CHAPTER IX.

Agreeably to their plan, the sable-hunters continued at the hut, following the game, day after day, with the greatest ardor. The forest proved to be very extensive, stretching out for miles upon both sides of a little river that flowed into the Lena. It was the depth of winter, and snow fell almost every day; yet they were seldom prevented from going forth by the weather. They were very successful in their hunting, and a day seldom passed in which they did not bring home some game. They killed several bears and wolves, and a great number of sables, ermines, martens, squirrels and lynxes.

In all their expeditions, Alexis was among the most active, persevering, and skilful of the party. It was a great object in obtaining the finer furs, to kill the animals without breaking the skin of the body. In this art, Alexis excelled; for he could shoot with such precision, as to bring down his game, by putting only a single shot through the head. But he was of an ardent temper, and sometimes his zeal led him into danger. One day, being at a distance from his party, he saw a silver fox, and he pursued him for several hours, entirely forgetting that he was separated from his friends, and wandering to a great distance, amid the mazes of the woods.

At last, in pursuing the fox, he entered a wild and rocky dell, where perpendicular cliffs, fringed by cedars and hemlocks, frowned over the glen. Plunging into the place, which seemed like a vast cavern, he soon came near the object of his pursuit, and brought him to the ground. Before he had time to pick up his game, he saw a couple of sables peering through a crevice in a decayed oak that had rooted itself in the rocks above. Loading his gun, he fired, and the animals immediately disappeared within the cavity. Believing that they were killed, he clambered up the steep face of the precipice with great labor and no little danger. At length, he reached the foot of the tree which leaned from the cliff, over the dark valley beneath. Immediately he began to ascend it, hardly observing, in his eagerness, that it was rotten to the very root, and trembled throughout its whole extent, as he ascended.

Up he went, heedless of all but the game, until he reached the crevice, where two sables, of the largest kind, lay dead. He took them out, and, for the first time, looked beneath. He was touched with a momentary thrill of fear as he gazed down and perceived the gulf that yawned beneath him. At the same moment, he heard a crackling at the roots of the tree, and perceived a descending motion in the limbs to which he clung. He now knew that he was falling, and that, with the vast mass, he must descend into the valley beneath. The moment was almost too awful for thought: yet his mind turned to his father and sister, with a feeling of farewell, and a prayer to Heaven for his soul. How swift is the wing of thought in the moment of peril! He felt himself rushing downward through the air; he closed his eyes; there was a horrid crash in his ears, and he knew no more. The sound of the falling oak rung through the glen, and in the space of a few minutes the figure of a man, clothed in furs, was seen emerging from one of the caverns, at a little distance. He approached the spot where Alexis had fallen; but at first nothing was to be seen save the trunk of the tree, now completely imbedded in the snow. The man was about to turn away, when he saw the fox lying at a little distance, and then remarked one of the sables, also buried in the snow. Perceiving that the animal was warm, as if just killed, he looked around for the hunter. Not seeing him, the truth seemed at once to flash upon his mind; and he began to dig in the snow beneath the trunk of the tree. Throwing off his bear-skin coat and a huge wolf-skin cap, and seizing upon a broken limb of the tree, he labored with prodigious strength and zeal. A large excavation was soon made, and pretty soon he found the cap of Alexis. This increased his zeal, and he continued to dig with unabated ardor for more than an hour. Buried at the depth of eight feet in the snow, he found the young man, and with great labor took him out from the place in which he was imbedded, and which, but for this timely aid, had been his grave. The surface of the snow was so hard as to bear the man’s weight, provided as he was with the huntsman’s broad-soled shoes of skins. Still it was with great difficulty that he could carry Alexis forward. He, however, succeeded in bearing him to his cave. Here he had the satisfaction of soon finding that the youth was still alive; that he was indeed only stunned, and otherwise entirely unhurt. He soon awoke from his insensibility, and looking around, inquired where he was. “You are safe,” said the stranger, “and in my castle, where no one will come to molest you. You are safe; and now tell me your name.”

For a moment, Alexis was bewildered, and could not recollect his name, but after a little time, he said falteringly, “Pultova,--my name is Alexis Pultova.”

“Pultova!” said the stranger, with great interest; “are you of Warsaw--the son of Paul Pultova?”

“I am,” was the reply.

“Yes,” said the other, “you are, I see by your resemblance, you are the son of my noble friend, General Pultova. And what brought you here?”

“I am a hunter,” said Alexis.

“Alas, alas,” said the man, “and so it is with the brave, and the noble, and the chivalrous sons of poor stricken Poland: scattered over this desolate region of winter--this wild and lone Siberia--banished, forgotten, save only to be pursued, crushed by the vengeful heel of power. Oh God! O Heaven! how long will thy justice permit such cruelty toward those whose only crime is, that they loved their country too well?” Saying these words, the stranger’s bosom heaved convulsively, the tears fell fast down his cheeks, and, as if ashamed of his emotion, he rushed out of the cavern.

Alexis was greatly moved, yet his curiosity was excited, and he began to look around to ascertain what all this might mean. He now, for the first time, recollected his fall from the tree. He perceived that he was in a lofty cavern, in which he saw a bed made of skins, a gun, and various other trappings belonging to a hunter. He justly concluded that he had been rescued by the stranger; and when he returned, as he did in a few minutes, he poured out his grateful thanks to him for saving his life.

The two now fell into conversation: and Alexis heard the details of his own rescue, as well as the story of the hunter. He was a Polish nobleman, who had taken part in the struggle for liberty, and who had also shared in the doom of those patriots who survived the issue. While they were conversing, they thought they heard sounds without, and going to the mouth of the cave, they perceived voices in the glen. Alexis soon recognised the piercing tones of Linsk, and immediately answered him. The old hunter, with his two sons, soon came up, and there was a hearty shaking of hands all round. The whole story was soon told, and the hunters were invited by the stranger into the cave.

The evening was now approaching, and Linsk, with his party, being pressed to spend the night at the cave, cheerfully accepted the request. A fire was soon kindled, a haunch of fat bear’s meat was roasted, and the company sat down to their meal. There was for a time a good deal of hilarity; for, even in comfortless situations, a sense of deliverance from peril breaks into the heart, scattering with its brief sunshine the gloom that is around. So it was with the hunters, in the bosom of that dark cavern, and in that scene and season of winter; the laugh, the joke, and the story passed from one to the other. Even the stern and stony brow of the stranger relaxed at some of the droll remarks and odd phrases of Linsk, and unconsciously he became interested in the passing scene.

When Linsk had done ample justice to the meal, he hitched back a little from the circle which sat around, and, wiping his greasy lips and hands, using the sleeve of his wolf-skin coat instead of a pocket-handkerchief, he said, “Well, master Alexis, this jump of yours, from the top of a mountain into the middle of a valley, beats all the capers of that kind which I ever heard of; but as to your going eight feet into the snow, that’s nothing. I once knew a fellow who spent a winter at Kamschatka, and he says that the snow falls there to such a depth as sometimes to cover up houses. He told one thumping story of what happened to himself.”

“What was it?--tell it,” was uttered by several voices. Thus invited, Linsk proceeded to relate the following tale.

“The man I spoke of was one of your short, tough little runts, and very like a weasel--hard to catch, hard to kill, and worth very little when you’ve got him. I forget now what it was led him off to such a wild place as Kamschatka; but I believe it was because he was of a restless make, and so, being always moving, he finally got to the end of the world. Nor was this restlessness his only peculiarity--he was one of those people to whom something odd is always happening; for you know that there are folks to whom ill-luck sticks just as natural as a burr to a bear’s jacket.

“Well, Nurly Nutt--for that was the young fellow’s name--found himself one winter at Kamschatka. It was far to the north, where the sun goes down for six months at a time, and brandy freezes as hard as a stone. However, the people find a way to melt the brandy; and, by the rays of the moon, or the northern lights, which make it almost as light as day, they have their frolics, as well as other people.

“It chanced to be a hard winter, and the snow was very deep. However, the people tackled up their dogs, hitched them to their sledges, and cantered away over the snow like so many witches. Nurly was a great hand at a frolic, especially if the girls were of the mess; and he went on at such a rate as to become quite a favorite with the softer sex. But it so happened, that, just as the girls became eager to catch Nurly, he wouldn’t be caught, you know--a thing that’s very disobliging, though it’s very much the way of the world.

“There was one black-eyed girl that particularly liked our little hero; and he liked her well enough, but still he wouldn’t come to the point of making her an offer of his heart. Well, they went on flirting and frolicking for some time, and a great many moonlight rides they had over the snow-crust. Well, one night they were out with a party, skimming over the vast plain, when they came to a steep ridge, and the leader of the train of sledges must needs go over it. It was hard work for the dogs, but they scrabbled up one after another.

“Now Nurly and his little lass were behind all the rest, and, for some reason of their own, they were a good deal behind. However, they ascended the hill; but, as luck would have it, just as they got to the top, the sledge slipped aside, and tipped the pair over. The sledge went on, and all the more swiftly that the dogs had a lighter load; but down the hillside went Nurly and the girl, her arms around him, as if she had been a bear and he a cub. At last they came to the bottom with a terrible thump, the crust broke through, and in a moment they were precipitated down some five and twenty feet! Both were stunned; but soon recovering, they looked around. What was their amazement to find themselves in a street, and before a little church! Just by their side was an image of the Virgin!

“‘What can it mean?’ said Nurly.

“‘It is a warning!’ said the lass.

“‘And what must we do?’ said the other.

“‘Why, Nurly, don’t you understand?’ replied the girl.

“‘I’ll be hanged if I do,’ said the youth.

“‘Shall I tell you?’ said the girl.

“‘Certainly,’ said he.

“‘Well, Nurly,’ replied the lass, ‘we have been a good deal together, and we like each other very well, and yet we go on, and nothing comes of it. We dance and ride, and ride and dance, and still nothing comes of it. Well, one night we go forth in the sledge; the train passes on; it courses over a hill. They all go safely. You and I alone meet with a miracle. We are hurled to the valley--we descend into a new world; a church is before us--we are alone--saving the presence of the blessed Virgin, and she smiles upon us.’ The girl hesitated.

“‘Go on,’ said Nurly.

“‘Well--the Virgin smiles--and here is a church--’

“‘Well, and what of it--pray what does it all mean?’ said the fellow.

“‘You are as stupid as a block!’ said the lass, weeping.

“‘I can’t help it,’ said Nurly Nutt.

“‘You can help it--you must help it!’ replied the girl, smartly. ‘We must make a vow. Take my hand and say after me.’ He now obeyed.

“‘We do here take a most holy vow, before the blessed Virgin, and at the door of the church, that we will love each other till death, and, as soon as we can find a priest, that we will mutually pledge our vows as man and wife, forever: and so may Heaven help us.’

“‘Whew!’ said Nurly; but at the same time he kissed his betrothed.

“They then began to look around. They saw a passage leading to some houses. They passed along, and there found a village all buried beneath the snow. There were paths dug out along the streets and from house to house. Here the people dwelt, as if nothing had happened. They had herds of deer, and plenty of bear’s meat; and thus they lived till spring came to melt away the snow, and deliver them from their prison. Nurly and his little wife stayed in the village till spring, and then went to their friends. They had been given up as lost;--so there was great rejoicing when they got back. Nurly was laughed at a little for the advantage taken of his ignorance and surprise by the lass of the black eyes; but he was still content, for she made him a good little wife. He brought her all the way to Okotsk, and settled there. It was at that place I saw him, and heard the story. It sounds queer--but I believe it true.”

When Linsk had done, the stranger made some remarks, alluding to his own history. Linsk, in a very respectful manner, begged him to state the adventures of which he spoke, and the man went on as follows:--

“I am a native of Poland. You see me here, clothed in skins, and a mere hunter like yourselves. I am but a man, and a very poor one, though the noblest blood of my country flows in my veins. I had a vast estate, situated almost thirty miles from Warsaw. I there became acquainted with a Russian princess, and loved her. My love was returned, and we vowed fidelity to each other for life. The revolution broke out, and I took an active part in it. My suit had been favored by the emperor before, but now I was informed that he frowned upon my hopes and wishes, and that he looked upon me with a special desire of vengeance. Twice was I assailed by ruffians in the streets of Warsaw, hired to take my life. In battle, I was repeatedly set upon by men, who had been offered large rewards if they would kill or capture me; but I escaped all these dangers.

“The princess whom I loved was in the Russian camp. I was one of a party who broke in, by a desperate assault, and surrounded the house where she dwelt. We took her captive, and carried her to Warsaw. She was offended, and would not see me. She contrived her escape; but I was near her all the time, even during her flight. As we were about to part, I made myself known to her, and asked her forgiveness. She wept, and leaned on my breast.

“Warsaw had that day fallen; the hopes of liberty had perished; Poland was conquered; the emperor was master over the lives and fortunes of the people, and too well did we know his cruel nature to have any other hope than that of the gallows, the dungeon, or Siberia.

“I told these things to the princess. She heard me, and said she would share my fate. While we were speaking, a close carriage and six horses came near. It was night, but the moon was shining brightly. I perceived it to be the carriage of Nicholas, the emperor; but at the moment I recognised it, it was set upon by four men on horseback, who rushed out of an adjacent thicket. They were heavily armed, and, discharging their pistols, killed the postillion and one of the guard. There were but three of the emperor’s men left, and these would have been quickly despatched, had I not dashed in, with my two attendants, to the rescue. One of the robbers was killed, and the others fled.

“Though Nicholas is harsh, he is no coward. He had just leaped from the carriage, when the ruffians had escaped. He was perfectly cool, and, turning to me, surveyed me for an instant. He had often seen me at court, and I think he recognised me. ‘To whom do I owe my safety?’ said he. ‘To a rebel!’ said I; and we parted.

“The carriage passed on. The princess had witnessed the whole scene, though she had not been observed by the emperor’s party. I returned to her. She seemed to have changed her mind, and begged me to see her conducted to the emperor’s camp. ‘You are now safe,’ said she. ‘You have saved the Czar’s life, and that insures you his forgiveness--his gratitude. I know him well. In matters of government he is severe; but in all personal things he is noble and generous. I will plead your cause, and I know I shall prevail. Your life, your fortune, your honor, are secure.’

“I adopted her views, though with much anxiety. I conducted her near to the Russian camp, and she was then taken in safety to the Czar’s tent. Soon after, she went to St. Petersburgh, since which I have heard nothing of her. The judgment of the enraged emperor fell like a thunderbolt upon the insurgents of Poland. The blood of thousands was shed upon the scaffold. Thousands were shut up in dungeons, never more to see the light or breathe the air of heaven. Thousands more were banished to Siberia, and myself among the number. The emperor’s hard heart knew no mercy. Here I am, and here, alone, am I resolved to die.”

This story was told with such energy, and with an air so lofty and stern, as to make all the party afraid to speak. Soon after, the stranger left the cave for a short time, as if the thoughts excited by his narrative could not brook the confinement of the cavern. He soon returned, and all retired to rest. In the morning the hunters took leave, Alexis bearing with him a rich present of furs from the hermit, several of them the finest of sables. One of these was carefully rolled up, and Alexis was instructed in a whisper to see that, if possible, it should be sent to the princess Lodoiska! At the same time, he was told never to reveal the name and character of the stranger whom he had met, and was also requested to enjoin secrecy upon his companions.

Linsk and his party went back to their hut; and in a few weeks, having obtained a large amount of rich furs, they took advantage of the sledges of some Tungusians, going to Yakoutsk, and returned to that place, making a brisk and rapid journey of several hundred miles in a few days. Alexis little expected the news which awaited his arrival.

THE following complimentary toast to the ladies was given at a railroad celebration in Pennsylvania: “Woman--the morning star of our youth; the day star of our manhood; the evening star of our old age. God bless our stars!”

[Illustration]

Hay-Making.

No part of the business of farming is more pleasant than hay-making. It is true, that to mow the grass, and make the hay in the broiling sun of July, is rather hard work; yet, after all, hay-makers are usually a cheerful, merry, frolicsome set of people.

There are few sounds more pleasant than those produced by the whetting of the mower’s scythe. This proceeds from the ideas that are associated with it. It is then that the summer flowers are in full bloom; it is then that their sweet perfume is borne upon every breeze; it is then that the song of the bobolink, the meadow-lark, the oriole, and the robin, is heard from every bush, and field, and tree.

When, therefore, we hear the ringing of the mower’s scythe, ideas of the flowers, of their fair forms, and lovely hues, and delicious fragrance; of the birds, and their joyous minstrelsy, come thronging into the mind, thus producing very agreeable emotions.

Nor is this all--the hay-making season is a time when children can go forth to roam in freedom where they will; to chase the butterfly, or pluck the flowers, or dabble in the brook, or stoop down and drink from the rivulet, or sit at leisure beneath the cooling shade of the trees. It is a time when the poor are relieved from the pinches of Jack Frost; when the young are gay, and the old are cheerful. It is the time when people saunter forth at evening, and feel that they might live in the open air,--when the merry laugh is heard in the village, at sunset; when the notes of the flute steal through the valley, and many a musical sound comes down from the hill.

Hay-making, then, is a season of many pleasures, and the word brings to our minds, perhaps, more agreeable associations, than almost any other.

Limby Lumpy;

OR, THE BOY WHO WAS SPOILED BY HIS MAMMA.

Limby Lumpy was the only son of his mamma. His father was called the “pavier’s assistant;” for he was so large and heavy, that, when he used to walk through the streets, the men who were ramming the stones down, with a large wooden rammer, would say, “Please to walk over these stones, sir.” And then the men would get a rest.

Limby was born on the 1st of April; I do not know how long ago; but, before he came into the world, such preparations were made! There was a beautiful cradle; and a bunch of coral, with bells on it; and lots of little caps; and a fine satin hat; and nice porringers for pap; and two nurses to take care of him. He was, too, to have a little chaise, when he grew big enough; after that, he was to have a donkey, and then a pony. In short, he was to have the moon for a plaything, if it could be got; and as to the stars, he would have had them, if they had not been too high to reach.

Limby made a rare to do when he was a little baby. But he never was a _little_ baby--he was always a big baby; nay, he was a big baby till the day of his death.

“Baby Big,” his mamma used to call him; he was “a noble baby,” said his aunt; he was “a sweet baby,” said old Mrs. Tomkins, the nurse; he was “a dear baby,” said his papa,--and so he was, for he _cost_ a good deal. He was “a darling baby,” said his aunt, by the mother’s side; “there never was such a fine child,” said everybody, before the parents; when they were at another place, they called him “a great, ugly, fat child.”

We call it polite in this world to say a thing to please people, although we think exactly the contrary. This is one of the things the philosopher Democrates, that you may have heard of, would have laughed at.

Limby was almost as broad as he was long. He had what some people call an open countenance; that is, one as broad as a full moon. He had what his mamma called beautiful auburn locks, but what other people said were carroty;--not before the mother, of course.

Limby had a flattish nose and a widish mouth, and his eyes were a little out of the right line. Poor little dear, he could not help that, and, therefore, it was not right to laugh at him.

Everybody, however, laughed to see him eat his pap; for he would not be fed with the patent silver pap-spoon which his father bought him; but used to lay himself flat on his back, and seize the pap-boat with both hands, and never let go of it till its contents were fairly in his dear little stomach.

So Limby grew bigger and bigger every day, till at last he could scarcely draw his breath, and was very ill; so his mother sent for three apothecaries and two physicians, who looked at him,--told his mamma there were no hopes; the poor child was dying of over-feeding. The physicians, however, prescribed for him--a dose of castor oil!

His mamma attempted to give him the castor oil; but Limby, although he liked sugar plums, and cordial, and pap, and sweetbread, and oysters, and other things nicely dished up, had no fancy for castor oil, and struggled, and kicked, and fought, every time his nurse or mamma attempted to give it to him.

“Limby, my darling boy,” said his mamma, “my sweet cherub, my only dearest, do take the oily poily--there’s a ducky, deary--and it shall ride in a coachy poachy.”

“Oh! the dear baby,” said the nurse, “take it for nursey. It will take it for nursey--that it will.”

The nurse had got the oil in a silver medicine-spoon, so contrived, that if you could get it into the child’s mouth the medicine must go down. Limby, however, took care that no spoon should go into his mouth; and, when the nurse tried the experiment for the nineteenth time, he gave a plunge and a kick, and sent the spoon up to the ceiling, knocked off nurse’s spectacles, upset the table on which all the bottles and glasses were, and came down whack on the floor.

His mother picked him up, clasped him to her breast, and almost smothered him with kisses. “Oh! my dear boy,” said she, “it shan’t take the nasty oil--it won’t take it, the darling;--naughty nurse to hurt baby: it shall not take nasty physic;” and then she kissed him again.

Poor Limby, although only two years old, knew what he was at--he was trying to get the mastery of his mamma; he felt that he had gained his point, and gave another kick and a squall, at the same time planting a blow on his mother’s eye.

“Dear little creature,” said she, “he is in a state of high convulsions and fever--he will never recover!”

But Limby did recover, and in a few days was running about the house, and the master of it; there was nobody to be considered, nobody to be consulted, nobody to be attended to, but Limby Lumpy.

Limby grew up big and strong; he had everything his own way. One day, when he was at dinner with his father and mother, perched upon an arm chair, with his silver knife and fork, and silver mug to drink from, he amused himself by playing drums on his plate with the mug.

“Don’t make that noise, Limby, my dear,” said his father. “Dear little lamb,” said his mother, “let him amuse himself. Limby have some pudding?”

“No; Limby no pudding--drum! drum! drum!”

A piece of pudding was, however, put on Limby’s plate, but he kept on drumming as before. At last he drummed the bottom of the mug into the soft pudding, to which it stuck, and by which means it was scattered all over the carpet.

“Limby, my darling!” said his mother; and the servant was called to wipe Limby’s mug, and pick the pudding up from the floor. Limby would not have his mug wiped, and floundered about, and upset the castors and the mustard on the table-cloth.

“Oh! Limby Lumpy;--naughty boy,” said his father.

“Don’t speak so cross to the child;--he is but a child,” said his mother: “I do not like to hear you speak so cross to the child.”

“I tell you what it is,” said his father, “I think the boy does as he likes; but I do not want to interfere.”

Limby now sat still, resolving what to do next. He was not hungry, having been stuffed with a large piece of pound cake about an hour before dinner; but he wanted something to do, and could not sit still.

Presently a saddle of mutton was brought on the table. When Limby saw this he set up a crow of delight. “Limby ride,” said he, “Limby ride;” and rose up in his chair, as if to reach the dish.

“Yes, my ducky, it shall have some mutton,” said his mamma; and immediately gave him a slice, cut up into small morsels. That was not it. Limby pushed that unto the floor, and cried out, “Limby on meat! Limby on meat!”

His mamma could not think what he meant. At last, however, his father recollected that he had been in the habit of giving him a ride occasionally, first on his foot, sometimes on the scroll end of the sofa, at other times on the top of the easy chair. Once he put him on a dog, and more than once on the saddle; in short, he had been in the habit of perching him on various things; and now Limby, hearing this was a _saddle_ of mutton, wanted to take a ride on it.

“Limby on--Limby ride on bone,” said the child, in a whimper.

“Did you _ever hear_?” said the father.

“What an extraordinary child!” said the mother; “how clever to know it was like a saddle--the little dear. No, no, Limby--grease frock, Limby!”

But Limby cared nothing about a greasy frock, not he--he was used enough to that; and therefore roared out more lustily for a ride on the mutton.

“Did you ever know such a child? What a dear, determined spirit!”

“He is a child of an uncommon mind,” said his mother. “Limby, dear--Limby, dear--silence! silence!”

The truth was, Limby made such a roaring, that neither father or mother could get their dinners, and scarcely knew whether they were eating beef or mutton.

“It is impossible to let him ride on the mutton,” said his father: “quite impossible!”

“Well, but you might just put him astride the dish, just to satisfy him; you can take care his legs or clothes do not go into the gravy.”

“Anything for a quiet life,” said the father. “What does Limby want?--Limby ride?”

“Limby on bone!--Limby on meat!”

“Shall I put him across?” said Mr. Lumpy.

“Just for one moment,” said his mamma: “it won’t hurt the mutton.”

The father rose, and took Limby from his chair, and, with the greatest caution, held his son’s legs astride, so that they might hang on each side of the dish without touching it; “just to satisfy him,” as he said, “that they might dine in quiet,” and was about to withdraw him from it immediately. But Limby was not to be cheated in that way--he wished to feel the saddle under him, and accordingly forced himself down upon it; but feeling it rather warmer than was agreeable, started, lost his balance, and fell down among the dishes, soused in melted butter, cauliflower, and gravy--floundering, and kicking, and screaming, to the detriment of glasses, jugs, dishes, and everything else on the table.

“My child! my child!” said his mamma; “oh! save my child!”

She snatched him up, and pressed his begreased garments close to the bosom of her best silk gown.

Neither father nor mother wanted any more dinner after this. As to Limby, he was as frisky afterwards as if nothing had happened; and, about half an hour from the time of this disaster, _cried for his dinner_.--_Martin’s Holiday Book._

Lime.

Lime, in combination with the acids, is applied to a great number of useful purposes. It is employed in making mortar for building; by the farmer as a manure; also by bleachers, tanners, sugar-bakers, and others; it is used also in medicine.

_In agriculture_, it is used for its properties of hastening the dissolution and putrefaction of all animal and vegetable matters, and of imparting to the soil the powers of imbibing and retaining moisture necessary for the nourishment and vigorous growth of plants.

_In tanning leather_, it is used to dissolve the gelatinous part of the skin, and to facilitate the removal of the hair, for which purpose the hides are immersed in a solution of lime.

_In refining sugar_, it is used to destroy a certain acid, which would else prevent the crystallization of the sugar.

_In the manufacture of soap_, it is mixed with the alkali, in order to deprive it of its carbonic acid, to render it caustic, and by this means fit it to combine with the oil or tallow, which is thereby converted into soap.

_In the manufacture of glue_, lime is used to prevent its becoming flexible by the absorption of moisture, and to add to its strength.

The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences of Thomas Trotter.