Chapter V (1)

The prompt assistance rendered by Dr. R---- to Mrs. Gaston came just in time. It enabled her to pay her month's rent, due for several days, to settle the amount owed to Mrs. Grubb, and lay in more wood for the coming winter. This consumed all her money, and left her once more dependent upon the meagre reward of her hard labor to supply food and clothing for herself and her two remaining children. From a state of almost complete paralysis of mind, consequent upon the death of Ella, her necessities aroused her. On the second day after the child had been taken, she again resumed her suspended toil. The sight of the unfinished garment, which had been laid aside after bending over it nearly the whole night previous to the morning upon which Ella died, awakened a fresh emotion of grief in her bosom. As this gradually subsided, she applied herself with patient assiduity to her task, which was not finished before twelve o'clock that night, when she laid herself down with little Emma in her arms, and soon lost all care and trouble in profound sleep.

Hasty pudding and molasses composed the morning meal for all. After breakfast, Mrs. Gaston took the two jackets, which had been out now five days, to the shop.

"Why, bless me, Mrs. Gaston, I thought you had run off with them jackets!" was Michael's coarse salutation as she came in.

The poor, heart-oppressed seamstress could not trust herself to reply, but laid her work upon the counter in silence. Berlaps, seeing her, came forward.

"These kind of doings will never answer, madam!" he said, angrily. "I could have sold both jackets ten times over, if they'd been here three days ago, as by rights they ought to have been. I can't give you work, if you are not more punctual. You needn't think to get along at our tack, unless you plug it in a little faster than all this comes to."

"I'll try and do better after this," said Mrs. Gaston, faintly.

"You'll have to, let me tell you, or we'll cry 'quits.' All my women must have nimble fingers."

"These jackets are not much to brag of," broke in Michael, as he tossed them aside. "I think we had better not trust her with any more cloth roundabouts. She has botched the button-holes awfully; and the jackets are not more than half pressed. Just look how she has held on the back seam of this one, and drawn the edges of the lappels until they set seven ways for Sunday! They're murdered outright, and ought to be hung up with a basin under them to catch the blood."

"What was she to have for them?" asked Berlaps.

"Thirty cents a-piece, I believe," replied the salesman.

"Don't give her but a quarter, then. I'm not going to pay full price to have my work botched up after that style!" And, so saying, Berlaps turned away and walked back to his desk.

Lizzy Glenn, as she had called herself, entered at the moment, and heard the remark of the tailor. She glided noiselessly by Mrs. Gaston, and stood farther down the store, with both her body and face turned partly from her, where she waited patiently for the interview between her and Michael to terminate.

The poor, heart-crushed creature did not offer the slightest remonstrance to this act of cruel oppression, but took the half dollar thrown her by Michael for the two jackets with an air of meek resignation. She half turned to go away after doing so, but a thought of her two remaining children caused her to hesitate.

"Haven't you some more trowsers to give out?" she asked, turning again towards Michael.

The sound of her voice reached the ear of the young female who had just entered, causing her to start and look for an instant towards the speaker. But she slowly resumed her former position with a sigh, after satisfying herself by a single glance at the woman, whose voice had fallen upon her ear with a strange familiarity.

"We haven't any more ready, ma'am, just now."

"What have you to give out? Anything?"

"Yes. Here are some unbleached cotton shirts, at seven cents. You can have some of them, if you choose."

"I will take half a dozen," said Mrs. Gaston, in a desponding tone. "Anything is better than nothing."

"Well, Miss Lizzy Glenn," said Michael, with repulsive familiarity, as Mrs. Gaston turned from the counter and left the store, "what can I do for you this morning?"

The young seamstress made no reply, but laid her bundle upon the counter and unrolled it. It contained three fine shirts, with linen bosoms and collars, very neatly made.

"Very well done, Lizzy," said Michael, approvingly, as he inspected the two rows of stitching on the bosoms and other parts of the garments that required to be sewed neatly.

"Have you any more ready?" she asked, shrinking back as she spoke, with a feeling of disgust, from the bold, familiar attendant.

"Have you any more fine shirts for Lizzy Glenn?" called Michael, back to Berlaps, in a loud voice.

"I don't know. How has she made them?"

"First rate."

"Then let her have some more, and pay her for those just brought in."

"That's your sorts!" responded Michael, as he took seventy-five cents from the drawer and threw the money upon the counter. "Good work, good pay, and prompt at that. Will you take three more?"

"I will," was the somewhat haughty and dignified reply, intended to repulse the low-bred fellow's offensive familiarity.

"Highty-tighty!" broke in Michael, in an under-tone, meant only for the maiden's ear. "Tip-top airs don't pass for much in these 'ere parts. Do you know that, Miss Lizzy Glenn, or whatever your name may be? We're all on the same level here. Girls that make slop shirts and trowsers haven't much cause to stand on their dignity. Ha! ha!"

The seamstress turned away quickly, and walked back to the desk where Berlaps stood writing.

"Be kind enough, sir, if you please, to hand me three more of your fine shirts," she said, in a firm, but respectful tone.

Berlaps understood the reason of this application to him, and it caused him to call out to his salesman something after this homely fashion--

"Why, in thunder, Michael, don't you let the girls that come to the store, alone? Give Lizzy three shirts, and be done with your confounded tom-fooleries! The store is no place for them."

The young woman remained quietly beside the desk of Berlaps until Michael came up and handed her the shirts. She then walked quickly towards the door, but did not reach it before Michael, who had glided along behind one of the counters.

"You're a fool! And don't know which side your bread's buttered," he said, with a half leer, half scowl.

She neither paused nor replied, but, stepping quickly out, walked hurriedly away. Young Perkins, before alluded to, entered at the moment, and heard Michael's grossly insulting language.

"Is that the way to talk to a lady, Michael?" he asked, looking at him somewhat sternly.

"But you don't call her a lady, I hope, Mr. Perkins?" the salesman retorted, seeming, however, a little confused as he spoke.

"Do you know anything to the contrary?" the young man asked, still looking Michael in the face.

"I can't say that I know much about her, any way, either good or bad."

"Then why did you use such language as I heard just now?"

"Oh, well! Never mind, Mr. Perkins," said Michael, his whole manner changing as a new idea arose in his thoughts; "if she's your game, I'll lie low and shut my eyes."

This bold assurance of the fellow at first confounded Perkins, and then made him very indignant.

"Remember, sir," said he, in a resolute voice, and with a determined expression on his face, "that I never suffer any one to trifle with me in that style, much less a fellow like you; so govern yourself, hereafter, accordingly. As to this young lady whom you have just insulted, I give you fair warning now, that another such an act will bring with it merited punishment."

Perkins then turned from the somewhat crestfallen salesman, and walked back to where Berlaps was standing at his desk.

"Do you know anything about that young woman I just now saw leave here, Mr. Berlaps?" he asked.

"I do not, Mr. Perkins," was the respectful answer. "She is a stranger, who came in some days ago for work."

"What is her name?"

"Lizzy Glenn, I believe."

"Where does she live?"

"Somewhere at the north end. Michael, there, knows."

"Get from him her street and number for me, if you please."

Berlaps asked Michael for the street and number where she lived, which the fellow took good care to give wrong. Perkins made a memorandum of the name and residence, as furnished, in his note-book, and, bowing to the man of shears, departed.

With her half dozen shirts, at seven cents, Mrs. Gaston returned home, feeling as if she must give up the struggle. The loss of Ella, after having striven so long and so hard for the sake of her children, made her feel more discouraged than she had ever yet felt. It seemed to her as if even Heaven had ceased to regard her--or that she was one doomed to be the sport of cruel and malignant powers. She had been home for only a short time, when Dr. R---- came in. After inquiring about her health, and if the children were still free from any symptoms of the terrible disease that had carried off their sister, he said--

"I've been thinking about you a good deal in the last day or two, Mrs. Gaston, and have now called to have some talk with you. You work for the stores, I believe?"

"Yes, sir."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"Here are some common shirts, which I have just brought home."

"Well, how much do you get for them?"

"Seven cents, sir."

"_Seven cents!_ How many of them can you make in a day?"

"Two are as many as I shall be able to get through with, and attend to my children; and even then I must work half the night. If I had nothing to do but sit down and sew all the while, I might make three of them."

"Shameful! Shameful! And is that the price paid for such work?"

"It is all I get."

"At this rate, then, you can only make fourteen cents a day?"

"That is all, sir. And, even on the best of work, I can never get beyond a quarter of a dollar a day."

"How in the world, then, have you managed to keep yourself and three children from actual want?"

"I have not been able, doctor," she replied, with some bitterness. "We have wanted almost everything."

"So I should suppose. What rent do you pay for this poor place?"

"Three dollars a month."

"What! seventy-five cents a week! and not able to earn upon an average more than a dollar a week?"

"Yes, sir. But I had better work through the summer, and sometimes earned two dollars, and even a little more, in a week."

The doctor paused some time, and then said--

"Well, Mrs. Gaston, it's no use for you to struggle on at this rate, even with your two remaining children. You cannot keep a home for them, and cover their nakedness from the cold. Now let me advise you."

"I am ready to hear anything, doctor."

"What I would propose, in the first place--and that, in fact, is what has brought me in this morning--is that you put Henry out to a trade. He is young, it is true; but necessity, you know, knows no law. He will be just as well off, and better, too, under the care of a good master than he can be with you. And, then, such an arrangement will greatly relieve you. The care of little Emma will be light in comparison to what you have had to endure."

"You are no doubt right, doctor," the poor woman said, while the tears came to her eyes as she glanced towards Henry, who, for want of a pair of shoes, was compelled to stay home from school. "But I cannot bear the thought of parting with him. He is a delicate child, and only ten years old this winter. He is too young to go from home and have a master."

"He is young, I know, Mrs. Gaston. But, then, it is vain to think of being able to keep him with you. It is a cruel necessity, I know. But it cannot be avoided."

"Perhaps not. But, even if I should consent to put him out, I know of no one who would take him. And, above all, I dread the consequences of vicious association in a city like this."

"That matter, I think, can all be arranged to your satisfaction. I saw a man yesterday from Lexington, who asked me if I knew any one who had a lad ten or twelve years old, and who would like to get him a good place. I thought of you at once. He said a friend of his there, who carried on the hatting business, wanted a boy. I inquired his character and standing, and learned that they were good. Now, I think this an excellent chance for you. I have already mentioned your little boy to the man, and promised to speak to you on the subject."

"But think, doctor," said Mrs. Gaston, in a trembling voice, "Henry is but ten. To put a child out for eleven years is a long, long time."

"I know it is, madam. But he has to live the eleven years somewhere, and I am sure he will be as comfortable in this place as you can make him, and, indeed, even more so."

"In some respects he may, no doubt. But a child like him is never happy away from his mother."

"But suppose it is out of his mother's power to get him food and comfortable clothing?"

"True--true, doctor. It is a hard fate. But I feel that I have only one way before me--that of submission."

And submit she did, though with a most painful struggle. On the following day, the friend of the hatter called upon Mrs. Gaston, and it was settled between them that little Henry should be called for by the man who was to become his master on the morning of the next day but one. The best that the mother could do for her son, about to leave his home and go out among strangers, was to get him a pair of shoes, upon which she paid forty cents, promising to settle the balance in a couple of weeks. His thin, scanty clothes she mended and washed clean--darned his old and much worn stockings, and sewed on the torn front of his seal-skin cap. With his little bundle of clothes tied up, Henry sat awaiting on the morning of the day appointed for the arrival of his master, his young heart sorrowful at the thought of leaving his mother and sister. But he seemed to feel that he was the subject of a stern necessity, and therefore strove to act a manly part, and keep back the tears that were ready to flow forth. Mrs. Gaston, after preparing her boy to pass from under her roof and enter alone upon life's hard pilgrimage, sat down to her work with an overburdened heart. At one moment she would repent of what she had done, and half resolve to say "No," when the man came for her child. But an unanswerable argument against this were the coarse shirts in her hands, for which she was to receive only _seven cents a piece_!

At last a rough voice was heard below, and then a heavy foot upon the stairs, every tread of which seemed to the mother to be upon her heart. Little Henry arose and looked frightened as a man entered, saying as he came in--

"Ah, yes! This is the place, I see. Well, ma'am, is your little boy ready?"

"He is, sir," replied Mrs. Gaston almost inaudibly, rising and handing the stranger a chair. "You see he is a very small boy, sir."

"Yes, so I see. But some small boys are worth a dozen large ones. Come here, my little fellow! What is your name?"

The child went up to the man, telling him his name as he did so.

"That's a fine little fellow! Well, Henry! do you think you and I can agree? Oh, yes. We'll get along together very well, I have no doubt. I suppose, ma'am," he continued, addressing Mrs. Gaston, "that the better way will be for him to stay this winter on trial. If we like each other, you can come out to Lexington in the spring and have him regularly bound."

"That will be as well, I suppose," the mother replied. Then, after a pause, she said--

"How long will it be, Mr. Sharp, before I can see Henry?"

"I don't know, ma'am. How long before you think you can come out to Lexington?"

"Indeed, sir, I don't know that I shall be able to get out there this winter. Couldn't you send him in sometimes?"

"Perhaps I will, about New Year's, and let him spend a few days with you."

"It is a good while to New Year's day, sir. He has never been from home in his life."

"Oh no, ma'am. It's only a few weeks off. And I don't believe he'll be homesick for a day."

"But _I_ shall, Mr. Sharp."

"You?"

"Yes, sir. It is hard to let my child go, and not see him again before New Year's day."

"But you must act the woman's part, Mrs. Gaston. We cannot get through life without some sacrifice of feeling. My mother had to let me go before I was even as old as your boy."

As Mr. Sharp said this, he arose, adding as he did so--

"Come, my little man. I see you are all ready."

Holding back her feelings with a strong effort, Mrs. Gaston took hold of Henry's small, thin hand, bent over him, and kissed his fair young cheek, murmuring in an under tone--

"God be with you, and keep you, my boy!"

Then, speaking aloud, she said--

"Be a good and obedient child, and Mr. Sharp will be kind to you, and let you come home to see me at New Year's."

"Oh, yes. He shall come home then," said the man half indifferently, as he moved towards the door.

Henry paused only to kiss his sister, and then followed after, with his little bundle in his hand. As he was about descending the steps, he turned a last look upon his mother. She saw that his eyes were filled with tears. A moment more, and he was gone!

Little Emma had stood looking wonderingly on while this scene was passing. Turning to her mother with a serious face, as the door closed upon Henry, she said--

"Brother gone, mamma?"

"Yes, dear! Brother is gone," sobbed the mother, taking the last child that remained to her, and hugging it passionately to her bosom. It was a long time before she could resume her work, and then so deep was her feeling of desolation, that she could not keep back from her eyelids the blinding tear drops.

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

BEARDED CIVILIZATION.

It may not be generally known that beards are singularly connected in history with the progress of civilization. The early Greeks and Romans did not shave. The Greeks began to use the razor about the time of Alexander, who commanded all his soldiers to shave, lest their beards should afford a handle for their enemies. This was little more than three hundred years before the Christian era; and thirty years after Alexander, Ticinius introduced the habit of shaving amongst the Romans. The Gothic invaders of the Western empire revived the habit of wearing the beard. The Anglo-Saxons were a bearded race when William the Conqueror invaded England, and, therefore, the Conqueror and his Normans ever after wore the chin smooth, in order to distinguish them from the vanquished; and thus, even in the Norman invasion, the shaven chin became the emblem of an advanced civilization. In like manner, amidst all the long controversies between the Eastern and Western Churches, the Western Church has invariably espoused the cause of the razor, whilst the Greek or Eastern Church as resolutely defends the cause of the beard. Civilization has marched in the West, and remained stationary in the East, in the land of beards. When Peter the Great determined to civilize his Russian subjects, one of the means which he considered indispensable was the use of the razor, he, therefore, commanded his soldiers to shave every layman who refused to do it himself, and rare sport they had with the stubborn old patriarchs, who persisted in retaining their much-cherished emblems of age and wisdom.

BABYLON, NINEVEH, AND MR. LAYARD.

(Concluded from page 136.)

Returning to Konyunjik, Mr. Layard renewed his excavations. Soon afterwards, he discovered what he called the "chamber of records," which was filled with tablets. These are of vast importance in a historical point of view; and, when completely translated, they will add immensely to our knowledge of the ancient Assyrians. Hincks and others, who have devoted much attention to the study of the cuneiform character, have employed themselves in the translation with considerable success. In other apartments were discovered bas-reliefs, containing representations of attendants carrying strings of pomegranates and locusts; musicians playing upon harps, tabors, double-pipes, and an instrument like the modern santour of the East, consisting of a number of strings stretched over a hollow case or sounding-board.

In the mean time, excavations carried on in the high mound of Nimroud resulted in the discovery of several temples, ornamented with great beauty and effect. One of them had a gateway formed by two colossal lions, with extended jaws, gathered up lips and nostrils, flowing manes, and ruffs of bristly hair. The heads were vigorous and truthful in design. The limbs conveyed the idea of strength, and the veins and muscles were accurately portrayed. But the front of the animal was narrow and cramped, and unequal in dignity to the side. The sculptor had given five legs to the animal, in order that they might offer a complete front and side view. The height of the lions was about eight feet, and their length thirteen. In front of them were two altars, hollow at the top, and ornamented with gradines resembling the battlements of a castle. The exterior walls appeared to have been adorned with enamelled bricks, many of which still remained. The slabs on the floor of the temple were inscribed with records of the wars and campaigns of the earliest Nimroud king.

Another small temple was discovered at the north-west corner of the mound. Four of its chambers were explored, chiefly by means of tunnels carried through the enormous mass of earth and rubbish in which the ruins were buried. The great entrances were to the east. The principal portal was formed by two colossal human-headed lions, sixteen feet and a half high, and fifteen feet long. They were flanked by three small-winged figures, one above the other, and divided by an ornamental cornice, and between them was an inscribed pavement slab of alabaster. In front of each was a square stone, apparently the pedestal of an altar, and the walls on both sides were adorned with enamelled bricks.

Having dispatched another lot of very interesting sculptures to Busrah, Mr. Layard determined to set out for Babylonia. Upon the reputed site of ancient Babylon he designed to carry on extensive excavations, provided his means would permit. The remains of Babylon were found upon the banks of the Euphrates. Towering above all was the great mound of Babel. Beyond, for many an acre, were shapeless heaps of rubbish, the ridges that marked the course of canals and aqueducts. On all sides, fragments of inscribed glass, marble, and pottery were mingled with that peculiar nitrous and blanched soil, which, bred from the remains of ancient habitations, checks vegetation and renders the site of Babylon a hideous waste. Southward of Babel, for the distance of nearly three miles, there is an almost uninterrupted line of mounds, the ruins of vast edifices, the whole being inclosed by earthen ramparts. On the west of the Euphrates is the vast ruin called the Birs Nimroud, which some have conjectured to be the remains of the Temple of Belus, which, according to Herodotus, stood in one of the western divisions of Babylon. According to the united testimony of ancient authors, the city was divided by the Euphrates into two parts. The principal existing ruins are to the east of the river.

The hostility of the Arab tribes prevented Mr. Layard from making excavations at the Birs Nimroud. He visited that famous ruin, and formed an opinion in regard to the shape of the edifice, but made no discoveries worthy of notice. The excavations carried on upon the eastern bank of the river were not attended with very remarkable results. Bricks, inscribed with the name and titles of Nebuchadnezzar, king of the Chaldees, were numerous. Coffins, containing skeletons that fell to pieces on exposure to the air, were discovered. No relic or ornament seemed to have been buried with the bodies. Glass bottles, glazed earthen vessels, and many other relics of a doubtful period, were found. Digging trenches into the foot of the mound of Babel, Mr. Layard came upon walls and masses of masonry, but failed to trace the plan of an edifice, or discover any remains of sculptured stone or painted plaster. The mound called Kasr was explored, and found to contain some astonishing specimens of masonry, the bricks being deeply inscribed with the name and title of Nebuchadnezzar. But the plan of an edifice could not be ascertained. The only relic of any interest discovered was a fragment of limestone, on which were parts of two figures, undoubtedly those of gods. This showed that the Babylonians portrayed their divinities in the same manner as the Assyrians. In the mound of Amran were found some bowls, on which were inscriptions in a curious character. These were deciphered by Mr. Thomas Ellis, of the British Museum, and ascertained to have been written by Jews. Mr. Layard thinks that there is no reason to doubt that the bowls belonged to the descendants of those Jews who were carried captive by Nebuchadnezzar to Babylon and the surrounding cities. From the same mound were also taken some earthen or terracotta tablets. They resembled those which had been already deposited in the British Museum by Colonel Rawlinson. On one of these is the figure of a man leading a large and powerful dog, which has been identified with a species still existing in Thibet. The Babylonians prized these dogs very highly. One of their satraps is said to have devoted the revenues of four cities to the support of these animals.

Brick appears to have been the common material for building purposes in Babylon. But such bricks and such bricklaying were never seen elsewhere. All the bricks were enamelled and ornamented with figures of men and animals. They were joined together by the finest cement. The immense edifices erected from such materials were even more astonishing than the pyramids of Egypt or the palaces of Assyria, as these were the results of greater toil and skill.

Leaving Babylon somewhat disappointed, Mr. Layard proceeded to the mounds of Niffer, in the same district. There, however, he had no better success than at Babylon. Masses of masonry, inscribed bricks, and sarcophagi of an unknown date, were all that could be obtained by excavations. Soon afterwards, Mr. Layard returned to the site of Nineveh to superintend the removal of his sculptures, and the work of exploration was relinquished.

It now remains to sum up the results of the discoveries of Layard to chronology and history. The translators of the Assyrian inscriptions have ascertained that the earliest king, of whom they can gain any detailed account, was the builder of the north-west palace at Nimroud, the most ancient edifice hitherto discovered in Assyria. His records, however, with other inscriptions, furnish the names of five, if not seven, of his predecessors, some of whom erected palaces at Nineveh, and originally founded those which were only rebuilt by subsequent monarchs. The translators, after a careful consideration of all the evidence, fix the date of the reign of the earliest king at about 1121 B. C. Colonel Rawlinson calls him the founder of Nineveh; but this is a hasty conclusion. His name is believed to have been Ashurakbal. He carried his arms to the west of Nineveh, across Syria, to the Mediterranean, to the south into Chaldea, and to the north into Asia Minor and Armenia. Of his sons, Divanubar, was also a great conqueror. He waged war, either in person or by his generals, in Syria, Armenia, Babylonia, Chaldæa, Media, and Persia. The kings of Israel and Egypt paid him tribute, so that he was, indeed, a mighty sovereign. Divanubar seems to have had two successors, but even their names are uncertain. The next king of whom there are any actual records appears to have been the predecessor of Pul, or Tiglath-Pileser, who is mentioned in the Scriptures. His name has not yet been deciphered. He was a successful warrior, and carried his arms into Chaldea and the remotest parts of Armenia. The successor of this monarch was Sargon, the builder of the palace of Khorsobad--a king mentioned by the prophet Isaiah. He was a warlike prince, and carried his arms to the islands of the Mediterranean, and into all the neighboring countries. He made 27,280 Israelites captive in Samaria and its dependent districts. Egypt paid him tribute. From the reign of Sargon, we have a complete list of kings to the fall of the empire, or to a period not far distant from that event. He was succeeded by the mighty Sennacherib, whose history is well known. This king ascended the throne about 703 B. C. After spreading the terror of his arms in every direction, he was assassinated, and his son, Essarhaddon, ascended the throne. This king is mentioned in the Scriptures. He built the south-west palace at Nimroud, and an edifice, the ruins of which are now covered by the tomb of Jonah, opposite Mosul. In his inscriptions, he is styled king of Egypt and Ethiopia, and he appears to have been a great warrior. The son of Essarhaddon was named after the builder of the north-west palace at Nimroud. His son was the last king of the second dynasty, and, as Mr. Layard says, may have been that Sardanapalus who was conquered by the combined armies of the Medes and Babylonians under Cyaxares, 606 B. C., and who made a funeral pile of his palace, his wealth, and his wives.

The records of Nineveh do not go back farther than the twelfth century before Christ. From Egyptian monuments, however, distinguished scholars have gleaned the intelligence that a kingdom called Assyria, with a capital called Nineveh, existed as early as the fifteenth century before Christ. The Assyrian empire appears to have been at all times a kind of confederation formed by many tributary states, whose kings were so far independent that they were only bound to furnish troops to the supreme lord in time of war, and to pay him an annual tribute. On the occasion of every change at the capital, these tributary states seem to have striven to throw off the yoke of the Assyrians. The Assyrian armies were made up of many various nations, retaining their own costumes, arms, and modes of warfare. The Jewish tribes can now be proved to have held their dependent position upon the Assyrian king from a very early period--indeed, long before the time inferred from any passage in Scripture.

The religious system of the Assyrians is still uncertain. All we can infer is that this people worshipped one supreme God, as the great national deity under whose immediate protection they lived. He was called Asshur, and Assyria was known as the "country of Asshur." Beneath him were twelve gods of vast power, and there seems to have been about 4,000 inferior divinities. Asshur was always typified by a winged figure in a circle.

Mr. Layard does not think that the extent of Nineveh has been exaggerated. The space within the ruined ramparts does not seem to have been occupied with houses. These ramparts merely surrounded the magnificent palaces and their beautiful grounds. The citizens resided beyond them, having the space within for a refuge in case of invasion. This is the plan of some modern cities in the East. From a careful survey of the whole ground, Mr. Layard believes that Nineveh was a "city of three days' journey round"--say, sixty miles in circumference.

VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.

BY HARLAND COULTAS.

PROCESS OF FERTILIZATION.--The young seeds or ovules are contained in the interior of the pistil before the flower opens, and continue to grow until that time, but no longer, unless they are acted upon by the pollen of the anthers. The necessity of this process shows why it is that stamens and pistils are so constantly found in flowers, and why the former surround the latter so nicely as they in general do; and, even in circumstances which seem somewhat adverse to fertilization, still some admirable contrivance is always found to bring about the same end.

In some flowers, we meet with beautiful contrivances for securing the fecundation of their pistils. Thus, such as are erect have usually the stamens longer than the pistils, whilst in pendulous flowers it will be found that the pistils are the longest and the stamens the shortest. By this admirable relative adjustment, the pollen, in falling, comes into contact with the pistil. The Fuchsia, or ladies' ear-drop (Fig. 1), shows the character of this arrangement in a pendulous flower: _p_ is the pistil, and _s_ the stamens, which, it will be perceived, are much shorter, and situated above the pistil, in order that its viscid stigma or summit may receive the pollen as it falls out of the anther cells.

There are a few well-known instances in which fertilization is effected by certain special movements of the stamens. The stamens of the barberry spring to the pistil, if the lower part of their filaments is touched; and in Parnassia palustris, the grass of Parnassus, a rare and beautiful snow-white swamp flower, the stamens move towards the pistil in succession to discharge their polliniferous contents.

The flowers of the Kalmia latifolia, or mountain kalmia, a native evergreen, very abundant on the side of barren hills and the rocky margins of rivulets, are especially deserving of attention. The corollas of the kalmia are rotate or wheel-shaped, and have ten stamens, the anthers of which, before the flowers expand, are contained in ten little cavities or depressions in the side of each corolla, where they are secured by a viscid secretion. When the corollas open, the filaments of the stamens are bent back by this confinement of their anthers like so many springs, in which condition they remain until the pollen in the anther cells becomes ripe and absorbs the secretion. The anthers, becoming suddenly liberated by this means from their cavities, fly up with such force as to eject their pollen on the pistil. The slightest touch with the point of a needle, or the feet of an insect crawling over their filaments, is sufficient to produce the same effects when the pollen is mature. Fig. 2 shows, at _a_, the fully expanded flower with the confined anthers; at _b_, the flower after the anthers have discharged their pollen.

When the stamens and pistils are together in the same flower, it is designated as hermaphrodite, and complete; but, if the flower contains only one of these organs, it is termed unisexual, and, in this case, it is either male or female, according as it is composed uniquely of stamens, or male sexual organs, or of pistils, or female sexual organs. This separation of the sexual organs in flowers is of very frequent occurrence. The greater portion of our forest trees, and many herbaceous plants and shrubs, have unisexual flowers.

Sometimes the stamens and pistils are situated in separate flowers on the same plant. When this is the case, the staminate flowers are generally situated above the pistillate. The Indian corn exemplifies this arrangement. It is well known that the flowering panicle at the summit of the stem does not produce corn; these are the staminiferous flowers from whose anthers descend clouds of pollen on the threadlike pistils forming the silky tuft beneath. Without this pollen, the corn in the lower spike would not ripen; hence the evident design of nature in placing the pistillate below the staminate spike of flowers.

In forest trees, these unisexual flowers are usually borne on separate individuals of the same species, or the flowers on one tree are wholly staminate, and those on the other altogether pistillate. It must be obvious that such plants are still more unfavorably situated for fertilization. The great abundance of pollen produced compensates for the unfavorable situation of the flowers. The wind drives it far and near, and the air becomes sometimes so charged with it that rain, in falling, brings it down to the ground in considerable quantities, producing the so called sulphur showers of which we read in history. There is no doubt, also, that the bee and other insects in search of honey convey the pollen from the stamens to the pistils in unisexual plants.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.--MARCH.

BY D. W. BELISLE.

ARGO NAVIS.--This beautiful constellation occupies a large space in the southern hemisphere, though few of its stars are seen in our latitude. It is situated south-east of Canis Major, and may be known by three stars forming a small triangle in the prow and deck of the ship. Sixteen degrees south of this triangle is a very brilliant star in the row-lock, called Naos. This star is the south-east corner of the Egyptian X, and comes to the meridian on the 3d of March, when, for a few hours only, it is visible in our latitude. It is then eight degrees above the horizon. Seven degrees south of Naos, on the 7th of March, may be seen Gamma, a brilliant star which, for a few moments, skims the horizon, and then disappears. It is never in our latitude more than one degree above the horizon, and is rarely visible. Thirty-six degrees south of Sirius is Canopus, a star of great brilliancy and beauty. It is of the first magnitude; but, having a south declination of fifty-three degrees, it cannot be seen in the United States. Twenty-five degrees east of Canopus is Miaplacidus, a star of the first magnitude in the oars of the ship. This is also invisible to us. This constellation contains sixty-four stars, which, seen from the southern hemisphere, are of singular beauty and brilliancy.

"There they stand,
Shining in order, like a living hymn
Written in light."

According to Greek mythology, the ship was placed in the heavens to perpetuate the expedition of Jason into Colchis to recover the Golden Fleece. Hebrew mythology also claims the origin of it, and with them it perpetuates Noah's Ark, in which a remnant of every living thing was saved during the deluge. There is good foundation for the supposition that the Argonautic expedition is founded on certain Egyptian traditions relating to Noah's Ark, and that the Greeks located them within their territory, and claimed them as a triumph of Neptune, the god of the sea.

* * * * *

CANCER.--This constellation is situated directly east of the Twins, and occupies considerable space in the heavens. Its stars are small and scattered, yet it may readily be distinguished by three small stars in the centre, which form a triangle, and nearly in the centre of this triangle is a nebula, sufficiently luminous to be distinguished with the naked eye. The appearance of this nebula to the unassisted eye is not unlike the nucleus of a comet, and it was repeatedly mistaken for the comet of 1832, which passed in its neighborhood. On being viewed through a telescope, it resolves into distinct stars, and we thus catch a glimpse of an interminable range of systems upon systems, and firmaments upon firmaments; and, in contemplating the immensity of space that encircles them, the imagination becomes bewildered and lost. Who can trace the boundless depths of air?

Beyond the reach of telescope,
Whose powers o'erstep the space
That lies where eye may never hope
To pierce, or e'en to trace
The bounds of worlds which it reveals
In those illimitable fields?

These minute stars have the appearance of planets with oval disks, somewhat mottled, but approaching in vividness to actual planets. This constellation is on the meridian the 3d of March.

The Greeks assert that Cancer received its origin through the favor of Juno, who sent a sea-crab to annoy Hercules during his famous contest with the Lernean monster. The Chaldeans, however, represented the cluster by the figure of an ass, whose name, in the Chaldaic, is _muddiness_. It is supposed to allude to the discoloring of the Nile, which began to rise when the sun was entering Cancer.

* * * * *

VIA LACTEA.--

"A way there is in heaven's extended plain,
Which, when the sky is clear, is seen below,
And mortals, by the name of Milky, know;
The groundwork is of stars, through which the road
Lies open to the Thunderer's abode."

There is a luminous zone, varying from four to twenty degrees in width, which passes quite round the heavens, called by the Greeks Galaxy, by the Latins Via Lactea, which, in our tongue, is _Milky Way_. "Of all the constellations which the heavens exhibit to our view, this fills the mind with the most indescribable grandeur and amazement. When we consider what unnumbered millions of mighty suns compose this cluster, whose distance is so vast that the strongest telescope can hardly separate their mingled twilight into distinct specks, and that the most contiguous of any two of them may be as far asunder as our sun is from them, we fall as far short of adequate language to express our ideas of such immensity as we do of instruments to measure its boundaries."

"Throughout the Galaxy's extended line,
Unnumbered orbs in gay confusion shine;
Where every star that gilds the gloom of night
With the faint tremblings of a distant light,
Perhaps illumes some system of its own
With the strange influence of a radiant sun."

All the stars in the universe have been arranged into groups, which are called nebulæ or starry systems. The fixed star which we call _our sun_ belongs to that extensive nebula the Milky Way, and, though evidently of such immeasurable distance from its fellows, it is probably no farther from them than they are from each other. We know very little of the number and economy of the stars that compose this group. Herschel counted five hundred and eighty-eight in a single spot, without moving his telescope. He found the stars unequally dispersed in all parts of the constellation, and apparently arranged into separate systems or clusters. In a small space in Cygni, the stars seem to be clustered into two distinct divisions, and in each division he counted upwards of one hundred and sixty-five thousand stars.

Various changes are constantly taking place among the nebulæ. Several new ones are being formed by the dissolution of larger ones, and it has been ascertained beyond a doubt that many nebulæ of this kind are detaching themselves from the Milky Way at the present time. In the body of Scorpio there is a large opening, four degrees broad, entirely destitute of stars, through which we get a glimpse of regions of space beyond.

"Oh, what a confluence of ethereal fires,
From urns unnumbered down the steeps of heaven,
Streams to a point, and centres on my sight!"

Already nearly three thousand nebulæ have been observed, and if each contains as many stars as the Milky Way in that portion of the heavens which lies open to our observation, there must be several hundred millions of stars. How vast and unfathomable to mortal mind must be the ways and attributes of that intelligence that creates and guides in unison these starry worlds!

"The hand of God
Has written legibly, that man may know
The glory of his Maker."

This nebula may be traced in the heaven, beginning at the polar star, through the constellations Cassiopeia, Perseus, Auriga, part of Orion, and the feet of Gemini, where it crosses the Zodiac, thence over the equinoctial into the southern hemisphere, through Monoceros and Argo Navis, St. Charles's Oak, the Cross, the Altar, and the feet of the Centaur. Here it passes over the Zodiac into the northern hemisphere, divides itself, one branch running through the tail of Scorpio, the bow of Sagittarius, the shield of Sobieski, the feet of Antonius, Aquila Delphinus, the Arrow, and the Swan. The other branch passes through the upper part of the tail of Scorpio, the side of Serpentarius, Taurus Poniatowski, Goose, neck of the Swan, head of Cepheus to the polar star, where it again unites to the place of its beginning.

Anciently, the Milky Way was supposed to be the sun's track, and its luminous appearance was caused by the scattered beams left visible in the heavens. The Pagans maintained it was a path their deities used in the heavens, which led directly to the throne of Jupiter.

"Heaven
Is the book of God before thee set,
Wherein to read his wondrous works."

TABLE-MOVING.

BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

Westbridge is a small town, so near one of the largest cities in our Union that it can keep pace with all the vagaries and wild chimeras with which the fantastic spirit of the age seems to delight to bewilder and mislead its votaries, as well as learn the latest news or display the latest fashions. And yet it is far enough from New York to have a character and mode of living entirely its own. That character is the severe, and the mode of life rigid and exemplary. All kinds of amusements are looked upon with a disapproving eye, and many of them have been so completely extirpated that they are hardly ever alluded to. Dancing alone has contrived to maintain a precarious foothold in the community, sometimes shrinking down into the modest cotillion, and again, when the ranks of its votaries are recruited from some less scrupulous portion of the country, bursting forth in the full horror of waltz, polka, or schottisch. Its reign is, however, short, and the social gatherings soon regain their usual character for staid propriety.

When you go to a party at Westbridge, to be invited to which is a sort of a testimonial that you are a discreet and proper person, you are expected to take a seat and remain seated. To move about much argues a lightness of mind, and will cause talk. Of course, the conversation will have to be principally carried on with your neighbor, whoever he or she may happen to be; and three hours' uninterrupted conversation with a shy youth or a heavy old bachelor is a mental effort of which let those speak who have tried it. I have generally taken refuge in silence, after having made the observations that are usually considered proper on such occasions.

If you are a lady, books as a subject of conversation are interdicted; for, St. Paul being our great oracle, puddings, and not literature, are considered as the proper objects on which the female mind may exercise itself; and, though the state of public feeling in Westbridge allows a critical supervision over the conduct of the members of its society, yet gossip in its broader sense is interdicted.

Thus deprived of the aliment that sustains it in so many places, the social feeling languished, and sometimes seemed almost extinct. Yet, in reality, it retained a vigorous vitality, and only needed an opportunity to show how strong and deep it had struck its roots in our common nature, so that neither circumstances nor education could utterly destroy it. The mania for moving tables in the peculiar way that came in with the spirit-rappings was just such an occasion as the people in Westbridge would allow themselves to seize upon, as a legitimate means for gratifying the love for novelty and excitement that is inherent in mankind.

They excused, or, I should say, accounted for their ardor in the cause--for to excuse their course of conduct is below a true Westbridgeite--by speaking calmly and wisely of moving tables in that mysterious way as a new fact in science yet unaccounted for, and all their efforts were to be considered as so many scientific experiments to discover whether electricity, or some hitherto unknown physical influence, were the agent. For a time in Westbridge, we all, young and old, became natural philosophers, and pursued our investigations with a most exemplary zeal.

In a state of benighted ignorance on the subject of table-moving, never having heard of it even, I made my entrance into the sewing society, held weekly at Westbridge. As soon as I entered, I became aware that some exciting topic was under discussion. That being our only weekly gathering during the winter, in the calmest times the tongue ran an even race with the needle; but on this particular afternoon the sewing seemed to be forgotten. Work in hand, I seated myself near a lady to whom a large circle were listening in open-eyed wonder.

"At my cousin's in New York," she was saying, with animated emphasis, "they moved a heavy table, with a marble top, up stairs."

"Well, I suppose that is often done," said I, as yet uninitiated into the mystery.

"Yes; but with their hands--that is, without their hands. I mean just by putting their hands on the top of it, without using any force at all."

"I know a gentleman in the city who can, after keeping his hands on the table for a little while, take them off, and it will follow him all about the room," said another lady.

"My cousin told me," said a young girl, so absorbed in listening that her work had fallen on the floor, "that he had heard of tables being made to spring up to the ceiling--heavy tables."

"Can such things be, and not o'ercome us with a special wonder?" thought I; and I asked, rather skeptically, "Have you ever seen any of these wonderful things?"

"Oh, yes!" said several at once, and one of the speakers continued--

"We have been trying experiments at Colonel Dutton's, and Mr. Johnson's, and at our house, and we find that we can make the tables move about the room as long as we keep our hands on them. We have not yet succeeded in making them follow us or spring up from the floor; but I have no doubt we shall. Our power seems to increase every day."

"What kind of power is it?"

"Some persons think it a new development of electricity. I think myself it is some mysterious physical agent residing in our bodies--a kind of magnetism that works all these wonders. That is also Dr. Whitman's opinion."

"How do you try your experiments?" asked I, rather more inclined to believe in it, since I had heard those scientific terms and Dr. Whitman's name.

"We sit round a table, and lay our hands upon it so as to cover as large a surface as possible; the thumbs must touch, and the little fingers of each hand be in contact with the little fingers of the one on either side, so as to form a complete circle. You must not allow any other part of your person or dress to touch the table, or the communication will be interrupted; and it is better not to talk or laugh, but to be perfectly quiet and intent on your object."

Thus fully instructed, I went home bent on experimenting. Who could tell but that I should go to my room at night followed by all the furniture in the drawing-room in a slow procession? Though thus extravagant in my hopes, I showed a proper humility in my first attempts, selecting a very small tea-poy as the object of my experiment. I obtained an assistant, a lady, who, at first, when seated opposite to me with her hands outspread on the table before her, having nothing else to do, was very much inclined to converse, but, at my earnest entreaty, she relapsed into silence; and thus we sat for two weary hours. I had been told that my fingers would tingle, and they did tingle, and that was the sole result of this patient waiting. Tired out at last, we came to the conclusion either that, in our ignorance, we had neglected something essential to the success of the attempt, or that we were entirely deficient in that mysterious physical agent, of which some other persons seemed to possess such a super-abundance.