CHAPTER IV.

_A Story about the Beetles._

One day, as Jack was going along in the field, he saw a dead mole lying upon the ground. He took it up, and admired its soft fur, and the rays upon its nose, making it look, in shape, like a star. He looked, also, very carefully to see if it had eyes, for he had been told that moles were blind.

After looking all over the head of the mole, Jack at last discovered two little eyes, as black and shining as beads, very near the creature’s nose. They were deeply hidden in the fur, and for this reason it is that people say that a mole is blind. Jack, by investigating for himself, discovered the truth, which is, that moles have eyes. The reason for having their eyes so small, and so imbedded in fur, is this,――they live under ground, and dig a great deal in the earth; it is therefore very well that they have little eyes, sheltered with fur, so that the dirt may not get into them.

[Illustration: _Moles._]

Having examined the mole some time, Jack threw it down, and went along. About two or three hours afterwards, he was coming back the same way. As he was passing the dead mole, he noticed that it appeared to be sunk in the ground. He stopped, and looked at it attentively. Pretty soon he saw a large black bug, which we call a beetle, creep from under it, and run around it.

This attracted Jack’s attention, and kneeling down, he watched carefully to see what was going on. After looking about a little, he noticed that there were four or five beetles, all at work, digging a hole under the mole, into which the creature was gradually sinking.

He lifted up the mole a little, so that he might observe them more carefully; but the creatures did not seem to mind him. They went to work again, immediately, digging away the earth, which they threw out at the sides. It was amusing to see how hard they toiled.

The heads of the beetles were shaped somewhat like a spade. With these they dug up the earth, and then clawed it away with their feet. Never did a set of men, digging a cellar, appear more active, busy and efficient.

Jack had always before hated beetles, as being ugly, disagreeable things; but now he was delighted to see them. He immediately ran off to get his aunt Piper to come and observe what was going on. She was very busy, but Jack persuaded her to go with him.

They soon came to the spot, and aunt Betsey now saw that what Jack had told her was all true. The beetles were, indeed, burying the mole. “But what are they doing it for?――are they sextons?” said Jack.

“They are called _burying beetles_,” said the aunt; “but, Jack, I shall leave you to find out yourself what they are burying the mole for.” So, after a time, Jack and his aunt went away. The next day Jack went to the place, when, behold, the mole was not to be seen! There was a little spot of fresh earth where it had lain, but that was all.

“So,” thought Jack to himself, “so, neighbor beetles, I guess you have buried the mole,――at any rate, we will see.” So Jack began to dig away the earth a little, with his fingers, and about two inches below the surface, there was the mole, sure enough. The beetles were all around the carcass, and every one of them was at work, making a feast. Jack covered up the hole, and left them all to themselves.

[Illustration]

Lucy and Ann.

A DIALOGUE.

_Ann._

Tell me, dear Lucy, Tell me true―― What is that thing Above, so blue?

_Lucy._

My little Ann, We call it sky―― And there, you know, God lives, on high.

And it is heaven Far up above, Where angels dwell, In peace and love.

And there, when dead, Good people go, To dwell with God, And angels too.

_Ann._

’Tis beautiful! But, sister dear, Is it in heaven As ’tis here?

Are there sweet flowers, And blossoms fair, And silver streams, And fragrant air?

And pretty birds, And butterflies,―― Are there such things Beyond the skies?

_Lucy._

We cannot tell; We only know, ’Tis happier there Than here below.

The sweetest thing On earth is _Love_; That fills each heart In Heaven above.

These things amid, The birds and flowers, The butterflies In blooming bowers,――

All these are fair,―― And yet more blest Art thou, dear Ann, On mother’s breast.

’Tis Love, dear child, That makes thee so, And Heaven is Love,―― That’s all we know.

[Illustration]

The Little Flower Girl.

How beautiful is Spring! See this little girl――she has gone forth into the fields alone, and she has gathered a handful of blossoms――dandelions, buttercups, and pansies.

Why should the little girl gather flowers? Because they are beautiful, you will tell me. And who told you they were beautiful? You cannot tell me that, perhaps; then I will tell you.

It is God, who made us, that has told us flowers are beautiful. He made us with eyes to see, and hearts to feel their beauty. He made these things, and He formed us so that we might love them, and take pleasure in them. How good and kind is it of our Heavenly Father, to spread pleasant things around us, and give us faculties to enjoy them!

Surely, when we see so many lovely blossoms, and so many pleasant things, scattered around us, we should think with gratitude of Him who has arranged all these things; and our hearts being filled with love to Him, we should all try to please Him, by doing as He wishes us to do.

God has done other kind things for us――He has not only made flowers, but He has made truth, charity, kindness, goodness, and other things, which are called virtues. God looks on these things, as we do upon flowers, as very lovely things; and what he wishes of us, is, that our hearts shall be full of these virtues. He likes to look on a virtuous mind, as we do on a flowery garden.

Now, my little reader, you can love these virtues, if you please, and you can adorn yourself with them. When you have learned to love them, it will give you great pleasure to think of them, and if they dwell in your own heart, you will be happy indeed. If you love truth, if you love charity and kindness, if you are fond of everything that is good and amiable, then God will love you, and you will be cheerful and happy.

[Illustration]

Dash won’t learn his Lesson!

Here is Dash in his kennel, and Alice by his side. Alice has got a book, and she tries to get Dash to read. Let us listen, and hear what Alice says.

“Oh Dash, you are a naughty dog! Why don’t you say a, b, c? Look on the book! Mind! If you don’t mind, I’ll whip you!

“A’nt you ashamed, Dash, not to learn your letters? What! be a blockhead all your days, and not learn to read? Shame! Shame on you! Why, father says you are six years old, and you don’t know your letters! Naughty Dash!”

To Correspondents.

We are gratified to find from the letters we get from our friends in all quarters, that the “Little Leaves” are acceptable to our subscribers. We are particularly glad to find that our larger readers do not object that so many pages should be devoted to the amusement of “Little Readers.”

To J. L. S., who inquires if the story of Limping Tom is true, we have to reply that if it is not, it sounds very like the truth.

As to R――――, who discovers that in our April number we have got in a cut which was inserted last year, we beg to observe, that we had noticed this ourselves, but were afraid to speak about it, lest it should be only an April fool trick of the printer’s boys, and we should get the laugh upon us, thereby.

We say to L――――, who wishes to hear something more about Bill Keeler, that we have inserted an anecdote of him in this number. We are glad to find that the story of Inquisitive Jack is approved of. We shall make Jack out a very clever fellow, before we have done with him.

[Illustration]

Truth Triumphant.

In a far-off country, there was once a jeweller who left home with some valuable diamonds, for the purpose of selling them in a city at some distance from his own residence. He took with him his son and a slave. This slave he had purchased when quite a small boy, and had brought him up more like an adopted child than a servant.

The merchant at length reached the city whither he was going, and disposed of his diamonds with great advantage. While preparing to return home he was seized with a sudden illness, which in a few hours terminated his life. The merchant was quite a stranger in the city. This his servant knew, and believing himself quite safe, he declared himself to be the son of the deceased jeweller, and entitled to take charge of his property.

The real son was filled with great grief, but what could he do? He had no means of establishing his right to the property, for he had no means of proving himself to be the son of the deceased. The servant was loud in his pretensions, and one circumstance served to favor his claims. He was a young man, quite comely in his person, and polished in his manners; whereas the jeweller’s son was mean in his appearance, and had been seriously injured in his education by the indulgence of his parents. It was, therefore, quite natural that strangers should take part with the servant against the son.

At length, in order to end the dispute, the latter referred the matter to a court of law. There, however, from a total want of proof, nothing could be decided. Each party was equally positive, but neither could do more than to assert his claim. At length the judge declared his utter inability to determine which was the rightful heir to the property.

The novelty of the case, and the great amount of property in question, excited the interest and curiosity of a large part of the city. Divers opinions prevailed, and the subject became a fruitful theme of conversation and dispute. It was thought to be a case of so much importance as to merit the attention of the prince of the country.

The case was accordingly stated to him; but in like manner he also was confounded, and at a loss how to decide the question. At length a happy thought occurred to the chief judge of the prince, by which to ascertain the real heir. The two claimants were summoned before him. He ordered them to stand behind a curtain prepared for the occasion. Through this curtain two openings were made. They were directed to project their heads through these holes, and then each one might tell his story. When the judge had heard them he was to decide the case, and cut off the head of the one whom he should judge to be the slave.

Both agreed to the plan; the son relying upon the honesty and the justice of his cause; the servant, through his confidence in the impossibility of detection.

The judge took his seat, and the parties took their stations. An officer with a drawn sword stood in front ready to strike off the head of the one whom the judge should decide to be the impostor.

They now told their stories. Just as the last one had finished, the judge cried out in a stern voice to the officer, “Enough! Enough! strike off the villain’s head!” The officer sprung towards the young men with an uplifted sword. The impostor, conscious of his guilt, started back behind the curtain; the son, conscious of the justice of his cause, stood unmoved!

The judge immediately decided for the latter, ordered the property to be given to him, and the slave to be punished for his wicked and ungrateful attempt at deception.

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

Vol. V. JUNE, 1843. No. 6.

[Illustration]

Louisa Vinning.

This little artist of nature, who has recently excited the astonishment of the musical world, and claims the admiration of all, as a remarkable instance of precocious powers, was born on the 10th Nov., 1836, at Kingsbridge, Devonshire, England. Her father, John Vinning, is a musician of talent: as violinist and composer, he has acquired celebrity. His two brothers are also musicians, having been induced, by an irresistible inclination for music, to abandon the professions to which they had been bred.

When the little warbler who is now the subject of notice, had reached the age of nine months, it was observed that she derived intense delight from music; and if she was ever fretful, the sound of her father’s violin immediately soothed her; at the same time her whole frame would move in unison with the measure, and her face beam with ecstasy. Her father indulged the child in occasionally playing to her, but the excitement was so intense that he became apprehensive it might injure her. He accordingly took the advice of several medical men, who recommended a moderate indulgence only of the child’s passion.

Before Louisa could speak words, she began to sing tunes with accuracy and effect; and often while asleep, she would warble forth some soft and sweet melody,――an air she had heard, or the impromptu suggestion of a dream. On one occasion the father was called by the mother, whom he found in tears by the bed-side of the sleeping child, who was singing a beautiful air, in a soft and mellow voice. The father remained at the place, and the little warbler repeated it several times. He immediately took a pen and wrote it down. This song was sold to Mr. Burkley, of London, who wrote some lines to it, and it was published under the title of the “Infant’s Dream.” This composition has been much admired. In the morning after the child had sung this song in her sleep, she said to her mother, “Oh, I have seen such beautiful angels in my sleep――all gold――beautiful gold!”

When this interesting prodigy was two years old, she was announced to sing in public in London. Her performances were such as to excite the utmost wonder, even of musicians of the highest standing. The celebrated Thalberg, then in London, Sir G. Smart, and the Misses Moschelles, stated that her singing was astonishingly correct, her voice pleasing and of great compass, her ear correct, and her feeling quick and deep. Such was her fame, at this age, that the queen sent for her to come to Buckingham palace. On hearing the child sing, her majesty was so touched, that she clasped her warmly to her breast, and afterwards placed a large diamond pin in her bosom, as an expression of her delight.

From this time, this little singer continued to attract public attention, and promises, when she arrives at maturity, fully to realize the hopes her early displays and genius have inspired.

Importance of a Fly.

The following facts may give our readers some idea of the vast importance to the British treasury of a little insect, called the hop fly, or _Aphis Humelia_.

In the year 1822, on the 14th of May, the hop duty, on a fair estimate, according to the prospect of the crop, was laid at £100,000; the fly, however, appearing pretty plentifully towards the end of the month, it was estimated as likely to produce only £80,000. The fly increased, and by the end of June the duty had gone down to £60,000; by the end of July, to £30,000; by the end of August, to £22,000, and by the end of December to £14,000. The duty actually paid this year was £15,463 10s. 6d.

In 1825, the duty commenced at an estimate of £130,000; but, owing to the excessive increase of the fly, it had in July fallen to £16,000; at the beginning of September it rose to £29,000, but towards the end fell again to £22,000. The amount paid was £24,317 0s. 11d.

In the following year, the summer was remarkably dry and hot; the thermometer for several nights continued above seventy degrees all the night through. The crop of hops was immense; scarcely a fly was to be found, and the duty, which was estimated in May at £120,000, rose to £265,000, and the amount actually paid was £262,331 0s. 9d., being the largest amount ever known.

From this, it will appear, that in duty alone, a little insignificant- looking fly has a control over £150,000, or 700,000 dollars, annual income to the British treasury! Supposing the hop grounds of England capable of paying this latter duty annually, which they certainly are, it is very manifest that in 1825 these creatures were the means of robbing the treasury of over £100,000; this seems a large sum, but it is only a small part of the amount actually destroyed, for we here only speak of the tax, and not of the entire value of the hops destroyed. This, no doubt, is three times as much as we have estimated, for the duty alone. In some years it is probable that the hop fly destroys hops in England to the value of nearly two millions of dollars! Is not this driving business on a large scale?

[Illustration]

June.

This first month of summer is said to derive its name from Juno, a Roman goddess, in honor of whom a festival was celebrated at the beginning of the month: its zodiacal sign is Cancer, which the sun enters on the 21st. Summer is now fully established, and even in New England the grumblers say nothing of easterly winds, and confess that it is warm enough. In the southern states, the people are beginning to fear the return of fevers; beside, the days and nights are there too hot for comfort――and, therefore, those who can leave home are about departing for the north.

The mower is now in the field with his scythe. At an early hour we hear the merry ringing of the stone upon the steel, as he is sharpening it. How beautiful now is the meadow――the orchard――the wheat field, the maize field, and the forest! How various and how brilliant the flowers; how fragrant the air――how balmy, yet how healthful the breeze!

[Illustration: _William the Conqueror._]

[Illustration: _Henry II._]

[Illustration: _Edward Longshanks._]

[Illustration: _Henry I._]

[Illustration: _Richard of the Lion Heart._]

[Illustration: _Henry IV._]

A Chapter of English Kings.

In the year 1041, the Danes were finally driven out of England, and for a short space the Saxon kings were restored to the throne. The last of these, Harold, was defeated by _William, Duke of Normandy_, or _William the Conqueror_, in the celebrated battle of Hastings, in the year 1066.

This decided the fate of England: Harold was killed upon the field, and the Norman line of kings succeeded to the throne. William reigned about twenty years. He was an able warrior, but he ruled with great severity.

He divided the lands of the nobility of England among his followers, and oppressed the people by rigorous laws. They therefore held meetings to devise plots of rebellion, usually in the evening. To suppress them, he ordered a bell to be rung every evening at eight o’clock, at which time they were required to put out their fires and lights. This was called the _couvre feu_,――French words, signifying _cover fire_: it is from this that the word curfew has come, which now means, the bell rung at evening, about the time for the people to go to bed.

William endeavored to make the English people live like Frenchmen; he required the French language to be used in the courts of law, and it was spoken by himself and all around the palace.

William took pains to make his new kingdom thrive; he had a careful survey made of the lands and property, and these were registered in a book called the Dooms-day book, copies of which are still preserved.

During William’s reign, the laws were firmly established, and a great deal was done to benefit the people. He was at first hated as a conqueror and oppressor, but he was finally regarded as a sagacious, though severe king. He died at Rouen, in France, 1087, aged 63 years.

_William Rufus_, or William the Red, the second son of the Conqueror, succeeded his father; he was addicted to field sports, and one day, while pursuing a deer in the forest, he was killed by an arrow, discharged by Walter Tyrrel. The arrow first hit a tree, but it glanced, and struck the king in the breast. This occurred in the year 1100.

_Henry First_, the third son of the Conqueror, succeeded. He was very despotic, but still he sought to promote the prosperity of his kingdom. He patronised learning, restored the University of Cambridge, and received the title of _Beau Clerk_, which implies that he was a good scholar. He punished robbers, who were very numerous in his day, with severity; he abolished the hated curfew, established a uniform standard of weights and measures, and granted charters of various kinds, which were the first beginnings of English liberty. He died in Normandy, 1135.

_Stephen_ usurped the throne which Henry had bequeathed to his daughter, Matilda, in 1135. After a disturbed reign of nineteen years, Stephen died in 1154, and was succeeded by _Henry II._, son of Matilda. He held the kingdom of Brittany, in France, and conquered Ireland, which has ever since been attached to the British crown.

He was a wise prince, but he had great trouble with the clergy. Thomas á Becket, the primate of England, who was thought to be disposed greatly to extend his power, was murdered by some persons in the cathedral of Canterbury. This crime was laid to King Henry, and he was obliged, by the Pope of Rome, to take a solemn oath that he had nothing to do with it, in order to clear himself. He was also obliged to walk barefoot to the tomb of Becket, and to yield to various penances, imposed by the monks of Canterbury. He was severely whipped with rods by the monks, during his penance, and to this he patiently submitted. He died 1189.

_Richard the Lion-Hearted_, his son, succeeded him, and was crowned 1189. He was a man of great bodily strength, of invincible courage, and possessed many generous qualities. He was seized with the mania of the age, to go and fight against the Turks for the recovery of Jerusalem. In Palestine, he performed prodigies of valor, and on his way back, was taken and imprisoned by the Duke of Austria. He was released after some years, his people paying a heavy ransom. He was afterwards shot by a cross-bow, while besieging a castle in Normandy.

He was succeeded by his brother _John_, who was so poor as to get the surname of _Lackland_. John was a weak, vicious king; but one good thing happened during his reign. He signed a paper, called _Magna Charta_, or _Great Charter_, in which he yielded some portion of the despotic power before claimed by the kings of England. This was a serious abridgement of the king’s authority, and it opened the way for still further enlarging the liberties of the people. He died in 1216.

_Henry III._, though but nine years old, succeeded his father John, and reigned fifty-five years. He was a weak and vicious king, and the people took advantage of his folly and weakness, to extort from the crown various concessions, which extended and secured their liberties.

He was succeeded by his son _Edward_, in 1272, called _Longshanks_, on account of his uncommonly long legs. He was a famous warrior, and conquered Wales. He made war upon Scotland, and was bravely resisted by the famous William Wallace. While marching with a great army against Robert Bruce, who headed the Scotch, he died, and his son, _Edward II._, succeeded him in 1307. He led an army of 100,000 men against Scotland, but was defeated with vast slaughter, in the celebrated battle of Bannockburn. He was a foolish king, and his own wife imprisoned him, and caused him to be murdered.

His son, _Edward III._, began to reign in 1327, at the age of eighteen. He was a brave warrior, and beat the Scotch and the French. His son, the celebrated Black Prince, was not less renowned as a warrior, while he was also distinguished for his kindness and generosity. This prince died 1376, and his father the year after.

_Richard II._, grandson of Edward III., came to the throne in 1377, being only eleven years old. During his reign, there was a famous rebellion, the leader of which was Walter Tyler, a blacksmith. Walter, in a conference with the king, was so insolent, that William Walworth knocked him down with a club, and one of the soldiers despatched him.

Richard was deposed by the duke of Lancaster, and being imprisoned, was either killed or starved to death. The Duke was crowned king in 1400, under the title of _Henry IV_. It was during his reign, that the wars of _the two roses_ took place; that is, the war between the houses of York and Lancaster. Their partisans were distinguished, the one by red, the other by white roses. He died 1413, aged forty-six, and was succeeded by his son, Henry V.

We shall have something more to say of English Kings, in a future number.

* * * * *

“SIR, you have had an education, I suppose,” said an illiterate preacher in Maine to a learned clergyman. “Yes, sir,” was the reply. “I am thankful,” rejoined the former, “that the Lord has opened my mouth to preach without any learning.” “A similar event,” replied the latter, “took place in Balaam’s time; but such things are of rare occurrence at the present day.”

True Stories.

SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.――When this eminent architect was building St. Paul’s cathedral, he caused the following notice to be affixed to several parts of the structure. “Whereas, among laborers and others, that ungodly custom of swearing is so frequently heard, to the dishonor of God and contempt of his authority; and to the end that such impiety may be utterly banished from these works, which are intended for the service of God and the honor of religion: it is ordered, that profane swearing shall be a sufficient crime to dismiss any laborer that comes to the call; and the clerk of the works, upon a sufficient proof, shall dismiss him accordingly: and that if any master, working by task, shall not, upon admonition, reform the profanation among his apprentices, servants, and laborers, it shall be construed his fault, and he shall be liable to be censured by the commissioners.”

* * * * *

MADAME DE GENLIS.――Madame de Genlis relates the following anecdote, which occurred during her residence at Berlin:――

“My saloon had two doors, one opening into my chamber, and the other conducting to a private staircase, descending to the court. On the platform of this staircase was a door opposite to mine, belonging to the apartments of an emigrant. This man was of a savage disposition, and never saw any one in the house. Some one had given me two pots of beautiful hyacinths; at night I placed them on this platform, between my neighbor’s door and my own. In the morning, I went to take them again, and had the disagreeable surprise to see my beautiful hyacinths cut into pieces, and scattered round the pots which held them. I easily guessed that my neighbor was the author of this deed, who had been excited to it, doubtless, notwithstanding his French politeness, by the libels which were published against me. Not wishing the affair to be known, I did not ask more flowers of the persons who had given me these, but directed a servant to buy me some. Having placed these in the pots, I attached to them a slip of paper, on which I wrote these words:――‘Destroy my works, if you will, but respect the works of God.’ At night I placed them on the platform: in the morning I went with eagerness to see what had been their fate, and saw with great pleasure that some one had been content with simply watering them. I carried them immediately into the saloon, and placing them on the table, perceived that there were attached to them two silk strings, each suspending a cornelian ring.”

* * * * *

A GENTLEMAN IN AMERICA.――“A man of my acquaintance,” says Dr. Dwight, “who was of a vehement and rigid temper, had, many years since, a dispute with a friend of his, a professor of religion, and had been injured by him. With strong feelings of resentment, he made him a visit, for the avowed purpose of quarrelling with him. He accordingly stated the nature and extent of the injury; and was preparing, as he afterwards confessed, to load him with a train of severe reproaches, when his friend cut him short by acknowledging, with the utmost readiness and frankness, the injustice of which he had been guilty; expressing his own regret for the wrong he had done, requesting his forgiveness, and proffering him ample compensation. He was compelled to say that he was satisfied, and withdrew full of mortification that he had been precluded from venting his indignation and wounding his friend with keen and violent reproaches for his conduct.

“As he was walking homeward, he said to himself to this effect: ‘There must be something more in religion than I have hitherto suspected. Were any man to address me in the tone of haughtiness and provocation with which I accosted my friend this morning, it would be impossible for me to preserve the equanimity of which I have been a witness; and especially with so much frankness, humility and meekness, to acknowledge the wrong which I had done; so readily ask forgiveness of the man whom I had injured; and so cheerfully promise a satisfactory recompense. I should have met his anger with at least equal resentment, paid him reproach for reproach, and inflicted wound for wound. There is something in this man’s disposition which is not mine. There is something in the religion which he professes, and which I am forced to believe he feels; something which makes him so superior, so much better, so much more amiable, than I can pretend to be. The subject strikes me in a manner to which I have hitherto been a stranger. It is high time to examine it more thoroughly, with more candor, and with greater solicitude, also, than I have done hitherto.’

“From this incident, a train of thoughts and emotions commenced in the mind of this man, which terminated in his profession of the Christian religion, his relinquishment of the business in which he was engaged, and his consecration of himself to the ministry of the gospel.”

* * * * *

A QUAKER.――A gay young man, travelling in a stage coach to London, forced his deistical sentiments on the company, by attempting to ridicule the Scriptures; and, among other topics, made himself merry with the story of David and Goliath, strongly urging the impossibility of a youth like David being able to throw a stone with sufficient force to sink into the giant’s forehead. On this he appealed to the company, and particularly to a grave Quaker gentleman, who sat silent in one corner of the carriage. “Indeed, friend,” replied he, “I do not think it at all impossible, if the Philistine’s head was as soft as thine.” This grave rebuke reduced the young man to silence.

* * * * *

AN AGED MINISTER.――A venerable minister at H―――― preached a sermon on the subject of future punishment. On the next day it was agreed among some thoughtless young men, that one of them should go to him, and endeavor to draw him into a dispute, with the design of making a jest of him and of his doctrine. The wag accordingly went, was introduced into the minister’s study, and commenced the conversation by saying, “I believe there is a small dispute between you and me, sir, and I thought I would call this morning and try to settle it.” “Ha!” said the clergyman, “what is it?” “Why,” replied the wag, “you say that the wicked will go into punishment, and I do not think that they will.” “Oh, if that is all,” said the minister, “there is no dispute between you and me. If you turn to Matt. xxv. 46, you will find that the dispute is between you and the Lord Jesus Christ, and I advise you to go immediately and settle it with him.”

* * * * *

A COUNTRYMAN.――It has often been a matter of wonder, that the principles and reasonings of infidels, though frequently accompanied with great natural and acquired abilities, are seldom known to make any impression upon thoughtful people. It is said of a deceased gentleman, who was eminent in the literary world, that in early life he drank deeply of the free-thinking scheme. He and one of his companions, of the same turn of mind, often carried on their conversations in the hearing of a religious but illiterate countryman. This gentleman afterwards became a true Christian, and felt concerned for the countryman, lest his faith in Christianity should have been shaken. One day, therefore, he asked him, whether what had so frequently been advanced in his hearing, had not produced this effect upon him. “By no means,” answered the countryman; “it never made the least impression upon me.” “No impression upon you!” said the gentleman; “why, you must have known that we had read and thought on these things much more than you had any opportunity of doing.” “Oh, yes,” replied the man; “but I knew also your manner of living; I knew that to maintain such a course of conduct, you found it necessary to renounce Christianity.”

* * * * *

REV. S. WESLEY.――The Rev. Samuel Wesley, rector of Epworth, and father of the celebrated John Wesley, once went into a coffee-house in London for some refreshment. There were several gentlemen in a box at the other end of the room, one of whom, an officer of the guards, swore dreadfully. The rector saw that he could not speak to him without much difficulty; he therefore desired the waiter to give him a glass of water. When it was brought, he said aloud, “Carry it to your gentleman in the red coat, and desire him to wash his mouth after his oaths.” The officer rose up in a fury; but the gentlemen in the box laid hold of him, one of them crying out, “Nay, colonel, you gave the first offence; you see the gentleman is a clergyman; you know it is an affront to swear in his presence.” The officer was thus restrained, and Mr. Wesley departed.

Some years after, being again in London, and walking in St. James’s Park, a gentleman joined him, who, after some conversation, inquired if he recollected having seen him before. Mr. Wesley replied in the negative. The gentleman then recalled to his mind the scene in the coffee-house; and added, “Since that time, sir, I thank God, I have feared an oath; and as I have a perfect recollection of you, I rejoiced at seeing you, and could not refrain from expressing my gratitude to God and to you.”

* * * * *

JOHN FOX.――When Fox, the well known author of the “Book of Martyrs,” was once leaving the palace of Aylmer, the Bishop of London, a company of poor people begged him to relieve their wants with great importunity. Fox, having no money, returned to the bishop, and asked the loan of five pounds, which was readily granted; he immediately distributed it among the poor, by whom he was surrounded. Some months after, Aylmer asked Fox for the money he had borrowed. “I have laid it out for you,” was the answer, “and paid it where you owed it――to the poor people who lay at your gate.” Far from being offended, Aylmer thanked Fox for thus being his steward.

* * * * *

INTEMPERANCE.――A TEMPERATE MAN. A man of temperate habits was once dining at the house of a free drinker. No sooner was the cloth removed from the dinner table, than wine and spirits were produced, and he was asked to take a glass of spirits and water. “No, thank you,” said he, “I am not ill.” “Take a glass of wine then,” said his host, “or a glass of ale.” “No, thank you,” said he, “I am not thirsty.” These answers produced a loud burst of laughter.

Soon after this, the temperate man took a piece of bread from the sideboard, and handed it to his host, who refused it, saying he was not hungry. At this, the temperate man laughed in his turn. “Surely,” said he, “I have as much reason to laugh at you for not eating when you are not hungry, as you have to laugh at me for declining medicine when not ill, and drink when I am not thirsty.”

[Illustration: _The Western Hemisphere._]

Geography.

Geography is that science which describes the earth on which we live; its lands and waters; its mountains and valleys; its hills and plains; its towns, cities, countries, nations, and inhabitants.

The above picture is a representation of one half of the earth, or what is called the _Western Hemisphere_. On this you see the _continent_ of America, the Atlantic _Ocean_, the Pacific ocean, the Northern ocean, and the Southern ocean. About three fourths of the surface of the Western hemisphere is covered with water.

The continent of America consists of North America and South America. These are united by a narrow strip of land, called the _isthmus_ of Darien. In the narrowest part, this isthmus is but about thirty-seven miles wide.

North America is separated from Asia at the north-west, by Behring’s _Straits_, which are about thirty-nine miles wide. North America is separated from Greenland, which is a great _island_, almost always covered with snow and ice, near the north _pole_.

The continent of North America is about 9000 miles long, from _Cape_ Horn, to the Northern ocean. It has a vast _range of mountains_, extending, in a bending line, nearly the whole length of it. This range is the longest in the world. In South America, some of the mountains are about five miles high, and are the loftiest in the world, except the peaks of the Himmaleh mountains, in Asia. It is supposed that there are two hundred _volcanoes_ in America.

The largest _river_ in the world is the Mississippi, which, including the Missouri, properly one of its branches, is about 4000 miles long. The river Amazon, in South America, though not quite as long, spreads its branches wider than any other river in the world, and carries more water to the sea than any other river.

The largest fresh water lake in the world, is that of Lake Superior, in North America.

[Illustration: _The Eastern Hemisphere._]

The above picture represents the _Eastern Hemisphere_. It includes the Eastern Continent, which is divided into Europe, Asia, and Africa. Africa is the south-western portion, Europe the north-western portion, and Asia the north-eastern portion. The eastern continent contains about twice as much land as the western continent.

Between Europe, Africa and Asia, is the Mediterranean sea, which is about 2000 miles long, from east to west. The Atlantic ocean lies west of Europe and Africa; the Indian ocean lies south of Asia, and south-east of Africa; the Pacific ocean lies east of Asia.

Between the Indian ocean and Pacific ocean, are many large islands. The largest is New Holland, which is about as extensive as all Europe. This island belongs to the British nation, who have settlements here, occupied by English, Scotch, and Irish people.

There are many curious things upon this island. The natives are a kind of negro, who live in a manner almost as rude and savage as wild bears. Among the animals, are the kangaroo, which goes forty feet at a leap, and the platypus, with fur like a beaver and a bill like a duck; swans which are black, and a kind of bird with a tail shaped like a harp.

Asia is the most populous part of the globe, and has more inhabitants than Europe, Africa, and America, all together. China alone has about three hundred and sixty millions of people.

In America there are only a few great cities, such as New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New Orleans, in the United States; Havana, in the West Indies; Mexico, in the United States of Mexico; Lima, Buenos Ayres, Valparaiso, and Rio Janeiro, in South America.

In Europe there are many great cities, among which London and Paris are the largest; in Asia, Constantinople and Pekin are the largest; in Africa, Grand Cairo and Alexandria are the largest.

Asia was the first part of the globe inhabited by human beings; Africa was next inhabited, Europe next, and America last. America was not discovered by the Europeans, till about three hundred and fifty years ago.

[Illustration]

The Bob-o-link.

This is the familiar name of the Rice Bunting. He is about seven inches and a half long, of a deep black color, with the feathers edged with white and yellow. In Massachusetts, it is first seen in May, among the fields and meadows, which at that period begin to ring with its cheerful song. This is familiar to every school-boy, and is composed of sounds which resemble the words Bob-o-lee, Bob-o-linke. Mr. Nuttall, who has written several books about birds, says that as the Bob-o-link rises and hovers on the wing, near his mate, he seems to say――“Bob-o-link, Bob-o-link, Tom Denny, Tom Denny, come, pay me the two and sixpence you’ve owed me more than a year and a half ago! tshe, tshe, tsh, tsh, tshe!” He then dives down into the grass, as if to avoid a reply.

This bird builds its nest on the ground; it is formed of loose withered grass, and can scarcely be distinguished from the earth around it. The eggs are five or six, of a light olive color, spotted with brown. The male keeps up a continued song while his partner is sitting, as if to cheer her in her confinement; but when the young brood appear, this song is less frequent, and he joins his mate in the task of feeding and rearing them.

In August, the whole brood, old and young, set off for the south, where they spend the winter, gathering the wild rice of Delaware as they proceed, and offering great sport to the gunner. They swarm in the rice fields of Carolina and Georgia, and are much disliked by the planters for their voracity. They are excellent eating, being so fat when they reach the West Indies, as to be called Butter birds. Here they spend the winter, but never fail to return in the spring to their native meadows, where they feed on insects, worms, crickets, beetles, and also on grass seeds.

Boys are very fond of catching the Bob-o-link, which they sell for cages; but, although he is tolerably lively in captivity, yet no one who has seen and heard him at liberty, can take any pleasure in his deadened music and dulled plumage. In a state of nature all birds moult, that is, change their plumage, and after a time generally reappear in their former gay attire; but we have been told that the Bob-o-link, in captivity, after moulting once, never resumes the dress he wore in freedom; as if, absent from his mate, for whom alone he sung and plumed himself, it were of no consequence what his appearance might be. Let those of my little readers who have an opportunity of observing, see if this story be true.

[Illustration]

The White or Polar Bear.

This formidable animal is generally found within the polar circle. It is a land animal, yet it depends upon the sea for its subsistence. It preys principally upon seals, young walruses and whales, and upon those foxes and wolves which sometimes seek their food among the ice. Its size varies, being from eight to twelve feet long, and weighing from 900 to 1600 pounds. His fur is thick and very long, and, like the feathers of water birds, cannot be wet by almost any exposure to water. He swims at the rate of three miles an hour. He cannot climb trees like other bears, nor does he need so to do, as his habitation is among the icebergs. He is a very formidable and powerful animal, and when attacked, makes desperate resistance.

From the nature of their food, the flesh of the polar bear is rank and fishy, though not unwholesome. The fat resembles tallow, and melts into a transparent oil, which has no offensive smell. The skin is very serviceable, as well as handsome, for a variety of domestic purposes, and it is an article of considerable value to the people of the cold northern regions. The Greenlanders pull it off whole, and make a sack of it, into which they creep, and find a warm and comfortable bed. The natives of Hudson’s Bay make very handsome and pliable garments of these skins.

The Polar Bear may be considered as the most interesting of all bears. Much is said of its great strength, and power of enduring hunger and cold; of the peculiarity of its form and appearance; of the perils and privations to which it must often be exposed; of its great ferocity and daring when attacked, and of its strong attachment to its young. Nothing but death can stop the attentions of the female to her cubs. When they are wounded, she will fondle them, turn them over, lick them, offer them food, and pay them even more tender attentions than some human beings bestow upon their offspring; and when she finds all her efforts unavailing, she makes most piteous moans.

The White Bear is found in the polar regions of both continents.

* * * * *

THE BOY AND HIS MITTENS.――I was going around the corner of Park street church, in February, 1835. It was the morning of one of those days when the thermometer was hovering about the chill point of zero. I chanced to notice a small boy, standing with his back to the basement wall of the church; his cheeks glistening in the keen wind, the tears flowing down his face, and a kind of blubbering sound issuing from his mouth. His little red hands were bare, but in one of them he held a pair of mittens. He was the picture of distress and imbecility. I went up to him, and asked him why he was crying. “My fingers are cold,” said he. “But why don’t you put on your mittens?” said I. “Oh, because my fingers are so cold!” said he. “But can’t you put them on?” said I. “Oh yes, I _can_ put them on,” said the boy, “but it hurts.”

“The child is father of the man,” thought I. This boy, here, in a matter of his fingers, is acting precisely as many men act in regard to matters of the deepest importance. Rather than bear the slight pain of putting on his mittens, he will run the risk of freezing his fingers. And when I see a man spending his time in idleness, and thus laying up a prospect of future poverty and distress, rather than work and be industrious, _I think of the boy and his mittens_. When I see a man indulging in a habit of tippling, or any other bad practice, _because it is hard to leave off, I think of the boy and his mittens_.

* * * * *

IDLENESS.――If the intellect requires to be provided with perpetual objects, what must it be with the affections? Depend upon it, the most fatal idleness is that of the heart; and the man who feels weary of life may be sure that he does not love his fellow-creatures as he ought.

The Unfaithful Servant.

A noble Duke of Scotland, in one of his walks, chanced one day to see a very fine cow. Having ascertained to whom the animal belonged, he went to the owner, and offered him a handsome price for her. For a time the latter hesitated, but at length accepted it, and promised to drive the cow the next morning.

Not finding it convenient to go himself, the farmer sent his boy to drive the cow. On approaching the house, the animal appeared frightened, and refused to proceed. At the time, the Duke happened to be walking at a short distance, and the boy, not knowing who he was, craved his assistance, in his Scotch brogue.

“Heh, mun, come here, an’ gie’s a han’ wi’ this beast.”

The Duke, perceiving the boy’s mistake, pursued his walk, without appearing to understand it. In the mean time, the cow became still more unmanageable, upon which the lad, with a tone of apparent distress, cried out, “Come here, mun, and as sure’s anything, I’ll gie ye the hauf o’ what I get.”

Pleased with the boy’s manner, and especially with his generosity, the Duke now stepped forward as requested, and lent a helping hand.

“And now,” said the Duke, as they drove the cow forward, “how much do you think you will get for this job?”

“Oh, I dinna ken,” said the boy, “but I’m sure o’ something, for the folk up bye at the house are guid to a’ bodies.”

As they approached the house, the Duke darted by the boy, and, entering by a private way, called a servant, and putting a sovereign into his hand, bid him give it to the boy that drove the cow.

The Duke now returned to the avenue, and was soon rejoined by the boy.

“Well, and how much did you get, my lad?” inquired the Duke.

“A _shilling_,” said the boy, “and there’s half o’t t’ ye.”

“A shilling!” rejoined the Duke, “only a shilling! you got more.”

“No I dinna,” said the boy with great earnestness, “as sure’s death, that’s a’ I get, and d’ye no think it plenty?”

“I do not,” said the Duke; “there must be some mistake, and as I am acquainted with the Duke, if you’ll return with me, I’ll get you some more money.”

The boy consented, and back they went. The Duke rang the bell, and ordered all the servants to be assembled.

“Now,” said the Duke to the boy, “point out to me the person that gave you the shilling.”

“It was the chap there, wi’ the white apron,” said the boy, pointing to the butler.

“You villain,” said the Duke.

The butler fell upon his knees, and confessed the wicked act.

“Give the boy the sovereign, and immediately leave my house,” said the Duke.

The butler implored.

“No,” said the Duke, “you are no longer to be trusted. You have been detected in an act of villany, which renders you unfit to serve _me_. You have lost your shilling, your situation, and your character. Go, and henceforth learn that ‘honesty is the best policy.’”

By this time, the boy discovered, to his amazement, his assistant, in the person of the Duke; and the Duke was so delighted with the sterling worth and honesty of the boy, that he ordered him to be sent to school, and to be provided for at his own expense.

* * * * *

Daniel Purcell, the punster, being desired to make a pun extempore, asked, “Upon what subject?” “The king,” was the answer. “O, sir,” replied Daniel, “the king is not a _subject_.”

The Barber of Paris.

In the city of Paris, there is an ancient street known by the name of Rue de la Harpe. In one part of this street there formerly stood two dwelling-houses, in one of which a crime of a most horrible nature was some years since perpetrated, and the discovery of which was remarkably sudden and providential.

In one of these houses a barber had his shop; a part of the adjoining house was occupied by a pastry-cook.

One day two gentlemen entered the shop of the barber for the purpose of being shaved. These gentlemen belonged to a town some distance from Paris. They were men of wealth, and had come to the city for the purpose of transacting business. It is not uncommon for persons in France, who are well able to ride, to travel on foot. In this manner had these gentlemen come to the city. Their only attendant was a faithful dog.

Before proceeding to execute their business, they called, as I said, at the shop of the barber to get shaved. The barber being employed in shaving another person, the strangers, in the interim, incautiously entered into conversation with each other, during which they alluded to a sum of money which they had about them. The barber overheard them, but appeared to take no notice of the conversation.

At length one of the strangers was called to the chair, and the shaving operation was soon finished. This done, he turned to his companion, and observed, “We have but a short time, you know, to transact all our business; and now, while you are being shaved, I will step down the street and attend to an errand which has been entrusted to me.”

“Return soon,” said his friend.

“Before you are ready to move,” replied he; and upon this he left the shop, and hastened forward to perform the errand.

After a short absence only, he was again at the door of the barber’s shop; on opening which, he was informed that his friend was already gone.

“Gone!” said the other with some surprise. But as the dog, which belonged to his friend, was still sitting without the door, he ceased to wonder; and, as his friend would probably be back soon, he seated himself, and chatted with the barber, till he should return.

A half hour had passed, and he began to be impatient. At length, he went out, and walked up and down the street; but nothing could he see or learn of his friend. Again he returned to the shop, and again interrogated the barber. “Did my friend leave any message for me?” “No,” said the barber, “all I know is, that when he was shaved he went out.”

“It is strange,” said the man.

“It _is_ singular,” said the barber. “I wish I could help you, my friend. Pray command my services, as you please.”

But the stranger knew not what measures to adopt. At length, the singular movements of the dog, still there, attracted his notice. He appeared restless and watchful; and, at intervals, uttered a low and piteous howl. This startled the stranger, and the suspicion of foul play crossed his mind. He hinted his suspicion, delicately indeed, but the barber took fire and ordered him to quit the shop.

The manner of the barber rather increased than allayed his suspicion. And then the dog――his conduct was inexplicable. Nothing would induce him to quit the place. The poor animal appeared kind to the remaining stranger, but nothing would induce him to stir from the spot.

The distress of the stranger now amounted to agony. At length he ventured to make known his story to some passers-by. They stopped and listened. Others came up and listened also. A crowd was soon collected.

By some it was proposed to send for the officers of the police. Others said, “No, let us search the house.” This latter course was at length agreed upon. Accordingly, a competent number of men entered, and as the people greatly increased without, they barred the door, and began to examine. No discovery, however, was made, and the search was relinquished.

All this time, however, the dog continued at his post. At length, when the search was through, and nothing found, the barber requested the people to leave his shop, which they did. Now, coming to the door, he began to assure the people of his innocence. At this moment the dog descried him. In an instant he sprang and caught him by the throat. Persons flew to his assistance, and, at the hazard of their lives, rescued him from the grasp of the dog, who seemed urged on with indescribable madness and fury.

What could this mean? Was the dog really mad, or had the barber secretly made way with his master? One opinion only prevailed. There had in some way been foul play, and the dog was only acting out the sagacity which the God of nature had given him. It was agreed that the dog should have his liberty and be allowed to pursue the course he pleased.

The crowd fell back, the doors were opened, and the dog let loose. He sprang to the threshold, and entering the shop, smelled his way down a pair of stairs into a dark cellar, which he filled with his howlings.

The noise of the dog was heard without. Several persons entered the shop――lights were procured, and on searching the cellar, a door was found which communicated with the cellar of the adjoining house. Information was immediately given to the people above. They forthwith surrounded the house. That cellar was also searched, and there was found the murdered remains of the unfortunate stranger. On his trial, the barber confessed his guilt.

The World within a Plant.

“The fragrance of a carnation,” says a fine writer, “led me to enjoy it frequently and near.” While inhaling the powerful sweet, I heard an extremely soft, but agreeable murmuring sound. It was easy to know that some animal, within the covert, must be the musician, and that the little noise must come from some little body suited to produce it. I am furnished with apparatus of a thousand kinds for close observation. I instantly distended the lower part of the flower, and placing it in a full light, could discover troops of little insects, frisking and capering with wild jollity among the narrow pedestals that supported its leaves, and the little threads that occupied its centre. I was not cruel enough to pull out any one of them, but adapting a microscope to take in, at one view, the whole base of the flower, I gave myself an opportunity of contemplating what they were about, and this for many days together, without giving them the least disturbance.

Under the microscope, the base of the flower extended itself to a large plain; the slender stems of the leaves became trunks of so many stately cedars; the threads in the middle seemed columns of massy structure, supporting at the top their several ornaments; and the narrow places between were enlarged into walks, parterres and terraces.

On the polished bottom of these, brighter than Parian marble, walked in pairs, alone or in large companies, the winged inhabitants; these, from little dusky flies, for such only the naked eye would have shown them, were raised to glorious glittering animals, stained with living purple and with a glossy gold, that would have made all the labors of the loom contemptible in the comparison.

I could, at leisure, as they walked together, admire their elegant limbs, their velvet shoulders, and their silken wings; their backs vying with the empyrean in its hue; and their eyes, each formed of a thousand others, out-glittering the little planes on a brilliant. I could observe them here singling out their favorite females, courting them with the music of their buzzing wings, with little songs formed for their little organs, leading them from walk to walk among the perfumed shades, and pointing out to their taste the drop of liquid nectar, just bursting from some vein within the living trunk. Here were the perfumed groves, the more than myrtle shades, of the poet’s fancy realized; here the happy lovers spent their days in joyful dalliance; in the triumph of their little hearts, skipped after one another from stem to stem among the painted trees; or winged their short flight to the shadow of some broader leaf, to revel in the heights of all felicity.

Nature, the God of nature, has proportioned the period of existence of every creature to the means of its support. Duration, perhaps, is as much a comparative quality as magnitude; and these atoms of being as they appear to us, may have organs that lengthen minutes, to their perception, into years. In a flower, destined to remain but a few days, length of life, according to our ideas, could not be given to its inhabitants; but it may be, according to theirs. I saw, in the course of observation of this new world, several succeeding generations of the creatures it was peopled with; they passed under my eye, through the several successive states of the egg and the reptile form, in a few hours. After these, they burst forth, at an instant, into full growth and perfection in their wing form. In this, they enjoyed their span of being as much as we do years; feasted, sported, revelled in delights; fed on the living fragrance that poured itself out at a thousand openings at once before them; enjoyed their loves; laid the foundation for their succeeding progeny, and, after a life thus happily filled up, sunk in an easy dissolution. With what joy in their pleasures did I attend the first and the succeeding broods through the full period of their joyful lives! With what enthusiastic transport did I address to each of these yet happy creatures, Anacreon’s gratulations to the cicada:

Blissful insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning’s sweetest wine, Nature waits upon thee still, And thy fragrant cup does fill; All the fields that thou dost see, All the plants, belong to thee; All that summer hours produce, Fertile made with ripening juice. Man for thee does sow and plough, Farmer he, and landlord thou. Thee the hinds with gladness hear, Prophet of the ripened year; To thee alone, of all the earth, Life is no longer than thy mirth. Happy creature! happy thou Dost neither age nor winter know; But when thou’st drank, and danced, and sung Thy fill, the flowery leaves among, Sated with the glorious feast, Thou retir’st to endless rest.

While the pure contemplative mind thus almost envies what the rude observer would treat unfeelingly, it naturally shrinks into itself, on the thought that there may be, in the immense chain of beings, many, though as invisible to us as we to the inhabitants of this little flower whose organs are not made for comprehending objects larger than a mite, or more distant than a straw’s breadth, to whom we may appear as much below regard as these to us.

With what derision should we treat those little reasoners, could we hear them arguing for the unlimited duration of the carnation, destined for the extent of their knowledge, as well as their action. And yet, among ourselves there are reasoners who argue, on no better foundation, that the earth which we inhabit is eternal.

[Illustration]

The Kildeer Plover.

This bird is so called from its cry, resembling the word _kildeer_, and is well known in all parts of the United States. It builds its nest in level pastures which afford pools of water, or on sandy downs near the sea. Its nest is a mere hollow, lined with straw or weeds; the eggs are four, cream-colored, and spotted with black. The bird is about ten inches long, is of an olive-gray color, and has long legs, which enable it to wade in the water, of which it is very fond.

While rearing its young, the kildeer makes an incessant noise, and if any one approaches its nest, it flies around and over him, calling _kildeer_, _kildeer_, _te dit_, _te dit_, _te dit_, seeming to evince the utmost anxiety. If this clamor does not frighten away the intruder, it will run along the ground, with hanging wings, pretending to be lame, in order to draw off attention from the nest. It seems to be a sleepless bird, for it may be heard very late at night, in the spring and fall.

The kildeer feeds on grasshoppers and insects which it finds in fields and in pools of water, wading in search of them. It is very erect, runs with great swiftness, and flies very high in the air. Toward autumn, large flocks descend to the seashore, where they are more silent and circumspect.

* * * * *

FORCE OF TRUTH.――Some years ago, a motion was made in the house of commons, in England, for raising and embodying the militia, and for the purpose of saving time, to exercise them on the Sabbath. When the resolution was about to pass, an old gentleman stood up and said, “Mr. Speaker, I have one objection to make to this, which you will find in an old book called the Bible.” The members looked at one another, and the motion was dropped.

Early Impressions.

A STORY FOR PARENTS. FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

A gentleman and lady, the parents of an only daughter about three years old, residing in one of our southern cities, proposed, a few months since, a visit to the lady’s friends at the north. She was particularly anxious once more to see an aged mother, who, during her absence, had experienced a long and distressing sickness, and whom, considering the distance which separated their residences, she could not hope to see many times more. One day, she told Augusta, her little daughter, of the journey, and inquired how she should like it. Of course, the child was delighted with the project, and from that time it occupied many of her thoughts and much of her conversation. She should see her friends, of whom her mother had made frequent mention, and especially her grandmother, who, of all the rest, was of course an object of the greatest interest. Augusta’s inquiries, about her in particular, were often repeated, and almost daily the question was renewed when her father would be ready to start.

After her usual round of inquiries about the journey and her mother’s friends, Augusta, one day, concluded by saying, “My grandmother will be glad to see me――don’t you think she will, mother?” “Certainly,” replied the mother. “Don’t you think she will be very glad to see me?” “Yes,” said the mother, “she will almost eat you up.”

The reply was inconsiderate, but who has not heard it a hundred times? Nothing more common――but it sunk deep into the heart of the child, and from that time, though she continued daily to talk of the contemplated journey, it was with diminished joy, and sometimes with positive reluctance. The idea of being devoured, and by one with whom she had associated so many ideas of tenderness and love, preyed, as it was afterwards discovered, upon her imagination, and nearly annihilated her hitherto happy anticipations. She frequently spoke of her grandmother’s devouring her, and on one occasion gave her father a pretty serious practical idea of the manner in which she expected her aged relative would proceed. She began by telling him what her mother had said――that her grandmother loved her so well that she would eat her up. “When she sees me, she will do _so_,” said Augusta――applying her sharp little teeth to his cheek, which brought the blood to the surface, and at the same time sent a pang to the extremities of his frame――“she will do _so_!”

The time set for their departure at length arrived, and Augusta and her parents, in a few weeks, reached the place of their destination. From motives of convenience, the grandmother had, some months before, left her own residence, and was at lodgings in the village of W――――. Consequently, the parents of Augusta sought quarters at a friend’s in the immediate neighborhood.

After a few hours’ rest, a call upon the grandmother was proposed, and Augusta was to accompany her parents. But she did not wish to go. “Why, my daughter,” inquired the mother――“do you not wish to see your dear grandmother?” Augusta was silent. “You were delighted,” continued the mother, “with the idea before you left home――what has changed your mind?” Augusta made no reply――but she did not wish to go. Thinking that her reluctance was the offspring of a childish whim, or at most the effect of timidity at meeting one who, notwithstanding her relationship, was indeed a stranger, but which would be removed in a single half hour’s acquaintance, she insisted upon her going.

A walk of a few minutes brought them to the residence of this object of love and tenderness to the mother, but of distrust and terror to the daughter. They were ushered into her presence. The meeting of the younger and of her more aged mother was tender and mutually affecting. They embraced each other after the lapse of years, and each imparted and each received a kiss of friendship and affection. Tears flowed in copious streams, if not along the cheeks of her aged mother, down those of her daughter.

Augusta, young as she was, was an intent and interested spectator of the scene. She watched every look――marked every action――weighed every word. Her own time of being welcomed soon came, when the caresses of the grandmother were transferred from the daughter to the grand-daughter. She shuddered in the embrace――and her eyes, generally large and brilliant, rolled more widely and wildly; but she escaped the anticipated mastication, and at length breathed more at her ease!

Augusta was delighted, as she bounded forth from the gate into the path that led back to her lodgings, and was as much inclined to expedite her return, as she had been slow and reluctant in going.

Up to this time the intensity of her feelings was unknown, and even the nature of them was scarcely if at all suspected. But the secret was gradually developed, and at length the parents were able to explain many a circumstance and many a declaration in regard to Augusta’s change of feelings towards her grandmother, which, perhaps, with more consideration, they might have explained before, but which had been set down rather to the whim of the child than the unguarded expression of the mother.

On reaching her quarters, a young lady, to whom the casual mention had been made that Augusta expected her grandmother would eat her up, said to her――

“Well, Miss Augusta, your grandmother, it seems, didn’t eat you up.”

“No, she didn’t eat _me_,” said she, “but she tried to eat _mother_.”

Some circumstance at the moment intervening, the conversation was interrupted, but on the following day, it was renewed by Augusta herself, who, approaching her mother, said:

“Mother, what did grandma’ do to you yesterday?”

“She kissed me, my dear.”

“She didn’t kiss you mother――she _bit_ you.”

“No, my daughter, you mistake, she did not bite me, but she kissed me affectionately.”

“She _did_ bite you, mother――I’m sure, I saw her, and she made you cry.”

“My daughter――why!”

“You said, mother, one day when we were at home, that grandmother would eat _me_ up, but she tried to eat _you_.”

The grandmother, as already intimated, had kissed her daughter fondly――with a mother’s ardor. Augusta saw her lips impressed on the mother’s cheek, and the tears starting fast, and rolling down; and she mistook the kiss for a bite, and thought those tears of joy were tears of pain. The whole mystery now vanished. “She will love you so much as to eat you up,” misconstrued, had been for weeks and months a sort of death-note sounding in the child’s imagination. This story, however improbable it may seem, is literally true, and may show how careful of early impressions, a parent should be. C. G.

About the Chicadees,

FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

A good many years ago, a man named Alexander Wilson, a Scotchman by birth, wrote a large book, called “American Ornithology,” in which he described almost all the birds belonging to this country, and gave an account of their nests and eggs, their food and habits, and migrations, or removing from one part of the country to another, &c. He also made pictures of all the birds described in his book, which were beautifully colored with the natural colors of the birds themselves. Since then, another celebrated naturalist, (as those men are called, who study the works of nature,) Mr. John J. Audubon, has made a still larger book, with pictures, of the size of life, of all the birds described by Mr. Wilson and many others, and colored also in the same beautiful manner, and sometimes having several pictures of the same bird, in different attitudes, and showing its different habits, such as procuring its food, building or sitting on its nest, defending its young, &c. One copy of these books, (which consists of five very large volumes, as large as a small table, besides the volumes which contain the descriptions and accounts of the habits or biography of the birds,) costs the very great sum of one thousand dollars. It is very beautiful indeed, and I hope all Robert Merry’s black and blue-eyed friends will one day have an opportunity to look at either this or Mr. Wilson’s book, and see such beautiful pictures as they contain.

As almost all good boys and girls are fond of seeing birds, and hearing about them, I think they will like to read something more about them in Merry’s Museum; and this is the reason why I propose to write about some of them. I hope, too, that none of those children who read the Museum, will be guilty of wantonly killing the little birds, or robbing their nests of the eggs and young, as some cruel boys do, but will learn to love them and treat them kindly. I will here copy a short story from Mr. Audubon’s book, that I have been telling about.

“On the 4th of January, we stopped at Bonnet Carré, where I entered a house to ask some questions about birds. I was received by a venerable French gentleman, whom I found in charge of about a dozen children of both sexes, and who was delighted to hear that I was a student of nature. He was well acquainted with my old friend Charles Carré, and must, I thought, be a good man, for he said he never suffered any of his pupils to rob a bird of her eggs or young, although, said he with a smile, ‘they are welcome to peep at them and love them.’ The boys at once surrounded me, and from them I received satisfactory answers to most of my inquiries respecting birds.”

This shows what feelings good children should have towards birds.

I will now say something about the Chicadee, or Black-capped Titmouse, as the naturalists name him. He is a beautiful bird, although his colors are very plain and simple. His head is covered with a black spot, that looks like a cap; from which he takes the designation of _Black-capped_. Why he is called _Titmouse_, I cannot tell. The sides of his head and neck are of a very pure white, but he has another black spot on his throat, which ends in a point on each side of his neck. The contrast of the deep black spots on his head and neck with the pure white around them, gives him a beautiful appearance. His back and wings are brownish ash-color, or bluish-brown, the wings rather darker, and underneath he is a brownish white. I presume almost all my little readers, in the country especially, know him and call him the Chicadee; for he is so called from his note or song, which sounds very much like Chicadee-dee-dee, Chicadee-dee-dee-dee, and which you may hear almost continually while he is hopping about from tree to tree, and from limb to limb, and exhibiting himself in almost every imaginable position, gathering his food.

Mr. Wilson has a beautiful picture of one hanging on the under side of a twig and bending his black-capped head over it to pick something from it, as you may frequently see them do. Mr. Wilson says in his book, “They also frequently visit the orchards, particularly to fall, the sides of the barn and barn-yard in the same pursuit,――trees in such situations being generally much infested with insects. We, therefore, with pleasure, rank this little bird among the farmer’s friends, and hope our rural citizens will always recognise him as such.” In the same account he tells us how they make their nests, &c., as follows: “About the middle of April they begin to build, choosing the deserted hole of a squirrel, or woodpecker, and sometimes, with incredible labor, digging out one for themselves. The female lays six white eggs, marked with minute specks of red; the first brood appear about the beginning of June, and the second towards the end of July; the whole of the family continue to associate together during winter.

“They always go in little flocks, or companies, probably, in general, of more than one brood, and frequently are accompanied with the white-breasted nuthatch, or tomtit, as he is sometimes called in the country, and also with the small woodpecker, and sometimes, in spring and fall, with the golden-crested wren,――a beautiful and very small bird, with a bright flame-colored spot on the crown of his head,――and sometimes by the brown creeper. Their food consists, in a great part, of insects, though at some times in the year, partly of seeds and of various kinds of oily substances. They frequently in the winter come around our houses and woodsheds, to pick among whatever offal is thrown out from the kitchen, and often become very familiar. I sometimes hang up bones and little bits of meat by my woodshed, to which many of them continue to resort and pick at them, day after day. Sometimes they venture into my wash-room; and one day this winter, they were so bold that I clapped my hand on one as he was feeding, and caught him and took him into my kitchen, where, after a few minutes, he began to feed upon a bone that I hung up there. He also sung his chicadee-dee-dee several times while I kept him in the house.

“He has another note or song, which, although not so merry and cheerful as his common one of chicadee, is much softer and sweeter, but is not so often heard. On fine pleasant days of summer, and especially on a delightful spring morning, you may hear him, perched on the top of a tree, utter at short intervals a note of two syllables, sounding like the word Phe-be,――the sound rising on the first syllable, and falling on the last, and sounding delightfully sweet.”

The Two Travellers.

A FABLE. FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM, FROM THE FRENCH.

A cunning fellow named Thomas, and his friend Lubin, were going to a neighboring city, on foot. Thomas found upon the road-side a well-filled purse. Lubin, with a contentful face, exclaimed, “What a windfall for US!” “For US is not quite right: say rather for ME,” replied Thomas. Lubin said no more, but in leaving the plain, they discovered some robbers hid in the adjacent wood. Thomas trembled, but not without cause, and turning to Lubin, said, “We are lost.” “WE is not the true word, but YOU,” replied Lubin, and then scampered away. Thomas, almost petrified with fear, stood still, and was soon caught and gave up the purse.

MORAL.――He who only thinks of himself in his happy days, will have very few friends in his unhappy ones. G. V. K.

To our Correspondents.

We are under many obligations to our little friends, who write us letters, and pay the postage. If they do not pay the postage, they do not often come to us; and when they do, they receive no notice.

We insert the letter of our Providence admirers, and will comply with their request in part; they shall see a piece of music in the next number.

We have many letters on hand, not seeming to require a particular reply; we hope this acknowledgment will be sufficient for all our unanswered correspondents.

* * * * *

_Providence, April 7, 1843._ MR. ROBERT MERRY:

SIR――You will oblige a large number of yearly subscribers, if you will put some music in your Museum. We have seen only one piece of music in all the numbers that you have issued for the year 1843. If you will put a piece of flute music in your next number, you will oblige a number of your Providence friends. They set a great deal by your work here, and if you would put a piece of music in it, you would have a great many more subscribers. We shall do all in our power to get you some, and we presume many others will. Mr. J. E. Risley is your agent here; he says he is doing very well.

We remain your interested and obligated friends,

GEORGE J――――s. | JACOB P――――n. CHARLES J――――s. | JOSEPH W――――d. JOHN BROWN F――――s. | J. H――――s.

* * * * *

_Sandwich, April 10, 1843._ MY DEAR FRIEND MERRY.

I am very much pleased with your Museum, and I hope your stories may do me good. I am going to Boston soon, and I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. I like the story of the Siberian Sable-Hunter, and Thomas Trotter, very much. I go to school all the time now, and my time is so taken up with my studies that I hope you will pardon me when I say that I have not yet read quite the whole of Philip Brusque. I feel sorry for this, but I am not yet ten years old. I hope you will allow me to say, and take it kindly, that I am often much disappointed in not getting my number in season. Many little girls get theirs sooner than I get mine; and I wish you would say to those who have the care of sending the Magazine to the various subscribers, that I should like to have mine sent sooner, and directed to _me_ instead of my father. I have tried to get subscribers for you, but have not succeeded; but I will try again during this volume,――for I think you offer a handsome reward. I have been much pleased with your allegories, and particularly with the Garden of Peace, and I hope they will make a good impression on my mind, and I have no doubt it was your design they should. I am sorry we do not have painted pictures in the Museum now, for it made the Natural History more interesting. I must tell you, when they bound my numbers, they kept all my painted pictures, and did not put them into the volume which they bound. This grieves me much, and I thought I would tell it to you. I have a little sister, almost three years younger than myself, and she likes to read your _Little Leaves_ very much, and thinks you are very kind to remember such little ones. Please excuse all mistakes.

From a blue-eyed friend, EMILY C. C――――s.

* * * * *

PUZZLE.

Blue-eyed Mary, of N. Y., sends us this. Can any one guess it?

I am a word of twelve letters.

My 7, 8, 4, 5 is a kind of feeling often manifested. 8, 6, 7 is a kind of wood. 1, 8, 6, 6 is a kind of fish. 6, 8, 7, 8, 12, 11 is a deserted tract of country. 1, 12, 11, 6, 6 is a common metal. 7, 5, 8, 12, 4 is a part of the body. 6, 7, 2, 3, 3 is a covering to an article of food. 8, 12, 4, 6 has done much to enlighten the world. 1, 5, 3, 4 is a part of a dress. 12, 8, 4 is a troublesome animal. 1, 5, 4, 6 have ruined thousands. 1, 5, 3, 3 is used to give warning. 2, 11, 6, 4 is a point of the compass. 8, 6, 6 is a useful animal. 1, 5, 6, 4 is the superlative degree. 9, 5, 1, 12, 8 is a beautiful animal. 6, 11, 3, 4 is an article used in cookery. 3, 8, 4, 7 is used in buildings. 4, 11, 1, 3, 2 is an article of furniture. 7, 5, 3, 3 is what all men should shun. 3, 8, 6, 4 is an article used by shoemakers. 6, 11, 12, 8, 7 is a common name among females. 5, 8, 6, 4, 2, 12 is a day much celebrated by the church. 3, 11, 4, 7, 5 is an instrument used by turners. 6, 7, 11, 8, 12, 6 is used by tailors. 4, 5, 3, 3 is the name of a hero. 7, 11, 4 is a covering for the head. 11, 1, 5, 3 is a celebrated antediluvian. 7, 8, 12, 5 is the name of an animal. My whole is the name of a good man.

LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.

[Illustration]

Good morning, my little friends, Black-eyes, Blue-eyes, and Gray-eyes! It is now June. What a beautiful month it is! How lively and happy are the birds! How pleasantly the grasshoppers sing! How sweet is the air, how many thousand flowers are blossoming around! How green is the meadow, the hill-side, and the forest! How blue is the distant mountain! Indeed, June is a beautiful month.

Do you see the picture at the head of this page? Do you notice the boys and the girls in the garden? Do you see the flowers around, and observe how happy these children seem to be?

I am afraid Bob Merry will hardly be welcome, when everything out of doors is so lovely. Well, be it so; let the Museum lie on the shelf till a wet day, and then, my little friends may take it up, and read about Inquisitive Jack, and the spiders, and such other matters as please them.

Inquisitive Jack.