit in the autumn. | was very glad of this prospect, for I knew very well the quality of the fruit Which might be expected from these trees. I knew that the captain had | taken a great deal of pains in grafting his trees, and that among the number were the golden pippin, the spitzenberg, the bellflower, and the greening—apples which make one’s mouth water, only to think of them. Well, some months after the flowering season had passed, I visited that orchard again. At this time, as before, the cap- tain was my companion. Alas! what a different aspect these trees presented, from the one we had anticipated in the early summer. There was only here and there an apple, in the whole or- chard. I could have carried away al- most the whole of them in a small basket. Indeed, I am not sure but the capacious pockets of the captain’s pea- jacket would have held them all. “But what was the reason of this?” you inquire. I hardly know. There was some cold weather in the early part of the month of June. Perhaps the flowers were chilled, and that the germs of the fruit were blasted in this way. Possibly the caterpillars destroyed the a inineniiiemnniaanatls young apples, just as they were begin- ning to form. It may be that there were strong winds during that period, and that the blossoms were blown off before the appearance of the apples. But however that may be, there was no fruit on the trees when we visited the orchard last, or almost none. I need not tell you, little boys and girls, that this was a sad state of things. But I must tell you some of the thoughts I had, as I saw these trees in the au- tumn, and remembered what a rich har- vest they promised when I enjoyed their beauty and fragrance before. I thought that, desirable as blossoms were, they were not half so desirable as good apples. I thought that if we looked pretty closely into matters and things, we might, once in a while, see something like what I saw in the orchard among men and women, and boys and girls. It came into my mind that in the matter of character, a generous supply of leaves and blossoms was no certain sign of fruit. You know very well, little friends, that the only way to tell whether people are really good and pious, is by their actions—by the fruit they bear, in other words. Our Saviour says, in relation to those who make pro- fessions of good character, that “by their fruits ye shall know them.” It is no matter how many leaves they may happen to have—no matter how beauti- ful and numerous their blossoms are. They are not worth much, if they are not followed up by fruit. Professions are well enough, but they are not half so good as actions. To be sure, when we see apple trees covered with leaves and blossoms, there is some sign that there will be fruit pretty soon. We ex- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. pect it—we have a on ae. ein cae teat teiindee Man aden an Ss to expect it. But we may be disappointed, you see. Take care, then, little boy—take care, little girl. Take care that you do not deceive us, in respect to your own pro- mises. If I am not much mistaken, I heard one of you, the other day, telling somebody that you went to church every Sunday ; that you attended the Sunday school, and learned the lessons which your teacher gave you; that you pero? said your prayers night and morning and that you meant to be a Ohriatian. Aha! here are lots of leaves and blos- soms—that is a fact. I am glad to see that. I like the beauty of these leaves. I like the odor of the flowers. But stop a moment. Didn’t I hear you talking rather angrily to your sister a few weeks after that? and didn’t you strike a boy at school, not long after that, on your way home, because he said something you was not pleased with? What was the meaning of these things? I was almost afraid that there had been a high wind, or that the caterpillars had been along that way, and that all those pretty flowers had fallen off, or been eaten up. How is it? “By their fruits ye shall know them,” the Bible says. Now, you don’t want us to judge you by the leaves and flowers you bear, do you? Keep a sharp look-out, my friend. Keep a sharp look-out for high winds and caterpillars. After you have said your prayers—and I would not have you omit them, on any account—try to govern your temper, and to show, by all your actions, that you are sincere and earnest in your professions. Bear in mind that fruit is worth more, a hundred times over, than leaves and blossoms. Never forget that. THE YOUTH'S CABINET. 93 | 1, 8, 5,7; that is, that if a body falls fifteen Paris feet (about sixteen English) in one second, it will fall forty-five in two, seventy-five in three, and so on, Some think that he invented the ther- mometer. This is not certain, however ; though if he did not invent, he improved it, and brought it to a higher state of perfection. The telescope remained a useless instrument, until Galileo turned it toward the heavens, Ina short time, he made some of the most important discoveries, in relation to the heavenly bodies. He found that the moon, as well as the earth, has an uneven sur- face; and he taught his disciples to measure the height of its mountains by the height of their shadow. His most remarkable discovery was that of Jupi- ter’s satellites and Saturn’s ring. He it was, too, who noticed the sun’s spots for the first time. In 1610, he was appointed grand- ducal mathematician and philosopher, He now became a prominent man in the eyes of the whole civilized world. But narrow-minded and bigoted men were more engaged than ever to overthrow his philosophy, and humble him in the dust. The monks preached against him. He was, in fact, obliged to go to Rome, to make his peace with the Pope and the cardinals. This he could only accomplish by promising that he would maintain his system no farther, either by his words or his Writings. It was with the utmost difficulty that he escaped falling into the hands of the Inquisition, even after this promise. Some years after he published a work, which drew down upon his head un- numbered vials of wrath. This time he in equal times, increase as the numbers | was not so successful with the ecclesias- V 2 J¥ HIS most remarkable man was born at Pisa, in Italy, in the year 1564. When he was only nine- teen, the swinging of a lamp suspended from the ceiling of the cathe- dral in Pisa, led him to investigate the laws of the swinging of a pendulum, which he was the first to apply as a measure of time. His active mind was constantly occupied with the great laws of nature, and he found out a great many of those which, until his time, were un- known. Some of the opinions which he maintained were not only new, but ex- tremely obnoxious to the disciples of the Romish church—a church which, you know, insists on deciding what a man may believe, and what he may not be- lieve. For asserting, especially, that the earth and other planets revolved, in Separate orbits, around the sun, he was severely persecuted. He was, indeed, obliged to give up the professorship of mathematics, a post to which he had been elected when quite a youth, on account of this and similar notions, which were regarded as intolerable heresies, It was Galileo who discovered that the spaces through which a body falls, “~ THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ND tical powers. A congregation of cardi- nals and monks examined his work, con- demned it as containing dangerous here- sies, and summoned him _ before the tribunal of the inquisition. Galileo was compelled to go to Rome in the winter of 1633, where he languished for some months in the prisons of the inquisition. He was finally condemned to renounce his peculiar theories, which he did in presence of an assembly of ignorant monks, kneeling before them, with his hand upon the Gospel. At the moment when he rose from his knees, vexed with himself with having sworn contrary to the firm convictions of his judgment, he exclaimed, stamping his foot violently, « E pur si muove,” (“and yet it moves !’) Upon this he was sentenced to the dun- geons of the inquisition for an indefinite time, and every week, for three years, was to repeat the seven penitential psalms of David. His judges, however, were merciful enough to commute this punishment to banishment to the parish of Arceti, not far from Florence. Blindness, deafness, and want of sleep, united to embitter the last years of Gali- ie0’s life. He died the same year that Isaac Newton was born. What a coin- cidence. The Intemperate Girl. BY J. P. MCORD. 4 GIRL guilty of intemperance !— how shocking and deplorable !”’ So I seem to hear my young readersexclaim. Shocking and deplorable, indeed, for a man to be in- temperate—much more for a little girl. But perhaps you are thinking worse of lier than you ought. A person may be intemperate in other things besides rum, cider, and the like; he may be intempe- rate in the use of food; and this is the kind of intemperance in whieh the girl indulged, of whom I am about to write. I shall eall her name Delia. One summer’s day, when Delia had got home from school, she sat down at the tea-table. Her studies, her play, and a walk of a mile, had given her a keen appetite; and she was delighted to see before her enough to gratify it. Besides excellent bread and butter, the table was supplied with nice custard pie, and plenty of delicious strawberries. Delia ate heartily, and you may be sure she was as attentive to the strawberries as to anything else, Afterall had taken a proper share of them, some were still left. Her mother told her she had bet- ter eat no more of them; but they were so tempting to her taste, that she con- tinued to eat till none remained. But she paid dear enough for not attending to her mother’s caution. She soon be- came quite unwell, and before half of the night had passed, she was so sick that she called for her mother. She vomited more than once, and disturbed her mother’s rest the remainder of the night. She was not able to go to school again for several days. Thus you see, my young friends, that we may be intemperate in food as well as in strong drink, and that this kind of intemperance also is followed by sad consequences. Food should be taken to nourish and strengthen us, not for the mere pleasure of eating. Fruit is good and wholesome ; but, like common food, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 25 Srnec re it should be eaten in proper quantities, |he did in nearly the following words. and at proper times. The excessive in- | Whether his statements contain anything dulgence of appetite is injurious to|new, I am not certain; they were at health and comfort, and an abuse of the | least new to me. WM. A. ALOOTT. gifts of Providence. Solomon speaks of the effect of taking too freely of delicious fare: ‘‘ Hast thou found honey ?” he says; “eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith, and vomit it.”—Prov. xxy. 16. And in another place, he uses this language: ‘When thou sittest to. eat with a ruler, consider diligently what is before thee; and put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appe- tite. Be not desirous of his dainties ; for they are deceitful meat.” I suppose he means—not that we should cut our throats, when our palates feel the strength of temptation—but that we should do violence to our unreasonable appetites; that when rich dainties are before us, we should deny ourselves, though it be as painful as drawing a knife across our throats. There are other places in the Bible which show that temperance in food, drink, and everything else, is placed by the wisest of men among the most excellent vir- tues. The spider, when about to cross a pond or stream of water, will run a little way, and then give a spring or leap from the bank, upon its surface. I suppose that they prepare themselves for their voyage while in the act of leaping; for I always find that when they strike the water, they are ready to sail, They use some of their legs for sails, others for oars, and one for a rudder. By holding up different legs, and in greater or less number, they will sail faster or slower, as well as vary their direction.. They tack, as ships do, when necessary. I have watched them onthe New Haven and Northampton canal, in Connecticut, and seen them cross it when there was quite a heavy wind blowing in the opposite direction. When all is fa- vorable, they sometimes sail so fast as to leave a considerable ripple behind them. The kind of spider referred to is that whose nests are often seen hung upon the grass in the morning. It is of a brown color, e- ame The Spider a Sailor. Seandal. Dr. Jounson, being once in company with some seandal-mongers, one of them having accused an absent friend of re- sorting to rouge, he abserved, “It is perhaps, after all, much better for a lady to redden her own cheeks, than to blacken other people’s characters.” r. Eprror,—My son, now eleven years old, who is something of an observer, has often told me many curious things about the spider; and, among other things, about his skill as a sailor, The other day I asked him to dictate to me, that I might write you on the subject, which | before. 2b School-Boy Days. a Y\<7Z - Be SS as, VERYBODY, al ro (Maa Soss% most, loves to ott SRY Ss 2s . ; GOS hear people talk <¥ wr ili IS \ DS + Zona ‘ia ey N girls at school. SS I never knew the time, in my life, when, though all other experiments for entertaining a group of children might fail, I could not make their eyes brighten with interest, when I began to recount some of the scenes that took place at the school in my native village. I am not, however, going to tell any of these stories at pre- sent, boys and girls. I hardly know, in the first place, that I have any new ones to tell. I am not by any means sure that I could think of anything worth mentioning, which you have not heard SSS — SSS Syi( > A 7s ~~ S- = 5 —! - z f , > ———— : | > —— Ja = p 4 = SOWLAND os THE YOUTH’S CABINET. oo Besides, I have recently stum- bled upon something in this particular line of story-telling, a great deal more readable than anything contained in my budget of school-boy recollections. I have been reading the description of a district school in England, given by Thomas Miller, the ingenious basket- maker, and entertaining story-teller. It was only the other day that I came across this sketch ; and I have laughed outright at least a dozen times since, when it has accidentally come into my mind. It would seem from this picture, that there is a great deal of difference between the common schools of this country and those in England. The boys in many of our schools are rude and unruly enough, and it is sufficient by difficult, one would think, to get an idea into their skulls. But I imagine one would have to hunt a good while on this side of the Atlantic ocean, to find such a barbarous set of fellows as Mr. Miller describes. I should hope so, at any rate. BOYS LET LOOSE FROM scCHOOL. ‘Tt is not every boy’—says the story- telling basket maker—‘ who knows what a downright village school is, such a one as I have before me at this moment, where I passed some of my early days. You ought to have seen the scholars, — e Poe 3 ee . ie ade when they were let out of the school- | house. But as, perhaps, you never en- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 27 joyed such a privilege, I will give you a picture of the scene, from the hands of the engraver. Most of the scholars were ragged and dirty, stupid and saucy. It took them days and days of practice to make straight strokes, and pot hooks, and round O’s. ‘Their round O’s had sometimes three corners, sometimes more. Their straight strokes were not unlike a dog’s hinder leg; and as to their hooks, they went up and down, a little to the right and a little to the left, and were so entangled and twisted, and _ ran so often the one into the other, that, for the life of you, you could not tell where they began nor where they ended. In their sums, they made two and two five. They carried one to four, and made seven of it easily ; took six from nine, and left anything behind you please, from thirteen to thirty; carried one to eight, and made fifteen of it, as quick as a wink; made three and sixpence out of sixty pence; and in casting up twelve pounds of butter, at a shilling and a halfpenny a pound, they were pretty sure to come near double the number of shillings, either under or over, X and Z they made vowels of, and turned E and O into consonants, They found a plural in a single pen; but a score was with them singular, They pronounced an- ique “ antikew,” and fatigue “ fatigew,” nd no “ Noah,” They spelled com- and “cumhand.” In their statements as they went home, in the streams they passed. They held their pens as a house-maid does a poker; and when they had blotted their copy-books all Over, so as to leave no space to write, they finished by blacking each other’s faces with the remainder of the ink. They broke up their slates to play at “pitch and toss” with; and after the schoolmaster had whacked them, so that his arm fairly ached, they sat down upon the benches, as if nothing at all had happened, and said they “ didn’t care.” If, to punish them, he withheld their dinners till they went home, by keeping hold of the basket in which their pro- visions were stored,’and they could by any chance get outside the door, they rioted to excess on a raw turnip, ban- queted, like an emperor, on beet-root, and were in perfect ecstacy over a green cabbage. If they could but get hold of the cane with which they had been beaten, they cut it up into small pieces tosmoke, They got astride the benches, when their *master’s back was turned, and made them rear up, and played at horses. There was scarcely a tree, for miles round the school-house, that they could not clamber up—no garden hedge so thick, but they contrived to get through it—no stable in the neighbor- hood, out of which they could not get the shaggy pony, if they took a fancy to do so. They could run like greyhounds, throw a stone to within an inch of the object they aimed at, and when they had done wrong, hide themselves in »{Such holes and corners as you would Joined each other; and Africa was with only think a rat would ever dream of hem a market-town, where they sold | getting into. Sometimes they managed Striches’ eggs, They tore up their books | to arrive at school just in time to see the make paper boats of, and swam them, | better-behaved scholars leaving. ee PP ne CES, ee ee ge ee ee ee ie ae ee —-s ZEA —— 6%) S22 a = - MUAAVAMLAANA TS WAVE ENE 7 aii mT : | Mh NY NW | | ) | Wi ——— STATUE OF WESLEY, AT RICHMOND, ENGLAND. John Wesley. ( nent divine. _ lived. _ retains to this day. 3 England, in the year. 1703. ; ‘more deeply felt in the family circle. “John’s mind, early in his childhood, from which sprang his future eminence. “Serious Call.” This book, with some others of a similar character, awakened in his mind a strong religious fervor. “He earnestly inquired what he should “do to be saved, and, as he then hoped, ‘through the influence of the Spirit of “God, he became a disciple of Christ, “and was adopted into the divine family. An after life, however, it would seem that e dated his conversion at a later period. Boon after he became familiar with the books above alluded to, he, in connection with several other students of the uni- ersity, formed an association, which met at stated times, for the purpose of eligious worship, and for the mutual emprovement of its members. THE YOUTHS CABINET. EW men of modern times have ac- complished more than this emi- Few have left a more indelible and extended im- pression upon the age in which they He was the founder of that Christian sect which has received the name of Methodists, and gave to it a character, which, to a great extent, it John Wesley was born in Epsworth, His father _ was a clergyman of the Church of Eng- land. Although a man of considerable talent and of decided piety, it seems that i the influence of the mother was much “She it was who sowed those seeds in “which afterward took deep root, and hile John was in college, he read Law’s their habits. They did not live as the rest of the students lived. They were more sober, more exemplary than the rest. On this account the students, in ridicule, called them Methodists. But Wesley and his friends did not care what name they went by. They were more anxious to get to heaven, and to lend their aid to other pilgrims in their journey heavenward, than for anything else. So the name which was given in derision to these praying people came at length to be adopted by the Methodists themselves. Among the young men of the univer- sity, who were associated with Wesley, was the celebrated George Whitefield. Wesley and Whitefield were very inti- mate while pursuing their studies pre- paratory to the Christian ministry, and for some time after they commenced preaching. But a breach occurred event- ually, which, as in the case of Paul and Barnabas, separated them. Wesley’s was a busy life. In 1785, he commenced his labors in a college which had then recently been established in Georgia. He remained here, however, only a year and nine months. He per- formed, in preaching from place to place, an almost incredible amount of svork. For upward of fifty years, he preached frequently twice, and sometimes four or five times a day, for weeks together. Besides this, he presided with the most minute superintendence over all the pub- lic affairs of the rapidly growing com- munity, which looked to him as its head, transacted a great deal of private busi- ness, and sent to the press between thirty and forty volumes. No man knew better than Wesley the importance of small things. His.whole 30 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. By =) || GRESS publishlat Phi } J} \adelphia Nev 21776 <= F F ‘y o Py ti og fj. NY Ye j ™ j Fi . ee . CY , FAY ye (iT nomen = . My - da aX ar it Sa oe rath . sie HS aa a AN NS . \ “e ss — hed: BLANEY = AS 1 SER : ae! Me tl" eee, 2's es S za. — 1S way. Se Ss Re” eee = Zo The Crocodile. A FABLE FOR LITTLE FOLKS AND GREAT ONES TOO. BY MRS. J. L. GRAY. On the banks of the fertile and many-mouthed Nile, A long time ago, lived a fierce Crocodile, Who round him was spreading a vast desolation, For bloodshed and death seemed his chief oc~ypation. ’T'was easy to see No pity had he; His tears were but water—there all could agree. The sheep he devour’d, and the shepherd, I ween; The herd fear’d to graze in the pastures so green; And the farmer himself, should he happen to meet. him, The monster ne’er scrupled a moment to eat nim, There never before Was panic so sore, On the banks of the Nile, as this creature spread o’er. Wherever he went, all were flying before him, Though some, in their blindness, thought fit to adore him; But as they came near, each his suit to prefer, This god made a meal of his base worshiper. By day and by night, It was his delight His votaries to eat—it was serving them right. Grown proud of his prowess, puff’d up with success, The reptile must travel—how could he do less? So, one fine summer morning, he set out by water, On a pleasure excursion—his pleasure was slaughter !— To Tentyra’s isle, To visit awhile, The careless inhabitants there to beguile. 86 , THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The men of Tentyra were able before To conquer each monster that came to their shore; But now they, with horror, were fain to confess That the crocodile. gave, them. no, little distress. So. in great conatemation, A grand, consultation, Was ealld to, convene, of the head: ofthe nation. It met; but alas such tho. terror. and fright, They fail’d to distinguish the wrong from the right ; When, just at this crisis, an Ichneumon small Stept forth on the platform, in front of them all, With, modesty winning, To give his opinion , Of measures and means to secure the dominion. “Grave sirs,” said he, bowing, “I see your distress, And your griefs are, I fear me, past present redress; Yet still, if to listen should be your good pleasure. I think I can help you, at least, in a measure: For ’tis my impression, A little discretion Than valor itself is a far greater blessing. No doubt, ’tis a noble and great undertaking, Great war on a mighty great foe to be making But still, I assure you, ’tis better by far Not to let this great foe become mighty for war. While the crocodile lies In an egg of small size, To crush him at once you should never despise. You see me before you, a poor, feeble creature : Yet I cope with this monster—for such is my nature, And while you have met here in grand consultation, This one crocodile to expel from the nation, I thought it a treat For breakfast to eat. A dozen or more, which I happen’d to meet.” And now that my fable is pretty near ended, I think there should be a brief moral appended : Beware how you let evil habits grow up. While feeble and young, you to crush them may hope ; , But let them remain Till strength they attain, You may find your best efforts to conquer them vain, Easton, Pa. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Are Children all Kings ? S eeeeeenatell BY DR. W. A. ALCOTT. | nere is a book of high authority to be found in our libraries, in which all mankind are represent- ed as kings. Now, as children belong to the race, it would seem that they are kings also. For a king is a sovereign, or ruler. Does not one of the definitions of Noah Webster’s great dictionary say so? And are not children rulers, along with their parents and other friends, over a mul- titude which no man can number? If I have excited your curiosity, my young friends, by these remarks, it is but right that I should gratify it. It is but right that I should tell you what I mean ; and in what old book of authority it is, and in what chapter and verse, you are constituted kings. If you look in the first chapter of Genesis, at the twenty-eighth verse, you will find the following language :— «‘ have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowls of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.” Now, whose words, think you, were these ; and to whom were they directed ? Were they not the words of the King of kings, and addressed to the first pair of our race—to those from whom all the rest of the human race were to descend ? Were not you and I, and the whole of the present generation, thus placed over the present animal tribes, both of sea and land? | And what was the object of the great Creator, the King of kings, and Lord of lords, in thus making us all kings over V. 6 87 {he countless millions, which, by the breath of his power, he has formed ? Was it that we should rule them as with a tod of iron; of in gentleness, and ten- derness, and love? might promote their happiness; or was it that we might exercise our power— exercise our “dominion”—in making them miserable ? Was it that we These questions may be answered, by ascertaining what are the duties of a good king to his human subjects? How does a good king of Great Britain, for exam- ple, exercise dominion over the many millions of his subjects, so as to atiswer the intentions of God concerning him? Not, most certainly, in making them labor to such an extent as to render them mere slaves. Not in keeping them in ignorance all their lives. Not in mak- ing war against them. Not in frighten- ing away to the woods all who survive the general massacre. The good child, who is conscious that he ig made a king of the animals around him, will do all in his power to pro mote their happiness. He will not make war upon birds or, fishes, unless under the most absolute and pressing necessity. Unless he greatly needs them for food, or is annoyed by thém in an unusual degree, he will not hunt, fish, or entrap them. He will greatly prefer to feed thém. My residence is nearly stirrounded by chestnut trees, and the place is some- times called “Chestnut Grove.” Birds, in gteat numbers, frequent the place, both in winter and summer. Only the other day, though the weather was quite cold, and the sndéw father deep, no less than five or six sparrows came around the door, where the crumbs from the table had been thrown, and even hopped MAB 88 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. eee eee en . into the piazza. There were little child- ren in my family, and they saw the birds, and even made provision for them, by scattering more crumbs. Was not this to exercise their kingly power in a proper manner? What if they had thrown stones at them, or in any other way frightened them? Would a good king of Great Britain or Spain delight in frightening his subjects? Would he not prefer to do them a favor, as often as possible ? Would that all our children-kings loved the birds and fishes, and, indeed, the whole animal creation, and took as much pains to make tieir subjects happy as many now do to make them miserable! Many wonder that wars continue— such wars, for example, as the war against Mexico. But why should not they who are trained to make war on all the inferior animals, which God has placed under their care, follow on in the same path, as far as Mexico? It would be strange, to me, if they should not do so. Obedience and Disobedience. HEN children are away from home, they are bound to obey those to whose care their 7 parents have entrusted them. Three boys, Robert, George, and Alfred, went to spend a week with a gentleman, who took them to be agreeable, well-be- haved boys. There was a great pond near his house, with a floodgate, where the water ran out. It was cold weather, and the pond was frozen over; but the gentleman knew that the ice was very thin near the floodgate. The first morn- ing after they came, he told them they might go and slide on the pond, if they would not go near the floodgate. Soon after they were gone, he followed them, to see that they were safe. When he got there, he found Robert sliding in the very place where he had told him not to go. This was disobedience outright. George was walking sullenly by the side of the pond, not so much as sliding at all, because he had been forbidden to venture on the dangerous part. This was sullen obedience ; which is, in reality, no obedience at all, because it comes not from the heart. But Alfred was cheer- fully enjoying himself, in a capital long slide, upon a safe part of the pond. This was true obedience. Suddenly, the ice broke where Robert was sliding ; he im- mediately went under water, and it was with difficulty that his life was saved. The gentleman concluded that Alfred was a lad of integrity, but that his two brothers were not to be trusted. Obe- dience secured him happiness, and the confidence of the kind gentleman with whom he was staying; while the others deprived themselves of enjoyment, lost the gentleman’s confidence, and one of them nearly lost his life; and yet, to slide on the dangerous part of the pond would have added nothing to their en- joyment. They desired it from mere wilfulness, because it was forbidden. This disposition indulged, will always lead boys into difficulty; and if they cherish it while boys, it will go with them through life, and keep them always “in hot water.” There is never any- thing lost by obedience to parents, while there is often a great deal gained by it. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Jonah’s Gourd. Great number of people—and I should not be surprised if some of my readers were among the number — suppose that the Gourd which sheltered Jonah from the heat of the sun, was the same plant which now goes by the name of the gourd. That is a mistake, however. The plant which is so called in Scrip- ture, is so different from our gourd, that I have had a picture made of it, that my readers may form a correct notion of it, Do you remember the story of the gourd, that afforded so comfortable a shade for the prophet? Jonah had been sent by the Lord to preach to the people of Nineveh, and to tell them, that unless they repented, the city would. be destroyed in forty days. His preaching, it would seem, had more effect than that of many preachers of the present day- At all events, the Ninevites believed what the prophet said, and set them- selves in earnest about the business of reformation. ‘They proclaimed a fast, and put on sackcloth, from the king down to the meanest of the inhabitants. God is always merciful, and disposed to forgive, when he sees any signs of repentance. He forgave the people of Nineveh. He did not destroy them, as he had threatened to do, if they failed to heed the preaching of his prophet. Jonah did not like this. He had takena good deal of pains to publish the de- cision of God, in relation to the city ; and now, it would appear, he wanted to see the city destroyed. He was angry, and told God that he thought it was better for him to die than to live. However, he did not quite despair of seeing the divine sentence executed upon 90 THE YOUTHS CABINET. a_i ssssstshessessesstesesessshsary Nineveh. So he went outa little dis- tance from the city, where he could have a good view of it, and made him a tent, determining to remain there until the’ matter which lay so near his heart was decided. The sun was very hot there; and God “ prepared a gourd, and made it'to come up over Jonah, that it might be a shadow over his head.” Jonah was delighted with this gourd. But the very next day, God sent an east wind, and destroyed the gourd. Poor Jonah! when the sun rose, the heat was very severe; and he fainted, and said again, that it was better for him to die than to live. Now comes the lesson which the Lord meant to teach the prophet. “Do- est thou well to grieve* for the gourd ?” “I do well to grieve,” he replied, “ even unto death.” Then said the Lord, “Thou hast had pity on the gourd, for which thou hast not labored, neither madest it to grow, which came up in a night, and perished in a night; and should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than six-score thousand persons, that cannot discern _ between their right hand and their left hand, and much cattle ?” This gourd, that Jonah mourned over so much, is described by Jerome, acele- brated father in the Christian church, who flourished in the fourth century, as a kind of shrub, having broad leaves like the vine, affording a very thick shade, and supported by its own stem. It grows very abundantly in Palestine, and chiefly in sandy places. If one throws the seed upon the ground, it springs up little here from the translation in our English version. I think the idea of grief, rather than anger, is conveyed in the original. immediately, and grows wonderfully fast. Within a few days after the plant is out of the ground, it becomes quite a little tree. The fruit of this shrub is of a tri- angular form, with three sharp- pointed edges. It is proper to mention, however, that there is some little doubt as to what par- ticular plant the gourd was. The con- test respecting this question grew so high between Jerome and Augustine, who lived at the same time, that, according to some historians—we hope that part of the story is not true—these two venera- ble fathers absolutely proceeded from hard words to blows, and tried to beat the truth into each other’s heads with their fists! It is said, too, that Augus- tine accused his friend Jerome of heresy, at Rome, because of his opinion respect- ing the gourd. How ridiculous! espe- cially as neither of these men pretended to have seen the plant which he had fixed upon as the one mentioned in Scripture ! Vanity of Elizabeth. ALEIGH informs us that Queen Elizabeth, in the days of her de- | | crepitude, ordered all pictures of herself, done by artists who had not flattered her ugliness, to be collected and burned; and in 1593, she issued a proclamation forbidding all persons, save _ “ especial cunning painters, to draw her likeness.” She quarreled at last with her looking-glass, as well as with her painters. During the latter years of her life, the maids of honor removed mir- rors, as they would have removed poison, from the apartments of royal pride. (THE YOUTHS CABINET. 91 RES The Count and the Peasant. TRANSLATED FROM THB FRENCH FOR THE CABINET, BY THE EDITOR, into a store, and the counter, he beg- gs ged the merchant to lend him six francs on this pledge. “Do you take me for a fool?’ said the merchant. “J would not lend two sous on tuch a piece of rubbish.” «Whatever it may be,” replied the peasant, “I would not part with it for twenty crowns; but at this moment, I happen to have great need of the money I ask of you. I sold some wheat about a week ago, and I ought to have re- ceived the money for it to-day. I reck- oned on this amount to pay my tax to- morrow, in order to save my property from being seized by the collector. But the poor man who owes me, has been called to bury his son. His wife is sick with grief; and they are unable to pay me until eight days from this time. As I have often bought goods of you, and as you know me to be an honest man, I thought you would not hesitate to lend me these six francs, which I need so much. The amount is nothing for you; it is much for me. But however that + may be, there is my hat, which I will leave in pledge. It is much better se- curity than you seem to regard it.” The merchant only laughed, and shrugged his shoulders, and unfeelingly shut the door in the face of the peasant. }- The Count of C—— happened to be in the store at the time. He had listened ) we day, a peasant went placing his hat on’ attentively to the conversation, and had . been struck with the air of honesty which appeared in the countenance of the peasant. He approached him, as the merchant was turning him out of the store, and put the six francs into his hand, saying, pleasantly— “Here is what you asked for, my friend. Since you find it so difficult to get the money of others, I shall have the pleasure of obliging you myself.” As he said these words, he went hastily out of the store, casting behind him a look of indignation at the merchant, en- tered his carriage, and drove off. He was nearly out of sight, before the peasant, struck dumb with astonishment and joy, had come a little to himself. A month after this, as the count was crossing the King’s Bridge, in his car- riage, he heard some one crying to the coachman to stop. He put his head out of the window, and saw, on the footpath, a man running at the top of his speed, following his horses. He immediately pulled the cord, asa signal for the coach- man to stop; and the man ran up to the window of the carriage, and said to the count— “T hope you will excuse me, sir; I am quite out of breath, trying to over- — take you. Are you not the gentleman who slipped six francs into my hand, in a store, about a month ago?” «Yes, my friend. I recollect the cir- cumstance,” said the count. «“ Well, sir, here is the money that I received from you. When you gave it to me, you did not leave time enough +. 92 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. sss for me to thank you, still less to inquire your name and place of residence. The merchant did not know you. So Ihave come here every Sunday since that day, to see if you would not cross the bridge. Happily, I have. found you to-day, I should never have had any peace until I'had met you. May God bless you— you and your children—for the good you have done me!” “T rejoice,” replied the count, “in being able to oblige so honest a man; but I assure you, that I did not intend to have you return this money. I meant to have you receive it as a small present.” _ “T knew nothing of that, sir; and I have never received money before, except when I earned it. I had done nothing for you, and you had done enough for me, in lending the money. I beg you to receive it.” “No, my friend ; it belongs no more to you nor to me. Do me the favor to buy something with it for your children, and present this little keepsake to them in my name,” “Very well; on these conditions, it _ ‘would ill become me to refuse you.” _ “Well, say no more about the mat- ter. But answer me one question. How came you to ask so confidently for six francs, on the pledge of your hat, which is hardly worth six sous? I have had my curiosity a good deal excited respect- ing that matter, ever since the other day when we met,” “ That hat is worth everything to me, sir.” “ How is that, my friend ?” “T will give you the history of it: Some years ago, the son of the lord of our village, as he was sliding on a small pond near the castle, fell through the ice, I was at work near the place, and hear- ing the cries of the lad, I ran to the spot, leaped into the hole, and had the happiness of rescuing the boy, and of presenting him alive to his father. The youth was not ungrateful for the service I rendered him. He gave me several acres of land, with a little sum of money, sufficient to enable me to build a cottage, and to set me up in housekeeping. And this was not all. As I had lost my hat in the water, he placed his own on my ‘head, saying, as he did it, that he wished he was able to put a crown in its place. Tell me, now, if you do not think I ought to prize this hat? I do not wear it in the field, when I am at work. Everything there recalls sufficiently the memory of my benefactor, although he is now dead. My children, my wife, my cottage, my land—they all speak of him tome. But when I go to the city, I al- ways wear this hat, so as to have some- thing about me to remind me of him. I am sorry it begins to wear out. Do you see? It shows for itself. But as long as there is a single morsel of it re- maining, it will be invaluable to me.” The count had been an attentive lis- tener to this story ; and when it was com- pleted, he took from his portfolio a card, and giving it to the peasant, said, “Here is my address, my friend. I must leave you now. But do me the favor to call upon me to-morrow morn- ing.” The peasant was punctual at the ap- pointed hour. As soon as he was an- nounced, the count ran to meet him, and taking him by the hand, he said to him, “My dear friend, you have not saved an only son for me; but you have rendered THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. 93 An Awkward Mistake. rarmeR, who had purchased a calf from a butcher, desired him to drive it to his farm, and place ‘t in his stable, which he ac- cordingly did. Now, it happened, that almost every day,a man with a grinding organ and dancing bear, passing by that way, began their antics in front of the farm. After amusing the farmer, for some time, the organ man entered the farm-house, and asked the farmer if he could give him a night's lodging. The farmer replied, he could give the man Jodging, but he was at a loss where to put the bear, After musing a little, he determined to bring the calf inside the house for that night, and place the bear in the stable, which was done. Now, the butcher, expecting the calf would re- main in the stable all night, resolved to steal it before morning; and the farmer and his guest were in the night awaken- ed by a fearful yelling from the out- building. Both got up, and taking a lantern, entered the stable, where the farmer found, to his surprise, the butcher of whom he had bought the calf, in the grasp of the bear, which was hugging him tremendously ; for he could not bite, being muzzled. The farmer immediately understood the state of the case, and briefly mentioned the circumstance to the owner of the bear, who, to punish the butcher for his intended theft, called out to the bear, “ Hug him, Tommy !” which the bear did in real earnest, the butcher roaring most hideously the whole time. After they thought he had suffered enough, thay set him free, and the butcher walked off, glad to eseape with his life — Selected. me a great service, for all that. You have made me love men more, by proving to me that there are still hearts full of honesty and gratitude. As hats figure with so much honor on your head, there is one for you. I do not ask that you give up that of your benefactor ; I only desire that when you cannot wear that any longer, you treat mine in the same way; and every year, on the same day, you shall find another, to take the place of the old one.” This act, on the part of the count, was only an honest artifice, to which he re- sorted to manage the pride of one on whom he was conferring a favor. After having gained the heart of the peasant ‘n this manner, he more easily found the way, without wounding the feelings of the peasant, to relieve the wants of his family, who had been almost ruined by misfortune. It was not long before he had the satisfaction of seeing that fami- ly as happy in their gratitude for acts of kindness, as he was in performing them. Call ye me Poor? Call ye me poor? The sunbeams smile As warmly, brightly on my home, Though ’tis an humble log-built pile, As on the lordly palace dome. Call ye me poor? Content am I My lot to bear, where’er it be ; Though grief may sometimes cloud my sky, I'll hope a brighter day to see. Call ye me poor? I am not s0, While God’s rich bounty still is mine ; To him my all of good I owe— Whom, scorner, owest thou for thine ? 94 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. eS ———— ESS a }) 4 s Pu a Rocking Stones. HAVE seen some very large boulders of rocks in different parts of the country, so poised upon a rocky base, that a child can move them with one hand. At Fall River, in Mas- sachusetts, there is such a boulder. It is an enormous piece of rock, weighing, according to the estimate of the cele- brated geologist, Professor Hitchcock, upward of five thousand tons. A view of it is given in the engraving. This stone, as you see, at the point where it touches the rock on which it rests, is quite small; so that it can be very easily made to move. When a boy, I remember there was a rock of this description not far from my father’s house. It was situated near the top of a high hill, and it used often to be a part of the amusement of all the boys in the neighborhood, on Saturday afternoons, when there was no school, to visit the famous stone, and to set it a- rocking backwards and forwards. We sometimes aspired to a much greater feat, too. Wegot together all our available force, and by means of a large number of levers, we tried hard to overturn the stone, and to set it rolling down the hill. It is due to the stone, nevertheless, to add, that, either because it did not fancy such an excursion, or because it was dis- inclined to change in general, or for some other reason, it never left its old po- sition. It is a cause of a good deal of specu- lation among geologists, how such boul- ders as these were ever split off from the rock of which they originally formed a part, and how they were carried, as it is evident they were carried, in some in- stances, to such a great distance from their first position. We sometimes find hundreds, weighing several tons each, miles from the place where that species of rock is formed. It puzzles the wise heads a good deal. There are, in fact, a great many puzzling things about ge- ology. The little I know about the science gives me a keen apetite for more knowledge respecting it. It is a most interesting study; and I advise all my young friends to look into it, by all means, if they get a chance. THE YOUTH'S CABINET. The Four: Words. « ( SOGVE ovr little words did ~“Y me more good, when I was a boy, than almost any- thing else,” said a Doing friend to me the other day. “I can- | not reckon up all SSR the good they have » RD | done; they were the first ¢! We ~ words: that my mother ee Ms taught me.” i “Indeed! What were Vitae the four little words?’ said I. He answered me by relat- ing the following story : My father grafted a pear-tree ; it was a very choice graft, and he watched it with great care. The second year, it blossomed, but it bore but.one pear. It was said to be a very nice kind of pear, and my father was anxious to see if the fruit came up to the promises of the man who gave him the graft. This sin- gle pear, then, was. an object of some concern to my father. He wanted it to become fully ripe. The high winds, he hoped, would riot blow off the pear ; and he gave express directions to all the children on no account to touch it. The graft was low, and easily reached by us. It grew finely. “I think that graft will meet my expectations,” said my fa- ther many times to my mother. “1 hope now there is some prospect of our having good pears.” Everybody who came into the garden he took to the graft, and everybody said, “Jt will prove to be a most excellent pear.” It began to look very beautiful. ¥ 95 It was full and round, a rich glow was dyeing its cheeks, and its grain was clear and healthy. «Ts it not. almost ripe? I long for a bite,” I cried, as I followed father one day down the alley to the pear-tree. « Wait patiently, my child ; it will not be fully ripe for a week,” said my father. I thought I loved pears better than anything else. Iused often to stop and look longingly up to this. Oh, how — good it looks! I used often to think, smacking my lips. I wish it was all mine. The early apples did not taste as good, the currants were not as relish- ing, and the damsons I thought nothing of in comparison with this pear. The longer I stopped under the pear-tree, the greater my longing for it. Oh, I wish I had it! was the selfish thought that gradually got uppermost in my mind. One night, after we were in bed, my brothers fell asleep long before I did; I tossed about, and could not get to sleep. It was a warm, still, summer night; there was no moon; no noise except the hum of numberless insects. My father and my mother were gone away. I put my head out of the window, and peeped into the garden; I snuffed pleasant smells. I traced the dark outlines of the trees. I glanced in the direction of the pear-tree. The pear-tree—then the pear! My mouth was parched ; I was thirsty. I thought how good would a juicy pear taste. I was tempted. A few moments found me creeping down the back stairs, with neither shoes, stockings, nor trowsers on. The slightest creaking frightened me. I stopped on every stair to listen. Nancy was busy somewhere else, and John had gone to bed. At last I fairly felt my way to the 96 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. garden door. It was fastened. It seemed to take me ages to unlock it, so fearful was I of making a noise, and the bolt grated. I got it open, went out, and latched it after me. It was good to get out in the cool air. Iran down to the walk. The patting of my feet made no noise on the moist earth. I stopped a moment, and looked all around, then turned in the direction of the pear-tree. Presently I was beneath its branches. Father will think the wind has knock- ed it off—but there was not a breath of air stirring. Father will think some- body has stolen it—some boys came in the night, and robbed the garden; he’ll never know. Such were my thoughts. I trembled at the thought of what I was about todo. Oh, it will taste so good! and father will never know it. He never would think I took it. On tiptoe, with my hand uplifted, and my head turned upward, I beheld astar looking down upon me through the leaves. ‘“TuHou, Gop, serst ME!” I could not help say- ing over and over again. God seemed on every side. He was looking me through and through. I was afraid to look, and hid my face. It seemed as if father and mother, and all the boys, and everybody in town, would take me for a thief. It appeared as though all my con- duct had been seen as by the light of day. It was some time before I dared to move, so vivid was the impression made upon my mind by the awful truth in those four words, ‘“ Thou, God, seest me.” I knew he saw me. I hastened from the pear-tree ; nothing on earth would at that moment have tempted me to touch the pear. With very different feelings did I creep back to bed again. I lay down beside Asa, feeling more like a criminal than anything else. Noone in the house had seen me, but oh! it seemed as if everybody knew it, and I should never dare to meet my father’s face again. It was a great while before I went to sleep. I heard my parents come home, and I involunta- rily hid my face under the sheet. But I could not hide myself from the sense of God’s presence. His eyes seemed every- where, diving into the very depths of my heart. It started a train of influ- ences, which, God be praised, I never got over.—School Friend. ——— > Danger of Early Drinking. youne gentleman, who lived in a large house, in a beautiful valley, had plenty of money, and had he been wise, would have done much good in many ways. But when he was a little boy, he was accustomed to drink liquor. He very soon learned to love it. He became a common drunkard, and narrowly escaped death several times. Very early one Sunday morning, when very drunk, he attempted to cross the river near his house, and was drowned. He was carried home a corpse. What a distressing sight this must have been to his mother, and for his brother and sisters! And especially, to think what had become of his soul! Surely they would never drink any liquor again, but hate the taste of it. Surely all the young people who knew him, would dread the thought of touching that which had caused his death. Well, let us learn this one lesson—never to drink such liquor.— Selected. THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. 97 Dick, the Squirrel. nr, Eprror,—When I was a lad of twelve, my father took me with him on a summer tour through Western New- York. On our return, stopping in Rochester, as we walked through the streets, a splendid squirrel caught my eye, as he was merrily turning the wheel of his cage. I besought my father to purchase him ; for my heart had for some time been set upon such a possession. He did so; and we bore the squirrel away in triumph, by stage and steam- boat, to New-York. He was called Dick, was perfectly tame, allowed me to pull his mouth open, to show his long, sharp teeth to visitors, and was in all respects a remarkable animal. He had, much of the time, free range of the house; and such antics as he used to cut up in the parlor, were never surpassed by quad- ruped, or biped either, for that matter. At night, he slept in bed with myself and brother. That he was a great pet, you may well suppose. A few months passed along, and the mournful 9th of October, 1834, arrived, when, on my re- turn from school, I learned, amid gen- mitted. eral weeping, that poor Dick had run out of the front door into the street, where a dog immediately seized and killed him. A friend, who then resided in the family, composed the following appropriate lines on the occasion, which are herewith sub- w. W. P. Hartrorp, Cr. LINES ON THE DEATH OF A PET SQUIRREL. Poor Richard Dick is dead and buried, And o’er the Styx is safely ferried ; A wicked dog poor Richard worried, And from this world of acorns hurried. He was not thinking of his doom, But crack’d his nuts in William’s room: Alas! poor squirrels only know The trees where nuts and acorns grow. But Dick desired to see the city, Like many who deserve our pity ; The moment Dick the threshold pass’, I weep to say, was Dicky’s last. Poor Dick would play till almost frantie— His tricks were queer, his movements antic ; Was wont to tear the chimney paper, And cut up many a wicked caper. He wore a coat of sable color ; Oh. how he’d chase around the parlor, And often try, but always fail, To overtake his bushy tail. 98 Dick’s faults were few—his virtues many; He'd crack his nuts when he had any, And when no other duty found, _ Would turn his wheel around and round, But, ah! poor Dick is dead and gone, And we his fate cannot but mourn ; His nuts are crack’d, his pranks are done; His cage stands empty and alone. Beneath the willow-tree he sleeps; And William mourns, and Katy weeps; Affection dug his humble gra And o’er his head the branches wave. G. L. 8. renee aremnewens Ingenuity of Rats, HE Rat, that “hateful and rapa- cious creature,” as Goldsmith honestly designates it, formerly abounded in prodigious numbers at Inverness, in Scotland; and a travel- er, about the year 1830, describes his surprise at witnessing the flocks of them that used to sally out into the streets in the morning twilight, after dry weather, succeeded by a shower of rain. It is re- lated, that about this period, when the rats increased to a great degree in some small villages in the Highlands, and found it difficult to subsist, they used to creep into the manes and tails of the horses (which were then generally matted and tangled, being seldom subjected to the comb,) and in this way were trans- ported to other places, to plant new col- onies, and find fresh quarters, This mode of conveyance, was certain- ly dexterous and’ ingenious; but did our readers ever see or hear of a party of rats stealing eggs? The process is this. The roost being discovered, and the rats mustered, one of the fraternity, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. generally of goodly port and dimensions, lies down on his back, and holds the egg within his four limbs, embracing it closely and cordially. His brethren then pull him off by the tail, each taking his turn im dragging the live machine, like the | populace at the carriage of a “great man,” who, it is probable, may be of a kindred species. A gentleman in the country informed us, the other day, that he was greatly amused at observing, one morning, the dexterity and perfect fairness with which a small band of these mischievous in- truders were feasting in his dairy. A pretty capacious dish of milk had been set out, long enough for considerable cream to rise upon the surface; and the rats, finding the prize, immediately com- menced skimming the dish. One of them stood up against the dish, and an- other mounted his shoulders in due form, like school-boys preparing to plun- deran apple-tree. He then whisked his tail over the surface of the bowl, and turning round, held it to his expectant companions below, who stripped it of its treasure. This was repeated for some time ; then another took his place, occa- sionally shifting the position; and after they had all skimmed the dish, they scampered off in the morning sunshine, to burrow in their holes and corners.— Inverness Courier, ALEXANDER THE Great valued learn- ing so highly, that he used to say, “ that he was more indebted to Aristotle for giving him knowledge, than to his father Philip for life.” THE YOUTHS CABINET. EDITORIAL TABLE-TALE. POSTING UP THE BOOKS. tL day long—it is now night, by the way, and our lamp has been burning some hours— we have been looking over a large. heap of manuscripts, sent, at different times, for publication in the CaBINer. All day long, we have been at work in this way, and still there are a score or more of letters, from different parts of the coun- try, which, though they may have been glanced at before, are still to be examined critically. We have already found in this heap, however, some very excellent things, as well as some not so excellent, and others quite indifferent. On the whole, we like to examine the letters of our little friends; it is one of the very pleasantest of our tasks. We would rather our correspondents would write more than less. Still, there is pain con- nected with every such general examina- tion. We are obliged to decline publish- ing so many of these favors, that it robs us of some pleasure which we should otherwise have. We don’t like to refuse any bright-faced little boy or girl, who knocks at the Canter door with a man- uscript. But pain is never far off in this world, when pleasure shows her face ; and it would be vain and unreasonable to suppose that this case should be an ex- ception. Some of our readers, who oc- casionally send us something for our pages, seem to think that we are too nice in our taste. They perhaps remind us of what Pope said—that “ Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne‘er was, nor is, nor is to be,” and wish we would fix our standard ata lower point. We do assure all such, that scarcely a week occurs in the whole year, in which, on account of personal friend- ship, or for some other reason, we are not repeatedly and strongly tempted to do just that thing. If our feelings, and not our judgment—our heart, and not our head—held the reins, we venture to say that we should be lenient enough to suit everybody on this continent, to say nothing about the inhabitants of Eurepe, Asia, Africa, and Australia. As it is, however, and as it is likely to be, we must not lose sight of the great aim, which is, always to provide the best things we can get, in the entertainments we give our friends. This preface will suffice, and with many wi.] much more than suffice, to in- troduce what follows, which is more par- ticularly addressed to correspondents. “The Sleigh Ride” is not accepted. Poetry, of all other varieties of compo- sition, should conform strictly to the models of good taste. This fugitive does not so conform. ‘Therefore it cannot find a place in our pages. The lines commencing, “ Look within yon chamber rare,” are somewhat bet- ter, but still too faulty, in our judgment, to deserve the printer’s acquaintance. A poetical article from m. J. is on file, which is excellent, very excellent. So is everything, in fact, from the pen of this gifted writer. We are going to keep her article a month or two, before we publish it, as a little boy sometimes keeps a nice cake that has been present- ed to him, so as to enjoy the treat a long time in anticipation, | ro 100 The fable of “ The Crocodile,” in this numher, we cannot doubt, will please our readers very much; and for it, in behalf of some ten thousand little folks, we thank the author, at a venture. The article signed “ Aqua”—a very good. one, by the way, which ought to be published, by all means—we have handed over to the editor of the Youth’s Temperance Advocate. We like your enigma very well, Miss Essie. It is ingeniously constructed, and much more originals than seven- eighths of those which are submitted to us for publication. The only objection to it is, that in it the authors of the ‘* Wheat-sheaf” are complimented rather more highly than they would wish to be in this connection. Write us another enigma, friend Essie, on a different theme, and in a similar vein. Since we are on the subject of enig- mas, by the way, it seems to be neces- sary to state again what we have already repeated several times—not for the ben- efit of Miss Essie, but for numerous other enigma-makers—that it is quite contrary to our rules to publish an enig- ma, or anything of the kind, unless the writer previously enlightens the editor in relation to its hidden mysteries. We want that rule to be distinctly under- stood—in Schenectady, as well as else- where. The “ Indian Girl’s Song,” with some slight alterations from the editor’s pen, is accepted. As it is very brief, perhaps we may as well serve it up at our table, It reads thus: THE INDIAN GIRL’S SONG. I'm a child of the forest, as free as the wind, When it flies o'er the hills and the mountains ; THE YOUTH’S CABINET. As free as the wild and the swift-footed hind, As I roam beside rills and fresh fountains. _~ yon — y= (Se inten . he 7: y —————<—<——————— AteSs— — AY —— /, f . \ Se, == S5 = (a pS h/ : ce —y { f i) PY ee bX Alp | hay i fi We “py wi, a As i ey sa i¢ aw TA es, Vic rr ‘ (2"\= @e [rt ha A me i rh y be a ~ v ‘ a = Ayn Z y . oY <——_——_ - af Ny 2 we ‘ = — 7 . AY x >. i ZA ra 4 }i nhs a = maf ae 1] \ + sn\t , 1} Yi - — r J - t\' aii - ate — 4: s b “, ” 6p) Due J, ‘ JULES of o Ces + ots I'm a child of the forest, as happy and gay As the lark that soars high in the morning, And sings to the sun its melodious lay, In thanks for his kindly returning. = ‘THE YOUTHS CABINET. 101 Ge I'ma child of the forest, as rich as a queen, States. My 14, 21, 2, 3, 16, 18, 6, 10, Though her gems and her jewels may glitter; | is an island in the Mediterranean. My For mine are the rays of the sun’s golden sheen, 1. 17, 20, 4, 21, 13, 18, j eid Which to me are far purer and brighter. » 10, 20, Si Bane OMe POR vee — fs odin , ms Vermont. My 20, 4, 1, 13, 1s a town ’m a child of the forest, and ever will 2 : + te ) | in Spain. My 8, 21, 5, 19, 15, 1, 17, 3, Till my dust to the earth shall be given; ls . : And then, etill as rich, as happy, as free, | is a capital of one of the United States. I hope for a dwelling in heaven. My 1, 18, 4, 16, 3, 21,18 @ county in New York. My 3, 22, 6, 13, 10, is a river in Europe. My 6, 13, 3, 16, 21, is . , sae | & country in Asia. My 22, 10, 20, 3,1, be published in due time. The writer's | js a county in Maine. My 3, 1, 11 4 ° . . + . . . ” 3 ? , wish, in connection with its publication, | 7, js the capital of one of the United shall be complied with, as soon as she | States. My whole is a useful motto. sends us her post-office address, which a c. A. M did not accompany her last communica- tion, and which we have forgotten. As CHARADE NO. IV. to the other article which she sends— | Jn Africa my first doth live. “ My Childhood”—we do not consider it | My next to cattle men do give, : To shield them from the rain and snow; “= od; and perhaps we shall be com- They fice to it when winds do blow. pelled to place it in another pigeon-hole. | yfy {hird’s a part of speech, you'll find— The “ Autobiography of a Pod of Cot- | Only one letter, do you mind. ton” is pretty good. But does not the | My fourth’s what children often are, little rogue tell a fib or two about his And then all pleasure they do mar. early history; or is not his memory eee i iaies Ca to tell. M. M. W. | —— ee «“ My Early Friend” is good, and shall —_—_$_———— rat ?— ? her poor ?—one or the other Unless siany manseeelll he was treated very unlike most of his brothers, he was torn in pieces before he ANSWER TO RIDDLE NO. fl, set sail for England. How is that? Alliteration’s artful ald, ; ie Wherewith you’ve sought to frame your riddle, We pause for a reply from some little Ilumines what therein was shade, subscriber in Louisiana or Alabama, or Through first and last, and through the middle, . ; ‘ Antithesis makes still more clear come other State in which cotton is pro- | What you would have us find with trouble, duced, Tell us all about it, will you not? And failing on the ready ear, It saves the mind from labor double. on: Initial’d with the aspirate, Humble and haughty wait your choosing ; ENIGMA NO. IV. And moth and monarch end their state, Tam composed of twenty-two letters. When you your aid are not refusing. Earth, without you, would cease to live My 3, 1, 18, Is a river in Europe. My (Though you're of five her last division) 13,1, 17, 19, 8, 7, 9, 10, 1s a Sea in Ku- Nor showers nor sunshine beauty give, a 9 i make her groves like groves Elysian. — My 3, 12, 20, 10, 22, 21, 17, 4, You help to form the slender thread, is one of the United States. My 14, 22, By which are level’d piles or sewing 5 4, 3, 9, 13, is one of the countries of You help to build this complex head, Whereon we find our bump of knowing. Kurope. My 16, 5, 12, 20, 10, 138, 3, We take a peep—we see your name is an island w 1s one. M 15 In rank the first, yet bays refusing, , | . cat of But P y : Mute letter H; though shy of fame, 20, 1, 2, 6, 3, 10, Is one of the United | You win therewith, instead of losing. Louw. 102 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Boy and his Bobolink. Dialogue. MUSIC FROM THE GERMAN.—COPIED, BY PERMISSION, FROM BRADBURY’s “ MUBICAL GEMS .FOR SCHOOL AND HOME.” Chorus. Solo. Sa Hea ; - ww wy 1. Boy, ) _.Come, smg a song there, Bobolink, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, : .( You have enough to eat and drink, Ha, ha. ha, ha, ha. ha.” 4 yon - - - der, My songs would make you won - - - der! But Chorus. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Chorus. Ha, ha, ha, ha. _ Chorus. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! No room to sing his song. . . ho - Vu se | Z ——_—_ ee VT ee ee a ee Seo pata EER —— es sree, 2. 3. Boy. “ Well, go and sing me two or three, Up, up he flew, from tree to tree, But then be sure come back to me; “ Rogue !” says the boy,“ you're cheating me !” Fly to the linden nearest, “ No, no, twas you who cheated, Then sing your best and clearest.” When your trap-cage you baited ; He raised the door, and in a wink, You took my freedom, and ’tis plain, Out flew the happy Bobolink. I only take it back again !” Chorus, Ha, ha, ha! Out flew the Bobolink. | Chorus, Ha, ha, ha! He takes it back again. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 103 WAS SS . a = e- > ; “ r t — eee wt —=— Hel _— —— So a _— — me = = ee ray = ii Ate: » e - at wi ° 3 ‘wae _ a acy * JS h AV aon é a ; NS To aot UN Ths —— SS sth The Dog and the Mirror—A Fable, BY J. P. M’CORD. Wuen Ann appear’d, with brush and broom, To clean and whiten o’er the room, She first removed, with thoughtful care, Whate’er her hand could find to bear: She stood the mirror in the hall, - Aslope against the stately wall. ‘As all the doogg,were open flung, T'o catch the zephyrs as they sprung, The dog, who never thought it sin To steal a morsel, wander’d in, In hopes to fiud some choicer fare Than vulgar dogs are used to share. Around from this to that he goes, To try their nature with his nose; Till, chancing near its front to pass, He sees his ianage ia the glass. As, startled at the sight, he stares, The figure back upon bim glares; With him it moves, with him it scowls, Shows teeth for teeth, and at him growls. His lofty spirit scorns to brook That saucy, fierce, defiant look; Ele swells with rage, he burns to dart Just vengeance through the culprit’s heart, ¥V. 7 APR THE YOUTHS CABINET. But ere his limbs can forward spring, Successive strokes against him ring— They came from Ann, who thither flew Soon as the noise her notice drew. As Prince beyond the entrance fled, Well beaten with her broom, she said: “Those who on others’ rights intrude, Cannot the consequence elude.” The tale, I think, reveals to view How folly acts, and wisdom too. Unreal wrongs, to folly, wear A dreadful shape, a threat’ning air; Mistaken acts excite her rage; She arms, with shadows to engage. While fools scan others’ faults, the wise Inspect themselves with jealous eyes; When, clearly imaged to their sight, They see themselves in proper light; When all their deeds before them pass, As truth presents them in her glass, The hateful objects they abhor, And with themselves engage in war. ‘ 7 io = = cf h : ~_] P ee 047 *te We | \ Hit SEL HE ret fie oi wes THE YOUTH’S CABINET. My Early Friend. rar reader, let me chat with you a moment or two, about an old friend of mine, one to - whom I was much attach- ed. I can re- call very distinctly, though more than twenty years have passed since then, the days when I used to ramble through the fields and groves of my native place, searching in every nook for the early violets, or gathering raspberries and whortleberries, many times at the risk of tearing my clothes, or scratching my arms and hands. I had no little brother or sister to accompany me, as the younger of my two brothers was older than myself; but I used to have one com- panion, who was always kind, faithful and gentle, and under whose protection I was never afraid to trust myself. This was a dog, named “ Venture,” who was a favorite with the whole family, par- ticularly with my youngest brother and myself. Venture came to my father's when I was asmiall child; and as I grew older, he seemed to consider himself as my guardian, and I seldom left the house, without the company of this tried friend. Venture was rather a small dog, with light gray hair, and a white spot on his breast, and another on his forehead. I used to think he had a finely-formed head and mouth, and very expressive eyes; and I have never since seen a dog who looked so handsome to me, as my good Venture. He did not appear re- markably sagacious, but he was exceed- ingly attentive to what he considered the rules of etiquette, and he was gifted with a sense of right and wrong which seemed almost human. He would never pass before any one , and if the room was full, and the company seated so far back that he could not get behind them, he would crawl through the rundles of ° 105 > the chairs, or squeeze himself through the — smallest. space possible, rather than be guilty of so gross a breach of politeness as to go before any person. He was very fond of the family, and rejoiced when any of them came home after being absent; yet he never leaped upon them with his dirty feet, but as he met them, he repeatedly threw his fore feet forward, and nearly touched his mouth to the ground. This we used to call Venture’s bow. After making a number of these bows, he would hold his head to be pat- ted, and then bound away toward the house, as if to inform the family of the return. Venture was never known intentionally to touch anything that did not belong to him; and when, occasionally, he med- dled with something which he supposed his, he was much mortified when he was told of his mistake. At one time, he was shut up accidentally in an out-build- ing, where a quantity of beef had been cut up; and the next morning, when he was found, it was ascertained that he had not taken a single mouthful, though the poor fellow had eaten neither supper nor breakfast. Venture met with several very narrow escapes. At one time, we were much annoyed by rats, which finally became so bold that they scampered about > 106 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. during the night, wherever they could find a door open, or gnaw a hole. One morning, when I got up, one of my shoes was missing. It could not be found; but some years after, when the house was undergoing some repairs and alterations, the missing shoe, much smaller than the foot to which it belong- ed, was found under the floor. It seems that the rats had carried it off, and that they had found that they could make no use of it, after they had stolen it. Puss did her best to clear the house of these intruders; but they watched their opportunity, and raced around the chambers at will, while she was guarding the cellar; or gnawed the potatoes, and scampered over the meat-barrels, while she was hunting up chamber. In this state of things, my mother determined to poison them; and having procured some arsenic, she was just spreading it on a slice of bread and butter, when she was suddenly called away for a moment. She laid the bread on the hearth, where she supposed no one would take it, and went out. Unfortunately, this was a place where Venture had sometimes had his plate of food set; and when my mo- ther came in, he was just finishing the Jast mouthful. Poor fellow! he was soon taken very sick; and we children were almost beside ourselves, when told that he would probably die. I well remember how my brother cried and moaned, say- ing repeatedly, “I shall never be happy again, if Venture dies.” For some hours, our mother gave us little hope, though she gave poor Venture a great deal of medicine, and fixing a little bed for him in the house, watched him with the greatest care; but at last, we were rejoiced to hear her say, that she thought he would recover. For many days, he could hardly crawl from his bed; and our mother fed him, as she . would have done a sick child, with gruel. Often, my brother and I knelt on his hit- tle bed, and put our arms round his neck, while he looked lovingly in our faces, and seemed to prize our sympathy. Some time after this, Venture was missing. For several days, we called him, and looked for him in vain ; and we began to fear some one had enticed him away; but we hoped he loved us all so well, that he would come back again. At length, I was playing with one of my little companions, near a barn, that be- longed to one of our neighbors, when, happening to stoop down, we saw, far under the barn, what appeared to us to be two balls of fire. We ran into the house in great alarm, and the gentleman accompanied us out, to ascertain the cause of our fears. ‘To my great de- light, he told me that he had no doubt we saw the eyes of my lost Venture, who had probably followed some smaller animal under the barn, and been unable to return. A board was soon loosened, above the place where he was confined ; and we shouted with joy to see him. But he took no notice of us, till he had expressed his gratitude to the kind man who had delivered him. This he did by twice leaping up, and licking his face ; and then he bounded forward, and start- ed with me toward home. Every look bespoke joy at his release ; and I hardly know who run the faster, Venture or I, to tell the glad news. Suddenly he turned about, and ran back as fast as he had come. It seemed that, upon second thought, he concluded he had not suffi- ciently expressed his gratitude; and THE YOUTHS CABINET. returning to his deliverer, he leaped up and licked his face the third time, and then ran home where he could find food. ° When I attended the district school, but a short distancefrom home, Venture accompanied me to the door, and then came to meet me when the school was out. But when I went toa select school, much farther from home, he seemed to consider it his duty to keep near me; and though he had too much sense of propriety to attempt to enter the school- room, he lingered near till school closed. As he could not go home, without neg- lecting his self-imposed duty, he chose to lose his dinner. This I was hardly willing he should do; so I used to place some bread for him in one side of my dinner box, that he might not lose his dinner out of kindness to me. Venture was very obedient. He did not, like some children that I know of, need to be spoken to twice. Once only was he known to disobey his master. My father and mother were waked by his loud barking in the night, and my father bade him be still. He stopped but a moment, and then barked louder than before. Again he was commanded to stop, and scolded for his behavior ; but his noise increased, and in a moment more, a voice was heard—“ Our house is on fire; come and help us.” The house next ours was in flames; and the faithful dog, seeing the light, and knowing that something was wrong, had endeavored, in the best manner he could, to alarm his master, How many useful lessons may be learned from a brute! Happy would it be, if all human beings obeyed their own sense of right, as fully as did my friend Venture, L. B. M. 107 Obey God rather than Man. sa general thing, it is the duty of children to obey their parents; but when a parent commands what is wrong, the child should not obey. A poor woman told her son to cut down a large pear-tree, which stood in the garden of the cottage where they lived, for fire-wood, as they were suf- fering from cold. The boy made no an- swer. His mother repeated her command ; but he stil] hesitated, and said, “« Mother, I ought to obey you, but I must first obey God. The tree is not ours; it be- longs to our landlord; and you know that God says, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ I hope you will not make me cut it down.” She yielded for the time; but after suffering from cold a day or two longer, she told him he must cut down the tree. He then said to her, ‘‘ Mother, God has often helped us, and supplied our wants, when we have been in trouble. Let us wait till this time to-morrow. ‘Then, if we do not find some relief, though I am sure it will be wrong, yet if you make me do it, I will cut the tree, in obedience to your command.” To this she agreed. The boy retired to his closet, and prayed earnestly that God would help them, and save him from being compelled to break his law. The next morning, he went out, and found a man whose wag- on had broken down under a heavy load of coal. .He told the man his case, who agreed to let him carry away the coal, and they might pay for it, if they were able, when he called for the pay. But he never called. This boy set an example which chil- dren will do well to follow. 108 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Judge Hopkinson. LL our readers will be interested b\ in the man whose portrait is here JO presented, when they are told that his name is Joseph Hopkin- son, the author of that popular national song, “ Hail, Columbia.” His father’s name was Francis Hopkinson. If you will look at the picture representing the signing of the Declaration of Independ- ence, you will see his signature among the rest. Joseph was born in Philadel- phia, in the year 1770; so that when our independence was declared, he must have been about six years old. During his life, which terminated only some eight years since, he held a good many different public offices. Twice he was elected to Congress, and for many years he was judge of the district court for the eastern district of Pennsylvania. The song which has rendered him fa- mous all over the country, and which has been sung by high and low, rich and poor, wherever there is an American heart, was composed when Mr. Hopkin- son was quitea young man. He himself gives an account of its origin, from which it appears that it was written during the summer of 1798, when there was a pros- pect of a war with France. Congress THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 109 was then in session at Philadelphia, de- | heart responded to it. It was sung at liberating apon the matters connected | night in the streets of Philadelphia, by with the war, and acts of hostility had | large assemblies of citizens, including actually occurred. The contest between | members of Congress. Every true England and France was raging, and | American heart responded to it. the people of the United States were What a mighty power there is, after divided into parties for the one side or | all, in a simple song or ballad! It has the other; some thinking that it was often more influence, for good or evil, best to take part with republican France, than a book so heavy that a little boy or as that nation was then called, and others | girl can scarcely lift it. This song of inclining to think favorably of embra- Hopkinson’s is an extremely simple one. cing the side of England, under the belief | There is no logic in it—no parade of that she was the great salvation of good | fine words. It is one of the plainest principles and righteous government. things of its kind in our language. But Mr. Hopkinson thought that a better | when it is sung, it excites in the breast plan still was to adhere to the safe prin- | of every patriot a glow of enthusiasm for ciples of Washington—to mind our own | the republic of the western world, business, and to take part with neither | warmer, perhaps, than that of the elo- government, leaving them both to fight | quence of a Patrick Henry or a Web- their'own battles. Still, there were @ ster. great many wise men in the country, at | Little friends, I want you all to learn the time, who thought otherwise, and | “ Hail, Columbia,” aye, and I want party spirit ran exceedingly high in rela- | you to sing it, too. Wherever you are— tion to the national question. At this | north or south, east or west—I hope time, Mr. Hopkinson wrote the song, be- | and trust you will cherish these senti- ginning, ments, and such as these. There is a great deal of bad feeling, now-a-days, on the part of some people living in one sec- tion of the country, toward people living in another section of the country. They call each other hard names. They do not make sufficient allowances for habits, and preferences, and prejudices, growing out of different early education. Instead of yielding, for the sake of peace, as much as they can, without giving up morab principle, to those who disagree with them, they seem even to cling to every jot and tittle of their own notions, more and more closely. This is all wrong. When there is difference of opinion between two individuals, or be- tween two communities of individuals, the « Hail, Columbia, happy land! Hail, ye heroes, heaven-born band !” The object he had in writing it was to aid in getting up an American spirit, which should lead all classes to regard the interests of our republic as above all price, Nota word is said in the song about England or France, or the quarrel between them, or which was the more in fault in their treatment of this nation. But it was well adapted to take off the attention of the public mind from other people’s quarrels, by eliciting a strong sympathy for the young republic. The song did the work which was allotted to it, and did it well. Every American 110 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. LLL DLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LL LLL LLL LLL LLL Cty true plan—the one which is the most sensible, as well as the most scriptu- ral—is, for each side to endeavor to yield a little, so that both can come to- gether. Dear children, whatever some older heads may do or say, I trust that you will love the Union, and the whole Union, and that such sentiments as those which are so happily expressed in this national song of ours will ever be dear to you. Wherever I may happen to be, whether at the north or at the south, it would delight my heart to hear little boys and girls singing in concert such a chorus as the one which belongs to “Hail, Columbia.” Hark! let us repeat it to you :— “Firm united let us be, Rallying round our liberty ; As a band of brothers join’d, Peace and safety we shall find.” A Leap for Life. s the supervisor of inland revenue at Aberystwith, in Wales, Mr. Miller, his nephew, and two pro- fessional gentlemen, geologists, were examining some strata of rock in the cliffs between Aberystwith and Llan- rhystid, they proceeded along a narrow ledge of projecting stone on the face of the cliff, about one hundred and twenty feet above the level of the sea, which providentially happened to be af full flow. On passing round a projecting angle, the professors and the revenue officer had rounded the point, and the young man was in the act of doing so, when the rock, suddenly breaking from under his feet, he was whirled round with his far toward the sea; and as he descended, he seized with one hand the ledge be- neath his uncle’s feet, while he extended the other hand to him, and it was firmly clasped by the revenue officer, who held him suspended for fully five minutes, dur- ing which time he with great difficulty kept his position, there not being more than six inches to stand upon. At length, a breathless pause ensued, while Mr. Miller gazed on a rugged pro- jection of rock, about ninety feet below them, and on which he concluded the unfortunate youth was doomed to be dashed. But the uncle, who calls himself “an awful coward,” at length said, with all the calmness imaginable, “ Tom, there is but one way for it; [’ll save you, or we will both perish together;” and with a firm voice, he commanded the young man to loose his hold of the rock, which was mechanically obeyed, with a faint reply, “ Yes, uncle.” At this awful moment, Mr. Miller horizontally sprang into the air, carrying the young man with him; and such was the force with which he leaped, that the check caused them to perform several somersets over each other, as they de- scended, linked together. With the rapidity of a flash of lightning, they dis- appeared below the foaming billows, having cleared the craggy ledge, which projected more than six feet from the per- pendicular of the point over which the youth was suspended. To the delight of their companions, who were for a moment horror-struck, they rose about twenty yards apart, buf- feting the heavy swells of the flowing and returning waves, At length, they THE YOUTH’S CABINET. struck out for a rock that lay about seventy yards in the sea, on which they were shortly seated, and from which they gave three hearty cheers. Their companions attempted to procure their rescue by obtaining a boat, but owing to the breach in the ledge, found it impos- sible, and had to proceed onward for more than three hours, before they were able to extricate themselves. To their delight, the geologists then found that their brave companions had swam to an accessible part of the cliff, and returned to Llanrhystid, not a whit the worse from their perilous adventure. Selected. The Rat with a Bell. A FABLE. Lance old house in the country was so infested with rats, that nothing could be secure from theirdepredations. They scaled the walls, to attack flitches of bacon, though hung as high as the ceiling. Hanging shelves afforded no protection to the cheese and pastry. They pene- trated by sap into the store-room, and plundered it of preserves and sweet- meats, They gnawed through cupboard doors, undermined floors, and ran races behind the wainscots. The cats could not get at them; they were too cunning and too well fed to meddle with poison ; and traps only now and then caught a heedless straggler. One of these, how- ever, on being taken, was the occasion of practicing a new device. This was, to | 111 fasten a collar with a small bell about the prisoner’s neck, and then turn him loose again. Overjoyed at the recovery of his liber- ty, the rat ran into the nearest hole, and went in search of his companions. heard, at a distance, the bell tinkle-tin- kle through the dark passages, and sus- pecting some enemy had got in among them, away they scoured, some one way and some another. sued; and soon guessing the cause of their flight, he was greatly amused by it. Wherever he approached, it was all hur- ry-scurry, and not a tail of one of them They The bell-bearer pur- was to be seen. He chased his old friends from hole to hole, and room to room, laughing all the while at their fears, and increasing them by all the means in his power. Presently, he had the whole house to himself. ‘That's right,” quoth he ; “the fewer, the better cheer.” So he rioted alone among the good things, and stuffed till he could hardly walk... : For two or three days, this course of life went on very pleasantly. He ate, and ate, and played the bugbear to per- fection. At length, he grew tired of this lonely condition, and longed to mix with his companions again upon the for- mer footing. But the difficulty was, how to get rid of his bell. He pulled | and tugged with his fore-feet, and almost wore the skin off his neck in the attempt, but all in vain. The bell was now his plague and torment. He wandered from room to room, earnestly desiring to make himself known to one of his companions, but they all kept out of his reach. At last, as he was moping about disconso- late, he fell in puss’s way, and was de- voured in an instant,—Selected, 112 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Donkey. EY say the donkey is a very stupid animal; but he is not stupid, Men beat him, and kick him, and keep him half starved; and that makes him not care about anything ; and so he seems stupid. But he is bright enough, when he is treated with gentle- ness and love. It makes all creatures bright and happy, to be treated kindly. A donkey will do anything for those he loves; but he does not care to please those who beat him and abuse him. Thousands of miles from here, there is a beautiful, sunny country, called Spain. The poor, hard-working people there are called peasants. In that coun- try, there are many rocks and hills, and \ the donkey steps very safely and sure-| footed among the stony paths, In Spain, almost everybody has a donkey. Rich people have them for ladies and children to ride on, because they are so very easily mounted, and step so ‘+ and so gen- tly. Sometimes you will sce a plump little donkey, covered with handsome scarlet cloth, and three little children riding on his back. He will step round so carefully and softly, that even the little baby is not afraid ; and he will stop cloxe to the high step, that the little ones may get off his back safely, and not full and hurt themselves, When the poor Spanish peasant has Leen hard at work all day, and his don. key has been hard at work too, they come home very tired, and the poor jack- ass can hardl y carry the heavy panniers on his back. But the children stand at the door, watching for him; and when they see the good creature come slowly along the road that winds down from the hill, they throw up their caps, and set up a merry shout. The donkey hears them; he pricks up his long “ears, and trots fast, in a hurry to meet them. When he comes up to the cottage door, they hug him round the neck, and pat him on the side. They bring him some of the bread they have for their own suppers, and if they can find a turnip, they run gladly to give it to him. He eats from their hands, and lays his head on their shoulders, and tries all he can to say, “I love you, dear children,” Oh no, the poor donkey is not stupid. It is very pleasant to him to be loved, and he gives back love to those who treat him well. I will tell you what a Spanish donkey did once. His master was a poor man, that carried milk to market. He did not ride into the city in a cart, as our milk- men do. ‘The milk was put into bottles, and packed close in panniers, that were thrown across the donkey’s back. The peasant walked along beside the donkey and his load, and thus they trudged to market together, every day for many years. The donkey knew his master and mistress, just as well as they knew each other. He would come joyfully when they called his name, and feed from their hands, and follow them all around like a dog. He loved them, and would do anything for them. The peasant having been taken sick, knew not what to do, till his wife sug- gested that the donkey knew every cus- tomer’s door as well as his master, and would doubtless stop at each house. Sure enough, they sent him off alone with the milk, and he presented himself at every customer's door, so that they helped themselves ; and when he finished THE YOUTHS CABINET. his round, he started home again; and when he came trotting up with his empty bottles, all safe and sound, it was a joyful meeting. His old mistress patted him, and called him kind names ; and he nestled his head on her shoulder, and seemed to try to say, “ Am I not a good boy of a donkey ?” True Duncan and the Cat. noe there was a little boy named Duncan. The boys used to call him True Duncan, because he never would tell a lic. One day, he was playing with an axe in the yard of the school, and while he was chopping a stick, the teacher’s cat, Tabby, came along. Duncan let the axe fall right on poor Tabby’s head, and killed her. What to do he did not know. She was a pet of the master’s, and used to sit on a cushion at his side, while he was hear- ing the lessons. Duncan stood and look- ed at the dead creature. His face grew red, and the tears stood in his eyes. All the boys came running up, and every one had something tosay. One of them whispered to the others, and said, “Now, fellows, we shall see whether Duncan can make up a fib, as well as the rest of us.” | “Not he. Duncan, I'll warrant you, will be as true as gold.” Big Jones stepped up, and taking the cat by the tail, said, “ Here, boys, I'll just fling her into the alley, and we can tell Mr. Cole that the butcher’s dog kill- ed her; you know he worried her last week,” 113 i eel Several of them thought this would do very well. But Duncan looked quite an- gry. His face swelled, and his cheeks grew redder than before. “No!” said he, “no, Do youthink I would Jie for such a creature as that? It would be a lie, a ie, arre!” And every time he said the word, his voice grew louder and louder. ‘Then he pick- ed up the poor thing in his arms, and casried it into the school-room, and the boys followed to see what would hap- pen. ‘The master looked up, and said, «What is this? My faithful mouser dead! Who could have done me such an injury 2” All were silent for alittle while. As soon as Duncan could get his voice, he said, “Mr. Cole, I am very sorry—but here is the truth. I can’t lie, sir; I killed Tabby. But I am very sorry for it. 1 ought to have been more careful, for I saw her continually rubbing her sides against the log. gl am very sorry indeed, sir.” Every one expected Mr. Cole to take down his long rattan. On the contrary,. he put on a pleasant smile, and said, “Duncan, you are a brave boy! I saw and heard all that passed, from my window above. I would rather lose a hundred cats, than miss such an example of truth and honor in my school. Your best reward is what you now feel in your own conscience; but I beg you to accept this handsome penknife, as a token of my approbation.” Duncan took out his little handker- chief, and wiped his eyes. The boys could no longer restrain themselves ; and when Tom Pooley cried, “Three cheers | for True Duncan!” all joined ina hearty 114 THE YOUTHS CABINET. ¢ LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LOL Cnc, hurra. The teacher seemed willing to allow this, and then said, ‘““My boys, I am glad you know what is right, and that you approve it; though I am afraid some of you could not have done it. Learn from this time, that nothing can make a falsehood ne- cessary. Suppose Duncan had taken your evil advice, and come to me with a lie ; it would have been instantly detect- ed, for I was a witness of what passed. I trust he has been governed in this by a sense of God’s presence, and I exhort you all to follow his example, whenever you are placed in like circumstances,”— Youth’s Penny Gazette. . Long Vitality of Seeds. q3° completely is the ground impreg- S nated with seeds, that if earth is -) brought to the ate from the lowest depth at which it is found, some vegetable matter will spring from it. I have always considered this fact as one of the many surprising instances of the power and bounty of Almighty God, who has thus literally filled the earth with his goodness, by storing up a deposit of useful seeds in its depths, where they must have lain through a succession of ages, only requiring the cnergies of man to bring them into ac- tion. In boring for water lately, at a spot near Kingston-on-Thames, some earth was brought up from a depth of three hundred and sixty feet, this earth was carefully covered over with a hand glass, to prevent the possibility of any other seeds being deposited upon it; yet in a short time plants vegetated from it, If quicklime be put upon land which from time immemorial has produced no- thing but heather, the heather will be killed, and white clover spring up in its place. A curious fact was communicat- ed to me, respecting some land which surrounds an old castle, formerly be- longing to the regent Murray, near Mof- fat. On removing the peat, which is about six or eight inches in thickness, a stratum of soil appears, which is suppos- ed to have been a cultivated garden in the time of the regent, and from which a variety of flowers and plants spring, some of them little known even at this time in Scotland.—Jesse’s Gleanings of Nutural History. Silk and Silk-worms. n the year 1840, the average im- portation of silk into Great Britain equaled 4,999,971 pounds, or, in round numbers, 5,000,000 pounds. An interesting calculation has been made, which shows the enormous number of silk-worm caterpillars which must bury themselves to meet the demand of that kingdom alone upon their manufacture. Each cocoon, on the average, weighs about three or three and a quarter grains, and in length will probably contain 300 yards of silk. Now, to produce the yearly sum above mentioned, it will be found we require about 18,000,000,000 worms, which will consume in its pro- duction about 96,000,000 pounds’ of leaves, grown upon about 9,600,000 trees. — Selected, THE YOUTHS CABINET. 115 (iad . 24 Ni / y FL Be cageses/ A aS Sebastian Cabot. HIS distinguished individual was born at Bristol, in England, about the year 1447. He was the son of John Cabot, a Vene- tian pilot, who was much celebrated in his time for his skill in navigation. Se- bastian was instructed, early in life, in such mathematical knowledge as is re- quired by a seaman; and when he was seventeen years of age, he had made several voyages. In 1495, his father obtained letters patent from Henry VII. giving him and his three sons power to discover unknown lands, and to conquer and settle them. One of these sons was Sebastian. In consequence of this per- mission, the king supplied one ship, and the merchants of London and Bristol a July of T few smalle®.c - and in 1496, John and Sebastian. ¢ ; “tq@’the north-west. In im@year, they discovered Newfoundland, and ‘explored it as far northward as to the sixty-seventh degree of latitude. The particulars of this voy- age, though exceedingly interesting on account of the discoveries made, are not very fully given. But it seems that ina voyage which these navigators made afterward, they sailed as far south as Cape Florida, and that they were actu- ally the first who saw the main Jand of America. j ! In the reign of Henry VIII. Sebas- tian procured another ship, and sailed again on a voyage of discovery. This time, he tried to find a southern passage 116 ee to the East Indies. He failed, however; and in consequence of this disappoint- ment, it is supposed, he quitted England, and visited Spain. Here he was treated with great respect, and appointed _pilot- major. A rich company of Spanish merchants soon after gave him the com- mand of an expedition to the Spice Islands, through the newly-discovered Straits of Magellan, Accordingly, in 1535, he sailed from Cadiz to the Cana- ries and Cape de Verd Islands. But his crew were unruly, and through their op- position, he failed of reaching the islands. He proceeded to the river La Plata, where he discovered what was after- ward called San Salvador, and erected a fort there. Afterward he reached the river Paraguay, and remained on the American coast a considerable time, with the view of forming an establish- ment. He was disappointed, however, in the expected aid from Spain, and finally returned home, with all his crew. He was not very cordi the government, owin failure in respect to and in part to his severe tr mutineers of his crew. Still, he contin- ued in the service of Spain for some years longer. At the latter end of the reign of Hen- _. ry, VIIL. he returned to England. At the beginning of the reign of Edward VI. the crown settled on him a pen- sion as grand-pilot of England. From this time, he was consulted very general- ly on all questions relating to trade and navigation. In 1532, being governor of a company of merchant adventurers, he drew up instructions to procure a li- cense for an expedition to discover a . passage ‘to the East Indies by the north. THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. He was also governor of the Russian company, and was very active in their affairs, He is supposed to have died in the year 1557, at a very advanced age. In many respects, we of this age are greatly indebted to him, as a navigator. He was the first who noticed the variations of the compass, and he published a large map of the world, much more reliable and valuable than any of those then in existence. The picture at the head of this article is a portrait of Cabot. Kites in China. MISSIONARY from this country, residing in China, writes home that the Celestial Empire is fa- mous for kites. He says: “The sky is in a universal flutter of kites. I counted this afternoon, from my window, ninety-three, which were flown at various heights with great skill. Some repre- sented hawks, and admirably imitated their manceuvres in the air, poising them- selves, and sailing and darting; gaudy butterflies floated around; and dragons, formed of a long succession of circular kites, with a fierce head, flew about the sky. The majority were merely of a fan- ciful shape. Loud noises, like a wind instrument, could be heard. from them. The most amusing form was that of a huge fish, as it swam through the blue above, moving its tail and fins with a lu- dicrously natural effect, Those like ani- mals are also flown in pairs, and made to ficht.” ~ THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 117 The Bee-Tree. FROM A VOLUME OF TALES BY PROF, ALDEN. ATHER, where do bee- trees come from?” said Benjamin Adams, as he came home from an expedition after strawberries, and sat down in the doorway, near his father. “Your question,” said Mr, Adams, “is rather a singular one. The trees grow in the usual man- ner, and in time decay, and become hol- low, and then the bees take possession of them.” “What makes the bees take posses- sion of them ?” “Tt is natural for them to swarm, after they have become numerous; and ‘as they are not able to make hives for themselves, if none are provided for them, they do the next best thing they can, namely, select a hollow tree. They sometimes go into holes in the rocks.” “Do you suppose that they look around, and find a hollow tree to go to before they swarm ?” “TI don’t know. Sometimes they go to a tree so directly, that it would seem as if they knew beforehand where they were going.” “ Father, do you think there is a bee- tree on our land ?” ‘“T don’t know of any.” “ Don’t you think there is one?” “ No.” “Don’t you think there may be one?” “No; there are few trees on -my “T rather think there is one on our land, somewhere.” “What reason have you to think so ?” | “I don’t know, sir; there was one on Mr. Darby’s land last year.” “So you think it is our turn this year. No, my boy, there is no bee-tree on our land, depend upon it.” i" Benjamin whispered to himself, “I know there is.’” His manner, during the latterspart of the conversation, had been so peculiar, as to attract the attention of his father, though he said nothing about it. The reason of this peculiar manner will appear from what is about to be re- lated, While Benjamin, in company with two other boys, were gathering strawberries in a remote pasture belonging to Mr. Adams, they game to a large tree which had been left ‘standing when the -field was cleared. The top had long since decayed, and fallen off; about twenty feet of the trunk remained. One of the boys happfned to look up, and saw something going in and out at a knot- hole. “T’ve found a bee-tree!” he exclaim- ed. The other two boys rushed to the spot, and saw the bees flying out and in. “ How shall we get the honey 2” said one. “T’ll climb up and get it,” said the other boy that was with Benjamin. He made the attempt; but the tree was so large that he could not climb x... How farm old enough to have hollows in | he was to get the honey, even if he had them large enough for bees to live in.” * fers succeeded in climbing, does not. appeag. 118 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. a Sn meaning ileal ini A council was now held, It was pro- posed to get an axe, to cut the tree down; but it was concluded that it was too large for boys to manage. It was proposed to call in help; but then the glory of the spoils would have to be di- vided. They finally agreed to go home, as it was near sunset, and come the next day with some matches, and set fire to the tree and burn it down. Se- crecy was agreed upon among them- selves, lest their plans should be in- terfered with. The reader will now un- derstand why Benjamin was so confident that there was a bee-tree on his father’s land, and why his manner was so pecu- liar while talking with his father about it. He felt that he was acting improp- erly in concealing the matter from his father. He tried to satisfy his conscience by saying he was bound by his promise of secrecy ; but he knew that he had no right to make that promise. The next morning the boys met, ac- cording to agreement, ang proceeded to the pasture. They kindled a fire, which soon set the tree in a blaze, almost to. the top, This attracted the attention of some men in a neighboring field, and they came to see what “— going on. The boys were obliged to tell them what they were deing. ‘‘ You foolish fellows, you will burn ;the honey all up.” This had not .oceurred to the boys. They only intended to burn the tree down. One of the men had an axe with him, and he proceeded to eut the tree down. ‘He thought it was pretty hot work. ‘Another went to his house and got seve- yal pails ‘to put the honey in. The tree ‘was soon down, All rushed to its top, ‘where, instead of ‘bees and honey, they found afew yellow wasps. The men were quite angry that they had been de- ceived, and made the boys take the pails and bring water from quite a distance, and put the fire out. If Benjamin had believed what his father said, or had frankly made known to him the supposed discovery, he would have saved himself from guilt in the matter, as well as from the toil he under- went, and the mortification he suffered when the matter became known. Perfection of Nature. Pon examining the edge of the sharpest razor or lancet with a microscope, it will appear fully as broad as the back of a knife— rough, uneven, and full of notches and furrows. An exceedingly small needle resembles an iron bar. But the sting of a bee, seen through the same instrument, exhibits everywhere the most beautiful polish, without the least flaw, blemish, or inequality ; and it ends in a point too fine to be discerned. The threads of a fine lawn seem coarser than the yarn with which ropes are made for anchors. But a silk-worm’s web appears perfectly smooth and shining, and everywhere equal. The smallest dot that is made with a pen, appears irregular and un- even. But the little specks on the wings or bodies of insects, are found to be the most accurately circular. How magnifi- cent is the system of nature! The wis- dom of God, I have often thought, ig quite as clearly exhibited in the smallest objects of creation, as in those of the greatest magnitude. | THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 119 - # Hh ' The Burial of Sir John Moore. BY REV. CHARLES WOLFE. -”_—_-_eoeeeee Nor a drum was heard, not a funeralynote, As his corse to the ramparts we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his funeral shot, O’er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly, at dead of- night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. V. 8 APR THE YOUTH’S CABINET. We thought, as we hollow’d his narrow bed, And smooth’d down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk o’er the spirit that’s gone, And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him; But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory. THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. ‘121 Habits of Bees. © Tis a great time among a community of bees, when the swarming season ar- rives. It often happens, before these curious in- sects separate from the old hive, to seek their fortunes for themselves, that there has been an unusual silence in the hive, Naturalists suppose that this silence is caused through their feeding, and making a hearty meal, and resting themselves before they set out on their journey. And as a proof of this, the crops of those which swarmed have been found filled with honey, while such as remained behind were comparatively empty. Also, previous to swarming, a number of male bees may be discovered on the outside of the hive, as if waiting until the sun shone out that they might take their departure. When the queen- bee first breaks out from her cell, she en- deavors to get at the cells in which the rest of the queen-bees are enclosed, that she may destroy them ; for, by some un- accountable instinct, she cannot bear to have arival queen near her. She is pre- vented, however, from destroying them, by the male bees, who are on the watch, and who, whenever she approaches the cells in which her rival queens are en- closed, pull, and drag, and bite at her, until they drive her away: and a pretty rage she gets into, I can tell you; for she runs about from one bee to another, as if she said, “Am I to be mistress here, or am I not? because, if I am not, I’m off; and that’s the long and the short of it. I’m not a-going to be an- noyed by those lazy huzzies who are in bed, I can tell you, and who, when they get up, will be turning my house topsy- turvy. A pretty hive indeed we should have of it, with three or four mistresses, all ordering about! But really, I’ve worked myself into such a passion, and am so hot, that I must go out and have a mouthful or two of fresh air.” And out she goes, accompanied by a whole regiment of bees; and this is the first swarm. A few days after her de- parture, up stairs march two or three more heavy bees; and, knocking at the chamber-door of another of the queens, who still remains behind, they exclaim, “Come, madam, get up; there’s too many of us here—you must be packing. We’ve so many lodgers in the house, that we’re forced to sleep two or three in a bed; and that’ll never do, you know, this hot weather ; for the close breathing of so many of us causes the wax to melt and run down the bed-curtains: so get up and get your breakfast, and be off with you; for there’s a whole lot of idle fellows, who have done nothing but eat and sleep for this last day or two, and the sooner we are rid of them and you, the better.” And up she does get ; and you may fancy in what sort of a tem- per, after so much abuse as this; and after trying, but in vain, to get at the rest. of her sisters, who are still in bed, to kill them, she is also driven out, as the queen was before her; and this com- pletes the second swarm. Sometimes, during the summer, three or four swarms will, in this way, leave the hive, each party headed by their queen-bee, until the numbers are so much thinned with- in, that they are no longer enabled to prevent the remaining queen-bees from quitting their cells; and then it is that 122 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. iid battle royal commences. Nor is there ever a moment’s peace in the house, while two queens remain alive under the same roof; but when all the rest are killed, the surviving queen sits quietly down upon her throne, and'for another season, reigns peacefully over her loving subjects. The working bees are divided into two classes, namely, into nurse-bees and the wax-workers. The nurse-bees feed and take care of the young grubs, also put- ting a finishing touch to the combs and cells which the workers have commen- ced; confining themselves, also, more within doors, and seeming to throw all the care and trouble of bringing in pro- Visions to the hive upon the wax-work- ers, as if they had quite enough to do in looking after the baby-bees. When bees begin to build their hive, they divide themselves into various companies—one brings in materials for the laborer, an- other band places them in a proper form, and a third company supplies the labor- ers with food; for they are not allowed té leave off work, and go to their din- her. When a laboring bee is hungry, he bends his trunk down, which is quite as well understood as if he rang the bell and called “ Waiter ;” the attending bee comes, opens his honey-bag, gives the laborer a few drops, then hastens to an- other, and so on, until the whole are sup- plied. { must not omit to tell you, that when thé bees quit their hives, and begin to swarm, the old women in the country rush out with their frying-pans and warming-pans, and commence beating ‘apon them, and kicking up such a ran- tan-tan, that the sound is almost loud endugh to break the drum of a deaf man’s ear; but whether it causes the bees to settle down any sooner, or not, is a subject which I cannot undertake to decide. When, however, the bees have once settled down in a heap, like a great bunch of raisins stuck together, there is no difficulty in whisking them off, all of alump, into an empty hive, cover- ing them over with a cloth, and carrying them safely home; when, in a few days after, you will see them issuing out of their hive, and buzzing about among the flowers, and returning home again laden with honey, just as if nothing had hap- pened.—Boy’s Spring Book. Liberty and Religion. n English soldier, who had been shut up in prison for robbery and manslaughter, seeing one of his comrades in the street, going by, called to him through the grate of the prison, and asked him what news there was abroad. ‘ Why,’ answered the other, “there is a rebellion broke out in Scotland.” “God preserve us!” cried the fettered soldier ; “if these ras- cals get the upper hand, then farewell to the liberty of old England.” “ Aye,” replied the other, with an oath, “and what will become of the Protestant re- ligion 2” ren “Tr is with narrow-souled people as it is with narrow-necked bottles—the less they have in them, the more noise they make in bringing it out.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 123 Incidents at the West. FEW years since, my father took b6\ it into his head that he would go to the western country ; so he and my mother, and little sister, and myself, started, one bright May morning, from the old Bay State, for the wilds of Western Michigan. I shall not tell you of our slow and tedious voyage on the Western canal, or narrate the particulars of a boisterous passage on the lakes. It is enough that we ar- rived at our place of destination, safe and sound. We moved directly into the woods, a mile from any settlement or habitation of any kind. My father built a trim log-house upon a gentle swell of land, and a proud- looking little thing it was, I assure you. This was our castle—not “a castle in the air,” such as we boys often build, but a real castle in the woods. We then commenced clearing a piece of ground for corn, and built a barn. My father hired an Irishman—not a “ bog- trotter,” but as clever a fellow as ever came from the Emerald Isle. We had not been here a long time, be- fore a man came into the place, and set- tled about half a mile from us. He had a little boy, about my age; and we each had a hatchet, with which we did great execution among the small trees, cutting down everything that happened to come in our way, We had a little black Indian pony, that I used to ride to water every day, at a lake about half a mile distant. One day, I rode down as usual. It was a warm day, and the flies bit pretty sharply. I rode her out into the lake, and she began to paw up the sand, and make the water fly finely. Not content with this, down she lay, plump in the water. Of course, I jumped off, and paddled for the shore; and right glad I was to reach land, I assure you. After she had had her frolic out, she came di- rectly up to me, as if nothing had hap- 124 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. pened, as much as to say, “Here, Mas- ter George, hop on to me again ; I won’t serve you another such a trick, I do as- sure you.” A little while after this, I was sent with Madam Dolly after the cattle, that had strayed away in the woods. Away we went, as happy as two friends could be; for we delighted very much in each other’s company. I loved her, because she was so gentle; and I believe she loved me, because I was kind to her ; be- sides, | presume she would rather have carried me on her back than a heavy man, for I was only seven years old, and not very large at that. I had not been gone a great while, before I lost my way; and to make matters worse, Doll ran un- der a young tree, and knocked my hat off. This may seem a small matter; but when my hat was off, and I off after it, and had no way to get on again, it was a serious difficulty, after all. I led my pony, then, some rods; and at last found a log, from which I soon got mounted again. Pretty soon, I saw the cattle coming, and my father driving them; and right glad I was, for I did not know the way home, although Dolly did, and would have taken me home if I had let her, but I did not know it then. Dolly was a wonderful mare, though I must not say any more about her now. At another time, a fawn jumped out of the boughs of a fallen tree, and ran directly under my pony’s head. It was the first fawn I had ever seen. I had seen deer before, but this was the most beautiful thing I ever beheld. Away he scampered, and jumped over a fence, and bounded off into the woods, as much as to say, “I am not afraid of pony or rider to-day.” GEORGE, Water-Spouts. HAVE seen many water-spouts, but the very biggest of them was off the coast of the Canaries. We were sailing easy, at about half-a- dozen knots, the weather gloomy, whena man from the mizen sang out, “ A spout ahead!” And sure enough, there was a spout. The water of the sea was gathered up, like a hillock with a sharp point ; from this point, it seemed to run upward, as smoke runs up a chimney, to a heavy, dark cloud that stood over it; but the cloud was white enough on the upper side of it. There was a loud hissing noise, and a commotion in the sea; and we thought, that if the spout should burst when we were under the cloud, we should soon be food for the fishes. We laid the sails aback to prevent our running into danger, and fired a gun or two at the spout; but we could not hit it. The water went up with a swift, whirling motion, making a noise like a mill; and all at once, when we were only a couple of cables apart, the spout broke off at the bottom, and down came a flood enough to swamp a seventy-four. It was a narrow escape—one of the narrow- est, indeed, I ever had in my life. [I would not like to be caught so again, though. We pitched about for some time, but thought right little of God’s goodness, in saving us from destruction. Sailors are a sad, thoughtless set of people. Often are they singing songs in praise of themselves, when they ought to be prais- ing him who has snatched them from the jaws of sudden death.—Old Sea Cap- tain. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 125 How Smart we are! HERE are some little men and little boys in the world, and possibly some little women and little girls, too—though I don’t know that it is best to include them in this list—who always make a great hue and cry about what they accomplish in connection with people of far greater talent, when- ever they happen to be thrown in com- pany with such people, and anything remarkable happens to be done, with which these little people, nevertheless, had nothing at all to do. Such folks need a looking-glass, I think, in which they can see their faces, At any rate, here is one somebody has made for them, which they are welcome to look in as often as they please :— «Put on the steam; I’m. in haste,” cries a snail, that has crept into a rail- road car. ‘Crack it again, my good fel- low!” ejaculates a fly, that has lit on the folds of a thunder-cloud, “ What a pro- digious reverberation!’ says a wood- pecker, tapping a hollow tree on the roaring verge of Niagara. “I fear my house will be shaken down,” mutters a mouse, as the walls of the cathedral rock with the throes of the earthquake. «What a deal of observation we excite !” said a bumble-bee, buzzing along in the trail of a comet. ‘“ We leave the very ocean split asunder!” exclaims a perch, darting along in the wake of a whale. “Bury me with my face to the foe,” cries a cockroach, dying in the battle of the Nile. ‘What a long shadow I cast!” hoots an owl, gazing at an eclipse of the sun. “The spoils of victory!” screams a hardy hawk, pouncing on an elephant struck by lightning. Lying. EVER tell a whole lie, or half a lie, or a quarter of a lie, or any part of a lie. Many boys who know well enough what a sneaking, mean thing it is to lie, yet will twist the truth, or deceive a little bit. This is about as bad as a plump falsehood. If a boy does something wrong, either through ig- norance, carelessness, or accident; and then tells one half truth and one half lie about it, he might almost as well have told the whole untruth. Now see how the spirited, manly, true-hearted, clear- tongued boy will do, after an error. He resolutely determines to acknowledge it, without being afraid of anybody’s anger—tell it just as it was. I never in my life knew any one to be injured by telling the truth in this way ; but I have seen many a boy, and man too, who were looked upon with contempt, and thought poorly of, because they would tell sneaking lies, or half lies, or quarter lies. The worst of untruths—those which are deliberately made up, stories about people, or little stories magnified into big ones—prove the teller of them to be a most worthless, impure, and mean person. The liar is indeed despi- cable both to God and good men. On the other hand, nothing is more beauti- ful than a strictly truth-telling person— one who never varies from the truth, who is open, candid, and above deceit. To become so, a boy should strive hard, should determine to become so, and he will become so. Besides, it is so easy always to speak the truth, and so very hard to arrange a very plausible untruth, which even then will, in all likelihood, be found out nine times out of ten, 126 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Rainy Day. -* HE parents of Charles 7 and Edward Gleason resided in New York. Charles and Edward had therefore spent their lives amid bricks and pavements, and had seen but little of the country. But when Charles was ten and Ed- ward eight, their uncle and aunt Sanford, who resided in a pleasant country village, invited them to spend two or three of the pleasant summer months with them. Nothing could have been more pleas- ing to our city boys than such an invita- tion. They could hardly speak or think of anything but their intended visit, for weeks before the time appointed for it had arrived. Very glowing were their anticipations of country life, and of the rare sport to be enjoyed amid the green grass, fruits, and flowers. These antici- pations were destined to be fully realized. For several wecks, they found unceasing pleasure and amusement in those rural occupations which city boys so greatly enjoy, when permitted to breathe the pure air of the country, and ramble amid its ever fresh and delightful scenery. During some weeks, their out-door amusements were interrupted only by an occasional shower. But one morning, as they awoke, they found the rain was pouring down, and it was evident they might expect a regular rainy day. As neither of them understood how a rainy day in the country could be of much value, they indulged, for the first time, in lying in bed until their aunt called them to breakfast. After breakfast, they stood by the window watching the clouds, and think- ing this rainy day was an event for which they were quite unprepared. They had come into the country to bask amid sun- shine and flowers; but a rainy day they had not once taken into the account. As their aunt came up, and stood by their side, Edward gave utterance to their thoughts, by saying, «“ Well, aunt, what are we to do now? I can’t see what employment we can find in the country, in arainy day. We have left all our toys, puzzles, and games, our dissected maps, pictures, and build- ing-blocks, at home; and I am quite at a loss to contrive how we are to get through the day.” « And here we cannot even have our Yourtu’s Caziyet,” said the book-loving Charles. ‘“ How unfortunate! I really believe, aunt, we shall have to be a little home-sick to-day.” “Well, my boys, if you wish to be discontented and home-sick, I can tell you how you may make sure of being so,” “How? What do you mean, aunt?” said Charles. «Stand by the window all day watch- ing the rain, and wishing every minute it would clear away.” ‘But we do not wish, aunt, to be either discontented or home-sick,” said Edward. “Tf this is the case,” replied his aunt, “T think I can put you in a way to avoid both, if you will enter cheerfully into the plan I propose.” The boys promised they would. “But what shall we do first?” said Charles. “You have forgotten, have you not, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 127 what a fine parcel of hazel-nuts you have to shell out? They have been dry several days, but you have found no time to attend to them.” ‘We did not think of that,” said the boys. “ To-day is just the day for such work ; for when it is pleasant, we cannot spare the time,” ‘‘I do not suppose,” said their aunt, “that you will wish to shell out hazel- nuts all day. When you are tired, come to me; I think I can help you to find some other employment.” The clouds of discontent, which had been rapidly gathering, quickly passed away, and the boys went cheerfully to work. After they had been some time employed, they began to feel weary ; but they thought they might not have an- other rainy day, to shell out their nuts, before they returned home. One of them proposed they should think of something to amuse them, while they continued their work. Charles, at length, proposed that they should see how many words they could think of, which began with the letter H, the first letter in hazel-nut. In this way, an- other hour passed rapidly. They then concluded to put aside their nuts, and go to their aunt. She had selected an in- teresting story, for them to read to her; and this occupied the time till dinner was ready. After dinner, the boys again came to their aunt, and said, “ What shall we do now, aunt?” “Have you not laid aside some small boards and blocks, to make you some little wagons ?” «Yes, aunt; but it rains so hard, we cannot go out; and we can’t make wag- ons in the house, you know,” “Yes, you may, upon certain condi- tions. I will permit you to convert my back room into a carpenter’s shop, pro- vided, when you have done, you will re- move all the dust and shavings, leaving no trace of your afternoon’s employ- ment.” The boys were delighted with the plan, and readily accepted the condition. Their aunt gave them permission to col- lect together their blocks, nails, hammer, and gimblet, as soonas they chose. All went on smoothly for a time; but it was not long before their aunt heard them rapidly approaching the room in which she was sitting. Charles was the first to speak, ‘Edward will not let me have the hammer, aunt.” « And Charles will not let me have the gimblet,” said Edward. “J should think,” said their aunt, “that two New York boys might occupy one room, and use the same hammer and gimblet, without quarreling.” “Why do you say New York boys, aunt?” said Charles. “ What has that to do with the matter?” “What do you do when you are walking in Broadway or Chatham street ? Do you go on in one straight line, deter- mined to turn neither to the right hand nor the left, for any one you meet ?” “No, aunt,” said Charles, laughing. “We should be knocked down before we had gone two blocks, if we were to man- . age in that way.” “ How, then, do you get along ?” ‘Sometimes we take one side of the walk, and sometimes the other, and slip along through the crowd just where we can find a place.” “ It seems then you have practiced the 128 art of turning out to let others pass. Now, in the present instance, if you will each turn out a little, that is, try to ac- commodate each other, you will find no difficulty.” “But how shall we manage it, aunt,” said Edward, “to both use the same hammer and gimblet, and not interfere with each other ?” “Tt is unnecessary for me to tell you how you can manage it. ‘Where there is a will, there is away.’ If youare dis- posed to get along pleasantly together, you will easily find a way to do so.” “YT will tell you, Edward,” said Charles, “how we can do. You can take the hammer, to nail together your wagon, while I use the gimblet, to bore through the little round blocks we are to use for wheels ; and when you are ready for the gimblet, I can take the hammer.” Having thus settled their business, they returned to their carpenter’s shop ; and though the rain was beating against the windows, there was the clear sun- shine of good-humor within. The after- noon passed rapidly away, while they were making their wagons, loading and unloading them, and drawing them about the room. They were quite surprised when their aunt came and told them, they would have no more than time to clear away, before tea would be ready. “Are you sure,” said their aunt, as they. entered the dining-room, “that I shall not find any stray shavings under the table, or behind the stove 9” “I do not know as we are quite sure,” said Charles; “ perhaps we had better look again.” They returned, and found some dust and shavings, which they had previously overlooked. These they carefully re- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. moved, and then invited their aunt to come and see if she could discover any traces of their late occupation. After tea, they sat down, as usual, to have some conversation with their dear aunt. “ We must own,” said Charles, “ that arainy day in the country is not so bad an affair after all. We have spent it very pleasantly, and it has seemed as short as any other day.” “You will find, my dear boys,” re- plied their aunt, “a great many rainy days, if you live to be men—that is, a great many days when you will feel very sad, and time will hang very heavy, un- less you furnish yourselves with some cheerful and useful employment. I hope you will remember this rainy day in the. country as long as you live. Let it teach you the lesson, that if you would be happy, you must never be idle. You must learn to be industrious, cheerful, kind, and forbearing.. Then,’ the sun- shine of peace and happiness will bless you all through life, in rainy as well as pleasant days.” . KATHRENE, A Funny Mistake. NE Sunday morning little Fanny stepped out of her hotse very nicely dressed. ‘Oh, how pret- ty ! how lovely!” said a stranger, who stood near. Fanny made a low courtesy, and thanked him for the com- pliment, on which both the gentlemen burst out laughing ; but the other said, “This gentleman did not mean you, you little vain, foolish thing! but the beauti- ful rose you have there in your sash ; it is the first he has seen this year.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. nL ie - \ a »\ VA — de ) S \ t D> KEY ENNY Lixp has been pronounced, | by the best of critics, to be one of the most remarkable singers ever heard. Her songs are sung almost everywhere, and every incident of her life is seized upon with the most lively interest. The public seems never to lire of the name of this lady. Fred- erika Bremer, the popular Swedish au- thor, did a great deal toward bringing this now celebrated singer into notice. She wove the name of Jenny Lind into one of her beautiful tales, in such a way 129 as to direct the attention, not only of her own countrymen, but of every por-’ tion of the civilized world, to her aston: ishing powers. Jenny Lind, a portrait of whom ap- pears at the head of this sketch, was horn at Stockholm, on the eighth of February, 1820. Her parents, it is said, were poor, and kept a school. At a very early age, the beauty of Jenny’s voice was remarked. She was only a little girl when she became able, after hearing a difficult musical composition 130 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. once, to sing it correctly, and even to write it. Soon after her public introdue- tion to the musical world, she went to Paris, for the purpose of pursuing her studies under the direction of Manuel Garcia. She was thunderstruck, at her first interview with the professor :— ‘*Mon enfant,” said he, “vous n’avez plus de voix—my child, you have no voice.” The fact was, that her musical organs, on account of their having been tasked too severely, were greatly weak- ened. Garcia recommended her not to sing for three months, and to give her- self time to recover from her fatigue. She followed his advice. As soon as she commenced practicing, however, un- der the tuition of Garcia, she astonished everybody ; and ‘from that time to the present, she has been regarded as one of the greatest musical wonders of this or any other age. | The admirers of music, on this side of the Atlantic, must be delighted to learn, that Jenny Lind has consented to make usa visit. Mr, Barnum, the enterprising proprietor of the American Museum, in the city of New York, has made arrange- Yeas Foy fa ments, at an enormous expense, to bring her to this country, and to have the di- rection of her concerts in several of the principal cities in America, for several months. A few days ago, we saw the original letter she wrote to Mr. Barnum, in which she accepts of his proposition. What a sensation her presence will make here, when she comes! How the places where she sings will be crowded ! In some small villages where she has sung, so great was the rage for seeing her, that from nine to ten thousand dol- lars were realized from one of her con- certs. In Cologne, a temporary build- ing was erected for her use, capable of _holding fifteen thousand persons, and it was crowded every night. In London, the price of single tickets ranged from ‘five to fifty dollars; in the provinces of England, from three to fifteen; on the | continent of Europe, the same. But they have very often been sold for enormous sums. What the price of tickets will ‘ve in this country, we are ‘not informed ; but understand that it is the intention of Mr. Barnum to place it as low as possible. THE YOUTHS CABINET. 131 Which was the Wisest? CELEBRATED tutor in Paris was in th the habit of relating to his pu- pils, as they stood in a half cir- cle before him, anecdotes of illus- trious men, and obtaining their opinions respecting them, rewarding those who answered well with tickets of merit. On one of these occasions, he mentioned an anecdote of Marshal Turenne. “On a fine summer day,” said he, “while the marshal was leaning out of his window, his valet entered the room, and approaching his master with a soft | stép, gave him a violent blow with his hand. The pain occasioned by it brought the marshal instantly around, when he beheld his valet on his knees imploring his forgiveness, saying that hé thought he had been George, his fellow-servant.” The question was then put to each of the scholars, “What would you have done to the servant, had you been in the marshal’s situation?” A haughty French boy, who stood first, said, “Done? T would have run him through with my sword!” This reply filled the whole school with surprise; and the master séntenced the boy to thé forfei- ture of his tickets, for his cruel dispo- sition. After putting the question to the other children, and receiving different answers, he came, at length, to a little English girl, about ¢ight years of age. “Well, my dear,” inquired the teacher, “what would you have done on this oc- casion, supposing yott had been Marshal Turenne?” She sedately replied, “I should have said, suppose it had been George, why strike so hard?” The simplicity and sweetness of this reply March excited smiles of approbation from the whole school, and the master awarded the prize to the little girl.— Selected. Age of the American States. ue different States which’ compose our Union, and which are called the “ United States,” came into the Union at different times, as follows :— Delaware, December 7, 1787; Pénn- sylvania, December 12, 1787; New Jet- sey, December 18, 1787; Georgia, January 2, 1788 ; Connecticut, January’ 9, 1788; Massachusetts, February 6, 1788 ; Maryland, April 28, 1788; South Carolina, May 23, 1788; New Hainp- shire, June 12, 1788; Virginia, Juné 26, 1788; New-York, July 26, 1788;' North Carolina, November 20, 1789's Rhode Island, May 29, 1790; Vermint,’ 4, 1791; Kentucky, June 1, 1792; Tennessee, Juné 1, 1796’; - Ohi6): November 29, 1802; Louisiana, Aprif 8, 1812; Indiana, December 11, 1816 « Mississippi, December 10, 1817; Illi- nois, December, 3, 1818; Alabama, Dé- cember 4, 1819; Maine, March 15, 1820; Missouri, August 10, 1821’; Ar- kansas, June 15, 1836; Michigan, Juné’ 20, 1837; Florida, March 7, 1844; Texas, December 29, 1845; Wisconsli, December 29, 1848; Iowa, ‘184? rr A ratse friend is like a shadow on a dial, which appears in fine weather, but: vanishes at the approach of a’ cloud; 132 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. EUSPORLAL TABLE DAL. TO CORRESPONDENTS. HE subscriber in Vermont, who waxes poetical for our » especial benefit, is informed YR that we do not consider his lines worth the five cents we paid for them in postage. ¢ We ought, long ago, to have acknowledged a letter from a little subscriber in Troy, only eight years old. Thank you, Caroline. That was a very good letter indeed, The editor is very glad you are learning to write, and hopes he will hear from you again, one of these days. .“ Paris,” “The Sere Autumn Leaf,” * Youth,” “The Bird’s Nest,” and sun- dry other good things, will soon emerge from the pigeon-holes, where they are at present entertained, and come before the world in a tasteful dress, for which we have already given orders to the printer. How often the painful intelligence reaches us, in the midst of our toils, that some little boy or girl, who was once a reader of the Cazrner, and who used to hail its visits with delight, is cut down by death. It was only the other day, that a lady, to whom we are greatly in- debted, came into our office, and told us of the death of little Isabelle, one of our readers, who lived in Brooklyn. This lady presented us, at the same time, with some lines, written .as if from the lips of the dying one. We will read them at our table :— THE 8PI RIT’S ADIEU. My mother dems weep not nor grieve for me, But think, ah think, when thou art all alone, How my tired spirit struggled to be free, And hail’d the hour when death bade me be- gone. Ah, couldst thou view the joy that waits me here, My happy change from sorrow, sin, and pain, Thou wouldst then rather wish with me to share The bliss of heaven; for, ah! to die is gain. Hark, hark! the angelic host their voices raise ; “Welcome,” they sing, “to these bright realms above— To God be glory, to the Lamb be praise, Who suffered, bled, and died, to prove his love.” Mother beloved, grief finds no entrance here; Our home is one of joy, a place of rest, Where those of Christ's redeem’d shall ever share The love that waits the coming of the blest. A. E. F. B. ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. III. Tue Doon is a little river, dear to the lovers of poesy and song. Allegri was a celebrated painter, who died in obscu- rity. Menai is a strait in the eastern hemisphere. The Nautilus is a skillful little mariner, whose ancestors instructed ours. The Secant is a mathematical line. The Lotus is the bark in which Cupid sails down the Nile. The martyr Huss perished at the stake. The battle- field of Crecy has been renowned for ages, Froissart was an eminent historian. At- alanta rivaled the stag. Carya is the botanical name of the hickory tree. The— whole is “ Macaulay’s History of Eng- land.” I can find a little fault with this enig- - ma, and that.is, the name of the histo- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 133 Ee ae yeaa yee PSS neat Sennen tenet ii rian is not rightly spelled : the last sylla- ble should be day, and not Jey, AMELIA §, GOULD. Seneca Fats, N, Y, This enigma was also answered by K. W. N. of Concord, N. H.; Kate, of Dansville, N. Y.; and E. M. B. of New York. ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. IV. The Don is ariver in Europe. The North Sea is in Europe. Delaware is one of the United States. Sweden is a country of Europe. Ireland is an island west of Europe. Florida is one of the United States. Sardinia is an island in the Mediterranean. Orleans is a county in Vermont. Leon is a town in Spain, Hartford is the eapital of Connecticut. Oneida is a county in New York. Dvwi- na is a river in Russia. India is a coun- try in Asia, Waldo is a county in Maine. Dover is the capital of Dela- ware. ‘Order is Heaven’s first law,” a very useful motto. K. W. N. Concorp, N. H. This enigma was also answered by H. C. of Andover, Ms.; and I. A. S. Jr. of Glastenbury, Ct. ANSWER TO CIIARADE NO. IV. A word respecting that charade, A friend at hand wishes Essie to add: He begs of her to lend her aid, About that word Moorshedabad. - The Moor is found on Afric’s shore, With swarthy cheek, and deep-set eye— sn childhood’s years, we've ponder’d o’er ‘The Moorish legends with a sigh. A. shed for cattle men provide, To shield from the inclement season ; When storms are fierce, they there abide, Govern'd by instinct, not by reason. The letter A, though very small, Is always found in every place ; You see it graces every hall, And helps to fill up every space. How often, in this world of strife, The hearts of parents are made sad, And some embitter’d e’en through life, By children’s deeds, perverse and bad, You see, with ease we've pull'd apart This word in Moorish vesture clad. Replace again with less of art, And there you find Moorshedabad. ESSIE. This charade was also correctly an- swered by K. W. N. of Concord, N. H. Me. Tutrxer,—As I had an opportu- nity, I thought I would ask you one question. Where is the dividing line be- tween the Atlantic and Pacific oceans? A friend of mine asked me the question, the other day, but I did not answer it, as I wanted to consult Mr. Thinker, be- fore I did so. Yours very respectfully, H. B. C. Theodore Thinker, preferring to set others a-thinking, rather than to answer this question at once, invites his readers — to send him something on the subject, which he can print for the benefit of this young questioner. ENIGMA NO. V.——HISPORICAL. I am a work of great celebrity, com- posed of twenty-five letters. M y 4, 25, 23, 1,is the oldest sovereign of whom mention is made in the Bible. My 1, 14, 12, 19, 9, was a very ancient histori- an. My 20, 11, 1, 15, 17, 25, was the founder of a great city. My 3, 5, 12, 10, was his father. My 10, 2, 1, was his grandfather, My 20, 14, 23, 10,. was his great-grandfather... My 20, 11, 24, 5, 9, was his son, My«2,:19,1, 11, 134 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 15, 4, 1, 11, 9, was his daughter-in-law, My 24, 11, 20, 8, 7, 12, was his grand- son. My 10,19, 22,19, 20, was a queen celebrated by my 10, 17,1, 19, 15. My 9, 14, 3, 15, 2, 18, 19, 12, was an an- cient philosopher. My 4, 18, 10, 19, 20, 12, was his birthplace. My 3, 15, 11, 13, 17, was his intimate friend. My 23, 3, 10, 19, 2, 20, 22,19, 4, 21, 5, 19, was an ancient republic. My 18, 22, 11, 21, FO, 13, 14, 18, 1, 23, 15, 16, was an act im the year 1568, followed by disastrous wonsequences. My 2, 5, 13, 17, 25, 19, 18, 19, was a sacritice formerly known in Spain, My 3, 23, 13, 2, 6, 11, 24, 19, and 8, 11, 3, 19, 15, 17, and 8, 19, 9, 47, 15, are three extraordinary charac- ters, that appeared in Rome about the game time. ESSIE. CHARADE NO, V. My first may take three separate forms, As schvol ma’ams strive to teach, When once the love of learning warms The minds they strive to reach. ‘Three letters will that first express, And one will do the same; Then put on it a figured dress, And two will give it name. My second is a being small— A pigmy, sure, in size ; But long ago its fame grew tall, By Solomon the wise. ‘Leok at the mighty works it rears, In regions of the sun, And judge.if not, above all peers, True glory it hath won. My whole—one scarce can tell, I wis, His nature to define; He holds a thing—yet ’tis not his, No more than. it-is mine. Yet let him have the same good traits Which make my second great, He'll rarely find that adverse fates Deprive him .of:his state. Francace, Micy. LOUIS. RIDDLE NO, II Of egotists I am the chief, My pride surpasses all belief; Of science though I form a part, I’m never found in any art ; I’m in the balmy breath of spring, In all the little birds that sing ; And by my aid, man’s turn’d to main, And what was only bran is brain. Without me, there would be no mind, No life nor wisdom could we find. M. M. W. ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS, NO. II. 1. What is the solidity of a segment of a globe, whose base is 20 feet ; height 9? 2. The four sides of a field, whose diagonals are equal to each other, are 25, 35, 31, and 19 rods respectively. What is the area? 3. The area of an equilateral triangle, whose base falls on the diameter, and the vertex in the middle of a semicircle, is equal to 100. What is the diameter of the semicircle ? N. 0. The editor finds it necessary to request the numerous little boys and girls who send him enigmas and riddles, for publi- cation in the Caninet, to inform him, at the time, if any such are not originai, whether they have been published be- fore. We mean that the good things in this department shall be entirely original. Please bear that in mind, lit- tle friends. Another thing: do not make an enigma so easy, that any toler- ably shrewd boy or gi] will guess it by reading a couple of lines. Another thing still: after the enigma is comple- ted, and even after it has been revised pretty carefully, give it another exami- nation, and be sure it is right. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 135 \ mm Mp i ae a Ny i ' Ey te \y i E | sti)» Wa ey i L} = = 22m, i tf — . pt Lay | ml | o <> fi ae _ lk | 4 oe ry eA eee ) A SCOTTISH BALLAD, BY ROBERT BURNS, 1, Joun Anpenrson, my jo, John, When nature first began To try her canny hand, John, Her master work was man; And you, amang them a’, John, So trig from top to toe, You proved to be no journey-work, John Anderson, my jo. It, John Anderson, my jo, John, Ye were my first conceit ; I think nae shame to own, John, I lo’ed ye ear’ and late; They say ye're turning auld, John, And what though it be so, Ye're aye the same kind man to me, John Anderson, my jo. Vy. 9 Tit, John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquaint, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonny brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow, But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. IV, John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi’ ane anither ; Now we maun totter down, J ohn, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. MAY 136 Paris. BY MRS. E, A, COMSTOCK, YouNG niece, who reads the CaBIneT, asked me to “tell her about Paris.” I was very busy at that time, but replied, “ that when I had more (er leisure, I would write some- thing about the beautiful city ; and then she, and many other little girls, could be amused, and I would have a larger audience.” Paris is a very ancient place. It was a large town before America was dis- covered. It was the chief city of a half-civilized people, called the Parisii, from whom it takes its name. It was at one time called Lutetia, a name that sig- nifies “a dwelling in the midst of a river.” This was during the reign of Julius Cesar, a half century before the birth of Christ. This city has been im- proved and added to, since then. Some parts of it are newer than portions of New York, and much more splendid than any town in America, It is sur- rounded by walls, with handsome iron gates. Outside of these, there is a finely- shaded street, much wider than Broad- way, called the Boulevard Extérieur. There are two of the same kind of streets within the walls. The city lies on both shores of the river Seine. North of this river, the boulevards are three miles long ; south of it, nine miles in length, having a fine semicircular sweep, ‘These THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ER TT A SS northern boulevards are crowded, at all hours of the day, by grown people and children, Here are swinging chairs and boats, suspended from poles, in which children or grown folks can take an air- ing for a penny. Under the trees are little round tables, with white covers, and with shining cups displayed upon them, at which any one, for a few pen- nies, can sit and take a lunch of coffee and rolls. Here and there, a charcoa! brazier sends up a savory steam of cof- fee and minced meats, where a person can have a good dinner cheaper without a table. Chairs, turned down, are grouped in large numbers around the trees, and many poor women, standing by them, earn a sous, or a penny, an hour, by loaning these seats to the tired prome- naders. Here and there flit the neatly- dressed ladies of Paris, whose tall and elegant forms, gracefully draped, can be seen, at early morn, gliding through the flowery alleys of the bouquet markct, buying. for one sous, as many flowers as they can conveniently carry. Here, also, are gilt and gaudy coaches for children, drawn by goats, dogs, and even well- scoured porkers. On the northern side of the river Seine is a fine palace, called the Louvre. It has a gallery, connecting it with the palace of the Tuileries. used as a museum. Here are good paintings and statues, valuable coins, beautiful vases, and rare china, many hundred years old. Here, This gallery is | also, is a bed, in which Napoleon Buona- | parte slept, when Emperor of France. streets are shaded by a double row of |'The curtains are of crimson velvet, gigantic elms, and lined with handsome | sprinkled with gold bees. buildings, cafés, and gardens. The ewer The | and basin were of gold. The wash- ————. _—_-—- itand was green porphyry, inlaid with silver. The walls were lined with mir- rors, and between the windows stood a massive silver table, richly embossed. But far more interesting to me was a room in which the government surveyor exhibited his model and painted maps. The room was three hundred feet long, and on either side the walls were hung with large maps, exquisitely printed with a pen, and colored with a camel’s hair brush. Through the centre of this room was a long table, on which the model maps were displayed. Children will perceive, by looking on the atlas, that Paris is inland, or far from the sea, Many of her citizens, therefore, have never seen a ship. These model maps were exact representations of the sea-parts of France, with ships lying in their harbors. These ships were perfect in every respect ; nota rope was omitted. The frigates were par- ticularly graceful in contour. This ex- hibition attracted crowds of people, who will probably never see any other ships or sea-ports than these. The exhibition was public and free, The surveyor was present, and very politely explained the different parts to us. fle was, as all really intellectual people are, very modest, and willing to listen as well as to harangue. Persons who have little acquaintance with polish- ed society, and have never contrasted themselves with superior minds, are apt {0 overrate their talents, and disgust every one by their opinionated manner. We have sometimes smiled internally, when such persons have displayed their achievements of third-rate excellence, with conceited glee. We hope that THE YOUTH’S CABINET. a ‘137 the surveyor, and when tempted to dis- play his attempts, will remember, that if they are good, others have done much better. The printed maps surpassed anything I have ever seeti performed with a pen. Ina few hours, we learned more of the maritime history of France than we ever hoped to, and brought away with us very favorable and pleas- ing impressions of the skill and courtesy of that beautiful country. } As we left the Louvre, a plain chariot entered the court, and we knew by the livery, that it belonged to Louis Philippe, now ex-king of France. His third son stepped from it, bowing politely to us, as is the custom of that family, when- ever they meet a stranger in the land. We were told that he had a fine taste, and that he was well educated.. When we perceived how modest and courteous he was, we did not in the least doubt it. Bad Memory. POOR woman in the country went to hear a sermon, in which, J\. among other evil practices, the use of dishonest weights and measures was exposed. She was much affected by the discourse. The next day, when the minister went among his hearers, and called upon the woman, he took occasion to ask her what she ‘re- membered of the sermon. The poor woman complained much of her. bad memory, and said she had forgotten al- most all he had said. ‘* But one thing,’ said she, “I did remember—I rememi every child who reads this will imitate | bered to burn my bushel measure.”2,, — , Easter-Day. BY J, P. M’CORD, WONDER whether the readers of _ the Caniner pay any special re- _ gard to Easter-day. It was a great day among the children, in the es where I was born and bred. We, that is, my brothers and sisters, were accustomed, when winter was taking its leave, to look into the almanac, to see on what Sunday in April the feast would fall. We did not call it Easter, however, but, in accordance with some Dutch usages which still remained in my native place, we commonly called it poss, Iam not sure that 1 have spelled this word as a learned Dutchman would spell it, but it is pronounced so as to rhyme with Joss. When the season ap- proached, we always engaged right heartily in preparing for it. You must know, that eggs were essential to its proper observance; we were careful, therefore, to collect a good supply of them. We narrowly searched every spot where a hen would be likely to de- posit such articles. After school-hours, in particular, away we ran to the nests, each trying to secure as much spoil as possible before the arrival of the others. We would then severally disappear to some secret place, to hide our eggs. In this way, we usually treasured up a suffi- cient store, which we did not fail to produce: when the proper time arrived. My books inform me, that Easter is a feast designed to commemorate the re- gurrection of Christ. It corresponds, in season, to the passover of the Jews, and is considered, in some sense, as a con- tinuation of it. But why, as in some parts of our country, at least, Easter- ‘nip, or other coloring matter. THE YOUTHS CABINET. day should be celebrated by a free use of eggs, rather than in any other manner, I never could find out. I could guess a reason, but then it might not be the true one; so I will not trouble my readers with it. Besides, in our childhood, we never inquired into the origin and history of the feast; we were satisfied if we could observe it according to the estab- lished custom. This privilege our kind parents always granted us. And some- times we had other pleasures besides those of the table. Some older mem- bers of the family would color a few eggs for us, by throwing into the water where they were cooking some green cat- If our names, or any device, had been previous- ly marked on them with the end of a tal- low candle, they would not take color in the parts so marked. We valued these fancy articles highly, and would keep them some time. I thought I would say this much about Easter-day, that those of my readers who live in places where it is not ob- served in a similar manner, might the better understand the following fable. I would not teach you, by the fable, to be penurious or illiberal, but only to spend money with prudence. One thing more: when you come to the fourth line, please stop, and consider how many dol- lars there are in a million dimes. THE BOYS AND THEIR EGGS, Some spend a dime because ’tis small, Nor deem it, squander’d, waste at all: The diligent and prudent know One dime may to a million grow. When merry Easter roll’d around, And cooks, by ancient custom bound, Prepared to load the festive board With eggs for that occasion stored, THE YOUTHS CABINET. cepeeersemeadbaiaiiiinie ee eee A mother, in a humble cot, Who had two sons to cheer her lot, Dealt out to each a noble egy, Because their tears the gift did beg. Frank, fond of favors good to eat, From pie and cake to roasted meat, His egg beneath the ashes placed, For brief enjoyment to his taste ; But Charles. a shrewd, discerning youth Who could deny a craving tooth, Resolved to keep his little store, And be at pains to make it more. With hope’s high pulses in his breast, He put his portion in a nest; When Nature, veil’d within the shell, Wrought mysteries too deep to tell. ’ FISHERMAN caught a very small fish. “Very well,” said the man, “ this will do for a begin- ning.” claimed the little fish, as he dangled at the end of the line. ‘“ You cannot do anything with me, if you keep me. It would take twenty such to make one dish—and such a dish! Why, it would not suffice to make a single breakfast for you. I beg yon, sir, to throw me back into the water. ‘There are multitudes of “Have mercy!” ex- | £39 Warm'd by the hen’s attentive wing, The egg became a living thing. The chick broke up the circling cell, To see the world, with fuwls.to dwell. a Gay with young life, she roani’d and fed,» Where’er her mother’s prudence led, Full-fledged at length, mature, and fair, She well repaid the owner's care ; She brought him eggs, and rear’d a brood, That in her matron steps pursued. Each after year, with joyful eyes, He saw his wealgh still faster rise : Until there stroll'd around the door A flock too large to wish for more: Then eggs and chickens he could sell, While every day he feasted well. ney 4 ft, Ca $ A“ 4 The Fisherman and the little Fish—A Fable. fishes where I came from, which are much more worthy of your attention than Tam.” “ My little friend,” replied the fisherman, “ you might as well stop praying; I have made up my mind to fry you this very evening.” MORAL. The thing that a man has, may be worth more than the thing he hopes for, but is not certain of obtaining —Perrin. — 140 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. great easy chair; she tried to look grave The Old Slate. and dignified, like an old lady, though HAVE a great mind to break this | she was now but eighteen. Charlie i stupid old slate,” said little Cha:les | came rather unwillingly, laid the slate mAR Fidget, one morning, as be sat over | on her lap, and began to play with the his first sum in subtraction. trimmings on her apron. “ Why, what “Why, what has the poor slate | is this ?” said she—* soldiers, and cats, done?” asked the pleasant voice of his | and dogs, and houses with windows of sister Helen, behind him. all shapes and sizes !” ‘Nothing; just what I complain of. Charlie looked foolish. ‘Oh, the It won't do this plaguy sum for me; | sum is on the other side,” said he, and here it is almost school-time !” turning it over. “ What a wicked slate, Charles!” ‘Ah, silly boy! said Helen; “here “So it is. I mean tu fling it out of | you have been sitting half an hour the window, and break it to pieces on | drawing pictures, instead of trying to do the stones.” | your sum, And now, which do you “ Will that do your sum, Charlie?” | think ought to be broken, you or your “No; but if there were no slates in | slate?” and she held it up high, as if the world, I should have no good-for- | she meant to knock his head with it. nothing sums to do.” Charlie looked up, with his hands at “Oh, ho! that does not follow, by | his ears, making believe he was frighten- any means. Did slates make the science | ed, but laughing all the while, for he of Arithmetic? Would people never knew she was only playing with him. have to count and calculate, if there were Presently, however, she put on a serious no slates? You forget pens, Jead pen- face, and said, “ Now, my little man, you cils, and paper; you forget all about _must go to work in good earnest, to oral arithmetic, Charlie!” make up for lost time.” “Well, I don’t love to cipher; that’s “Oh, Helen, it wants only twenty all I know.” minutes of nine; I can’t possibly do this ‘And so, you hasty boy, you get sum, and get to school by nine. I shall angry with the poor harmless slate, that | be late. What shall I do? Miss is sO convenient when you make mis- | Fletcher will certainly punish me, if ‘it takes, and want to rub them out again. js not done. Can’t you, just this once, Now, this.is the way with a great many | Helen?” thoughtless, and quick-tempered people. “No,” said Helen. They try .to find fault with somebody |, “Qh, do! there’s a dear, good sister ; or something else, and get into a pas- | just this once.” | sion, and perhaps (lo mischief; when, if | “No, Charlie; there would be no they wou'd but reflect, it is their own- kindness in that. You would never learn selves who ought to bear the blame. | arithmetic in that way.” Now, Charlie, let me see what I can do | “Just once,” still pleaded Charlie. for you.” | **No,” answered Helen, in a kind but So Helen sat down in her mother’s resolute tone; “if I doit once, you will THE YOUTHS CABINET. 141 es find it harder to be refused to-mor- row. You will depend upon me, and sit playing and drawing pictures, instead ais who get the most of their \ oss Philosophy Outdone. of ciphering. I will do a much kinder education by means of books, do thing ; I will keep you close at it till the | not know everything. It some- job is over,” times happens, indeed, that a So she passed her hand gently round | child can instruct them in some matters. nim; and though Charlie pouted at first, | A very learned: man, noted as one of the and could hardly see through his tears, | wisest philosophers of his time, was one she questioned him about his rule, and | day very busy in his study, when a little then began to show him the proper | girl entered, and asked for some fire. | | | way to do his sum, yet letting him work | “ But,” said the doctor, “you have it out himself, in such a pleasant manner, | brought nothing to put it ia.” “Oh that he was soon ashamed of being sullen. | yes, I have,” replied the little girl; and First she held the pencil herself, and put | while the man of learning was hunting down the figures as he told her to do; up some vessel for her use, she stooped and then she made him copy the whole, | down at the fire-place, and taking some nicely, on another part of the slate, and | cold ashes in one hand, she put the live rub out her figures. embers on them with the other. The After all this was finished, patiently | doctor was astonished. “Well,” said and diligently, Charlie was surprised to | he, “with all my learning, I should find he should still be in good season | never have thought of that.” Common for school. sense is better than philosophy, some- “‘ Now, to-morrow, Charlie,” said Hel- | times. en, “don’t waste a moment, but go to your lesson at once, wherever it is, and z —_—_—— you will find it a great saving, not only of time, but of temper. You won’t get into a passion with this-clever old slate Dr. Johnson. of mine then. It went to school with me when I was a little girl, and I should HE celebrated Dr. Johnson, in have been sorry if you had smashed it “ making proposals of marriage to for not doing your work. Half the time, Mrs. Porter, informed her that he Charlie, when you see a person fidgety was of mean descent; that he and angry, and complaining of things | had no money ; and that he had had an and people, you may be sure he has | ynele hung. The lady replied, that these done something he ought not to do, or | cireumstances need not stand in the way left undone something he ought to do.” | of their union; for that she had no more Away ran Charles to school, thinking money than himself, and that, though to himself, “Well, I suppose I was | she did not recollect that any of her re- wrong both ways, I ought not to have | Jations had ever been hung, she was sure been drawing soldicrs, and I ought to! gye had a score or two who deserved have been ciphering.”-——Child’s Present. hanging. I HARRY AND HIS DOG, THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. 143 Harry and his Dog; OR THE EVILS OF DISOBEDIENCE, BY KATE SUTHE RLAND. se ee he passed out of the house, with his satchel in his hand; “come, old fellow !’ Nero sprang instantly to his feet, and, dishing past the boy, ran a few rods from the house, and then pausing, turn- ed, and with a look half human in its pleasure and intelligence, waiied for Harry to come up with him. Now, Henry’s mother had more than once told him, that he must not take N ro away when he went to school. But it was so pleasant to have the dog’s company along the road to the school- house, that the lad every now and then disobeyed this injunction, trusting that he would escape punishment. Nero was quite as willing to go with his young master, as the latter was to have him in company; and he bounded away, as has been seen, at the first word of encouragement, But the two friends had not proceeded far, before the mother of Henry saw them from her windows, and instantly came out, and called after Nero, She was offended at the disobedience of ber son, and uftered some threatening words to both him and the dog. Nero did not at. first show much incli- nation to obey the authoritative voice of Mrs. Long; and if Harry had only s-oken a single word, would have gone with him, in spite of all opposition. But that word Harry dared not speak ; and so the dog stood still, looking back first towards M:s, Long, and then wist- a iA} ome, Nero!” said Harry Long, as e+ eee oe eee fully after his young master. Finally Nero returned slowly to the house, and Henry went on as slowly, and equally as much disappointed, to school. When Henry returned home, a few hours afterward, his mother received him kindly, yet with a serious countenance. His first thought was of his disobedience in trying to get Nero to follow him to school; and, as* he expected, she began at once to speak on that subject. “Henry,” said she, “I hardly think you can have forgotten what I said to you last week, about taking Nero away from home.” | Harry hung his head, and did not at- tempt to offer an excuse for his conduct. “I am extremely sorry,” continued Mrs. Long, “that my son should have acted so, disobediently—sorry for his sake; for disobedience brings evil into the heart, and this creates unhappiness. And I am also sorry, for another cause : to disobey, is to do wrong; and wrong- doing, in almost every case, injures others,” Harry looked up into his mother’s face, with a glance of inguiry. “Yes, my son,” she added, “ wrong- doing, in almost every case, injures others.” “It couldn’t have hurt anybody, if I had taken Nero to school with me; how could it, mother?” said the boy. Mrs. Long gazed for a few moments into the face of Harry, and then, reach- ing her hand towards him, said— * Come !” 144 There was something so serious, not to say solemn, in the face of Mrs. Long, that the lad began to feel a little strangely. “ Where, mother 2”’ he asked. But she did not answer, and he moved along silently by her side. From the sitting-room down stairs, where the mother had met her boy, they passed along the passage, and up stairs into a chamber, where, to his sur- prise, Harry saw his little sister Phoebe, a sweet child in her second year, lying asleep, and looking so pule and deadly, that the sight caused a shudder to pass through his frame. Ave Oh, mother!” he exclaimed, turning quickly, and grasping the garment of his _parent. “ Dear mother, what is the matter with Phoebe ?” | ‘Let us sit down here by the win- dow,” said Mrs. Long, in a calm voice, “and I will tell you all about what has happened.” ‘Is she dead, mother?” eagerly asked the boy, while the tears came into his eyes, “No, my child; she is not dead, tuanks to our heavenly Father. But I cannot tell how it would now be, if you had taken Nero off to school with you this morning.” ‘Why, mother, what did Nero do?” “Listen, and I will tell you. After I called the dog back, he came and laid himself down on the mat before the door, and placing his head between his fore paws, shut his eyes, and seemed to be sleeping. He remained lying thus for nearly an hour, when, all at once, I saw him start up, listen, and look about him. Presently, he ran off, and went all around the house. He seemed uneasy THE YOUTH’S CABINET.’ about something. First he looked in one direction, and then in another; snuff- ed the air; put his nose to the ground, and ran a little way fiom the house, and then came back again. “«What’s the matter, Nero? said I. “He came and fixed his eyes upon my face, with a look that to me seemed anxious, stood for a few moments, and then went to his mat again. But he did not lie there more than an instant, before he arose and started off up stairs. Ina little while, he came down, and seemed more uneasy than ever. I began now to feel strangely. “«Where is Phoebe?” I now called out to Margaret, who was in the kitchen. “«’m sure I don’t know,’ replied Margaret; ‘I thought she was with you.’ ‘“ At this moment, with a short bark, Nero sprang away toward the spring. I saw this, and fearing that Phoebe might have wandered off in that direc- tion, followed quickly. But ere I had gone half way, I beheld the noble dog returning with your little sister in his mouth, and the water dripping from her hair and clothes. She appeared to be quite dead, when I took her into my arms, and did not show any signs of life for nearly half an hour afterwards. Then she began slowly to recover. Oh, my son! think what might have been the consequence, if our faithful Nero had not been at home.” Harry covered his face with his hands, and burying them in his mother’s lap, sobbed bitterly. “ And will Phoebe get well, mother?” he asked, looking up with tearful eyes, after he had grown calmer. ' “Yes, my son,’ replied Mrs, Long ; THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 145 nemesis heart was bent on going. After his trunk had been carried down to the boat, he went to bid his mother farewell, and saw the tears bursting from her eyes. However, he said nothing to her ; but he saw that his mother would be dis- tressed, if he went, and perhaps never be happy again. He just turned round to the servant, and said, “Go and tell them to fetch my trunk back. I will not go away to break my mother’s heart.” His mother was struck with his decision, and she said to him, “George, God has promised to bless the children that honor their parents, and I believe he will bless you.” Se “she is out of all danger now. God has permitted her still to remain with us.” “Oh, if she had been drowned!” said Harry, the tears flowing afresh. “But for Nero, this painful event might have taken place.” ‘ Suppose he had gone to school with me?” ‘The boy saddened as he spoke. “Sad, sad might have been the con- Sequences of your disobedience, my son. You now understand what I meant by our wrong acts affecting others as well as ourselves. In right doing, Henry, there is always safety. Never forget this, May the lesson you have now received, go with you through the remainder of your life!’ Just then Phoebe awoke, and rose up in bed. Harry ran to her, and putting his arm about her neck, kissed her ten- derly. Nero came in soon after, and shared the joy and caresses of his young friend, with whom, not many hours be- fore, he had joined in willing disobe- dience. But Nero was not to blame in this; for he followed the instinct of his nature. Henry was alone to blame; for he had reason and reflection, and knew that the act he meditated was wrong, because it was an act of disobedience.— NV. Y. Organ. | Business First, and then Pleasure. MAN, who is very rich now, was poor when a boy. When asked how he got his riches, he replied, ‘‘My father taught me never to play till all my work for the day was finished, and never to spend my money till I had earned it. If I had but half an hour’s work to do in the day, I must do that the first thing, and in half an hour. After this was done, I was allow- ed to play; and I could then play with much more pleasure than if I had the thought of an unfinished task before my mind. I early formed the habit of doing everything in its time, and it soon became perfectly easy to do so. It is to this habit that I owe my prosperity.” . Let every boy who reads this, go and do likewise, and he may meet a similar reward.— Anecdotes for Boys. Admirable Example. EORGE. WAsHIN@ToN, when young, was about to go to sea as a mid- shipman ; everything was arran. ged, the vessel lay opposite his father’s house, the little boat had come on shore to take him off, and his whole She Forfarshire was a British steamer, = which sailed be- = tween Hull and = Dundee. She left Hull on the evening of Wed- nesday, Septem- a oa ber 5th, 1838, having on board a valuable cargo, and upward of forty passengers. Her crew consisted of twenty-one persons; the captain’s wife accompanied him on the voyage, The Forfarshire had not proceeded far, when a leak was discovered in the boiler, This rendered it necessary to ex- tinguish two of the fires, which were, however, relighted when the boiler had been partially repaired. The vessel con- tinued her course until the following evening, by which time she had pro- ceeded as far as Berwick Bay, when the leak again appeared. It had now be- come so great, that the greatest difficul- ty was experienced in keeping the boilers filled, the water escaping through the leak as fast as it was pumped in. The wind was blowing strong, and the sea running high; and the leak increased so much, from the motion of the vessel, that the fires were extinguished, and the en- gines, of course, became entirely useless. Ii was now about ten o'clock at night, and they were off St. Abbs’ Head, a bold promontory on the Scottish coast. There being great danger of drifting ashore, the sails were hoisted fore and uft, and the vessel put about, in order to get her before the wind, and keep her THE YOUTH’S ‘CABINET. ageable, and the tide setting strong to the south, she proceeded in that direc- tion. It rained heavily during the whole time, and the fog was so dense that it became impossible to tell the situation of the vessel. At Jength breakers were discovered close to leeward, and the Ferne Lights, which about the same pe- riod became visible, put an end to all doubt as to the imminent peril of the un- fortunate vessel. An attempt was made to run her between the Ferne Islands, but she refused to obey the helm; and at three o’clock on Friday morning. she struck with tremendous force against the outer or Longstone Island. At the moment the vessel struck, most of the passengers were below, and many of them asleep in their berths. One, alarmed by the shock, started up, and rushed upondeck. When he reach- ed it, he found everything in confusion : and seeing part of the crew hoisting out a boat, he sprang into it. The raging of the sea instantly separated it from the vessel ; and though several of the other passengers attempted to reach it, they were unsuccessful, and perished in the attempt. The boat itself escaped by something little short of a miracle, There was but one outlet by which it could avoid being dashed to pieces on the breakers by which it was surrounded. This outlet it providentially took, without its crew being aware of it; and after being exposed to the storm all night, it was picked up by a sloop, and carried into Shields. In less than five minutes after the ves- sel struck, a second shock separated her into two parts—the stern, quarter-deck, and cabin, being instantly borne away, off the land. She soon became unman- | through a passage called the Piper Gut. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. by @ tremendous current, which runs with considerable violence even in tem- perate weather, with a rapidity of about six miles an hour, but which, when the * weather is tempestuous, flows with a force truly terrific, The fore part of the vessel, in the meantime, remained fast on the rock, and to it still clung the few passengers who remained, every instant expecting to share the fate of thei unfortunate com- panions, whom they had seen swept away by the raging’ element. In this dreadful situation, their cries attracted the notice of Grace Darling, the daugh- ter of the keeper of the Outer Ferne Lighthouse. With a noble heroism, she immediately determined to attempt their rescue, in spite of the raging of the storm, and the all but certain destruc- tion which threatened to attend it. Having hastily awakened her father, he launched his boat at daybreak, and with a generous sympathy worthy of the father of Grace Darling, prepared to proceed to their rescue. The gale, in ‘the meantime, continued unabated, and the boiling of the waves threatened a “Speedy destruction to their frail boat. It was therefore with a heart full of the most fearful forebodings, that he under- took the perilous enterprise, After watching the wreck for some time, they discovered that living beings were still clinging to it, and the gallant young woman seized an oar, and entered the boat. This was enough. Her father fol- lowed, and with the assistance of his daughter, conducted the frail skiff over the foaming billows, to the spot where the wreck appeared, By a dangerous and desperate effort, he was landed on the rock ; and to preserve the frail boat 147 -~— from being dashed to pieces, it was rapidly rowed back among the awful abyss of waters, and kept afloat by the skilfulness and dexterity of this noble- minded young woman. At length, the whole of the survivors, consisting of five of the crew and four of the passengers, were taken from the wreck, and convey- ed to the light-house, where Grace Dar- ling ministered to their wants, and anx- lously, for three days and three nights, waited on the sufferers, and soothed their afflictions. This perilous achievement, unexampled in the feats of female fortj- tude, was witnessed by the survivors in silent wonder, The weather continued so tempestuous, that the main land could not be reached til] Sunday, when the nine persons, saved by the gallant hero- ism of the Darlings, were landed in safe- ty; thus making the entire number of persons saved from the wreck eighteen, All the others perished. Those who found refuge on the rock on which the vesse] ‘struck, suffered severely, during the night, from the cold and the heavy seas, which at intervals washed over them. The female passen- ger who escaped, sat with her two chil- dren, a boy and a girl, the one eight and the other eleven years of age, firmly grasped in each hand, long after the buf- fetings of the waves had deprived them of existence. The captain and his wife were washed from the wreck, clasped in each other’s arms, and both drowned. Here was an act of heroism, to which you will find few parallels; nor has it been without its reward. Besides the satisfaction of saving nine fellow-crea- tures from certain destruction, the fame of the heroic act has spread far and wide, and its praise been on every 148 tongue. Painters, of no mean power have portrayed the scene, and _ its memory will be thus preserved. Pre- sents have besides poured in upon her THE YOUTILS CABINET. and her father, and everything been done to mark the public sympathy and ap- probation of the daring and disinterested deed.—Bingley’s Tales of Shipwrecks. The Stag proud of his Horns—A Fable. Sraa, drinking at a clear spring saw himself in the water; and pleased with the prospect, stood afterward, for some time, con- templating and surveying himself from head to foot. “Ah,” said he, “what a glorious pair of branching horns are there! how gracefully do those antlers hang over my forehead, and give an agreeable turn to my whole face! If some other parts of my body were but proportionable to them, I would turn ' my back to nobody; but I have a set of such legs, as really makes me ashamed to see them. People may talk what they please of their conveniences, and what great need we have of them upon several occasions, but for my part, I find them so very slender and unsightly, that I would as soon have none at all.” While he was giving himself these airs, he was alarmed by the noise of some huntsmen and a pack of dogs, who were making rapid way toward him. Away he flies, in much consternation, and bounding nimbly over the plain, left dogs and men at a vast distance behind him. After which, he had the ill-luck to get entangled by his horns in a thicket, where he was held fast till the dogs came in, and pulled him down. Find- ing how it was likely to go with him, in the pangs of death, he uttered these words :—‘ Unhappy creature that I am! I am convinced, too late, that what I prided myself in, has been the cause of my undoing; and what I so much dis- liked, was the only thing that could have saved me. I am ruined by my own folly.”’—Selected. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. . The Hindoo Mother. omE of you have very likely heard that there is a river in the north of Indja, called the Ganges, and which the poor, ignorant people there foolishly worship. They look upon i's waters as very sacred, and fancy that if they drink them, they will get a great blessing from them; or if they wash in them, they will come out quite cleansed from their sin; or if they die in them, will go, all bright and glorious, to Para- dise. The great value they thus set upon the Ganges makes them offer to it very costly things, and sometimes they will throw into it all sorts of precious jewels, in the hope that the goddess who rules over it will do them good. Even little children are sometimes thrown thus into the river. One day, a young Hindoo mother was seen going down to the Ganges, carrying a sweet little babe in her arms, which she was loading with her kisses, and bathing with her tears. The person that saw her thought, “ Ah, poor Hin- doo woman! she is going to throw that child to the Ganges ;” so he watched her. When she got down to the river, he saw her lay her lovely babe upon the grass, and then, going to the edge of the stream, gather some of the long reeds or flags that grow there: these she plaited together, so as to make a sort of little raft. She then gathered a number of the beautiful flowers of the lotus—a sort of water lily, and with these she made a wreath all round the. raft, Then, lighting a little lamp, and placing it in one corner, she lifted up her babe, again loaded it with kisses, placed 149 it in the midst of the flowers, and then pushed all off upon the surface of the stream, a beautiful offering to the god- - dess. She thought that the stream. would bear away her gift quite out of sight ; that by and by, her darling babe might, perhaps, fall off the raft, and’ be drowned in the sacred river, and then, as its blest spirit rose to paradise, the goddess would pardon her sin, and bless her soul. But it so happened ‘that she did not push it far enough, and the eddies of the river brought back the little | raft underneath the overhanging branches of some bushes at the side. The little babe held out its hands to its mother, and cried for her to take it up; but no, she had given it up to the Ganges, and she dare not take it back. At last, as it passed under a branch, the little thing caught fast hold of it, and lifted i:self up a little from the raft. The moment the mother saw that, she was seized with fear, that perhaps, after all, it might escape, and then a curse, and not a bless- ing, would fal] upon her spirit. So she rushed down to the spot, and scrambling out to the end of the branch where her little child clung, she seized hold of it, wrung its little neck round and round, ° and then threw it out into the river, where it sunk to rise no more! | “O cruel Hindoo mother!” you all of youcry out; but I would rather say, “OQ ignorant Hindoo mother!” Poor woman! she did not know that God had given his Son to die for her; so she gave her babe an offering to the Ganges, Had she known what you know, of God giving his Son for her sins, sne would not have acted as she did. Oh, let us send her word of the glorious Gospel of God, and tell her she need not throw io: THE YOUTH’S CABINET. her child to the Ganges; for God has | The mantle of flowers on each vale that she'll given us his Son, and “his blood eleanseth from all sin.”--S, S. Advo- Cute, a Spring. Sex, see, on the trees how the leaf-buds are swelling— A harbinger sure of the coming of Spring; And soon ’mid their boughs will the wild birds be dwelling, And blithely their sweet, merry carol will ring ! The bonds of the ice-king are rivers asunder, And away he has flown to some far-distant land ; Bright flowers are waking from out their long slumber, For they’ve felt the warm touch of Spring's magical wand. a river has burst his stern majesty’s chain, ' And merrily dances along on its way ; ‘On its bosom, bright jewels it bears to the \. ‘main; ~ Each drop is a gem in the sun’s brilliant ray. Oh, sweet are the joys of the winter fireside, While the voice of the storm whistles shrilly around ; And ’tis pleasant with fleet-footed coursers to ride, As light o’er the new-fallen snow-wreaths they bound. How cheerful the sound of the ringing sleigh- bells, As ’tis borne to our ears on the clear, frosty wind ; Of frolicsome glee every laughing face tells ; All traces of care are left far, far behind. But dearer to me are the foot-prints of Spring, The low, gushing song of the pure mountain rill, fling, And the melody wild of the birds on the wing, Oh, swells not each heart on this beautiful earth, From its innermost depths, with extatic de- light, As the eye over Nature’s fair landscape roves forth, And beholds the rich gifts from the Father of Light # AGNES F, BR. The Honest Farmer. wo farmers having a dispute as to some land, an action at law was commenced to determine it. On the day fixed for the trial, one of them called on his opponent to accompa- ny him to the court, that each might give his own statement of the case. Finding his neighbor at work in the field, he said to him, “Is it possible you have forgotten our cause is to be decided to- day?” “No,” said the other, “I have not forgotten it, but I cannot well spare time to go. You will be there, and 1 know you are an honest man, and will state the case fairly ; and justice will be done.” And soit proved ; for the farm- er who went, to the judge, stated his neighbor’s claims so clearly, that the cause was decided against himself, and he returned to inform his opponent that he had gained the property. Such a character is worth more than the wealth of the Indies. But how widely different is the spirit usually exhibited by men in their dealings with each other ! ee a a ne ee ee _ The Blue-Bird. HE pleasing manners and social dis- position of this little bird, entitle him to particular notice. He is one of the first messengers of spring. Oh, how it used to gladden my heart, as the snows of winter melted away, to hear the first notes of this sweet songster! I used to fancy that the same individuals returned to my father’s orchard, from year to year, and that they recognized me when I welcom- ed them to our dwelling. The blue-bird is generally regarded as a bird of passage. Still, I have known pairs of them appear, in the latitude of Connecticut, as early as the middle of February, when the weather was unu- sually warm for that season of the year. Poor fellows! when they made so early a visit, they invariably had to pay pretty ¥. 10 THE YCUTHTS CABINET. 151 ee A ELLIO LE LAINIE dearly for it. ‘They were sure to encoun- ter cold weather, and frequently severe snow-storms. I have almost cried, many a time, when I have thought of what the dear little creatures must suffer at such times. The favorite spot for the nest of the blue-bird is a hole in some old tree. An apple tree suits him very well; and he is more generally found in an apple orch- ard, than anywhere else. It is to be presumed that these birds do not them- selves bore the holes in the tree where they build their nest. I am inclined to think, that those with whom I was ac- quainted, when I was a little boy, appro- priated the holes formerly made by the woodpecker. After the nest is built, the owners are sometimes obliged to abandon it to other birds. The little restless, fidgety, twittering wren, for in- stance, loves just such a place as the MY 152 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. blue-bird does; and I have known the sly fellow come along just as the blue- bird family had got settled, and watch- ing an opportunity when the blue-birds were away—perhaps calling on some neighbors—enter the hole, pull the nest all to pieces, and carry off the timber to build his own nest. The provoking fel- low! I have had a good mind to stone him, more than once, while this mis- chief was going on. The wren is no fa- vorite of mine; he is so unamiable and ill-tempered. The blue-bird lays five, and sometimes six eggs, of a pale blue color. I have known boys steal the eggs of this charm- ing bird; but I never had the heart to do it. Moreover, I always had a very low opinion of a boy who would do such a thing; and I think now as I thought then, that any boy or girl who takes pleasure in robbing the nests of innocent birds, exhibits a cruel disposition ; and I am always afraid that this disposition will show itself in their conduct toward man- kind, as well as in their conduct toward birds. The principal food of these birds are insects, particularly large beetles, and worms, such as usually abound in the heart of trees partially decayed. Spi- ders, too, seem to afford them a very ac- ceptable repast. In the fall of the year, they often feed on berries. The usual spring and summer song of the blue-bird, as most of my readers know, is a soft, agreeable, and oft-repeat- ed warble. He is a remarkably good neivhbor. I never heard of his quarrel- ing and fighting with other birds. Everyboyd ought to love him. Shall I tell you, little boy—I mean you who live in the country—how you can coax a pair of them to build their nest under your window, and wake you up in the morning with their cheerful warbling ? Save a few cents of the money that you get, and then—that is, if your father or older brother cannot attend to the business—hire some carpenter to make you a little house, one or two feet square, with holes in it. Place this min- iature house on a high post near your window, or set it on the corn-house or barn. Do it early in the spring, and you may depend the blue-birds will see it, and build their nest in it. If you have two or three holes in the house, and as many different partitions inside, perhaps you will have two or three families of blue-birds for you tenants. What do you think of that plan, little friends ? Can’t you afford to build such a house, and give the blue-birds the use of it? They will pay for the rent in music—my word for it. Look at my friend in the picture, sitting on the limb of his favorite tree, trying to find a good place for his nest. Look at him! See what a fine countenance he has. Do you wonder that I like him so well? “No, no,” you all say; ‘I like the blue-bird as well as you do.” Well, build a nice little cot- tage for him, then. Never hesitate to obey the orders of those who are placed in authority over you, always remembering that we must stoop to rise.—True humility of mind is of such great value, that no effort is tdo great to obtain it.—Never lose your tem- per by the faults of others, recollecting how many faults you possess yourself. THE YOUTH'S CABINET. A Visit to the Florists. BY JOHN B, NEWMAN, M. D. NE fine morning in early spring, Mr. Sanford accom panied. his two daughters to a florist’s in Broad- way, to secure some seeds for their garden. Passing Union Square, on their return home, they stopped to look at a noble mansion which had just been built for a wealthy merchant, and the furnishing of which was nearly com- pleted. The foreman, who was superin- 153 ~ : kneel-ing by that mother’s side, The mother’s lip shall be the guide; The \ 2. Where is the mother’s bed of death ? Who shall receive her parting breath? O. on that child’s devoted breast The mother’s weary form shall rest! The child shall bathe the burning cheek, And soothing words the child shalt speak,—- Smiling, unwearied to the last, And whispering hope, when hope is past. 166 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. MAY SONG. ALTERED BY W. B. BRADBURY, FROM J. A. P, SCHULTZ. : Ss 2 love - ly month of May, - er wel-come, ev - er r gay! ee Eee Seria wiih by vale and moun - tain, er ee Tt > oe t % eo f Flow’r - ets aot and in - sects play, When by brook and foun - tain, In the love-ly month of May. O, the love-ly mouith of in Ev -er wel-come, ev-er gay, Ev - er wel - come, Ev-er welcome and mm Ev -er come, eV - er 9 + Ey- er « anid a * 7 ; fs > ‘tei x > moncegge™. —— + t a — +—— — — Zz Tiel Lorient ail . } gay, ever welcome and gay. 2. O how fresh the morning air! 8. Hark! the universal shout ! O how lovely all things are ! Nature’s fairest forms are out! | Birds so gayly singing ; Lambs are bleating, skipping ; Woods and meadows ringing ; Bees are buzzing, sipping ; Buds and blossoms fresh and bright ; Walk, or ride, or row the boat, Leaves so green, enchanting sight. Stand, or fall, or sink, or float. O, the lovely, dc. O, the lovely, &c. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 167 ANY, wae ntti au Call ili Res ut hi vay Ay oe, ANNU I 1 ot alll My, SS Ag iD) (7G SS ES i AA hae a i Ns Sd ee \ y Cae ah et ATEN yay ee j vi) etl =¢ , -II»™ YAN )) ij cs taf , J Mi ee a N iH a ut e. nh \ Flowers. BY MARGARET JUNKIN, How beautiful the flowers are ! If they are even perfect here, How bright they make our way, Where storms and tempests rise, Strewing the earth so variedly What would they be if blossoming With all their rich array ! Beneath celestial skies They speak to us with eloquence Of his majestic power, There they would never droop their leaves, Who even stoops to show his skill Or cease their scented breath ; In fashioning a flower. Their tender veins would not be ‘chill’d Beneath the frosts of death: we , An immortality of bloom I fain would think that they shall be, Would thus to them be given; With their sweet looks of love, The faintest rose tint could not fade— Among the many pleasant things There is no death in heaven. That we shall meet above. Laxmmeros, Vi. V | ll Ix 168 THE YOUTHS CABINET. The Widow’s Cottage. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF BOUILLY, BY THE EDITOR. x the charming banks of the river Cher, is the village of St. Avertin, noted for the richness of its vine- yards, the beauty of its situation, and the tasteful and ele- gant mansions of many of its inhab- itants. Among these mansions, the most beautiful is the castle of Can- 6, built at the summit of the hill, on the south side of the river. It would seem almost as if nature had here de- signed to bring together everything which is calculated to please the eye, and gladden the heart. On the right can be seen the city of Amboise, and the castle of Blois; on the left, the city of Tours; farther on, those of Luynes and Langeais ; and some eight leagues far- ther, the towers of the fortress of Sau- mur. Before appear the rich intervales of the Loire. This river flows but a short distance from the Cher, and the two rivers together water an immense valley, many leagues in length, covered with scores of villages, all of which can be distinctly seen with the aid of a good glass. No wonder the Abbé Barthéle- my, whom I met there one day, exclaim- ed, as he did, while gazing on this scene, ~ «Qh! this is a second Eden!” During my last visit to the castle, I had the happiness of meeting the vener- able pastor of the place. His name is Nivet. He was once my professor in the royal college of Tours. He related to me a story, which must, unless I am much deceived, greatly interest my little friends. THE PASTORS STORY. At the foot of the hill of St. Michel, near the village of St. Avertin, is an humble cottage, occupied by a poor and ‘nfirm widow, whose husband and two sons perished in the battle of Moscow. Alone, without relatives, with no protec- tor, this poor woman, whose name is Durand, subsisted by the labor of her hands. All her time was occupied in reeling silk, for the manufacturers of Tours. Working from five o'clock in — the morning to nine o'clock at night, she could earn, on an average, from ten to twelve sous a day. Naturally cheerful, and resigned to the will of God, Mother Durand found the means of cultivating a garden herself ; and from the avails of her work, she was able to employ @ man to take care of a little vineyard which she owned, on the bill-side of St. Mi- chel, and which yielded the best wine in the canton. | But her hard work, coupled with the gloomy solitude in which she lived, grad- ually reduced her strength, and made sad inroads upon her health. At length, she was seized with paralysis, and her left arm became useless, so that she was no longer able to provide for herself ; and the inhabitants of the village began to talk about placing her ina poor-house. Poor woman! the bare idea of quitting the cottage where she was born—where she became a bride and a mother— where, for more than fifty years, she had enjoyed a sweet independence—that ‘dea overwhelmed her with grief: and ne ne THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 169 ee enrernnnnEynEnEnnEy Sananasenaessnn ea aise she frequently said to her neighbors, that the day when she was forced to leave her hutnble dwelling, would be the last of her life. The castle of Cangé, at this time, was inhabited by a wealthy family, who, after having shared the most favorable chances of commerce, in the four quarters of the globe, had come to enjoy themselves in this garden of France. One of the heads of this honorable family gvas a sea-cap- tain, and the happy father of two young daughters, named Celine and Louisa. The elder of these girls was twelve years old, and the younger counted but about one spring less than her sister. Chance brought the sisters to the cottage of the poor widow. She told them her misfor- tunes, and the cruel necessity which seemed to compel her to go to a poor- house to die. “ What!” said Celine, ‘the widow and the mother of three men who died on the field of battle! and obliged to leave your peaceful hearth! We shall allow no such thing.” “No, no,” said Louisa, in her turn, “we must see that this good woman is made comfortable in the cottage which is so dear to her. We promise you that we will come over and see you again to- morrow morning ; and our kind govern- ess will second our plans, I am sure. Cheer up, Mother Durand! we shall not abandon you; and you may consider us as having to-day begun our service in your behalf.” « Your service! my good misses. Ah! I should be most happy to serve you, if want always to feel, that, as our good pastor tells us, the ills which he sends upon us are intended to correct us for our sins, and, if we rightly improve them, that they serve to prepare us for a better lot in the world to come.” The two girls were touched with the pious resignation of the widow, and, af- ter having assisted her a little in her household affairs, they left, with hearts full of pity for the venerable invalid, who followed them with her eyes, as if they had been two angels sent to her aid from heaven, until they were out of sight. The next morning, while the family were still asleep in the castle, Celine and Louisa, attended by their faithful gover- ness, wended their way to the cottage of the widow, who had risen when they entered, and was engaged in her morn- ing devotions. While the governess made the bed for Mother Durand, the two misses helped the invalid in dressing, and prepared for her a frugal, but ex- cellent breakfast, with some wine, some sugar, and a small loaf of bread, which they had brought from home. One bathed with liniment the arm of the poor widow, who fancied that her blood circulated anew while she felt the soft hand of the kind girl on that helpless arm; the other made a fire of two or three sticks of wood which she found on the hearth, and warmed a piece df flan- nel, with which she chafed the arm of the sufferer, until, by degrees, some heat was produced in that cold, palsied arm, and she was able to move her fingers a I had strength enough left for the task. | little, which was more than she had done But I desire to submit to the will of God, | for a long time. After all these acts of and to receive with thankfulness even | charity had been performed, they set the woes which he calls us to suffer. I | themselves about the task of reeling some 170 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. cocoons of silk, which a manufacturer had entrusted to the poor widow. Ce- line, Louisa, and their governess, each a reeler in her turn, labored, under the direction of Mother Durand, who laughed a good deal at the zeal of her three ap- prentices, until they had filled a bobbin with silk. Before they left, that morning, the girls made the widow promise that she would not tell any one about their visits. The next day, the three came again ; and every day, during all the month of June, and half of July, before sunrise in the morning, this pilgrimage to the poor widow’s cottage was repeated. At the moment when the old clock of the castle struck the hour for breakfast, they returned ; and the family, supposing that they had been merely taking a pleasant morning ramble, thought but little of their absence. The neighbors of Mother Durand could not conceive how it happened that, with the help of one hand only, she was able to perform her tasks, and maintain herself as she did. They ex- pressed their surprise to her. “ Why,” she said, “don’t you know that God never abandons those who trust in him? I am getting better of my palsy every day. For several weeks past, I have been taking a certain remedy, which has enabled me to use my arm a little, and _ which. has saved me from the poor- house.” By and by, the father of Celine and Louisa, from what he saw in the conduct of his daughters, began to think there was something mysterious aboyt their “morning walks, and determined to clear ait up. In vain, however, he asked seve- ral questions of the discreet governess. She knew how to keep the secret, and she did keep it. The captain was not a man to be foiled ‘n those matters which he had set his heart upon ; so one morning, before sun- rise, he walked to the hamlet of St. Michel, followed the children in their ac- customed pilgrimage, and saw them en- ter a cottage situated on the banks of the Cher. Celine was carrying a little basket, apparently containing provisions. Louisa held fn her hand a parcel of linen, and the governess, who accompa- nied them, had under her arm a score of bobbins, which were tied together by a cord. The brave mariner had confi- dence in the good intentions of his chil- dren. Still there was a mystery about this matter; and he placed himself where he could see all that took place in the cottage. He had not been in this position long, before he saw one of the most touching spectacles he. ever be- held. Celine held the left arm of the widow, and bathed it with some kind of lotion, while Louisa rubbed it with a piece of flannel, which the governess from time to time renewed by a similar piece that she had warmed at the fire. Mother Durand, her eyes raised toward heaven, seemed to be asking God to bless the three spirits who were so earnestly en- gaged in her behalf. From the conver- sation that took place, the captain soon learned, that what he saw had been a common thing for more than six weeks ; and not only so, but that these girls, with the assistance of their governess, had been in the habit of occupying the time they could spare from their studies, and other duties, in reeling the cocoons of silk which had been entrusted to THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Mother Durand—a difficult task, but one which was now the only means by which the poor widow could obtain the little comforts she stood in need of. | . The officer was deeply affected by this act of generous devotion on the part of these members of his family, and he con- fided the whole story to the worthy vil- lage pastor, from whose lips I learned it. This pastor resolved to turn the charity of Celine and Louisa to account, in pro- viding still farther for the wants of the poor widow ; and it was not long before an opportunity oceurred to carry his resolution into effect. o A festival, which took place in the vil- lage, brought together a multitude of people, old and young, to the castle of Cangé. Mother Durand, already more than half cured of her paralysis, was there, by the invitation of her two young benefactors, who supposed that their charity was still a profound secret, as the good old woman had promised never to reveal it. She was accosted, in the crowd, by some silk manufacturers, who expressed to her their wonder that, with one arm ina sling, she was able to do the work they confided to her. Poor woman! she turned red and stammered, at the same time that she looked toward Celine, and seemed by her countenance to say, “Never fear; I shall not betray you.” But the venerable pastor, who seized every opportunity of exciting Christian charity in his flock, pointed out the two charming sisters, as the minis- tering spirits of Mother Durand. This revelation produced the effect which the old man desired. The young girls of the village applauded the good deeds of Celine and her sister, blamed themselves for not having done their duty to the 171 poor widow, and promised to profit by the example which had been set them. They engaged that two of their number should go daily to the cottage of the widow, and help her in her household affairs, for a week; that two more should then perform the task for another week ; and that they would take turns in this way as long as their services were need- ed. They did as they engaged to do. Nor was this all. The boys wished to do something for the good woman whose husband and sons had perished on the battle-field; and they engaged, on their part, to take turns in cultivating the gar- den and vineyard of Mother Durand. The result of this engagement was, that the widow was bountifully supplied with all the comforts and luxuries of life that she desired. Mother Durand is still living, honored, beloved, and cared for, by all the inhab- itants of the village. She has not quitted the humble, but cherished cottage where she was born. All the strangers who visit this beautiful place, and who have heard this story, so worthy the cultiva- tors of the garden of France, seek with interest for “the widow’s cottage.” Ancient Lightning Rods. tT appears from Herodotus, that the ancients possessed a knowledge of the power of attracting lightning with pointed iron instruments. He informs us that the Thracians disarmed heaven of its thunderbolts, by discharg- ing arrows into the air; and the Hyper- boreans by darting into the clouds pikes headed with pieces of sharp-pointed iron. 172 THE YOUTHS CABINET. ———————— — = Ml ! a LSS TTT Aa = "yl iy j Hl —— the Mit NIH " H 7 7 Te u [ il VY Puss and Dash. A FABLE FOR LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS. —— Sim Dasn had long held sole possession Whose tiger-stripe along the back, Of parlor place by day and night, With shining rings of gray and black, And seem’d to think it great oppression Made her a very pretty creature, For any to dispute his right. Perfect in cat-like shape and feature; He slept upon the sofa seat, And home she came in wicker basket, He mounted on the stools and chairs ; Snug as a jewel in a casket. He lived upon the daintiest meat, Sir Dash no sooner saw her form, And gave himself conceited airs. Than he began to bark and storm ; Tn truth, he was 4 handsome fellow, And Puss no sooner saw Sir Dash, With silky coat of white and yellow ; Than eyes and teeth began to flash. With ears that almost touch’d his toes, He raved with passions, snarl’d and snapp’d; And jet-black eyes that match’d his nose ; She show’d her talons, scream’d and slapp’d: And admiration oft and loud His back stood up with warlike bristle, Made Dash impertinent and proud. Her tail as tough as any thistle; At length his master’s heart was smitten In short, the parlor, once so quiet, With love towards a tabby kitten, Became a scene of vulgar riot, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The master thought a day or two Would soften down this fierce “to-do” He fancied, when the breeze was past, They would be right good friends at last; He hoped that they would live in peace, And all their feud and fury cease. Alas! they both behaved so badly, That those around could not endure it; Bad temper reign’d so very sadly, The master knew not how to cure it. A dish of milk was on the floor ; Puss wanted some, and so did Dash ; Twas big enough for many more To lap out of without a splash ; But she was rude, and he was ruder, Neither would let the other taste it ; Each thought the other an intruder, And did their best to spill and waste it. If Dash one moment ventured nigh, Puss would that moment spit and fly ; If Puss the dish next minute sought, Dash the next minute raged and fought: At length, with sorrow be it spoken, Between them both the dish was broken. The garden was in lovely order, Neatness in every walk and border; And pinks and lilies flourish’d there, Tended with diligence and care: But scarce a single week had fled, When Mr. Dash and Puss were found Both fighting in the tulip bed, Trampling and spoiling all around ; Uprooted flowers and damaged laurels Were scatter’d by their foolish quarrels, And, meet on any spot they might, The scene was one continual fight. Their master, long as he was able, Bore the confusion round the table, And even gave his generous pardon For all the mischief in the garden, Hoping their battles soon would end, And each to each become a friend: But no; they still kept up the strife, And led a most ungracious life— And 80, one very noisy day, Their master sent them both away. They soon discover’d, to their cost, What a good home they thus had lost. Dash was obliged to wear a chain, Which gall’d his neck, and gave him pain ; A dirty kennel was his bed, And often he was poorly fed ; And miserably discontented, Most fervently poor Dash repented. Puss lost her cushion fine and soft, And lived within a dreary loft, Where no sweet milk and meat were set, But mice were all that she could get; And there she pined in melancholy, Regretting all her upstart folly. Had they been somewhat more inclined To friendship social, pure, and kind— Had they put jealousy aside, And both laid down their selfish pride, Both had escaped such dire disgrace, And both had kept their favor’d place. Thus, far too often do we see Brothers and sisters disagree— Too often do we hear loud blaming, And sometimes, when we stand amazed, We even see fierce hands upraised ; Yet very little mutual bending Would save a world of harsh contending. If Puss and Dash had thought of this, They would have lived in perfect bliss, And long have shared the parlor rug; In every comfort, warm and snug. Brothers and sisters all, take warning— The lesson must not meet your scorning ; Never let selfish trifles lead To loud dispute and spiteful deed ; Yield to each other, and be sure Your happiness is then secure. —_—_—_@j——. Fish fascinated by Music. 173 With ill-bred speech, and rude exclaiming ; Selected. n Germany, the shad is taken by means of nets to which bows of wood are affixed, hung with a num- ber of small bells, which are attach- ed in such a manner as to chime in har- mony when the nets are moved. The shad, when once attracted by the sound, will not attempt to escape while the bells continue to ring. 174 The Quarrelsome Children. HERE was a cottage not a great way from Mary’s and ... Alfred’s home, and in that RA cottage lived two boys and two girls, with their father } and mother. It was not a happy fam- ily; for the children often quarreled, and called each other very bad names ; and too often they also fought with one another. Sometimes when Mary and Alfred were at play in their garden, they could hear the loud cries of these children ; and they, more than once, had seen them in the road, beating and throwing each other in the dirt. It made them sad to see and hear these things. They thought, and indeed they said to their father, one day, “If our dear little brother John had lived, we would not have hurt him, and been cross to him.” Once these quarrelsome children were ‘at play; and one of the girls struck her elder brother with her hand, and then ran away. The boy then picked up a stone which was in the road, and ran after his sister. He was in a very great passion ; and, as he ran, he cried out that he would kill her. This frightened the little girl very much; for she knew that her brother was stronger than she, and - she knew that he would not care what harm he did, while his passion lasted. So she ran away from him as fast as she could. But her brother ran still faster ; and would have caught her too, if she had not run into the garden where Mary was with her father. She ran to them, and said, “O, do not let my wicked brother come near me; he will kill me.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The boy had run after his sister auite to the garden, before he saw M father ; and then he stopped, and w have gone back, if Mary’s father ha said, “ Put down that stone, Henry come here.” Henry did as he was bid. He afraid to run away ; but he walked slowly. At length he reached the } and Mary’s father took him by one and his little sister by the other went with them into a garden arbo there he talked with them. Mar, Alfred went too, and heard what their father said. Mary’s and Alfred’s father had always been very kind to the children in the cottage. He had often given them little books to read. Sometimes he gave them money for going on errands, or for weeding his garden; and when he met them, he used to speak pleasantly to them. ‘This is why they were willing to go with him now. He sat down in the arbor, and placed the little girl beside him, while her brother stood on the other side of his knee. «What were you going to do with that large stone you had in your hand, Henry 2” he said to the boy. «Lucy hit me,” he said ; “she is al- ways hitting me.” «Yes, but what were you going to do with the stone?” “He said he would kill me,” Lucy. «T see how it is. quarreling again.” Then Henry and Lucy both of them began to lay the blame upon each other. Mary’s father heard what they had to say, and then he talked to them. said You have been THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 175 Sep eaeemmsnusasaelfoasmsponsgmnamananienoanntooaecoounins aceon n aati ial He told them what a sad thing it is for brothers and sisters to disgrace each other. He put them in mind of Cain, who was so wicked as to kill his brother Abel; and ‘he also told them of a litth boy he once knew, who struck a younger brother in anger and killed him. Then he said thus to Henry: “Now suppose you had caught your sister while you were so angry with her, do you think you would really have struck her with that stone ?” Henry did not answer. “T am afraid you would have done so,” said Mary’s father; “and one blow of your angry arm, with such a heavy thing in your hand, might at once in- deed have killed her. Now, instead of being here safe, your sister might have been lying on the road, with blood streaming from her head, not able to speak or to move. Is this a sight you would like to see, Henry ?” The boy burst into tears. He did not like to think of what he might have done ; and he said he was very sorry. Then he spoke to Lucy. He told her how very wrong it is to do anything to provoke another; and that he was very sorry she should lift her little hand to strike a brother, even though she did not mean to hurt him much. ; She also said she was very sorry ; and she began to cry. Then he told them that they ought to confess their sin to God, and ask pardon of him; and to ask his help to keep them from being so naughty in future. He told them that if they were to live in peace with each other, they would be much more happy than they ever had been ; and that the great God, who sees all things, takes notice of children who live in love, and is pleased with them. But he is angry every day with the quarrelsome, and says that where he is they cannot come. . “Let us hear,” said . “what the Bible says to you. These are the words of God: ‘ Little children, love one an- other.’ ‘He that loveth not his brother, abideth in death.’ “Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer.’ My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth.’ ”. He then led Henry and Lucy out of the garden, and they went home together in peace.—Great Truths for Children. The Autumn-Leaf. . Loox at this leaf I hold up to view; How red it looks Where the sun shines through ! Purple and black, Pale yellow and rea— Colors as bright As painter e’er spread. Where the bird hid Its nest in the tree, Screen-like it hung As green as could be. But the dew fell, All softly and still ; And the cold air Made the dew-drops chill. Cold on the leaf The chill dew-drops lay ; All the green died, Before it was day. When the sun shone, It brought no relief; The beautiful green Was life to the leaf. xr. G 176 Mice fond r. Woopworru,—While listen- ing, last night, to several pages of your “Stories about Ani- mals,” which my nephew read aloud with great apparent enjoyment, I called to mind an individual, belonging, it is true, to one of the most diminutive families mentioned in your amusing and instructive volume, but whose singular history and tragic fate interested and affected me exceedingly. When about thirteen years old, I made a visit of several weeks’ length to a young lady who resided in the coun- try. My friend was rather older than I, and, being a farmer’s daughter, had, of course, some household cares: she one morning invited me to accompany her to the dairy, promising to regale me with “an exhibition such as money it- self,” she said, “could not purchase a sight of, in the city.” I complied, and followed her. When we were both in the room THE YOUTH’S CABINET. of Music. where the milk was kept, she tied on her large apron, bared her arms, and commenced her customary morning’s task of skimming milk and shaping rolls of butter; singing, meanwhile, as coun- try girls often do, a pretty, lively air, in a voice so sweet and musical, that I am almost certain any of your readers would have been delighted to hear it. I soon discovered that I was not the only lis- tener to my friend’s sweet tones and pretty song. A little mouse appeared on one of the shelves, and, looking around cautiously, at first, as if to assure himself there were none but friends pre- sent, moved softly along the smooth board, until very near the spot in which Annie stood at her work. Here he be- gan turning round and round, throwing himself backward and forward, frisking, leaping, assuming a greater variety of attitudes, and executing a more wonder- ful and grotesque series of evolutions, involutions and revolutions, (analyze -THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 177 7077 te siniaientninieglisnetiasiioantmenshtisiiidiahesmeeinimamniin se cite those words, little boys and girls,) than, as I verily believe, were ever imagined by any French dancing-master. He continued this performance with infinite zeal during several minutes ; after which his exertions gradually became less vio- lent. He seemed greatly wearied, yet unable to compose himself to perfect rest, as long as Annie continued sing- ing ; but when she paused, he also be- came entirely quiet. He had evidently taxed his strength to its utmost limits, and was now suffering fatigue on ac- count of it. Annie placed some crumbs of bread and sugar near him, of which, in a few moments, he roused himself to partake; and, after eating and resting as long as he chose, he withdrew slowly— not at allas if frightened away—and dis- appeared in the same corner from which he had entered. “Was not that worth seeing ?” asked Annie, breaking the silence, which, her Song excepted, had prevailed during Mousey’s visit. “Indeed it was” I answered. “How have you contrived to tame the little fel- low, and teach him so many antics ?” “T have neither contrived nor taught him,” she replied ; « though, as to taming him, I believe I may as well allow my- self the merit of that, as far, at least, as it has been done. I was at work here, one morning, some weeks ago, as I am now, and singing. A slight noise caused me to look around, and I saw a mouse near me on the shelf, frisking about so stfangely, that I stopped singing to laugh. Mousey immediately scampered off, as fast as his feet could carry him. I commenced my song again, and he soon came back, but advanced slowly, and as if not quite certain that he was prudent in doing so. I kept on singing, taking no notice of my visitor. When about as near me as he had been at first, he began showing off in the same ludicrous performance ; continuing it until he had completely worn out his strength, and seemed ready to die of fatigue. I of- fered him some crumbs, but he had not courage to eat, though he had no power to oppose my taking him in my hand, which I did, and could plainly feel his little heart beating, probably with fear, against my fingers. When-I saw that he was reviving, I placed him on the shelf again; in a few minutes more he began moving about; then he pleased , me greatly by tasting some milk which I had sprinkled on purpose to tempt him, and at last, gathered sufficient strength to creep back to his corner. Since that time, whenever I am here and singing, he comes out. If I have company, he does not seem to mind it, unless we speak to each other, when he beats a re- treat at once; though I believe he knows my voice, for I often talk to him when we are alone together, and he never ob- jects to hearing me. I have become much attached to him, and should be very sorry were any accident to befall him. Othello, my favorite cat, used often to come here with me, ‘but now I am careful never to bring him ; he is by no means pleased with being excluded, and often follows me to the door, I have dreaded my new pet’s being caught by some of the traps or poisons which doom so many of his race to destruction about the premises, but, so far, he has escaped them all.” You may be sure, sir, that I did not fail to accompany Annie to the dairy for several mornings after that. « But this 178 pleasure, like every other, was short- lived. Alas, poor Mousey! One morn- ing, I carelessly allowed the door to stay open so long after me, that Othello slyly slipped in, and, unobserved by either Annie or myself, lay quietly down at my feet. Our favorite appeared on the shelf, and commenced playing his antics as usual. But he had_ hardly commenced, when I was startled by finding something move at my feet; the next moment, a huge body bounded through the air, and, in an instant, (shocking to relate !) poor Mousey’s fate was sealed—he was a prisoner within the jaws of Othello. Annie and I both rushed to the spot. Othello, whose taste for mice was quite as decided as ours, though it showed itself in another way, was true to his nature; neither threats nor coaxing prevailed to obtain the release of his captive. Poor Mousey was killed before our eyes. M. Strange Instinct of the Deer. ue large American panther has one inveterate and deadly foe, the black bear. Some of these im- mense bears will weigh eight hun- dred pounds, and their skin is so tough that a musket-ball will not penetrate it. As the panther invariably destroys all the cubs which come in her path, so does the bear take great pains to de- stroy the panther, and fortunate in- deed is that animal who escapes the embrace of this black monster. The following exciting and interesting scene "mE YOUTH’S CABINET. is related by a gentleman who was an eye-witness : A large deer was running at full speed, closely pursued by a panther. The chase had been a long one; for as they came nearer, I could perceive both of their long, parched tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their bounding, though powerful, was no longer elastic as usual. The deer having discovered in the distance a large black bear, play- ing with her cubs, stopped a moment to sniff the air, then coming still nearer, he made a bound, with head extended, to ascertain if Bruin kept his position. As the panther was closing with him, the deer wheeled sharp around, and turn- ing back almost upon his own trail, passed within thirty yards of his pursuer, who not being able at once to stay his career, gave an angry growl and followed the deer again, but at a distance of some hundred yards, . Hearing the growl, the bear drew his body half out of the bushes, remaining quietly on the lookout. Soon the deer again appeared, but his speed was much reduced; and as he approached toward the liam, whose intel- ligence and correct language struck him. He made inqui- ries of the proprietor of the mine con- cerning him, and he coolly answered : « He is a lad who has always done his duty.” On returning for the purpose of visiting the foundry situated near the ‘ron and coal mines, Monsieur R— descried William seated at the door of a cottage of cheerful appearance, which seemed to be his home. The young man arose as the stranger drew near, and sa- luted him with dignified politeness. M. R—— stopped, and entered into con- versation with him. After putting a number of questions to him concerning the mining operations, the quality of the coal, its quantity, and the means of extracting it, he asked him if he belonged to that part of the coun- try? “No, sir,” replied William, “I come from Wales.” “A poor, but noble land,” observed “Noble indeed,” answered William, “for the schoolmaster often related to us the deeds of courage and devotion performed by our ancestors in defence of their liberty ; and, as for its poverty, I know that by experience.” “You are acquainted, then, with ad- versity ?””— « And though a harsh, I may say, Sit, that it is a good instructor: had I not been acquainted with it, I never should have been foreman now in Mr. Watson's mine.” «How did that follow ?” « Oh! it is quite a history, sir.” “Will you tell it to me?” asked M R-—— with a smile. William excused himself, pleading that there was nothing in the narrative which would be interesting to any one but himself. However, as M. R entreated, he replied : «Tt was but a little affair, sir ; it all happened quite naturally and according to the will of God. We were four or- phan children, with nothing to depend — on but the wages of our eldest brother, John, who served in the king’s navy. He regularly sent them to us, and they were sufficient to pay the board of my two sisters and of little Richard. As for me, I was then eleven or twelve years old, and I tended sheep on the hill, All prospered with us, and the old woman with whom my brother and sisters lived, went into the town every month to re- ceive the money sent by John. But one day—oh I remember it, sir, as if it were yesterday—lI was coming down the hill, whittling a whistle out of elderwood for little Richard, and I saw her coming back from the town with a disturbed air. “Why! what is the matter with you, mother Kitty ?” I cried. «Qh! is it you 2” said she, perceiving me, “here I am finely caught with you 186 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ee cesses esaeatesiaseaseaseas seas children. I shall lose my sixteen shil- lings and sixpence.” ‘How 2” cried I, “ have you no money from John?” “John!” repeated the old woman, “he has fallen, poor fellow, from the mizen-top.” “ And is hurt ?” “He is dead !” I am not quite certain that I compre- hended at the first moment, all the mean. ing of the words, “he ts dead ;” but it seemed to me as if I had received an in- ternal blow. I mechanically sat down on the fence by the side of the road, without uttering a word. WILLIAM IN DISTRESS, “Yes, dead!” repeated the old wo- man, “and I lose my sixteen shillings and sixpence. Ah! you may weep, boy, you may weep.” But I did not weep; softly I repeated to myself, “John is dead !” without the power of bringing it home to my mind. I scarcely remembered having seen our eldest brother ; I knew him only through the good which he bestowed on us. Therefore to me he was not so much a “man, as a good genius. In all emer- gencies, in reference to every distant hope, I was in the habit of saying, “If John pleases,” just as we say, “If God wills.” For me, John was a beneficent, protecting power, whom I had invested with no corporeal form, and therefore I could not associate the remembrance of him with the idea of death. However, after having remained sitting by the side of the road for some time, I slowly arose and proceeded toward old Kitty’s cot- tage. As I approached the door, I heard little Richard erying, and the harsh voice of the old woman saying, “You have eaten more bread already than I shall be paid for.” At this moment I crossed the thresh- old, and saw my sisters standing in the darkest corner, with Richard seated at their feet. Instead of the bacon-broth which formed their usual repast, each of them was holding a piece of dry black bread, which had been baked for dame Kitty’s poultry. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 187 Why it was, I cannot tell, sir, but at this sight I felt my heart smitten, and I burst into tears. Now it was that I comprehended the meaning of the words, « John is dead.” I became more enlightened during the following days; at every meal, old Kitty lessened for my brother and sisters the allowance of the bread, which seemed to them blacker and dryer in proportion as it was more begrudged. At last she came one day to the farmer with whom I lived, and said to him in my pres- ence. _ “Neighbor, I am resolved to keep the brood of children no longer.” | started. “And what do you wish to do with them, Kitty ?” I demanded. , What they will soon do with me,” she replied, “the beggar brats !’’ “Oh!” eried I, ‘‘ you would not have the heart to turn into the street those poor children, whom you have brought up, and who till now have looked upon you as a mother.” “Then find me the means of feeding four mouths with the allowance of one,” returned the old woman; ‘‘ rather would I abandon these orphans to the charity of the public, than see them suffer with me ; poverty makes me harsh, and I feel as if I should hate them, were I to keep them any longer. None can do more than they can, and those who are richer than I will help them.” I made no answer; for, after all, I could find no argument capable of touching dame Kitty. But my heart was broken. Oh! if I were only as strong as my brother John! If I could but be a father to these orphans! Un- fortunately, I was a full head shorter than my eldest sister, and farmer Dick- son hitherto had given me no wages, ex- cept the old clothes about the farm and two pairs of wooden shoes a year. While I was thus reflecting, the conversation between Dickson and his old neighbor went on. “If we were only near the coal- mines,” said she, “the eldest of the little ones could be sent there.” “Tt is a sad life,” said the farmer, shaking his head. “T do not say that it is not ; but they pay well, and her earnings would be nearly sufficient to maintain the other one and little Richard.” ‘‘ But there are coal-mines eight miles from here,” I eried. “What then?” demanded the old woman. “What then? Why, I ean go and work in them, and give up to you the greater part of my wages, if you will keep the three children.” . Dame Kitty raised her head and looked at me. “ And would you do this?” said. she. “He knows not what it is to work under ground,” inter;osed Dickson. “I do not,” I replied, “but since others submit to it for the sake of a liv- ing, I can well submit to it from love to my sisters and Richard.” The old woman became pensive, and after a moment added, “that would still be the maintaining of three little ones with the labor of one.” But Dickson rejoined, that if I went to the coal-mines, my eldest sister could supply my place with him, so that dame Kitty would be encumbered with two boarders only. The whole was thus concluded, and on the very next day, I 188 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. i ceeeninlenienananamtiniteaaiaaaait NLL departed for the mines, after having em- braced my brother and sisters. Dickson was right, sir, in saying that I did not know what under-ground labor was. At the first moment, when I felt the tub at the bottom of which I was seated descend into the shaft, and saw the sun disappear, it seemed to me as if I was entering my tomb. But it was quite otherwise when I reached the gal- lery where the digging was going on. There I perceived a swarm of men naked down to the middle, and coal-black ; some were kneeling, some were stoop- ing ; many were stretched on their backs, and all were occupied in silence by lamp light. I fancied that I beheld the reali- zation of an old engraving which I had formerly noticed at one of our neighbor's, representing the punishments of hell. There were also amid this dismal crowd of laborers some children, who were employed in rolling cars on rails, or in opening and shutting the doors of the galleries every time that a wheel- barrow went out. To this last employ- ment I was destined. I was placed in the inside of a niche, hollowed out in one of the doors of the gallery, and a cord was put into my hand, by means of which the door was to be opened and shut. This occupation was by no means fatiguing ; but my isolation, the forced silence occasioned by it, and above all, the darkness, threw me into a profound melancholy. In fact, imagine to your- self, sir, a young boy accustomed to live among the broom and flowery heather, to see the sunrise and set over the fields, and to run wherever his feet could carry him, suddenly condemned to the still- ness, the darkness and the scorching at- mosphere of those frightful subterranean regions, For the first two days I tried to pay no heed to myself, but to oppose my will to my sensations ; at the end of that time, however, my resolution gave way, and I yielded to despondency. Sometimes I wept for whole hours, ceasing only when I had no more tears to shed, and beginning again as soon as I recovered them. Still, in spite of everything, I was de- termined to persist. I said to myself, “Thy brother John died in laboring for the little ones; labor like him, even though thou in like manner shouldst die. It is thy duty.” By dint of repeating these words to myself, I resumed courage. Then fear- ing lest the despondent fit might return, I did like cowardly children, when they pull the coverlet over their eyes lest they should see something; I ceased from looking around me, I hindered myself from thinking, and at last I succeeded in pulling my cord mechanically, without knowing what I was about. | This lasted some months; but at the end of that time I became aware that my mind was actually asleep, and that I had no longer the power of awakening it—not even when I needed it. One day I heard a foreman, as he was passing near me, say, “That boy is becoming an idiot !”” That word, sir, appalled me ; if I be- came an idiot, how was I to protect my sisters and my young brother? What would I be good for, and of what use should I be to the master? I resolved to shake off my stupor and compel my mind to walk, after having kept it for many months, if I may so say, with its legs crossed. The difficulty was, to find THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 189 an occupation which might exercise it, without bringing back my sadness. I began to amuse myself with counting the wheel-barrows laden with coal which passed me. After having seen how many passed in an hour, I attempted to calculate how many would pass in a day, a month, a year. I then recollected that there were days of rest, and these I de- ducted. I multiplied the number found, by that of the galleries from which simi- lar quantities of coal were dug. I divi- ded the total into three parts, and thus I ascertained the portion of each of the partners in the mine. This calculating, diversified in innumerable ways, finished and begun again every day, familiarized me with the rapid performance by my head, of all common arithmetical com- putations. Having proceeded thus far, I grew tired of numbers, and began to think upon something else. I had a Bible, in which I had been taught while very small to read. I undertook to learn it by heart during my hours of rest ; I re- peated in a low voice the passages which I knew. I tried to explain to myself all the words, and to recollect how they were written. I amused myself with tracing letters in the air with my fingers, which made the barrow-men laugh, as they passed by. It was in this way, sir, that I learned to express myself with greater correctness, and acquired some knowledge of spelling and of the elements of grammar, which at a later period I endeavored to perfect. About this time some of the places of the young miners became vacant, and I was promoted to the galleries. There, the work was more laborious, but better paid, and at least, we were not condemned to inaction. I went on observing and reflecting, questioning the older miners concerning what I saw, and endeavoring to remember the informa- tion which they had derived from expe- rience. These lessons were generally given to me at our meal-times, or in the morning, - as we were going to work, for we always quitted the mine at dark to return to our families or boarding places, and were obliged the next morning before light to come back to the shaft. Thus three years passed, without my beholding the sun except occasionally when it rose, and without my seeing the field which I traversed every day; only sometimes in the morning, when passing the corn- fields, I gathered blue-bottles and wild mint, which I carried with me under ground, in order to remind myself that light, air, and flowers still existed above. I am almost ashamed, sir, of descri- bing to you these childish nothings, but you will soon see the reason. We used to have a meal in the middle of the day, which suspended all labors, and at which the children were accus- tomed to resort to the bottom of a pit, into which a little daylight entered, and from which a bit of sky, scarcely as wide as a hand, yet blue and transparent, could be seen. One day, when I was there with the others, I proposed to a little girl named Jenny, that we should go and see a pas- sage which had been opened in the morning, conducting, it was said, into a new vein. She followed me, and we crawled into the opening, which was al- ready ten metres deep. Reaching the bottom, I raised the lamp which I had brought with me, in 190 order to see the cut into the earth; and I was beginning to repeat to Jenny the explanations which the foreman had given me, when suddenly a dull crack- ing sound was heard a few steps from us. Jenny turned round with an ex- clamation of terror; almost at the same instant the opening behind us was crushed in, and we found ourselves buried beneath the falling earth. I cannot tell you, sir, how long I re- mained stunned ; when I returned to my senses I had undoubtedly extricated my- self by instinct, as I found myself sitting in the extremity of the passage, in utter darkness, but free from injury. I stretched out my hands in search of Jenny ; she was extended at my feet, motionless. I called her, for I dared not stir. The poor girl hardly recovered her senses ; at length as she appeared to hear me; I felt that she was getting up, and she asked me where we were ? “Buried,” I answered, “in the exca- vation.” . She started, as if she recollected all, and uttered acry. I advised her to be silent, as by the sound of her voice she might occasion some new concussion. She was instantly hushed, and I heard her weeping. I too felt that my courage had almost forsaken me; but I said to myself, that it would be a shame to show my weak- ness to Jenny, who had nobody but me to support her. I therefore began to comfort her as well as I could, by assu- ring her that it would not be long before we should be helped. The hours, however, passed away without bringing any change to our sit- uation. ‘Twenty times I fancied that I heard the strokes of the pick-axe, indi- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. cating that they were opening a passage to us, and twenty times I perceived that I was mistaken. At length I calculated that night had arrived, and that the mi- ners had ascended. It was impossible that they should not have ascertained the falling in of the passage, but no one had seen us enter it; undoubtedly they were ignorant that we were shut up there, and many days might elapse be- fore they would resume the task of re- opening it. This apprehension took away all my remaining strength. I thought of my brave John, who had died as I was about to die. I thought of my sisters and little Richard, and my tears flowed; only I wept softly, for fear of afflicting Jenny. The night passed, day came, but nothing was seen. I began to feel very hungry; I hunted for a morsel of bread which I did not find the preceding eve- ning, and I was about to put it into my mouth when Jenny, who had been silent for some time, said in a low tone, “Tam very hungry.” I thought that she was younger and weaker than I, and I gave her the re- mainder of my bread. But the hours passed on, and the air was beginning to fail us. Jenny soon began to talk, faster, and faster, as if she was very feverish. Sometimes she wept and cried for help ; at other times she laughed and sung. Her singing and laughing made me feel worse than her tears, In the mean- while I endeavored to keep up her pleas- ant thoughts. She fancied herself in the field, picking grains of corn from the ear and holding straws, as she did formerly. I had given her a nosegay of dried mint, which I had found in my pocket, and she said every minute, “Do you smell THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 191 that good smell which comes up from below? Itis from thyme border, which dame Potter has planted close to her hives.” But I ask your pardon, sir, for dwell- ing so long on these details. After hav- ing experienced a great danger, every recollection pertaining to it is precious to ourselves, and we end with fancying that it is of course equally interesting to others. It was as I had feared, and our acci- dent was not suspected before the third day. They then began cautiously to re- move the earth, and drew us out of our tomb, half dead. The fresh air and the care taken of us soon restored us to life. Mr. Watson happened to be then on a visit among the mines in Wales. He wished to see me as well as Jenny, and she related to him the whole scene. He seemed pleased with my behavior, and pro- posed that I should follow him hither. Thanks to him, I have since been en- abled, in the lapse of time, to bring up my sisters and little Richard, to become an overseer, and to marry Jenny, who always remembered with kindness the piece of bread and nosegay of withered mint.” The French gentleman, who had lis- tened with lively interest to William’s story, pressed his hand when he had ended, “I thank you,” said he, “for your narrative; it gives a lesson both for in- struction and imitation. You have proved by your conduct that no situa- tion is so desperate, that one may not, with courage, patience, and God’s help, hope to emerge from that situation, ear- lier or later.” L. O Siberian Sledge Dogs. HESE dogs are said to resemble the wolf, to have long, pointed, pro- jecting noses, sharp and upright ears, and long bushy tails ; color various—black, brown, reddish brown, white and spotted. They vary also in size, but a good sledge dog should not be less than two feet seven inches high. Their howling is that of a wolf. In the summer they dig holes in the ground for coolness, or lie in the water to esvape the mosquitoes, which in those regions are not less troublesome than one of Pharaoh’s plagues. In winter they bur- row in the snow, and lie curled up with their noses covered by their bushy tails. The preparation of these animals for a journey is carefully to be attended to, For a fortnight, at least, they should be put on a small allowance of hard food, to convert their superfluous fat into firm flesh. They are also to be driven from ten to twenty miles daily; after which, Von Wrangle says they have been known to travel a hundred miles a day without being injured by it. “‘We drove ours,” he says, “some- times at the rate of one hundred wrists (sixty-six miles) a day. Their usual food is fresh fish, thawed and cut in pieces; and ten frozen herrings are-said to be a proper daily allowance for each dog. A team consists commonly of twelve dogs; and it is of importance that they should be accustomed to draw together. The foremost sledge has usually an additional dog, which has been trained as a leader. On the saga- city and docility of this leader depend the quick and steady going of the team, as well as the safety of the traveler. 192 a tiie nie 5 —_— = — Tien TL tH THE YOUTH’S CABINET. < 0 ~~ 2 = 7” 1 ee Hay I - Pr , i} ! ; ‘ ) 9 J | | i | yi} ; a SS. N NV UTR Rae a 1) | ’ \ , | Ht i uj . ¥ | ta) UM ihm, > Wi , a iH "hyd Lg iH} ; NUK = } i , a 7 " iH ii uh - ' Epa’, | Hy ) : / e i} iH} é = The little Grave. T was one morning in May, that little Julia went forth, happy in her dear mother’s permission to enjoy its hours in the grove. All was new and charming to her; for they had but recently exchanged a city residence for this sweet and quiet home. She had always loved trees, and birds, and flow- ers, but had never before seen them, just where God himself had planted and reared them, without the aid of man, and now her little heart was full of wonder. Who could have scattered seeds in such variety and profusion, and placed those stately trees, not in rows or avenues, but here and there, just where and who could have trained the luxuriant vines from bough to bough, in such a tasteful manner? Julia had been taught from infancy about the wonderful works of God. She had “heard of them by the hearing of the ear,” but now, when her eye rested upon their loveliness, she was almost wild with delight. She had no brother or sisters, to enjoy and ad- mire these things with her; but she did not feel alone, for forms of freshness and beauty were spread all around her, and | the sweet air was ringing with strains of melody. “Is not this as fair as that ‘better land’ they:tell me of 2 But why do those bounding footsteps pause sud- they looked most graceful and pleasant; | denly? Why first comes a shadow over THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 193 the bright brow, and then tears gushing over the now pale cheek? Is it that little grave amid the flowers?” Ah, child! this is not that “ better land,” for “there is no death there !” _ And dost thou weep to find a grave, Whose length is near thy own ? Nay, all thy precious tear-drops save ; Resume thy cheerful tone. That little heart is spared the pain Thine may be doomed to know: Grief cannot shade that brow again ; Rise, little weeper! go! And grieve not for the little one Whose years were brief and few; Thine spared, ere many more be done, May call for weeping too, But place thy trust in Jesus’ arm, For earth is dark and dim; Friends cannot shield thy life from harm: Go! rest thy heart on Him. Rooxrorp, Int. H. L. W. ren Trust in Providence. HERE were two neighbors, who had each a wife and several little children, and their wages as com- mon laborers were their only sup- port. One of these men was fretful and disquieted, saying, “Uf I die, or even if [ fall sick, what will become of my fam- ily?” This thought never left him, but gnawed his heart, as a worm the fruit in which it is hidden. Now, although the same thought was presented to the mind of the other father, yet he was not fretted by it, for he said, “God, who knows all his creatures, and watches over them, shall also watch over me and mine.” Thus he lived tranquil, while the other neither tasted repose nor joy. One day, as the latter was labor- ing in the ficld, sad and cast down be- cause of his fear, he saw some birds go in and out of a plantation. Having ap- proached, he found two nests side by side, and in each several young ones, newly hatched and still unfledged. When he returned to his work, he frequently looked at these birds, as they went out and returned, carrying nourishment to their young ones. But behold! at the moment when one of the mothers is re- turning with her bill full, a vulture seizes her, carries her off, and the poor mother, vainly struggling beneath his grasp, utters a piercing cry. At this sight the man who was working felt his soul more troubled than before; for, thought he, the death of the mother is the death of her young ones. Mine have only me—no other! What will become of them if I fail them? All the day he was gloomy and sad, and at night he slept not. On the morrow, as he returned to the field, he said, “I should like to see the little ones of that poor mother—several, without doubt, have already perished.” He set off to- ward the plantation, and looking into the nests, he saw the young ones alive and well; not one seemed to have suffered. Astonished at this he hid himself in or- der to see the cause. After a little while he heard a light cry, and perceived the other mother bringing back, in haste, the food she had gathered, which she dis- tributed to all the young ones without distinction. There was some for each, and the orphans were not abandoned in their misery. In the evening, the father 194 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. eee eniiidiiidiiiiiiiiiieieiMat i who had distrusted Providence, related to the other father what he had seen, who observed, ‘“‘ Why fret yourself? God never abandons his children ; his love has some secrets which we do not know. Let us believe, hope, love, labor, and pursue our course in peace; if I die before you, you shall be a father to my children, and if you die before me, I will be a father to yours; and if we both die before they are of age to provide for their own necessities, they will then have for their father, ‘Our Father who is in Heaven,’ ” A Word to Little Girls. OW TO BE LOVED.—Who is lovely ? It is that little girl who drops sweet words, kind remarks, and pleasant smiles, as she passes along—who has a kind word of sympathy for every girl or boy she meets in trouble, and a kind hand to help her companions out of difficulty—who never scowls, never contends, never teases her mates, nor seeks in any other way to diminish, but always to increase their happiness. Would it not please you to pick up a string of pearls, drops of gold, diamonds, and precious stones, as you pass along the streets? But these are the true pearls and precious stones which can never be lost. Take the hand of the friendless. Smile on the sad and dejected. Sympa- thize with those in trouble. Strive everywhere to diffuse around you sun- shine and joy. If you do this, you will be sure to be loved. Dr. Doddridge one day asked his little girl why it was that everybody loved her ? “I know not,” she replied, “ unless it be that I love everybody.” This the true secret of being beloved. “He that hath friends,” says Solomon, “must show himself friendly.” Love begets love. If you love others, they cannot help loving you. So then, do not put on a scowl, and fretfully com- plain that nobody loves you, or that such . or such a one does not like you. If no- body loves you, it is your own fault. Either you do not make yourself lovely by a sweet winning temper, and kind winning ways, or you do not love those of whom you complain.— Anecdotes of Girls. Boys and Fruit. ATHER Mills astonished the boys of 4 Torringford one Sabbath, as he , Was giving an account of his journey to his congregation. Said he, “I went up into Vermont, and found many excellent farms, and was surprised to see so much fine fruit. So I said to the good people, ‘ How do you manage to keep your fruit? Don’t the boys stout it? I lose nearly all mine in that way.’ ‘What!’ they exclaimed, ‘boys steal fruit! We never heard of such a thing, Pray, where do you live?’ And I was obliged to tell them,’’ said the old man, hanging his head, “ that I lived in Tor- ringford, in the good old state of Con- necticut.” It is to be peapemndiictigieah I never heard how that was—that the boys im- proved by this hint, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. A Curious Beetle. HE common Beetle, which we see running about the house, in the country, is a very interesting in- sect. A great many little boys and girls are afraid of it, but there is no reason why they should be afraid. The beetle will not hurt anybody. It is sin- gular how long these insects will live, when they have no kind of nourishment but air. A man by the name of Baber, who lived in England, and who belonged to the Royal Society, found a beetle once, which he could not starve to death, and could not drown in spirits of wine. When he caught this beetle, he put it into a bottle of strong alcohol, that be- ing the way he usually killed other in- sects like the beetle. He wanted to preserve the insect, and that is the ‘ason he tried to kill it. After the had been in the spirits awhile, ‘ber took it out. It appeared to d; and he put it ina pill-box, and laid the box away in a drawer. About two months after that, he went to the drawer for something, and he thought he would look into the box where the beetle was, when he found it was alive and well. Again he threw the beetle into spirits of wine, and let it lie much ning about under the tumbler. longer than he did before. When he took it out, it seemed dead, and he put it away again, as before. But a month afterward, he found it as lively as ever. Well, he did not want to give it up so; and he threw the beetle into the liquor again, This time he let it lie there an hour. He took it out, and put a tum- bler over it. In six hours, it was run- Then he let it remain all night in spirits, and again placed it under the tumbler. But he soon showed that he was no nearer dead than ever. Mr. Baber kept this beetle two years and a half after that. He did not know what it lived on; for he could not see that he ever ate anything. He thought it lived on air, and I rather think so too. Plants, you know, live principally on what they get from the air; and I do not see why some insects may not get nourishment from the same _ source. The animal, vegetable, and mineral king- doms are not separated from each other by very wide boundaries; and some- times they differ from each other near these boundaries so little, that it is ex- ceedingly difficult to tell where one kingdom ends, and where the other, | kingdom begins, a 196 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. EOPPOREAL TABLE DALE. THE CENTURY QUESTION. our readers to give | us their views re- specting the com- mencement of the nineteenth century, © the present century. A great | many letters ‘were received, in answer to | by his enemies.” Mary Frances, the Lona time ago, we asked | - Ohio correspondent, thinks that the pic- "ture in the primers may have been sug- to tell us whether the year | | this question, in which different opinions © were given. whom we very much esteem, has just — told what we thought of the matter, and | - expresses the wish that we would “de- | fine our position,” as they say in Con- gress. Certainly, Miss Mary. firm conviction, that every minute of the year 1800 belonged to the last century. ABSALOM’S HAIR AGAIN. We took occasion, not long ago, to correct what we suppose to be a very common notion respecting the mode in which Absalom was caught in the boughs of a tree. A little Ohio girl sends us a quotation from Josephus, from which it appears that that generally ac- curate and reliable historian believed and taught that Absalom was caught by his hair. “He entangled his hair greatly,” says he, “in the large boughs of a knotty tree that spread a great way, and there he hung, after a surprising man- ner; and as for the beast, he went on farther, and that swiftly, as if his master had still been on his back; but, hanging by the hair upon the boughs, was taken One of oar. little friends | lusion to the Salic law of France. you tell me what this law is, and all : 9 written to remind us that we have never | about it ? _ gested by this statement of Josephus. | Perhaps so; but there is no proof in the Bible that Absalom was caught by his _ hair, for all that. THE SALIC LAW. Groree. Mr. Thinker, in the course of my reading yesterday, I found an al- Will Turnxer. I can tell you what it is, and how and when it was made; but it would take a good while to “tell all ee vabout it.” G. It does not allow the crown to be worn by females, I believe. T. True; but the Salic law reaches a great deal farther than this. The Franks, previous to their conquests in Gaul, (or France, as the country is _now called) had a law by which prop- erty could be held only by male heirs. One clause in this code reads thus: “The Salic lands shall never be the in- heritance of a woman, but always of a man.” Asa king among the Franks, in the early period of French history, was nothing more than a military chief, this provision extended to the throne; and in all the changes which have taken place in France during a period of more than twelve hundred years, this regulation has been strictly observed. France, on ac- count of this ancient law, has never been governed by a queen during the whole of this time. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 197 aqeemeee ernest ac OS GEE CEI AA nn Dear Mr. Tarnxer,—A little while ago a question was asked by one of the readers of the Casinert, where the divi- ding line is between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. I am not sure where it is; but I think I will venture to guess, for the benefit of the one who inquired, that it is the line which runs straight from one pole to the other. KNOXVILLE, ILL. 8s. G. DUNCAN. ANSWER TO ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS no, Iii. 1. The boy must have had 15 apples. Then, according to the statement, at the first gate he left 8; at the second 4; at the third 2; and so had one left. 2. The first package of ten yards was sold for 45 cents per yard, amounting to $4 50. The second package of 30 yards, was sold for 15 cents per yard, amounting to $4 50. The third pack- age of 50 yards, was sold for 9 cents per yard, amounting to $4 50. 8. The stock-buyer must have bought 5 head of cattle, at $10 per head, amounting to $50; 1 hog, at $3; 94 sheep, at 50 cents per head, amounting to $47; in all 100 head, at $100. The three questions were answered by S. L. N. of Durham, N. Y. The first and third were answered by J. D. C. of Mud Creek, N. Y. ‘The first only, by C. B. 8. of Orange, N. H. ANSWER TO CHARADE NO, VI. Children delight in something new, Scarce caring if soon flown ; In less degree, the same is true Of men and women grown. Tell me, oh dark-eyed Indian maid, Is ’t so among your race ¢ Or is this weakness but displayed With us of paler face ? If rightly used, a noble thing Is found your second,—zeal : Making the user richly bring Himself and others, weal. If worse employed, ’twere better far That it had never been; So does the fearful agent mar, Swelling the scroll of sin. You rightly name the last and third, The copulative and, In size and note, “a little word,” If singly it doth stand. Yet placed between some two, you say, Joining each separate whole, Oft find we, that its influence may Vast interests control. And now connecting all the three, Uniting them in one, They form an island in the sea, Where fiercely shines the sun. New Zealand is this island’s name, With men of stature great, Where Cook, of such illustrious fame, Untimely met his fate. LOUIS. ANSWER TO CHARADE NO, VII, 1. POND 2, 1 PONDICHERRY. 3. CHERRY ANSWER TO BIBLICAL QUESTIONS NO. I. 1. The book of Esther contains not one of the names usually applied to God. 2. The word eternity is mentioned in the Bible but once, and that is in Isaiah, lvii. 15. 8. The whole alphabet, with the ex- ception of the letter J, is found in Ezra vii, 21. Answers were sent by E. P. Weyer, of Madison, Ind. and also by a Miss whose name we either did not get, or | else have mislaid, and who writes us a | letter in this style: “ My much esteemed _fr iend, if you will attend to what I now write, it will be my delight to scribble "away as long as you say.’ 198 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. CHARADE NO, VIII. My first a noun of letters three, An equal state implies, My next a vowel lone you'll see, Contracted in its size. My first and second may appear Quite mean in form and name; Yet stay, my third is even here, To bring them into fame. My third may count three different things: A coin of monied France, Just loose that Frenchman’s boursette strings, You'll find it at a glance.— Again my third will e’en denote One of the gammut eight: Now will the novice clear his throat, Ere pitching this high quate. My third and last once more will spell An object vast in size, So vast no mortal mind could well Its vastness realize ; So bright no mortal eye could meet Its lustre, and not quail, Even an eagle's glance so fleet, Would in an instant fail. My whole is not so great in fame, Nor yet so great in size, Yet doth it serve a double aim For many a young girl’s eyes. Crusoe mayhap at once might speak, For fashioned he the same, And many a dame methinks might eke Contrive to give me name. LOUIS, PUZZLE NO, I, A word of one syllable call to your mind, The letters of which will, if rightly combined, Provide you with two kinds of fuel—aye, more : A warm piece of clothing, and fasten your door. 8. N. ENIGMA NO. VI, I am composed of twenty letters. My 7, 10, 6, 1, 8, 7, is the name of a savage chieftain, once terrible on account of his power and rapacity. My 3,9, 17, 16, 5, 11, is the consequence of neglect of the laws of God and man. My 2, 1, 17, 17, 7, 20, is an object of religious reverence to the greater part of Christen- dom, but of denunciation and abhorrence tothe remainder. My 6, 16, 2, 16, 5, 1, 10, 11, is often, when gilded by success, mistaken for a virtue. 7, 5, isa bond of union, better calculated to unite the masses, than are all the asso- ciation doctrines of the day. My 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 1, 6, 11, isconsidered by some phi- losophers to be the basis of all present as well as future happiness. My 11, 7, 5, 8, 18, 19, 14, 15, is a maritime place, of some importance. My 5, 4, 3, 7, is the classic name of a place once mighty, but now politically debased and power- less. My 17, 18, 20, 9, 6, 7, 5, 11, is an adjective, expressing the condition of a man when alone with the one he loves best. My 7, 20, 27, 2, 4, is famous in mar- tial story, as the spot where many brave men fell fighting in a questionable cause. My 13, 9, 8, 16, is a bad thing to dite. My whole is of momentous importance to all, but considered only by the few, who have made it a theme of endless specu- lation and discussion. H. R. W. ENIGMA NO, VII. I am composed of twenty-one letters. My 3, 9, 1, 12, 11, is the name of an ancient city. My 18, 20, 7, 21, is any- thing and everything. My 8, 15, 19, 16, 13, is what Cupid is often called. My 4, 5, 2, 6, is real estate, My 10, 17, 14, is what people always are, when it rains hard, and there is nothing be- twen them and the sky but a thin um- brella. My whole is of great importance to many, and is made a theme of endless speculation and discussion by a few—if not more, 8. N. BROOKLYN. My 2, 12, 5, 14, | 4 THE YOUTITS CABINET. ee 3S os popy, almost, hus heard one J} of our national songs, called “ The Star-Spangled Banner,” which is sung all over the country on the fourth of July, if at no other time. It is a song which finds its way, without much ceremony, to every American heart. The other day, I was reading an account of the manner in which it came to be written. It was composed by Francis Key. A gentleman had left V 13 199 ——— nee l = —¥, nl Ti = = - a Nt = = i ' ‘ie TN } ' TTI \\ \ bal = = | Baltimore, during the war, with a flag of truce, for the purpose of getting re- leased from the British fleet a friend of his, who had been captured at Marl- borough. He went as far as the mouth of the Patuxent, and was not permitted to return, for fear he would disclose the intended attack on Baltimore. So he was brought up the bay to the mouth of the Patapsco, where the flag-vessel was kept under the guns of the frigate ; and JLY 200 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ar cS eee he was forced to witness the bombard- ment of fort McHenry. - He watched the flag at the fort through the whole day, with intense anxiety, until night pre- vented him from seeing it. In the morn- ing, his eye was greeted by the flag of his country, waving as proudly as ever. This circumstance suggested the song, which I think I must copy for my young readers. They will catch the spirit of it, I presume, without any comment on my part. If they should fail to do so, however, they may just turn to the 230th page, where they will find the music that belongs to it; so that they can say it or sing it, as they choose. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. O say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming ?— Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming ‘— And the rockets’ red glare, The bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there }— () say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the lagd of the free, and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foes’ haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that, which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ? Now it catches the gleam Of the morning’s first beam,— In full glory reflected, now shines in the stream. "Tis the star-spangled banner! long may it wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! Til. Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and the war’s desolation! Blessed with victory and peace, may our own cherished land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation! Then conquer we must If our cause is but just, And this is our motto: “In God is our trust!” And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ! ean ae ra, 2, itis ee eg SE THE YOUTIPS CABINET. 201 Perils of Whale Catching. xz of the most entertaining books we have read for many a day, was placed on our table not long since, written by our friend, the Rev. Henry T. Cheever. The title of this volume is “The Whale and his Captors,” and the object of it is to sketch in detail the adventures of whalemen. Some time since, Mr. Cheever made a cruise himself in a whale-ship, and is a witness of a great portion of what he re-. lates. Our little readers would have a treat, if they should get }.sld of this book. We hope they will have a chance to read it, but fearing some of them may not be so highly favored, we think we will take a chapter out of the book, and put it into the Cainer: One captain says he has seen instances of the most wonderful strength and ac- tivity in the north-west whales, greater than he ever saw before in either right or sperm. He was once fast to a large cow whale, which was in company with a small one, a full-grown calf. They kept together, and after a time the cap- tain hauled his boat up between them. When they were both within reach, he shoved his lance “into the life” of the cow, at which she threw her flukes and the small part of her body completely over the head of the boat without touch- ing it (although they were half drowned with the water she scooped up,) and the full weight of the blow, intended for the boat, fell upon the back of the other whale. He sunk immediately, going down bent nearly double, and, the cap- tain thinks, must have been killed by the blow. The same person has seen a stout hickory pole, three inches in diameter and six feet long, broken into four pieces by a blow from a whale’s tail, and the pieces sent flying twenty feet in the air and that, too, when no other resistance was offered than that of the water upon which it floated. The first whale this man struck there turned him over in two different boats, and afterward “knocked them into kind- ling wood,” while spouting blood into thick clots, and yet this whale lived four hours after, showing its great tenacity of life. He came up alongside the boat, and turned it over with his nose, as a . hog would his eating-trough, and then with his flukes deliberately broke it up. Of course the crew had to take to Na- ture’s oars, and they all marvelously es- caped unhurt, although one of them was carried sitting upon the whale’s flukes several rods, till he slid off unharmed from his strange sea- chariot. One of the most thrilling stories con- nected with the adventures of whalemen was detailed some time’ ago, in the “Sheet Anchor.” I give the substance of it: We were cruising somewhere between the latitude of thirty-six and thirty-seven degrees south, and the longitude of sixty- eight degrees east, in search of right whales. It was in the afternoon, and the ship was moving along under her top- gallant sails at the rate of about five knots the hour, ‘The most hardened grumbler could not find fault with: the day. At the fore and main top-gallant cross-trees were two men on the look- out for whales. It was now nearly four o’clock, when the man at the main sung out, “There she blows!” He repeated the cry regularly five or six times. All was now excitement among the officers i} i HW i} NI Hh mI Va’ - r I EP THE WHALE CAPSIZING THE BOAT, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 203 and men. Every one was anxious to know if it was the kind of whale we wanted. The mate hailed the man at the mast-head, “ Where away is that whale? What do you call her?” “Right whale, sir, on the lee beam, two miles off; look out sharp for her !” “Sing out when the ship heads for her !” “ Ay, ay, sir.” “Keep her away!” said the captain to the man at the helm. “Boy, hand me the spy-glass.” “Steady!” sung out the man at the mast-head. ‘Steady it is!’ answered the wheel. The cap- tain then started to go aloft. “Mr. A. (to the mate,) you may square in the after yards, and then call all hands.” « Forward, there!’ shouted the mate. “Haul the main-sail up and square the yards! Bill!’ (to anold sailor.) |“ Sir?” “Call hands!” “Ay, ay, sir. All hands, ahoy!” shouted old Bill, in a voice like a tempest. “Stand by the boats!’ In Jess than no time the deck was alive with men. ‘« Boat-steerers, get your boats ready !” In a moment, as it were, the boats were in readiness, the tubs put in, the lines bent on to the harpoons, and the crews standing by, ready to follow the boats down to the water, when the word came from the captain to lower away. “There she blows!” sung out the man at the fore; “not half a mile off.” “ Down helm!” shouted the captain. “Mr. A., brace up the mizzen top-sail. Hoist and swing the boats! Lower away!” Down went the boats, and down followed the crews. As the boats struck the water, every man was on his thwart, with his hand on the loom of his oar, and all at once the three boats were cutting their way through the water in the direction of the whale. It was my duty to steer the mate’s boat, and she happened to be the fast- est puller, so that, although we all left the ship together, and for a few rods kept nearly head and head with each other, still we knew well enough that, as soon as the word came from the mate to “give way,” we should drop the others ina moment. So we did not fret ourselves, but kept cool for a tight pull, when the whale should show him- self on the surface of the water again, which he did the moment after. “‘ Here she is!” cried the mate; “and not over ten rods from the boat. Now, my dear fellows, lay back hard! Spring hard, I tell you! There she blows! Only give way, my boys, and she is ours!” The boat. bounded forward like a thing of life. “Spring like tigers!” said the mate, his voice sinking almost toa whisper. I looked over my shoul- der to see what kind of a chance I was about to have, at the same time pulling at my own oar with all my might. We were going on her starboard quarter ; just the chance I liked to fasten to a whale. | “Stand up!” shouted the mate; and in a moment I was on my feet, and in the next moment I had two harpoons to the hitches into her. “Stern! stern all!” sung out the mate, as he saw the irons in the whale. ‘Come here, my boy!” said he to me. We shifted ends ; he to the head, and I to the stern of the boat. The whale started off like light- ning. ‘“‘ Hold on, line!’’ said the mate; and away we shot after her, like an arrow from the bow. The mate by this time 204 had his lance ready. ‘Haul me on to that whale!” he shouted; and all hands turned to hauling line, while I coiled it away in the stern-sheets. We had got nearly up to the whale when she took to sounding, taking the line right up and down from the head of the boat. I had two turns of the line round the logger- head, and was holding on as much as the boat would bear, when, all at once, another large whale, that we knew no- thing about, shot up out of the water nearly her whole length, in a slanting position, hanging directly over the boat. I threw off the turns from the logger- head, and shouted to the men to “ stern.” But it was of no use; she fell the whole length of her body on the boat. I heard a crash ! and, as I went down, I felt a pressure of water directly over my head, caused, as I thought, by the whale’s flukes as she struck. How long I was under water I know not; but I remember that all looked dark above me, and that I tried very hard to shove my head through in order to breathe. At last I succeeded; but what a sight was that on which I gazed when I found myself on the surface of the water ! About a rod off was the whale that we were fast to, thrashing the water into a foam with his flukes, the ocean red with blood, and the crimson streams pouring from the wounds in the whale’s sides made by the harpoons. In another di- rection I could see pieces of the boat floating around. At the distance of two or three miles, I could occasionally get a glimpse of the ship as I rode on the top of a swell, and not a human being in sight. Not losing heart or hope, I struck out for a piece of the stern of our once beautiful boat a few rods distant. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The. crew came up one after another, catch- ing at anything they could see to help keep them afloat. One poor fellow came paddling along with two or three oars under him, crying out that his back was broken. Another of the crew and my- self got him on a piece of the boat that we had hold of. His thigh was broken, and he could not move his legs at all. The second mate soon after picked us up in his boat, and so much had we been engaged in looking out for our- selves, that we did not perceive one of our number was missing. But alas! it was too soon found out. He was a young man, about seventeen years old, and did not belong to the boat, but went in the place of the midship oarsman, who was sick at the time. The whale fell directly over him, and probably killed him in a moment. With what feelings we pulled around and around the spot where the boat was stoven, unwilling to believe, even after we knew there was no hope, that our shipmate was gone, never more to return! How silently we glided along- side of the ship, and hoisted in our other poor shipmate, now lamed for life ! Ah, that some of those people who look upon sailors as little better than brutes, and who know little or nothing of the kind feelings and strong affections that are hid under their rough outside, could have seen what I saw on board that ship. Even their hearts would melt; and they would find it is not al- ways the polished and educated, the smooth-faced and handsome man, that has the warmest heart or most generous feelings. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 205 erent ow erereieeeaennemetincniacaiilaigitisaslaiaaeaiiiiiiiii LLL Spiders fond of Music. pipers have been known to exhibit a great deal of pleasure in hear- ing music. A captain of a regi- ment in Navarre was once con- fined in prison six months, for having spoken too freely to a nobleman. Du- ring his imprisonment, he requested the governor to allow him permission to send for his lute, so that he might play on it once in a while, for his amusement. The favor was granted, and the captain used frequently to play on the instrument. After afew days, according to his story, as soon as he commenced playing, the spiders would come down from their webs, and form a circle around him, so as to hear the music more distinctly. When he stopped playing, the spiders went back to their webs. This was re- peated every time he played. For some reason or another, he did not take up his lute for nearly a week, during which time the spiders were not seen to leave their webs; but as soon as he began to play again, they all came out as before. This anecdote may seem rather too strange for belief; but there is another one from a different source, of the same character; and, on the whole, I am in- clined to think the facts actually took place. The other anecdote to which I allude is told by a Frenchman who was in the habit of watching the movements of insects very closely, whose character for truth is said to have been above sus- picion. This man went into his chamber one day, and took up a violin to amuse himself until supper-time. He had not played fifteen minutes, before he saw several spiders descend from the ceiling. As he continued playing, they came and berries there. ranged themselves on the table before him, where they stayed until the bell rang for supper, when he stopped play- ing, and they all went back again to their several webs. After this, he fre- quently amused himself and his friends, by bringing out these spiders, whenever he chose to do so, by a tune on his violin. 4 Jemmy Thompson and the Blackberries. party of girls and boys went one afternoon to pick blackber- ries. Each of the party had a basket or a tin cup, and were soon among the brambles. Jemmy Thompson had the smallest vessel of them all, and expected soon to fill it, and help his playmates. He went right in among the thickest of the bushes, pick- ing one or two of the sweet berries here and there, and striding along to find some that were larger and finer. He trampled many branches down, and seemed less ready to stop at a proper place and set properly to work to fill his cup. In this way he wandered all over the ground, till he was quite tired, and began to think there were no good black- When he returned to his party, he found nearly all of them had filled their cups, and were now filling themselves, while the bottom of his cup, which was smaller than all, was scarcely covered. The children gladly put their hands together, and soon gave him a full cup to carry home with the rest of them. Here are good lessons to be learned : 1. To get knowledge, or anything else worth the getting, you must set about it 206 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. at once, and gather where you are, and ; oozing out of it, and we will puta pail on as you go. Some boys and girls read | the ground, for the sap to drop into, books as Jemmy Thompson gathered | When there is a kettle full of it, I will blackberries. They go among the thick- | boil it over the fire, just to show you how est and the best, but bear nothing away, | sugar ismade. The sap looks like water, because they do not gather where they are, | and is pleasant drink. When it has and as they go, of all that comes to hand. | boiled awhile, it looks like molasses, and 2. To save the soul, you must set | finally it becomes sugar. Cutting down about it at once, and where you are, and | the tree, in order to get the sugar that as you go; pluck whatever will help you | is in it, would be something like killing in it. How many go on‘from week to | a cow to gether milk. But after all, this week, and year to year, amid all that | is full as rational as the plan some peo- can be desired to save and bless their | ple adopt to get pleasure. They go to spirits, yet come off at the end, like | the fountain, and dry up the springs, in Jemmy Thompson, without gaining life’s | order to obtain the greatest possible great work. quantity of the water !”” E. T. O, reader, set about your work of get- | ting knowledge, and seeking salvation for yourself, lest the evening of life should come, and you should find that you had wasted your time, and, while others were Chide mildly the Erring. saved, you were lost !—S. S. Advocate. ' i ! Curve mildly the erring ! Kind language endears ; sniiheciasiitiliaa Grief follows the sinful— Add not to their tears. Avoid with reproaches A Queer Notion. Fresh pain to bestow ; The heart which is stricken * OTHER,” said a little girl, the. Needs never a blow. other day, “I do wish you'd Chide mildly the erring ! persuade grandpa’ to cut Jeer not at their fall! down one of thesé maple If strength were but human, trees in door-yard, and make it into su- How weakly were all! What marvel that footsteps Should wander astray, When tempests so shadow gar.” “ What will you do with it then?” asked her mother,—‘ pound it up, and squeeze it, or burn it, or what?” “I don’t Life's wearisome way ! know,” said Martha, looking a little red, Chide mildly the erring! “they say they make maple sugar out of Entreat them with care! maple trees. Emily just gave me a nice Their natures are mortal— cake of it, and it is so delightful.” They need not despair. “Well,” said her mother, “I will get ee eee John to bore a hole in one of the trees,. ; And the grace which redeems us, and fit a tube to it, and then, when the Wait diliie een ths Olen weather is favorable, the sap will come 0. W. PATTEN. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 207 2 . SQ) {> IES - Zoe , ESR Ga : AON AUN BN The Bird of Paradise. HERE are few birds that have more deceived and puzzled the learned than this, Some have described it as an inhabitant of the air, liv- ing only upon the dew of heaven, and never coming down to earth. Others have acquiesced in the latter part of its history, but have represented it as feed- ing-on flying insects. Some have asserted that it was without feet, and others have ranked it among the birds of prey. The great beauty of this bird’s plu- , mage, and the deformity of its legs, seem to have given rise to most of these erro- neous reports. The savages of the Mo- lucca Islands, of which it is an inhabi- tant, perceiving the inclination the Eu- ropeans had for this beautiful bird, carefully cut off its legs before they brought it to market. Thus concealing its greatest deformity, they considered themselves entitled to rise in their de- mands, when they offered it for sale. One deceit led to another.- The buyer, 208 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. nnn ren finding the bird without legs, naturally inquired after them; and the seller as naturally began to assert that. it had none. Thus far the European was im- posed upon by others ;. in all the rest he imposed upon himself. Seeing so beau- tiful a bird without legs, he concluded that it could live only in the air, where legs were unnecessary. The extraordi- nary splendor of its plumage assisted this deception; and as it had heavenly beauty, ‘so it was asserted to have a heavenly residence. Hence its name, and all the false reports that have been made concerning it. Error, however, is short-lived, and time has discovered, that this bird not - only has legs, but very large, strong ones, for its size. Soon after the dis- covery was made, this harmless bird was branded with the character of being ra- pacious, of destroying all birds of smaller size, and, from the amazing rapidity of its flight, as well qualified for a vast deal of mischief. The real history of this pretty animal is at present tolerably well known ; and it is found to be as harm- less as it is beautiful. There are several species of the bird of Paradise. The one which is repre- sented in the engraving is called the Great Bird of Paradise. It is extremely beautiful, as any of my readers may judge from the picture. This species appears to the eye as large as a pigeon, though in reality the body is not much greater than that of a thrush. The tail, which is about six inches in length, is as long as the body. The wings are large, compared with the bird’s other dimensions. The head, the throat, and the neck are of a pale gold color. The base of the bill and the side of the head and throat are surrounded by black feathers, which are as soft as velvet, and changeable like those on the neck of a blackbird. The hinder part of the head is of a shining green, mixed with gold. The body and wings are chiefly covered with beautiful brown, purple, and gold feathers, The upper- most part of the tail feathers are of a pale yellow, and those under them white and longer than the former ; for which reason the hinder part of the tail appears to be all white. But what chiefly ex- cites curiosity are the two long naked feathers which, as you will see, spring from the upper part of the rump above the tail, and which are usually about three feet long. These are bearded only at the beginning and the end ; the whole shaft, for above two feet nine inches, being of a deep black, while the feath- ered extremity is of a beautiful change- able color. This bird, which for beauty exceeds all other species of this genus, is a native of the Molucca Islands. ‘There, in the delightful and spicy woods of the coun- try, these beautiful creatures fly in large flocks, so that the groves which produce the richest spices produce the finest birds also. The inhabitants themselves are perfectly aware of the great beauty of these birds, and give them the name of God’s birds, as being superior to all others in existence. They live in large flocks, and at night generally perch upon the same tree. They fly very rapidly, and are almost continually on the wing, in pursuit of insects, which form their usual prey. Some years ago the ladies in this country used to ornament their bonnets with the plumage of this beautiful bird. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Ga 5 Vi 1a - SMart ay nA Os ss a" ane & Cape Ann. apg Any, situated on the coast of Massachusetts, is a place very much resorted to during the sum- mer months. It was settled very early, and there are a great many things in that vicinity which are interesting on account of old associations connected with them. The National Library gives some interesting sketches of the Cape, from which I will make some selections for my readers. Until very recently there was an old church on the Cape, situated in the west parish of Gloucester. It was erected in 1713, and when pulled down, was found to be perfectly sound, having been con- structed of the best timber in the strong- est manner. It would have stood for a century longer, and ought to have been preserved as a memorial of the olden time, instead of being sold for fire-wood for a trifling sum. Its distance from any settlement had long ago caused its aban- donment as a house of worship. In form it was nearly square. The pulpit was quite an imposing mass of wood-work, containing timber enough to build a good-sized house after the modern man- ner of erecting dwellings. The pews were square, with high sides, surmounted by wooden railings. In the galleries, the sexes were separated, the males sit- ting on one side, the females opposite, each party being arranged with refer- ence to age. Beneath the pulpit stood the chair of the deacon, whence that worthy personage was wont to “deacon” forth the psalms and hymns, two lines at a time, which were first sung, and then followed by two more, at intervals, until the whole was accomplished. Another object of curiosity is a build- ing called the “Old Garrison House.” This is the one which you see repre- sented in the engraving. It was built a long time before the revolutionary war. 210 The Old Man and the Princess. HERE were once assembled, in Doc- t tory, a great many distinguished persons, some to consult him, were many French ladies and gentlemen, and a Russian prince, with his daughter, attention. A young French Marquis at- tempted, for the amusement of the la- doctor; but the latter, though not ac- quainted with the French language, an- bad not the laugh on his side. During the conversation, there entered an old white beard, a neighbor of Schuppach’s. The doctor directly turned away from and hearing that his wife was ill, set about preparing the medicine for her, more exalted guests, whose business he did not think so pressing. The Marquis wit, and therefore chose to turn his jokes against the old man, who was waiting ring something for his old Mary. After many silly observations upon his long louis d’or, that none of the ladies would kiss the old fellow. The Russian Prin- to her attendant, who brought her a salver. The Princess put twelve louis quis, who, of course, could not decline to add twelve others. Then the fair Rus- tor Michael Schuppach’s labora- and some out of curiosity ; among them whose singular beauty attracted general dies, to display his wit on the miraculous swered so cleverly, that the Marquis peasant, meanly dressed, with a snow- his great company, to his old neighbor, without paying much attention to his was now deprived of one subject of his while his neighbor, Michael, was prepa- white beard, he offered a wager of twelve cess hearing these words, made a sign d’or on it, and had it carried to the Mar- sian went up to the old peasant, and said, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ‘Permit me, venerable father, to salute you after the fashion of my country.” Saying this, she embraced him, and gave him akiss. She then presented him with the gold which was on the salver, with these words: “Take this as a remem- brance of me, and as a proof that the Russian girls think it their duty to honor old age.” —Slater’s Little Princes. The Scent of the Rose. BY MARGARET JUNKIN, I went to the garden to-night, mamma, To the spot where the rose tree grows, And I bent down a branch of your favorite bush, And gathered a beautiful rose. It bore such a sweet perfume, mamma, I thought it must be its breath, And I hushed my own while I listened to hear, But the rose was as still as death. Then I looked at the pale pink color, mamma, And fancied the scent was there ; But then I remembered the delicate bloom On your cheek was just as fair. I had often heard of the fairies, mamma, Who danced all the moonlit night, And who sometimes slept in the heart of the rose, When the sun was warm and bright. So I tore the flower apart, mamma, And scattered its leaves around ; But no little fairy with scented wings, Was anywhere there to be found. And now I have gathered another, mamma, As fragrant as any that grows ; And I’ve brought it to you to ask you where Is hidden the scent of the rose. LexineTon, Va. THE YOUTHS CABINET. il The Talisman; OR, GRANDMAMA HOARYHEAD’S STORY. ov have sometimes wondered, my dear children, that I should prize a sim- Y ple hair necklace, \** more than all the BN) ent FeO, treasures of my cab- : inet. I remember with what admira- tion you always look up- on the silver goblet, with its antique carving; the jeweled watch, with its CG: massive chain; the casket of gems, and miniatures; but with all their beauties, none " of these are as precious to me, as the little band of hair, which so long ago encircled my throat. My own dear mother, many years ago, clasped it as_a, talisman, upon the neck of her err- ing daughter. You have heatd of charms, and spells, worn by the super- stitious in times of danger and pestilence. The aborigines of America, and many other savage nations, put great faith in them, but the talisman which I so much prize, is unlike any of their potent charms. In my early childhood, I was liable ;.to attacks of a most dangerous kind. These attacks caused my dear parents great anxiety, particularly my beloved mother, in whose presence the disease more often exhibited itself, and gave her hours of discomfort and suffer- ing. I shudder when I think what might have been the consequence to my- self and others, had not this disease been eradicated. You will cease to wonder at the value the necklace pos- > ay € sesses in my eyes, when I tell you the influence it had in dissipating this mal- ady, which, like an eastern sirocco, was blighting and withering the greenness and beauty of my chilthood. When I tell you also, that this disease baffled all medica! skill, and became each day more violent, and after every attack more fixed, you will understand why I think the necklace as precious as Aladdin’s lamp, or Fortunatus’ w ishing-cap. Yes, more precious, for what could they pro- cure as valuable as the reminiscences of my life, when freed from this direful complaint ; or what would I give, in ex- change for the memories of the golden spring of my youth, the glorious sum- mer of my womanhood, or even the calm, serene autumn of my peaceful old age? Life now would indeed be “dark and unlovely,” and the future devoid of the hopes which cheer me, had not my gen- tle mother and her talisman, effected a permanent cure. I regret to see, that notwithstanding the various improve- ments of this wise generation, and the wonderful inventions of “this glorious and progressive age,” this malady sti!l rages, and like the baneful Upas, with its poisonous influences, destroys the happiness of many homes. With the hope that I may do something toward exterminating this disease, and to aid those who are endeavoring to drive it from their hearts and homes, I am will- ing to give the history . of my unhappy days, when I was under its sad influence, This disease has various symptoms and features, and develops differently. Gen- erally, the attacks at first are slight, 212 sciatica put increasing each time in length and strength, and if neglected, a permanent care is hopeless. Then the unhappy victim goes through life, cheering none with the sunshine of her smiles, nor gladdening them with the music of kind and gentle words. Need I say that this disease is Ill Nature ! It is with pain that I recall the days of my earliest childhood—those days | rendered dark and sad by my unhappy temper—and yet it is sorrow mingled with thankfulness. It is like the memory which the traveler has of dangers pass- ed. He shudders at the recollection of the wild screeching winds, the dark heavens, the tossing ocean, the almost sinking ship; but he loves to remember that the winds were hushed, the ocean lulled, that the stars shone out from be- yond the clouds, and that the dismasted ship, with its weary crew, found at last a safe haven. It is like the memory of sick and fee- ble days, which were followed by those of health and strength, the gloomy night which preceded a bright morning, or the frightful dream from which there was a glad awaking. , You have all of you, my children, heard of the river Lethe, which the an- cients believed really existed, and whose waters they thought could cause forget- fulness ; and had I only the memory of those unhappy days, I should indeed wish it were not all a fable, and that I might drink from that very river. How little a child thinks that every wrong act may become a life memory, and that by her thoughtlessness, she is furnishing bitter food for after years. 1 cannot tell you how many wretched hours I have had, surrounded by everything beautiful, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. but outward circumstances do little to- ward promoting the happiness of one who does not cultivate a sweet temper. You must not think I was always under the influence of these feelings. When everything was just as I wished, I could appear as amiable as any one, but in this world, where our favorite plans are often frustrated, and our fond- est hopes blighted, we must learn to smile amid disappointment and vexation. Ihave told you that every indulgence strengthened these feelings, and that I was conscious that my sad infirmity was increasing. You have read in your his- tory, that one of the customs of the Egyptians was to introduce at their gay- est festivals, a skeleton, the sight of which ofter changed their mirth to gloom; and thus the knowledge that at any moment I might do and say what could not be recalled, destroyed my peace. I resolved to attempt a reform- ation, but made many ineffectual efforts. Sometimes days would pass without my exhibiting any symptoms of this disease, for disease I must still call it, and then in an unguarded moment the angry word was spoken. At last, after many fail- ures, I began to hope I was completely cured—I had been severely tested, I had seen a beautiful china cup, the gift of a friend, fall from the hand of a careless servant, and gathered up the fragments without uttering a word. I found my little brother, one cold morning, warm- ing my beautiful wax doll by the fire, and though the tears came as | gazed at its disfigured face, I suppressed the angry word which rose to my lips. I patiently repeated, again and again, @ difficult passage.in my music, though it was tedious, and I was anxious to play 4 ‘ THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 213 a pretty little dance I had learned, (Polkas were not known in your Grandmama’s day,)and I began to think I had con- quered the monster, but alas! I found, that like the fabled Hydra that only Hercules could kill, it had a hundred heads, and when one was cut off another would appear. One morning I awoke, knowing that my lessons were only half learned. I had left them unfinished the evening be- fore, for a walk with my cousin, and that one wrong step was the cause of much misery, I was mortified at the idea of going to school with my lessons unprepared, and I resolved to learn them, if possible, that morning; but I found by bitter experience that when we once do wrong, it is hard to undo it. The morning was gloomy, and like Ros- amond, in the “Day of Misfortunes,” (a story of Miss Edgeworth’s, which I hope you have all read,) I was a long time summoning resolution to rise, and when I did rise I was so hurried and worried that the breakfast bell rang be- fore I was ready. The old proverb says, “Haste makes waste,” and so I found that morning. I was the last at the table ; my brother came in, all glow- ing with animation, with a bouquet from the garden for Mama, while I felt sleepy and cross. I upset my cup upon the table cloth, and upon the dress of a stranger guest, and interrupted papa in the midst of a very interesting story, which I knew he particularly disliked. After breakfast my books were not in their place. Finally, after a long search, my geography was discovered in the piazza, ruined by the rain which had fallen during the night; Carlo had my spelling book for a pillow, and my arith- metic was found in the hands of my baby brother, who had been quietly do- ing a practical sum in subtraction, until so many leaves were torn out that there was a very small remainder. By the time my poor dilapidated library had been found, and I had cried over my geography, slapped Carlo, and fright- ened the innocent baby by my harsh tones, the clock struck, and I was late at school. When the time for recita- tion came, I ought to have gone to my teacher and told her that I had not learned my lessons, for though that would have distressed her, she could more easily have forgiven any other fault than my attempts at deception. I am almost ashamed to tell you the ways to which I resorted. I copied my sums from my companion’s slate, and the first question of my teacher revealed the truth. I answered in geography, after having been told wrong by Ellen D. I kept my finger in at my spelling, and caught my teacher’s eye just as I had looked in; I despised myself for this acted false- hood, and knew I had lost the confidence of my teacher, and cried from mortifica- tion and vexation through the whole of the history recitation, which was the only lesson I really did know. I hope you may never know how I felt. I was sorry, but it was not the right kind of sorrow. I was less sorry for my faults than for the consequences of my faults. Though I knew I had done wrong, I was ~ unwilling to confess it, even to myself. I tried to think everyone else more at fault than myself. I wished my cousin had not come for me to walk, not re- membering that I should have had self- denial enough to have refused to go while my lessons were unfinished. I 214 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. wished mama had not given me per- mission to go, forgetting the promise I made her, of learning my lessons after my return, I said it was very strange that no one had picked up my books, arid I thought Ellen ought to have been ashamed to tell me wrong. I made no effort to do better, reasoning most false- ly, and saying, ‘“‘Itis no use to try to do better to-day,” as if one fault made an- other more pardonable. At recess I told Mary G. that Ellen D. had said something about her, and made them both ery, and if I could have found any relief in knowing that I was not alone in ‘my misery, I should have been com- forted. After recess I blotted my own writing-book and that of a companion who was always very careful, and though I was really very sorry, I felt too ill- natured to say so, and tried to think it ‘was all because one of the other girls had shaken the desk. I can assure you I went home a’ most unhappy being. One glance of my mother’s earnest eye revealed to her my feelings, and I saw a shade of sadness -gteal over her calm face; but company prevented her from coming to me imme- diately. I went to my room and cried whtil I was unable to go with papa on an excursion which I had been anticipa- ting for months. I cannot tell you all the conflicting thoughts which occupied my lonely hours, nor of all that passed after 'ma- ma came tome. She talked gently, but ‘geriously with me ; she mourned over ‘my’ unhappy temper, but showed me that I could subdue it; she urged me “to resolve anew, but warned me not to ‘expect an immediate victory ; and above ‘all, she told me where to look for aid. ‘She openéd the holy Bible, and ‘read the words of Solomon, “ He that ruleth his own ‘spirit is greater than he’ that taketh a city;” and ‘her silver-toned voice fell upon my troubled soul, like the holy “Peace, be still,” uttered so long ago on the sea of Galilee. “The darkness vanished, the storm slept.” “My mother then took the pre- cious necklace of her own dark: hair, with the words, “My Mother,” en- graved upon the clasp, and put it upon my neck. “My daughter,” said she, “let this be your talisman. Let it ever remind you of this hour, of the resolves you have made, and may God grant that your fu- ture may no more be clouded as your past has been.” Her prayer was answered. My trials were many, My temptations strong, but the memory of that solemn hour, my mother’s word, and the talisman, were ever with me, and I triumphed. Could this’ be as a talisman to one of you, my dear children, and help you to tear away this serpent, which if it is not strangled in infancy, will surely eat out the heart’s happiness, Grandmama Hoaryhead will not have written in vain, Hints to Young Men. tways have a book within your reach, which you may catch up P\{. at your odd minutes. Resolve to edge in a little reading every day, if it is but a single sentence. If you can give fifteen minutes a day, it will be felt at the end of the year. Regulate your thoughts when not at study.— Selected. THE YOUTHS: CABINET, 215 Li yh = w . 2 | Tatiren > NES | fe Pays aa . - Wee . & , | P Sh = — ~ ws NG lg ~ y \ S ~ ee 4h (i i y) “al \ n : a? Le The Beggar Girl. A, BALLAD, WRITTEN FIFTY YEARS, AGO. Over the mountain and over the moor, Hungry and barefoot, I wander forlorn ; My father is dead, and my mother is poor, And she grieves for the days that will never return. Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind; and. the night's. coming on: Give me, some food; for my mother, for charity, Give me some food, and then I will begone. Say not I’m a low lazy beggar, and bold enough; Fain would [ learn. both to knit and to sew; I’ve two little brothers at home—when, they’re old enough, They will work hard for the gifts you bestow. Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on: Give me some food for my mother, for charity, Give me some food, and then I will begone. Think, while you revel, so careless and so free, Secure from the wind, and well-clothed and fed, Should fortune so change it, how hard it would be, To sit, ata door for a morsel of bread. Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on: Give me some food for my mother, for charity, Give me some food, and then I will begone. Vv. 14 LY. 216 THE YOUTH'S CABINET. mer was confined had a periodical disor- der of this sort; every year he had some different whim. One time he conceived himself changed into a pitcher of oil; another time he thought himself a frog, and began to leap as such ; another time, again, he imagined he was dead, and it was found necessary to humor his conceit by making a show of burying him. At length he thought himself a bat, and when he went to take a walk, he some- times made just such a noise as bats do; he likewise used gestures with his hands and body, as if he were going to fly.” Noses have been known to be partic- ularly troublesome to hypochondriacs. One man fancied that his nose was of a ludicrous length, and consequently kept backing off as his friends approached to hold a parley with him, fearing that he should put their eyes out. It is said that frequently this same deluded pos- sessor of a long nose might have been seen going along the street guiding his nose with his hand, to keep it from breaking the shop windows. A young man had a strong imagina- tion that he was dead, and earnestly begged his friends to bury him. They consented, by the advice of the physi- cian. He was laid upon 4 bier, and carried upon the shoulders of men to church, when some pleasant fellows, up to the business, met the procession, and inquired who it was; they answered. « And a very good job it is,” said one of them, “for the world is well rid of a very bad character, which the gallows must have had in due course.” The young man, now lying dead, hearing this, popped his head up, and said they ought to be ashamed of themselves in Freaks of Imagination. viprus mentions & painter, who verily believed that all the bones of his body were so soft and flex- ible, that they might easily be crushed together, or folded one within another, like pieces of pliable wax. A Lusitanian physician had a patient who insisted that he was perpetually frozen, and would sit before a great fire even in dog-days. ‘The Portuguese doc- tor made him a dress of rough sheep- skins, saturated with aqua vite, and set him on fire. He then said he was quite warm, rather too much so, and so was cured. Galen and Avicen make mention of people who have fancied themselves earthen pots, and therefore have care- fully avoided being touched for fear they should be broken. Then there is the case of the insane watch-maker, mentioned by Pinel, who insisted that he had been guillotined, and that another head had afterward, by mistake, been put on his shoulders, in- stead of his own. “ Look at these teeth,” he would say; “ mine were eX- tremely handsome—these are decayed. My mouth was sound and healthy ; this ‘s foul. How different is the hair from that of my own head !” Mr. Haslam, in his work on insanity, mentions a case of one, who insisted that he had no mouth, and when compelled by force to swallow, declared that a wound had been made in his throat, through which the food had been intro- duced. Benvenuto Cellini, the celebrated Flo- rentine artist, in his Life, says, that “ the governor of the castle in which the for- THE YOUTH’S CABINET 217 Oe thus traducing his fair fame; and if he was alive he would thrash them for their insolence. But they continued to utter the most disgraceful language. Flesh and blood could no longer bear it; up he jumps, they run, he after them, until he fell down quite exhausted. He was put to bed; the violent exertion he had one through promoted perspiration, and he got well. A Monkey’s Memory. uTHors generally seem to think that the monkey race are not capable of retaining lasting im- pressions; but their memory is remarkably excellent when striking events call it into aetion. A monkey which was permitted to run free, had frequently seen the men-servants in the great country kitchen, with its huge fire- place, taking down a powder-horn that stood on the chimney-piece, and throw a few grains into the fire, to make Je- mima and the rest of the maids jump and scream, which they always did on such occasions very prettily. Pug watched his opportunity, and when all was still, and he had the kitch- ~ en entirely to himself, he clambered up, got possession of a well-filled powder- horn, perched himself very gingerly on one of the horizontal wheels placed for the support of sauce-pans, over the wa- ning ashes of an almost extinct wood- fire, screwed off the top of the horn, and reversed it over the grate. The explo- sion sent him half way up the chimney. Before he was blown up he was a snug, trim, well-conditioned monkey as you ! would wish to see on a summer's day; he came down a scorched figure, in ar avalanche of burning soot. The weight with which he pitched upon the hot ashes, in the midst of the general flare- up, aroused him to a sense of his condi- tion. He was missed for several days, but hunger at last drove him forth, and he sneaked into the house, close singed and begrimed, scorched and ter- rified. He recovered with care; but, like some other great personages, he never got over his sudden elevation and fall, but became a sadder, if not a wiser monkey. If ever Pug forgot himself, and was troublesome, you had only to take down a powder-horn in his pres- ence, and he was off to his hole like a shot, screaming and clattering his jaws like a pair of castanets,—Selected. ee ee A Funny Quarrel, HEN one of the popes was in France, a great many years ago, he went to the church of St. Genevieve, to attend worship. The people had a splendid carpet prepared for him to kneel on. When the services were over, the pope’s attendants and the monks of St. Gene- vieve quarreled about the carpet. Both parties wanted it. The strife was so great that they finally came to blows, The monks got the best of the battle, and carried off the carpet. But their triumph was short. As soon as the pope heard how matters stood, he turned all the monks out of the monas- tery, for abusing his men in such a style, F, ee Hay . ee! / ~ ~ or , 53 rea > ‘Ss aN 4 +s tae Np oF aa — a 7 " ‘oe Na’ ~ er y a ( ‘ m et ne ——— | : ; “ Ae ZF, ry] / . a 2 j “ ht Ld. / t}/ Mf] Hi (f } fi i; ri th; L ’ oT hh wo Hii LZ, / ee s A f a a= ——* ‘ (ee Ye .\\) ty 3 = : 7 lk MY ! \ LS" ~~ & : ~~ A SESS A tress “ SS \\ ' TS Zl \ Sas ) Ae cI hy ee - lon | Sh ' CANS Py mi Se a LA nice ‘d 29) onl cays! inne. tid an ¢ My heart’s in the Highlands, My heart is not here— My heart’s in the Highlands, A chasing the deer, A chasing the wild deer, | rey LP” And following the roe— \ My heart’s in the Highlands, (a ‘f i S “igs is ee. Wherever I go. any fe * Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the north, The birth-place of valor, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands forever I love. “ Farewell to the mountains high, covered with snow ; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring tivoas. DUR Ss. Vv. 15 AUG. 232 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Charlie Cleaveland and Father Blinker. — BY MISS C, W. BARBER. Emma, Emma!” said little Charlie Cleaveland, break- ing one morning very unceremoni- ously into the breakfast parlor, “do come to the street-door and see old Father Blinker. > He is the funniest look- ing old fellow you ever saw in your life—you'll laugh yourself almost to death when you see him.” « What is that, Charlie ?”’ said Mrs. Cleaveland, look- ing up from a letter which she was pen- ning. ‘Who do you want Emma to go and see?” “Why, old Father Blinker, as the boys call him, mother. He isthe strang- est looking man you ever saw. His nose is as red as scarlet, and as large as—as that apple in the fruit-dish, and his checks are swollen so that he can hardly see out of his eyes. He jerks about every way. I believe the boys say that he has Sf. Vitus’ Dance, or something like that. He went by the academy yesterday, and the boys ran after him, shouting, ‘Ho! old Father Blinker, how d’ye do? What ails your nose, and what makes you dance so?’ It is so funny, mother, to look at him !” Mrs. Cleaveland laid down her pen, and an expression of painful anxiety came over her sweet face. “Ts it possible?” at length she ex- claimed; “can it be, that my Charlie was among the group of wicked, bad boys, who yesterday shouted after a poor afflicted gentleman in the street ? Have all of my good precepts been so lost upon him? I heard the noise, but I little thought my son’s voice helped to swell it.” «But, mother,” eried Charlie, his cheek at the same time crimsoning with shame, ‘he does not look like a gentle- man at all, I am sure I would not be rude to a genteel man, even if he were afflicted ; but Father Blinker looks more _ like a street beggar than a gentleman. Come to the door and see him.” Mrs. Cleaveland followed her children to the porch, and saw, toiling up the road, a poor, afflicted man, whom she immediately recognized as one whom she had known in better days. He was now truly a miserable object. His whole face was red and swollen, his hands trem- bled so that it was almost impossible for him to hold the cane which supported his decrepit form, and his head was serked from side to side, as by some invisible power. She looked upon him so sadly, that even Charlie watched his move- ments thoughtfully, as if he did not see anything so very funny about him, after all. At length, when nearly opposite the house, a gust of wind took his hat from his head, blowing it far down the street—and the unfortunate man at the same time dropped his cane. «Run, Charlie!” said Mrs. Cleaveland quickly ; “pick up his hat and cane, and give them to him, in as respectful a man- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ner as you can command, and then come back tome. I will give you his history.” Charlie hesitated, but he saw that his mother was in earnest, and when she commanded, he never thought it best to disobey ; he therefore walked leisurely down the road, picked up the hat, and walking back, presented it with a low ‘bow to the old man. He also restored to him the cane, which he had been try- ing in vain to regain. «Thank you, my little man—a thou- sand thanks,” said the old gentleman, looking kindly into his face. “‘ Iam glad to find that there are some warm-hearted, benevolent boys left in the world yet. After the treatment that I received yes- terday, I began to despair of finding such. I thought that I had rather die than not—the grave, perhaps, would be the best place for an old man, so very miserable, that even the boys hoot after him.” As the old man said this, he raised his hand and wiped a tear from his eye. “T was once a rosy, happy little fel- low, like yourself,” he continued. ‘I could skip and hop all day long, as hap- py as a lark, but age and disease have done sad work for me. Heaven pre- serve you from the like! Yes, God will bless you, I know, for being so good to a poor, unfortunate old man.” Charlie’s heart swelled within him, and it was with difficulty that he could keep the tears from forcing themselves into his eyes. “T do not deserve this praise,” he said mentally, “oh! how I wish that I did / I have a great mind to tell the old man that I was with the academy boys who abused him yesterday, and ask him to forgive me.” | were buried in one grave. This was the very thing that Charlie should have done, but he was full of a false kind of pride, which kept him from doing what his better feelings dictated. Had he done this, he would have felt happy once more with himself. But he did not. He turned away, and walked slowly back to his mother. “What did he say to you, Charlie, when you gave him his. hat?” said Emma. ‘“ He thanked me,” said Charlie, “ and said that he was once as'gay and happy a boy as myself. Who would think it! Is it possible that I ever shall be in such a wretched condition ?” “Tt is possible, my son,” said Mrs, Cleaveland, “that your old age may present as sad a spectacle as his. We are not the directors of our own lives. ‘Boast not thyself of to-morrow,” says the inspired penman, ‘for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.’” “Do tell us all about him, mamma!” said Emma, drawing her mother to ; bench which stood in the porch. “ feel very much interested in the poor old creature.” «“ When I first knew him,” said Mrs. Cleaveland, “he was a respectable law- yer in a neighboring village. He was doing a comfortable business, and main- tained his family, if not in luxury, at least in comfort. But by and by, death entered his family—his children died with the scarlet fever, and two of them His wife was a delicate, sickly lady, and grief for the loss of her darling offspring probably hastened her decease. She, too, died before the end of the same year. “The poor lawyer was now almost heart-broken, but he ‘struggled on from 234 day to day, and strove to appear cheer- ful and contented; but his intimate friends soon discovered that he was be- coming unsettled and crazed in mind. He was finally carried off and confined in a lunatic asylum at the North. He remained there, receiving medical treat- ment, until his property was exhausted. He was then sent back to his friends. About two years ago, after a severe ill- ness, his reason, at least a portion of it, returned, but he was the wreck you now behold him. His physical energies were exhausted—his face even was red, and repulsive in its aspect. He became the inmate of a neighboring poor-house, and that at present is his only home. To me, he will always be an object of the deepest sympathy. God seems to have tried him as he did his servant J ob, 1 the furnace of affliction. Perhaps, like him, he will come out purified by mis- fortune.” “Jam sure that I shall never laugh at him after this,” said Emma. ‘Nor I either,” said Charlie. “ I will tell the school-boys about him to- morrow.” “Your last remark, mamma,” said Emma, “reminds me of that beautiful passage that you were pointing out to me yesterday—‘ Earthly prosperity should be estimated by its influence on the soul. What we term adversities, may in real- ity be blessings. When we cast off these vestments of clay, perhaps they may come in beautiful garments to wel- come us to everlasting habitations. Here we spoke of them as evil messengers ; in the court of Heaven, we may recognize them, as angels sent on errands full of love.” «This is very true, my daughter. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. But the wind is rising; let us go into the house.” il It is seldom that the Southern boys enjoy the pleasures attendant upon skat- ing. Occasionally however, the water freezes, and then rare sport it affords them. Such as can get skates and sleds, make diligent use of them—those who cannot, slide upon the soles of their shoes, and enjoy it nearly as well. Soon after Charlie’s conversation with his mother in regard to old Father Blinker, there came several wintry nights, which congealed the water to a depth hardly ever seen before by the oldest men in the village. The boys were full of glee. Out and away they went, to try every mud-puddle and pond in the vicinity. There was a large sheet of water not far from the academy, and there they found ampleenjoyment. They skated, hopped, slid, and sung, as if half wild with mer- riment. Many of them declared that they had never seen real fun before, and heartily wished that they could go north, where ice was found through all the winter months. None enjoyed this amusement more than Charlie Cleave- land. He was among the fortunate few who were in possession of skates, and now he soon learned how to use them. He dashed around over the glassy sur- face of the Jake in fine style. But the cold weather was not of long duration, and then it became dangerous to go upon the ice. The boys, however, were unwilling to relinquish their amusement. «You must not venture upon the ice to-day, Charlie,” said Mrs. Cleaveland, one morning, as he was starting to school. “J know that it must be dangerous, and you must give me your promise Lefore you leave me.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 235 eee erent CC CCL TT Charlie did not like to do this, but finally he did promise, although with great reluctance. Mrs. Cleaveland felt easy about him after this, and taking her work, dismissed the subject from her mind. About eleven o’clock, she was aroused by the sight of several men, who seemed to be bearing something very carefully in their arms. Behind them, old Father Blinker was hobbling at his swiftest pace. Mrs. Cleaveland gazed long and breath- lessly. At length, she grew very faint, for she saw that it was the body of her darling Charlie that they bore in their arms. Ina moment, the truth flashed into her mind. He had disobeyed her, and ventured on the ice, which, thawed by the hot sun, yielded beneath his feet, and he was precipitated into the water. The party soon came up, and she saw that her child had been rescued before life was quite extinct. Charlie still lived, but but he was so pale and weak, that he was unable to walk upon his feet, or even to speak above a whisper.” - I cannot stay to tell my little friends all about that sad interview between Charlie and his mother; but I will tell them what old Father Blinker had to do in the affair. He chanced to be hob- bling by, just as Charlie ventured on to the lake. He knew the danger that the boy was incurring, and called to him to keep off; but it was too late. The ice had cracked, and Charlie was sinking. The old man’s first thought was, to plunge in after him, but then, remem- bering how old and feeble he was, he shouted for help at the top of his voice. He was successful in calling out Mr. Billingslea, the teacher in the academy, who was a young and active man, and soon rescued his truant pupil from a watery grave. Several other gentlemen were also aroused by old Father Blinker’s shouts, and hastened tothe spot. Thus old Father Blinker was the means of saving Charlie’s life. Mrs. Cleaveland was an excellent nurse, and Charlie soon recovered under her care. He was very sorry for his disobedience, and very grateful to Father Blinker. Indeed, the whole family evinced their gratitude, by taking-the old man from the poor-house, and making him an inmate of their home. He died not long afterwards, but Emma and Charlie did not forget him. They decked his grave with flowers, and spent hours in talking about him.—School-fellow. Long-toed Shoes. omE centuries since it was the fashion in England and France to wear shoes and boots with very long toes. The fashion was brought about, in the first place, by a nobleman who wore long toes to hide a very ill- shaped foot. You will laugh when I tell you that the whole length of the shoe or boot was sometimes ayard. We are told, that in a battle between some Greek and Norman knights, during the rage for long-toed shoes, the Normans were victorious, until they were thrown from their horses, and then their shoes were so unmanageable that they could scarcely walk, so that the Greeks easily got the upper hand of them, and com- pletely won the victory. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Lights and Shadows of Farming. BY THEODORE THINKER. varmer’s life is a very happy one. Everybody knows that, I suppose. ‘The farmer is sur- rounded by a multitude of things which cannot fail to interest him. The cows, the horses, the ducks, the pigs— the bees, the squirrels, the rabbits, the birds—the flowers, the trees, the brooks, the hills,—there are charms in all these. It is pleasant, too, to see a man mow- ing. How beautifully the grass falls before his sharp scythe. How nice it is, when at work in the field, to sit down under the shade of a great oak tree, at luncheon time; to eat ginger- bread and cheese ; and drink pure spring water from a wooden cask. Why, dur- ing the haying season, the farmer is all the time among the flowers. What a merry fellow a farmer’s boy must be, with his straw hat on, all wreathed with flowers. I say a farmer’s life is a very happy one—provided a person is pleased with the business of farming, and takes it up as a matter of choice, If a man or @ boy has no taste for farming, there is not much use in trying to make him love it—that is my notion. They attempted to make a farmer of me once, when I was a boy. I was put under the tuition of Deacon Nehemiah Brooks—generally THE YOUTH’S CABINET. called Uncle Miah, by his neighbors— and every possible effort was made to let me into the secrets of the profession. But I never liked the details of farming at all; and it must be confessed that I succeeded rather poorly. | There were many things about the farm that I found pleasant enough ; but I never could fall in love with a hoe or a rake, much less a scythe. I wonder those who had the charge of me in my boyhood did not find out earlier than they did that I was’nt cut out or a farm- er. From first to last, 1 made wretched work of the more scientific parts of farm- ing, such as navigating a cart, propelled by a yoke of steers, through a pair of bars. I generally managed to tear down one of the bar-posts, and not very un- frequently contrived —so Uncle Miah used to say —by alternate hawing and geeing, to get them both down. My heart was not in the work. That was the secret of my bungling efforts. They called me lazy. It may be. I have never denied that there was a little chronic lazi- ness in my system. But if I had been as free from this disease as the hard- working Uncle Miah himself, 1 never could have succeeded in that line of business. In justice to my tutor, however, I ought to say, that my poor success was not owing to any want of faithful in- struction on his part. He tried hard enough to teach me, I am sure, and he was severe enough in the demands he made of me, At any rate, I never found the least fault with him in respect to these matters. He was called one of the best farmers in the county where I lived. He knew perfectly every branch of the business. He was just the man for my tutor—so everybody thought. “What a farmer Theodore will make un- der Uncle Miah’s training!” the neigh- bors said. I took hold with some ener- gy at first. My first lesson began as soon as I had got my trunk unpacked. That unpacking operation did not take long, by the way. My chattels were not very numerous. Uncle Miah was what might be call- ed a hard-working man. Some of the neighbors called him close-fisted ; but the term was, perhaps, not exactly a just one. He was economical, thor- oughly, totally economical. No one, who had any dealings with him, could doubt that. He always wanted what belonged to him. His gold came rather slowly. It did not flow into his pocket in a steady stream, as it would do into some other people’s pockets. He had a hard farm to till. A great deal of work had to be done for a little profit. Money came hard, and, as is natural enough, I suppose, it went somewhat grudgingly. Accustomed, too, as he had been from his childhood, to work steadily, all the year round, three hun- dred and ten days—deducting, for other purposes, fifty-two Sundays, the fourth of July, thanksgiving day and fast day— fifty-five in all—it is not strange that he should have exacted something like the same industry from those in his employ. And such, in fact, was the case. He kept us all pretty closely at work. He was of the opinion, decidedly, that “ All play and no work, makes Jack a mere toy ;” though he seemed not to have adopted the notion contained in the other line be- longing to the couplet. I used some- times to be puzzled to see why Uncle 238 Miah wanted me to be at work so con- stantly. Could it have been to keep me out of mischief? I was a tolerably good boy, and not particularly inclined to be sowing wild oats. So I thought then; and so, I must add, I think now. Why did he want me to be delving at something from early morning till night ? and why did he seem to be in such dis- tress, when, for a half hour, there happen- ed to be no work for me on the docket ? Perhaps this intense anxiety was owing to his strong desire to make a great farmer of me. Let us hope that this is the solution to the enigma. After all, though, Uncle Miah was cenerous—in his way. A striking exam- ple of the kind of generosity he used to exhibit, ever and anon, at this moment occurs tome. Our geese had been miss- ing for several days. Inquiries had been made for them all over the neighborhood, but no one had seen them, no one had heard anything about them. Could they have taken it into their heads to travel? Were they making a summer tour for the benefit of their health? It was thought, in the circumstances, not im- probable. They had just been picked, and under the picking operation, one of the veteran ganders belonging to the flock had uttered some noisy cacklings, the meaning of which was understood to be about the same as the speech which that noted frog made in the olden time: “This may be sport to you, but it is death to us.” There was very lit- tle doubt that the geese had gone abroad, for reasons connected with the picking they had undergone, or on some other account ; and it seemed to be necessary to despatch a messenger after them, with full powers to arrest them and bring THE YOUTH’S CABINET. them home. I was chosen for this im- portant mission. It was a fine day in midsummer, just after dinner, when I was called to re- ceive my charge and outfit. “ Theo- dore,” said Uncle Miah, with rather less than usual of that dignity for which he was so remarkable, and which sometimes frightened me; “Theodore, have you raked up that clover in the orchard ?” «Yes, sir.” “ Well, that’s right. You have been a good boy lately. You may go a-fishing this afternoon.” “Good !” I thought ; “that is just what I have been wanting foralong time.” The trout were plenty in a stream not more than half a mile from the house; and one day, when we had “changed works” with Squire Price, and I was raking hay in his mea- dow, I had repeatedly seen them come to the surface of the stream, on the mar- gin of which I was at work, and catch the grasshoppers which had fallen into the water. Nothing could have been proposed more acceptable to me than this visit to the Squire’s meadow; and I was running with all my might to get my hook and line, when Uncle Miah called pleasantly after me, “Stop a mo- ment, Theodore. Those geese! they ought to be found, that’s a fact. Let me see. You may go and hunt them up—it wont take long, | guess—and when you drive them home, you may go a-fishing, and stay all the afternoon, till milking-time.” There is another specimen of Uncle Miah’s indulgence which is still fresh in my mind. One Saturday afternoon, the hay being all raked up, and there being a most lamentable scarcity of work on hand, I was permitted to walk two miles to the village store, to-buy a jack knife. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. s Just as I was starting off in high spirits, “You may wait in the village till they stop work in the factory,” said Uncle Miah, “and then you can see Mr, Smith, and ask him about that wool.” I went to the store, and bought my jack-knife. It was one of the “ Barlow” manufacture, I believe, warranted not to cut in the eye, and in fact, not to cut at all. I had to wait two full hours after the purchase, for the factory to close. I liked that. It would not have been at all unpleasant to me, if the time had been twice as long. I was very patient, in the circumstances, and found means to amuse myself every moment, till the factory bell rang, when I went to find Mr. Smith, did my er- rand, and started homeward, on a pret- ty brisk trot. It was nearly nine o’clock when I en- tered Uncle Miah’s door, and as dark as pitch. Of course I expected the good man would have prayer—I secretly hoped it would be at least ten minutes briefer than usual—and that then I might be permitted to go to bed. But I was quite mistaken in my reckoning. The cows had not been brought home. While I had been waiting at the store, Uncle Miah had been waiting at home. So, after 1 had eaten my supper—an operation which did not require many minutes, for we did not fare very sump- tuously at Uncle Miah’s, it being one of Aunt Sally’s maxims, that the way for a farmer to be healthy and happy, espe- cially in the case of a boy who was growing fast, was to eat plain food, rather sparingly—after I had drained the last drop of skimmed milk from my bowl, and began to look anxiously at the shelf where the big Bible was lying, al- most hoping the old man would ask me to read a chapter, in which case I had made up my mind to hit upon a pretty short Psalm,—I was posted off after the cows, and told to hurry, as there was a storm coming up. I had to go half a mile after the cows. Long enough before I found them, the whole sky was darkened by a dense thunder-cloud, and it lightened almost incessantly. The lightning frightened me a good deal—for, like most children, I was always afraid in a thunder-storm— but it was of great service to me in my search after the cows. I am sure I could not have found them, if it had not been for the flashes of lightning. After getting the cows into the yard, and milk- ing two of them, as may ‘be conjectured, I was tired enough to go to sleep with- out much difficulty. This milking, by the way, I never fan- cied much. We hear a great deal-about it in poetry, and it sounds well endugh there; but I would much rather write half a dozen couplets about the “sweet breath of the evening,” and the “lowing kine, returning from the dewy mead,” and matters of that sort, than to sit on a crazy stool, and milk a cow. Still I don’t blame anybody else for liking the exercise. Far from it. Indeed, I ad- mit, as I think I did at the outset, that this task, like a hundred others which the farmer has to perform, is very pleas- ant—for those who take a fancy to it. But for my part, I must say that I had no such fancy. I don’t think I should ever have made a good farmer, if I had lived to the age of Methuselah, even if Uncle Miah had been alive all that time, and I had en- joyed the benefit of his skill and his discipline. The old man was finally con- 240 vinced of that, Ibelieve. He pronounced me, with some reason, 4 bad student. Shall I tell you how the deacon came to make up his mind on that point? ‘Two circumstances mainly contributed to has- ten the conclusion. He had been think- ing for a week or two that I ought to have some lessons in mowing. So, one morning, he rigged up a scythe for my particular use, and took me into the meadow with the men, to set me to work. I mowed a little. was prodigious hard work. You may have thought otherwise, as you have seen the strong man swing his scythe ; but I tell you, my friend, you never was more mistaken in your life. I moweda little. Things did not go right, however. The grass did not fall very nicely. The swath I made was nothing to boast of, that is a fact. ‘Put on more steam,” said Uncle Miah. I did so, of course— I always obeyed the stern old farmer. But the next moment I struck my scythe against a huge rock which was hidden in the grass, and broke the point short off. “There, that will do, 1 guess,” said my tutor. A short time after that, we were wash- ing sheep, and I must needs be instruct- ed in the mysteries of this delicate pro- cess. A sheep, not very large, but somewhat strong and active for her size, I thought, was entrusted to me, I man- aged to get her into the water. Now it so happened, though I did not know it then, that there was a deep hole in the brook, pretty close to the spot where the sheep-washing was going on; and my victim struggling with all her might, gradually reached the deep hole, pulling me with her. I found myself where I could not touch bottom, hanging to the Reader, it . THE YOUTHS CABINET. sheep, who was flouncing to a great rate. The men, aftera laughing fit—somewhat - too noisy for the occasion, I thought— finally came to my assistance. They were in season, so far as I was concerned ; though, as to the poor sheep, I am sorry to say that I had drowned her! She had ceased to breathe. After milking that night, Uncle Miah and Aunt Sally had a long talk in the buttery. As they sat with closed doors, I ooo be sure what subject occu- pied their attention. But this I know, that, after the adjournment of that ses- sion of the court, and the buttery doors were again thrown open, I was called in, and Uncle Miah, in the solemnest possi- ble strain, gave a verdict to the effect that I would never do for a farmer. The English Bible. zLDEN, in his “ Table-Talk,” speak- ing of the Bible, says, “The Eng- lish translation of the Bible is the best translation in the world, and renders the sense of the original best, taking in for the English translation the Bishops’ Bible as well as King James’. The translators in King James’ time took an excellent way. That part of the Bible was given to him who was most excellent in such a tongue, and then they met together, and one read the translation, the rest holding in their hands some Bible, either of the learned . tongues, or French, Spanish, Italian, de. If they found any fault, they spoke ; if not, they read on,” aa — en fenced x S SS SS N ‘ wt S The Wreck. \\ SSS = BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS. Aut night the booming minute gun Had peeled along the deep, And mournfully the rising sun Looked o’er the tide-worn steep. A bark from India’s coral strand, Before the raging blast, Had veiled her topsails to the sand, And bowed her noble mast. The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven, And true ones died with her ; We saw her mighty cable riven, Like floating gossamer. | We saw her proud flag struck that morn, A star once o’er the seas— Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn, And sadder things than these. We saw her treasures cast away ; The rocks with pearls were sown, And, strangely sad, the ruby’s ray Flashed out o’er fretted stone. And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er Like ashes by a breeze, uK And gorgeous robes—but oh! that shore Had sadder things than these! We saw the strong man still and low, A crushed reed thrown aside ; Yet, by that rigid lip and brow, Not without strife he died. 242 And near him, on the sea-weed, lay— Till then we had not wept, But well our gushing hearts might say That there a mother slept! For her pale arms a babe had press’d, With such a wreathing grasp, Billows had dashed o’er that fond breast, Yet not undone the clasp. Her very tresses had been flung, To wrap the fair child’s form, Where still their wet long streamers clung All tangled by the storm. And beautiful, ’mid that wild scene, Gleamed up the boy’s dead face, Like slumber’s, trustingly serene, In melancholy grace. Deep in her bosom lay his head, With half shut violet eye— He had known little of her dread, Nought of her agony. Oh, human Love! whose yearning heart, Through all things vainly true, So stamps upon thy mortal part Its passionate adieu— Surely thou hast another lot, There is some home for thee, Where thou shalt rest, remembering not The moaning of the sea! Bash-Bish. «“ a asn-Bisn!” I hear my little read- ers exclaim, “what awful thing is that? Is it an animal, or a fish? or is it the name of an In- dian?” No, my little fellows, it is nel- ther the one nor the other; it is noth- ing more nor less than one of the wildest and maddest little falls in all New Eng- land. “But where is it? I never heard of it before; my Geography tells me of Niagara falls, St. Anthony falls, Genesee falls, Trenton falls, and a good many THE YOUTH’S CABINET. others besides, but says nothing about Bash-Bish falls, I am sure.” Ah, your curiosity is excited, is it? that is just what I want. Now pay at- tention, and I will tell you. The falls of Bash-Bish are in the town of Mt. Washington, the extreme south- western town in the state of Massachu- setts. It is at a great elevation above tide-water, on the top of the Taughconic range of mountains, one of the peaks of voila Everet) is the second highest point Of land in the state. The town contains about four hundred inhabitants. These falls are becoming quite cele- brated, and are now visited every year by hundreds of people, who come here to behold God’s wonders as displayed in the foaming cataract and towering mountains. The stream which forms the falls has its source in the mount- ains, and runs westerly, and in succes- sive beautiful cascades, precipitates it- self, in the distance of about a mile, from the heights of the Taughconic range to the country below, where it lazily ripples over the plains of Copake. But we will go back to the falls. Here, hanging over a pool of foaming water, at the foot of a beautiful cascade, is an immense pile of rocks, hundreds of feet above the boiling flood below. This is called the “Eagle’s Nest.” It is a weary ascent to the top, I assure you. But you must go up, difficult as it is to climb the hills, or you will not see half the wonders of Bash-Bish ; and when you get there, if your nerves are strong enough, you must cautiously ap- proach the verge of the cliff, and look down into the abyss below; and if any of your company are there, they will look like Lilliputians, | | | THE YOUTHS CABINET. When I was there, some of the gen- tlemen—and I am not sure but some of the ladies had a hand in it—threw some lemons and sugar into the pool beneath, to convert it, as they said, into lemonade. As you descend the mountain, you will unavoidably run, slide, and jump, alter- nately, for walking is out of the question. If you are young and spry, by a cireui- tous route, a few minutes of running, jumping, and sliding, and unless you are careful, occasionally tumbling, # find you at the foot of this immense perpen- dicular wall of rocks. A part of the path—if you can call it path, where there are so many jumping places from crag to crag—lies along the verge of the cataract, where you are wet with the spray of the splashing waters. Here, at the foot of the “ Eagle’s Nest,” in this wild amphitheatre, with a perpendicular wall on one side, rising hundreds of feet above you, to a height that makes you dizzy looking upward, an immense pile of mountains on the other, with the waters rushing down the precipice behind you, and a boiling caul- dron of waters beneath your feet, is the wildest and most awfully grand view about the whole fall. L. H. H. The Ass and Race-Horse—A Fable. x Ass undertook to run with a Race-horse. The trial ended pitifully; the Ass was laughed at, as a silly fellow. ‘Oh, I re- member now,” said the Ass, “ the rea- son why I got beaten. Some months ago, I trod a stone into my foot. It gives me pain still.”—Lessing. Til Temper. BY MRS. FRANCES D. GAGE. Y DEAR READERS,—Have you ever thought of the evil consequences of an unruly tem- per, and of the necessity of learning self-government in your child- hood? If you have not, I would like to talk with you a little about it, Did you never see a fine-spirited horse that was usually gentle, patient, and kind, if he . was driven with a curb bit, take it into his head to run away if the curb was re- moved, and upset the carriage, or dash it in pieces, maiming the driver, and per- haps destroying himself? And all this might have been avoided if the owner had not placed too much confidence in his favorite, or perhaps forgotten his curb. Temper, like the high-mettled steed, needs a strong curb and an un- wearying hand, to rule and govern it. I would not like a dull, spiritless horse, that could not play and frolic—one that would always have to be coaxed. or driven—neither do I want children with- out temper and life. I only desire to see it under their own control. Writers are apt to tell you about what Frank B. or James L. did. But I will tell you a little of my own experience. I have always had a quick, sensitive temper, and, when a child, made no ef- fort to curb it, and it was always run- ning me into trouble and difficulty. I did not want to be bad; but often my very best endeavors to be good, were followed by an outbreak of passion that would destroy my comfort for a whole day, and sometimes for a week. . As I grew to womanhood, I found 244 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. nee neeene nnn it so annoying, that I determined to put on a curb, or, in other words, to watch myself closely. Oh! what an effort it was to subdue an old and long-indulged habit. Many a time have I wet my pillow at night with tears of regret, for some trespass of the day. Years wore on, and I be- gan to think I was quite getting the mastery, and forgot to watch myself. «“ How easy it is to be mistaken.” I was busily engaged one day before a large looking-glass, arranging my hair and thinking very complacently of some gray hairs that mingled with the brown upon my head, and wondering if gray hairs were really a mark of wisdom, when pop came the little curly head of my saucy, blue-eyed John, right between me and the image of myself in the glass. There he was, sure enough, with his muddy little boots, just from the street, on the table, under the glass. Now he was only three years old, and I suppose wanted to see himself, as well as his mother. I do not know that he had ever been told not to do it; but I was vexed at his daring, and instantly raised my hand to box his ears. He was gazing at himself, and of course saw me or my shadow raise my hand, and, to avoid the blow, threw his head forward, and sprang. It went right into my best mirror, shattering it into a hundred pieces. More vexed than ever, 1 was about to repeat the blow, atcompanied by a harsh rebuke. Then the little fellow turned up his eyes com- ically at me, saying at the same time, in a subdued and imploring tone, “ Mother, it was you.”’ The rest of the children—for I have ‘eight of them, as merry and full of sport as any of you—burst into a fit of laughter. The curb was on my spirit in @ moment. buked by my children. instead of striking Johnny, taken him kindly down and told him better, I should have been saved the mortification and regret of having lost my temper as well as the cost of a new looking-glass. I was humbled and re. Now had I, A Kennel of Fox-Hounds. x. Coimay, in one of his agree- able Letters addressed to a boy, thus describes a visit to an English dog kennel : “The day before yesterday I was introduced to a kennel of fox-hounds, eighty in number. The huntsman was with me, or I should have been afraid they would have mistaken me for a fox, then woe be tome! It was their feed- ing hour. Their provision is oat-meal scalded, and soup made of horse-beef, several quarters of which were hung up in the larder. ‘They kill an old horse for them about twice in a’ week. Professor Buckland tasted the soup and the cooked horse, for which, though invited, I had no inclination. Much good may it do him. ‘It was funny to see the dogs call- ed out, every one by his own name, and all of them knowing their places, and afraid to come until they were called. They have a bell hung over their bed ; they all sleep together, so that if they quarrel or have any angry discussions after bed-time, the keeper rings the bell, and they know the whip will follow the bell immediately if they are not still.” THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. The Obstinate Boy. HERE was in a retired village not far from New York, a boarding } get | “did not feel like it.” And when ques- tioned on the great impropriety of his course, he said, he would not repeat. it, “if he felt like study.” He was told that there must be a promise without any such condition, and that he could not retire till it was made. He became sullen; and an hour elapsed before he was ready to promise that he would school in which were many ¢x- cellent boys, studious, obedient, — and affectionate. They generally aequi- red their lessons themselves, and recited with much promptness and accuracy. On a certain day one bright boy was very inattentive to his books, a asked if he was unwell, he repli the negative. He was told to apply his mind to his Latin lesson, but he did not heed the command long. At length his instructor told him that he must learn his lesson, and if he did not have it ready at the usual time, he would be obliged to remain after school. This seemed to have very little effect upon him. He remained careless and inat- tentive, and when ealled to recite, he failed. He remained after school, and mani- fested such a spirit as plainly indicated his intention to try the patience and de- cision of his teacher. The evening found him unprepared ; and when the usual time for retiring arrived, he was informed, to his great surprise, that he could have no sleep till his lesson was acquired and recited. He gave very little attention to his book, and seemed satisfied to sit up, if his teacher did also. At eleven o’clock the teacher went to bed, after telling his pupil he could wake him whenever his lesson was pre- pared. Things now began to assume a more serious aspect; he was tired, and the idea of sitting up alone all night became very unpleasant. He began to study in good earnest, and about half past twelve o’clock, said he was pre- pupil. tention and obstinacy. 245 pared, when he translated his Latin, and parsed it very creditably. Being asked why hedid not study and his lesson before, he replied, he faithfully study his lessons. His atten- tion was then called to his obstinacy, in not getting his lesson sooner; and he was asked if he did not think it wrong. It took him some time to answer this jon ; but he finally said he was sat- that it was wrong; upon this he a full disclosure of his feelings. . id open his motives and purposes, seemed to be overwhelmed with a of shame and confusion. He said he deserved punishment, and wished it might be inflicted upon him. He won- dered how he could be guilty of such obstinacy and folly, and craved pardon again and again. His heart was touched with asense of gratitude, and he repeat- edly thanked his teacher for the disci- pline to which he had subjected him. On being assured by his instructor that he fully forgave him, he felt much dis- tressed, for fear he had sinned against God, and only found relief in prayers and tears. At length he became calm and composed; and again thanking his teacher and bidding him an affectionate “good night,” he retired to rest, a pen- itent boy, and no longer an inattentive He was cured both of his inat- KENT. 246 : as Nd SN SRR TRY, * SSA V presume that a very large portion of all the little boys and girls who read the Castner, live in the country, and that they do not need any information respecting the season of harvest. THE YOUTHS CABINET. ‘ yee —~ > \\ f Ss SYS bed (oe ER en eee WH aS: SINAN) ad eS Mae SS SANS SON — = SS i we MS He ts Yi AK, \ Still there are ‘~ a great many more of my readers who live in the city, and who know very little about the country. To such, if not to the other class, a little talk respecting the harvest season will be likely to be interesting. It is a happy time with the farmer, this season of harvest. There is a good deal of hard work about harvesting. But the farmer is so well paid for his hard work, that he does not mind it much, when he sees the large cart-loads of grain rolling into his barn. There are some kinds of grain that are fit for har- vesting earlier than others. Wheat, rye, and.eats are ready, in the latitude of a great part of New England, in the month of July. Indian corn is not harvested until Jater in the season. It is a beautiful sight to see half a dozen strong men cradling a field of wheat or rye. Some boys will not know what I mean by cradling, while others, I suppose, will laugh at the very idea that it is necessary to explain the process to any one in the civilized world. Wheat and rye are usually cut with an instrument called a cradle. ‘‘ But what is a cradle?” asks a little boy in New York or Philadelphia. A cradle is a farming tool, constructed with a scythe and some half a dozen or more pieces of wood, a few inches apart, running paral- lel with the scythe, and curved in the same way, the whole frame nearly as wide as the grain is high. The cradle is handled like the scythe which is pre- pared for mowing grass. You see & cradle in the picture. The handle rests on the ground, and a man is holding it up. The grain, after it is cut, instead of falling near the spot where it grew, is received on the frame of the cradle. The lower ends of the grain are all even, just as they were when they were cut. When the man has got his cradle full, he THE YOUTH’S CABINET. brings it around to his left side, so as to lay the grain on the ground in a row. e have watched a man cradling in a field of rye, when I was a boy, for hours, and thought there was nothing so grace- ful and pretty as this process in the whole range of a farmer’s duties. Before the cradle was invented, wheat and rye were harvested with the sickle, and the process was called reaping. It takes a farmer a great while longer to reap a field of grain than it does to cra- dleit. A sickle is an instrument made of steel, in a curved form, with teeth somewhat similar to the teeth of a fine saw, and a handle of wood, just large enough for one hand. The reaper takes bold with his left hand of as many of the heads of grain as he can conveniently grasp, and with his right hand he cuts the grain near the ground. Then he lays the handful of wheat or rye care- fully in a row. You see it is slow busi- ness. Besides, the reaper often finds it provokingly convenient to cut his fingers with the sickle. So that cradling is much preferable to reaping. When the grain has lain upon the ground long enough to dry a little—and that does not take a great whilein a hot sun—it is raked up and made into bun- dies, after which it is pitched upon a cart and carried into the barn. We used to have a good deal of fun in our neighborhood, when I was a boy, soon after the time when the Indian corn was harvested. That, however, was not until autumn, after the nights had be- gun to grow cold. Did you ever hear anything about a husking scrape in New England? You ought to know some- thing about the affair, at anyrate. The corn, taken from the field sometimes V. 16 rods, perhaps, in length. farmer invites all the neighbors to come and help him husk his corn. He uses no partiality in his invitations. Every- body is asked, old and young, male and female, whité and black, rich and poor. It is a great time with the Jittle folks, of 247 with a part of the stalk, and sometimes with the ear only, is carried to some convenient place near the farm-house, and piled in a heap about as high as a man’s head, and stretching along some Then the course. Before the husking comes off, there is a vast amount of work to be done inside of the house. The oven is heated a good many times, and lots of fine things are baked in it. Pumpkin pies abound about these days, you may be sure; and as to the dough-nuts and other articles of that genus, they are “too numerous to mention,” as the dealer in dry goods, groceries, and crockery ware would say. It is understood that the moon is to shine when the husking party comes off. That is, the farmer so understands it. He makes his calculations for a moon- light night. But there seems sometimes to be another understanding on the part of the moon; although she is plainly ad- vertised in the almanacs as expected at that time, she does not always come. In this respect she is not unlike other celebrated people, whom the papers speak of as sure to be present on a giv- en occasion of importance, and to take a part in the exercises of that occasion, but who, when the time comes, are among the missing. Taking it for grant- ed that the moon does just as the alma- nacs say she will do, and that she does not take a fancy to hide her face behind a thick veil, it is light enough to go ® AUG 248 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. the same thing in these days. But the best. of the sport came after the husking was over. Then all hands went into the house, and sat down—or rather, stood up—to a supper combining, in the most generous profusion, all the luxuries of the season. Oh! those were charming times, those husking parties. My heart warms to- wards them now, as I think of them. There was only one day in the whole year—the ever-memorable thanksgiving day, as you may surmise—to which I looked forward with keener delight than I did to the day on which a great husk- ing was to come off, whether at my fa- ther’s or elsewhere. How much reason has the farmer for gratitude, when he gathers in his crops. I wonder if he is grateful enough for the blessings which God pours into his hands. I never think of the season of harvest, without recalling to my mind this language | tN, of the Psalm- SA\\ ist: “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and for- get not all his benefits.” My little friends, are you thank- ful enough for through the husking process without any artificial light. | Imagine now a party composed of fifty, perhaps a hundred people, men and women, boys and girls, mixed to- gether without much regard to order, on one side of the mammoth heap of corn, Now the husking commences, and now the jokes begin to go round. Everybody is happy, or almost every- body, at aJl events. Hypochondria, low spirits, and maladies of that sort, are not so common in the country, among farm- ers, as they are in the city, among mer- ehants, publishers, and editors. I tell you what it is, my little pale-faced city boy, they have a right merry time of it at the husking party. Sometimes, it may be, the mirth of the younger por- tion of the party oversteps the bounds of propriety a little. But such is not often the case, I think. It certainly was a very rare thing in our neighbor- hood, on similar occasions. As the corn is husked, the ears are thrown over on the opposite side of the heap, and the husks form another heap behind the party. Perhaps you will be a little surprised when I tell you that the husking was kept up to a pretty late hour. Connecticut people are some- what famed for their “steady habits,” it is true. But for all*that, they used to keep rather late hours at their husk- | the possession ing parties, when I was a boy; and 1| of these bless- am not quite sure but some of them do ! | | | ~~ =~ + ~ oO » = . { Y 4A < : , Cs ——_ : A ~~ _ ~ => , 7 ne 5 = “A a “7 sa S) \b eS en ie” ’ Z a = AF “a met ~* a 4 eet — / = — — o — THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 249 ©, come, come away, from labor now reposing; Let busy eare awhile forbear, OQ, come, come away; Come, come, our social joys renew, And there, where trust and friendship grew, Let true hearts weleome you. O, come, come away. From toil, and the cares on which the day is closing, The hour of eve brings sweet reprieve ; O, come, come away ; © come where beve will smile on thee, And round its hearth will gladness be, And time fly merrily. Q, eome, come away. While sweet Philomel, the weary traveler cheering, With evening songs her note prolongs, O, come, come away. In answering songs of sympathy, We'll sing in tuneful harmony, Of hope, joy, liberty. O, come, come away. 250 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ccetitinniataiatnaaataanca aca acimatapnarepamnmmsens ice ta seit ELL The bright day is gone—the moon and stars appearing, With silver light illume the night, O, come, come away. | Come, join your prayers with ours; address Kind Heaven, our peaceful home to bless With health, hope, happiness. O, come, come away. Perils of the Whale Fishery. NE serene evening, in the middle of August, 1775, Captain War- rens, the master of a Greenland whale ship, found himself be- calmed among an immense number of icebergs, in about seventy-seven degrees of north latitude. Onone side and with- in a mile of his vessel, these were of im- mense height, and closely wedged to- gether, and a succession of snow-covered peaks appeared behind each other as far as the eye could reach, showing that the ocean was completely blocked up in that quarter, and that it had probably been so for a long period of time. Captain Warrens did not feel altogether satisfied ‘ with his situation; but, there being no wind, he could not move one way or the other, and he therefore kept a strict watch, knowing that he would be safe as long as the icebergs continued in their respective places. About midnight the wind rose to a gale, accompanied by thick showers of snow, while a succes- sion of thundering, grinding, and crash- ing noises gave fearful evidence that the ice was in motion. The vessel received violent shocks every moment, for the haziness of the atmosphere prevented those on board from discovering in what direction the open water lay, or if there actually was any at all on either side of them. The night was spent in tacking as often as any case of danger happened to present itself, and in the morning the storm abated, and Captain Warrens found, to his great joy, that his ship had not sus- tained any serious injury. He remarked with surprise that the accumulated ice- bergs, which had the preceding evening formed an impenetrable barrier, had been separated and disengaged by the wind, and that in one place a canal of open sea wound its course among them as far as the eye could discern. It was two miles beyond the entrance of this canal that a ship made its ap- pearance about noon. ‘The sun shone brightly at the time, and a gentle breeze blew from the north. At first some in- tervening icebergs prevented Captain Warrens from distinctly seeing anything but her mast; but he was struck with the strange manner in which her sails were disposed, and with the dismantled aspect of her yards and rigging. She continued to go before the wind for a few furlongs, and then, grounding upon the low icebergs, remained motionless. Captain Warrens’s curiosity was so much excited, that he immediately leaped into THE YOUTH'S CABINET. his boat with several seamen and rowed toward her. On approaching, he observed that her hull was miserably weather-beaten, and not a soul appeared on the deck, which was covered with snow to a considera- ble depth. He hailed her crew several times, but no answer was returned. Pre- vious to stepping on board, an open port- hole near the main chains caught his eye, and on looking into it, he perceived a man reclining back in a chair, with writ- ing materials on a table before him, but the feebleness of the light made every- thing very indistinct. The party went upon deck, and having removed the hatchway, which they found. closed, they descended to the cabin. 'They first came to the apartment which Captain Warrens viewed through the port-hole, A tremor seized him as he entered it. Its inmate retained its form- er position, and seemed to be insensible to strangers. He was found to be a corpse, and a green damp mold had cov- ered his cheeks and forehead, and veiled his eye-balls. He had a pen in his hand, and a log-book lay before him, the last sentence in whose unfinished page ran thus: ‘“ November 11th, 1762. We have now been inclosed in the ice sev- enteen days. The fire went out yester- day, and our master has been trying ever since to kindle it again without suc- cess. His wife died this morning. There is no relief.” Captain Warrens and his seamen hur- ried from the spot without uttering a word. On entering the principal cabin, the first object that attracted their at- tention was the dead body of a female, reclining on a bed in an attitude of deep interest and attention. Her countenance 251 retained the freshness of life, and a con- traction of the limbs alone showed that her form was inanimate. Seated on the floor was the corpse of an apparently young man, holding a steel in one hand and a flint in the other, as if in the act of striking fire upon some tinder which lay beside him. In the fore part of the vessel, several sailors were found lying dead in their berths, and the body of a boy was crouched at the bottom of the gangway stairs. ‘ Neither provisions nor fuel could be discovered anywhere; but Captain War- rens was prevented, by the superstitious prejudices of his seamen, from examin- ing the vessel as minutely as he wished tohave done. He therefore carried away the log-book already mentioned, and re- turning to his own ship, immediately steered to the southward, deeply im- pressed with the awful example which he had just witnessed of the danger of navigating the polar seas in high north- ern latitudes. On returning to England, he made various inquiries respecting vessels that had disappeared in an unknown way, and by comparing these results with the information which was afforded by the written documents in his possession, he ascertained the name and history of the imprisoned ship and of her unfortunate master, and found that she had been frozen in thirteen years previous to the time of his discovering her imprisoned in — the ice.— Westminster Review. em ene Somebody, and we wish we knew who, says very beautifully: “As the small planets are nearest the sun, so are little children the nearest to God.” A Word about Indiana. r. Eprror,—As the wild forest of Indiana is a region of coun- try about which very little has been said in the Canrnet, I thought perhaps it might not be alto- gether uninteresting to your readers to be presented with a panoramic view of a small portion of it, at least. I think that the picture will not be extended far enough to weary anybody much, for I am no great traveler, especially in these wilds. Perhaps some reader is saying to himself, “I think that swamps, and brush, and stumps, and gloomy forests, can present no very interesting picture to the mind. I should much prefer or- namented groves, or cultivated fields, and beautiful cottages, and school-houses.” Well, I cannot say that I wonder much at your choice, especially with the view you take of the matter. There are, how- ever, objects even here that have a great many charms, particularly for those who, from choice or necessity, have fixed their abode among them. Perhaps the in- terest which these objects excite in our minds is owing to the fact of their being connected with that magic word home ; for you know that even the Icelander is charmed with his desolate isle. But let us see. When we have viewed the picture, we can judge better. We have some tokens even here of civiliza- tion, such as school-houses and dwell- ings, (humble enough, truly,) and culti- vated fields, which are fast extending themselves over those regions which were but a short time ago one unbrok- en wilderness, But we have much more of the green waving forests, which were but lately the hunting-grounds of the THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Indian, where his council-fire burned, and his war-whoop was heard. That injured race have been driven far hence, but many of their implements yet re- main, and are often found in the fields and forests, such as arrows and hatchets. Perhaps there is no place where the ‘sweets of social intercourse” are more appreciated than in these new settle- ments—probably because they are par- taken of so very sparingly. But the most interesting feature that. meets the eye of the traveler is the numerous lakes which are found in various parts, many of which do not cover more than ten or twelve acres in extent, and yet their depth is often almost unfathomable. They are destitute of any visible inlet or outlet, and have been the theme of much scientific investigation concerning their origin. These lakes contain fish in © great quantities, and of almost every dif- ferent quality. We think these lakes might be denominated the eyes of the forest, winking through the live-long night, when the rays of the moon fall upon their waters, mirroring upon their surface the boughs and trees that grow along their banks, and the timid deer and other animals that resort to their margins to drink and gambol. Prairies do not abound here; yet there are some small ones, of perhaps three or | four miles in length, and a mile in breadth. These are covered in the spring with beau- tiful wild flowers, and in summer with long, coarse prairie grass. Many of them have streams meandering through them, overhung by drooping willows, which makes them appear very romantic ; and it would indeed require no great stretch of fancy, as has been said by some one, to imagine, at the hour of twilight, that ‘THE YOUTHS CABINET. they were the abodes of the rich. In- deed, you might almost expect to see the white walls of their dwellings peep- ing out from amid the green shade. M. P. a . . " . < il} tute | J } } “ ' it Hh Le ees . = Md 4 \ ~_ beet MN» , it r¥*. VD i Me be = + fe om eget’ e Ancient Thebes. nE of the most remarkable cities of any age was that of Thebes, which was once the capital of Egypt. It was in its glory a great many years ago, and now it is but a large mass of ruins. It was called “the city of a hundred gates,” and was a theme of admiration throughout the world. The ruins extend about eight miles along the Nile, from each bank to the base of the neighboring mountains on both sides. The whole circumference of these ruins is upward of twenty-seven miles. The most remarkable objects on the eastern side are the tombs of Carnac and Luxor; and on the western side are the Memnonium, or the palace of Memnon, two colossal statues, the sepulchres of the kings, and the temple of Medinet Abu. The statue of Memnon, situated in this place, was supposed, as you may have heard, by the superstitious people of an- cient times, to utter responses to those who consulted it, through the medium of the priests. It is true that a singular sound proceeded from this statue. Trav- elers who visited Thebes as late as the fourth century after Christ, bear witness to this fact. But how the noise was made was then, and, for aught I know, still is a mystery. According to the foolish notions of the ancient Egyptians, the statue was in the habit of uttering a joyful sound, every day, when the sun rose, and of making mournful music when it set. They believed, too, that it even shed tears. The highest glory of Thebes belongs to a period prior to the date of authentic history. It is impossible to tell when the city was founded. The ancient accounts of it come to us through the medium of poetry or tradition; and they would have a strong odor of fable, were it not for the 270 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. fact that so many monuments remain as witnesses to the present day. The state- ments made by Diodorus, an ancient his- torian, of the sige and richness of the temple of Carmac would probably be set down as on a par with the stories of the famous Munchausen, if modern travelers had not confirmed what he said. This structure, according to that histerian—and | his statement appears highly probable from actual measurement within a few years—was nearly a mile and a half in circumference. It has twelve principal entrances; and the body of the temple, which is preceded iby a large court, con- sists of an immense hall or portico, the roof of which is supported by one hundred’ and twenty-four columns, some twenty-six, others thirty-four feet in cir- cumference. Four beautiful obelisks then mark the entrance to the shrine of the deity, which consists of three apartments, built entirely of granite. There are a great many other interesting things in this place; but I cannot speak of them now. A little more than a mile from this temple, are the village and temple of Luxor. This temple, though not of such vast size as that of Carnac, is in a superior style of architecture, and in a state of more complete preservation, The en- trance to it is thought to surpass every- thing else that Egypt presents, In front | and leaped it immediately preceding the are the two finest obelisks in the world, | engine, and the two hounds close in pursuit. made of rose-colored granite, and rising to | Each hound was caught by the wheels of the height of about one hundred feet. | the engine—the foremost lost about a foot But the objects which attract the most | of his tail, and the one in the rear was attention are the sculptures which cover | eut off just behind his hips; and off went the east wing of the northern front, | the fox “alone in his glory.” However They contain, on a grand scale,a repre- | improbable this may appear, we are 4 sentation of a great victory gained by one | sured dy # director of the road that it is of the kings of Egypt over their Asiatic | a fact.— Vermont paper. enemies. The number of human figures introduced amounts to about fifteen hun- dred, five hundred on foot and one thou- | sand in chariots. Not far from the city of Thebes, situated | among the mountains, are the tombs of the Kings. Several of these have been opened during the present century, and were found in a state of great preserva- tion, with mummies deposited in their different chambers. The colossal statues have excited great admiration. The largest has been broken off at the waist, and the upper part laid prostrate on the back. It measures six feet and ten inches over the front, and sixty-two feet around the shoulders. Two other colossal statues, each about fifty feet high, are seated on the plain. A Fox Story. rox hunter with two hounds, got upon the track of a poor fox, A which was pursued until toward the close of the day. Fox found that things were drawing to a desperate crisis with him, and just at this time the whistle of the rail-road train was heard, when he struck off in the direction, and approached the track just as it came up, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Stories about Dogs. HEARD a dog story the other day worth telling again, from a young friend of mine at Cro- ton Falls. She says : that not long ago, there was a cat in the habit of visiting her father’s barn, and killing the chickens. The cat became so trouble- some, at last, that it was thought best to kill him. So the gardener, with the assistance of the large dog belonging in the family, put. an end to the life of poor Tabby. After the cat had been dead a little while, the dog took him up, car- ried him down to the Croton river, which runs near the house, dug a grave in the bank, and buried him. A clergyman of my acquaintance, whose head is beginning to be whitened with age, says he does not recollect. but one instance in his whole ministry, in which, while performing his professional duties, he felt more like laughing than he did like praying ; and that. was while he was trying to marry a couple. A dog, belonging to the family in which the wedding was to be celebrated, en- tered the room where the guests were assembled, just as he was commencing the solemn exercises, and perched him- self on the sofa, before which the couple to be married were standing. There he sat, looking as grave as a judge, while the ceremony was going on, apparently quite as much interested as any of the party. The figure which the dog pre- sented, while in this attitude, was ludi- crous enough, according to the represen- tation of the clergyman. It was almost as much as he could do to: prevent a pretty broad smile, when he looked at this auditor, who, it would seem, was allowed by the family to stay, for fear that they would make more disturbance in removing him, than he would make if he remained. The clergyman pro- ceeded. He came to the spot where something like this was . said :—“ If there is any person present who knows any lawful reason why these parties should not be united in holy wedlock, he is requested to make it known, or forever after hold his peace.” ‘Bow! wow!’’ said the dog, ‘This was too much for the parson. It. seemed that the dog had come into the room, and occupied that prominent position on pur- pose to say, when the proper time should come, that he opposed the marriage. My friend says that he stumbled, after a fashion, through the ceremony, so far as to pronounce the couple husband and wife; but he could not get any farther. He could not pray, after such a scene as that. A young man, now residing in this city, says that he once owned a dog, named Ponto, who was very much at- tached to him. His. master formerly lived at some distance in the country ; and the next morning after he came to New York, the dog was left at his mas- ter’s boarding-house, and not allowed to follow him down town, to: his. place of business, for fear he would. get lost, as. he was not at all acquainted with the city. After my friend had been an hour at his store, who should walk in but Ponto! He had escaped from the house, and found his master, probably by scent, 272 after he had been gone almost an hour ! Ponto, after a while, was attacked with some painful disease in his legs, so that he could hardly walk. All that could be thought of was done for the poor creature. But it was of no use. He grew worse, rather than better. At last, his master determined to have an end put to his sufferings by drown- ing him, and a man in the store was re- quested to perform the task. To one end of a cord was attached a large stone, and the other to the dog’s neck, and he was thrown into the East River. Poor fellow! he managed to get out of the water, after the man had gone away, and by some means or another, getting rid of the stone, he crawled back slowly, and with the utmost difficulty, to his master’s store. He did not live long, however, after that. An Indian Story. n the early settlement of this coun- try, a strange Indian arrived at an inn in Litchfield, Connecticut, and asked for something to eat; at the same time saying that, as he had been unsuccessful in hunting, he had nothing to pay. The woman who kept the inn, not only refused his reasonable request, but called him hard names. But a man who sat by, seeing that the Indian was suffering for want of food, told her to give him what he wanted at his expense. When the Indian had finished his sup- per, he thanked the man, and assured THE YOUTHS CABINET. him that he should be faithfully recom- pensed, whenever it was in his power. Some years after this, the man had occasion to go from Litchfield to Albany, where he was taken prisoner by the In- dians, and carried to Canada. Some of them proposed that he should be put to death; but an old woman demanded that he should be given to her, that she might adopt him in place of a son, who had been killed in war. This was done, and he passed the winter in her family. The next summer, while he was at work in the woods, a strange Indian came and asked him to go to a certain place ona given day, which he agreed todo; though he had some fears that mischief was in- tended. His fears increased, and his promise was broken. But the Indian came again and renewed the request. The man made another engagement, and kept his word. On reaching the spot, he found the Indian provided with am- munition, two muskets, and two knap- sacks. He was ordered to take one of each, which he did, and followed his conductor. In the day-time they shot the game that came in their way, and at night, they kindled a fire and slept by it. But the Indian observed a mysterious silence as to the object of their expedi- tion. After traveling in this manner many days, they came tothe top of a moun- tain, from which they saw a number of houses in the midst of a cultivated coun- try. The Indian asked him if he knew the ground, and he eagerly answered: “Tt is Litchfield!” The Indian then re- called to his mind the scenes of the inn, and bidding him farewell, exclaimed : “Tam that Indian! Now I pray you go home.” —Selected. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Crazy Ann. Ww MDUN EL Se . ATHER,” said Margaret Standish, it a merry little girl of my ac- quaintance, “father, what has become of crazy Ann? I have not seen her for a long time. I wish she would come here again. She used to make a good deal of fun for us. What member the last time she was here, how she made us all laugh? She had a white dress on, and said she was going to be married to a spirit, How funny !” “T remember all about Ann’s lagt visit here,” said Mr. Standish ; “but I did not feel at all like laughing at her language. I felt more like weeping than I did like laughing. Poor woman! I pitied her with all my heart.” “I don’t see why, I am. sure,” said Margaret. “T will tell you why, my dear,” replied her father. “When Ann was in her right mind, she was as sensible as any body. She was very good and kind, too. All the people in the neighborhood loved her. Don’t you remember having heard your mother tell about the lady that watched her so carefully and kindly during that long sickness of her’s, when we thought for weeks that she could not get well ?” “Oh yes, sir. It makes me shudder now to think how very sick dear mother was, and how near we came to losing her. Was it Ann Bristol, was it crazy Ann that took such good care of her all that time?” “Yes, it was Ann Bristol, though she was not crazy then. She did not lose her reason till several years after that.” “ Father, how do people lose their rea- son? what makes them crazy? If they were good once, what makes them bad ?” “T can’t answer all these questions in one breath. They make quite a catechism. Some people lose their reason from one cause, and some from another. Sickness brings on insanity sometimes. Grief, dis- appointment, sudden fright, also produce it. You speak as if good people became a woman she is to talk! Don’t you re-| bad, when they are crazy. It is not so— % 274 THE. YOUTH’S CABINET. that is, it is not certain that a person is | wept. a great deal, when he went away, any more wicked than any body else, be- | So did his father and mother. He had cause she has lost her reason. People | never been away from Home before for so who are crazy may be very wicked or tony long a time as it took to make a voyage may not. They can’t help being crazy.” | to the East Indies. “Can't help it? Could not crazy Ann help acting so like a witch ?” “Did she act like a witch? How do witches act? Did you ever see a witch ?” “Tsn’t that something of a ‘catechism,’ father? No, sir; I never saw a witch, and I don’t know exactly how they act. But they act as bad as they can, I sup- pose; and I am sure Ann acted as bad as she could.” “ Ann Bristel couldn’t help being crazy, any more than you could help having the scarlet fever last summer.” “Why, what made her crazy, father ?” “ When she was quite a young lady, she loved a man who went to sea. This man loved her, and they were engaged to be married. John Layton, the young sailor that Ann loved, was a very excellent man. I knew him well, and I always thought he would be a good husband for Ann. He made two or three voyages, and the captain of the'ship in which he sailed said he was one of the best sailors on board, always ready to do his duty, and always foremost in danger. He was a right merry fellow, too. Captain Holton told me he had known John go up aloft to take in the rigging when a furious storm was raging, and after he had done the work, while he was hanging to the mast or the shrouds with one hand, | he would take off his cap with the other, and swing it round his head, and give three cheers for his country. John left home for'a long voyage to the East. Indies, in. the same year, I believe, that. your brother George was born. Ann JOEN THE S#ILOR* BOY. ~ The ship sailed: She’ made good voyage. They lad taken their cargo aboard, and had left for home. ‘They ar. rived neat the doast of their own beloved land. The light om the Highlands of Neversink Had’ been seen, anid all on board were hoping soot to seo their dear friends again. But, alas!’ how terrible was their disappointment. A galé arose ; the wind blew towards the land, Though every effort was thadd to get the ship out to sea agaiti; when they found they could rot enter the harbor, she struck the beach. The waives dashed futiously over her. She was soon # wreck, atid nearly all‘on board were drowned. John Layton was among the lost. loss of that dear’ friend; whom’ she loved more than any one else in the world, she utterdd: a fiiglitful shriek, atid fainted. When’ she recovered, slie was' a raving maniac, Herréason had' fled. You asked what had becontie of her. Wher she was liere last, I saw’she was so crazy that it would not do to’ let her walk about the streets any midte, for she was worse’ than I had ever seen her’ before. So I had her’ taker’ to the alitis-house, and’ told the keeper that he must take good care of her and be very’ kind’ to' her. Poor woman! she ston betattie so niuch deranged, that it was’ tecessar'y' to’ confine her in her cell, and to bind’ her with chains, to keep her from taking her life. She did not live long’ after’ she went’ to the alms-house. She died, raving’ about’ the cruel ocean that destroyed hier silor-boy. I visited ler cell, white she was confined there, to see if shé was as comfortable as anybody could make’ her; arid I saw on the walls of het r6drtt the’ picture of a ship. The keeper said she had drawn this vessel with T78 YOUTHS CABINET. her own hand, and that! sie used often fo look at it, atid talk as if she saw’ 4 person on board of it. Poor Ann! She will suffer no more in this world. She has left us, I hope, for # better Jand.” wW. 9, > “It’s of no use. BY WILLIAM, A, ALCOTT, M.D. —_—— ow do you know. it is of no use ? You are commanded to do it. Ts it of no use to do what you are required to do, by those who have authority over you? When Ann heard the tidings of the | I was going into a printing office, in Boston, the other day, Mr. Editor, when I met a boy ten or twelve years of age, on the stairs, with sothe stereotype plates in his hands. It was rathiét too early in the niorning to thitk of doing atly business, and the shops weré not half ‘of ‘them operied. The little boy had just cottie out of the room where the printing was done, and the door was not closed. As TI passed by him, hie whitied ott, “It’s off no’ use.” “ What is it, which is of no use,” I said to myself; and followed hint with my eye for a few mottients. He’ went below, and on approaching a room to which, as I suppose, he had been told’ to carry the plates, to his apparent surprise, he found. the door already open, and’ performed his errand. I asked no questions; but my solution of the’ matter was as follows’. The boy had beert told to carty the’ plates to a certain room, which he stpposed not yet opened for the day, while the person who sent him knew otherwise. “Hente it” was, that instead of simply doing what he 276 THE YOUTHS CABINET. deren ee ee was commanded by those who knew more than he in the case, he whined out, “ It’s of no use.” But the sequel proved he was mistaken. Suppose, now, it were to happen, occa- sionally, that a parent, master or teacher, should order a child to do that which was of no use; for parents, masters and teach- ers are fallible. Whatthen? Should the young be in the habit of replying, and above all, in a whining, complaining man- ner? Should they not just go forward and do as they are bid, even though, in their own judgment, it should be of no use? What though it should happen, once in ten times, that there should be a mistake on the part of the person in authority, and a command should be given which was really of no use? The child, in obeying cheerfully, does his duty. He is not at fault. He strengthens and confirms a good habit. The great business of mankind, in this world, is. to learn to obey ; and the sooner the lesson is learned, the better. There is, at the head of the universe, in which we live, one mighty Lawgiver. As soon as we are born, we come under his laws. They are in operation above us and below us; around us and within us; while we are awake, and while we sleep. They are going on from the day of our birth to the day of our death. But as we do not understand these laws, when we are very young, is it not a great mercy that God has placed: us under the care of those who do? Wedo not understand, for example, that fire will burn us; how convenient is it to have those about us who know the danger of fire, and will keep us away from it? Until we know what the laws of God are, as we find them on the broad pages of Nature and Revelation, our duty is to look up to our parents ‘for laws. They stand in the place of God to us, at least for a time. So do those to whom they may entrust us, as our teachers. So do our masters and mistresses, when, owing to death or other circumstances, our pa- rents are taken away from us. In order, then, to be obedient to God, we must first learn obedience to those whom he has set over us. And if we would obey Aim cheerfully, without mur- muring or complaining, we must first form the habit of obeying them cheerfully. There must be no hesitating, or answer- ing again, or grumbling, or whining. Ce ee The Idiot's Death. LLOw me, my young friends, to relate to you a sad tale of suffering is death: In the county of Greene, in the state of New York, several years ago, lived an idiot boy, by the name of J——. He would wander often from home into the woods and fields, but had not sense enough to get home again without the assistance of his friends. At length, one hot summer day, he left the house as usual, but at the proper hour he was nowhere to be found. Night came, and, for the first time in his life, probably, the poor lad knew what it was to want food, a bed, and all the number- less attentions of a mother. Morning came, the search became more thorough, but fruitless as ever. The boy had taken off some of his garments, on account of the heat of the day, and these were found ; but where was the suffering, starving, dying boy? Ten days passed. No more tidings or traces of him were found. Then, sad THE YOUTHS CABINET. and dispirited, all met to consult on farther steps. They determined to examine anew, and if possible, more carefully, the space where they could hope to find him. They set out; and shortly a party of them came near a tall, hollow stump. More for the purpose of leaving no spot unexplored, than with any hope of finding there the object of their search, a young man mount- ed the stump. A sight there met his eyes, which ‘caused him to faint and fall to the ground. There was the body of the poor boy, wasted by hunger, the head thrown back, and the ghastly features up- turned to the summer’s sky. But how came he in this most singular and fatal The answer is easy. The tree had been partially torn up by the _ situation ? roots, and was afterward cut off at some distance from the ground. As it lay thus upon the ground, the boy, unconscious of harm, crept into the hollow at its root. While he lay there, defended by this grateful covering from the summer’s sun, the bent fibres, suddenly freed from their tension, raised the stump, and shut him in forever. How very affecting to think of the long days and nights of exposure and starvation which must have elapsed before death—to him an angel of mercy—reliev- ed him of his life and misery together. : G. C. res Sagacity and Attachment of a Horse. {ies frequently occur in which domestic animals are evidently mado instrumental to the preservation of life, by the application of a sagacity which does not fall within the usual range of their intellects, The following cireum- | stance was related to me soon after its oc- 207 currence, by a man upon whose veracity I can rely, who received it immediately from the subject of the narrative. About twenty years ago, J. B., who re- sided in Chester county, Pennsylvania, not far from the west branch of the Bran- dywine, was returning home on horseback, at a time when that stream, across which his road lay, was much swollen by rain or melting snow. The depth and force of the current dislodged him from his seat, and he was cast upon a bank, form- ed, I think, by a cake of ice, where his life was in imminent danger. The horse in the meantime, released from. restraint, made his way to the shore; but instead of running away, he stopped on the bank, looked round and neighed. Perceiving his master in his perilous situation, sur- rounded by the rushing torrent, the sa- gacious animal returned into the: water, and coming close to him, stood there till he was securely seated on his back. And this could not be very hastily done, as the man was advanced in. years and his clothes saturated with water. Not being able to regain the ford, the pair arrived at the margin of the stream, at a place where the bank was too steep to be mounted by the horse with his burden. Help at length came, and the horse and his rider were extricated from their dangerous position; but the former was so much exhausted by his exertions, that he lay down and stretched himself out as if dying. He however recovered, and his owner assured my informant that no price that could be | offered, should ever, while he lived, trans- fer the noble beast to another master. This attachment to the horse was pleasing and natural, but I should consider the principal. debt of gratitude due to the overruling hand of Providence.—Selected, 278 “(ive us our HAT a precious privilege it is for a family to kneel down, every morning and night, and lift up their hearts in prayer to God! I do love to see the father and mother, the brothers and sisters, all asking their heavenly Father for his blessing: I wonder how any body can neglect to pray. What reason has such a person to expect that God will take care of him? How unkind and ungrateful it is too, to forget to thank our Creator for the good things he is-eontinually giving us. Some people seem to doubt whether it does any good to pray. They say they are just as happy without prayer as they would be with it. They don’t think that prayer is worth what it costs. Perhaps they laugh at the man who prays every day, just as regular- ly as he eats his meals. But such people are greatly mistaken. God hears prayer, and he answers it, too. He has promised to do so. in his Holy Bible. What reason THE YOUTHS CABINET. Daily Bread.” has any body to doubt that he will keep his promise ? Did you see that’ poor man who sat in the gallery of the church last Sabbath, with his children around him? Did you see how attentive he was to all the minis- ter said? and did you notice the tears that rolled down his sun-burned cheeks ? That man is a child of God. God loves him, dwells in his house, hears him when he prays, answers his prayers, for Christ's sake, comforts him when he is sad, “cheers him when he is discouraged. And be- sides all this, that man has laid up 4 treasure in heavem-—a treasure worth a thousand times as much as all the gold in California—and_ by and by he is going to that happy world to enjoy his treasure. Yes, God hears, when this servant of his asks for a blessing. He is a poor maz, it is true. His rich neighbors do not think much of him. They never dream of in- viting him and his family to their splendid THE YOUTHS CABINET. parties. If he should die, he would not be missed, except in the narrow circle of his home. But God has adopted him as his child. God loves him, whether his neighbors do or net, Poor as he is, his prayers are answered in heaven. Aye, his prayers for others, as well as for him- self, are answered there. « Perhaps the haughty world, that, as she meets, Scarce deigns to notice him, or if she sees, Deems him a cipher in the works of God, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring, And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint Walks forth to meditate at even-tide, And prays for her who prays not for herself.” { heard an interesting anecdote the other day, about a good old man, who was noted all over the neighborhood where he lived as a man of prayer. He and his wife were in good circumstances once. But they became very poor—so poor that when they were old, they had as much as they could do, sometimes, to get food to eat. The old gentleman was a cripple. He could not work at all, His wife could work a little, and she supported herself and her husband by the money she got for her labor. One day they had nota morsel in the house to eat, and the good woman looked into her purse in vain for money to buy a loaf of bread. She did not want to beg, if she could help it, and she did not know what to do. Still those children of God offered their morning prayer. Still they uttered that beautiful language which.our Saviour taught to his disciples, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Long and earnest was that morn- ing prayer. It was the prayer of faith, too, and it was answered. Before the old man had ceased, a knock was heard at the door. When it was opened, there stood V. 18 279 a basketful of provisions, which had been left by some kind’ neighbor. God, who taught them to use that petition for daily food, had answered that request, even while his children were making it. Depth of Different Seas. w the neighborhood of the continents the seas are often shallow; thus it the Baltic sea has a depth of only 120 feet between’ the coasts of Germany and those of Sweden. The Adriatic, between Venice and Trieste, has a depth of only 180 feet. Between France and England, the greatest depth does not exceed 300 feet, while south- west of Ireland it suddenly sinks to 2000 feet. The seas in the south of Europe are much deeper than the preceding. The western basin of the Mediterranean seems to be very deep. In the narrow- est parts of the straits of Gibraltar, it is not more than 1000 feet below the sur- face. A little further toward the east, the depth falls to 3000 feet, and at the south of the coast of Spain to nearly 6000 feet. On the north-west of Sar- dinia, bottom has not been found at the depth of nearly 5006 feet. With respect to the open seas, their depths are little known. About 250 miles south of Nan- tucket, the lead has been sunk to 7800 feet, In north latitude, at 78 degrees, Capt. Ross has exceeded 6000 feet in Baffin’s Bay. But the most astonishing depths are found in the Southern Atlan- tic: west of the Cape of Good Hope 16,000 feet have been found, and the plummet has not found bottom at 27,000 feet west of St. Helena.—Selected. BR, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Amy’s Holiday. wE Saturday noon, a room full of ‘ school-girls had put away their books, and sat waiting to be dis- missed. One little tanned thing, named Amy, was in a great hurry to be free. One foot was advanced, all ready for a start; and her hand was on her desk, to help her to spring from her seat as soon as the signal was given. “ Children, I invite you all to come to school this afternoon,” said the teacher. “T do not wish to compel any one. But I shall be here at two, and hope to find a few of my scholars, at least; those who love me, and love school.” There were many blank faces at this. All wanted the holiday. The industrious scholars were tired, and needed the usual rest. Those who found it tiresome to labor, and loved to be in the open air, like Amy, were eager to be set free for a long half day. Some of the older girls smiled, and nodded to each other. The teacher almost laughed out at the vexa- tion of Amy, who pouted, and looked eross. When any face with a questioning look turned toward’s her, as if to say, “You, Amy; are you coming ?” she shook her head, pettishly, as if to say, “ Indeed, I shall not. ’ “You are dismissed,” said the teacher. Amy scampered off in such haste, that she left her bag. Some of the girls begged to know why there was to be a school. “That is my secret,” said the teacher, smiling. | “Ts it your request that we should come? Would it oblige you %” said they. “No, it would not oblige me. It would please me, I confess. But I do not ask it, on my own account; I invite you, for your own benefit, not mine.” Every scholar came, but Amy. About the middle of the afternoon there was a knock at the school-room door. It was not opened; the teacher’s voice called out, “ Who is there? Is it Amy ?” “Yes, it is, I,ma’am. I want my bag.” “Oho! Then you have not come to school ?” “No ma'am. Why, it is three o’clock and after !” | “Well, if you will change your mind, you may come in, now! I will not note you as tardy.” The door was opened a little and a roguish black eye peeped out at Amy.” “T have company waiting for me,” said Amy. “I cannot change my mind. Besides it is pleasanter out of doors, this warm afternoon. So do get my bag, Anna, and let me go.” “Very well,” said Anna, “go back farther from the door, so that you cannot look in, and you shall have your bag; little goose as you are !” Amy wanted to know what was going on that she must not have a peep at, and had half a mind to goin. But the idea of being prisoner for the rest of the after- noon, and the jingling of some cents in the bag, turned her feet from the door. As she went away, she heard a loud laugh, and a murmur of merry voices. She stopped, and half turned round. “I wish I had gone in,” she thought, “ but I am ashamed to do it now. They would all have such a laugh, to see me, after all. No, Pll go—buy some nuts.” A ragged, impudent looking girl, a head taller than Amy, was waiting for her in the street. Her name was Luce Wayland. She had been employed by sian -Amy’s mother, now and then, by way of charity, to do little jobs about the house, usually called chores. Of late, she had not been allowed to come to the house- She had been suspected of ‘thieving. Amy did not know this, but she knew she was not a good girl, and she felt ashamed of her sluttish appearance, as they walked side by side. She knew that her mother would not like to have her seen with such a companion, though she taught her not to be proud. She felt very uncomfortable and discontented all the afternoon, though Luce was full of smiles and flattery, and Amy was glad to have any one to speak to. Her usual companions were all in the school-room. They cracked the nuts together, and then went off into the woods, where they were soon on an equality as to rags, for Amy’s gown and stockings got various unlucky rents, in her attempts to imitate her new playmate’s gambols. For the first time in her life she climbed a tree. She was a long time perched in the branches, before she could gather courage to get down again. She came to the ground all in a heap, like a bag of sand, while Luce swung herself about like a monkey. Amy did not know where she was, and Luce brought her out of the wood oppo- site Mrs. Wayland’s door. “See, mother,” she bawled, as a chocolate colored cap, with dirty red ribbons, appeared at a window, “ Here’s the squire’s daughter.” “Come in, miss, and rest ye, without ye're tu praoud to come under @ poor person’s ruff,” said Mrs. Wayland. “Lor, she an’t proud a mite,” said Luce, drawing her along. “An’t she played along of me this live-long arternoon ?” Amy picked her way over the black, *« ‘THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 281 greasy mud, to the door-stone, on which her foot slipped, and she fell into the arms of the woman, who kissed her two or three times, and carried her into the house. As she looked about the room, she was astonished to behold certain arti- cles which had been missed at home, lying in plain sight. A pair of scissors. which had been sought for all over the ‘house, some weeks before, claimed hei acquaintance. A piece of carpet said, “How d’ye do, old friend ?” almost as plain as speech. A handkerchief, which lay in the window, had her own name on ‘+t. Without that, she would not have guessed that it had ever been white. Her duty was to take notice of these things, but she tried not to seem to be looking at them. Having made herself Luce’s com- panion, she shared her shame, or rather felt that shame for her, which she felt not for herself. Luce soon returned, with something rolled up in brown paper, and a bag of crackers. | “Massy! couldn’t ye get no more butter than that for four cents! You need n't a got the best kind. Two crack- ers short! You've eat ’em, coming along, you jade!” “He never gin me another one,” cried Luce, angrily; then whispered to Amy, “T mean, if lies are true.” “I must go home,” said Amy, half ready to cry. “T shan’t let you stir till after supper,” said Luce. “ We're going to have cracker toast. I guess you don't get anything better than that, to home.” “Can't you eat with poor folks for once 2” said the woman, in a sneering yoice, “Our vittles is clean, if our house an’t.” i a =e eee ee 282 heartily that the last one was toasted before she and Luce were satisfied. “Now I must go home as fast as I can,” she cried, seeing that the sun was almost down. “ What will mother think?” “You needn’t tell her where you been,” says Luce. “You can tell her that—” “ Yes, tell her where ye took supper, and was treated to the best, and no harm come to ye,”said the woman. “I thought you was run away, all the time. You an’t so proud yet, but your ma’am would have cut her hand off, rather than set down to table with me, I warrant you.” “I wish I knew the way home,” said Amy, sighing, “Luce, go along with her,” said the old woman. Amy started for home, with her new companion. She fancied every person who met them stared to see her in such company. As.she came near home, she found there was quite a hue and cry in the neighborhood, her brothers and sisters _ haying been sent in every direction in. search of her. Her cup of mortification. was full, to hear Luce answer every in-— quiry with triumph. ' “The lost is found, safe and sound. She's only been over to our ‘us, taking tea.” Mrs, Cunningham, Amy’s mother, re- fused to employ Luce any more, and reproached her with having misled Amy, who was several years younger than her- self. “All the thanks poor folks get,” mut- tered Luce, “ T’ve took good care on her, give her a first rate supper, and fetched her home, that’s all. I never asked her to go along with me.” : THE YOUTH’S CABINET. NT eentcperinnemitentinere teense mT ii Amy was very hungry, and having resolved just to taste the crackers, ate so “Why, Amy!” said her mother, in a low voice. “Have you been eating the bread of those who have not enough for themselves! That is not like you!” Amy went sobbing to hide herself in bed. Luce was sent home, with a load of provisions, and forbidden to come to the house again. Though there was ‘not a little silent smiling and winking at Amy’s downcast looks and burning cheeks, when the family met at breakfast, no one said a word to add to her unhappiness. Neither did her sisters, who were also her school-mates, say anything about their Saturday after- noon school. Amy listened when she heard them talking together, hoping to catch a word or two to relieve her curiosity about it, but in vain. Once something was said about “beautiful feathers,” but the speaker checked herself, with an air of mystery, looking roguishly at Amy. | Monday morning came, and Amy went to school, She did not go with her sisters, as usual; she followed a little way behind, with her finger in her mouth. “Good morning, Amy; how did you enjoy the afternoon, Saturday ?” asked the teacher, as Amy sidled in at the door, and slunk to her seat. “Not at all. I wish I had been at school, I am sure. J'll come next time. | Or, Pll come next Wednesday, all alone, if you will let me, Miss Eliza.” ‘Will you let me come.” “You may come, and welcome, put I shall not be able to show you what the girls saw on Saturday. They were not mine, and are sent home.” “I do not know what the girls saw. They did not tell me. Did they write, and cipher, and draw ?” “A friend offered to lend me Audu- THE YUUTHS CABINET. en bon’s Birds, and I thought I would gratify my scholars with a sight of them.” _ “Live birds? Perhaps they were stuffed, though.” “No, better than that; large pictures, not only of the birds themselves, but of their haunts, and their way of life.” 66 Oh 1"? “The heron wading, the ‘kingfisher fishing, you know. “Oh !” “One wild scene had a fog over it, looking so natural that one of the girls started when I spoke, and said she thought for a moment she was there all alone, among the reeds and bushes, watching the birds who were flying and hopping about there.” “Oh!” groaned Amy, again. “T was sorry you were mot with us,” - said the teacher, “and I knew you would | be very sorry to-day, and stand in need of consolation. So come and give me a kiss, Let me see what an interest you will take in your lessons, to-day, Try to» love school, and you will love it. I love | it, myself, though I get very tired, espe- cially when Amy is restless and needs watching.” “O, I will not need watching any more, dear Miss Eliza. I will be just as busy when you are pot looking, and get all my lessons very perfectly. I shall he happier, | know, if I am good.” “Yes, indeed; then you will not think of the school-room as a place to be re buked and punished in, And if you are not idle, you will not be watching the clock, and thinking how long the forenoon iss We busy folks are often taken by surprise, when the bell rings for twelve.” Amy tried being a good girl one week, and found it a very agreeable experiment, She loved Miss Eliza with her whole heart, and now no longer cried herself to sleep at night with self-upbraiding for having tired and troubled her. She be- came ambitious of praise, and won it pretty often. Luce’s mother was carried to the work- } house for intemperance and bad conduct. Luee was taken into a farmer’s family, | where plenty of hard work and good advice made a tolerably good girl of her, though old habits were hard to break up, and now and then brought her into dis- grace and trouble, till she was a woman grown.—Child’s Friend. Song of the Grasshopper. Hays you not heard in the sweet summer time, A sound as of young birds singing, When the beautiful earth is drest in her prime, And the woods with soft echoes are ringing ? It is I, it is I, in my gay summer mirth, Brightening the joy of the beautiful earth | Seek my green coat in the long verdant grass, T am there with my frolicsome bound; But tread like a fairy—for, if, as you pass, I should hear your light foot on the ground, I cease my gay song, and you seek me in vain, Or think me a leaf on the emerald plain. And oh, such a leaf! no soft summer wind F’er toss’d leaflet so wide or so high As the long double legs which I carry behind Bear me over the ground as I fly. I beat my shrill drum; my light music you hear, Softly chirping to summer its bright notes of cheer. Stray Leaves from Fairy Lend. THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. C—O Baron Von Humboldt. REDERICK HENRY ALEXANDER Von } Humsotpr was born at Berlin, Prussia, on the 14th of September, 1769. He was educated at Got- tingen and Frankfort-on-the-Oder. In 1790 he visited Holland and England ; and during the same year published his first work, entitled, “ Observations on the Basalts of the Rhine.” He went to Frey- burg in 1791, to receive instructions in botany and mining from the celebrated Werner. During the following year he was ap | pointed assessor in the mining and smelt F ing department. Soon afterward he t | ceived the appointment of overseer of the | mines in Franconia. Here he introduced | a variety of improvements. But in 1795 | he resigned his office, to gratify a strong | desire to travel. During this year he visited Italy and Switzerland. | In 1797 he went to Paris, where he formed an acquaintance with M. Aime | Bonpland, who afterward became his # THE YOUTH’S CABINET. sociate traveler. From Paris, Humboldt set out for Madrid, with a good collection of instruments; for he had for several years cherished the design of traveling within the Tropics at his own expense. In 1799 the court of Spain granted him permission to travel through the Spanish colonies in America. He im- mediately sent for his young friend Bon- pland, who lost no time in joining him, and they set sail from Corunna, for Ame- rica. The plan of travel which these two friends sketched for themselves was laid out upon a more extensive scale than that of any journey before undertaken by pri- vate persons. Five years was the period in which they proposed to explore distant regions; and in that space of time, prob- ably no two individuals ever collected: so much useful information, and returned home so richly laden with rare specimens in the different departments of science. They took home with them, on their return in 1804, an herbarium containing more than six thousand species of plants. The pre- paration of the observations made during this tour, and the publication of works relating to it, occwpied the time of these travelers for several years after their re- turn home. The various works relating to this journey comprised seventeen folio and eleven quarto volumes, well illustrated. The results of this expedition have been of the highest importance to science. ~ In natural history, especially, these observa- tions of six years exceed anything that has been presented by the most success- ful investigators of this field during a whole life-time. His valuable works on the subject of plants, alone form an era in» the history of botany. In October, 1818, Humboldt visited 285 was a resident of Paris, and there devoted himself to the sciences. During the winter of 1822, the king of Prussia called Humboldt to accompany him on a journey through Italy. While residing at Naples, his attention was di- rected to inquiries concerning the forma- tion of volcanoes, the result of which he gave to the public in a small essay. On finishing this tour he again returned to Paris, where he remained till the latter part of 1826, when he went to Berlin, and delivered a course of lectures ‘on the phys- ical constitution of the globe, which was attended by the court and royal family. He next undertook an important jour- ney through Northern Asia, as far as the borders of China. In this he was assisted by the Russian government, which wished to obtain, through him, more correct in- formation respecting the character and contents of the Ural mountains. On his return, he published an account of his re- searches in those regions. In 1845 he published the first volume of the “Cosmos,” and completed it in 1847. This is a valuable contribution to physical science. Another work by him, entitled “ Views of Nature; or, Contem- plations on the Sublime Phenomena of Creation,” has recently been published in London. Baron Von Humboldt’s renown has extended over all parts of the civilized world; and, at the present day, there is not a man of science in Europe whose name is more familiar. And this eminent philosopher is still living, having attained an age of more than fourscore years, Well may he be called the patriarch of modern science. At the present time he is the friend London. For several years afterward he | and companion of the king of Pruassia, 286 Though his form is meagre with age, and his head whitened by the snows of eighty winters, the vigor of his intellect remains strong. The following sketch will show how he is said to employ his time: “His time is systematically divided, He rises at six o’clock in winter, and five in the summer. He studies two hours, then takes a cup of coffee, with a light breakfast, returns to his room, and com- mences the task of answering his letters, of which he receives, yearly, more than one hundred thousand. From twelve o'clock until two he receives visits, and returns to work again attwo. At four he dines, usually with the king in summer, and at home in winter. Frequently he dines at meetings of learned societies, or in company of his friends. At eleven he retires to his study, and continues there until one or two, writing his works, or preparing them by study. His best books have all been written at midnight. He spends only four hours in sleep. This assemblage of acquirements, so rarely found united in a single individual, are in him accompanied with sleepless activity of mind, and all the zeal, enterprise, and vigor necessary to give them their full effect. Long after his career shall have terminated, he will be remembered as one of the chief ornaments of his age.—Stu- dent. a el me Clara Sinclair. LARA SINCLAIR was an intelligent girl, studiously devoted to all her lessons, except arithmetic. “Oh, mother!” she would ex- claim, “this is arithmetic day. How I hate it.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. “My daughter, do not make use of such expressions,” said her mother. “ No- thing is wanting but attention and perse- verance, to make that study as agreeable as any other. If you pass over a rule carelessly, and say you do not understand it, from want of energy to learn it, you will continue ignorant of important prin- ciples. I speak with feeling on this sub- ject, for when I went to school, a fine arithmetician shared the same desk with me, and whenever I was perplexed bya difficult sum, instead of applying to my teacher for an explanation, I asked Amelia to do it for me. The consequence is, that even now I am obliged to refer to others in the most trifling calculations. I expect much assistance from your perseverance, dear Clara,” continued she, affectionately taking her hand. Clara’s eyes looked a good resolution, and she commenced the next day putting it in practice, Instead of being angry because she could not understand her figures, she tried to clear her brow to ur- derstand them better, and her tutor was surprised to find her mind rapidly opening to comprehend the most difficult rules She now felt the pleasure of self-conquest, besides the enjoyment of her mother's approbation, and for many years steadily gave herself up to the several branches of mathematics. Clara was the eldest of three children, who had been born in the luxuries of wealth. Mr. Sinclair was a merchant of great, respectability, but in the height of his supposed riches, one of those failures took place, which often occur in commer cial transactions, and his affairs became suddenly involved. A nervous tempera ment, and a delicate constitution, were soon sadly wrought upon by this misfor- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. june. Mr, Sinclair’s mind, perplexed and harrassed, seemed sinking under the weight of anxiety. Clara was at this period six- teen years of age; her mind was clear and. vigorous, and seemed ready, like a young fawn, for its first bound. One cold autumnal evening, the child- ren, with their wild gambols, were play- ing around the room, while Mr. Sinclair sat leaning his head upon his hand over a table covered with papers. Mrs. Sin- clair was busily employed in sewing, and Clara, with her fingers between the pages of a book, sat gazing at her father. “Those children distract me,” said Mr. Sinclair, in a sharp accent. “Hush, Robert, come here Margaret,” said Mrs. Sinclair gently; and she took one on her lap, and the other by her knee, and whispering to them a little story, calmed them to sleepiness, and then put them to bed. When Mrs. Sinclair had left the room, Clara laid down her book, and stood by her father. “Don’t disturb me, child,” said he, roughly; “my head aches.”—Then recol- lecting himself, he took her hand, and continued, “Do not feel hurt, my dear ; my mind is perplexed by these difficult accounts.” “Father,” said Clara, with a smile, “TI think I can help you, if you will let me try.” “You! my love,” exclaimed her father, “why these papers would puzzle a wiser head than yours.” “T do not wish to boast, father,” said Clara, modestly, but my teacher said to- day—” Clara hesitated. “We, what did he say?” asked Mr. Sinclair, encouragingly. “He said,” answered Clara, blushing ‘in deeply, “ that I was a quicker accountant than most men of business; and I do believe, father,” continued she, earnestly, “that if you were to explain your papers to me, I could help you.” Mr. Sinclair smiled incredulously, but, unwilling to check bis daughter’s wish for usefulness, he made some remarks, and opened his ledger. Insensibly he found himself entering with her into the laby- rinth of numbers. Mrs. Sinclair came in on tiptoe, and seated herself, softly at the table to sew. The accounts became more and more complicated, but Mr. ‘Sinclair seemed to gain energy under the clear, quick eye of his child; her unexpected sympathy inspired him with new powers. Hour after hour passed away, and his spirits rose at every chime of the village clock. | “ Wife,” said he, suddenly, “if this’ girl gives me aid like this, I shall be in a new world to-morrow.” “My beloved child,” said Mrs. Sinclair, pressing Clara’s fresh cheek to her own. Twelve o’clock struck before Clara left her father, when she commended herself to God, and slept profoundly. The next morning, after seeking his blessing, she repaired to Mr. Sinclair, and sat by him day after day, until his books were faith- fully balanced. “Father,” said she, “you have tried me, and find me worth something ; let me keep your books until you can afford a responsible clerk, and give me a little salary to buy shells for my cabinet. Mr. Sinclair accepted the proposition. Clara’s cabinet increased in beauty, and the finished female hand-writing in his books and papers, was a subject of interest and curiosity to his mercantile friends.— Mrs. Caroline Gilman. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The End of Trim. BY J. P. M’CORD. ERHAPS it seems to you, kind reader, | tached to so remarkable a bird. We that you have heard of Trim be- fore, though your recollections are not very distinct. If you will refer to an article entitled “The Two Cocks,” in the fourth volume of the Casr- Net, you may review all that has ever been made public about him. Poor Tease, the wicked fellow there mentioned, soon met the fate deserved by his deeds: he was sentenced to death, executed, and surrendered to dissection. But we hoped better’ things for Trim. His amiable disposition secured our es- teem; and our interest in him was in- creased by his appearance before the public, and the prospect of his becoming famous. By the way, the likeness of him which the editor furnished for the Cast- net, has been pronounced by several a very good one, though I doubt whether the person who drew it ever saw the real bird. Perhaps it was done in a magnetic trance, if there is any such thing. Trim was a gentle, teachable creature, from his youth. A little pains soon made him quite tame. He would at any time eat from my hand, and suffer me to stroke his fine glossy feathers. When he saw me approach about the time of his usual meals, he would frequently fly up on my arm or head, to intimate his wish for food. Nor is this the only proof of his superior intelligence. I have known him to prepare a nest, and then, by a peculiar, coaxing note, to invite some female friend to occupy it; nor would he cease his efforts until he found them rewarded with an egg. It was hatural to become greatly at- determined never to shed his blood, nor to part with him. We found it expedient, however, to remove him from his native spot; but alas! he seemed to have left some of his virtues behind him. At his new residence were two or three quarrel- some fellows, who. resolved to prevent his settlement among them. We hoped that Trim would nobly disdain their insults; but somehow his evil passions carried him away, and he rushed into bloody strife. As he had to contend with one foe after another, he was finally overcome; and he went skulking about, with a sore head, and scarcely able to see. Having acted so out of character, we reluctantly came to the conclusion that he must die. Accordingly, after allowing him suitable time for preparation, on 4 Friday in the beautiful spring-time, he was brought to the block. I could hardly force myself to execute him. The blood- stains on my boots were painful to my eyes as long as they remained. I hope, reader, you will not imitate Trim in the last acts of his life. If you give way to wicked passions, you may be sure that some evil will overtake you, sooner or later. The unhappy end of my favorite was the occasion of the following little piece. My pen has now done its duty to his memory. Reguiescat in pace, as the Latins would say. THE DOOM OF A PET COCKE, My bird, with wild, expressive mien, His feelings frankly telling, No more shall roam the sunny green, With conscious beauties swelling. THE YOUTH’S CABINET: No more, with loud and merry horn, At depth of night delight me; Nor, at the blush of rosy morn, To drink the dew invite me. Beneath our cares and sorrows bent, Too prone to sink to sadness, The tribes that pipe and sing are sent To stir us up to gladness. O! who could deem their glancing wings A vain fantastic flutter ; ¢ Or hear untouched such guilsleis things A cry of anguish utter ? O! did our kinder natures move To all the creatures round us, The earth a sweeter scene would prove, While more to heaven it bound us. Name not the feeling weak and vain, That would a bird have cherished ; His useful memories still remain, Though fool-like he has perished. ’T would be indeed a base extreme, For those few sins that tripped him, To bar him out from all esteem, As if of worth they stripped him. I would his vulgar passions fly, Lest his dread doom befall me ; I would his noble virtues eye, And feel their power enthrall me. O, could I with a breast as gay, With full contentment beating, Around this fair creation stray, With smiles my fellows greeting! re The Geyser Springs. HE valley of the Geyser, in Iceland, is mostly filled with a new allu- vium, which has here and there undergone a subsequent elevation, extending northward from the spring, in a broad ridge. Through this soil there was formed, in various proportions, round the Coe and the smaller fountains, a flattened cone, in the midst of which is a perpendicular cylindrical funnel, of larger or smaller diameter In ordinary circum- stances, the basin of the Geyser is filled with crystal, clear, sea-green water, of the temperature of eighty-two degrees, and it flows in three small channels over the eastern slope of the cone. After some time, a sound as of subterranean thunder can be distinguished, resembling that made by a volcano during an eruption, and then a tremulous motion may be perceived in the rim of the fountain. When this has lasted for some seconds, then ceased, perhaps, for a time, and then begun again with increased force, the water in the basin begins to swell, the surface becomes convex, and, at the same time, great bubbles of steam rise to the surface and burst, throwing up the boiling water some metres high. Then it is again still, and the whole fountain is developed in clouds of steam. This phenomenon is repeated at regularly-recurring intervals of an hour and a half, perhaps for a day, until it suddenly assumes a different character. A heavier thunder is heard below; the water swells violently, and begins to heave and dash in the strongest agitation; and, after a few minutes, there shoots up a column of water, dispersing at the summit into dazzling white dust. This has. scarcely reached. a height. of from eighty to a hundred feet, when, before its drops have had time to fall to the ground, a second and a third follow, and rise still higher. Larger and smaller jets now shoot forth in all directions, some side-ways, in arches, others perpendicularly upward, with a loud hiss, like that of a rocket; enormous clouds of steam rise. upward, followed by a loud detonation from below.—Selected. * THE YOUTH'S CABINET. The Arabian Nights. must confess that the stories in the « Arabian Nights” amused me very much when I was a boy. But I must confess, at the same time, that I think such reading did me more hurt than good. The tales are, all of them, too strange and marvelous. And that is not the worst of it, neither. Some of them— like the one which is illustrated in this picture, for instance—have not a very good moral influence. They tend to make the heart worse, instead of better. A thousand times, since I have grown older, I have wished that I had not read these tales in my childhood; and I hope that all my little friends will find something to read a great deal better than the “ Arabian Nights,” and books of that sort. I should be glad to hear that none of the boys and girls of my acquaintance had read the stories in the “ Arabian Nights.” We ought to be very thankful that, now-a-days, there are plenty of good, in- teresting books for young’ people, besides those tales which have not a word of truth in them, and have no good moral about them, from beginning to end. When I was a boy, it was very different in this respect from what it is now. Good books, which children could understand, were very scarce. I do not think that people knew as well how to write for children as they do now: At this’ day, there are scores and hundreds of books, which you can buy at the book-stores, or borrow at the Sabbath school, any one of which will instruct you and do you good, at the same time that it entertains and delights you. There is no excuse now for reading fairy tales, and stories about Bluebeard, and giants, and eastern monarchs, with palaces full of gold, and fifty wives apiece. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 291 RDITORIAL TABLE-PALK. y DEAR MR. EDI- | is generally a vagabond. My 8, 7, 6, 15, ror—Here is | 21, are often brought to table, often cut, something for | but seldom ‘¢ ever eaten. My 20, 10, Y “%, your “ dark pig- | 17, 18, 1, 12, ‘s a character valueless in SSR A oi VY con-hole.” You | itself, but which increases the value of its 4 os see L do not ex- | neighbors. My whole are notorious char- pect you will publish my let- | acters, that most, if not all, the readers ter, but mother wishes me to | of the Yourn’s CABINET must have heard write for my own improve- of. 8. N. ment, I believe you once, *™°°m¥T™ a. said that “long, dull essays about everything in general and nothing in particular, all go into the pigeon-hole.” «I shall not have ager to write a long article, but I think it will be dull enough. This is a dull place. A country town is pretty apt to be dull—so’ mother says. I am contriving ways to pass the time off. Sometimes I try ex- periments. One of these might be inter- esting to you: I took a slip of the plant commonly known as live-forever, put it in a tight box, and buried it in the ground, a foot below the surface. There it re- mained for one year, without food or water; and I lately dug it up, and found that it not only was alive, but that it had actually grown in size—the color being a little paler than usual. I knew before that it would grow without earth, for I have seen a sprig of it grow from the wall. But now I find it will grow without light or air. So it must be rightly named “ live-forever.” JIMMY. Vernon, N. Y. CHARADE NO. XI. I stand erect, while others lean on me} My name consists of syllables just three ; My first I help you do with greater ease; — One letter of my first, with all my second, Is some great one, whom many love to please, ‘My third is oft of little value reckoned, And yet it sometimes makes a wondrous noise Among rebellious little girls and boye. L, & H REBUS NO. Il. A snare to take fish; a bright shining metal, A plant from far China, prepared in a kettle ; An animal, also, with soft, downy hair ; A small, lively creature that flies in the air ; A vehicle, too, that is drawn through the street ; What we do every day, and consider a treat ; A thing which boys do, if they play in the sun; Nickname of a boy who's a lover of fun; My whole, youthful tyro, see if you can guess— ‘Tis a treasure which you and your mates should possess. RHYMING ROB. —— ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. Vill. Alleghany is the name given to a cele- brated chain of mountains in North Ame- rica. Natchez is an important city on the Mississippi river. Ray is a county in Missouri. Orange is a county in New York. The Rhine is a river in Europe. General Zachary Taylor is the name of one who has done much for his country, but who, since the niga written, ——— ENIGMA NO. XI. I am composed of 21 letters. My 15, 3, 12,11, is a musical instrument. My 4,9, 19,7, 15, is a vessel. My 14, 12, 13, 7,5, is a coin. My 2, 10, 17, 21, 16, 292 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. has been suddenly summoned to another world. This enigma was answered by Charlie, who lives nowhere in particular, as we almost suspect, from his letter having no date about it, and by William M. Weaver, of Greensborough, Ga. We guess both of these boys are good at solving things of this sort. William, you answered Miss Mary’s enigma pretty easi- ly, did you not? Well, now, see if you cannot answer one from the editor’s pen. Try your hand at this: Suppose there are twelve thousand readers of the CaBInEt, living in different parts of the United States—half of them so far from the city of New York, that a letter sent by any one of them to the editor would cost somebody ten cents; while the other half of them lived nearer to the city, so that a letter could be sent from their place for five cents. Now, suppose that every one of these boys and girls wanted to ask the editor some question or other about enig- mas, perhaps, or something of that kind, and that they should all write to him one letter every month, neglecting, as you did, when you sent one of your letters, to pay their postage. How much money would the editor have to pay in a year, for the privilege of answering the questions of his little friends? Can you throw any light on that subject, William ? ‘ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. IX, Chios claims to have been the birth- place of a great ancient poet. History has handed down to us no character more spotless and heroic than that of Bayard, who, like Cocles, defended a bridge against & numerous force with his ownarm. The tears of Niobe are said forever to flow. - Antioch mye name of two ancient cities often visited by Paul. Upon the field of Bosworth @ crown was lost and won. Steuben was a distinguished gene- ral of the American Revolution. Syria is sometimes called the “Land of Roses.” The crow is one of the most unpopular of birds, yet he is said to have once de- cided the fate of a battle. Woopworru’s Yourn’s Casrner is highly prized by the author of this enigma—so she says, and I can well believe it, for I am sure it is much esteemed by the one who sends this answer. 8 J. SHERWOOD. Brooxtyn, N. Y. The enigma was also answered by | Charlie, and by some other young friends, whose afiswers came a day or two too late to allow us to insert their names. ANSWER TO RIDDLE NO. III. THE LETTER A. ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. &. Ecstatic joy Aladdin felt, When he found his lamp 680 fare ; And though his nails were very black, The rascal did not care. No!—poetry was in their hue To his enchanted eyes ; Ah, much he needed then our friend Lf sop, to moralize. No Literati then were known, True wisdom to diffuse ; And had there been, they would, I fear, Have been of little use: For though the oriental brains Are naturally not thick, They always have them-muddled by Seme barbarous narcotic. But then Aladdin felt no pain— He didn’t—'tis a fact, or He’d soon have had it remedied By “ Dalley’s Pain Extractor.” N. 8. ANSWER TO REBUS NO. If. PEARL, PEAR, EARL, PEA, EAR. Go & T ‘THE YOUTH'S CABINET. 293 SN a ES Peter the Great. 1 was the custom of Peter the Great to visit the different workshops and manufactories, not only to encourage them, but also to judge of what other useful establishments might be form- ed in his dominions. Among the places he visited frequently, were the forges of Mul- ler at Istia, ninety wersts from Moscow. The Czar once passed a whole month there, during which time, after giving due attention to the affairs of state, which he never neglected, he amused himself with seeing and examining everything in the most minute manner, and even employed himself in learning the business of a blacksmith. He succeeded so well, that on one of the last days of his remaining there, he forged eighteen poods of iron, and put his own particular matk on each bar, The noblemen of his suite were employed in blowing the bellows, stirring the fire, carrying coals, and performing the other duties of a blacksmith’s assist- ant. When Peter had finished, he went to the proprietor, praised his manufactory, and asked him how much he gave his workmen per pood. “Three copecks, or an altina,” answered Muller. “ Very well,” replied the Czar; “T have then earned eighteen altinas.” Muller fetched eighteen ducats, offered them to Peter, and told him that he could not give a workman like his majesty less per pood. Peter refused. “Keep your ducats,” said he, “I have not wrought better than any other man; give me what you would give to another ; I want to buy a pair of shoes, of which I am in great need.” At the same time he showed him his shoes, which had been once mended, and were again full of holes. Peter accepted the eighteen altinas, and bought himself a pair of new shoes, which he used to show with much pleasure, saying, “ These I earned with the sweat of my brow.” One of the bars of iron forged by Pe- ter the Great, and authenticated by his mark, is still to be seen at Istia, in the forge of Muller. Another similar bar is preserved in the cabinet of curiosities at St. Petersburg. Animals Feigning Death. URING a visit to Cumberland we found several hedgehogs in Ingle- wood Forest. One of these, in order to destroy it, we put in the pond. It swam about in a cirgular direc- tion for some time, and reached the shore. After putting it into the water a second time, it remained motionless and appar- ently dead, and we left it on the grass. During the night, however, it walked away. The spider will imitate death to save itself; and canaries have been taught by some showmen to look as if they were dead. The most curious case, however, ‘s that of a fox in the north. A farmer had discovered that he came along a beam in the night to seize his poultry. He ac- cordingly sawed the end of the beam neatly through, and in the night the fox fell into a place whence he could not és- cape. On going to him in the morning, the farmer found him stiff, and, as he thought, lifeless. Taking him out of the building, he threw him on the dunghill ; but in a short time Reynard opened his eyes, and seeing that all was safe and clear, galloped away to the mountains, showing more cunning than the man who bad ensnared him.— Pres {gp Chronicle. 294 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. THE WAY TO CONTENTMENT. —— BY BISCHOFF. Allegros i Tp» 0S Perrone boesemmanetne etre ad tA Pee fese| st 1. Let us, with a cheerful mind, Lead our life up - rightly ; Virtue’s paths e’er ta - king, ON pu 2. Let us banish lust and er Living par pure and humble; Given to all wel - do - ing, Come, let us all u - nite in a -iile And so contentment oe a | ets] o hat fe, Coe ey a a a a a a ae §- cs —_ ! ! — we'll possess, And then we'll all be glad, glad, glad, And then we'll all be glad. ! ! we'll possess, And ion we'll all be glad, glad, glad, And then we'll all be g oad. erry 3. 4, Let us ever cherish truth,— | Let us seek, in all we do, Truth is worth possessing ; Solid, lasting treasure ; Let us live egrightly, Good we e’er may cherish, Hourly, daily, nightly. Good that will not perish. Cuorvs. Come, let us, dc. Cuorvus. Come, let us, de. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. = wage ‘ es ~ eA aU ——J = —s —s >.) NS Nh. tS YY aeeee : i at Anecdotes of the Parrot. arrots are a noisy set of fellows, the whole of them. I never took a very great fancy to them. I think it quite likely that, if I had done so in early days, I should have been quite cured of my fondness by this time. Some years ago, there lived on the oppo- site side of the street from the house where I resided in the city, a young lady, who seemed to have been remarkably fond of pets. She always had more or less of them. ‘There was no harm in that, you allsay. No, that is true enough. But the worst of it was, this lady always contrived to have the noisiest kind of pets. iw 19 Everything she petted, for some reason oF other, made a hideous noise. I used to think she used to teach these creatures t> scream and yell, because she liked such music. If so, she had a most unearthly taste, I admit. But let the reason be what it may, she always had some bird or beast that shrieked, for mere pastime, like a hyena. Sometimes it was a cal, sometimes a parrot, sometimes a little screamer of. a bird whose notes were pro- vokingly like the music produced by the filing of a saw. But of all the favorites of this singular lady, her parrot uttered thi most hideous oR 296 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. noises ; and yet, odd as it may appear, she seemed to be more deeply in love with him than with any of the rest of her favorites. My study was so near this croaker, that I was compelled to listen to him from morning till night; and he an- noyed me prodigiously, 1 do assure you. It was quite as much as I could do, sometimes, to keep as much patience in the bank as was necessary for current ex- penses. Whatever love for the parrot family I might have had previous to my acquaintance with my neighbor across the way, was pretty effectually used up long enough before his death, which took place about three months after his mistress had adopted him, and which, as may be sup- posed, cost me no tears, It is amusing, however, to hear some of the species of the parrot imitate other animals. Some years since, a parrot in Boston, who had been taught to whistle as a per- son does when Ke is calling a dog, was sitting in his cage at the door of a shop. As he was whistling in this manner, a large dog happened to be passing the spot, and, imagining he heard the call of his master, turned suddenly about, and ran towards the parrot’s cage. At this mo- ment, the bird exclaimed, in a very loud tone of voice, “Get out, you brute!” The astonished dog retreated, leaving the par- rot to enjoy the joke. | According to an Abyssinian historian, there was a most remarkable parrot in that country, in 1621. He was about the size of a hen. He had been taught to talk in Indian, Portuguese, and Arabic, and could speak the king’s name almost as plainly asa man. Among other strange things which he was in the habit of doing, he would neigh like a horse and imitate the mewing of a cat so exactly that no one could tell the difference, unless they saw the parrot making a noise. He was such a wise bird, that his master was summoned to appear with him before the assembly of judges, so that they might find out the cause of these remarkable talents. In that age of the world, you know, the belief in witcheraft was very common in many parts of the world; and some of the Abyssinians thought that this parrot’s skill in imitating sounds so ex- actly, was in some way to be traced to the agency of evil spirits. The judges acquit- ted the bird, however. Some time in the seventeenth century, there was a parrot in Brazil, who seems to have been even a greater mimic than the famous one who lived in Abyssinia. You may be aware, that the Dutch had possession of this country for some years. This parrot flourished during that time, and while Prince Maurice was at the head of the Brazilian government. The bird was celebrated for answering, like a ra- tional creature, many of the common questions that were put to him. The prince sent for him. When he was in- troduced into the room where the goy- ernor and several others were sitting, he immediately exclaimed, in the Brazilian language, “ What a company of white men are here!” “ Who is that man?” they asked him, pointing to the prince. The parrot answered, “Some general or other.” When the attendants carried him up to the prince, he asked him, through the medium of an interpreter—for he could not speak the Brazilian language— “Fyrom what place do you come?” The parrot replied, “From Marignan.” “To whom do you belong?’ inquired the prince. “To a Portuguese,” was the an- THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ewer. “What do you do there!” the prince asked again, “I take care of chickens,” said the parrot. The prince Jaughed, and said, “ You take care of chickens!” “ Yes, I do,” the parrot an- swered, “and I know well enough how to do it.’ And immediately he commenced clucking, in imitation of the hen, when che wishes to call her chickens together. He made a noise exactly as the hen does. It would have taken a wise chicken to tell the difference. There is an Eastern story of a person who taught his parrot to repeat only the words, “ What doubt is there of that?” He carried it to the market for sale, fixing the price at one hundred rupees. A Mogul asked the parrot, “ Are you worth a hundred rupees?” ‘The parrot answer- ed, “ What doubt is there of that?” The Mogul was delighted, and bought the bird. He soon found out that this was. * all it could say. Ashamed of his bargain, he said to himself, “I was a fool to buy this bird” The parrot exclaimed, as usual, “ What doubt is there of that?” A gentleman in Harrisburg, Pennsyl- vania, had a eanary bird, and it was a fine singer. A parrot, in a cage, was brought by some one into the same room, but as soon as Poll struek up. her harsh notes, the other bird ceased to sing, and contin- ued silent for a considerable time, and even until it was removed to a part of the house where the parrot could not be heard. After a while it began to sing again. The parrot was then brought into the room ; but, as before, when she uttered her cry, the canary ceased; and was never heard to sing from that time to its death, which occurred in two or three months afterward. Let noisy children remember this.— Wood- worth's Stories about Birds. Water is best. o you doubt it, little friend? Is there in your mind a shadow of a suspicion that brandy, rum, gin, wine, and that sort of drink will do. you good? Then I want you to com- mit to memory the lines which follow, and get yourself the spirit of them. you ask. I don’t know. I only know. they are good, and that it would delight me to hear them said or sung by every thoroughly filled with “ Who wrote them ?” man, woman and child, in the’ circle of my acquaintance. | Water is best for the man of health, "Twill keep his strength secure , Water is best for the man of wealth, "Twill keep his riches sure. Water is best for the feeble man, ‘Twill make his health improve ; Water is best for the poor, I ken, "Twill make his wants remove. Water for those who are growing old, ‘Twill keep them hale and strong ; Water is best for the young and bold, ‘Twill make their moments long. Water is best for the man of toil, "Twill make his labor light ; Water is best for the “loafers,” who soil Not a hand from morning till night. Water is best for the man of strife, "Twill make his anger slow ; And for him who leads a peaceful life, "Tis the very best drink I know. Water is best for the man of state, Twill make his judgment true; Water is best for those who wait His high commands to do. Water, pure water, ’s the drink for man, Its fountains are full and free! | Others may drink “fire waters” who can, Pure water ’s the nectar for me! * THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Reindeer in Norway. FEW minute’s walk up the valley brought us in sight of the herd, about two hundred yards off. They were standing on a slight eminence close to the glacier, and an im- mense field of snow which filled up the end of the valley. The glimmer of these white masses in the growing dusk formed a fine relief to the outline of their heads” and branching horns. The deer were grouped in all positions, with their heads turned toward us, keenly alive to our ap- proach, presenting a spectacle singularly picturesque, heightened as it was by the grandeur of the background. I had pro- mised myself no small pleasure in meeting with them; the whole of our search had been full of interest, and I was’ not disap- pointed. I lingered for some minutes in contemplation of the scene, but the guide was soon among them, and almost lost behind their tall heads and branching antlers, They were so tame, though suf- fered to roam at large in these boundless wastes, that they not only allowed him to approach them, but crowded round to re- ceive handfuls of salt, which he doled out to them. Our coming had been an- nounced by a wild, and not unmusical call, with which they seemed familiar; but they were somewhat alarmed at the approach of a stranger, and stared at me with their bright, full eyes, and with heads erect, presenting a show of antlers truly formidable. However, they were soon reassured, and finding that I had salt to give them, pressed round me to receive it. I had not imagined that the reindeer were such noble animals as I found them. I could not cease admiring their beautiful eyes, their wide and branching horns of varied shape, covered at this season with skin and soft down, their sleek bodies and fine clean limbs. There were at least two hundred, of all sizes, from the little fawns and the neatly-shaped young does, to the majestic-antlered bucks, some of whose horns were not less than five or six feet across. One or two of the older ones had flat, projecting branches over tlie eyes and forehead; and none were exactly alike. A curious cracking noise was pro- duced by the joints of their legs and feet as they moved about. Some of them were yet partially covered with their win- ter coat, presenting a singular appearance, as the fur is about two inches longer than the summer coat, and of a much lighter color. I pulled off handfuls of it. The perpetual changes of attitude and position of these graceful animals, some breaking into groups, gave endless variety to a scene which I scarcely knew how to quit. At last we leave them in full possession of” their romantic resting-place; and, as I gaze back, I see them fast settling them- selves for the night on the mossy ground, I learned that the herd is shared among the farmers of Fortun, who purchased it from a party of Finmakers. I think the value of a reindeer is about ten or twelve dollars.—Forester’s Norway. N Iceland, if a minor commits a crime, the parents are immediately arrested, and unless they can prove to the satisfaction of the magistrate that they have afforded to the child all needed opportunities for instruction, the penalty of the crime is visited upon them, and the child is placed under instruction. THE YOUTHS CABINET. The White Mouse. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF BOUILLY, BY THE EDITOR. AuRA Metvat, aged ten years, was somewhat noted for a good many ih interesting and lovely traits of character. She had been educated with care, and possessed a kind and happy disposition. Besides, she had an unbound- ed attachment for her mother. No ill humor ever appeared to throw a shadow over her pleasant countenance ; or if such a shadow was ever seen, it was quickly dispelled, as a thin cloud flits, for a mo- ment, across a clear sky. With all her excellent qualities, how- ever, Laura had one failing, of such a nature, that it sometimes made her appear absolutely ridiculous. It was a childish fear of animals, small as well as great— insects, even, which, by their nature, no less than by their size, had not the power to do her any harm. Did she perceive a butterfly in the parlor, flitting around the lighted lamp, she screamed, and imagined that this timid insect, merely deceived by the glare of the light, had come to devour her. More than this: when, as it hap- pened once in a while, a bat found his way into the house—though the poor fellow, of a hideous form, it is true, sought only how he might find his way out of the room—the foolish girl was convinced that he had come to seize her in his claws, and to carry her off. It was in vain that Madame Melval told her that this bat, hardly as large as half of her hand, could not lift a weight two hundred times as heavy as himself. Laura, pale and trem- bling, insisted that this monster would at least carry off her eyes or her ears; and then, covering her face with both her hands, she took refuge in her mother’s lap, not daring to move till she was as- sured that the bat had flown out of the window. Scarcely a day passed, without some such ludicrous scene.as this. One beautiful evening in summer, when Laura was going to bed, she happened to lift up the pillow. She saw a mouse es- cape from under it. The little, fellow jumped upon her shoulder, passed up her neck, ran down one of her arms, and fled with a fear which was nothing in com- parison with that of Laura, She uttered the most frightful cries. “ Help !—mur- der!—I’m lost! I’m dead!’ Hearing these words, the whole family ran to Lau- ra’s room. The girl was found sitting on the foot of the bed, with her whole body wrapped up in sheets and coverlids, al- most suffocating for want of breath. “Where is the assassin who tried to take away your life?” asked Madame Melval, anxiously looking all around the room. “Ah, mamma! don’t ask me !—that frightful animal—that terrible monster”— “ Well, what was it ?” “A mouse, Mamma—yes, @ mouse, with flaming eyes—his tail was—a yard ‘long—he has torn my neck, my ears, my arms !” Madame Melval could not help bursting into a fit of laughter, when she heard such language from her daughter. This had the effect to.make the girl look up a little. At first, she felt of her ears, to sec if the mouse had not left her at least one. Then she put her hand upon her neck, which she imagined to be so badly wound- 300 ed by the mouse. At last, she looked at her arms. She was not able to perceive the least redness there; and, in fact, there was no evidence that she was at all hurt, in any part of her body. So she was obliged to acknowledge her mistake, and could not help laughing at her own folly. Then she resolved that she would throw away those childish fears, which had ren- dered her the object of ridicule so long. Madame Melval, too, tried harder than ever to cure her daughter of these fears. One day, when Laura came, according to her custom, to bid her mother “ good morning,” she perceived a mouse running about in the room. A cry of fear escaped her. But what was her surprise to see this little creature climb up on the dress of her mother, mount on her shoulders and her head, and run down again almost as quickly as lightning, and hide under her handkerchief! She perceived that the mouse was white, and that he had around his neck a silken collar, on which there was an inscription. But what astonished her most was, that when her mother called the little fellow—“ Charley, Charley”— he went out of his hiding-place, seated himself on the hand of his mistress, in a most familiar manner, and performed a hundred cunning little feats, in order to get the morsel of sugar which she held be- tween her fingers, and which Charley took at last, with the utmost caution and grace. Nor was this all: While Laura was looking at the white mouse, she saw him, at the command of her mother, lie down and act exactly as if he was dead, and then, after- ward, start up, all at once, and, standing upon his hind feet, seize a little broom with his fore feet, and sweep with it in the most comic manner imaginable, the dress of his mistress. Then he mounted on the head THE YOUTH’S CABINET. of the lady, passed down and up again on her ringlets, and at last, after performing a great, many such capers, he came and seat- ed himself upon the shoulder of his mis- stress, as if waiting for further orders. “What!” exclaimed Laura, “is it pos- sible that those little animals, which I was so much afraid of, can be so well trained” And, though with some trembling, she stretched out her hand toward Charley, but immediately drew it back again, when the little fellow showed some signs that he wanted to make her acquaintance. If it had not been for this fear, with what pleasure would she have offered the white mouse a piece of sugar, to see how he would take it out of her hand. There was one thing about Charley, which excited Laura’s curiosity a good deal. It was the inscription on the collar around his neck, The letters in which it was written were so small, and the mo- tions of the mouse were so rapid and constant, that she could not make out to read the words. At last, however, after having hesitated a long time, she ap- proached the little pet, and, by degrees, she became accustomed to his gambols, so that she was not afraid of him. One day, he had gone through a multitude of his antics, and among the rest that of feigning death. Laura was so delighted, that, in spite of some remains of fear, she allowed these words to escape her :— “Charley! Charley!” In a moment the white mouse ran up her frock, mounted to her head, then ran down to her shoul- der, seated himself there, and commenced washing his face with his fore paws. It was then that Laura, for the first time, was able to read the inscription engraved on the collar of the mouse. It was m these words: “I belong to Laura,” “Yes.” exclaimed she, in a transport of joy, “I feel that you will give me as much pleasure as you at first caused me fright. How could I be so foolish as to tremble and turn pale at the sight of little animals, so timid themselves, and who, though they are so small, do not fear to approach us. O my dear Charley,” she added, caressing him for the first time, “you have cured me forever of the false idea that I had of your species, and of other still smaller animals. I see that we are often blinded by our imagination, and see dangers where there are none in reality. Isee that the most hideous in- sects, and even animals which are venom- ous, will hardly ever do us any harm, unless we irritate them.” Madame Melval, delighted that she had been the means of curing the ludicrous fears of her daughter, then told her that people instructed these pretty little ani- mals, so that they would obey their com- mands; so that they would dance on a swinging: cord, play on a tabour, go through a number of military evolutions, and apply the match to a cannon, without being at all afraid when it was discharged. “You see how it is, my dear child,” the mother continued, “There is hardly anything which cannot be effected by habit and education, even among animals that we regard as the weakest and the least intelligent: and you will allow, that when a little mouse has the ingenuity to feign himself dead, and when he has the courage to stand and listen without flinch- ing, to the report of a cannon, we are un- worthy of the superiority which the Crea- tor has given us over the other animals, and stripped of that intelligence of which we are so proud, when, by our foolish fears, we place ourselves below those same ani- THE YOUTHS CABINET. mals which we ought to have under our control.” Laura, convinced of the truth of what her mother said, provided herself with a large stock of courage, to be used when occasions required it. No one, after that, ever saw her tremble and change color, when a spider found his way into her chamber, nor even when he climbed up her frock, The butterflies who flitted in the evening around the lamp, did not any more appear to her to be the messengers of Satan; and the mice which she met, although they were not so white as Char- ley, and had not so good an education, no longer caused her to scream and call for help. In a word, she accustomed herself to see the most hideous-looking insects without the least fear. She was not long in making up her mind, that in almost every case, the fear which one feels does much more harm than could possibly have been effected by the object which excited that fear. Snow in the Aretic Regions. w latitude seventy-eight degrees and thirty minutes, my attention was attracted towards a shower of frozen particles which fell down like snow, during this season of inclemency, but which was not the snow I had been used to see. Its general appearance was a fall of scales, or thin eircular pellicles of ice, but, upon minute investigation, they were found to be crystalline feathers, of symme- trical beauty, connected together by their bases, so as to form a common centre, from which the vanes or shafts projected like rays, or, to use @ plainer simile, like 302 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. the spokes of a wheel from the box of the axle-tree. The extreme chasteness of combination in which these little automa- ton diamonds had disposed themselves is beyond description. | Large quantities of snow, both of the common flaky and crystalline kind, fell during the night. Not only was the ship’s deck, and all upon it, white with a fleecy covering, but the masts, tops, yards, shrouds, stays, and every rope and portion of the rigging on which a particle of snow could lodge, was veiled in a feathery tunic. But the fore part of the vessel presented a beautiful and enchanting sight; the waves, which dashed against the bows, and the spray, which flew over the forecastle even to the foretop, when she dipped her head beneath the surge, became encrusted on every spot it touched. The whole front of the hull and upper works was encased in a splendid sheet of ice; while from the bowsprit and sprit- sailyard, huge stalactites and massy pen- dants hung down, like the tusks of ele- phants. Minor icicles, and spokes of ivory whiteness, were ranged on every line and pole, giving them the appearance of long jaw-bones armed with unnumbered teeth; and scarcely was the material of the ship discernible at any point before the mast. It might have been imagined, upon seeing this part only of our ship, that she had been immersed in a petrify- ing lake, whose waters had congealed around her; or that she had been dipped in a vast caldron of melted glass, which had clung to her, and grown solid as she was withdrawn. It was delightful to sit in one of the quarter-boats, and see our vessel glide through the deep blue ocean, like a bark of crystal sailing along the sky.—Tales of a Voyager. Indian Customs. HERE is among the Senecas a very peculiar custom. A white dog, without blemish, is put to death by strangling. That is, the dog is hung until he dies, and it is then decorat- ed in the most fantastical style with rib- bons, wampums and feathers; and after- wards removed and hung on a post out- side of the dancing-house, where it re- mains several days. In the meantime several other ceremonies, together with dancing, are carried on. At length the time comes when the last ceremony with the dog takes place. A fire is kindled near the place where the dog hangs, and the dog thrown into the blazing pile. A priest is already near, with a little basket of tobacco and roots in his hands. He makes a long harangue, putting into the fire, at intervals, a little of his tobacco and roots. This sacrifice of dogs and tobacco is not intended to conciliate an offended deity, but the idea is simply this: The Senecas believe that there is a land of spirits, and that most of their people are enjoying those objects there which they delighted to pursue while in the land of mortality. The dog which they sacrifice is, according to their notion, only sent as a messenger to their ancient chiefs and people. The harangue of the priest is the message. After this ceremony, all children born during the year receive their names by a person appointed for the purpose. This sacrifice is annual, and takes place about the first of February. The Senecas are worshipers of every created object. But while they pay their devotions to these objects, they believe that they are honoring the Creator— Cherokee Advocate. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 303 Humming-Birds. . «f, bo" « gu HARMING little awe eT. creatures! how TAA et I do love to Sy » watch them as they 7, come close to my win- dow, and flutter around my morning glories and cypress vines. I once caught a hum- ming-bird. It was when I was quite a little boy. He had flown into the house, through mistake, I doubt not—and was trying to make his escape. I captured him, as I used sometimes to catch butter- flies, with my hat. O, how frightened the poor fellow was, and how hard he tried to get away! His little heart throb- bed so rapidly, that I could not bear to hold him Jong in my hand. I let him go as soon as I had examined the beautiful dress he had on; and he was glad enough to get away, I assure you. What boy or girl could wish to shut up a humming-bird in a cage? How much happier the little thing must be, flitting from flower to flower,in the woods or the garden, than he would be in a small house, no matter how prettily built! I think it is a very bad sign to see children cruel or unkind to birds; and, on the other hand, it always gives me a favorable idea of the character of a boy or girl, when I know that he or she is a lover of birds, and cannot bear to give them pain. Several months ago, I visited the institu- tion for the education of the deaf and dumb, in the upper part of the city ; and to one of the classes there, under the charge of my esteemed friend Mr. Carey, I told a story of a humming-bird. I re- lated it first to Mr. Carey, and then he communicated it to the class, by means of the signs which are used in such insti- tutions. After the story was told, and the pupils had written it, in their own language, on their large slates, I requested their teacher to ask them what they would do, in case a humming-bird should come so near them that they could catch it; and I could not help loving every one of those boys and girls for the kind spirit which they all exhibited in their answers. Some said they would not catch it at all ; some that they would take it into their hand, and look at it a little while, just long enough to see how pretty it was ; others that they would keep it for a day or two in a cage. But not one of them had a thought of harming the little bird, or of detaining him, except for a few hours, from his favorite haunts among the wild flowers. A gentleman who made a voyage up the river Amazon, and who afterward published an account of his travels in that part of the country through which this noble stream flows, gives some interesting particulars respecting the humming-birds he saw. There are varieties of this bird there, which are never seen among US. They are much more abundant, too, in that country, than they are here. “ Where- ever,” says this writer, “a creeping vine opens its fragrant cluster, or wherever a tree-flower blooms, these little things may be seen. In the garden or in the woods, over the water, everywhere, they are dart- ing about, of all sizes—from one that might easily be mistaken for a different variety of bird, to the Hermit, whose body is not half the size of the bees buzzing about the same sweets. The blossoms of the inga-tree bring them in great numbers, —— SG POI S IRA BW M&QV N “Warn \ AW) \\j \\ iu A ™ AX Gh i ‘ uh y Z —~® ——— , Yj IN SS A, Yaa er) ASS @: te \\ ~ Ne" 4 \i eS ie y WW hi ! Y 7 Z SoZ oO 4 oo G THE FLOWERS. HUMMING BIRDS AMON ‘qi YOUTH'S CABINET. 805 flight. He is one of those few birds that are universally beloved.” Formerly humming-birds were supposed to live entirely on the honey they collected from the flowers. But it is now certain that they feed, in part at least, on insects. Indeed, I have seen the little fellows en- gaged in fly-catching, and it seemed to be very pretty sport for them. Perhaps their errand to the flowers has as much to do with the capture of insects they find there, as with the honey at the bottom of the corolla. I think it quite likely, in fact, though I do not agree with those _ who tell us, that the humming-bird. eats insects only, and that he has nothing to do with honey ; for it is found, that, when the bird is confined for a while in the house, until he becomes hungry, he eats honey and sugar with a good relish. Sometimes they are seen chasing each | other in sport, with such a rapidity of flight, and with such a winding path, that the eye is puzzled to follow them. Again, circling round and round, they rise high in mid air, then dart off, like light, to some distant object. Perched upon a lit- tle limb, they smooth their plumes, and seem to delight in their dazzling hues ; then, starting off leisurely, they skim along, stopping a moment, perhaps, just to kiss the flowerets. Often two meet in the air, and furiously fight, their crests and the feathers upon their throats all erected and blazing, and altogether pic- tures of the most violent rage. Several times we saw them battling with large black bees, who frequent the same flowers, and may be supposed often to interfere provokingly. Like lightning, our little heroes would come down, but the coat of shining mail would ward their furious strokes; again and again would they re- new the attack, until their anger had ex- pended itself, or until the bee, once roused, had put forth powers that drove the in- vader from the field. A boy in the city several times brought us humming-birds, alive, in a glass cage. He had brought them down while, standing motionless in the air, they rifled the flowers, by balls of clay thrown from a hollowed tube.” Wilson says that the only note of the humming-bird is a chirp, not much louder than that of a cricket or grasshopper. It is generally uttered while the bird is pass- ing from flower to flower, or when he is engaged in a fight with some one of his neighbors. “I have seen the humming- bird attack, and, for a few moments, worry a king-bird,” says the same writer. “I have also seen him, in his turn, assaulted by a humble bee, which he soon put to Passing through a Thunder-Cloud. HOUGH a situation of great danger, yet we have several imstances of Af thunder clouds having been trav- ersed with safety, when in the act of electrical explosion. The Abbé Richard, in 1778, passed through 2 thunder-cloud on the small mountain called Boyer, between Chalons and Tournus. Before he entered the cloud, the thunder sounded, as it usually does, with a prolonged echo. But when he was in the cloud, only single peals were heard, with intervals of silence, without any roll, After he had passed above the cloud, it echoed as before, and the lightning again flashed, as it usually does in a thunder-storm. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. LE LAD The Great Earthquake at Lisbon. TERRIBLE earthquake happened in the city of Lisbon, in Novem- ber, 1775. An English gentleman who was traveling in that part of the continent at tay the time, gives the following in- teresting partic- ulars of the dis- aster, which will interest my readers :— I happened to be in a brick passage, when all of a sudden I heard a loud rumbling noise attended with the shock of an earthquake, and that by another, and another. ‘Terrified with fear, I stood praying to God, till the shocks increased to such a degree that I was almost induced to think it was the end of the world, and was hastening to the street, when it fell in under and over me. In an instant I was buried in the ruins, the ground appear- ing to open of itself, and darkness spread around. About ten minutes after this, I found myself stopped, and began to open my eyes, but I saw that I was buried in dirt and rubbish from my feet half up my thighs, and was almost choked with gravel and mortar in my mouth and ears. Deal boards and broken pieces of timber providentially disposed one across the oth- er, prevented me from being entirely en- tombed. I might have freed myself, but a stone pillar standing almost over me, I feared to move, lest pillar, mortar, timber and rubbish, all should come upon me and overwhelm me in an instant. Seeing therefore no hope of extricating myself, I began to call out as loud as I possibly could, Help! or I must perish! Help! Help! Four different persons came within sight of me at different times, but per- ceiving stones hang over their heads to a very great height, they dared not venture to render me any kind of assistance. I expected every minute that some of the impending stones would have fallen, either by the least breath of wind, or by the ensuing shocks; but by the protect- ing hand of the Almighty, nothing more fell upon me. Every moment my ear was saluted with the dreadful sounds of many poor wretches striking their heads against the stones. From other places I heard their dying groans; but soon they almost all ceased, and I began to be certain that death was approaching, from the acute- ness of my own pain. Methought that from my knees downwards I was in a cauldron of boiling oil. The pain was so extremely sharp, that darting now and then to my heart and head, I expected every moment to expire. In this state I remained from a quarter before ten, (which was the time when the earthquake began) crying for help till about one o'clock, at which time my spirits became quite exhausted. No longer expecting to be delivered, and thinking it in yain to call any more for aid, I resigned myself to die a martyr. In despair, therefore, I turned my head, which was considerably lower than my body, to look for a stone or something whereon I might rest. I perceived at length a broken piece of deal board, which I laid across as well as I could, and having no hope of deliverance, I put my head upon it, waiting for death. Having lain in this condition till half-past four o'clock, I fancied I heard something THE YOUTH’S CABINET. nha neal ttt ee moving near me, and I was induced to call out again for help; and this, indeed, was the utmost exertion of which I was capable, Two servants of a nobleman being just by us, came within sight of me, and one of them raised my hopes by promising to assist me. He then rolled aside the stone pillar so gently, and took away the rubbish and broken pieces of board so carefully from my legs and part of my thighs, that very little of it fell over my head ; and [at last found myself free and unencumbered. Then having freed me, he told me to stand. I answer- ed I could not move my legs on account of the pains I felt in them, for I supposed they were broken. He therefore took me on his back and laid me on a large stone, As I had lost my wig in falling down with the house, I had nothing to cover my head, which was covered all over with clotted blood and gravel; and not know- ing what to do in that condition, exposed to the open air at the beginning of the night, I desired two men to carry me somewhere under shelter. They consent- ed, and conveyed me, one by the arms and another by the waist, to a small church just by, where there was a priest officiat- ing, with children who had fled for refuge. As soon as I entered, the priest came to me and inquired whether or not I was of their religion, and whether I chose to be baptized. I informed him I was a Christ- ian and had already been baptized. He replied there was a great difference be- tween my religion and his; that theirs was the Catholic religion, the only one through which a man can be saved, enu- merating the seven sacraments of theirs, and those of mine. I answered him again, that I was by no means in a con- dition to make so solemn a vow, not hav- ing altogether a sane mind. He replied again, that such things might be done even when expiring: upon which he was called to confess a wounded person in the church. That done, he said prayers, and went away with the children. Having locked the door, he left me there with two dead persons and three wounded, as I afterwards found by the light of a lamp and two tapers that were burning. One cannot conceive, and indeed I can hardly account for it myself, how I passed through this long and tedious night, wounded, and in the greatest agony, besides being dis- turbed by the dismal groans of other wounded men, and exposed to the cold air of a church, lying on the bare ground, with scarcely anything to cover me. The next morning about break of day, a man came knocking at the window, inquiring whether there was any one in the church, and saying the roof was on fire. I there- fore immediately attempted to. run, in- tending to go out at one of the doors, but found, to my great dismay, that they were all locked; and then I saw no hope before me, but was in momentary expecta- tion of being buried under the burning rafters. I still, with great pain and diffi- culty, wandered about the church, when my sight was continually tormented by seeing in one part a poor creature with a broken leg crawling towards the door, here perhaps a corpse, and in another parta man lying on the cold stones, groaning with some broken limb. Here the gene- ral confusion was increased by the falling in of half the roof. I just managed to hobble to one of the doors as some one came to open it. I made my way out as well as I could to the river side, over dead bodies, beasts, chaises, and rubbish, some- times on my hands and knees, sometimes upon my legs, bending down with weak- ness, I was struck with the greatest con- sternation’ at seeing, as I went along, the ruins of the city, and the conflagration there was in several parts of it. The wind being very boisterous, it blew the burning sparks into our eyes, and created the most excruciating pain: mine con- tinued sore for some days, and I could not, open one of them for twenty-four hours. Towards one o'clock, I found my- self so faint that I could scarcely stand. Soon after this, 1 had an opportunity of taking boat, and from the place of land- ‘ng, I had two miles to go, which took me. nearly three hours, and that with great pain and fatigue. At length I found one Mr, Atlees, a merchant, and several other gentlemen of my acquaintance, who afterwards said I looked like a person who had been buried three weeks. I had now all possible care taken of me, I immedi- ately washed my legs in brandy, which were black, yery much swelled, and as hard as astone, I remained there twenty- four hours only, whence I went on board the ship of Capt, Allen. All around seemed one continued scene of distress and devastation; and it was really shock- ing to see the poor creatures running about half-dressed, expecting every moment the earth to yawn, and open its frightful jaws to swallow them in its gulf, After much trouble I obtained a passage to England, and at last I arrived at London, and thus came to, a conclusion of my trials and labors. My. heart, rebounds with joy and. gratitude for the mercy which has been. shown to a being so unworthy. May this be a, warning to all, both old and young, to prepare for the advent of the messenger of death.— The Pocket Maga- THE YOUTH’S CABINET: The Little Hero of Haarlem. x, an early period in the history of Holland, a boy, was born in Haar- \. lem, a town remarkable for its variety, of fortune in war, but hap- pily still more so for its manufactures and inventions in peace. His father was a sluicer—that. is, one, whose employment it was to open and shut the sluices, or large oak gates which, placed at certain regular distances, close the entrance of the canals, and secure Holland from the dan- ger to which it seems exposed, of finding itself under water, rather than above it, When water. is wanted, the sluicer raises the sluices more or less, as, required, as a cook turns the -cock of; a, fountain, and closes them, again, carefully at, night; otherwise the water, would flow into the canals, then, overflow them, and inundate the whole, country,; so. that, even the little children in Holland, are fully, aware, of the importange of a, punctual discharge of the sluicer’s duties. The boy was, about eight years old when, one, day, he, asked per- mission to take some cakes to a, poor blind man, who lived at the other side of the dyke, His father gaye him leave, but charged, him, not, to stay too, late, The child promised, and set, off on his. little journey. The blind man thankfully par- took, of his, young, friend’s, cakes, and the boy, mindful of is father’s orders, did not wait, as usual, to hear one of the old man’s stories, byt as soon as he had seen him eat, one muffin, took leave of him to return home, As he went, along by the canals, then quite full, for it was in October, and the autumn rains had swelled the waters, the boy now stopped to pull the little blue flowers which his, mother loyed so well, now, in childish gayety, hummed some merry song. The road gradually became more solitary, and soon neither the joyous shout of the villager, returning to his cot- tage home, nor the rough voice of the carter, grumbling at his lazy horses, was any longer to be heard. The little fellow now perceived that the blue of the flowers in his hand was seareely distinguishable from the green of the surrounding herb- age, and he looked up in some dismay. The night was falling; not, however, a dark winter night, but one of those beau- tiful, clear, moonlight nights, in which. every object is perceptible, though not as distinctly as by day. The child thought of his father, of his injunction, and was preparing to quit the ravine in which he was almost buried, and to regain the beach, when suddenly a slight noise, like the trickling of water upon pebbles, at- He was near one of the large sluices, and he now carefully examines it, and soon discovers.a. hole in the wood, through. which the. water. was flowing. With the instamt, perception which every child in Holland would have, the boy saw that the water must soon en- large the hole through which it was now only dropping, and that’ utter and general ruin would be the consequence of’ the tracted his attention. ‘nundation of the country that must fol- low. To see, to throw away the flowers, to climb from. stone to stone till he reached the hole, and: to. put: his finger into: it, was the work of'a moment and, to his de- light, he finds that he has succeeded in stopping the flow of the water. This was all very well for a little while, and the child thought only of the success of his device. But the night was closing in, and. with the night came the cold. The little boy: looked around in vain. No one came. He shouted—he called loudly no one answered. He resolved to stay there all night, but, alas! the cold was becoming every moment more biting, and the poor finger fixed in the whole began to feel benumbed, and the numbness soon extended to the hand, and thence through- out the whole arm. The pain became still greater, still harder to bear, but the boy moved not. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his father, of his mother, of his little bed, where he might now be sleeping so soundly; but still the little fellow stirred not, for he knew that did he remove the small, slender finger which he had opposed to the escape of the water, not only would he himself be drowned, but his father, his brothers, his neighbors, nay, the whole village. We know not what faltering of purpose, what moment- ary failures of courage there might have been during that long and terrible night; ‘but certain it is, that at day-break he was found in the same painful position by a clergyman returning from attendance on a.death-hed, who, as he advanced, thought he heard groans, and, bending over the dyke, discovered: aichild seated on a stone, writhing with: pain, and. with pale face and tearful eyes. “Tn the name of wonder, boy,” he ex- claimed, “what are you trying to do there ?” | “I am. hindering, the water from run- ning out,” was the answer, in perfect sim- plicity, of the child; who, during that whole night, had been evincing such heroic fortitude and undaunted courage. History has handed down to posterity ‘many a warrior, the destroyer of thousands of his fellow-men—but. she has left us in ignorance of the name of this real little hero of Haarlem.—Sharpe’s Magazine. 310 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Lament of the Weary One. BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH. EREWHILE, a maiden young and fair I knew, Upon whose heart the winds so fiercely blew, Its cherish’d plant was broken by the blast— "T was sad to see her, when the storm was past— And yet she strove to raise her drooping head, Though all her fairest flowers were crush’d and dead. She rose—but soon I saw her droop again— Anon I stood beside her couch of pain ; Stern Death his signet on her brow had press’d, And the life-clock beat wildly in her breast ; But calmer grew her soul while lingering there, And thus, in accents soft, she breathed her prayer:— “JI am weary—let me sleep! "Tis a rugged way, and steep— While I linger here, I weep— I am weary—let me sleep! Here ‘I am a child of pain, Father, hear thy humble child! And my tears must flow like rain. | Storms of anguish, rude and wild, On Life’s bleak and barren hill, Wintry storms around me sweep— Sadly must I wander still! I am weary—let me sleep!” In fainter echoes fell those tones again, As melts the music of th’ olian strain, Or dies away the warbling of a rill:— “ Sleep—welcome sleep”—and then her heart was still. Kind heaven had heard that weary maiden’s prayer, And angels hover’d o’er the sleeper there. Union Magazine. ‘THE YOUTH'S CABINET. 311 The First Thank-oflering. —_ TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN, FOR THE CABINET. —_—_—_— rrtte Annette had been for a long time sick, and near the point of death. The unwearied care of the mother alone kad at length suc- ceeded in preserving the vacihating life of the child. Annette convalesced, and greeted the tight and the returning spring with biissful smiling. On a warm May-day, the loving mother carried out the little one for the first time, under the blooming trees. Numberless flowers glistened upon the beds of the garden, and unfolded their glittering stars in the rays of the sun. In the midst of the glowing creation the mother seated herself, and, with silent tears of joy, press- |. ed the exulting child to her bosom. But the little one directed her eyes constantly to the variegated flower-beds, and, with a shout exclaimed, “O, how beautiful ! how exceeding glorious it is here all around !” “And knowest thou, too, my child,” asked the mother, “ who has so inimitably created this splendor, and has caused for thee so great joy ?” «“ Who else but thou” spake the child, with a caress ; love me like thee, thou kind and lovely mother 2” , “No one upon earth !” exclaimed the mother; “ but above the earth there lives yet a higher love than, mine. To it thou owest thy life and all thy joys. Learn, O Annette, to adore it in its great crea- tion !” Thereupon the child raised her gaze upward, as if inquiring. But the light dazzled her weak eyes, and she sighed V. 20 «for does any one on earth and spake: “ Ah! mother, Iam not yet able to comprekend what thou sayest.” The mother pressed the little one more closely to her heart, and replied, “ Grieve not for that, my child. By-and-bye thou wilt see more clearly. To the invisible Being it is enough, that thou broughtest him, unconsciously, the first thank-offering, by recognizing supreme love as the creat- ing cause of this rich nature, and by em- bracing thy mother in mere childlike error, while the idea of God filled thy grateful soul.” RAPHA. Praying and Trying. LiTTLw girl was once in the habit of doing something which her mother disapproved, whenever she went to school. Her mother told her she must’ try to keep from doing it. She said she did try, but could not help it. She then told her she must pray to God to keep her from it. After a few days, she told her mother that she had prayed, but still she did it. One day she came home quite animated, exclaiming, « Mother, I did not do it to-day.” “How were you able to conquer the habit, my dear?” said her mother. “T found,” she answered, “that if I tried ever so much, I could not keep from it; and when I prayed to God, he could not keep me from it unless I tried myself. So, to-day I prayed and tried both, and then I found I could leave off doing it.” — Child's Friend, OB 312 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Nature of Earthly Attachments. BY J. P. M’CORD. There’s not a tie that binds the heart, If round a mortal shape it cling, But will, at times, a pang impart— But will, at last, the bosom wring. Our love goes out to various forms, That share with us this beauteous sphere ; While thus some soft endearment warms, It lends a charm to being here. The few whose smiles return our own, The souls with kindred feelings twined, Are not the gifts of Heaven alone, That weave enchantments round the mind. The birds that nestle near our door, That glean their food around our board, And all day long, their music pour, Have power to thrill a tender chord. We draw delight from vocal bowers ; We praise their sweets, we love their shade ; Nor can our memory lose the hours, When in our native walks we strayed. If, far removed, our thoughts return, Those cherished walks to trace anew, As former pleasures rise and burn, We feel the pains of absence too, While from our side we miss the loved Who trod with us the smiling green, 'Tis but a grief too often proved, That this is all a changeful scene. The warblers cease—the blossoms fade— All nature in her season dies ; So transient mortals sink to shade, And leave the world to fruitless sighs. There's not a tie that binds the heart, If round a form of time it cling, But forces oft a tear to start, Or will at last the bosom wring. Yet ties there are which cannot fail, Sweet memories which forever glow, A love, when fairer climes we hail, Which shall with endless raptures flow. The Mother’s Last Lesson. “ ULL you please teach me my verse, Mamma, and then kiss me, and bid me good night?” said little Roger L——., as he opened the door and peeped cautiously into the chamber of his sick mother; “I am very sleepy, but no one has heard me say my prayers.” Mrs. L—— was very ill—indeed her attendants believed her to be dying. She sat propped up with her pillows, and struggling for breath : her lips were white : her eyes were growing dull and glazed. She was a widow, and little Roger was her only—her darling child. Every night he had been in the habit of coming intc her room, and sitting in her lap, or kneel- ing by her side, whilst she repeated pas- sages from God’s holy word, or related to him stories of the wise and good men spoken of in its pages. “Hush! hush!” said a lady who was watching beside her couch. “ Your dear mother is too ill to hear you to-night!” As she said this, she came forward, and laid her hand gently upon his arm, as if she would lead him from the room. Roger began to sob as if his little heart would break. “T cannot go to bed without saying my prayers—indeed I cannot.” The ear of the dying mother caught the sound. Although she had been nearly insensible to everything transpiring around her, the sobs of her darling aroused her stupor, and turning to a friend, she de- sired her to bring her little son and lay him on her bosom. Her request was granted, and the child’s rosy cheek, and golden head nestled beside the pale, cold face of the dying mother. ite YOUTHS CABINET. BIB ance. ‘The incident made @ noise, and in spite of ridicule, the “ notion” began to take wonderfully with the hitherto be- drizzled people, and being found as useful ih protecting agaist the stin a8 Against the rain, the name of umbrella—a little shade—was given it. “Roger, my son, my darling child,” said the dying woman, “repeat this verse after mé, atid fiever, never forget it:— ‘When my father and mother forsake me, is Lotd will take mé tip’ The child repeated it two or three fires distinctly, and said bis little prayer. Then he kissed the cold, almost rigid foatutes Before him, and wetit quiet to his little couch. The next morhing he sought, a8 usual, his mother, bit he fouitid her stiff and cold. This was her jdt lekon. He has never forgotten it, he probably never will. He has grown to be a man—a good man, and now déeupies a post of much honor and profit in Massachusetts. I never could Jook upon him without thinking about the fith do beautifully exhibited by Kis dying mother.— Selected. = American Rustic Haspitality: ETURNING from an excursion, say a late traveler in the west, I was NL overtaken by night, and found my path obstructed by a deep. inlet, which, being choked with logs and brush, could not be crossed by swimming. , Ob- serving a house on the opposite side, I called for assistance, A half-naked, iil looking fellow came down, and after drag- ging a canoe round from the. river, with some trouble, ferried me over, and I fol- lowed him to his habitation, near to which our boat was moored for the night. His cabin was of the meanest kind, consisting of a single apartment, constructed of logs, which contained a family of seven or eight souls, and everything seemed to designate him as a new and unthrifty settler. After drinking a bowl of milk, which I really called for by way, of excuse for paying him a little more for his trouble. . I ask- ed to know his charge for ferrying me over the water, to which he good-humor- edly replied, that he “never took money for helping a traveler on his. way.” “Then let me pay you for your roilk.” “T never sell milk.” . “ But,” said I, urg- ing him, «JT would rather pay you, I have money enoygh.” «Well, said he, “I have milk enough, so we're even; and I have as good a right to give you milk as you have to give me money.” Origin of Umbrellas. ue umbiella, which is now so com- mon all over the civilized world, was introduced ito England only a little more than a hundred years since. A man named Jonas Hanway, ac- cording to a modern writer, having re- turned from his travels in the East, ap- peared in the streets of London, on a rainy day, with a queer “notion” from China, in the shape of what js now called an umbrella. Being the first ever seen in England, it attracted such curious and in- dignant notice, that its owner was soon surrounded by a furious English mob, and pelted with mud and other missiles, for his audacity in attempting to screen him- self from the rain which all true-born Englishmen, from time immemorial, had allowed to beat upon them without resist- $14 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Fly, the Bee, and the Ant. A FABLE, TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, FOR THE CHILD'S FRIEND. Ant, and an industrious modest Bee, met together in the corner of a grove. The Fly, according to her wont, sipped at the flowers, the grasses, the dust and the manure, and settled her- self upon every spot without discrimina- tion. Up the ridges, down the hollows, and along the level spaces, feeling her way with her two antennz, she fearlessly pursued her path. Dame Ant, on the contrary, laboriously lugged everything into her store-house. The Bee, in the meanwhile, flew straight to the flowers, and from rosy morn to purple twilight diligently plied her task, in filling her bas- ket with their sweets. NCE upon a time an agile, game- 6 some Fly, a careful hoarding MORAL. Methinks I see a whole laughing troop of little misses; away they go arm in arm, like a garland of flowers, wending their way under the shade of the elm- trees; and now they have reached a grove. Like the fly, eager for pleasure, they run about everywhere. Some of them, however—and that is a great pity, do mischief—tear off the branches, and pull up the flowers; they leave a track behind them like a tornado, and all this that they may gather bouquets, which swell to the size of a fagot-bundle, and are then thrown away for something else. Roses or lilies of the valley, no matter which, all are trampled under foot. Two or three of the party, however, in rever- ence of the Hand divine which dresses the fields with their verdure, content themselves with enjoying everything ; they examine each plant with wondering curi- osity, and seek to discover where lies the secret of the fragrant incense of its per- fume. A mother arrives upon the scene, and to mothers God imparts wisdom through their affections; because a true pure love foresees the future in the present, derives instruction from every incident, and imparts a charm to duty. This mo- ther thus addresses the little party : “ That troublesome fly lives only to en- joy himself, and cares for nobody élse. The ant, too, with all her bustle and care- fulness, trotting backward and forward, is only hoarding all the time; she pro- duces nothing. But look at the flowers, see how the bees come out of their fresh fragrant chalices, laden with sweets, to be turned into honey on which all may feast. Children, may this be the portion confer- red on you by Heaven—may yours be the skill to gather from mortal things the honey and the fragrance, so that when that last day arrives, on which the soul shall mount up on wings and soar away to God, you may be able to say, ‘ Lord, here am I! From the early morning of life I have labored and gathered; and my day in that world which passes away is ended; I come to thee; my wages are here !” | “With books, or work, or healthful play, Let your first years be pass’d, That you may give for every day Some good account at last.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. a ———-— ae r pI C N SSS LOB af The Yell ae as 315 s Lament. BY F. C. WOODWORTH, L A Yellow bird complained one day That he was not contented— That, though he sang a cheerful lay, His fate he oft lamented. I. _ His loving mistress, Mary Jane, Was at the time so near him, That she could hear the Bird complain— He meant that she should hear him. Il. “Why, Frank,” she said, “’tis strange indeed | You are my dearest treasure , I give you everything you need, I always do with pleasure. IV. “ You have a splendid palace here ; Youre rich as Julius Casar.— This whining, then, ’tis very clear, Is quite unkind to me, sir. v. “ What is it that disturbs you so? Why sing you thus so sadly ? What canI do? Pray let me know’ I'd do it for you gladly.” vi. In tender tones, the Bird replied, “Those words, dear lady, grieve me; I never once your love denied ; I feel it all, believe me. 316 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. el vil. “T thank you for your tenderness, And for this lordly dwelling ; Yet blame me not that keen distress Within my breast is swelling. vil. “One thing alone, my mistress dear— Since you demand a reason— Robs me of all my pleasure here— My palace is my prison.” Mother’s Magazine. The Hornet’s Nest: nrer Jonnson was a very bad boy, and caused himself and others much trouble. He was a very bright boy, but had a bad disposi- tion. He did not like his school, and would not mind his parents. One day he found a hornet’s nest in the edge of the woods which skirted the pasture lands of a Mr. Williams. Perhaps you never saw a hornet’s nest; they are made round, and hang on the limb of a tree or bush, with a hole at the bottom through which the hornets pass in and out. They have powerful stings, and will swarm like bees when their nest is disturbed, and fight dreadfully. This wicked boy plagued the hornets from day to day, until he had got them very cross, and then he got some salt and called all Mr. Williams’ horses and cattle in the field, and fed them with salt under and around the lit- tle tree on which the hornet’s nest hung. As soon as they were well engaged licking the salt, he sent a club against the nest, and out came the hornets, and poured upon the horses and cattle and stung them dreadfully. They ran and snorted AND and kicked as though they would kill themselves. But he got punished, as I will tell you. He was 8o wonderfully pleased to see the poor horses jump and writhe in agony. that he forgot himself, and leaped out from his concealment, hopped up and down, slapped his hands, and laughed ‘and shouted at a great rate. Had he been still behind the bunch of bushes, where he hid after throwing the club at the nest, nothing would have harmed him; but rushing out as he did, a portion of the hornets were attracted by him, and ‘n the midst of his shouts at the misery he had caused, he felt a dreadful sting strike him in his face, and before he could flee he was stung several times. Next day his face was so swollen that he could not see. The boys all laughed at him, for they heard how it happened.— Selected. —_——_—_—_~ The Prince and the Pig. ovis VI., who was king of France in the twelfth century, lost a son in a very singular manner. At that time the streets of Paris were very narrow and filthy. Pigs were allow- ed to run all about the city. One day, as this prince was riding on horseback, his horse stumbled over a pig and fell down. ‘The prince was so much injured by the fall, that he lived only a few hours. After this accident a regulation was made, that pigs should not be allowed to run in the streets. But the monks of one of the abbeys found fault with the regulation, and so permission was given to the monks to let their pigs run in the streets, if they put bells on their necks. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 317 The Wicked Young Emperor, OR, THB STORY OF HELIOGABALUS. oe eee BY Wil. a. re M.D. 3 itt \ _ places, in eh) <2 these days, of- Sy ‘ten take their names from great men among the Greeks and Ro- OP mans. But in making our choice of nates, we generally select those of the wise and good, such as Julius, or Augustus, or Solon, or Lycurgus. I suppose no wise Christian parent would think of calling a son Nero or Helioga- balus. I would not, for the world. Not that the name very much affects the char- acter; though I think with Dr. Rush, that we are a little mote apt to imitate the conduct of an individtal Whose name we bear, than that of another person of whom we know comparatively nothing. I have mentioned Heliogabalus. Do the readers of the Yours’s Caninet know who he was? No one of them, I am sure, will wish he had been called by his name. Certainly they will not, when they know his character. But as it is well that the young should be made acquainted with here and there a wicked man—an Ahab or a Judas—lI will give them an outline of his history. He was born in Rome, in the year of our Lord 204. His real name was Aure- lius Antoninus; for the name Heliogaba- lus was not given him till some time after- ward. Of his parentage we know little except their names, though there is reason to believe they were not very respectable. At the early age of fourteen he was made emperor. Either by the advice of others, or undet the pretense of conferring dig- nity on the female sex, he associated with him, on the throne, his mother Scemias, and his grandmother Mcesa ; besides which he tharried four wives. Added to this, he chose a senate of females, over whom his mother presided. At the head of this senate she directed all the modes and fashions of the empire. Heliogabalus had not been long on the throne, before he began to act more like a madman, or 4 half-idiot, than like a reasonable being. It is highly probable that by being courted everywhere, and flattered greatly, his head had really become turned. Among the silly things he did, was to raise his horse to the consulship, and cori- pel his subjects to worship a large black stoné, of the shape of a hay-stack, which he called after himself Heliogabalus. Tem- ples were even built, in great number, to the worship of this god; and some of them were very large and costly. He also laid very oppressive taxes on his people, that he himself might riot in splendor and pleasure. Thus he covered his halls with carpets made of gold and silver tissue; and his mats were made of the down of hares, and the soft feathers which were found under the wings of par- tridges. He also clothed himself in silk— a thing which till then was unheatd of and covered his shoes with precious stones; that the people might gaze at them. Among the deeds he performed which seemed to indicate insanity, were the fol- lowing: In the place where the wild beasts of Rome were kept, he was actti¥- 318 tomed to erect huge platforms, and pre- pare costly banquets, to which, besides THE YOUTH’S CABINET. What if such a man as the brutal He- liogabalus were to live on to seventy years his friends, he would invite a number of | of age? What if it were so that, instead the common people—perhaps the poor and indigent. These he would sometimes seat on large bellows full of wind, so that when the feast was partly over, and the company wanted merriment, he would contrive to let the wind suddenly escape, which precipitated his guests below, when they were torn to >ieces by the wild beasts. In other instances, he would tie some of his favorites—though it is said that these favorites were often among the meanest and most wicked of his subjects— to a large wheel, and cause them to be whirled round to make him sport. Or, occasionally, he would contrive to have the revolving wheel just dip into the water, that they might be vexed and tor- tured in that way. In short, he became, before he had been emperor four years, one of the most de- bauched, brutal, and wicked monarchs that ever sat on athrone. The people, stupid as they were, became enraged, and turning themselves against him, they found means to seize and behead ,him before he was quite eighteen years of age. He died, most emphatically, as the fool dieth, and his memory has long since perished from the earth, except as a beacon to warn others of the rocks on which he so early split. We do not learn that any funeral hon- ors were paid him at his decease. The horse which he had made consul, did not even join in the funeral procession. The people, if not the horse, were glad to get rid of him. Is it not, indeed, a blessing, that the wicked do not live out half their days ? of making a great nation mourn only four years, he had been on the throne fifty-six long years ¢ Rome had at her head, at different pe riods, two or three other wretches, as exe- crable, almost, as Heliogabalus ; but then they did not begin their career of wicked- ness quite so early in life. I have in. mv mind’s eye, when I say this, the emperors Nero, Domitian, and Caligula. Domitian began his course of wickedness, as an emperor, at the age of 30, and ended at 45. Caligula became emperor at 25, and was murdered at 29. Nero was seated on the throne at 17, and reigned 14 years. Thus their average career of tyranny was about eight years ; and their average age, at their decease, about twenty-eight ! Avusurn.Da.r, West Newton, Mass. Anecdote of a Stork. witp stork was brought by a farmer, who resided near Ham- burgh, into his poultry-yard, to be the companion of a tame one, that he had had for some time in his pos- session. But the tame stork, disliking 4 rival, fell upon the poor stranger, and beat him so unmercifully, that he was compelled to make his escape. About four months afterward, he returned to the poultry-yard, his wounds having healed, attended by three other storks. The party had no sooner alighted, than they all fell upon the tame stork, and killed him. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. | 319 Squirrel Robbing. BY PROF. ALDEN. ne Saturday afternoon, Edwin Burch and Howard Pierson set out in search of butternuts. They went several miles from home to a beautiful valley, through which flowed a crystal stream in which the speckled trout, the tiny shiner, the gay redfin and the lazy sucker were abundant. The boys were quite tired by the time they reached the stream ; so they lay down on its mar- gin and watched its inhabitants as they sported in safety below. When they had, in a measure, recovered from their fatigue, they began to search for butternuts. The trees were not numerous; it was late in the season, and some persons had been before them, and had gathered all the fruit. They found a wery few concealed by the fallen leaves under the trees. While they were employed in collecting these, Edwin saw a red squirrel run into a hole in a large heap of rubbish consist- ing of drift-wood, grass, and sand. It occurred to him that he had heard, that the squirrels laid up nuts for winter. He was pretty sure, therefore, of finding some in the hole into which the squirrel had run. So he went to work, tearing away and digging in the rubbish, to find the squirrel’s storehouse. “ What are you doing there?” said Howard, who was searching for nuts unger a distant tree. “T know,” replied Edwin, vigorously plying» his work. Pretty soon Howard came to see what he was doing. “What are you at there ?” said he. “T'll show you pretty soon, I guess,” replied Edwin, as he exerted all his strength in turning over a large log. And sure enough he did show him; for under it in a hollow space, he found about half a bushel of butternuts. “How did they come there ” said Howard. “T had a fellow put them there for me.” “How did you know they were there ?” “T smelt them.” “How did you, though?” ** “T saw a squirrel run in here, and I thought I would search his house, and see what I could find.” “Don’t rob the poor fellow. He had laid these up for winter. How hard he must have worked to carry them all inte that hole.” “Not so hard as I have worked to get at them,” said Edwin, as he wiped the sweat from his face, and began to put the nuts in his basket. “Tt will be too bad to take them all away from the little fellow. "Won't you leave him some? He will starve next winter, if you don’t.” “Then he won’t steal so much corn next summer.” Howard began to consider whether it would not be right for him to oblige Ed- win to leave the squirrel a part of his stores; but he could not make it clear to his mind that he was authorized to use force in defence of the squirrel’s rights. While he was thus employed, Mr. Hall, vend owner of the land, came along. “What are you doing there, boys?” said he. “He is robbing the squirrel, and he will have nothing to eat next winter, 320 interfere in the matter. “ Never mind the squirrel,” replied Mr. Hall; “he will take care of himself. I presume he has nuts stowed away in more than a dozen places.” Howard’s anxiety for the squirrel was thus removed. “Do you think, sir,” said he to Mr. Hall, “that it would be right to take them, if those were all he had ?” “T don’t know exactly what to say to that question. I suppose butternuts were made for squirrels,as well as.men, and I don’t know but the squirrels have the best right to them of the two, I think in that case I should let them alone. But you need have no scruple in. taking all you can find, for, they will never want a tenth part of what they have laid up here and there, where you will never get at them.” Still Howard did not like to have Ed- win take all he found in the hole; and when he was not observed, he took a double handful from Edwin’s basket, and placed them back in the hole, saying, as he did so, “There, Bunny, there are some of your nuts for you.” Was. it right for Howard to do so? He was right in desiring to have the squirrel share in the bounties of Provi- dence; but he had no right to take nuts from. Edwin’s. basket without permission. It may be said that kind feeling influenced him, and therefore he was excusable. Not so, His kind feelings did not authorize him. to take, what belonged to Edwin, But. it was a very small, matter. That is true; but small matters are important where morals are concerned, No kind- ness of feeling, and no smallness of the matter, can ever excuse us from doing what is right.—Selected, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. said Howard, wishing that Mr. Hall would Something about the Sulks. uis is the name of a disease which is not uncommon among children, Though some grow up without being much, afflicted with it, yet I have seen a child so entirely under its in- fluence, as to throw herself upon the floor, kick over benches and chairs, and seem ready to bite and devour everything in her way. Some children, from their habits and circumstances, are much more likely to have this. disease than others. Those that generally have their own way about everything, and’ whose, parents let them play. in. the streets, or by the road-side, when they please, and. with whom they please—such children. are very much ex- posed to have the sulks. I have seen children suffering with it, however, who had the kindest, parents and the happiest home that children ever could have. It generally comes. on when something is said or done that we do not like. For instance, Jane Barber came home from — school the other day with a green apple, which Susan Carp had: given her. Like a good girl, she went. directly to. her mo- ther with it, and by her mother was told to throw it away. Jane began to cry, “Why, mother, it won’t hurt, me; all the girls eat them, and they are not hurt.” “My dear,” said her mother, “I tell you to throw it away, and you must do it. I, am. the best judge what is) fit. for you, to eat.” Then came on a. fit of the sulks. » First she threw out one of her elbows, and then the other, and then both at once. Then her shoulders began to twist, first one way, then the other. Her head began to go forward and backward with,a jerk, and enn re she stamped, when she walked away, as if she was trying to get a tight shoe on. “Go and sit down, Jane, in that chair, until dinner time,” said Mrs, Barber. This made the disease worse. She be- gan to make a whining, fretful noise with her mouth; and soon her feet began to swing back and forth against the chair ; and then she began to push her chair against the wall. Her hair was hanging over her eyes, which were now swollen and red with weeping; and so great was the change in her appearance in less than half an hour, that you would hardly have known her. This is a fair statement of the appearance of the disease in Jane Barber’s case. Sometimes these appear- ances are different. The corner of the apron is crowded into the mouth and chewed ; the fingers are twisted one over the. other; the, work, or play-thing, or book, is thrown down upon the floor, or across the room; and the eyes snap and stare about like a person who is mad, The afflicted child kicks and strikes, and screams; and it is sometimes necessary to catch her, and confine her, even as we would qa wild animal. In such violent attacks as, these, it is necessary to apply the seyerest. remedy. immediately, or the patient, will soon be past all hope of re- covery,— Selected, | Ne eee Don’t kill the Birds. _ quite numerous, and how delight- ful to listen to their. pretty songs! QO, who can be so cruel as to kill the pret- ty. little birds! TLR, boy! don’t, kill the birds! In | } | the summer, you know, they are THR YOUTH'S CABINET. An act that caused me more pain than any other, when a boy, was the killing of a bird. It was a pretty chipping bird. The event happened in this wise: The bird had built a nest on a thorn-bush, that stood near the garden in front of my father’s house. I used to go and look at the nest every day, and was delighted one ‘morning to find in it a pretty little egg. In a few days the nest contained five beautiful speckled eggs. I presume there are some of my readers that know how they looked. | One morning, just before school time, I went out to take a look at the bird’s nest. The bird flew chipping from the nest as I approached, and alighted upon an apple- tree near by, the leaves of which hid her from my view. I took up a stone and threw it violently into the tree, without the least. design of doing any harm; when judge of my astonishment, I saw the bird fall through the thick branches to the ground! I ran trembling to the bird, and took it up into my hands, just as it drew its last breath! O, how my heart. ached:! I wept bitterly, and would have. given worlds to have restored the dear little thing to life; but I could not do it. I took it and placed it on the nest, where it had-sat'in such apparent safety only a few. minutes: before, and: went into the howse, My mother: noticed that I had been erying, and asked:me what was the matter. I told hen Iwas sick. I was ‘sich, but: it was sickness. of heart /; 1 could: not: go to school; I felt so. bad; and it. would have melted: any but’ a heart of stone, to have seen the mate of the little bird come and sit on the bush, and: mourn the. death of its dear companion, who lay, cold and motionless upon its nest— Selected, 322 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ie ” i Ay a i ih ie ee en ere ar ES oe mCP. etlp-4 hey So you see William Scott came uy, pretty honestly by the title which the boys gave him. He was a kind, good-natured boy. Few of our number ever had any quarrels with him; and if any one did so forget himself as to commence a battle with him, just as likely as not Bill would set his laughing engine in motion, and do his part of the fighting with that. He was, on the whole, a pretty good scholar, though it happened too frequent- ly, I used to think, that he would come to school with a very bad lesson. For that, however, he generally managed to make up pretty soon, probably as early as the next day, when he would have a better lesson, perhaps, than any other boy in school. | As William lived in the immediate neighborhood of my father’s house, we used to be often together. He had no NB 328 THE YOUTHS CABINET. sini bad habits; and so, my mother, who was very particular in respect to the company I kept, while I was a boy, did not hesitate to allow us to be together. I said that William had no bad habits. I ought to explain that a little. I mean that he did not use profane and impure language, and that he was not what is called a bad boy. There was one bad habit: about him, although that was of such a nature that it is hardly proper to speak of it as a wicked habit. I will tell you what it was. He could hardly ever deny a person, when he was asked to do anything or to go anywhere. “But that was a good trait in Bill's character, | should think.” No, that is a great mis- take. “Why, is it not right to oblige everybody, as much as possible?” Cer- tainly, when you can oblige every one without doing wrong. Boys and girls, and men and women, are often asked to do something which would be a great in- jury to them ; and perhaps, if they yield- ed, they would disobey God. In that case, it would be wrong to yield, you see. | William Scott, because he was so anxious to please everybody, or for some other reason, used too often, as he grew older, to do as he was urged to do, when by so doing, he was the cause of a good deal of mischief. There were in our village, as there are, I am sorry to say, in too many other places in different parts of the country, some young men that indulged in drink- ing intoxicating liquors. Once in a while they got together, and drank a good deal, at’ which times they did a great many foolish things, as if they were trying to see which could act most like a brute. Laughing Bill had scarcely tasted a drop of liquor when he was fourteen years of age. His father was strictly temperate in his habits, and never furnished liquor to his boys or any of his hired men. But about this time, William was in company with two or three dissipated young men |] have alluded to, and they persuaded him to go to the tavern with them the next night. He could not say no. How strange! Why, he must have known that it would be dangerous to be in such a place, with that kind of company, even for one evening. But perhaps he did not think much about it. Young people fre- quently do things which they are sorry for as long as they live, just because they did not have their thoughts about them at the time. They ought to think, though. What are our thoughts good for, if we cannot make use of them when we are tempted to sin ! William yielded, and went to the tav- ern. He did not mean to drink any in- toxicating liquor when he consented to go. He did not mean to drink after he got to the tavern. But he was urged to do so—urged strongly. He could not refuse ; it would be unkind to do so, he thought. His companions would be of fended: so he drank. Poor fellow! how little did he know, when he touched that glass to his lips—how little did he know what misery that apparently unimportant act was to cost him. Though he was dis gusted with what he saw and heard at thé tavern, and left it with the determina- tion never to visit it with such company again, he did go there the second time, with the same company, in less than three weeks. You see he had hard work to refuse, because he had formed the habit of yielding. But he ought to have re- fused. If he found it a hard task, he should have worked harder at it—he THE YUUTH’S CABINET. should have set himself more resolutely about it. I do not wish to follow this young man through all the windings of his path for five or six years. Knowing him so well as I did, it would be too painful to pursue his history so minutely, nor is it necessary to do so. The depraved taste which he formed for intoxicating and poisonous stimulants, soon led him along the high- way of intemperance with fearful rapidity. Do you wonder at it, my young friend ? You need not wonder at it. liquors set the whole body and mind on fire. They drive a person crazy. He loses command of himself. He goes on drinking, though he knows well that he is going swiftly to destruction. William was soon a confirmed drunk- ard; and oh, what distress he brought on the once happy family of which he was a member! Before he was twenty- one years of age, he was often found, in the dead of night, in a state of loathsome drunkenness, One day, in company with one of the young men who led him astray, he went into the woods on a hunting excursion. A bottle of brandy was a part of the out- fit for this excursion. They both drank freely—William more freely than his companion. Toward night, just before they were thinking of returning home, William was separated a few rods from his companion, and for some reason or other, had climbed a little distance up a tree which was partly blown down by the wind, and which overhung the brow of the hill. Poor man! he had not sufficient command of himself to retain his balance. He fell head foremost from the tree, be- fore his companion could reach him, and ‘was almost instantly killed. | Intoxicating f So ended the career of Laughing Bill. Will not my young friends learn a whole- some lesson from his fate ? The Lamb and the Critics. A FABLE. Lamp strayed for the first time into the woods, and excited’ much dis- cussion among other animals. Ie a mixed company, one day, when he became the subject of a friendlygossip, the Goat praised him. ' “ Pooh !” said the Lion, “this is too absurd. The beast is a pretty beast enough, but did you hear him roar? I heard him roar, and as sure as my hame is Lion, when he roars’ he does nothing but ery ba-a-a!” And the Lion bleated his best in mockery, but bleated far from well. “ Nay,” said the Deer, “I do not think so badly of his voice. I liked him well enough until I saw him leap, He kicks with his hind legs in running, and, with all his skipping, gets over very little ground.” “Tt is a bad beast altogether,” said the Tiger. “He cannot roar, he cannot run, he can do nothing—and what wonder? I killed a man yesterday, and in polite- ness to the new comer, offered him a bit; upon which he had the impudence to look disgusted, and say—‘ No, sir, 1 eat nothing but grass.’” So the beasts criticised the Lamb, each in his own way; and yet it was @ very ‘good Lamb, nevertheless. — Household Words. 330 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Tommy and his Papa. BY E. H. KENNEDY, M. D, . pon’ think, papa, that I under- stand the meaning of this word.” “ What is it, Tommy ?” “Tye often met with it, and it’s one of those kind of words that a body has a sort of half an idea of what it means; but yet I can’t say what it is, though I know it means something good.” “But you haven't told me the word, my son.” “ Well, sir, the word is magnanimity.” “ Aevery good word it is, and you are right’in saying that it means something noble and excellent. Can’t you analyze it ?—let us try.” “Magnus is the Latin for great: this much I know; but what the root of the word comes from, I’m sure I can’t tell.” “Suppose, Tommy, it were animus ?” “©, sure enough, papa, that’s it—now don’t tell me any more, and I'll find it all out for myself. I'll write it down—mag- nus means great, and animus is the Latin for mind, and ty at the end is the suffix of a noun: greatness of mind is the mean- ing of the word—isn’t it, papa oi “Yes—you have derived the word properly, and have given it its true mean- ing; but I wish I could impress upon your mind, my son, its weight and im- portance, as well as its mere meaning. Magnanimity is one of the very noblest traits of character a man can possess.” “Qan’t you give me, papa, something more particular, so as to make me know it? I can’t still get hold of the idea of what it does mean.” “Suppose you should have a falling out with some one of your schoolmates, and a coolness should arise between you for some time after; and that your school- fellow, being influenced by an evil and malicious heart, should seek to injure you, what would you do?” “T can’t exactly say so well for myself, papa; but I know very well what Jim Herrin, and Joe Briggs, and Sam Green would do.” “They would fight, I suppose ?” “Yes, sir, they would; for I heard them say so, again and again, and that nobody should impose upon them without giving back just as good as they got.” “Tommy, take that Testament lying upon the desk there, and turn to the fifth chapter of Matthew, and read from the forty-fourth verse. (Tommy reads :) “ But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heav- en: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.” “ That will do: What does this teach you?” “Tt teaches us to forgive one another.” “So it does, Tommy ; and do you think that Jim Herrin and Sam Green, that you were talking of, as so ready to ‘smite with the fist of wickedness,’ were under the in- fluence of the spirit of the Gospel ?” “JT should think not, sir.” “Well, then, tell me what would you do, in such circumstances as I have de- scribed—supposing some one of the boys THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 331 csc i a a RES ar had done you an injury, and seemed to dislike you, and took a pleasure in abusing you behind your back, saying hard things about you ?” | “That’s a difficult question, papa.” “ Why so, my son %” “Why, sir, I had just such a trouble as you speak of last session, with Dick Simpson, and it did pester me mightily. And the more I tried to forget it, the worse it grew. I knew it was my duty to try and forgive him, but he seemed bent on a fight any how. He tried to set all the boys against me, and told downright stories about me.” “ What did you do about it?” “Why, I kept out of his way as much as I could, out of school, and took good care never to speak a word about him to any of the boys. But I was determined all the time, that if I couldn’t get rid of the scrape in any other way, that I would’ have to fight him. We were of about the same size, and it would have been a tight match between us. I wasn’t one bit afraid of him; and to tell the truth, I wanted to fight, only I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, by coming home with my face all scratched up. So I let the thing go along for two or three weeks, and didn’t show any particular disposition toward making itup. Indeed, I couldn’t do that, for he was trying his best all the time to make me hate him.” “ Well, how did it turn out?” “, it all came out right after a while, for I can’t stay mad at any body very long. One Sunday morning Mr. Bonner came into Sunday school, and he read out of the very chapter you told me of just now; and when he read this forty-fourth verse, he stopped and told us a good deal about the nature of forgiveness, and how that while our hearts are hard, and our dispo- sitions are bad, it is almost impossible to forgive one another; yet if we will try very hard to have a tender heart toward others, and then will ask God to assist us in making our own hearts tender, and in softening the hearts of our enemies, that it will be done without any doubt.” “Well, Tommy, this seemed to fit your case exactly. I hope you followed Mr. Bonner’s good advice.” “ Well, sir, I was going to tell you— Mr. Bonner said, that he had known it in himself again and again; and that he had | never prayed to God sincerely for a for- giving heart, and for a softened heart, without having his heart softened. ‘This seemed to suit me exactly, papa, and I believed what he said; and I set to work with all my might, to see how it might answer in my difficulty with Dick Simp- son; and I read all the verses I could find in the Testament about loving our enemies, and being kind to one another; and as soon as I felt that I wanted to for- give him, I found I had different feelings right away.” “Why, Tom, this is quite a romance you have had. I was not aware you youngsters had so many little feuds among yourselves.” “Please let me go on and finish my story, for I wanted to tell you about it for a long time, only I didn’t know how to begin. Well, as I was saying, the next day after this happened—I mean my try- ing to forgive Dick—we were hard at it in getting our Liber Primus lesson. Dick is in my class, and he got into a mighty tough sentence, which in time of recess he was going about among all the boys to get construed for him. None of them could help him. ‘May be I can do it, 332 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Dick, says I. It was the first word I had spoken to him for a month or more. He didn’t expect such a thing, and seemed a good deal surprised ; but I looked him in the eyes for a while, and presently, sure enough, he began to smile, and said, ‘T wish you would, Tom, for I am mightily pestered about this lesson.’ So we sat down together, and I read the lesson over for him; and by the time I had got through, all my hate was turned into pure good-will. We both felt that we were good friends again, and we’ve been on the best terms ever since.” “Well, Tommy, that’s a very pretty story; and what’s more, it is an excellent commentary upon the very word about which you have sought information this morning—I mean magnanimity. You wished to have a more perfect idea of what is meant by it, and now you have got it in such an attractive shape, that you will never forget it.” “ How is that, papa ?” “ T mean, my son, that you yoursell have been practicing this virtue without know- ing it. Boys generally think that it is no- ble in them to return acts and feelings of unkindness in the same coin. Their pride, they think, is enlisted to be stiff and stub- born—to be unyielding and unforgiving. But such is not the true spirit of a noble heart. Such is not the spirit of the Gospel. Such is not the spirit of magnanimity.” “Then our talk about magnanimity may be made of some use. I often think it so strange, papa, that there is hardly anything but may be turned to some good account.” “Yes, my son, if we are disposed to see the truth in all things, and if we have a simplicity of heart, so as to learn from what we do see.” A Cunning Fox. ounnine fox!” But are not this whole race of animals cun- ning? They are so represented. How common it is to hear a person say, “as cunning as a fox!” Yes, they are all pretty sly fellows I admit; but I have just heard a story about one, who seems to have been smarter even than most of his species. The story was told me by aclerical gentleman of my acquaint- ance, whose name, wherever he is known, commands the highest respect. A colored man in the employ of this gentleman, took it into his head to catch a fox, whom he knew to be residing in the neighbor- hood. So he proceeded to set a trap for him. After having for several days placed some dainty morsels of food for the fox, in a particular place not far from his hole, he set a steel trap in that place, taking the precaution to cover it carefully with earth, so that it was entirely out of sight—the bait being scattered in that vicinity, as be- fore. The next morning after that, the colored man found the trap sprung, but instead of the fox, there was a stick in it. The trap was set with the same care, for several evenings in succession, with the same result. Every morning the trap was sprung, and there was a stick between its jaws. It was thought that some mis- chievous boy must have done the deed. Still the trap was set again, and once more the colored man, though with less hope than ever, went to the spot in the morning. This time the fox was caught by the nose. But, as before, a stick was found below the trap. The whole mystery was ex- plained. The fox had sprung the trap himself, by means of a stick which he held iT) ( between his teeth ! THE YOUTH'S CABINET. Anecdotes of Large Serpents. prow was making for the port of Amboy- na; but the pilot finding she could not enter it before dark, brought her to anchor for the night close under the island of ERPENTS are sometimes found of a monstrous size. Among the largest are the different species of a genus called Boa. The picture at the head of this article represents a species of the Boa, called the Boa Cenchris. It is a formidable serpent, though I believe it is not so large as the Boa Constrictor. There are a iumber of ancedotes of different serpents of the larger kind, gleaned from several sources, which I will give to my readers. In the Bombay Courier of August 31, 1799, we have the following :—‘“ A Malay Celebes. One of the crew went on shore in quest of betel nuts in the woods, and on his return lay down, as it is supposed, to sleep on the beach. In the course of the night he was heard by his comrades to scream out for assistance. They im- mediately went on shore; but it was too late, for an immense boa had crushed him to death. The attention of the monster being entirely occupied by his prey, the 334 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. people went boldly up to it, cut off its head, and took both it and the body of the man on board their boat. The snake had seized the poor fellow by the right wrist, where the marks of the fangs were very distinct ; and the mangled body bore evident signs of being crushed by the monster’s twisting itself round the neck, head, breast, and thigh. The length of the snake was about thirty feet ; its thick- ness equal to that of a moderate-sized man; and on extending its jaws, they were found wide enough to admit at once a body the size of a man’s head.” In the Oriental Annual, we find that a few years ago, the captain of a country ship, while passing the Sunderbunds, sent a boat into one of the creeks to obtain some fresh fruits, which are cultivated by the few miserable inhabitants of that in- hospitable region. Having reached the shore, the crew moored the boat under a bank, and left one of their party to take eare of her. During their absence, the Lascar who remained in charge of it, overcome by heat, lay down under the seats, and fell asleep. ‘While he was in this state, an enormous boa constrictor emerged out of the jungle, reached the boat, had already coiled its huge body round the sleeper, and was in the act of crushing him to death, when his com- panions fortunately returned, and attack- ing the monster, severed a portion of its tail, which so disabled it, that it no longer retained the power of doing mischief. The snake was then easily despatched, and was found to measure forty-two feet and some inches in length. Even when in a state of bondage, and enfeebled by confinement and the cold of our climate, the boa has been known to exhibit considerable address and power in seizing its prey. The following anecdote, related of one lately kept in the tower of London, shows that a man is scarcely a match for a very ordinary boa constric- tor :—“ Some years ago, when the keeper was offering a fowl to one of these ser- pents, the animal being almost blind from the approaching change of its skin, miss- ing the fowl, it seized upon the keeper's thumb instead, around which and its own head, it instantaneously threw two coils, and then, as if surprised at the unexpected resistance, cast an additional fold round his neck, and fixed itself by its tail to one of the posts of its cage in such a manner as nearly to throttle him. His own ex- ertions, however, aided by those of the under-keepers, at length disengaged him from his perilous situation; but so deter- mined was the attack of the snake, that it could not be compelled to relinquish its hold, until two of its teeth had been broken off and left in the thumb.” The following adventure is narrated by Mr. Waterton, in his “ Wanderings” in Demerara and the adjacent parts of South America :—“I was sitting,” says he, “with a Horace in my hand, wher. a negro and his little dog came down the hill in haste, and I was soon informed that a large snake had been discovered. I instantly rose up, and laying hold of the eight-foot lance which was close by me, ‘ Well then, said I, ‘we'll go and have a look at the snake” I was barefoot, with an old hat, check shirt, and trousers on, and a pair of braces to keep them up. The negro had his cutlass, and we ascended the hill; another negro, armed with a cutlass, joit- ed us, judging from our pace that there was something to do. The little dog came along with us; and when we had got about half a mile in the forest, the THE YOUTH’S CABINET. negro stopped, and pointed to a fallen tree. All was still and silent. I told the negroes not to stir from the spot where they were, and keep the little dog in, and I would go and reconnoitre. I advanced up to the place slowly and cautiously. The snake was well concealed, but at last I made him out. It was not poisonous, but large enough to have crushed any of us to death. On measuring him after- ward, he was something more than four- teen feet long. This species of snake is very rare, and much thicker, in proportion to his length, than any other snake in the forest. After skinning this animal, I could easily get my head into its mouth, as the singular formation of the jaws ad- mits of wonderful extension. “On ascertaining the size of the game we had to encounter, I retired slowly the way I came, and promised four dollars to the negro who had shown it to me, and one to the other who had joined us. Aware that the day was on the decline, and that the approach of night would be inconvenient for the dissection, a thought struck me that I could take him alive. I imagined, if I could strike him with the lance behind the head, and pin him to the ground, I might succeed in capturing him. When I told this to the negroes, they begged and entreated me to let them go for a gun, and bring more force, as they were sure the shake would kill some of us; but I had been in search of a large serpent for years, and now having come up with one, it did not become me to turn soft. So, taking a cutlass from one of the negroes, and then ranging both the sable slaves behind me, I told them to follow me. I smiled as I said this; but they shook their heads in silence, and seemed to have but a bad heart of it. When we 335 came to the place, the serpent had not stirred; but I could see nothing of his head, and I judged by the folds of Ins body that it must be at the farthest side of his den. A species of woodbine had formed a complete mantle over the branches of the fallen tree, almost imper- vious to the rain or the rays of the sun. Probably he had resorted to this seques- tered place for a length of time, as it bore the marks of an ancient settlement. I now took my knife, determinipg to cut away the woodbine, and break the twigs in the gentlest manner possible, till I could get a view of his head. One negro stood guard close behind me with the lance, and near him the other with a cutlass. The cutlass which I had taken from the first negro was on the ground close by me, in case of need. After working in dead silence for a quarter of an hour, with one knee all the time on the ground, I had cleared away enough to see his head. It appeared coming out between the first and second coils of his body, and was flat on the ground. This was the very position I wished it to be in. I rose in silence, and retreated very slowly, mak- ing a sign to the negroes to do the same. We were at this time about twenty yards from the snake’s den. I now ranged them behind me, and told him who stood next to me to lay hold of the lance the mo- ment I struck the snake, and that the other must attend my movements. It ‘now only remained to take their cutlasses from them ; for I was sure if I did not do this, they would be tempted to strike the snake in time of danger, and thus forever spoil his skin. My heart, in spite of all T could do, beat quicker than usual; and I felt those sensations which one has on board a merchant vessel in war time, 336 THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. when the captain orders all hands on | “ We went slowly on in silence, without deck to prepare for action, while a strange | moving our arms or heads, im order to vessel is approaching under suspicious | prevent alarm as much as possible, lest colors. the snake should glide off or attack us in A S8OUTH AMERICAN BOA. self-defence. I carried the lance perpen- dicularly before me, with the point about a foot from the ground. The snake had not moved; and on getting up to him, I struck him with the lance on the near side, just behind the neck, and pinned him to the ground. That moment the negro next to me seized the weapon, and held it firm in its place, while I dashed head foremost into the den to grapple with the snake, and to get hold of his tail before he could do any mischief. On pinning him to the ground, he gave-a tremendous loud hiss, and the little dog ran away, howling as he went. We had a sharp fray in the den, the rotten sticks flying on all sides, and each party strug- gling for superiority. I called out to the second negro to throw himself upon me, as I found I was not heavy enough. Hv THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 337 et did so, and the additional weight was of great service. I had now got firm hold of his tail; and after a violent struggle or two he gave in, finding himself over- powered. This was the moment to secure him. So, while the first negro continued to hold the lance firm to the ground, and the other was helping me, I contrived to unloose my braces, and with them tied up the snake’s mouth. The snake, now finding himself in an unpleasant situation, tried to better himself, and set resolutely to work; but we overpowered him. We contrived to make him twist himself round the shaft of the lance, and then prepared to convey him out of the forest. I stood at his head, and held it firm under my arm, one negro supporting the belly, and tine other the tail. In this order we be- gan to move slowly toward home, and reached it after resting ten times; for the suske was too heavy for us to support him, without stopping to recruit our strength. As we proceeded onward, he fought hard for freedom, but it was all in vain. The day was now too far spent to think of dissecting him ; so, after securing his mouth, so that he could not open it, he was left to his fate till morning.” Another thrilling adventure, with a snake of the largest kind in South Ame- rica, is related by a military correspond- ent of the Edinburgh Literary Gazette. This gentleman was at the time residing with a friend in British Guiana, and em- ploying himself chiefly in shooting, and fishing in a neighboring river. One sul- try day, tired with unsuccessful sport, he threw his lines, and drew his canoe to the river’s edge, for the purpose of refreshing himself in the water. Having done so, he stretched himself, half-dressed, on the benches of his boat, with his gun at his head loaded for a shot, if a chance should occur. In this position he fell asleep. “T know not how long I may have slept,” he continues, “ but I was roused from my slumber by a curious sensation, as if some animal were licking my foot. In that state of half stupor felt after immediately waking from sleep, I cast my eyes down- ward, and never till my dying day shall I forget the thrill of horror that passed through my frame on perceiving the neck and head of a monstrous serpent covering my foot with saliva, preparatory, as im- mediately flashed upon my mind, to com- mencing the process of swallowing me. | had faced death in many shapes—on the ocean—on the battle-field—but never till that moment had I conceived it could ap- proach me in a guise so terrible. Fora moment, and but a moment, I was fasci- nated. But recolleetion of my state soon came to my aid, and I quickly withdrew my foot from the monster, which was all the while glaring upon me, and at the same instant I instinctively grasped my gun, which was lying loaded beside me. The reptile, apparently disturbed by my motion, drew its head below the level of the canoe. I had just sufficient time to raise myself half up, pointing the muzzle of my piece in the direction of the ser- pent, when its neck and head again ap peared moving backward and forward, as if in search of the object it had lost. The muzzle of my gun was within a yard or two of it—my finger was on the trigger— I fired, and it received the shot in its head. Rearing up part of its body into the air with a horrible hiss, which made my blood run cold—and by its contor- tions, displaying to my sight great part of its enormous bulk, which had hitherto escaped my notice—it seemed ready to 338 throw itself upon me, and to embrace me ‘n its monstrous coils. Dropping my gun, by a single stroke of the paddles, I made the canoe shoot up the stream out of his reach. Just as I was escaping, I could observe that the shot had taken ef- fect, for blood was beginning to drop from ‘ts head. But the wound appeared rather to have enraged than subdued him. Un- fortunately all my shot was expended, otherwise I would most certainly, at a respectable distance, have given him a salutation of the same kind as I had just bestowed. All that I have described passed in a much shorter time than I have taken up in recounting it. 1 imme- diately summoned help, and the snake was soon captured. It measured nearly forty feet in length.” So" How to treat Enemies. oun Waite was a cross boy; he would strike and pinch those with whom he was at play, if they did not do all that he chose, or that he told them to do. He did not serve big boys so, for he durst not, lest they should hurt him, but he did so to boys who were not as old and as strong as he was. One day he was at play with a boy at school who was not as old as he was. This boy’s name was Ned Bell. They had got a kite to fly, and Ned could not run as fast as John told him to; so John hit him a blow and gave him a black eye. This made Ned cry; and Sam Smith, who was near them, and who was a boy of the same age of John, but not quite so tall, said to Ned, “ Why do you cry, Ned—who has hurt you ?” and Ned THE YOUTH’S CABINET. said, “It was John White who hurt me; I could not run as fast as he told me to, and he struck me.” At this, Sam Smith said to John, “It would serve you right - for me to strike you in the same way, and you know I could hurt you if I chose to try; but I do not wish to do wrong, as you have done, Itisa shame that a great boy like you, should strike a poor child who is much less than you are.” At this, all the boys came round them and said, “Well done, Sam; you are a brave boy to take the part of a poor child. We like you for it, But as for John, we will not play with him; we are none of us as big as he is, and if we do not mind all that he says to us, he will beat us; so let us leave him. Come, Ned, do not cry, but come and play with us.” So they left John, and no one would play with him. This went on for a week; he could find no one to hold up his kite, or play at ball, or peg-top with him. At last, Ned Bell, who was a kind boy, and did not like to see John so sad, went to him and said, “John, I will play with you, for I do not think you will hurt me now.” John said, “No, Ned, I will not strike you; and I am sure I wish I had not struck you at all.” So they had a game at peg- top, and John was kind, and did not say or do across thing. Then Ned went to the school-boys, and said to them, “ I am quite sure you need not fear to play with John White now; he is grown quite good, and will not beat us, or be cross to us; I have been at play with him for an hour, and he is not like the same boy.” When the boys heard this, they said, “ Well, Ned, as it is you who speaks for John, we will try him.” They did try him, and from that time he grew as brave and kind as Sam Smith.— Selected. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Boyhood of Sir Humphrey Davy. g@y ,umpuorey Davy was =| born at Penzance, in 8 267% Cornwall, on the 17th \» December, 1778. His father, Robert Davy, early in life, learned the art of carving in wood, but in after years, occupied him- in this manner only His mo- An Nee hN musement. 0; Ae for a mm ther had been left an or- ! AA self mt phan in childhood, and \7 (Ae, owed her education to a benev- iN olent gentleman, by whom she was adopted on the death of her own parents. This lady was remark- able for her amiable disposition, and from her, Humphrey may have derived that evenness of temper so necessary to one distinguished as a philosopher. He passed his infancy partly with his parents, but spent more of his early years under the roof of Mr. John Jenkin, the disinterested friend of his mother. It is not known at what age this youth- ful prodigy learned to read, but at five years old he would turn over the leaves of a book with such rapidity, that it was impossible to believe that he had ac- quainted himself with the contents, till, on examination, it was found that such was the case. This habit of reading rap- idly he retained in later years, and seemed at a glance to make himself master of every work he perused. His earliest fa- vorite was Pilgrim’s Progress, whose spir- ited pictures did not interest him more than its poetical language and fanciful descriptions. At eight years old, he was familiar with > OES history, and so fond of speaking, that he would mount a carriage, at an inn: near Mr. Jenkin’s house, and deliver discourses to the assembled boys of the neighbor- hood. He was also in the habit, at a little later period, of writing verses and ballads, and of making fireworks. The most successful of these was an explosive composition, which he named. “ Thunder Powder,” and which he would explode on a stone, to the great wonder aid delight of his young play-fellows. Another of his favorite amusements consisted in scooping out the inside of a turnip, placing a lighted candle in the cavity, and then exhibiting it as a lamp; by the aid of which he would melt frag- ments of tin, and demand from his com- panions a certain number of pins for the privilege of witnessing the operation. - The ingenuity of young Davy was also manifested in a contrivance to facilitate fishing for gray mullet, an amusement of which he was very fond. This animal has a mouth so small, that it is difficult to hook it; but Davy observed that they swam in shoals, and by attaching @ suc- cession of pilchards to the string, reaching from the surface to the bottom of the sea, with a sudden movement he would cap- ture a number who were swimming around the bait. Gunning was also a fevorite occupation with this early lover of nature, and he thus formed a collection of rare birds, which he is said to have stuffed with more than ordinary skill. When confined at home by the weather, he would shut himself up in a room and lecture to the chairs for hours together, or play at tour- nament, making shields and_ visors’ of 340 pasteboard, and lances of wood, to which he gave the appearance of steel, by means of black lead. On one occasion, he got up @ pantomime, and wrote on a leaf of a lexicon the names of the principal characters. Some of these persons be- came distinguished in after life, and would be amused to find themselves figuring on this list of actors. From Penzance school, Humphrey went to Truro, and finished his education under the Rev. Dr. Carden. On being removed thither, he was found to be behind the class of his age in his studies, but on ac- count of the quickness of his mind, was placed with them, in the hope that indus- try and application would enable him to keep his station, which he did to the en- tire satisfaction of his master. In 1794, Mr. Robert Davy died, and his son Humphrey was soon after appren- tived, by the advice of a valued friend of his mother, to Mr. Borlase, at that time a surgeon and apothecary. With him he commenced the study of chemistry, and his eldest sister, who acted as his assistant, well remembers the ravages committed on her dress by corrosive substances. At this period, it was his constant custom to walk in the evening, to drink tea with an aunt, to whom he was greatly attached, when he always carried a hammer to obtain ‘mens in mineralogy from the rocks on the beach. This pursuit so much oc- cupied him, that when he should have been assisting his master to bleed the sick, he was opening veins in the granite, and instead of preparing medicines in the surgery he was often found experimenting in the garret. It is said that, on one oc- casion, he produced an explosion which put Dr. Borlase and his glass bottles in great danger, who exclaimed—* This boy THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Humphrey is incorrigible. Was there ever so idle a dog? He will blow us in the air.” At other times, in a jesting tone, he would call him “the philoso- pher,” or “Sir Humphrey,” in sport, as if in prophecy of his future title. Our hero, in early youth, had some de- fects, which even time and patience could not overcome. His voice was disagree- able, and to cure this defect he was ac- eustomed, like Demosthenes, to walk on the sea-shore, and declaim amidst the howling of the winds and waves. He thus improved his articulation, but even in after years it was not perfectly harmo- nious. Though fond of humming a tune, when engaged in chemical pursuits, no one could ever discover what air he in- tended to sing. His music was a subject of raillery among his friends, who declared that it was impossible to teach him “ God save the king.” On entering a volunteer company, his awkwardness was really amusing, and after taking private lessons, he could nei- ther keep step nor be taught to shoulder a musket. That he possessed courage, however, is inferred from his having, on receiving a bite from @ dog supposed to be mad, taken his pocket-knife, and with- out the least hesitation cut out the part on the spot, and then retired into the sut- gery, and cauterized the wound, an opera- tion which confined him to the house for three weeks. One of the fitst experiments of the young philosopher was for the purpose of discovering the kind of air contained in sea-weed, and was performed by means of the kitchen utensils, and instruments taken from the surgery. Not long after, he formed a machine for exhausting the air, so ingenious as to gain the commen- THE YOUTHS CABINET. dation of Mr. Gilbert, the late President of the Royal Society. The manner in which he made the acquaintance of this gentleman is as curious as it was import- ant to his future interests. Mr. Gilbert’s attention was attracted to the future philosopher, as he was care- lessly swinging over the gate of Mr. Bor- lase’s house, by the humorous contortions into which he threw his features. Davy, when a boy, possessed a countenance which, even in its natural state, was far from comely, while his round shoulders, inharmonious voice, and insignificant man- ner, were calculated to produce anything rather than a favorable impression; in after years, he was what might be called good-looking. A person walking with Mr. Gilbert on this occasion, observed that the extraordinary looking boy in question was young Davy, the carver’s son, who, he added, was said to be fond of making chemical experiments. “ Chemical ex- periments!” exclaimed Mr, Gilbert, with much surprise; “if that be the case, I must have some conversation with him,” This interview gave ample evidence of the boy’s singular genius, and ended in an offer of the use of Mr. Gilbert’s library to young Humphrey, and any other assist- ance he might require, in pursuing his studies. The delight which Davy expressed on first visiting a laboratory, is said to have been beyond all description ; and on being shown an air-pump, he worked its piston, exhausted the receiver, and opened its valves, with the simplicity and joy of a child engaged in the examination of a new and favorite toy. And here we must leave Sir Humphrey Davy, on his very entrance into the scene of his future labors. How famous he be- 341 came as a chemist and philosopher, is generally known, as well as his elevation to knighthood and to the presidency of the Royal Society. His early poetry shows that he could have become equally distinguished in this art, if he had devoted his faculties to its culture, It is no doubt true that in any pursuit he would have excelled ; for enthusiasm, energy and per- severance are always sure of success.— Boys’ and Girls’ Miscellany. —_————_ Necessity of Sleep. orang is so hurtful both to the mind and body as want of sleep. Deprived of the necessary portion, the person gets wan, emaciated and listless, and very soon falls into bad health; the spirit becomes entirely broken, and the fire of even the most ardent dis- positions is quenched. Nor is this law peculiar to the human race, for it operates with similar power upon the lower ani- mals, and deprives them of much of their natural ferocity. An illustration of this fact is offered in the taming of wild ele- phants. These animals, when first caught, are studiously prevented from sleeping ; in consequence of which, they become, in a few days, comparatively mild and harm- less, Restlessness, when long protracted, may terminate in delirium, or confirmed insanity ; and, in many diseases, 1 is the most obstinate symptom we have tostrug- gle against. By it alone, alll the existing bad symptoms are aggravated ; and as soon as we can succeed in overcoming it, everything disagreeable and dangerous frequently wears away, and the person is- restored to health.—Philosophy of Sleep.. 342 THE YOUTHS CABINET. SS h S - mi a ‘ eS Vy, ij 4 = iy)! Wye AAP fi iy M , iy Anecdotes of the Squirrel Family. ocounts are given of the ingenuity of the squirrels in Lapland, which we should find it difficult to be- lieve, were they not credited by such men as Linnzeus, on whose authority I give them to my readers. It seems that the squirrels in that country are in the habit of emigrating, in large parties, and that they sometimes travel hundreds of miles in this way. When they meet with broad, rapid lakes in their journeys, they take a very extraordinary method of erossing them. They approach the banks, and, perceiving the distance between them and the opposite shore, they return, as if by common consent, into the neighboring forest, each in search of a piece of bark, or light wood, which answers in the room of a boat, to ferry them over. When the whole company are provided in this man- ner, they boldly commit their fleet to the waves, each squirrel sitting on his own English publication, about a squirrel who little boat, and fanning the air with his | was charmed by 4 rattle-snake. The sub- tail, in order to drive himself across. In | stance of the story was something like this orderly manner they set out, and of- ten cross lakes several miles broad in this way. It occasionally happens, however, as you may Suppose, that the poor mari- ners are not aware of all the dangers of the voyage; for though at the edge of the water it is generally calm, in the mid- dle it is always more rough. Sometimes the poor squirrels encounter such a gale before they get across the lake, that nearly all their vessels are capsized, and they are shipwrecked. “ It is an ill wind which blows no one any good,” however ; and this shipwreck, so disastrous*to the squir- rel family, is a matter of great rejoicing on the part of the Laplander on shore. He gathers up the dead bodies, as they are thrown on shore by the waves, eats the flesh, and sells the skins. I read an interesting story, 4 little while ago, in the “ Centlemar’s Magazine,” a0 THE YOUTHS CABINET. ——— rn this: —A gentleman was traveling by the side of a creek, where he saw a squir- rel running backward and forward be- tween the ¢ereek and a large tree a few rods distant. The squirrel’s hair looked very rough, showing that he was very much terrified about something. His cir- cuit became shorter and shorter; and the man stopped to see what could be the cause of this strange state of things. He soon discovered the head and neck of a rattle-snake pointing directly at the squir- rel through a hole of the tree, which was hollow. The squirrel at length gave over running, and laid himself down quietly, with his head close to the snake’s. The snake then opened his mouth wide, and took in the squirrel’s head; upon which the man gave the snake a blow across the neck with his whip, by which the squirrel was released. You will see by this story, which comes to us on the best authority, that some snakes possess the power of charming, whatever eertain people may say or think to the contrary. This is only one among a multitude of facts which I could relate, in proof of the existence of such a power among many of the serpent race. A squirrel, sitting on hickory tree, was once observed to weigh the nuts he got in each paw, to find out which were good and which were bad. The light ones he invariably threw away, retaining only those which were heavier. It was found, on examining those be had thrown away, that he had not made a mistake in a single instance. They were all bad nuts. People talk about instinct in animals. They would say that this squirrel showed a great deal of ‘nstinct. But was it not very like reason !— Woodworth’s Storves about Animals. V. 22 The Blind Boy at Play. —_—_ BY ELIZA cook. ———_—— The blind boy’s been at play, mother, And merry games we had; We led him on our way, mother, And every step was glad; But when we found a starry flower, And praised its varied hue, A tear came trembling down his cheek, Just like a drop of dew. We took him to the mill, mother, Where falling waters made A rainbow o’er the rill, mother, As golden sun-rays played | But when we shouted at the scene, And hailed the clear, blue sky, He stood quite still upon the bank, And breathed a long, long sigh. We asked him why he wept, mother, Whene’er we found the spots, Where periwinkles slept, mother, O’er wild forget-me-nots. “ Ah me!” said he, while tears ran down, As fast as summer showers, “It is because I cannot see The sunshine and the flowers.” Oh, that poor sightless boy, mother, Has taught me I am blest, For I can look with joy, mother, , On all I love the best; Rie And when I see the dancing stream, And daisies red and white, [ll kneel upon the meadow sod, And thank my God for sight. Advice for Everybody. If wisdom's ways you wisely seek, Five things observe with care; - Of whom you speak, to whom you speak—— And how, and when, and where. NB 344 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Letters from Europe. BY D. W. BARTLETT. Panis, Avaust 30, 1850. zaAR Cutprex,— When I last wrote to you, I had just landed at Liverpool, I believe, from my fourney across the wide Atlantic. I stayed in Liverpool only a day and night, for I am not fond of large cities like it, that are not filled with beautiful things, but whose whole life is one of trade. It is a very useful city; for it is a great port for all parts oj the world. It rains in Liverpool almost all the time. It is said by observers to rain three days out of four, on the average, all the year round. As soon as we landed, I got a taste of the famous English gooseberries. The ship anchored out in the middle of the stream, and a steamer came to take us ashore. Some officers took charge of all our baggage, and we lay at the wharf or quay for some time, before it could be got out. So we all waited to see to it. In the meantime I jumped ashore, where I found an old woman selling English gooseberries. They were very large— much larger than I ever saw in America, and very delicious. So I bought a lot of them, and put them in my handkerchief, the old woman saying “God bless you,” and took them down to the ladies of our ship, who were sitting in the hot sun, and quite exhausted. We all were obliged to have our trunks examined at the cus- tom-house. All our baggage was put in a place surrounded by a wooden fence, and the officers were inside. As soon as they touched a trunk, they called out the owner’s name, and he came inside. Pres- ently I heard my own name, and entered, I unlocked my trunk, and said, “There is the Bible my mother gave me: when I landed before at Liverpool I paid duty upon it; I am willing to pay again |” “Never mind,” replied the officer, who was a fine fellow. I had a large lot of maple sugar, which I was taking over to some English friends as presents, but he passed that also, and indeed was very civil to me. We were very glad, I assure you, once more to walk the solid streets; and it seemed at night very delicious to sleep upon a bed! If any of you ever cross the Atlantic, you will know how one feels after a long voyage, to get upon land among the birds, and trees, and flowers ! The next morning we took a cab to the railroad terminus, and took cars for London. At first we entered a long, and perfectly dark tunnel, under the surface of the earth. It is nearly three miles long, and runs under houses, and streets, and fields. It is a dismal passage; but we were soon out of it, and among the wheat-fields of old England. The country was very beautiful—full of large old trees and hedges ; and the lots were full of cows and sheep, grazing contentedly. There were a great many birds in the air, yet not of so brilliant colors as the birds in America, but they sang sweeter. On and on we went, until after a while we stopped for refreshments. I looked at the engine and tender at this stopping-place, and saw that coal is not used on the English railways, but something made out of coal called “coke,” a substance much purer than coal, and which burns better. Pretty THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 345 coon we were off again, and after a long ride of two hundred and ten miles, we entered the outskirts of London. “ This is mighty London once more !” I said to my cousin at my side. At the terminus, we took a cab to a tavern in the region of our friends, fur we were really tired out, and needed food and refreshments before we saw anybody. At the hotel, we were soon very comfortable. The English ho- tels are the most comfortable in the world, but they are very costly. In the evening, with my cousin, I sauntered out into the streets, which were very natural to me, and I felt at home. I cannot tell you what happy times I had for the following week, meeting old friends. In a week we started for Paris, where I am writing you this letter. At London Bridge wharf we took a steamer for Boulogne, which lies on the French coast, you will see, if you look at your maps. It was a windy day, but quite pleasant winding down the river Thames ; but when, as night drew on, the captain ordered the tables and chairs all fastened, and began to elear for a hard storm, we felt queerly. It was a stormy, fearful night. I never was 80 sea-sick in my life—not upon the great Atlantic. About midnight I saw the light upon the pier- heads at Boulogne, and it was a cheering sicht. We got in, and landed at two o'clock in the morning. Our passports were taken from us here, and we were very tired; so we hired a commissioner, who took our keys, and while we went to sleep, got them through the eustom-house. We told him he must see that we took the early train for Paris; and he awoke us at six in the morning, and we went to the dépot. We could not talk a word of French; but our commissioner talked English and French, and through him we arranged everything. He had worked faithfully for us all night, and we were willing to pay him a good round price for his labor. Soon we were whirling away on the railroad to Paris, France is the most beautiful country I ever was in, The fields look sweeter than those of England, for the sun shines clearer and warmer in France than in England. It is misty & great deal of the time there, but in France the sun is pleasant, the sky clear, and the country smells of vineyards! The cot- tages of the little farmers were always shaded with trees; and flowers were planted all around them; and the fields were as beautiful as gardens. I saw many women who were working in the fields; but this did not shock me so much, as to see, as I did in Boulogne, and have since in Paris, women clean the streets and gutters in the morning. Women are generally employed in French cities to do the dirtiest work. To an American, this is unpleasant. In our happy land, woman has her true position. Very thankful ought the little girls of the Capiner to be, that they are in Ame- rica; for no women ijn the world are 80 universally treated with respect as the American women, ‘The politeness shown to women in France is hollow. The po- litest men are very often those who have no real love for the noblest qualities of a pure woman. , But I am getting aside from the story of my trip to Paris. After a while we came to Amiens, a French city. We stop- ped here, and I contrived to get some- thing to cat, without any knowledge of the language. I could ask “ Combien sous le prix ?”—how many sous the price!— 346 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. taking what I wanted in my hand, or pointing at it; but they always answered so swiftly, that I could not understand them, and they would hold up their fin- gers. Here, also, we took another train of cars for Paris. About the middle of the afternoon we arrived at Paris, after passing the fortifications which completely surround it, and then the walls of the city. Our trunks were again examined, to see that there were in them no wines or provisions; for all provisions and wines have to pay a duty before entering Paris from the surrounding country. We took an omnibus to “Hotel Bedford, Rue de Arcade,” and were soon in our beautifully furnished room, with its French beds and French clock, and furniture. showy and bright. We were at last in the most beautiful city in the world, or, at least, in the city of sights, and shows, and gayeties. In my next letter, I shall tell you about my rambles in Paris and around it—how I like the French people—the curious places I shall have seen, and everything that I think will amuse you, and that you would like to hear about. At present I am too tired to write anything more. Changes in Man’s Life. BouT five years ago we saw a man light his cigar with a twenty dol- lar note of the Farmers and Me- chanics’ Bank. At the time he was full of life, and in the possession of real estate in the city of Philadelphia, valued at eighty thousand dollars. Alas! what changes doth time make—on Satur- day last, this foolish man was seen beg- ging alms in our public streets. Obey God rather than Man. s a general thing, it is the duty of children to obey their parents ; but when a parent commands what is wrong, the child should not obey. A poor woman told her son to cut down a large pear tree, which stood in the garden of the cottage where they lived, for firewood, as they were suffering from cold. The boy made no answer. His mother repeated her command; but he still hesitated, and said, “ Mother, I ought to obey you, but I must first obey God. The tree is not ours. It belongs to our landlord; and you know that God says, ‘ Thou shalt not steal.’ I hope you will not make me cut it down.” She yielded, for the time; but after suffering from cold a day or two longer, she told him he must cut down the tree. He then said to her, “ Mother, God has very often helped us, and supplied our wants when we have been in trouble. Let us wait till this time to-morrow. Then, if we do not find some relief, though I am sure it will be wrong, yet if you make me do it, I will cut the tree in obedience to your command.” To this she agreed. The boy retired to his closet, and prayed ear- nestly that God would help them, and save him from being compelled to break his law. The next morning, he went out and found a man whose wagon had broken down under a heavy load of coal. He told the man his case, who agreed to let him carry away the coal, and they might pay for it, if they were able, when he would call for it. But he never called. It is always safe todo right. Bear this in mind, little friend. No one ever loses in the end, in doing just exactly right.— Selected, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. é Ht ar q 7 NS SS We ESN Ws rey /} 347 We Anecdotes of the Bat. HE bat, = you tray be aware, is generally massed among quadru- peds, although it has many of the habits of birds. It has been call- ed a bird, however; and I am not suro but a great majority of people so regard it. Have you ever read the fable of the Cat and the Bat? I will translate it for you. It is one of Perrin’s, and is written in French. Puss, it seems, got over a difficulty he had in his mind, by calling a bat which he had caught a bird, rather than a mouse, which animal it more nearly resembles. This is the English of the fable : “A cat, having been taken in a trap, promised a rat, who had liberated him, that he would never eat any more rats or mice. It happened one day, however, that the cat caught a bat in a barn. The old rogue did not know what to do, at first. But he soon made up his mind. ‘I dare not eat thee as a mouse,’ said he, ‘on ac- count of my promise. But I will eat thee as a bird.’ With this nice distinction his conscience was satisfied, and he made a good meal of the poor bat.” In some parts of Africa, on the coast, bats are found in such flocks, that when they fly, they obscure the light of the setting sun, At the dawn of day, they are seen sticking upon the tops of the trees, and clinging to each other, like bees when they swarm. Europeans, visiting that country, sometimes amuse themselves by shooting among these large flocks. The largest bat in the world is supposed to be the great bat of Madagascar. It is nearly four feet broad, when the wings are spread. Some people have called it the flying fox. When this bat rests at night, it sticks itself to the tops of the tallest trees, and hangs with its head downward. A celebrated naturalist once made nu- merous experiments on the bat, and he became convinced that these animals pos- sessed some additional sense, by which they are enabled to avoid obstacles, when in motion, even when deprived of sight. 348 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. Fee When their eyes were covered, as well as | Jackson, in New Holland; and some that when quite destroyed, they would fly | were caught alive ate out of the hands of about in a room, carefully avoiding the | those who caught them, and in a few days sides, or anything projecting in a narrow became as completely tame, as if they passage. They would invariably turn | had been brought up in the house. One where the passage turned at right angles, | of these bats, belonging to Governor Phil- and always keep in the middle. They | ip, would hang by one leg a whole day, never failed to avoid these objects, even without changing its position. passing carefully between two of them, | The spectre bat does nob differ much in when placed so near together, as to ren- | its habits from the vampyre. It is found der it necessary to contract their wings as in South America, and in some of the they passed. ‘slands of the Pacific Ocean. Various The name of vampyre is given to a travelers speak of its eagerness to suck large species of bat distinguished by its human blood. Captain Stedman relates, habit of sucking the blood of living ani- | that sleeping in the open air at Surinam, mals during their sleep; yet this habit is | he was awakened about four o’clock in the common, also, to most of the bats of Java, | morning, and exceedingly alarmed to find ‘and other hot climates. It is said to be himself covered with blood, but feeling exceedingly dangerous to sleep in the open | 20 pain. Rising up hastily, he ran to the air, in the island of Java, with the head | surgeon, as he was all over besmeared and feet uncovered, or in the house, with with blood. It was soon discovered that the window open. Some of the species he had been attacked by a bat, which are so skilful in their operation of opening | Was judged by the surgeon to have taken a vein, and thrusting their tongue into from him about fourteen ounces of blood. the wound, that people have been known When these animals discover a person to pass insensibly from the state of sleep | 2 sound sleep, they cautiously ap- to that of death. Besides blood, these proach, gently fanning wi th their extend- animals also subsist on the juices of some ed wings, by which means a soothing in- kinds of fruit; and they are so fond of | fluence is thrown over the sleeper, which the juice of the palm-tree, that they have renders his sleep the sounder, while the been known to drink it till they fall down bat cautiously goes on with his bleeding insensible. : operation. Finch, the traveler, informs us, that “they hang to the boughs of trees near Surat, in the East Indies, in such vast clusters, as would surprise a man to see; and the squalling they make is so intoler- able that it were a good deed to bring two or three pieces of cannon, and scour the trees, that the country might be rid of such a plague as they are to it.” More than twenty thousand bats were observed, in the space of a mile, at Port Never be Idle. wan who is able to employ him- self innocently is never miserable. It is the idle who are wretched. If I wanted to inflict the greatest punishment on a fellow-creature, I would shut him alone in a dark room, without employment. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 349 A New Taste. ANKIND have very different tastes, even in the same neighborhood, or the same family. I speak, here, not only of physical or bodily tastes, but of intellectual and moral tastes, likewise. And so it is in different ages, as well as neighborhoods. Thus we are told of one ancient nation that regarded carrion as a perfume, and actually carried it in caskets, in their bo- soms ; and there is more than one nation now, whose people, for the most part, love the taste or smell of tobacco. Then, again, there have been nearly whole com- munities, who thought high-heeled boots or bell-crowned hats in good taste. And so of a thousand other things. Two hundred years ago, when the ven- erable John Eliot, sometimes called the Indian apostle, was so anxious to teach the Indians about Boston the study of anatomy, there was such a want of taste for knowledge of the kind, that he entirely failed to procure for them, or induce them to receive, the necessary instructions. Whereas, now, in 1850, you will find a goodly number of persons, who have quite a taste for anatomy, physiology, and hy- giene, A boy under twelve years of age, said to me the other day: “ Next year I mean to have a strawberry bed of my own, for mother says I may.” “ What will you do with it?” I asked; “for your parents will supply you with all the strawberries you need; will they not?” “Oh, yes,” said he; “ but I want the strawberries to sell. I want some money.” “Do you want money ?” I said. “ Yes,” he said ; “Ido, very much. I wish I could have a hundred dollars.” “Could you, at your age, make a wise use of such a large sum of money?” I asked. “I think I could,” was the reply. “But would you not lay it out in such a way, as to be sorry for it afterward?” “No, sir; I think not. I would buy but one thing with it.” “And what would that one thing be?” “I would buy a skeleton.” Now this boy was, at the time, as sin- cere as any other boy ever was; and really felt grieved that he could not have a human skeleton. And I have heard him talk about it in the same way, at other times. How long he will retain his taste for the study of anatomy, I cannot tell; but I hope as long as he lives. And one thing more, I hope, also, which is, that this taste will soon become general among us. W. A, ALCOTT. W est NewrTon, Mass. The Monkey and Telescope—aA Fable. HE Monkey of a celebrated astrono- mer, having seen him continually looking through his telescope, con- cluded that there must be some- thing delightful in it, and one day he gazed through it a long time, but, seeing nothing, he concluded his master was a fool, and the telescope all nonsense, and he told Rover, the dog, what he thought of his master. “I don’t know the use of the telescope, nor how wise our master may be,” said the Dog, “but I am satis- fied of two things.” “What are they?” said the Monkey. “ First,” said the Dog, “that telescopes were not made for Mon- keys to look through; and second, that Monkeys were not made to look through telescopes.” 350 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. cE TT Farming in the Western Country. x. Eprror,— The frequent appear- ance of Theodore Thinker in the columns of the CABINET, has been exceedingly gratifying to the little folk in the great western valley, and we have been very desirous of seeing him in person, and of intro- ducing him to the rich, fer- tile landscapes, the magnificent rivers and prairies, the beautiful villas and farm- houses, and the golden harvest fields, of which, we believe, he and his Eastern readers have no proper conception. We have been anxious to see him, so that, among his future life-like sketches, might occasionally be found a painting, the ori- ginal of which we might recognize. We think, too, that a visit to the West would a little improve the coloring of some of his very interesting pictures. But ours is a farming district, and a large majority of Mr. Thinker’s young friends here are the sons and daughters of farmers—boys and girls who love farm- ing, and who are almost sure that, not- withstanding in his late communication on the “Lights and Shadows of Farm- ing,”* he owns that he has a little «chronic laziness,” and that he is very fond of angling, if he were to come here, he would fall in love with farming, too. Indeed, there are very few who visit this prairie land, whatever may have been their former history—to whatever class or profession they may have belonged—in whose breast there is not awakened an ardent, and generally an irresistible desire to become cultivators of the soil. Me- chanics and artisans of every class—mer- chants and speculators—doctors and law- yers—clergymen and literary scribblers— philosophers, poets and artists—all yield to the fascinating influence of the farm; and, with high hopes and glowing antici- pations, engage, with all the ardor of a first love, in the farmer’s task. Nor, to us who have been raised on the farm, does this seem strange. On the contrary, we have been much at a loss, and have been drawing largely on our imaginations for the reason of Mr. Thinker’s dislike. One boy guesses he went on to a very poor farm, covered with rocks, stumps, and perhaps swamps, where his heart was never once gladdened in prospect of the happiness that the surplus crops would impart to the poor and des- titute. Another thinks that. Uncle Miah was a cross, crabbed, selfish old fellow, delighting more in dimes and dollars than in the happiness of those about him—who never took time to smile, to visit friends, or to receive visits—whose very nature was ice, and his will iron. Another confidently believes, that the farm had neither garden, fruit-yard, oF orchard upon it, or Theodore would cer- tainly have fallen in love with the hoe, and wielded it manfully against the incur- sion of weeds and grass, in which labor he could not have failed of a rich reward ‘n flowers and fruit. And another ex presses the opinion, that the cows he dis- liked to milk, must have been shabby, uncouth-looking quadrupeds, with habits as vile as their appearance, instead of the delicate, finely moulded, and richly de * See page 236. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 351 —_—$—$—$$—L— veloped Durhams of the present time. In fine, though we cannot fathom the reason for the dislike of our friend Theo- dore, or satisfy ourselves whether the error was in the farm, the boy, or the discipline, yet we all agree that there must have been something peculiar in the case— something which need not, and certainly does not, pertain to the business of farm- ing here; and, lest some of your young readers should partake of the youthful Theodore’s dislike of this ancient, honor- able, and useful occupation, and conclude that all that has been said and written of its pleasures and enjoyments is mere po- etry, and that such pleasures exist only in the wild fancies of the imagination, per- mit me to assure the boys, that in my very limited acquaintance, there are hun- dreds who enjoy more in “inhaling the sweet breath of the evening”—in listening to the “lowing kine, returning from the dewy mead,” and in the thousand varied enjoyments of the farm, than our favorite author ever did or can enjoy, in a pent- up, crowded city, inditing couplets expres- sive of such joys. Indeed, as we look over this beautiful land, we are led invol- untarily to inquire, what of all earth’s comforts does the farmer lack? Is it the common blessing of health? It is pre- eminently the result of his active habits and free exercise. Is it the cooling shade ? Under trees of his own planting, carpeted with velvet of the richest green, he passes the sultry hours of summer, with a friend, @ newspaper, or a favorite author. Are flowers desired? His garden is filled with the rarest of them, representing, in the selection, the taste of each member of the family; while in the cottage win- dows may be seen some delicate exotics, too tender to endure the open air. Se- lected fruits of the choicest varieties are plucked from his own trees, while music, sweeter than the softest airs of the far- famed Jenny Lind, is heard among the branches. The grove, the gushing foun- tain, the crystal stream, the flowers, fields, and verdant landscape, he holds in fee simple, for the mutual enjoyment of him- self, his family, and friends. The deli- cacies, the viands, and luxuries of his ta- ble, are the product of his own farm and labor; and as he looks over the wide fields, and in the generous crops sees an abundant supply of corn and wheat for his own family, and a large surplus to en- ter the markets of the world, and to meet the wants of the destitute, he rejoices in the goodness of a kind Providence, and, if his heart is right, offers devout thanks- giving for all these blessings. And now, Mr. Editor, as you are un- questionably on good terms with Mr. Thinker, do try to influence him to visit us here on the prairies. We want to show him the fine farms, with the grow- ing crops of corn, which will yield from eighty to a hundred bushels per acre, raised not with “steers,” like Uncle Miah’s, but with horses, whose fine con- dition testify to the abundant crops con- sumed on the farm; and if our friend is as fond of shooting as of fishing, just say to him that we have plenty of deer and grouse, and in autumn the rivers swarm with geese and ducks. We are sure we can satisfy him, if he will only come. Etmwoop, Illinois. P. Nore.—We will certainly try to per- suade Theodore to accept of this invita- tion; and if he does not take an early start for Illinois, he is not the man we think him to be.—Enprror. 352 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Honest Negro. pout thirty years ago—so runs a story which I cut from one of the newspapers of the day—there lived on the banks of the Susque- hanna a poor negro, who had the good fortune to own a cow. But by unforeseen circumstances, he had been deprived of the means of sustenance fur her. How to keep this cow from starving, was now the great. exciting question. He was honest to a fault, and detested the name of thief; but after canvassing the subject in different ways, was forced to come to the conclusion that his cow must either die, or he must go to his neighbor's barn and get hay for her. Accordingly, one night he went, and began to pitch off a quantity to take home. At the same time, he was continually talking to him- self aloud, and saying—* Honesty is the best policy, but my cow. shall not die.” At last, however, his honest nature tri- umphed, and he commenced pitching the hay back on the mow, saying, “ Honesty is the best policy, and my cow shall die,” saying which he laid down the fork and went home. “My cow will die,” said he, “but I will not steal for her.” But his cow lived, and had plenty to eat, and he did not steal it. No, for the next day the farmer brought him a load of hay, saying to him—“ Honesty is the best. policy, and your cow shall not die.” The poor negro was overwhelmed and confused. It was evident that the farmer had heard his soliloquy the night before, and had taken this plan to reward him for his honesty. He rallied, and thanked the donor profusely, telling him he had saved him from becoming a dishonest mav. The story has its own moral. Thy Brother has Fallen. Thy brother has fallen— O, go to him now, With love in thy bosom And smiles on thy brow: Speak words of pure kindness, And bid him arise From error to virtue, From earth to the skies. Thy brother has fallen— Assist him to stand ; Throw round him thy mantle, Extend him thy hand. Be gentle—be tender, Persuasive and kind— And to his heart’s centre A way thou wilt find. Though sunk and degraded By error and vice, Till early affections Are cold as the ice: Compassion and kindness Once felt in the heart, Will melt to contrition By the warmth they impart. Thy brother has fallen— O, hasten to give The help that is needed, And bid him to live: Wait not fur the morrow To-day is the time, Before he is hardened In error and crime. Ask not for the reason That brought him so low; That he is disgraced, is Sufficient to know. When Virtue has triumphed— Joy beams in his eye— With tears he will bless thee With hands to the sky. To save a lost brother, What honor so great ! Yet thousands neglected Are left to their fate ; When a word—a look even Would virtue restore, And keep the lost brother From wandering more, D.C. O THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ; ¢¢; ij UY Uy I Wifi} /, é Y o Uy Hf} iy 7 If i YY tf} / = y } Y i] yy ? \ Mil “ i \ ( | i } ) \ ! } HH Hi i i) Wy) | | ji i \ / if HH } ! ‘i A hy MK ie Hh fifi 353 William Penn. ILLIAM PeNv, the conscientious Quaker, and the founder of Pennsylvania, was born in London, in 1644. He was the only son of William Penn, vice ad- miral of England, in the time of Crom- well, and afterward made a knight by James II. for his successful services against the Dutch. While he was at college, when only fifteen years of age, he was in the habit of meeting with several other students, for prayer and religious improve- ment. This gave great offence to the heads of the college; and as the students insisted on holding these meetings, they were finally expelled from college. About this time, or perhaps a year or two before, he first heard the preaching of Thomas Loe, an eminent minister among the sect called Quakers. William was pleased with what he heard, and the more he learned of the sect to which Mr. Loe be- longed, the better he liked the doctrines of the people, and the people themselves. By-and-by, he joined the sect, His father did not like this, and reproved him harsh- ly. Still the son was convinced that he was right, and it was pretty hard work to keep him away from the meetings of the Quakers. 304 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. OI eieemeseneaemenrrenennestaneent mm At as early a period as the boyhood of William Penn, people in England did not allow as much freedom of opinion in matters of religion as they do now. The government did not allow so much free- dom as it does now. William was taken up, a good many times, because he at- tended some religious meetings that were not sanctioned by the laws of the land. He was fined and imprisoned, because he did not believe as the church of England did, and because he would not worship in a church established by the government. All this made no difference, however, with William Penn. He determined that he would think just as he pleased in matters _ of religion, and that he ‘vould worship God according to the dictates of his own conscience. When he was twenty-four years old, he wrote a book, called “The Sandy Foundation Shaken.” This book gave great offence, and he was imprisoned in the Tower for writing it. After his release from prison, he wrote another book, en- titled, “ No Cross, no Crown.” Not long afterward, he was indicted for “ being present at, and preaching to, an unlawful, riotous, and seditious assembly.” He pleaded his own case, and was this time acquitted by the jury.. When bis father died in 1671, William came in possession of a large estate. Twice, within a few years, he visited Hol- land and Germany, where he was received by many pious persons as & beloved min- ister of Christ. In 1681, he solicited a patent from Charles IL for a province in North Ameri- ca. Charles granted the patent in consider- ation of his father’s services. Penn soon af- ter published a description of the province, proposing easy terms of settlement to such as might be disposed to emigrate to the new world. He then drew up the “ Fun- damental Constitution of Pennsylvania,” and the following year he published his “Frame of Government,” a code which held out a greater degree of religious liberty, than had been before known in the world. Here is an extract from the laws: “All persons living in this province, who shall confess and acknowledge the one Almighty and Eternal God to be the Creator, Upholder, and Ruler of the world, and hold themselves obliged, in conscience, to live peaceably and justly in civil society, shall in nowise be molested or prejudiced for their religious persuasion or practice in matters of faith and wor- ship; nor shall they be compelled, at any time, to frequent or maintain any religious worship, place, or ministry, whatsoever.” Upon the publication of these proposals, many respectable families removed to the new province. The city of Philadelphia was laid out on the banks of the Dela- ware. In 1682, Penn first visited his province. At two different periods, he resided for some time in this country ; but he afterward returned to England, and died there, in 1718. | cera Gores emen Hail in India. ar srones in India are generally from five to ten or twenty times the size of those in this country, from six ounces to a pound being nothing unusual. Hail with us rarely eX- ceeds the size of beans or filberts, while that in India is often the size of orange or pumpkins. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 355 A Scene in Boston. HALF score or more Irish women have lately taken their stands at the Park-street corner of the Mall, where, with a few oranges and other fruits, placed upon some tem- porary tables, they remain from morning until night, perhaps clearing from their small sales from one to two shillings per day. They are mostly old women, who can do nothing else for a living, and are patronized more from charity than from the tempting appearance of their goods. One day, not long since, one of these old women, being quite ill from exposure to the sun, and probably from want of some proper nourishment, was forced to leave her stand, and seat herself against the iron railings of the commen in the shade, A little bright-eyed girl of thir- teen summers, saw her limp to the spot, and also observed the anxious eye of the old woman directed towards the little store of oranges, nuts, and candy. “ Nev- er mind those, ma’am,” she said, “ll go and sit there till you are better, and sell for you.” The little miss, dressed with much taste and richness, with an air that indicated most unmistakably the class to which she belonged, sat down on the rough box, be- hind the Irish woman's stand, assuming all the importance of a young saleswoman. She had never sold anything before in her life; but people began to stop and wonder what it meant, to see the fair and beautiful child in that singular situation. The story was soon told by the by- standers, who had only to point to the poor woman. In a moment every one was seized with a very extraordinary de- sire for an orange, a handful of nuts, or some candy; and our little beauty could hardly serve them fast enough. Many, utterly refusing any change, gave her a ninepence, a dime, or a sixpence for a penny’s worth of nuts or candy. It was all accomplished very quickly, though the little girl was somewhat disconcerted, and had to be encouraged by a whisper, now and then, from one who need not be named, for she was not accustomed to a crowd, . The table was soon swept, and we saw her pass her tiny hand full of silver to the poor woman, who thus realized treble the value of her small stock, and called on half the saints of the calendar to bless the kind-hearted child—Merry’s Museum. Generosity of an Elder Brother. N ingenious artist, for want of em- ployment, was reduced to great A distress, and applied to his elder brother, who was in good circum- stances, and begged some little hovel to live in, and some provisions for his sup- port. His brother was melted to tears; “You, my dear brother,” said he, “ you live in a hovel! You are a man; you are an honor to the family, and I am nothing. You shall take the house and estate, and I shall be your guest, if you please.” The two brothers lived thus af- fectionately together, as if it had been common property, till the death of the elder put the artist in possession of the whole. How happy every family of bro- thers would be, if they would thus share with each other all they have! It would save all disputing about mine and thine, THE YOUTH’S CABINET. iti ROITORLAL TABLE-PALR. gaAR Mr. Epiror,— After a long silence, during which I have been doing almost everything mention- able, except forget- ting our good friends the Casrnet, and its editor, I have con- cluded to send another contribution for your “ pi- geon-hole,” for it cannot reach you in time for any other place, I fear, as the Cas- INET only arrived a short time ceive it in time to answer any- thing, though we have daily eastern mails. I will, however, answer a charade and a rebus, at a venture. ANSWER TO CHARADE NO. XI. You assist us to walk, and your “great one’s” a king, And a stick is oft reckoned a valueless thing ; Yet the use of one, sometimes occasions & noise Of unpleasant meaning, from bad girls and ‘boys. To answer your riddle ’s not much of a trick, The key of the whole is a good walking-stick. ANBWER TO REBUS NO, II. { think your fish-man is a net, and your metal bright is tin, And the water in a kettle boils, to steep the tea-plant in ; The animal with downy hair, is nothing but a Cat, And I’m almost sure the flying thing can only ‘be a Bat; The vehicle you mention, too, is probably a Gab; since. Indeed, we rarely re- And I think, of something good to eat, you every day are glad, That boys exposed to sunbeams, oft will tan, is also plain, And T’'ve heard them speak of roguish boys, as being full of Cain: But when you added the last line, ah, Rob! you thoughtless boy, I knew ’twas Casiner you meant, it gives us so much joy. H. L. W. A boy writes us from Fond du Lac, in Wisconsin, to tell us that he has studied out the rebus of L.S.H. He answers it correctly, as does our friend Mrs. H. L. W. We should be glad to hear again from the “Badger Boy,” as he styles himself, We have just been looking over all the pigeoh-holes in the Caniner, that are appropriated to -enigmas, charades, and the like; and we find that at present there is quite a dearth in that department, so far as good specimens are concerned, We wish some of our friends, who always succeed well when they attempt anything in this lime—and we have such friends, a plenty of them—would send along an enigmatical invoice or two. Help us, kind friends; we are in a suffering con- dition. “Well, what do you want?” Want !—anything you think of, or dream of, provided it is good and original. We don't like threadbare things. Where are 8, N. and Louis? TRY IT, AND 6EE. Let two Roman fives at extremities meet At the right hand of these add two circles complete ; Then five times one hundred place at the right hand, And a nice winter’s comfort they make as they stand. B. B. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 357 Katydid. BY MRS. E. A. COMSTOCE. All snugly hid, a Katydid Piped her ne’er-ending tune ; And softly slid, the fern amid, One pleasant night in June. Now little Jane came down the lane, Without her cousin Kate, Because again she tried in vain, To wake her up so late. It seemed once more some gate or door, Was open left by Kate, Who o’er and o’er, as oft before, Declared she shut the gate. So little Jane was sent again To do as she was bid ; *Tis all in vain, said little Jane, To say that“ Katydid !” Now Jane did stare, and say, “ Who’s there ?” But all was still and hid ; “Tt is not fair,” cried Jane, “ aware — They are that”-——* Katydid !” “ T know she did! but keep not hid, And raise your shrilly voice My friends amid, that they may bid My’stricken heart rejoice. You say she did, and you’ve been hid Close by the wide-stretched gate ; Thus I am chid, and always bid To right what’s wronged by Kate.” While Jane thus talked, the insect walked In terror quick away. “I see I’m balked, I might have talked Until the break of day. Some roguish boy, who would annoy, Is hid amid the trees. I know with joy I should employ My time, my friends to please. To grumble so is wrong I know, Oh dear, how will it sound ; I’m sure ’twill go, both to and fro, The country all around. The wind has blown, it can’t be known Who really oped the gate ; What rage I’ve shown, and rudely thrown | The blame on little Kate.” _ * | Jane reached the gate, but strange to state, The gate was fastened tight ! “ Poor little Kate! next time I'll wait To see if I am right !” Now up the lane returned cross Jane, And reached her father’s door ; With blushing shame and timid pain, She told her story o’er. | Her father knew what hid from view, Her peevish words did hear ; For her and you he wisely drew, A moral from her fear. « A child should try, when none are by, To feel that God is near ; 0 The arching sky is not so high He cannot see or hear.” ee The Ten Commandments in verse. . Thou'shalt have no more gods but me ; . Before no idol bow thy knee ; . Take not the name of God in vain ; . Nor dare the Sabbath day profane ; . Give both thy parents honor due ; _ Take heed that thou no murder do; Abstain from words and deeds unclean ; . Nor steal, though thou art poor and mean ; Nor make a wilful lie, nor love it ; . What is thy neighbor’s, dare not covet. Aanrrwbs —_ S © 358 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ne THE SONG OF THE SNOW. POETRY BY W, O. BOURNE——-MUSIC BY ASAHEL ABBOTT. i Saal Sl f-b-6.9— Spee WY os —_@ a - Cp oeeee CS slow; O! pleasant to me is the ee sight Of the si-lently fall -ing snow | O—e'e—e fhe Pee CF o_o eee Rit. .. AN ee ee Snow, snow, of the at - y we Rite IL. The earth is all covered to-day With a mantle of radiant snow ; And sparkles and shines in the ray, In crystals of glistening snow— v. The trees have a burden of white— The sparkling, glistening snow ! They stretched out their branches, I know, And filled their great arms in the night To play in the sunbeams with snow— nL It covers the earth from the cold— Would you think, little Ella, ’tis so ? And avhen it comes down on the world, And that, while my soul shall endure, It is only a warm coat of snow— Happy, curious, warm coat of snow! It might shine far more bright than the snow— Were my heart but as pure as the snow! IV. From my window the snow-birds I see— They hop and they flit as they go! : — rpeak of a lesson to me, While they feed in the beautiful snow— The birds that delight in the snow! The branches all curling with snow ! VI. How spotless it seems, and how pure! I wish that my spirit were so! vil. It shall go with the breath of spring, And down to the river shall flow ; And the summer again shall bring Bright flowers for the silvery snow— Bright flowers on the grave of the snow: THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 359 - oes ane fe gee *, Pot ra WOWLANDS. Sv Pree aS ws i} / // | 7 " ME h / ri ij Mh | Uy; a SALY Sir John Franklin. HIs distinguished navigator, about whose safety so much anxiety has been felt all over the civilized world, and who, in all probability, has perished amid the ice-fields of the northern seas, was born in 1786. His birth-place was Spilsby, in Lincolnshire, England. So much interest is felt for him at present, that we have procured a portrait of him for our readers, and have collected a few facts respecting his history. These facts are principally from the Stu- dent, an excellent monthly periodical, published by some estimable neighbors of ours on the opposite side of Nassau street. At the early age of fourteen, Franklin entered the royal navy as midshipman. We next hear of him embarking on a V. 23 voyage of discovery to New Holland, on board the Investigator, commanded by Captain Flinders. During this voyage he was wrecked on the east coast of that island, where he remained with the crew for eight weeks, when they were relieved by a vessel from Port Jackson. Mr. Franklin next proceeded to Canton, and on returning from thence to England, he was assigned the station of flag-mid- shipman on board the Bellerophon. He was on this vessel during Nelson’s victory of Trafalgar, and distinguished himself for skill and bravery. In October, 1807, he was placed on poard the Bedford, in which ship he remained nearly eight years, employed on the Brazil, North Sea, and West Indian stations. DE 360 In 1818, Lieutenant Franklin was given the command of the Trent, on a voyage of discovery to the Polar Sea, north of Spitzbergen, under the orders of Captain Buchan. Another expedition was sent out at the same time under Captain John Ross, to explore the coast east of North America, within the Arctic Circle. Early in 1819, John Franklin was ap- pointed by Earl Bathurst to the command of an overland expedition from the shores of Hudson’s Bay to the Arctic Ocean. The principal object of this expedition was to learn more about the geography of the northern portion of North America, which at that time was little known. He arrived in England on his return from this expe- dition in October, 1822. In 1825, he again set out in command of an overland expedition through North America. His departure from England was under circumstances severely trying. His wife was lying at the point of death, yet, with heroic fortitude, she urged him to leave on the very day appointed ; en- treating him, as he valued her peace, and his own glory, not to delay a moment on her account. This was indeed a severe strug- gle between the affections and a sense of duty; but he started at the appointed time, and his wife died within a day or two after his departure. The following extract from Sir John Franklin’s journal of this expedition, alluding to his sorrows, is a beautiful instance of the grace that domestic tenderness lends to gallant forti- tude. “During our absence, the men had pitched the tent on the beach, and I caus- ed the silk union-flag to be hoisted, which my deeply-lamented wife had made and presented me as a parting gift, under the express injunction that it was not to be THE YOUTH’S CABINET. unfurled before the expedition reached the sea. I will not attempt to describe my emo- tions as it expanded to the breeze; how- ever natural, and for the moment irresist- ible, I felt that it was my duty to suppress them, and that I had no right, by an in- dulgence of my own sorrows, to cloud the animated countenances of my companions. Joining, therefore, in the general excite- ment with the best grace I could com- mand, I endeavored to return with corre- sponding cheerfulness, their warm con- gratulations on having thus planted the British flag on this remote island of the Polar Sea.” On the 5th of November, 1828, Cap- tain Franklin was married to his second wife, Lady Jane Franklin. She was the second daughter of John Griffin, Esq. of Bedford Place, London. In April, 1829, Mr. Franklin received the honors of knighthood, in consequence of which he is called Str John Franklin. In August, 1830, he was appointed to the command of the Rainbow, destined for the Mediter- ranean station. He afterward became governor of Van Dieman’s Land. On returning to Eng- land, in 1845, from his arduous services on that island, he received the command of another exploring expedition, to attempt once more a solution of the existence of a Northwest Passage. This expedition was to proceed by water in the ships Erebus and Terror, which had returned but a short time previous from an Antarctic ex- pedition, under the command of Sir James C. Ross. These vessels were refitted, and supplied with every convenience which the repeated Arctic expeditions could sug- gest, together with provisions sufficient to last the crew, consisting of about one hundred and thirty-eight persons, for three THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 361 ; years. On the 19th of May, 1845, they departed from England, and on the 26th of July following were heard from at Mel- ville Bay. Since that period no reliable intelligence has been obtained in regard to their fate. Three expeditions were sent out early in 1848, to search for these missing navi- gators. One, under the command of Sir James ©. Ross, was to proceed on the track which Sir John Franklin had been instructed to take; another, commanded by Sir John Richardson, who is experi- enced in Arctic journeys, was to take the overland route, through North America ; and the third was assigned to Commander Moore, and directed to proceed to Behr- ing’s Strait by the way of the Pacific. The expedition under Sir James C. Ross, and also Sir John Richardson with most of his party, returned to England in November, 1849, without obtaining any intelligence of the long-lost navigators. Dr. John Rae, who went out with Sir John Richardson, remained with a small party to continue the search during the summer of 1849. The expedition sent to Behring’s Strait, passed the summer of 1849 in searching the coast from that strait nearly to the mouth of Mackenzie River; but it returned to winter in Kot- zebue Sound, with no better success than attended the other two. The British Admiralty sent out two More expeditions during the last spring. The first to consist of two sailing ships, the Baboo and Ptarmigan ; the second, of two steamers, the Eider and the Free- Trader. These were sent to Barrow’s Strait and adjacent localities. Mr. Henry Grinnel fitted up two vessels at New York, called Lady Jane Franklin and the Res- cue, which proceeded on an expedition in search of Sir John Franklin, some months since. A secondary object of this expe- dition was to solve the great problem of the Northwest Passage. Shall I read it? outney, the scholar and the poet, says, “Would you know whether the tendency of a book is good or evil, examine in what state of mind you lay it down. Has it induced you to suspect that what you have been accus- tomed to think unlawful, may, after all, be innocent, and that that may be harm- less which you have hitherto been taught to think dangerous? Has it tended to make you dissatisfied and impatient under the control of others; and disposed you to relax in that self-government, without which both the laws of God and man tell us there can be no virtue, and consequent- ly, no happiness? Has it attempted to abate your admiration and reverence for what is great and good, and to diminish in you the love of your country and your fellow-creatures? Has it addressed itself to your pride, your vanity, your selfish- ness, or any other of your evil propen- sities? Has it defiled the imagination with what is loathsome, and shocked the heart with what is monstrous? Has it disturbed the sense of right and wrong which the Creator has implanted in the human soul? If so—if you have felt that such were the effects that it was in- tended to produce—throw the book in the fire, whatever name it may bear on the title-page. Throw it in the fire, young man, though it should have been the gift of the best friend you have on earth !” 362 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. A Lesson from the Little Workers. -—_—ee_ooO BY J. P. M’CORD. ue world is full of life and activity. What a multitude of creatures God has made, and what wonder- ful powers he has given them ! Seldom are they long at rest; how they creep, or walk, or run, or fly, in quest of food or pleasure, or to fulfil some end of their existence. Great are the effects of this ceaseless activity. There are some idlers, indeed, and some wrong-directed efforts, in the world; yet how much is well done! Not only men, by their skill and energy—not only the higher animals by their strength and fleetness, achieve astonishing results ; even some of the smallest creatures, also, by a persevering use of their powers, per- form what is truly remarkable. Perhaps we may take a useful hint from these lit- tle workers. : A very wise man thought something might be learned from such a source. “Go,” said he, “to the ant, thou slug- gard; consider her ways, and be wise. She, having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.” Prov. yi. 6-8. Unlike the irresolute, who must be told what to do, and when to do it, the ant sets herself to work, and at the right time, too. By steady labor in the favorable season, how much she does ! even putting in store large supplies for the future. I received a valuable lesson, once, from so common an insect as the grasshopper. On taking up a pitchfork in a meadow, where it had been left a few hours, away sprang a dozen grasshoppers from the handle. What they had been at was plain at once. To obtain the salt deposit- ed by the laborer’s sweat, they had eaten away the fibres of the wood, so as to leave a small white spot, sensibly depressed, where each had been at work. Here, thought I, is a lesson to be learned. Can these feeble insects, by diligent exertion, make such an impression on this firm, well- seasoned ash? Why then, may not beings gifted with intelligence—why may not even I—make some impression, also, on hard things—on the human heart—on the world? What is impossible to dili- gence and perseverance { What consider- able effects are produced by some of the smallest and weakest frames which God has put together! Several illustrations of the thought occurred, and I determin- ed, when favored with an opportunity, to sketch them down, that others might share in the benefit. Sometimes, boys—and girls too—you have a piece of work to perform. You labor awhile, and feel quite discouraged. But take heart; toil on. Think what you can do, not what you cannot. Much may be done in an hour, if a little is done every minute. Even a snail, if he should keep in motion, would make quite a jour- ney in a day. A mouse can bite out only a small sliver at a time; yet, to get at some delicious fare, he will, after a while, open a way for his body through an inch board. You have seen, perhaps, a quart or two of nuts and corn in a squirrel’s nest: how often, think, did the little ani- mal go to the tree and the crib, to treasure up such an amount! You have seen a THE YOUTH’S CABINET. rt bee ! edge tempt you to exertion? Cannot the many great things, and good things, to be done in the world, inspire you with a. lofty ambition ? heartily, mightily. Let no obstacles cool your ardor. Labor vincet omnia—labor conquers all things. Persevering effort is final triumph. If you can do but a little at once, as often as you are able, repeat that little. day without a line. A line learned every day, a line written every day, a blow every day at some important object, would result in a good deal at a year’s end. To how much would it amount in an ordi- nary life-time ! bird building her nest: how small a load she carried in her bill! But every load advanced her work, and in a few days it was finished. Toil on, then. By steady exertion you will overcome at last. Reso- lution, diligence, perseverance—these can do wonders. You seem, it may be, to advance but slowly, or not at all, in your studies. If you do’ not advance at all, rouse up, put forth all your energy. The blunter the iron, the more strength must be applied. Eccl. x. 10. If, however, you are advan- cing, though very slowly, persevere, move on. I have seen a bird provide herself a home, by forcing an entrance into a hol- low tree through its thick walls. How many times she had to thump, before she could make a hole large enough for her accommodation! But she succeeded at last. Peck away, then; you will find yourselves. at length well into the nut of knowledge. One kind of bumble-bee bores a canal, two or three inches long, into some board protected from the wea- ther. There are various sorts of wood- worms, which penetrate for inches into the very hardest kinds of timber. So much can be accomplished by the puniest creatures, by the slowest advances! Be encouraged, then: throw off the weight that sinks your spirit; give it the light wings of hope. Sooner, perhaps, than you are aware, you will bore through all the hard places, in whatever studies you may be pursuing. It is possible that I have all the while been addressing some who have no valu- able employment, either for hand or head. Shame on all human drones! What ac- tivity among the various living forms of creation, though urged by no high and noble motives! How industrious is the And cannot the sweets of knowl- Do something—do it Non dies sine linea—not a The Country Lad and the River. A FABLE. A country lad, with honest air, Stood by the river side ; He put his basket calmly down, And gazed upon the tide. Across the river’s rapid flood, He saw the village, well, . "Twas there he meant to see his aunt, And there his turnips sell. The stream was full with recent rains, And flowed so swiftly by, He thought he would with patience wait, And it would soon be dry. For many hours he waited there, But still the stream flowed on: And when he sadly turned away, The summer day was gone. His turnips might have gone to seed, His aunt have pined away ; For still the stream kept flowing on, Nor has it stopped to-day.—Selected, 364 THE YOUTH'S CABINET. Wa it Meee 1! se tal -_ ~ A yp ) gE 7 oa Fk at nal The Pool of Bethesda. HERE has been a great deal of spec- | gel, they thought, went down at certain ulation in respect to the character periods, and agitated the water, and then, of the waters of Bethesda. No | before the mineral substance, held in sus- historian of antiquity, except the pension, had subsided, the invalid, by evangelist John, affords us any light on | plunging into-the pool, could be cured, the subject ; and the little that this writer | A man who had been sick nearly forty says is hardly sufficient to give us more | years, according to the divine historian, than a general idea of the spring that, in | was found by our Lord, in one of the the time of our Saviour, had received that | rooms built over or near the pool, waiting name. The narrative connected with it, for an opportunity to try the virtues of from the pen of the writer alluded to, is | the water. He was nearly, perhaps quite, briefly this:—There was a pool in the helpless; so that he was unable to get city of Jerusalem, called Bethesda—a | into the pool. Several different agitations “house of mercy,” the name signifies. of the water had taken place while he In the rooms connected with this pool | had been lying there; but he was unable there were numerous people, afflicted with | to take advantage of them. In. every different diseases, waiting for an opportu- | case, some more fortunate and less help- nity to bathe in the water—it being a no- | less invalid supplanted him. In this situ- tion current among the Jews of that time, ation the poor man was found by our that there was a healing property in the | Saviour, and by a palpable miracle on his water, and especially, immediately after | part, instantly cured. the pool had been agitated from: the bot- | From this narrative we are hardly wat- tom, so that the medicinal element, what- | ranted in the opinion that there was any- ever it was, became more generally dis- | thing miraculous in the cures that were tributed through the entire pool. An an- | effected at this spring. It does not ap THE YOUTHS CABINET. pear, indeed, that the Jews ascribed mira- culous influence to the water. Probably Bethesda was a mineral spring, possessing medicinal virtues of considerable value in some diseases, but which were, naturally enough, greatly overrated. The Jews were in the habit of speaking of all their blessings as if they came di- rectly from God. This pool was called the “house of mercy.” When its waters were agitated, they spoke of the effect as having been produced by one of God’s messengers. In this light our blessings ought always to be viewed. But how differently do the great mass of man- kind regard them. Thousands, who, dur- ing the summer months, resort to Sarato- ga, and other fashionable watering-places, though sensible that their health is im- proving under the influences which God has so kindly made accessible to them, never, it is feared, feel one thrill of grati- tude to their divine Benefactor. On the contrary, perhaps, they are more gay; more thoughtless, more reckless, while at this Bethesda, than they allow themselves to be at other times—Mother’s Magazine. A Boston Boy. LitrLE boy was observed by a constable gathering grass on the Boston Common, and was told by the officer that he must not take the grass. “O, but I must have it for my rabbits.” “But you must not take it,” said the officer. “T must have it,” the boy replied. “ Well,” said the constable, “if you must have it, you must go and.ask the Mayor.” “ Where is the Mayor ?” asked the boy. He was direct- ed to the City Hall, and told that he would find him there; so off he trudged to the City Hall, and by dint of inquiry found the Mayor, and was introduced to him. The Mayor inquired, “Well, my son, what do you want of me ?” “] want some grass for my rabbits, sir.” “ How many rabbits have you ” “Two, sir.” “But how do you expect to get grass of me?” “Why,” said the boy, “I was getting grass on the Common, and they told me I must not have it, unless I would ask leave of you, sir.” “Go,” said the Mayor, “and tell the officer to let you have as much grass as you want.” We predict that boy, if he lives, will make a man.—Boston Traveler. The Mouse in Liquor—A Fable. Movs ranging about a brewery, happened to fall into a vat of beer, was in imminent danger of being drowned, and appealed to a cat to help him out. The Cat replied : “Tt is a foolish request; for as soon as I get you out, I shall eat you.” The Mouse replied, that that fate would be better than being drowned in beer, The Cat therefore lifted him out; but the fume of the beer caused Puss to sneeze— she dropped the Mouse, and he took re- fuge in his hole. The Cat called on the Mouse to come out :—* You, sir, did you not promise me that I should eat you ” “Ah!” replied the Mouse, “ but you know that I was in liquor at the time.”— Selected. 366 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. The Drowned Boy. NLESss you can swim well, never venture into deep water. I well remember, when a boy, being present when one of our com- panions was drowned. He ventured out too far, and the current of the river car- ried him off his feet. Although there was no hole or dangerous spot where we were bathing—for a man seven feet high might have walked out foot by foot, and not lost more than two or three inches of his height in the water at a stride, so gradual and sure was the slope of the gravel bed—yet the torrent swept this careless boy off his feet, and he was drowned ! The scene rises as vividly before me as if it had but happened yesterday. I re- member well it was his birth-day; in honor of which his mother had allowed him to put on his Sunday clothes. It was after dinner, when we went out for a walk. His mother bade us not stay very late, and invited two or three of us (his chosen playmates) to come home with him to tea. She had made a large plum- cake to celebrate his birth-day, for he was their only child, I forget now who it was that first proposed we should go and bathe. It was in June; a beautiful hot sunshiny day ; 80, instead of going to the Long Plantation, a bird-nesting, as we at first intended to do, we turned off, passed the old oil-mill, and wandered on the banks of the river, over a field or two, until we arrived at the gravel-bed, our favorite bathing-place. We placed our clothes, as usual, carefully under the wil- lows on the bank, one or two kindly throwing down their every-day garments, that our companion might put his Sunday clothes upon them, and so preserve them from being soiled. I was reckoned a good swimmer, and, if I remember right- ly, made my way at once across the deep river. Greatly have I regretted this since, for, saving myself, there was but another among us who could swim, and he was close upon my heels when the alarm was given that our comrade was drowning. The river Trent, in which we were bathing, is rather wide; and as I was resting my- self on the opposite bank, I did not at first clearly comprehend what had hap- pened ; for no young savages ever yelled or shouted louder at the sight of a white man, than we were wont to do while bathing. It was the silence which fol- lowed that alarmed me most, and I swam back again with a heavy heart ; for, with- out being told, I knew that something had happened. On the bank the group of boys was huddled together, some cry- ‘ing, others silent, but all sorrowful. My companion who could swim assisted me, and we dived for him in turns, until we were compelled to lie down on the shore, breathless and exhausted, and almost black in the face through our exertions. I shall carry the scar to the grave which marks the wound I then received, through the cap of my knee striking against & stone, while searching for him at the bot- tom of the river. It was a melancholy picture, that scene on the banks of the Trent; and such a one I hope it will never be my lot to witness again! We looked over the water, on which the sun- shine streamed, trying to fix upon the very spot where he last rose, as if we expected to see him appear once more, but the river rolled on as smoothly as if THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 367 ee it had never closed over a human being.. After waiting long, we dressed ourselves in silence, each eying the clothes which our companion would never wear again. Then we began to ask one another, who would undertake the painful task of carry- ing home the clothes of the drowned boy. At length we divided his garments among us: his little waistcoat was borne by one, his jacket by another; each car- ried something, from his neckerchief to a single boot. We entered the town by the back way, as being less frequented ; we passed the school, where he had that very morning received a reward of merit. One of us went and informed the school- master of his death. We left his clothes in the school-room, and good Parson Preedom was sent for; and he carried the sorrowful tidings to the poor drowned boy’s mother. I have heard the neigh- bors say it was a heart-breaking scene; that she had been to the door many times to look for us; had cut up the plum cake, and prepared the tea; but that day none of us dared to venture near her. It was several days before the dead body of our companion was discovered, when most of his schoolfellows attended the funeral. It was the first heavy sorrow that many of us had ever felt, for he was a great favor- ite with us all_—Boy’s Summer Book, German English. n English lady, resident at Cob- lentz, one day wishing to order of her German servant, who did not understand English, a boiled fowl for dinner, Grettel was summoned, and the experiment began. It was one | of the lady’s fancies, that the less her words resembled her native tongue, the more they must be like German. So her first attempt was to tell the maid that she wanted a cheeking, or keeking. The maid opened her eyes and mouth, and shook her head. “It’s to cook,” said the mis- tress, “to cook, to put in an iron thing, pit, pot.” “Isht understand risht,” said the maid. “It is a thing to eat,” said her mistress, “for dinner—for deener—with sauce, soace, sowose. What, on earth, am I to do?” exclaimed the lady, in despair, but still made another attempt. “It’s a little creature—a bird—a bard—a board— a hen—a hone—a fowl—a fool; it’s all covered with feathers—fathers—feeders !” “Ha, ha!” cried the delighted German, at last getting hold of a catch-word, “ja, ja!—feders |—ja woh ;” and away went Grettel, and in half an hour returned tri- umphantly with a bundle of stationer’s quills !— English paper. A Large Business. t is said that in the Bank of Eng- land no fewer than sixty folio vol- umes, or ledgers, are daily filled with writing accounts! To produce these volumes, the paper having been previously manufactured elsewhere, eight men, three steam presses, and two hand- presses, are continually kept going within the bank! In the copperplate printing department, twenty-eight thousand bank- notes are thrown off daily; and so ac- curately is the number indicated by ma- chinery, that to steal a single note with- out detection is an impossibility. THE YOUTHS CABINET. The Contrary Boy. o you Know what a contrary boy is? Iwill tell you. He is one who is never satisfied with what he has, but always wants some- thing different. If I were to say to you, “Come James, and see what a pretty pic- ture I have got here;” and you should say, “No, I don’t want a picture, you said you would bring me a pretty book,’”— that would be being contrary. If your father should bring you home a little cart to draw about the room, and you should say, “I don’t want a cart, I don’t like carts, I want a horse and whip, like Wil- liam’s,” that would be very contrary. Now I knew a little boy once, who was very unhappy a great deal of his time, because he would not be pleased with the play-things he had, but always wanted another kind, or something else. This fittle boy had a very kind father and mo- ther, who loved him very much, and who tried to make him happy. They bought him good clothes to wear; they gave him good things to eat, whenever he was hun- gry ; and they bought him a great many pretty play-things. But though they were so very kind, this boy was some times so naughty as to cry when they gave him a new play-thing, because he had wanted a cart, or a whip, perhaps, instead of a pretty box of wooden blocks. If they had bought him either of these, he would have wanted the blocks or something else. Nobody liked to give Charles any play-things, or sugar-plums, or anything else, because they did not make him hap- py; and they did not make him happy because he would not be pleased, but al- ways thought of something else which he fancied he would rather have. One day Charles’s mother came into the room where he was playing, and said, “Charles, your little brother William is going to walk with Susan; would you like to go too ?” “Yes,” said he, “but I shall want to wear my new cap.” “But I told you the other day,” said his mother, “that you could not wear it for a whole week again, because you threw it upon the floor when you came in yes- terday, instead of hanging it on its nail.” “Then I don’t want to go,” said Charles. “Very well,” said his mother; and calling to Susan, she told her she need not to wait any longer. “But I shall want to go,” said Charles, . beginning to cry. “You must not go now,” said his mo- ther, “for you said you did not want to go, just because you felt contrary, and out of humor.” His mother then sat down to work. Charles, finding it was useless to cry, dried his tears, and began throwing his play-things about the room. “Don’t do so,” said his mother; “ you will break that pretty box, and your white cards, with the pretty colored letters, will get soiled, and not fit to be used.” “J don’t care if they do,” said Charles; “it is not a pretty box, and I don’t like the cards.” His mother rose, took away all his play- things, and left him sitting upon the floor, with nothing to do. As she took no no- tice of his cross looks, he presently went to the window, and stood on a little stool, looking to see the horses and carriages passing, and soon he began to feel good- humored again. THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. 369 a eer “Oh ! mother,” said he, “ there are two beautiful little dogs in the street, and a little boy running after them. Oh! how I should like a little dog. Mother, will you buy me one?” and he ran to his mother, and looked up in her face. “What would you do with a dog,” said his mother, “if you had one?” “Oh! I should play with him; I would put some things in my cart, and tie the dog to it, and let him draw it to mar- ket, just like the dog in William's pic- ture.” “But I am afraid,” said his mother, “that if your father should buy you a dog, you would sometimes get out of humor with him, and then you would say it was an ugly dog, and you did not want it any more.” “No, I would not,” said Charles; “I should always love my little dog.” “So you said, if I would buy you a new cap, you would be a good boy, and never give me any trouble about it, but yesterday you forgot your promise, and did not put it in its place; and to-day you have made me very unhappy by your bad temper. And you have displeased God too, for he was looking directly into your heart when you said you did not want to go with Susan, and saw that you were saying what was not true.” “But I will remember next time, if you will only get me a little dog.” Just then William came into the room with a large piece of cake in his hand, which a lady had given him. He went up to his brother, and breaking it in two pieces, offered him one of them. “No, I want the other piece,” said Charles. | “But I can’t give it to you,” said Wil- liam; “I want it myself.” “Then I won’t have any,” said Charles, impatiently. | “Keep all the cake yourself, William,” said his mother ; “ Charles must not have any, because he is not a good boy.” “But I do want some,” said Charles, beginning te cry very loud. Then his mother went to the door, and calling Susan, told her to take Charles into the other room, and keep him there until he was perfectly good-humored. » $0 you see Charles lost a pleasant walk and a nice piece of cake, and, after all, had to be sent away from his kind mother, just be- cause he would be a contrary boy. Do you think he was happy? In the afternoon, Charles, and his bro- thers and sisters, went to play in the meadows. It was a beaut) day, for the sun shone very splendidly, and the birds were singing merrily. After having amused themselves for some time, so that they began to feel tired, they sat down to rest under the shade of an overhanging tree. “Here is a beautiful flower, Susan,” said Charles; “it is prettier by far, than any which you have gathered ; would you not like to have it? if you would, I will give it you. Here, Susan, take it— I know it will please you.” “Thank you, my dear brother,” replied his sister; “it really is very handsome, and I am sure it will be a great addition to my nosegay.” She then stretched out her arm for the purpose of taking it—but just as she had hold of it, the contrary boy drew back his hand with great force, saying, “ No, I want it myself;” by which means the flower was destroyed. The next day, as these two little boys were playing in the yard, they looked up, 370 and saw a carriage, drawn by two large white horses, stop at the door. It was their aunt’s. She had brought her little son and daughter, named James and Mary, to spend the afternoon with their cousins, and all looked as happy as if they were expecting to have a rare good time ; and so they were. Their aunt went into the house, and the children played together out in the yard. When they were tired of that, they went into the mowing field, where the hay was spread to dry, and began to throw it upon each other. This they en- joyed very much, till Charles began to cry, and say they should not throw the hay upon him. He wanted to pelt the others, but was not willing to have them pelt him. this contrary boy spoiled the whole play, and he cried so loud that his mother had to call him into the house. When he was gone, James laid down in the hay, and told his sister and cousin to cover him up in it. When he was hidden entirely, so that they could not see him, he jumped up suddenly, and ran to catch them, with an armful of hay, to pay them for treating him so. They laughed very loud, and were very happy, now they had no one to disturb them with crying. They were soon called in to tea. Charles had not been very well in the morning, and his mother was afraid to give him as many strawberries in his milk as the rest. So Charles began to cry, and said he would not have any. His mother then sent him out of the room, and did not allow him to return until his cousins had gone. You see how many pleasant things he lost by being so contrary. His mother said she could not buy him a dog, until he had learned to be a good boy. His THE YOUTH’S CABINET. cousins said they did not want to go and see him again, for he spoiled their play; and when his mother went to see his aunt, she took William, but left Charles at home. She said she could not take him with her until he was willing to do as others wished to have him, and not al- ways cry to have his own way. By-and- by, Charles learned that it was better to be pleasant at all times, and not get out of humor when things did not exactly suit him; and then everybody loved him, for he was a good little boy in every other respect.—English Magazine. Never Give a Kick for a Hit. LEARNED a good lesson when I was a little girl, says a lady. One frosty morning, I was looking out of the window into my father’s barn-yard, where stood many cows, oxen and horses, waiting to drink. It was a cold morning. The cattle all stood very still and meek, till one of the cows attempted to turn round. In making the attempt, she hap- pened to hit her next neighbor; where- upon, the neighbor kicked and hit another. In five minutes, the whole herd were kick- ing each other with fury. My mother laughed, and said, “See what comes of kicking when you are hit. Just so, I have seen one cross word set a whole family by the ears some frosty morning.” Afterward, if my brothers or myself were a little irritable, she would say, “Take care, my children; remember how the fight in the barn-yard began. Never give back a kick for a hit, and you will save yourself and others a deal of trouble.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 371 s the largest land bird in England. It is larger than the turkey. This bird was once very numerous there, but at present it is very rarely found. One reason, perhaps, why there are so few of them seen now, is owing to the delicacy of their flesh. They are very highly val- ued on this account. Their usual custom is to confine themselves within the circuit of an extensive barren plain. This they do to avoid the hunter. Having sentinels continually looking out for danger, the moment an enemy is discovered, notice is given to the company, and they instantly take to flight. It is in vain that the cun- ning hunter creeps cautiously and stealth- ily along toward them without making any noise. They are too wide awake to allow the enemy ‘to approach near enough ) + \»- f _ agra ah te-s The Bustard | « to hit them with the contents of a fowl- ing-piece. They are sometimes run down by greyhounds, however. When , they have been eating too much, so that they cannot move as rapidly as they otherwise could, the greyhound succeeds in tiring them out and capturing them. The bus- tard runs off when he sees the dog, and flaps his wings, so as to gather air enough under them to enable him to rise. In the mean time, the enemy approaches nearer and nearer, till it is too late for the bird to think of obtaining safety by flight; for, just as he begins to rise in the air, as the bird himself very well ‘knows, there is always a loss of time. “He'is obliged to continue on foot, and so he is taken. Bustards are not as numerous in England. _as they formerly were. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. A Conversation about Death. H mer is dead |” “Ts she, my son?” “Yes, sir, she’s dead: Mary has just come from the house, and she says that she stood by the head of the bed, and looked over the headboard, and there she saw her die. I am so sorry !” .“ Are you sorry ?” “O yes, sir, 1 am; 1 am so Sorry. It made my heart ache to think of such a loss as she will be.to her mother, and to all of us children.¥ Does your heart ever ache, papa %” “Yes, Tommy. I’ve had my heart- aches, and many of them; but you seem to forget that it is only two short years since our precious little Emma, your sis- ter, was laid in the grave—the last of our household, Tommy, except you and my- self. I think, my son, that it is reason for one’s heart to ache at such a time. It is not every one who has a heart to feel such sorrows as you have described. 0, no: we need not be ashamed to cry, when our tears flow from an affectionate sorrow. I should regret that the fountain of tears was ever dried up in your heart. [ would have you always feel for the sor- rows of others, and to sympathize with their griefs, even to tears.” “Yes, sir; our poor, sweet little sister Emma—lI often have cried for her and for you, papa, to think that your little pet, as she always used to call herself, would. sit upon your lap, and lay her smooth.face beside yours 20 more.” - “But your crying, Tommy, could not call the dear one to life any more; nor did my own keen sorrows and heart-aches ever revive one feature of that sweet face, or awake her bright smiles, or kindle a spark of intelligence in that pretty eye of hers. O no, Tommy; all was hushed and closed forever; and I had, from that time, only to live upon the past, and to call to mind how the dear one did look, and how she spoke, and how she smiled ; and the music of her voice, too, all now so hushed into stillness forever !” “But you can remember her, can you not, papa? and little Anna’s parents, they can remember little Anna even though she be dead, can’t they ?” “©, surely they can, and the memory of such a child will ever be sweet. ‘A thing of beauty,’ says the poet, ‘is a joy forever? and it has often revived me to bear in mind that our Emma was ‘a thing of beauty,’ and that I could always take a mournful satisfaction in calling up her image as pictured upon my mind. Here, Tommy, read what Burns says, while his heart was smarting under sorrow.” ‘Still o’er these scenes the memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ; Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams thin channels deeper wear.’ “T believe, papa, I am sorry I told you that little Anna was dead, and that I said so much about it.” “Why so?” “ Because it makes you so sad.” “© well, my son, you know it is said in that best of all books, the Bible, that it is better to go to the house of mourn- ing, than to the house of feasting : and so you will often have occasion through THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 373 life to observe, that there is a hol y sadness about our sorrows for the departed, that leaves a fragrance of good feeling behind. We mourn, it is true, but we mourn not as those who have no hope; nor need our heaviness of heart be such a burden as you seem to imagine. Have you never observed, my son, that there is a sense of weight hanging about the mind after hav- ing indulged in excessive levity ?” “ No, sir, ’'ve never noticed it in my- self, though I think I have noticed it in others—mostly in grown people.” “Well, I know children are blessed with light-heartedness, which is a part of their nature. But for myself, I weary with trifling, and my heart grows sad amid laughter and glee; and when it does so, I seek retirement and prayer. There is One, Tommy, who seeth in secret, and to whom the burdened and heavy-laden heart can go, and in whom it can find such comfort as the world cannot give. I would have you know, while young in years, that there is a sweet comfort and a true joy in the religion of the Bible.” “ Well, sir, little Anna Kramer's father and mother are as sorry, I know, as peo- ple can be; for how can they help it, when they remember how good, and how kind, and how sweet a child little Anna always was—and that’s what makes me so sorry too, for nobody could help loving that little girl, I am sure. But then, as Mr. Reed told us when sister Emma died, ‘the dear child is better off;—don’t you remember, papa, he said so?” “T do remember it well, and I am as- sured that it is true. ‘This is an evil world, and it is so full of temptation !” “But we should not wish people dead, should we ?” “Certainly not ; for by such a wish we would break the sixth commandment ; but we may have faith in God, and a dis- position of heart to rely upon Him; and then, above all, there is the blessed pro- mise and hope of seeing again those from whom we have been severed here— the loved and lost’—lost not forever, but only lost, except in memory, for the present. We shall join them again, if we ourselves are virtuous and pure, and love the Savi- our. Do you not believe it, my son ?” “Yes, sir; I believe it, but I am afraid, not with so much confidence as you do.” E. H. K. ‘ Brotherly Affection. ustoms vary in different countries. In England, when a man dies without making a will, his proper ty goes to his eldest son. Mr. Glanville, who lived in the days of Charles II. had an eldest son, who was incurably vicious; and seeing no hope of reforming him, the father gave his property to his second son. When Mr. Sergeant Glan- ville died, and his eldest son learned what was done, he became greatly dejected, and in a short time his character under-— went an entire change. When his bro- ther perceived this, he invited him and a party of his friends to a feast. After sev- eral dishes had been served, he ordered one, covered up, to be set before his bro- ther; which, on being opened, was found to contain the writings that conveyed to him the estate. This, he remarked, was what he was sure his father would have done, had he lived to witness the happy change which they saw. 374 THE YOUTH'’S CABINET. The Geysers. BY PROF. ALDEN. «] should think it would be one of the most wonderful sights in the world.” “Tt is so.” “ Does it rise swiftly ?” «Very swiftly. Sometimes large stones are thrown up. Sometimes visitors throw stones in the pipes, and they are thrown out and up into the air, where the water is thrown up, and sometimes they are kept up in the air for four or five minutes by the action of the water. There are 2 great many smaller Geysers in the vicinity of this larger one. Mr. Henderson, who visited them in 1814, thinks he discovered the key of one of the largest of them.” “The key! what did he mean ” “They throw out the steam and water, as I said, at intervals. After there have been loud reports, and a shaking of the earth, and an ejection of water and steam, they will be quiet for some time, so that the spectator may have to wait several hours, perhaps, before he may see them in operation again. Mr. Henderson found, that, by throwing 4 quantity of large stones into the opening, he could cause it to make an irruption whenever he pleased. At one time, when it had been excited to action in this way, it threw up jets more than two hundred feet high.” “Tt seems as though he made it angry by throwing stones into it.” “When the sun was shining on these jets, they presented a most brilliant ap- pearance. The water appeared as white as snow, and rainbows were seen all about ‘t. Besides the water-pipes, there are great many steam-pipes in the vicinity— that is, holes in the earth, out of which + nose Geysers are very wonderful things,” said Mr. Horton, as he closed a book he bad been read- ing for an hour or two. «What are they, papa?” said Willy ; “ won't you please to tell me ?” “They are fountains that throw vast quantities of hot water and steam to a great height into the air.” “Tn what part of the world are they found ?” “In Iceland. One of them, which is called the Great Geyser, is described as presenting the appearance of a large mound. You go up its sides, and you find a large basin at the top. It is not quite round, being fifty-six feet across in one way, and forty-six the other, and about four feet deep. In the centre there is a hole or pipe going down into the earth seventy-eight feet. This pipe is about eight or ten feet in diameter, widen- ing as it opens into the basin. The hot water rises up through the pipe, and fills the basin, and then runs off over the sides. Every few hours there are heard loud re- ports, like that of distant artillery, in the eatth beneath the basin, and then water is ejected from the pipe with great vio- Jence and to a great height.” “ How high does it rise %” “Jt varies: sometimes the column of water is thrown up twenty or thirty feet, sometimes fifty feet, and sometimes as high as seventy or eighty feet. Think of a column of water eight or ten feet. in diameter, thrown up seventy feet, with a tremendous roar, and a cloud of steam along with it ?” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 375 aa Panne ne columns of steam issue. The clouds of steam sometimes thrown out cover the whole heavens from the view.” “Ts the water hot water ?” “Yes, it is very hot, and spectators of ten get scalded by its falling upon them. At one time, Mr. Henderson was looking into the pipe of one of the largest, and the column of scalding water came up as swift as an arrow, within a few inches of his face.” “T guess he ran. But what is the cause of the water’s spurting up so ?” “T can tell you the general cause by which it is thrown up, though I cannot explain the particular manner in which it is done. The volcanic fires underneath are the cause. The fires are near the sur- face, and the phenomena we have been considering are caused by their action,” “Isn't it dangerous to be there ?” “Tt is. moment.” “ What makes the fire there ?” “T can’t answer that question. Proba- bly all the interior of ‘the earth is one mass of fire.” “One mass of fire! Do you suppose there is fire under our feet ?” “TI presume there is; the crust between us and the fire is much thicker than in volcanic countries.” “ But still it may burn through. I did not think that we were in so much dan- ger.” “ We are always in danger—are never safe but when in the Almighty’s hand. There alone is safety. If we put our trust in Him, we are safe anywhere. If we do not, we are safe nowhere. Put your trust in God, then, my children, at all times and in all places.” —Selected. V. 24 ¢ The crust of earth over the fire is very thin, and may fall in at any Anecdotes of the Stork. w former times, storks were objects of great veneration in Germany. The houses which these birds alight- ed on were supposed to be under the special favor of Heaven. It was usual to contrive a small, flat place on the roof of the house, for them to build their nests upon. “I observed,” says a French tra- veler, in Germany, “the stéeples of four or five different churches that were honor- ed by the nests of these birds. Some people are so fortunate as to attract them into their poultry yards, where they stalk about with the hens, though they are careful not to yield any particle of their freedom. If any one were to kill a stork, he would be pursued like an Egyptian in the olden time for killing an ibis.” There was a fire, a long time ago, by which the town of Delft, in Holland, was burned to ashes. A stork, who had built her nest upon a chimney, strove, with all her might, to save her little ones. She was seen spreading her wings around them, to keep off the sparks and burning cinders. By and by the flame seized her, but she took no care for her own safety. She only thought of her young. There she remained, trying to save them, until she was burned to death, She preferred to die with her young, rather than fly away and leave them in the flames. This interesting story was written in verse, by a poet who lived in 1503. The title of the poem was “The Stork of Delft, or the Model of Maternal Love.” ee Money is the largest slaveholder in the United States. DB 376 THE YOUTHS CABINET. The Bishop and the Birds. BISHOP, who had for his arms two birds, with the motto, “ Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing ?” thus explained the matter to an intimate friend : Fifty or sixty years ago, a little boy re- sided at a village near Dillengen, on the banks of the Danube. His parents were very poor, and almost as soon as the boy could walk, he was sent into the woods to pick up some sticks for fuel. When he grew older, his father taught him to pick the juniper-berries, and carry them to a neighboring distiller, who wanted them for making Hollands. Day by day the poor boy went to his task, and on his road he passed the open windows of the village school, where he saw the schoolmaster teaching a number of boys of about the same age as him- self. He looked at these boys with feel- ings of envy, so earnestly did he long to be among them. He was quite aware it was in vain to ask his father to send him to school, for he knew that his parents had no money to pay the schoolmaster ; THE YOUTH’S CABINET. and he often passed the whole day think- ing, while he was gathering the juniper- berries, what he could possibly do to please the schoolmaster, in the hope of getting some lessons. One day, when he was walking sadly along, he saw two of the boys belonging to the school, trying to set a bird-trap, and he asked one what it was for? The boys told him that the schoolmaster was very fond of fieldfares, and that they were setting a trap to catch some. This de- lighted the poor boy, for he recollected that he had often seen a great number of these birds in the juniper-wood, where they came to eat the berries, and he had no doubt but he could catch some. The next day the little boy borrowed an old basket of his mother, and when he went to the wood he had the great delight to catch two fieldfares. He then put them in the basket, and tying an old handkerchief over it, he took them to the schoolmaster’s house. Just as he arrived at the door, he saw the two little boys who had been setting the trap, and with some alarm he asked them if they had caught any birds? They answered in the negative; and the boy, his heart ‘beating with joy, gained admittance into the schoolmaster’s presence. In a few words he told how he had seen the boys setting the trap, and how he had caught the birds to bring them as a present to the master. “ A present, my good boy !” cried the schoolmaster; “you do not look as if you could afford to make presents. Tell me your price, and I will pay it to you, and thank you besides.” “T would rather give them to you, sir, if you please,” said the boy. The schoolmaster looked at the boy 377 who stood before him with bare head and feet, and ragged trousers, that reached only half-way down his naked legs. “You are a very singular boy,” said he, “but if you will not take money, you must tell me what I can do for you, as I cannot aecept your present without doing something for it in return. Is there any- thing I can do for you!” . “Oh yes!” said the boy, trembling with delight; “you can do for me what I should like better than anything else.” “ What is that?” asked the master. “Teach me to read,” cried the boy, . falling on his knees; “ oh, dear, kind sir, teach me to read !” | The schoolmaster complied. The boy came to him at all leisure hours, and learned so rapidly that the teacher recom- mended him to a nobleman residing in the neighborhood. This gentleman, who was as noble in mind as in birth, patron- ized the poor boy, and sent him to school at’ Ratisbon. opportunities ; and when he rose, as he soon did, to. wealth and honors, he adopt- ed two fieldfares as his arms. The boy profited by. his “ What do you mean?” cried the. bish- op’s friend. “I mean,” returned the bishop, with a smile, “ that the poor boy was MYSELF.” — Selected. Time. The bell strikes One. We take no note of Time . To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,. It is the knell of m departed hours: Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signalithat domands despatch : How much is to be done? My hopes and tears Start up alarmed, and o’er life’s narrow space, Look down—on what? a fathomless abyss 5 A dread eternity! how surely mine! And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner un. the bounties-of an hour +-—~ Young 378 Conceit. Conceit, like owl-light, indistinctly shows Surrounding scenes, and darkens what it knows. HATEVER may be our natural or acquired accomplishments, conceit spoils them all. It dis- gusts the sensible, and exposes its posseasor to the derision even of fools. It throws a shade over talents not con- temptible in themselves; it checks the progress of improvement ; it shuts up the avenues of knowledge, and is an eternal bar to social regard and solid fame. He who is very vain of his own ac- quirements, at an early period of life, may certainly be pronounced very shal- low; for he either betrays his ignorance or his folly. He feels himself incapable of ascending the hill of knowledge by his own address, and therefore pins his faith on the sleeve of others, or he grovels at the bottom, and in his limited sphere of vision, sees nothing he cannot reach, or thinks he does not already possess. The more enlarged our conceptions, and the higher our views are carried, the more sensible we become of our wants and im- perfections, and the less we presume on our present attainments in virtue or learn- ing. Conceit, however, is all-sufficient ; and as it blinds the mind to a sense of defects, so it obstructs the possibility of their removal. But let a tale instruct, if reasoning should fail. A mender of cracked earthenware had many years been settled in a certain capi- tal town, and had gained just celebrity for his ingenuity, industry, and success. He could alter the spout of a bad pour- ing tea-pot, rivet a cracked dish or plate, cement a delicate tea-cup, scour out a big- bellied jar without injuring the substance ; and sometimes he could line a crazy pitcher THE YOUTH’S CABINET. with such art and effect, that.it was ren- dered almost as good as new. Business flowed in upon him apace: he was never idle; and as accidents will often happen to brittle materials, he was never unem- ployed. He became respectable, and be- gan to grow rich. He had a favorite son, whom he wished to bring up to the same business. He early taught him the whole arcana of ce- ments and rivets, of simple and com- pound fractures in Wedgewood and queen wares, delf and china, of scouring, anneal- ing, and joining, &c. The lad profited by his father’s instructions, and was likely in due time, with sufficient practice, to make a clever fellow in his way. It is seldom, however, that people are satisfied with their situation; and hence their mis- ery and disappointment. The old cobbler of earthenware was desirous that his son should know all the new mysteries of the trade. He sent him to the metropolis to profit by the instruc- tions of the most eminent artisans in his line. Now it is well known, that in the metropolis every one follows a separate branch of business, and has a peculiar method of his own. The youngster had several artists to attend; each was full of: his own importance, and condemned the practice of his brethren. The novice imbibed all their discordant sentiments, without giving himself the trouble to reflect whether they were found- ed in reason, or sanctioned by experience. One taught him to scour out pitchers by a new process, another to mend tea-pots by a peculiar cement, a third to rivet bread baskets and cups by a mode ‘n- known to the country. The men he studied under were if roit enough in their respective little watks ; THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 379 but they had no notion of the general business. They understood parts; but the whole was too complex for their com- prehension, or had never fallen under their view. The young mender of earthenware, however, soon thought himself so wise, and became so much a slave to the opin- ions of his masters, that he despised all the mysteries he had learned from his father, and fancied himself the first genius in the craft. He returned to the country, full of himself and his acquirements ; he vaunted of the difficult jobs he had performed, and the wonders he had seen; ridiculed the modes of operation he had originally been taught, and nearly staggered the faith of some who had grown veterans in the trade. His father, too, thought him more sapient than himself; and often stood in mute astonishment to hear him talk of cementing cups which had been broken into an hundred pieces, of adding a handle to one utensil, and a spout to another. Talking, however, was all that he had yet performed ; but his vanity and conceit were immense, and he longed to exhibit his skill. Some friends of his father were willing to trust him with a job: the old women in particular thought him a prodi- gy; and it is even said, that cooks and. housemaids made some slips to let him try his abilities. In attempting, however, to mend a slight crack in a cream-pot by a new dis- covery, he let it slip through his fingers, and spoiled a whole set of tea-table equi- page. In scouring out a jar that had be- come crusted with mince-pies and sweet- meats, he unfortunately made a hole in the side; the spout of a vessel that want- ed only some little repairs, he quite broke off by his bungling, and sent it home with a tin tube. Other accidents hap- pened in his hands; but he was still equally conceited, and proud of the secrets he had. learned. His failings he always ascribed to causes not in his power to pre- vent; they might have happened to the most knowing of the craft; the materials he had to work upon were bad, or the common tools were improper. , At last his father saw through his shal- low pretensions, and found that business was failing from his presumption. “Bobby,” says he, “I thought as how you might have gained some improve- ment in town, and therefore I was at the expense of putting you under the best masters in the trade; but I find you have only gained conceit, which teaches you to despise, and infallibly will make you de- spised. My customers will not submit to your new-fangled experiments. If you really know any valuable discoveries in the craft, show them by your practice, but never boast of them. Believe me, one ounce of practice is worth a pound of theory. It is not what you think you know, but what you can actually perform, that will make you a good mender of earthenware, or a wise man. Mind me, Bobby; leave vanity and conceit, and stick to experience; or you will lose the business of the old established shop, and at the same time be reckoned an empty fellow.” We are not told what effect this judi- cious advice had upon him; but we wish every youngster who feels himself puffed up with vanity and conceit, to think of Bobby, the mender of the cracked earth- enware, and to endeavor to profit by his mistake.—Selected, 380 THE YOUTHS CABINET. He ; object than to afford amusement. Hard Reading. will aim to communicate useful knowl- edge, to ‘Jlustrate valuable truth, or to awaken pure and lofty feelings within the youthful breast. The young must read books on sub- jects which cannot be made interesting — that is, after the manner required by John. Grave works on history, and on subjects requiring reasoning, must be read if they would have strong and well-dis- ciplined minds. Those who read only for amusement will have feeble minds. Those who read thoroughly works which compel them to fix the attention, and ex- ercise their understanding to grasp the meaning of the author, will have strong minds. Robert Hall, before he was nine years old, read some of the profoundest works of the great Jonathan Edwards. Children should ask their parents to select for them such books as are best adapted to promote the growth of mind.— Selected. woutp not read such a hard book,” said John to his friend David. “I read easy books.” “Pather says this will ymprove my mind more than any of the story- books,” said David. «Jt, is not interesting, is it ” “Tt grows interesting the more I read ‘t. I think I shall like it very much.” “] tried to read a book a good deal like that, and it was not at all interesting. I could not keep my mind upon it at all. When I got to the bottom of the page, I could not tell what I had been reading about. I want a book to be so interest- ing that I cannot think of anything else till I get through with it.” “ Father says that if my attention wan- ders when I am reading, | must go back and read over again the portion that I do not recollect. I have read some of the pages of this book a great many times before I could keep my attention fixed upon the thoughts contained in them.” «] do not wish to take so much trou- ble when I read. It makes it too hard work.” The book that David was reading when John spoke to him as above noticed, was Watts on the Mind—a book which con- tains a great many judicious rules for mental culture. David’s father had given it to his son, and requested him to read it carefully. It is a book which all young persons would do well to study. There are too many young persons, who, like John, read only for amusement. They seldom derive much benefit from reading. Books which were written merely to amuse, should be avoided. No man who loves the young will write with no higher A Noble Boy. poy was once tempted by some of his companions to pluck ripe cher- ries from a tree which his father had forbidden him to touch. “You need not be afraid,” said one of his companions ; “ for if your father should find out that you had them, he is so kind that he would not hurt you.” «That is the very reason,” replied the boy, “ why [should not touch them. It is true, my father would not hurt me; yet my disobedience would hurt my fa- ther, and that would be worse than any" thing else.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 381 A Visit to the Locksmith’s. BY THEODORE THINEER. pon’r know but I am behind the age, so far as mechanic arts and manufactures are concerned. I think so every time I go to the fair of the American Institute. I had such a suspi- cion, too, the other day, when, in accord- ance with the invitation of a friend, I paid a visit tw the factory of Messrs. Day and Newell, the celebrated locksmiths that you have heard so much about. I went all over the establishment, and one of the partners was kind enough to explain everything to me that I could understand. I must confess that, before this visit, I had not the faintest idea of the perfection to which the business of lock-making was carried in our city. Nor had I any con- ception of the peculiar feature in the most approved locks of this establishment, in which their excellence consists. Why, reader, these manufacturers make a bank- lock, called the “ parautoptic bank-lock,” so adjusted, that you can change the form of the whole inside of the lock, by simply thrusting in the key, after an al- teration in it, which can be made in less than two minutes; and not only so, but the lock, so changed, can then be opened only by that key. This, even, is not all. The key is so made, that you can trans- pose the separate bits of which it is com- posed in hundreds of thousands of differ- ent ways; and you can change the form of the whole interior of the lock every time it receives the key with the bits so transposed. Nobody can open the lock, after the new alteration, except by the very key that altered it, or by an exact duplicate. Suppose, now, that a rogue wants to get into a bank, which is pro- vided with one of these locks, capable of one million of alterations. He takes a key of the general form of that which was used in the lock. But as he does not know, of course, what particular form the key took, when it turned the bolt of the lock, he must guess at it. Well, he may — as well guess one form as any other. He adjusts his key, thrusts it into the lock, and tries to open it. Now, unless he has hit the exact combination, he cannot open the lock ; and he has only one chance in a million of hitting the combination. One would sup- pose such a lock was secure enough for all practical purposes. But these enter- prising men have made locks, where the chances against the success of the bank- ‘robber are increased to an almost infi- nite extent. [ saw a splendid lock, just completed, which was intended as a pres- ent to the Emperor of Russia. The com- capable, if my memory is not faulty, amount to upward of four hundred and seventy-nine millions! You can easily see, that the burglar who should attempt to rob a. building, secured by one of these locks, would stand a pretty poor chance of getting in by means of the lock. One man has the same chance of entering as another—that is, he has practically no chance at all. The lock is just as secure against the manufacturer as against any- body else. tion of the time it would occupy to go through with all the changes in the key of the largest of the locks manufactured binations of which the key in this lock is — I have been making a bit of a calcula- at ee a ee eS 382 THE YOUTHS’ CABINET. when the Duke of Wellington rushed before their firelocks, and commanded a momentary pause while he addressed the prisoner: “ You have offended against the laws of God, of honor, and of vir- tue—the grave is open before you—in a fow short moments your soul will appear before its Maker—your prosecutor com- plains of your sentence—the man whom you have robbed would plead for your life, and is horror-struck with the rapidity of your judgment. You are a soldier, you have been brave, and, as report says, until now, even virtuous. Speak bold- ly !—in the face of heaven, and as a sol- dier of an army devoted to virtue and good order, declare now your own feel- ings as to your sentence.” “ General,” said the man, “retire, and let my com- rades do their duty; when a soldier for- gets his honor, life becomes disgraceful, and an immediate punishment is due as an example to the army—fire.” “ You have spoken nobly,” said the duke, with a tear in his eye. “ You have saved your life—how can I destroy a repentant sin- ner, whose words are of greater value to the troops than his death would be! Soldiers, bear this in mind, and may & sense of honor always deter you from infamy.” The troops rent the air with huzzas, and the criminal fell prostrate be- fore the duke. by this firm. How Jong do you think it would take a man, reader? Supposing he was two minutes in performing one of the changes, he would have to live until he was nearly fourteen millions of years old, before he got through with his task. —— Anecdote of the Duke of Wellington. urine the campaign of the allied troops in Paris, a French citizen, who was returning from the coun- try through the Champs Elysees, where the troops were encamped, was robbed of his watch by a sergeant in the British army. Complaint was immedi- ately made to the commanding officer, and the troops were paraded before the Frenchman, who was thus enabled to sin- gle out the offender. A court-martial was held, and the criminal condemned to die on the following morning. As early as four o'clock, the whole of the allied army was assembled in the Bois de Bou- - logne, near Paris, where the prisoner was to undergo the sentence. The charge upon which he had been tried and con- victed was read aloud, and the unfortu- nate man prepared for the presence of an offended Maker. Not a murmur Fan through the ranks. The justice of the decree was acknowledged by every sol- dier; and if the short lapse of time be- tween the offence and its solemn expiation excited feelings of terror, they were min- gled with respect for the stern severity of their commander. The drums beat, and the black flag waves mournfully in the air. ‘The ministers of justice had Never hold Malice. Oh! never “hold malice ;” it poisons our life With the gall-drop of hate and the night-shade of strife. Let us scorn what we must, and despise where 4 ‘ . we may, raised the engines of destruction, and the | But let anger, like sunlight, go down with the fatal word “ Fire” was half ejaculated, day. THE YOUTH’S CABINET. ren a sme =U MY { ttf y Tt t LAA ( Wi " \ AHA / eT) mu? / 4 CZ hy J ‘ ies) + ‘hy | a Mi} Wh My? fn No ae an, y cue . ALL nu Pa aha S 4 EOS A , rf Wit» . MHF y L i" Se ’ on ig I] i) j M/ Y i; h (Wi Wh ey Hi Hi a i \ ro : . ies 0, SS - < tee OOK UN ya ] Ni Le The Wild Sheep. w some parts of the world there is a kind of sheep, differing, in many respects, from our domestic sheep, called the musmon, or argali. It is found in Kamschatka, in the mountains of Greece, the islands of Cyprus, Sardinia, and Corsica, and the deserts of Tartary. This animal is supposed to be the primi- tive stock of all sheep. It is covered with hair, instead of wool. The general color of the hair over the body is brown, ap- proaching the hue of the red deer. The horns of these animals, as you will see by the picture, are very large. “With these weapons the sheep often maintain furious battles with each other. There are few animals more difficult to overtake than the argali. When pursued, he turns and doubles like a hare, scram- bling over the rocks with wonderful swift- : Fa er Se CMa 7 K ; Up Wf / yy / Waa) Vf (| OM 4, =i, RNY KALA NM OMA ee LAN | it HAN 4!) Rib Xp iN G4 Ph | 4 iy, } | Wy A 1 | MY \ Vy ya } NCL My a i " \\ tamed, when taken young. The form; upon the whole, seems far better adapted for agility and strength than that of the common sheep; and the argali is found competent to maintain himself, either by force or swiftness, against those animals that live by rapine. Such, indeed, is its extreme speed, that many have been in- clined to rank it rather among deer than sheep. In this, however, they are deceiv- ed, as the musmon has a mark entirely distinguishing it from that species, being known never to shed its horns. I wonder what would be. the result, if the common domestic sheep was allowed to run wild for several years. It seems quite probable to my mind, that in course of time, the race would go back a great many degrees toward the original stock, or native wild sheep. It would be an in- ness and dexterity. The lamb is easily | teresting experiment to try. 384 THE YOUTH’S CABINET. the widow and her daughters were much A Providential Guest. alarmed by this violent attack, and ran wipow at Dort, in Holland, who | almost frantic through different parts of b\ was very industrious, was left by | the house, exclaiming “ Murder! murder !” her husband, an eminent carpen- The son, having joined the soldier, with a ter, with a comfortable house, | case of loaded pistols, and the latter, some land, and two boats for carrying | screwing on his bayonet, and fresh prim- merchandise and passengers On the canals. | ing his piece, which was charged with She was also supposed to be worth ten | slugs, requested the women to keep them- thousand guilders in ready money, which | selves in a back room out of the way of she employed in a sail-cloth manufactory | danger. Soon after the door was burst in, two ruffians entered, and were instantly shot by the son. Two other associates of the dead men ‘mmediately returned the fire, but without effect; when the veteran stranger, taking ‘immediate advantage of the discharge of their arms, rushed on them like a lion, ran one through the body with his bayonet, and while the other was running away, lodged the con- tents of his piece between his shoulders, and he dropped dead on the spot. The son and the stranger then closed the door as well as they could, reloaded their arms, made a good fire, and watched till day- light. When the weavers and spinners of the manufactory came to Tesum® their employment, they were struck with hor- ror and surprise, at seeing four men dead near the house, where the soldier had dragged them, before he closed the door leading to the street. The burgomaster attended, and took the depositions of the family relative to this affair. The bodies of the ruffians were buried in a cross road, and a stone erected over the grave, with a suitable in- scription. The widow presented the soldier, who was seventy years old, with one hundred guineas, and the city settled a handsome pension on him for the rest of his life— Selected. for the purpose of increasing her fortune, and instructing her children, @ son and two daughters, in useful branches of busi- ness. | One night, about nine o'clock, in the year 1785, a person dressed in uniform, with a musket and broad-sword, came to her house, and requested lodging. “I let no lodgings, friend,” said the widow; “ and besides I have no spare bed, unless you sleep with my son, which I think very improper, on account of your being a perfect stranger to us all’ The soldier then showed a discharge from Diesbach’s regiment, signéd by the major, who gave - him an excellent character, and a passport from the governor of Breda. The widow, believing the stranger to be an honest man, called her son, and asked him if he would accommodate a veteran, who had served the republic thirty years with rep- utation, with part of his bed. The young man consented; the soldier was accord- ingly hospitably entertained, and at a seasonable hour withdrew to rest. Some hours afterwards, a loud knock was heard at the street door, which rous- ed the soldier, who moved softly down stairs, and listened at the hall-door, when the blows were repeated, and the door almost broken through by 4 sledge, or some heavy instrument. By this time THE YOUTHS CABINET. EDITORIAL TABLE