Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

THE CICADA. This insect, so greatly praised by the ancients, appears to have been a kind of grasshopper. “Sweet prophet of the summer,” says Anacreon, addressing it, “the muses love thee, Phœbus himself loves thee, and has given thee a shrill song;――thou art wise, earthborn, musical, impassive, without blood――thou art almost like a God!” So attached were the Athenians to these insects, that they used to fasten golden images of them in their hair. They were regarded, indeed, by all as the happiest, as well as the most innocent of creatures. The sound of this insect and of the harp were called by one and the same name. There is a story among the ancients, of two rival musicians, who were striving to excel each other on the harp, when one of them unfortunately broke a string; a cicada at that moment flew upon the instrument, and supplying the place of the string, secured to him the victory. A cicada sitting upon a harp, was therefore the usual emblem of the science of music among the ancients.

Imagination.

MR. MERRY,――

Will you be so kind as to tell us, in your next number of
the Museum, what Imagination is?――and you will oblige

Your subscriber,
JAMES ―――― ――――

To be sure I will, with all my heart, Master James. But first look at the picture at the head of this article. It represents a scene in a garden, during the summer. The trees and shrubs are covered with leaves: many of the plants are in bloom, and the little group of children are gathered around a tuft of pinks, upon which they are pouring some water. You look at the picture, and fancy that you actually see such a scene as it presents.

And now go to the door, and look abroad. Behold, it is winter! The leaves are actually stripped from the trees; the green grass is withered; the blossoms are blighted and dead. The garden is frozen and rough, and not a flower is there to enliven its sullen aspect.

The scene thus suggested by the picture,――that scene in the mind, so beautiful and bright――so like the joyous, sweet realities of summer――was but a sort of dream. That magic power which painted it, we call Imagination,――or Fancy. It is a power which can present the loveliest scenes to the eye of the mind, and make them seem like truth, while yet they are only fleeting visions, passing away as lightly as they came.

Imagination can bring us its flowers, though it be winter, and all around us is wrapped in a chill mantle of snow. Though it be night, imagination can paint to the mind the fairest and brightest scenes of day. Though we may be in Boston, imagination may transport our thoughts to Rome, or London, or Jerusalem, or Persia, and for a time we may seem to be there.

Imagination, then, is like a painter who sketches unreal scenes so distinctly as to make them seem like reality. It is a power so captivating that it often leads us to act upon what is illusory and deceptive.

You have heard of persons who walk in their sleep. They are dreaming something, and they go forth, under the influence of their dream. They fancy that they see what they do not see, and are to do what they cannot perform. These sleepwalkers are persons who are led away by dreams: and all who give themselves up to the guidance of imagination, are like sleepwalkers,――misled by dreams.

While the imagination is, therefore, a wonderful power of the mind, and capable of affording great delight, we should be careful to keep it within due bounds. It is a good servant, but a dangerous master. If we indulge imagination in picturing what is good, and beautiful, and virtuous, and happy――we do that which is at once useful and pleasing: but if we indulge it in portraying what is vicious, and vain, and hurtful, we are likely to be led into some fatal pit of ruin.

Sister.

What word in our language is more beautiful than _sister_? And why is it so beautiful? Because it brings with it so many pleasant ideas. Can any one look at the engraving, and not feel the truth of this?

See the elder girl, taking the little one upon her back, to carry her across the brook! See with what care she puts her arms around her little feet, and poises her on her shoulders. See, too, the true smile of affection and satisfaction, the real bliss, upon her face, in the exercise of this act of care and kindness. Do you not see there the force of that beautiful word, _sister_?

And the infant too――look at that! Mark the clinging of the little arms around the neck! mark the anxiety pictured in the face, yet softened into trust and confidence. Does not the child feel the meaning of that word, sister?

Burning of the Tower of London.

The Tower of London is one of the greatest curiosities in that famous city. It stands on the north bank of the river Thames, in the eastern part of the city. It consists of several buildings, erected at various times, all enclosed by a high wall, on which cannon are mounted. The wall encloses twelve acres of ground. The middle building is at once the oldest and tallest of the group: it is a large quadrangular structure, with a number of large rooms, and having a tower at each corner. This is called the White Tower, and measures 116 by 96 feet, and is 92 feet high.

Connected with this great building, are the grand storehouse, ordnance office, jewel office, and the chapel, beside many other edifices. In the chapel lie the remains of many celebrated persons, who have been executed here or who died in prison. Among the rest, are Anne Boleyn, the unfortunate; Katherine Howard, the guilty; Essex, the brave but rash favorite of queen Elizabeth.

The tower of London was begun by Edward III., in the thirteenth century, by the construction of the white tower. It was designed as a royal palace, and as such was occupied for a time. In the time of Henry VIII., it had acquired a horrid celebrity as a state’s prison. Here many persons have been incarcerated for years by the government; and it is curious to remark, that many of those who have even perished by the axe in this prison, are now regarded as among the greatest and best of mankind. In the dungeons which are beneath the white tower, it is said that Sir Walter Raleigh wrote his celebrated history of the world.

The whole of the white tower may be termed a storehouse, at the present day. It contains many thousand stand of arms, all kept in perfect order, and beautifully arranged; vast military stores, beside a multitude of papers and documents in what is called the round office.

The armories in the tower consisted of three vast collections, viz., the “_Horse Armory_,” “_Queen Elizabeth Armory_,” and the “_Small Arms Armory_.” The two first are collections of ancient armor; and though chiefly kept as objects of curiosity, they are exceedingly interesting. Here are to be seen almost every kind of armor, from the earliest period of English history.

The horse armory is kept in a building erected for the purpose in 1825. Queen Elizabeth’s armory is kept in an edifice recently erected for the purpose. The Small Arms armory was kept in a splendid building, called the grand storehouse, begun by James II., and finished by William III. It was this vast structure which was burnt to the ground on the night of Oct. 30th, 1841. The engraving represents the building on fire in the foreground, with the turrets of the white tower a little in the distance.

This awful conflagration originated accidentally from an over-heated stovepipe. It burst forth near the middle of the night, and from its elevated position and the vastness of the pyramid of flame, it wrapped the whole of London in a glow of light, and aroused its mingled population with the most intense feeling of interest. “The tower is on fire! the tower is on fire!” rung through every street and lane and archway, sending a thrill of mingled sublimity and fear to every heart.

There is probably no one object in London better known than the tower. It is associated in every mind with some of the darkest transactions in English history. Here the young princes were murdered by Richard III. Here Mary of Scotland was executed. Here, too, every one had been to see the vast displays of armor; the trophies won by Wellington, Nelson, and other heroes, in a thousand battles; the gorgeous jewels of the crown; the menagerie, with its lions, tigers, and other animals of foreign lands. What must, then, have been the emotions excited, when the midnight cry, which announced its destruction, rang through the city, and when the ruddy light of its flames gushed in at every window?

When the fire was first discovered, it appeared as though the whole collection of buildings must be destroyed: but by great efforts the flames were checked, and only the grand storehouse was burnt. This, however, was reduced to a heap of ashes, and with it have been destroyed all those vast stores of arms, and the many triumphant mementos of England’s prowess by land and sea, which have so long rendered it an object of surpassing interest. It contained, on the ground floor, a most extraordinary train of artillery. There were cannon and great engines of war, of almost every nation, and of every age, from the time of the invention of gunpowder down to the present day. Many of them were associated with England’s most glorious military and naval triumphs; others with the names of her greatest commanders, and most illustrious sovereigns. They presented an exhibition as curious to the engineer as interesting to the patriot, and such a one as no country but Great Britain could boast of; but she can boast of it no longer.

On the first floor was the splendid room, known as the “Small Armory,” and one of the grandest apartments in Europe. It contained, exposed to view, and in cases, nearly 150,000 stand of arms. The whole of this building, with the exception of the bare shell, is in utter ruins, its contents blended together in one mass of destruction.

* * * * *

“He who a _watch_ would wear, two things must do:
_Pocket_ his watch, and _watch_ his pocket too.”

The Gleaner.

GOOD MORNING.

The eagle on its rocky height,
He knows the hour of waking,
And waves his pinions in the light,
The midnight dew off-shaking:
And I must shake off sleep and sloth,
Since rosy day is dawning,
And even as the eagle doth,
Will wish the world good morning.

The rose-bud in her woven bow’r
Atwixt the leaves is peeping,
And bares her bosom more and more,
For ’tis no hour for sleeping:
Then is it meet that I repose,
When such as these give warning?――
I’ll look abroad as doth the rose,
And wish the world good morning.

* * * * *

SAGACITY OF A CAT. It was only a few evenings ago that one of our worthy neighbors, who keeps a shop in Little Underbank, was much surprised at the conduct of his cat. He was standing in his shop, when pussy put her paw on his trowsers, and endeavored to pull him towards the cellar, leading out of the shop. He took no notice at first, but this she repeated three times; and in order to see what could be the cause of her thus troubling him, he took her in his arms, and carried her into the cellar, where he kept a large quantity of leather.

Pussy immediately sprang from him, and jumping upon a piece of leather, began to look underneath it, as if in search of something. Her master raised the leather, and he there found a boy of twelve or fourteen years of age concealed under it. On bringing the young rascal from his hiding-place, he naturally asked him what he was doing there. The reply was, that he had not money to pay for a lodging, and thought he would stay there till morning. The worthy shopkeeper made him remember that a feather bed was preferable to a leather one, by inflicting summary punishment on the offender. Thus the sagacity of this famous cat most probably saved the premises from being robbed, and its master, perhaps, murdered.――_Stockport paper._

* * * * *

COFFEE. The discovery of coffee, according to the Oriental writers, took place towards the close of the thirteenth century; and, like most other discoveries of importance, it is attributed to chance. An Arab chief, the Scheik Omar, was flying from the pursuit of his own tribe. Having, with a small body of his adherents, taken refuge in the mountainous part of the province of _Yemen_, all ordinary means of sustenance failed them. In his extremity, perceiving a coffee-bush, the famishing chief essayed to gnaw the berries; but finding them too hard for mastication, he hit upon the expedient of boiling them――drank the decoction――found himself not only refreshed but invigorated both in mind and body; and from him the virtue of the precious berry afterwards became famous throughout the world. But with all its claims to notice, it required upwards of two hundred years for coffee to make its way to general appreciation. Like a prophet in his own village, it long remained slighted and neglected by its own native land. Three centuries elapsed from the date of its first discovery before the use of coffee, as a beverage, was generally adopted in the neighboring state of Egypt and in Turkey; whilst in Europe, as we all know, the introduction of the sober berry is, comparatively of but modern date.

* * * * *

MOTION. The common watch, it is said, beats or ticks 17,160 times an hour. This is 411,840 a day, 150,424,560 a year, allowing the year to be 365 days and six hours. Sometimes watches will run, with care, 100 years. In this case it would last to beat 15,042,456,000 times!

The watch is made of hard metal; but I can tell you of a curious machine, which is made of something not near so hard as brass or steel――it is not much harder than the flesh of your arm――yet it will beat more than 5000 times an hour, 120,000 times a day, and 43,830,000 times a year. It will sometimes, though not often, last 100 years; and when it does, it beats 4,383,600,000 times. One might think this last machine, soft as it is, would wear out sooner than the other; but it does not. I will tell you one thing more. You have this little machine about you. You need not feel in your pocket, for it is not there. It is in your body, you can feel it beat; it is――your heart!

* * * * *

ANECDOTE OF LORD KENYON. Soon after Lord Kenyon was appointed master of the rolls he was listening very attentively to a young clerk, who was reading to him, in the presence of a number of gentlemen of the long robe, the conveyance of an estate, and on coming to the word “enough,” he pronounced it “_enow_.” “Hold! hold!” said his honor, immediately interrupting him, “you must _stand_ corrected. Enough is, according to the vernacular custom, pronounced ‘_enuff_’ and so must all other English words which terminate in ‘ough,’ as, for example, tough, rough, &c.” The clerk bowed, blushed, and proceeded for some time; when coming to the word “_plough_,” he, with a loud voice, and penetrating look at his honor, called it “_pluff_.” The great lawyer stroked his chin, and with a smile candidly said, “Young man, I _sit_ corrected.”

* * * * *

CARRIER PIGEONS, A. D. 1099. The secret of turning to account the peculiar instinct of these birds would appear to have been known and practised in the east at an early period. Maimbourg, in his history of the crusades, relates a curious anecdote on this subject:――“As the Christian army continued its march, by the narrow passage which is between the sea and Mount Carmel, they saw a dove, which, having escaped from the claws of a bird of prey, who had let go his hold at the great noise made by the soldiers, fell half dead at their feet. There was found, tied beneath his tail, a small scroll of paper, in which the emir of Ptolemais wrote to the emir of Cæsarea, to do all the harm in his power to the army of dogs who were about to pass through his territories, as he, more easily than the former, could hinder their passage.”

* * * * *

POWER OF MUSIC. Prince Cantimir, in his account of the transactions of the Ottomans, relates that Sultan Amurath, having besieged Bagdad and taken it, ordered 30,000 Persians to be put to death, though they had yielded and laid down their arms. Amongst these unfortunate victims was a musician, who besought the executioner to spare him one moment that he might speak to the emperor. He appeared before the sultan and was permitted to give a specimen of his art. He took up a kind of psaltery, which resembles a lyre, and has six sides, and accompanied the sounds of the instrument with his voice. He sung the taking of Bagdad and the triumph of Amurath; its pathetic and exulting sounds melted even Amurath, who suffered the musician to proceed, till, overpowered with harmony, tears of pity gushed from his eyes, and he revoked his cruel orders. Influenced by the musician’s powerful talent, he not only ordered the lives of the prisoners to be spared, but restored them to liberty.

* * * * *

COLERIDGE. Coleridge was very fond of music, and he has left us an interesting remark or two upon it:――“An ear for music,” he observes, “is a very different thing from a taste for it. I have no ear whatever; I could not sing an air to save my life; but I have the intensest delight in music, and can detect good from bad. Naldi, a good fellow, remarked to me once at a concert, that I did not seem much interested with a piece of Rossini’s, which had just been performed. I said, ‘it sounded to me like nonsense verses;’ but I could scarcely contain myself when a thing of Beethoven followed.”

* * * * *

INSTINCT. Smellie mentions a cat, which, being confined in a room, in order to meet its mate of the other sex, learnt of itself to open the latch of a door; and I knew a pony in the stable here, that used both to open the latch of the stable, and raise the lid of the corn-chest――things which must have been learnt by himself from his own observation, for no one is likely to have taught them to him. Nay, it was only the other day that I observed one of the horses taken to grass in a field through which the avenue runs, open one of the wickets by pressing down the upright bar of the latch, and open it exactly as you or I do.――_Lord Brougham._

* * * * *

A LONG CHIMNEY. The largest chimney in the world is at the Soda Ash Manufactory of James Musprat, near Liverpool. It is the enormous height of 406 feet above the ground, 45 feet diameter inside at the base, 9 feet ditto at the top; and contains nearly 4,000,000 bricks.

* * * * *

When Donatello, an Italian sculptor, had put his last finishing touch to his bust of Byron, he cried out to it――“Speak!”

Metals.

“That thimble, Henry, which you are looking at, and think so pretty, is made of silver. Silver is dug out of the earth, and so are all metals. There are a great many metals: I will tell you the names of some of them, but I cannot tell you all. Gold is metal; so is silver, iron, lead, copper, tin, brass, and a great many more. Some are pure metals, that is, not mixed together. Gold is considered the most valuable. Silver is also valuable; but I think we may consider iron the most useful; for what should we do without spades, shovels, rakes, ploughs, and many other things which are made of iron?

“We should have no wheat, unless the earth was ploughed before the seeds were sown. We could not dig up the potatoes without a spade; we could have no fire in our rooms without a grate; besides, the saucepans are made of iron, which could not be made of any other metal. Gold and silver are also very useful. Spoons made of silver are pleasanter to use than iron ones would be. Gold is chiefly used for money and jewelry, although kings and many very rich people have their plate made of gold. Lead is very useful in building; the tops of houses are sometimes covered with lead, to prevent the rain from coming through. Water pipes are made of it; the point of my pencil is made of black lead.”

“Is not your ring made of gold, mamma?”

“Yes, my ring and watch are both gold.”

“And was that gold found in the earth?”

“Some gold is dug out of mines, but not all. Gold is sometimes found amongst the sand and mud at the bottom of rivers; it is found in very small grains, and is collected by the people of the place with much trouble and care. There is not much gold found in Europe; there is more found in America than in any other part of the globe, although a good deal is obtained in some of the rivers of France and Germany. Copper is more abundant in England than elsewhere, and there are mines of iron in most countries.”

The Prussian Exercise; a Game
for Children.

In this diverting little game, as many children as wish to play must kneel down beside one another, in a row. The corporal, as she is called, is placed at the head of the line, and the captain stands up in the manner of a captain of a company, and gives them words of command. These must be something ludicrous, such as telling them to pull their noses, slap their faces, clap their hands, cough, and things of that kind. All the little company must try to obey the word of command at the same time, as the real soldier obeys the order of his captain.

After various amusing manœuvres, the captain must tell them to “present arms.” They all then raise their right arm and hold it straight out before them. The next order is to “fire.” Here the corporal, who is in the secret, gives the little girl next her a sudden push, which sends her and all the other little people in the line, tumbling down one over the other. This is a very diverting game, and easy to be taught to very young children.

* * * * *

“If I were so unlucky as to have a stupid son,” said a military man, “I would make him a parson.” “You think differently from your father,” said a by-stander.

Anecdotes of Bonaparte.

Whilst the French troops were encamped at Boulogne, public attention was much excited by a daring attempt at escape made by an English sailor. This person, having escaped from the depôt, and gained the borders of the sea, the woods on which served him for concealment, constructed, with no other instrument than a knife, a boat, entirely of the bark of trees. When the weather was fair, he mounted a tree and looked out for the English flag; and having at last observed a British cruiser, he ran to the shore, with the boat on his back, and was about to trust himself in his frail vessel to the waves, when he was pursued, arrested, and loaded with chains. Everybody in the army was anxious to see the boat; and Napoleon, having at length heard of the affair, sent for the sailor, and interrogated him. “You must,” said Napoleon, “have had a great desire to see your country again, since you could resolve to trust yourself on the open sea in so frail a bark: I suppose you have a sweetheart there.”――“No,” said the sailor, “but a poor and infirm mother, whom I was anxious to see.”――“And you shall see her,” said Napoleon――giving at the same time orders to set him at liberty, and bestowing on him a considerable sum of money for his mother; observing, that she must be a good mother who had so good a son.

At the siege of St. Jean d’Acre, in Egypt, Bonaparte had three aides-de-camp (or officers) killed in advancing with his orders to the same point. It was necessary to send a fourth. He had no officers near him but Eugene Beauharnais and Lavalette. He called the latter, and, without being overheard by the former, said to him, “Il faut y aller; je ne veux pas y envoyer cet enfant et le faire tuer si jeune; sa mere me l’a confie; vous, vous savez ce que c’est que la vie.”――Lavalette set off, and, contrary to every expectation, returned safe and sound.

During the tour of Napoleon and Maria Louisa in Holland, in 1810, the burgomaster of one of the towns which they visited caused the following inscription to be posted on the triumphal arch through which their Imperial Majesties were to pass:

“Il n’a pas fait une Sottise,
En epousant Marie-Louise.”

Napoleon no sooner read the inscription, than he inquired for the burgomaster, and addressed him thus: “So, M. le Maire, they cultivate the French muses in Holland?”――“Sire,” answered the burgomaster, “I write a few verses.”――“Ah! you are the author, then,” said the emperor: “here, do you take snuff? (presenting a snuff-box surrounded with diamonds) take this, and

Quand vous y prenez une prise,
Rappelez vous de Marie-Louise.”

* * * * *

CATCHING RABBITS. Bacon says, “A company of scholars going to catch conies, carried one with them, which had not much wit, and gave in charge that if he saw any, he should be silent, for fear of scaring them; but he no sooner espied a company of rabbits than he cried aloud ‘_Ecce multi cuniculi_;’ which he had no sooner said, but the conies ran to their burrows; and he being checked by them for it, answered, ‘Who would have thought that the rabbits understood Latin?’”

* * * * *

DOWN to the reign of “Old Queen Bess,” the greater part of the houses in _fashionable_ London had no chimneys. The fire was kindled against the wall, and the smoke found its way out in the best manner that it could, at the windows, or at the door; but generally “reclined in blackness” in the room.

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

Vol. V. MARCH, 1843. No. 3.

Amusements.

It is the part of discretion to learn lessons of wisdom wherever we can find them. In many ways, by looking upon the processes of nature, we can discover hints or examples, worthy of imitation, even by rational beings. As we are now upon the subject of amusements, let us see how nature may instruct us in respect to this.

We look around, and notice that the young of all animals devote a portion of every day to amusement. The calf, the lamb, the puppy, the kitten――all have their gambols. This proceeds from no instruction――no parental injunctions; it is instinct――the mandate of the God who made them.

We find, in children, precisely the same instinct――the same mandate. The desire of active, lively, animating sport――the romp, the laugh, the shout, the chase――is as inherent in children, as much a craving of their nature, as the desire of food. These are as necessary, in order to the health, happiness, and proper development of children, as are fresh air, or pure water.

Another thing we observe in young animals, is that their amusements are suitable to their several conditions. The wrestling of young dogs is fitting to creatures who have often to contend for mastery over other animals; the skipping of lambs, is calculated to qualify them to roam over hills, rocks and precipices; the nimble tricks of kittens train them for that dexterity which is needful in their pursuits as mousers.

Thus far, then, we are instructed, by observing young animals, that amusements are necessary, and that these should be suited to circumstances. And we may safely apply these observations to children. They should all have amusements――cheerful――animating ones. They should have sports which take them into the open air――which draw them over hill and valley――which put to the stretch their feet, eyes, ears and hands. All their young faculties should be roused.

But, hark ye, masters and misses!――don’t take undue advantage of what I say――don’t ask for unreasonable or unsuitable amusements. Of these points, your parents are the best judges. I say to parents――your children need their frolics; I say to children――even in your frolics, obey your parents. It is said, and truly, that “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” It maybe added, that all play and no work keeps Jack always a boy.

As to the girls――they need less training than boys; whether it is that they are more discreet, or more heedful, or more docile, I will not say. Boys require line upon line, precept upon precept――here a little and there a little――or rather a good deal. Don’t scowl, my lads, and think that old Merry is turning preacher. Not a bit of it――and if I say that the girls behave better than you do, surely you have gallantry enough to bear me out.

But as to the girls――while I would enjoin suitable amusements――such as are adapted to their sex――yet I wish to ask one favor in their behalf, of their parents. And what do you suppose this may be? That they may generally spend two hours, each day of winter, in the open air; and at least three, of each day, in other seasons. In this way alone can they ensure enduring health and enduring beauty.

* * * * *

CONTRADICTION.――It was said of a certain Englishman, that so great was his love of contradiction, that when the hour of the night and state of the weather were announced by the watchman beneath his window, he used to get out of bed and raise both his casement and his voice to protest against the accuracy of the statement.

* * * * *

BULL.――An Irishman remarked to his companion, on observing a lady pass, “Pat, did you ever see as thin a woman as that?” “Thin,” replied the other, “bathershune, I’ve seen a woman as thin as two of her.”

All by Themselves.

GENTLE READER! Did you ever hear a flock of children――hearty, healthy hoidens――girls and boys――black eyes and blue eyes――when all by themselves, in an attic, or a barn, or a school-room? Whew, what a racket! But excuse me, reader, if I ask another question. Was you ever, of a summer evening, in the swamp of a southern climate――as that of Okefonoco in Georgia, or one of those which border the southern portions of the Mississippi?

If not――then you have never heard one of the queerest concerts that can be listened to. How shall I describe it? We may pourtray things to the eye by pictures, but we cannot paint sounds. To what shall I compare the swamp serenade of the tropics? Alas, it is without a parallel. The congregated uproar of the poultry yard――roosters crowing, turkeys gobbling, hens cackling――

“Cut-cut-cadaw cut――
Lay an egg every day,
And have to go barefoot!”

Geese gobbling; ducks quacking; Guinea hens yelling; pigs squealing――this, before I went to Georgia, I thought something――but it is nothing. Reader, you may have heard the soft serenade of a couple of cats beneath your window, sounding all the louder, because of your anxiety to get to sleep, and the death-like stillness around; but this is nothing.

You have heard the shout of a school set free――the hubbub of a Lowell factory――the clatter of steamboat paddles――the rush of some spit-fire engine and its trains upon a railroad track――the tearing fire of a militia muster, “all together”――which means one after another. All this you may have heard. Nay more――by an effort of fancy, you may put them all together, and, worked one into another by Marmaduke Multiply’s table――crossways, and up and down――and yet you have but a faint idea of the clangor made by the frogs, alligators, whippoorwills, chuck-will’s-widows, and other songsters of a southern swamp, when they set up for a real serenade――_all by themselves_.

We all know that the Italian orchestras undertake to describe storms, tempests, and battles――shipwrecks, love and murder――by music. If one of the opera companies will go to Okefonoco――listen to the performances there――and come back and give us a good imitation, I engage that they shall make their fortune.

Mr. Southey undertook to tell about the cataract of Lodore, and he attempted to convey some notion of the commotion of the waters by the gushing of his lines, and he succeeded very well; but how can any one put the puffing of alligators into rhyme? Old Homer, I am told, has imitated frogs in Greek――but the thing is scarcely possible in English.

After all I have said, gentle reader, I shall not attempt to describe the songs of the swamps aforesaid. This I must leave to yourself. Suppose that you are in Georgia, or Florida, or Louisiana; suppose that it is sunset, of a summer evening. A swampy thicket is before you; around are gigantic plants, of a thousand forms, and gaudy flowers of many hues; gnats, mosquitoes and gallinippers, fill the air, and sting you at every available point. Fire-flies begin to glitter. On every hand, as the darkness falls, the scene around becomes illuminated with myriads of these fleeting meteors.

A strange, loud sound bursts suddenly from a bush at your very ear, exclaiming, “chuck-will’s-widow!” It is repeated――slowly at first――and then more rapidly. Pretty soon another voice, exclaims, “whippoorwill.” “Confound us! confound us!” says a croaking throat in the mud. “Botheration! botheration!” says one at a distance. “Thief! thief!” cries another. Then fifty voices break out, and run into each other like the notes of a watchman’s rattle. The din rises higher and higher. More voices are added to the chorus, while every one speaks louder and quicker――and ever and anon, the deep voice of the alligator is distinctly heard, betwixt a grunt and guffau――seeming like the notes of the kettledrum, or double bass, to this wonderful concert of birds and reptiles, when _all by themselves_!

* * * * *

PROFANE SWEARING.――I believe there never was a man who made a fortune by common swearing. It often appears that men pay for swearing, but it seldom happens that they are paid for it. It is not easy to perceive what honor or credit is connected with it. Does any man receive promotion because he is a notable blusterer? Or is any man advanced to dignity because he is expert at profane swearing? Never.

Low must be the character which such impertinence will exalt; high must be the character which such impertinence will not degrade. Inexcusable, therefore, is the vice which has neither reason nor passion to support it. The drunkard has his cups; the satirist his revenge; the ambitious man his preferments; the miser his gold: but the common swearer has nothing; he is a fool at large, sells his soul for nought, and drudges in the service of the devil, gratis.

Swearing is void of all plea; it is not the native offspring of the soul, nor interwoven with the texture of the body, nor, anyhow, allied to our frame. For, as Tillotson expresses it, “though some men pour out oaths as if they were natural, yet no man was ever born of a swearing constitution.” But it is a custom, a low and paltry custom, picked up by low and paltry spirits who have no sense of honor, no regard to decency, but are forced to substitute some rhapsody of nonsense to supply the vacancy of good sense. Hence the silliness of the practice can only be equalled by the silliness of those who adopt it.――_Lamont._

A Roman Story.

During the time of the Roman commonwealth, there lived a noble warrior, whose name was Caius Marcius. He was scarcely less remarkable for the strength and symmetry of his body, than for the heroic magnanimity of his mind. From his earliest youth, he had been trained to feats of war; and his mother, who was a very noble matron, was anxious that he should be distinguished not only for his feats of arms, but for those other heroic qualities, which make a man truly great――such as justice, mercy, truth, honor, integrity, and disinterestedness. When Caius Marcius grew up, he soon proved to his mother that her good lessons had not been thrown away upon him; for, on occasion of an assault upon the town of Corioli, he distinguished himself with such extraordinary bravery, as to astonish all those who witnessed his exploits. Having headed a party which broke through the gates of the city, he entered it; but the gates being suddenly shut, Caius Marcius was left alone within the walls, surrounded by a host of enemies. Resolving to sell his life dearly, he made such an attack upon those within the walls, that they fled, and he was enabled to re-open the gates and let in his companions, who immediately took possession of the city.

After this brave action, honors and rewards would have been heaped upon Caius Marcius, but he refused them all, with the exception of a horse, the prisoners he had taken with his own hands, and the life of a person in the city, of whom he had formerly been the guest. In addition to this, he wished to take the surname of Coriolanus, as a remembrance of his victory, which was also granted him.

Coriolanus from this time signalized himself in a variety of battles, and always displayed the same disinterestedness and magnanimity. As he was above every mean act himself, he could not bear to see meanness in others; and observing the wickedness of the rich, and the hollow-hearted friendship of the common people, he despised both, and thus obtained a character for pride, and made himself a great many enemies.

But, still, Coriolanus was not without friends. An old senator, by name Menenius Agrippa, a very merry old fellow, was warmly attached to him, and wished, if possible, to raise him to the office of consul, which was the highest dignity the Romans could confer. But at this time, there was a great scarcity of bread and food in Rome, and the citizens were in a state of insurrection. Mobs paraded the streets, demanding food, and threatening death to the rich, whom they supposed had passed edicts to make provisions dear, that they might drain the pockets of the people. Menenius met a tumultuous body of the citizens going to pull down the house of Caius Marcius, and to kill him; for they thought that if they did so, they should get corn at their own price. Besides this, they wanted to govern, instead of being governed, and seemed determined to destroy all government, by a universal insurrection. Menenius, to stay them from their purpose, and to gain a little time, offered, if they would hear him, to tell a story which should put the subject of which they complained in its true light.

After a great deal of tumult, the citizens agreed to hear what the old man had to say, who proceeded as follows: “My friends,” said he, “there was a time when all the members rebelled against the stomach, and accused it of living an idle and luxurious life, in the midst of the body, without ever laboring for itself, or taking any trouble concerning the very things by which it was fed and comforted. To this the stomach replied, ‘It is true, I am the storehouse and shop of the whole body, but still, I have labor to perform that you know nothing of; for I have to convert the rude matters that the hands and mouth supply me with, into blood, and to send it in rivers both to the heart and brain, and every other part of the system, without which they could not live, nor could eye and ear, and heart and hand, see, or hear, or feel!’ Therefore, so it is with you, my friends; you feed the governing body of the state, and this sustains you for all the purposes for which you live.”

At this moment Coriolanus approached, and upbraided the citizens with their many vices, particularly with their disaffection and cowardice; and advancing towards them, the determined bearing he put on, so frightened them, that the more fearful fell back, and retired to a remote part of the city. At this moment, a messenger arrived with intelligence that the Volsci, a nation which harassed the Romans, were in arms, and that the city was in imminent danger. Upon this, Coriolanus immediately professed his readiness to head the Roman army against its enemies, and departed for the campaign.

Now, the chief enemies that Coriolanus had in Rome, were two senators, Junius Brutus and Sicinius Velutus, who hated him for his proud reserve, and more especially for his popularity with the aristocratical portion of the state of Rome, and as soon as he was gone, began to plot against him, having formed a resolution to contrive his downfall on the first fitting opportunity.

In the meantime, Coriolanus prosecuted the war against the enemies of his country, and came home, as usual, victorious, preceded by the loudest acclamations of the people. A triumph was granted him; and a splendid triumph, such as Rome had rarely witnessed, was prepared for him. He was first crowned with an oaken garland, and then, mounted on a triumphal car, drawn by eight splendid horses, richly caparisoned, through the principal streets of the city towards the capital. Before him marched the prisoners he had taken in the war, and behind him were wagons richly decorated, and laden with the spoils of the Volsci. But in the midst of all this glorious array, Coriolanus beheld his mother coming towards him, and, descending from his chariot, ordered a way to be made for her, and as she approached, fell down on his knees before her in the lowest humility, that he might receive her blessing――a spectacle far more sublime than those which warriors generally exhibit to the world.

After this, it was proposed by the friends of Coriolanus, that he should stand for the consulship. Now, it was a custom in Rome that when any one desired this high office, he should present himself to the people in the market place, and solicit their votes; he was expected to be very humble and very smooth-tongued, and to ask the office as a great favor, and to boast of his noble deeds, and show his wounds, and declare how uprightly he would act, and how much he would do for the poor. But the heart of Coriolanus grew sick when he thought of this humiliation; and as Brutus and Sicinius knew his disposition, they determined that this part of the ceremony should in no wise be abated, in order that Coriolanus might be led to do or say something displeasing to the people, and thereby incur their dislike. And this, indeed, was actually the case, for instead of complimenting the citizens, he said, “Look at my wounds; see, I got them in my country’s service, when some of you ran away from the noise of your own drums.”

But notwithstanding this haughty bearing, Coriolanus was elected consul; for most of the people, although they did not like to see him so proud, had a great veneration for his character; and a great dependence upon him as a warrior. Brutus and Sicinius, however, determined to oppose him in the senate, when his election should be confirmed, and took the opportunity to influence the popular mind against him, that they might the more effectually oppose him. So when the senate met, Brutus and Sicinius openly charged him with showing contempt for the Roman citizens; while a great crowd collected in the market-place, who vowed the destruction of Coriolanus the instant he appeared among them.

Coriolanus repelled the charges of his enemies with such warmth and indignation that they turned upon him, and being made bold by the shoutings of the mob outside, called him a traitor, and wished the officers to come and apprehend him. He, farther incensed at this audacity, seized Brutus in his gripe, and shook him as if he would shake the bones out of his garment; at the same time, Sicinius ran out, crying for help, and brought out a rabble of citizens, who, with their rude weapons fell upon Coriolanus, with the determination to seize him, and drag him to the Tarpeian Rock, a high hill in Rome, from which malefactors used to be thrown headlong. “Down with him, down with him!” was heard on all sides. But Coriolanus drew his sword, and in a moment, the rabble fell back, as if struck by lightning. A great skirmish now ensued, and Coriolanus drove before him the ædiles and the tribunes and their partisans out of the forum, and passed unmolested to his house.

But the storm was not blown over, for the tribunes of the people, Brutus and Sicinius, determined not to give up their cause till their enemy was destroyed; and accordingly, used every means an their power, to incense the citizens still farther against him. They then summoned him to answer for his rude conduct before the people in the forum! They knew his hot and fiery temper, and determined, when the day arrived, to say something that might provoke him, so that he might, before the whole assembly, give vent to some expressions as offensive as those he had formerly used. Brutus, therefore, when the time arrived, openly charged Coriolanus with being a _traitor_ to the people. Upon hearing the word _traitor_, the rage of the warrior knew no bounds, and he upbraided, in the most vehement terms, both the tribunes, and uttered the bitterest curses on the people. This was what Brutus and Sicinius had aimed at; and therefore, taking advantage of his passionate indiscretion, they called upon the people to bear witness of his contempt, and to join with them in pronouncing his banishment forever from Rome.

Coriolanus, wound up to the highest pitch of anger and indignation, instead of endeavoring to appease the torrent that overwhelmed him, turned his back upon Rome in the most supreme contempt, after having upbraided the citizens for their ingratitude and other vices. He then departed, with the shouts of execration ringing in his ears. But he had scarcely left the city when news was brought that the Volscians, under Tullius Aufidius, were again in arms, and were approaching Rome with rapid marches and in great numbers. Then would the citizens willingly have called back Coriolanus, but he was gone.

In the meantime, the banished warrior, not knowing where to go, and being without shelter or home, wandered into the camp of Aufidius, and was at last brought before the Volscian general. “Who art thou?” said the chieftain. “I am,” said he, “Coriolanus, who defeated thee at Corioli,――hence my surname, Coriolanus. Fortune hath thrown me upon thy hearth, and now I am ready to bow down my neck to thee: and thou canst, if thou wilt, revenge thy country’s wrongs, and thine own, by shedding my blood, and depriving me of the power of ever more driving thee to thy forests and thy hills.”

Tullius Aufidius was a man of noble bearing, and, instead of taking advantage of the situation of his enemy, offered him the rights of hospitality. “Come to my arms,” said he, “and be to me a brother.” “I will unite with thee,” replied Coriolanus, “against that hateful city, which has spurned me forth; and its ungrateful inhabitants shall perish by fire and sword.” And upon this compact, the two generals embraced each other, and vowed fidelity. They then took measures of preparation for an attack on Rome, having determined to destroy it utterly, and to kill, or sell into slavery all its inhabitants.

When the Roman people heard of the approach of the Volsci, they were greatly frightened; but their terror was increased when they were informed that Coriolanus had joined their enemies; and nothing was heard in Rome but howlings and lamentations. Brutus and Sicinius were greatly discomfited, for the popular fury was turned against them. They were upbraided for the banishment of Coriolanus, and were hooted and pelted by the rabble, in the same manner as Coriolanus had been; so that they were forced to hide themselves from their fury. The former friends of Coriolanus were rejoiced at this, but they were no less in consternation; for the destruction of a city in which we live is a terrible thing, and must be attended with ruin to all who live in it. They could not, however, forbear taunting the guilty citizens with their injustice in banishing so great a man. The poor people, who had before exhibited so much tyranny, now became wofully abject, and in the most humiliating accents begged the friends of Coriolanus to go to him and supplicate for mercy. They went, but their supplication was vain, for Coriolanus received them very coldly, and told them he had taken an oath for the destruction of the city, which he would not break, and nothing could move him from his purpose of revenge.

The city was now encompassed on all sides by the Volscian array, and the despair of the inhabitants was complete; they saw nothing before them but fire and devastation, havoc and slaughter; and after having put up prayers to the gods to avert the dreaded calamity, they went, at last, to the mother of Coriolanus, Veturia, and implored her to intercede with her avenging son. After many excuses, and bitter reproaches towards those who had so unworthily treated Coriolanus, the Roman matron at last consented to make her way to the Volscian camp, to obtain the salvation of the devoted city.

After a solemn fast, and supplication to the gods, Veturia called to her all the patrician ladies of Rome, and urged them to array themselves in deep mourning, and to wear on their heads every indication of profound grief. Everything being arranged, the procession of several hundred ladies, thus arrayed, descended the hill upon which the city was built, and passed through the principal barrier, and the gigantic gates which led to the Volscian camp. They passed along without molestation or opposition into the tent of Coriolanus, who having received information of their approach, sat in his chair of state, fixed, cold, and inflexible, to receive them.

When the Roman general saw his mother coming towards him, he could scarcely refrain from rising at her approach. He had been, from a child, so used to honor his parent, that after a violent struggle with himself, to keep his fierce and unbending look, he at last descended from his seat and threw himself at her feet. “Let me sink in the earth,” said he, “and as I am an uncommon man, let me show uncommon duty to my mother.”

But now there were other suppliants who clung around Coriolanus――his wife and his only child. But the moment they urged a word in favor of Rome, although done amid the most tender embraces, he immediately spoke coldly, and refused again to make any terms with the base spirits who had cast him forth and spurned him from the city. The mother of Coriolanus fell upon her knees before him; this touched him to the heart, and he endeavored to raise her up; but she persisted in kneeling, declaring that she would not rise from the earth till satisfied that Rome was safe from his revenge. His little son also fell down at his feet, and so did his wife, Volumnia; the whole of the Roman ladies also, following the example shown them, did the same; and poor Coriolanus soon found himself encompassed by a host of kneeling women.

“If thou wilt march to assault thy country,” said Veturia, “thou shalt tread on her who brought thee into the world;” while the boy said, “He shall not tread on me; I will run away till I am bigger; then I will fight.” This speech touched Coriolanus very much indeed, and he could not help catching him up in his arms and kissing him. Veturia then said, “Here is thy epitaph, obdurate man: the man was noble, but with his last bold deed, he wiped it out, destroyed his country, and his name remains abhorred to future ages.”

“O mother, mother!” said Coriolanus, who felt his determination giving way; “for you, my mother, for you alone I yield;” and then, after a severe struggle with himself, he said, “Rome shall indeed be saved; but thy son is lost. All the swords in Italy would not have made me yield, but I yield to thee, beloved mother.”