CHAPTER II.

_Columbus sails on his first voyage――He continues his course._

The third of August, 1496, was a memorable day to Columbus and to the world. On the morning of that day the sails of the three vessels were seen by the inhabitants of Palos, spread for the voyage. To Columbus it was a joyful occasion,――to many of the people it was a season of gloom. Several of them had friends on board. They were now to bid them farewell, and they could not believe but that it would be final. They had little confidence in the success of the enterprise. Even the sailors appeared dejected. Many tears, it is said, were shed that morning, and loud lamentations were heard as the sails rose to the wind.

All things being in readiness, orders were issued to make sail. The vessels were soon gallantly ploughing their way through the deep, while the flag of Columbus was streaming to the wind on board the Santa Maria.

Many a bright morning is soon overcast by clouds. It was so with the prospects of Columbus. He was scarcely out of sight of land, before a signal of distress was made from the Pinta. She had unshipped her rudder, which was found to be broken. Columbus was not without his suspicions that the misfortune was the effect of design, in consequence of the reluctance of some on board to continue the voyage. The misfortune made it necessary for him to steer for the Canary islands. These islands are thirteen in number.

Three weeks were here spent in attempting to find a vessel to take the place of the Pinta. The effort was unsuccessful. The broken rudder of the Pinta was therefore supplied by a new one.

The vessels being again in readiness, Columbus left the island of Gomera, where the above repairs had been made, on the 6th of September. He now directed his course westward into the broad Atlantic.

On the 9th, Ferro, the most western of the Canary islands, was discovered, but before the setting in of night no trace of it remained in sight.

They had now taken leave of their country. Before them rolled a wide waste of waters, in the billows of which many expected to find a grave. Gloom and dejection seemed to rest heavily on the brow of many a rugged seaman――some of whom, even in this beginning of the voyage, broke out into loud complaints.

Columbus soothed and flattered them. He was himself confident of success, and spread before them the prospect of wealth and honor which he was sure they would realize.

On the 11th of September, they computed the distance run from Ferro at about 450 miles. At this time a mast was discovered in the water. The ill-boding seamen doubted not that it belonged to some unfortunate vessel; and from this fragment of the wreck, drew the conclusion that a similar fate was at no great distance to attend themselves.

September 14th, two birds were seen, a heron and a water-wagtail. These were supposed not to venture far from land: hence, the joy of the seamen was great. In this instance, however, their expectations were not realized.

In the course of a few days they fell in with the trade wind. This wind is so called because it favors trade. In the Atlantic Ocean, between the tropics, the trade winds blow constantly from the eastward to the westward.

They now went on prosperously and rapidly. The wind was so steady that for several days not a sail was shifted. The sailors would have been delighted but for one circumstance. If the wind blew so constantly from east to west how would they ever be able to return?

On the 18th of September, the wind from the east still wafting them forward, Columbus, from frequent experiments, was of the opinion that the water of the ocean was hourly growing fresher as they proceeded. If so, were they not approaching land?

The thought infused fresh animation into the crews. Every sail was spread――every possible exertion made by each to outstrip the others. At the same time, every eye which could be spared, was busily intent in looking for the expected land. There was a double reason for this――one was the ardent desire to attain the object of the voyage――the other was a promise of a reward of thirty crowns, or nearly one hundred and twenty dollars, to the man who should first descry land. The Pinta, being the best sailor, generally took the lead, and a signal from her, that a flock of birds was seen, served to add to the belief that land was not far distant.

The prospect of land, however, died away, and the sailors again began to be uneasy and dissatisfied. Every day’s sailing――every propitious wind, was carrying them farther from home and from friends. All served to strengthen their belief that in the wide waters they would find a last dwelling-place.

On the 23d of September, the wind changed and became nearly ahead. This impeded their progress, but it encouraged the sailors, as they inferred from it, that perchance they might be able to get back again. Other circumstances at this time also aroused their spirits. Several birds alighted upon the ships. These were so small as to induce the belief that land could not be far distant, as their strength would not admit of long-continued flight. Besides this, they sung so sweetly and with so much life, that the sailors thought they could not fear but that they could get back to land.

But again, soon after, the apprehensions of the crews were all alive. The sea appeared on every side to be covered with weeds. This they supposed to be an evidence of their approach to shoals and rocks. These apprehensions were still farther increased, on the 25th of September, by an unusual and distressing swell of the sea. Columbus told them that it was the effect of a gale which had subsided. But they believed him not.

In truth, they had been discontented from the first of the voyage. They had given a reluctant consent to the undertaking. The voyage proved longer than they expected. If much longer continued, their provisions might fail――at least there could be little hope remaining of their being able to make a safe return.

The growing discontents of the crew were watched by Columbus with solicitude. He was a courageous man, and better able than most men to allay a rising storm――to dispel fear and despondency.

But at length, complaints, which had been uttered by one to another, became louder and louder; and some even went so far as to talk of casting Columbus into the sea and sailing forthwith on their return. In these trying circumstances, Columbus left no expedient untried to quell their mutinous spirit. Some he soothed――some he flattered――others he threatened.

On the 25th, as they were sailing still westward, and before a prosperous breeze, a shout was heard from on board the Pinta, that land was in sight.

For a time the joy of the crews broke forth in glory to God. The masts were climbed――the rigging was filled, and every eye was strained to catch a glimpse of the long-desired land. The direction in which it was supposed to be seen, was southerly. So strong was the belief that land had been seen, that Columbus felt himself compelled to alter his course, and all that night to steer towards the object of their search.

The morning, however, brought with it the same unbroken prospect which had stretched gloomily before them for so many weeks. They were now satisfied that what they had seen was only a cloud, and which had departed like the darkness of the night.

The joy which they had experienced had been suddenly raised――it had risen high. The disappointment which followed was severe――and dejection sat heavily on every countenance.

Turn the Carpet.

_A Dialogue between Dick and John._

BY HANNAH MORE.

As at their work two weavers sat, Beguiling time with friendly chat; They touch’d upon the price of meat, So high, a weaver scarce could eat. “What with my brats and sickly wife,” Quoth Dick, “I’m almost tir’d of life; So hard my work, so poor my fare, ’Tis more than mortal man can bear. How glorious is the rich man’s state! His house so fine! his wealth so great! Heav’n is unjust, you must agree; Why all to him? why none to me? In spite of what the Scripture teaches, In spite of all the parson preaches, This world (indeed I’ve thought so long) Is rul’d, methinks, extremely wrong. Where’er I look, howe’er I range, ’Tis all confus’d, and hard, and strange; The good are troubled and oppress’d, And all the wicked are the bless’d.” Quoth John: “Our ign’rance is the cause Why thus we blame our Maker’s laws; _Parts of his ways_ alone we know, ’Tis all that man can see below. See’st thou that carpet, not half done, Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun? Behold the wild confusion there, So rude the mass it makes one stare! A stranger, ign’rant of the trade, Would say, no meaning’s there convey’d; For where’s the middle, where’s the border? Thy carpet now is all disorder.” Quoth Dick, “My work is yet in bits, But still in every part it fits: Besides, you reason like a lout, Why, man, that _carpet’s inside out_.” Says John, “Thou say’st the thing I mean, And now I hope to cure thy spleen; This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt, _Is but a carpet inside out_. As when we view these shreds and ends, We know not what the whole intends; So when on earth things look but odd, They’re working still some scheme of God. No plan, no pattern, can we trace, All wants proportion, truth, and grace; The motley mixture we deride, Nor see the beauteous upper side. But when we reach that world of light, And view those works of God aright, Then shall we see the whole design, And own the workman is divine. What now seem random strokes, will there All order and design appear; Then shall we praise what here we spurn’d, For then the _carpet shall be turn’d_.” “Thou’rt right,” quoth Dick, “no more I’ll grumble That this sad world’s so strange a jumble; My impious doubts are put to flight, For my own carpet sets me right.”

A Monkey Trick.

In 1818, a vessel that sailed between Whitehaven (England) and Jamaica, embarked on her homeward voyage, and among other passengers, carried Mrs. B., who had at the breast a child only a few weeks old. One beautiful afternoon, the captain perceived a distant sail, and after he had gratified his curiosity, he politely offered his glass to the lady, that she might obtain a clear view of the object. She had the baby in her arms, but now she wrapped her shawl about it and placed it on a sofa upon which she had been sitting.

Scarcely had she applied her eye to the glass, when the helmsman exclaimed, “See what the mischievous monkey has done.” The reader may judge of the mother’s feelings, when, on turning round, she beheld the animal in the act of transporting her child apparently to the very top of the mast! The monkey was a very large one, and so strong and active, that while it grasped the infant firmly with one arm, it climbed the shrouds nimbly by the other, totally unembarrassed by the weight of its burthen.

One look was sufficient for the terrified mother, and, had it not been for the assistance of those around her, she would have fallen prostrate on the deck, where she was soon afterwards stretched apparently a lifeless corpse. The sailors could climb as well as the monkey, but the latter watched their motions narrowly; and as it ascended higher up the mast the moment they attempted to put a foot on the shrouds, the captain became afraid that it would drop the child, and endeavor to escape by leaping from one mast to another.

In the mean time, the little innocent was heard to cry; and though many thought it was suffering pain, their fears on this point were speedily dissipated when they observed the monkey imitating exactly the motions of a nurse, by dandling, soothing and caressing its charge, and even endeavoring to hush it to sleep.

From the deck the lady was conveyed to the cabin, and gradually restored to her senses. In the mean time, the captain ordered every man to conceal himself below, and quietly took his own station on the cabin stair, where he could see all that passed, without being seen. The plan happily succeeded; the monkey, on perceiving that the coast was clear, cautiously descended from his lofty perch, and replaced the infant on the sofa, cold, fretful, and perhaps frightened, but in every other respect as free from harm as when he took it up. The captain had now a most grateful task to perform; the babe was restored to its mother’s arms, amidst tears and thanks, and blessings.

“The Light of all Nations.”

In the vicinity of Deal, on the south-eastern coast of England, is a place exceedingly dangerous to ships, called the Godwin Sands. Many vessels have been wrecked upon them, yet it was thought impossible, on account of the soft and shifting nature of the bottom, to establish a light-house there.

A plan was, however, suggested, two or three years ago, for a structure of iron, which, we understand, has been carried into successful effect. This consisted of an immense hollow iron shaft, thirty feet in diameter, and sixty-four feet in height, forming the base. This was sunk thirty feet deep in the sands, and rested on a bed of limestone.

Upon this, a column eighty-six feet high was raised; then came the lantern, and above this, a statue of the queen; this last, with the lantern, is forty feet in height. The whole structure is one hundred and ninety feet high.

The weight of the lower shaft, or base, is one hundred and twenty tons; in the long shaft, there is room for one hundred men with provisions; in the top part, near the lantern, there is room for twenty men, whose attendance is constantly necessary to manage the light. This splendid beacon is called “_The light of all nations_.”

* * * * *

PATRICK HENRY.――When Patrick Henry, who gave the first impulse to the ball of the American revolution in Virginia, introduced his celebrated resolution on the Stamp Act into the House of Burgesses of Virginia, (May, 1765,) he exclaimed, when descanting on the tyranny of the obnoxious act, Cæsar had his Brutus; Charles I. his Cromwell; and George III.――――“Treason!” cried the speaker; “treason, treason!” echoed from every part of the house. It was one of those trying moments which are decisive of character. Henry faltered not for an instant; but, rising to a loftier attitude, and fixing on the speaker an eye flashing with fire, continued, “_may profit by their example_. If this be treason, make the most of it.”

* * * * *

HIGHWAYMAN AND SAILOR.――One of the Dover stages, on its way to London, was stopped by a single highwayman, who was informed by the coachman that there were no passengers inside, and only one in the basket, and he was a sailor. The robber then proceeded to exercise his employment on the tar. When waked out of his sleep, Jack demanded what he wanted; to which the son of plunder replied, “Your money.” “You sha’n’t have it,” said Jack. “No!” replied the robber; “then I’ll blow your brains out!” “Blow away, then, you land-lubber,” said Jack, squirting the tobacco-juice out of his mouth, “I may as well go to London without brains as without money;――drive on, coachman.”

* * * * *

The Peak of Teneriffe presents five zones of different vegetation; for seven to eight hundred feet, it produces vines, corn, olives, &c.; the second zone produces myrtles and trees; the third, chiefly pines; the fourth and fifth produce little vegetation, and are very cold; the upper part is pumice-stone and lava.

[Illustration: _Iron light-house on the Godwin Sands._]

Precocity of Frenchmen.

It is interesting to remark, that most of the more prominent leaders of the Jacobin or Mountain party, in the French revolution, were young men. It would hardly seem possible that many of them had lived long enough to have their feelings so indurated as to be able, deliberately, to perpetrate the atrocities of which they were guilty. This remark will appear more obviously just when we reflect that most of them had previously led an obscure provincial life, and may be supposed to have been little hardened by intercourse with the world. Perhaps, however, the greater part were actuated more by frantic enthusiasm than deliberate malevolence.

Robespierre, the master-spirit of the party, was guillotined at the age of thirty-five; Danton, his rival, he sent to the scaffold at the same early age. Camille des Moulins, when asked his age by the bloody revolutionary tribunal, gave the blasphemous reply, “My age is that of Jesus Christ when he suffered death,”――thirty-three years. Chaumette, another of the sanguinary tribe, suffered death at the age of thirty-one. Challer, who proposed to erect a guillotine at Lyons for the execution of nine thousand persons whom he had marked, was one of the oldest, being forty-six years old at the time he was beheaded. Fabre D’Eglantine, the author of the celebrated revolutionary calendar, was thirty-nine.

Carrier, the most infamous probably of the whole gang, who, when at Nantes, tied his victims together in couples, (one of each sex,) at the rate of twenty a day, and sunk them in the river, was only twenty-eight years of age, at his death. Robespierre, the younger, about the same age.

St. Just, whose talents, ferocity, and eloquence, rendered him second only to Robespierre, was about twenty-six. Chabot, the Capuchin friar, was thirty-five. Marat, who really appears to have been half madman, was, when assassinated, forty-nine. Babeuf, who, on the fall of Robespierre, was thought by his party to be most worthy to succeed the dictator, was twenty-seven when he joined the Revolutionists. The Duc D’Orleans, father of the present French king, was forty at the time he was guillotined. These were not the originators of the revolution; but they were the leaders of the Jacobin Clubs, or secret affiliated societies, over which Robespierre, as dictator, presided for two years. They were all beheaded except Marat. Besides these there were others, of inferior note, equally young. The present king of the French, then lieutenant-general Egalite, (_Equality_,) was about nineteen. A pretty _equality_ he has made of it since.

Fouche (since duke of Otranto) was about thirty.

But it is likewise worthy of observation that the leading individuals of other parties who took part in the revolution, were generally young men, though not by birth, talent or wealth so generally obscure as those just mentioned. Of the Brissotins, (so named after their leader, Brissot de Warville, well known as the friend of Jefferson, and a traveller in this country, but otherwise called Girondists,) Brissot was thirty-nine. Bailly, the celebrated astronomer, and revolutionary mayor of Paris, was one of the oldest. He was beheaded, at the instigation of Robespierre, at the age of fifty-seven, dying with courage and dignity. Charlotte Corday, who, although a woman, was a Girondist, was but twenty-three when she assassinated Marat. The eloquent Barbaroux was about twenty-seven when beheaded. The just and magnanimous Barnave was executed at the age of thirty-two. Madame Roland, who died more as a man ought to die than all that were guillotined, was forty. Gensonne, the Brissotin, who was first to proclaim that _suspicion_ was sufficient cause for the infliction of death, was sent to the scaffold by Robespierre at the age of thirty-five. Mirabeau, whose eloquence covered his crimes all over with glory, was about forty years of age. Cabanus was thirty-six. Buzot, thirty-three. The most eloquent and accomplished Vergnaud perished at the age of thirty-five.

Those last mentioned were some of the principal Brissotins. Among the Royalists, D’Elbee, the principal Vendean chief, was about forty. Stofflet, another Vendean, was thirty-eight. The Duc D’Enghein, no more than twenty. Pichegru, in Robespierre’s time, not more than thirty-two.

Among the famous generals of the revolution, there were few who were not comparatively boys. Hoche, who was thought by many to be equal to Bonaparte, died at thirty. Honchard, when guillotined, was thirty-two. Kleber, one of the oldest and best, was forty. Dessaix, the knight, without fear and without reproach, was thirty when he received his death wound at Marengo. Other great captains who afterwards became renowned, Ney, Soult, Joubert, (only twenty-five,) M’Donald, Lannes, Duroc, Victor, Mortier, Oudinot, Murat, Eugene, (a mere boy,) &c. &c., were all young. But the giant is behind――Him! _Bonaparte!_ the little corporal was but twenty-four.

Well did the Swedish chancellor, Oxenstrein, say to his son, when he sent him on his travels, “Go, son, and discover what little wisdom it takes to govern the world!”

September Thoughts.

The gay, beautiful, and ever welcome months of summer are gone, and the months of autumn have begun to take their place. Our summer movements are fast closing,――our summer journeyings are passing away,――the travelling invalid and belle of fashion now wend their way homeward. Our merry meetings upon land and water, our annual visits, our assemblies under the canopy of heaven, our sailing excursions, our night wanderings,――all will soon be over. To be sure, Niagara still will thunder, and still there will be the rushing of mighty waters from her magnificent falls; but her music will be music for herself alone. The multitude who have gazed in wonder upon this mighty work of an Omnipotent Architect, will soon be far distant. Saratoga, too,――that little world of folly and of fashion, where thousands congregate to kill time, or else, perchance, to woo and wed,――will soon be desolate.

Two months hence and the cap and the cloak will take the place of our summer apparel. Our summer breezes will be changed into autumn winds. The gay and pleasing attire of our green fields and pleasant gardens will present the forbidding coldness of their own peculiar desolation. Our trees will cast off their foliage and their fruits, and instead of the blossom and the rose, the desert will appear. “Thus passes the glory of the world.” But a truce to autumn reflections.

September, then, has come among us. It is the time for trade, the signal for business, the prelude to long nights and short days, the time for balls and parties, the time for work, and the time for play; the time for merchants and clerks to rise early and retire late; the time for our mechanics to work in the evening and sleep in the morning; the time for wooing and wedding; the time to prepare for winter――to buy your fuel and make ready for stormy days. It is the time to make money and pay your debts, the time to study, and the time to make good bargains; the time to be honest, and the time to speak the truth; the time to make friends, and the time to do good. In a word, it is _the_ time, _our_ time, the _only_ time. To our good mothers, grandmothers, and daughters, we say then, improve it; and to our perpetual motion business men, who neither sleep long nor slumber long, our advice is not needed. To the drones and sluggards that surround us, we say, prepare for freezing time and starving time, for a bed of ice and snow, and for a beggar’s meal. To the drunkard, we say, keep sober; and to the sober, we say, keep the bowl from the drunkard. Our advice is for all, and good to all, and he, whomsoever he may be, is a criminal who will not take it.

* * * * *

POLITENESS.――Men think very little of the value of a bow; how small the cost and how great the return. So, for a few soft words and pleasant looks, interest is paid, compound and simple added together. How many compliments have been lost on the one hand, and gained on the other, from neglecting or putting into exercise this one important thing. A nod! Why, it has gained more friends than wealth and learning together. A compliment, a fine speech, a pleasant look, are each more valuable than rubies. There is yet another value to politeness, which till lately the world knew but little, and but perhaps for Louis Phillippe and Alibeau, nothing would have been known. It seems that the king was in the act of bowing to the national guards, at the moment the assassin, Alibeau, discharged his weapon at the monarch’s head. Evidently the king’s politeness saved him his life.

* * * * *

CHINESE FILIAL PIETY.――Ouang-Ouei-Yuen, having lost his mother, who was all that was dear to him, passed the three years of mourning in a hut, and employed himself, in his retirement, in composing verses in honor of his mother, which are quoted as models of sentiment and tenderness.

The three years of his mourning having elapsed, he returned to his former residence, but did not therefore forget his filial affection.

His mother had always expressed great apprehension of thunder, and when it thundered, always requested her son not to leave her.

Therefore, as soon as he heard a storm coming on, he hastened to his mother’s grave, saying softly to her, as if she could hear, “I am here, mother.”

To our Correspondents.

We are very sorry that our limits do not permit us to insert more of the many pretty letters we receive from our friends. The following, which pleases us on account of the kind manner in which our little correspondent speaks of her teacher, ought to have appeared at an earlier date.

_Troy, N. Y., June 23, 1843._ MR. MERRY:

DEAR SIR,――We have received the June number of your magazine, and are all very much delighted to learn that we are to have a piece of music in the next number. We have been asking our teacher to let us solicit the same favor of you that your Providence friends did. We have fifteen little misses in our school, of whom I am the oldest; for I am ten years old. We some of us take lessons on the piano, and all of us sing. We have a pleasant school, and we all love our teacher, Miss E. B. W., for her kindness and faithful instructions. The particular branches to which I attend are Geography, Davis’ Arithmetic, Grammar, Music and French. Those that study French like it very much.

I hope you will excuse the forwardness of one of your young friends, in writing so much about her little affairs; but I know you have kind feelings for children.

Yours, respectfully, MARY L. C.

_Boston, Aug. 14, 1843._ DEAR MR. MERRY:

Will you allow one of your young readers to contribute the following geographical enigma?

I am composed of 17 letters.

My 2, 9, 9, 17, 11, is a county in Massachusetts. My 15, 6, 8, 4, 5, 10, 9, is a town in Mississippi. My 12, 14, 8, 8, 2, 16, 6, 8, is a strait in the north of Europe. My 9, 6, 5, 14, 3, 14, is a desert in Africa. My 8, 10, 2, 9, is a river in England. My 1, 6, 4, 14, 9, 9, 6, 3, is a strait in Asia. My 10, 11, 2, 8, 17, 3, is a town in New Hampshire. My 8, 2, 7, 15, 17, 9, 9, 10, 17, is one of the United States. My 16, 6, 7, 16, 10, 9, is a celebrated river in Asia. My 1, 14, 7, is an island in the Irish Sea. My 8, 17, 11, 6, 9, is a country in North America. My 15, 6, 5, 14, 7, 8, is a celebrated peninsula in Massachusetts. My 16, 3, 10, 17, 4, 2, is a celebrated country in Europe. My 8, 13, 6, 1, 10, 9, is a river in England. My 5, 14, 8, 8, 17, 3, 6, 9, is a cape in the United States. My 1, 6, 15, 4, 5, 2, 9, 8, 10, 3, is a manufacturing town in England. My 2, 6, 9, 8, 13, 14, 1, is a town in Massachusetts. My whole is a public building in Boston. N. B

* * * * *

I need not say that the following pleases me very much.

_Liverpool, May, 1843._ MY DEAREST FRIEND:

I am going to write you a letter. I am very much obliged to you. I am very much amused in hearing stories out of your nice books about the world. I will tell you a story about a widow.

A TRUE STORY.

I knew a widow, very poor, Who four small children had, The eldest was but six years old―― A gentle, modest lad.

And very hard this widow tried To feed her children four,―― An honest mind the woman had Though she was very poor.

To labor she would leave her home, For children must be fed, And glad was she when she could buy A shilling’s worth of bread.

One day, when snow was falling fast, And piercing was the air, I thought that I would go and see How these poor children were.

Ere long I reached their cheerless home,―― ’Twas searched by every breeze,―― When going in, the eldest child I saw upon his knees.

I paused to listen to the boy; He never raised his head, But still went on and said, “Give us This day our daily bread.”

I waited till the child had done, Still listening as he prayed; And when he rose, I asked him why The Lord’s prayer he had said.

“Why, sir,” said he, “this morning, when My mother went away, She wept, because, she said, she had No bread for us to day.

She said, we children now must starve, Our father being dead; And then I told her not to cry, For I would get some bread.

‘Our Father,’ sir, the prayer begins, Which made me think that he, (As we have got no father here,) Would our kind Father be.

And then, you know, the prayer, sir, too, Asks God for bread each day; So in the corner, sir, I went, And that’s what made me pray.”

I quickly left that wretched room, And went with cheerful feet,―― And very soon was back again, With food enough to eat.

“I thought God heard me,” said the boy,―― I answered with a nod,―― I could not speak, but much I thought Of that child’s faith in God.

I hope you will like the story that I have written: I like it very much. M. C.

LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.

Christ Healing the Sick.

If we look into the history of Bonaparte, or Cæsar, or Alexander, we shall see that their lives were chiefly employed in killing people; in making war, by which men, women and children suffered the most dreadful agony, misery and death.

It seems to be a natural idea for men of powerful minds and great ambition, to aim at subduing their fellow-men, and when these resist, to kill them. And, strange to say, the greater number a man kills, the greater hero he is.

Such is the way with mankind. How wonderful it is, then, to take up the New Testament, and read the history of Jesus Christ. How unlike he is, to the great men of the earth――to the Cæsars, the Alexanders and the Napoleons!

In the fourth chapter of Matthew, we are told that, after leaving Nazareth, Jesus began to preach repentance, and to heal all manner of sickness and disease. Instead of wounding and killing mankind, he went about doing good.

“And his fame”――says the sacred story,――“went throughout all Syria; and they brought unto him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatic, and those which had the palsy; and he healed them.”

What a wonderful――what a beautiful story is this! Who had ever set such an example? What _man_ had ever conceived the idea of going about doing good? What _human being_ had ever the idea, the purpose, and the power, of going about, curing all manner of diseases?

Surely this was unlike _human nature_, and altogether beyond _human power_; it was evidently a _divine_ character, exercising _divine_ power. He came to save a world which was lost; for he saw that the “heart of man was only evil, and that continually.” He came to atone for the sins of mankind; to reconcile a holy God to a sinful world.

The more we contemplate the character of Jesus Christ, the more will it rise in beauty and grandeur before our minds. Let us form of him the most noble and lofty conceptions, we shall still see him towering above and beyond them.

It does not require a great mind, but only a holy heart, to see Christ in his majesty and beauty. Thus it is that such a man as Bonaparte, having no just moral vision, no eye for goodness, sees in Christ only a strange being, whom he conceives to be bewildered with his own fancies; while a simple-minded, but still inspired apostle, calls him “my Lord and my God!” See John, 20th chap., 28th verse.

The difference between the worldly spirit of selfish man, and the spirit of Christianity, may be strikingly presented, by selecting two pictures, and placing them side by side. Let us take a picture of Bonaparte, representing him in one of the leading actions of his life――and what do we see? He is fighting a battle; around him are the engines of death; blood flows on every hand; the screams of the wounded, the agonies of the dying, fill the air; the earth is strewed with ghastly forms; the very heavens are black with the smoke of the deadly conflict. _And this is human glory! This is human nature!_

[Illustration: _Christ healing the Sick._]

Let us turn to another picture, that painted by West, of which we give an engraving; it is _Christ healing the sick_. Does not every child see the difference between _human glory_ and _Christianity_; between the things to which human nature and human pride lead us, and the things to which Christ would lead us? Does not every child see the deformity of one picture when placed by the side of the other picture? How poor, paltry and mean is that spirit which sacrifices all to self! How lofty that god-like spirit, which embraces all mankind in its generous love of doing good! How contemptible is the worldling! How elevated the true Christian!

[Illustration]

Going to School.

Why do children go to school――to benefit their parents, or themselves? I sometimes fancy that children make a mistake in this matter, and fancy that they go to school just because their parents will have it so, and not because it is important to their happiness to learn to read, and spell, and write and cipher.

The fact is, that parents love their children, and desire their happiness, and therefore it is that they desire them to be taught at school. Many parents are so anxious that their children should be well educated, that, although they are poor, they will toil very hard to get the means of sending them to school.

Children should therefore consider that it is for their own sake they are sent to school, and required to learn and say their lessons. It is to make them wiser and better, and to qualify them to obtain success in life, that they are thus trained up, by their parents――those who love them best, and best know what is good for them.

The First Sailor.

All my readers have seen rafts, and boats, and ships, and they know perfectly well that it is very easy to sail on the water. But who was the first sailor? Who first ventured forth in a boat or a vessel?

[Illustration: _A savage upon his raft._]

We are told of Noah, who floated in an ark, thousands of years ago, and was thus saved when all the rest of mankind were drowned by the deluge――but no doubt people had learned to go upon the water before the time of Noah.

[Illustration: _The interior of a large ship._]

It is thought that the nautilus, of which we once gave a picture in the Museum, and which is a natural sailor, first suggested the idea of a boat or ship. It is probable, however, that mankind early saw that wood would float in water, and soon applied their observation to practical purposes. They doubtless first got upon logs, and then made rafts, to sail upon. By-and-by they doubtless built boats, and lastly ships.

There is a great difference between the beginning and end of an invention. The picture at the head of this article shows a savage upon his raft; the next is a view of the interior of a ship, displaying its floors and beams and timbers.

The art of building ships has advanced gradually, with the other arts of man. Here is a picture of a ship of war used about two thousand years ago. How very different it is from a ship of war of the present day! It has no deck, but is open like a boat; while a large ship of war of the present day, has four stories! The ancient ship of war would hold fifty or sixty people, while a ship of war, now, will hold a thousand.

[Illustration]

Inquisitive Jack.