Chapter I (1)

_Jack’s habit of roaming about――His singular way of satisfying
his curiosity――The story of the whortleberry bush――Frogs,
tadpoles, and lizards――How to see and investigate――The ant
hill――Great days――Dinner._

Here the little fellow sits with his book, for he has now learnt to read. It is evening, and his mother has gone to see one of the neighbors, while he sits by the bed of his little sister, to take care of her, in case she wakes up. How intent he seems in reading his book!

But I must tell you about Jack, when he was quite young, and before he could read. All children have a deal of curiosity, and they ask a great many questions of their parents and others. As for instance: What makes the fire burn? Why does the sun shine? Who made the moon? Why do cats have ears? &c.

Now, Jack had his share of curiosity too; but he took a way to gratify it not common among children. He lived in the country, and his father had several acres of land around the house. Here were high rocks, and some woods, and a little valley where there was a small pond. There was also a ploughed field and a garden.

Now, Jack had a fancy for roaming about his father’s grounds, when he was quite a child, and if I must say it――when he wore petticoats! By the way, if any of my little friends meet with him, I beg they won’t say anything about the petticoats, for he is now a man, and might be ashamed to be reminded of what he once was.

Well, his greatest pleasure was to go alone over the rocks, and through the woods, and to the little valley. He delighted, particularly, to go to the pond, and see the frogs, and fishes, and tadpoles, and leeches, and insects, that made it their home there. He would stand for hours upon the rocks, quite absorbed in noticing the manners and customs of these inhabitants of the pond.

Now, Jack was so much in the habit of living out of doors, and walking about, that the objects he met with became, as it were, companions to him. He never seemed to feel alone, if only some flowers, or bushes, or trees were around him. He was never impatient――never restless――never in a hurry, while sauntering among the objects which nature had created and thrown in his way.

I will tell you an instance, to show his great satisfaction when he was among the bushes.

Just after he had learned to talk, a young lady who was staying at his father’s house, happened to go into the woods, where she found Jack. He was sitting by the side of a whortleberry bush, which was covered with green whortleberries. “What are you doing here?” said she to Jack. “Jack’s waiting for the whortleberries to get ripe!” was his reply.

Now, perchance, some of my sharp little friends will think Jack a silly boy; but wait, lads and lasses, and hear his story, before you decide. I have said that he had a way peculiar to himself, to gratify his curiosity. Instead of asking a bushel of questions, one after another, without waiting for a single answer, he was in the habit of _observing_ things, and _investigating_ things. In this way he gained a vast deal of knowledge.

Perhaps, you may wish to know what I mean by _observing_ and _investigating_. I will try to make you understand it.

One day in spring, Jack was in the garden, digging up a place to sow some pepper-grass seed. By-and-by he happened to see an ant running along with a piece of a leaf in his mouth. So he stopped his work, and looked at the ant. The little insect paddled along with his six legs very fast, and pretty soon came to a little hillock of earth, about as large round as a small flap-jack, and twice as high.

It seemed to consist of a heap of particles of sand. Now Jack, instead of running away to tell his mother about what he had found, remained to _observe_ and look into the matter, or _investigate_ it. On looking at the little mound, he saw there were a number of holes in it; and into one of them, the little ant with the leaf, plunged head first. “I wonder where he’s gone to?” said Jack. In a minute or two, several ants came out of these holes, and some of them had small white things that looked like eggs. These they laid down in the sun, and went into their holes to fetch more.

Every ant seemed to be busy about something. Jack saw several ants go away from the hill. He determined to observe them, and find out what was going on. He watched one fellow particularly, and he went to the distance of as much as three yards. There was a large dead fly. The ant went to work, gnawed off his head, took it in his teeth, and scrabbled back to the hill. Down he went into one of the holes.

In a few seconds he came back, made another journey to the dead fly, sawed off a thigh, and transported it to the hill. In this way he kept going out and in, and in the course of an hour, the ant had carried the whole carcass of the fly into the hill! “Well,” said Jack to himself, “I guess that fellow’s the butcher, and supplies the ant-folks with meat.” And no doubt Jack was right.

While all this was going on, Jack had time to observe and investigate other things. He saw one ant go as much as a dozen times to a dandelion, and load himself with the yellow powder which he gathered from the blossoms. “I guess that is the baker,” said Jack. He saw several climb up the stalks of tall plants, to get the juice or honey from the blossoms. “I guess these fellows are the grocers!” said the boy.

By-and-by, Jack saw an ant going along, when he chanced to come across another hill. Immediately he began to smell about this way and that――but an ant upon the strange hill saw him. In he went, at a hole, and in two seconds he sallied forth, with five or six other fellows in his rear. They darted forward, heels over head, toward the intruder, the strange ant. He had become apprized of the danger, and was galloping back toward his hill, as fast as his legs could carry him. It was a glorious sight, and Jack looked on, with as much interest as if it had been a fox-chase.

The little red ant that had stirred up this affray, went straight ahead, and pretty soon came to a ball of earth as big as a walnut. Deeming it better to climb over than to go round it, he began to mount, when the leader among the pursuers, a large black fellow, stuck his teeth into his rump! Red turned round, and grappled; both fell backward, and rolled upon the earth! Such a scratching and biting!

At last little Red escaped――having given Black a severe wound. The others now came up, and the chase was resumed. By-and-by the party approached Red’s home. Here he met some of his friends. They carried the alarm to the hill. In a few seconds, at least fifty fellows, all red, sallied forth. “I guess these are the soldiers,” says Jack――and so they were, sure enough.

They took the direction toward the party that had chased our little hero, Red. Black had now recovered, and was at their head. He mounted a small stone to reconnoitre and see the force of the enemy. He perceived that the force was too great, and giving the alarm to his party, they all scampered back, jumping, galloping and tumbling, one after another.

The army of the Reds pursued, and finally approached the city of the Blacks, close upon the heels of the ants that had insulted and abused their fellow-citizen. The blacks were soon made aware of the danger that threatened them. The fellows that had been out on the scout, thumped on the hill, and forty or fifty stout fellows rushed forth. They marched toward the regiment of Reds, and now a fierce battle ensued.

It was claw to claw――teeth to teeth. They pulled and hauled――bit and scratched; and after a few minutes, the battle was over. One large, black ant was killed. He was cut into four pieces, and the Reds carried him home, no doubt for a feast.

While Jack was busy in observing and investigating these things, he heard his mother’s call. Though he had been engaged at least four hours in studying into these things, he was not weary, and would gladly have staid longer; but being an obedient and good boy, he forthwith went to his mother, and found his dinner ready. It was one advantage of his morning exercise, that the fresh air had given him a good appetite. We shall pursue the story in our next.

“Pray, grandfather, read me a story. Grandfather, why don’t you speak to me? Gran’ther, gran’ther! Pray speak to Bell!”

“Well, child, what do you want?”

So spoke the old man to the little child, patting her under the chin. “What do you want?” said he. The child begged him to read her a story. Thus teased, the old man began. Whether he read out of the book, or made up a tale as he went along, suited to his grandchild, I cannot tell; but here is the story.

The Snow Drift.

There was once a boy who kept all the cents that were given to him, till he had laid up two dollars. I can hardly tell the reason why it was so, but Dick Liston really found as much pleasure in putting his cents into a box as most children do in buying sweetmeats with theirs.

The reason was probably this: in the first place, we like to feel that we have it in our power to buy anything; to gratify our wants and wishes; to buy things, not only for ourselves, but for others. The feeling of this power is a very agreeable feeling; and the possession of money gives it to us.

But Dick had another motive, added to this. His father owned a few sheep, and Dick wished to own one himself. So he laid by his money till he had amassed two dollars; he then bought himself a sheep. What pleasure he did take in feeding _his own dear sheep_! He called her Nan; for everything is dearer, if you give it a name.

Well, Nan must have the best potatoes, and the best turnips, and the sweetest hay,――for it was now winter, you know. She learned to know Dick, and as soon as she saw him, she would gallop to him, expecting of course to get some nice tit-bit. She was seldom disappointed. Thus a great friendship grew up between Nan and Dick.

But, now a new event came to pass. Nan had a lamb! Dick was in a perfect flurry of joy. He ran to his mother to announce the happy circumstance. He flew to his brothers and sisters, to unburthen his bosom. He told the cat of it――he told the dog of it――and away he flew to tell his neighbor, Jack Fletcher, of it. He then went back, boiled some potatoes, and fed Nanny.

Every morning Dick was up bright and early, to feed his sheep and lamb. The latter grew apace. In three days he shook his tail; in a week he nibbled a straw; in a fortnight he leaped and frolicked like a kitten. Each of these events marked an epoch in Dick’s heart, and was duly narrated to mother, brother, sisters, and playmates.

At last, March came, with signs of an early spring. The snow had fled. The sun shone warm and smiling. The blue-birds took it for spring; the hens cackled in the barnyard; the geese gabbled in the brook; the robins began to build their nests; the gardener sowed his lettuce, pepper-grass and peas.

Old Nan was also taken in by the fair show of spring. She went with her lamb to a distant hill-side, where the green grass had sprung up. Here she nibbled for a time, and at evening lay down to rest, her infant lamb at her side. They went to sleep, for the air was mild, and the moon shone bright.

But, by-and-by, the clouds covered the sky; a light rain began to fall. The wind changed to the north-east, and the air became cold. The drizzle was converted into snow, which soon fell thick and fast. The old sheep began to feel alarmed, but it was dark, and she did not like to travel across the woods and fields, to her home, at midnight. So she lay still.

But the storm continued. The air was full of snow, and in the morning it was a foot deep. Dick looked out of the window, and, anxious for his sheep and lamb, ran out to the barn. He could not find them. He looked in this place and that, but he could nowhere discover them. At length, with tears in his eyes, he ran back to the house, and told his sad story. Having taken breakfast, he and his brothers went to look for Nan. All the forenoon they spent in the search, but it was vain. The day passed, and the storm increased.

(_To be finished in our next._)

The Seasons.

WINTER.

Winter is a noisy, blustering, bustling season, though in general he keeps himself cool. Even as early as November he seems already impatient to begin his sway. If you leave a door ajar, he slams it wide open and comes puffing in, and blows the newspaper into the fire, oversets the clothes-horse, and cuts sundry other capers of the sort. He takes advantage of every still night to steal into the garden and pinch off the heads of the flowers. He mounts every black cloud, and from it sends down a flurry of sleet, hail or snow. In December he clutches the reins of government, and in a few days,

――――congeals every brook,
That murmured so lately with glee,
And places a snowy peruke
On the head of each baldpated tree;
* * * * *
And a black wreck of clouds is seen to fly
In broken shatters through the frighted sky.

SPRING.

Though winter seems impatient to begin his work, he is as loath to quit it. In March it is time for him to depart, but he may be compared to a crocodile, who, having paid you a visit and staid as long as he ought, pretends to go away: but while he puts his head and body out of doors, leaves his huge tail writhing, bending and brandishing behind. Thus, during March, winter’s tail is left to annoy us with squalls, gusts, tempests, rain, hail, snow. There often seems to be a strife between the seasons, spring and winter alternately getting the ascendency. But, after a while the latter finds his icicles melting away, and to avoid being reduced to a stream of water, he slowly retreats, first to New England, lingering along the Green Mountains, till, pursued by the Genius of flowers, he goes across Hudson’s Bay and hides himself behind the hills of Greenland, or creeps like a woodchuck, into Symmes’s Hole, till he can venture out again with safety.

One of the first and most delightful signs of spring is the return of the birds. The gentle bluebird comes first, with her liquid notes, chanting at early morn the glad tidings of the departure of winter. Then comes the robin, full of business; then the sparrow and the wren; then the woodpecker is heard drumming in the wood; and then the pigeons are seen shooting swiftly by in thousands; and then the wild geese,

――――lone wandering but not lost,

high in the air, night and day, are heard and seen in their long journey to the lakes. Spring, indeed, is so full of pleasant things, that we are well paid for the wearisomeness of winter by its return.

SUMMER.

May glides gently into June, which is the most beautiful of all the months――

In fullest bloom the damask rose is seen,
Carnations boast their variegated dye;
The fields of corn display a vivid green,
And cherries with the crimson orient vie;
The hop in blossom climbs the lofty pole,
Nor dreads the lightning, though the thunders roll.

The vegetable world is all alive;
Green grows the gooseberry on its bush of thorn.
The infant bees now swarm about the hive,
And the sweet bean perfumes the lap of morn.
Millions of embryos take the wing to fly;
The young inherit, and the old ones die.

AUTUMN.

I have heard a person, who had travelled in different countries, say, that he would like to spend the spring in Italy, the summer in England, the winter in the island of Cuba, and the autumn in the United States. It is a season “when the moon stays longest for the hunter;” when

The trees cast down their fruitage, and the blithe
And busy squirrel hoards his winter store;
While man enjoys the breeze that sweeps along
The bright blue sky above him, and that bends
Magnificently all the forest’s pride,
Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks,
‘What is there saddening in the autumn leaves?’

In many minds, however, this season is associated with melancholy images, but they are such as bring pleasure, rather than pain. Who that has read the following lines, descriptive of the close of autumn, has not felt their soothing influence?

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead,
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread,――
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day.

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung
and stood,
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas! they all are in their graves――the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours;
The rain is falling where they lie――but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.

THE REVOLUTIONS OF THE EARTH.

Thus I have given you a somewhat poetical view of the four seasons; and by what contrivance do you imagine that so much beauty, comfort and happiness are brought about? It is by mechanism, more ingenious, more wonderful than all the contrivances of man. I will try to make you understand this.

Let it be remembered that the sun is firmly stationed in the centre of a vast circle, called the earth’s orbit. The earth continues to whirl along in this orbit, going entirely round the sun once every year. It is kept in motion very much as a boy whirls an apple tied to a string around his head; as the apple cannot fly away from the boy on account of the string, so the earth cannot fly away from the sun on account of the attraction between the two, which operates as a string to tie the earth to the sun and keep it in its orbit.

Well; now imagine the earth moving around the sun once every year. But you must recollect that the earth is also whirling round every twenty-four hours upon its own axis, and this axis runs north and south. One end of the axis is called the north pole, and points always to the north; the other is called the south pole, and always points to the south. But it so happens, that at one time, this axis inclines more to the sun than it does at another. When the north pole is inclined towards the sun, the rays will fall more directly on the northern portions of the earth. This will cause summer at the north and winter at the south. And when the south pole is inclined towards the sun, it is summer at the south, and winter at the north.

Thus you see the rotation of the sun on its own axis every twenty-four hours produces day and night; and the annual movement of the earth around the sun, with the different inclinations of its axis to the sun, produces the wonderful changes of the seasons, which we have noticed.

* * * * *

ALEXANDER AND HIS MOTHER.――Olympias, the mother of Alexander, was of so very unhappy a disposition, that he could not employ her in any of the affairs of government. She, however, narrowly inspected the conduct of others, and made many complaints to her son, which he always bore with patience. Antipater, Alexander’s deputy in Europe, once wrote a long letter to him, while he was in Asia, complaining of her conduct; to whom Alexander returned this answer; “Knowest thou not that one tear of my mother’s will blot out a thousand such letters?”

Constantinople.

This city, the capital of the Turkish empire, is situated on the Bosphorus, a narrow channel which connects the Black Sea with the Sea of Marmora. It was anciently called Byzantium, but Constantine built it anew, and made it the seat of the Roman empire, in the year 328. From him it derived its name.

It fell into the hands of the Turks in 1458, and has since been their metropolis. The harbor is one of the finest in the world, and is capable of holding 1200 ships. On account of its curving shape and the rich cargoes in the ships there, this harbor is called the Golden Horn.

As you approach Constantinople, it is extremely beautiful, but when you enter it, you find the streets dark, narrow and gloomy. Every Turkish house is a kind of prison, so arranged as to keep the women in a state of jealous confinement. The men generally live in the front part, they being the jailers of the houses. There are no windows looking into the streets.

It is impossible to conceive of a greater contrast than is presented by the streets of Constantinople in comparison with a European or American city. In the latter, all is life and bustle; the shops are furnished with rich goods, and multitudes of people, men and women, are passing to and fro. Vehicles of various kinds are also moving in all directions. In Constantinople it is quite otherwise. The houses, as we have said, are dark and gloomy; the streets are mostly unpaved; few women are seen, and no vehicles, save now and then a miserable cart drawn by oxen.

There are about 300 mosques in the city, 500 fountains, and 35 public libraries. The seraglio, or sultan’s palace, is a city of itself. The harem, containing the 500 wives of the sultan, is fitted up with the most gorgeous magnificence.

The Turks spend a great part of their time in smoking at the public coffee houses. Here they seem to dream away their time in easy indolence. A modern traveller furnishes us with the following picturesque description.

“Having just landed at Constantinople, and being totally unacquainted with the Turkish language, we entered the first café we encountered, with our interpreter. Two venerable-looking Turks were squatted on a sofa, smoking their long pipes, and exchanging, from time to time, words uttered with the greatest solemnity. The nobleness of their appearance and gravity of their deportment immediately attracted our attention; and our curiosity was so excited, that we asked our interpreter to tell us what was the subject of their conversation. He laughed at our request, but, after being several times pressed, said, smilingly,

“Well, well! I will give you a literal translation of their conversation. The older Turk, with the green turban, is an emir, that is to say, a relation of the prophet; and the one opposite you is one of the magistracy.

“Effendi,” said the emir, “fish has been very dear for several days.”

“You are right,” replied the magistrate.

“Effendi,” said the relation of the prophet, “why has the fish been so dear lately?”

“I don’t know exactly; perhaps the weather has been unfavorable.”

“Would you believe that I paid six piastres for a fish, which I could have purchased the day before for one.”

“And I, alas! gave seven.”

The rest of the dialogue was of a similar nature.

Before we left Constantinople we had every reason to believe that our interpreter had given us a literal translation, although it astonished us at the time.

* * * * *

WONDERFUL SAGACITY.――One day last week, when the crowd of fashionables was greatest at the Union street exhibition, a beautiful girl, who had fed the elephant with sundry cakes and apples, in taking an apple from her bag drew out her ivory card case, which fell unobserved in the saw-dust of the ring. At the close of the ring-performances, the crowd opened to let the elephant pass to his recess, but instead of proceeding, as usual, he turned aside and thrust his trunk in the midst of a group of ladies and gentlemen, who, as might be expected, were so much alarmed that they scattered in every direction. The keeper at this moment discovered that the animal had something in his trunk. Upon examination he found it to be the young lady’s card case, which the elephant had picked up, and was only seeking out the fair owner.――_N.Y. paper._

Tsze Pun Yu!

This is the title of a Chinese collection of tales, romances, fables, &c., a kind of publication in which Chinese literature abounds. In the work mentioned above, there are no less than seven hundred tales, the titles of some of them being, “Ghost of a Fortune Teller,” “A Stolen Thunderbolt,” “The Literary Fox advising Men to become Fairies,” “Elves begging Fish,” “The Man with three Heads,” “The Devil turned Matchmaker,” “A Pig acting the Priest of Taou,” “The Enchanted Tower,” “The Ass of a Mohamedan Lady,” “A Demon bearing Children,” “Vulcan’s Toys,” &c.

The following are translations from this work, made by a youth at Canton, who was studying the Chinese language: they will afford a specimen of a Chinese book of “Small Talk.”

_The Sagacious Pig._――In the district of Suhchow, in Keanguan, a man was murdered, and his body thrown into a well. One of the officers, having long sought in vain for the murderer, was riding by the well one day, when the pig came before his horse, and set up a most bitter cry.

His attendants not being able to drive the pig away, the officer said to them, What does the pig want? Whereupon the pig kneeled before him, and made the _kow-tow_. The officer then bid his attendants to follow the pig, which immediately rose up, and led them to a house, and entering the door, crawled under a bed and began rooting up the ground, and continued doing so until he had uncovered a bloody knife. The attendants immediately seized the master of the house, who, on examination, proved to be the murderer.

The villagers, having deliberated on the case, took the pig and supported him in one of the temples of Budha; visitors came frequently to see him, and gave money for his support, saying, “Such a sagacious pig deserves to be rewarded.” After more than ten years, he died, and the priests of the temple, having procured for him a coffin, buried him with due formality.

_The Enchanted Box._――On the banks of the lake Kanning, in the province of Yunnan, some husbandmen, while digging up the ground, discovered a small iron box, on which characters were written in the ancient form (used in the time of the Han dynasty.) The husbandmen did not understand this writing, but the characters by the side of it were intelligible, and were as follows: “Given by a fairy, in the first year of Cheching.”

The husbandmen, not knowing what the box was, broke it open, when they found a small _worm_, about an inch in length, apparently dead. The boys, collecting, threw water on it. The worm then began to stretch itself, until it became quite long, and then it darted into the air. A hurricane soon came on; the rain fell in torrents; the heavens and earth seemed enveloped in black clouds; in the midst of which appeared a horned monster, fighting with two yellow dragons. Hail mingled with dew descended; and the houses and all property of the husbandmen were destroyed!

_The Black Pillar._――Once, in the district Shaouhing, there lived a man whose name was Yen, who was married into the family of Wang, and was taken home by his father-in-law, who had no son of his own. After the ceremony, Yen returned to visit his family. His wife having been suddenly taken ill, after his departure, a messenger was sent by his father-in-law to inform him of it. Yen immediately left his father’s house, although it was in the middle of the night.

By the light of a candle, he was proceeding along the road, when a black cloud, resembling the pillar of a temple, descended between him and a candle. If he moved a candle to the east, the pillar also moved to the east; if he moved the candle westward, the pillar moved with it, as if trying to obstruct the way, and not to permit him to proceed.

Yen, being very much frightened, entered the house of a friend, and having procured a servant and another candle, proceeded, and the black pillar gradually disappeared, while he hastened to his wife’s house. On entering, his father-in-law met him, and said, “You arrived a long time ago,――where have you come from now?”

Yen replied, “Most certainly I have not been in before!” Yen and the whole family fled in astonishment to his wife’s room, where they found a man seated on her bed, holding her hand. As he proceeded to his wife’s side, the stranger disappeared, and his lady soon expired.

_Fidelity of Cats._――In Heängning, there lived a lad, whose surname was Wang. His father had an old servant, upwards of seventy years old, who, being extremely fond of cats, kept thirteen in her house, and loved and cherished them like children. Each one had a nickname, and came immediately at her call. In the reign of Keënlung, this old woman died. The poor cats gathered round her coffin, crying bitterly, and refused fish, rice, and every kind of food; and after three days, they all died!

So much for Chinese Romance.

* * * * *

LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.――The acuteness of the sheep’s ear surpasses all things in nature that I know of. An ewe will distinguish her own lamb’s bleat among a thousand all bleating at the same time, and making a noise a thousand times louder than the singing of psalms at a Cameronian sacrament in the fields, where thousands are congregated――and that is no joke either. Besides, the distinguishment of voice is perfectly reciprocal between the ewe and lamb, who amid the deafening sound run to meet one another. There are few things have ever amused me more than a sheep-shearing, and then the sport continues the whole day. We put the flock into the fold, send out all the lambs to the hill, and then send the ewes to them as they are shorn. The moment that a lamb hears its dam’s voice, it rushes from the crowd to meet her; but instead of finding the rough, well-clad, comfortable mamma, which it left an hour or a few hours ago, it meets a poor, naked, shivering――a most deplorable-looking creature. It wheels about, and uttering a loud, tremulous bleat of despair, flies from the frightful vision. The mother’s voice arrests its flight――it returns――flies, and returns again, generally for ten or a dozen times, before the reconciliation is fairly made up.――_James Hogg._

* * * * *

FIGHTING CRICKETS.――In China the people take as much pleasure in cricket fights as the Spaniards do in bull fights. Two crickets are pitted against each other, and crowds of people gather round to witness the combat. The insects rush at each other with great fury, and the spectators, high and low, rich and poor, seem to experience the most lively sensations of delight.

* * * * *

LYING.――This is more common than some people suppose. A man who contracts a debt without a good prospect of paying it when due, is a liar. A man who gives his vote to serve a party, or to serve another person in disregard of public good, is a liar. A mercenary suitor for a lady’s hand, is a liar. An editor, who seeks in any way to make a false impression, is a liar of a thousand tongues.

Signs of the Zodiac.

In a former number of the Museum, I have told you about the Zodiac, but as I wish to make you remember all about it, I will just give you Mr. Cruickshanks’ notions on the subject. He is a merry fellow in London, and thus he draws the twelve signs, in his sportive humor:――

Invention of Printing.

The art of writing is one of great antiquity. At first, it consisted of what are called _hieroglyphics_――which are pictures of objects, or signs and symbols of objects, or figures, expressing words to the ear. The ancient Egyptians, the Chinese, and the Mexican Indians, all appear to have hit upon this hieroglyphical mode of writing.

The invention of letters, for spelling words, was of later date; and the writing of them was later still. The first writing was probably upon stone, and was used, doubtless, to record great events upon national monuments, as pyramids, obelisks, temples, and other structures. As the art grew more familiar, it was practised upon wood, ivory, metals, and leaves.

The leaves of the _papyrus_, from which paper takes its name, afterwards came into use, and for a long time were employed for books, letters, &c., as we use paper. The papyrus is a water plant, the root being always immersed in water. It grows eight or ten feet high, with a stout naked stalk: the leaves are eight in number, sword-shaped, and two feet long. They grow abundantly along the marshy borders of the Nile, and in some parts of Sicily. It is still used in the countries where it grows, for sail-cloth and cordage, and sometimes for wearing apparel. Of the stems, closely woven together, basket-fashion, boats are made.

The manufacture of the papyrus into paper appears to have been of ancient date. The skin of the leaves, only, was used. This, which was usually a foot wide, was taken off, by some process, and several layers were pressed together, having been dampened by the water of the Nile. Thus a texture as thick as parchment was formed. It was made into rolls, for books. The city of Alexandria, in Egypt, carried on a large manufacture of this kind of paper, and derived great wealth from it. The making of paper, from cotton and linen rags, did not supersede the papyrus paper till the eleventh century.

Writing was the chief means by which knowledge could be recorded and diffused. Tradition could carry down events for a few generations, but these soon became blended with fictions; and with the destruction of a nation, its traditional records vanished. The art of writing, therefore, was clearly of the utmost importance; and the means of making it cheap and easy were cultivated with care. In the time of our Savior it had become very common, and well educated persons, throughout the vast extent of the Roman empire, were so far acquainted with it as to be able to write letters. Still, nine persons in ten could not write, and consequently, a class of persons, called scribes, made it their profession to write. These scribes were constantly applied to, to write letters and documents of various kinds. If a lover wished to address his mistress, he applied to the professed writers. This trade is still followed in countries where education is confined to a few persons.

As society advanced, and great poets, historians and philosophers arose, the desire of possessing their works, of course, began to prevail. Accordingly, the scribes were called upon not only to prepare business papers, but to make books. These, for many centuries, were only written by the pen. Until the invention of the art of printing, every page, every letter of a book, must be traced with the quill. The making of a single book was therefore a work of great labor. None but skilful and practised writers could pretend to write books. It was a trade, which demanded careful training. Until the invention of printing it required about four years, of close and severe labor, to make a single Bible! A Bible, five hundred years ago, was worth a house and farm of fifty acres! Now you can buy one, and a far better one, for fifty cents! This change is the effect of an invention of which I am now going to speak.

The art of printing, in some form, appears to have existed for ages. Engravings were made on wood, and stamped on brick, at least four thousand years ago, as appears by fragments found among the ruins of Babylon, and Thebes in Egypt. This art of wood engraving, and taking impressions therefrom, was lost for centuries, but was revived, and at the time of the invention of printing, was in common use, for coarse purposes――especially for stamping figures upon playing cards.

This art of wood engraving and printing therefrom, was employed sometimes in lieu of writing; the letters were cut on the wood, and in the print these were white, with a black ground. This process is still in use, for the covers of books, labels, &c., and is called _xylographic_ printing. It is said to have been invented by the Japanese, and was in use in China as long ago as the year 1100 B. C., about the time of king David.

But still, the idea of making separate types, one for each letter, and printing books from them, had not been started. This was undertaken by John Gutenberg, a native of Mentz, in Germany. He appears to have been occupied with it in the year 1436. He then lived at Strasburg, in France, and here for several years he secretly but industriously pursued his experiments.

In 1444, he removed to his native city, and taking one John Faust into partnership with him, he succeeded in printing several works. They soon separated, however: Gutenberg gave up the business, and Faust pursued it. The latter has sometimes been considered the inventor of the art of printing, but it belongs fairly to Gutenberg. In 1555, the “forty-two line Bible” was produced, and was so called because each column consisted of forty-two lines.

Faust soon produced several editions of the Bible. He went to Paris, about this time, and it seemed so impossible, even to the monks, who were educated men, that he could make so many Bibles by human means, that they adopted the idea that he was in league with the devil. It is a curious fact, that most good inventions, of ancient times, were supposed to be produced by the help of the sable fiend. Certain it is that the charge of sorcery was so laid upon Faust that he was obliged to fly for his life.

We may here add, that the art of printing, which has done more for mankind than any other human art, not only thus brought the life of one of its first and ablest promoters into danger, but it has been the special object of persecution from the day of its invention to the present time. We shall pursue this subject in another number.

Comparison
BETWEEN GOOD AND BAD HOUSEWIFERY.

BY THOMAS TUSSER, WHO DIED 1580.

Ill huswifery lieth
Till nine of the clock:
Good huswifery trieth
To rise with the cock.

Ill huswifery trusteth
To him and to her:
Good huswifery lusteth
Herself for to stir.

Ill huswifery careth
For this, nor for that:
Good huswifery spareth
For fear ye wot what.

Ill huswifery pricketh
Herself up in pride:
Good huswifery tricketh
Her house as a bride.

Ill huswifery one thing
Or other must crave;
Good huswifery nothing
But needful will have.

Ill huswifery moveth
With gossip to spend:
Good huswifery loveth
Her household to tend.

Ill huswifery brooketh
Mad toys in her head;
Good huswifery looketh
That all things be fed.

Ill huswifery bringeth
A shilling to naught:
Good huswifery singeth――
Her coffers full fraught.

Ill huswifery rendeth
And casteth aside:
Good huswifery mendeth
Else would it go wide.

Ill huswifery craveth
In secret to borrow;
Good huswifery saveth
To-day, for to-morrow.

Ill huswifery pineth,
Not having to eat
Good huswifery dineth
With plenty of meat.

Ill huswifery letteth
The devil take all:
Good huswifery setteth
Good brag of a small.

An Equinoctial Storm; or, Adventures of a Hat.

About the 20th of March and the 20th of September, of each year, the day and night are of equal length, all the world over; that is to say, the day is twelve hours long and the night twelve hours long.

The sun appears at this time to pass from east to west, around the middle of the earth, or over the equator. If you were at Quito in South America, or anywhere near the equator, either on the 20th of March or the 20th of September, the sun would appear, at noon, to be exactly over your head.

These periods of the year are called the _equinoxes_, and for some reason which cannot be well explained, furious storms are usually experienced about the time they occur. These are called _equinoctial_ storms. I am going to relate a story of one which occurred a good many years since.

It was in March, about the year 1815, that Dr. Pill was riding along toward his house. The wind was high, and the rain fell in torrents. The doctor’s greatcoat was twirled about his ears, and he was himself almost thrown off the horse. He galloped on, however, and came at last in sight of the village steeple, near which was his house.

Just as his eyes gladly caught sight of his house, a furious rush of wind took his hat off his head, and sent it away, skimming like a hawk upon the breeze. The dog pursued the hat for some distance, but just as it appeared to be falling to the ground, a fresh puff of the gale lifted it high in the air, and carried it over the tops of the trees, out of sight.

Poor Dr. Pill could not now stop to pursue his runaway hat――so, with his hair flying in the wind, he galloped home. The storm lasted two days, and then cleared away. But the whole country was drenched with a flood. The rivers rose above their banks, and swept over the plains; bridges were carried away; houses were undermined and torn to pieces; cattle were drowned, and trees torn up by the roots!

It was near a week before the doctor could set out in search of his hat. Taking his dog with him, at last he went to make an effort to discover his lost property. Going to the place where it was taken off his head, and proceeding in the direction whither it had been carried, he made diligent search for it. His dog, Watch, seemed to understand what was wanted, and exerted himself to the utmost in the hunt. But all was unavailing, and Dr. Pill was obliged to return without his hat.

Several weeks passed, until, at length, the doctor was returning home by a bridle path that led through some thick, wild shrubbery. Here his attention was arrested by the barking of his dog, in a manner so vehement as to show that something extraordinary was in the wind. The doctor dismounted from his horse, and pushed through the bushes for about a dozen rods.

Coming up to his dog, and looking in the direction of the animal’s eye, he saw, about eight feet from the ground, his stray hat! He reached up to it with some difficulty, and took it down, while a smile of satisfaction covered his face. But his smile was soon changed to a gaze of horror――for, on looking into the hat, there was an enormous black snake, coiled up, and seeming to think himself quite at home! Soon, however, the creature lifted his head, brandished his forked tongue, and showed signs of battle.

The doctor threw down the hat, and Watch fell upon the snake. He took him by the middle, and shook him so violently that the reptile was dead in a few seconds. The doctor now took his hat, and rode home in triumph. The hat, it seems, had been borne upon the gale, at least half a mile, and then had lodged upon the bushes. The serpent thought it a convenient dwelling, and took up his lodging there, by no means expecting to be so rudely turned out of house and home.

* * * * *

Neatness is a cheap substitute for ornament, and it bestows a charm upon the poorest which diamonds cannot give to the wealthy.

Yellow Hair.

It appears that the women of old Rome were fond of _yellow hair_, and it is found that they were accustomed to turn it of this color by saffron, and by long sitting, daily, in the sun; others, instead of saffron, sometimes used medicated sulphur.

This art of changing their hair with saffron, was called _crocuphantea_. Tertullian, observing this artifice of the women of his time, told them that they were ashamed of their country, and would be Gaulish or Germanic women, so much did they disguise themselves. St. Cyprian and St. Jerome, with Tertullian, pronounced the seeking by art to procure red-tinted hair, as presaging to the person who sought it, the fire and red flames of hell.

Galen affirms that in his time numbers of women died with the headache; neither could there any remedy be applied to this evil, because they stood a long time bareheaded in the sun, to render their hair yellow; and he reports that for the same cause some of them lost their hair and became bald, and were reduced to Ovid’s remedy for that defect, either to borrow other women’s hair, or to ransack the graves of the dead for a dishonest supply.

Tertullian, speaking on this subject, says, that women were punished for this their folly, for that by reason of their long stay in the sun, their heads were often most grievously attacked with the headache; and it seems, when this vanity was grown habitual to them, it degenerated into dotage; for Lucian very satirically derides an old woman, who, notwithstanding she was seventy years of age, yet would she have her hair of a yellow tincture; he exhorts her to desist from her folly; for though she could color her silver hair, yet she could not recall her youth!

The Venetian women, even at this day, and the Paduan, and those of Verona, and other parts of Italy, practise the same vanity, and receive the same recompense for their affectation; there being in all these cities open and manifest examples of those who have undergone a kind of martyrdom to render their hair yellow.

Schenekins relates the history of a certain noble gentlewoman, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, who would expose her bare head to the fervent heat of the sun daily, for some hours, that she might obtain long and yellow hair, by anointing it with a certain unguent; and although she obtained the effect she desired, yet she consequently procured to herself a violent headache, and bled every day abundantly through the nose.

Another maiden, also, by using this same art, became almost blind with sore eyes. Painting the hair blue or red, has been anciently noted by many poets, who took occasion to describe it, as may be seen in Pliny and Ovid.

This yellow hair was esteemed so great a rarity, that oftentimes, also, the natural crop was shaven off, and a yellow periwig clapped on instead; this Martial happily ridicules:

The golden hair that Galla wears,
Is hers――who would have thought it?
She swears ’tis hers――and true she swears,
For I――know where she bought it.

This, indeed, is carried to a great extent in the Low Countries, where the Jewish women, who are all black-haired by nature, wear great yellow periwigs instead,――golden-haired Dutch Venuses.

April.

This second month of spring derives its name from the Latin word _Aperio_, to open, in allusion to the opening of the flowers, or the opening of the earth to receive the seed. Its zodiacal sign is Taurus, which the sun enters on the 20th day of the month. It is true that in April the flowers do not always begin to open, at least among us; but in Italy, and France, and England, and also in the more southern parts of our country, it is a month of buds and blossoms. It is the time for setting out trees and shrubs; for ploughing the fields, and getting the gardens ready for seed.

As this is a season which seems expressly made for the husbandman, let us quote a passage we have met with in relation to him.

“The farmer is a lucky man; he is subject to few cares, diseases or changes. He holds in fee a certain part of this planet, running from the surface down to the centre, together with the atmosphere above it; and if any man should build a tower overhanging his line by a single brick, though a thousand feet in the air, it may be abated as a nuisance. It is a great thing to have a legal and equitable title to a portion of earth, to cultivate it, and to owe a support to the application of strength, rather than the misapplication of wit. The farmer is independent of all but Providence――he calls no man master.

‘He would not flatter Neptune for his pitchfork.’

“He is not only a friend of humanity, but he is kindly disposed towards brutes. An ox is to him in the light of a friend, a cow is a benefactor, and a calf is almost a child. He is clothed by the sheep, and the cosset lamb is a foster brother of his children, who have a heavy day when their mute friend is sold to the butcher. The farmer has little to buy and much to sell; his means are large and his waste little. He is an especial favorite of Ceres and Pomona, but he cares little for Bacchus, Phœbus and other idlers.

“He puts his hand to the plough, and if he look back, it is in a furrow like the wake of a boat. In May he puts a potato or two in the earth, and in October he digs into the same place and finds a peck of them. In spring he covers with earth three or four kernels of maize, and in autumn he finds ears enough on the spot to furnish the materials for many loaves. He hides in the soil a seed, no bigger than a large bedbug, and in a few weeks a vine appears with several pumpkins attached to it, of the capacity of four gallons.”

Who that walks forth, now, and sees grass beginning to spring up from the ground, or the little flowers peeping forth, can refrain from reflecting upon that Power that endows these things with life? The following lines are full of natural thought and feeling:

THE DAISY.

Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep,
Need we, to prove a God is here;
The daisy fresh from winter’s sleep,
Tells of his hand in lines as clear.

For who but He that arched the skies
And pours the day-spring’s living flood,
Who works and dwells in mysteries,
Could rear the daisy’s purple bud?

Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That sets in silver gleams within?

And fling it, unrestrained and free,
O’er hill, and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where’er he walks, may see
In every step the stamp of God?

Among the birds, that, having spent the winter in a warm climate, return to us during this month, we may mention, as worthy of particular notice, the familiar robin.

This bird sometimes spends his winter among our thick cedar forests, living upon the berries of the cedars; but in general he prefers to go to the middle states, or even farther south, where he lives a quiet and secluded life, till he is advised of the melting of the snows. He is then impatient to return, and often runs the risk of a few snow squalls, rather than be behind his time. He is a familiar bird, and loves to build his nest near our houses. He is a general favorite, and should rather be treated as a friend than an enemy. He never meddles with the corn, though he now and then filches a few cherries. His song, however, is worth more than all he eats.

True Stories.