Chapter VIII (9)

Shade of old Paul Pry Boston! what do I hear? Two—well I declare, I am not sure whether they are ladies or women; I don’t understand these New York femininities. At any rate, they wear bonnets, and are telling the waiter to bring them “a bottle of Maraschino de Zara, some sponge-cake, and some brandy drops!” See them sip the cordial in their glasses, with the gusto of old topers. See their eyes sparkle and their cheeks flush, and just hear their emancipated little tongues go. Wonder if their husbands know that they—but of course they don’t. However, it is six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. They are probably turning down sherry-cobblers, and eating oysters, at Florence’s; and their poor hungry children (while their parents are dainty-izing) are coming home hungry from school, to eat a fragmentary dinner picked up at home by a lazy set of servants.

Heigho! Ladies sipping wine in a public saloon! Pilgrim rock! hide yourself underground! Well, it is very shocking the number of married women who pass their time ruining their health in these saloons, devouring Parisian confectionery, and tainting their children’s blood with an appetite for strong drink. Oh, what a mockery of a home must theirs be! Heaven pity the children reared there, left to the chance training of vicious hirelings.

A “BROWN STUDY”—SUGGESTED BY BROWN VAILS.

“Why _will_ ladies wear those ugly brown veils, which look like the
burnt edge of a buckwheat cake? We vote for green ones.”—_Exchange._

MR. CRITIC: Why don’t you hit upon something objectionable? Such as the passion which stout ladies have for wearing immense plaids, and whole stories of flounces! Such as thin, bolster-like looking females-wearing narrow’ stripes! Such as brunettes, gliding round like ghosts, in pale blue! Such as blondes blowing out like dandelions in bright yellow! Such as short ladies swathing up their little fat necks in voluminous folds of shawls, and _shingle_ women rejoicing in strips of mantles!

_Then the gentlemen!_

Your stout man is sure to get into a frock coat, with baggy trousers; your May-pole, into a long-waisted body-coat, and “continuations” unnecessarily compact; your dark man looks like an “east wind” daguerreotyped, in a light blue neck-tie; while your pink-and-white man looks as though he wanted a pitcher of water in his face.

Now allow _me_ to suggest. Your thin man should always close the thorax button of his coat, and the last two at his waistband, leaving the intermediate open, to give what he needs—more breadth of chest. Your stout man, who has almost always a nice arm and hand, should have his coat sleeve a _perfect fit_ from the elbow to the wrist, buttoning _there tightly_—allowing a nice strip of a white linen wristband below it.

I understand the architecture of a coat to a charm; know as quick as a flash whether ’tis all right, the minute I clap my eye on it. As to vests, I call myself a connoisseur. “_Stocks_” are only fit for Wall Street! Get yourself some nice silk neck-ties, and ask your wife, or somebody who knows something, to longitudinize them to your jugular. Throw your coloured, embroidered, and ruffled shirt-bosoms overboard; leave your cane and cigar at home; wear a pair of neat, _dark_ gloves; sport an immaculate pocket-handkerchief and dickey—don’t say naughty words—give us ladies the _inside_ of the walk—speak of every woman as you would wish _your_ mother or _your_ sister spoken of, and you’ll do!

INCIDENT AT THE FIVE POINTS HOUSE OF INDUSTRY.

To be able to appreciate Mr. Pease’s toils, and sacrifices, and self-denying labours at the Five Points House of Industry, one must visit the locality—one must wind through those dirty streets and alleys, and see the wrecks of humanity that meet him at every step—he must see children so dirty and squalid that they scarcely resemble human beings, playing in filthy gutters, and using language that would curdle his blood to hear from _childhood’s_ lips—he should see men, “made in God’s own image,” brutalised beyond his power to imagine—he should see women (girls of not more than twenty years) reeling about the pavements in a state of beastly intoxication, without a trace of feminity in their vicious faces—he should pass the rum shops, where men and women are quarrelling, and fighting, and swearing, while childhood listens and _learns_!—he should pass the second-hand clothes cellars, where hard-featured Jewish dealers swing out faded, refuse garments (pawned by starving virtue for bread), to sell to the needy, half-naked emigrant for his last penny—he should see decayed fruit and vegetables which the most ravenous swine might well root twice over before devouring, purchased as daily food by these poor creatures—he should see _gentlemen (?)_ threading these streets, not to make all this misery less, God knows, but to sever the last thread of hope to which many a tempted one is despairingly clinging.

One must see all this before he can form a just idea of the magnitude and importance of the work that Mr. Pease has single-handed and nobly undertaken; remembering that men of wealth and influence have their own reasons for using that wealth and influence to perpetuate this modern Sodom.

One should spend an hour in Mr. Pease’s house, to see the constant draughts upon his time and strength, in the shape of calls and messages, and especially the applications for relief that _his_ slender purse, alas! is often not able to answer;—he should see his unwearied patience and activity, admire the kind, sympathetic heart—unaffected by the toil or the frowns of temporizing theorists—ever warm, ever pitiful, giving not only “the _crumbs_ from his table,” but often his own meals to the hungry—his own wardrobe to the naked;—he should see _this_, and go away _ashamed_ to have lived so long and done so little to help the maimed, and sick, and lame, to Bethesda’s Pool.

I will relate an incident which occurred, some time since, at the House of Industry, and which serves as a fair sample of daily occurrences there.

One morning an aged lady, of respectable appearance, called at the Mission House and inquired for Mr. Pease. She was told that he was engaged, and asked if some one else would not do as well. She said, respectfully, “No; my business is with him; I will wait, if you please, till he can see me.”

Mr. Pease immediately came in, when the old lady commenced her story:—

“I come, sir,” said she, “in behalf of a poor, unfortunate woman and three children. She is living now”—and the tears dropped over her wrinkled face—“in a bad place in Willet Street, in a basement. There are rum shops all around it, and many drunken people about the neighbourhood. She has made out to pay the rent, but has had no food for the poor little children, who have subsisted on what they could manage to beg in the daytime. The landlord promised, when she hired the basement, to put a lock on the door, and make it comfortable, so that ‘the Croton’ need not run in; but he got his rent and then broke his promise, and they have not seen him since.”

“Is the woman respectable?” inquired Mr. Pease.

“Yes—no—not exactly,” said the poor old lady, violently agitated. “She was well brought up. She has a good heart, sir, but a bad head, and then trouble has discouraged her. Poor Mary—yes, sir, it _must_ have been the _trouble_—for I know her _heart_ is good, sir. I,”—tears choked the old lady’s utterance. Recovering herself, she continued:—

“She had a kind husband once. He was the father of her two little girls: six years ago he died, and—the poor thing—oh, sir, you don’t know how dear she is to _me_!”—and burying her aged face in her hands, she sobbed aloud.

Mr. Pease’s kind heart interpreted the old lady’s emotion, without the pain of an explanation. In the weeping woman before him he saw the _mother_ of the lost one.

Yes, she was “Mary’s” mother. Poverty could not chill her love; shame and the world’s scorn had only filled her with a God-like pity.

After a brief pause, she brushed away her tears and went on:—

“Yes, sir; Mary was a good child to me _once_; she respected religion and religious people, and used to love to go to church; but lately, sir, God knows she has almost broken my heart. Last spring I took her home, and the three dear children; but she would not listen to me, and left without telling me where she was going. I heard that there was a poor woman living in a basement in Willet Street, with three children, and my heart told me that that was my poor, lost Mary, and there I found her. But, oh, sir—oh, sir”—and she sobbed as if her heart were breaking—“_such_ a place! _My_ Mary, that I used to cradle in these arms to sleep, that lisped her little evening prayer at _my_ knee—_my_ Mary, _drunk_ in that terrible place!”

She was getting so agitated that Mr. Pease, wishing to turn the current of her thoughts, asked her if she herself was a member of any church. She said yes, of the —— Street Baptist Church. She said she was a widow, and had had one child beside Mary—a son. And her face lighted up as she said:—

“Oh, sir, he was such a _fine_ lad. He did all he could to make me happy; but he thought, that if he went to California he could make money, and when he left he said, ‘Cheer up, dear mother; I’ll come back and give my money all to _you_, and you shall never work any more.’

“I can see him now, sir, as he stood there, with his eye kindling. Poor lad! poor lad! He came back, but it was only to die. His last words were, ‘God will care for you, mother—I know it—when I’m gone to Heaven.’ Oh! if I could have seen my poor _girl_ die as he did, before she became so bad. Oh, sir, _won’t_ you take her _here_?—_won’t_ you try to make her good?—_can’t_ you make her good, sir? I _can’t_ give Mary up. Nobody cares for Mary now but me. Won’t you try, sir?”

Mr. Pease promised that he would do all he could, and sent a person out with the old lady, to visit “Mary,” and obtain particulars; he soon returned and corroborated all the old lady’s statements. Mr. Pease then took a friend and started to see what could be done.

In Willet Street is a rickety old wooden building, filled to overflowing with the very refuse of humanity. The basement is lighted with two small windows half under ground; and in this wretched hole lived Mary and her children. As Mr. Pease descended the steps into the room, he heard some one say, “Here he comes, grandmother; he’s come—he’s come!”

The door was opened. On a pile of rags in the corner lay Mary, “my Mary,” as the old lady tearfully called her.

God of mercy! what a wreck of beautiful womanhood! Her large blue eyes glared with maniac wildness, under the influence of intoxication. Long waves of auburn hair fell, in tangled masses, over a form wasted, yet beautiful in its graceful outlines.

Poor, lost Mary!

“_Such_ a place!” as her mother had, weeping, said. Not a table or chair, or bedstead, or article of furniture in it of any description. On the mantel-piece stood a beer-bottle, with a half-burnt candle in its neck. A few broken, dirty dishes stood upon the shelf, and a quantity of filthy rags lay scattered round the floor.

The grandmother was holding by the hand a sweet child of eight years, with large, bright eyes, and auburn hair (like poor Mary’s) falling about her neck. An older girl of twelve, with a sweet Madonna face, that seemed to light up even _that_ wretched place with a beam of Heaven, stood near, bearing in her arms a babe of sixteen months, which was not so large as one of eight months should have been. Its little hands looked like birds’ claws, and its little bones seemed almost piercing the skin.

The old lady went up to her daughter, saying, “Mary, dear, this is the gentleman who is willing to take you to his house if you will try to be good.”

“Get out of the room, you old hypocrite,” snarled the intoxicated woman, “or I’ll——(and she clutched a hatchet beside her)—I’ll show you! You are the worst old woman I ever knew, except the one you brought in here the other day, and she is a fiend outright. Talk to _me_ about being _good_!—ha—ha!”—and she laughed an idiotic laugh.

“Mother,” said the eldest child, sweetly laying her little hand upon her arm,—“_dear_ mother, don’t, please don’t hurt grandmother. She is good and kind to us: she only wants to get you out of this bad place, to where you will be treated kindly.”

“Yes, dear mother,” chimed in the younger sister, bending her little curly head over her, “mother, you said once you _would_ go. Don’t keep us here any longer, mother. We are cold and hungry. Please get up and take us away; we are afraid to stay here, mother dear.”

“Yes, Mary,” said the old lady, handing her down a faded, ragged gown, “here is your dress; put it on, won’t you?”

Mary raised herself on the pile of rags on which she was lying, and pushing the eldest child across the room, screamed out, “Get away, you impudent little thing! you are just like your old grandmother. I tell you _all_,” said she, raising herself on one elbow, and tossing back her auburn hair from her broad white forehead, “I tell you all, I _never_ will go from here, _never_! I _love_ this place. So many fine people come here, and we have such good times. There is a gentleman who takes care of me. He brought me some candles last night, and he says that I shan’t want for anything, if I will only get rid of these troublesome children—_my husband’s_ children.” And she hid her face in her hands and laughed convulsively.

“You may have _them_,” she continued, “just as soon as you like—baby and all! but I never will go from this place. I _love_ it. A great many fine people come here to see me.”

The poor old lady wrung her hands and wept, while the children clung round their grandmother, with half-averted faces, trembling and silent.

Mr. Pease said to her, “Mary, you may either go with me, or I’ll send for an officer, and have you carried to the station-house. Which will you do?”

Mary cursed and raved, but finally put on the dress the old lady handed her, and consented to go with them. A carriage was soon procured, and Mary helped inside—Mr. Pease lifting in the baby and the two little girls; and away they started for the Five Points House of Industry.

“Oh, mother!” exclaimed the younger of the girls, “how very pleasant it is to ride in this nice carriage, and to get away from that dirty place; we shall be so happy now, mother; and Edith and the baby too: see, he is laughing: he likes to ride. You will love sister Edith and baby, and me, _now_, won’t you, dear mother? and you won’t frighten us with the hatchet any more, or hurt dear grandmother, will you?”

Arriving at Mr. Pease’s house, the delight of the little creatures was unbounded. They caught hold of their mother’s faded dress, saying, “Didn’t we _tell_ you, mother, that you would have a pleasant home here? Only see that nice garden! You didn’t have a garden in Willet Street, mother!”

Reader, would you know that mother’s after history?

Another “Mary” hath “bathed the Saviour’s feet” with her tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Her name is no longer written Mary _Magdalena_. In the virtuous home of her aged mother, she sits clothed in her right mind, “and her children rise up and call her _blessed_.”

APOLLO HYACINTH.

“There is no better test of moral excellence than the keenness of
one’s sense, and the depth of one’s love, of all that is
beautiful.”—_Donohue._

I don’t endorse that sentiment. I am acquainted with Apollo Hyacinth. I have read his prose, and I have read his poetry; and I have cried over both, till my heart was as soft as my head, and my eyes were as red as a rabbit’s. I have listened to him in public, when he was, by turns, witty, sparkling, satirical, pathetic, till I could have added a codicil to my will, and left him all my worldly possessions; and possibly you have done the same. He has, perhaps, grasped you cordially by the hand, and, with a beaming smile, urged you, in his musical voice, to “call on him and Mrs. Hyacinth;” and you have called: but, did you ever find him “in?” You have invited him to visit you, and have received a “gratified acceptance,” in his elegant chirography; but, _did he ever come_? He has borrowed money of you, in the most elegant manner possible; and, as he deposited it in his beautiful purse, he has assured you, in the choicest and most happily chosen language, that he “should never forget your kindness;” but, _did he ever pay_?

Should you die to-morrow, Apollo would write a poetical obituary notice of you, which would raise the price of pocket-handkerchiefs; but should your widow call on him in the course of a month, to solicit his patronage to open a school, she would be told “he was out of town,” and that it was “quite uncertain when he would return.”

Apollo has a large circle of relatives; but his “keenness of perception, and deep love of the beautiful,” are so great, that none of them _exactly_ meet his views. His “moral excellence,” however, does not prevent his making the most of them. He has a way of dodging them adroitly, when they call for a reciprocation, either in a business or a social way; or if, at any time, there is a necessity for inviting them to his house, he does it when he is at his _country_ residence, where their _greenness_ will not be out of place.

Apollo never says an uncivil thing—never; he prides himself on that, as well as on his perfect knowledge of human nature; therefore, his sins are all sins of omission. His tastes are very exquisite, and his nature peculiarly sensitive; consequently, he cannot bear trouble. He will tell you, in his elegant way, that trouble “annoys” him, that it “bores” him; in short, that it unfits him for life—for business; so, should you hear that a friend or relative of his, even a brother or a sister, was in distress, or persecuted in any manner, you could not do Apollo a greater injury (in his estimation) than to inform him of the fact. It would so grate upon his sensitive spirit—it would so “annoy” him; whereas, did he not hear of it until the friend, or brother, or sister, were relieved or buried, he could manage the matter with his usual urbanity, and without the slightest draught upon his exquisitely sensitive nature, by simply writing a pathetic and elegant note, expressing the keenest regret at not having known “all about it” in time to have “flown to the assistance of his dear” —— &c.

Apollo prefers friends who can stand grief and annoyance, as a rhinoceros can stand flies—friends who can bear their own troubles and all his—friends who will stand between him and everything disagreeable in life, and never ask anything in return. To such friends he clings with the most touching tenacity—as long as he can use them; but let their good name be assailed, let misfortune once overtake them, and his “moral excellence” compels him, at once, to ignore their existence, until they have been extricated from all their troubles, and it has become perfectly safe and _advantageous_ for him to renew the acquaintance.

Apollo is keenly alive to the advantages of social position (not having always enjoyed them); and so, his Litany reads after this wise: From all questionable, unfashionable, unpresentable, and vulgar persons, Good Lord deliver us!

SPOILED LITTLE BOY.

“Boo-hoo!—I’ve eaten so—m-much bee-eef and t-turkey, that I can’t eat
any p-p-plum p-p-pudding!”

Miserable little Pitcher! Take your fists out of your eyes, and know that thousands of grown-up pinafore graduates are in the same Slough of Despond with your epicurean Lilliputian-ship. Having washed the platter clean of every crumb of “common fixins,” they are left with cloyed, but tantalizing desires, for the spectacle of some mocking “plum pudding.”

“_Can’t eat your pudding!_”

Why, you precious, graceless young glutton! you have the start of me, by many an _ache_-r. I expect to furnish an appetite for every “plum pudding” the fates are kind enough to cook for me, from this time till Teba Napoleon writes my epitaph.

Infatuated little Pitcher! come sit on my knee, and take a little advice. Don’t you know you should only take a nibble out of each dish, and be parsimonious at that; always leaving off, be the morsel ever so dainty, before your little jacket buttons begin to tighten; while from some of the dishes you should not even lift the cover; taking aunt Fanny’s word for it, that their spicy and stimulating contents will only give you a pain under your apron. Bless your little soul, life’s “bill of fare” can be spun out as ingeniously as a cobweb, if you only understand it; and then you can sit in the corner, in good digestive order, and catch your flies! But if you once get a surfeit of a dainty, it takes the form of a pill to you ever after, unless the knowing _cuisinier_ disguise it under some novel process of sugaring; and sadder still, if you exhaust yourself in the gratification of gross appetites, you will be bereft of your faculties for enjoying the pure and heavenly delights which “Our Father” has provided as a _dessert_ for his children.

BARNUM’S MUSEUM.

It is possible that every stranger may suppose, as I did, on first approaching Barnum’s Museum, that the greater part of its curiosities are on the outside, and have some fears that its internal will not equal its external appearance. But, after crossing the threshold, he will soon discover his mistake. The first idea suggested will perhaps be that the view, from the windows, of the motley, moving throng in Broadway—the rattling, thundering carts, carriages and omnibuses—the confluence of the vehicular and human tides which, from so many quarters, come pouring past the museum—is (to adopt the language of advertisements), “worth double the price of admission.”

The visitor’s attention will unquestionably be next arrested by the “Bearded Lady of Switzerland”—one of the most curious curiosities ever presented. A card, in pleasant juxta-position to the “lady,” conveys the gratifying intelligence that, “Visitors are allowed to touch the beard.” Not a man in the throng lifts an investigating finger! Your penetration, Madame Clofullia, does you infinite credit. You knew well enough that your permission would be as good as a handcuff to every pair of masculine wrists in the company. For my own part, I should no more meddle with your beard, than with Mons. Clofullia’s. I see no feminity in it. Its shoe-brush aspect puts me on my decorum. I am glad you raised it, however, just to show Barnum that there is something “new under the sun,” and to convince men in general that a woman can accomplish about anything she undertakes.

I have not come to New York to stifle my inquisitiveness. How did you raise that beard? Who shaves first in the morning—you, or your husband? Do you use a Woman’s Rights razor? Which of you does the _strap_-ping? How does your baby know you from its father? What do you think of us, smooth-faced sisters? Do you (between you and me) prefer to patronize dress-makers, or tailors? Do you sing tenor, or alto? Are you master or mistress of your husband’s affections?—Well, at all events, it has been something in your neutral pocket to have “tarried at Jericho till your beard was grown.”

—What have we here? Canova’s Venus. She is exquisitely beautiful, standing there, in her sculptured graces; but where’s the Apollo? Ah, here’s a sleeping Cupid, which is better. Mischievous little imp! I’m off, before you wake!—Come we now to a petrifaction of a horse and his rider, crushed in the prehensile embrace of a monstrous serpent, found in a cave where it must have lain for ages, and upon which one’s imagination might pleasantly dwell for hours.—Then, here are deputations from China-dom, in the shape of Mandarins, ladies of quality, servants, priests, &c., with their chalky complexions, huckleberry eyes and shaven polls. Here, also, is a Chinese criminal, packed into a barrel, with a hole in the lid, from which his head protrudes, and two at the sides, from whence his helpless paws depend. Poor Min Yung, you ought to reflect on the error of your ways, though, I confess, you’ve not much chance to _room_-inate.

Here are snakes, insects, and reptiles of every description, corked down and pinned up, as all such gentry should be—most of them, I perceive, labelled in the masculine gender! Then there’s a “bear,” the thought of whose hug makes me utter an involuntary _pater noster_, and cling closer to the arm of my guide. I tell you what, old Bruin, as I hope to travel, I trust you’ve left none of your cubs behind.

—Here is a group of Suliote chiefs, and in their midst Lord Byron, with his shirt upside down; and here is the veritable carriage that little Victoria used to ride in before the crown of royalty fretted her fair, girlish temples. Poor little embryo queen! How many times since, do you suppose, she has longed to step out of those bejewelled robes, drop the burdens state imposes, and throw her weary limbs, with a child’s careless _abandon_, on those silken cushions, free to laugh or cry, to sing or sigh.

—Then here’s a collection of stuffed birds, whose rainbow plumage has darted through clustering foliage, fostered in other latitudes than ours. Nearly every species of beings that crawl, or fly, or walk, or swim, is here represented. And what hideous monsters some of them are! A “pretty kettle of fish” some of the representatives of the finny tribe would make! I once thought I would like to be buried in the ocean, but I discarded that idea before I had been in the museum an hour. I shouldn’t want such a “scaly set” of creatures swimming in the same pond with me.

—I had nearly forgotten to mention the “Happy Family.” Here are animals and birds which are the natural prey of each other, living together in such pleasant harmony, as would make a quarrelsome person blush to look upon. A sleek rat, probably overcome by the oppressive weather, was gently dozing—a cat’s neck supporting his sleepy head in a most pillow-ly manner. Mutual vows of friendship had evidently been exchanged and rat-ified by these natural enemies. I have not time to mention in detail the many striking instances of fraternization among creatures which have been considered each other’s irreconcileable foes. Suffice it to say that Barnum and Noah are the only men on record who have brought about such a state of harmonic antagonisms, and that Barnum is the only man who has ever made money by the operation.

—Heigho! time fails us to explore all the natural wonders gathered here, from all climes, and lands, and seas, by the enterprise of, perhaps, the only man who could have compassed it. We turn away, leaving the greater portion unexamined, with an indistinct remembrance of what we have seen, but with a most distinct impression that the “getting up” of Creation was no ordinary affair, and wondering how it could ever have been done in six days.

NANCY PRY’S SOLILOQUY.

I wonder if that is the bride over at that window? Poor thing, how I pity her! Every thing in her house so bran new and fresh and uncomfortable. Furniture smelling like a mahogany coffin; every thing set up spick and span in its place; not a picture awry; not a chair out of its orbit; not a finger mark on the window panes; not a thread on the carpet; not a curtain fold disarranged; china and porcelain set up in alphabetical order in the pantry; bureau drawers fit for a Quaker; no stockings to mend; no strings or buttons missing; no old rag-bags to hunt over; no dresses to re-flounce, or re-tuck, or re-fashionize; not even a hook or eye absent. Saucepans, pots, and kettles, fresh from the “furnishing house;” servants fresh; house as still as a cat-cornered mouse. Nothing stirring, nothing to do. Land of Canaan! I should think it would be a relief to her to hear the braying and roaring in Driesbach’s Menagerie.

Well, there’s one consolation; in all human probability, it is a state of things that won’t last long.

FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

“I love God and every little child.”—_Richter._

I wonder if I have any little pinafore friends among the readers of _Fern Leaves_? any little Nellys, or Katys, or Billys, or Johnnys, who ever think of Fanny? Do you know that I like children much better than grown-up people? I should so like to have a whole lapful of your bright eyes, and rosy cheeks, and dimpled shoulders, to kiss. I should like to have a good romp with you, this very minute. I don’t always keep this old pen of mine scratching. If a bright cloud comes sailing past my window, I throw down my pen, toss up the casement, and drink in the air, like a gipsy. I feel just as you do, when you are pent up in school, some bright summer day, when the winds are at play, and the flowers lie languidly drooping under the blue, arching sky;—when the little butterfly poises his bright wings on the rose, too full of joy even to sip its sweets;—when the birds sing, because they can’t help it, and the merry little swallow skims the ground, dips his bright wing in the lake, circles over head, and then flies, twittering, back to his cunning little brown nest, under the eaves. On such a day, _I_ should like to be your school-mistress. I’d thrown open the old school-room door, and let you all out under the trees. You should count the blades of grass for a sum in addition; you should take an apple from a tree, to learn subtraction; you should give me kisses, to learn multiplication. You shouldn’t go home to dinner. No; we’d all take our dinner-baskets and go into the woods; we’d hunt for violets; we’d lie on the moss under the trees, and look up at the bits of blue sky, through the leafy branches; we’d hush our breath when the little chipmunk peeped out of his hole, and watch him slily snatch the ripe nut for his winter’s store. And we’d look for the shy rabbit; and the little spotted toad, with its blinking eyes; and the gliding snake, which creeps out to sun itself on the old gray rock. We’d play hide-and-seek, in the hollow trunks of old trees; we’d turn away from the gaudy flowers, flaunting their showy beauty in our faces, and search, under the glossy leaves at our feet, for the pale-eyed blossoms which nestle there as lovingly as a timid little fledgling under the mother-bird’s wing; we’d go to the lake, and see the sober, staid old cows stand cooling their legs in the water, and admiring themselves in the broad, sheeted mirror beneath; we’d toss little pebbles in the lake, and see the circles they made, widen and widen toward the distant shore—like careless words, dropped and forgotten, but reaching to the far-off shore of eternity.

And then you should nestle ‘round me, telling all your little griefs; for well I know that childhood has its griefs, which are all the keener because great, wise, grown-up people have often neither time nor patience, amid the bustling whirl of life, to stop and listen to them. I know what it is for a timid little child, who has never been away from its mother’s apron string, to be walked, some morning, into a great big school-room, full of strange faces;—to see a little urchin laugh, and feel a choking lump come in your little throat, for fear he was laughing at you;—to stand up, with trembling legs, in the middle of the floor, and be told to “find big A,” when your eyes were so full of tears that you couldn’t see anything;—to keep looking at the ferule on the desk, and wondering if it would ever come down on your hand;—to have some mischievous little scholar break your nice long slate-pencil in two, to plague you, or steal your bit of gingerbread out of your satchel, and eat it up, or trip you down on purpose, and feel how little the hard-hearted young sinners cared when you sobbed out, “I’ll tell my mother.”

I know what it is, when you have lain every night since you were born, with your hand clasped in your mother’s, and your cheek cuddled up to hers, to see a new baby come and take your place, without even asking your leave;—to see papa, and grandpa, and grandma, and uncle, and aunt, and cousins, and all the neighbours, so glad to see it, when _your_ heart was almost broken about it. I know what it is to have a great fat nurse (whom even mamma herself had to mind) lead you, struggling, out of the room, and tell Sally to see that you didn’t come into your own mamma’s room again all that day. I know what it is to have that fat old nurse sit in mamma’s place at table, and cut up your potato and meat all wrong;—to have her put squash on your plate, when you _hate_ squash;—to have her forget (?) to give you a piece of pie, and eat two _herself_;—to have Sally cross, and Betty cross, and everybody telling you to “get out of the way;”—to have your doll’s leg get loose, and nobody there to hitch it on for you;—and then, when it came night, to be put away in a chamber, all alone by yourself to sleep, and have Sally tell you that “if you wasn’t good an old black man would come and carry you off;”—and then to cuddle down under the sheet, till you were half stifled, and tremble every time the wind blew, as if you had an ague fit. Yes, and when, at last, mamma came down stairs, I know how _long_ it took for you to like that new baby;—how every time you wanted to sit in mamma’s lap, he’d be sure to have the stomach-ache, or to want his breakfast; how he was _always_ wanting something, so that mamma couldn’t tell you pretty stories, or build little blocks of houses for you, or make you reins to play horses with; or do any of those nice little things that she used to be always doing for you.

To be sure, my little darlings, I know all about it. I have cried tears enough to float a steamship, about all these provoking things; and now whenever I see a little child cry, I never feel like laughing at him; for I know that often his little heart is just ready to break for somebody to pet him. So I always say a kind word, or give him a pat on the head, or a kiss; for I know that though the little insect has but one grain to carry, he often staggers under it; and I have seen the time when a kind word, or a beaming smile, would have been worth more to me than all the broad lands of merrie England.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A CATALOGUE

OF

NEW WORKS AND NEW EDITIONS

PUBLISHED BY

WM. S. ORR AND CO.,

AMEN CORNER, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.

Historical and Geographical.

THE GALLERY OF NATURE:

A Historical and Descriptive Tour through Creation, illustrative
of the Wonders of Astronomy, Physical Geography, and Geology. By
the Rev. THOMAS MILNER, M.A., F.R.G.S.

This volume is intended to furnish a general view of the leading
appearances of Physical Nature, the economy of the heavens and the
earth, with incidental notices of the progress, discovery, and
pictorial representations of the more remarkable phenomena and
interesting localities. Regarding it as one of the happy
tendencies of the age to be more in favour of intellectual
occupations than of the recreations formerly courted, the writer
has endeavoured to supply a digest of the knowledge respecting the
“wondrous whole,” of which we and our world form a part.

The work comprises a History of Astronomical Discovery,—a rapid
glance at the Scenery of the Heavens, and its more remarkable
phenomena. In describing the Physical Aspect of our own and other
countries, the more striking subjects only have, of necessity,
been given.

Under subsequent heads are described the Distribution of Animals,
Plants, and of the Human Race, and the Geological Structure of our
Globe.

The work contains Four Maps of the Sidereal Heavens, Planispheres
of the orbit of the Earth and of the Moon. Nine Line Engravings,
and Two Hundred and Fifty Vignettes on Wood, illustrating
remarkable Natural Phenomena; with several hundred Diagrams and
Sections on Wood, and 800 pages of closely printed letter-press.
Price 18_s._ cloth lettered; and morocco, 31_s._ 6_d._

GREECE: PICTORIAL, DESCRIPTIVE, AND HISTORICAL.

By CHRISTOPHER WORDSWORTH, D.D. A new edition, carefully revised;
with numerous Engravings on Wood and Steel, illustrative of the
Scenery, Architecture, Costume, and Fine Arts of that country. By
Copley Fielding, F. Creswick, D. Cox, jun., Harvey, Paul Huet,
Meissonier, Sargent, Daubigny, Jaques, and other Artists; and a
History of the Characteristics of Greek Arts illustrated by George
Scharf, jun., Esq. Super royal 8vo, cloth, 31_s._ 6_d._; morocco
antique, £2 7_s._ 6_d._; morocco elegant, £2 10_s._

“Translated into French and Italian, and now in its fourth English
edition, Dr. Wordsworth’s ‘Greece’ may be considered to have
passed through the probational stage of literary life, and to have
become established among that select class of books which combine
the interest of personal reminiscences of travel, the feelings and
copious information of a scholar, the manner of a man of letters,
and the solid usefulness of an excellent book of reference. These
advantages, great in themselves, are enhanced by the illustrations
scattered in lavish profusion on almost every page, and which
realize to the eye the scenes brought before the mental perception
by the writer. The work was among the earliest of those in which
the modern style of book-illustration was called in aid of
typographic and general splendour, and it continues to be one of
the most sumptuous.”—_Spectator._

THE PICTORIAL BIBLE (STANDARD EDITION);

Being the Old and New Testaments according to the Authorized
Version. Illustrated with Steel Engravings after celebrated
Pictures, and many Hundred Woodcuts, representing Landscape
Scenes, from Original Drawings. To which are added, Original
Notes, explanatory of Passages connected with the History,
Geography, Natural History, Literature, and Antiquities of the
Sacred Scriptures. By JOHN KITTO, D.D., F.S.A. Four volumes,
imperial 8vo, cloth lettered. Price £2 10_s._; or morocco, gilt
edges, £4 10_s._

THE LAND WE LIVE IN:

A Pictorial and Literary Sketch Book of the British Empire. In
Forty Monthly Shilling Parts, in small folio, profusely
Illustrated with Woodcuts, Drawn and Engraved expressly for this
Work by the most Eminent Artists; and with upwards of Thirty
splendid Line Engravings on Steel, forming two superb volumes.
Published at £2 10_s._; now reduced to 30_s._

“The Land We Live In,” as its title imports, is “A Sketch Book.”
It does not aim at being a complete description of the British
Empire. It seizes _the most prominent characteristics_ of our
country—Monuments of the Past—Creations of the Present—Natural
Scenery—Marts of Commerce and Manufactures.

Every Number has been the result of actual visits and careful
observation. As far as it goes—and it embraces a very wide
circuit—the Tourist cannot have a more accurate companion; nor, as
we trust, can the general reader find a more varied and agreeable
work of typography.

A DESCRIPTIVE ATLAS OF ASTRONOMY, AND OF PHYSICAL AND POLITICAL
GEOGRAPHY,

The descriptive letter-press by the Rev. THOMAS MILNER, M.A.,
F.R.G.S., Author of the “Gallery of Nature,” etc.

The design of this work is to furnish the reader with a guide to
the general principles of Geographical and Astronomical Science,
conveying information copious and trustworthy, both as respects
the Maps of the Terrestrial and Celestial World, and the
Explanatory Text by which they are accompanied.

I. _Astronomical Maps._—Seven Maps and Planispheres illustrating
this branch of the subject. The descriptive Letter-press presents
a clear epitome of Astronomy, under the several divisions
of—Historical Notices—the Solar System—Celestial and Terrestrial
Phenomena—the Sidereal Heavens;—the whole illustrated and
exemplified by numerous Engravings and Diagrams.

II. _Physical Maps._—These are constructed by AUGUSTUS PETERMANN,
F.R.G.S. They form _general views_ of the _whole Globe_, and
exhibit the—_Distribution of Temperature_: Different Zones,
Extremes of Temperature, Extent of Polar Ice and Permanent Frozen
Ground—_Distribution of Water_: Oceans, Rivers, and Lakes; the
Currents of the Ocean, Extent of Seaweed, etc.—_Distribution of
Land_: Mountain Ranges, Table Lands, Plains, Deserts, Llanos,
Savannas, and Pampas; and of active Volcanoes, and the Regions
visited by Earthquakes—_Distribution of Plants, Animals, and the
Human Race_.

The Letter-press accompanying these Maps gives the principal data
on which the graphical delineation is based, together with a
concise explanation of the chief natural Phenomena.

III. _Political Maps._—These Maps, fifty-one in number, present
the Topographical and Statistical features of the Countries in a
novel and simple manner; the former are delineated in a very
accurate and elaborate style, and illustrated by Sections, taken
across the Countries, showing the elevation of the land above the
sea-level; while the latter are represented so as to exhibit the
number of inhabitants of every place on the Map. The Maps
carefully revised and corrected to the present time, and many
novel and useful features introduced by A. PETERMANN, Esq.,
F.R.G.S. Each Map is accompanied by Letter-press, describing in
brief language its grand natural Divisions, its Valleys, Rivers,
Mountains, prevailing Geological Structure, chief Political
Divisions and Cities, with the Manners, Religion, and Industrial
Occupation of its Inhabitants, illustrated, where necessary, with
Vignettes and Diagrams on Wood. A copious Consulting Index, both
to the Letter-press and Maps, is given—in the latter case, with a
reference to the position on the Map of the district or city
named.

The price of this Work is the lowest consistent with correctness
and elegance of engraving. The entire Work, consisting of
Seventy-five Maps, full coloured, handsomely bound in cloth,
31_s._ 6_d._, or half-bound russia or morocco, 35_s._

THE PORTRAIT GALLERY

Of Distinguished Poets, Philosophers, Statesmen, Divines,
Painters, Architects, Physicians, and Lawyers, since the Revival
of Art; with their Biographies, arranged in chronological order.
Originally published by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge. In three imperial 8vo volumes, cloth, £3 3_s._, half
morocco, £3 10_s._

“The public are indebted for the unrivalled collection of
Portraits contained in this work to a Society numbering among its
members the most eminent dignitaries of the Church and the most
illustrious men of the land. By their influence and liberality,
the engraver has been permitted to copy the paintings of the most
distinguished artists; and Portraits of genuine authenticity,
executed in a style of masterly superiority, have been produced.
When first issued, the cost of these volumes was such as to place
them beyond the reach of any but the affluent; and a publication
which ought to be found in the library of every gentleman became,
in consequence, the possession of a select few. In the present
edition, however, cheapness and excellence are combined,—for
although the number of Engravings and Woodcuts remains
undiminished, the work is published in a much improved form, at
less than half its original price; and the Plates, having been
preserved with extreme care, will be found equal in style and
beauty to those which appeared under the superintendence of the
Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.”—_Preface._

THE PICTORIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND;

Being a History of the People, as well as of the Kingdom. By
GEORGE L. CRAIK and CHARLES MACFARLANE. With many Hundred
Woodcuts, and One Hundred and Four Portraits engraved on steel. 8
vols. imperial 8vo, cloth lettered. Reduced price, £5.

“‘The Pictorial History of England,’ now before us, seems to be
the very thing required by the popular taste of the present day,
adding to the advantage of a clear historical narrative all the
varied illustrations of which the subject is capable. After the
fashion first introduced by Dr. Henry, the authors have divided
their subjects into periods, the narrative of civil and military
events in each being followed by chapters on the history of
religion, the constitution and laws, the condition of the people,
national industry, manners, and customs; and almost every page in
the earlier volumes is enriched with appropriate woodcuts,
generally of able execution—dresses, arms, industrious
employments, sports, copied from illuminated manuscripts of the
periods to which they belong—views of scenes rendered famous by
historical events, taken from drawings or prints as near the
period as could be obtained—ample illustrations of architecture
and sculpture; portraits and _fac-similes_—and here and there cuts
from historical pictures.”—_Edinburgh Review._

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND DURING THE THIRTY YEARS’ PEACE; 1816–1846;

With an Introduction to the Work, containing the History of
England from 1800 to 1815. By HARRIET MARTINEAU. Illustrated with
Sixteen Portraits, engraved on Steel. Three imperial 8vo volumes,
cloth lettered, £2 2_s._

THE PHYSICIAN’S HOLIDAY;

Or, a Month in Switzerland in the Summer of 1848. By JOHN FORBES,
M.D., F.R.S., Physician to Her Majesty’s Household. With a Map and
Illustrations. Third edition, carefully revised; price 6_s._,
cloth.

THE DORP AND THE VELDT;

Or, Six Months in Natal. By CHARLES BARTER, Esq., and Fellow of
New College, Oxford. Small 8vo, cloth, 6_s._

A DESCRIPTIVE ATLAS,

Illustrative of the Seats of War, and exhibiting the vast increase
of the Russian Territories from the Accession of Peter the Great
to the Present Time. _Contents_: Introduction—Europe—Russia—Europe
and the Russian Territories—Turkey in Europe—the Turkish
Territories—Sweden and Norway—Swedish Territories—Asia—Russia in
Asia—The Danube and the Principalities. In an Ornamental Wrapper,
price 2_s._ 6_d._

_Dedicated, by Permission, to H.R.H. the PRINCE ALBERT._

THE ATLAS OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY;

Consisting of Sixteen Maps illustrative of the Geology,
Hydrography, Meteorology, Zoology, Botany, and Ethnography of the
Globe. Constructed by AUGUSTUS PETERMANN, F.R.G.S. The
letter-press, descriptive of the Physical Phenomena of the Globe,
by the Rev. THOMAS MILNER, M.A., F.R.G.S. Illustrated by upwards
of One Hundred and Thirty Vignettes, Sections, and Views,
representing the more remarkable Aspects of Nature. Imperial 4to,
cloth, price 21_s._; half-bound russia or morocco, 25_s._

“A work which we recommend, on account of its geographical
accuracy and great beauty of execution.”—_Professor Jameson, in
Edinburgh Philosophical Journal._

THE LIBRARY ATLAS OF PHYSICAL AND POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY:

Sixty-nine Maps, constructed, revised, and corrected by AUGUSTUS
PETERMANN, F.R.G.S., Geographer to the Queen. With Letter-press
descriptive of the Physical Phenomena of the Globe, and of the
respective Political Divisions and Countries, copiously
illustrated, by the Rev. THOS. MILNER, F.R.G.S., and a copious
Index to the Letter-press and Maps. Imperial, cloth lettered,
price £2 2_s._, or half-bound russia, £2 6_s._

WHITE’S SELBORNE:

The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne. A new Edition,
with copious Notes by Mr. Blyth, a Map of the Locality, and
numerous Illustrations of the Animals and Scenery described. Post
8vo, cloth gilt, price 5_s._

Natural History.

A HISTORY OF BRITISH BIRDS,

Indigenous and Migratory, including their Organization, Habits,
and Relations; Remarks on Classification and Nomenclature; an
Account of the principal Organs of Birds, and Observations
relative to Practical Ornithology. Illustrated by numerous
Engravings and Woodcuts. By WILLIAM MACGILLIVRAY, A.M., F.R.S.E.,
Professor of Natural History, Marischal College, Aberdeen. Five
volumes, demy 8vo. Price £2 12_s._ 6_d._, cloth lettered.

⁂ The Fourth and Fifth Volumes of this Work, completing the
History of the Feathered Tribes, have lately been published, price
18_s._ each.

CUVIER’S ANIMAL KINGDOM,

Arranged according to its Organization, forming a Natural History
of Animals and an Introduction to Comparative Anatomy. Translated
from the latest French Edition.

THE MAMMALIA, BIRDS, AND REPTILES; by Edward Blyth, Esq., Curator
to the Bengal Museum, Calcutta. THE MOLLUSCA; by George Johnston,
M.D., Fellow of the Royal Coll. of Surgeons, and Mem. of the Royal
Med. Soc. of Edinburgh. THE FISHES; by the late Robert Mudie,
Author of “The British Naturalist,” “Natural History of Birds,”
and the articles on Zoology in the British Cyclopædia. THE
CRUSTACEA AND INSECTS; by J. O. Westwood, F.L.S., Secretary to the
Ent. Soc. of London, and Hon. Mem. Soc. Nat. Hist. Quebec, Moscow,
Lund, Lille, Mauritius, Ent. Soc. Paris, etc.

The present Work is a complete CUVIER as regards the essential
part of the arrangement, and it is not a mere translation, but in
some respects a new book, embodying the original remarks, but
these are always distinguished from that which belongs to Cuvier
by being enclosed within brackets. This mode of arrangement was
thought to be much better than the appending of notes, which
always divide the attention of the reader, and weaken the interest
of the subject.

In the present Edition the publishers have added supplementary
articles to such branches as seemed to require it; Dr. Carpenter
supplying what was wanting to the Mollusca and Fishes, and Mr.
Westwood performing the same to his own department of the Work.

The Illustrations consist of Thirty-four Etchings on Steel by
Thomas Landseer, Four Plates representing the different Races of
Men, a Medallion Portrait of the Author, and many hundred
Illustrations on Wood. Price One Guinea, cloth lettered; or One
Guinea and a Half, with the plates coloured.

HUMPHREYS AND WESTWOOD’S ENTOMOLOGY.

BRITISH MOTHS AND THEIR TRANSFORMATIONS:

Arranged and Illustrated in a series of One Hundred and
Twenty-four Plates, representing upwards of 1500 species, with the
Caterpillars drawn and carefully coloured after Nature, by H. Noel
Humphreys, Esq., with characters and descriptions by J. O.
Westwood, Esq., F.L.S. Two vols., 4to. Price £4 4_s._, cloth
lettered.

BRITISH BUTTERFLIES AND THEIR TRANSFORMATIONS:

Arranged and Illustrated in a Series of Forty-two Plates,
representing about 360 species; coloured after Nature by H. N.
Humphreys, Esq., with characters and descriptions by J. O.
Westwood, Esq., F.L.S. In one vol., 4to. Price £1 11_s._ 6_d._,
cloth lettered.

BECHSTEIN’S CHAMBER BIRDS:

Their Natural History, Habits, Food, Diseases, Breeding, and
Methods of Catching them, with numerous Woodcuts of Birds, their
Cages, etc. _A new Edition, in the Press._

Natural Science.

ORR’S CIRCLE OF THE SCIENCES;

Consisting of short Treatises on the Fundamental Principles and
Characteristic Features of Scientific and Practical Pursuits, with
numerous Illustrative Engravings on Wood. Now publishing in Weekly
Numbers, price Twopence, and in Monthly Parts and Quarterly
Volumes.

Now ready, Vol. I.: Organic Nature. In fancy boards, 2_s._ 6_d._,
or cl. elegant, 3_s._

_Contents._—Introductory Treatise: on the Nature, Connexion, and
Uses of the Great Departments of Human Knowledge—Physiology of
Animal and Vegetable Life. By the Editor.—Principal Forms of the
Skeleton—The Teeth of Animals; introductory to the Study of
Zoology. By Professor Owen.—Races of Mankind. By Robert Gordon
Latham, M.D., F.R.S.; with a copious Explanatory and Glossarial
Index, etc.

Dr. Carpenter’s Works. New Editions, Revised and Corrected.

ANIMAL PHYSIOLOGY:

Including a Comprehensive Sketch of the Principal Forms of Animal
Structure. With several Hundred Engravings on copper and wood.

ZOOLOGY AND INSTINCT IN ANIMALS:

A Systematic View of the Structure, Habits, Instincts, and Uses of
the Principal Families in the Animal Kingdom, and the chief Forms
of Fossil Remains. In two vols.

VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY AND BOTANY;

Including the Structure and Organs of Plants, their Characters,
Uses, Geographical Distribution, and Classification, according to
the Natural System of Botany.

MECHANICAL PHILOSOPHY, ASTRONOMY, AND HOROLOGY:

An Exposition of the Properties of Matter; a Description of the
Heavenly Bodies; and the Construction of Instruments for the
Measurement of Time.

“These works display a fulness of knowledge, with great powers of
popularly conveying it, and a clear and methodical general
arrangement, as well as a judicious selection of particular facts
for the purpose of illustrating general principles.”—_Spectator._

Each Volume price 6_s._, cloth lettered.

Botany and Gardening.

THE GARDEN COMPANION AND FLORISTS’ GUIDE;

Or, Hints on General Cultivation, Floriculture, and Hothouse
Management, with a Record of Botanical Events. By A. Henfrey,
F.L.S.; T. Moore, F.L.S., Curator of the Botanic Gardens, Chelsea,
_Conductor_; W. P. Ayres, C.M.H.S., and other Practical
Cultivators. Complete in One Volume, 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, with
numerous Coloured Plates and Wood Engravings. Price 15_s._

PAXTON’S MAGAZINE OF BOTANY,

And Register of the most beautiful Flowering Plants which have
been added to our Gardens during the last Sixteen Years, with
upwards of Seven Hundred Engravings, carefully coloured from
Nature.

Subscribers to this Work, who may have failed to complete their
Sets, are respectfully informed that all the numbers and volumes
are now in print; but as it is intended to keep them in print only
for a limited time, an early application is necessary.

THE MAGAZINE OF BOTANY, HORTICULTURE, FLORICULTURE, AND NATURAL
SCIENCE,

Conducted by T. Moore, F.L.S., and W. P. Ayres, C.M.H.S., assisted
in Botany by A. Henfrey, Esq., F.L.S., etc.; with upwards of One
Hundred Engravings, carefully coloured from Nature, and many
Thousand Woodcuts. Three volumes, imperial 8vo; handsomely bound
in cloth, gilt edges, price £3 3_s._, or half morocco, £3 13_s._
6_d._

THE COTTAGE GARDENER & COUNTRY GENTLEMAN’S COMPANION;