Chapter II

_Brusque discovers that man wants something beside Liberty; he
wants Company--Society._

Such were the thoughts of Brusque, as he stood on a little hill in the centre of the island, and looked round upon what now seemed entirely his own. Nor did anything happen to disturb his peace for a long time. There was fruit enough for his support upon the trees, and he found a cave in a rock, which served him for a house and a home. The weather was almost constantly fine, and so mild was the temperature, that he hardly needed a shelter, even at night.

So the time slid on very pleasantly with Philip for about a year. By this time, he began to be a little tired of his own company; nor could the chattering of the macaws and parrots, of which there were many in the trees, entirely satisfy him. He caught some of the young birds, and reared them, and taught them to speak, but still he felt lonely. At last it came to be his custom every day to go upon the top of the highest hill, and look far off upon the ocean, hoping to see a ship, for he yearned in his heart to have some human being for a companion. Then the tears would fill his eyes, and flow down his rough cheeks; and then he would speak or think to himself as follows:

“Liberty is indeed a dear and beautiful thing, but still I want something beside liberty. I want to hear a human voice. I want to look into a human face. I want some one to speak to. I feel as if my very heart would wither for the want of a friend. I feel a thirst within, and I have no means of satisfying it. I feel within a voice speaking, and there is no answer. This beautiful island is becoming a desert to me, without even an echo. O! dear France! O! dear, dear home! How gladly would I give up this hollow and useless liberty for the pleasures of friendship and society. I would be willing to be restrained by the thousand meshes of the law, if I might once more enjoy the pleasure of living in the midst of my fellow-men.”

With these thoughts dwelling in his mind, Philip went to rest one night, and though it was very stormy, he slept soundly. In the morning the feelings of yesterday came back, and with a sad heart he went again to the top of the hill; for the hope of seeing a ship, and of once more being restored to human society, haunted him perpetually. Long he stood upon the hill and looked out upon the sea, now tossing from the tempest of the night, and throwing up a thousand white-caps in every direction. Having gazed upon this scene for more than an hour, he chanced to turn his eyes towards the extremity of the island, where, at the distance of about a mile, he distinctly saw a human being on the shore. He paused but a moment to assure himself that he was not mistaken, and then set off like a deer toward the stranger.

Brusque did not stop in his way, but ran with all his might. When he came near the object of his attention, he saw that it was a man, and without waiting to examine farther, ran toward him with open arms. The man was alarmed, and stooping down, he picked up a stone, and threatened to hurl it at Brusque. The latter now paused, and the parties soon came to an understanding.

The stranger said that he was a fisherman from Mauritius, an island in the Indian Ocean, belonging to the French nation. It is inhabited chiefly by French people, and negroes, who are their slaves. The whole population is about 20,000.

It seems that the fisherman had been driven out to sea by a storm, and, the weather being cloudy and he having no compass, did not know which way to steer for home. Thus he wandered about several days, till, on the preceding night, in an attempt to land upon the island where he now found himself, his little smack was dashed in pieces, and he only saved himself by swimming.

No sooner had he told his story, than Philip put his arms around him and kissed him over and over again. He was indeed delighted, for now he had a companion, for which he had sighed so long. Now, he had a human face to look upon; now, he could listen to a human voice; now, he had some one into whose mind he could pour his own thoughts and feelings. Now, in social intercourse, he could quench that thirst which had parched his soul in solitude.

Full of these thoughts, Philip took the stranger, and led him to his cave. He gathered for him some fresh pine-apples, and some oranges, and placed them before him. When the fisherman began to eat with a hearty appetite, Philip clapped his hands in joy. He then ran to a little spring that was near, and brought some cool water in a gourd shell, and gave it to the fisherman.

Now Philip Brusque was rather a proud man, and it was very strange to see him waiting upon the rough fisherman, as if he were a servant. But Philip was acting according to the dictates of his heart, and so, though a seeming slave, he did not feel that his liberty was violated. He was, in fact, acting according to his own pleasure, and he was seeking happiness in his own way. If Philip had been compelled to serve the fisherman, he would have hated and resisted the task; but now, doing it freely, he found pleasure in it. So true it is that we do things when we are free, with delight, which slavery would turn into bitterness and sources of discontent.

Things went on very well for a few days. The fisherman took up his abode in Philip’s cave, and there he lay a great part of the time. Brusque brought him fruit and water, and all he wanted, and he did it cheerfully for a time. But, by-and-by, the fisherman began to command Brusque to wait upon him, to do this and that, and to bring him this thing and that thing. This immediately changed the face of affairs between the parties. Brusque became angry, and told the fisherman to wait upon himself.

The fisherman made a rude reply, and high words followed. Brusque ordered the fisherman to quit his cave. The fisherman told Brusque to leave it himself. Their faces were full of red wrath. Anger begets anger. The fisherman struck Brusque a blow. Brusque retaliated, and being a powerful man, he instantly stretched the fisherman on the ground. He was completely stunned, and lay without motion, seeming actually to be dead.

Brusque’s anger was too high for the immediate return of reason. He looked on the pale form with a feeling of delight, and spoke some words of triumph between his firm-set teeth. But this feeling soon passed away, and a better one returned. Believing that the fisherman was dead, he now began to feel regret and remorse. Already was that monitor within, called conscience, telling him that he had violated a universal law, a law enacted by the Maker of man, and whispered into every man’s bosom. Already Brusque felt that while a fellow-being was on the island, he was not absolutely free; that this fellow-being had rights as well as himself; that he had a right to his life, and that in taking it away he had done a great wrong to justice, to liberty, and himself.

While these thoughts were passing in his mind, the fisherman moved, and showed signs of returning life. Brusque was again full of joy, and fetching some water, sprinkled it over the man’s face. In a short time he so far recovered as to sit upright, and soon after he was able to walk about. Brusque led him to the cave, where, lying down, the fisherman fell asleep.

Brusque now left him, and walked forth by himself. He was of a reflecting turn, and from his training in the revolution, his reflections often took a political cast. On this occasion, his thoughts ran thus:--

“What a strange creature I am! A few weeks since, I was mad with joy at the arrival of this fisherman; soon he became the tyrant of my life; I then wished him dead; and when I thought I had killed him, my heart smote me, and I was more miserable than if death had stared me in the face. He is now alive again, and I am relieved of a load; and yet, in the midst of this happiness, which seems born of misery, I still feel a strange sadness at my heart.

“When I was alone, I was perfectly free, but I soon found that freedom, without society, was like the waters of the river, near which Tantalus was so chained that he could not drink, thus dying of thirst with a flood before his eyes.

“I therefore yearned for society, and then I had it by the arrival of this fisherman. But he became a torment to me. What then is the difficulty? I believe it is the want of some rules, by which we may regulate our conduct. Though there are but two of us, still we find it necessary to enter into a compact. We must form a government, we must submit to laws, rules, and regulations. We must each submit to the abridgment of some portion of our liberty, some portion of our privileges, in order to secure the rest.”

Full of these thoughts, Brusque returned to the cave, and when the fisherman awoke, he spoke to him on the subject of their quarrel, and then set forth the necessity of laying down certain rules by which the essential rights of each should be preserved, and a state of harmony ensured. To this the fisherman agreed, and the following code of laws being drawn up by Brusque, they were passed unanimously:--

Be it ordained by Philip Brusque, late of France, and Jaques Piquet, of Mauritius, to ensure harmony, establish justice, and promote the good of all parties:

1. This island shall be called Fredonia.

2. Liberty, being a great good in itself, and the right of every human being, it shall only be abridged so far as the good of society may require. But as all laws restrain liberty, we, the people of Fredonia, submit to the following:

3. The cave called the Castaway’s Home, lately occupied by Philip Brusque, shall be alternately occupied for a day and night by said Philip Brusque and Jaques Piquet; the former beginning this day, and the latter taking it the next day, and so forth.

4. Each person shall have a right to build himself a house, and shall have exclusive possession of the same.

5. If two persons wish the same fruit at the same time, they shall draw lots for the first choice, if they cannot agree otherwise as to the division.

6. If any difference arises between the two parties, Philip Brusque and Jaques Piquet, they shall decide such questions by lot.

7. This code of laws shall be changed, or modified, or added to, only by the consent of the parties, Philip Brusque and Jaques Piquet.

All which is done this 27th day of June, A. D. 18--.

This was neatly cut with a penknife on a board which had come ashore from the wreck of Philip’s vessel, and it became the statute law of the island of Fredonia.

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

CONTENTMENT.--A gentleman, it is said, had a board put on a part of his land, on which was written, “I will give this field to any one who is really contented;” and when an applicant came, he always said, “Are you contented?” The general reply was, “I am.” “Then,” rejoined the gentleman, “why do you want my field?”

Napoleon’s Last Obsequies.

In the first number of our Magazine we stated that the remains of the late Emperor Napoleon had been conveyed from St. Helena to France, for interment in the Hospital of the Invalides at Paris. This event having caused the display of much splendid pageantry, and public feeling among the French, we have thought it would be interesting to our readers to see a minute and correct account of the events and ceremonies that took place on this remarkable occasion.

The body of the Emperor was found in the earth at St. Helena, where it had been deposited in a tomb of very strong and compact masonry, so that although the workmen began at noon, it was ten o’clock at night before they were able to reach the body. It was enclosed in three coffins, two of mahogany and one of lead, all of which were found in a perfect state, though nearly twenty years had elapsed since they had been laid in the earth.

It is difficult to describe with what anxiety, with what emotions, those who were present waited for the moment which was to expose to them all that death had left of Napoleon. Notwithstanding the singular state of preservation of the tomb and coffins, they could scarcely hope to find anything but some misshapen remains of the least perishable parts of the costume to evidence the identity. But when, by the hand of Dr. Guillard, the satin sheet over the body was raised, an indescribable feeling of surprise and affection was expressed by the spectators, most of whom burst into tears. The Emperor himself was before their eyes! The features of his face, though changed, were perfectly recognised--the hands perfectly beautiful--his well-known costume had suffered but little, and the colors were easily distinguished--the epaulets, the decorations, and the hat, seemed to be entirely preserved from decay--the attitude itself was full of ease; and but for the fragments of the satin lining, which covered as with a fine gauze several parts of the uniform, they might have believed that they saw before them Napoleon still extended on a bed of state. General Bertrand and M. Marchand, who were present at the interment, quickly pointed out the different articles which each had deposited in the coffin, and in the precise position which they had previously described. It was even remarked that the left hand which General Bertrand had taken to kiss for the last time before the coffin was closed up, still remained slightly raised.

The body was now placed in a new leaden coffin or sarcophagus, sent out from France for the purpose, and conveyed with appropriate ceremonies on board a French man-of-war, which immediately sailed for Cherbourg. Great preparations were made in France for its reception. On the arrival of the ship at Cherbourg, a steamboat was ready to convey it up the Seine to Paris. A great number of steamboats and vessels of all sorts were collected together, forming a numerous fleet, under convoy of which the corpse was transported up the river, stopping occasionally at the cities and towns on the way, to allow the inhabitants the opportunity of gratifying their curiosity and displaying their enthusiasm, by paying homage to the remains of the great soldier and chieftain of the French empire. The crowds that assembled all along the banks of the river were immense. The military turned out by hundreds and thousands. All sorts of pageantry, exhibition, and pompous show--consisting of triumphal arches, pyramids, bridges, columns, and other fanciful and imposing devices--contributed to give effect to the solemnities.

On the fourteenth of December, 1840, the procession reached St. Germain, a place within a few miles of Paris. The crowd of spectators which had thronged to the spot from Paris was so immense, that it was impossible to proceed and land the body till the middle of the next day. Two battalions of troops were stationed on the banks of the river; and the stream was covered with vessels decked with laurels and wreaths of _immortelles_, a bright, unfading, yellow flower, very much in use among the French on funeral occasions.

At the great bridge of Neuilly, three or four miles from Paris, an immense rostral column had been prepared, surmounted by a ball or globe, representing the world, and six feet in diameter. This was crowned by a huge eagle; but owing to the intense cold of the weather, the design was not wholly completed. On the base of this column was the following inscription, containing the last request of Napoleon: “_I wish my ashes to repose on the banks of the Seine_.” A wharf had been built at this place for the express purpose of landing the coffin, and here the body of Napoleon first touched the soil of France. At the extremity of the wharf a Grecian temple, one hundred feet in height, was erected; and at the end of the bridge of Neuilly was a colossal statue of the Empress Josephine.

From Paris to Neuilly there extends a beautiful broad avenue, ornamented with rows of trees and handsome buildings. Along this road the population of the capital began to throng in immense multitudes before daylight the next morning. It was computed that five hundred thousand persons crowded into this avenue on the morning of the landing of the body. The troops of the National Guard were drawn up on the bank of the river; prayers were said over the corpse, and the coffin was borne to the land by twenty-four sailors. The artillery fired a salute of twenty-one rounds, and the multitudes that thronged the banks of the river rent the air with their shouts. The body was then placed in a magnificent _catafalque_ or funeral car, twenty-five feet in length, with gilt wheels, and decorated with golden eagles. On the car was a pedestal eighteen feet long and seven feet high, richly ornamented and hung with gold and purple cloth. On this pedestal stood fourteen _cariatides_ or columnar human figures of colossal size, supporting with their heads and hands an immense golden shield. The coffin was laid on this shield. On the coffin was placed a rich cushion, sustaining the sceptre, the hand of justice, and the imperial crown, studded with jewels. The whole formed a structure fifty feet in height, and was drawn by sixteen black horses, richly caparisoned, after the manner of the middle ages.

The procession then took up its march for Paris. In the procession was the war-horse of Napoleon, and five hundred sailors who accompanied the corpse from St. Helena. The whole avenue to Paris was lined with troops. Round the great triumphal arch at the entrance of the city, were lofty masts bearing tri-colored pennants surrounded with black crape, and exhibiting each the name of some one of the armies of the Republic or the Empire, as “The Army of the Rhine”--“The Army of Italy,” &c. On entering the city, the crowd was so immense that the procession had great difficulty in forcing its way onward. The number of spectators was estimated at 800,000. This is equal to the whole population of Paris; yet when we take into the account the great numbers that resorted to the capital from all parts of the kingdom to witness so grand and interesting a ceremony, this estimate does not appear very improbable.

The place destined for the reception of Napoleon’s body was the Hotel des Invalides, a spacious edifice erected by Louis XIV. as a residence for veteran soldiers, and a view of which is given in our preceding number. It is beautifully situated on the river Seine, with a spacious esplanade in front. In the chapel of this building, preparations had been made for the funeral service over the body. The walls were hung with black draperies bordered with silver, and large lustres were placed between the pillars, contrasting their brilliant lights with the dark draperies around them. The pillars were ornamented with gilded trophies, with the names of Napoleon’s victories, Marengo, Austerlitz, Wagram, &c. The galleries above, thronged with countless multitudes of spectators, were also hung with black, with silver and gold emblems, laurels, and golden letters commemorating the principal acts of the Emperor’s life. Above were hung an immense number of standards, taken from the enemy in different battles. In front of the altar was erected a tomb, standing on pillars and surmounted by an eagle. This structure was of gilt wood, and only temporary; it is to be replaced by one of the same shape in marble.

Here were assembled the king, the royal family, and the chief personages of the court, the Archbishop of Paris and other dignitaries of the church, and a great number of generals and veterans of Napoleon’s wars. At two o’clock the procession arrived, and the body of Napoleon was brought into the chapel. This was the most impressive part of the whole ceremony. The steps leading to the choir were lined on both sides by the military and the veteran invalids, so many of whom had fought under the deceased Emperor. The whole of the aisle was filled with troops, and the whole body of the clergy stood in religious silence, waiting to perform the last offices of religion. The drums rolled, the cannons roared, and the muffled drums announced the approach of the body. At the sight of the coffin, surmounted with the imperial crown of Napoleon, the whole body of spectators appeared to be struck by a sudden thrill. Every one rose up and bent forward, but not a word was uttered; a religious silence and awe pervaded the whole multitude!

Mass was then said over the body according to the forms of the Roman Catholic religion, after which Mozart’s celebrated requiem was sung by a choir of musicians. The coffin was then sprinkled with holy water by the Archbishop, and the ceremony concluded. The crowd remained long in the chapel to satiate their curiosity by gazing on the splendid decorations of the place and the long vista of funeral pomp. At length the military succeeded in clearing the chapel of the throngs of spectators; the people dispersed; and the body of Napoleon lay once more in the silence of the tomb!

Our Ancestry.

If you were to visit England, you would hardly imagine that the people there were descended from a variety of nations, some of them as savage and wild as our American Indians. The English people have now a pretty uniform appearance, as if they all descended from one father and mother: they are generally stoutly made, with ruddy cheeks, light skin, light hair, and full blue eyes; though black eyes and brown skins are not uncommon. The people talk one language too--and at first view they seem one great family, descended from one parentage.

But if we visit different parts of the country, we shall begin to remark diversities in the appearance of the people, and especially in their mode of speech. Though they all speak English, yet in one part they use many strange words that are not used in another part, and so singular is the mode of speaking in some places that an American cannot well understand the people. Thus in Lancashire, which includes Liverpool and the vicinity, the people speak very differently from what they do in Yorkshire; and yet in both counties the speech of the common people cannot be understood, till you become accustomed to it.

All this is easily explained when we look into the early history of England; for we then find that the present English people are in fact descended from several different tribes and nations, that settled upon the island in ancient times. This subject is very interesting in itself, and it becomes more so to us from the fact that we too are descended from the English nation, as nearly all our forefathers, who settled America, came from England. Let us therefore give a little attention to this subject.

It appears that the first human beings were created in the valley of the Euphrates, in Asia. Here they increased, and soon spread themselves in various directions over the earth. About two thousand years before Christ, they began to cross the Uralian mountains, which separate Asia from Europe, and to people the latter country. Like our western settlers who are now pushing farther and farther into the wilderness, these Asiatic emigrants continued to spread to the north and west, until the whole northern and middle portions of Europe were occupied by them. The southern portions of that quarter of the globe, Spain, Italy, and Greece, were during this same period filled up by colonists from Asia and Africa.

Thus the whole of Europe was settled, but by very different classes of nations. Those who dwelt along the border of the Mediterranean sea, were acquainted with the arts of civilization; accordingly they settled down in cities, and carried on commerce. But those who entered Europe across the mountains, and who occupied Germany, France, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Russia, and Britain, were of a very different character. They were somewhat like the present Tartars of Asia, half warriors and half husbandmen. They seldom built permanent towns, but usually wandered from one place to another, taking large flocks of cattle with them, upon which they chiefly subsisted. Different tribes or nations often met each other in their migrations, and, as a matter of course, entered into conflict, the strong robbing and making slaves of the weak.

The number of these rude tribes that came from Asia into Europe appears to have been great, and the individuals must have amounted to many millions. Though of one general cast, still they were divided into separate tribes, and spoke different languages, and in some respects differed in religion, manners, and customs.

Of all these Asiatic emigrants, the Celts appear to have been the most numerous. These were the first settlers of ancient Gaul, now France, Spain, Belgium, and the British isles. When Julius Cæsar, the Roman general, made war upon Gaul, about sixty years before Christ, he found the nation to consist wholly of Celts. In general, they were a barbarous people, rude in their mode of life, superstitious in religion, and savage in their feelings. They were divided into three classes: the nobles or warriors, who were the despotic masters of the common people; the Druids or priests, whom we have described in a former number; and the mass of the nation, who performed the common labor of the community.

Among the nobles, there were many claiming to be princes, and these held the first rank; the people at large had no acknowledged rights, and were wholly dependent upon their superiors for protection. There appears to have been no other government than that of the chiefs of the several tribes, though in important expeditions they chose a common leader. The Druids, male and female, exercised supreme authority in religion, and governed to some extent in civil matters. They possessed some knowledge of astronomy and other sciences, which they used to secure their power over the minds of the people.

Among the Celts of France at the time of Cæsar, duels and drunkenness were common; there were many villages and few cities; the houses were circular in form, and made of beams, being laid upon stone, and covered with thatch; the household utensils were few and poor. Few of the people tilled the soil, the greater part subsisting upon their flocks. Their beverage was a kind of beer or mead; the cultivation of the vine was unknown. The rich had gold, obtained from mines and the sands of rivers.

In battle, the rich wore checked or plaid cloaks over their shoulders, but no other garment. The common soldiers were almost naked. They were of high stature and savage features. Their hair was yellow, long, and matted--giving them a terrible aspect. Their blind, headlong courage; their immense numbers; the stunning noise which proceeded from their numerous wild horns and trumpets; their terrible devastations in passing through a country; their sacrifice of captives to their deities; their using the skulls of the slain as trophies and as drinking-cups, all contributed to render them the terror of the western world. On one occasion, 389 B. C., the Celts or Gauls entered Italy, advanced towards Rome, sacrificed in battle the flower of the Roman youth, sacked and burnt the city, and laid siege to the capitol, which was only delivered by a Roman army under Camillus.

At the period of which we speak, Cæsar found these Gauls a most formidable people. For nine campaigns they resisted him; but their long swords of copper could not withstand the steel swords of the Romans; and besides, their soldiers wanted discipline, harmony, and unity of action. Cæsar overcame them at last; and then he turned his armies against the island of Britain.

The people there were Celts, and generally resembled the Gauls. They were, however, in a still more rude and savage state. Along the southern border of the island they were most civilized. Here they wore a dress of their own manufacture, consisting of a square mantle, which covered a vest and trowsers, or a plaited shirt or tunic. Their houses, like those of their Gallic neighbors, were of circular beams, reared upon stone foundations, and covered with straw thatch. They manured their lands with marl; raised abundance of wheat, which they kept in dry pits; and were skilful in training horses, especially for war-chariots.

Farther north, the Britons were much more wild and savage. They either went naked, or were only clothed in skins; they had no bread, and lived entirely on the milk or flesh of their flocks. Marriage was not practised, and children knew not their parents.

Such was the state of things in the year 55 B. C., when Cæsar first crossed the British channel from Calais, and made his descent on Britain. As he approached the cliffs of Dover and Deal, he saw them crowded with armed men, and therefore stood northward and entered Pegwell bay. He was obliged, however, to land in the face of the natives, who had watched his motions, and were here ready to receive him. They filled the air with their hostile arrows; they approached the water’s edge, and rushing into the waves, met and struggled furiously with the Roman soldiers in the sea. But their courage and strength were vain; Roman discipline prevailed, and Cæsar made good his landing. This first attack was followed by other expeditions, and Rome, having taken possession of the island, held it for nearly five hundred years.

During this long period, the manners of the Britons were greatly changed. The arts of Rome were adopted in the country; towns and cities were built; Christianity was introduced; and civilization, to a certain extent, was spread over the island. Thus the original Celtic Britons became mixed with the Romans, and were partially Romanized.

But the Roman empire at last became weakened, and tottered to its fall. The Roman soldiers were called home for the defence of the capital, and Britain was once more left to herself.

The Romans quitted England about the year 410, and for a time, the Britons continued in a feverish state of independence, divided into small republics. But soon these became subject to ambitious leaders, who involved the people in repeated struggles. Constant inroads were also made by the Scots and Picts from the north. To aid in defending the people from these, fifteen hundred Saxons, who came accidentally to the coast from Sweden and Norway, were employed by a British chief named Vortigern. In a few years more Saxons arrived, and in about one hundred and fifty years the whole island was subjected to these intruders. The Britons fought bravely for their liberties, but they were divided among themselves, and were sacrificed piece-meal by the hordes of Saxons that came like successive waves to overspread the country.

The Saxons, though a brave and warlike race, were savage and cruel in the extreme. They drove such of the Britons as resisted to the mountains of Cornwall and Wales, and the adjacent islands, making slaves of those who submitted. Thus they established their dominion, and became not only the ruling people in the country, but the stock which was to give a distinctive character to the nation ever after. They were a mixture of Angles, Picts, and Saxons, and were, taken together, called Anglo-Saxons. It is from this race, chiefly, that the English people, as well as ourselves, derive existence.

The Saxons were robust in their make, tall, at least as compared with the Romans, possessed of fair complexions, blue eyes, and, in almost all instances, light or sandy hair. They were distinguished, from the earliest ages, for indomitable courage and great ferocity. In their social state they acknowledged four ranks or classes of men, among whom intermarriages rarely, if ever, occurred; namely, their nobles, their freemen, their freedmen, and their slaves. They were particularly jealous of the honor of their wives. In ordinary times they acknowledged no single chief, but were governed by an aristocracy; from among the members of which, in the event of war, they chose a king. But the authority of the sovereign lasted only while hostilities continued: at their close, he returned to his original station among the nobles.

The Saxons delighted in the perpetration of cruelties, and were themselves regardless of danger. They carried on their predatory warfare chiefly by sea; launching their vessels most cheerfully during the prevalence of the wildest storms, because they took it for granted that their intended victims would, at such moments, be least prepared to escape or to resist them. When the first of these bands arrived in England, they came under the guidance of two nobles, Hengist and Horsa, whom they had themselves elected as leaders in a piratical expedition; and whom they continued to obey, only because the war, in which they became engaged, lasted during the lifetime of those who began it.

The religion of the Anglo-Saxons, as they imported it into Britain, was a wild and hideous polytheism, which demanded from its votaries, among other rites, the occasional offering up of human victims. Of some of their gods we retain a remembrance in the names which still attach to the days of the week. They worshipped the Sun, thence our Sunday; the Moon, thence our Monday; Tiw, thence Tuesday; Woden, thence Wednesday; Thurse, thence Thursday; Friga, thence Friday; and Saterne, whence Saturday.

About the year 800, the Danes, a nation of sea rovers and robbers, began to infest England. This country had been divided into seven kingdoms, called the Saxon Heptarchy; but these had been condensed into three, and at last the whole Saxon portion of the nation became subject to one king, for the first time. This king was Egbert. He died in 836, and the sceptre passing into feeble hands, the country was exposed to the incursions of the people whom we have mentioned above.

The Danes came from Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, and in many respects resembled the Saxons. They were pirates by profession, who took to themselves the appellation of Sea-kings; and Europe has never produced a race of men more stained with the crimes of treachery and cruelty. Not content, like the generality of savage warriors, to slay, without remorse, all by whom they were opposed in battle, the Sea-kings appeared to delight in the infliction of unnecessary torture; razing to the ground every town of which they obtained possession, and slaughtering men, women, and children indiscriminately upon its ruins.

It would lead us beyond our present limits to detail all the struggles with these invaders of Britain. It is sufficient to say that they continued for many years, and spread desolation over the country. The wars occasioned by the Danes were replete with suffering, cruelty, and crime. They were finally checked, and many who had settled in the country were driven away; but others became mingled with the inhabitants, and made another ingredient in the compound of British blood and bone.

The last introduction of foreign people into Britain took place in 1066, when William, Duke of Normandy in France, came with an army, and triumphed over king Harold in the battle of Hastings, and established himself and his family on the throne. Many French people came over with William and settled in the country. The French language became the language of the court and the laws, and French customs were largely introduced among the people.

From this brief sketch, we can see that the English people derive their origin from five races: the Celts, Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Danes, and Normans; and we, descendants of the English, must look back for our first grandfathers and grandmothers to these various nations and tribes. It is from them we derive our blood, our language, and our customs.

It is true that the Anglo-Saxons form the basis of our ancestry: the mixture of the other races with them is not considerable. Our language may afford a pretty fair index to the proportion which the Saxon stock bears to the others. The foundation of our language is Saxon, and consisting chiefly of the short expressive words called monosyllables. To this original stock, we have added words from the Celtic Britons, the Romans, the Danes, and the Norman French. Our language may be compared to a patched garment, the main cloth of which is a Saxon texture; but the patches are furnished by the other nations that have worn it. It is, however, a pretty good language, after all.

The Month of March.

Of all the months, March is the least of a favorite. It has neither the brilliant snows of winter, with its keen and bracing breezes, nor has it the flowers and fruits of the warmer seasons. It is a capricious mixture of cold and warm, wet and dry, sometimes visiting us with storms of sleet and snow, and suddenly changing its temper, it presents us with soft southern breezes, seeming to remind us of spring.

As far south as Virginia, March seems to bring spring with it, and many of the flowers venture to peep forth during this month; but even there, the weather is uncertain. In New England, nothing can exceed its versatility. Often the sun will rise bright and clear, and the hills will seem to breathe the atmosphere of spring. But before noon the scene is entirely changed; dark and heavy clouds come heaving from the west, the cold wind rises to a gale, and the whole air is filled with a whirling storm of snow. And thus the sun that rose on the hills, where spring had apparently began its reign, as it sets, sees these hills re-conquered by winter, and wearing its white livery in token of vassalage. So sudden are these changes, that the birds, weather-wise as they generally are, are often taken by surprise. The blue-birds, sparrows, and robins are always in haste to get back to their birth-places, and accordingly, following the retreat of winter, come northward as fast as the season will permit. But spring and winter are, in March, like two armies, constantly contending--one prevailing one day, and the next day giving way before the other. In these skirmishes of the seasons the birds we mention are often involved, and it is not seldom that they are glad to escape to the south, till the conflict of the elements is over, and the triumphant reign of spring is established.

Nor are the birds alone in suffering from the capricious tricks of the month of March. It sometimes happens that a Vermont farmer, tempted by the solid snow-path, and the appearance of steady cold weather, sets out with his one-horse sleigh upon a journey of a hundred miles, to Boston. Though it is perhaps the middle of March, still the traveller’s sleigh glides along as if upon a railroad, and in two days he reaches Boston. Here he spends a day or two, and then sets out to return. But what a change has come over the scene! The wind has veered from north-west to south-west; the snow is melting and running in rills down the hill-sides, and every time the horse steps, he is up to his knees in _sposh_. The traveller with his sleigh plods on, but, after a severe day’s work, he advances in his journey but twenty miles. The next day the snow is entirely gone, and he is obliged to proceed on foot, as you see him in the preceding picture, his weary horse dragging the sleigh over the grating mud and stones. After five days of toil he reaches his home, and has the comfort to be met by his wife and all his neighbors, exclaiming, with a jeer, “I told you so!”

But although March has thus acquired a character that is not the best in the world, there are some pleasant things to be said about it. William Howitt, who takes a cheerful view of almost everything in nature, admits that “March is a rude and sometimes boisterous month, possessing many of the characteristics of winter;”--“yet,” he adds, “it awakens sensations, perhaps, more delicious than the two following spring months, for it gives us the first announcement and taste of spring.”

Bryant too--our own poet, and one of the sweetest that ever sung--finds something pleasant to say of March; a pretty good proof that nothing is wanting but good humor to render a person always able to find something agreeable to talk about. See how truly and yet how pleasantly Bryant describes this capricious month:--

The stormy MARCH has come at last,
With wind, and cloud, and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast,
That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah! passing few are they who speak,
Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee;
Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art a welcome month to me.

For thou to northern lands again
The glad and glorious sun dost bring,
And thou hast joined the gentle train,
And wear’st the gentle name of spring.

And in thy reign of blast and storm
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day,
When the changed winds are soft and warm,
And heaven puts on the bloom of May.

The fourth day of this month will be distinguished this year by the inauguration of William Henry Harrison as President of the United States. The people of this country chose him to that office last autumn, and on the fourth day of March he enters upon its duties. He goes to the capitol at Washington, and in the presence of the Senate, and a great concourse of people, he takes an oath, administered by the chief justice of the nation, by which he pledges himself to use his best efforts to govern the people according to the laws, and with a view to promote their best happiness.

The Child and the Violets.

“Oh, mother, mother!” said the child,
“I saw the violets blue;
Thousands were there, all growing wild;
Mother, I tell you true!
They sat so close upon the ground,
Here and there, and all around,
It seemed as if they had no stems,
And all the grass was strown with gems.

“‘Whence came ye, flowers?’ I asked them all;
They would not say a word;
Yet something seemed to hear my call,
And near me was a bird.
I turned mine eye,--he flew away,--
Up he went with joyous lay;
And seemed to sing, as high he flew,
‘From yonder sky come violets blue.’”

The mother answered thus the child:
“The bird did tell you true;
These pretty violets, low and wild,
Of heaven’s own azure hue,
Though here they have their bloom and birth,
And draw their sustenance from earth,
Still One, who fills immensity,
Made these sweet flowers for you and me.”

Varieties.

HOW TO SLEEP IN SNOW.--The manner in which Captain Ross’ crew preserved themselves, near the north pole, after the shipwreck of their vessel, was by digging a trench in the snow when night came on. This trench was covered with canvass and then with snow. The trench was made large enough to contain seven people; and there were three trenches, with one officer and six men in each. At evening, the shipwrecked mariners got into bags, made of double blanketing, which they tied round their necks, and thus prevented their feet from slipping into the snow while asleep; they then crept into the trenches and lay close together. The cold was generally sixty-four degrees below the freezing-point of Fahrenheit; but in January, 1831, the mercury was ninety-two degrees and a half below the freezing-point.

* * * * *

THE FIGHTING BUSINESS.--“What are you thinking of, my man?” said Lord Hill, as he approached a soldier, who was leaning in a gloomy mood upon his firelock, while around him lay mangled thousands of French and English; for it was a few hours after the battle of Salamanca had been won by the British. The soldier started, and, after saluting his general, answered, “I was thinking, my lord, how many widows and orphans I have this day made for one shilling.” He had fired six hundred bullets that day, and his pay was a shilling a day.

* * * * *

ANECDOTE OF FRANKLIN.--While Franklin was ambassador to the English court, a lady, who was about being presented to the king, noticed his exceedingly plain appearance, and inquired who he was. “That, madam,” answered the gentleman upon whose arm she was leaning, “is Dr. Benjamin Franklin, the ambassador from North America.” “The North American ambassador so meanly dressed!” exclaimed the lady. “Hush, madam, for Heaven’s sake!” whispered the gentleman; “he is the man that bottles up thunder and lightning!” I suppose my readers all know that Dr. Franklin was the inventor of lightning-rods, by which the lightning is drawn off from buildings, and thus rendered harmless. It was this that gave rise to the humorous reply of the aforesaid gentleman.

* * * * *

INGENIOUS EXCUSE OF A SCHOOLBOY.--A country schoolmaster once having the misfortune to have his schoolhouse burnt down, was obliged to remove to a new one, where he reprimanded one of his boys, who mis-spelled a number of words, by telling him that he did not spell as well as when he was in the old schoolhouse. “Well, thome how or other,” said the urchin with a scowl, “I can’t ethackly get the _hang_ of thith ere thkoolhouth.”

* * * * *

KEEN SATIRE.--“You saved my life on one occasion,” said a beggar to a captain under whom he had served. “Saved your life!” replied the officer; “do you think that I am a doctor?” “No,” answered the man, “but I served under you in the battle of ----, and when you ran away, I followed, and thus my life was preserved.”

TALKING TO ONE’S SELF.--Earl Dudley possessed in a remarkable degree the unpleasant habit of talking to himself. On one occasion he was driving his cabriolet across Grosvenor Square, in London, in his way to Park Lane, when he overtook an acquaintance of the name of Luttrell. It was raining quite fast, and his lordship good-naturedly invited the pedestrian to ride. They drove on till they had nearly arrived at Lord Dudley’s mansion, where, Mr. Luttrell giving no hint of wishing to alight, the Earl unconsciously exclaimed aloud, what many would have thought under similar circumstances, “Plague on this fellow; I suppose I must ask him to dine with me!” How often, instead of flattering speeches and soothing compliments, should we hear unpleasant and reproachful remarks, if people were in the habit of thinking aloud, like Lord Dudley.

* * * * *

BEING BEHINDHAND.--An idle fellow complained bitterly of his hard lot, and said, that he was born on the last day of the year, the last day of the month, and the last day of the week, and he had always been behindhand. He believed it would have been a hundred dollars in his pocket if he had not been born at all!

* * * * *

APHORISMS FROM SHAKSPEARE.

A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.

One drunkard doth love another of the name.

Do not cast away an honest man for a villain’s accusation.

All offences come from the heart.

Every cloud engendereth not a storm.

Ignorance is the curse of God--knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.

He is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man.

There’s small choice in rotten apples.

SPRING IS COMING! A SONG.

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

1

Tell me, snow wreath, tell me why
Thou dost steal away so sly,
Why up-on the hill to-day,
But to-mor-row gone a-way?
“Spring is coming, spring is coming!”

2

Tell me, blue-bird, tell me why
Art thou seen in yonder sky,
Pouring music from above,
In a lay that’s all of love?
“Spring is coming--spring is coming!”

3

Tell me, foaming, romping rill,
Dashing headlong down the hill,
Why, like boy from school let out,
Dost thou leap, and laugh, and shout?
“Spring is coming--spring is coming!”

4

Tell me, little daisy, tell
Why in yonder wooded dell
Forth you venture from the ground,
Mid the sere leaves all around?
“Spring is coming--spring is coming!”

My own Life and Adventures.

(_Continued from page 35._)