Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Come and get it, little pet――
Try again――you’ll have it yet!
’Tis a ring that sparkles bright,
And delights thy infant sight.
I wonder not, my little boy,
Thou art eager for the toy;
Grown-up people strive to grasp
The gold thy little hands would clasp.
Though we call thee silly boy,
Thus to love an idle toy,
Still, what better are the old,
Whose cherished bauble is but gold?
Are they not little children yet,
Like our little thoughtless pet,
Those who strive with eager lust
To gather heaps of shining dust?
Fare thee well, my little friend;
May thy mother o’er thee bend,
And whisper in thy tender heart,
A better love――a wiser part;
So that thou, to manhood grown,
May fix thy love on Truth, alone.
This is better, far, than gold,
This will serve thee, young or old;
This will brighter grow with years,
Cheer thee through this vale of tears;
And as current coin will pay
For all thy wants, on heaven’s way.
_Parley’s Picture Book. New edition._

The Effects of Music on Animals.

Music exercises extraordinary effects upon certain animals, and fully confirms the remark of Racine, that “Nature has given ears sensible of harmony even to brutes.” We shall find that music subdues the rude dispositions of some; arouses the ferocity of others; renders some so docile and tame, that they may be approached without hesitation; while it makes others suspicious and frightened.

Gregory Nicene tells us of an _ape_, in the city of Alexandria, which, clothed in very rich attire, used to dance very exactly to music. Once he had continued the dance for a long time; but a beholder, having thrown him some nuts, he immediately left off dancing, and began to gather them, amidst the loud laughter of the spectators.

Old Franzius, a moralizing zoologist, compares this ape’s conduct to that of those men in high office, who will neglect the public whenever private gain offers itself to them. This writer says, “a _bear_ is extraordinarily delighted with music.”

Paulus Diaconus and Olaus Magnus tell us, that “there are multitudes of bears in the south, which oftentimes will come to the shepherds and make them play to them till hunger forceth them to go away; and as soon as they are gone, the shepherd will sound his horn, by which they are so affrighted that they will never come any more.”

Many _dogs_ appear to be fond of music. Mr. Jesse observes, that “there is hardly a regimental band in the British service which is not attended by some particular dog, who owns no master, but picks up his living where he can; in fact, attaches itself to the band, and follows it from one quarter to another. These dogs are great favorites with the soldiers, and they never ill-use them or suffer others to do so.”

M. Marville says, that while a man was playing upon a conch shell, he noticed a dog sitting on its hind legs looking steadfastly at the player for above an hour; and M. Le Cat observes, that we hear a dog howl, we see him weep, as it were, at a tune played upon a flute; but we see him quite lively in a field, at the sound of a French horn.

Bowyer states, that “a Scotch bagpiper traversing the mountains of Ulster, in Ireland, was one evening encountered by a starved _wolf_. In his distress, the poor man could think of nothing better than to open his wallet, and try the effects of his hospitality; he did so, and the savage swallowed all that was thrown to him with such a voracity that it seemed as if his appetite was just returning to him. The whole stock of provision was, of course, soon spent, and now his only recourse was to the virtues of his bagpipe; this the monster no sooner heard, than he took to the mountains with the same precipitation with which he had left them. The poor piper could not so perfectly enjoy his deliverance, but that, with an angry look at parting, he shook his head, saying, ‘Ay, are these your tricks? had I known your humor, you should have had your music before supper.’”

Sparrman furnishes us with an anecdote of a trumpeter, who, by a similar expedient, saved himself from falling a prey to a prowling hyæna:――“One night,” he says, “at a feast near the Cape, a trumpeter, who had got himself well filled with liquor, was carried out of doors, in order to cool and sober him. The scent of him soon attracted a _spotted hyæna_, which threw him on its back, and carried him away to Table Mountain, thinking him a corpse, and consequently a fair prize. In the mean time, our drunken musician awoke sufficiently sensible to know the danger of his situation, and to sound the alarm with his trumpet, which he carried fastened to his side. The beast, as may be easily imagined, was not less frightened in its turn, and ran away.”

Sir Everard Home found that the effect of the higher notes of the pianoforte upon the great _lion_ in Exeter ’Change, was only to excite his attention, which was very great, as he remained silent and motionless. But no sooner were the flat notes sounded, than he sprang up, attempted to break loose, lashed his tail, uttered the deepest yells, and seemed so furious and enraged as to frighten the ladies.

Franzius says, “the _tiger_ cannot endure the sound of drums, which maketh him run mad, and tear himself to pieces.” Valmont de Bomare saw, at the fair of St. Germain, _cats_ turned musicians; their performance being announced as the “Mewing Concert.” In the centre, was an ape beating time; and some cats were arranged on each side of him, with music before them on the stalls. At a signal from the ape, they regulated their mewing to sad or lively strains.

_Seals_ have a most delicate sense of hearing, and delight in musical sounds; a fact not unknown to the ancients. Sir Walter Scott says,

“Rude Heiskar’s seals, through surges dark,
Will long pursue the minstrel’s bark.”

Laing, in his “Voyage to Spitzbergen,” states, that a numerous audience of seals would surround the vessel and follow it for miles when a violin was played on deck, as was often the case.

Music has been resorted to as a means of attracting rats, mice, and other mischievous animals, from out of their abodes. In the “Magazine of Natural History,” it is stated, that the steward of a ship, infested with rats, used to play some lively airs on a flute after he had baited his traps and placed them near the rat holes. The music, we are told, attracted the rats, who entered the traps unconscious of that danger, which, without this allurement, they would have instinctively avoided. In this way, it is said, the steward bagged from fifteen to twenty rats in about three hours. The _mouse_ is no less pleased with music. “I have seen,” says a writer on this subject, “several mice regularly come out of their holes and run about a school-room, whenever the boys were singing psalms.” An officer, confined in the Bastile, at Paris, begged to be allowed to play on his lute, to soften his confinement by its harmonies. Shortly afterwards, when playing on the instrument, he was much astonished to see a number of mice frisking out of their holes, and many spiders descending from their webs, and congregating round him while he continued the music. Whenever he ceased, they dispersed; whenever he played again, they re-appeared. He soon had a far more numerous, if not a more respectable audience, amounting in all to about a hundred mice and spiders.

Sir Everard Home is disposed to think the elephant does not possess a musical ear. Suetonius tells us, however, that the Emperor Domitian had a troop of elephants disciplined to dance to the sound of music, and that one of them, which had been beaten for not having his lesson perfect, was observed on the following night to be practising by himself in a meadow.

The enterprising and lamented Clapperton informs us, that when he was departing on a warlike expedition from lake Muggaby, he had convincing proofs that the _hippopotami_ are very sensibly affected by musical sounds, even by such as are not of the softest kinds. As the expedition passed along the banks of the lake at sunrise, these uncouth and stupendous animals “followed the drums of the different chiefs the whole length of the water, sometimes approaching so close to the shore that the water they spouted from their mouths reached the persons who were passing along the bank. I counted fifteen at one time sporting on the surface; and my servant Columbus shot one of them in the head, when he gave so loud a roar, while he buried himself in the lake, that all the others disappeared in an instant.”

M. Le Cat remarks, that the horse becomes highly animated at the sound of a trumpet. Franzius says, “the horse is very much delighted with any musical instrument, for he is observed sometimes even to weep with joy at it, but most of all he is pleased at the sound of a trumpet. Pliny, speaking of horses, mentioneth a sort of people in Italy that taught their horses to dance to the sound of a trumpet, which they used to do at great feasts; and therefore, when the enemy waged war with them, they had the best trumpets they could get, by which the enemy’s horses were so transported that they would leap and dance, and run with their masters on their backs into their enemy’s camp.”

“And when the drum beats briskly in the gale,
The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
And with young vigor wheels the pasture round.”
_Rogers’s Pleasures of Memory_, Part I.

Shakespeare has taken notice of the horse’s sensibility to music, in the following passage:――

“Then I beat my tabor,
At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses,
As they smelt music.”
_Tempest_, Act iv. Sce. 1.

The instances of the attractive influence of music on animals are very curious; but how much more curious is it to find some animals so sensitive to its charms as voluntarily to resort to places where they know they have a chance of gratifying their taste for it. We are told, that “an _ass_ at Chartres used to go to the chateau of Quarville, to hear the music that was performed there. The owner of the chateau was a lady, who had an excellent voice; and whenever she began to sing, the ass never failed to draw nearer to the window, and listen very attentively. Once, when a piece was performed, which no doubt pleased him better than any he had ever heard before, he left his ordinary post, walked without ceremony into the music room, and, in order to add to the concert what he thought was wanting to render it perfect, began to bray with all his might.” A writer in the Athenæum, says, “The ass is no unimportant member of the Spanish population, for he is to be seen everywhere; and he has apparently as much gratification in listening to the street-concerts as any Christian present. From the whisking of his short tail, the steady gaze of his eyes, and, above all, the pricking of his ears, you would say that he was familiar with every tune.” In Heresbatch’s “Foure Bookes of Husbandrie,” translated by Barnaby Googe, (1586,) page 125, it is stated, that asses “are very apt to be taught, (in Egypt and Barbary,) so as at this day in Alcayre you shall have them dance very mannerly, and keep measure with their musician.”

It is noticed by Franzius, that stags “love music exceedingly, and are much delighted in hearing any one sing; and therefore one goeth before a stag and singeth to him, while another cometh behind him and taketh him.” M. Marville observed that while a man was playing on a conch shell, a hind lifted up her large, wide ears, and seemed very attentive. Mrs. Vasey says, “If a person happen to whistle, or call at a distance, the stag stops short, and gazes upon the stranger with a kind of silent admiration; and if he perceives neither fire-arms nor dogs preparing against him, he goes slowly forward with apparent unconcern. He seems delighted with the sound of the shepherd’s pipe; which, on that account, is sometimes used to lure him to destruction.” Playford, in his “Introduction to Music,” says, “Travelling some years since, I met on the road near Royston, a herd of about twenty bucks, following a bagpipe and violin, which, while the music played, went forward; when it ceased, they all stood still; and in this manner they were brought out of Yorkshire to Hampton Court.”

Sir William Jones, in his curious dissertation on Hindoo music, says, “that he has been assured by a creditable eye-witness, that two wild _antelopes_ used often to come from their woods to the place where Sirrajuddaulah entertained himself with concerts, and that they listened to the strains with an appearance of pleasure, till the monster, in whose soul there was no music, shot one of them, to display his skill in archery.”

_Sheep_ have been long noted for their attachment to music. Heresbatch says, “A shepherd must deal lovingly and gently with his flock, comforting and cheering them with singing and whistling; for the Arabians (as Alianus writeth,) doe finde that this kind of cattle take great delight in music, and that it doth them as much good as their pasture.” Franzius speaks to the same effect: “When the sheep,” says he, “hear the shepherd’s voice, they all get together into one place, but especially, when he singeth, for they love music exceedingly, and it maketh them feed the better; they are so delighted with it that some think they would not live long if the shepherd did not sing.” This extraordinary writer also says, “the ox is exceedingly delighted in music;” and the remark is true, for fierce bulls have in several instances been calmed into gentleness by music.

Of this musical feeling in oxen, Dr. Southey, in his “Letters from Spain,” mentions a very singular instance:――“The carts,” he says, “of Corunna make so loud and disagreeable a creaking with their wheels, for want of oil, that the governor once issued an order to have them greased; but it was revoked, on the petition of the carters, who stated that the oxen liked the sound, and would not draw without this music.” Professor Bell, in his “History of Quadrupeds,” assures us, that he has “often, when a boy, tried the effect of the flute on cows and some other animals, and has always observed that it produced great apparent enjoyment.”

There is an old song that contains some lines on the cow’s fondness for music:――

“There was a piper had a cow,
And he had nought to give her;
He took his pipes and played a tune,
And bade the cow consider.

The cow consider’d very well,
And gave the piper a penny
To play the same tune over again,
The corn rigs are bonnie.”

* * * * *

IRISHMAN’S NOTION OF DISCOUNT.――It chanced one gloomy day in the month of December, that a good-humored Irishman applied to a merchant, to discount a bill of exchange for him at rather a long, though not an unusual date; and the merchant having casually remarked that the bill had a great many days to run, “That’s true,” replied the Irishman; “but then, my honey, you don’t consider how short the days are at this time of year.”

Over vale and over hill
Winter’s bitter breath is sweeping――
In the wood the owlet shrill,
Cries like suffering mortal weeping.
Now the farmer’s door is tight――
Now the crackling hickory burns;
And to cheer the stormy night,
Old cronies tell their tales by turns.]

One cold winter evening, three boys happened to be together, named James, Ezra, and Stephen. They sat by the blazing hearth――for I am telling of what happened in the old-fashioned days, of broad flues and hickory fuel――without candles, for the light of the burning logs was sufficient to give the room a cheerful aspect. Out of doors the air was keen and bitter, and though the Moon shone brightly, the light snow wreaths were driving on the wind, and occasionally came in spouts against the windows, rattling like hail upon the panes.

The boys, naturally enough, talked of the weather for a time, and then of the news, and by-and-by of other topics. At last it was proposed that one of them should tell a story. The scene can be best described in the way of dialogue.

_James._ Come, Ezra, you tell us a story.

_Ezra._ Well, you tell one first.

_J._ O, I’m not good at telling a story.

_E._ Won’t you tell one, Stephen?

_Stephen._ I’ll tell one after you.

_E._ What shall I tell about?

_S._ O, anything――tell a ghost story.

_E._ Well, I will tell a ghost story.

There was once a house near New London, in Connecticut, situated on a lonely road, about a mile from any other dwelling. The man who built it was a farmer; and here he lived, with his wife and two children, for three years, when at last they began to hear a bell faintly ringing at night, apparently in the walls of the house.

Not much was thought of it at first, but it was so frequently repeated, that it began to attract the attention of the family. They then listened, and every night, about nine o’clock, it began to ring. The people were very superstitious, and soon they were dreadfully frightened. When they went to the spot where the mysterious sound seemed to come from, it appeared to issue from another place. Sometimes it was quick and lively, and again it was slow, and apparently at a distance. At one time it seemed to be in the parlor, and then it was in one corner of the kitchen.

The family became more and more alarmed; when the night set in, they gathered close together, and as soon as the ringing began, their faces grew pale, and they either sat in fearful silence, or whispered to each other, “there it is! there it is!”

Thus matters went on for several months, until at last the farmer and his family became so miserable that they sold the place, and removed to another town. He had not said much about the cause of his removal, for he feared people would laugh at him; and besides, he apprehended that the story might injure the character of the house, and thus prevent his selling it at a fair price.

But, by some means or other, after he had gone, the story got about, and for nearly two years the house was unoccupied. During this period it acquired the name of the “haunted house,” which, together with its lonely situation, rendered it difficult for the person who had bought it, to find any one willing to hire it. But at last a person who did not believe in haunted houses, leased the place, and with his family went there to reside.

For about a month they heard nothing of the awful visiter, and feeling quite secure against his return, they were accustomed to make sport of the fears of their predecessors. While they were actually cracking their jokes upon the subject one winter night, about the hour of nine, there was a sudden tinkling of a bell, distinctly heard, as if in one of the rooms above.

There was a sudden start among all present. “Hark! hark!” was whispered by several voices. They listened intently; all was silent as death, when again the bell was heard, apparently more distant, but still as distinct as before! The cheeks of the wife and children grew pale, and the face of the man himself was touched with a kind of awe.

“It is certainly a bell,” said he, “and no ghost.”

“But who rings it?” replied his wife, drawing her chair close to his, and shivering from fear; “who rings it?”

“I cannot tell, my dear,” said he, “but we will try to find out.” Accordingly he took a candle, and followed the sound from one room to another. He heard it distinctly, though faintly, sometimes near, and sometimes far; but he could by no means detect the cause. At last the sound ceased, and the distracted family went to rest.

The next night the same scene occurred. At the hour of nine, the frightful notes issued again, as if from the very walls of the room, and exciting the fears of all, still baffled every attempt to discover the cause. Unlike the former proprietor, who believed that some ghost or spirit caused the bell to ring, the present occupant rejected such a notion as absurd; and though a cold, creeping sensation would sometimes chill his blood, still he took every opportunity to endeavor to detect the truth.

While he was one evening sitting by the fire, the tinkling sound was heard more distinctly than usual, and instead of issuing from the wall, undefined and spirit-like, it seemed now to come distinctly from a cupboard in one corner of the room. The man arose, went to the cupboard, and opened the door. Instantly a small hand-bell fell from a crevice in the wall, over the cupboard, upon the floor. It had a small string tied to it, and it was now discovered, that by this string the rats were accustomed to pull about the bell in their gambols, thus giving it a tinkling sound, which seemed to issue from the walls, giving it the awful and mysterious character, which had occasioned so much terror and distress.

_E._ Well, that’s a good story; and it puts me in mind of one which I heard Captain Lewis Smith tell. It happened when he was somewhere in the Jerseys fighting the revolution, as he calls it. It seems there was a sergeant Kitely, who, when he returned to the camp one night, declared that he had seen a spirit. He was evidently frightened, for his teeth chattered as if he was half dead with cold, and for a long time he could not muster sufficient courage to tell the story. At last he was prevailed upon to relate it, which he did as follows:

“It was a raw, blustering night,” said he, “when I had occasion to walk down a lane, to the house of an old woman by the name of Warlock, who washes for the regiment. It was dark, and I had some difficulty in finding the place. At last I found it, and knocked at the door. But there was no answer returned. I lifted the latch, but I could see nobody in the house. The fire was out, but in a corner of the room under the bed were two bright, fiery balls, which I knew to be the eyes of a cat, but they seemed to be twice as large as common.

“This made me a little skittish, for I then happened to remember that the old beldam herself is reputed a witch; and I thought to myself, that perhaps after all, it was she, sitting there under the bed, rolling up her fiery eyes at me, and pretending to be a cat. As I thought this, the eyes seemed to grow bigger and bigger. I then shut the door, and prepared to run.

“Just as I was about to start, I saw a thing as white as the driven snow and in the shape of an old woman, flying and flapping in the air, and lifting up her arms, and seeming to threaten me in the most awful manner. I tried to run, but my feet stuck to the ground. I should have screamed, but my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth, and my hair rose up so as to throw my hat off my head.

“How I contrived to pick it up I cannot say, but I heard the footsteps of some one near, and this I believe gave me courage. I caught my hat and ran as fast as my legs would carry me. A voice called after me, but I felt as light as a feather, and bounded forward like a school-boy’s ball, with a sturgeon’s nose in the centre. It seems to me that I went two rods at every step, and so I soon reached the barrack. But if I live to the age of Methuselah, I shall never forget the fiery eyeballs of the cat, or how old dame Warlock leaped up and down in the heavens, seeming to me as tall as a steeple.”

This was the substance of Kitely’s marvellous story. But as soon as it was told, Captain Smith burst into a loud laugh. This made the sergeant very angry, whereupon the captain proceeded to say that it was he who called after him at the door of old dame Warlock; and that the ghost he saw was only a shirt which the old dame had washed and hung to a clothes-line, and the night being windy, it was frolicing in the gale, and jumping up and down, just as the sergeant had described. This explanation excited a laugh among the company, and though it was at the expense of the sergeant, he seemed really glad to be thus relieved of his terror.

_J._ Very good――very good indeed, though I can hardly conceive how any one could take a piece of linen for an old woman.

_E._ Why, I suppose it was because the man’s imagination was excited: he had, no doubt, a touch of superstition in him, and this it was that deceived him. A person who is superstitious――one who believes in ghosts and witches, and such things――is very likely to fancy that he sees them. Such a one is always meeting with wonders, particularly at night: a stump, a post, a bush, to his eye, has arms, legs, eyes and ears; nay, it generally moves about, and often seems to do more than mortals are able to perform.

_S._ Then you don’t believe in ghosts?

_E._ Not at all. I believe that all the ghost stories are either the inventions of wicked people, or the delusions of indulged and ill-directed imagination: fancies of those who have first been led to adopt false opinions, and have then become the dupes of these opinions.

_S._ You are quite a philosopher; but let me tell you a tale of one who was as incredulous as yourself. There was once a physician in Connecticut, who had occasion to stay late at night with one of his patients. It was past one o’clock when he mounted his horse to return home. It was a cold, clear winter’s night, and the moon shone with uncommon brilliancy.

The physician had occasion to pass by a small but lonely grave-yard, situated at the farther extremity of a field, near the road. As he was passing by, he cast his eye toward the grave-yard, and what was his amazement to see a figure, as if of a woman, clothed in dazzling white, proceeding slowly across the field toward the little group of tombstones.

It was almost as light as day, and it appeared impossible that the seeming vision could be an illusion, yet the physician being an habitual unbeliever in ghosts and apparitions, conceived for a moment that his senses must have deceived him. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to clear his eye, and recalled the events of the day, to discover if he was not dreaming. He then looked again, and still the image was there, gliding, as if upon the air, and with a noiseless step, over the snow crust, toward the graves.

For a moment the mind of the physician wavered between a chill, creeping feeling of awe and superstition, and an intense desire to know the truth. At last the latter triumphed; and fastening his horse to a fence, he proceeded directly toward the object of his wonder. It continued to recede from him, but at last it sat down upon a grave stone, near a heap of fresh earth, removed for a tomb.

The physician approached――yet paused a moment to contemplate the mysterious figure. It seemed a woman, and as the clear moonlight fell upon the face, it appeared cold as marble, though touched with an indescribable air of melancholy. With a resolute step he advanced and laid his hand upon the shoulder of the figure. It screamed and fell to the earth.

The physician lifted the form from the ground, and discovered it to be a woman whom he knew, and whose child had died three days before. It had been interred in the little burial ground, and in her sleep the mother had walked across the snowy fields, wrapped in a sheet, to visit the spot where her infant reposed!

_E._ So, so, master Stephen, your story after all but confirms my theory――that these tales of ghosts are only tales of illusion.

_S._ True――true; and I agree that your theory of the matter is right. In ancient days, there no doubt was such a thing as witchcraft――but there is nothing of the kind now; and we may be sure that he who tells a tale of ghosts, is no more to be believed than he who tells a tale of fairies. Fairies and ghosts are, in fact, as well authenticated, the one as the other.

The White Bear.

In the cold regions of the north there are a great many wild animals, such as the reindeer, the musk ox, the silver fox, and the wolf.

But the most famous of all the savage creatures in these desolate countries is the white bear. It has a body as large as a cow, but its legs are not quite so long. It lives on the flesh of other animals, particularly that of whales, seals, and walruses, which are thrown upon the shores of the ocean.

In winter, when the ground is covered with snow, these bears resort to the sea, and prowl along its borders in search of food. If the sea is frozen over, they will venture out on the ice, hoping to make a breakfast, dinner, or supper upon the carcass of some great fish, or other sea animal.

It sometimes happens that while the bear is roaming over the ice, the latter is suddenly broken up, and the shaggy monster gets caught upon a floating fragment, where he sails about for some days. If he cannot do better, he jumps into the water and swims to the shore: but he is very loath to do this.

If one of these white bears meets a man in his cold country, he will generally walk away; if, however, he is very hungry, he will frequently give him a saucy look, or perhaps even attack him, and try to eat him up. In these wild regions men usually carry guns, and if the bears are uncivil, they shoot them, as you see in the picture.

* * * * *

In one of the western newspapers, the editor puts his marriages under the general head of anecdotes.

The Story of Hercules.

The ancient Greeks, who flourished two or three thousand years ago, have left behind them a great many curious, and a great many useful records. One remarkable thing in respect to what remains of their writings, is the mixture of truth and fable they contain. Even their histories have as much poetry as fact, and we are often puzzled to separate one from the other.

The story of Hercules, one of their heroes, will serve to illustrate all this. He is represented as a man of prodigious strength, and the Greek poets have delighted to embellish his story with extravagant fictions. It is said that even while an infant in his cradle, Juno, the wife of Jupiter, sent two snakes for the purpose of killing him. His little brother was near him at the time, but he ran away in the greatest terror, while Hercules caught the snakes in his hands and instantly squeezed them to death. I cannot tell you all the marvellous actions that are attributed to this hero; a few of the most remarkable will be sufficient.

It appears that there was a terrible lion in the country where Hercules lived, which threw the inhabitants into the greatest consternation. Hercules determined to kill him, and accordingly went to the place which he frequented. He first assailed him with arrows, but these being of no avail, he attacked him with his club.

The lion retreated, and Hercules followed him to his den. Here the monster struggled for his life, but our hero succeeded in getting his arms round his neck, and by his prodigious strength choked him to death.

There is a tale told of General Putnam, a little like this of Hercules and the lion. The General, it is said, followed the wolf into his den, and after looking him in the face, shot him dead.

It is very probable that, if Putnam had lived in the early ages of Greece, he would have been no less famous than Hercules. We should, doubtless, have had many poems recounting his prodigious feats of strength and courage.

Another exploit of Hercules was the killing the monster with seven heads, called the Lernæan hydra. The particular manners and habits of this beast are not known to us; but he seems to have been exceedingly dreaded by the people of the neighborhood. After some skirmishes, Hercules came to close quarters with him, and beat off two or three of his heads with his club. But what was his astonishment to perceive that the heads grew out again as fast as they were knocked off!

He was a good deal puzzled at this, as I dare say you would have been in such a case; but one of his friends, Jolas, being at hand, Hercules sent him for a red-hot iron, and directed him to sear the places over with it as fast as he beat off the heads. This prevented them from growing again, and the whole seven being beaten off, the monster died.

This will be enough to give you some idea of the wonderful actions attributed to Hercules, and which induced the Greeks, after his death, to worship him as a hero. At the present day we reverence men of superior virtue and wisdom; but in the comparatively barbarous age of which I have been speaking, divine honors were rendered to those whose chief excellence lay in bodily strength.――_Parley’s Universal Hist._

Little Chapters for little Readers.

There is little Anne, upon the back of old Growler!

What a good dog he is, to carry his little friend, as if he were a horse or a pony! These dogs are kind creatures; they will do almost anything you wish them to do.

I have seen dogs drawing little waggons along, with boys driving, and looking very wise and sober, all the time as if it was real work, and not all play and fun.

In some countries the dogs really work very hard. Far away to the north, it is winter almost all the year, and there is a great deal of snow. In those places the people have sledges, to which they harness their dogs, and away they go, over the snow-crust, drawing a dozen of the people behind them!

The Lost Friend.

“One week ago, there was a little boy playing here; I wish that I could see him now. I liked that little boy. I did not know why I liked him. I see a great many boys every day, but none looked so gay and so happy as he did. They told me he was ill. He cannot be still ill, for his cheek was soft and fair, and his step was strong. He was as old as I am, but not older; and when sometimes I have been ill, I have very soon got well again. Perhaps this woman can tell me where to find him. I am sure she is kind, for she stayed to give some money to that old man with white hair, who walks with a crutch; and she smiled too, as if she loved to do good. I will ask her, and she will take me to him.

“Good woman, will you tell me where I can find a little boy who played here last week, with bright hair like gold, and eyes that looked kind, and seemed to say that he was happy?”

When little Alice Grey had said this, the woman, to whom she spoke, led her by the hand to where an old church stood; ivy had grown all over its walls, and round it on every side were graves; a great, great many. Some of them had cold white stone over them; others had only flowers planted round, and pretty trees grew there, with long branches bent down, as if they too wept for the dead. There was a little mound of earth, that must have been newly made, for the grass over it was not fresh or green, but looked as if it had been cut up with a spade, and there were no flowers yet round about it.

When the woman came to the grave, she said, in a low, sad voice, “The little boy with the bright hair and the happy eye is laid there to sleep.”

Then Alice wept very much and said, “Mamma has often told me of this, but I did not think it would come so very true;” and she cried a great deal, and sat down beside the little grave, and said, “Six days ago I saw him, and now he has gone away: he will never play any more; yet, then he looked quite well and happy. He did not join with the other boys when they were bad; he did not even run after the blue butterflies; he said it might hurt them. Good little boy! he liked better to gather the wild flowers that grew about; and now, perhaps, he is gathering flowers in God’s own garden, in heaven.” When the woman saw that Alice was herself a good child, she sat down by her side, and took her hand in hers and said, “Yes, God is good, and he puts it into our hearts to hope and to think that the little child is happy in heaven, that we may not be too sorry for his having gone away.

“He never wished to do evil; he loved everybody and everything that was good. He was gentle, and was never heard to speak what was not true; he was good to the poor, and when he had nothing else to give them, he gave them kind words, so that all blessed him; and God too will bless him, for he loves those who love him; so that we should not grieve that he is taken away, but be happy that he was ready to go. God calls the strong as well as the weak; little children as well as old people; and it may be, that you or I may soon be laid by the side of the little child. Shall we pray that by his side, also, we may see God when we rise from the grave?”

Then little Alice knelt by her side, and laid her head on the grave and prayed; and when they got up, she could not go again and play in the very spot where a few days before she had seen that pretty child at play; so that she went home, and put her arms round her mother’s neck, and said, “Mamma, teach me to be good, for God has taken a little child like me to the grave, and, perhaps, he may take me too before I am ready for heaven, if I do not from this very day begin to please him more.”

The Walk.

“My boy, get your hat, and come with me. The day is so fine and dry, that we can walk out. Take hold of my hand, and let us go and feel the warm sun.

“We will go and see a poor man, and take him some food. He is very old and lame, and has no meat, and no bread, and no milk. We will give him some of ours; we can put the milk into a jug, and take the meat in a plate, and you shall also take some bread to him.

“He will be so glad to see us, poor man! He will say, I thank you; and he will eat the nice food that we take him.”

“May we take him some soup too?”

“Yes, it will warm him, for he has got no fire, and he sits in his room, and is often very cold. He is not able to run and get warm, for he is lame. We can take him a book, too, for he can read. Now we have got to his house. Look, the poor man has a cat: she often sits by his side, and curls her tail, and when he pats her she says, ‘purr, purr.’”

“Poor puss! I must feed you, too, and pat your soft back. Do not run away, I will not hurt you.”

“The good old man is not here; he is gone out; so we will put down the food for him and soon come and see him again.”

“Thank you, mamma, I like so much to walk with you.”

Discontented Betty.

One morning as Betty sat milking her cow,
And thinking as much as her time would allow,
A neighbor came by who had known her for years,
To whom Betty confided her cares and her fears.
“Well, Betty, and how do you like your new place?”
Said she, “you’re looking in very good case!”
“Indeed,” replied Betty, “I never was worse,
For I find I am expected to slave like a horse;
By four in the morning I’m up at my work;
(Then there is nothing to live on but cabbage and pork!)
I’ve to wash, and to brew, and to dairy and bake,
And eight or nine beds every morning to make,
Besides keeping clean every place you can look in;
But the greatest annoyance, by far, is the cooking!”
Her friend, who had patiently heard all she said,
Observed, with a sigh and a shake of the head――
“Indeed, my dear Betty, contentment is wealth,
Though you have plenty to do, you have excellent health;
I assure you, (believe it or not as you please,)
I had rather be you, making butter and cheese,
Than the idle fine lady who lives at her ease!”

* * * * *

What boxes govern the world? The cartridge-box, the ballot-box, the jury-box, and the band-box.――_New York Paper._

HOPE.

THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

1.

The lark whose morning song is gay,
At evening hath a pensive lay.
The thrush that caroll’d blithe at morn,
Sits silent now in yonder thorn.

But evening hath no frown for me;
No spectres in its gloom I see――
For hope, fond hope, looks thro’ the night,
And finds beyond its worlds of light.

2.

Then let the sun go deeply down,
And evening o’er the landscape frown――
My thoughts on wings of hope shall rise
To yon fair orbs beyond the skies.

And if, awhile, we tread the glade
Where clouds and darkness cast their shade,
Yet here――e’en here――hope’s wizard wand
Shall stud the gloom with stars beyond.

FEBRUARY, 1843.

Vol. V. No. 2.]

Sources of History.

History is a record of past events. _Sacred_ history is the account that is given us in the Bible; this furnishes the only authentic history of the creation of the world and the things that immediately happened. It is the only book that tells us of Adam and Eve; of Cain and Abel; of the tower of Babel, and the confusion of tongues; of the flood of waters; of Noah and his family; of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; of David and Solomon; and generally of the Jewish nation, and the way of salvation to man, through a Redeemer.

_Profane_ history means that which is written by men, in distinction from sacred history, which is written by the inspiration of God. Profane history, when it would tell us of the early ages of the world, has a great mixture of fable, and is very uncertain in its representations. This is the fact with the history of Greece. It is chiefly furnished by the poets, who picked up stories handed down by tradition, and embellished them with fictions of their own. Thus they heard marvellous tales about a man called Jupiter, that lived in remote ages; and was celebrated alike for his wisdom, for his extensive possessions, and the influence he exercised over the people around him. Well, the poets began to weave up stories about Jupiter: one said he did this, another said he did that. So they went on, each trying to exceed the other, in some wonderful tale of this wonderful man.

The people listened eagerly to these stories; and thus encouraged, the poets went on composing songs and ballads, until they had made out Jupiter to be a god who lived in Mount Olympus, manufacturing thunder and lightning, ruling over the land and the sea, controlling the seasons, swaying mankind, and governing the whole troop of gods and goddesses throughout the world. This is the way the fiction of Jupiter was devised and executed, and may serve as a hint at the means by which the whole mythology of Egypt, Greece and Rome, was fabricated.

Thus it is that nearly all the earlier portions of profane history are to be regarded as doubtful. There are, indeed, certain portions of it, which may be received as true; such, for instance, as are derived from monuments now existing, and bearing certain inscriptions. There are in Egypt, in Greece, in various parts of Asia and Europe, very ancient pyramids, obelisks, and edifices, bearing inscriptions or carvings, either of writings or pictorial representations, which furnish us with dates, facts, and occurrences serving to establish epochs, or great events, thus giving consistency and certainty to the leading features of history. It is in this way that the framework of the more ancient parts of history is made out and established; and so much may be deemed worthy of credit. Most of the details and lesser incidents, such as the extraordinary feats of individuals, the extravagant numbers said to be engaged in particular battles; and, in short, all the more marvellous portions of ancient history, are to be deemed entire fictions, or poetic embellishments and exaggerations.

Among the most interesting of ancient remains, which contribute to make out the story of mankind, are the paintings recently discovered in the chambers of the ruins of ancient Thebes, in Egypt. These tell us, without leaving room for doubt, how the Egyptians dressed themselves; what they ate and drank; how they broiled, boiled, and fried; how they combed their heads and arrayed their hair; how they slept; how they amused themselves; what armor they had in battle; how they fought; how they worshipped――and, indeed, how they lived and felt, and thought and acted. Of these curious and interesting witnesses, we have given some account in the earlier portions of Merry’s Museum.

Besides these paintings, the hieroglyphics, or picture writings of the Egyptians, graven on obelisks, and other monuments, afford great aid to the historians. When Bonaparte went with a French army to Egypt, he took a great many learned men with him. These looked at these hieroglyphics with intense interest and curiosity, and longed to find out the means of reading them――for this art had not then been discovered. These persons were infidels, and not believing the Bible, they wished to be able to prove it untrue. “If we could read these inscriptions,” said they, as they stood before the hieroglyphics upon the monuments of Thebes, “if we could read these, we could prove the Old Testament to be false.”

After a few years, a very ingenious Frenchman, by the name of Champollion, went to Egypt and studied profoundly into these mysterious hieroglyphics. At last he happened to hit upon the art of reading some of them, and was thus able to make out their meaning. The result has been very different from what the French philosophers supposed; for, instead of exploding the Scriptures, these Egyptian writings afford very strong additional evidence of their truth.

Another satisfactory source of authentic history, is afforded by the remains of Greek sculptures, found upon the ancient temples. Many of these have been carried to London and deposited in museums, where they have been very thoroughly examined, thus furnishing rich materials for the historian. Other sculptures, particularly statues, have been discovered in Greece, which furnish many interesting facts.

The coins that are found in different parts of the world, have contributed not a little to give certainty to portions of ancient history, particularly that of Rome. In Europe there are antiquarians who have devoted whole lives and ample fortunes to the collecting of coins. For a scarce coin, even of copper, and of itself not worth as much as one cent, hundreds of dollars have often been paid, merely because it was very rare. In some of the European collections, there are complete, or nearly complete, sets of coins of all the emperors of Rome; and as these have the likenesses of the emperors upon them, we have handed down to us, the image and superscription of every one of these successors of the Cæsars.

Besides these sources of history, we have the writings, either perfect or in part, of several ancient authors. Among the Greeks are Aristotle and Plato, who were philosophers; Homer, the greatest of poets; Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, historians. Among the Egyptians, Ptolemy, the greatest of the ancient astronomers, and the father of geography. Among the Romans, we have Cornelius Nepos, Cæsar, Livy, and Sallust, historians; Plutarch, a biographer, and many others in different branches of literature.

Rome, in its days of glory, had extended her conquests over the most civilized and populous portions of the world. Indeed, she stretched her authority on every side, and brought under her dominion nearly every portion of the known world. All Europe was subject to her sway; all Africa, contiguous to the Mediterranean Sea; all the middle, western and northern portions of Asia. Over these vast dominions her armies marched, and her messengers passed to and fro. The art of writing was then extensively practised, and though printing was unknown, still the means of communicating and diffusing exact knowledge were possessed in all parts of the extended empire. This period of Roman history, therefore, abounded in materials for history.

But in the fifth century of the Christian era, Rome fell, a dismembered edifice, and its trampled ruins were parcelled out and possessed by barbarians. Her arts and her literature were, for a time, buried in the mighty wreck. It was left to the priests in the monasteries, during the dark ages, to delve and dig out these literary treasures. To them we are indebted for preserving nearly all that remains.

In 1444, the art of printing was invented; the art of multiplying records and copies of human writings. This is the art of arts; the triumph of human skill; the greatest civilizer of society. In the next number I shall give a sketch of the discovery and progress of the art of printing, with a portrait of its inventor, and attempt to set forth some of the effects which have resulted from it.

Something about Government.

In the earlier numbers of our Museum, we have told the story of Philip Brusque, the main purpose of which was to show the necessity of some government in society, to ensure peace, order and justice. Mr. Robinson, of New York, has just published a book for schools and families, entitled “The Young American; or Book of Government and Law; showing their history, origin, nature and necessity.” I here insert two chapters of the work, to show that all persons are interested in government, and that all young persons ought to be instructed on this subject, as one of the greatest importance.

THE LAW IS EVERYWHERE.

When children are sufficiently advanced, they go forth from the parental roof, and whether in the field, the forest, or the street, they find that everywhere there is government and law.

If a child sees ripe fruit in a neighbor’s garden, he sets out to get it, but is immediately told that he must not. He asks why he must not get it, and is answered that it is against the law. A boy is about to throw down a stone wall around a field, and is told he must not, because it is against the law. A young fellow wishes to ride into a neighbor’s field of grain, but he must not, for it is against the law.