Chapter I: Early days――The keg of gold――Misfortunes――Voyages

As I am about to tell my story, it is proper that I should say something of my birth, parentage and early days. About half way between Hartford and New Haven, in Connecticut, is a small, pleasant city, called Middletown. It is situated upon the western bank of Connecticut river, and lies upon the turnpike which constitutes the great avenue between the two places first mentioned.

About a mile and a half south of Middletown, upon this high road, is a turnpike gate, and contiguous to it is a small toll-house. This was originally called Hill-gate, being situated on a hill, but at last it was familiarly called Hell-gate. In the house which bore this ominous title, I was born, about five and forty years ago.

Our family then consisted of my father and mother, a brother, named Seth, and myself. Seth was two years old when I was born. When I was about two years old, a girl was added to our circle, and she was named Sarah. We were now very poor, but had once been in good circumstances. My father had formerly been a merchant in Middletown, in partnership with his brother Benjamin. They traded to the West Indies, with a sloop called the Carbuncle, and my uncle Ben used to command her. He usually went to St. Domingo, where he carried horses, mules, cows, oxen, potatoes, onions, &c., and brought back sugar and molasses.

From all I can learn, it seems my uncle Ben was an eccentric character, but still he managed his part of the business well, and the concern went on in a thriving way for some years. At last, it was thought best for him to remain at St. Domingo, so as to carry on the business there, and accordingly it was so arranged. He took up his residence at Port au Prince; but, in about a year after he was established there, the insurrection in St. Domingo broke out. My uncle, who was a hot-headed fellow, took some part in the struggle, in consequence of which, he was obliged to seek safety in flight from the island. Whither he went, we could not exactly find out, but we were told that he went on board a Dutch vessel, bound for Surinam. From that time, however, we heard nothing of him.

At the time that the disturbances commenced at Port au Prince, the Carbuncle was lying in port. Her cargo was in, and she was almost ready to sail; accordingly, she took her departure, and escaped. She brought a letter from my uncle Ben, very hastily written, saying that his life was in danger, and very probably he might never return. He went on to say, however, that he should send a keg of gold by the vessel, which was of great value; that, if my father never heard of him more, he might consider it as his own.

You may well imagine my father’s disappointment, at finding that the precious keg was not to be found on board the sloop, when she came back. The supercargo, whose name was Ambrose Dexter, and familiarly called Amby Dexter, declared that my uncle had not time to put the keg on board,――that he was obliged to fly, and that he went hastily by night on board the Dutch vessel of which we have already spoken.

My father continued the business for a year or two, employing Dexter as his supercargo; but the trade proved unprofitable, and at last he became a bankrupt. The idea was then common that the creditor has a right over the soul and body of his debtor. Accordingly, the persons whom he owed threw him into prison, where he remained for two or three years. My mother was reduced to extreme poverty, but she still continued to pick up a subsistence.

Upon my father’s failure, Dexter took the store and continued the business, and very soon he became a rich man. For some reason, he seemed to hate my father, though he pretended to be very kind to him. He used to go and see him in prison, and promised to use his influence for his liberation; but it afterwards appeared that he had actually bought up claims against him, and caused him to be imprisoned upon them.

My father suffered so much from his confinement, that his constitution was weakened, and his health impaired forever. After his release, he obtained the situation of toll-keeper, from which he received about one hundred dollars a year. Upon this pittance, our family was now obliged to live. My mother, however, was a good economist, and though we lived humbly, we had still the necessaries of life.

As I have said, Amby Dexter advanced rapidly in wealth, and in the space of a few years he became a very rich man. In reflecting upon all the circumstances, my father became suspicious that he had embezzled the keg of gold, which had been sent by my uncle Ben, and that this was the secret of his sudden prosperity. He intimated these views, in a confidential way, to one or two whom he esteemed friends. He showed them the letter he had received from his brother, together with the documents tending to establish his views. These confidential friends, however, betrayed his trust, and told Dexter of what my father had said.

As if our cup of misfortune was not yet sufficiently full, our house was secretly entered shortly after this time, by some one at night, and my father’s papers were carried off, together with two hundred dollars, which belonged to the turnpike company. A story was soon put in circulation, that the robbery was all a sham; and it was soon generally suspected that my father had taken the money, and caused the rumor of the theft to cover up his guilt. He was tried for the embezzlement of the property, but though he was acquitted, he was deprived of his place.

Nor was this all. Dexter brought an action against him for defamation, in consequence of what he had said about him to his confidential neighbors. A poor man’s word is feeble, and carries little conviction with it; while the rich man’s word is full of authority. Accordingly, in this contest, my father could hardly fail to be overwhelmed by his proud and prosperous enemy. He had even lost the papers, by means of the robbery, which justified the suspicions he had expressed, and thus he was regarded by the jury as without excuse or defence.

He was sentenced to pay five hundred dollars, and being unable to do it, he was sent to prison. Here he lingered for a few months, till, at last, worn out and emaciated with confinement, and sick at heart, his spirit departed, as I trust, for a better world.

As it is a painful story, I shall not detail the course of events which followed, in respect to my mother. It must be sufficient to say, that my brother Seth grew up rather a wild fellow, and the neighbors said――“I thought it would be so, for he comes of a bad father.” At last, when he was about seventeen years old, he went to sea, and was not heard of afterwards. For myself, I went to school till I was nine years old, when I went, as cabin-boy, on board a vessel which plied between Middletown and New York. Here I continued for several years――though I was often beaten because they said I belonged to a bad family. They seemed to think I could do nothing right. However, I bore it all, and grew up a sailor. When I was about fifteen, I went on a voyage to St. Domingo, and was instructed by my mother to make inquiries about my uncle at Port au Prince. This I did, but as it was about twenty years since the events occurred which I have mentioned, I could hear nothing of him.

After my return, I made several other voyages, and was soon able to do something towards the support of my mother and sister. At last I went upon a voyage which produced results which may be interesting to the reader. I shall give an account of it in the next chapter.

The Indian and his Dog.

On the borders of the state of Pennsylvania there lived a man by the name of Le Fevre, who had a family of eleven children. One morning, the youngest of these, about four years of age, was found to be missing. The distressed family sought after him, by the river and in the fields, but to no purpose. Terrified to an extreme degree, they united with their neighbors to go in quest of him. They entered the woods, and beat them over with the most scrupulous attention. A thousand times they called him by name, but were answered only by the echoes of the wilderness.

The different members of the party employed in the search, at length assembled themselves together, without being able to bring the least intelligence of the child. After reposing for a few minutes, they formed themselves into several different bands, and renewed the search. Night came on, but the parents refused to return home. Their anxiety increased by knowing that the forests were inhabited by panthers and wolves, and they could not but paint to their imagination the horrid spectacle of some of these dreadful animals devouring their darling child.

“Derick, my poor little Derick, where are you?” frequently exclaimed the mother, in the most poignant grief,――but all was of no avail. As soon as daylight appeared, they recommenced their search, but as unsuccessfully as the preceding day. At last, an Indian, laden with furs, coming from an adjacent village, called at the house of Le Fevre, intending to repose himself there, as he usually did, in his travels through that part of the country. He was much surprised to find no one at home but an old negress, kept there by her infirmities.

“Where is my brother?” asked the Indian. “Alas!” replied the negro woman, “he has lost little Derick, and all the neighborhood are employed in looking after him in the woods.” It was then three o’clock, in the afternoon. “Sound the horn,” said the Indian, “and try to call your master home――I will find his child.” The horn was sounded, and, as soon as the father returned, the Indian asked him for the stockings and shoes that the little Derick had worn last. He then ordered his dog, which he had brought with him, to smell them, and immediately proceeded to describe a circle of nearly a mile in diameter, ordering his dog to smell the earth wherever he went.

The circle was not completed, when the sagacious animal began to bark. This sound occasioned some feeble ray of hope to the disconsolate parents. The dog followed the scent and barked again; the party pursued him with all their speed, but they soon lost sight of him in the woods. Half an hour afterwards, they heard him again, and soon saw him return. The countenance of the dog was visibly altered; an air of joy seemed to animate him, and his actions appeared to indicate that his search had not been in vain. “I am sure that he has found the child!” exclaimed the Indian. But whether dead or alive, was a question which none could yet decide. The Indian then followed his dog, who led him to the foot of a large tree, where lay the child, exhausted from weakness and want of food, and nearly approaching death. He took it tenderly in his arms, and hastened to the parents.

Happily, the father and mother were in some measure prepared for the return of their child. Their joy was so great, that it was more than a quarter of an hour before they could express their gratitude to the restorer of their child. Words cannot describe the affecting scene. After they had bathed the face of the child with their tears, they threw themselves on the neck of the Indian, to whom they were no much indebted. Their gratitude was then extended to the dog; they caressed him with inexpressible delight, as the animal, who, by means of his sagacity, had found their beloved offspring; and, conceiving that he, like the rest of the group, must now stand in need of refreshment, a plentiful repast was prepared for him; after which, he and his master pursued their journey; and the company, mutually pleased at the happy event, returned to their respective homes, delighted with the kind Indian and his wonderful dog.

Husking the Corn.

Here they are, all at work, husking the corn――the Widow Wilkins and her three children, Tom, Dick and Lucy. The good woman is giving a lesson to Dick, how to strip off the husks――and little Lucy is trying to do as Dick does. Let us listen to the dialogue.

_Mother._ See there, Dick――do you see that?

_Dick._ Yes, ma’am.

_M._ Well――now you take off the husks, and then take hold of the stalk, just so.

_D._ Yes, ma’am.

_M._ And then you break off the stalk close to the ear, just so.

_D._ Yes, ma’am.

_Lucy._ There, mother! didn’t I do that better’n Dick?

_M._ Yes, my darling. Now, Dick, do you know how to do it?

_D._ Yes, ma’am.

Being satisfied that the husking was in a fair way, the widow Wilkins departed, and left her children to themselves. After she was gone, Dick spoke as follows. “Can you tell me, Tom, what all this corn is for?” “To be sure I can!” said Tom: “some of it is to feed the chickens with; some of it is to feed the pigs with; some of it is to feed the horse and cow with, and some of it is to be ground into Indian meal, to make Johnny-cake and brown bread with.”

“Well done!” says Dick. “It seems to me that the corn is very useful, then; for the chickens and the pigs, and the cow and the horse, and mother and Tom, and Dick and Lucy, all live upon it. Really, I never thought of that before. Then people, when they plant and plough, and hoe, and pick, and husk the corn, are working all the while for the hens, and hogs, and cattle, and people!”

“Yes, to be sure,” said Tom; “and what did you think all this labor was for, before you found out it was useful in this way?”

“Why,” said the boy, “I thought――I thought――I don’t know what I thought; I guess I didn’t think at all――or if I did, I thought it was all a kind of play. But I know better now; I see that when people are at work, they are not playing, but they are doing something useful; and when mother sets me to work, I mean always to consider that she has a good and useful object in view, and that I must do it, not because it is play, but because it will do some good.”

“Very well,” said Tom; “I hope you will always do so.” By this time, the husking was done, and I came away.

The Old Man in the Corner; or, the Pedler’s Pack,

NO. II.

THE STORY OF THE COTTON-WOOL.

Several weeks ago I took a ramble through the beautiful town of Dorchester. In the course of my perambulation, I came to a paper-mill, and being attracted by the stirring sound of the machinery within, I entered and looked around me. In one place I saw an immense bin of rags, of all sizes and shapes, and of all hues, and apparently gathered from the four quarters of the globe. Never did I see such a motley congregation, crowded together in one place. As I was looking on the heap, the thought occurred to me that if each rag could speak and tell the adventures of its existence, we should have a collection of romances equal in extent, and perhaps rivalling in wonders, the thousand and one tales of the Arabian Nights.

While I was gazing at the heap of rags, which, by the by, was in a dim and dusky room, I thought I saw something rise up in the midst, looking very much like the skinny visage of a very thin, old woman, about to speak. I approached the bin, and looked steadily at the grisly image――but, on closer inspection, it appeared to be only an old rag, which had, accidentally, assumed the questionable shape I have described.

I proceeded to examine the several processes of the mill, and great was my admiration at seeing their magical result. I discovered that the rags of any hue, being put into a vat, were bleached as white as the “driven snow;” that they were then reduced to a kind of pulp, as soft as paste; that this, being mixed with water, produced a liquid like milk; that this liquid passed over a wire cloth, through which the water oozed, leaving a thin, white, even scum, which, settling upon the wire cloth, formed the sheet of paper.

I looked on this beautiful process with wonder and delight. I saw the sheet of paper pass over several cylinders, gradually becoming firmer and firmer, by pressure and heat, until, at last, I could see it coiled up, smooth, white and polished, and several hundred yards in length. I then saw it unrolled, and, by a simple machine, cut into sheets, ready to be sent to market.

I have never seen any manufacture which seemed to me no admirable. When I left the mill, I sauntered along the banks of the river, which turned the wheels of the mill. The place was shady, and, it being summer, I sat down. While I was there, a pretty, black-eyed girl came along, and I beckoned her to me. She came smiling, and we fell into conversation. She asked me to go to her house, and being introduced to her parents, they gave the old man some food, and treated him kindly. “Will you tell me a story?” said the little girl. “I will write you one,” said I――and so we parted.

For some weeks I forgot my promise, when I received a note from the black-eyed girl, refreshing my memory on this point. At evening I sat down to write the tale: but, instead of writing, a drowsiness stole over me, and I fell into a dream. Methought I was at my writing-desk, when I heard a rustling amid a heap of papers on my table, and presently something rose up, and assumed precisely the appearance of the rag in the bin of the paper-mill, which had seemed to me so much like a haggish old woman. A sort of strange fear came over me. I could now see the distinct features of a face, though the general aspect of the horrid visage was that of an old calico rag. There was a long, thin, crooked nose; deep, twinkling, tallow-colored eyes; a pointed chin, and a mouth that seemed capable of uttering unutterable things.

I rose up and stood aloof in fear. I was about to speak, when the ghost put her finger on her lip, and, stepping forward, stood upon the middle of the table. There was something awful about this scene, and I felt chilled, with a creeping horror, to my very heart. The creature reached out a kind of crumpled hand, and in a sort of frenzy I clasped it. But no sooner had I touched it, than the image vanished, and I found in my grasp a roll of paper. This I unfolded, and found it to be an immense sheet, written over in a neat, close hand. Casting my eye at the beginning, I saw that it read as follows:

“THE REMINISCENCES OF A RAG.

“As the rising sun was just peeping over the bosom of the
Atlantic, and tinging with gold the waters that play along
the borders of Amelia Island, a negro man, named Bob Squash,
was seen putting some little seeds into the ground, upon the
eastern slope of said island. This event occurred on the 4th
of March, 1839, as the wooden clock of the plantation was on
the stroke of four.

“The seed was covered up in the ground, but in a few days it
shot forth, and, in process of time, it became a large
plant, covered with tufts of cotton. These were gathered by
Bob Squash, and rolled into a wad and from this time I began
to have a consciousness of existence. That ball of cotton
was myself. I was packed into a bag with an immense heap of
other cotton, and being put into a mill, we were awfully
torn to pieces, in order to separate the seeds from the
fibres. The teeth of the mill, which consisted of a thousand
hooks, went through and through us, and thus we were parted
forever from the seeds which had been born and bred with us,
and which we had cherished from our infancy. The seeds,
however, were black, and the combing process made us look
very nice and clean.

“I was now taken, with the rest of the cotton-wool, and put
into a large, coarse sack, and, in order to make us lie
snug, a little negro got into the sack and trod us down. He
didn’t stop to consider how we might like it, but he went on
stamping and jumping, and singing Jim Crow, all the time.
When the bag was full, the mouth was sewed up, and we were
marked as weighing three hundred and seventy-five pounds. In
this state we were called a bale of cotton.

“You must know that there are two kinds of cotton――the short
staple, or _upland cotton_, and the long staple, or _sea
island_. The latter is the best, and our bale was of that
sort. Of course, we, being of the aristocratic class, were
proud of our descent; and, while we supposed the vulgar
upland would be worked up into shirtings and sheetings, or,
perhaps, cheap calicoes, we expected to be treated according
to our quality, by being wrought into delicate muslins or
cambrics for the fair. So it chanced, as you shall see, if
you will peruse the next chapter.”

[To be continued.]

――――

THE SEA.――From the great depths which have been actually ascertained in some places, and the great extent of sea in which no bottom has been found, we may conclude that we are under the estimate when, including banks and shallows, we allow one mile in depth for the whole. Even this gives us a most enormous quantity of water; a quantity which, estimated in tons weight, we have the entire quantity of sea water, with all its saline ingredients, amounting to the enormous weight of 600,000,000,000,000,000, (six hundred thousand billions of tons.) Of this enormous quantity, between three and four per cent. consists of different saline ingredients, and the rest of pure water; so that water in the sea available for the purposes of animal and vegetable life, the supply of springs and rivers, and all other purposes for which water is needed in the economy of the land, amounts to five hundred and eighty thousand billions of tons; and the quantity of salt, at least of saline ingredients, to about twenty thousand billions of tons.

Snow-balling.

“Hurrah, boys――school’s out! come! let’s choose sides and have a snow-balling!”

At this challenge, the boys divide into two groups, and at it they go. It is capital sport――for while it gives an opportunity for the display of skill and power in hurling the missiles, it causes no broken bones――no bloody noses――no peeled shins――no black eyes. It is the very mildest, merriest, and most harmless of all fighting. A snow-ball pat in the face draws no “claret,” begets no bad blood, and only provokes a retaliation, in kind, perchance inciting the hit warrior to squeeze his ball a little harder and send it back with redoubled, but still harmless _vim_.

Those people who live in the sunny south, where Jack Frost never comes with his snow-flakes, surely miss one of the greatest delights of our northern climes. We are willing to forego their orange groves, their fig trees, and their grape vines――bending as they may be with fruit――in consideration of the fun of snow-balling. Not that we, ourself――Robert Merry――old, decrepit and gray――ever engage in that lively sport. No――such things are past with us; but though we cannot personally engage in such merry work, we can at least look on――and that is a great pleasure.

I remember once when I was at school, the boys agreed to have a game of snow-balling, and each one was only to use his left hand. The work went on bravely and smartly, too, for some time; each boy stuck to the treaty, and faithfully worked with his left hand. But, at last, one cowardly fellow, named Farwell, got into a tussle with another chap, and as he received more balls than he sent, he broke his faith, and hurled with his right hand. This provoked retaliation, for one act of injustice is apt to beget another. Farwell was soundly beaten, and in a short time the whole treaty was violated and overturned. I have often thought of that little incident――and I close my story by suggesting the lesson it inculcates; beware of injustice――for it is very likely that you will yourself suffer from the wrongs that will be done in retaliation.

――――

ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON.――At the commencement of the revolutionary war, there lived at East Windsor, Connecticut, a farmer, of the name of Jacob Munsell, aged forty-five years. After the communication by water between this part of the country and Boston was interrupted by the possession of Boston harbor by the British fleet, Munsell was often employed to transport provisions by land to our army, lying in the neighborhood of Boston. In the summer of 1775, while thus employed, he arrived within a few miles of the camp at Cambridge, with a large load, drawn by a stout ox team. In a part of the road which was somewhat rough, he met two carriages, in each of which was an American general officer. The officer in the forward carriage, when near to Munsell, put his head out of the window, and called to him, in an authoritative tone――“Get out of the path!”

Munsell immediately retorted, “I won’t get out of the path――get out yourself!”

After some other vain attempts to prevail on Munsell to turn out, the officer’s carriage turned out, and Munsell kept the path. The other carriage immediately came up, having been within hearing distance of what had passed, and the officer within put his head out of the vehicle, and said to Munsell――“My friend, the road is bad, and it is very difficult for me to turn out; will you be so good as to turn out and let me pass?”

“With all my heart, sir,” said Munsell; “but I won’t be d――――d out of the path by any man.”

This last officer was General Washington. How much more noble, and how much more successful, is a mild and courteous manner, than a harsh and dictatorial one!

――――

QUESTION ON MATHEMATICS.――A fellow in Kentucky, with a railway imagination, wants to know how long it will be before they open the equinoctial line.

The Use of Telescopes.

One of the inventions most important to science that ever was made, was that of the _telescope_. The common telescope is usually called a spy-glass. It is used to look at distant objects, and it serves to bring them, apparently, nearer to view. At sea, the spy-glass is of the greatest use, for it enables the masters of vessels distinctly to see the land, which would scarcely be visible to the naked eye. He can also see vessels which are distant, and be able to tell what kind of vessels they are, what rigging they have, what colors they carry, &c., long before these things could be discovered by the naked eye.

But the telescopes, made for looking at the heavenly bodies, though apparently less useful than the common spy-glass, have still revealed to us many interesting and wonderful, and, indeed, useful, truths. By means of these, we are better acquainted with the moon; we now know that it is a rough planet of mountains and valleys, and, though resembling our earth, that it is without inhabitants, water or atmosphere.

By means of telescopes we know that Jupiter, which to the naked eye seems but a little star, is a great world, with four moons, and, what is curious, we know that these moons keep the same face always turned to the planet, just as our moon does to the earth. We know that Saturn, which also seems like a little star, is a vast world, with seven moons, and a wonderful belt of light, encircling it and revolving around it. These are some of the wonders revealed to us by the telescope.

But there are still others quite as interesting. Beyond the stars which we can see with the naked eye, the telescope unfolds to the view thousands upon thousands of others, the very existence of which we had never known but for this instrument. Nor is even this all――some of the stars are not single, but two or three are close together, and evidently revolve around one another. These are called _binary_, or double stars. Astronomers have observed many thousands of these wonderful worlds, far away in the boundless regions of space.

You have all seen what is called the Milky-way, a broad, irregular band of light crossing the entire heavens. The ancient poets represented this as the milk spilt by the nurse of their god Mercury, and from this poor and paltry conception, it derived its name. Now, let us remark what the telescope says the milky-way is――an immense number, myriads upon myriads, of worlds! What a glorious view does this unfold to us of that God who has not only made the heavens, but us also!

But beside stars of various magnitudes, revealed by the telescope, there are other objects, called _nebulæ_, from their cloud-like appearance. These are of various sizes and forms, some being without defined shape, some being circular, some long and pointed, and one bearing a resemblance to a dumb bell. The engraving at the head of this article will give some idea of the appearance of these mysterious bodies, which are seen, many millions of miles off in the far regions of space.

The idea has been suggested, and with good reason, that these _nebulæ_ are particles of matter, thin almost as air, which are in the process of being condensed and formed into worlds. We know that a detached drop of water forms itself, at once, into a little globe, by that principle which pervades all matter――called gravitation; and we may suppose that these different particles forming the nebulæ, being attracted to each other, will gradually assume a spherical form, and that, in the rush of these particles toward each other, currents will be created, which will give the globe a revolving motion. Such are the curious speculations of the astronomers, and there is some reason to think them correct. What a vast conception does this view of things unfold――for it seems that not only are there countless millions of worlds already formed, all around us, but that, in the distance, the Almighty is still carrying on the stupendous process of manufacturing other worlds! Far――far beyond the reach of the naked eye――far beyond the reach of the searching telescope――far beyond even the daring stretch of the imagination, into the unfathomed night of space――there, there, is the Almighty lighting up the regions of nothingness with existence, bidding new suns to shine in the chambers of silence and death――and thus extending his dominions and spreading abroad the rays of his glory. If the angels and good spirits are permitted to look upon these things――to accompany the Creator in his mighty movements to look upon his proceedings――to fathom, in some degree, his designs――to participate in his works――to co-operate in his views――and to do all this in that blissful harmony which love to God creates――O, how glorious must be that happiness which they enjoy!

The Lotus.

The Lotus, or lily of the Nile, is a plant of great beauty and celebrity. There is one kind which is dried and made into loaves, and eaten for bread. The root, which is round and of the size of an apple, is also eaten.

The flower, at first, stands on the stalk, one or two feet above the water; but when the leaves are expanded and the seed-vessels fully formed, it gradually sinks till it rests on the surface of the water. All travellers are very much struck with the beauty of the lakes and rivers in Egypt, when, as frequently happens, they are covered with these blossoms. Sometimes they spring up in the places which are flooded during the overflow of the Nile, and seem to spread out to a vast extent, covering the entire surface of the water; yet when the flood subsides they perish.

――――

THE MILLER AND THE FOOL.――A miller who attempted to be witty at the expense of a youth of weak intellect, accosted him thus: “John, people say that you are a fool.” On this, John replied, “I don’t know that I am, sir; I know some things, and some things I don’t know, sir.” “Well, John, what do you know?” “I know that millers always have fat hogs, sir.” “And what don’t you know?” “I don’t know whose corn they eat, sir.”

The Indian Dandy.

It must not be supposed that the love of fine dress is confined to city dandies and dandisettes. By no means; for travellers tell us that among the tribes that inhabit the far west, the young Indian men have a great fancy for dressing themselves up in a fanciful way.

The picture at the head of this article represents a young man whose name was Prairie Wolf, and it is a very good likeness. He has upon his head the horns of a buffalo, which he slew in the chase; and beneath is the hair of the buffalo’s pate, with a circular and notched piece of leather, forming together a sort of crown. He has beads around his neck, with a necklace of bears’ claws. He has, also, a bracelet on his left arm. His robe is made of ornamented deer skins;――his kilt is of leather, fringed with wampum.

This dress is very modest for a young Indian. Very often the young fellows, when they wish to appear lovely in the eyes of the girls, paint themselves red, blue and green: they decorate their heads with feathers, and, altogether, make a most extraordinary display. They then mount a horse and ride swiftly around the village, coming often before the women to excite their admiration.

The grave old warriors and hunters, who have done great deeds in their day, laugh at such things, and ridicule them as very contemptible. Indeed, when an Indian has performed some distinguished feat in battle, or the chase, he usually ceases to be a dandy in dress.

One thing is curious among the Indians, and that is, that this love of dress is chiefly confined to the men. The women, indeed, decorate themselves with a few beads and other ornaments; but real dandyism belongs wholly to the other sex. The females are usually modest in their attire, and seldom seek to excite admiration by their dress. It seems to be among the Indians as among the turkies――the cocks are the only ones that strut about, showing off their fine feathers!

――――

“Do you understand me, now?” thundered out one of our country pedagogues, to an urchin, at whose head he threw an ink-stand. “I have got an _ink_-ling of what you mean,” replied the boy.

The Locust.

The _Locust_ is an insect whose vast depredations are so little known to us by experience, that the full extent of the plague they cause in Egypt and other eastern countries, is hardly credible. A flight of these insects has been compared to flakes of snow driven about by the wind; and if the sun shines ever so bright, it is no lighter than when covered by a cloud. When they alight upon the ground, the plains are entirely covered with them, and speedily stripped of every vestige of herbage or other vegetable; while at night, locusts cover the earth in such numbers, that they lie one upon the other, four or five inches thick.

The locust, in form, nearly resembles the grasshopper; it hops and flies in the same manner, but is more robust, and has four large wings. The body is scaly, the head large, and the eyes very bright. Their legs and thighs are so powerful, that they can leap to a height of two hundred times the length of their bodies; when so raised, they spread their wings, and fly so close together, as to appear like one compact, moving mass. In most parts of the east, they are made an article of food; and in Egypt, the catching and cooking of locusts forms a regular employment. Their taste is said to be insipid.

St. Patrick and Father Matthew.

St. Patrick was a famous missionary, who went to Ireland about fourteen hundred years ago, and taught the people Christianity. At that time, the Irish were heathen, and their religion was a kind of idolatry. Their priests were called druids, who taught the adoration of the sun and moon, together with many superstitions. St. Patrick persuaded the people to dismiss their errors and to adopt the truths of Christianity. He accomplished this great object by the gentle arts of persuasion; and consequently his memory has been ever held in kind and honored remembrance by the greater part of the Irish people. As it is a great while since St. Patrick lived, many curious stories have been invented about him; and, among others, it is related that he drove all the venomous serpents, together with the toads, frogs, lizards and tadpoles, out of the island. Now this is no doubt a fiction. Probably these stories are a kind of allegory, by which, under the idea of reptiles, the errors of heathenism are meant, and these were cast out by the good old saint.

But, however this may be, something quite as wonderful as the tales about St. Patrick, has taken place in our day. A good priest or minister, called Father Matthew, seeing that the people of Ireland were very much addicted to drunkenness, thought he would try to induce them to give it up, and become temperate. So he drew up a pledge, and began to get the people to sign it. He succeeded very well indeed; the people signed the pledge, and many that were very miserable before, on account of the use of whiskey and other strong drinks, were reformed, and became sober, useful, and happy people. Seeing the great good that was thus done, other persons signed the pledge; and thus the great work proceeded, until five or six millions of people had signed it.

This is indeed a great and wonderful work. It is impossible to say how much evil has been prevented, and how much good has been done by Father Matthew. He has recently been to England, and thousands signed the pledge there. It is said he is coming to America, and surely we shall all be glad to see him. The following lines, about St. Patrick and Father Matthew, may be amusing to our readers, and make them remember the good they have done.

St. Patrick, ’tis said, cleared Ireland’s bogs
Of serpents and reptiles――toads, tadpoles and frogs――
But a saint of our day shows a far greater wonder――
For good Father Matthew’s got alcohol under!
St. Patrick did well――and we give him a glass
Of pure cold water――so round let it pass!
We drink to his name――’tis a bright one in story,
And, wreathed with green shamrock, shines ever in glory;
For if we will read the old legend aright,
The reptiles he vanquished so bravely in fight
Were druidical monsters――dark errors and crimes――
Which he drove, with the cross, from Erin’s fair climes;
But alas! when the saint had long slept in the grave,
A serpent, more monstrous, crept out from the wave;
He seemed a good genius――was joyous and frisky――
And so he was welcomed, and they christened him WHISKEY.
A favorite he grew, and at wedding or fair――
By every one cherished――sure Whiskey was there!
And all the world fancied, when he took a part,
Though ’t were praying or dancing, it came from the heart.

But at last it was seen that a demon of night
Had passed himself off as an angel of light;
For, in moments of glee, like a serpent he stole
Unseen to the bosom, and coiled in the soul!
Nor was this all――for Whiskey’s a fellow
That lives in each liquor, which makes one mellow――
And though he may dwell in a hogshead himself,
His spirit is found in a julep――the elf!

’Twas thus by his arts that he spread o’er the isle,
And millions on millions did Whiskey beguile.
In vain are the efforts the evils to paint,
Where Whiskey was worshipped as more than a saint!
There was madness and death――there was sorrow and guile――
Yet――the source of them all――he was worshipped the while!
But murder will out――and Whiskey grew bold,
Was detected――convicted of all we have told.
St. Patrick was dead, but he left an example――
And so Father Matthew adopted the sample;
He attacked the old monster, and though he roared out,
And flourished his tail, and turned round about――
Mat laid it on well, and his blows, like a sledge,
Fell heavy and thick, for he wielded THE PLEDGE;
And the last news is this――’tis surely no wonder――
Father Matthew’s atop, and Whiskey is under.

――――

THE REAL CULPRIT.――A noble lady of Florence lost a valuable pearl necklace, and a young girl who waited upon her was accused of the theft. As she solemnly denied the charge, she was put to the torture. Unable to support the terrible infliction, she acknowledged that “she was guilty,” and, without further trial, was hung. Shortly after, Florence was visited by a tremendous storm, and a thunderbolt fell upon a figure of Justice on a lofty column, and split the scales, one of which fell to the earth, and with it the ruins of a magpie’s nest, containing the pearl necklace!

――――

Combat between a Falcon and Serpent.

M. De Vaillant, a famous French traveller, gives an account of a remarkable engagement, of which he was a witness, between a falcon and a snake. The falcon is the chief enemy of the serpent in all the countries which it inhabits, and the mode in which it wages war with it is very peculiar. When the falcon approaches a serpent, it always carries the point of one of its wings forward, in order to parry off its venomous bites. Sometimes it finds an opportunity of spurning and treading upon its antagonist, or else of taking him upon its pinions, and throwing him into the air. When, by this system, it has, at length, wearied out its adversary, and rendered him almost senseless, it kills and swallows him at leisure.

On the occasion which Vaillant mentions, the battle was obstinate, and conducted with equal address on both sides. The serpent, feeling at last his inferiority, endeavored to regain his hole; while the bird, apparently guessing his design, stopped him on a sudden, and cut off his retreat, by placing herself before him at a single leap.

On whatever side the reptile endeavored to make his escape, the enemy still appeared before him. Rendered desperate, the serpent resolved on a last effort. He erected himself boldly, to intimidate the bird, and, hissing dreadfully, displayed his menacing throat, inflamed eyes, and a head swollen with rage and venom. The falcon seemed intimidated for a moment, but soon returned to the charge; and, covering her body with one of her wings as a buckler, she struck her enemy with the bony protuberance of the other. M. Vaillant saw the serpent at last stagger and fall. The conqueror then fell upon him to despatch him, and with one stroke of her beak laid open his skull.

The Papyrus.

In a former number of the Museum we gave some account of the _Papyrus_, a kind of three-cornered reed which grows in Egypt, and from the pith of which the ancients made thin paper. We give a cut representing some of these reeds growing in the edge of the water. They are still to be found in the environs of Damietta, and on the banks of Lake Menzaleh, and nowhere else in Egypt. Perhaps the reason of this is, that, formerly, the government, in order to have a monopoly of the making of paper, caused it to be pulled up and eradicated in many parts of Egypt, and only allowed it to grow where its preparation could be superintended.

It is said that the mode of making the paper was this: the epidermis or skin of the stalk was carefully taken off, and then the spongy pith within was cut into very thin slices; these were steeped in the water of the Nile, and several layers were alternately placed crosswise, one upon the other. These were then pressed and dried, and rubbed smooth with a piece of ivory. Thus a substance was formed resembling our paper. It was very tough and durable, and many manuscripts upon it are still in existence, which are two thousand years old. It is said that the papyrus was used for the making of paper so late as the ninth century.

Pigeon Cones.

In Upper Egypt every house and hut is provided with small houses or cones, painted white, for the brooding of pigeons. The number of these birds, in some parts, is quite surprising. In certain districts, no man is allowed to marry or keep house, unless he is in possession of a dove house. The reason assigned for this is, that the pigeons furnish the only manure for the grounds.

Pictures of Various Nations.