Field with manor in background
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I will tell you a tale of a great man who lovedjustice.
He had two sons whom he also loved.
Now, he had himself made a law, that whoever sought to harm the peace of the country where he lived, should die.
There was a sad cabal against the peace of the country soon after the law was made:
And the great man’s two dear sons were at the head of this wicked party. Their names were in the list of bad men.
This great man loved justice more than he loved his two sons.
He, therefore, made firm his heart, and sat upon his rich throne, and gave the word that his two sons should be brought before him;
And he passed sentence on them, as he would have done on strangers:
For, he thought, why should they not suffer for their faults?
We punish the poor and ignorant for their crimes:
So, it is just that we should punish the rich and those who know better, too.
And this great man gave orders that his sons should be beaten with rods; and that then their heads should be cut off.
And there he sat upon his seat, as judge,—pale and cold, but firm and brave.
And when all was past—when both his sons were dead, and their warm blood lay shed on the ground before him:
Then, when thejudgehad done hisduty, but not before, he gave way to the love of the father.
He arose and left his seat;
He went to his own house, and there wept and mourned many days.
The name of this great man was Brutus.
Think upon his name, but think more of the true love ofjusticeand judgment.
This little tale is a fact that happened at Rome.
You have heard of Rome, I dare say; and you will know more of it as you grow up.
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It is a very good amusement for ingenious boys at home, in the long winter evenings, to construct such philosophical instruments, or perform such experiments, as are practicable, with such materials and means as are within their reach. It is true, that this may sometimes make parents or an older sister some trouble, but with proper care on the part of the young philosophers, this trouble will not be great, and parents will generally be willing to submit to it for the sake of having their children engaged in an entertaining and instructive employment. We shall, therefore, give our readers such lessons in practical philosophy, as we suppose may be of use. In this article we will show them how they may, with few materials and ordinary ingenuity, construct anAir thermometer.
The materials which will be wanted are these:—aglass phial,—one that is broad at the base in proportion to its height, so as to stand firm, is desirable,—a glass tube of small bore, six or eight inches long,—a cork to fit the mouth of the phial,—a little sealing-wax, a lamp, and a small pitcher of water. The work may be safely done upon the parlour-table, provided that the materials are all placed upon a large tea-tray, with an old newspaper, or a sheet of wrapping-paper spread over it. The paper will then intercept any drops of hot sealing-wax which may chance to fall, and which might otherwise injure the tray, and the tray itself will receive whatever may be spilt.
The only article of the above materials in regard to which the reader will have any difficulty, is the tube. Such a tube, however, can usually be procured at an apothecary’s, at a very trifling expense. One about the dimensions of a pipe-stem will be best. In constructing the instrument, this tube is to be passed down through the cord, which is to be placed in the neck of the phial, the lower end to go below the surface of a little water, which is to be put in the bottom of the phial.
The appearance of the instrument, when completed and fitted with a scale, as will be explained hereafter, is represented in the annexed wood-cut. In constructing the instrument, the operations, or themanipulations, as the philosophers call them, are,
First, to bore a hole through the cork, to receive the tube.
Second, to cement the tube into the cork.
Third, to cement the cork into the phial.
Diagram of air thermometor
1. The first thing is to bore a hole through the cork, and this must be just large enough to admit the glass tube.—After turning in the gimlet a little way, it should be drawn out straight, by which means the chips will be drawn out, and then it should be put in again. For a gimlet will not clear its own way in cork, as it will in wood. By drawing it out, however, in the manner above described, taking care to operate gently, so as not to split the cork, and to guide the gimlet straight through the centre of the cork, the hole may be bored without much difficulty. If the hole is not quite large enough, it may be widened by a penknife which has a narrow blade, or it may be burnt out to a proper size with a hot knitting-needle, or a piece of iron wire. And thus the hole is bored through the cork.
2. The next thing is to cement the tube to the cork. In order to do this, the water is first to be poured into the phial. About one quarter or one fifth as much as the phial will contain, will be sufficient. When this is done, the neck of the phial inside should be wiped dry, for the cork is tobe sealed into it, and unless the glass is dry, the sealing-wax will not adhere. Then the tube is to be passed through the cork, and the cork put into its place, and the tube slipped down until the lower end reaches below the surface of the water, and nearly touches the bottom of the phial. Observe, then, at what part of the tube the cork comes, for this part is to be heated, and covered with sealing-wax, in order to seal it into the cork. It may be marked with a touch of ink from a pen, at a point just above where it issues from the cork. Then take out the cork with the tube from the phial, and slip the cork along down towards the lower end of the tube, so that you can put the wax upon the glass.
In order to cover the part of the tube, which is to pass through the cork, with sealing-wax, it must be heated; for sealing-wax will not adhere to glass, or any other smooth or hard substance, if it is cold. To heat glass requires some care. It must be heated gradually, and one part must not be made very hot, while the adjoining parts remain cold; for glass will not bear sudden changes of temperature, or a great difference of temperature in contiguous parts. Therefore, in heating the glass, you must proceed gradually. Hold the part over the flame of a lamp, but not so as to touch the flame, and move it backward and forward, so as to warm a portion of one or two inches in length, equally. Then you can hold it more steadily, in such amanner as to heat the central portion. As you do this, hold a stick of sealing-wax, so as to touch the hottest part of the glass with it occasionally, that is, the part immediately below the ink mark. When the glass is hot enough to melt the sealing-wax, the glass will coat itself with the wax. After holding it a moment over the flame, turning it round and round, so as to melt all parts of the wax equally, the cork is to be slipped back again over it into its place, where it will become firmly fixed, as the work cools. Thus the tube will be cemented into the cork.
3. Nothing now remains but to cement the cork into the neck of the phial. The cork ought to be of such a size, that it will go well down into the neck of the phial, so as to have the top of it a little below the upper part of the neck. For the whole of the upper part of the cork ought to be covered with sealing wax, in order to make it air tight, and this can be best done if the glass rises a little above the top of the cork. If necessary, therefore, the upper part of the cork must be carefully removed with a penknife, and then, when it is properly fitted, the sides may be covered with sealing wax, by heating the wax in the lamp and rubbing it on all around. When it is covered with a thin coat of wax, it should be held over the lamp a moment, turning it round and round, until it is melted in every part; and the neck of the phial should be heated in the same gradual andcautious manner recommended in the case of the tube. When both are of the proper temperature, the cork must be pressed down into its place. Before the wax cools, see that the bottom of the tube does not quite touch the bottom of the phial, and observe also that the tube stands perpendicular. If it does not, it may be gently pressed to one side or the other, as may be required, and held so until the wax has cooled, when it will retain its position. The top of the cork must then be covered with sealing wax, and the surface smoothed by holding it over a lamp until its inequalities run together. Thus the cork will be cemented into the phial, and the air thermometer completed, with the exception of the scale. And the following experiments can be performed with it:—
Exp. 1. On examining the instrument, it will be observed that there is a portion of air closely confined in the upper part of the phial. It cannot escape up the tube, for the water covers the lower end of the tube. If now the instrument is put into a warm place, so as to expand this body of air within the phial, the force of the expansion will press against the water, and cause a portion of it to rise in the tube. When so much water has thus ascended as is necessary to allow such a degree of additional space within, as will enable the expansive force of the air within exactly to balance the pressure in the top of the tube fromwithout, the water will remain at rest. If now the air is warmed still more, the expansion will cause the water to rise still higher, until the two forces are again in equilibrium.
Exp. 2. When the water has been forced into the tube as high as it will rise under the greatest heat to which it is safe to expose it, it may be carried again into a cool place. The heat which was in the air and the glass will now pass off, and the air within will lose some of its expansive force, and will evince a tendency to return to its former dimensions. This will be shown by the subsidence of the water in the tube. Thus by carrying the instrument successively into warm and cold places, the surface of the water in the tube will be found to rise and fall, thus indicating, by the level at which it stands, the temperature of the air around it, at its several places of exposure. A scale for this thermometer may be formed of pasteboard, and fastened to the tube by threads or slits in the pasteboard, or, in any other convenient manner.
Exp. 3. When the instrument is cooled, the water in the tube does not simply fall by its own weight. It is forced down by the pressure of the outward atmosphere. For although the expansive force of the air within is diminished by the cold, there is still force left, far more than sufficient to counteract the weight of the water. So that the water descends, not by its own weight, but bythe pressure of the atmosphere without, acting upon the surface of the water in the tube. This may be proved in the following manner. Raise the water in the tube as high as possible, by placing the instrument before the fire, and then stop the upper end of the tube with the thumb, or a little hot sealing-wax. Now, if the thermometer be taken to a cool place, it will be found that the water will not fall. The pressure from above in the tube being taken off the water is kept up by the expansive force which still remains in the air within. When the stopper is removed from the tube, so as to allow the external atmosphere to press upon the water again, it will immediately subside.
Exp. 4. Whatever may have been the temperature of the room where the thermometer was made, the water in the tube will be, when at that temperature, just level with the water in the phial; and of course, when it begins to rise, it will be some little time before it gets up above the neck of the phial. Now as it can be seen better above the neck of the phial than below, it is convenient to have the instrument so adjusted, as to have the surface of the water in the tube always kept above. This can be effected by forcing a little more air into the phial, thus increasing the expansive force within. A few bubbles of air may be blown in with the breath, by applying the mouth to the top of the tube. This will add to the force within, so that, even when the thermometer is cold, thewater will stand in the tube above the neck of the phial, and all the changes that take place will be above that level, where they can be easily seen.
Exp. 5. Place the mouth at the top of the tube, and blow down into it as long and as hard as you can. By this means you will force air in, until the expansive force within is increased so much that you cannot any longer overcome it. Then, before taking the mouth away, stop the upper part of the tube with the thumb. You will now have so great a quantity of air within, that it will probably have force enough to raise the water higher than the top of the tube. If so, on taking away the thumb the water will spout out at the top, in a jet,—doing no harm, however, except to sprinkle the spectators. After a few such experiments, you will find that the water has spouted itself all out, and you will be sadly puzzled to know how to get more in without taking out the cork. There is a very easy way, if you only had philosophical knowledge enough to discover it.
Deer drinking with ruin in background
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Boy and girl on path. Girl has bunny in hands.
“Henry, dear, do come out to walk, this beautiful afternoon.Iam going, and do not want to go alone;pleasecome, won’t you?”
“Supposing I should say, No; I won’t go; what would you do, sister?”
“I should say, well, suit yourself, brother Henry, and I’ll try to go alone; but Idowish you would go with me, it is so pleasant to havesomeone, and I would rather have you than any one else.”
“Well, you are a darling, good little girl, and Iwillgo with you.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Henry,” said Caroline; and they were soon in the shady lane which extended from their father’s house to their uncle’s, who was their next neighbour.
Caroline and Henry wandered on, admiring the beautiful things which surrounded them, and now and then stopping to pick a flower. Often Caroline would leave Henry, examining some plant, (for he was quite a botanist,) and walk along without him.
“Come, Henry; let us walk as far as the brook, and then we’ll go home.”
“Just wait till I see what this curious flower is,” said Henry. But Caroline did not mind him, and continued walking slowly along, that he might catch up with her, when he was ready. Presently she stopped; her eyes sparkled, and she almost screamed with delight; for, on the ground before her, was a beautiful white rabbit. She held her breath for fear of frightening it; but though she drew nearer the dear little creature did not seem disposed to run away; and she soon perceived that it had hurt itsfoot very much, so that itcouldnot walk. Caroline took the rabbit in her arms, and as she was quite near the brook, she thought she would give it some water; so she stepped on the little bridge, but when there, she found that she had no means of getting any, and she called aloud:
“Henry, come quick; I have found a rabbit almost dead; come quick.” Henry was soon at her side. “Let me see,” said he; and he bent forward to look at it. “Poor little thing, we will take you home and nurse you till you are well again.”
“Don’t you think, brother, that it would drink some water?”
“No, no; we had better take it home at once, andmotherwill tell us what to do.” And the two children hastened home with all speed. Their kind mother gave them directions for their new-found pet, and in a week it was quite well, and their parents gave them leave to keep it to play with, after they had learned their lessons, and as long as they were kind towards this curious little creature.
The rabbit.
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“Oh, I’m afraid! I’m afraid!” William Jones cried, shrinking back, as his father took his hand, in the act of leading him forward to lift him into a beautiful sleigh, that had just drove up to the door, and in which his mother and elder sister were already seated; their feet comfortably wrapped up in a warm buffalo robe.
“Afraid! what are you afraid of?” Mr. Jones asked, in a tone of surprise.
“Oh, I’m afraid the horses will run away—or that the sleigh will break. Indeed, I’d rather not go.”
“Do you not think that your mother, and sister Ellen, and myself, will be in just the danger you fear?”
“Yes.”
“And is not my son willing to share that danger with those he loves?”
“But why do you go, father, when there is danger?”
“We do not think that we shall be in any morereal danger, while riding with two gentle horses, than we would be if we were sitting in the house, or walking in the street. But come, William; I cannot stand talking to you here; and it is quite necessary that you try to overcome your fears. So jump in, and take your place alongside of sister Ellen.”
“But, indeed, I would rather not go, father,” William urged, holding back.
Mr. Jones said no more, but took his boy up gently, though firmly, and placed him beside his sister. Then he got in himself,—took hold of the reins,—spoke to his two fine horses, and at once the whole party began to move off; the sleigh bells jingling a merry tune.
Poor little William clung, frightened, to his sister; and it was a good while before he could get over the idea that the very next moment they would all be thrown over and dashed to pieces. After a while, however, he got used to the motion of the sleigh, and seeing that they passed on so smoothly, safely, and merrily, the idea of danger gradually faded from his mind; and long before he reached his uncle’s house, he was enjoying the ride as much as the rest.
William’s cousins were all delighted to see him, and he spent with them one of the happiest days in his life.
And when the time came for Mr. Jones and his family to return, William parted, with a feelingof reluctance, from his happy playmates. As he again stood by the sleigh, and looked at the two stout horses that were harnessed to it, he felt his old fear stealing over his mind. But he was not only now ashamed of that fear, but felt that to indulge in it was not right. So, with his best effort, he restrained it—stepping resolutely into the sleigh.
The last “good-byes” said, Mr. Jones gave the word, and off they went. When about half of the way home, and at a time when even the lingering remains of William’s timidity had passed away, two wild young men, half intoxicated, came dashing along in another sleigh, at a most furious rate. Bent on mischief, and thoughtless of the harm they might occasion, they appeared determined to frighten the horses attached to other sleighs, and thereby cause those who were in them to be thrown out into the snow-banks.
It so happened that the sleigh in which were Mr. Jones and his family, were passing near a steep declivity, at the time these young men came up to them, and ran their horses so close upon those of Mr. Jones, that he was compelled either to be rolled down the bank, or receive the shock of their sleigh against his own. He chose the latter alternative. As the two vehicles struck each other, that of Mr. Jones was nearly thrown over, and it so happened that Ellen, who was much alarmed, lost her balance, and but for thefact that William, himself dreadfully frightened, seized hold of, and clung to her with all his strength, she would have been thrown down a very steep hill, and, perhaps, have been killed. As it was, however, no one was injured.
“If it hadn’t been for me,” William said, while they were all talking over the matter, on arriving at home, “Ellen would have been pitched head foremost down that steep bank.”
“But if you had staid at home,” his father remarked, “it would not have been in your power thus to have saved, perhaps, your sister’s life. And now, an’t you glad, my son, you were with us?”
“Yes, father, I am very glad now.”
“Suppose, William,” Mr. Jones asked, in a serious tone, “that in the effort to save your sister, you had yourself been thrown out of the sleigh, and badly hurt, would you then have been sorry that you went with us?”
William paused for some moments, with a thoughtful countenance. He was weighing the fear of bodily pain against his love for Ellen. At last he said, with the moisture dimming his eyes,
“No! I would not have been sorry, father.”
“Why not, William?”
“Because, I would only have been badly hurt; while, if I had not been along with her, sister might have been killed.”
“Very true, my dear boy! And now, you rememberhow often I have talked to you about selfishness, and what an evil thing this selfishness is?”
“Yes, father.”
“Well, this feeling of timidity, which you indulge so much, is a selfish feeling.”
“Selfish, father! How can that be?”
“Because there is nothing in it of self-sacrifice for the happiness or comfort of others.”
“I cannot understand you, father.”
“I do not know that it will be in my power to make you understand me fully, William. But I will try. You knew, this morning, that it would give your father and mother pleasure to have you with them, and also that your cousins would be delighted to see you. But your idle fear, lest some accident should happen, made you unwilling to go. You would not risk anything for the sake of others. If the great and good General Washington, when called upon to take command of the American army, had refused to do so, because there was danger of his being killed; cannot you see that in that feeling there would have been a strong principle of selfishness?”
“Oh, yes. If he had done so, he would have been very selfish. He would have thought more of personal safety than the good of his country.”
“Just so, William, will you think, when you grow up to be a man, if you do not conquer this timid feeling, which you now indulge. You mustlearn, for the good of others, to risk personal danger, and to be willing to bear pain of body as well as mind, if called upon to suffer while doing your duty to others. Of danger, it is not our place to think, when fully satisfied we are doing right; knowing that the Lord’s providence is over all, and that He will not suffer any harm to befall us that is not really for our good. Learn, also, this harder lesson,—a willingness to encounter bodily pain, and even great danger, for the good of others.”
Train going past a farm.
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Gilert the Greyhound.
Llewellyn, son-in-law to King John, had in his possession one of the finest greyhounds in England. His name was Gelert. One day Llewellyn, going out to hunt, called all his dogs together; but his favourite greyhound was missing, and nowhere to be found. He blew his horn as a signal of the chase, and still Gelert came not. Llewellyn was much disturbed at this, but at length pursued the chase without him.
For want of Gelert, the sport was limited; and getting tired, Llewellyn returned home at an early hour, when the first object that presented itself to him at his castle gate, was Gelert, who bounded with his usual transport to meet his master—having his lips besmeared with blood. Llewellyn gazed with surprise at the strange appearance of his dog. But on going into the apartment where he had left his infant son asleep, he found the bedclothes allin confusion, the cover rent, and stained with blood. He called on his child, but no answer was made: from which he concluded that the dog must have devoured him, and, without waiting to reflect, or examine, plunged his sword to the hilt in Gelert’s side. The noble dog fell at his feet, uttering a dying yell which awoke the infant, who was sleeping beneath a heap of mingled bedclothes; while under the bed lay a great wolf, covered with gore, which the faithful and gallant hound had destroyed.
Llewellyn, smitten with sorrow and remorse for the rash and frantic deed which had deprived him of so faithful an animal, caused an elegant marble monument, with an appropriate inscription, to be erected over the spot where Gelert was buried, to commemorate his fidelity and unhappy fate. The place, to this day, is called Beth-Gelert, or “The grave of the greyhound.”
The wolf.
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I received part of my education at a beautiful town on the banks of the river Trent. It was here, while a boy, that I first learned the danger of disobedience. The precept had been instilled in my mind a thousand times, and I knew it was the command of heaven that we should respect and obey our parents and teachers; but I had never felt either the danger or the criminality of a disregard of the Divine command till after the following event.
It was December; and the river, on whose beautiful banks the academy was situated, was frozen over, so that people could travel, and sport upon it in safety. It was a favourite diversion of the students, most of whom were between ten and fifteen years old, to play ball upon the ice, upon skates; and many times nearly the whole school, consisting of fifty youths, was collected in one game on the glassy surface of the frozen stream. We grew, at length, so fond of this recreation, that we began to encroach upon the hours of study. Thebell rang unheeded, and when we came into school, we were, as we deserved to be, reprimanded by our good and indulgent preceptor; and many of our number, ashamed of their behaviour, refused to offend in like manner again. It was not so with us all.
One day, a part of our number having staid out upon the river more than a quarter of an hour after the bell had done ringing, one of the boys was sent for us; but we soon forgot that we had been called, and continued our game. Shortly we saw the preceptor, himself, coming down to the river. We were then alarmed; and all, but myself and Nathaniel Beecher, ran, by a round-about way, to the shore and to school.Weresolved to stay the whole afternoon. The preceptor came out upon the wharf, and called to us to come to him. Fearing that we should be taken back to school and punished, we resolved not to answer, and pretended not to hear him. After repeatedly calling us, and receiving no answer, he came upon the ice; but when he had walked a short distance from the shore we saw that we were in no danger of his catching us, as the ice was very smooth. At length, in an attempt to catch me, the preceptor slipped and fell heavily upon the ice. I stood still, and dared not go near, for fear he would punish me; but I was now very sorry for what we had done. Our preceptor had always been kind to us, and my feelings were hurt to think I had been so ungrateful.Meantime he had got up, and with a painful effort walked to the shore. I followed him, and Nat went off towards the other side of the river. As I approached the shore, I turned to see where he was going, continuing to skate backwards as I looked. Suddenly I found myself in the water. I had fallen into a hole which had been cut for fishing. As I dropped I threw out my arms, and thus saved myself from going under; but the current was very strong, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I could hold myself above the water. I felt as though some evil spirit beneath the water was dragging me under, and my heart sunk within me. At length I was drawn out of the water by my preceptor. He spoke kindly to me, and said he would take me home, that I might change my clothes. I was very much affected. I had prepared myself to bear my well-merited punishment; but when I heard his kind and gentle tones, and saw that he was not angry, I burst into a passionate flood of tears, and, dropping on my knees, begged his pardon for my bad behaviour. He took me up at once, and told me never to kneel but to the Lord, that he would forgive me. We had nearly reached the shore, when I looked round for Nat. He was looking towards us, and skating along with his arms folded, and all at once dropped beneath the ice and disappeared. He had, while looking at us, skated into an air-hole. I involuntarily screamed, and started with all speed for the place.The preceptor followed, having guessed the cause of my exclamation.
The accident had been seen from the shore, and many persons came hurrying to the spot, and among them the father of the boy. He was told, on shore, that it was his oldest son; and rushing to the spot, and putting his head down in the hole, held it there a long time, looking, but all was in vain. The rapid tide had borne him far down the river, and his body was never more seen.
The events of this day taught me the lesson ofobedience. It stamped upon my mind the truth, that the first great duty, next to our devotion to our Maker, is respect and obedience to those who are placed in authority over us. I never againplayed truant.
The truant.
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A couple walking on a summer morning.
Oh! the happy summer hours,With their butterflies and flowers,And the birds among the bowersSweetly singing;With the spices from the trees,Vines, and lilies, while the beesCome floating on the breeze,Honey bringing!All the east was rosy redWhen we woke and left our bed,And to gather flowers we sped,Gay and early.Every clover-top was wet,And the spider’s silky net,With a thousand dew-drops set,Pure and pearly.With their modest eyes of blue,Were the violets peeping throughTufts of grasses where they grew,Full of beauty,At the lamb in snowy white,O’er the meadow bounding light,And the crow just taking flight,Grave and sooty.On our floral search intent,Still away, away we went,—Up and down the rugged bent,—Through the wicket,—Where the rock with water drops,—Through the bushes and the copse,—Where the greenwood pathway stopsIn the thicket.We heard the fountain gush,And the singing of the thrush;And we saw the squirrel’s brushIn the hedges,As along his back ’twas thrown,Like a glory of his own,While the sun behind it, shoneThrough its edges.All the world appeared so fair,And so fresh and free the air,—Oh! it seemed that all the careIn creationBelonged to God alone;And that none beneath his throne,Need to murmur or to groanAt his station.Dear little brother Will!He has leapt the hedge and rill,—He has clambered up the hill,Ere the beamingOf the rising sun, to sweepWith its golden rays the steep,Till he’s tired and dropt asleep,Sweetly dreaming.See, he threw aside his cap,And the roses from his lap,When his eyes were, for the nap,Slowly closing:With his sunny curls outspread,On its fragrant mossy bed,Now his precious infant headIs reposing.He is dreaming of his play—How he rose at break of day,And he frolicked all the wayOn his ramble.And before his fancy’s eye,He has still the butterflyMocking him, where not so highHe could scramble.In his cheek the dimples dip,And a smile is on his lip,While his tender finger-tipSeems as aimingAt some wild and lovely thingThat is out upon the wing,Which he longs to catch and bringHome for taming.While he thus at rest is laidIn the old oak’s quiet shade,Let’s cull our flowers to braid,Or unite themIn bunches trim and neat,That, for every friend we meet,We may have a token sweetTo delight them.’Tis the very crowning artOf a happy, grateful heartTo others to impartOf its pleasure.Thus its joys can never cease,For it brings an inward peace,Like an every-day increaseOf a treasure!
Oh! the happy summer hours,With their butterflies and flowers,And the birds among the bowersSweetly singing;With the spices from the trees,Vines, and lilies, while the beesCome floating on the breeze,Honey bringing!
All the east was rosy redWhen we woke and left our bed,And to gather flowers we sped,Gay and early.Every clover-top was wet,And the spider’s silky net,With a thousand dew-drops set,Pure and pearly.
With their modest eyes of blue,Were the violets peeping throughTufts of grasses where they grew,Full of beauty,At the lamb in snowy white,O’er the meadow bounding light,And the crow just taking flight,Grave and sooty.
On our floral search intent,Still away, away we went,—Up and down the rugged bent,—Through the wicket,—Where the rock with water drops,—Through the bushes and the copse,—Where the greenwood pathway stopsIn the thicket.
We heard the fountain gush,And the singing of the thrush;And we saw the squirrel’s brushIn the hedges,As along his back ’twas thrown,Like a glory of his own,While the sun behind it, shoneThrough its edges.
All the world appeared so fair,And so fresh and free the air,—Oh! it seemed that all the careIn creationBelonged to God alone;And that none beneath his throne,Need to murmur or to groanAt his station.
Dear little brother Will!He has leapt the hedge and rill,—He has clambered up the hill,Ere the beamingOf the rising sun, to sweepWith its golden rays the steep,Till he’s tired and dropt asleep,Sweetly dreaming.
See, he threw aside his cap,And the roses from his lap,When his eyes were, for the nap,Slowly closing:With his sunny curls outspread,On its fragrant mossy bed,Now his precious infant headIs reposing.
He is dreaming of his play—How he rose at break of day,And he frolicked all the wayOn his ramble.And before his fancy’s eye,He has still the butterflyMocking him, where not so highHe could scramble.
In his cheek the dimples dip,And a smile is on his lip,While his tender finger-tipSeems as aimingAt some wild and lovely thingThat is out upon the wing,Which he longs to catch and bringHome for taming.
While he thus at rest is laidIn the old oak’s quiet shade,Let’s cull our flowers to braid,Or unite themIn bunches trim and neat,That, for every friend we meet,We may have a token sweetTo delight them.
’Tis the very crowning artOf a happy, grateful heartTo others to impartOf its pleasure.Thus its joys can never cease,For it brings an inward peace,Like an every-day increaseOf a treasure!
Fruit bowl
Table of Contents
At the southern part of Africa, a great many years ago, there lived a simple race of uncivilized people,—to whom the name of Hottentots has been since given,—who supported themselves in their rude way, and kept sheep and herds, whose milk served them for food, and whose skins kept them warm.
The Dutch people, who were very fond of sailing about in their ships, came to this part of the world, and finding the country pleasant, and a great many delicious fruits in it, they resolved to make a settlement, and have a town of their own there.
The Hottentots did not like very much to have a new kind of people settling down among them, and as they had been used to fighting with wild beasts, and were quite brave, they did all they could to keep the people away.
Hottentot
But the Dutch had so much more skill and knowledge than the poor Hottentots, that they soon got the better of the savages, and the natives were obliged to allow them to settle in their country. The Europeans, when they heard of this pleasant, warm country, came in great numbers, and each emigrant was allowed to receive for his farm as much land as an officer appointed for the purpose, could walk across in an hour. They probably always tried to get a tall man, who could take pretty long steps. Whether they asked the poor natives’ consent to this arrangement, the history does not say; but at the end of a hundred and fifty years, the Hottentots had been deprived of all their land, and were compelled to work for their invaders, except that some of the more ferocious and bolder tribes retreated to the deserts, and remain in a savage state to this day.
The colony afterwards fell into the hands of the British, and about eighteen years ago, the Hottentots of the Cape, about thirty thousand in number, were made free, and allowed to have all the privileges enjoyed by the white inhabitants.
Christian missionaries have visited this part of the world, and many of the native inhabitants are said to have been brought under the gentle influence of Christianity. The Moravian missionaries, some years ago, collected a number of the Hottentots into a village, built a church, and instructed them in many of the arts of civilized life. They were taught several kinds of manufactures, andtravellers speak of their establishment as being in a very flourishing state.
In the year 1811, this place was visited by a sever earthquake, which alarmed the people greatly, as nothing of the kind had occurred since the settlement of the town. It does not appear from the accounts, that any lives were lost, but many of the buildings were cracked, and in part thrown down.
The Hottentots are said to be kind and gentle in their natures, and hospitable to strangers. Those who have been converted to Christianity, have left off, for the most part, their rude sheepskin dress, and wear a more civilized attire.
The picture at the beginning of this article represents a native Hottentot, in his sheepskin cloak, but the rest of his dress appears to be after the European fashion. The more savage Hottentots, who have never joined the colony, lead a wandering life, living on wild roots, locusts, and eggs, toads, lizards, mice, and such other food as can be obtained in the deserts. They use, as weapons of defence, the javelin, and bows and arrows. Their arrows are small, but they are tipped with poison, so that a wound from them is generally fatal.
They teach their children early the use of the bow and arrow; and some travellers say, that, to do this, they sometimes put a little boy’s breakfast, probably a nice toad, or half a dozen ant’s eggs, orsome other of their favourite kinds of food, up into the high branches of a tree, and then make the boy shoot his arrows at it, until he brings it down. This gives him a good appetite, and teaches him early the use of the bow and arrow.