Chapter IV: A meeting with Tunguses.--A great feast.--The travellers proceed

The long story of Linsk being finished, Alexis remarked that, although it was not the best he had heard in his life, he was still obliged, for he had never heard a Samoide tale before.

“Well,” said the old hunter, a little snappishly, “if you don’t like my stories, you need not listen to ’em. I didn’t make ’em myself, and only tell what other people have told me. And as to these Samoides, what can you expect, when the men are not taller than a keg of brandy, and the women are about the height of a five-gallon jug? Can we expect to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear? I could tell you a story of Tartar robbers and enchanted castles, if you would like that better.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Alexis; “I did not mean to offend you. The Samoide story will do, but I should like to hear a Tartar tale very much.”

“Well,” said Linsk, “I will tell you one;” but just as he was about to begin, they came in sight of some huts belonging to the Tunguses, a very singular race of people, who inhabit the middle portions of Siberia. They resemble the Ostiacks, like them living in houses built of poles set in a circle. They have no towns or villages, but they wander from place to place, living entirely by hunting and fishing, in which they display wonderful skill and perseverance. In summer, they dwell on the banks of the rivers, and in winter retire to the wooded regions, where they pursue the sable, ermine, marten, and black fox. They have no fire-arms, but are adroit in the use of the bow and arrow. In the spring, they carry or send their furs to Yakoutsk, a considerable town on the Olekminsk river, and the great fur-market of Siberia.

In a short time, our adventurers came to the group of huts which they had before descried, and Linsk, who knew the habits of the people, did not hesitate at once to go up to one of them and prepare to enter it through a hole about three feet high, that was left as a door. He was met at the entrance by a man of about fifty years of age, and dressed in a short coat made of a wolf-skin, and a pair of flannel trowsers, that looked as much like a petticoat as anything else. He gazed at the four hunters for a moment with some distrust, but then seemed satisfied, and made a sign of welcome.

The conversation soon brought other persons out of the several huts around. These consisted of men, women, and children--all low in stature, and with skins of the color of a smoked ham. The men were dressed nearly in the same fashion as the person first described. The women were attired in short cotton gowns and flannel petticoats that reached but little below the knee. The children were half naked, or clad in cotton wrappers. Several of them had on cast-off seal-skin jackets reaching down to the middle, and making them look like half boys and half beasts.

They were a queer-looking set of people, but seemed frank and good-natured, and invited the strangers to spend the night, which was now approaching, with them. Linsk, who knew the language pretty well, accepted the offer, and the party was led to one of the largest huts. Alexis noticed two large rein-deer in a little pen attached to the dwelling, and observed several large dogs, who now awoke from their repose and came smelling suspiciously around the new-comers.

On entering the hut, the scene presented was a curious one. The whole interior consisted of one room. This was circular, of a conical form, and about twenty feet across. Benches were set around, upon which the wife and one or two other women were sitting. The fire was built in the centre, and, there being no chimney, the whole hut was filled with smoke; but the inmates did not seem to mind it. The children were crawling upon the floor like pigs.

After staying a while in the hut, it was announced that supper was ready, and the travellers soon found that it was to be a feast. The men of the party had been on a fishing expedition, and, having been absent a week, had scarcely tasted a bit of food during that period, and their families at home had been fasting in the mean time. One of the huts had been assigned to the cooking of the meal, and it was to be eaten in the same place.

When the sable-hunters came to the hut, they found about sixty people there, of all sexes and sizes. Already had the revel begun; for the hunger of the party was beyond control. The feast itself was a sight to see. Four large iron caldrons had been set over the fire, filled with fishes of all sorts, though chiefly cod. They were thrown in together without dressing--heads, tails, entrails, fins, and scales! A huge quantity of deer’s-grease and a little salt had been put in. A brisk fire had then been kindled beneath, and the whole fried or boiled into a mighty chowder. The steam that gushed from the door of the hut, was almost strong enough for a supper. It was so rank as to satisfy Alexis and his two younger companions, who soon went out of doors, and mingled with the people there.

A feast of wolves could not have been more voracious. Knives, forks, and plates were not thought of; each one ran into the hut with a wooden bowl, and, dipping it into the caldron, brought forth the seething mass, and while it yet seemed boiling hot, they devoured it with a rapacity absolutely amazing. The scalding heat seemed not to be the least hindrance; there was no ceremonious blowing and cooling--down it went, one dishful after another, as if it were a strife to see who could devour the most in the shortest space of time!

In two or three instances the children upset their bowls, and picking up the food from the ground, heedless of the dirt attached to it, ate it down; no matter if it was trodden upon, it was all the same. One of the children was seen by Alexis, flat upon his stomach, lapping up the broth, from the earth, that had been spilt. Among this crowd, the dogs came in for their share; but they were often obliged to dispute their claims to the remnants with the greedy children.

Among all this coarseness, the strangers were treated with the utmost hospitality, as, indeed, they had been ever since their departure from Tobolsk. After the meal had been finished, a few of the men treated themselves, apart, to brandy, in which entertainment our adventurers were permitted to join. A scene of drunkenness followed, after which the men staggered to their several houses. Linsk and his companions were comfortably lodged, having drank but sparingly.

In the morning the travellers left their Tungusian friends, and set out on their journey, offering to pay for their entertainment, which was, however, refused. Indeed, this had been generally the case, and they had hardly found any necessity of having money. Proceeding upon their journey, Linsk, according to his wont, began to talk, and these Tungusians were naturally the subject of his discourse.

“They are very numerous,” said he, “occupying nearly half of Siberia, and being confined to the central portions of it. They are as restless as Tartars, always moving from place to place, and alternately feasting and starving. They go without food as long as a wolf, and, like a wolf, they will gorge themselves when they get a chance. They eat food when and where they can get it. This is the way they are brought up. I have seen them eat candles, soap, and raw pork. I was once at a place where a reindeer died of disease; they threw him whole upon a fire, singed him a little, and then eat him, leaving nothing but the bones! A real hungry Tungusian will eat twenty pounds of meat in a day!”

Alexis would have expressed some doubt of all this, had not the scene he had witnessed prepared him to believe it, and had he not found that Linsk, though loyal to servility, and not a little inclined to superstition, was still a man of veracity in all that related to his own observation and experience. He went on with his description, therefore, without interruption.

“Yet, greedy as these people are, they have their good points, as I believe all God’s creatures have. They are honest, frank, and hospitable. If they love feasting, their willingness to share the meal with a stranger is a greater virtue. And they are not so stupid as one might expect, from their swallowing such oceans of lard. I know of no people so cunning in catching fish and game. In the winter season, many establish themselves in the forests along the branches of the Wittim and Olekminsk regions, lying to the south of where we now are. A young hunter from Tobolsk, whom I knew, and who dwelt there one winter, told me that they were the keenest fellows he had ever met with. They would trace a fox by his foot-prints upon the frozen snow, and could tell whether it was grey or black by the shape of his track! They killed their game with blunt arrows, so as not to injure the skin; and so careful were they of the sable, that when they found one on a tree, they would not shoot him, but make fires beneath, and smoke him, until the creature would fall at their feet.

“The fact is, that the Tunguses are such good hunters that the wild beasts have found them out, and have pretty much left their country. The fine sables are now seldom found where they used to be abundant, and those who would hunt them must go farther north, where we are going. These people have no books, and their religion is a strange belief in stupid gods, whom they worship under the guise of little wooden images. They believe in witchcraft and sorcery; and there are a good many cheats among them, who pretend to practise these forbidden arts.”

(_To be continued._)

Wisdom of the Creator.

The fact that the Creator is a Being who thinks, who exercises wisdom, and exerts power, is illustrated by the provision he has made for the wants of animals, arising from their peculiar condition. The human teeth afford a striking instance of this. The infant is to live by milk taken from its mother, and it can take its nourishment in without teeth much more conveniently to itself and its nurse, than with them. Accordingly, it has no teeth; nor do they come till about the time that it takes other food that may require teeth. We see the same careful foresight in providing that the horns of calves and lambs do not grow till they have done sucking, as they would be in the way in performing that operation. But in regard to the human teeth, a still further prospective contrivance is made at the very beginning. The jaw of a grown person is much larger than that of an infant, and the first teeth are therefore entirely too small to fill the jaw of an adult. It is accordingly provided that, at the age of eight or ten years, the first set of teeth shall be shed, and larger ones come in their place. And the preparation for them is made at the outset--a row of teeth being actually set in below the first, ready to grow when these are gone!

The providing of milk for young animals is another admirable proof of the designing wisdom of the Creator. Milk is a fluid of a very nutritious quality, and no art of man can make it. As soon as the young are produced, the milk is ready for it, and not before. And how wonderful, how ingenious, is the whole contrivance by which young animals are provided with food, in a manner the most curious, and of a kind the most suitable!

Washington a Teacher to the Young.

There is no name in the annals of any country more revered than that of George Washington. It is a matter of interest to inquire how he became so good and great, and how he obtained such a desirable reputation; how he was able to do so much good to his country and to mankind; how he was qualified to leave behind him so excellent an example; how he acquired that great wisdom which guided him in life, and prepared him for death--which made him, like Moses in ancient days, the leader of a nation through a wilderness of trial, and suffering, and danger, and now that he has been dead more than forty years, renders him still the teacher, not only of the United States, but all the civilized world.

It is a good plan for every one who wishes to be useful, good, and happy, to study the story of Washington, and see how it was that he became so useful, so good, and so happy. It is only by study that we can gain knowledge; and the best way to find out the path of duty and of success, is carefully to read the history of those who have been successful. I propose, therefore, to give you a brief outline of Washington’s life, taking care to present those points in his career which seem to have been the most influential in forming his character and shaping his fortunes.

George Washington was born in Virginia, on the 22d of February, 1732. His father was a wealthy planter; but he died in 1743, when George was eleven years old. He was, therefore, left to the care of his mother, who was a good and wise woman.

Now you must remember that when Washington was a boy, young people had not the advantages that they have now. In Virginia, there were no academies, high-schools, or colleges. He had, therefore, only the privileges of a common-school education, where writing, reading, arithmetic, and a little of geometry, were taught.

Now some boys with these simple helps had never been great; the reason why they were sufficient for Washington I will tell you. In the first place, he had a good mother, who, like almost all good mothers, frequently counselled and advised her son to make the best use of his time at school; to pay attention to his lessons; to learn them well; and thus, not only to store his mind with knowledge, but to get into the habit of studying thoroughly, and of improving his mind. In the second place, _Washington had the good sense, the virtue, and the wisdom to mind his mother in these things_. These are the two great reasons why a common-school education was sufficient for so great a man, and they are the two chief reasons why he became so great.

Now this shows that the advantages a boy possesses are of less consequence than the way in which he improves them. A boy may be sent to a high-school, and go through college, and have good natural capacity, and yet turn out to be a useless, weak, and ignorant man. Merely going through a high-school, or an academy, or a college, cannot make a good, useful, or great man. In order to be good, useful, great, or even happy, it is necessary in youth to do as Washington did.

Another thing to be noticed here is, that Washington had none of that folly which some boys think smartness, or a mark of genius, or manliness--a disposition to disobey a mother or a schoolmaster. Washington was obedient to both of them. If, therefore, a boy wishes to be successful in life, let him cultivate obedience to parents and teachers.

One of the great advantages that followed from Washington’s making the best of his school privileges was, his adopting good habits. _He got into the habit of doing everything thoroughly._ He was not willing to learn a lesson by halves, and when he came to recite, to guess and shuffle his way out. No, indeed! He did not leave a lesson till he had mastered it--till he knew all about it--till he had stamped it so firmly in his mind as to make the impression indelible.

The reason why habits are so important, is, that they hang about a person, and actually guide him through life. When a man has got the habit of doing a thing, it is easy to repeat it, and it is hard to act otherwise. Habits may be illustrated by a rail-road. The cars run easily upon the track, and it is difficult for them to get away from it. What work a car would make in attempting to run over the rough ground! Now, the mind is very like the car; it slides along glibly enough upon the rails of habit, but it works hard and makes little progress over a place where it has not been before. Thus, if a boy gets into the habit of lying, he lies, as a locomotive glides upon its track, with great rapidity, smoothness, and ease. And if he has once got into this habit of lying, and then attempts to tell the truth, he feels as if he had got off the track, and is like a car running over the common ground.

The importance of this matter of habit is seen upon a little reflection. We must remember what has been said before, that the things we do once or twice, we are likely to repeat. We are, therefore, always forming habits, good or bad; and children frequently get them settled as a rail-road track, before they are aware of it. Now, these habits may ruin those who adopt them, and turn into evil the best advantages that they can enjoy.

If a boy gets the habit of studying in a half-way, slovenly, slip-shod manner, he is almost certain to be greatly injured thereby. If he goes to college, he there continues the same habit; when he comes out, he still carries it with him; when he enters upon business, it still hangs about him. He does nothing well, or thoroughly; he is careless and slovenly in all he does; there is imperfection and weakness in his career, and finally he turns out an unsuccessful man. If he is a merchant, he usually fails in business; if a lawyer, a physician, or minister, he is generally at the tail-end of his profession, poor, useless, and despised. Such is the mighty influence of our habits; and remember that they are formed in early life. Remember that every day feeds and fosters our habits.

It is interesting to trace the way that Washington’s youthful habits operated upon him. Some of his early schoolbooks are extant, and these show that he was very thorough in writing. He even took the pains to write out, in a fine hand, the forms in which notes of hand, bills of exchange, receipts, bonds, deeds, wills, should be drawn. Thus he cultivated the habit of writing neatly, of being patient in copying papers, and of being accurate in making copies; and at the same time he made himself acquainted with the forms of drawing up business documents. In all this, we see the habit of doing things patiently, accurately, and thoroughly. We see that Washington had so trained himself, that he could sit down and do that which was mere toil, and which some boys would think stupid drudgery.

Another thing that is remarkable at this early period of Washington’s life, is, that in writing he was careful to study neatness and mechanical precision. Several quires of his school-manuscripts remain, in which he worked out questions in arithmetic and mathematics. These manuscripts are very neatly executed; there are several long sums which are nicely done and beautifully arranged. There are, also, extensive columns of figures, and all set down with careful precision.

Another thing visible in these manuscripts, is, that Washington studied accuracy; his sums were all right. What a beautiful illustration of the great man’s life! His youthful manuscripts show that he learned to render his school-boy pages fair; to work out all his sums right. Thus he started in life--and thus he became qualified to make the pages of his history glorious; the footing up of his great account such as the sentiment of justice throughout the world would approve!

Another thing that had great influence in the formation of Washington’s character and in securing success in life, was, that very early he adopted a code or system of rules of behavior. This was found among his papers after his death, in his own hand-writing, and written at the age of thirteen. I will give you a few extracts from this code of manners, or rules of conduct:

EXTRACTS.

“Every action in company ought to be with some sign of
respect to those present.

“Be no flatterer, neither play with any one that delights not
to be played with.

“Read no letters, books, or papers in company.

“Come not near the books or papers of another so as to read
them.

“Look not over another when he is writing a letter.

“Let your countenance be cheerful, but in serious matters be
grave.

“Show not yourself glad at another’s misfortune.

“Let your discourse with others on matters of business be
short.

“It is good manners to let others speak first.

“Strive not with your superiors in argument, but be modest.

“When a man does all he can, do not blame him though he
succeeds not well.

“Take admonitions thankfully.

“Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the injury of
another.

“In your dress, be modest, and consult your condition.

“Play not the peacock, looking vainly at yourself.

“It is better to be alone than in bad company.

“Let your conversation be without malice or envy.

“Urge not your friend to discover a secret.

“Break not a jest where none take pleasure in mirth.

“Speak not injurious words either in jest or earnest.

“Gaze not on the blemishes of others.

“When another speaks, be attentive.

“Be not apt to relate news.

“Be not curious to know the affairs of others.

“Speak not evil of the absent.

“When you speak of God, let it ever be with reverence.

“Labor to keep alive in your heart that spark of heavenly
fire called conscience.”

Such are some of those rules that Washington wrote out in a fair hand at thirteen. Most of these rules turn on one great principle, which is, that you treat others with respect; that you are tender of the feelings, and rights, and characters of others; that you do to others as you would have others do to you.

But another thing, also, is to be considered, which is, that Washington not only had a set of good rules of behavior, all written out in a fair hand and committed to memory, but he was in the habit of observing them; and he not only observed them when a child, but after he became a man. He got into the habit of obeying every one of these rules, and every one of them became a rail-road track to him, and he therefore followed them; and thus it was that his manners were always so dignified, kind, and noble; thus it was that his character and conduct became so great and good.

Now, I would not have my readers suppose that Washington was always a man; on the contrary, when he was a boy, he loved fun as well as anybody. He liked to run, to leap, to wrestle, and play at games. He had a soldierly turn, even in boyhood, and was fond of heading a troop of boys, and marching them about with a tin kettle for a drum.

Washington, too, was quick-tempered and passionate when a boy; but the beauty of his story in this point is, that by adopting good habits and principles he overcame these tendencies of his nature, and he showed that all quick-tempered boys can do the same, if they please. They can govern their tempers; they can adopt good rules of conduct; they can get into the habit of being calm, patient, and just, and thus grow up to honor and usefulness.

There are many other traits of character belonging to Washington that are interesting and worthy of imitation. He was accurate and just in all his dealings; he was punctual in the performance of promises; he was a man of prayer, and an observer of the Sabbath. And the point here to be noticed by youth, is, that all these qualities which we have been noticing appear to be the fruit of seed sown in his youth. They appear all to have taken root in one great principle--OBEDIENCE--obedience to his mother, obedience to his teachers--obedience to a sense of duty, formed into habit in early life. This is the real source of Washington’s greatness. He was not made greater or better than most others, but he adopted good habits, and under their influence he became great.

Another thing to be observed is, that in adopting good habits, Washington rejected bad ones. He was guilty of no profanity; no rudeness or harshness of speech; he was not addicted to _sprees_; he was no haunter of bar-rooms or taverns; he had no vulgar love of eccentricity; he affected not that kind of smartness which displays itself in irregularity or excess; he did not think it clever to disobey teachers or parents; he was no lover of scandal, or of profane and rude society.

The teaching, then, of Washington’s example is this: study obedience, patience, industry, thoroughness, accuracy, neatness, respect to the rights and feelings of others, and make these things habitual--rail-tracks in the mind. The path of obedience is the path to glory; the path of disobedience is the path of failure and disappointment in the race of life.

The Poet and the Child.

There is a man in England by the name of Thomas Campbell. He is a poet, and wrote two famous pieces, “The Pleasures of Hope,” and “Gertrude of Wyoming,”--besides many other smaller poems, which are among the most beautiful in our language. A short time since he was passing through one of the parks of London, which are extensive fields ornamented with fine trees, and he there saw a beautiful girl, four years old, led along by a woman. Mr. Campbell seems to be a lover of children, and so he wrote the following lines about this little girl. They are very pleasing lines; and I introduce them here that my fair young readers may see how kindly a famous poet looks on the face of a child, which bespeaks goodness.

LINES ON HIS NEW CHILD-SWEETHEART.

I hold it a religious duty
To love and worship children’s beauty;
They’ve least the taint of earthly clod,--
They’re freshest from the hand of God.
With heavenly looks, they make us sure
The heaven that made them must be pure.
We love them not in earthly fashion,
But with a beatific passion.

I chanced to, yesterday, behold
A maiden child of beauty’s mould;
’Twas near (more sacred was the scene)
The palace of our patriot Queen.
The little charmer to my view
Was sculpture brought to life anew;
Her eyes had a poetic glow--
Her pouting mouth was Cupid’s bow,
And through her frock I could descry
Her neck and shoulders’ symmetry.
’Twas obvious, from her walk and gait,
Her limbs were beautifully straight.
I stopped th’ enchantress, and was told,
Though tall, she was but four years old.
Her guide so grave an aspect wore
I could not ask a question more--
But followed her. The little one
Threw backward ever and anon
Her lovely neck, as if to say,
I know you love me, _Mister Grey_.
For, by its instinct, childhood’s eye
Is shrewd in physiognomy;
They well distinguish fawning art
From sterling fondness of the heart.

And so she flirted, like a true
Good woman, till we bade adieu!
’Twas then I with regret grew wild--
Oh! beauteous, interesting child!
Why asked I not thy home and name?
My courage failed me--more’s the shame.

But where abides this jewel rare?
Oh! ye that own her, tell me, where?
For sad it makes my heart, and sore,
To think I ne’er may meet her more.

The Ostrich.

Every one who looks at an ostrich can see that, having very long legs, he can run pretty fast if he tries. The ostrich is, in fact, swifter of foot than any other animal. He will outstrip the fleetest dog, or horse, or even the antelope.

Not only is he the fleetest of running animals, but he is the largest of birds; but though he is a bird, he cannot fly. In running, he only lifts his wings a little, flapping them slightly, but deriving no aid from them in his progress. The ostrich, therefore, is a remarkable bird, and seems to have been quite a puzzle to a great many wise heads. Pliny, the old Roman, thought it was rather a beast than a bird, and the Greeks and Asiatics esteemed it so like a quadruped in some of its qualities, that they called it a camel-bird.

When a thing is wonderful, people always strive to make it more wonderful; so they tell very large stories about ostriches eating iron and brass with a right good appetite! Upon hearing some people talk about this creature, you would fancy that a shovel and tongs, and a pair of andirons, would be but a good breakfast for it! Now this is all nonsense. Iron and brass can no more give nutriment to an ostrich than a man; it may be that an ostrich, which, it must be confessed, has a good appetite, sometimes swallows down a spike or a tenpenny-nail to aid his digestion, just as other birds eat gravel; but this is no doubt all that can be said about the matter.

The ostrich is a native of most parts of Africa, and of Arabia in Asia. It is scarce now in all countries, but in the days of ancient Rome it appears that they were abundant, for the brains of six hundred were served up at one famous dinner! It is a bird that likes the company of its own kind very well, and several are often seen together; but it has not a good opinion of mankind. It seeks places remote from the haunts of men, and seems to prefer the desert and the solitude. When pursued, it does not run straight forward, but wheels round in circles, keeping pretty near its enemy, and is thus often killed by being shot, or struck with a kind of spear. The creature is generally inoffensive, and seeks safety by flight; but when attacked, he resorts to the ungenteel trick of kicking violently, and he often exercises his skill in this way with serious effect.

In some parts of Africa, the ostrich is tamed, and generally behaves like a quiet, well-bred bird; it is said, however, not to like strangers, and to have a spite against ill-dressed people. This is in bad taste, for the ostrich, having fine silky feathers itself, may seem to show foolish vanity and pride by picking flaws in the dress of other people.

There has been a good deal of discussion among learned authors about the manner in which the female ostrich manages her eggs--which, by the way, are large and heavy, one of them weighing as much as a small baby. It is generally agreed, however, that several ostriches lay in one nest, and that one undertakes to hatch them, but often covers them up in the sand and leaves them during the day, knowing that the heat of the sun will carry on the process of hatching as well without her as with her. I need only add that the ostrich is about as tall as the Belgian giant, it being between seven and eight feet high!

What do we mean by Nature?

By Nature, we mean the laws by which God works. And what are these? Have they power to plan, devise, or execute, of themselves? Have the laws of God any energy independent of him? Have they, indeed, any existence independent of him? The seed that is imbedded in the soil, shoots up into a plant. Is not this God’s work? Is there any being concerned in this but God? Certainly not. What, then, has nature to do? Nothing--nothing whatever. The Creator makes the soil, the seed, the moisture, the heat, and he gives them their quickening impulse. The stem, the stalk, the unfolding leaf, the fragrant flower, the blushing fruit, are his. He supplies and guides every particle of earth, air, water, and heat, concerned in the process of vegetation; without him, these would remain dead, inert and motionless. The seed would remain but a seed, and the shapeless elements would pause forever in their state of original chaos.

Nature, then, is not an efficient power; it is not a being; it contrives nothing, it does nothing, it plans nothing, it produces nothing. It is only a term, signifying the ways and means by which God chooses to perform his various works. Nature is but a word, used to designate the laws of the material universe. But what are _laws_ without the lawgiver? Even if enacted, where is their efficiency without the executive power? What would be our book of statutes, if we had no government to sustain and enforce them? Instead of creating plants outright, God produces them by a certain process, in which earth, air, water, and heat are employed. This process is uniform, and we call it nature. So animals are produced by a certain established process, and this, again, we call nature.

Nature, then, and the laws of nature, are nothing more than the beaten path of the Creator; they show his footsteps, but they should never be confounded with God himself. We should never permit his works to become idols which stand between us and him, casting a shadow over his Almighty image. We should never look upon God’s works as God, nor abuse our minds by substituting the thing created for the Creator. This is mere idolatry, and the worshipper of nature as truly bows down before senseless images, as he who kneels to Baal or Moloch. Nature may, indeed, declare the glory of God, and show forth his handy-work; it may serve to raise our minds from earth to heaven; it may be a ladder by which we should climb to the skies. But he who goes not beyond nature, stays forever upon the ladder, and reaches not his proper destination. And yet, are we not in the habit of doing this? In referring the seasons to nature; in speaking of the rain, the frost, and the snow--the spring-time, with its bursting buds and flowers; the summer, with its harvest; the autumn, with its fruits; the winter, with its white winding-sheet for the death-bed of the leaves, as the works of nature--do we not lead our minds from their true Author? Do we not wrap up in the mist of words the idea that all these are the works of a being who designs, contrives, thinks, and acts?

A Vision.

“On parent knees, a naked, new-born child,
Weeping thou sat’st, while all around thee smiled;
So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep,
Calm thou may’st smile while all around thee weep.”

The beautiful sentiment in the above stanza, translated from the Persian by Sir William Jones, struck me so much the other day, while I was reading the life of that excellent man, that I laid down the book to meditate upon it. It was a rainy, dull afternoon--the fog hung heavily on the mountains--the smoke rose drowsily from the chimneys--the cat and dog had forgotten their feeds, and were sleeping on the rug at my feet. I caught the sluggish spirit of the day, and leaning my head back in my rocking-chair, the room and its furniture gradually faded from my sight, and the following dream or vision occupied my imagination.

A little girl appeared before me in her freshest childhood, and her mind just opening to the outward world. She held in her hand a pure white blank tablet, which had been given her at her birth, and from which she was never to part, in this world or the world to come.

At first she ran recklessly and gaily forward without heeding the tablet, which, nevertheless, received certain impressions from every circumstance of her life. These impressions were, for the most part, gradually effaced as she proceeded, though a portion of them were deepened, and some became brighter and more precious. Among these last were the marks made by the tender love of brothers and sisters, and the watchings, and gentle rebukes, and prayers of parents. These, at first, were scarcely perceived, and often quite unheeded; but I saw afterwards, when the child had become a woman, and had gone far on in her journey in life, she would gather from them courage to go forward, and strength to resist temptation. As she proceeded on her youthful course, I inferred her diligence from the number and distinctness of the images on her tablet; and their value, from the frequency with which she recurred to them, through her whole progress, as to a well-filled store-house for constant use.

As my eye followed her course, I perceived some figures, scarcely visible, hovering around her. I looked long and intently before they were quite defined to my sight; but, by degrees, they became more and more distinct, till at last I saw every expression--every movement--and even fancied I detected their purposes.

On one side was a female of thoughtful and tranquil aspect, who evidently regulated all her steps in relation to far-distant objects, to which her clear, penetrating glance extended. I at first thought, from her expression of purity, and her simple robe of snowy whiteness, that she must be Innocence; but I looked again, and saw her glossy hair was wreathed with amaranths:

“Immortal amaranth--a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the tree of life,
Began to bloom;”

and which has since ever been, among “the spirits elect,” the emblem of Virtue. While the young maiden (for she who started a child had now become a tall and slender girl) kept her eye fixed on Virtue, and followed her footsteps, her tablet was being inscribed with beautiful and ever-brightening characters; and though her way sometimes lay through entangled paths, and clouds were over her head, and darkness round about her, yet, when it was again light, and I could see her tablet, I perceived that during these dark passages of her course she had ineffaceable images. I wondered that Virtue--since, after all, it was but Virtue in the human form--never faltered, or was bewildered in these difficult passages, and while I wondered, a new keenness was imparted to my vision, and I saw the radiant form of Religion bending from Heaven and communicating her holy energy to Virtue.

But there were other figures in the maiden’s train, and one in particular, whom I knew at once, by the miraculous variety of alluring forms which she assumed, to be Temptation. She was always full of smiles, and promises, and winning ways, and she carried in her hand a magic glass, by which she excluded the distance from the maiden’s eyes, and gave false and beautiful aspects to whatever was present or near; and often did she lure her from the side of Virtue, and plunge her into troubles, from which she could only be extricated by the intervention and struggles of her true friend.

Though sometimes, when the maiden yielded to Temptation, that deceitful spirit led her through the flowery paths, yet she always left her in the hands of Remorse, a withered hag, whose name was written in letters of fire on her breast, and who held an iron pen, with which she engraved black and frightful images on the tablet.

The maiden looked at them with affright and sorrow; and Penitence, a tender and pitiful nymph, tried to wash them out with her tears; but, though they became fainter, it was impossible to efface them; and the maiden, grieving that these records of her wandering with Temptation must forever and forever remain on her tablet, appealed to Virtue for aid; and Virtue pointed her to Religion, who, it seemed, could alone enable her to resist the wiles of Temptation. And now I saw, that, as her communications with Religion became more frequent, and their intercourse more intimate, though often assailed by Temptation, the maiden was always victorious in the contest, and at every step she gave more and more attention to her tablet, and felt a more intense desire that it should be impressed with beautiful and brightening images.

I know not how much farther I might have traced her course, had not my little Helen come bounding in from school--the dog barked, and I was waked. I told my dream to the little girl.

“And what did the tablet mean?” she asked.

“Oh, it was but a dream, Helen.”

“Yes, but all the rest had a meaning, and there ought to be one to the tablet.”

“Well, then, my child, let it mean _Memory_; and, if you like my dream, let it persuade you to store your memory with beautiful and indelible images.”--_Stories for the Young, by Miss Sedgwick._

The Sun and Wind.

A FABLE.

The Sun and Wind once fell into a dispute as to their relative power. The Sun insisted, as he could thaw the iceberg, and melt the snows of winter, and bid the plants spring out of the ground, and send light and heat over the world, that he was the most powerful. “It may be,” said he, “that you can make the loudest uproar; but I can produce the greatest effect. It is not always the noisiest people that achieve the greatest deeds.”

“This may seem very well,” said the Wind, “but it is not just. Don’t I blow the ships across the sea, turn windmills, drive the clouds across the heavens, get up squalls and thundergusts, and topple down steeples and houses, with hurricanes?”

Thus the two disputed, when, at last, a traveller was seen coming along; and they agreed each to give a specimen of what he could do, and let the traveller decide between them. So the Wind began, and it blew lustily. It nearly took away the traveller’s hat and cloak, and very much impeded his progress; but he resisted stoutly. The Wind having tried its best, then came the Sun’s turn. So he shone down with his summer beams, and the traveller found himself so hot that he took off his hat and cloak, and so decided that the Sun had more power than the Wind.

Thus our fable shows that the gentle rays of the Sun were more potent than the tempest; and we generally find in life that mild means are more effective, in the accomplishment of any object, than violence.

THE KAMSCHATKA LILY.

In Kamschatka there is a lily called the Sarana, which almost covers the ground with blossoms; the roots of this lily are good to eat when they are baked, and are sometimes made into bread.

There is a little mouse in Kamschatka, which lays these roots by in its own store-house, and when the weather is fine, it brings them out to dry in the sun; sometimes the people of that country look for the store-house of the little mouse, and carry away the roots; but they always take care to leave some behind for the poor mouse that has had the trouble of collecting them.

Habits which concern ourselves.

From our first days we are much absorbed in the affairs of self. It is necessary we should take food, and we do it for ourselves alone. This leads a very little child to put everything he can reach into his mouth. Now, here is a habit; and it becomes so easy for him to carry his hand to his lips, that he does not know, at length, when and how often he does it.

It is, likewise, a habit of a selfish tendency; for the hand goes to the mouth merely to gratify a feeling he himself has. But he soon comes to do many other things; and in all his little actions he thinks of self. James will not give John a part of his apple, because he is in the habit of eating apples, and whatever else he can get, always by himself. This is wrong; and if he do not reform his selfish habit, he will be a complete miser when he arrives at manhood.

Habit not only effects our impressions, but our active propensities.

Hardly any habit is the source of more faults than heedlessness. It is especially so in children. Why is that boy sitting idle in his seat at school? Because he is heedless. He has formed the habit of looking off his book, and around the school-room, whenever the eyes of his teacher are turned from him. He has done it so often, that he is not sensible of being idle, until his teacher calls him to attend to his studies. The want of attention not only makes us poor scholars, but poor in purse, and poor as men.

I will tell you an allegory, to show you the sad consequences of heedlessness.

“There is a hill called Experience. Many people are going up this hill. On the top of it is a temple, called the Temple of Truth. On the side of the hill are fruit-trees, bearing good fruits of all kinds; but if the people are not careful, they make themselves sick by eating it, and must take medicine, or they become more and more sick.

“Two men set out to ascend this hill. The name of one was _Observation_, and that of the other _Inattention_. Observation looked at everything near him as he went up the hill; and when he became sick, he thought of the fruit which had made him so, and was careful not to eat too much of it and make himself sick again. Inattention, when sick, thought of nothing but of being well again; and when he got well, he ate again; and when he had hurt himself, he got up again and ran on, without minding what hurt him.

“As Observation was going up the hill, he fell in company with Attention, and they walked on together, and soon became friends. Inattention preferred to walk alone. As he was going on his way, he came to a river by the way-side, and, although he did not know how to swim, he jumped into it without thought, and was near being drowned; when Observation and Attention, arriving at the place, pulled him out, and saved his life. The three persons then went on together.

“They soon came to another river, and Inattention, regardless of the dangers which he had just escaped, and of the advice of his fellow-travellers, would go into it, and was drowned, although they tried to save him. So the friends went on without him; and after many years’ travelling, they arrived at the Temple of Truth, on the top of the hill, and were rewarded for their perseverance and care, while Inattention was punished for his negligence and folly.”

We should form the habit of keeping our good resolutions. If we wish to improve, we must see our errors, and resolve to correct them; without such resolutions, we shall always do the same wrong things which we do now. But one point we must never forget; which is, that the oftener we break our good resolutions, the less likely are we to keep any we may form. Samuel is very apt to be passionate. He will, when he is angry, sometimes speak improperly to his father, or strike his little sister. He knows this is wrong, and every night he is sorry for it, and resolves not to get angry the next day. But he has broken just such a resolution so often, that it is growing more and more difficult for him to govern his temper. The only way he can reform, is to form the habit of making resolutions very deliberately, and always carrying them into full execution.

It is important that we acquire fortitude. We must bear many disappointments and much pain so long as we live. If we began to bear them firmly in childhood, we should all make brave, patient, and submissive men. God does not send us troubles without intending to make us better by the use of them. But without fortitude, affliction only hardens our hearts.

We have seen very young children bear pain without a single complaint. In sickness, some are so calm and patient, that you would not know, except by their countenance, that they were sick. It is essential to form the habit of keeping our little bodily afflictions to ourselves. It is our duty to do it, for we only make others unhappy by continually talking of our own troubles. And we make the suffering appear the greater to ourselves, also, the more we dwell upon and converse about it. So of extreme cold and heat--we should begin in childhood to bear them without tears and complaints. It will give us no relief to think of them, and magnify our sufferings by relating them to others.

Troubles of mind should be borne habitually with fortitude. James has broken one of his skates, but no one would know it from his appearance; he does not cry, or fret, or complain to his companions, or at home. His tears he knows will not mend it; he only determines to be more careful in future, and, as soon as he is able, to purchase a new pair of skates.

We should always consider, too, that our Father in Heaven intends to teach us wisdom and submission to his will, by our smaller, as well as greater troubles.

Anecdotes of Haydn.

The great musician, Haydn, was the son of a wheelwright. His father used to play on the harp, and on holidays, his mother would sing while he played; and whenever the little boy heard this music, he would get two pieces of wood, like a violin and the bow that plays on it, and he would seem to be playing to his mother’s singing; and as long as he lived, Haydn loved to play the airs his mother then sung.

It happened that a relation of his parents, who was a schoolmaster, came to see them, and, thinking the child clever, he offered to bring him up, and his parents accepted the offer. When Haydn was at school, he found a tambourine, and played on it a tune so surprising, that everybody in the house came to listen to it.

He was afterwards taught to sing; and a person who understood good music well, coming to hear him, was so pleased with him, that he emptied a plate of cherries into his pocket.

Such was the beginning of this famous man, who composed many of the beautiful tunes with which we are all familiar.

The Fox and Raven;

A FABLE.

A raven was once sitting upon a tree with a nice bit of cheese in his mouth. A fox near by, being hungry, approached the raven with the design of getting the bit of cheese, if he could. So he began to speak as follows:

“Good morning, Mr. Raven! How fine you look to-day! I never saw your coat so rich and glossy before. Pray give me a bit of that cheese; I am very fond of cheese.”

“Hem!” said the raven, taking care not to open his mouth, and seeming to think that he was not such a ninny as to be flattered out of his cheese by a fox. But reynard is a sort of natural lawyer, who knows the weak points of people, and has a faculty, as well as a disposition, to turn them to account. He thought to himself, “Now the raven has a hoarse, croaking voice; and the way to flatter any one is to praise that in which he is most deficient.” So he began:

“Well, my dear Raven, I told you I wanted the cheese--but, in point of fact, I care nothing about it. I hate cheese, for it spoils the breath; but I really wanted to hear you sing, and the cheese stops up your mouth. I beg of you to sing me a little French or Italian air; you execute those things so deliciously.”

The raven, like many other silly people who have odious voices, fancied that he sang divinely; so he dropped the cheese, and began; whereupon the fox picked up the cheese, and holding his bursting sides, ran away, saying to himself, “O, flattery, flattery; it is the key that unlocks all hearts. You have only to use the right kind, and you can make a fool of anybody. But as to these people with croaking throats, who pretend to sing French and Italian airs, bah! it is too much!”

I don’t see why.

I know a little girl who has a very pleasant home, and the very kindest of parents, and who is yet often discontented and unhappy. She pouts her lips, and throws her arms about, and sulks, and stamps with her feet, and makes a strange noise in her throat, between a growl and a cry. It is not because she has not enough to eat of good, wholesome food; nor because she has no time to play, and playthings in abundance, and brothers to play with her. She is not blind, nor lame, nor deformed in any way, but has health and strength, and everything which any little girl could wish, to make her happy in this world, but a good heart.

What was it, then, that made her fretful? Why, she had a kind mother, who told her what she must do, and what she must not do. I will tell you what I heard one day.

“Caroline, you must not take my scissors, my dear.”

“Why, mother? I have no scissors to cut off my thread,” said Caroline, pettishly.

“Well, my dear, I will give you a pair, but you must not take mine.”

“I am sure I don’t see why; it’s only just to cut my thread.”

Now, these scissors were of the finest kind, and highly polished, and Caroline’s mother knew that it would soil them if she should handle them; and that if she had them once, she would want them again. Caroline’s duty was to obey cheerfully, whether she saw the reason why, or not.

“Caroline, my dear, you must not climb upon the chair to reach your work. You must ask some one to get it for you.”

“I am sure I don’t see why. It is less trouble to get it myself than to ask anybody for it.”

“Very well, my child, you shall do it in your own way, and see.”

That very afternoon, Caroline mounted on a chair to get her work. She reached too far, and over went the chair, and Caroline with it. Her work was scattered over the floor--the needlebook in one direction, and the thimble in another, and the spools in another; and, what was worse than all, her head struck the edge of the door, and a gash was cut in her forehead. She cried sadly, and did not get over the hurt for weeks. Was it less trouble to get it herself?

If she had trusted her mother, she would have saved herself all this pain; but for the sake of knowing the reason why she could not get upon the chair, she cost herself a severe wound, and a great deal of shame and sorrow.

It is a good rule, through life, to do what God requires of us, whether we see why or not. One of the things he requires of us to do, is to _obey our parents_. (Eph. vi. 1. Col. iii. 20.)

* * * * *

There is a chapter in the Bible, of which you cannot read three verses without crying.--What chapter is it?

Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and
History of the Indians of America.