Chapter I

_Early Life of Philip Brusque.--He engages in the French
Revolution.--Is at length suspected by Robespierre, and
obliged to fly.--Enters on board a Ship, and is cast away upon
an uninhabited Island in the Indian Ocean.--Description of
the place.--Philip fancies that he is now happy, having found
perfect Liberty._

Philip Brusque was a young Frenchman, who engaged very heartily in the revolution that began to agitate France about the year 1789. He was young, ardent and discontented. Though he had little education, he had still read many of the papers and pamphlets of the day. These had filled his mind with a horror of kings, and the most intoxicating dreams of liberty. Knowing little of political government, except that of France, and which he saw to be corrupt and despotic, he adopted the idea that all government was bad, and to this he attributed nearly all the evils of society. With the ardor of a young but heated fancy, he looked forward to the destruction of the monarchy as certain to bring a political millennium, when every man should walk forth in freedom and happiness, restrained by no law except the moral sense of man, and the innate perception and love of human rights.

With these views, which were then common among the French people, and which artful disorganizers had disseminated, in order thereby to acquire power, Philip arrived at Paris. He was soon engaged in several of the debating clubs of that great metropolis, and being possessed of natural eloquence, he speedily became a leader. He was present at the destruction of the Bastile, and his own vigorous hand battered down more than one of the iron doors of that horrid prison. Looking upon these gloomy walls, with their dark chambers, and the chains and instruments of torture which were found there, as at once emblems and instruments of that tyranny which had cursed his country for ages, Philip felt a high inspiration in witnessing its demolition. As one portion after another of the massy wall was hurled to the earth, he seemed to fancy that a whole nation must breathe more freely; and in seeing the pallid wretches delivered from the dungeon, where some of them had been imprisoned for years, he seemed to think that he saw the spirit of his country set at liberty.

The Bastile was soon but a heap of ruins. The whole fabric of the French monarchy, which had existed for twelve centuries, in a few brief years had shared the same fate. Louis XVI. had been beheaded, and his beautiful queen had been brought to the block. In all these scenes Brusque had taken a part. He was present at the execution of Marie Antoinette. He had no respect for majesty, but he was not yet lost to a sense of decency in respect to woman. The shocking and brutal insults offered to the queen, worse than anything ever witnessed among savages, disgusted Philip. He was indeed sick of blood, and he ventured to speak his sentiments aloud. His words were repeated to Robespierre and the rest of the bloody men who then held the sway. Philip became suspected, and he was obliged to fly to save his life. He reached the coast of France with difficulty, and entering on board a merchant ship as a sailor, set out upon a voyage to China.

Nothing remarkable happened for some time; but when the ship had doubled the Cape of Good Hope, and entered the Indian Ocean, a violent storm arose. The vessel contended bravely with the waves for a time, but at length her masts were swept away, the helm was broken, and the hull of the ship rolled like a log amidst the tumbling waters. She then drifted for a time at the mercy of the winds, and at length came near a small island. She then struck on a rock, and went to pieces. All the crew were drowned except the hero of our story, who seized upon a plank, and, after two days of toil and suffering, reached the shore of the island.

He landed upon a pebbly beach, but he was so exhausted as only to be able to draw himself up from the waves. There he lay for a long time, almost unconscious of existence. At length, his strength returned, and he began to think over what had happened. When his reason was, at last, fully returned, he fell upon his knees, and thanked Heaven for his preservation. It was the first prayer he had uttered for years, for Philip Brusque had been told by the French revolutionists that there was no God, and that prayer was a mere mockery. But now he prayed, and felt in his heart that there was indeed a God, that claimed gratitude and thanksgiving from the lips of one who had been saved from death, while his companions had all been drowned.

Philip was soon able to look about the island and make observations. It was a lovely spot, about four miles in circuit, and pleasantly varied with hills and valleys. It was almost covered with beautiful trees, on some of which there were delicious fruits. Birds of bright feathers and joyous notes glanced through the forests, and sweet perfumes were wafted on the warm, soft breezes. Philip walked about the island, his delight and wonder increasing at every step. And what seemed to please him most of all was, that the island was without a single human inhabitant except himself.

“Now,” said Philip, in the fulness of his heart, “I shall be happy. Here I can enjoy perfect liberty. Here is no prison like the Bastile; here is no king to make slaves of his fellow-men; here is no Robespierre to plot the murder of his fellow-citizens. Oh liberty! how have I worshipped thee, and here, in this lone island, I have now found thee. Here, I can labor or rest, eat or drink, wake or sleep, as I please. Here is no one to control my actions or my thoughts. In my native country, all the land belongs to a few persons, but here I can take as much land as I please. I can freely pick the fruit from the trees according to my choice or my wants. How different is my situation from what it was in France! There, everything belonged to somebody, and I was restrained from taking anything, unless I paid for it. Here, all is free; all is mine. Here I can enjoy perfect liberty. In France, I was under the check and control of a thousand laws; here, there is no law but my own will. Here, I have indeed found perfect liberty.”

(_To be continued._)

The Sailor’s Family.

There once lived in Ireland a sailor, who had a wife and one child. He was poor, but still he provided a small house for his family, had it decently furnished, and, as he always brought them money when he came home from his voyages, they were quite comfortable.

He was very fond of his little boy, and he, too, was very fond of his father. The sailor used to go in a ship to the West Indies, and, when he returned, he always brought back some nice oranges and other good things for his little son.

Well, the Irishman, whose name was Kelly, had once been gone on a voyage to the West Indies for several months, and his family were expecting every day that he would return. Whenever the door was opened, the boy looked up to see if it was not his father who had come.

Four months passed away, and no news came. And now Mrs. Kelly had become very much afraid that something had happened to her husband. She feared that the vessel had been cast away upon some rocky shore, or that it had sunk in the deep sea, or that some other misfortune had occurred, by which her husband had perished.

The boy, too, became very uneasy, and was every day expressing his wonder that his father did not come back. At length, a man, who lived near by, came into the house, and told Mrs. Kelly that he had brought sad news. He then went on to tell her that the vessel in which her husband sailed, had been driven ashore in a gale of wind, and dashed to pieces upon a rocky island, and it was supposed that all on board had perished.

Some persons from another vessel had landed upon the island, and found papers and pieces of the wreck upon the shore, by which they knew it was the vessel in which Kelly had sailed. The island was small, and there was no person upon it.

This was sad intelligence to the poor sailor’s wife, and it was long before she could find it in her heart to break the news to her child. When he heard it, he shed many tears, and peace returned no more to the sailor’s home.

Being deprived of the assistance of her husband, Mrs. Kelly was obliged to make great exertions to support herself and child with comfort. She was, however, very industrious, and, for a time, she got along pretty well.

At length she was taken sick, and a little girl was added to her family. When she was partially recovered, she found herself poor, and a good deal in debt to her landlord. He was a cruel man; he took away her furniture for what she owed him, and then turned the widow and her family into the street.

The poor woman was still unwell; and it was with great difficulty that she walked about a mile to the house of a farmer, whom she knew, hoping that he would render her assistance. But he would give her nothing.

She was now in great distress, and did not know where to find even shelter. Sad, sick, and almost broken-hearted, she crept toward a stable, and sat down upon some straw. Here she remained for some time, with her infant in her arms, and her boy’s head resting on her lap.

Where could she now look for aid? She had no friends, from whom she could expect assistance. At length her thoughts turned to that good Being, who is ever the friend of the poor and the distressed. To him she prayed fervently, and so deeply was her mind absorbed in this act of devotion, that she did not notice a man who at the moment was passing by, on the public road.

He was on foot, and seeing the woman and her children, stepped toward them, to observe them more carefully. When Mrs. Kelly had finished her petition and opened her eyes, the man was standing before her.

She instantly perceived that he was a sailor, and that his countenance bespoke amazement; and then it struck her that he seemed to bear a wonderful likeness to her lost husband. At length he spoke her name, and the poor woman, betwixt fear and joy, would have fallen through faintness to the ground. Kelly supported her, for it was he!

When she recovered, mutual explanations took place. She told her story, and he related his, which was this. The ship in which he sailed was wrecked upon the island, and all perished save himself and two others. These were taken off the island, by a vessel going to the East Indies. As soon as he could, he left this ship, and got into a vessel that was going to England; and thus, after an absence of eight months, returned to his country. I need not attempt to describe the happiness that now filled again the hearts of the sailor’s family.

The Groom and the Horse;

A FABLE, TO SHOW THE DISADVANTAGES OF DECEPTION.

A groom, whose business it was to take care of a certain horse, let the animal go loose into the field. After a while, he wanted to catch him, but the brute chose to run about at liberty, rather than be shut up in the stable; so he pranced round the field and kept out of the groom’s way. The groom now went to the granary, and got the measure with which he was wont to bring the horse his oats. When the horse saw the measure, he thought to be sure that the groom had some oats for him; and so he went up to him, and was instantly caught and taken to the stable.

Another day, the horse was in the field, and refused to be caught. So the groom again got the measure, and held it out, inviting the horse, as before, to come up to him. But the animal shook his head, saying, “Nay, master groom; you told me a lie the other day, and I am not so silly as to be cheated a second time by you.”

“But,” said the groom, “I did not _tell_ you a lie; I only held out the measure, and you fancied that it was full of oats. I did not _tell_ you there were oats in it.”

“Your excuse is worse than the cheat itself,” said the horse. “You held out the measure, and thereby did as much as to say, ‘_I have got some oats for you_.’”

Actions speak as well as words. Every deceiver, whether by words or deeds, is a liar; and nobody, that has been once deceived by him, will fail to shun and despise him ever after.

The Druids.

The Druids were a remarkable race of priests, who first came into Europe with the Celts, the first settlers of that quarter of the globe, and who seem to have exercised almost unlimited sway in civil and religious matters. Of their origin and history very little is known; but the early writers have given such accounts of them as to make it evident that their influence among the Gauls and Britons was very great. At the time they flourished, Christianity had not penetrated into those countries, and the religion of the Druids was exercised there without check or control. The best account of them is given by Julius Cæsar, who conquered Gaul and a part of Britain about fifty years before Christ; but these countries were so wild and uncultivated, and the manners of the people so barbarous, that all the intelligence he could collect respecting this singular race of men, is far from satisfying our curiosity.

The Druids appear to have exercised the office of civil magistrates, as well as that of ministers of religion. Neither their laws nor precepts of religion were committed to writing, but were preserved in poems, which were learned by heart, and recited on special occasions. They had the power of life and death over the multitude; and such was the superstitious terror with which they inspired the people, that their orders were always implicitly obeyed. The most characteristic part of their religious worship was their veneration for the oak tree, and the mistletoe, which is a plant that grows on the trunks of the oak. No ceremony was performed by the Druids without some part of this tree being used to consecrate it. They wore garlands of oak leaves upon their heads, for they believed that everything which grew upon this tree came from heaven.

The ceremony of gathering the mistletoe was always performed with much solemnity, and in such a manner as to strike the multitude with awe. This plant is very rare, and when any of it was discovered, the Druids set out with great pomp to procure it. This was always done on the sixth day of the moon, a day which they deemed of particular sanctity. When they arrived at the oak on which the mistletoe grew, a great banquet and sacrifice was prepared under the tree. Two white bulls were tied by the horns to the trunk of the tree. One of the priests, clad in a white garment, then mounted the tree, and with a golden knife cut off the mistletoe, which was received by another priest in a white cloak. They then offered up their prayers and sacrifices. The mistletoe, besides being an object of religious veneration, was considered an antidote to poison, and to possess many other virtues.

The Druids performed their worship in the deepest recesses of the woods, far from human dwellings; a circumstance which added to the superstitious awe with which the common people regarded them. One of these spots is described by the poet Lucan. This wood, according to his account, had never been touched by the axe since the creation. The trees of it grew so thick and were so interwoven, that the rays of the sun could not penetrate through the branches, and a damp and chilling darkness reigned throughout. Nothing was to be seen in the neighborhood except a multitude of altars, on which human victims had been sacrificed, and the blood of which had stained the trees of a horrid crimson. Ancient traditions affirmed that no bird ever perched upon their branches, no beast ever walked under them, no wind ever blew through them, and no lightning ever struck them.

The idols which these gloomy recesses contained, were a species of rude and shapeless trunks, having some resemblance to the human figure, and covered with a tawny yellow moss. If the superstitious belief of the multitude might be credited, these mystic groves were frequently shaken by some unearthly movement, and dreadful sounds issued from the caverns and hollows which abounded in them. Sometimes, we are told, the woods would be wrapt in a flame of fire without being consumed; and sometimes the oaks would be twined round with monstrous dragons. At the hours of noon and midnight the priests entered these gloomy abodes, to celebrate their mysteries with trembling and terror. Such appalling accounts of these frightful regions, probably originated with the Druids themselves, who wished to deter the multitude, by every sort of dreadful description, from penetrating into the secrets of their superstitious practices.

Plutarch informs us that a Roman commander named Demetrius was sent by one of the emperors to an island of the Druids, for the purpose of making discoveries, but that the Roman adventurers were repulsed by a strange phenomenon. Immediately on their arrival, says the account, the heavens grew black; the winds arose; strange apparitions were seen in the sky; a dreadful tempest sprung up, and the heavens were filled with fiery spouts and whirlwinds. The Romans desisted from their attempt, in the dread of being destroyed for their sacrilegious invasion of a consecrated spot. Probably all this was nothing more than an ordinary thunder-storm, which the fright of the Romans magnified into a supernatural occurrence.

The Druids were also addicted to the horrid practice of sacrificing human victims. These were sometimes criminals who had offended either the laws or the religious prejudices of the Druids. It often happened that, when a man’s life was in danger, from sickness or any other cause, the Druids undertook to secure his safety by a human sacrifice to their false deities. When criminals could not be found, innocent persons were taken for victims. Huge hollow piles of osier twigs, bark or hay were erected, and filled with these unhappy wretches; after which the whole was set on fire and consumed. Under the guidance of the Druids, the people at their funerals burnt the bodies of the dead, and threw into the blazing pile all their most valuable property, and even their servants and slaves. Sometimes the near relatives of the deceased burnt themselves with their friends, in the manner practised at the present day by the Hindoo widows.

The Druids extended their worship over the greater part of the modern kingdom of France, which was then named Gaul, the southern part of the island of Great Britain, and the island of Hibernia, now Ireland. Their most celebrated abode was the island of Mona, now called Anglesey, on the coast of Wales. In this island are some remains of the Druidical superstition, consisting of immense blocks of stone, supposed to have been altars. The celebrated structure in the south of England, known by the name of Stonehenge, is also considered a remnant of Druidical architecture, though we are not positive that the Druids ever performed their worship in temples.

From all the accounts transmitted to us by the ancient writers, it is pretty evident that the Druids were possessed of considerable knowledge for so barbarous an age, and that they made all possible use of this knowledge to perpetuate their authority and keep the rest of the people in ignorance of the true character of their religious mysteries. Their influence, wherever they prevailed, was very great. When the Romans invaded Britain, they found the inhabitants almost entirely subject to their control. The Druids offered an obstinate resistance to the Romans, and incited the Britons, on many occasions, to revolt against them. The Romans perceived at length that the subjugation of the island would never be effected until the Druids were entirely extirpated. They therefore waged a war of extermination against them, put them to death in every quarter, and the last of the race having fled for shelter to Anglesey, the Romans crossed over to that island, destroyed their idols, cut down their groves, and burnt the priests to death, as they had been accustomed to burn their victims. Such was the end of the race and religion of the Druids.

* * * * *

PLAIN DEALING.--An impertinent fellow asked Lord Guilford, who that plain lady was before him. “That lady,” said his lordship, “is my wife. It is true, she is a plain woman, I am a plain man, you are a plain dealer, and that is the plain truth.”

The Re-entombment of Napoleon.

Of all the great and remarkable men of modern times, Napoleon Bonaparte was the most wonderful. He was a son of a lawyer of Corsica, an island in the Mediterranean sea, belonging to France. From a humble station he rose to be the emperor of France, and the greatest general of modern times. He hurled kings from their thrones, and put others in their places. He dismembered empires, and created new ones. He made the whole earth ring with his mighty deeds. But one thing he could not do--he could not conquer himself. His ambition led him on from one step of injustice to another, till the embattled armies of Europe appeared in the field against him. He was defeated, dethroned, and taken on board a British ship to the rocky and lonely island of St. Helena, where he died in 1821.

After being entombed for almost twenty years, the king, Louis Philippe, sent out a ship to bring back his body to France, to be re-entombed in the capital of the empire of which he once swayed the sceptre. The hearts of many of the French people adore the name of Napoleon; and the ceremony of his re-entombment, which has just taken place at Paris, is the theme of the fallowing lines.

Sound the trumpet, roll the drum!
Come in long procession, come!
Come with sword and come with lance,
Children of heroic France;
Come from castle’s frowning wall,
Come from the ancestral hall,
Come, poor peasant, from thy shed,
Cowled monk and crowned head!
From the hamlet’s green retreat,
From the city’s crowded street,
From the proud Tuilleries’ door
Let the royal escort pour;
Duke and baron, king and queen,
Gather to the august scene;
In your purple pomp arrayed,
Haste to swell the grand parade.
Brow of snow and locks of gold,
Matron, maiden, young and old!
Sound the trumpets, roll the drum,
For Napoleon’s ashes come!

Sound the trumpet, roll the drum!
Let the cannon be not dumb;
Charge your black guns to the brim,
Invalides! to welcome him!
War-worn veterans, onward march
To Etoiles’ towering arch.
Let the column of Vendome,
Let the Pantheon’s soaring dome,
Champs de Mars and Elysees,
Hear the clang of arms to-day;
Let the Luxembourg once more
Hear Napoleon’s cannon roar.
Bring the eagles forth that flew
O’er the field of Waterloo,
Bring his tattered banners, red
With the blood at Jena shed,
Scorched with fire and torn with steel,
Rent by battle’s crushing heel,
When the fight o’er Moscow pealed,
And Marengo’s sanguine field;
Sound the clarion’s wildest strain,
For the conqueror comes again!

Sound a sad funereal wail
For the warrior stark and pale!
Hussar and dark cuirassier,
Lancer and fierce grenadier;
Soldiers of the Seine and Rhone,
Join the universal moan.
Conscripts who have never yet
In the front of battle met,
Join your sorrows to the grief
Of these veterans for their chief!
Veterans, raise your brows the while,
As of yore by Rhine and Nile;
Show the frequent ghastly scar
Won in following him to war;
Tell the fields where you have bled,
Left a limb, or heart’s-blood shed;
And remembering each brave year,
March on proudly by his bier----
Forth with drooping weapons come
To the rolling of the drum!

Let the city’s busy hum
Cease when rolls the muffled drum;
Let no light laugh, no rude sound,
E’er disturb the hush profound!
Only let the swinging bell
Of St. Roche peal out its knell.
Silence! on his rolling car
Comes the favored Child of war!
Not as in the olden days,
With his forehead bound with bays,
With the bright sword in his hand,
Encircled with his ancient band.
Long the sceptre and the crown
At the grave hath he laid down.
Now with coffin and with shroud
Comes the chieftain once so proud.
On his pale brow, on his cheek,
Death hath set his signet bleak,
And the dead alone doth crave
Rest and silence in the grave.
Sound the trumpet, roll the drum,
Bear his ashes to the tomb!

What is Truth?

Truth is conformity to fact, in a statement or representation. If I say that London is the largest city in the world, my statement conforms to fact, and is therefore true. If I say that Boston has more inhabitants than New York, my statement does not conform to fact, and therefore is not true. There is one thing more to be considered, which is, that the statement must conform to fact in the sense in which it is meant to be understood. If I say a thing which is literally true, but which is not true in the sense in which I mean it to be understood, then I am guilty of falsehood, because I intend to deceive. The following story will illustrate this.

Two boys, who had been studying geography, were walking together one evening, when one of them exclaimed, “How bright the sun shines!” The other boy immediately replied that, as it was evening, the sun did not shine. The first boy insisted that it did shine; whereupon a dispute arose, one of the boys insisting that the sun did shine, the other that it did not. At last, they agreed to leave the point to their father, and accordingly they went to him and stated the case. They both agreed that it was nine o’clock at night; that the stars were glittering in the sky; that the sun had been down for nearly two hours; and yet John, the elder of the boys, maintained that, at that moment, the sun was shining as bright as at noon-day.

When his father demanded an explanation, John said that the geography he had just been studying, stated that when it was night here, it was day in China--“and now,” said he, “of course the sun is shining there, though it is night here. I said that the sun shines, and so it does.”

To this the father replied as follows: “What you say _now_, John, is true, but still, what you said to James was a falsehood. You knew that he understood you to say that the sun shone _here_--you meant that he should so understand you; you meant to convey a statement to his mind that did not conform to fact, and which was therefore untrue. You had a reservation in your own mind, which you withheld from James. You did not say to him that you restricted your statement to China--that was no part of your assertion. Truth requires us not only to watch over our words, but the ideas we communicate. If we intentionally communicate ideas which are false, then we are guilty of falsehood. Now you said to James that which was untrue, according to the sense in which you knew he would, and in which you intended he should, receive it, and therefore you meant to violate the truth. I must accordingly decide against John, and in favor of James. John was wrong, and James is right. The sun did not shine as John said it did, and as James understood him to say it did.”

There are many other cases which illustrate this “truth to the letter and lie to the sense.” Some years since, during the laws against travelling on the Sabbath, a man was riding on horseback near Worcester, in Massachusetts. It chanced to be of a Sunday morning, and the traveller was soon stopped by a tythingman, who demanded his reason for riding on the Lord’s day, and thus violating the law.

“My father lies dead in Sutton,” said the other, “and I hope you will not detain me.”

“Certainly not,” said the tythingman, “under these circumstances;” and accordingly he allowed the man to proceed. About two days after, the traveller was returning, and happened to meet the tythingman in the road. The two persons recognised each other, and accordingly the following conversation ensued:

“You passed here on Sunday morning, I think, sir,” said the tythingman.

“Yes, sir,” said the traveller.

“And you told me you were going to your father’s funeral--pray when did he die?”

“I did not say I was going to my father’s funeral--I said he lay dead in Sutton, and so he did; but he has been dead for fifteen years.”

Thus you perceive that while the words of the traveller were literally true, they conveyed an intentional falsehood to the tythingman, and therefore the traveller was guilty of deception. I know that people sometimes think these tricks very witty, but they are very wicked. Truth would be of no value, if it might be used for the purposes of deception; it is because truth forbids all deception, and requires open dealing, that it is so much prized. It is always a poor bargain to give away truth for the sake of a momentary advantage, or for the purpose of playing off an ingenious trick. To barter truth for fun or mischief is giving away gold for dross. Every time a person tells a lie, or practises a deception, he inflicts an injury upon his mind, not visible to the eye of man, but as plain to the eye of God as a scar upon the flesh. By repeated falsehoods, a person may scar over his whole soul, so as to make it offensive in the sight of that Being, whose love and favor we should seek, for his friendship is the greatest of all blessings.

Varieties.

A CHILD’S AFFECTION FOR A KITTEN.--A short time since, a little girl, daughter of Mr. Alexander Rice, lost her life through her affection for a kitten. She had followed a small boy to the river, weeping bitterly because he was about to drown a kitten for which she had formed a strong attachment; and no sooner was it tossed into the water, than the agonized child took off its shoes, and, raising its clothes, walked into the river with a firm and determined step, towards the object of her affection; but, before reaching it, she suddenly sank into deep water, and her gentle spirit returned to the God who gave it.

* * * * *

A MUSICAL MOUSE. --One evening, as some officers on board a British man-of-war were seated round the fire, one of them began to play a plaintive air on a violin. He had scarcely played ten minutes, when a mouse, apparently frantic, made its appearance in the centre of the floor. The strange gestures of the little animal strongly excited the attention of the officers, who, with one consent, resolved to let it continue its singular actions unmolested. Its exertions now appeared to be greater every moment; it shook its head, leaped about the table, and exhibited signs of the most ecstatic delight. It was observed, that in proportion to the gradation of the tones to the soft point, the feelings of the animal appeared to be increased. After performing actions, which so diminutive an animal would, at first sight, seem incapable of, the little creature, to the astonishment of the spectators, suddenly ceased to move, fell down, and expired, without any symptoms of pain.

* * * * *

TRAVELLING CATS.--A lady residing in Glasgow, Scotland, had a handsome cat sent to her from Edinburgh. It was conveyed to her in a close basket, and in a carriage. She was carefully watched for two months, but, having produced a pair of young ones at the end of that time, she was left at her own discretion, which she very soon employed in disappearing with both her kittens. The lady at Glasgow wrote to her friend in Edinburgh, deploring her loss; and the cat was supposed to have formed some new attachment, with as little reflection as men and women sometimes do.

About a fortnight, however, after her disappearance at Glasgow, her well-known _mew_ was heard at the street-door of her old mistress in Edinburgh, and there she was, with both her kittens! they in the best state, but she very thin. It is clear, that she could carry only one kitten at a time. The distance from Glasgow to Edinburgh is forty miles; so that, if she brought one kitten part of the way, and then went back for the other, and thus conveyed them alternately, she must have travelled one hundred and twenty miles at least. Her prudence must likewise have suggested the necessity of journeying in the night, with many other precautions for the safety of her young.

* * * * *

A MUSICAL PIGEON.--Bertoni, a famous instructor in music, while residing in Venice, took a pigeon for his companion, and, being very fond of birds, made a great pet of it. The pigeon, by being constantly in his master’s company, obtained so perfect an ear for music, that no one who saw his behavior could doubt for a moment of the pleasure the bird took in hearing him play and sing.

* * * * *

SWIFTNESS OF BIRDS.--A vulture can fly at the rate of one hundred and fifty miles an hour. Observations on the coast of Labrador convinced Major Arkwright, that wild geese could travel at the rate of ninety miles an hour. The common crow can fly twenty-five miles, and swallows ninety-two miles, an hour. It is said, that a falcon, belonging to Henry the Fourth, was discovered at Malta, twenty-four hours after its departure from Fontainebleau. If true, this bird must have flown, for twenty-four hours, at the rate of fifty-seven miles an hour, not allowing him to rest a moment during the whole time.

* * * * *

A BRAVE IRISHMAN.--An Irishman, who was a soldier of the Revolution, and of Warren’s brigade, was suddenly stopped near Boston by a party, during a dark night; a horseman’s pistol was presented to his breast, and he was asked to which side he belonged. The supposition that it might be a British party, rendered his situation extremely critical. He replied, “I think it would be more in the way of civility, just to drop a hint which side you are pleased to favor.” “No,” testily said the first speaker; “declare your sentiments, or die!” “Then I will not die with a lie in my mouth. American, to extremity! Do your worst, you _spalpeen_!” The officer replied, “We are your friends; and I rejoice to meet with a man so faithful to the cause of his country.”

* * * * *

SEARCHING FOR HIDDEN GOLD.--Kidd was a famous sea robber on the American coast, and many people believe that he buried large pots or chests of gold, somewhere along the shore. A number of laborers, believers of this legend, at work in a field, accidentally discovered, upon the top of a large stone, an inscription in ancient characters, which, on deciphering, read as follows:

“Take me up, and I will tell you more.”

Eager for the money, and entertaining no doubt of their being close upon it, they immediately set about raising the stone. After tugging and toiling several hours, they finally succeeded, and with some difficulty read on the bottom,

“Lay me down as I was before.”

* * * * *

READY WIT.--A countryman the other day, for information, asked an Hibernian, who was busily engaged in the street driving down stones, “Pat, when will you get this street done?” “How did you know my name was Pat?” inquired the Irishman. “Why, I _guessed_ as much.” “Then,” replied Pat, “since you are good at guessing, you may guess when the street will be finished.”

* * * * *

MONUMENT OF AFFECTION.--There is a monument near Copenhagen, erected by Count Schimmelman, called “The Weeping Eye.” That nobleman’s grief for the death of his wife was so excessive, that he caused a statue to be erected over a spring, and made the water spout from the eye, as a continual flood of tears.

JACK FROST, A SONG,

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

_Andante._

1

Who hath killed the pretty flow’rs,
Born and bred in summer bowers;
Who hath ta’en away their bloom
Who hath swept them to the tomb?
Jack Frost, Jack Frost.

2

Who hath chased the birds so gay,
Lark and linnet, all away?
Who hath hushed their joyous breath,
And made the woodland still as death?
Jack Frost--Jack Frost.

3

Who hath chilled the laughing river?
Who doth make the old oak shiver?
Who hath wrapped the world in snow?
Who doth make the wild winds blow?
Jack Frost--Jack Frost.

4

Who doth ride on snowy drift
When the night wind’s keen and swift--
O’er the land and o’er the sea--
Bent on mischief--who is he?
Jack Frost--Jack Frost.

5

Who doth strike with icy dart,
The way-worn traveller to the heart?
Who doth make the ocean-wave--
The seaman’s home--the seaman’s grave?
Jack Frost--Jack Frost.

6

Who doth prowl at midnight hour
Like a thief around the door,
Through each crack and crevice creeping,
Through the very key-hole peeping?
Jack Frost--Jack Frost.

7

Who doth pinch the traveller’s toes?
Who doth wring the school-boy’s nose?
Who doth make your fingers tingle?
Who doth make the sleigh bells jingle?
Jack Frost--Jack Frost.

My own Adventures.

(_Continued from page 15._)