Chapter V

_A dissertation upon going on foot.--A fearful adventure
with wolves._

Having taken leave of their Tungusian friends, the travellers proceeded on their journey, hoping, before many days, to reach Yakootsk--a large town on the Lena, and the great fur market of eastern Siberia. Here they intended to stay a few days, and then proceed down the Lena, in pursuit of game. Alexis expected also to find a letter there, from his sister, which was to be sent by the mail, and which would, of course, travel faster than the pedestrian party.

Incited, therefore, by several motives, the adventurers pressed cheerily forward upon their journey. But it was now October, and the ground was covered with snow. Every day, indeed, more or less snow fell, and the hunters found their progress much impeded by it. But in travelling, as in almost everything else, practice makes perfect. A man who is well trained to walking, can travel farther in a month than a horse; and as the power of going from place to place, without being dependent on horses, railroads, or even money, is a great thing, I advise all young persons--particularly young men--to learn to perform journeys on foot. The best way to travel over a country, is to go as a pedestrian. You can then stop and see the people along the road, and thus get acquainted with their manners and customs; their ways of living, acting and thinking.

Some of the pleasantest passages in my own life, occurred when I was journeying on foot; and they are perhaps more delightful in my recollection, that I had then a good, sound pair of legs--and now, alas! one of them is replaced by a “timber toe!” If I had time, I could relate many little incidents, to show that a traveller on foot is ever welcomed to the hut, the log-cabin, or the farm-house, along the road; and that his stories, his news, or even his company, are esteemed good pay for his lodging and his fare.

But I must proceed with my story of the sable-hunter--or I shall never get through with it. When I began, I expected to despatch it in two or three chapters; but the journey, as well as old Linsk’s tongue, is much longer than I expected.

For some time after the party started, Alexis found his feet sore and his limbs weary, at night--and more than once, he felt homesick and discouraged. But he was a youth of much energy of character, and he felt the importance of making a great effort in behalf of his father and sister, upon whose happiness the whole power of his soul was now concentrated. Beside these motives to effort, Linsk took pains to enliven the spirits of his party, by putting a cheerful face upon things, and by telling his tales, of which he seemed as full as a hive is of bees. And there was this difference between Linsk’s tongue and the little honey-makers--that while they grow torpid as the cold weather comes on, his organ of speech seemed to wag all the faster for it. A flurry of snow was usually a prelude to a story, and a real storm seldom failed to bring out something interesting. Alexis remarked that the tale was always lively in proportion as the day was dark, or the journey tedious; and Linsk seemed, indeed, as ready to attack blue-devils with a joke, as he was to send a bullet after a bear. I note these things with some particularity, because I conceive that cheerfulness is a great virtue, and that it is of infinite importance in those passages of life which seem to demand of us patient endurance and protracted effort. Cheerfulness is the best of all stimulants, and I advise my young friends to lay in a good stock of it. It produces two excellent effects--it makes a person agreeable to himself and to others!

As I have said, the weather was now stormy, and the country through which the hunters were passing, was to the last degree dreary and desolate. It was generally level, or slightly undulating, and nearly destitute of vegetation. Occasionally they came to extensive forests, consisting of low pines and cedars, and sometimes there was a deep ravine, where the fir trees grew to a considerable height, and so matted together as hardly to admit the light between them.

One gloomy afternoon, as the party were winding their way through a forest, which covered a range of broken hills and ridges, the younger portion had gone before, leaving Linsk a little in the rear. Turning an angle in the road, they lost sight of him, and went on for several minutes, forgetting that he was not with them. By and by, they heard a sharp whistle, and then a rifle-shot, and then a call, that made the sullen woods echo, as if filled with twenty voices. They instantly looked around, and seeing that Linsk was not with them, turned back, and ran with all their might, knowing that something must have happened, to cause so loud and urgent a summons.

Turning the angle in the road, and pushing on for about a dozen rods, they came upon a scene which amazed and alarmed them. There stood old Linsk, battling for life, in the midst of a pack of wolves. One of the beasts lay dead at his feet; but another had hold of his leg, and a huge fellow, nearly as tall as the old hunter himself, was laying his paws upon him, and threatening to seize him by the throat.

The coolness of Linsk was admirable. He waited his opportunity, and then stretching himself to the full height, he brought down his powerful arm, and striking his dagger in the side of the wolf, laid him prostrate in an instant. He then bestowed a kick upon the rude fellow that had hold of his leg, and hitting him by the side of the head, made him roll over and over in the snow. Linsk fell upon him, but the creature, being only stunned, got up, and was about to run away, when the old hunter, now more furious than the wolves themselves, seized him by the tail, and whirling him round and round, sought to dash out his brains upon the frozen earth. The animal seemed amazed and frightened, and set up such a hideous howl, that all the rest of the pack took to flight; and even the beast upon which Linsk had fastened, slipped through his fingers and fled for life. Happening to take the direction of the young men, now coming up and near at hand, he came pretty near Alexis, who levelled his rifle and shot him through the head.

“Well done!” cried Linsk, clapping his hands; “well done, Alexis!--you’re a true hunter, after all! Whew! I am all out of breath. Bravo, boys! It’s the first bit of fun I have had since we set out! St. Nicholas! that fellow has stuck his forks into my calf, as if I was a piece of pork--the beast! and I suppose he expected to make a supper of me. I guess he’d found me the toughest bit of meat he ever undertook to carve. The knave!--to think of attacking an old fellow, all alone, while his companions had deserted him. The fool! to expect that an old hunter wouldn’t give, as well as take. However, he’s got his last supper; a bullet in the stomach is hard of digestion, and so he’s finished. Poor fellow--I can’t help liking a wolf, after all!”

While Linsk was uttering this last observation, Alexis came up, and although he was curious to know why his old friend could have an affection for an animal that had just threatened his life, and actually thrust his fangs into his flesh, he did not attempt now to inquire into the subject. The hunter was, indeed, in too great a state of excitement for any deliberate conversation. He went on, with one exclamation after another, describing, by snatches, the attack of the wolves, and his own feats in the fray.

After spending some time on the spot, and taking a view of the several animals that had been slain, they proceeded on their way. Linsk was greatly excited by the adventure, and, having talked about it for some time, began to tell of other scenes of the kind, in which, at various times, he had been engaged. Some of these tales were worth repeating, and if I can remember them long enough, they shall appear in the next chapter.

(_To be continued._)

The Tongue.

Every child has in his mouth a thing to talk with, called the tongue. This is made to tell the truth with. When the tongue tells a lie, it does that which is very wrong.

The tongue is made to say kind and pleasant things to our friends. When it says a saucy thing to anybody, it is a naughty tongue.

When the tongue says a disobedient word to a father or mother, it is a wicked tongue. When it says an unkind word to a brother or sister, it is a very bad tongue indeed.

When the tongue swears, it does that which God has expressly forbidden.

When the tongue speaks dirty words, it is a vile tongue. What little boy or girl would like to carry about such a tongue in his mouth?

Now, my young reader, let me ask you a few questions. What sort of a tongue have you? Does it always speak the truth? Does that tongue of yours ever say saucy words?

Does your tongue ever say any disobedient words to your parents? Does it ever say any unkind words to a brother or a sister? Does it ever swear? Does it ever utter any bad words?

O, my little friend, if your tongue ever does anything wrong, what shall be done? Can you tell me how to correct an evil tongue? I can tell you. Let every child take good care of his tongue, and see that it never behaves ill.

What is Selfishness?

There was once a dog and a cat sitting by a kitchen door, when the cook came out and threw several pieces of meat to them.

They both sprung to get it, but the dog was the strongest, and so he drove the cat away, and ate all the meat himself. This was selfishness; by which I mean, that the dog cared only for himself. The cat wanted the meat as much as he did; but he was the strongest, and so he took it all.

But was this wrong? No,--because the dog knew no better. The dog has no idea of God, or of that beautiful golden rule of conduct, which requires us to do to others as we would have them do to us.

Dr. Watts says,--

“Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature too.”

But children have a different nature, and a different rule of conduct. Instead of biting and fighting, they are required to be kind and gentle to one another, and to all mankind.

Instead of being selfish, like the dog, they are commanded to be just and charitable, by which I mean, that they should always give to others what is their due, and also give to others, if they can, what they stand in need of.

If a child snatches from another what is not his, he is selfish, and very wicked. If a child tries in any way to get what belongs to another, he is selfish, and is as bad as a thief or a robber. Selfishness is caring only for one’s self. It is a very bad thing, and every child should avoid it. A selfish person is never good, or happy, or beloved.

How miserable should we all be, if every person was to care only for himself! Suppose children and grown-up people, were all to be as selfish as cats and dogs. What constant fighting there would be among them!

How dreadful would it be to see brothers and sisters snarling at each other, and pulling each other’s hair, and quarrelling about their food and their playthings! We ought to be thankful that God has given us a higher nature than that of beasts, and enabled us to see and feel the duty of being kind and affectionate to one another.

And as we can see and feel this duty, we ought to be very careful always to observe it.

* * * * *

A THOUGHT.--There are one thousand million people in the world. Each individual has a heart, and that heart beats about seventy times a minute. By means of this beating of the heart, the blood is sent over the body, and life is sustained. How great must that Being be, who can keep one thousand millions of hearts beating seventy times every minute--thus sending the blood through the veins and arteries of one thousand millions of people!

WINTER.

MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM, BY G. J. WEBB.

’Tis winter; ’tis winter; the morning is gray:
A cold looking sky is above us to-day;
And see, where the hilltops are naked and brown,
The pretty white snowflakes come quietly down.

They come in their beauty, like spirits of light,
And wrap the chilled earth with a mantle of white:
Beneath it the daisies are sheltered and warm,
And safe from the blasts of the pitiless storm.

And soon, when the sunbeams of summer shall come,
They’ll start up anew from their snow-covered home:
They’ll spread their green leaves over valley and plain,
And catch the bright dews in their blossoms again.

MERRY’S MUSEUM.

VOLUME II.--No. 6.

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