Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders. Produced from images provided
by the Internet Archive Children's Library and University of Florida.










THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON READING BOOK




LONDON:

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE

OF

THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS,

198, STRAND.

1851.

THIRD EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PRINCE ALBERT IN HIS ROBES AS CHANCELLOR OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE.]

       *       *       *       *       *




INTRODUCTION.

[Illustration: INTRODUCTION.]

    To read and speak with elegance and ease,
    Are arts polite that never fail to please;
    Yet in those arts how very few excel!
    Ten thousand men may read--not one read well.
    Though all mankind are speakers in a sense,
    How few can soar to heights of eloquence!
    The sweet melodious singer trills her lays,
    And listening crowds go frantic in her praise;
    But he who reads or speaks with feeling true,
    Charms and delights, instructs, and moves us too.

    Browne.


To deprive Instruction of the terrors with which the young but too often
regard it, and strew flowers upon the pathways that lead to Knowledge,
is to confer a benefit upon all who are interested in the cause of
Education, either as Teachers or Pupils. The design of the following
pages is not merely to present to the youthful reader some of the
masterpieces of English literature in prose and verse, arranged and
selected in such a manner as to please as well as instruct, but to
render them more agreeable to the eye and the imagination by Pictorial
Representations, in illustration of the subjects. It is hoped that this
design has not been altogether unsuccessful, and that the ILLUSTRATED
LONDON READING BOOK will recommend itself both to old and young by the
appropriateness of the selections, their progressive arrangement, the
fidelity of their Illustrations, and the very moderate price at which it
is offered to the public.

It has not been thought necessary to prefix to the present Volume any
instructions in the art of Elocution, or to direct the accent or
intonation of the student by the abundant use of italics or of large
capitals. The principal, if not the only secrets of good reading are, to
speak slowly, to articulate distinctly, to pause judiciously, and to
feel the subject so as, if possible, "to make all that passed in the
mind of the Author to be felt by the Auditor," Good oral example upon
these points is far better for the young Student than the most elaborate
written system.

A series of Educational Works, in other departments of study, _similarly
illustrated,_ and at a price equally small, is in preparation. Among the
earliest to be issued, may be enumerated a Sequel and Companion to the
ILLUSTRATED LONDON READING BOOK, designed for a more advanced class of
Students, and consisting of extracts from English Classical Authors,
from the earliest periods of English Literature to the present day, with
a copious Introductory Chapter upon the arts of Elocution and
Composition. The latter will include examples of Style chosen from the
beauties of the best Authors, and will also point out by similar
examples the Faults to be avoided by all who desire to become, not
simply good Readers and Speakers, but elegant Writers of their native
language.

Amongst the other works of which the series will be composed, may be
mentioned, profusely Illustrated Volumes upon Geographical,
Astronomical, Mathematical, and General Science, as well as works
essential to the proper training of the youthful mind.

_January_, 1850.

[Illustration]




CONTENTS.


Abbey, Account of Strata Florida
Adam and Eve in Paradise (MILTON)
Alfred, Anecdote of King (BEAUTIES OF HISTORY)
Alfred, Character of King (HUME)
Angling, Lines on (DOUBLEDAY)
Antioch, The Siege of (POPULAR DELUSIONS)
Artillery Tactics
Athens, Present Appearance of
Attock, Description of the Fort of

Bacon, Remarks on Lord (D'ISRAELI)
Balloons, Account of
Baltic, Battle of the (CAMPBELL)
Beetle, The
Bell, The Founding of the (MACKAY)
Bible, Value of the (BUCK)
Birds, Appropriateness of the Songs of (DR. JENNER)
Bower-Birds, Description of the
Bridges, Account of Tubular Railway
Bunyan's Wife, Anecdote of (LORD CAMPBELL)
Bushmen, Account of the

Caesar, Character of Julius (MIDDLETON)
Canada, Intense Cold of (SIR F. HEAD)
Canary, Account of the
Charity (PRIOR)
Chatterton, Lines by
Cheerfulness, Description of (ADDISON)
China, Account of the Great Wall of
Christian Freedom (POLLOCK)
Clarendon, Account of Lord
Cobra di Capello, Description of the
Condors, Account of
Cruelty to Animals, Wickedness of (JENYNS)
Culloden Battle-field, Description of (HIGHLAND NOTE-BOOK)
Cyprus, Description of

Danish Encampment, Account of a
Deity, Omniscience of the (ADDISON)
Dogs, A Chapter on
Dove, Return of the (MACKAY)

Edward VI., Character of (BURNET)
Elegy in a Country Churchyard (GRAY)
Elizabeth (Queen), at Tilbury Fort (ENGLISH HISTORY)
Envy, Wickedness of (DR. JOHNSON)

Faith's Guiding Star (ELIZA COOK)
Farewell (BARTON)
Filial Love (DR. DODD)
Fortitude (BLAIR)
Fox, Description of the Long-eared
Frederick of Prussia and his Page (BEAUTIES OF HISTORY)

Gambier Islanders, Account of
Gelert (W. SPENCER)
Gentleness, Character of (BLAIR)
Goldsmith, Remarks on the Style of (CAMPBELL)
Goliah Aratoo, Description of the
Greece, Isles of (BYRON)
Greece, The Shores of (BYRON)
Gresham, Account of Sir Thomas
Grief, The First (MRS. HEMANS)
Grouse, Description of the

Hagar and Ishmael, Story of
Hampden, Account of John
Hercules, The Choice of (TATLER)
Holly Bough (MACKAY)
Hope (CAMPBELL)

Iguana, Description of the
Industry, Value of (BLAIR)
Integrity (DR. DODD)
Ivy in the Dungeon (MACKAY)

"Jack The Giant Killer," Origin of (CARLYLE)
Jalapa, Description of
Jewels, Description of the Crown
Joppa, Account of
Jordan, Description of the River
Jordan's Banks (BYRON)
Juggernaut, Account of the Car of

Kaffir Chiefs, Account of
Kaffir Letter-carrier, Account of
Kangaroo, Description of the
Knowledge, on the Attainment of (DR. WATTS)

Leopard, Description of the Black
Lighthouse, Description of Hartlepool
Lilies (MRS. HEMANS)

Mangouste, Description of the
Mariana (TENNYSON)
Mariners of England (CAMPBELL)
Martello Towers, Account of
Mary's (Queen) Bower, at Chatsworth
Microscope, Revelations of the (DR. MANTELL)
Midnight Thoughts (YOUNG)
Mill-stream, Lines on a (MARY HOWITT)
Music, Remarks on (USHER)

Napoleon, Character of (GENERAL FOY)
Nature and its Lord
Nature, The Order of (POPE)
Naval Tactics
Nests of Birds, Construction of (STURM)
Niagara, Account of the Falls of (SIR JAMES ALEXANDER)
Nightingale and Glowworm (COWPER)

Olive, Description of the
Othello's History (SHAKESPEARE)
Owls, Account of
Owls, (Two) and the Sparrow (GAY)

Palm-Tree, Account of the
Palm-Tree, Lines on a (MRS. HEMANS)
Parrot, Lines on a (CAMPBELL)
Patmos, Description of the Isle of
Paul and Virginia, Supposed Tombs of
Pekin, Description of
Peter the Hermit Preaching the First Crusade (POPULAR DELUSIONS)
Poetry, Rise of, among the Romans (SPENCE)
Polar Regions, Description of the
Pompeii, Account of
Poor, The Afflicted (CRABBE)
Pyramid Lake, Account of the

Railway Tunnels, Difficulties of
Rainbow, Account of a Lunar
Rattlesnake, Account of the (F.T. BUCKLAND)
Rome, Lines on (ROGERS)
Rookery, Dialogue about a (EVENINGS AT HOME)

Sardis, Description of
Schoolboy's Pilgrimage (JANE TAYLOR)
Seasons (THOMSON)
Shakspeare, Remarks on
Sheep, Description of Thibetan
Sierra Nevada, Description of the (FREMONT'S TRAVEL)
Siloam, Account of the Pool of
Sleep, Henry IV.'s Soliloquy on (SHAKSPEARE)
Sloth, Description of the
Smyrna, Description of
Staffa, Description of (HIGHLAND NOTE-BOOK)
Stag, The hunted (SIR W. SCOTT)
Starling, Story of a (STERNE)
St. Bernard, Account of the Dogs of (THE MENAGERIES)
St. Cecilia, Ode to (DRYDEN)
Stepping-stones, The (WORDSWORTH)
Stony Cross, Description of
Stream, the Nameless (MACKAY)
Study, Remarks on (LORD BACON)
Sun Fish, Capture of a (CAPTAIN BEDFORD, R.N.)
Sydney, Generosity of Sir Philip (BEAUTIES of HISTORY)

Tabor, Description of Mount
Tapir, Description of the
Telegraph, Account of the Electric (SIR F. HEAD)
Time, What is it? (REV. J. MARSDEN)
Turkish Customs
Tyre, the Siege of (LANGHORNE'S PLUTARCH)

Una and the Lion (SPENSER)
Universe, Grandeur of the (ADDISON)

Vocabulary

Waterloo, Description of the Field of
Winter Thoughts (THOMSON)
Writing, On Simplicity in (HUME)

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON READING BOOK

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SCHOOLBOY'S PILGRIMAGE.


[Illustration: Letter N.]

Nothing could be more easy and agreeable than my condition when I was
first summoned to set out on the road to learning, and it was not
without letting fall a few ominous tears that I took the first step.
Several companions of my own age accompanied me in the outset, and we
travelled pleasantly together a good part of the way.

We had no sooner entered upon our path, than we were accosted by three
diminutive strangers. These we presently discovered to be the
advance-guard of a Lilliputian army, which was seen advancing towards us
in battle array. Their forms were singularly grotesque: some were
striding across the path, others standing with their arms a-kimbo; some
hanging down their heads, others quite erect; some standing on one leg,
others on two; and one, strange to say, on three; another had his arms
crossed, and one was remarkably crooked; some were very slender, and
others as broad as they were long. But, notwithstanding this diversity
of figure, when they were all marshalled in line of battle, they had a
very orderly and regular appearance. Feeling disconcerted by their
numbers, we were presently for sounding a retreat; but, being urged
forward by our guide, we soon mastered the three who led the van, and
this gave us spirit to encounter the main army, who were conquered to a
man before we left the field. We had scarcely taken breath after this
victory, when, to our no small dismay, we descried a strong
reinforcement of the enemy, stationed on the opposite side. These were
exactly equal in number to the former army, but vastly superior in size
and stature; they were, in fact, a race of giants, though of the same
species with the others, and were capitally accoutred for the onset.
Their appearance discouraged us greatly at first, but we found their
strength was not proportioned to their size; and, having acquired much
skill and courage by the late engagement, we soon succeeded in subduing
them, and passed off the field in triumph. After this we were
perpetually engaged with small bands of the enemy, no longer extended in
line of battle, but in small detachments of two, three, and four in
company. We had some tough work here, and now and then they were too
many for us. Having annoyed us thus for a time, they began to form
themselves into close columns, six or eight abreast; but we had now
attained so much address, that we no longer found them formidable.

After continuing this route for a considerable way, the face of the
country suddenly changed, and we began to enter upon a vast succession
of snowy plains, where we were each furnished with a certain light
weapon, peculiar to the country, which we flourished continually, and
with which we made many light strokes, and some desperate ones. The
waters hereabouts were dark and brackish, and the snowy surface of the
plain was often defaced by them. Probably, we were now on the borders of
the Black Sea. These plains we travelled across and across for many a
day.

Upon quitting this district, the country became far more dreary: it
appeared nothing but a dry and sterile region, the soil being remarkably
hard and slatey. Here we saw many curious figures, and we soon found
that the inhabitants of this desert were mere ciphers. Sometimes they
appeared in vast numbers, but only to be again suddenly diminished.

Our road, after this, wound through a rugged and hilly country, which
was divided into nine principal parts or districts, each under a
different governor; and these again were reduced into endless
subdivisions. Some of them we were obliged to decline. It was not a
little puzzling to perceive the intricate ramifications of the paths in
these parts. Here the natives spoke several dialects, which rendered our
intercourse with them very perplexing. However, it must be confessed
that every step we set in this country was less fatiguing and more
interesting. Our course at first lay all up hill; but when we had
proceeded to a certain height, the distant country, which is most richly
variegated, opened freely to our view.

I do not mean at present to describe that country, or the different
stages by which we advance through its scenery. Suffice it to say, that
the journey, though always arduous, has become more and more pleasant
every stage; and though, after years of travel and labour, we are still
very far from the Temple of Learning, yet we have found on the way more
than enough to make us thankful to the kindness of the friends who first
set us on the path, and to induce us to go forward courageously and
rejoicingly to the end of the journey.

JANE TAYLOR.

       *       *       *       *       *




PEKIN.


Pekin, or Peking, a word which in Chinese means "Northern Capital," has
been the chief city of China ever since the Tartars were expelled, and
is the residence of the Emperor. The tract of country on which it stands
is sandy and barren; but the Grand Canal is well adapted for the purpose
of feeding its vast population with the produce of more fertile
provinces and districts. A very large portion of the centre of the part
of Pekin called the Northern City is occupied by the Emperor with his
palaces and gardens, which are of the most beautiful description, and,
surrounded by their own wall, form what is called the "Prohibited City."

[Illustration: GRAND CANAL AT THE ENTRANCE TO PEKIN.]

The Grand Canal, which runs about five hundred miles, without allowing
for windings, across the kingdom of China, is not only the means by
which subsistence is brought to the inhabitants of the imperial city,
but is of great value in conveying the tribute, a large portion of the
revenue being paid in kind. Dr. Davis mentions having observed on it a
large junk decorated with a yellow umbrella, and found on enquiry that
it had the honour of bearing the "Dragon robes," as the Emperor's
garments are called. These are forwarded annually, and are the peculiar
tribute of the silk districts. The banks of the Grand Canal are, in many
parts through which it flows, strongly faced with stone, a precaution
very necessary to prevent the danger of inundations, from which some
parts of this country are constantly suffering. The Yellow River so very
frequently overflows its banks, and brings so much peril and calamity to
the people, that it has been called "China's Sorrow;" and the European
trade at Canton has been very heavily taxed for the damage occasioned by
it.

The Grand Canal and the Yellow River, in one part of the country, run
within four or five miles of each other, for about fifty miles; and at
length they join or cross each other, and then run in a contrary
direction. A great deal of ceremony is used by the crews of the vessels
when they reach this point, and, amongst other customs, they stock
themselves abundantly with live cocks, destined to be sacrificed on
crossing the river. These birds annoy and trouble the passengers so much
by their incessant crowing on the top of the boats, that they are not
much pitied when the time for their death arrives. The boatmen collect
money for their purchase from the passengers, by sending red paper
petitions called _pin_, begging for aid to provide them with these and
other needful supplies. The difficulties which the Chinese must have
struggled against, with their defective science, in this junction of the
canal and the river, are incalculable; and it is impossible to deny them
the praise they deserve for so great an exercise of perseverance and
industry.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE GOLIAH ARATOO.


The splendid family of parrots includes about one hundred and sixty
species, and, though peculiar to the warmer regions of the world, they
are better known in England than any other foreign bird. From the beauty
of their plumage, the great docility of their manners, and the singular
faculty they possess of imitating the human voice, they are general
favourites, both in the drawingroom of the wealthy and the cottage of
humble life.

The various species differ in size, as well as in appearance and colour.
Some (as the macaws) are larger than the domestic fowl, and some of the
parakeets are not larger than a blackbird or even a sparrow.

The interesting bird of which our Engraving gives a representation was
recently brought alive to this country by the captain of a South-seaman
(the _Alert_), who obtained it from a Chinese vessel from the Island of
Papua, to whom the captain of the _Alert_ rendered valuable assistance
when in a state of distress. In size this bird is one of the largest of
the parrot tribe, being superior to the great red Mexican Macaw. The
whole plumage is black, glossed with a greenish grey; the head is
ornamented with a large crest of long pendulous feathers, which it
erects at pleasure, when the bird has a most noble appearance; the
orbits of the eyes and cheeks are of a deep rose-colour; the bill is of
great size, and will crack the hardest fruit stones; but when the
kernel is detached, the bird does not crush and swallow it in large
fragments, but scrapes it with the lower mandible to the finest pulp,
thus differing from other parrots in the mode of taking food. In the
form of its tongue it differs also from other birds of the kind. A
French naturalist read a memoir on this organ before the Academy of
Sciences at Paris, in which he aptly compared it, in its uses, to the
trunk of an elephant. In its manners it is gentle and familiar, and when
approached raises a cry which may be compared to a hoarse croaking. In
its gait it resembles the rook, and walks much better than most of the
climbing family.

[Illustration: GOLIAH ARATOO.]

From the general conformation of the parrots, as well as the arrangement
and strength of their toes, they climb very easily, assisting themselves
greatly with their hooked bill, but walk rather awkwardly on the ground,
from the shortness and wide separation of their legs. The bill of the
parrot is moveable in both mandibles, the upper being joined to the
skull by a membrane which acts like a hinge; while in other birds the
upper beak forms part of the skull. By this curious contrivance they can
open their bills widely, which the hooked form of the beak would not
otherwise allow them to do. The structure of the wings varies greatly in
the different species: in general they are short, and as their bodies
are bulky, they cannot consequently rise to any great height without
difficulty; but when once they gain a certain distance they fly easily,
and some of them with rapidity. The number of feathers in the tail is
always twelve, and these, both in length and form, are very varied in
the different species, some being arrow or spear-shaped, others straight
and square.

In eating, parrots make great use of the feet, which they employ like
hands, holding the food firmly with the claws of one, while they support
themselves on the other. From the hooked shape of their bills, they find
it more convenient to turn their food in an outward direction, instead
of, like monkeys and other animals, turning it towards their mouths.

The whole tribe are fond of water, washing and bathing themselves many
times during the day in streams and marshy places; and having shaken the
water from their plumage, seem greatly to enjoy spreading their
beautiful wings to dry in the sun.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE PARROT.

A DOMESTIC ANECDOTE.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

    The deep affections of the breast,
      That Heaven to living things imparts,
    Are not exclusively possess'd
      By human hearts.

    A parrot, from the Spanish Main,
      Full young, and early-caged, came o'er,
    With bright wings, to the bleak domain
      Of Mulla's shore.

    To spicy groves, where he had won
      His plumage of resplendent hue--
    His native fruits, and skies, and sun--
      He bade adieu.

    For these he changed the smoke of turf,
      A heathery land and misty sky;
    And turn'd on rocks and raging surf
      His golden eye.

    But, petted, in our climate cold,
      He lived and chatter'd many a day;
    Until, with age, from green and gold
      His wings grew grey.

    At last, when blind and seeming dumb,
      He scolded, laugh'd, and spoke no more,
    A Spanish stranger chanced to come
      To Mulla's shore.

    He hail'd the bird in Spanish speech,
      The bird in Spanish speech replied:
    Flapt round his cage with joyous screech--
      Dropt down and died.

    CAMPBELL.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE STARLING.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

'Tis true, said I, correcting the proposition--the Bastile is not an
evil to be despised; but strip it of its towers, fill the fosse,
unbarricade the doors, call it simply a confinement, and suppose it is
some tyrant of a distemper, and not a man which holds you in it, the
evil vanishes, and you bear the other half without complaint. I was
interrupted in the heyday of this soliloquy, with a voice which I took
to be of a child, which complained "It could not get out." I looked up
and down the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, or child, I went
out without further attention. In my return back through the passage, I
heard the same words repeated twice over; and looking up, I saw it was a
starling, hung in a little cage; "I can't get out, I can't get out,"
said the starling. I stood looking at the bird; and to every person who
came through the passage, it ran fluttering to the side towards which
they approached it with the same lamentation of its captivity. "I can't
get out," said the starling. "Then I will let you out," said I, "cost
what it will;" so I turned about the cage to get at the door--it was
twisted and double twisted so fast with wire there was no getting it
open without pulling the cage to pieces; I took both hands to it. The
bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance, and
thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his breast against it,
as if impatient. "I fear, poor creature," said I, "I cannot set thee at
liberty." "No," said the starling; "I can't get out, I can't get out,"
said the starling.

[Illustration: STARLING.]

I vow, I never had my affections more tenderly awakened; nor do I
remember an incident in my life, where the dissipated spirits to which
my reason had been a bubble were so suddenly called home. Mechanical as
the notes were, yet so true in tune to nature were they chaunted, that
in one moment they overthrew all my systematic reasonings upon the
Bastile, and I heavily walked up-stairs unsaying every word I had said
in going down them.

STERNE.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE CAR OF JUGGERNAUT.


[Illustration: Letter J.]

Juggernaut is the principal idol worshipped by the Hindoos, and to his
temple, which is at Pooree, are attached no less than four thousand
priests and servants; of these one set are called Pundahs. In the autumn
of the year they start on a journey through India, preaching in every
town and village the advantages of a pilgrimage to Juggernaut, after
which they conduct to Pooree large bodies of pilgrims for the Rath
Justra, or Car Festival, which takes place in May or June. This is the
principal festival, and the number of devotees varies from about 80,000
to 150,000. No European, Mussulman, or low cast Hindoo is admitted into
the temple; we can therefore only speak from report of what goes on
inside. Mr. Acland, in his manners and customs of India, gives us the
following amusing account of this celebrated idol:--

"Juggernaut represents the ninth incarnation of Vishnoo, a Hindoo deity,
and consists of a mere block of sacred wood, in the centre of which is
said to be concealed a fragment of the original idol, which was
fashioned by Vishnoo himself. The features and all the external parts
are formed of a mixture of mud and cow-dung, painted. Every morning the
idol undergoes his ablutions; but, as the paint would not stand the
washing, the priests adopt a very ingenious plan--they hold a mirror in
front of the image and wash his reflection. Every evening he is put to
bed; but, as the idol is very unwieldy, they place the bedstead in front
of him, and on that they lay a small image. Offerings are made to him
by pilgrims and others, of rice, money, jewels, elephants, &c., the
Rajah of Knoudah and the priests being his joint treasurers. On the day
of the festival, three cars, between fifty and sixty feet in height, are
brought to the gate of the temple; the idols are then taken out by the
priests, Juggernaut having golden arms and diamond eyes for that one
day, and by means of pulleys are hauled up and placed in their
respective carriages: to these enormous ropes are attached, and the
assembled thousands with loud shouts proceed to drag the idols to
Juggernaut's country-house, a small temple about a mile distant. This
occupies several days, and the idols are then brought back to their
regular stations. The Hindoos believe that every person who aids in
dragging the cars receives pardon for all his past sins; but the fact
that people throw themselves under the wheels of the cars, appears to
have been an European conjecture, arising from the numerous deaths that
occur from accidents at the time the immense cars are in progress."

[Illustration: CAR OF JUGGERNAUT.]

These cars have an imposing air, from their great size and loftiness:
the wheels are six feet in diameter; but every part of the ornament is
of the meanest and most paltry description, save only the covering of
striped and spangled broad-cloth, the splendid and gorgeous effect of
which makes up in a great measure for other deficiencies.

During the period the pilgrims remain at Pooree they are not allowed to
eat anything but what has been offered to the idol, and that they have
to buy at a high price from the priests.

       *       *       *       *       *




CYPRUS.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

Cyprus, an island in the Levant, is said to have taken its name from the
number of shrubs of that name with which it once abounded. From this
tall shrub, the cypress, its ancient inhabitants made an oil of a very
delicious flavour, which was an article of great importance in their
commerce, and is still in great repute among Eastern nations. It once,
too, abounded with forests of olive trees; and immense cisterns are
still to be seen, which have been erected for the purpose of preserving
the oil which the olive yielded.

Near the centre of the island stands Nicotia, the capital, and the
residence of the governor, who now occupies one of the palaces of its
ancient sovereigns. The palaces are remarkable for the beauty of their
architecture, but are abandoned by their Turkish masters to the
destructive hand of time. The church of St. Sophia, in this place, is
built in the Gothic style, and is said to have been erected by the
Emperor Justinian. Here the Christian Kings of Cyprus were formerly
crowned; but it is now converted into a mosque.

The island was formerly divided into nine kingdoms, and was famous for
its superb edifices, its elegant temples, and its riches, but can now
boast of nothing but its ruins, which will tell to distant times the
greatness from which it has fallen.

The southern coast of this island is exposed to the hot winds from all
directions. During a squall from the north-east, the temperature has
been described as so scorching, that the skin instantly peeled from the
lips, a tendency to sneeze was excited, accompanied with great pain in
the eyes, and chapping of the hands and face. The heats are sometimes so
excessive, that persons going out without an umbrella are liable to
suffer from _coup de soleil_, or sun-stroke; and the inhabitants,
especially of the lower class, in order to guard against it, wrap up
their heads in a large turban, over which in their journeys they plait a
thick shawl many times folded. They seldom, however, venture out of
their houses during mid-day, and all journeys, even those of caravans,
are performed in the night. Rains are also rare in the summer season,
and long droughts banish vegetation, and attract numberless columns of
locusts, which destroy the plants and fruits.

[Illustration: CYPRUS.]

The soil, though very fertile, is rarely cultivated, the Greeks being so
oppressed by their Turkish masters that they dare not cultivate the rich
plains which surround them, as the produce would be taken from them; and
their whole object is to collect together during the year as much grain
as is barely sufficient to pay their tax to the Governor, the omission
of which is often punished by torture or even by death.

The carob, or St. John's bread-tree, is plentiful; and the long thick
pods which it produces are exported in considerable quantities to Syria
and Egypt. The succulent pulp which the pod contains is sometimes
employed in those countries instead of sugar and honey, and is often
used in preserving other fruits. The vine grows here perhaps in greater
perfection than in any other part of the world, and the wine of the
island is celebrated all over the Levant.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE RATTLESNAKE.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

This terrible reptile is found in great abundance on the continent of
America; and if its instinct induced it to make use of the dreadful
means of destruction and self-defence which it possesses, it would
become so great a scourge as to render the parts in which it is found
almost uninhabitable: but, except when violently irritated, or for the
purpose of self-preservation, it seldom employs the fatal power bestowed
upon it. The rattlesnake inserts its poison in the body of its victim by
means of two long sharp-pointed teeth or fangs, which grow one on each
side of the forepart of the upper jaw. The construction of these teeth
is very singular; they are hollow for a portion of their length, and in
each tooth is found a narrow slit communicating with the central hollow;
the root of the fang rests on a kind of bag, containing a certain
quantity of a liquid poison, and when the animal buries his teeth in his
prey, a portion of this fluid is forced through these openings and
lodged at the bottom of the wound. Another peculiarity of these poison
teeth is, that when not in use they turn back, as it were, upon a hinge,
and lie flat in the roof of the animal's mouth.

The name of rattlesnake is given to it on account of the singular
apparatus with which the extremity of its tail is furnished. This
consists of a series of hollow horn-like substances, placed loosely one
behind the other in such a manner as to produce a kind of rattling noise
when the tail is shaken; and as the animal, whenever it is enraged,
always carries its tail raised up, and produces at the same time a
tremulous motion in it, this provision of nature gives timely notice of
its dangerous approach. The number of pieces of which this rattle is
formed points out the age of the snake, which acquires a fresh piece
every year. Some specimens have been found with as many as from forty to
fifty, thus indicating a great age.

[Illustration: RATTLESNAKE AND YOUNG.]

The poison of the Viper consists of a yellowish liquid, secreted in a
glandular structure (situated immediately below the skin on either side
of the head), which is believed to represent the parotid gland of the
higher animals. If a viper be made to bite something solid, so as to
avoid its poison, the following are the appearances under the
microscope:--At first nothing is seen but a parcel of salts nimbly
floating in the liquor, but in a very short time these saline particles
shoot out into crystals of incredible tenuity and sharpness, with
something like knots here and there, from which these crystals seem to
proceed, so that the whole texture in a manner represents a spider's
web, though infinitely finer and more minute. These spiculae, or darts,
will remain unaltered on the glass for some months. Five or six grains
of this viperine poison, mixed with half an ounce of human blood,
received in a warm glass, produce no visible effects, either in colour
or consistence, nor do portions of this poisoned blood, mixed with acids
or alkalies, exhibit any alterations. When placed on the tongue, the
taste is sharp and acrid, as if the tongue had been struck with
something scalding or burning; but this sensation goes off in two or
three hours. There are only five cases on record of death following the
bite of the viper; and it has been observed that the effects are most
virulent when the poison has been received on the extremities,
particularly the fingers and toes, at which parts the animal, when
irritated (as it were, by an innate instinct), always takes its aim.

F.T. BUCKLAND

       *       *       *       *       *




ORIGIN OF "JACK THE GIANT-KILLER."


[Illustration: Letter A.]

After various adventures, Thor, accompanied by Thialfi and Loke, his
servants, entered upon Giantland, and wandered over plains--wild
uncultivated places--among stones and trees. At nightfall they noticed a
house; and as the door, which indeed formed one whole side of the house,
was open, they entered. It was a simple habitation--one large hall,
altogether empty. They stayed there. Suddenly, in the dead of the night,
loud voices alarmed them. Thor grasped his hammer, and stood in the
doorway, prepared for fight. His companions within ran hither and
thither, in their terror, seeking some outlet in that rude hall: they
found a little closet at last, and took refuge there. Neither had Thor
any battle; for lo! in the morning it turned out that the noise had been
only the snoring of a certain enormous, but peaceable, giant--the giant
Skrymir, who lay peaceably sleeping near by; and this, that they took
for a house, was merely his glove thrown aside there: the door was the
glove-wrist; the little closet they had fled into was the thumb! Such a
glove! I remark, too, that it had not fingers, as ours have, but only a
thumb, and the rest undivided--a most ancient rustic glove!

Skrymir now carried their portmanteau all day; Thor, however, who had
his suspicions, did not like the ways of Skrymir, and determined at
night to put an end to him as he slept. Raising his hammer, he struck
down into the giant's face a right thunderbolt blow, of force to rend
rocks. The giant merely awoke, rubbed his cheek, and said, "Did a leaf
fall?" Again Thor struck, as soon as Skrymir again slept, a better blow
than before; but the giant only murmured, "Was that a grain of sand!"
Thor's third stroke was with both his hands (the "knuckles white," I
suppose), and it seemed to cut deep into Skrymir's visage; but he merely
checked his snore, and remarked, "There must be sparrows roosting in
this tree, I think."

At the gate of Utgard--a place so high, that you had to strain your neck
bending back to see the top of it--Skrymir went his way. Thor and his
companions were admitted, and invited to take a share in the games going
on. To Thor, for his part, they handed a drinking-horn; it was a common
feat, they told him, to drink this dry at one draught. Long and
fiercely, three times over, Thor drank, but made hardly any impression.
He was a weak child, they told him; could he lift that cat he saw there?
Small as the feat seemed, Thor, with his whole godlike strength, could
not: he bent up the creature's back, could not raise its feet off the
ground--could at the utmost raise one foot. "Why, you are no man," said
the Utgard people; "there is an old woman that will wrestle you." Thor,
heartily ashamed, seized this haggard old woman, but could not throw
her.

[Illustration: THE GIANT SKRYMIR.]

And now, on their quitting Utgard--the chief Jotun, escorting them
politely a little way, said to Thor--"You are beaten, then; yet, be not
so much ashamed: there was deception of appearance in it. That horn you
tried to drink was the sea; you did make it ebb: but who could drink
that, the bottomless? The cat you would have lifted--why, that is the
Midgard Snake, the Great World Serpent--which, tail in mouth, girds and
keeps up the whole created world. Had you torn that up, the world must
have rushed to ruin. As for the old woman, she was Time, Old Age,
Duration: with her what can wrestle? No man, nor no god, with her. Gods
or men, she prevails over all! And then, those three strokes you
struck--look at these valleys--your three strokes made these." Thor
looked at his attendant Jotun--it was Skrymir. It was, say old critics,
the old chaotic rocky earth in person, and that glove house was some
earth cavern! But Skrymir had vanished. Utgard, with its sky-high gates,
when Thor raised his hammer to smite them, had gone to air--only the
giant's voice was heard mocking; "Better come no more to Jotunheim!"

CARLYLE.

       *       *       *       *       *




VALUE OF THE BIBLE.


What an invaluable blessing it is to have the Bible in our own tongue.
It is not only the oldest, but the best book in the world. Our
forefathers rejoiced when they were first favoured with the opportunity
of reading it for themselves. Infidels may reject, and the licentious
may sneer; but no one who ever wished to take away this
foundation-stone, could produce any other equal to it, on which the
structure of a pious mind, a solid hope, a comfortable state, or wise
conduct, could be raised. We are told, that when Archbishop Crammer's
edition of the Bible was printed in 1538, and fixed to a desk in all
parochial churches, the ardour with which men flocked to read it was
incredible. They who could, procured it; and they who could not, crowded
to read it, or to hear it read in churches. It was common to see little
assemblies of mechanics meeting together for that purpose after the
labour of the day. Many even learned to read in their old age, that they
might have the pleasure of instructing themselves from the Scriptures.

It is recorded of Edward VI., that upon a certain occasion, a paper
which was called for in the council-chamber happened to be out of reach;
the person concerned to produce it took a Bible that lay near, and,
standing upon it, reached down the paper. The King, observing what was
done, ran to the place, and taking the Bible in his hands kissed it, and
laid it up again. This circumstance, though trifling in itself, showed
his Majesty's great reverence for that _best of all books_; and his
example is a striking reproof to those who suffer their Bibles to lie
covered with dust for months together, or who throw them about as if
they were only a piece of useless lumber.

BUCK'S _Anecdotes_.

       *       *       *       *       *




NATURE AND ITS LORD.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

    There's not a leaf within the bower,
      There's not a bird upon the tree,
    There's not a dew-drop on the flower,
      But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee!

    Thy hand the varied leaf design'd,
      And gave the bird its thrilling tone;
    Thy power the dew-drops' tints combined,
      Till like a diamond's blaze they shone!

    Yes, dew-drops, leaves, and buds, and all--
      The smallest, like the greatest things--
    The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball,
      Alike proclaim thee King of Kings.

    But man alone to bounteous heaven
      Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise;
    To favour'd man alone 'tis given,
      To join the angelic choir in praise!

       *       *       *       *       *




THE STEPPING-STONES.


    The struggling rill insensibly is grown
      Into a brook of loud and stately march,
      Cross'd ever and anon by plank or arch;
    And for like use, lo! what might seem a zone
    Chosen for ornament--stone match'd with stone
      In studied symmetry, with interspace

[Illustration]

      For the clear waters to pursue their race
    Without restraint. How swiftly have they flown--
    Succeeding, still succeeding! Here the child
    Puts, when the high-swoll'n flood runs fierce and wild,
      His budding courage to the proof; and here
    Declining manhood learns to note the sly
    And sure encroachments of infirmity--
      Thinking how fast time runs--life's end how near.

    WORDSWORTH.

       *       *       *       *       *




HUMANITY.


During the retreat of the famous King Alfred at Athelney, in
Somersetshire, after the defeat of his forces by the Danes, the
following circumstance happened, which shows the extremities to which
that great man was reduced, and gives a striking proof of his pious and
benevolent disposition:--A beggar came to his little castle, and
requested alms. His Queen informed him that they had only one small loaf
remaining, which was insufficient for themselves and their friends, who
were gone abroad in quest of food, though with little hopes of success.
But the King replied, "Give the poor Christian the one half of the loaf.
He that could feed live thousand with five loaves and two fishes, can
certainly make that half of the loaf suffice for more than our
necessities." Accordingly the poor man was relieved; and this noble act
of charity was soon recompensed by a providential store of fresh
provisions, with which his people returned.

Sir Philip Sydney, at the battle near Zutphen, displayed the most
undaunted courage. He had two horses killed under him; and, whilst
mounting a third, was wounded by a musket-shot out of the trenches,
which broke the bone of his thigh. He returned about mile and a half on
horseback to the camp; and being faint with the loss of blood, and
parched with thirst from the heat of the weather, he called for drink.
It was presently brought him; but, as he was putting the vessel to his
mouth, a poor wounded soldier, who happened to be carried along at that
instant, looked up to it with wistful eyes. The gallant and generous
Sydney took the flagon from his lips, just when he was going to drink,
and delivered it to the soldier, saying, "Thy necessity is greater than
mine."

Frederick, King of Prussia, one day rang his bell and nobody answered;
on which he opened the door and found his page fast asleep in an
elbow-chair. He advanced toward him, and was going to awaken, him, when
he perceived a letter hanging out of his pocket. His curiosity prompting
him to know what it was, he took it out and read it. It was a letter
from the young man's mother, in which she thanked him for having sent
her part of his wages to relieve her in her misery, and finished with
telling; him that God would reward him for his dutiful affection. The
King, after having read it, went back softly into his chamber, took a
bag full of ducats, and slipped it with the letter into the page's
pocket. Returning to his chamber, he rang the bell so violently that he
awakened the page, who instantly made his appearance. "You have had a
sound sleep," said the King. The page was at a loss how to excuse
himself and, putting his hand into his pocket by chance, to his utter
astonishment he there found a purse of ducats. He took it out, turned
pale, and looking at the bag, burst into tears without being able to
utter a single word. "What is that?" said the King; "what is the
matter?" "Ah, sire!" said the young man, throwing himself on his knees,
"somebody seeks my ruin! I know nothing of this money which I have just
found in my pocket!" "My young friend," replied Frederick, "God often
does great things for us even in our sleep. Send that to your mother,
salute her on my part, and assure her that I will take care of both her
and you."

_Beauties of History_.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SPANIELS OF THE MONKS OF ST. BERNARD.

The convent of the Great St. Bernard is situated near the top of the
mountain known by that name, near one of the most dangerous passes of
the Alps, between Switzerland and Savoy. In these regions the traveller
is often overtaken by the most severe weather, even after days of
cloudless beauty, when the glaciers glitter in the sunshine, and the
pink flowers of the rhododendron appear as if they were never to be
sullied by the tempest. But a storm suddenly comes on; the roads are
rendered impassable by drifts of snow; the avalanches, which are huge
loosened masses of snow or ice, are swept into the valleys, carrying
trees and crags of rock before them.

[Illustration: CONVENT OF MONT ST. BERNARD.]

The hospitable monks, though their revenue is scanty, open their doors
to every stranger that presents himself. To be cold, to be weary, to be
benighted, constitutes the title to their comfortable shelter, their
cheering meal, and their agreeable converse. But their attention to the
distressed does not end here. They devote themselves to the dangerous
task of searching for those unhappy persons who may have been overtaken
by the sudden storm, and would perish but for their charitable succour.
Most remarkably are they assisted in these truly Christian offices. They
have a breed of noble dogs in their establishment, whose extraordinary
sagacity often enables them to rescue the traveller from destruction.
Benumbed with cold, weary in the search of a lost track, his senses
yielding to the stupefying influence of frost, the unhappy man sinks
upon the ground, and the snow-drift covers him from human sight. It is
then that the keen scent and the exquisite docility of these admirable
dogs are called into action. Though the perishing man lie ten or even
twenty feet beneath the snow, the delicacy of smell with which they can
trace him offers a chance of escape. They scratch away the snow with
their feet; they set up a continued hoarse and solemn bark, which brings
the monks and labourers of the convent to their assistance.

To provide for the chance that the dogs, without human help, may succeed
in discovering the unfortunate traveller, one of them has a flask of
spirits round his neck, to which the fainting man may apply for support;
and another has a cloak to cover him. Their wonderful exertions are
often successful; and even where they fail of restoring him who has
perished, the dogs discover the body, so that it may be secured for the
recognition of friends; and such is the effect of the cold, that the
dead features generally preserve their firmness for the space of two
years. One of these noble creatures was decorated with a medal, in
commemoration of his having saved the lives of twenty-two persons, who,
but for his sagacity, must have perished. Many travellers, who have
crossed the pass of St. Bernard, have seen this dog, and have heard,
around the blazing fire of the monks, the story of his extraordinary
career. He perished about the year 1816, in an attempt to convey a poor
traveller to his anxious family.

_The Menageries._

[Illustration: HEAD OF ST. BERNARD DOG.]

       *       *       *       *       *




JOPPA.


Joppa is the principal sea-port town of Palestine and it is very often
mentioned in Scripture.

Hiram, King of Tyre, is said to have sent cedars of Lebanon by sea to
Joppa, for the building of Solomon's Temple; and from Joppa the
disobedient Jonah embarked, when ordered by God to go and preach to the
people of Nineveh.

It was at Joppa that the apostle Peter lived, for some time, with one
Simon, a tanner, whose house was by the sea-shore; and it was on the
flat roof of this dwelling that he saw the wonderful vision, which
taught him not to call any man common or unclean.

[Illustration: JOPPA.]

Tabitha or Dorcas, the pious woman who spent all her life in working for
the poor, and in giving alms to those who needed relief, lived in Joppa;
and here it pleased God that she should be taken ill and die, and her
body was laid out in the usual manner before burial, in an upper chamber
of the house where she lived. The apostle Peter, to whom this pious
woman had been well known, was then at Lydda, not far from Joppa, and
the disciples sent to tell him of the heavy loss the Church had met with
in the death of Dorcas, and begged that he would come and comfort them.
The apostle directly left Lydda and went over to Joppa. He was, by his
own desire, taken to the room where the corpse lay, and was much moved
when he saw the tears of the poor women who had been fed and clothed by
the charity of Dorcas, and who were telling each other how much good she
had been the means of doing them.

Peter desired to be left alone with the body, and then he knelt down and
prayed, and, receiving strength from God, he turned to the body and
cried, "Tabitha, arise!" She then, like one awaking from sleep, opened
her eyes, and when she saw Peter she sat up. He then took her by the
hand, and she arose and was presented alive to those who, thinking she
was dead, had so lately been mourning for her loss. This was the first
miracle performed by the apostles, and it greatly surprised the people
of Joppa, who began one and all to believe that Peter was really a
preacher sent by God.

The name of Joppa signified beautiful. It was built upon the side of a
rocky mountain, which rises from the sea-shore, and all around it were
lovely gardens, full of vines, figs, and other fruits.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE AMERICAN TAPIR.


There are but three known species of the Tapir, two of which--the
Peccary and the Tapir--are natives of South America, the other of
Sumatra and Malacca. Its anatomy is much like that of the rhinoceros,
while in general form the tapir reminds us of the hog. It is a massive
and powerful animal, and its fondness for the water is almost as strong
as that displayed by the hippopotamus. It swims and dives admirably, and
will remain submerged for many minutes, rising to the surface for
breath, and then again plunging in. When hunted or wounded, it always,
if possible, makes for the water; and in its nightly wanderings will
traverse rivers and lakes in search of food, or for pleasure. The female
is very attentive to her young one, leading it about on the land, and
accustoming it at an early period to enter the water, where it plunges
and plays before its parent, who seems to act as its instructress, the
male taking no share in the work.

The tapir is very common in the warm regions of South America, where it
inhabits the forests, leading a solitary life, and seldom stirring from
its retreat during the day, which it passes in a state of tranquil
slumber. During the night, its season of activity, it wanders forth in
search of food, which consists of water-melons, gourds, young shoots of
brushwood, &c.; but, like the hog, it is not very particular in its
diet. Its senses of smell and hearing are extremely acute, and serve to
give timely notice of the approach of enemies. Defended by its tough
thick hide, it is capable of forcing its way through the thick underwood
in any direction it pleases: when thus driving onwards, it carries its
head low, and, as it were, ploughs its course.

The most formidable enemy of this animal, if we except man, is the
jaguar; and it is asserted that when that tiger of the American forest
throws itself upon the tapir, the latter rushes through the most dense
and tangled underwood, bruising its enemy, and generally succeeds in
dislodging him.

The snout of the tapir greatly reminds one of the trunk of the elephant;
for although it is not so long, it is very flexible, and the animal
makes excellent use of it as a crook to draw down twigs to the mouth, or
grasp fruit or bunches of herbage: it has nostrils at the extremity,
but there is no finger-like appendage.

In its disposition the tapir is peaceful and quiet, and, unless hard
pressed, never attempts to attack either man or beast; when, however,
the hunter's dogs surround it, it defends itself very vigorously with
its teeth, inflicting terrible wounds, and uttering a cry like a shrill
kind of whistle, which is in strange contrast with the massive bulk of
the animal.

[Illustration: AMERICAN TAPIR.]

The Indian tapir greatly resembles its American relative; it feeds on
vegetables, and is very partial to the sugar-cane. It is larger than the
American, and the snout is longer and more like the trunk of the
elephant. The most striking difference, however, between the eastern and
western animal is in colour. Instead of being the uniform dusky-bay tint
of the American, the Indian is strangely particoloured. The head, neck,
fore-limbs, and fore-quarters are quite black; the body then becomes
suddenly white or greyish-white, and so continues to about half-way over
the hind-quarters, when the black again commences abruptly, spreading
over the legs. The animal, in fact, looks just as if it were covered
round the body with a white horse-cloth.

Though the flesh of both the Indian and American tapir is dry and
disagreeable as an article of food, still the animal might be
domesticated with advantage, and employed as a beast of burthen, its
docility and great strength being strong recommendations.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.


Waterloo is a considerable village of Belgium, containing about 1600
inhabitants; and the Field of Waterloo, so celebrated as the scene of
the battle between two of the greatest generals who ever lived, is about
two miles from it. It was very far from a strong position to be chosen
for this purpose, but, no doubt, was the best the country afforded. A
gently rising ground, not steep enough in any part to prevent a rush of
infantry at double-quick time, except in the dell on the left of the
road, near the farm of La Haye Sainte; and along the crest of the hill a
scrubby hedge and low bank fencing a narrow country road. This was all,
except La Haye Sainte and Hougoumont. This _chateau_, or country-seat,
one of those continental residences which unite in them something of the
nature of a castle and a farm-house, was the residence of a Belgic
gentleman. It stands on a little eminence near the main road leading
from Brussels to Nivelles. The buildings consisted of an old tower and a
chapel, and a number of offices, partly surrounded by a farm-yard. The
garden was enclosed by a high and strong wall; round the garden was a
wood or orchard, which was enclosed by a thick hedge, concealing the
wall. The position of the place was deemed so important by the Duke of
Wellington, that he took possession of the Château of Goumont, as it was
called, on the 17th of June, and the troops were soon busily preparing
for the approaching contest, by perforating the walls, making loop-holes
for the fire of the musketry, and erecting scaffolding for the purpose
of firing from the top.

The importance of this place was also so well appreciated by Bonaparte,
that the battle of the 18th began by his attacking Hougoumont. This
name, which was bestowed upon it by the mistake of our great commander,
has quite superseded the real one of Château Goumont. The ruins are
among the most interesting of all the points connected with this
memorable place, for the struggle there was perhaps the fiercest. The
battered walls, the dismantled and fire-stained chapel, which remained
standing through all the attack, still may be seen among the wreck of
its once beautiful garden; while huge blackened beams, which have fallen
upon the crumbling heaps of stone and plaster, are lying in all
directions.

On the field of battle are two interesting monuments: one, to the memory
of the Hon. Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to the Earl of Aberdeen, who
there terminated a short but glorious career, at the age of twenty-nine,
and "fell in the blaze of his fame;" the other, to some brave officers
of the German Legion, who likewise died under circumstances of peculiar
distinction. There is also, on an enormous mound, a colossal lion of
bronze, erected by the Belgians to the honour of the Prince of Orange,
who was wounded at, or near, to the spot.

Against the walls of the church of the village of Waterloo are many
beautiful marble tablets, with the most affecting inscriptions, records
of men of various countries, who expired on that solemn and memorable
occasion in supporting a common cause. Many of these brave men were
buried in a cemetery at a short distance from the village.

[Illustration: FIELD OF WATERLOO]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE TWO OWLS AND THE SPARROW.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

    Two formal Owls together sat,
    Conferring thus in solemn chat:
    "How is the modern taste decay'd!
    Where's the respect to wisdom paid?
    Our worth the Grecian sages knew;
    They gave our sires the honour due:
    They weigh'd the dignity of fowls,
    And pry'd into the depth of Owls.
    Athens, the seat of earned fame,
    With gen'ral voice revered our name;
    On merit title was conferr'd,
    And all adored th' Athenian bird."
    "Brother, you reason well," replies
    The solemn mate, with half-shut eyes:
    "Right: Athens was the seat of learning,
    And truly wisdom is discerning.
    Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit,
    The type and ornament of wit:
    But now, alas! we're quite neglected,
    And a pert Sparrow's more respected."
    A Sparrow, who was lodged beside,
    O'erhears them sooth each other's pride.

[Illustration]

    And thus he nimbly vents his heat:
    "Who meets a fool must find conceit.
    I grant you were at Athens graced,
    And on Minerva's helm were placed;
    But ev'ry bird that wings the sky,
    Except an Owl, can tell you why.
    From hence they taught their schools to know
    How false we judge by outward show;
    That we should never looks esteem,
    Since fools as wise as you might seem.
    Would you contempt and scorn avoid,
    Let your vain-glory be destroy'd:
    Humble your arrogance of thought,
    Pursue the ways by Nature taught:
    So shall you find delicious fare,
    And grateful farmers praise your care;
    So shall sleek mice your chase reward,
    And no keen cat find more regard."

    GAY.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE BEETLE.

    See the beetle that crawls in your way,
      And runs to escape from your feet;
    His house is a hole in the clay,
      And the bright morning dew is his meat.

    But if you more closely behold
      This insect you think is so mean,
    You will find him all spangled with gold,
      And shining with crimson and green.

    Tho' the peacock's bright plumage we prize,
      As he spreads out his tail to the sun,
    The beetle we should not despise,
      Nor over him carelessly run.

    They both the same Maker declare--
      They both the same wisdom display,
    The same beauties in common they share--
      Both are equally happy and gay.

    And remember that while you would fear
      The beautiful peacock to kill,
    You would tread on the poor beetle here,
      And think you were doing no ill.

    But though 'tis so humble, be sure,
      As mangled and bleeding it lies,
    A pain as severe 'twill endure,
      As if 'twere a giant that dies.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL.


[Illustration: Letter H.]

    Hark! how the furnace pants and roars,
    Hark! how the molten metal pours,
    As, bursting from its iron doors,
        It glitters in the sun.
    Now through the ready mould it flows,
    Seething and hissing as it goes,
    And filling every crevice up,
    As the red vintage fills the cup--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    Unswathe him now. Take off each stay
    That binds him to his couch of clay,
    And let him struggle into day!
        Let chain and pulley run,
    With yielding crank and steady rope,
    Until he rise from rim to cope,
    In rounded beauty, ribb'd in strength,
    Without a flaw in all his length--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    The clapper on his giant side
    Shall ring no peal for blushing bride,
    For birth, or death, or new-year tide,
        Or festival begun!
    A nation's joy alone shall be
    The signal for his revelry;
    And for a nation's woes alone
    His melancholy tongue shall moan--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    Borne on the gale, deep-toned and clear,
    His long, loud summons shall we hear,
    When statesmen to their country dear
        Their mortal race have run;
    When mighty Monarchs yield their breath,
    And patriots sleep the sleep of death,
    Then shall he raise his voice of gloom,
    And peal a requiem o'er their tomb--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    Should foemen lift their haughty hand,
    And dare invade us where we stand,
    Fast by the altars of our land
        We'll gather every one;
    And he shall ring the loud alarm,
    To call the multitudes to arm,
    From distant field and forest brown,
    And teeming alleys of the town--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    And as the solemn boom they hear,
    Old men shall grasp the idle spear,
    Laid by to rust for many a year,
        And to the struggle run:
    Young men shall leave their toils or books,
    Or turn to swords their pruning-hooks;
    And maids have sweetest smiles for those
    Who battle with their country's foes--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    And when the cannon's iron throat
    Shall bear the news to dells remote,
    And trumpet blast resound the note--
        That victory is won;
    When down the wind the banner drops,
    And bonfires blaze on mountain tops,
    His sides shall glow with fierce delight,
    And ring glad peals from morn to night--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    But of such themes forbear to tell--
    May never War awake this bell
    To sound the tocsin or the knell--
        Hush'd be the alarum gun.
    Sheath'd be the sword! and may his voice
    But call the nations to rejoice
    That War his tatter'd flag has furl'd,
    And vanish'd from a wiser world--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    Still may he ring when struggles cease--
    Still may he ring for joy's increase,
    For progress in the arts of peace,
        And friendly trophies won;
    When rival nations join their hands,
    When plenty crowns the happy lands,
    When Knowledge gives new blessings birth,
    And Freedom reigns o'er all the earth--
        _Hurra! the work is done!_

    MACKAY.

[Illustration: FOUNDING OF THE BELL.]

       *       *       *       *       *




NAPOLEON.


With his passions, and in spite of his errors, Napoleon was, taking him
all in all, the greatest warrior of modern times. He carried into battle
a stoical courage, a profoundly calculated tenacity, a mind fertile in
sudden inspirations, which, by unlooked-for resources, disconcerted the
plans of his enemy. Let us beware of attributing a long series of
success to the organic power of the masses which he set in motion. The
most experienced eye could scarcely discover in them any thing but
elements of disorder. Still less, let it be said, that he was a
successful captain because he was a mighty Monarch. Of all his
campaigns, the most memorable are the campaign of the Adige, where the
general of yesterday, commanding an army by no means numerous, and at
first badly appointed, placed himself at once above Turenne, and on a
level with Frederick; and the campaign in France in 1814, when, reduced
to a handful of harrassed troops, he combated a force of ten times their
number. The last flashes of Imperial lightning still dazzled the eyes of
our enemies; and it was a fine sight to see the bounds of the old lion,
tracked, hunted down, beset--presenting a lively picture of the days of
his youth, when his powers developed themselves in the fields of
carnage.

Napoleon possessed, in an eminent degree, the faculties requisite for
the profession of arms; temperate and robust; watching and sleeping at
pleasure; appearing unawares where he was least expected: he did not
disregard details, to which important results are sometimes attached.
The hand which had just traced rules for the government of many millions
of men, would frequently rectify an incorrect statement of the situation
of a regiment, or write down whence two hundred conscripts were to be
obtained, and from what magazine their shoes were to be taken. A
patient, and an easy interlocutor, he was a home questioner, and he
could listen--a rare talent in the grandees of the earth. He carried
with him into battle a cool and impassable courage. Never was mind so
deeply meditative, more fertile in rapid and sudden illuminations. On
becoming Emperor he ceased not to be the soldier. If his activity
decreased with the progress of age, that was owing to the decrease of
his physical powers. In games of mingled calculation and hazard the
greater the advantages which a man seeks to obtain the greater risks he
must run. It is precisely this that renders the deceitful science of
conquerors so calamitous to nations.

[Illustration: NAPOLEON.]

Napoleon, though naturally adventurous, was not deficient in consistency
or method; and he wasted neither his soldiers nor his treasures where
the authority of his name sufficed. What he could obtain by negotiations
or by artifice, he required not by force of arms. The sword, although
drawn from the scabbard, was not stained with blood unless it was
impossible to attain the end in view by a manoeuvre. Always ready to
fight, he chose habitually the occasion and the ground: out of fifty
battles which he fought, he was the assailant in at least forty. Other
generals have equalled him in the art of disposing troops on the ground;
some have given battle as well as he did--we could mention several who
have received it better; but in the manner of directing an offensive
campaign he has surpassed all. The wars in Spain and Russia prove
nothing in disparagement of his genius. It is not by the rules of
Montecuculi and Turenne, manoeuvring on the Renchen, that we ought to
judge of such enterprises: the first warred to such or such winter
quarters; the other to subdue the world. It frequently behoved him not
merely to gain a battle, but to gain it in such a manner as to astound
Europe and to produce gigantic results. Thus political views were
incessantly interfering with the strategic genius; and to appreciate him
properly, we must not confine ourselves within the limits of the art of
war. This art is not composed exclusively of technical details; it has
also its philosophy.

To find in this elevated region a rival of Napoleon, we must go back to
the times when the feudal institutions had not yet broken the unity of
the ancient nations. The founders of religion alone have exercised over
their disciples an authority comparable with that which made him the
absolute master of his army. This moral power became fatal to him,
because he strove to avail himself of it even against the ascendancy of
material force, and because it led him to despise positive rules, the
long violation of which will not remain unpunished. When pride was
bringing Napoleon towards his fall, he happened to say, "France has more
need of me than I have of France." He spoke the truth: but why had he
become necessary? Because he had committed the destiny of France to the
chances of an interminable war: because, in spite of the resources of
his genius, that war, rendered daily more hazardous by his staking the
whole of his force and by the boldness of his movements, risked, in
every campaign, in every battle, the fruits of twenty years of triumph:
because his government was so modelled that with him every thing must be
swept away, and that a reaction, proportioned to the violence of the
action, must burst forth at once both within and without. But Napoleon
saw, without illusion, to the bottom of things. The nation, wholly
occupied in prosecuting the designs of its chief, had previously not had
time to form any plans for itself. The day on which it should have
ceased to be stunned by the din of arms, it would have called itself to
account for its servile obedience. It is better, thought he, for an
absolute prince to fight foreign armies than to have to struggle against
the energy of the citizens. Despotism had been organized for making war;
war was continued to uphold despotism. The die was cast--France must
either conquer Europe, or Europe subdue France. Napoleon fell--he fell,
because with the men of the nineteenth century he attempted the work of
an Attila and a Genghis Khan; because he gave the reins to an
imagination directly contrary to the spirit of his age; with which,
nevertheless, his reason was perfectly acquainted; because he would not
pause on the day when he felt conscious of his inability to succeed.
Nature has fixed a boundary, beyond which extravagant enterprises cannot
be carried with prudence. This boundary the Emperor reached in Spain,
and overleaped in Russia. Had he then escaped destruction, his
inflexible presumption would have caused him to find elsewhere a Bayleu
and a Moscow.

GENERAL FOY.

       *       *       *       *       *




ROME.


[Illustration]

    I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray
    Visits these eyes, waking at once, I cry,
    Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me?
    And from within a thrilling voice replies--
    Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts
    Rush on my mind--a thousand images;
    And I spring up as girt to run a race!

    Thou art in _Rome!_ the city that so long
    Reign'd absolute--the mistress of the world!
    The mighty vision that the Prophet saw
    And trembled; that from nothing, from the least,
    The lowliest village (what, but here and there
    A reed-roof'd cabin by a river side?)
    Grew into everything; and, year by year,
    Patiently, fearlessly working her way
    O'er brook and field, o'er continent and sea;
    Not like the merchant with his merchandise,
    Or traveller with staff and scrip exploring;
    But hand to hand and foot to foot, through hosts,
    Through nations numberless in battle array,
    Each behind each; each, when the other fell,
    Up, and in arms--at length subdued them all.

    Thou art in _Rome!_ the city where the Gauls,
    Entering at sun-rise through her open gates,
    And through her streets silent and desolate
    Marching to slay, thought they saw gods, not men;
    The city, that by temperance, fortitude,
    And love of glory tower'd above the clouds,
    Then fell--but, falling, kept the highest seat,
    And in her loveliness, her pomp of woe,
    Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild,
    Still o'er the mind maintains, from age to age,
    Its empire undiminish'd. There, as though
    Grandeur attracted grandeur, are beheld
    All things that strike, ennoble; from the depths
    Of Egypt, from the classic fields of Greece--
    Her groves, her temples--all things that inspire
    Wonder, delight! Who would not say the forms.
    Most perfect most divine, had by consent
    Flock'd thither to abide eternally
    Within those silent chambers where they dwell
    In happy intercourse?

    ROGERS.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE ROOKERY


[Illustration: Letter I.]

Is that a rookery, papa?

_Mr. S._ It is. Do you hear what a cawing the birds make?

_F_. Yes; and I see them hopping about among the boughs. Pray, are not
rooks the same with crows?

_Mr. S._ They are a species of crow. But they differ from the carrion
crow and raven, in not feeding upon dead flesh, but upon corn and other
seeds and grass, though, indeed, they pick up beetles and other insects
and worms. See what a number of them have alighted on yonder ploughed
field, almost blackening it over. They are searching for grubs and
worms. The men in the field do not molest them, for they do a great deal
of service by destroying grubs, which, if suffered to grow to winged
insects, would injure the trees and plants.

_F_. Do all rooks live in rookeries?

_Mr. S._ It is their nature to associate together, and they build in
numbers of the same, or adjoining trees. They have no objection to the
neighbourhood of man, but readily take to a plantation of tall trees,
though it be close to a house; and this is commonly called a rookery.
They will even fix their habitations on trees in the midst of towns.

_F_. I think a rookery is a sort of town itself.

_Mr. S._ It is--a village in the air, peopled with numerous inhabitants;
and nothing can be more amusing than to view them all in motion, flying
to and fro, and busied in their several occupations. The spring is their
busiest time. Early in the year they begin to repair their nests, or
build new ones.

[Illustration: CROW.]

_F_. Do they all work together, or every one for itself?

_Mr. S._ Each pair, after they have coupled, builds its own nest; and,
instead of helping, they are very apt to steal the materials from one
another. If both birds go out at once in search of sticks, they often
find at their return the work all destroyed, and the materials carried
off. However, I have met with a story which shows that they are not
without some sense of the criminality of thieving. There was in a
rookery a lazy pair of rooks, who never went out to get sticks for
themselves, but made a practice of watching when their neighbours were
abroad, and helping themselves from their nests. They had served most of
the community in this manner, and by these means had just finished their
own nest; when all the other rooks, in a rage, fell upon them at once,
pulled their nest in pieces, beat them soundly, and drove them from
their society.

_F_. But why do they live together, if they do not help one another?

_Mr. S._ They probably receive pleasure from the company of their own
kind, as men and various other creatures do. Then, though they do not
assist one another in building, they are mutually serviceable in many
ways. If a large bird of prey hovers about a rookery for the purpose of
carrying away the young ones, they all unite to drive him away. And when
they are feeding in a flock, several are placed as sentinels upon the
trees all round, to give the alarm if any danger approaches.

_F_. Do rooks always keep to the same trees?

_Mr. S._ Yes; they are much attached to them, and when the trees happen
to be cut down, they seem greatly distressed, and keep hovering about
them as they are falling, and will scarcely desert them when they lie on
the ground.

_F_. I suppose they feel as we should if our town was burned down, or
overthrown by an earthquake.

_Mr. S._ No doubt. The societies of animals greatly resemble those of
men; and that of rooks is like those of men in the savage state, such
as the communities of the North American Indians. It is a sort of league
for mutual aid and defence, but in which every one is left to do as he
pleases, without any obligation to employ himself for the whole body.
Others unite in a manner resembling more civilised societies of men.
This is the case with the heavers. They perform great public works by
the united efforts of the whole community--such as damming up streams
and constructing mounds for their habitations. As these are works of
great art and labour, some of them probably act under the direction of
others, and are compelled to work, whether they will or not. Many
curious stories are told to this purpose by those who have observed them
in their remotest haunts, where they exercise their full sagacity.

_F_. But are they all true?

_Mr. S._ That is more than I can answer for; yet what we certainly know
of the economy of bees may justify us in believing extraordinary things
of the sagacity of animals. The society of bees goes further than that
of beavers, and in some respects beyond most among men themselves. They
not only inhabit a common dwelling, and perform great works in common,
but they lay up a store of provision, which is the property of the whole
community, and is not used except at certain seasons and under certain
regulations. A bee-hive is a true image of a commonwealth, where no
member acts for himself alone, but for the whole body.

_Evenings at Home._

[Illustration: A HERONRY.]

       *       *       *       *       *




PALMS.


These beautiful trees may be ranked among the noblest specimens of
vegetation; and their tall, slender, unbranched stems, crowned by
elegant feathery foliage, composed of a cluster of gigantic leaves,
render them, although of several varieties, different in appearance from
all other trees. In some kinds of palm the stem is irregularly thick; in
others, slender as a reed. It is scaly in one species, and prickly in
another. In the _Palma real_, in Cuba, the stem swells out like a
spindle in the middle. At the summit of these stems, which in some cases
attain an altitude of upwards of 180 feet, a crown of leaves, either
feathery or fan-shaped (for there is not a great variety in their
general form), spreads out on all sides, the leaves being frequently
from twelve to fifteen feet in length. In some species the foliage is of
a dark green and shining surface, like that of a laurel or holly; in
others, silvery on the under-side, as in the willow; and there is one
species of palm with a fan-shaped leaf, adorned with concentric blue and
yellow rings, like the "eyes" of a peacock's tail.

[Illustration: PALMS OF ARIMATHEA.]

The flowers of most of the palms are as beautiful as the trees. Those of
the _Palma real_ are of a brilliant white, rendering them visible from a
great distance; but, generally, the blossoms are of a pale yellow. To
these succeed very different forms of fruit: in one species it consists
of a cluster of egg-shaped berries, sometimes seventy or eighty in
number, of a brilliant purple and gold colour, which form a wholesome
food.

South America contains the finest specimens, as well as the most
numerous varieties of palm: in Asia the tree is not very common; and of
the African palms but little is yet known, with the exception of the
date palm, the most important to man of the whole tribe, though far less
beautiful than the other species.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE PALM-TREE.


[Illustration: Letter I.]

    It waved not through an Eastern sky,
    Beside a fount of Araby;
    It was not fann'd by Southern breeze
    In some green isle of Indian seas;
    Nor did its graceful shadow sleep
    O'er stream of Afric, lone and deep.

    But fair the exiled Palm-tree grew,
    'Midst foliage of no kindred hue:
    Through the laburnum's dropping gold
    Rose the light shaft of Orient mould;
    And Europe's violets, faintly sweet,
    Purpled the moss-beds at its feet.

    Strange look'd it there!--the willow stream'd
    Where silv'ry waters near it gleam'd;
    The lime-bough lured the honey-bee
    To murmur by the Desert's tree,
    And showers of snowy roses made
    A lustre in its fan-like shade.

    There came an eve of festal hours--
    Rich music fill'd that garden's bowers;
    Lamps, that from flow'ring branches hung,
    On sparks of dew soft colours flung;
    And bright forms glanced--a fairy show,
    Under the blossoms to and fro.

    But one, a lone one, 'midst the throng,
    Seem'd reckless all of dance or song:
    He was a youth of dusky mien,
    Whereon the Indian sun had been;
    Of crested brow, and long black hair--
    A stranger, like the Palm-tree, there.

    And slowly, sadly, moved his plumes,
    Glittering athwart the leafy glooms:
    He pass'd the pale green olives by,
    Nor won the chesnut flowers his eye;
    But when to that sole Palm he came,
    Then shot a rapture through his frame.

    To him, to him its rustling spoke;
    The silence of his soul it broke.
    It whisper'd of his own bright isle,
    That lit the ocean with a smile.
    Aye to his ear that native tone
    Had something of the sea-wave's moan.

    His mother's cabin-home, that lay
    Where feathery cocoos fringe the bay;
    The dashing of his brethren's oar,
    The conch-note heard along the shore--
    All through his wak'ning bosom swept:
    He clasp'd his country's tree, and wept.

    Oh! scorn him not. The strength whereby
    The patriot girds himself to die;
    The unconquerable power which fills
    The foeman battling on his hills:
    These have one fountain deep and clear,
    The same whence gush'd that child-like tear!--

    MRS. HEMANS.

       *       *       *       *       *




A CHAPTER ON DOGS.


[Illustration: Letter N.]

Newfoundland Dogs are employed in drawing sledges laden with fish, wood,
and other articles, and from their strength and docility are of
considerable importance. The courage, devotion, and skill of this noble
animal in the rescue of persons from drowning is well known; and on the
banks of the Seine, at Paris, these qualities have been applied to a
singular purpose. Ten Newfoundland dogs are there trained to act as
servants to the Humane Society; and the rapidity with which they cross
and re-cross the river, and come and go, at the voice of their trainer,
is described as being most interesting to witness. Handsome kennels have
been erected for their dwellings on the bridges.

       *       *       *       *       *




DALMATIAN DOG.


There is a breed of very handsome dogs called by this name, of a white
colour, thickly spotted with black: it is classed among the hounds. This
species is said to have been brought from India, and is not remarkable
for either fine scent or intelligence. The Dalmatian Dog is generally
kept in our country as an appendage to the carriage, and is bred up in
the stable with the horses; it consequently seldom receives that kind of
training which is calculated to call forth any good qualities it may
possess.

[Illustration: DALMATIAN DOG.]

       *       *       *       *       *




TERRIER.


The Terrier is a valuable dog in the house and farm, keeping both
domains free from intruders, either in the shape of thieves or vermin.
The mischief effected by rats is almost incredible; it has been said
that, in some cases, in the article of corn, these little animals
consume a quantity in food equal in value to the rent of the farm. Here
the terrier is a most valuable assistant, in helping the farmer to rid
himself of his enemies. The Scotch Terrier is very common in the greater
part of the Western Islands of Scotland, and some of the species are
greatly admired. Her Majesty Queen Victoria possesses one from Islay--a
faithful, affectionate creature, yet with all the spirit and
determination that belong to his breed.

[Illustration: HEAD OF THE SCOTCH TERRIER.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE GREYHOUND.


The modern smooth-haired Greyhound of England is a very elegant dog, not
surpassed in speed and endurance by that of any other country. Hunting
the deer with a kind of greyhound of a larger size was formerly a
favourite diversion; and Queen Elizabeth was gratified by seeing, on one
occasion, from a turret, sixteen deer pulled down by greyhounds upon the
lawn at Cowdry Park, in Sussex.

[Illustration: HEAD OF THE GREYHOUND.]

       *       *       *       *       *




OLD ENGLISH HOUND.


The dog we now call the Staghound appears to answer better than any
other to the description given to us of the old English Hound, which was
so much valued when the country was less enclosed, and the numerous and
extensive forests were the harbours of the wild deer. This hound, with
the harrier, were for many centuries the only hunting dogs.

[Illustration: HEAD OF THE OLD ENGLISH HOUND.]

       *       *       *       *       *




SHEPHERD'S DOG.


Instinct and education combine to fit this dog for our service: the
pointer will act without any great degree of instruction, and the setter
will crouch; but the Sheep Dog, especially if he has the example of an
older one, will, almost without the teaching of his master, become
everything he could wish, and be obedient to every order, even to the
slightest motion of the hand. If the shepherd's dog be but with his
master, he appears to be perfectly content, rarely mingling with his
kind, and generally shunning the advances of strangers; but the moment
duty calls, his eye brightens, he springs up with eagerness, and
exhibits a sagacity, fidelity, and devotion rarely equalled even by man
himself.

[Illustration: HEAD OF THE SHEPHERDS DOG.]

       *       *       *       *       *




BULL-DOG.


Of all dogs, none surpass in obstinacy and ferocity the Bull-dog. The
head is broad and thick, the lower jaw generally projects so that the
under teeth advance beyond the upper, the eyes are scowling, and the
whole expression calculated to inspire terror. It is remarkable for the
pertinacity with which it maintains its hold of any animal it may have
seized, and is, therefore, much used in the barbarous practice of
bull-baiting, so common in some countries, and but lately abolished in
England.

[Illustration: HEAD OF THE BULL-DOG.]

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *




LORD BACON.


[Illustration: Letter I.]

In those prescient views by which the genius of Lord Bacon has often
anticipated the institutions and the discoveries of succeeding times,
there was one important object which even his foresight does not appear
to have contemplated. Lord Bacon did not foresee that the English
language would one day be capable of embalming all that philosophy can
discover, or poetry can invent; that his country would at length possess
a national literature of its own, and that it would exult in classical
compositions, which might be appreciated with the finest models of
antiquity. His taste was far unequal to his invention. So little did he
esteem the language of his country, that his favourite works were
composed in Latin; and he was anxious to have what he had written in
English preserved in that "universal language which may last as long as
books last."

It would have surprised Bacon to have been told that the most learned
men in Europe have studied English authors to learn to think and to
write. Our philosopher was surely somewhat mortified, when, in his
dedication of the Essays, he observed, that, "Of all my other works, my
Essays have been most current; for that, as it seems, they come home to
men's business and bosoms." It is too much to hope to find in a vast and
profound inventor, a writer also who bestows immortality on his
language. The English language is the only object, in his great survey
of art and of nature, which owes nothing of its excellence to the genius
of Bacon.

He had reason, indeed, to be mortified at the reception of his
philosophical works; and Dr. Rowley, even, some years after the death of
his illustrious master, had occasion to observe, "His fame is greater,
and sounds louder in foreign parts abroad than at home in his own
nation; thereby verifying that Divine sentence, 'A Prophet is not
without honour, save in his own country and in his own house,'" Even the
men of genius, who ought to have comprehended this new source of
knowledge thus opened to them, reluctantly entered into it: so repugnant
are we to give up ancient errors, which time and habit have made a part
of ourselves.

D'ISRAELI.

[Illustration: STATUE OF LORD BACON.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.


[Illustration: SYRIAN LILY.]

    Flowers! when the Saviour's calm, benignant eye
    Fell on your gentle beauty; when from you
      That heavenly lesson for all hearts he drew.
    Eternal, universal as the sky;
    Then in the bosom of your purity
      A voice He set, as in a temple shrine,
    That Life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by
      Unwarn'd of that sweet oracle divine.
    And though too oft its low, celestial sound
    By the harsh notes of work-day care is drown'd,
      And the loud steps of vain, unlist'ning haste,
    Yet the great lesson hath no tone of power,
    Mightier to reach the soul in thought's hush'd hour,
    Than yours, meek lilies, chosen thus, and graced.

MRS. HEMANS.

       *       *       *       *       *




POMPEII.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

The earliest and one of the most fatal eruptions of Mount Vesuvius that
is mentioned in history took place in the year 79, during the reign of
the Emperor Titus. All Campagna was filled with consternation, and the
country was overwhelmed with devastation in every direction; towns,
villages, palaces, and their inhabitants were consumed by molten lava,
and hidden from the sight by showers of volcanic stones, cinders, and
ashes.

Pompeii had suffered severely from an earthquake sixteen years before,
but had been rebuilt and adorned with many a stately building,
particularly a magnificent theatre, where thousands were assembled to
see the gladiators when this tremendous visitation burst upon the
devoted city, and buried it to a considerable depth with the fiery
materials thrown from the crater. "Day was turned to night," says a
classic author, "and night into darkness; an inexpressible quantity of
dust and ashes was poured out, deluging land, sea, and air, and burying
two entire cities, Pompeii and Herculaneum, whilst the people were
sitting in the theatre."

[Illustration: POMPEII--APARTMENT IN "THE HOUSE OF THE HUNTER"]

Many parts of Pompeii have, at various times, been excavated, so as to
allow visitors to examine the houses and streets; and in February, 1846,
the house of the Hunter was finally cleared, as it appears in the
Engraving. This is an interesting dwelling, and was very likely the
residence of a man of wealth, fond of the chase. A painting on the right
occupies one side of the large room, and here are represented wild
animals, the lion chasing a bull, &c. The upper part of the house is
raised, where stands a gaily-painted column--red and yellow in festoons;
behind which, and over a doorway, is a fresco painting of a summer-house
perhaps a representation of some country-seat of the proprietor, on
either side are hunting-horns. The most beautiful painting in this room
represents a Vulcan at his forge, assisted by three dusky, aged figures.
In the niche of the outward room a small statue was found, in _terra
cotta_ (baked clay). The architecture of this house is singularly rich
in decoration, and the paintings, particularly those of the birds and
vases, very bright vivid.

[Illustration: PORTABLE KITCHEN, FOUND AT POMPEII.]

At this time, too, some very perfect skeletons were discovered in a
house near the theatre, and near the hand of one of them were found
thirty-seven pieces of silver and two gold coins; some of the former
were attached to the handle of a key. The unhappy beings who were
perished may have been the inmates of the dwelling. We know, from the
account written by Pliny, that the young and active had plenty of time
for escape, and this is the reason why so few skeletons have been found
in Pompeii.

In a place excavated at the expense of the Empress of Russia was found a
portable kitchen (represented above), made of iron, with two round holes
for boiling pots. The tabular top received the fire for placing other
utensils upon, and by a handle in the front it could be moved when
necessary.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM.


    A Nightingale that all day long
    Had cheer'd the village with his song,
    Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
    Nor yet when even-tide was ended--
    Began to feel, as well he might,
    The keen demands of appetite:
    When, looking eagerly around,
    He spied, far off upon the ground,
    A something shining in the dark,
    And knew the glowworm by his spark:
    So stooping down from hawthorn top,
    He thought to put him in his crop.

    The worm, aware of his intent,
    Harangued him thus, right eloquent:--
    "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
    "As much as I your minstrelsy,
    You would abhor to do me wrong,
    As much as I to spoil your song;
    For 'twas the self-same power Divine
    Taught you to sing and me to shine,
    That you with music, I with light,
    Might beautify and cheer the night."

    The songster heard his short oration,
    And, warbling out his approbation,
    Released him, as my story tells,
    And found a supper somewhere else.

    COWPER.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE INVISIBLE WORLD REVEALED BY THE MICROSCOPE.


A fact not less startling than would be the realisation of the
imaginings of Shakespeare and of Milton, or of the speculations of Locke
and of Bacon, admits of easy demonstration, namely, that the air, the
earth, and the waters teem with numberless myriads of creatures, which
are as unknown and as unapproachable to the great mass of mankind, as
are the inhabitants of another planet. It may, indeed, be questioned,
whether, if the telescope could bring within the reach of our
observation the living things that dwell in the worlds around us, life
would be there displayed in forms more diversified, in organisms more
marvellous, under conditions more unlike those in which animal existence
appears to our unassisted senses, than may be discovered in the leaves
of every forest, in the flowers of every garden, and in the waters of
every rivulet, by that noblest instrument of natural philosophy, the
Microscope.

[Illustration: LARVA OF THE COMMON GNAT.
  A. The body and head of the larva (magnified).
  B. The respiratory apparatus, situated in the tail.
  C. Natural size.]

To an intelligent person, who has previously obtained a general idea of
the nature of the Objects about to be submitted to his inspection, a
group of living animalcules, seen under a powerful microscope for the
first time, presents a scene of extraordinary interest, and never fails
to call forth an expression of amazement and admiration. This statement
admits of an easy illustration: for example, from some water containing
aquatic plants, collected from a pond on Clapham Common, I select a
small twig, to which are attached a few delicate flakes, apparently of
slime or jelly; some minute fibres, standing erect here and there on the
twig, are also dimly visible to the naked eye. This twig, with a drop or
two of the water, we will put between two thin plates of glass, and
place under the field of view of a microscope, having lenses that
magnify the image of an object 200 times in linear dimensions.

Upon looking through the instrument, we find the fluid swarming with
animals of various shapes and magnitudes. Some are darting through the
water with great rapidity, while others are pursuing and devouring
creatures more infinitesimal than themselves. Many are attached to the
twig by long delicate threads, several have their bodies inclosed in a
transparent tube, from one end of which the animal partly protrudes and
then recedes, while others are covered by an elegant shell or case. The
minutest kinds, many of which are so small that millions might be
contained in a single drop of water, appear like mere animated globules,
free, single, and of various colours, sporting about in every direction.
Numerous species resemble pearly or opaline cups or vases, fringed round
the margin with delicate fibres, that are in constant oscillation. Some
of these are attached by spiral tendrils; others are united by a slender
stem to one common trunk, appearing like a bunch of hare-bells; others
are of a globular form, and grouped together in a definite pattern, on a
tabular or spherical membranous case, for a certain period of their
existence, and ultimately become detached and locomotive, while many are
permanently clustered together, and die if separated from the parent
mass. They have no organs of progressive motion, similar to those of
beasts, birds, or fishes; and though many species are destitute of eyes,
yet possess an accurate perception of the presence of other bodies, and
pursue and capture their prey with unerring purpose.

[Illustration: FOOT OF COMMON HOUSE-FLY.]

[Illustration: HAIR, GREATLY MAGNIFIED.
  A. Hairs of the Bat.
  B. Of the Mole.
  C. Of the Mouse.]

_Mantell's Thoughts on Animalcules._

       *       *       *       *       *




THE CANARY.


This bird, which is now kept and reared throughout the whole of Europe,
and even in Russia and Siberia, on account of its pretty form, docility,
and sweet song, is a native of the Canary Isles. On the banks of small
streams, in the pleasant valleys of those lovely islands, it builds its
nest in the branches of the orange-trees, of which it is so fond, that
even in this country the bird has been known to find its way into the
greenhouse, and select the fork of one of the branches of an orange-tree
on which to build its nest, seeming to be pleased with the sweet perfume
of the blossoms.

[Illustration: CANARY.]

The bird has been known in Europe since the beginning of the sixteenth
century, when a ship, having a large number of canaries on board
destined for Leghorn, was wrecked on the coast of Italy. The birds
having regained their liberty, flew to the nearest land, which happened
to be the island of Elba, where they found so mild a climate that they
built their nests there and became very numerous. But the desire to
possess such beautiful songsters led to their being hunted after, until
the whole wild race was quite destroyed. In Italy, therefore, we find
the first tame canaries, and here they are still reared in great
numbers. Their natural colour is grey, which merges into green beneath,
almost resembling the colours of the linnet; but by means of
domestication, climate, and being bred with other birds, canaries may
now be met with of a great variety of colours. But perhaps there is none
more beautiful than the golden-yellow, with blackish-grey head and tail.
The hen canary lays her eggs four or five times a year, and thus a great
number of young are produced.

As they are naturally inhabitants of warm climates, and made still more
delicate by constant residence in rooms, great care should be taken in
winter that this favourite bird be not exposed to cold air, which,
however refreshing to it in the heat of summer, is so injurious in this
season that it causes sickness and even death. To keep canaries in a
healthy and happy state, it is desirable that the cage should be
frequently hung in brilliant daylight, and, if possible, placed in the
warm sunshine, which, especially when bathing, is very agreeable to
them. The more simple and true to-nature the food is, the better does it
agree with them; and a little summer rapeseed mixed with their usual
allowance of the seed to which they have given their name, will be found
to be the best kind of diet. As a treat, a little crushed hempseed or
summer cabbage-seed may be mixed with the canary-seed. The beautiful
grass from which the latter is obtained is a pretty ornament for the
garden; it now grows very abundantly in Kent.

The song of the canary is not in this country at all like that of the
bird in a state of nature, for it is a kind of compound of notes learned
from other birds. It may be taught to imitate the notes of the
nightingale, by being placed while young with that bird. Care must be
taken that the male parent of the young canary be removed from the nest
before the young ones are hatched, or it will be sure to acquire the
note of its parent. The male birds of all the feathered creation are the
only ones who sing; the females merely utter a sweet chirrup or chirp,
so that from the hen canary the bird will run no risk of learning its
natural note.

       *       *       *       *       *




INDUSTRY AND APPLICATION.


Diligence, industry, and proper improvement of time are material duties
of the young. To no purpose are they endowed with the best abilities, if
they want activity for exerting them. Unavailing, in this case, will be
every direction that can be given them, either for their temporal or
spiritual welfare. In youth the habits of industry are most easily
acquired; in youth the incentives to it are strong, from ambition and
from duty, from emulation and hope, from all the prospects which the
beginning of life affords. If, dead to these calls, you already languish
in slothful inaction, what will be able to quicken the more sluggish
current of advancing years? Industry is not only the instrument of
improvement, but the foundation of pleasure. Nothing is so opposite to
the true enjoyment of life as the relaxed and feeble state of an
indolent mind. He who is a stranger to industry, may possess, but he
cannot enjoy. For it is labour only which gives the relish to pleasure.
It is the appointed vehicle of every good man. It is the indispensable
condition of our possessing a sound mind in a sound body. Sloth is so
inconsistent with both, that it is hard to determine whether it be a
greater foe to virtue or to health and happiness. Inactive as it is in
itself, its effects are fatally powerful. Though it appear a
slowly-flowing stream, yet it undermines all that is stable and
flourishing. It not only saps the foundation of every virtue, but pours
upon you a deluge of crimes and evils.

It is like water which first putrefies by stagnation, and then sends up
noxious vapours and fills the atmosphere with death. Fly, therefore,
from idleness, as the certain parent both of guilt and of ruin. And
under idleness I include, not mere inaction only, but all that circle of
trifling occupations in which too many saunter away their youth;
perpetually engaged in frivolous society or public amusements, in the
labours of dress or the ostentation of their persons. Is this the
foundation which you lay for future usefulness and esteem? By such
accomplishments do you hope to recommend yourselves to the thinking part
of the world, and to answer the expectations of your friends and your
country? Amusements youth requires: it were vain, it were cruel, to
prohibit them. But, though allowable as the relaxation, they are most
culpable as the business, of the young, for they then become the gulf of
time and the poison of the mind; they weaken the manly powers; they sink
the native vigour of youth into contemptible effeminacy.

BLAIR.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE RIVER JORDAN.


[Illustration]

The river Jordan rises in the mountains of Lebanon, and falls into the
little Lake Merom, on the banks of which Joshua describes the hostile
Kings as pitching to fight against Israel. After passing through this
lake, it runs down a rocky valley with great noise and rapidity to the
Lake of Tiberias. In this part of its course the stream is almost
hidden by shady trees, which grow on each side. As the river approaches
the Lake of Tiberias it widens, and passes through it with a current
that may be clearly seen during a great part of its course. It then
reaches a valley, which is the lowest ground in the whole of Syria, many
hundred feet below the level of the Mediterranean Sea. It is so well
sheltered by the high land on both sides, that the heat thus produced
and the moisture of the river make the spot very rich and fertile. This
lovely plain is five or six miles across in parts, but widens as it
nears the Dead Sea, whose waters cover the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah,
destroyed for the wickedness of their inhabitants.

       *       *       *       *       *




ON JORDAN'S BANKS.


    On Jordan's banks the Arab camels stray,
    On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray--
    The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep;
    Yet there--even there--O God! thy thunders sleep:

    There, where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone;
    There, where thy shadow to thy people shone--
    Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire
    (Thyself none living see and not expire).

    Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear--
    Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear!
    How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?
    How long thy temple worshipless, O God!

    BYRON.

       *       *       *       *       *




FORTITUDE.


Without some degree of fortitude there can be no happiness, because,
amidst the thousand uncertainties of life, there can be no enjoyment of
tranquillity. The man of feeble and timorous spirit lives under
perpetual alarms. He sees every distant danger and tremble; he explores
the regions of possibility to discover the dangers that may arise: often
he creates imaginary ones; always magnifies those that are real. Hence,
like a person haunted by spectres, he loses the free enjoyment even of a
safe and prosperous state, and on the first shock of adversity he
desponds. Instead of exerting himself to lay hold on the resources that
remain, he gives up all for lost, and resigns himself to abject and
broken spirits. On the other hand, firmness of mind is the parent of
tranquillity. It enables one to enjoy the present without disturbance,
and to look calmly on dangers that approach or evils that threaten in
future. Look into the heart of this man, and you will find composure,
cheerfulness, and magnanimity; look into the heart of the other, and you
will see nothing but confusion, anxiety, and trepidation. The one is a
castle built on a rock, which defies the attacks of surrounding waters;
the other is a hut placed on the shore, which every wind shakes and
every wave overflows.

BLAIR.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE IVY IN THE DUNGEON.


[Illustration: Letters "The".]

    The Ivy in a dungeon grew
    Unfed by rain, uncheer'd by dew;
    Its pallid leaflets only drank
    Cave-moistures foul, and odours dank.

    But through the dungeon-grating high
    There fell a sunbeam from the sky:
    It slept upon the grateful floor
    In silent gladness evermore.

    The ivy felt a tremor shoot
    Through all its fibres to the root;
    It felt the light, it saw the ray,
    It strove to issue into day.

    It grew, it crept, it push'd, it clomb--
    Long had the darkness been its home;
    But well it knew, though veil'd in night,
    The goodness and the joy of light.

    Its clinging roots grew deep and strong;
    Its stem expanded firm and long;
    And in the currents of the air
    Its tender branches flourish'd fair.

    It reach'd the beam--it thrill'd, it curl'd,
    It bless'd the warmth that cheers the world;
    It rose towards the dungeon bars--
    It look'd upon the sun and stars.

    It felt the life of bursting spring,
    It heard the happy sky-lark sing.
    It caught the breath of morns and eves,
    And woo'd the swallow to its leaves.

    By rains, and dews, and sunshine fed,
    Over the outer wall it spread;
    And in the daybeam waving free,
    It grew into a steadfast tree.

    Upon that solitary place
    Its verdure threw adorning grace.
    The mating birds became its guests,
    And sang its praises from their nests.

    Wouldst know the moral of the rhyme?
    Behold the heavenly light, and climb!
    Look up, O tenant of the cell,
    Where man, the prisoner, must dwell.

    To every dungeon comes a ray
    Of God's interminable day.
    On every heart a sunbeam falls
    To cheer its lonely prison walls.

    The ray is TRUTH. Oh, soul, aspire
    To bask in its celestial fire;
    So shalt thou quit the glooms of clay,
    So shaft thou flourish into day.

    So shalt thou reach the dungeon grate,
    No longer dark and desolate;
    And look around thee, and above,
    Upon a world of light and love.

    MACKAY.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE NESTS OF BIRDS.


[Illustration: Letter H.]

How curious is the structure of the nest of the goldfinch or chaffinch!
The inside of it is lined with cotton and fine silken threads; and the
outside cannot be sufficiently admired, though it is composed only of
various species of fine moss. The colour of these mosses, resembling
that of the bark of the tree on which the nest is built, proves that the
bird intended it should not be easily discovered. In some nests, hair,
wool, and rushes are dexterously interwoven. In some, all the parts are
firmly fastened by a thread, which the bird makes of hemp, wool, hair,
or more commonly of spiders' webs. Other birds, as for instance the
blackbird and the lapwing, after they have constructed their nest,
plaster the inside with mortar, which cements and binds the whole
together; they then stick upon it, while quite wet, some wool or moss,
to give it the necessary degree of warmth. The nests of swallows are of
a very different construction from those of other birds. They require
neither wood, nor hay, nor cords; they make a kind of mortar, with
which they form a neat, secure, and comfortable habitation for
themselves and their family. To moisten the dust, of which they build
their nest, they dip their breasts in water and shake the drops from
their wet feathers upon it. But the nests most worthy of admiration are
those of certain Indian birds, which suspend them with great art from
the branches of trees, to secure them from the depredations of various
animals and insects. In general, every species of bird has a peculiar
mode of building; but it may be remarked of all alike, that they always
construct their nests in the way that is best adapted to their security,
and to the preservation and welfare of their species.

[Illustration: SWALLOW PREPARING A WALL FOR HER NEST.]

[Illustration: BLACKBIRD BUILDING HER NEST.]

Such is the wonderful instinct of birds with respect to the structure of
their nests. What skill and sagacity! what industry and patience do they
display! And is it not apparent that all their labours tend towards
certain ends? They construct their nests hollow and nearly round, that
they may retain the heat so much the better. They line them with the
most delicate substances, that the young may lie soft and warm. What is
it that teaches the bird to place her nest in a situation sheltered from
the rain, and secure against the attacks of other animals? How did she
learn that she should lay eggs--that eggs would require a nest to
prevent them from falling to the ground and to keep them warm? Whence
does she know that the heat would not be maintained around the eggs if
the nest were too large; and that, on the other hand, the young would
not have sufficient room if it were smaller? By what rules does she
determine the due proportions between the nest and the young which are
not yet in existence? Who has taught her to calculate the time with such
accuracy that she never commits a mistake, in producing her eggs before
the nest is ready to receive them? Admire in all these things the power,
the wisdom, and the goodness of the Creator!

STURM.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE BUSHMEN.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

The Bosjesmans, or Bushmen, appear to be the remains of Hottentot
hordes, who have been driven, by the gradual encroachments of the
European colonists, to seek for refuge among the inaccessible rocks and
sterile desert of the interior of Africa. Most of the hordes known in
the colony by the name of Bushmen are now entirely destitute of flocks
or herds, and subsist partly by the chase, partly on the wild roots of
the wilderness, and in times of scarcity on reptiles, grasshoppers, and
the larvae of ants, or by plundering their hereditary foes and
oppressors, the frontier Boers. In seasons when every green herb is
devoured by swarms of locusts, and when the wild game in consequence
desert the pastures of the wilderness, the Bushman finds a resource in
the very calamity which would overwhelm an agricultural or civilized
community. He lives by devouring the devourers; he subsists for weeks
and months on locusts alone, and also preserves a stock of this food
dried, as we do herrings or pilchards, for future consumption.

The Bushman retains the ancient arms of the Hottentot race, namely, a
javelin or assagai, similar to that of the Caffres, and a bow and
arrows. The latter, which are his principal weapons both for war and the
chase, are small in size and formed of slight materials; but, owing to
the deadly poison with which the arrows are imbued, and the dexterity
with which they are launched, they are missiles truly formidable. One of
these arrows, formed merely of a piece of slender reed tipped with bone
or iron, is sufficient to destroy the most powerful animal. But,
although the colonists very much dread the effects of the Bushman's
arrow, they know how to elude its range; and it is after all but a very
unequal match for the fire-lock, as the persecuted natives by sad
experience have found. The arrows are usually kept in a quiver, formed
of the hollow stalk of a species of aloe, and slung over the shoulder;
but a few, for immediate use, are often stuck in a band round the head.

A group of Bosjesmans, comprising two men, two women, and a child, were
recently brought to this country and exhibited at the Egyptian Hall, in
Piccadilly. The women wore mantles and conical caps of hide, and gold
ornaments in their ears. The men also wore a sort of skin cloak, which
hung down to their knees, over a close tunic: the legs and feet were
bare in both. Their sheep-skin mantles, sewed together with threads of
sinew, and rendered soft and pliable by friction, sufficed for a garment
by day and a blanket by night. These Bosjesmans exhibited a variety of
the customs of their native country. Their whoops were sometimes so loud
as to be startling, and they occasionally seemed to consider the
attention of the spectators as an affront.

[Illustration: BUSHMEN.]

       *       *       *       *       *




CHARACTER OF ALFRED, KING OF ENGLAND.


The merit of this Prince, both in private and public life, may with
advantage be set in opposition to that of any Monarch or citizen which
the annals of any age or any nation can present to us. He seems, indeed,
to be the realisation of that perfect character, which, under the
denomination of a sage or wise man, the philosophers have been fond of
delineating, rather as a fiction of their imagination than in hopes of
ever seeing it reduced to practice; so happily were all his virtues
tempered together, so justly were they blended, and so powerfully did
each prevent the other from exceeding its proper bounds. He knew how to
conciliate the most enterprising spirit with the coolest moderation; the
most obstinate perseverance with the easiest flexibility; the most
severe justice with the greatest lenity; the greatest rigour in command
with the greatest affability of deportment; the highest capacity and
inclination for science, with the most shining: talents for action. His
civil and his military virtues are almost equally the objects of our
admiration, excepting only, that the former, being more rare among
princes, as well as more useful, seem chiefly to challenge our applause.
Nature also, as if desirous that so bright a production of her skill
should be set in the fairest light, had bestowed on him all bodily
accomplishments, vigour of limbs, dignity of shape and air, and a
pleasant, engaging, and open countenance. Fortune alone, by throwing him
into that barbarous age, deprived him of historians worthy to transmit
his fame to posterity; and we wish to see him delineated in more lively
colours, and with more particular strokes, that we may at least perceive
some of those small specks and blemishes, from which, as a man, it is
impossible he could be entirely exempted.

HUME.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FIRST GRIEF.


[Illustration: Letter O.]

    Oh! call my brother back to me,
      I cannot play alone;
    The summer comes with flower and bee--
      Where is my brother gone?

    The butterfly is glancing bright
      Across the sunbeam's track;
    I care not now to chase its flight--
      Oh! call my brother back.

    The flowers run wild--the flowers we sow'd
      Around our garden-tree;
    Our vine is drooping with its load--
      Oh! call him back to me.

    "He would not hear my voice, fair child--
      He may not come to thee;
    The face that once like spring-time smiled,
      On earth no more thou'lt see

[Illustration]

    "A rose's brief bright life of joy,
      Such unto him was given;
    Go, thou must play alone, my boy--
      Thy brother is in heaven!"

    And has he left the birds and flowers,
      And must I call in vain,
    And through the long, long summer hours,
      Will he not come again?

    And by the brook, and in the glade,
      Are all our wand'rings o'er?
    Oh! while my brother with me play'd,
      Would I had loved him more!--

    MRS. HEMANS.

       *       *       *       *       *




ON CRUELTY TO INFERIOR ANIMALS


[Illustration: Letter M.]

Man is that link of the chain of universal existence by which spiritual
and corporeal beings are united: as the numbers and variety of the
latter his inferiors are almost infinite, so probably are those of the
former his superiors; and as we see that the lives and happiness of
those below us are dependant on our wills, we may reasonably conclude
that our lives and happiness are equally dependant on the wills of those
above us; accountable, like ourselves, for the use of this power to the
supreme Creator and governor of all things. Should this analogy be well
founded, how criminal will our account appear when laid before that just
and impartial judge! How will man, that sanguinary tyrant, be able to
excuse himself from the charge of those innumerable cruelties inflicted
on his unoffending subjects committed to his care, formed for his
benefit, and placed under his authority by their common Father? whose
mercy is over all his works, and who expects that his authority should
be exercised, not only with tenderness and mercy, but in conformity to
the laws of justice and gratitude.

But to what horrid deviations from these benevolent intentions are we
daily witnesses! no small part of mankind derive their chief amusements
from the deaths and sufferings of inferior animals; a much greater,
consider them only as engines of wood or iron, useful in their several
occupations. The carman drives his horse, and the carpenter his nail, by
repeated blows; and so long as these produce the desired effect, and
they both go, they neither reflect or care whether either of them have
any sense of feeling. The butcher knocks down the stately ox, with no
more compassion than the blacksmith hammers a horseshoe; and plunges his
knife into the throat of the innocent lamb, with as little reluctance as
the tailor sticks his needle into the collar of a coat.

If there are some few who, formed in a softer mould, view with pity the
sufferings of these defenceless creatures, there is scarce one who
entertains the least idea that justice or gratitude can be due to their
merits or their services. The social and friendly dog is hanged without
remorse, if, by barking in defence of his master's person and property,
he happens unknowingly to disturb his rest; the generous horse, who has
carried his ungrateful master for many years with ease and safety, worn
out with age and infirmities, contracted in his service, is by him
condemned to end his miserable days in a dust-cart, where the more he
exerts his little remains of spirit, the more he is whipped to save his
stupid driver the trouble of whipping some other less obedient to the
lash. Sometimes, having been taught the practice of many unnatural and
useless feats in a riding-house, he is at last turned out and consigned
to the dominion of a hackney-coachman, by whom he is every day corrected
for performing those tricks, which he has learned under so long and
severe a discipline. The sluggish bear, in contradiction to his nature,
is taught to dance for the diversion of a malignant mob, by placing
red-hot irons under his feet; and the majestic bull is tortured by every
mode which malice can invent, for no offence but that he is gentle and
unwilling to assail his diabolical tormentors. These, with innumerable
other acts of cruelty, injustice, and ingratitude, are every day
committed, not only with impunity, but without censure and even without
observation; but we may be assured that they cannot finally pass away
unnoticed and unretaliated.

The laws of self-defence undoubtedly justify us in destroying those
animals who would destroy us, who injure our properties, or annoy our
persons; but not even these, whenever their situation incapacitates them
from hurting us. I know of no right which we have to shoot a bear on an
inaccessible island of ice, or an eagle on the mountain's top; whose
lives cannot injure us, nor deaths procure us any benefit. We are unable
to give life, and therefore ought not wantonly to take it away from the
meanest insect, without sufficient reason; they all receive it from the
same benevolent hand as ourselves, and have therefore an equal right to
enjoy it.

God has been pleased to create numberless animals intended for our
sustenance; and that they are so intended, the agreeable flavour of
their flesh to our palates, and the wholesome nutriment which it
administers to our stomachs, are sufficient proofs: these, as they are
formed for our use, propagated by our culture, and fed by our care, we
have certainly a right to deprive of life, because it is given and
preserved to them on that condition; but this should always be performed
with all the tenderness and compassion which so disagreeable an office
will permit; and no circumstances ought to be omitted, which can render
their executions as quick and easy as possible. For this Providence has
wisely and benevolently provided, by forming them in such a manner that
their flesh becomes rancid and unpalateable by a painful and lingering
death; and has thus compelled us to be merciful without compassion, and
cautious of their sufferings, for the sake of ourselves: but, if there
are any whose tastes are so vitiated, and whose hearts are so hardened,
as to delight in such inhuman sacrifices, and to partake of them without
remorse, they should be looked upon as demons in human shape, and expect
a retaliation of those tortures which they have inflicted on the
innocent, for the gratification of their own depraved and unnatural
appetites.

So violent are the passions of anger and revenge in the human breast,
that it is not wonderful that men should persecute their real or
imaginary enemies with cruelty and malevolence; but that there should
exist in nature a being who can receive pleasure from giving pain, would
be totally incredible, if we were not convinced, by melancholy
experience, that there are not only many, but that this unaccountable
disposition is in some manner inherent in the nature of man; for, as he
cannot be taught by example, nor led to it by temptation, or prompted to
it by interest, it must be derived from his native constitution; and it
is a remarkable confirmation of what revelation so frequently
inculcates--that he brings into the world with him an original
depravity, the effects of a fallen and degenerate state; in proof of
which we need only to observe, that the nearer he approaches to a state
of nature, the more predominant this disposition appears, and the more
violently it operates. We see children laughing at the miseries which
they inflict on every unfortunate animal which comes within their power;
all savages are ingenious in contriving, and happy in executing, the
most exquisite tortures; and the common people of all countries are
delighted with nothing so much as bull-baitings, prize-fightings,
executions, and all spectacles of cruelty and horror. Though
civilization may in some degree abate this native ferocity, it can never
quite extirpate it; the most polished are not ashamed to be pleased with
scenes of little less barbarity, and, to the disgrace of human nature,
to dignify them with the name of sports. They arm cocks with artificial
weapons, which nature had kindly denied to their malevolence, and with
shouts of applause and triumph see them plunge them into each other's
hearts; they view with delight the trembling deer and defenceless hare,
flying for hours in the utmost agonies of terror and despair, and, at
last, sinking under fatigue, devoured by their merciless pursuers; they
see with joy the beautiful pheasant and harmless partridge drop from
their flight, weltering in their blood, or, perhaps, perishing with
wounds and hunger, under the cover of some friendly thicket to which
they have in vain retreated for safety; they triumph over the
unsuspecting fish whom they have decoyed by an insidious pretence of
feeding, and drag him from his native element by a hook fixed to and
tearing out his entrails; and, to add to all this, they spare neither
labour nor expense to preserve and propagate these innocent animals, for
no other end but to multiply the objects of their persecution.

What name would we bestow on a superior being, whose whole endeavours
were employed, and whose whole pleasure consisted in terrifying,
ensnaring, tormenting, and destroying mankind? whose superior faculties
were exerted in fomenting animosities amongst them, in contriving
engines of destruction, and inciting them to use them in maiming and
murdering each other? whose power over them was employed in assisting
the rapacious, deceiving the simple, and oppressing the innocent? who,
without provocation or advantage, should continue from day to day, void
of all pity and remorse, thus to torment mankind for diversion, and at
the same time endeavour with his utmost care to preserve their lives and
to propagate their species, in order to increase the number of victims
devoted to his malevolence, and be delighted in proportion to the
miseries he occasioned. I say, what name detestable enough could we find
for such a being? yet, if we impartially consider the case, and our
intermediate situation, we must acknowledge that, with regard to
inferior animals, just such a being is a sportsman.

JENYNS.

       *       *       *       *       *




PETER THE HERMIT, AND THE FIRST CRUSADE.


It was in Palestine itself that Peter the Hermit first conceived the
grand idea of rousing the powers of Christendom to rescue the Christians
of the East from the thraldom of the Mussulman, and the Sepulchre of
Jesus from the rude hands of the Infidel. The subject engrossed his
whole mind. Even in the visions of the night he was full of it. One
dream made such an impression upon him, that he devoutly believed the
Saviour of the world Himself appeared before him, and promised him aid
and protection in his holy undertaking. If his zeal had ever wavered
before, this was sufficient to fix it for ever.

Peter, after he had performed all the penances and duties of his
pilgrimage, demanded an interview with Simeon, the Patriarch of the
Greek Church at Jerusalem. Though the latter was a heretic in Peter's
eyes, yet he was still a Christian, and felt as acutely as himself for
the persecutions heaped by the Turks upon the followers of Jesus. The
good prelate entered fully into his views, and, at his suggestion, wrote
letters to the Pope, and to the most influential Monarchs of
Christendom, detailing the sorrows of the faithful, and urging them to
take up arms in their defence. Peter was not a laggard in the work.
Taking an affectionate farewell of the Patriarch, he returned in all
haste to Italy. Pope Urban II. occupied the apostolic chair. It was at
that time far from being an easy seat. His predecessor, Gregory, had
bequeathed him a host of disputes with the Emperor Henry IV., of
Germany; and he had made Philip I., of France, his enemy. So many
dangers encompassed him about that the Vatican was no secure abode, and
he had taken refuge in Apulia, under the protection of the renowned
Robert Guiscard. Thither Peter appears to have followed him, though the
spot in which their meeting took place is not stated with any precision
by ancient chroniclers or modern historians. Urban received him most
kindly, read with tears in his eyes the epistle from the Patriarch
Simeon, and listened to the eloquent story of the Hermit with an
attention which showed how deeply he sympathised with the woes of the
Christian Church.

[Illustration: PETER THE HERMIT PREACHING THE FIRST CRUSADE.]

Enthusiasm is contagious, and the Pope appears to have caught it
instantly from one whose zeal was so unbounded. Giving the Hermit full
powers, he sent him abroad to preach the Holy War to all the nations and
potentates of Christendom. The Hermit preached, and countless thousands
answered to his call. France, Germany, and Italy started at his voice,
and prepared for the deliverance of Zion. One of the early historians of
the Crusade, who was himself an eye-witness of the rapture of Europe,
describes the personal appearance of the Hermit at this time. He says
that there appeared to be something of divine in everything which he
said or did. The people so highly reverenced him, that they plucked
hairs from the mane of his mule, that they might keep them as relics.
While preaching, he wore, in general, a woollen tunic, with a
dark-coloured mantle which fell down to his heels. His arms and feet
were bare, and he ate neither flesh nor bread, supporting himself
chiefly upon fish and wine. "He set out," said the chronicler, "from
whence I know not; but we saw him passing through towns and villages,
preaching everywhere, and the people surrounding him in crowds, loading
him with offerings, and celebrating his sanctity with such great
praises, that I never remember to have seen such honours bestowed upon
any one." Thus he went on, untired, inflexible, and full of devotion,
communicating his own madness to his hearers, until Europe was stirred
from its very depths.

_Popular Delusions._

       *       *       *       *       *




FAITH'S GUIDING STAR.


[Illustration: Letter W.]

    We find a glory in the flowers
      When snowdrops peep and hawthorn blooms;
    We see fresh light in spring-time hours,
      And bless the radiance that illumes.
    The song of promise cheers with hope,
      That sin or sorrow cannot mar;
    God's beauty fills the daisyed slope,
      And keeps undimm'd Faith's guiding star.

    We find a glory in the smile
      That lives in childhood's happy face,
    Ere fearful doubt or worldly guile
      Has swept away the angel trace.
    The ray of promise shineth there,
      To tell of better lands afar;
    God sends his image, pure and fair,
      To keep undimm'd Faith's guiding star.

    We find a glory in the zeal
      Of doating breast and toiling brain;
    Affection's martyrs still will kneel,
      And song, though famish'd, pour its strain.
    They lure us by a quenchless light,
      And point where joy is holier far;
    They shed God's spirit, warm and bright,
      And keep undimm'd Faith's guiding star.

    We muse beside the rolling waves;
      We ponder on the grassy hill;
    We linger by the new-piled graves,
      And find that star is shining still.
    God in his great design hath spread,
      Unnumber'd rays to lead afar;
    They beam the brightest o'er the dead,
      And keep undimm'd Faith's guiding star.

    ELIZA COOK.

       *       *       *       *       *




QUEEN ELIZABETH'S ADDRESS TO HER ARMY AT TILBURY FORT, IN 1588.


My loving people! we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our
safety, to take heed how we commit ourself to armed multitudes, for fear
of treachery; but, I assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my
faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear: I have always so behaved
myself, that, under God, I have placed my chief strength and safeguard
in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects. And, therefore, I am
come among you at this time, not for my recreation or sport, but being
resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die among you
all, and to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people,
my honour and my blood--even in the dust. I know I have the body of a
weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart of a King, and the heart of
a King of England, too! and think foul scorn, that Parma, or Spain, or
any Prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realms; to
which, rather than dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up
arms--I myself will be your general, your judge, and the rewarder of
every one of your virtues in the field. I know already, by your
forwardness, that you have deserved rewards and crowns; and we do assure
you, on the word of a Prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the
meantime, my Lieutenant-General shall be in my stead, than whom never
Prince commanded more noble and worthy subject; nor do I doubt, by your
obedience to my General, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in
the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over the enemies of my
God, my kingdom, and my people.

_English History._

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *




JALAPA.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

The city of Jalapa, in Mexico, is very beautifully situated at the foot
of Macultepec, at an elevation of 4335 feet above the level of the sea;
but as this is about the height which the strata of clouds reach, when
suspended over the ocean, they come in contact with the ridge of the
Cordillera Mountains; this renders the atmosphere exceedingly humid and
disagreeable, particularly in north-easterly winds. In summer, however,
the mists disappear; the climate is perfectly delightful, as the
extremes of heat and cold are never experienced.

On a bright sunny day, the scenery round Jalapa is not to be surpassed.
Mountains bound the horizon, except on one side, where a distant view of
the sea adds to the beauty of the scene. Orizaba, with its snow-capped
peak, appears so close, that one imagines that it is within a few hours'
reach, and rich evergreen forests clothe the surrounding hills. In the
foreground are beautiful gardens, with fruits of every clime--the banana
and fig, the orange, cherry, and apple. The town is irregularly built,
but very picturesque; the houses are in the style of the old houses of
Spain, with windows down to the ground, and barred, in which sit the
Jalapenas ladies, with their fair complexions and black eyes.

Near Jalapa are two or three cotton factories, under the management of
English and Americans: the girls employed are all Indians, healthy and
good-looking; they are very apt in learning their work, and soon
comprehend the various uses of the machinery. In the town there is but
little to interest the stranger, but the church is said to have been
founded by Cortez, and there is also a Franciscan convent. The vicinity
of Jalapa, although poorly cultivated, produces maize, wheat, grapes,
and jalap, from which plant the well-known medicine is prepared, and the
town takes its name. A little lower down the Cordillera grows the
vanilla, the bean of which is so highly esteemed for its aromatic
flavour.

[Illustration: TOWN OF JALAPA, IN MEXICO]

The road from Jalapa to the city of Mexico constantly ascends, and the
scenery is mountainous and grand; the villages are but few, and fifteen
or twenty miles apart, with a very scanty population. No signs of
cultivation are to be seen, except little patches of maize and chilé, in
the midst of which is sometimes to be seen an Indian hut formed of reeds
and flags. The mode of travelling in this country is by diligences, but
these are continually attacked and robbed; and so much is this a matter
of course, that the Mexicans invariably calculate a certain sum for the
expenses of the road, including the usual fee for the banditti. Baggage
is sent by the muleteers, by which means it is ensured from all danger,
although a long time on the road. The Mexicans never think of resisting
these robbers, and a coach-load of eight or nine is often stopped and
plundered by one man. The foreigners do not take matters so quietly, and
there is scarcely an English or American traveller in the country who
has not come to blows in a personal encounter with the banditti at some
period or other of his adventures.

       *       *       *       *       *




CONDORS.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

Condors are found throughout the whole range of the Cordilleras, along
the south-west coast of South America, from the Straits of Magellan to
the Rio Negro. Their habitations are almost invariably on overhanging
ledges of high and perpendicular cliffs, where they both sleep and
breed, sometimes in pairs, but frequently in colonies of twenty or
thirty together. They make no nest, but lay two large white eggs on the
bare rock. The young ones cannot use their wings for flight until many
months after they are hatched, being covered, during that time, with
only a blackish down, like that of a gosling. They remain on the cliff
where they were hatched long after having acquired the full power of
flight, roosting and hunting in company with the parent birds. Their
food consists of the carcases of guanacoes, deer, cattle, and other
animals.

The condors may oftentimes be seen at a great height, soaring over a
certain spot in the most graceful spires and circles. Besides feeding on
carrion, the condors will frequently attack young goats and lambs.
Hence, the shepherd dogs are trained, the moment the enemy passes over,
to run out, and, looking upwards, to bark violently. The people of Chili
destroy and catch great numbers. Two methods are used: one is to place a
carcase within an inclosure of sticks on a level piece of ground; and
when the condors are gorged, to gallop up on horseback to the entrance,
and thus inclose them; for when this bird has not space to run, it
cannot give its body sufficient momentum to rise from the ground. The
second method is to mark the trees in which, frequently to the number of
five or six together, they roost, and then at night to climb up and
noose them. They are such heavy sleepers that this is by no means a
difficult task.

The condor, like all the vulture tribe, discovers his food from a great
distance; the body of an animal is frequently surrounded by a dozen or
more of them, almost as soon as it has dropped dead, although five
minutes before there was not a single bird in view. Whether this power
is to be attributed to the keenness of his olfactory or his visual
organs, is a matter still in dispute; although it is believed, from a
minute observation of its habits in confinement, to be rather owing to
its quickness of sight.

[Illustration: CONDORS.]

       *       *       *       *       *




OMNISCIENCE AND OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY.


I was yesterday, about sun-set, walking in the open fields, till the
night insensibly fell upon me. I at first amused myself with all the
richness and variety of colours which appeared in the western parts of
heaven; in proportion as they faded away and went out, several stars and
planets appeared one after another, till the whole firmament was in a
glow. The blueness of the ether was exceedingly heightened and enlivened
by the season of the year, and the rays of all those luminaries that
passed through it. The Galaxy appeared in its most beautiful white. To
complete the scene, the full moon rose at length in that clouded majesty
which Milton takes notice of, and opened to the eye a new picture of
nature, which was more finely shaded, and disposed among softer lights,
than that which the sun had before discovered to us.

As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, and taking her
progress among the constellations, a thought arose in me, which I
believe very often perplexes and disturbs men of serious and
contemplative natures. David himself fell into it in that reflection,
"When I consider the heavens the work of thy fingers, the moon and the
stars which thou hast ordained, what is man that though art mindful of
him, and the son of man that thou regardest him!" In the same manner,
when I consider that infinite host of stars, or, to speak more
philosophically, of suns, which were then shining upon me, with those
innumerable sets of planets or worlds, which were moving round their
respective suns; when I still enlarged the idea, and supposed another
heaven of suns and worlds rising still above this which we discovered,
and these still enlightened by a superior firmament of luminaries, which
are planted at so great a distance, that they may appear to the
inhabitants of the former as the stars do to us; in short, while I
pursued this thought, I could not but reflect on that little
insignificant figure which I myself bore amidst the immensity of God's
works.

Were the sun, which enlightens this part of the creation, with all the
host of planetary worlds that move about him, utterly extinguished and
annihilated, they would not be missed more than a grain of sand upon the
sea-shore. The space they possess is so exceedingly little in comparison
of the whole, it would scarce make a blank in creation. The chasm would
be imperceptible to an eye that could take in the whole compass of
nature, and pass from one end of creation to the other; as it is
possible there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in
creatures which are at present more exalted than ourselves. We see many
stars by the help of glasses, which we do not discover with our naked
eyes; and the finer our telescopes are, the more still are our
discoveries. Huygenius carries this thought so far, that he does not
think it impossible there may be stars whose light is not yet travelled
down to us since their first creation. There is no question but the
universe has certain bounds set to it; but when we consider that it is
the work of infinite power, prompted by infinite goodness, with an
infinite space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set any
bounds to it?

To return, therefore, to my first thought, I could not but look upon
myself with secret horror, as a being that was not worth the smallest
regard of one who had so great a work under his care and
superintendency. I was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity
of nature, and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which in
all probability swarm through all these immeasurable regions of matter.

In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, I considered
that it took its rise from those narrow conceptions which we are apt to
entertain of the Divine nature. We ourselves cannot attend to many
different objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect some
things, we must of course neglect others. This imperfection which we
observe in ourselves is an imperfection that cleaves in some degree to
creatures of the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is,
beings of finite and limited natures. The presence of every created
being is confined to a certain measure of space, and consequently his
observation is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere in
which we move, and act, and understand, is of a wider circumference to
one creature than another, according as we rise one above another in the
scale of existence. But the widest of these our spheres has its
circumference. When therefore we reflect on the Divine nature, we are so
used and accustomed to this imperfection in ourselves, that we cannot
forbear in some measure ascribing it to Him in whom there is no shadow
of imperfection. Our reason indeed assures us that his attributes are
infinite; but the poorness of our conceptions is such, that it cannot
forbear setting bounds to every thing it contemplates, till our reason
comes again to our succour and throws down all those little prejudices
which rise in us unawares, and are natural to the mind of man.

We shall, therefore, utterly extinguish this melancholy thought of our
being overlooked by our Maker in the multiplicity of his works, and the
infinity of those objects among which He seems to be incessantly
employed, if we consider, in the first place, that He is omnipresent;
and in the second, that He is omniscient.

If we consider Him in his omnipresence; his being passes through,
actuates, and supports the whole frame of nature. His creation, and
every part of it, is full of Him. There is nothing He has made that is
either so distant, so little, or so inconsiderable, which He does not
essentially inhabit. His substance is within the substance of every
being, whether material or immaterial, and as intimately present to it
as that being is to itself. It would be an imperfection in Him, were He
able to move out of one place into another, or to draw himself from any
thing He has created, or from any part of that space which He diffused
and spread abroad to infinity. In short, to speak of Him in the language
of the old philosophers, He is a being whose centre is everywhere and
his circumference nowhere.

In the second place, He is omniscient as well as omnipresent. His
omniscience indeed necessarily and naturally flows from his
omnipresence. He cannot but be conscious of every motion that arises in
the whole material world which He thus essentially pervades; and of
every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to every part
of which He is thus intimately united. Several moralists have considered
the creation as the temple of God, which He has built, with his own
hands, and which is filled with his presence. Others have considered
infinite space as the receptacle, or rather the habitation of the
Almighty; but the noblest and most exalted way of considering this
infinite space, is that of Sir Isaac Newton, who calls it the _se
sorium_ of the Godhead. Brutes and men have their _sensoriola_, or
little _sensoriums_, by which they apprehend the presence and perceive
the actions of a few objects that lie contiguous to them. Their
knowledge and observation turn within a very narrow circle. But, as God
Almighty cannot but perceive and know everything in which He resides,
infinite space gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as it were, an
organ to omniscience.

Were the soul separate from the body, and with one glance of thought
should start beyond the bounds of the creation, should it millions of
years continue its progress through infinite space with the same
activity, it would still find itself within the embrace of its Creator,
and encompassed round with the immensity of the Godhead. While we are in
the body, He is not less present with us, because He is concealed from
us. "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him!" says Job. "Behold I go
forward, but He is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive Him;
on the left hand, where He does work, but I cannot behold Him; He
hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see Him." In short,
reason as well as revelation assures us that He cannot be absent from
us, notwithstanding He is undiscovered by us.

In this consideration of God Almighty's omnipresence and omniscience,
every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He cannot but regard everything
that has being, especially such of his creatures who fear they are not
regarded by Him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety
of heart in particular, which is apt to trouble them on this occasion;
for, as it is impossible He should overlook any of his creatures, so we
may be confident that He regards, with an eye of mercy, those who
endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice, and in unfeigned
humility of heart think themselves unworthy that He should be mindful of
them.

_Spectator_.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE MILL STREAM.


[Illustration]

    Long trails of cistus flowers
      Creep on the rocky hill,
    And beds of strong spearmint
      Grow round about the mill;
    And from a mountain tarn above,
      As peaceful as a dream,
    Like to a child unruly,
    Though school'd and counsell'd truly,
      Roams down the wild mill stream!
    The wild mill stream it dasheth
      In merriment away,
    And keeps the miller and his son
      So busy all the day.

    Into the mad mill stream
      The mountain roses fall;
    And fern and adder's-tongue
      Grow on the old mill wall.
    The tarn is on the upland moor,
      Where not a leaf doth grow;
    And through the mountain gashes,
    The merry mill stream dashes
      Down to the sea below.
    But in the quiet hollows
      The red trout groweth prime,
    For the miller and the miller's son
      To angle when they've time.

    Then fair befall the stream
      That turns the mountain mill;
    And fair befall the narrow road
      That windeth up the hill!
    And good luck to the countryman,
      And to his old grey mare,
    That upward toileth steadily,
    With meal sacks laden heavily,
      In storm as well as fair!
    And good luck to the miller,
      And to the miller's son;
    And ever may the mill-wheel turn
    While mountain waters run!

    MARY HOWITT.

       *       *       *       *       *




ENVY.


[Illustration: Letter E.]

Envy is almost the only vice which is practicable at all times, and in
every place--the only passion which can never lie quiet for want of
irritation; its effects, therefore, are everywhere discoverable, and its
attempts always to be dreaded.

It is impossible to mention a name, which any advantageous distinction
has made eminent, but some latent animosity will burst out. The wealthy
trader, however he may abstract himself from public affairs, will never
want those who hint with Shylock, that ships are but boards, and that no
man can properly be termed rich whose fortune is at the mercy of the
winds. The beauty adorned only with the unambitious graces of innocence
and modesty, provokes, whenever she appears, a thousand murmurs of
detraction and whispers of suspicion. The genius, even when he
endeavours only to entertain with pleasing; images of nature, or
instruct by uncontested principles of science, yet suffers persecution
from innumerable critics, whose acrimony is excited merely by the pain
of seeing others pleased--of hearing applauses which another enjoys.

The frequency of envy makes it so familiar that it escapes our notice;
nor do we often reflect upon its turpitude or malignity, till we happen
to feel its influence. When he that has given no provocation to malice,
but by attempting to excel in some useful art, finds himself pursued by
multitudes whom he never saw with implacability of personal resentment;
when he perceives clamour and malice let loose upon him as a public
enemy, and incited by every stratagem of defamation; when he hears the
misfortunes of his family or the follies of his youth exposed to the
world; and every failure of conduct, or defect of nature, aggravated and
ridiculed; he then learns to abhor those artifices at which he only
laughed before, and discovers how much the happiness of life would be
advanced by the eradication of envy from the human heart.

Envy is, indeed, a stubborn weed of the mind, and seldom yields to the
culture of philosophy. There are, however, considerations which, if
carefully implanted, and diligently propagated, might in time overpower
and repress it, since no one can nurse it for the sake of pleasure, as
its effects are only shame, anguish, and perturbation. It is, above all
other vices, inconsistent with the character of a social being, because
it sacrifices truth and kindness to very weak temptations. He that
plunders a wealthy neighbour, gains as much as he takes away, and
improves his own condition in the same proportion as he impairs
another's; but he that blasts a flourishing reputation, must be content
with a small dividend of additional fame, so small as can afford very
little consolation to balance the guilt by which it is obtained.

I have hitherto avoided mentioning that dangerous and empirical
morality, which cures one vice by means of another. But envy is so base
and detestable, so vile in its original, and so pernicious in its
effects, that the predominance of almost any other quality is to be
desired. It is one of those lawless enemies of society, against which
poisoned arrows may honestly be used. Let it therefore be constantly
remembered, that whoever envies another, confesses his superiority; and
let those be reformed by their pride, who have lost their virtue.

Almost every other crime is practised by the help of some quality which
might have produced esteem or love, if it had been well employed; but
envy is a more unmixed and genuine evil; it pursues a hateful end by
despicable means, and desires not so much its own happiness as another's
misery. To avoid depravity like this, it is not necessary that any one
should aspire to heroism or sanctity; but only that he should resolve
not to quit the rank which nature assigns, and wish to maintain the
dignity of a human being.

DR. JOHNSON.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE OLIVE.


No tree is more frequently mentioned by ancient authors, nor was any
more highly honoured by ancient nations, than the olive. By the Greeks
it was dedicated to the goddess of wisdom, and formed the crown of
honour given to their Emperors and great men, as with the Romans. It is
a tree of slow growth, but remarkable for the great age it attains;
never, however, becoming a very large tree, though sometimes two or
three stems rise from the same root, and reach the height of from twenty
to thirty feet. The leaves grow in pairs, lanceolate in shape, of a dull
green on the upper, and hoary on the under side. Hence, in countries
where the olive is extensively cultivated, the scenery is of a dull
character, from this colour of the foliage. The fruit is oval in shape,
with a hard strong kernel, and remarkable from the outer fleshy part
being that in which much oil is lodged, and not, as is usual, in the
seed. It ripens from August to September.

Of the olive-tree two varieties are particularly distinguished: the
long-leafed, which is cultivated in the south of France and in Italy;
and the broad-leafed in Spain, which has its fruit much longer than that
of the former kind.

[Illustration: OLIVE TREES, GETHSEMANE.]

That the olive grows to a great age, has long been known. Pliny mentions
one which the Athenians of his time considered to be coëval with their
city, and therefore 1600 years old; and near Terni, in the vale of the
cascade of Marmora, there is a plantation of very old trees, supposed to
consist of the same plants that were growing there in the time of Pliny.
Lady Calcott states that on the mountain road between Tivoli and
Palestrina, there is an ancient olive-tree of large dimensions, which,
unless the documents are purposely falsified, stood as a boundary
between two possessions even before the Christian era. Those in the
garden of Olivet or Gethsemane are at least of the time of the Eastern
Empire, as is proved by the following circumstance:--In Turkey every
olive-tree found standing by the Mussulmans, when they conquered Asia,
pays one medina to the treasury, while each of those planted since the
conquest is taxed half its produce. The eight olives of which we are
speaking are charged only eight medinas. By some it is supposed that
these olive-trees may have been in existence even in the time of our
Saviour; the largest is about thirty feet in girth above the roots, and
twenty-seven feet high.

       *       *       *       *       *




ACCORDANCE BETWEEN THE SONGS OF BIRDS AND THE DIFFERENT ASPECTS OF THE
DAY.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

There is a beautiful propriety in the order in which Nature seems to
have directed the singing-birds to fill up the day with their pleasing
harmony. The accordance between their songs and the external aspect of
nature, at the successive periods of the day at which they sing, is
quite remarkable. And it is impossible to visit the forest or the
sequestered dell, where the notes of the feathered tribes are heard to
the greatest advantage, without being impressed with the conviction that
there is design in the arrangement of this sylvan minstrelsy.--

[Illustration: THE ROBIN.]

First the robin (and not the lark, as has been generally imagined), as
soon as twilight has drawn its imperceptible line between night and day,
begins his lovely song. How sweetly does this harmonise with the soft
dawning of the day! He goes on till the twinkling sun-beams begin to
tell him that his notes no longer accord with the rising scene. Up
starts the lark, and with him a variety of sprightly songsters, whose
lively notes are in perfect correspondence with the gaiety of the
morning. The general warbling continues, with now and then an
interruption by the transient croak of the raven, the scream of the jay,
or the pert chattering of the daw. The nightingale, unwearied by the
vocal exertions of the night, joins his inferiors in sound in the
general harmony. The thrush is wisely placed on the summit of some lofty
tree, that its loud and piercing notes may be softened by distance
before they reach the ear; while the mellow blackbird seeks the inferior
branches.

[Illustration: THE LARK.]

[Illustration: THE LINNET.]

Should the sun, having been eclipsed by a cloud, shine forth with fresh
effulgence, how frequently we see the goldfinch perch on some blossomed
bough, and hear its song poured forth in a strain peculiarly energetic;
while the sun, full shining on his beautiful plumes, displays his golden
wings and crimson crest to charming advantage. The notes of the cuckoo
blend with this cheering concert in a pleasing manner, and for a short
time are highly grateful to the ear. But sweet as this singular song is,
it would tire by its uniformity, were it not given in so transient a
manner.

At length evening advances, the performers gradually retire, and the
concert softly dies away. The sun is seen no more. The robin again sends
up his twilight song, till the more serene hour of night sets him to the
bower to rest. And now to close the scene in full and perfect harmony;
no sooner is the voice of the robin hushed, and night again spreads in
gloom over the horizon, than the owl sends forth his slow and solemn
tones. They are more than plaintive and less than melancholy, and tend
to inspire the imagination with a train of contemplations well adapted
to the serious hour.

Thus we see that birds bear no inconsiderable share in harmonizing some
of the most beautiful and interesting scenes in nature.

DR. JENNER.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHARACTER OF EDWARD VI.


Thus died Edward VI., in the sixteenth year of his age. He was counted
the wonder of his time; he was not only learned in the tongues and the
liberal sciences, but he knew well the state of his kingdom. He kept a
table-book, in which he had written the characters of all the eminent
men of the nation: he studied fortification, and understood the mint
well. He knew the harbours in all his dominions, with the depth of the
water, and way of coming into them. He understood foreign affairs so
well, that the ambassadors who were sent into England, published very
extraordinary things of him in all the courts of Europe. He had great
quickness of apprehension, but being distrustful of his memory, he took
notes of everything he heard that was considerable, in Greek characters,
that those about him might not understand what he writ, which he
afterwards copied out fair in the journal that he kept. His virtues were
wonderful; when he was made to believe that his uncle was guilty of
conspiring the death of the other councillors, he upon that abandoned
him.

Barnaby Fitzpatrick was his favourite; and when he sent him to travel,
he writ oft to him to keep good company, to avoid excess and luxury, and
to improve himself in those things that might render him capable of
employment at his return. He was afterwards made Lord of Upper Ossory,
in Ireland, by Queen Elizabeth, and did answer the hopes this excellent
King had of him. He was very merciful in his nature, which appeared in
his unwillingness to sign the warrant for burning the Maid of Kent. He
took great care to have his debts well paid, reckoning that a Prince who
breaks his faith and loses his credit, has thrown up that which he can
never recover, and made himself liable to perpetual distrust and extreme
contempt. He took special care of the petitions that were given him by
poor and opprest people. But his great zeal for religion crowned all the
rest--it was a true tenderness of conscience, founded on the love of God
and his neighbour. These extraordinary qualities, set off with great
sweetness and affability, made him universally beloved by his people.

BURNET.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE HUNTED STAG.


[Illustration: Letter W.]

    What sounds are on the mountain blast,
    Like bullet from the arbalast?
    Was it the hunted quarry past
      Right up Ben-ledi's side?
    So near, so rapidly, he dash'd,
    Yon lichen'd bough has scarcely plash'd
      Into the torrent's tide.
    Ay! the good hound may bay beneath,
      The hunter wind his horn;
    He dared ye through the flooded Teith,
      As a warrior in his scorn!
    Dash the red rowel in the steed!
      Spur, laggards, while ye may!
    St. Hubert's staff to a stripling reed,
      He dies no death to-day!
    "Forward!" nay, waste not idle breath,
    Gallants, ye win no greenwood wreath;
    His antlers dance above the heath,
      Like chieftain's plumed helm;
    Right onward for the western peak,
    Where breaks the sky in one white streak,
    See, Isabel, in bold relief,
    To Fancy's eye, Glenartney's chief,
      Guarding his ancient realm.
    So motionless, so noiseless there,
    His foot on rock, his head in air,
      Like sculptor's breathing stone:
    Then, snorting from the rapid race,
    Snuffs the free air a moment's space,
    Glares grimly on the baffled chase,
      And seeks the covert lone.

Hunting has been a favourite sport in Britain for many centuries.
Dyonisius (B.C. 50) tells us that the North Britons lived, in great
part, upon the food they procured by hunting. Strabo states that the
dogs bred in Britain were highly esteemed on the Continent, on account
of their excellent qualities for hunting; and Caesar tells us that
venison constituted a great portion of the food of the Britons, who did
not eat hares. Hunting was also in ancient times a Royal and noble
sport: Alfred the Great hunted at twelve years of age; Athelstan, Edward
the Confessor, Harold, William the Conqueror, William Rufus, and John
were all good huntsmen; Edward II. reduced hunting to a science, and
established rules for its practice; Henry IV. appointed a master of the
game; Edward III. hunted with sixty couples of stag-hounds; Elizabeth
was a famous huntswoman; and James I. preferred hunting to hawking or
shooting. The Bishops and Abbots of the middle ages hunted with great
state. Ladies also joined in the chase from the earliest times; and a
lady's hunting-dress in the fifteenth century scarcely differed from the
riding-habit of the present day.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

[Illustration: THE DEER-STALKER'S RETURN.]

       *       *       *       *       *




JOHN BUNYAN AND HIS WIFE.


[Illustration: Letter E.]

Elizabeth his wife, actuated by his undaunted spirit, applied to the
House of Lords for his release; and, according to her relation, she was
told, "they could do nothing; but that his releasement was committed to
the Judges at the next assizes." The Judges were Sir Matthew Hale and
Mr. Justice Twisden; and a remarkable contrast appeared between the
well-known meekness of the one, and fury of the other. Elizabeth came
before them, and, stating her husband's case, prayed for justice: "Judge
Twisden," says John Bunyan, "snapt her up, and angrily told her that I
was a convicted person, and could not be released unless I would promise
to preach no more. _Elizabeth_: 'The Lords told me that releasement was
committed to you, and you give me neither releasement nor relief. My
husband is unlawfully in prison, and you are bound to discharge him.'
_Twisden_: 'He has been lawfully convicted.' _Elizabeth_: 'It is false,
for when they said "Do you confess the indictment?" he answered, "At the
meetings where he preached, they had God's presence among them."'
_Twisden_: 'Will your husband leave preaching? if he will do so, then
send for him.' _Elizabeth_: 'My Lord, he dares not leave off preaching
as long as he can speak. But, good my Lords, consider that we have four
small children, one of them blind, and that they have nothing to live
upon while their father is in prison, but the charity of Christian
people.' _Sir Matthew Hale_: 'Alas! poor woman.' _Twisden_: 'Poverty is
your cloak, for I hear your husband is better maintained by running up
and down a-preaching than by following his calling?' _Sir Matthew Hale_:
'What is his calling?' _Elizabeth_: 'A tinker, please you my Lord; and
because he is a tinker, and a poor man, therefore he is despised and
cannot have justice.' _Sir Matthew Hale_: 'I am truly sorry we can do
you no good. Sitting here we can only act as the law gives us warrant;
and we have no power to reverse the sentence, although it may be
erroneous. What your husband said was taken for a confession, and he
stands convicted. There is, therefore, no course for you but to apply to
the King for a pardon, or to sue out a writ of error; and, the
indictment, or subsequent proceedings, being shown to be contrary to
law, the sentence shall be reversed, and your husband shall be set at
liberty. I am truly sorry for your pitiable case. I wish I could serve
you, but I fear I can do you no good.'"

Little do we know what is for our permanent good. Had Bunyan then been
discharged and allowed to enjoy liberty, he no doubt would have returned
to his trade, filling up his intervals of leisure with field-preaching;
his name would not have survived his own generation, and he could have
done little for the religious improvement of mankind. The prison doors
were shut upon him for twelve years. Being cut off from the external
world, he communed with his own soul; and, inspired by Him who touched
Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire, he composed the noblest of allegories,
the merit of which was first discovered by the lowly, but which is now
lauded by the most refined critics, and which has done more to awaken
piety, and to enforce the precepts of Christian morality, than all the
sermons that have been published by all the prelates of the Anglican
Church.

LORD CAMPBELL'S _Lives of the Judges._

       *       *       *       *       *




THE LONG-EARED AFRICAN FOX.


This singular variety of the Fox was first made known to naturalists in
1820, after the return of De Laland from South Africa. It is an
inhabitant of the mountains in the neighbourhood of the Cape of Good
Hope, but it is so rare that little is known of its habits in a state of
nature. The Engraving was taken from a specimen which has been lately
placed in the Zoological Society's gardens in the Regent's Park. It is
extremely quick of hearing, and there is something in the general
expression of the head which suggests a resemblance to the long-eared
bat. Its fur is very thick, and the brush is larger than that of our
common European fox. The skin of the fox is in many species very
valuable; that of another kind of fox at the Cape of Good Hope is so
much in request among the natives as a covering for the cold season,
that many of the Bechuanas are solely employed in hunting the animal
down with dogs, or laying snares in the places to which it is known to
resort.

[Illustration]

In common with all other foxes, those of Africa are great enemies to
birds which lay their eggs upon the ground; and their movements are, in
particular, closely watched by the ostrich during the laying season.
When the fox has surmounted all obstacles in procuring eggs, he has to
encounter the difficulty of getting at their contents; but even for this
task his cunning finds an expedient, and it is that of pushing them
forcibly along the ground until they come in contact with some substance
hard enough to break them, when the contents are speedily disposed of.

The natives, from having observed the anxiety of the ostrich to keep
this animal from robbing her nest, avail themselves of this solicitude
to lure the bird to its destruction; for, seeing that it runs to the
nest the instant a fox appears, they fasten a dog near it, and conceal
themselves close by, and the ostrich, on approaching to drive away the
supposed fox, is frequently shot by the real hunter.

The fur of the red fox of America is much valued as an article of trade,
and about 8000 are annually imported into England from the fur
countries, where the animal is very abundant, especially in the wooded
parts.

Foxes of various colours are also common in the fur countries of North
America, and a rare and valuable variety is the black or silver fox. Dr.
Richardson states that seldom more than four or five of this variety are
taken in a season at one post, though the hunters no sooner find out the
haunts of one, than they use every art to catch it, because its fur
fetches six times the price of any other fur produced in North America.
This fox is sometimes found of a rich deep glossy black, the tip of the
brush alone being white; in general, however, it is silvered over the
end of each of the long hairs of the fur, producing a beautiful
appearance.

The Arctic fox resembles greatly the European species, but is
considerably smaller; and, owing to the great quantity of white woolly
fur with which it is covered, is somewhat like a little shock dog. The
brush is very large and full, affording an admirable covering for the
nose and feet, to which it acts as a muff when the animal sleeps. The
fur is in the greatest perfection during the months of winter, when the
colour gradually becomes from an ashy grey to a full and pure white, and
is extremely thick, covering even the soles of the feet. Captain Lyon
has given very interesting accounts of the habits of this animal, and
describes it as being cleanly and free from any unpleasant smell: it
inhabits the most northern lands hitherto discovered.

[Illustration: SYRIAN FOX.]

       *       *       *       *       *




MOUNT TABOR.


The Plain of Esdraelon, in Palestine, is often mentioned in sacred
history, as the great battle-field of the Jewish and other nations,
under the names of the Valley of Mejiddo and the Valley of Jizreel, and
by Josephus as the Great Plain. The convenience of its extent and
situation for military action and display has, from the earliest periods
of history down to our own day, caused its surface at certain intervals
to be moistened with the blood, and covered with the bodies of
conflicting warriors of almost every nation under heaven. This extensive
plain, exclusive of three great arms which stretch eastward towards the
Valley of the Jordan, may be said to be in the form of an acute
triangle, having the measure of 13 or 14 miles on the north, about 18 on
the east, and above 20 on the south-west. Before the verdure of spring
and early summer has been parched up by the heat and drought of the late
summer and autumn, the view of the Great Plain is, from its fertility
and beauty, very delightful. In June, yellow fields of grain, with green
patches of millet and cotton, chequer the landscape like a carpet. The
plain itself is almost without villages, but there are several on the
slopes of the inclosing hills, especially on the side of Mount Carmel.
On the borders of this plain Mount Tabor stands out alone in magnificent
grandeur. Seen from the south-west its fine proportions present a
semi-globular appearance; but from the north-west it more resembles a
truncated cone. By an ancient path, which winds considerably, one may
ride to the summit, where is a small oblong plain with the foundations
of ancient buildings. The view from the summit is declared by Lord
Nugent to be the most splendid he could recollect having ever seen from
any natural height. The sides of the mountain are mostly covered with
bushes and woods of oak trees, with occasionally pistachio trees,
presenting a beautiful appearance, and affording a welcome and agreeable
shade. There are various tracks up its sides, often crossing each other,
and the ascent generally occupies about an hour. The crest of the
mountain is table-land, 600 or 700 yards in height from north to south,
and about half as much across, and a flat field of about an acre occurs
at a level of some 20 or 25 feet lower than the eastern brow. There are
remains of several small ruined tanks on the crest, which still catch
the rain water dripping through the crevices of the rock, and preserve
it cool and clear, it is said, throughout the year.

[Illustration: MOUNT TABOR.]

The tops of this range of mountains are barren, but the slopes and
valleys afford pasturage, and are capable of cultivation, from the
numerous springs which are met with in all directions. Cultivation is,
however, chiefly found on the seaward slopes; there many flourishing
villages exist, and every inch of ground is turned to account by the
industrious natives.

[Illustration: FIG TREE.]

[Illustration: SYCAMORE.]

Here, amidst the crags of the rocks, are to be seen the remains of the
renowned cedars with which Lebanon once abounded; but a much larger
proportion of firs, sycamores, mulberry trees, fig trees, and vines now
exist.


       *       *       *       *       *




UNA AND THE LION.


[Illustration: Letter S.]

      She, that most faithful lady, all this while,
        Forsaken, woful, solitary maid,
      Far from the people's throng, as in exile,
        In wilderness and wasteful deserts stray'd
      To seek her knight; who, subtlely betray'd
        By that false vision which th' enchanter wrought,
      Had her abandon'd. She, of nought afraid,
        Him through the woods and wide wastes daily sought,
    Yet wish'd for tidings of him--none unto her brought.

      One day, nigh weary of the irksome way,
        From her unhasty beast she did alight;
      And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay
        In secret shadow, far from all men's sight:
      From her fair head her fillet she undight,
        And laid her stole aside; her angel face,
      As the great eye that lights the earth, shone bright,
        And made a sunshine in that shady place,
    That never mortal eye beheld such heavenly grace.

      It fortun'd that, from out the thicket wood
        A ramping lion rushed suddenly,
      And hunting greedy after savage blood,
        The royal virgin helpless did espy;
      At whom, with gaping mouth full greedily
        To seize and to devour her tender corse,
      When he did run, he stopp'd ere he drew nigh,
        And loosing all his rage in quick remorse,
    As with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force.

      Then coming near, he kiss'd her weary feet,
        And lick'd her lily hand with fawning tongue,
      As he her wronged innocence did meet:
        Oh! how can beauty master the most strong,
      And simple truth subdue intent of wrong!
        His proud submission, and his yielded pride,
      Though dreading death, when she had marked long,
        She felt compassion in her heart to slide,
    And drizzling tears to gush that might not be denied.

      And with her tears she pour'd a sad complaint,
        That softly echoed from the neighbouring wood;
      While sad to see her sorrowful constraint,
        The kingly beast upon her gazing stood:
      With pity calm'd he lost all angry mood.
        At length, in close breast shutting up her pain,
      Arose the virgin born of heavenly brood,
        And on her snowy palfrey rode again
    To seek and find her knight, if him she might attain.

      The lion would not leave her desolate,
        But with her went along, as a strong guard
      Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate
        Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:
      Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward,
        And when she waked, he waited diligent
      With humble service to her will prepared.
        From her fair eyes he took commandment,
    And ever by her looks conceived her intent.

    SPENSER.

       *       *       *       *       *




DANISH ENCAMPMENT.


[Illustration: Letter S.]

Seven miles from the sea-port of Boston, in Lincolnshire, lies the rural
town of Swineshead, once itself a port, the sea having flowed up to the
market-place, where there was a harbour. The name of Swineshead is
familiar to every reader of English history, from its having been the
resting-place of King John, after he lost the whole of his baggage, and
narrowly escaped with his life, when crossing the marshes from Lynn to
Sleaford, the castle of which latter place was then in his possession.
The King halted at the Abbey, close to the town of Swineshead, which
place he left on horseback; but being taken ill, was moved in a litter
to Sleaford, and thence to his castle at Newark, where he died on the
following day, in the year 1216.

Apart from this traditional interest, Swineshead has other antiquarian
and historical associations. The circular Danish encampment, sixty yards
in diameter, surrounded by a double fosse, was, doubtless, a post of
importance, when the Danes, or Northmen, carried their ravages through
England in the time of Ethelred I., and the whole country passed
permanently into the Danish hands about A.D. 877. The incessant inroads
of the Danes, who made constant descents on various parts of the coast,
burning the towns and villages, and laying waste the country in all
directions, led to that stain upon the English character, the Danish
massacre. The troops collected to oppose these marauders always lost
courage and fled, and their leaders, not seldom, set them the example.
In 1002, peace was purchased for a sum of £24,000 and a large supply of
provisions. Meantime, the King and his councillors resolved to have
recourse to a most atrocious expedient for their future security. It had
been the practice of the English Kings, from the time of Athelstane, to
have great numbers of Danes in their pay, as guards, or household
troops; and these, it is said, they quartered on their subjects, one on
each house. The household troops, like soldiers in general, paid great
attention to their dress and appearance, and thus became very popular
with the generality of people; but they also occasionally behaved with
great insolence, and were also strongly suspected of holding secret
intelligence with their piratical countrymen. It was therefore resolved
to massacre the Hus-carles, as they were called, and their families,
throughout England. Secret orders to this effect were sent to all parts,
and on St. Brice's day, November 13th, 1002, the Danes were everywhere
fallen on and slain. The ties of affinity (for many of them had married
and settled in the country) were disregarded; even Gunhilda, sister to
Sweyn, King of Denmark, though a Christian, was not spared, and with her
last breath she declared that her death would bring the greatest evils
upon England. The words of Gunhilda proved prophetic. Sweyn, burning for
revenge and glad of a pretext for war, soon made his appearance on the
south coast, and during four years he spread devastation through all
parts of the country, until the King Ethelred agreed to give him £30,000
and provisions as before for peace, and the realm thus had rest for two
years. But this short peace was but a prelude to further disturbances;
and indeed for two centuries, dating from the reign of Egbert, England
was destined to become a prey to these fierce and fearless invaders.

[Illustration: DANISH ENCAMPMENT AT SWINESHEAD, LINCOLNSHIRE.]

The old Abbey of Swineshead was demolished in 1610, and the present
structure, known as Swineshead Abbey, was built from the materials.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE NAMELESS STREAM


[Illustration: Letter B.]

    Beautiful stream! By rock and dell
      There's not an inch in all thy course
    I have not track'd. I know thee well:
      I know where blossoms the yellow gorse;
    I know where waves the pale bluebell,
    And where the orchis and violets dwell.
    I know where the foxglove rears its head,
    And where the heather tufts are spread;
    I know where the meadow-sweets exhale,
    And the white valerians load the gale.
    I know the spot the bees love best,
    And where the linnet has built her nest.
    I know the bushes the grouse frequent,
    And the nooks where the shy deer browse the bent.
    I know each tree to thy fountain head--
    The lady birches, slim and fair;

[Illustration]

    The feathery larch, the rowans red,
      The brambles trailing their tangled hair;
    And each is link'd to my waking thought
    By some remembrance fancy-fraught.

[Illustration]

    Yet, lovely stream, unknown to fame,
      Thou hast oozed, and flow'd, and leap'd, and run,
      Ever since Time its course begun,
    Without a record, without a name.
    I ask'd the shepherd on the hill--
    He knew thee but as a common rill;
    I ask'd the farmer's blue-eyed daughter--
    She knew thee but as a running water;
    I ask'd the boatman on the shore
    (He was never ask'd to tell before)--
    Thou wert a brook, and nothing more.

    Yet, stream, so dear to me alone,
      I prize and cherish thee none the less
    That thou flowest unseen, unpraised, unknown,
      In the unfrequented wilderness.
    Though none admire and lay to heart
    How good and beautiful thou art,
    Thy flow'rets bloom, thy waters run,
    And the free birds chaunt thy benison.
    Beauty is beauty, though unseen;
      And those who love it all their days,
    Find meet reward in their soul serene,
      And the inner voice of prayer and praise.

       *       *       *       *       *




STAFFA.


[Illustration: Letter H.]

Having surveyed the various objects in Iona, we sailed for a spot no
less interesting. Thousands have described it. Few, however, have seen
it by torch or candle light, and in this respect we differ from most
tourists. All description, however, of this far-famed wonder must be
vain and fruitless. The shades of night were fast descending, and had
settled on the still waves and the little group of islets, called the
Treshnish Isles, when our vessel approached the celebrated Temple of the
Sea. We had light enough to discern its symmetry and proportions; but
the colour of the rock--a dark grey--and the minuter graces of the
columns, were undistinguishable in the evening gloom. The great face of
the rock is the most wonderful production of nature we ever beheld. It
reminded us of the west front of York or Lincoln cathedral--a
resemblance, perhaps, fanciful in all but the feelings they both
excite--especially when the English minster is seen by moonlight. The
highest point of Staffa at this view is about one hundred feet; in its
centre is the great cave, called Fingal's Cave, stretching up into the
interior of the rock a distance of more than 200 feet. After admiring in
mute astonishment the columnar proportions of the rock, regular as if
chiselled by the hand of art, the passengers entered a small boat, and
sailed under the arch. The boatmen had been brought from Iona, and they
instantly set themselves to light some lanterns, and form torches of old
ropes and tar, with which they completely illuminated the ocean hall,
into which we were ushered.

The complete stillness of the scene, except the low plashing of the
waves; the fitful gleams of light thrown first on the walls and ceiling,
as the men moved to and fro along the side of the stupendous cave; the
appearance of the varied roof, where different stalactites or
petrifactions are visible; the vastness and perfect art or semblance of
art of the whole, altogether formed a scene the most sublime, grand, and
impressive ever witnessed.

The Cathedral of Iona sank into insignificance before this great temple
of nature, reared, as if in mockery of the temples of man, by the
Almighty Power who laid the beams of his chambers on the waters, and who
walketh upon the wings of the wind. Macculloch says that it is with the
morning sun only that the great face of Staffa can be seen in
perfection; as the general surface is undulating and uneven, large
masses of light or shadow are thus produced. We can believe, also, that
the interior of the cave, with its broken pillars and variety of tints,
and with the green sea rolling over a dark red or violet-coloured rock,
must be seen to more advantage in the full light of day. Yet we question
whether we could have been more deeply sensible of the beauty and
grandeur of the scene than we were under the unusual circumstances we
have described. The boatmen sang a Gaelic _joram_ or boat-song in the
cave, striking their oars very violently in time with the music, which
resounded finely through the vault, and was echoed back by roof and
pillar. One of them, also, fired a gun, with the view of producing a
still stronger effect of the same kind. When we had fairly satisfied
ourselves with contemplating the cave, we all entered the boat and
sailed round by the Clamshell Cave (where the basaltic columns are bent
like the ribs of a ship), and the Rock of the Bouchaille, or the
herdsman, formed of small columns, as regular and as interesting as the
larger productions. We all clambered to the top of the rock, which
affords grazing for sheep and cattle, and is said to yield a rent of £20
per annum to the proprietor. Nothing but the wide surface of the ocean
was visible from our mountain eminence, and after a few minutes' survey
we descended, returned to the boat, and after regaining the
steam-vessel, took our farewell look of Staffa, and steered on for
Tobermory.

_Highland Note-Book_.

[Illustration: FINGAL'S CAVE, STAFFA.]

       *       *       *       *       *




ON CHEERFULNESS.


[Illustration: Letter I.]

I have always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The latter I consider as
an act, the former as a habit of the mind. Mirth is short and transient,
cheerfulness fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into the
greatest transports of mirth, who are subject to the greatest
depressions of melancholy: on the contrary, cheerfulness, though it does
not give the mind such an exquisite gladness, prevents us from falling
into any depths of sorrow. Mirth is like a flash of lightning, that
breaks through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for a moment;
cheerfulness keeps up a kind of daylight in the mind, and fills it with
a steady and perpetual serenity.

Men of austere principles look upon mirth as too wanton and dissolute
for a state of probation, and as filled with a certain triumph and
insolence of heart that is inconsistent with a life which is every
moment obnoxious to the greatest dangers. Writers of this complexion
have observed, that the sacred Person who was the great pattern of
perfection, was never seen to laugh.

Cheerfulness of mind is not liable to any of these exceptions; it is of
a serious and composed nature; it does not throw the mind into a
condition improper for the present state of humanity, and is very
conspicuous in the characters of those who are looked upon as the
greatest philosophers among the heathen, as well as among those who have
been deservedly esteemed as saints and holy men among Christians.

If we consider cheerfulness in three lights, with regard to ourselves,
to those we converse with, and the great Author of our being, it will
not a little recommend itself on each of these accounts. The man who is
possessed of this excellent frame of mind, is not only easy in his
thoughts, but a perfect master of all the powers and faculties of the
soul; his imagination is always clear, and his judgment undisturbed; his
temper is even and unruffled, whether in action or solitude. He comes
with a relish to all those goods which nature has provided for him,
tastes all the pleasures of the creation which are poured about him, and
does not feel the full weight of those accidental evils which may befall
him.

If we consider him in relation to the persons whom he converses with, it
naturally produces love and good-will towards him. A cheerful mind is
not only disposed to be affable and obliging, but raises the same
good-humour in those who come within its influence. A man finds himself
pleased, he does not know why, with the cheerfulness of his companion:
it is like a sudden sunshine, that awakens a secret delight in the mind,
without her attending to it. The heart rejoices of its own accord, and
naturally flows out into friendship and benevolence towards the person
who has so kindly an effect upon it.

When I consider this cheerful state of mind in its third relation, I
cannot but look upon it as a constant, habitual gratitude to the great
Author of nature.

There are but two things which, in my opinion, can reasonably deprive us
of this cheerfulness of heart. The first of these is the sense of guilt.
A man who lives in a state of vice and impenitence, can have no title to
that evenness and tranquillity of mind which is the health of the soul,
and the natural effect of virtue and innocence. Cheerfulness in an ill
man deserves a harder name than language can furnish us with, and is
many degrees beyond what we commonly call folly or madness.

Atheism, by which I mean a disbelief of a Supreme Being, and
consequently of a future state, under whatsoever title it shelters
itself, may likewise very reasonably deprive a man of this cheerfulness
of temper. There is something so particularly gloomy and offensive to
human nature in the prospect of non-existence, that I cannot but wonder,
with many excellent writers, how it is possible for a man to outlive the
expectation of it. For my own part, I think the being of a God is so
little to be doubted, that it is almost the only truth we are sure of,
and such a truth as we meet with in every object, in every occurrence,
and in every thought. If we look into the characters of this tribe of
infidels, we generally find they are made up of pride, spleen, and
cavil: it is indeed no wonder that men who are uneasy to themselves,
should be so to the rest of the world; and how is it possible for a man
to be otherwise than uneasy in himself, who is in danger every moment of
losing his entire existence and dropping into nothing?

The vicious man and Atheist have therefore no pretence to cheerfulness,
and would act very unreasonably should they endeavour after it. It is
impossible for any one to live in good-humour and enjoy his present
existence, who is apprehensive either of torment or of annihilation--of
being miserable or of not being at all.

After having mentioned these two great principles, which are destructive
of cheerfulness in their own nature, as well as in right reason, I
cannot think of any other that ought to banish this happy temper from a
virtuous mind. Pain and sickness, shame and reproach, poverty and old
age; nay, death itself, considering the shortness of their duration and
the advantage we may reap from them, do not deserve the name of evils. A
good mind may bear up under them with fortitude, with indolence, and
with cheerfulness of heart. The tossing of a tempest does not discompose
him, which he is sure will bring him to a joyful harbour.

A man who uses his best endeavours to live according to the dictates of
virtue and right reason, has two perpetual sources of cheerfulness, in
the consideration of his own nature and of that Being on whom he has a
dependence. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in that
existence which is so lately bestowed upon him, and which, after
millions of ages, will be still new and still in its beginning. How many
self-congratulations naturally arise in the mind when it reflects on
this its entrance into eternity, when it takes a view of those
improvable faculties which in a few years, and even at its first setting
out, have made so considerable a progress, and which will be still
receiving an increase of perfection, and consequently an increase of
happiness! The consciousness of such a being spreads a perpetual
diffusion of joy through the soul of a virtuous man, and makes him look
upon himself every moment as more happy than he knows how to conceive.

The second source of cheerfulness to a good mind is its consideration of
that Being on whom we have our dependence, and in whom, though we behold
Him as yet but in the first faint discoveries of his perfections, we see
every thing that we can imagine as great, glorious, and amiable. We find
ourselves every where upheld by his goodness and surrounded with an
immensity of love and mercy. In short, we depend upon a Being whose
power qualifies Him to make us happy by an infinity of means, whose
goodness and truth engage Him to make those happy who desire it of Him,
and whose unchangeableness will secure us in this happiness to all
eternity.

Such considerations, which every one should perpetually cherish in his
thoughts, will banish from us all that secret heaviness of heart which
unthinking men are subject to when they lie under no real affliction,
all that anguish which we may feel from any evil that actually oppresses
us, to which I may likewise add those little cracklings of mirth and
folly, that are apter to betray virtue than support it; and establish in
us such an even and cheerful temper, as makes us pleasing to ourselves,
to those with whom we converse, and to Him whom we are made to please.

ADDISON.

       *       *       *       *       *




STONY CROSS.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

This is the place where King William Rufus was accidentally shot by Sir
Walter Tyrrel. There has been much controversy on the details of this
catastrophe; but the following conclusions, given in the "Pictorial
History of England," appear to be just:--"That the King was shot by an
arrow in the New Forest; that his body was abandoned and then hastily
interred, are facts perfectly well authenticated; but some doubts may be
entertained as to the precise circumstances attending his death,
notwithstanding their being minutely related by writers who were living
at the time, or who flourished in the course of the following century.
Sir Walter Tyrrel afterwards swore, in France, that he did not shoot the
arrow; but he was, probably, anxious to relieve himself from the odium
of killing a King, even by accident. It is quite possible, indeed, that
the event did not arise from chance, and that Tyrrel had no part in it.
The remorseless ambition of Henry might have had recourse to murder, or
the avenging shaft might have been sped by the desperate hand of some
Englishman, tempted by a favourable opportunity and the traditions of
the place. But the most charitable construction is, that the party were
intoxicated with the wine they had drunk at Malwood-Keep, and that, in
the confusion consequent on drunkenness, the King was hit by a random
arrow."

In that part of the Forest near Stony Cross, at a short distance from
Castle Malwood, formerly stood an oak, which tradition affirmed was the
tree against which the arrow glanced that caused the death of Rufus.
Charles II. directed the tree to be encircled by a paling: it has
disappeared; but the spot whereon the tree grew is marked by a
triangular stone, about five feet high, erected by Lord Delaware,
upwards of a century ago. The stone has since been faced with an iron
casting of the following inscription upon the three sides:--

"Here stood the oak-tree on which an arrow, shot by Sir Walter Tyrrel at
a stag, glanced and struck King William II., surnamed Rufus, on the
breast; of which stroke he instantly died, on the 2nd of August, 1100.

"King William II., surnamed Rufus, being slain, as before related, was
laid in a cart belonging to one Purkess, and drawn from hence to
Winchester, and buried in the cathedral church of that city.

"That where an event so memorable had happened might not hereafter be
unknown, this stone was set up by John Lord Delaware, who had seen the
tree growing in this place, anno 1745."

Stony Cross is a favourite spot for pic-nic parties in the summer. It
lies seven miles from Ringwood, on a wide slope among the woods. From
the road above, splendid views over the country present themselves.

[Illustration: STONY CROSS, NEW FOREST.]

       *       *       *       *       *




GELERT.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

    The spearman heard the bugle sound,
      And cheerily smiled the morn;
    And many a brach, and many a hound,
      Attend Llewellyn's horn.

    And still he blew a louder blast,
      And gave a louder cheer:
    "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last
      Llewellyn's horn to hear?

    "Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam--
      The flower of all his race!
    So true, so brave--a lamb at home,
      A lion in the chase?"

    That day Llewellyn little loved
      The chase of hart or hare;
    And scant and small the booty proved,
      For Gelert was not there.

    Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied,
      When, near the portal-seat,
    His truant Gelert he espied,
      Bounding his lord to greet.

    But when he gained the castle-door,
      Aghast the chieftain stood;
    The hound was smear'd with gouts of gore--
      His lips and fangs ran blood!

    Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
      Unused such looks to meet;
    His favourite check'd his joyful guise,
      And crouch'd and lick'd his feet.

    Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd
      (And on went Gelert too),
    And still where'er his eyes were cast,
      Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view!

    O'erturn'd his infant's bed he found,
      The blood-stain'd cover rent,
    And all around the walls and ground
      With recent blood besprent.

    He call'd his child--no voice replied;
      He search'd--with terror wild;
    Blood! blood! he found on every side,
      But nowhere found the child!

    "Hell-hound! by thee my child's devour'd!"
      The frantic father cried,
    And to the hilt his vengeful sword
      He plunged in Gelert's side!

    His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
      No pity could impart;
    But still his Gelert's dying yell
      Pass'd heavy o'er his heart.

    Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
      Some slumberer waken'd nigh:
    What words the parent's joy can tell,
      To hear his infant cry!

    Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap,
      His hurried search had miss'd:
    All glowing from his rosy sleep,
      His cherub boy he kiss'd!

    Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread;
      But the same couch beneath
    Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead--
      Tremendous still in death!

[Illustration: SYRIAN WOLF.]

    Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain,
      For now the truth was clear;
    The gallant hound the wolf had slain
      To save Llewellyn's heir.

    Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe--
      "Best of thy kind, adieu!
    The frantic deed which laid thee low,
      This heart shall ever rue!"

    And now a gallant tomb they raise,
      With costly sculpture deck'd;
    And marbles, storied with his praise,
      Poor Gelert's bones protect.

    Here never could the spearman pass,
      Or forester, unmoved;
    Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
      Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

    And here he hung his horn and spear;
      And oft, as evening fell,
    In fancy's piercing sounds would hear
      Poor Gelert's dying yell.

    W. SPENCER.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

The important feature which the Great Wall makes in the map of China,
entitles this vast barrier to be considered in a geographical point of
view, as it bounds the whole north of China along the frontiers of three
provinces. It was built by the first universal Monarch of China, and
finished about 205 years before Christ: the period of its completion is
an historical fact, as authentic as any of those which the annals of
ancient kingdoms have transmitted to posterity. It was built to defend
the Chinese Empire from the incursions of the Tartars, and is calculated
to be 1500 miles in length. The rapidity with which this work was
completed is as astonishing as the wall itself, for it is said to have
been done in five years, by many millions of labourers, the Emperor
pressing three men out of every ten, in his dominions, for its
execution. For about the distance of 200 leagues, it is generally built
of stone and brick, with strong square towers, sufficiently near for
mutual defence, and having besides, at every important pass, a
formidable and well-built fortress. In many places, in this line and
extent, the wall is double, and even triple; but from the province of
Can-sih to its eastern extremity, it is nothing but a terrace of earth,
of which the towers on it are also constructed. The Great Wall, which
has now, even in its best parts, numerous breaches, is made of two walls
of brick and masonry, not above a foot and a half in thickness, and
generally many feet apart; the interval between them is filled up with
earth, making the whole appear like solid masonry and brickwork. For
six or seven feet from the earth, these are built of large square
stones; the rest is of blue brick, the mortar used in which is of
excellent quality. The wall itself averages about 20 feet in height, 25
feet in thickness at the base, which diminishes to 15 feet at the
platform, where there is a parapet wall; the top is gained by stairs and
inclined planes. The towers are generally about 40 feet square at the
base, diminishing to 30 feet a the top, and are, including battlements,
37 feet in height. At some spots the towers consist of two stories, and
are thus much higher. The wall is in many places carried over the tops
of the highest and most rugged rocks; and one of these elevated regions
is 5000 feet above the level of the sea.

[Illustration: MILITARY MANDARIN.]

[Illustration: THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA.]

Near each of the gates is a village or town; and at one of the principal
gates, which opens on the road towards India, is situated Sinning-fu, a
city of large extent and population. Here the wall is said to be
sufficiently broad at the top to admit six horsemen abreast, who might
without inconvenience ride a race. The esplanade on its top is much
frequented by the inhabitants, and the stairs which give ascent are very
broad and convenient.

[Illustration: CHINESE SOLDIER.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE TOMBS OF PAUL AND VIRGINIA.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

This delicious retreat in the island of Mauritius has no claims to the
celebrity it has attained. It is not the burial-place of Paul and
Virginia; and the author of "Recollections of the Mauritius" thus
endeavours to dispel the illusion connected with the spot:--

[Illustration: TOMBS OF PAUL AND VIRGINIA.]

"After having allowed his imagination to depict the shades of Paul and
Virginia hovering about the spot where their remains repose--after
having pleased himself with the idea that he had seen those celebrated
tombs, and given a sigh to the memory of those faithful lovers,
separated in life, but in death united--after all this waste of
sympathy, he learns at last that he has been under a delusion the whole
time--that no Virginia was there interred--and that it is a matter of
doubt whether there ever existed such a person as Paul! What a pleasing
illusion is then dispelled! How many romantic dreams, inspired by the
perusal of St. Pierre's tale, are doomed to vanish when the truth is
ascertained! The fact is, that these tombs have been built to gratify
the eager desire which the English have always evinced to behold such
interesting mementoes. Formerly only one was erected; but the proprietor
of the place, finding that all the English visitors, on being conducted
to this, as the tomb of Virginia, always asked to see that of Paul also,
determined on building a similar one, to which he gave that appellation.
Many have been the visitors who have been gratified, consequently, by
the conviction that they had looked on the actual burial-place of that
unfortunate pair. These 'tombs' are scribbled over with the names of the
various persons who have visited them, together with verses and pathetic
ejaculations and sentimental remarks. St. Pierre's story of the lovers
is very prettily written, and his description of the scenic beauties of
the island are correct, although not even his pen can do full justice to
them; but there is little truth in the tale. It is said that there was
indeed a young lady sent from the Mauritius to France for education,
during the time that Monsieur de la Bourdonnais was governor of the
colony--that her name was Virginia, and that she was shipwrecked in the
_St. Geran_. I heard something of a young man being attached to her, and
dying of grief for her loss; but that part of the story is very
doubtful. The 'Bay of the Tomb,' the 'Point of Endeavour,' the 'Isle of
Amber,' and the 'Cape of Misfortune,' still bear the same names, and are
pointed out as the memorable spots mentioned by St. Pierre."

[Illustration: Letter O.]

    Oh! gentle story of the Indian Isle!
      I loved thee in my lonely childhood well,
    On the sea-shore, when day's last purple smile
      Slept on the waters, and their hollow swell
      And dying cadence lent a deeper spell
    Unto thine ocean pictures. 'Midst thy palms
      And strange bright birds my fancy joy'd to dwell,
    And watch the southern Cross through midnight calms,
    And track the spicy woods. Yet more I bless'd
      Thy vision of sweet love--kind, trustful, true--
    Lighting the citron-groves--a heavenly guest--
      With such pure smiles as Paradise once knew.
    Even then my young heart wept o'er this world's power,
    To reach and blight that holiest Eden flower.

    MRS. HEMANS.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE MANGOUSTE.


The Mangoustes, or Ichneumons, are natives of the hotter parts of the
Old World, the species being respectively African and Indian. In their
general form and habits they bear a great resemblance to the ferrets,
being bold, active, and sanguinary, and unrelenting destroyers of birds,
reptiles, and small animals, which they take by surprise, darting
rapidly upon them. Beautiful, cleanly, and easily domesticated, they are
often kept tame in the countries they naturally inhabit, for the purpose
of clearing the houses of vermin, though the poultry-yard is not safe
from their incursions.

The Egyptian mangouste is a native of North Africa, and was deified for
its services by the ancient Egyptians. Snakes, lizards, birds,
crocodiles newly hatched, and especially the eggs of crocodiles,
constitute its food. It is a fierce and daring animal, and glides with
sparkling eyes towards its prey, which it follows with snake-like
progression; often it watches patiently for hours together, in one spot,
waiting the appearance of a mouse, rat, or snake, from its
lurking-place. In a state of domestication it is gentle and
affectionate, and never wanders from the house or returns to an
independent existence; but it makes itself familiar with every part of
the premises, exploring every hole and corner, inquisitively peeping
into boxes and vessels of all kinds, and watching every movement or
operation.

[Illustration: THE MANGOUSTE.]

The Indian mangouste is much less than the Egyptian, and of a beautiful
freckled gray. It is not more remarkable for its graceful form and
action, than for the display of its singular instinct for hunting for
and stealing eggs, from which it takes the name of egg-breaker. Mr.
Bennett, in his account of one of the mangoustes kept in the Tower,
says, that on one occasion it killed no fewer than a dozen full-grown
rats, which were loosened to it in a room sixteen feet square, in less
than a minute and a half.

Another species of the mangouste, found in the island of Java,
inhabiting the large teak forests, is greatly admired by the natives for
its agility. It attacks and kills serpents with excessive boldness. It
is very expert in burrowing in the ground, which process it employs
ingeniously in the pursuit of rats. It possesses great natural sagacity,
and, from the peculiarities of its character, it willingly seeks the
protection of man. It is easily tamed, and in its domestic state is very
docile and attached to its master, whom it follows like a dog; it is
fond of caresses, and frequently places itself erect on its hind legs,
regarding every thing that passes with great attention. It is of a very
restless disposition, and always carries its food to the most retired
place to consume it, and is very cleanly in its habits; but it is
exclusively carnivorous and destructive to poultry, employing great
artifice in surprising chickens.

       *       *       *       *       *




CULLODEN.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

Culloden Moor--the battle-field--lies eastward about a mile from
Culloden House. After an hour's climbing up the heathy brae, through a
scattered plantation of young trees, clambering over stone dykes, and
jumping over moorland rills and springs, oozing from the black turf and
streaking its sombre surface with stripes of green, we found ourselves
on the table-land of the moor--a broad, bare level, garnished with a few
black huts, and patches of scanty oats, won by patient industry from the
waste. We should premise, however, that there are some fine glimpses of
rude mountain scenery in the course of the ascent. The immediate
vicinage of Culloden House is well wooded; the Frith spreads finely in
front; the Ross-shire hills assume a more varied and commanding aspect;
and Ben Wyvis towers proudly over his compeers, with a bold pronounced
character. Ships were passing and re-passing before us in the Frith, the
birds were singing blithely overhead, and the sky was without a cloud.
Under the cheering influence of the sun, stretched on the warm,
blooming, and fragrant heather, we gazed with no common interest and
pleasure on this scene.

On the moor all is bleak and dreary--long, flat, wide, unvarying. The
folly and madness of Charles and his followers, in risking a battle on
such ground, with jaded, unequal forces, half-starved, and deprived of
rest the preceding night, has often been remarked, and is at one glance
perceived by the spectator. The Royalist artillery and cavalry had full
room to play, for not a knoll or bush was there to mar their murderous
aim. Mountains and fastnesses were on the right, within a couple of
hours' journey, but a fatality had struck the infatuated bands of
Charles; dissension and discord were in his councils; and a power
greater than that of Cumberland had marked them for destruction. But a
truce to politics; the grave has closed over victors and vanquished:

    "Culloden's dread echoes are hush'd on the moors;"

and who would awaken them with the voice of reproach, uttered over the
dust of the slain? The most interesting memorials of the contest are
the green grassy mounds which mark the graves of the slain Highlanders,
and which are at once distinguished from the black heath around by the
freshness and richness of their verdure. One large pit received the
Frasers, and another was dug for the Macintoshes.

_Highland Note-Book_.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *




ATHENS.


The most striking object in Athens is the Acropolis, or Citadel--a rock
which rises abruptly from the plain, and is crowned with the Parthenon.
This was a temple dedicated to the goddess Minerva, and was built of the
hard white marble of Pentelicus. It suffered from the ravages of war
between the Turks and Venetians, and also more recently in our own time.
The remnant of the sculptures which decorated the pediments, with a
large part of the frieze, and other interesting remains, are now in what
is called the Elgin collection of the British Museum. During the embassy
of Lord Elgin at Constantinople, he obtained permission from the Turkish
government to proceed to Athens for the purpose of procuring casts from
the most celebrated remains of sculpture and architecture which still
existed at Athens. Besides models and drawings which he made, his
Lordship collected numerous pieces of Athenian sculpture in statues,
capitals, cornices, &c., and these he very generously presented to the
English Government, thus forming a school of Grecian art in London, to
which there does not at present exist a parallel. In making this
collection he was stimulated by seeing the destruction into which these
remains were sinking, through the influence of Turkish barbarism. Some
fine statues in the Parthenon had been pounded down for mortar, on
account of their affording the whitest marble within reach, and this
mortar was employed in the construction of miserable huts. At one period
the Parthenon was converted into a powder magazine by the Turks, and in
consequence suffered severely from an explosion in 1656, which carried
away the roof of the right wing.

[Illustration: ATHENS.]

At the close of the late Greek war Athens was in a dreadful state, being
little more than a heap of ruins. It was declared by a Royal ordinance
of 1834 to be the capital of the new kingdom of Greece, and in the
March of that year the King laid the foundation-stone of his palace
there. In the hill of Areopagus, where sat that famous tribunal, we may
still discover the steps cut in the rock by which it was ascended, the
seats of the judges, and opposite to them those of the accuser and
accused. This hill was converted into a burial-place for the Turks, and
is covered with their tombs.

    Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
      Where are thy men of might--thy grand in soul?
    Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were--
      First in the race that led to Glory's goal;
      They won, and passed away. Is this the whole?
    A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
      The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole
    Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower,
    Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.

    Here let me sit, upon this massy stone,
      The marble column's yet unshaken base;
    Here, son of Saturn, was thy fav'rite throne--
      Mightiest of many such! Hence let me trace
      The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place.
    It may not be--nor ev'n can Fancy's eye
      Restore what time hath labour'd to deface:
    Yet these proud pillars, claiming sigh,
    Unmoved the Moslem sits--the light Greek carols by.

    BYRON.

[Illustration: THE PNYX AT ATHENS.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE ISLES OF GREECE.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

    The Isles of Greece! the Isles of Greece!
      Where burning Sappho loved and sung--
    Where grew the arts of war and peace,
      Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung!
    Eternal summer gilds them yet,
    But all except their sun is set.

    The Scian and the Teian muse,
      The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
    Have found the fame your shores refuse;
      Their place of birth alone is mute,
    To sounds which echo further west
    Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest."

    The mountains look on Marathon--
      And Marathon looks on the sea;
    And musing there an hour alone,
      I dream'd that Greece might still be free;
    For standing on the Persian's grave,
    I could not deem myself a slave.

    A King sat on the rocky brow,
      Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
    And ships by thousands lay below,
      And men in nations--all were his!
    He counted them at break of day--
    And when the sun set, where were they?

    And where were they? and where art thou,
      My country? On thy voiceless shore
    The heroic lay is tuneless now--
      The heroic bosom beats no more!
    And must thy lyre, so long divine,
    Degenerate into hands like mine?

    'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
      Though link'd among a fetter'd race,
    To feel at least a patriot's shame,
      Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
    For what is left the poet here?
    For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.

    Must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest?
      Must _we_ but blush?--Our fathers bled
    Earth! render back from out thy breast
      A remnant of our Spartan dead!
    Of the three hundred grant but three,
    To make a new Thermopylae!

    What! silent still? and silent all?
      Ah! no!--the voices of the dead
    Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
      And answer, "Let one living head--
    But one--arise! we come, we come!"
    'Tis but the living who are dumb.

    In vain--in vain: strike other chords;
      Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
    Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
      And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
    Hark! rising to the ignoble call--
    How answers each bold Bacchanal?

    You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
      Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
    Of two such lessons, why forget
      The nobler and the manlier one?
    You have the letters Cadmus gave--
    Think ye he meant them for a slave?

    Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
      We will not think of themes like these!
    It made Anacreon's song divine;
      He served--but served Polycrates--
    A tyrant: but our masters then
    Were still at least our countrymen.

    The tyrant of the Chersonese
      Was freedom's best and bravest friend--
    That tyrant was Miltiades!
      Oh! that the present hour would lend
    Another despot of the kind!
    Such chains as his were sure to bind.

    Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
      On Suli's rock and Perga's shore
    Exists the remnant of a line
      Such as the Doric mothers bore;
    And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
    The Heracleidian blood might own.

    Trust not for freedom to the Franks--
      They have a King who buys and sells;
    In native swords and native ranks,
      The only hope of courage dwells:
    But Turkish force and Latin fraud
    Would break your shield, however broad.

    Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
      Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
    I see their glorious black eyes shine;
      But gazing on each glowing maid,
    My own the burning tear drop laves,
    To think such breasts must suckle slaves!

    Place me on Sunium's marble steep,
      Where nothing, save the waves and I,
    May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
      There swan-like let me sing and die:
    A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
    Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

    BYRON.

[Illustration: CORINTH.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SIEGE OF ANTIOCH.


[Illustration: Letter B.]

Baghasihan, the Turkish Prince, or Emir of Antioch, had under his
command an Armenian of the name of Phirouz, whom he had entrusted with
the defence of a tower on that part of the city wall which overlooked
the passes of the mountains. Bohemund, by means of a spy, who had
embraced the Christian religion, and to whom he had given his own name
at baptism, kept up a daily communication with this captain, and made
him the most magnificent promises of reward if he would deliver up his
post to the Crusaders. Whether the proposal was first made by Bohemund
or by the Armenian, is uncertain, but that a good understanding soon
existed between them is undoubted; and a night was fixed for the
execution of the project. Bohemund communicated the scheme to Godfrey
and the Count of Toulouse, with the stipulation that, if the city were
won, he, as the soul of the enterprise, should enjoy the dignity of
Prince of Antioch. The other leaders hesitated: ambition and jealousy
prompted them to refuse their aid in furthering the views of the
intriguer. More mature consideration decided them to acquiesce, and
seven hundred of the bravest knights were chosen for the expedition, the
real object of which, for fear of spies, was kept a profound secret from
the rest of the army.

[Illustration: ANTIOCH.]

Everything favoured the treacherous project of the Armenian captain,
who, on his solitary watch-tower, received due intimation of the
approach of the Crusaders. The night was dark and stormy: not a star was
visible above; and the wind howled so furiously as to overpower all
other sounds. The rain fell in torrents, and the watchers on the towers
adjoining to that of Phirouz could not hear the tramp of the armed
knights for the wind, nor see them for the obscurity of the night and
the dismalness of the weather. When within bow-shot of the walls,
Bohemund sent forward an interpreter to confer with the Armenian. The
latter urged them to make haste and seize the favourable interval, as
armed men, with lighted torches, patrolled the battlements every
half-hour, and at that instant they had just passed. The chiefs were
instantly at the foot of the wall. Phirouz let down a rope; Bohemund
attached to it a ladder of hides, which was then raised by the Armenian,
and held while the knights mounted. A momentary fear came over the
spirits of the adventurers, and every one hesitated; at last Bohemund,
encouraged by Phirouz from above, ascended a few steps on the ladder,
and was followed by Godfrey, Count Robert of Flanders, and a number of
other knights. As they advanced, others pressed forward, until their
weight became too great for the ladder, which, breaking, precipitated
about a dozen of them to the ground, where they fell one upon the other,
making a great clatter with their heavy coats of mail. For a moment they
thought all was lost; but the wind made so loud a howling, as it swept
in fierce gusts through the mountain gorges, and the Orontes, swollen by
the rain, rushed so noisily along, that the guards heard nothing. The
ladder was easily repaired, and the knights ascended, two at a time, and
reached the platform in safety. When sixty of them had thus ascended,
the torch of the coming patrol was seen to gleam at the angle of the
wall. Hiding themselves behind a buttress, they awaited his coming in
breathless silence. As soon as he arrived at arm's length, he was
suddenly seized; and before he could open his lips to raise an alarm,
the silence of death closed them up for ever. They next descended
rapidly the spiral staircase of the tower, and, opening the portal,
admitted the whole of their companions. Raymond of Toulouse, who,
cognizant of the whole plan, had been left behind with the main body of
the army, heard at this instant the signal horn, which announced that an
entry had been effected, and advancing with his legions, the town was
attacked from within and from without.

Imagination cannot conceive a scene more dreadful than that presented by
the devoted city of Antioch on that night of horror. The Crusaders
fought with a blind fury, which fanaticism and suffering alike incited.
Men, women, and children were indiscriminately slaughtered, till the
streets ran in gore. Darkness increased the destruction; for, when the
morning dawned the Crusaders found themselves with their swords at the
breasts of their fellow-soldiers, whom they had mistaken to be foes. The
Turkish commander fled, first to the citadel, and, that becoming
insecure, to the mountains, whither he was pursued and slain, and his
gory head brought back to Antioch as a trophy. At daylight the massacre
ceased, and the Crusaders gave themselves up to plunder.

_Popular Delusions_.

       *       *       *       *       *




ANGLING.


[Illustration: Letter G.]

    Go, take thine angle, and with practised line,
      Light as the gossamer, the current sweep;
      And if thou failest in the calm, still deep,
    In the rough eddy may a prize be thine.
    Say thou'rt unlucky where the sunbeams shine;
      Beneath the shadow where the waters creep
      Perchance the monarch of the brook shall leap--
    For Fate is ever better than Design.
    Still persevere; the giddiest breeze that blows
      For thee may blow with fame and fortune rife.
    Be prosperous; and what reck if it arose
      Out of some pebble with the stream at strife,
    Or that the light wind dallied with the boughs:
      Thou art successful--such is human life.

    DOUBLEDAY.

       *       *       *       *       *




MARIANA.

Mariana in the moated grange.--_Measure for Measure_.


[Illustration]

    With blackest moss the flower-plots
      Were thickly crusted, one and all;
    The rusted nails fell from the knots
      That held the peach to the garden wall.
    The broken sheds look'd sad and strange--
      Uplifted was the clinking latch,
      Weeded and worn the ancient thatch,
    Upon the lonely moated grange.
      She only said, "My life is dreary--
        He cometh not," she said;
      She said, "I am aweary, weary,
        I would that I were dead!"

    Her tears fell with the dews at even--
      Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
    She could not look on the sweet heaven,
      Either at morn or eventide.
    After the flitting of the bats,
      When thickest dark did trance the sky,
      She drew her casement-curtain by,
    And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
      She only said, "The night is dreary--
        He cometh not," she said;
      She said, "I am aweary, weary,
        I would that I were dead!"

    Upon the middle of the night,
      Waking, she heard the night-fowl crow:
    The cock sung out an hour ere light;
      From the dark fen the oxen's low
    Came to her. Without hope of change,
      In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
      Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
    About the lonely moated grange.
      She only said, "The day is dreary
        He cometh not," she said;
      She said, "I am aweary, weary,
        I would that I were dead!"

    About a stone-cast from the wall
      A sluice with blacken'd waters slept;
    And o'er it many, round and small,
      The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
    Hard by, a poplar shook alway,
      All silver-green with gnarled bark;
      For leagues, no other tree did dark
    The level waste, the rounding gray.
      She only said, "My life is dreary--
        He cometh not," she said;
      She said, "I am aweary, weary,
        I would that I were dead!"

    And ever, when the moon was low,
      And the shrill winds were up and away
    In the white curtain, to and fro
      She saw the gusty shadow sway.
    But when the moon was very low,
      And wild winds bound within their cell,
      The shadow of the poplar fell
    Upon her bed, across her brow.
      She only said, "The night is dreary--
        He cometh not," she said;
      She said, "I am aweary, weary,
        I would that I were dead!"

    All day, within the dreary house,
      The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
    The blue-fly sang i' the pane; the mouse
      Behind the mould'ring wainscot shriek'd,
    Or from the crevice peer'd about.
      Old faces glimmer'd through the doors;
      Old footsteps trod the upper floors;
    Old voices called her from without:
      She only said, "My life is dreary--
        He cometh not," she said;
      She said, "I am aweary, weary,
        I would that I were dead!"

    The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
      The slow clock ticking, and the sound
    Which to the wooing wind aloof
      The poplar made, did all confound
    Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
      When the thick-moated sunbeam lay
      Athwart the chambers, and the day
    Was sloping towards his western bower.
      Then said she, "I am very dreary--
        He will not come," she said;
      She wept, "I am aweary, weary,
        I would that I were dead!"

    TENNYSON.

       *       *       *       *       *




RISE OF POETRY AMONG THE ROMANS.

The Romans, in the infancy of their state, were entirely rude and
unpolished. They came from shepherds; they were increased from the
refuse of the nations around them; and their manners agreed with their
original. As they lived wholly on tilling their ground at home, or on
plunder from their neighbours, war was their business, and agriculture
the chief art they followed. Long after this, when they had spread their
conquests over a great part of Italy, and began to make a considerable
figure in the world--even their great men retained a roughness, which
they raised into a virtue, by calling it Roman spirit; and which might
often much better have been called Roman barbarity. It seems to me, that
there was more of austerity than justice, and more of insolence than
courage, in some of their most celebrated actions. However that be, this
is certain, that they were at first a nation of soldiers and husbandmen:
roughness was long an applauded character among them; and a sort of
rusticity reigned, even in their senate-house.

[Illustration: ANCIENT ROMAN CENTURION.]

In a nation originally of such a temper as this, taken up almost always
in extending their territories, very often in settling the balance of
power among themselves, and not unfrequently in both these at the same
time, it was long before the politer arts made any appearance; and very
long before they took root or flourished to any degree. Poetry was the
first that did so; but such a poetry as one might expect among a
warlike, busied, unpolished people.

Not to enquire about the songs of triumph mentioned even in Romulus's
time, there was certainly something of poetry among them in the next
reign, under Numa; a Prince who pretended to converse with the Muses as
well as with Egeria, and who might possibly himself have made the verses
which the Salian priests sang in his time. Pythagoras, either in the
same reign, or if you please some time after, gave the Romans a
tincture of poetry as well as of philosophy; for Cicero assures us that
the Pythagoreans made great use of poetry and music; and probably they,
like our old Druids, delivered most of their precepts in verse. Indeed,
the chief employment of poetry in that and the following ages, among the
Romans, was of a religious kind. Their very prayers, and perhaps their
whole liturgy, was poetical. They had also a sort of prophetic or sacred
writers, who seem to have written generally in verse; and were so
numerous that there were above two thousand of their volumes remaining
even to Augustus's time. They had a kind of plays too, in these early
times, derived from what they had seen of the Tuscan actors when sent
for to Rome to expiate a plague that raged in the city. These seem to
have been either like our dumb-shows, or else a kind of extempore
farces--a thing to this day a good deal in use all over Italy and in
Tuscany. In a more particular manner, add to these that extempore kind
of jesting dialogues begun at their harvest and vintage feasts, and
carried on so rudely and abusively afterwards as to occasion a very
severe law to restrain their licentiousness; and those lovers of poetry
and good eating, who seem to have attended the tables of the richer
sort, much like the old provincial poets, or our own British bards, and
sang there to some instrument of music the achievements of their
ancestors, and the noble deeds of those who had gone before them, to
inflame others to follow their great examples.

[Illustration: ANCIENT ROMAN SHOES.]

[Illustration: ANCIENT ROMAN TORCHES.]

[Illustration: ANCIENT ROMAN DRINKING-BOTTLE.]

[Illustration: ANCIENT ALABASTER BOX.]

The names of almost all these poets sleep in peace with all their works;
and, if we may take the word of the other Roman writers of a better
age, it is no great loss to us. One of their best poets represents them
as very obscure and very contemptible; one of their best historians
avoids quoting them as too barbarous for politer ears; and one of their
most judicious emperors ordered the greatest part of their writings to
be burnt, that the world might be troubled with them no longer.

All these poets, therefore, may very well be dropped in the account,
there being nothing remaining of their works, and probably no merit to
be found in them if they had remained. And so we may date the beginning
of the Roman poetry from Livius Andronicus, the first of their poets of
whom anything does remain to us; and from whom the Romans themselves
seem to have dated the beginning of their poetry, even in the Augustan
age.

[Illustration: ANCIENT ROMAN MILL.]

The first kind of poetry that was followed with any success among the
Romans, was that for the stage. They were a very religious people; and
stage plays in those times made no inconsiderable part in their public
devotions; it is hence, perhaps, that the greatest number of their
oldest poets, of whom we have any remains, and, indeed, almost all of
them, are dramatic poets.

SPENCE.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHARACTER OF JULIUS CAESAR.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

Caesar was endowed with every great and noble quality that could exalt
human nature, and give a man the ascendant in society. Formed to excel
in peace as well as war; provident in council; fearless in action, and
executing what he had resolved with an amazing celerity; generous beyond
measure to his friends; placable to his enemies; and for parts,
learning, and eloquence, scarce inferior to any man. His orations were
admired for two qualities, which are seldom found together, strength and
elegance: Cicero ranks him among the greatest orators that Rome ever
bred; and Quintilian says, that he spoke with the same force with which
he fought; and if he had devoted himself to the bar, would have been the
only man capable of rivalling Cicero. Nor was he a master only of the
politer arts; but conversant also with the most abstruse and critical
parts of learning; and, among other works which he published, addressed
two books to Cicero on the analogy of language, or the art of speaking
and writing correctly. He was a most liberal patron of wit and learning,
wheresoever they were found; and out of his love of those talents, would
readily pardon those who had employed them against himself; rightly
judging, that by making such men his friends, he should draw praises
from the same fountain from which he had been aspersed. His capital
passions were ambition and love of pleasure, which he indulged in their
turns to the greatest excess; yet the first was always predominant--to
which he could easily sacrifice all the charms of the second, and draw
pleasure even from toils and dangers, when they ministered to his glory.
For he thought Tyranny, as Cicero says, the greatest of goddesses; and
had frequently in his mouth a verse of Euripides, which expressed the
image of his soul, that if right and justice were ever to be violated,
they were to be violated for the sake of reigning. This was the chief
end and purpose of his life--the scheme that he had formed from his
early youth; so that, as Cato truly declared of him, he came with
sobriety and meditation to the subversion of the republic. He used to
say, that there were two things necessary to acquire and to support
power--soldiers and money; which yet depended mutually upon each other:
with money, therefore, he provided soldiers, and with soldiers extorted
money, and was, of all men, the most rapacious in plundering both
friends and foes; sparing neither prince, nor state, nor temple, nor
even private persons who were known to possess any share of treasure.
His great abilities would necessarily have made him one of the first
citizens of Rome; but, disdaining the condition of a subject, he could
never rest till he made himself a Monarch. In acting this last part, his
usual prudence seemed to fail him; as if the height to which he was
mounted had turned his head and made him giddy; for, by a vain
ostentation of his power, he destroyed the stability of it; and, as men
shorten life by living too fast, so by an intemperance of reigning he
brought his reign to a violent end.

MIDDLETON.

[Illustration: COIN OF CAESAR AUGUSTUS.]

[Illustration: COIN OF THE EMPEROR TIBERIUS.]

       *       *       *       *       *




SIEGE OF TYRE.


It appeared to Alexander a matter of great importance, before he went
further, to gain the maritime powers. Upon application, the Kings of
Cyprus and Phoenicea made their submission; only Tyre held out. He
besieged that city seven months, during which time he erected vast
mounds of earth, plied it with his engines, and invested it on the side
next the sea with two hundred gallies. He had a dream in which he saw
Hercules offering him his hand from the wall, and inviting him to enter;
and many of the Tyrians dreamt "that Apollo declared he would go over to
Alexander, because he was displeased with their behaviour in the town,"
Hereupon, the Tyrians, as if the God had been a deserter taken in the
fact, loaded his statue with chains, and nailed the feet to the
pedestal, not scrupling to call him an _Alexandrist_. In another dream,
Alexander thought he saw a satyr playing before him at some distance,
and when he advanced to take him, the savage eluded his grasp. However,
at last, after much coaxing and taking many circuits round him, be
prevailed with him to surrender himself. The interpreters, plausibly
enough, divided the Greek name for _satyr_ into two, _Sa Tyros_, which
signifies _Tyre is thine_. They still show us a fountain near which
Alexander is said to have seen that vision.

[Illustration: CITY OF TYRE.]

About the middle of the siege, he made an excursion against the Arabians
who dwelt about Anti-Libanus. Here he ran a great risk of his life, on
account of his preceptor Lysimachus, who insisted on attending
him--being, as he alleged, neither older nor less valiant than Phoenix;
but when they came to the hills and quitted their horses to march up on
foot, the rest of the party got far before Alexander and Lysimachus.
Night came on, and, as the enemy was at no great distance, the King
would not leave his preceptor, borne down with fatigue and with the
weight of years. Therefore, while he was encouraging and helping him
forward, he was insensibly separated from the troop, and had a cold and
dark night to pass in an exposed and dismal situation. In this
perplexity, he observed at a distance a number of scattered fires which
the enemy had lighted; and depending upon his swiftness and activity as
well as being accustomed to extricate the Macedonians out of every
difficulty, by taking a share in the labour and danger, he ran to the
next fire. After having killed two of the barbarians who watched it, he
seized a lighted brand and hastened with it to his party, who soon
kindled a great fire. The sight of this so intimidated the enemy, that
many of them fled, and those who ventured to attack him were repulsed
with considerable slaughter. By this means he passed the night in
safety, according to the account we have from Charis.

[Illustration: COIN OF TYRE.]

As for the siege, it was brought to a termination in this manner:
Alexander had permitted his main body to repose themselves after the
long and severe fatigues they had undergone, and ordered only some small
parties to keep the Tyrians in play. In the meantime, Aristander, his
principal soothsayer, offered sacrifices; and one day, upon inspecting
the entrails of the victim, he boldly asserted among those around him
that the city would certainly be taken that month. As it happened to be
the last day of that month, his assertion was received with ridicule and
scorn. The King perceiving he was disconcerted, and making it a point to
bring the prophecies of his minister to completion, gave orders that the
day should not be called the 30th, but the 28th of the month; at the
same time he called out his forces by sound of trumpet, and made a much
more vigorous assault than he at first intended. The attack was violent,
and those who were left behind in the camp quitted it, to have a share
in it and to support their fellow-soldiers, insomuch that the Tyrians
were forced to give out, and the city was taken that very day.

LANGHORNE'S _Plutarch_.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

The river Niagara takes its rise in the western extremity of Lake Erie,
and, after flowing about thirty-four miles, empties itself into Lake
Ontario. It is from half a mile to three miles broad; its course is very
smooth, and its depth considerable. The sides above the cataract are
nearly level; but below the falls, the stream rushes between very lofty
rocks, crowned by gigantic trees. The great body of water does not fall
in one complete sheet, but is separated by islands, and forms three
distinct falls. One of these, called the Great Fall, or, from its shape,
the Horse-shoe Fall, is on the Canadian side. Its beauty is considered
to surpass that of the others, although its height is considerably less.
It is said to have a fall of 165 feet; and in the inn, which is about
300 yards from the fall, the concussion of air caused by this immense
cataract is so great, that the window-frames, and, indeed, the whole
house, are continually in a tremulous motion, and in winter, when the
wind drives the spray in the direction of the buildings, the whole scene
is coated with sheets of ice.

[Illustration: THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.]

The great cataract is seen by few travellers in its winter garb. I had
seen it several years before in all the glories of autumn, its
encircling woods, happily spared by the remorseless hatchet, and tinted
with the brilliant hues peculiar to the American "Fall." Now the glory
had departed; the woods were still there, but were generally black, with
occasional green pines; beneath the grey trunks was spread a thick
mantle of snow, and from the brown rocks inclosing the deep channel of
the Niagara River hung huge clusters of icicles, twenty feet in length,
like silver pipes of giant organs. The tumultuous rapids appeared to
descend more regularly than formerly over the steps which distinctly
extended across the wide river. The portions of the British, or
Horse-shoe Fall, where the waters descend in masses of snowy whiteness,
were unchanged by the season, except that vast sheets of ice and icicles
hung on their margin; but where the deep waves of sea-green water roll
majestically over the steep, large pieces of descending ice were
frequently descried on its surface. No rainbows were now observed on the
great vapour-cloud which shrouds for ever the bottom of the Fall; but we
were extremely fortunate to see now plainly what I had looked for in
vain at my last visit, the _water-rockets_, first described by Captain
Hall, which shot up with a train of vapour singly, and in flights of a
dozen, from the abyss near Table Rock, curved towards the east, and
burst and fell in front of the cataract. Vast masses of descending fluid
produce this singular effect, by means of condensed air acting on
portions of the vapour into which the water is comminuted below.
Altogether the appearance was most startling. It was observed at 1 P.M.
from the gallery of Mr. Barnett's museum. The broad sheet of the
American Fall presented the appearance of light-green water and feathery
spray, also margined by huge icicles. As in summer, the water rushing
from under the vapour-cloud of the two Falls was of a milky whiteness as
far as the ferry, when it became dark and interspersed with floating
masses of ice. Here, the year before, from the pieces of ice being
heaped and crushed together in great quantities, was formed a thick and
high bridge of ice, completely across the river, safe for passengers for
some time; and in the middle of it a Yankee speculator had erected a
shanty for refreshments. Lately, at a dinner party, I heard a
staff-officer of talent, but who was fond of exciting wonder by his
narratives, propose to the company a singular wager,--a bet of one
hundred pounds that he would go over the Falls of Niagara and come out
alive at the bottom! No one being inclined to take him up, after a good
deal of discussion as to how this perilous feat was to be accomplished,
the plan was disclosed. To place on Table Rock a crane, with a long arm
reaching over the water of the Horse-shoe Fall; from this arm would
hang, by a stout rope, a large bucket or cask; this would be taken up
some distance above the Fall, where the mill-race slowly glides towards
the cataract; here the adventurer would get into the cask, men stationed
on the Table Rock would haul in the slack of the rope as he descended,
and the crane would swing him clear from the cataract as he passed over.
Here is a chance for any gentleman sportsman to immortalize himself!

SIR JAMES ALEXANDER.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SLOTH.


[Illustration]

The Sloth, in its wild condition, spends its whole life on the trees,
and never leaves them but through force or accident; and, what is more
extraordinary, it lives not _upon_ the branches, like the squirrel and
the monkey, but _under_ them. Suspended from the branches, it moves, and
rests, and sleeps. So much of its anatomical structure as illustrates
this peculiarity it is necessary to state. The arm and fore-arm of the
sloth, taken together, are nearly twice the length of the hind legs; and
they are, both by their form and the manner in which they are joined to
the body, quite incapacitated from acting in a perpendicular direction,
or in supporting it upon the earth, as the bodies of other quadrupeds
are supported by their legs. Hence, if the animal be placed on the
floor, its belly touches the ground. The wrist and ankle are joined to
the fore-arm and leg in an oblique direction; so that the palm or sole,
instead of being directed downwards towards the surface of the ground,
as in other animals, is turned inward towards the body, in such a manner
that it is impossible for the sloth to place the sole of its foot flat
down upon a level surface. It is compelled, under such circumstances, to
rest upon the external edge of the foot. This, joined to other
peculiarities in the formation, render it impossible for sloths to walk
after the manner of ordinary quadrupeds; and it is indeed only on broken
ground, when he can lay hold of stones, roots of grass, &c., that he can
get along at all. He then extends his arms in all directions in search
of something to lay hold of; and when he has succeeded, he pulls himself
forward, and is then enabled to trail himself along in the exceedingly
awkward and tardy manner which has procured for him his name.

Mr. Waterton informs us that he kept a sloth for several months in his
room, in order to have an opportunity of observing his motions. If the
ground were rough he would pull himself forward in the manner described,
at a pretty good pace; and he invariably directed his course towards the
nearest tree. But if he was placed upon a smooth and well-trodden part
of the road, he appeared to be in much distress. Within doors, the
favourite position of this sloth was on the back of a chair; and after
getting all his legs in a line on the topmost part of it, he would hang
there for hours together, and often with a low and plaintive cry would
seem to invite the notice of his master. The sloth does not suspend
himself head downward, like the vampire bat, but when asleep he supports
himself from a branch parallel to the earth. He first seizes the branch
with one arm, and then with the other; after which he brings up both his
legs, one by one, to the same branch; so that, as in the Engraving, all
the four limbs are in a line. In this attitude the sloth has the power
of using the fore paw as a hand in conveying food to his mouth, which he
does with great address, retaining meanwhile a firm hold of the branch
with the other three paws. In all his operations the enormous claws with
which the sloth is provided are of indispensable service. They are so
sharp and crooked that they readily seize upon the smallest inequalities
in the bark of the trees and branches, among which the animal usually
resides, and also form very powerful weapons of defence.

The sloth has been said to confine himself to one tree until he has
completely stripped it of its leaves; but Mr. Waterton says, "During the
many years I have ranged the forests, I have never seen a tree in such a
state of nudity; indeed, I would hazard a conjecture, that, by the time
the animal had finished the last of the old leaves, there would be a new
crop on the part of the tree it had stripped first, ready for him to
begin again--so quick is the process of vegetation in these countries.
There is a saying among the Indians, that when the wind blows the sloth
begins to travel. In calm weather he remains tranquil, probably not
liking to cling to the brittle extremities of the branches, lest they
should break with him in passing from one tree to another; but as soon
as the wind arises, and the branches of the neighbouring trees become
interwoven, the sloth then seizes hold of them and travels at such a
good round pace, that any one seeing him, as I have done, pass from tree
to tree, would never think of calling him a sloth."

       *       *       *       *       *




SIERRA NEVADA, OR SNOWY RANGE OF CALIFORNIA.


"The dividing ridge of the Sierra Nevada is in sight from this
encampment. Accompanied by Mr. Preuss, I ascended to-day the highest
peak to the right, from which we had a beautiful view of a mountain lake
at our feet, about 15 miles in length, and so entirely surrounded by
mountains that we could not discover an outlet. We had taken with us a
glass, but though we enjoyed an extended view, the valley was half
hidden in mist, as when we had seen it before. Snow could be
distinguished on the higher parts of the coast mountains; eastward, as
far as the eye could extend, it ranged over a terrible mass of broken
snowy mountains, fading off blue in the distance. The rock composing the
summit consists of a very coarse, dark, volcanic conglomerate: the lower
parts appeared to be of a very slatey structure. The highest trees were
a few scattered cedars and aspens. From the immediate foot of the peak
we were two hours in reaching the summit, and one hour and a quarter in
descending. The day had been very bright, still, and clear, and spring
seems to be advancing rapidly. While the sun is in the sky the snow
melts rapidly, and gushing springs cover the face of the mountain in all
the exposed places, but their surface freezes instantly with the
disappearance of the sun.

"The Indians of the Sierra make frequent descents upon the settlements
west of the Coast Range, which they keep constantly swept of horses;
among them are many who are called Christian Indians, being refugees
from Spanish missions. Several of these incursions occurred while we
were at Helvetia. Occasionally parties of soldiers follow them across
the Coast Range, but never enter the Sierra."

[Illustration: SIERRA NEVADA, UPPER CALIFORNIA.]

The party had not long before passed through a beautiful country. The
narrative says:--"During the earlier part of the day our ride had been
over a very level prairie, or rather a succession of long stretches of
prairie, separated by lines and groves of oak timber, growing along dry
gullies, which are tilled with water in seasons of rain; and perhaps,
also, by the melting snows. Over much of this extent the vegetation was
spare; the surface showing plainly the action of water, which, in the
season of flood, the Joaquin spreads over the valley. About one o'clock,
we came again among innumerable flowers; and, a few miles further,
fields of beautiful blue-flowering _lupine_, which seems to love the
neighbourhood of water, indicated that we were approaching a stream. We
here found this beautiful shrub in thickets, some of them being twelve
feet in height. Occasionally, three or four plants were clustered
together, forming a grand bouquet, about ninety feet in circumference,
and ten feet high; the whole summit covered with spikes of flowers, the
perfume of which is very sweet and grateful. A lover of natural beauty
can imagine with what pleasure we rode among these flowering groves,
which filled the air with a light and delicate fragrance. We continued
our road for about half a mile, interspersed through an open grove of
live oaks, which, in form, were the most symmetrical and beautiful we
had yet seen in this country. The ends of their branches rested on the
ground, forming somewhat more than a half sphere of very full and
regular figure, with leaves apparently smaller than usual. The
Californian poppy, of a rich orange colour, was numerous to-day. Elk and
several bands of antelope made their appearance. Our road now was one
continued enjoyment; and it was pleasant riding among this assemblage of
green pastures, with varied flowers and scattered groves, and, out of
the warm, green spring, to look at the rocky and snowy peaks where
lately we had suffered so much."

Again, in the Sierra Nevada:--"Our journey to-day was in the midst of an
advanced spring, whose green and floral beauty offered a delightful
contrast to the sandy valley we had just left. All the day snow was in
sight on the butt of the mountain, which frowned down upon us on the
right; but we beheld it now with feelings of pleasant security, as we
rode along between green trees and on flowers, with humming-birds and
other feathered friends of the traveller enlivening the serene spring
air. As we reached the summit of this beautiful pass, and obtained a
view into the eastern country, we saw at once that here was the place to
take leave of all such pleasant scenes as those around us. The distant
mountains were now bald rocks again; and, below, the land had any colour
but green. Taking into consideration the nature of the Sierra Nevada, we
found this pass an excellent one for horses; and, with a little labour,
or, perhaps, with a more perfect examination of the localities, it might
be made sufficiently practicable for waggons."

FREMONT'S _Travels_.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE GROUSE.


[Illustration: Letter W.]

We have but few European birds presenting more points of interest in
their history than the Grouse, a species peculiar to the northern and
temperate latitudes of the globe. Dense pine forests are the abode of
some; others frequent the wild tracts of heath-clad moorland, while the
patches of vegetation scattered among the rocky peaks of the mountains,
afford a congenial residence to others. Patient of cold, and protected
during the intense severities of winter by their thick plumage, they
give animation to the frozen solitude long after all other birds have
retired from the desolate scenery. Their food consists of the tender
shoots of pines, the seeds of plants, the berries of the arbutus and
bilberry, the buds of the birch and alder, the buds of the heather,
leaves, and grain. The nest is very simply constructed, consisting of
dried grasses placed upon the ground and sheltered among the herbage.

Two species of this bird, called forest grouse, are indigenous in
England: one is the black grouse, common in the pine woods of Scotland
and of the northern part of England, and elsewhere; the other is the
capercailzie or cock of the woods. Formerly, in Ireland, and still more
recently in Scotland, this noble bird, the most magnificent of the whole
of the grouse tribe, was abundant in the larger woods; but it gradually
disappeared, from the indiscriminate slaughter to which it was subject.
Selby informs us that the last individual of this species in Scotland
was killed about forty years ago, near Inverness. It still abounds in
the pine forests of Sweden and Norway, and an attempt has been made by
the Marquis of Breadalbane to re-introduce it into Scotland.

The red grouse, or moor grouse, is found in Scotland; and it is somewhat
singular that this beautiful bird should not be known on the Continent,
abundant as it is on the moorlands of Scotland, England, and Ireland.
The breeding season of the red grouse is very early in spring, and the
female deposits her eggs, eight or ten in number, in a high tuft of
heather. The eggs are peculiarly beautiful, of a rich brown colour,
spotted with black, and both herself and her mate attend the young with
great assiduity. The brood continue in company during the winter, and
often unite with other broods, forming large packs, which range the high
moorlands, being usually shy and difficult of approach. Various berries,
such as the cranberry, the bilberry, together with the tender shoots of
heath, constitute the food of this species. The plumage is a rich
colouring of chestnut, barred with black. The cock grouse in October is
a very handsome bird, with his bright red comb erected above his eyes,
and his fine brown plumage shining in the sun.

[Illustration: GROUSE.]

The ptarmigan grouse is not only a native of Scotland but of the higher
latitudes of continental Europe, and, perhaps, the changes of plumage in
none of the feathered races are more remarkable than those which the
ptarmigans undergo. Their full summer plumage is yellow, more or less
inclining to brown, beautifully barred with zig-zag lines of black.
Their winter dress is pure white, except that the outer tail-feathers,
the shafts of the quills, and a streak from the eye to the beak are
black. This singular change of plumage enables it, when the mountains
are covered with snow, to escape the observation of the eagle, Iceland
falcon, and the snowy owl: the feathers become much fuller, thicker, and
more downy; the bill is almost hidden, and the legs become so thickly
covered with hair-like feathers, as to resemble the legs of some
well-furred quadruped.

       *       *       *       *       *




PATMOS.


[Illustration: Letter P.]

Patmos affords one of the few exceptions which are to be found to the
general beauty and fertility of the islands of the Aegean Sea. Its
natural advantages, indeed, are very few, for the whole of the island is
little else than one continued rock, rising frequently into hills and
mountains. Its valleys are seldom susceptible of cultivation, and
scarcely ever reward it. Almost the only spot, indeed, in which it has
been attempted, is a small valley in the west, where the richer
inhabitants have a few gardens. On account of its stern and desolate
character, the island was used, under the Roman Empire, as a place of
banishment; and here the Apostle St. John, during the persecution of
Domitian, was banished, and wrote the book of the Revelations. The
island now bears the name of Patino and Palmosa, but a natural grotto in
the rock is still shown as the place where St. John resided. "In and
around it," says Mr. Turner, "the Greeks have dressed up one of their
tawdry churches; and on the same site is a school attached to the
church, in which a few children are taught reading and writing."

[Illustration: PATMOS.]

Patmos used to be a famous resort of pirates. Dr. Clarke, after
describing with enthusiasm the splendid scene which he witnessed in
passing by Patmos, with feelings naturally excited by all the
circumstances of local solemnity, and "the evening sun behind the
towering cliffs of Patmos, gilding the battlements of the Monastery of
the Apocalypse with its parting rays; the consecrated island, surrounded
by inexpressible brightness, seeming to float upon an abyss of fire,
while the moon, in milder splendour, was rising full over the opposite
expanse," proceeds to remark, "How very different were the reflections
caused upon leaving the deck, by observing a sailor with a lighted match
in his hand, and our captain busied in appointing an extraordinary watch
for the night, as a precaution against the pirates who swarm in these
seas." These wretches, as dastardly as they were cruel, the instant they
boarded a vessel, put every individual of the crew to death. They lurked
about the isle of Fouri, to the north of Patmos, in great numbers,
taking possession of bays and creeks the least frequented by other
mariners. After they had plundered a ship, they bored a hole through her
bottom, and took to their boats again. The knights of Malta were said to
be amongst the worst of these robbers. In the library of the Monastery,
which is built on the top of a mountain, and in the middle of the chief
town, may be seen bulls from two of the Popes, and a protection from the
Emperor Charles the Sixth, issued to protect the island from their
incursions.

Though deficient in trees, Patmos now abounds in flowering plants and
shrubs. Walnuts and other fruit trees grow in the orchards; and the wine
of Patmos is the strongest and best flavoured of any in the Greek
islands. The view of Patmos from the highest point is said to be very
curious. The eye looks down on nothing but mountains below it; and the
excessive narrowness of the island, with the curious form of its coast,
have an extraordinary appearance.

       *       *       *       *       *




SHAKSPEARE.


[Illustration: Letter M.]

Memorable in the history of genius is the 23rd of April, as being at
once the day of the birth and death of Shakspeare; and these events took
place on the same spot, for at Stratford-upon-Avon this illustrious
dramatist was born, in the year 1564, and here he also died, in 1616. It
has been conjectured, that his first dramatic composition was produced
when he was but twenty-five years old. He continued to write for the
stage for a great number of years; occasionally, also, appearing as a
performer: and at length, having, by his exertions, secured a fortune of
two or three hundred a year, retired to his native town, where he
purchased a small estate, and spent the remainder of his days in ease
and honour.

[Illustration: THE CHANDOS PORTRAIT OF SHAKESPEARE.]

When Washington Irving visited Stratford-upon-Avon, he was led to make
the following elegant reflections on the return of the poet to his early
home:--"He who has sought renown about the world, and has reaped a full
harvest of worldly favours, will find, after all, that there is no love,
no admiration, no applause, so sweet to the soul as that which springs
up in his native place. It is there that he seeks to be gathered in
peace and honour among his kindred and his early friends. And when the
weary heart and failing head begin to warn him that the evening of life
is drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the infant to the mother's
arms, to sink in sleep in the bosom of the scene of his childhood. How
would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard, when, wandering
forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he cast a heavy look upon his
pastoral home, could he have foreseen that, before many years, he should
return to it covered with renown; that his name should become the boast
and glory of his native place; that his ashes should be religiously
guarded as its most precious treasure; and that its lessening spire, on
which his eyes were fixed in tearful contemplation, should one day
become the beacon, towering amidst the gentle landscape, to guide the
literary pilgrim of every nation to his tomb!"

The accredited birth-place of Shakspeare has always been regarded with
great interest: it is situate in a street in Stratford, retaining its
ancient name of Henley, being the road to Henley-in-Arden. In 1574, here
stood two houses, with a garden and orchard attached to each; and these
houses were then purchased by John Shakspeare, whose son William was
born in one of them, which still remains, though altered according to
modern fashion. Its gable roofs are destroyed. Divided and subdivided
into smaller tenements, part was converted into a little inn; part, the
residence of a female who formerly showed the room where Shakspeare
first saw the light, and the low-roofed kitchen where his mother taught
him to read. The walls of the room in which he was born are literally
covered with thousands of names, inscribed in homage by pilgrims from
every region where the glory of Shakspeare is known. At the time when
Shakspeare's father bought this house, it was, no doubt, quite a
mansion, as compared with the majority of the houses in Stratford; but
he little guessed the fame that would attach itself to this birth-place
of his gifted son; long, we trust, to be preserved for the gratification
of future generations of visitors to the hallowed spot. Besides his
plays, Shakspeare was the author of several other poetical productions,
and especially of a collection of sonnets.

[Illustration: SHAKSPEARE'S HOUSE, STRATFORD-UPON-AVON.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE RETURN OF THE DOVE.


[Illustration]

    There hope in the Ark at the dawning of day,
    When o'er the wide waters the Dove flew away;
    But when ere the night she came wearily back
    With the leaf she had pluck'd on her desolate track,
    The children of Noah knelt down and adored,
    And utter'd in anthems their praise to the Lord.
    Oh bird of glad tidings! oh joy in our pain!
    Beautiful Dove! thou art welcome again.

    When peace has departed the care-stricken breast,
    And the feet of the weary one languish for rest;
    When the world is a wide-spreading ocean of grief,
    How blest the return of the Bird and the Leaf!
    Reliance on God is the Dove to our Ark,
    And Peace is the olive she plucks in the dark.
    The deluge abates, there is sun after rain--
    Beautiful Dove! thou art welcome again!

    MACKAY.

[Illustration: SYRIAN DOVE.]

       *       *       *       *       *




COBRA DI CAPELLO--HOODED SNAKE.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

There are several varieties of this venomous serpent, differing in point
of colour; and the aspic of Egypt, with which Cleopatra destroyed
herself, is said to be a very near ally to this species; but the true
cobra is entirely confined to India.

The danger which accompanies the bite of this reptile, its activity when
excited, the singularity of its form, and the gracefulness of its
action, combine to render it one of the most remarkable animals of the
class to which it belongs. When in its ordinary state of repose the neck
is of the same diameter as the head; but when surprised or irritated,
the skin expands laterally in a hood-like form, which is well known to
the inhabitants of India as the symptom of approaching danger.
Notwithstanding the fatal effects of the bite of these serpents, the
Indian jugglers are not deterred from capturing and taming them for
exhibition, which they do with singular adroitness, and with fearful
interest to the unpractised observer. They carry the reptiles from house
to house in a small round basket, from which they issue at the sound of
a sort of flute, and execute certain movements in cadence with the
music.

The animal from which our Engraving was taken is now in the menagerie of
the Zoological Society in the Regent's Park, and is probably one of the
finest which has ever reached England alive.

The Indian mangouste is described to be the most deadly enemy of the
cobra di capello, and the battles between them have been frequently
described. The serpent, when aware of the approach of the mangouste,
rises on its tail, and with neck dilated, its head advanced, and eyes
staring, awaits with every look of rage and fear the attack of its foe.
The mangouste steals nearer and nearer, and creeping round, endeavours
to get an opportunity of springing on the serpent's back; and whenever
it misses its purpose and receives a bite, it runs perhaps some
distance, to eat the mangouste-grass, which is an antidote against the
poison: it then returns to the attack, in which it is commonly
victorious.

The bite of the cobra di capello is not so immediately fatal as is
commonly supposed; fowls have been known to live two days after being
bitten, though they frequently die within half an hour. The snake never
bites while its hood is closed, and as long as this is not erected the
animal may be approached, and even handled with impunity; even when the
hood is spread, while the creature continues silent, there is no danger.
The fearful hiss is at once the signal of aggression and of peril.
Though the cobra is so deadly when under excitement, it is,
nevertheless, astonishing to see how readily it is appeased, even in
the highest state of exasperation, and this merely by the droning music
with which its exhibitors seem to charm it.

[Illustration: COBRA DI CAPELLO.]

The natives of India have a superstitious feeling with regard to this
snake; they conceive that it belongs to another world, and when it
appears in this, it is only as a visitor. In consequence of this notion
they always avoid killing it, if possible.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE PYRAMID LAKE.


[Illustration: Letter P.]

Perhaps of all the localities of the Oregon territory so vividly
described in Captain Fremont's adventurous narrative, the Pyramid Lake,
visited on the homeward journey from the Dallas to the Missouri river,
is the most beautiful. The exploring party having reached a defile
between mountains descending rapidly about 2000 feet, saw, filling up
all the lower space, a sheet of green water some twenty miles broad. "It
broke upon our eyes," says the narrator, "like the ocean: the
neighbouring peaks rose high above us, and we ascended one of them to
obtain a better view. The waves were curling to the breeze, and their
dark green colour showed it to be a body of deep water. For a long time
we sat enjoying the view, for we had become fatigued with mountains, and
the free expanse of moving waves was very grateful. It was like a gem in
the mountains, which, from our position, seemed to enclose it almost
entirely. At the eastern end it communicated with the line of basins we
had left a few days since; and on the opposite side it swept a ridge of
snowy mountains, the foot of the great Sierra. We followed a broad
Indian trail or tract along the shore of the lake to the southward. For
a short space we had room enough in the bottom, but, after travelling a
short distance, the water swept the foot of the precipitous mountains,
the peaks of which are about 3000 feet above the lake. We afterwards
encamped on the shore, opposite a very remarkable rock in the lake,
which had attracted our attention for many miles. It rose according to
our estimation 600 feet above the level of the water, and, from the
point we viewed it, presented a pretty exact outline of the great
pyramid of Cheops. Like other rocks along the shore, it seemed to be
encrusted with calcareous cement. This striking feature suggested a name
for the lake, and I called it Pyramid Lake. Its elevation above the sea
is 4890 feet, being nearly 700 feet higher than the Great Salt Lake,
from which it lies nearly west." The position and elevation of Pyramid
Lake make it an object of geographical interest. It is the nearest lake
to the western river, as the Great Salt Lake is to the eastern river, of
the great basin which lies between the base of the Rocky Mountains and
the Sierra Nevada, and the extent and character of which it is so
desirable to know.

Many parts of the borders of this lake appear to be a favourite place of
encampment for the Indians, whose number in this country is estimated at
140,000. They retain, still unaltered, most of the features of the
savage character. They procure food almost solely by hunting; and to
surprise a hostile tribe, to massacre them with every exercise of savage
cruelty, and to carry off their scalps as trophies, is their highest
ambition. Their domestic behaviour, however, is orderly and peaceable;
and they seldom kill or rob a white man. Considerable attempts have been
made to civilize them, and with some success; but the moment that any
impulse has been given to war and hunting, they have instantly reverted
to their original habits.

[Illustration: PYRAMID LAKE, OREGON TERRITORY.]

       *       *       *       *       *




ADAM AND EVE IN PARADISE.


    Now came still evening on, and twilight grey
    Had in her sober livery all things clad.
    Silence accompanied: for beast and bird,
    They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
    Were slunk--all but the wakeful nightingale:
    She, all night long, her am'rous descant sung.
    Silence was pleased. Now glow'd the firmament
    With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led
    The starry host, rode brightest; till the moon,
    Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
    Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
    And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw--
    When Adam thus to Eve: "Fair consort, the hour
    Of night, and all things now retired to rest,
    'Mind us of like repose: since God hath set
    Labour and rest, as day and night, to men
    Successive; and the timely dew of sleep,
    Now falling with soft slumberous weight,
    Inclines our eyelids."--

[Illustration]

    To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd:
    "My author and disposer, what thou bidst
    Unargued I obey. So God ordains.
    With thee conversing I forget all time,
    All seasons and their change: all please alike.
    Sweet is the breath of morn--her rising sweet,
    With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
    When first on this delightful land he spreads
    His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
    Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
    After short show'rs; and sweet the coming on
    Of grateful evening mild--then silent night,
    With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
    And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train:
    But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
    With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
    On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower
    Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
    Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night,
    With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon
    Or glitt'ring starlight, without thee is sweet."--

    Thus talking, hand in hand alone they pass'd
    On to their blissful bower.

    Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood,
    Both turn'd, and under open sky adored
    The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven,
    Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe,
    And starry pole. "Thou also madest the night,
    Maker Omnipotent! and Thou the day,
    Which we, in our appointed work employ'd,
    Have finish'd; happy in our mutual help
    And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss
    Ordain'd by thee, and this delicious place,
    For us too large, where thy abundance wants
    Partakers, and uncropt, falls to the ground.
    But Thou hast promised from us two a race
    To fill the earth, who shall with us extol
    Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
    And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep."

    MILTON.

       *       *       *       *       *




OLIVER GOLDSMITH.


[Illustration: Letter G.]

Goldsmith's poetry enjoys a calm and steady popularity. It inspires us,
indeed, with no admiration of daring design or of fertile invention; but
it presents within its narrow limits a distinct and unbroken view of
poetical delightfulness. His descriptions and sentiments have the pure
zest of nature. He is refined without false delicacy, and correct
without insipidity. Perhaps there is an intellectual composure in his
manner, which may, in some passages, be said to approach to the reserved
and prosaic; but he unbends from this graver strain of reflection to
tenderness, and even to playfulness, with an ease and grace almost
exclusively his own; and connects extensive views of the happiness and
interests of society with pictures of life that touch the heart by their
familiarity. He is no disciple of the gaunt and famished school of
simplicity. He uses the ornaments which must always distinguish true
poetry from prose; and when he adopts colloquial plainness, it is with
the utmost skill to avoid a vulgar humility. There is more of this
sustained simplicity, of this chaste economy and choice of words, in
Goldsmith than in any other modern poet, or, perhaps, than would be
attainable or desirable as a standard for every writer of rhyme. In
extensive narrative poems, such a style would be too difficult. There is
a noble propriety even in the careless strength of great poems, as in
the roughness of castle walls; and, generally speaking, where there is a
long course of story, or observation of life to be pursued, such
excursite touches as those of Goldsmith would be too costly materials
for sustaining it. His whole manner has a still depth of feeling and
reflection, which gives back the image of nature unruffled and minutely.
His chaste pathos makes him an insulating moralist, and throws a charm
of Claude-like softness over his descriptions of homely objects, that
would seem only fit to be the subjects of Dutch painting; but his quiet
enthusiasm leads the affections to humble things without a vulgar
association, and he inspires us with a fondness to trace the simplest
recollections of Auburn, till we count the furniture of its ale-house,
and listen to the varnished clock that clicked behind the door.

CAMPBELL.

       *       *       *       *       *




HAGAR AND ISHMAEL.


[Illustration: Letter H.]

Hagar and Ishmael departed early on the day fixed for their removal,
Abraham furnishing them with the necessary supply of travelling
provisions. "And Abraham arose up early in the morning, and took bread
and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her
shoulder, and she went away." The bottle here mentioned was probably
made of the skin of a goat, sewn up, leaving an opening in one of the
legs to serve as a mouth. Such skin bottles are still commonly used in
Western Asia for water, and are borne slung across the shoulders, just
as that of Hagar was placed.

It seems to have been the intention of Hagar to return to her native
country, Egypt; but, in spite of the directions she received, the two
travellers lost their way in the southern wilderness, and wandered to
and fro till the water, which was to have served them on the road, was
altogether spent. The lad, unused to hardship, was soon worn out.
Overcome by heat and thirst, he seemed at the point of death, when the
afflicted mother laid him down under one of the stunted shrubs of this
dry and desert region, in the hope of his getting some relief from the
slight damp which the shade afforded. The burning fever, however,
continued unabated; and the poor mother, forgetting her own sorrow,
destitute and alone in the midst of a wilderness, went to a little
distance, unable to witness his lingering sufferings, and then "she
lifted up her voice and wept." But God had not forgotten her: a voice
was heard in the solitude, and an Angel of the Lord appeared, uttering
words of comfort and promises of peace. He directed her to a well of
water, which, concealed by the brushwood, had not been seen by her. Thus
encouraged, Hagar drew a refreshing draught, and hastening to her son,
"raised him by the hand," and gave him the welcome drink, which soon
restored him. This well, according to the tradition of the Arabs, who
pay great honour to the memory of Hagar, is Zemzem, near Mecca.

[Illustration: HAGAR AND ISHMAEL.]

After this, we have no account of the history of Ishmael, except that he
established himself in the wilderness of Paran, near Mount Sinai, and
belonged to one of the tribes by which the desert was frequented. He was
married, by his mother, to a countrywoman of her own, and maintained
himself and his family by the produce of his bow. Many of the Arabian
tribes have been proud to trace their origin to this son of the
Patriarch Abraham.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE HOLLY BOUGH.


[Illustration: Letter Y.]

    Ye who have scorn'd each other,
    Or injured friend or brother,
      In this fast fading year;
    Ye who, by word or deed,
    Have made a kind heart bleed,
      Come gather here.
    Let sinn'd against, and sinning,
    Forget their strife's beginning,
      And join in friendship now;
    Be links no longer broken,
    Be sweet forgiveness spoken
      Under the Holly-bough.

    Ye who have loved each other,
    Sister and friend and brother,
      In this fast fading year;
    Mother and sire and child,
    Young man and maiden mild,
      Come gather here;
    And let your hearts grow fonder,
    As Memory shall ponder
      Each past unbroken vow:
    Old loves and younger wooing
    Are sweet in the renewing
      Under the Holly-bough.

    Ye who have nourish'd sadness.
    Estranged from hope and gladness,
      In this fast fading year;
    Ye with o'erburden'd mind,
    Made aliens from your kind,
      Come gather here.
    Let not the useless sorrow
    Pursue you night and morrow,
      If e'er you hoped, hope now--
    Take heart, uncloud your faces,
    And join in our embraces
      Under the Holly-bough.

    MACKAY

[Illustration: THE HOLLY CART.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE UNIVERSE.


To us who dwell on its surface, the earth is by far the most extensive
orb that our eyes can any where behold; but, to a spectator placed on
one of the planets, it looks no larger than a spot. To beings who dwell
at still greater distances, it entirely disappears. That which we call
alternately the morning and the evening star, as in the one part of the
orbit she rides foremost in the procession of night, in the other ushers
in and anticipates the dawn, is a planetary world, which, with the
five others that so wonderfully vary their mystic dance, are in
themselves dark bodies, and shine only by reflection; have fields, and
seas, and skies of their own; are furnished with all accommodations for
animal subsistence, and are supposed to be the abodes of intellectual
life. All these, together with our earthly habitation, are dependent on
the sun, receive their light from his rays, and derive their comfort
from his benign agency. The sun, which seems to us to perform its daily
stages through the sky, is, in this respect, fixed and immovable; it is
the great axle about which the globe we inhabit, and other more spacious
orbs, wheel their stated courses. The sun, though apparently smaller
than the dial it illuminates, is immensely larger than this whole earth,
on which so many lofty mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll. A line
extending from side to side through the centre of that resplendent orb,
would measure more than 800,000 miles: a girdle formed to go round its
circumference, would require a length of millions. Are we startled at
these reports of philosophers? Are we ready to cry out in a transport of
surprise, "How mighty is the Being who kindled such a prodigious fire,
and keeps alive from age to age such an enormous mass of flame!" Let us
attend our philosophic guides, and we shall be brought acquainted with
speculations more enlarged and more inflaming. The sun, with all its
attendant planets, is but a very little part of the grand machine of the
universe; every star, though in appearance no bigger than the diamond
that glitters upon a lady's ring, is really a vast globe like the sun in
size and in glory; no less spacious, no less luminous, than the radiant
source of the day: so that every star is not barely a world, but the
centre of a magnificent system; has a retinue of worlds irradiated by
its beams, and revolving round its attractive influence--all which are
lost to our sight. That the stars appear like so many diminutive points,
is owing to their immense and inconceivable distance. Immense and
inconceivable indeed it is, since a ball shot from a loaded cannon, and
flying with unabated rapidity, must travel at this impetuous rate almost
700,000 years, before it could reach the nearest of these twinkling
luminaries.

While beholding this vast expanse I learn my own extreme meanness, I
would also discover the abject littleness of all terrestrial things.
What is the earth, with all her ostentatious scenes, compared with this
astonishingly grand furniture of the skies? What, but a dim speck hardly
perceptible in the map of the universe? It is observed by a very
judicious writer, that if the sun himself, which enlightens this part of
the creation, were extinguished, and all the host of planetary worlds
which move about him were annihilated, they would not be missed by an
eye that can take in the whole compass of nature any more than a grain
of sand upon the sea-shore. The bulk of which they consist, and the
space which they occupy, are so exceedingly little in comparison of the
whole, that their loss would leave scarce a blank in the immensity of
God's works. If, then, not our globe only, but this whole system, be so
very dimunitive, what is a kingdom or a country? What are a few
lordships, or the so-much-admired patrimonies of those who are styled
wealthy? When I measure them with my own little pittance, they swell
into proud and bloated dimensions; but when I take the universe for my
standard, how scanty is their size, how contemptible their figure; they
shrink into pompous nothings!

ADDISON.

       *       *       *       *       *




ODE TO ST. CECILIA.


[Illustration]

    Now strike the golden lyre again:
    A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
    Break his bands of sleep asunder,
    And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
        Hark, hark, the horrid sound
          Has raised up his head,
          As awaked from the dead,
        And amazed, he stares around.

    Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
      See the Furies arise:
      See the snakes that they rear,
      How they hiss in their hair,
    And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
      Behold a ghastly band,
      Each a torch in his hand!
    Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
              And unburied remain
              Inglorious on the plain.
        Give the vengeance due
        To the valiant crew.
    Behold how they toss their torches on high,
      How they point to the Persian abodes,
    And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!
    The Princes applaud, with a furious joy;
    And the King seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy;
        Thais led the way,
        To light him to his prey,
    And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.

        Thus, long ago,
      Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
        While organs yet were mute;
      Timotheus, to his breathing flute
        And sounding lyre,
    Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
      At last divine Cecilia came,
      Inventress of the vocal frame;
    The sweet enthusiast, from the sacred store,
      Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
      And added length to solemn sounds,
    With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
      Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
        Or both divide the crown:
      He raised a mortal to the skies;
        She drew an angel down.

    DRYDEN

       *       *       *       *       *




SATIN BOWER-BIRDS.

The Satin Bower-Bird was one of the earliest known species in the
Australian fauna, and probably received the name of _Satin Grakle_, by
which it was described in Latham's "General History of Birds," from the
intensely black glossy plumage of the adult male. But, although the
existence of this bird was noticed by most of the writers on the natural
history of Australia subsequent to Latham, it appears that no suspicion
of its singular economy had extended beyond the remotest settlers, until
Mr. Gould, whose great work on the "Birds of Australia" is known to
every one, unravelled the history of the _bowers_, which had been
discovered in many parts of the bush, and which had been attributed to
almost every possible origin but the right one.

The bower, as will be seen by the Illustration, is composed of twigs
woven together in the most compact manner, and ornamented with shells
and feathers, the disposition of which the birds are continually
altering. They have no connexion with the nest, and are simply
playing-places, in which the birds divert themselves during the months
which precede nidification.

[Illustration: BOWER BIRDS.]

The birds themselves are nearly as large as a jackdaw. The female is
green in colour, the centre of the breast feathers yellowish; the
unmoulted plumage of the male is similar: the eyes of both are brilliant
blue.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE POOL OF SILOAM.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

The fountain and pool of Siloam, whose surplus waters flow in a little
streamlet falling into the lake Kedron, is situate near the ancient
walls of the city of Jerusalem. Mr. Wild tells us "that the fountain of
Siloam is a mineral spring of a brackish taste, and somewhat of the
smell of the Harrowgate water, but in a very slight degree." It is said
to possess considerable medicinal properties, and is much frequented by
pilgrims. "Continuing our course," says he, "around the probable line of
the ancient walls, along the gentle slope of Zion, we pass by the King's
gardens, and arrive at the lower pool of Siloam, placed in another
indentation in the wall. It is a deep square cistern lined with masonry,
adorned with columns at the sides, and having a flight of steps leading
to the bottom, in which there was about two feet of water. It
communicates by a subterraneous passage with the fountain, from which it
is distant about 600 yards. The water enters the pool by a low arched
passage, into which the pilgrims, numbers of whom are generally to be
found around it, put their heads, as part of the ceremony, and wash
their clothes in the purifying stream that rises from it." During a
rebellion in Jerusalem, in which the Arabs inhabiting the Tillage of
Siloam were the ringleaders, they gained access to the city by means of
the conduit of this pool, which again rises within the mosque of Omar.
This passage is evidently the work of art, the water in it is generally
about two feet deep, and a man may go through it in a stooping position.
When the stream leaves the pool, it is divided into numbers of little
aqueducts, for the purpose of irrigating the gardens and
pleasure-grounds which lie immediately beneath it in the valley, and are
the chief source of their fertility, for, as they are mostly formed of
earth which has been carried from other places, they possess no original
or natural soil capable of supporting vegetation. As there is but little
water in the pool during the dry season, the Arabs dam up the several
streams in order to collect a sufficient quantity in small ponds
adjoining each garden, and this they all do at the same time, or there
would be an unfair division of the fertilizing fluid. These dams are
generally made in the evening and drawn off in the morning, or sometimes
two or three times a day; and thus the reflux of the water that they
hold gives the appearance of an ebb and flow, which by some travellers
has caused a report that the pool of Siloam is subject to daily tides.

[Illustration: THE POOL OF SILOAM.]

There are few towns, and scarcely any metropolitan town, in which the
natural supply of water is so inadequate as at Jerusalem; hence the many
and elaborate contrivances to preserve the precious fluid, or to bring
it to the town by aqueducts.

       *       *       *       *       *




WINTER THOUGHTS.


[Illustration: Letter A.]

    Ah! little think the gay licentious proud,
    Whom pleasure, pow'r, and affluence surround--
    They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
    And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;
    Ah! little think they, while they dance along
    How many feel this very moment death,
    And all the sad variety of pain:
    How many sink in the devouring flood,
    Or more devouring flame! how many bleed
    By shameful variance betwixt man and man!
    How many pine in want and dungeon glooms,
    Shut from the common air, and common use
    Of their own limbs! how many drink the cup
    Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
    Of misery! Sore pierced by wintry winds,
    How many shrink into the sordid hut
    Of cheerless poverty! How many shake
    With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
    Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse,
    Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life,
    They furnish matter for the Tragic Muse!
    Even in the vale where Wisdom loves to dwell,
    With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation join'd,
    How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop
    In deep retired distress. How many stand
    Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
    And point the parting anguish! Thought fond man
    Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
    That one incessant struggle render life--
    One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate,
    Vice in its high career would stand appall'd,
    And heedless, rambling impulse learn to think;
    The conscious heart of Charity would warm,
    And her wide wish Benevolence dilate;
    The social tear would rise, the social sigh,
    And into clear perfection gradual bliss,
    Refining still, the social passions work.

    THOMSON.

       *       *       *       *       *




BRITISH TROOPS IN CANADA.


[Illustration: Letter R.]

Really winter in Canada must be felt to be imagined; and when felt can
no more be described by words, than colours to a blind man or music to a
deaf one. Even under bright sun-shine, and in a most exhilirating air,
the biting effect of the cold upon the portion of our face that is
exposed to it resembles the application of a strong acid; and the
healthy grin which the countenance assumes, requires--as I often
observed on those who for many minutes had been in a warm room waiting
to see me--a considerable time to relax.

In a calm, almost any degree of cold is bearable, but the application of
successive doses of it to the face by wind, becomes, occasionally,
almost unbearable; indeed, I remember seeing the left cheek of nearly
twenty of our soldiers simultaneously frost-bitten in marching about a
hundred yards across a bleak open space, completely exposed to a strong
and bitterly cold north-west wind that was blowing upon us all.

The remedy for this intense cold, to which many Canadians and others
have occasionally recourse, is--at least to my feelings it always
appeared--infinitely worse than the disease. On entering, for instance,
the small parlour of a little inn, a number of strong, able-bodied
fellows are discovered holding their hands a few inches before their
faces, and sitting in silence immediately in front of a stove of such
excruciating power, that it really feels as if it would roast the very
eyes in their sockets; and yet, as one endures this agony, the back part
is as cold as if it belonged to what is called at home "Old Father
Christmas."

As a further instance of the climate, I may add, that several times,
while my mind was very warmly occupied in writing my despatches, I found
my pen full of a lump of stuff that appeared to be honey, but which
proved to be frozen ink; again, after washing in the morning, when I
took up some money that had lain all night on my table, I at first
fancied it had become sticky, until I discovered that the sensation was
caused by its freezing to my fingers, which, in consequence of my
ablutions, were not perfectly dry.

[Illustration: WINTER DRESS OF BRITISH TROOPS IN CANADA.]

Notwithstanding, however, this intensity of cold, the powerful
circulation of the blood of large quadrupeds keeps the red fluid, like
the movement of the waters in the great lakes, from freezing; but the
human frame not being gifted with this power, many people lose their
limbs, and occasionally their lives, from cold. I one day inquired of a
fine, ruddy, honest-looking man, who called upon me, and whose toes and
instep of each foot had been truncated, how the accident happened? He
told me that the first winter he came from England he lost his way in
the forest, and that after walking for some hours, feeling pain in his
feet, he took off his boots, and from the flesh immediately swelling, he
was unable to put them on again. His stockings, which were very old
ones, soon wore into holes; and as rising on his insteps he was
hurriedly proceeding he knew not where, he saw with alarm, but without
feeling the slightest pain, first one toe and then another break off, as
if they had been pieces of brittle stick, and in this mutilated state he
continued to advance till he reached a path which led him to an
inhabited log house, where he remained suffering great pain till his
cure was effected.

Although the sun, from the latitude, has considerable power, it appears
only to illuminate the sparkling snow, which, like the sugar on a bridal
cake, conceals the whole surface. The instant, however, the fire of
heaven sinks below the horizon, the cold descends from the upper regions
of the atmosphere with a feeling as if it were poured down upon the head
and shoulders from a jug.

SIR FRANCIS HEAD.

       *       *       *       *       *




BALLOONS.


The idea of constructing a machine which should enable us to rise into
and sail through the air, seems often to have occupied the attention of
mankind, even from remote times, but it was never realised until within
the last sixty or seventy years. The first public ascent of a
fire-balloon in France, in 1783, led to an experiment on the part of
Joseph Mongolfier. He constructed a balloon of linen, lined with paper,
which, when inflated by means of burning chopped straw and coal, was
found to be capable of raising 500 pounds weight. It was inflated in
front of the Palace at Versailles, in the presence of the Royal family,
and a basket, containing a sheep, a duck, and a cock, was attached to
it. It was then liberated, and ascended to the height of 1500 feet. It
fell about two miles from Versailles; the animals were uninjured, and
the sheep was found quietly feeding near the place of its descent.

Monsieur Mongolfier then constructed one of superior strength, and a M.
de Rozier ventured to take his seat in the car and ascend three hundred
feet, the height allowed by the ropes, which were not cut. This same
person afterwards undertook an aerial voyage, descending in safety about
five miles from Paris, where the balloon ascended. But this enterprising
voyager in the air afterwards attempted to travel in a balloon with
sails. This was formed by a singular combination of balloons--one
inflated with hydrogen gas, and the other a fire-balloon. The latter,
however, catching fire, the whole apparatus fell from the height of
about three-quarters of a mile, with the mangled bodies of the voyagers
attached to the complicated machinery.

[Illustration: GREEN'S BALLOON, ASCENDING FROM VAUXHALL GARDENS.]

A Frenchman named Tester, in 1786, also made an excursion in a balloon
with sails; these sails or wings aided in carrying his balloon so high,
that when he had reached an elevation of 3000 feet, fearing his balloon
might burst, he descended into a corn-field in the plain of Montmorency.
An immense crowd ran eagerly to the spot; and the owner of the field,
angry at the injury his crop had sustained, demanded instant
indemnification. Tester offered no resistance, but persuaded the
peasants that, having lost his wings, he could not possibly escape. The
ropes were seized by a number of persons, who attempted to drag the
balloon towards the village; but as, during the procession, it had
acquired considerable buoyancy, Tester suddenly cut the cords, and,
rising in the air, left the disappointed peasants overwhelmed in
astonishment. After being out in a terrible thunder-storm, he descended
uninjured, about twelve hours from the time of his first ascent.

       *       *       *       *       *




SIR THOMAS GRESHAM.


[Illustration: Letter A.]

Among the worthies of this country who, after a successful and
honourable employment of their talent in life, have generously consulted
the advantage of generations to come after them, few names appear more
conspicuous than that of Sir Thomas Gresham, the founder of Gresham
College, and of the Royal Exchange, London. He was born in that city
about the year 1518, the second son of Sir Richard Gresham, who served
the office of sheriff in 1531, and that of Lord Mayor in 1537. He
received a liberal education at the University, and is mentioned in high
terms as having distinguished himself at Cambridge, being styled "that
noble and most learned merchant." His father at this time held the
responsible position of King's merchant, and had the management of the
Royal monies at Antwerp, then the most important seat of commerce in
Europe; and when his son Sir Thomas succeeded him in this responsible
appointment, he not only established his fame as a merchant, but secured
universal respect and esteem. After the accession of Queen Elizabeth,
his good qualities attracted the peculiar notice of her Majesty, who was
pleased to bestow on him the honour of knighthood; and at this time he
built the noble house in Bishopsgate-street, which after his death was
converted to the purposes of a College of his own foundation.

In the year 1564, Sir Thomas made an offer to the Corporation of London,
that, if the City would give him a piece of ground, he would erect an
Exchange at his own expense; and thus relieve the merchants from their
present uncomfortable mode of transacting business in the open air. The
liberal offer being accepted, the building, which was afterwards
destroyed in the Great Fire of London, was speedily constructed, at a
very great expense, and ornamented with a number of statues. Nor did
Gresham's persevering benevolence stop here: though he had so much to
engross his time and attention, he still found leisure to consider the
claims of the destitute and aged, and in his endowment of eight
alms-houses with a comfortable allowance for as many decayed citizens of
London, displayed that excellent grace of charity which was his truest
ornament.

In person Sir Thomas was above the middle height, and handsome when a
young man, but he was rendered lame by a fall from his horse during one
of his journeys in Flanders. Sir Thomas Gresham's exemplary life
terminated suddenly on the 21st of November, 1579, after he had just
paid a visit to the noble building which he had so generously founded.

[Illustration: SIR THOMAS GRESHAM.]

       *       *       *       *       *




ON THE ATTAINMENT OF KNOWLEDGE.


Let the enlargement of your knowledge be one constant view and design in
life; since there is no time or place, no transactions, occurrences, or
engagements in life, which exclude us from this method of improving the
mind. When we are alone, even in darkness and silence, we may converse
with our own hearts, observe the working of our own spirits, and reflect
upon the inward motions of our own passions in some of the latest
occurrences in life; we may acquaint ourselves with the powers and
properties, the tendencies and inclinations both of body and spirit, and
gain a more intimate knowledge of ourselves. When we are in company, we
may discover something more of human nature, of human passions and
follies, and of human affairs, vices and virtues, by conversing with
mankind, and observing their conduct. Nor is there any thing more
valuable than the knowledge of ourselves and the knowledge of men,
except it be the knowledge of God who made us, and our relation to Him
as our Governor.

When we are in the house or the city, wheresoever we turn our eyes, we
see the works of men; when we are abroad in the country, we behold more
of the works of God. The skies and the ground above and beneath us, and
the animal and vegetable world round about us, may entertain our
observation with ten thousand varieties.

Fetch down some knowledge from the clouds, the stars, the sun, the moon,
and the revolutions of all the planets. Dig and draw up some valuable
meditations from the depths of the earth, and search them through the
vast oceans of water. Extract some intellectual improvement from the
minerals and metals; from the wonders of nature among the vegetables and
herbs, trees and flowers. Learn some lessons from the birds and the
beasts, and the meanest insect. Read the wisdom of God, and his
admirable contrivance in them all: read his almighty power, his rich and
various goodness, in all the works of his hands.

From the day and the night, the hours and the flying minutes, learn a
wise improvement of time, and be watchful to seize every opportunity to
increase in knowledge.

From the vices and follies of others, observe what is hateful in them;
consider how such a practice looks in another person, and remember that
it looks as ill or worse in yourself. From the virtue of others, learn
something worthy of your imitation.

From the deformity, the distress, or calamity of others, derive lessons
of thankfulness to God, and hymns of grateful praise to your Creator,
Governor, and Benefactor, who has formed you in a better mould, and
guarded you from those evils. Learn also the sacred lesson of
contentment in your own estate, and compassion to your neighbour under
his miseries.

From your natural powers, sensations, judgment, memory, hands, feet,
&c., make this inference, that they were not given you for nothing, but
for some useful employment to the honour of your Maker, and for the good
of your fellow-creatures, as well as for your own best interest and
final happiness.

DR. WATTS.

       *       *       *       *       *




THIBETAN SHEEP.


The enterprising traveller, Moorcroft, during his journey across the
vast chain of the Himalaya Mountains, in India, undertaken with the hope
of finding a passage across those mountains into Tartary, noticed, in
the district of Ladak, the peculiar race of sheep of which we give an
Engraving. Subsequent observations having confirmed his opinion as to
the quality of their flesh and wool, the Honourable East India Company
imported a flock, which were sent for a short time to the Gardens of the
Zoological Society, Regent's Park. They were then distributed among
those landed proprietors whose possessions are best adapted, by soil and
climate, for naturalising in the British Islands this beautiful variety
of the mountain sheep. The wool, the flesh, and the milk of the sheep
appear to have been very early appreciated as valuable products of the
animal: with us, indeed, the milk of the flock has given place to that
of the herd; but the two former still retain their importance. Soon
after the subjugation of Britain by the Romans, a woollen manufactory
was established at Winchester, situated in the midst of a district then,
as now, peculiarly suited to the short-woolled breed of sheep. So
successful was this manufacture, that British cloths were soon preferred
at Rome to those of any other part of the Empire, and were worn by the
most opulent on festive and ceremonial occasions. From that time
forward, the production of wool in this island, and the various
manufactures connected with it, have gone on increasing in importance,
until it has become one of the chief branches of our commerce.

[Illustration: THIBETAN SHEEP.]

       *       *       *       *       *




NAVAL TACTICS.


[Illustration: Letter O.]

On being told the number and size of the sails which a vessel can carry
(that is to say, can sail with, without danger of being upset), the
uninitiated seldom fail to express much surprise. This is not so
striking in a three-decker, as in smaller vessels, because the hull of
the former stands very high out of the water, for the sake of its triple
rank of guns, and therefore bears a greater proportion to its canvas
than that of a frigate or a smaller vessel. The apparent inequality is
most obvious in the smallest vessels, as cutters: and of those kept for
pleasure, and therefore built for the purpose of sailing as fast as
possible, without reference to freight or load, there are many the hull
of which might be entirely wrapt up in the mainsail. It is of course
very rarely, if ever, that a vessel carries at one time all the sail she
is capable of; the different sails being usually employed according to
the circumstances of direction of wind and course. The sails of a ship,
when complete, are as follows:--

The lowermost sail of the mast, called thence the _mainsail_, or
_foresail_; the _topsail_, carried by the _topsail-yard_; the
_top-gallant-sail_; and above this there is also set a _royal_ sail, and
again above this, but only on emergencies, a sail significantly called a
_sky-sail_. Besides all this, the three lowermost of these are capable
of having their surface to be exposed to the wind increased by means of
_studding_ sails, which are narrow sails set on each side beyond the
regular one, by means of small _booms_ or yards, which can be slid out
so as to extend the lower yards and topsail-yards: the upper parts of
these additional sails hang from small yards suspended from the
principal ones, and the boom of the lower studding-sails is hooked on to
the chains. Thus each of the two principal masts, the fore and main, are
capable of bearing no less than thirteen distinct sails. If a ship could
be imagined as cut through by a plane, at right angles to the keel,
close to the mainmast, the _area_, or surface, of all the sails on this
would be five or six times as great as that of the section or profile of
the hull!

The starboard studding-sails are on the fore-mast, and on both sides of
the main-top-gallant and main-royal; but, in going nearly before a wind,
there is no advantage derived from the stay-sails, which, accordingly,
are not set. The flying-jib is to be set to assist in steadying the
motion.

The mizen-mast, instead of a lower square-sail like the two others, has
a sail like that of a cutter, lying in the plane of the keel, its bottom
stretched on a boom, which extends far over the taffarel, and the upper
edge carried by a _gaff_ or yard sloping upwards, supported by ropes
from the top of the mizen-mast.

All these sails, the sky-sails excepted, have four sides, as have also
the sprit-sails on the bowsprit, jib-boom, &c.; and all, except the sail
last mentioned on the mizen, usually lie across the ship, or in planes
forming considerable angles with the axis or central line of the ship.
There are a number of sails which lie in the same plane with the keel,
being attached to the various _stays_ of the masts; these are triangular
sails, and those are called _stay-sails_ which are between the masts:
those before the fore-mast, and connected with the bowsprit, are the
_fore stay-sail_, the _fore-topmast-stay-sail_, the _jib_, sometimes a
_flying jib_, and another called a _middle jib_, and there are two or
three others used occasionally. Thus it appears that there are no less
than fifty-three different sails, which are used at times, though, we
believe, seldom more than twenty are _set_ at one time, for it is
obviously useless to extend or set a sail, if the wind is prevented from
filling it by another which intercepts the current of air.

The higher the wind, the fewer the sails which a ship can carry; but as
a certain number, or rather quantity, of canvas is necessary in
different parts of the ship to allow of the vessel being steered, the
principal sails, that is, the _courses_ or lower sails, and the
top-sails, admit of being reduced in extent by what is termed _reefing_:
this is done by tying up the upper part of the sail to the yard by means
of rows of strings called _reef-points_ passing through the canvas; this
reduces the depth of the sail, while its width is unaltered on the yard,
which is therefore obliged to be lowered on the mast accordingly.

[Illustration: SHORTENING SAIL IN A STORM.]

[Illustration: PREPARING TO MAKE SAIL.]

[Illustration: LOOSED SAILS.]

Ships are principally distinguished as those called merchantmen, which
belong to individuals or companies, and are engaged in commerce; and
men-of-war, or the national ships, built for the purposes of war. The
latter receive their designation from the number of their decks, or of
the guns which they carry. The largest are termed ships of the line,
from their forming the line of battle when acting together in fleets;
and are divided into first-rates, second-rates, third-rates, &c.
First-rates include all those carrying 100 guns and upwards, with a
company of 850 men and upwards; second-rates mount 90 to 100 guns, and
so on, down to the sixth-rates; but some ships of less than 44 guns are
termed frigates.

[Illustration: TOP-GALLANT-SAILS HOME.]

[Illustration: SAIL ON THE STARBOARD TACK.]

[Illustration: REEFING TOPSAILS.]

[Illustration: DOUBLE-REEFED TOPSAILS.]

There are three principal masts in a complete ship: the first is the
main-mast, which stands in the centre of the ship; at a considerable
distance forward is the fore-mast; and at a less distance behind, the
mizen-mast. These masts, passing through the decks, are fixed firmly in
the keel. There are added to them other masts, which can be taken down
or raised--hoisted, as it is termed at sea--at pleasure: these are
called top-masts, and, according to the mast to which each is
attached--main, fore, or mizen-topmast. When the topmast is carried
still higher by the addition of a third, it receives the name of
top-gallant-mast. The yards are long poles of wood slung across the
masts, or attached to them by one end, and having fixed to them the
upper edge of the principal sails. They are named upon the same plan as
the masts; for example, the main-yard, the fore-top-sail-yard, and so
on. The bowsprit is a strong conical piece of timber, projecting from
the stem of a ship, and serving to support the fore-mast, and as a yard
or boom on which certain sails are moveable.

According as the wind blows from different points, in regard to the
course the ship is sailing, it is necessary that the direction of the
yards should be changed, so as to form different angles with the central
line or with the keel; this is effected by ropes brought from the ends
of the yards to the mast behind that to which these belong, and then,
passing through blocks, they come down to the deck: by pulling one of
these, the other being slackened, the yard is brought round to the
proper degree of inclination; this is termed bracing the yards, the
ropes being termed braces.


       *       *       *       *       *




THE CHOICE OF HERCULES.


When Hercules was in that part of his youth in which it was natural for
him to consider what course of life he ought to pursue, he one day
retired into a desert, where the silence and solitude of the place very
much favoured his meditations. As he was musing on his present
condition, and very much perplexed in himself on the state of life he
should choose, he saw two women, of a larger stature than ordinary,
approaching towards him. One of them had a very noble air, and graceful
deportment; her beauty was natural and easy, her person clean and
unspotted, her eyes cast towards the ground with an agreeable reserve,
her motion and behaviour full of modesty, and her raiment as white as
snow. The other had a great deal of health and floridness in her
countenance, which she had helped with an artificial white and red; and
she endeavoured to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mien, by a
mixture of affectation in all her gestures. She had a wonderful
confidence and assurance in her looks, and all the variety of colours in
her dress, that she thought were the most proper to shew her complexion
to advantage. She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those
that were present, to see how they liked her, and often looked on the
figure she made in her own shadow. Upon her nearer approach to Hercules,
she stepped before the other lady, who came forward with a regular,
composed carriage, and running up to him, accosted him after the
following manner:--

"My dear Hercules!" says she, "I find you are very much divided in your
thoughts upon the way of life that you ought to choose; be my friend,
and follow me; I will lead you into the possession of pleasure, and out
of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and disquietude
of business. The affairs of either war or peace shall have no power to
disturb you. Your whole employment shall be to make your life easy, and
to entertain every sense with its proper gratifications. Sumptuous
tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfume, concerts of music, crowds of
beauties, are all in readiness to receive you. Come along with me into
this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid farewell for
ever to care, to pain, to business." Hercules, hearing the lady talk
after this manner, desired to know her name, to which she answered--"My
friends, and those who are well acquainted with me, call me Happiness;
but my enemies, and those who would injure my reputation, have given me
the name of Pleasure."

By this time the other lady was come up, who addressed herself to the
young hero in a very different manner:--"Hercules," says she, "I offer
myself to you because I know you are descended from the gods, and give
proofs of that descent by your love of virtue and application to the
studies proper for your age. This makes me hope you will gain, both for
yourself and me, an immortal reputation. But before I invite you into my
society and friendship, I will be open and sincere with you, and must
lay this down as an established truth, that there is nothing truly
valuable which can be purchased without pains and labour. The gods have
set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the
favour of the Deity, you must be at the pains of worshipping Him; if the
friendship of good men, you must study to oblige them; if you would be
honoured by your country, you must take care to serve it; in short, if
you would be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the
qualifications that can make you so. These are the only terms and
conditions upon which I can propose happiness."

The Goddess of Pleasure here broke in upon her discourse:--"You see,"
said she, "Hercules, by her own confession, the way to her pleasures is
long and difficult; whereas that which I propose is short and easy."

"Alas!" said the other lady, whose visage glowed with passion, made up
of scorn and pity, "what are the pleasures you propose? To eat before
you are hungry; drink before you are athirst; sleep before you are
tired; to gratify appetites before they are raised, and raise such
appetites as Nature never planted. You never heard the most delicious
music, which is the praise of one's-self; nor saw the most beautiful
object, which is the work of one's own hands. Your votaries pass away
their youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures, while they are hoarding up
anguish, torment, and remorse for old age. As for me, I am the friend of
gods and of good men; an agreeable companion to the artizan; an
household guardian to the fathers of families; a patron and protector of
servants; an associate in all true and generous friendships. The
banquets of my votaries are never costly, but always delicious; for none
eat or drink of them who are not invited by hunger or thirst. Their
slumbers are sound, and their wakings cheerful. My young men have the
pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who are in years; and
those who are in years, of being honoured by those who are young. In a
word, my followers are favoured by the gods, beloved by their
acquaintance, esteemed by their country, and after the close of their
labours honoured by posterity."

We know, by the life of this memorable hero, to which of these two
ladies he gave up his heart; and I believe every one who reads this will
do him the justice to approve his choice.

_Tatler_.

       *       *       *       *       *




STRATA FLORIDA ABBEY.


[Illustration]

The remains of Strata Florida Abbey, in South Wales, are most
interesting in many points of view, more especially as the relics of a
stately seminary for learning, founded as early as the year 1164. The
community of the Abbey were Cistercian monks, who soon attained great
celebrity, and acquired extensive possessions. A large library was
founded by them, which included the national records from the earliest
periods, the works of the bards and the genealogies of the Princes and
great families in Wales. The monks also compiled a valuable history of
the Principality, down to the death of Llewellyn the Great. When Edward
I. invaded Wales, he burned the Abbey, but it was rebuilt A.D. 1294.

Extensive woods once flourished in the vicinity of Strata Florida, and
its burial-place covered no less than 120 acres. A long list of eminent
persons from all parts of Wales were here buried, and amongst them David
ap Gwillim, the famous bard. The churchyard is now reduced to small
dimensions; but leaden coffins, doubtless belonging to once celebrated
personages, are still found, both there and at a distance from the
cemetery. A few aged box and yew-trees now only remain to tell of the
luxuriant verdure which once grew around the Abbey; and of the venerable
pile itself little is left, except an arch, and the fragment of a fine
old wall, about forty feet high. A small church now stands within the
enclosure, more than commonly interesting from having been built with
the materials of the once celebrated Abbey of Strata Florida.

       *       *       *       *       *




KAFFIR CHIEFS.


[Illustration]

In the warm summer months a thin kind of petticoat constitutes the sole
bodily attire of the Kaffir Chiefs; but in winter a cloak is used, made
of the skins of wild beasts, admirably curried. The head, even in the
hottest weather, is never protected by any covering, a fillet, into
which a feather of the ostrich is stuck, being generally worn; and they
seldom wear shoes, except on undertaking a long journey, when they
condescend to use a rude substitute for them. The bodies of both sexes
are tattooed; and the young men, like the fops of more civilized
nations, paint their skins and curl their hair. Their arms are the
javelin, a large shield of buffalo-hide, and a short club.

The women exhibit taste in the arrangement of their dress, particularly
for that of the head, which consists of a turban made of skin, and
profusely ornamented with beads, of which adornment both men and women
are very fond. A mantle of skin, variously bedecked with these and other
showy trinkets, is worn; and the only distinction between the dress of
the chieftains' wives and those of a lower rank consists in a greater
profusion of ornaments possessed by the former, but of which all are
alike vain. There is no change of dress, the whole wardrobe of the
female being that which she carries about with her and sleeps in, for
bed-clothes they have none.

The grain which they chiefly cultivate is a kind of millet: a small
quantity of Indian corn and some pumpkins are likewise grown; but a
species of sugar-cane is produced in great abundance, and of this they
are extremely fond. Their diet, however, is chiefly milk in a sour
curdled state. They dislike swine's flesh, keep no poultry, are averse
to fish, but indulge in eating the flesh of their cattle, which they do
in a very disgusting way. Although naturally brave and warlike, they
prefer an indolent pastoral life, hunting being an occasional pastime.

Much light was thrown on the condition and future prospects of this
people in 1835, by some papers relative to the Cape of Good Hope, which
were laid before the English Government. From these it appeared that a
system of oppression and unjustifiable appropriation on the part of the
whites, have from time to time roused the savage energies of the
Kaffirs, and impelled them to make severe reprisals upon their European
spoilers. The longing of the Cape colonists for the well-watered valleys
of the Kaffirs, and of the latter for the colonial cattle, which are
much superior to their own, still are, as they have always been, the
sources of irritation. Constant skirmishes took place, until, at length,
in 1834, the savages poured into the colony in vast numbers, wasted the
farms, drove off the cattle, and murdered not a few of the inhabitants.
An army of 4000 men was marched against the invaders, who were driven
far beyond the boundary-line which formerly separated Kaffirland from
Cape Colony, and not only forced to confine themselves within the new
limits prescribed, but to pay a heavy fine. Treaties have been entered
into, and tracts of country assigned to the Kaffir chiefs of several
families, who acknowledge themselves to be subjects of Great Britain,
and who are to pay a fat ox annually as a quit-rent for the lands which
they occupy.

Macomo, one of the Kaffir Chiefs, is a man of most remarkable character
and talent, and succeeded his father, Gaika, who had been possessed of
much greater power and wider territories than the son, but had found
himself compelled to yield up a large portion of his lands to the
colonists. Macomo received no education; all the culture which his mind
ever obtained being derived from occasional intercourse with
missionaries, after he had grown to manhood. From 1819, the period of
Gaika's concessions, up to the year 1829, he with his tribe dwelt upon
the Kat river, following their pastoral life in peace, and cultivating
their corn-fields. Suddenly they were ejected from their lands by the
Kat river, on the plea that Gaika had ceded these lands to the colony.
Macomo retired, almost without a murmur, to a district farther inland,
leaving the very grain growing upon his fields. He took up a new
position on the banks of the river Chunice, and here he and his tribe
dwelt until 1833, when they were again driven out to seek a new home,
almost without pretence. On this occasion Macomo did make a
remonstrance, in a document addressed to an influential person of the
colony. "In the whole of this savage Kaffir's letter, there is," says
Dr. Philip, "a beautiful simplicity, a touching pathos, a confiding
magnanimity, a dignified remonstrance, which shows its author to be no
common man. It was dictated to an interpreter."

[Illustration]

"As I and my people," writes Macomo, "have been driven back over the
Chunice, without being informed why, I should be glad to know from the
Government what evil we have done. I was only told that we _must_ retire
over the Chunice, but for what reason I was not informed. It was agreed
that I and my people should live west of the Chunice, as well as east of
it. When shall I and my people be able to get rest?"

       *       *       *       *       *




RAILWAY TUNNELS.


[Illustration: Letter O.]

Of the difficulties which occasionally baffle the man of science, in his
endeavours to contend with the hidden secrets of the crust of the earth
which we inhabit, the Kilsby Tunnel of the London and North-western
Railway presents a striking example. The proposed tunnel was to be
driven about 160 feet below the surface. It was to be, as indeed it is,
2399 yards in length, with two shafts of the extraordinary size of sixty
feet in diameter, not only to give air and ventilation, but to admit
light enough to enable the engine-driver, in passing through it with a
train, to see the rails from end to end. In order correctly to
ascertain, and honestly to make known to the contractors the nature of
the ground through which this great work was to pass, the
engineer-in-chief sank the usual number of what are called "trial
shafts;" and, from the result, the usual advertisements for tenders were
issued, and the shafts, &c. having been minutely examined by the
competing contractors, the work was let to one of them for the sum of
£99,000. In order to drive the tunnel, it was deemed necessary to
construct eighteen working shafts, by which, like the heavings of a
mole, the contents of the subterranean gallery were to be brought to the
surface. This interesting work was in busy progress, when, all of a
sudden, it was ascertained, that, at about 200 yards from the south end
of the tunnel, there existed, overlaid by a bed of clay, forty feet
thick, a hidden quicksand, which extended 400 yards into the proposed
tunnel, and which the trial shafts on each side of it had almost
miraculously just passed without touching. Overwhelmed at the discovery,
the contractor instantly took to his bed; and though he was justly
relieved by the company from his engagement, the reprieve came too late,
for he actually died.

The general opinion of the several eminent engineers who were consulted
was against proceeding; but Mr. R. Stephenson offered to undertake the
responsibility of the work. His first operation was to lower the water
with which he had to contend, and it was soon ascertained that the
quicksand in question covered several square miles. The tunnel, thirty
feet high by thirty feet broad, was formed of bricks, laid in cement,
and the bricklayers were progressing in lengths averaging twelve feet,
when those who were nearest the quicksand, on driving into the roof,
were suddenly almost overwhelmed by a deluge of water, which burst in
upon them. As it was evident that no time was to be lost, a gang of
workmen, protected by the extreme power of the engines, were, with their
materials, placed on a raft; and while, with the utmost celerity, they
were completing the walls of that short length, the water, in spite of
every effort to keep it down, rose with such rapidity, that, at the
conclusion of the work, the men were so near being jammed against the
roof, that the assistant-engineer jumped overboard, and then swimming,
with a rope in his mouth, he towed the raft to the nearest working
shaft, through which he and his men were safely lifted to daylight, or,
as it is termed by miners, "to grass."

The water now rose in the shaft, and, as it is called, "drowned the
works" but, by the main strength of 1250 men, 200 horses, and thirteen
steam-engines, not only was the work gradually completed, but, during
day and night for eight months, the almost incredible quantity of 1800
gallons of water per minute was raised, and conducted away. The time
occupied from the laying of the first brick to the completion was thirty
months.

[Illustration: DEEP CUTTING NEAR THE TUNNEL.]

       *       *       *       *       *




SUN FISH.


While lying in Little Killery Bay, on the coast of Connemara, in her
Majesty's surveying ketch _Sylvia_, we were attracted by a large fin
above the surface, moving with an oscillatory motion, somewhat
resembling the action of a man sculling at the stern of a boat; and
knowing it to be an unusual visitor, we immediately got up the harpoon
and went in chase. In the meantime, a country boat came up with the poor
animal, and its crew inflicted upon it sundry blows with whatever they
could lay their hands on--oars, grappling, stones, &c.--but were
unsuccessful in taking it; and it disappeared for some few minutes, when
it again exhibited its fin on the other side of the Bay. The dull and
stupid animal permitted us to place our boat immediately over it, and
made no effort to escape. The harpoon never having been sharpened,
glanced off without effect; but another sailor succeeded in securing it
by the tail with a boat-hook, and passing the bight of a rope behind its
fins, we hauled it on shore, under Salrock House, the residence of
General Thompson, who, with his family, came down to inspect this
strange-looking inhabitant of the sea. We were well soused by the
splashing of its fins, ere a dozen hands succeeded in transporting this
heavy creature from its native abode to the shore, where it passively
died, giving only an occasional movement with its fins, or uttering a
kind of grunt.

[Illustration: SIDE VIEW OF SUN FISH.]

[Illustration: FRONT VIEW OF SUN FISH.]

This animal, I believe, is a specimen of the Sun-fish (_Orthagoriscus_).
It has no bony skeleton; nor did we, in our rather hasty dissection,
discover any osseous structure whatever, except (as we were informed by
one who afterwards inspected it) that there was one which stretched
between the large fins. Its jaws also had bony terminations, unbroken
into teeth, and parrot-like, which, when not in use, are hidden by the
envelopement of the gums. The form of the animal is preserved by an
entire cartilaginous case, of about three inches in thickness, covered
by a kind of shagreen skin, so amalgamated with the cartilage as not to
be separated from it. This case is easily penetrable with a knife, and
is of pearly whiteness, more resembling cocoa-nut in appearance and
texture than anything else I can compare it with. The interior cavity,
containing the vital parts, terminates a little behind the large fins,
where the cartilage was solid, to its tapered extremity, which is
without a caudal fin. Within, and around the back part, lay the flesh,
of a coarse fibrous texture, slightly salmon-coloured. The liver was
such as to fill a common pail, and there was a large quantity of red
blood. The nostril, top of the eye, and top of the gill-orifice are in
line, as represented in the Engraving. The dimensions are as under:--

Eye round, and like that of an ox, 2-1/4 inches diameter. Gill-orifice,
4 inches by 2-1/4 inches. Dorsal and anal fins equal, 2 ft. 2 in. long,
by 1 ft. 3 in. wide. Pectoral fins, 10 in. high by 8 broad. Length of
fish, 6 ft. Depth, from the extremities of the large fins, 7 ft. 4 in.
Extreme breadth at the swelling under the eye, only 20 in. Weight, 6
cwt. 42 lb.

CAPTAIN BEDFORD, R.N.

       *       *       *       *       *




BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.


[Illustration: Letter O.]

    Of Nelson and the North
    Sing the glorious day's renown,
    When to battle fierce came forth
    All the might of Denmark's crown,
    And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
    By each gun the lighted brand,
    In a bold determined hand--
    And the Prince of all the land
    Led them on.

    Like Leviathans afloat
    Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
    While the sign of battle flew
    On the lofty British line;
    It was ten of April morn, by the chime,
    As they drifted on their path:
    There was silence deep as death,
    And the boldest held his breath
    For a time.

    But the might of England flush'd
    To anticipate the scene;
    And her van the fleeter rush'd
    O'er the deadly space between.
    "Hearts of Oak!" our Captains cried; when each gun
    From its adamantine lips
    Spread a death-shade round the ships,
    Like the hurricane eclipse
    Of the sun.

    Again! again! again!
    And the havoc did not slack,
    Till a feeble cheer the Dane
    To our cheering sent us back--
    Their shots along the deep slowly boom:
    Then ceased, and all is wail
    As they strike the shatter'd sail,
    Or, in conflagration pale,
    Light the gloom.

    Out spoke the victor then,
    As he hail'd them o'er the wave,
    "Ye are brothers! ye are men!
    And we conquer but to save;
    So peace instead of death let us bring.
    But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
    With their crews, at England's feet,
    And make submission meet
    To our King."

    Then Denmark bless'd our chief,
    That he gave her wounds repose;
    And the sounds of joy and grief
    From her people wildly rose,
    As Death withdrew his shades from the day,
    While the sun look'd smiling bright
    O'er a wide and woeful sight,
    Where the fires of funeral light
    Died away.

    Now joy, old England, raise!
    For the tidings of thy might,
    By the festal cities' blaze,
    Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
    And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,
    Let us think of them that sleep,
    Full many a fathom deep,
    By thy wild and stormy steep--
    Ellsinore!

    Brave hearts! to Britain's pride,
    Once so faithful and so true,
    On the deck of fame that died
    With the gallant, good Riou--
    Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave:
    While the billow mournful rolls,
    And the mermaid's song condoles,
    Singing glory to the souls
    Of the brave.

    CAMPBELL.

       *       *       *       *       *




ARTILLERY TACTICS.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

Cannon took their name from the French word _Canne_, a reed. Before
their invention, machines were used for throwing enormous stones. These
were imitated from the Arabs, and called _ingenia_, whence engineer. The
first cannon were made of wood, wrapped up in numerous folds of linen,
and well secured by iron hoops. The true epoch of the use of metallic
cannon cannot be ascertained; it is certain, however, that they were in
use about the middle of the 14th century. The Engraving beneath
represents a field-battery gun taking up its position in a canter. The
piece of ordnance is attached, or "limbered up" to an ammunition
carriage, capable of carrying two gunners, or privates, whilst the
drivers are also drilled so as to be able to serve at the gun in action,
in case of casualties.

[Illustration: TAKING UP POSITION.]

Having reached its destination, and been detached or "unlimbered" from
the front carriage, we next see the action of loading; the ramrod having
at its other extremity a sheep-skin mop, larger than the bore of the
piece, and called "a sponge." This instrument, before loading, is
invariably used, whilst the touch-hole or "vent" is covered by the thumb
of the gunner especially numbered off for this important duty; and the
air being thus excluded, the fire, which often remains within the bore,
attached to either portions of cartridge-case or wadding, is
extinguished. Serious accidents have been known to occur from a neglect
of this important preliminary to loading; as a melancholy instance, a
poor fellow may be seen about the Woolwich barracks, _both_ of whose
arms were blown off above the elbow joint, whilst ramming home a
cartridge before the sponge had been properly applied.

[Illustration: LOADING.]

[Illustration: FIRING IN RETREAT.]

If it is deemed essential to keep up a fire upon the enemy during a
temporary retreat, or in order to avoid an overwhelming body of cavalry
directed against guns unsupported by infantry, in that case the limber
remains as close as possible to the field-piece, as shown in the
Engraving above.

Skilful provisions are made against the various contingencies likely to
occur in action. A wheel may he shattered by the enemy's shot, and the
gun thereby disabled for the moment: this accident is met by supporting
the piece upon a handspike, firmly grasped by one or two men on each
side, according to the weight of the gun, whilst a spare wheel, usually
suspended at the back of "the tumbril," or ammunition waggon, is
obtained, and in a few moments made to remedy the loss, as represented
above.

[Illustration: DISABLED WHEEL.]

[Illustration: DISMANTLING A GUN.]

The extraordinary rapidity with which a gun can be dislodged from its
carriage, and every portion of its complicated machinery scattered upon
the ground, is hardly to be believed unless witnessed; but the wonder
is increased tenfold, on seeing with what magical celerity the
death-dealing weapon can be put together again. These operations will be
readily understood by an examination of the Illustrations. In that at
the foot of page 175 the cannon is lying useless upon the earth; one
wheel already forms the rude resting-place of a gunner, whilst the other
is in the act of being displaced. By the application of a rope round the
termination of the breech, and the lifting of the trail of the carriage,
care being previously taken that the trunnions are in their respective
sockets, a very slight exertion of manual labour is required to put the
gun into fighting trim. That we may be understood, we will add that the
trunnions are the short round pieces of iron, or brass, projecting from
the sides of the cannon, and their relative position can be easily
ascertained by a glance at the gun occupying the foreground of the
Illustration where the dismantling is depicted. To perform the labour
thus required in managing cannon, is called to serve the guns.

[Illustration: MOUNTING A GUN.]

Cannon are cast in a solid mass of metal, either of iron or brass; they
are then bored by being placed upon a machine which causes the whole
mass to turn round very rapidly. The boring tool being pressed against
the cannon thus revolving, a deep hole is made in it, called the bore.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE TREE KANGAROO AND BLACK LEOPARD.


The ordinary mode in which the Kangaroos make their way on the ground,
as well as by flight from enemies, is by a series of bounds, often of
prodigious extent. They spring from their hind limbs alone, using
neither the tail nor the fore limbs. In feeding, they assume a
crouching, hare-like position, resting on the fore paws as well as on
the hinder extremities, while they browse on the herbage. In this
attitude they hop gently along, the tail being pressed to the ground. On
the least alarm they rise on the hind limbs, and bound to a distance
with great rapidity. Sometimes, when excited, the old male of the great
kangaroo stands on tiptoe and on his tail, and is then of prodigious
height. It readily takes to the water, and swims well, often resorting
to this mode of escape from its enemies, among which is the dingo, or
wild dog of Australia.

[Illustration: TREE KANGAROO, AND BLACK LEOPARD.]

Man is, however, the most unrelenting foe of this inoffensive animal. It
is a native of New Holland and Van Diemen's Land, and was first
discovered by the celebrated navigator Captain Cook, in 1770, while
stationed on the coast of New South Wales. In Van Diemen's Land the
great kangaroo is regularly hunted with fox-hounds, as the deer or fox
in England.

The Tree Kangaroo, in general appearance, much resembles the common
kangaroo, having many of that animal's peculiarities. It seems to have
the power of moving very quickly on a tree; sometimes holding tight with
its fore feet, and bringing its hind feet up together with a jump; at
other times climbing ordinarily.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the island of Java a black variety of the Leopard is not uncommon,
and such are occasionally seen in our menageries; they are deeper than
the general tint, and the spots show in certain lights only. Nothing can
exceed the grace and agility of the leopards; they bound with
astonishing ease, climb trees, and swim, and the flexibility of the body
enables them to creep along the ground with the cautious silence of a
snake on their unsuspecting prey.

In India the leopard is called by the natives the "tree-tiger," from its
generally taking refuge in a tree when pursued, and also from being
often seen among the branches: so quick and active is the animal in this
situation, that it is not easy to take a fair aim at him. Antelopes,
deer, small quadrupeds, and monkeys are its prey. It seldom attacks a
man voluntarily, but, if provoked, becomes a formidable assailant. It is
sometimes taken in pitfalls and traps. In some old writers there are
accounts of the leopard being taken in trap, by means of a mirror,
which, when the animal jump against it, brings a door down upon him.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHARITY.


[Illustration: Letter D.]

    Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,
    Than ever man pronounced or angel sung;
    Had I all knowledge, human and divine
    That thought can reach, or science can define;
    And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
    In all the speeches of the babbling earth,
    Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
    To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
    Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,
    When Moses gave them miracles and law:
    Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
    Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
    Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r;
    That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
    A cymbal's sound were better than my voice;
    My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.

[Illustration]

    Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
    Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
    Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guide
    Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
    Not soon provoked, she easily forgives;
    And much she suffers, as she much believes.
    Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;
    She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
    Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,
    And opens in each heart a little heaven.

    Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
    Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows;
    To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power;
    And finishing its act, exists no more.
    Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
    Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
    But lasting Charity's more ample sway,
    Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
    In happy triumph shall for ever live,
    And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.

    As through the artist's intervening glass,
    Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
    A little we discover, but allow
    That more remains unseen than art can show;
    So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
    Its feeble eye intent on things above,
    High as we may we lift our reason up,
    By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope;
    Yet are we able only to survey
    Dawnings of beams and promises of day;
    Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight--
    Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.

    But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd;
    The Son shall soon be face to face beheld,
    In all his robes, with all his glory on,
    Seated sublime on his meridian throne.

    Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall vie,
    One lost in certainty, and one in joy:
    Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair Charity,
    Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
    Thy office, and thy nature still the same,
    Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,
    Shall still survive--
    Shall stand before the host of heav'n confest,
    For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

    PRIOR.

       *       *       *       *       *




SARDIS.


[Illustration: Letter S.]

Sardis, the ancient capital of the kingdom of Lydia, is situated on the
river Pactolus, in the fertile plain below Mount Tmolus. Wealth, pomp,
and luxury characterised this city from very ancient times. The story of
Croesus, its last King, is frequently alluded to by historians, as
affording a remarkable example of the instability of human greatness.
This Monarch considered himself the happiest of human beings, but being
checked by the philosopher Solon for his arrogance, he was offended, and
dismissed the sage from his Court with disgrace. Not long afterwards,
led away by the ambiguous answers of the oracles, he conducted a large
army into the field against Cyrus, the future conqueror of Babylon, but
was defeated, and obliged to return to his capital, where he shut
himself up. Hither he was soon followed and besieged by Cyrus, with a
far inferior force; but, at the expiration of fourteen days, the
citadel, which had been deemed impregnable, was taken by a stratagem,
and Croesus was condemned to the flames. When the sentence was about to
be executed, he was heard to invoke the name of Solon, and the curiosity
of Cyrus being excited, he asked the cause; and, having heard his
narrative, ordered him to be set free, and subsequently received him
into his confidence.

[Illustration: SARDIS.]

Under the Romans, Sardis declined in importance, and, being destroyed by
an earthquake, for some time lay desolate, until it was rebuilt by the
Roman Emperor Tiberius.

The situation of Sardis is very beautiful, but the country over which it
looks is almost deserted, and the valley is become a swamp. The hill of
the citadel, when seen from the opposite bank of the Hermus, appears of
a triangular form; and at the back of it rise ridge after ridge of
mountains, the highest covered with snow, and many of them bearing
evident marks of having been jagged and distorted by earthquakes. The
citadel is exceedingly difficult of ascent; but the magnificent view
which it commands of the plain of the Hermus, and other objects of
interest, amply repays the risk and fatigue. The village, small as it
is, boasts of containing one of the most remarkable remains of
antiquity in Asia; namely, the vast Ionic temple of the heathen goddess
Cybele, or the earth, on the banks of the Pactolus. In 1750, six columns
of this temple were standing, but four of them have since been thrown
down by the Turks, for the sake of the gold which they expected to find
in the joints.

Two or three mills and a few mud huts, inhabited by Turkish herdsmen,
contain all the present population of Sardis.

       *       *       *       *       *




MARTELLO TOWERS.


[Illustration: Letter A.]

At a time when there appeared to be good reason for believing that the
invasion of England was contemplated, the Government turned their
attention to the defence of such portions of the coast as seemed to
present the greatest facility for the landing of a hostile force. As the
Kentish coast, from East Were Bay to Dymchurch, seemed more especially
exposed, a line of Martello Towers was erected between these two points,
at a distance from each other of from one-quarter to three-quarters of a
mile. Other towers of the same kind were erected on various parts of the
coast where the shore was low, in other parts of England, but more
particularly in the counties of Sussex and Suffolk. Towers of this
construction appear to have been adopted, owing to the resistance that
was made by the Tower of Martella, in the Island of Corsica, to the
British forces under Lord Hood and General Dundas, in 1794. This tower
which was built in the form of an obtruncated cone--like the body of a
windmill--was situated in Martella, or Martle Bay. As it rendered the
landing of the troops difficult, Commodore Linzee anchored in the bay to
the westward, and there landed the troops on the evening of the 7th of
February, taking possession of a height that commanded the tower. As the
tower impeded the advance of the troops, it was the next day attacked
from the bay by the vessels _Fortitude_ and _Juno_; but after a
cannonade of two hours and a half, the ships were obliged to haul off,
the _Fortitude_ having sustained considerable damage from red-hot shot
discharged from the tower. The tower, after having been cannonaded from
the height for two days, surrendered; rather, it would appear, from the
alarm of the garrison, than from any great injury that the tower had
sustained. The English, on taking possession of the fort, found that the
garrison had originally consisted of thirty-three men, of whom two only
were wounded, though mortally. The walls were of great thickness, and
bomb-proof; and the parapet consisted of an interior lining of rush
matting, filled up to the exterior of the parapet with sand. The only
guns they had were two 18-pounders.

The towers erected between East Were Bay and Dymchurch (upwards of
twenty) were built of brick, and were from about 35 feet to 40 feet
high: the entrance to them was by a low door-way, about seven feet and a
half from the ground; and admission was gained by means of a ladder,
which was afterwards withdrawn into the interior. A high step of two
feet led to the first floor of the tower, a room of about thirteen feet
diameter, and with the walls about five feet thick. Round this room
were loopholes in the walls, at such an elevation, that the men would be
obliged to stand on benches in the event of their being required to
oppose an attack of musketry. Those benches were also used as the
sleeping-places of the garrison. On this floor there was a fire-place,
and from the centre was a trap-door leading downwards to the ammunition
and provision rooms. The second floor was ascended by similar means.

[Illustration: MARTELLO TOWER ON THE KENTISH COAST.]

       *       *       *       *       *




TURKISH CUSTOMS.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

Characteristically indolent, the fondness for a sedentary life is
stronger, perhaps, with the Turks, than with any other people of whom we
read. It is difficult to describe the gravity and apathy which
constitute the distinguishing features of their character: everything in
their manners tends to foster in them, especially in the higher classes,
an almost invincible love of ease and luxurious leisure. The general
rule which they seem to lay down for their guidance, is that taking the
trouble to do anything themselves which they can possibly get others to
do for them; and the precision with which they observe it in some of the
minutest trifles of domestic life is almost amusing. A Turkish
gentleman, who has once composed his body upon the corner of a sofa,
appears to attach a certain notion of grandeur to the keeping of it
there, and it is only something of the gravest importance that induces
him to disturb his position. If he wishes to procure anything that is
within a few steps of him, he summons his slaves by clapping his hands
(the Eastern mode of "ringing the bell"), and bids them bring it to him:
his feelings of dignity would be hurt by getting up to reach it himself.
Of course, this habit of inaction prevails equally with the female sex:
a Turkish lady would not think of picking up a fallen handkerchief, so
long as she had an attendant to do it for her. As may be supposed, the
number of slaves in a Turkish household of any importance is very great.

[Illustration: TURKISH FEMALE SLAVE.]

The position of women in Eastern countries is so totally unlike that
which they hold in our own happy land, that we must refer expressly to
it, in order that the picture of domestic life presented to us in the
writings of all travellers in the East may be understood. Amongst all
ranks, the wife is not the friend and companion, but the slave of her
husband; and even when treated with kindness and affection, her state is
still far below that of her sisters in Christian lands. Even in the
humblest rank of life, the meal which the wife prepares with her own
hands for her husband, she must not partake of with him. The
hard-working Eastern peasant, and the fine lady who spends most of her
time in eating sweet-meats, or in embroidery, are both alike dark and
ignorant; for it would be accounted a folly, if not a sin, to teach them
even to read.

Numerous carriers, or sellers of water, obtain their living in the East
by supplying the inhabitants with it. They are permitted to fill their
water-bags, made of goat-skins, at the public fountains. This goat-skin
of the carrier has a long brass spout, and from this the water is poured
into a brass cup, for any one who wishes to drink. Many of these are
employed by the charitable, to distribute water in the streets; and they
pray the thirsty to partake of the bounty offered to them in the name of
God, praying that Paradise and pardon may be the lot of him who affords
the refreshing gift.

[Illustrated: TURKISH WATER-CARRIER]

The Dancing Dervises are a religious order of Mohamedans, who affect a
great deal of patience, humility, and charity. Part of their religious
observance consists in dancing or whirling their bodies round with the
greatest rapidity imaginable, to the sound of a flute; and long practice
has enabled them to do this without suffering the least inconvenience
from the strange movement.

In Eastern countries, the bread is generally made in the form of a large
thin cake, which is torn and folded up, almost like a sheet of paper;
it can then be used (as knives and forks are not employed by the
Orientals) for the purpose of rolling together a mouthful of meat, or
supping up gravy and vegetables, at the meals.

[Illustration: DANCING DERVISE.]

       *       *       *       *       *




ON STUDY.


Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. The chief use
for delight is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in
discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of
business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars
one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots, and marshalling of
affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time
in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation;
to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humour of a scholar. They
perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for natural abilities
are like natural plants, that need pruning by duty; and studies
themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be
bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire
them, and wise men use them: for they teach not their own use, but that
is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not
to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted; not to
find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be
tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested:
that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but
not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and
attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of
them by others; but that should be only in the less important arguments,
and the meaner sorts of books; else distilled books are like common
distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a
ready man; and writing an exact man. And, therefore, if a man write
little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had
need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much
cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.

BACON.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SHORES OF GREECE.


    He who hath bent him o'er the dead
    Ere the first day of death is fled;
    The first dark day of nothingness.
    The last of danger and distress:
    Before Decay's effacing fingers,
    Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,
    And mark'd the mild, angelic air,
    The rapture of repose that's there;
    The fix'd, yet tender traits that streak
    The languor of the placid cheek.

    And, but for that sad shrouded eye,
      That fires not--wins not--weeps not--now;
      And, but for that chill, changeless brow,
    Whose touch thrills with mortality,
    And curdles to the gazer's heart,
    As if to him it could impart
    The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon:
    Yes, but for these, and these alone
    Some moments--ay, one treacherous hour--
    He still might doubt the tyrant's power;
    So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,
    The first, last look by death reveal'd.

      Such is the aspect of this shore;
    'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
      So coldly sweet--so deadly fair--
      We start, for soul is wanting there:
      Hers is the loveliness in death
      That parts not quite with parting breath;
      But beauty, with that fearful bloom,
      That hue which haunts it to the tomb:
      Expression's last receding ray,
      A gilded halo hovering round decay,
      The farewell beam of feeling past away!
    Spark of that flame--perchance of Heavenly birth,
    Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth!

    BYRON.

[Illustration: SUBTERRANEAN CHAPEL, GREECE.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FORT OF ATTOCK.


[Illustration: Letter A.]

Attock is a fort and small town in the Punjaub, on the left or east bank
of the Indus, 942 miles from the sea, and close below the place where it
receives the water of the Khabool river, and first becomes navigable.
The name, signifying _obstacle_, is supposed to have been given to it
under the presumption that no scrupulous Hindoo would proceed westward
of it; but this strict principle, like many others of similar nature, is
little acted on. Some state that the name was given by the Emperor
Akbar, because he here found much difficulty in crossing the river. The
river itself is at this place frequently by the natives called Attock.
Here is a bridge, formed usually of from twenty to thirty boats, across
the stream, at a spot where it is 537 feet wide. In summer, when the
melting of the snows in the lofty mountains to the north raises the
stream so that the bridge becomes endangered, it is withdrawn, and the
communication is then effected by means of a ferry.

The banks of the river are very high, so that the enormous accession
which the volume of water receives during inundation scarcely affects
the breadth, but merely increases the depth. The rock forming the banks
is of a dark-coloured slate, polished by the force of the stream, so as
to shine like black marble. Between these, "one clear blue stream shot
past." The depth of the Indus here is thirty feet in the lowest state,
and between sixty and seventy in the highest, and runs at the rate of
six miles an hour. There is a ford at some distance above the confluence
of the river of Khabool; but the extreme coldness and rapidity of the
water render it at all times very dangerous, and on the slightest
inundation quite impracticable. The bridge is supported by an
association of boatmen, who receive the revenue of a village allotted
for this purpose by the Emperor Akbar, and a small daily pay as long as
the bridge stands, and also levy a toll on all passengers.

On the right bank, opposite Attock, is Khyrabad--a fort built, according
to some, by the Emperor Akbar, according to others by Nadir Shah. This
locality is, in a military and commercial point of view, of much
importance, as the Indus is here crossed by the great route which,
proceeding from Khabool eastward through the Khyber Pass into the
Punjaub, forms the main line of communication between Affghanistan and
Northern India. The river was here repeatedly crossed by the British
armies, during the late military operations in Affghanistan; and here,
according to the general opinion, Alexander, subsequently Timur, the
Tartar conqueror, and, still later, Nadir Shah, crossed; but there is
much uncertainty on these points.

[Illustration: THE FORT OF ATTOCK.]

The fortress was erected by the Emperor Akbar, in 1581 to command the
passage; but, though strongly built of stone on the high and steep bank
of the river, it could offer no effectual resistance to a regular
attack, being commanded by the neighbouring heights. Its form is that of
a parallelogram: it is 800 yards long and 400 wide. The population of
the town, which is inclosed within the walls of the fort, is estimated
at 2000.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE ORDER OF NATURE.


[Illustration: Letter S.]

    See through this air, this ocean, and this earth,
    All matter quick, and bursting into birth.
    Above, how high progressive life may go!
    Around, how wide! how deep extend below!
    Vast chain of Being! which from God began,
    Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,
    Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see
    No glass can reach; from Infinity to thee
    From thee to Nothing.--On superior pow'rs
    Were we to press, inferior might on ours;
    Or in the full creation leave a void,
    Where one step broken the great scale's destroyed
    From Nature's chain whatever link you strike,
    Tenth or ten-thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

    And, if each system in gradation roll
    Alike essential to th' amazing whole,
    The least confusion but in one, not all
    That system only, but the whole must fall.
    Let earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly,
    Planets and suns run lawless through the sky;
    Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd,
    Being on being wreck'd, and world on world,
    Heav'n's whole foundations to the centre nod,
    And Nature trembles to the throne of God:
    All this dread Order break--for whom? for thee?
    Vile worm!--Oh, madness! pride! impiety!

    What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,
    Or hand to toil, aspired to be the head?
    What if the head, the eye, or ear, repined
    To serve--mere engines to the ruling Mind?
    Just as absurd for any part to claim
    To be another, in this general frame:
    Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains,
    The great directing Mind of All ordains.

    All are but parts of one stupendous whole
    Whose body Nature is, and God the Soul:
    That changed through all, and yet in all the same,
    Great is in earth as in th' ethereal frame,
    Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
    Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,
    Lives through all life, extends through all extent,
    Spreads undivided, operates unspent;
    Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
    As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;
    As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
    As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:
    To him no high, no low, no great, no small;
    He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

    Cease then, nor Order Imperfection name:
    Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
    Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree
    Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.
    Submit--in this, or any other sphere,
    Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:
    Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'r
    Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
    All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;
    All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see;
    All Discord, Harmony not understood;
    All partial Evil, universal Good:
    And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,
    One truth is clear, WHATEVER is, is RIGHT.

    POPE.

       *       *       *       *       *




LORD CLARENDON.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

This celebrated statesman, who flourished in the reigns of Charles I.
and II., took a prominent part in the eventful times in which he lived.
He was not of noble birth, but the descendant of a family called Hyde,
which resided from a remote period at Norbury, in Cheshire. He was
originally intended for the church, but eventually became a lawyer,
applying himself to the study of his profession with a diligence far
surpassing that of the associates with whom he lived. In 1635, he
attracted the notice of Archbishop Laud, which may be regarded as the
most fortunate circumstance of his life, as it led to his introduction
to Charles I. In consequence of the ability displayed by him in the
responsible duties he was called to perform, that Monarch offered him
the office of Solicitor-General. But this Hyde declined, preferring, as
he said, to serve the King in an unofficial capacity. After the battle
of Naseby, Hyde was appointed one of the council formed to attend, watch
over, and direct the Prince of Wales. After hopelessly witnessing for
many months a course of disastrous and ill-conducted warfare in the
West, the council fled with the Prince, first to the Scilly Islands,
near Cornwall, and thence to Jersey. From this place, against the wishes
of Hyde, the Prince, in 1640, repaired to his mother, Henrietta, at
Paris, leaving Hyde at Jersey, where he remained for two years, engaged
in the composition of his celebrated "History of the Rebellion." In May,
1648, Hyde was summoned to attend the Prince at the Hague; and here they
received the news of the death of Charles I., which is said to have
greatly appalled them. After faithfully following the new King in all
his vicissitudes of fortune, suffering at times extreme poverty, he
attained at the Restoration the period of his greatest power. In 1660,
his daughter Anne was secretly married to the Duke of York; but when,
after a year, it was openly acknowledged, the new Lord Chancellor
received the news with violent demonstrations of indignation and grief.
Hyde, in fact, never showed any avidity for emoluments or distinction;
but when this marriage was declared, it became desirable that some mark
of the King's favour should be shown, and he was created Earl of
Clarendon. He subsequently, from political broils, was compelled to
exile himself from the Court, and took up his residence at Montpellier,
where, resuming his literary labours, he completed his celebrated
History, and the memoir of his life. After fruitlessly petitioning King
Charles II. for permission to end his days in England, the illustrious
exile died at Rouen, in 1674, in the sixty-fifth year of his age.

[Illustration: STATUE OF LORD CLARENDON.]

       *       *       *       *       *




OWLS.


[Illustration: Letter I.]

It is now generally known that the Owl renders the farmer important
service, by ridding him of vermin, which might otherwise consume the
produce of his field; but in almost every age and country it has been
regarded as a bird of ill omen, and sometimes even as the herald of
death. In France, the cry or hoot is considered as a certain forerunner
of misfortune to the hearer. In Tartary, the owl is looked upon in
another light, though not valued as it ought to be for its useful
destruction of moles, rats, and mice. The natives pay it great respect,
because they attribute to this bird the preservation of the founder of
their empire, Genghis Khan. That Prince, with his army, happened to be
surprised and put to flight by his enemies, and was forced to conceal
himself in a little coppice. An owl settled on the bush under which he
was hid, and his pursuers did not search there, as they thought it
impossible the bird would perch on a place where any man was concealed.
Thenceforth his countrymen held the owl to be a sacred bird, and every
one wore a plume of its feathers on his head.

One of the smallest of the owl tribe utters but one melancholy note now
and then. The Indians in North America whistle whenever they chance to
hear the solitary note; and if the bird does not very soon repeat his
harmless cry, the speedy death of the superstitious hearer is foreboded.
It is hence called the death bird. The voices of all carnivorous birds
and beasts are harsh, and at times hideous; and probably, like that of
the owl, which, from the width and capacity of its throat, is in some
varieties very powerful, may be intended as an alarm and warning to the
birds and animals on which they prey, to secure themselves from the
approach of their stealthy foe.

Owls are divided into two groups or families--one having two tufts of
feathers on the head, which have been called ears or horns, and are
moveable at pleasure, the others having smooth round heads without
tufts. The bills are hooked in both. There are upwards of sixty species
of owls widely spread over almost every part of the known world; of
these we may count not fewer than eight as more or less frequenting this
country. One of the largest of the tribe is the eagle hawk, or great
horned owl, the great thickness of whose plumage makes it appear nearly
as large as the eagle. Some fine preserved specimens of this
noble-looking bird may be seen in the British Museum. It is a most
powerful bird; and a specimen was captured, with great difficulty, in
1837, when it alighted upon the mast-head of a vessel off
Flamborough-head.

The amiable naturalist, Mr. Waterton, who took especial interest in the
habits of the owl, writes thus on the barn owl:--"This pretty aerial
wanderer of the night often comes into my room, and, after flitting to
and fro, on wing so soft and silent that he is scarcely heard, takes his
departure from the same window at which he had entered. I own I have a
great liking for the bird; and I have offered it hospitality and
protection on account of its persecutions, and for its many services to
me; I wish that any little thing I could write or say might cause it to
stand better with the world than it has hitherto done."

[Illustration: OWLS IN A CASTLE KEEP.]

       *       *       *       *       *




CHATTERTON.


[Illustration]

This gifted young poet was the son of a schoolmaster at Bristol, where
he was born, in 1752. On the 24th of August, 1770, he was found dead,
near a table covered with the scraps of writings he had destroyed, in a
miserable room in Brook-street, Holborn. In Redcliffe churchyard,
Bristol, a beautiful monument has been erected to the memory of the
unfortunate poet.

    O God! whose thunders shake the sky,
      Whose eye this atom globe surveys,
    To Thee, my only rock, I fly--
      Thy mercy in thy justice praise.

    Oh, teach me in the trying hour,
      When anguish swells the dewy tear,
    To still my sorrows, own Thy power,
      Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear.

    Ah! why, my soul, dost thou complain,
      Why, drooping, seek the dark recess?
    Shake off the melancholy chain,
      For God created all to bless.

    But, ah! my breast is human still:
      The rising sigh, the falling tear,
    My languid vitals' feeble rill,
      The sickness of my soul declare.

    CHATTERTON.

       *       *       *       *       *




SMYRNA.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

This city and sea-port of Natolia, in Asia, is situate towards the
northern part of a peninsula, upon a long and winding gulf of the same
name, which is capable of containing the largest navy in the world. The
city is about four miles round, presenting a front of a mile long to the
water; and when approached by sea, it resembles a capacious amphitheatre
with the ruins of an ancient castle crowning its summit. The interior of
the city, however, disappoints the expectations thus raised, for the
streets are narrow, dirty, and ill-paved, and there is now scarcely a
trace of those once splendid edifices which rendered Smyrna one of the
finest cities in Asia Minor. The shops are arched over, and have a
handsome appearance: in spite of the gloom which the houses wear, those
along the shore have beautiful gardens attached to them, at the foot of
which are summer-houses overhanging the sea. The city is subject to
earthquakes and the plague, which latter, in 1814, carried off above
50,000 of the inhabitants.

About midnight, in July, 1841, a fire broke out at Smyrna, which, from
the crowded state of the wooden houses, the want of water, and the
violence of the wind, was terribly destructive. About 12,000 houses were
destroyed, including two-thirds of the Turkish quarter, most of the
French and the whole of the Jewish quarters, with many bazaars and
several mosques, synagogues, and other public buildings. It was
calculated that 20,000 persons were deprived of shelter and food, and
the damage was estimated at two millions sterling.

[Illustration: SMYRNA.]

The fine port of Smyrna is frequented by ships from all nations,
freighted with valuable cargoes, both outward and inward. The greater
part of the trading transactions is managed by Jews, who act as brokers,
the principals meeting afterwards to conclude the bargains.

In 1402 Smyrna was taken by Tamerlane, and suffered very severely. The
conqueror erected within its walls a tower constructed of stones and the
heads of his enemies. Soon after, it came under the dominion of the
Turks, and has been subsequently the most flourishing city in the
Levant, exporting and importing valuable commodities to and from all
parts of the world.

       *       *       *       *       *




GENTLENESS.


[Illustration: Letter I.]

I begin with distinguishing true gentleness from passive tameness of
spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the manners of others. That
passive tameness which submits, without opposition, to every
encroachment of the violent and assuming, forms no part of Christian
duty; but, on the contrary, is destructive of general happiness and
order. That unlimited complaisance, which on every occasion falls in
with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue,
that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices. It overthrows
all steadiness of principle; and produces that sinful conformity with
the world which taints the whole character. In the present corrupted
state of human manners, always to assent and to comply is the very worst
maxim we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity
of Christian morals without opposing the world on various occasions,
even though we should stand alone. That gentleness, therefore, which
belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit
of cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants. It renounces no just
right from fear. It gives up no important truth from flattery. It is
indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires
a manly spirit, and a fixed principle, in order to give it any real
value. Upon this solid ground only, the polish of gentleness can with
advantage be superinduced.

It stands opposed, not to the most determined regard for virtue and
truth, but to harshness and severity, to pride and arrogance, to
violence and oppression. It is properly that part of the great virtue of
charity, which makes us unwilling to give pain to any of our brethren.
Compassion prompts us to relieve their wants. Forbearance prevents us
from retaliating their injuries. Meekness restrains our angry passions;
candour, our severe judgments. Gentleness corrects whatever is
offensive in our manners, and, by a constant train of humane attentions,
studies to alleviate the burden of common misery. Its office, therefore,
is extensive. It is not, like some other virtues, called forth only on
peculiar emergencies; but it is continually in action, when we are
engaged in intercourse with men. It ought to form our address, to
regulate our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole behaviour.

We must not, however, confound this gentle "wisdom which is from above"
with that artificial courtesy, that studied smoothness of manners, which
is learned in the school of the world. Such accomplishments the most
frivolous and empty may possess. Too often they are employed by the
artful as a snare; too often affected by the hard and unfeeling as a
cover to the baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid
observing the homage, which, even in such instances, the world is
constrained to pay to virtue. In order to render society agreeable, it
is found necessary to assume somewhat that may at least carry its
appearance. Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is courted,
when the substance is wanting. The imitation of its form has been
reduced into an art; and in the commerce of life, the first study of all
who would either gain the esteem or win the hearts of others, is to
learn the speech and to adopt the manners of candour, gentleness, and
humanity. But that gentleness which is the characteristic of a good man
has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart; and let me add,
nothing except what flows from the heart can render even external
manners truly pleasing. For no assumed behaviour can at all times hide
the real character. In that unaffected civility which springs from a
gentle mind there is a charm infinitely more powerful than in all the
studied manners of the most finished courtier.

True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe to HIM who made us,
and to the common nature of which we all share. It arises from
reflections on our own failings and wants, and from just views of the
condition and the duty of man. It is native feeling heightened and
improved by principle. It is the heart which easily relents; which feels
for every thing that is human, and is backward and slow to inflict the
least wound. It is affable in its address, and mild in its demeanour;
ever ready to oblige, and willing to be obliged by others; breathing
habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to strangers, long-suffering
to enemies. It exercises authority with moderation; administers reproof
with tenderness; confers favours with ease and modesty. It is unassuming
in opinion, and temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about
trifles; slow to contradict, and still slower to blame; but prompt to
allay dissension and to restore peace. It neither intermeddles
unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets
of others. It delights above all things to alleviate distress; and if it
cannot dry up the falling tear, to sooth at least, the grieving heart.
Where it has not the power of being useful, it is never burdensome. It
seeks to please rather than to shine and dazzle, and conceals with care
that superiority, either of talent or of rank, which is oppressive to
those who are beneath it. In a word, it is that spirit and that tenour
of manners which the Gospel of Christ enjoins, when it commands us "to
bear one another's burdens; to rejoice with those who rejoice, and to
weep with those who weep; to please every one his neighbour for his
good; to be kind and tender-hearted; to be pitiful and courteous; to
support the weak, and to be patient towards all men."

BLAIR.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE IGUANA.


The Iguana (_Cyclura colei_) is not only of singular aspect, but it may
be regarded as the type of a large and important group in the Saurian
family, which formed so conspicuous a feature in the ancient fauna of
this country. The iguana attains a large size in Jamaica, whence the
present specimen was obtained, not unfrequently approaching four feet
in length. In colour it is a greenish grey. It is entirely herbivorous,
as are all its congeners. Its principal haunt in Jamaica is the low
limestone chain of hills, along the shore from Kingston Harbour and Goat
Island, on to its continuation in Vere.

[Illustration: THE IGUANA.]

The iguanas which are occasionally taken in the savannahs adjacent to
this district are considered by Mr. Hill (an energetic correspondent of
the Zoological Society who resides in Spanish Town, and who has paid
great attention to the natural history of the island) to be only stray
visitants which have wandered from the hills. The allied species of
_Cyclura_, which are found on the American continent, occur in
situations of a very different character, for they affect forests on the
bank of rivers, and woods around springs, where they pass their time in
trees and in the water, living on fruits and leaves. This habit is
preserved by the specimen in the Zoological Society's Gardens, which we
have seen lying lazily along an elevated branch. Its serrated tail is a
formidable weapon of defence, with which, when alarmed or attacked, it
deals rapid blows from side to side. When unmolested it is harmless and
inoffensive, and appears to live in perfect harmony with the smaller
species of lizards which inhabit the same division of the house.

       *       *       *       *       *




HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.


    How many thousands of my poorest subjects
    Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep,
    Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
    That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
    And steep my senses in forgetfulness;
    Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
    Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
    And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
    Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
    Under the canopies of costly state,
    And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
    O thou dull God! why liest thou with the vile
    In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,
    A watch-case to a common larum-bell?
    Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
    Seal up the shipboy's eyes, and rock his brains
    In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
    And in the visitation of the winds,
    Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
    Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
    With deaf'ning clamours in the slipp'ry shrouds,
    That with the hurly Death itself awakes:
    Can'st thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
    To the wet seaboy in an hour so rude,
    And in the calmest and the stillest night,
    With all appliances and means to boot,
    Deny it to a King? Then, happy lowly clown!
    Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

    SHAKSPEARE

       *       *       *       *       *




ELEGY, WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.


[Illustration]


    The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
    The lowing herds Mind slowly o'er the lea,
    The ploughman homeward plods his weary way
    And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

    Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
    And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
    Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
    And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

    Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
    The moping owl does to the moon complain
    Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower,
    Molest her ancient solitary reign.

    Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
    Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
    Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
    The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

    The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
    The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
    The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
    No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

    For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
    Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
    No children run to lisp their sire's return,
    Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

    Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
    Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
    How jocund did they drive their team afield!
    How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

[Illustration]

    Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
    Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
    Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
    The short and simple annals of the poor.

    The boast of Heraldry, the pomp of Pow'r,
    And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er gave,
    Await alike th' inevitable hour--
    The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

    Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
    If Mem'ry o'er their tombs no trophies raise,
    Where through the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault,
    The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

    Can storied urn or animated bust
    Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
    Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
    Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull, cold ear of Death?

    Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
    Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
    Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
    Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

    But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
    Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
    Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
    And froze the genial current of the soul.

    Full many a gem of purest ray serene
    The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
    Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
    And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

    Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
    The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
    Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest,
    Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

    Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
    The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
    To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
    And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes,

    Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
    Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
    Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
    And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

    The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
    To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
    Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
    With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

    Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
    Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
    Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
    They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.

    Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,
    Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
    With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
    Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

    Their names, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
    The place of fame and elegy supply;
    And many a holy text around she strews,
    That teach the rustic moralist to die.

    For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
    This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
    Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
    Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

    On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
    Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
    Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
    Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

    For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
    Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
    If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
    Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

[Illustration]

    Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
    "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
    Brushing with hasty steps the dew away,
    To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

    "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
    That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
    His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
    And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.

    "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
    Mutt' ring his wayward fancies he would rove;
    Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn,
    Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless lore.

    "One morn, I miss'd him on th' accustom'd hill,
    Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;
    Another came, nor yet beside the rill,
    Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

    "The next, with dirges due, in sad array,
    Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne.
    Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay,
    Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

[Illustration: THE EPITAPH.]

    Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth--
    Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:
    Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
    And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

    Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
    Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
    He gave to Mis'ry all he had--a tear;
    He gain'd from Heav'n, 'twas all he wish'd--a friend.

    No farther seek his merits to disclose,
    Or draw his frailties from their dread abode;
    (There they alike in trembling hope repose)
    The bosom of his Father and his God.

    GRAY.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.


[Illustration: Letter M.]

Marvellous indeed have been the productions of modern scientific
investigations, but none surpass the wonder-working Electro-magnetic
Telegraphic Machine; and when Shakspeare, in the exercise of his
unbounded imagination, made _Puck_, in obedience to _Oberon's_ order to
him--

    "Be here again
    Ere the leviathan can swim a league."

reply--

    "I'll put a girdle round the earth
    In forty minutes"--

how little did our immortal Bard think that this light fanciful offer of
a "fairy" to "the King of the Fairies" would, in the nineteenth century,
not only be substantially realised, but surpassed as follows:--

The electric telegraph would convey intelligence more than twenty-eight
thousand times round the earth, while Puck, at his vaunted speed, was
crawling round it only ONCE!

On every instrument there is a dial, on which are inscribed the names of
the six or eight stations with which it usually communicates. When much
business is to be transacted, a boy is necessary for each of these
instruments; generally, however, one lad can, without practical
difficulty, manage about three; but, as the whole of them are ready for
work by night as well as by day, they are incessantly attended, in
watches of eight hours each, by these satellite boys by day and by men
at night.

As fast as the various messages for delivery, flying one after another
from the ground-floor up the chimney, reach the level of the
instruments, they are brought by the superintendent to the particular
one by which they are to be communicated; and its boy, with the
quickness characteristic of his age, then instantly sets to work.

His first process is by means of the electric current to sound a little
bell, which simultaneously alarms all the stations on his line; and
although the attention of the sentinel at each is thus attracted, yet it
almost instantly evaporates from all excepting from that to the name of
which he causes the electric needle to point, by which signal the clerk
at that station instantly knows that the forthcoming question is
addressed to _him_; and accordingly, by a corresponding signal, he
announces to the London boy that he is ready to receive it. By means of
a brass handle fixed to the dial, which the boy grasps in each hand, he
now begins rapidly to spell off his information by certain twists of his
wrists, each of which imparts to the needles on his dial, as well as to
those on the dial of his distant correspondent, a convulsive movement
designating the particular letter of the telegraphic alphabet required.
By this arrangement he is enabled to transmit an ordinary-sized word in
three seconds, or about twenty per minute. In the case of any accident
to the wire of one of his needles, he can, by a different alphabet,
transmit his message by a series of movements of the single needle, at
the reduced rate of about eight or nine words per minute.

While a boy at one instrument is thus occupied in transmitting to--say
Liverpool, a message, written by its London author in ink which is
scarcely dry, another boy at the adjoining instrument is, by the reverse
of the process, attentively reading the quivering movements of the
needles of his dial, which, by a sort of St. Vitus's dance, are rapidly
spelling to him a message, _viâ_ the wires of the South Western Railway,
say from Gosport, which word by word he repeats aloud to an assistant,
who, seated by his side, writes it down (he receives it about as fast as
his attendant can conveniently write it); on a sheet of; paper, which,
as soon as the message is concluded, descends to the "booking-office."
When inscribed in due form, it is without delay despatched to its
destination, by messenger, cab, or express, according to order.

SIR F.B. HEAD.

[Illustration: WORKING THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE RAINBOW.


    How glorious is thy girdle cast
      O'er mountain, tower, and town,
    Or mirror'd in the ocean vast--
      A thousand fathoms down!

    As fresh in yon horizon dark,
      As young thy beauties seem,
    As when the eagle from the ark
      First sported in thy beam.

    For faithful to its sacred page,
      Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
    Nor let the type grow pale with age,
      That first spoke peace to man.

    CAMPBELL.

[Illustration: A LUNAR RAINBOW.]

The moon sometimes exhibits the extraordinary phenomenon of an iris or
rainbow, by the refraction of her rays in drops of rain during the
night-time. This appearance is said to occur only at the time of full
moon, and to be indicative of stormy and rainy weather. One is described
in the _Philosophical Transactions_ as having been seen in 1810, during
a thick rain; but, subsequent to that time, the same person gives an
account of one which perhaps was the most extraordinary of which we have
any record. It became visible about nine o'clock, and continued, though
with very different degrees of brilliancy, until past two. At first,
though a strongly marked bow, it was without colour, but afterwards
became extremely vivid, the red, green, and purple being the most
strongly marked. About twelve it was the most splendid in appearance.
The wind was very high at the time, and a drizzling rain falling
occasionally.

       *       *       *       *       *




HOPE


[Illustration: THOMAS CAMPBELL, "THE BARD OF HOPE."]

    At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
    Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
    Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
    Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
    Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
    More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?
    'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
    And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
    Thus, with delight, we linger to survey,
    The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
    Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene
    More pleasing seems than all the past hath been;
    And every form that fancy can repair
    From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.
    Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden, grow
    Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe.
    Won by their sweets, in nature's languid hour,
    The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower;
    Then, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing,
    What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring!
    What viewless forms th' Eolian organ play,
    And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious care away!
    Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore
    Earth's loneliest bounds and ocean's wildest shore.
    Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields
    His bark, careering o'er unfathom'd fields;
    Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar
    Where Andes, giant of the western star,
    With meteor-standard to the winds unfurl'd,
    Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world.
    Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm,
    Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form!
    Rocks, waves, and winds the shatter'd bark delay--
    Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.
    But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep,
    And sing to charm the spirit of the deep.
    Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole,
    Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul.
    His native hills that rise in happier climes;
    The grot that heard his song of other times;
    His cottage home, his bark of slender sail,
    His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale,
    Rush in his thought; he sweeps before the wind,
    And treads the shore he sigh'd to leave behind!

    _Pleasures of Hope._

       *       *       *       *       *




LIGHTHOUSES.


[Illustration: Letter H.]

Hartlepool Lighthouse is a handsome structure of white freestone--the
building itself being fifty feet in height; but, owing to the additional
height of the cliff, the light is exhibited at an elevation of nearly
eighty-five feet above high-water mark. On the eastern side of the
building is placed a balcony, supporting a lantern, from which a small
red light is exhibited, to indicate that state of the tide which will
admit of the entrance of ships into the harbour; the corresponding
signal in the daytime being a red ball hoisted to the top of the
flag-staff. The lighthouse is furnished with an anemometer and tidal
gauge; and its appointments are altogether of the most complete
description. It is chiefly, however, with regard to the system adopted
in the lighting arrangements that novelty presents itself.

The main object, in the instance of a light placed as a beacon to warn
mariners of their proximity to a dangerous coast, is to obtain the
greatest possible intensity and amount of penetrating power. A naked or
simple light is therefore seldom, if ever employed; but whether it
proceed from the combustion of oil or gas, it is equally necessary that
it should be combined with some arrangement of optical apparatus, in
order that the rays emitted may be collected, and projected in such a
direction as to render them available to the object in view; and in all
cases a highly-polished metal surface is employed as a reflector.

[Illustration: HARTLEPOOL LIGHTHOUSE.]

In the Hartlepool Lighthouse the illuminative medium is _gas_. The
optical apparatus embraces three-fourths of the circumference of the
circle which encloses the light, and the whole of the rays emanating
from that part of the light opposed to the optical arrangement are
reflected or refracted (as the case may be), so that they are projected
from the lighthouse in such a direction as to be visible from the
surface of the ocean.

       *       *       *       *       *




INTEGRITY.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

Can anything (says Plato) be more delightful than the hearing or the
speaking of truth? For this reason it is that there is no conversation
so agreeable that of a man of integrity, who hears without any intention
to betray, and speaks without any intention to deceive. As an advocate
was pleading the cause of his client in Rome, before one of the
praetors, he could only produce a single witness in a point where the
law required the testimony of two persons; upon which the advocate
insisted on the integrity of the person whom he had produced, but the
praetor told him that where the law required two witnesses he would not
accept of one, though it were Cato himself. Such a speech, from a person
who sat at the head of a court of justice, while Cato was still living,
shows us, more than a thousand examples, the high reputation this great
man had gained among his contemporaries on account of his sincerity.

[Illustration]

2. As I was sitting (says an ancient writer) with some senators of
Bruges, before the gate of the Senate-House, a certain beggar presented
himself to us, and with sighs and tears, and many lamentable gestures,
expressed to us his miserable poverty, and asked our alms, telling us at
the same time, that he had about him a private maim and a secret
mischief, which very shame restrained him from discovering to the eyes
of men. We all pitying the case of the poor man, gave him each of us
something, and departed. One, however, amongst us took an opportunity to
send his servant after him, with orders to inquire of him what that
private infirmity might be which he found such cause to be ashamed of,
and was so loth to discover. The servant overtook him, and delivered his
commission: and after having diligently viewed his face, breast, arms,
legs, and finding all his limbs in apparent soundness, "Why, friend,"
said he, "I see nothing whereof you have any such reason to complain."
"Alas! sir," said the beggar, "the disease which afflicts me is far
different from what you conceive, and is such as you cannot discern; yet
it is an evil which hath crept over my whole body: it has passed through
my very veins and marrow in such a manner that there is no member of my
body that is able to work for my daily bread. This disease is by some
called idleness, and by others sloth." The servant, hearing this
singular apology, left him in great anger, and returned to his master
with the above account; but before the company could send again to make
further inquiry after him, the beggar had very prudently withdrawn
himself.

3. Action, we are assured, keeps the soul in constant health; but
idleness corrupts and rusts the mind; for a man of great abilities may
by negligence and idleness become so mean and despicable as to be an
incumbrance to society and a burthen to himself. When the Roman
historians described an extraordinary man, it generally entered into his
character, as an essential, that he was _incredibili industriâ,
diligentiâ singulari_--of incredible industry, of singular diligence and
application. And Cato, in Sallust, informs the Senate, that it was not
so much the arms as the industry of their ancestors, which advanced the
grandeur of Rome, and made her mistress of the world.

DR. DODD.

       *       *       *       *       *




RAFT OF GAMBIER ISLANDERS


The group in the Pacific Ocean called the Gambier Islands are but thinly
inhabited, but possess a good harbour. Captain Beechey, in his
"Narrative of a Voyage to the Pacific and Behring's Straits," tells us
that several of the islands, especially the largest, have a fertile
appearance. The Captain gives an interesting account of his interview
with some of the natives, who approached the ship in rafts, carrying
from sixteen to twenty men each, as represented in the Engraving.

[Illustration: RAFT OF GAMBIER ISLANDERS.]

"We were much pleased," says the Captain, "with the manner of lowering
their matting sail, diverging on different courses, and working their
paddles, in the use of which they had great power, and were well
skilled, plying them together, or, to use a nautical phrase, 'keeping
stroke.' They had no other weapons but long poles, and were quite naked,
with the exception of a banana leaf cut into strips, and tied about
their loins; and one or two persons wore white turbans." They timidly
approached both the ship and the barge, but would upset any small boats
within their reach; not, however, from any malicious intention, but from
thoughtlessness and inquisitiveness. Captain Beechey approached them in
the gig, and gave them several presents, for which they, in return,
threw him some bundles of paste, tied up in large leaves, which was the
common food of the natives. They tempted the Captain and his crew with
cocoa-nuts and roots, and invited their approach by performing ludicrous
dances; but, as soon as the visitors were within reach, all was
confusion. A scuffle ensued, and on a gun being fired over their heads,
all but four instantly plunged into the sea. The inhabitants of these
islands are stated to be well-made, with upright and graceful figures.
Tattooing seems to be very commonly practised, and some of the patterns
are described as being very elegant.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHRISTIAN FREEDOM.


    "He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,"
    Who first of all the bands of Satan breaks;
    Who breaks the bands of sin, and for his soul,
    In spite of fools, consulteth seriously;
    In spite of fashion, perseveres in good;
    In spite of wealth or poverty, upright;
    Who does as reason, not as fancy bids;
    Who hears Temptation sing, and yet turns not
    Aside; sees Sin bedeck her flowery bed,
    And yet will not go up; feels at his heart
    The sword unsheathed, yet will not sell the truth;
    Who, having power, has not the will to hurt;
    Who feels ashamed to be, or have a slave,
    Whom nought makes blush but sin, fears nought but God;
    Who, finally, in strong integrity
    Of soul, 'midst want, or riches, or disgrace
    Uplifted, calmly sat, and heard the waves
    Of stormy Folly breaking at his feet,
    Nor shrill with praise, nor hoarse with foal reproach,
    And both despised sincerely; seeking this
    Alone, the approbation of his God,
    Which still with conscience witness'd to his peace.
    This, this is freedom, such as Angels use,
    And kindred to the liberty of God!

    POLLOCK.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE POLAR REGIONS.


The adventurous spirit of Englishmen has caused them to fit out no less
than sixty expeditions within the last three centuries and a half, with
the sole object of discovering a north-west passage to India. Without
attempting even to enumerate these baffled essays, we will at once carry
our young readers to these dreary regions--dreary, merely because their
capabilities are unsuited to the necessities which are obvious to all,
yet performing their allotted office in the economy of the world, and
manifesting the majesty and the glory of our great Creator.

[Illustration: SIR JAMES ROSS'S SHIPS BESET IN A PACK OF ICE.]

Winter in the Arctic Circle is winter indeed: there is no sun to
gladden with his beams the hearts of the voyagers; but all is wrapt in
darkness, day and night, save when the moon chances to obtrude her faint
rays, only to make visible the desolation of the scene. The approach of
winter is strongly marked. Snow begins to fall in August, and the ground
is covered to the depth of two or three feet before October. As the cold
augments, the air bears its moisture in the form of a frozen fog, the
icicles of which are so sharp as to be painful to the skin. The surface
of the sea steams like a lime-kiln, caused by the water being still
warmer than the superincumbent atmosphere. The mist at last clears, the
water having become frozen, and darkness settles on the land. All is
silence, broken only by the bark of the Arctic fox, or by the loud
explosion of bursting rocks, as the frost penetrates their bosoms.

The crews of exploring vessels, which are frozen firmly in the ice in
winter, spend almost the whole of their time in their ships, which in
Sir James Ross's expedition (in 1848-49) were well warmed and
ventilated. Where there has not been sufficient warmth, their
provisions--even brandy--became so frozen as to require to be cut by a
hatchet. The mercury in a barometer has frozen so that it might be
beaten on an anvil.

As Sir James Ross went in search of Sir John Franklin, he adopted
various methods of letting him know (if alive) of assistance being at
hand. Provisions were deposited in several marked places; and on the
excursions to make these deposits, they underwent terrible fatigue, as
well as suffered severely from what is termed "snow blindness." But the
greatest display of ingenuity was in capturing a number of white foxes,
and fastening copper collars round their necks, on which was engraved a
notice of the position of the ships and provisions. It was possible that
these animals, which are known to travel very far in search of food,
might be captured by the missing voyagers, who would thus be enabled to
avail themselves of the assistance intended for them by their noble
countrymen. The little foxes, in their desire to escape, sometimes tried
to gnaw the bars of their traps; but the cold was so intense, that their
tongues froze to the iron, and so their captors had to kill them, to
release them from their misery, for they were never wantonly destroyed.

The great Painter of the Universe has not forgotten the embellishment of
the Pole. One of the most beautiful phenomena in nature is the Aurora
Borealis, or northern lights. It generally assumes the form of an arch,
darting flashes of lilac, yellow, or white light towards the heights of
heaven. Some travellers state that the aurora are accompanied by a
crackling or hissing noise; but Captain Lyon, who listened for hours,
says that this is not the case, and that it is merely that the
imagination cannot picture these sudden bursts of light as unaccompanied
by noise.

We will now bid farewell to winter, for with returning summer comes the
open sea, and the vessels leave their wintry bed. This, however, is
attended with much difficulty and danger. Canals have to be cut in the
ice, through which to lead the ships to a less obstructed ocean; and,
after this had been done in Sir James Ross's case, the ships were hemmed
in by a pack of ice, fifty miles in circumference, and were carried
along, utterly helpless, at the rate of eight or ten miles daily, for
upwards of 250 miles--the navigators fearing the adverse winds might
drive them on the rocky coast of Baffin's Bay. At length the wind
changed, and carried them clear of ice and icebergs (detached masses of
ice, sometimes several hundred feet in height) to the open sea, and back
to their native land.

With all its dreariness, we owe much to the ice-bound Pole; to it we
are indebted for the cooling breeze and the howling tempest--the
beneficent tempest, in spite of all its desolation and woe. Evil and
good in nature are comparative: the same thing does what is called harm
in one sense, but incalculable good in another. So the tempest, that
causes the wreck, and makes widows of happy wives and orphans of joyous
children, sets in motion air that would else be stagnant, and become the
breath of pestilence and the grave.

[Illustration: MIDSUMMER NIGHT IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE CROWN JEWELS.


[Illustration: Letter A.]

All the Crown Jewels, or Regalia, used by the Sovereign on great state
occasions, are kept in the Tower of London, where they have been for
nearly two centuries. The first express mention made of the Regalia
being kept in this palatial fortress, occurs in the reign of Henry III.,
previously to which they were deposited either in the Treasury of the
Temple, or in some religious house dependent upon the Crown. Seldom,
however, did the jewels remain in the Tower for any length of time, for
they were repeatedly pledged to meet the exigences of the Sovereign. An
inventory of the jewels in the Tower, made by order of James I., is of
great length; although Henry III., during the Lincolnshire rebellion, in
1536, greatly reduced the value and number of the Royal store. In the
reign of Charles II., a desperate attempt was made by Colonel Blood and
his accomplices to possess themselves of the Royal Jewels.

The Regalia were originally kept in a small building on the south side
of the White Tower; but, in the reign of Charles I., they were
transferred to a strong chamber in the Martin Tower, afterwards called
the Jewel Tower. Here they remained until the fire in 1840; when being
threatened with destruction from the flames which were raging near them,
they were carried away by the warders, and placed for safety in the
house of the Governor. In 1841 they were removed to the new Jewel-House,
which is much more commodious than the old vaulted chamber in which they
were previously shown.

[Illustration: QUEEN'S CROWN.]

The QUEEN'S, or IMPERIAL CROWN was made for the coronation of her
present Majesty. It is composed of a cap of purple velvet, enclosed by
hoops of silver, richly dight with gems, in the form shown in our
Illustration. The arches rise almost to a point instead of being
depressed, are covered with pearls, and are surmounted by an orb of
brilliants. Upon this is placed a Maltese or cross pattee of
brilliants. Four crosses and four _fleurs-de-lis_ surmount the circlet,
all composed of diamonds, the front cross containing the "inestimable
sapphire," of the purest and deepest azure, more than two inches long,
and an inch broad; and, in the circlet beneath it, is a rock ruby, of
enormous size and exquisite colour, _said_ to have been worn by the
Black Prince at the battle of Cressy, and by Henry V. at the battle of
Agincourt. The circlet is enriched with diamonds, emeralds, sapphires,
and rubies. This crown was altered from the one constructed expressly
for the coronation of King George IV.: the superb diadem then weighed
5-1/2 lb., and was worn by the King on his return in procession from the
Abbey to the Hall at Westminster.

[Illustration: OLD IMPERIAL CROWN.]

The OLD IMPERIAL CROWN (St. Edward's) is the one whose form is so
familiar to us from its frequent representation on the coin of the
realm, the Royal arms, &c. It was made for the coronation of Charles
II., to replace the one broken up and sold during the Civil Wars, which
was said to have been worn by Edward the Confessor. It is of gold, and
consists of two arches crossing at the top, and rising from a rim or
circlet of gold, over a cap of crimson velvet, lined with white taffeta,
and turned up with ermine. The base of the arches on each side is
covered by a cross pattee; between the crosses are four _fleurs-de-lis_
of gold, which rise out of the circle: the whole of these are splendidly
enriched with pearls and precious stones. On the top, at the
intersection of the arches, which are somewhat depressed, are a mound
and cross of gold the latter richly jewelled, and adorned with three
pearls, one on the top, and one pendent at each limb.

[Illustration: PRINCE OF WALES'S CROWN.]

The PRINCE OF WALES'S CROWN is of pure gold, unadorned with jewels. On
occasions of state, it is placed before the seat occupied by the
Heir-Apparent to the throne in the House of Lords.

[Illustration: QUEEN'S DIADEM.]

[Illustration: TEMPORAL SCEPTRE.]

The QUEEN'S DIADEM was made for the coronation of Marie d'Este, consort
of James II., it is adorned with large diamonds, and the upper edge of
the circlet is bordered with pearls.

The TEMPORAL SCEPTRE of Queen Victoria is of gold, 2 feet 9 inch in
length; the staff is very plain, but the pommel is ornamented with
rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. The _fleurs-de-lis_ with which this
sceptre was originally adorned have been replaced by golden leaves,
bearing the rose, shamrock, and thistle. The cross is variously
jewelled, and has in the centre a large table diamond.

[Illustration: SPIRITUAL SCEPTRE.]

Her Majesty's SPIRITUAL SCEPTRE, Rod of Equity, or Sceptre with the
Dove, is also of gold, 3 feet 7 inches long, set with diamonds and other
precious stones. It is surmounted by an orb, banded with rose diamonds,
bearing a cross, on which is the figure of a dove with expanded wings.

The QUEEN'S IVORY SCEPTRE was made for Maria d'Este, consort of James
II. It is mounted in gold, and terminated by a golden cross, bearing a
dove of white onyx.

[Illustration: AMPULLA.]

The ampulla is an antique vessel of pure gold, used for containing the
holy oil at coronations. It resembles an eagle with expanded wings, and
is finely chased: the head screws off at the middle of the neck for
pouring in the oil; and the neck being hollow to the beak the latter
serves as a spout, through which the consecrated oil is poured into

[Illustration: ANOINTING SPOON.]

The ANOINTING SPOON, which is also of pure gold: it has four pearls in
the broadest part of the handle, and the bowl of the spoon is finely
chased within and without; by its extreme thinness, it appears to be
ancient.

[Illustration: QUEEN'S CORONATION BRACELETS.]

The ARMILLAE, or BRACELETS, are of solid fine gold, chased, 1-1/2 inch
in breadth, edged with rows of pearls. They open by a hinge, and are
enamelled with the rose, _fleur-de-lis_, and harp.

[Illustration: IMPERIAL ORB.]

The IMPERIAL ORB, or MOUND, is an emblem of sovereignty, said to have
been derived from Imperial Rome, and to have been first adorned with the
cross by Constantine, on his conversion to Christianity. It first
appears among the Royal insignia of England on the coins of Edward the
Confessor. This orb is a ball of gold, 6 inches in diameter, encompassed
with a band of gold, set with emeralds, rubies, and pearls. On the top
is a remarkably fine amethyst, nearly 1-1/2 inch high, which serves as
the foot or pedestal of a rich cross of gold, 32 inches high, encrusted
with diamonds; having in the centre, on one side, a sapphire, and an
emerald on the other; four large pearls at the angles of the cross, a
large pearl at the end of each limb, and three at the base; the height
of the orb and cross being 11 inches.

The QUEEN'S ORB is of smaller dimensions than the preceding, but of
similar materials and fashion.

[Illustration: GOLDEN SALT-CELLAR OF STATE.]

[Illustration: STATE SALT-CELLARS.]

The SALT-CELLARS are of singular form and rich workmanship. The most
noticeable is--the _Golden Salt-cellar of State,_ which is of pure gold,
richly adorned with jewels, and grotesque figures in chased work. Its
form is castellated: and the receptacles for the salt are formed by the
removal of the tops of the turrets.

In the same chamber with the Crowns, Sceptres, and other Regalia used in
the ceremonial of the Coronation, is a very interesting collection of
plate, formerly used at Coronation festivals; together with fonts, &c.
Amongst these are

The QUEEN'S BAPTISMAL FONT, which is of silver, gilt, tastefully chased,
and surmounted by two figures emblematical of the baptismal rite: this
font was formerly used at the christening of the Royal family; but a new
font of more picturesque design, has lately be n manufactured for her
Majesty.

[Illustration: QUEEN'S BAPTISMAL FONT.]

There are, besides, in the collection, a large Silver Wine Fountain,
presented by the corporation of Plymouth to Charles II.; two massive
Coronation Tankards, of gold; a Banqueting Dish, and other dishes and
spoons of gold, used at Coronation festivals; besides a
beautifully-wrought service of Sacramental Plate, employed at the
Coronation, and used also in the Chapel of St. Peter in the Tower.

       *       *       *       *       *




WHAT IS TIME?


[Illustration: Letter I.]

    I ask'd an aged man, a man of cares,
    Wrinkled and curved, and white with hoary hairs:
    "Time is the warp of life," he said; "Oh tell
    The young, the fair, the gay, to weave 't well!"
    I ask'd the ancient, venerable dead--
    Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled:
    From the cold grave a hollow murmur flow'd--
    "Time sow'd the seed we reap in this abode!"
    I ask'd a dying sinner, ere the tide
    Of life had left his veins: "Time?" he replied,
    "I've lost it! Ah, the treasure!" and he died.
    I ask'd the golden sun and silver spheres,
    Those bright chronometers of days and years:
    They answer'd: "Time is but a meteor's glare,"
    And bade me for Eternity prepare.
    I ask'd the Seasons, in their annual round,
    Which beautify or desolate the ground;
    And they replied (no oracle more wise):
    "'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest prize!"
    I ask'd a spirit lost, but oh! the shriek
    That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak.
    It cried, "A particle! a speck! a mite
    Of endless years--duration infinite!"
    Of things inanimate, my dial I
    Consulted, and it made me this reply:
    "Time is the season fair of living well--
    The path of glory, or the path of hell."
    I ask'd my Bible, and methinks it said:
    "Time is the present hour--the past is fled:
    Live! live to-day; to-morrow never yet
    On any human being rose or set."
    I ask'd old Father Time himself at last,
    But in a moment he flew swiftly past--
    His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
    His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.
    I ask'd the mighty Angel who shall stand
    One foot on sea, and one on solid land;
    "By Heaven!" he cried, "I swear the mystery's o'er;
    Time was," he cried, "but time shall be no more!"

    REV. J. MARSDEN.

       *       *       *       *       *




SIMPLICITY IN WRITING.


[Illustration: Letter F.]

Fine writing, according to Mr. Addison, consists of sentiments which are
natural without being obvious. There cannot be a juster and more concise
definition of fine writing.

Sentiments which are merely natural affect not the mind with any
pleasure, and seem not worthy to engage our attention. The pleasantries
of a waterman, the observations of a peasant, the ribaldry of a porter
or hackney-coachman; all these are natural and disagreeable. What an
insipid comedy should we make of the chit-chit of the tea-table, copied
faithfully and at full length! Nothing can please persons of taste but
nature drawn with all her graces and ornament--_la belle nature_; or, if
we copy low life, the strokes must be strong and remarkable, and must
convey a lively image to the mind. The absurd _naïveté_ of Sancho Panza
is represented in such inimitable colours by Cervantes, that it
entertains as much as the picture of the most magnanimous hero or
softest lover.

The case is the same with orators, philosophers, critics, or any author
who speaks in his own person without introducing other speakers or
actors. If his language be not elegant, his observations uncommon, his
sense strong and masculine, he will in vain boast his nature and
simplicity. He may be correct, but he never will be agreeable. 'Tis the
unhappiness of such authors that they are never blamed nor censured. The
good fortune of a book and that of a man are not the same. The secret
deceiving path of life, which Horace talks of--_fallentis semita
vitae_--may be the happiest, lot of the one, but is the greatest
misfortune that the other can possibly fall into.

On the other hand, productions which are merely surprising, without
being natural, can never give any lasting entertainment to the mind. To
draw chimaeras is not, properly speaking, to copy or imitate. The
justness of the representation is lost, and the mind is displeased to
find a picture which bears no resemblance to any original. Nor are such
excessive refinements more agreeable in the epistolary or philosophic
style, than in the epic or tragic. Too much ornament is a fault in every
kind of production. Uncommon expressions, strong flashes of wit, pointed
similes, and epigrammatic turns, especially when laid too thick, are a
disfigurement rather than any embellishment of discourse. As the eye, in
surveying a Gothic building, is distracted by the multiplicity of
ornaments, and loses the whole by its minute attention to the parts; so
the mind, in perusing a work overstocked with wit, is fatigued and
disgusted with the constant endeavour to shine and surprise. This is the
case where a writer over-abounds in wit, even though that wit should be
just and agreeable. But it commonly happens to such writers, that they
seek for their favourite ornaments even where the subject affords them
not; and by that means have twenty insipid conceits for one thought that
is really beautiful.

There is no subject in critical learning more copious than this of the
just mixture of simplicity and refinement in writing; and, therefore,
not to wander in too large a field, I shall confine myself to a few
general observations on that head.

First, I observe, "That though excesses of both kinds are to be avoided,
and though a proper medium ought to be studied in all productions; yet
this medium lies not in a point, but admits of a very considerable
latitude." Consider the wide distance, in this respect, between Mr. Pope
and Lucretius. These seem to lie in the two greatest extremes of
refinement and simplicity which a poet can indulge himself in, without
being guilty of any blameable excess. All this interval may be filled
with poets, who may differ from each other, but may be equally
admirable, each in his peculiar style and manner. Corneille and
Congreve, who carry their wit and refinement somewhat farther than Mr.
Pope (if poets of so different a kind can be compared together), and
Sophocles and Terence, who are more simple than Lucretius, seem to have
gone out of that medium wherein the most perfect productions are to be
found, and are guilty of some excess in these opposite characters. Of
all the great poets, Virgil and Racine, in my opinion, lie nearest the
centre, and are the farthest removed from both the extremities.

My second observation on this head is, "That it is very difficult, if
not impossible, to explain by words wherein the just medium betwixt the
excesses of simplicity and refinement consists, or to give any rule by
which we can know precisely the bounds betwixt the fault and the
beauty." A critic may not only discourse very judiciously on this head
without instructing his readers, but even without understanding the
matter perfectly himself. There is not in the world a finer piece of
criticism than Fontenelle's "Dissertation on Pastorals;" wherein, by a
number of reflections and philosophical reasonings, he endeavours to fix
the just medium which is suitable to that species of writing. But let
any one read the pastorals of that author, and he will be convinced,
that this judicious critic, notwithstanding his fine reasonings, had a
false taste, and fixed the point of perfection much nearer the extreme
of refinement than pastoral poetry will admit of. The sentiments of his
shepherds are better suited to the toilets of Paris than to the forests
of Arcadia. But this it is impossible to discover from his critical
reasonings. He blames all excessive painting and ornament, as much as
Virgil could have done had he written a dissertation on this species of
poetry. However different the tastes of men may be, their general
discourses on these subjects are commonly the same. No criticism can be
very instructive which descends not to particulars, and is not full of
examples and illustrations. 'Tis allowed on all hands, that beauty, as
well as virtue, lies always in a medium; but where this medium is placed
is the great question, and can never be sufficiently explained by
general reasonings.

I shall deliver it as a third observation on this subject, "That we
ought to be more on our guard against the excess of refinement than that
of simplicity; and that because the former excess is both less beautiful
and more dangerous than the latter."

It is a certain rule that wit and passion are entirely inconsistent.
When the affections are moved, there is no place for the imagination.
The mind of man being naturally limited, it is impossible all his
faculties can operate at once; and the more any one predominates, the
less room is there for the others to exert their vigour. For this reason
a greater degree of simplicity is required in all compositions, where
men and actions and passions are painted, than in such as consist of
reflections and observations. And as the former species of writing is
the more engaging and beautiful, one may safely, upon this account, give
the preference to the extreme of simplicity above that of refinement.

We may also observe, that those compositions which we read the oftenest,
and which every man of taste has got by heart, have the recommendation
of simplicity, and have nothing surprising in the thought when divested
of that elegance of expression and harmony of numbers with which it is
cloathed. If the merit of the composition lies in a point of wit, it may
strike at first; but the mind anticipates the thought in the second
perusal, and is no longer affected by it. When I read an epigram of
Martial, the first line recalls the whole; and I have no pleasure in
repeating to myself what I know already. But each line, each word in
Catullus has its merit; and I am never tired with the perusal of him. It
is sufficient to rim over Cowley once; but Parnel, after the fiftieth
reading, is fresh as at the first. Besides, it is with books as with
women, where a certain plainness of manner and of dress is more engaging
than that glare of paint and airs and apparel which may dazzle the eye
but reaches not the affections. Terence is a modest and bashful beauty,
to whom we grant every thing, because he assumes nothing, and whose
purity and nature make a durable though not a violent impression upon
us.

But refinement, as it is the less beautiful, so it is the more dangerous
extreme, and what we are the aptest to fall into. Simplicity passes for
dulness when it is not accompanied with great elegance and propriety.
On the contrary, there is something surprising in a blaze of wit
and conceit. Ordinary readers are mightily struck with it, and
falsely imagine it to be the most difficult, as well as most
excellent way of writing. Seneca abounds with agreeable faults, says
Quinctilian--_abundat dulcibus vitiis_; and for that reason is the more
dangerous and the more apt to pervert the taste of the young and
inconsiderate.

I shall add, that the excess of refinement is now more to be guarded
against than ever; because it is the extreme which men are the most apt
to fall into, after learning has made great progress, and after eminent
writers have appeared in every species of composition. The endeavour to
please by novelty leads men wide of simplicity and nature, and fills
their writings with affectation and conceit. It was thus that the age of
Claudius and Nero became so much inferior to that of Augustus in taste
and genius; and perhaps there are at present some symptoms of a like
degeneracy of taste, in France as well as in England.

HUME.

       *       *       *       *       *




JOHN HAMPDEN.


The celebrated patriot, John Hampden, was descended from an ancient
family in Buckinghamshire, where he was born in 1594. On leaving the
University, he entered the inns of court, where he made considerable
progress in the study of the law. He was chosen to serve in the
Parliament which assembled at Westminster, February, 1626, and served in
all the succeeding Parliaments in the reign of Charles I. That Monarch
having quarrelled with his Parliament, was obliged to have recourse to
the open exercise of his prerogative in order to supply himself with
money. From the nobility he desired assistance; from the City of London
he required a loan of £100,000. The former contributed but slowly; the
latter at length gave a flat denial. To equip a fleet, an apportionment
was made, by order of the Council, amongst all the maritime towns, each
of which was required, with the assistance of the adjoining counties, to
furnish a certain number of vessels or amount of shipping. The City of
London was rated at twenty ships. And this was the first appearance in
the present reign of ship-money--a taxation which had once been imposed
by Elizabeth, on a great emergency, but which, revived and carried
further by Charles, produced the most violent discontent.

[Illustration: STATUE OF JOHN HAMPDEN.]

In 1636, John Hampden became universally known by his intrepid
opposition to the ship-money, as an illegal tax. Upon this he was
prosecuted, and his conduct throughout the transaction gained him great
credit and reputation. When the Long Parliament began, the eyes of all
were fixed upon him as the father of his country. On the 3rd of January,
1642, the King ordered articles of high treason, and other
misdemeanours, to be prepared against Lord Kimbolton, Mr. Hampden, and
four other members of the House of Commons, and went to the House to
seize them, but they had retired. Mr. Hampden afterwards made a
celebrated speech in the House to clear himself from the charge brought
against him.

In the beginning of the civil war Hampden commanded a regiment of foot,
and did good service at the battle of Edgehill; but he received a mortal
wound in an engagement with Prince Rupert, in Chalgrave-field, in
Oxfordshire, and died in 1648. Hampden is said to have possessed in a
high degree talents for gaining and preserving popular influence, and
great courage, industry, and strength of mind, which procured him great
ascendancy over other men.

       *       *       *       *       *




OTHELLO'S HISTORY.


[Illustration: Letter H.]

    Her father loved me; oft invited me;
    Still question'd me the story of my life,
    From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunes,
    That I have past.
    I ran it through, even from my boyish days
    To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
    Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
    Of moving incidents by flood and field,
    Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach,
    Of being taken by the insolent foe,
    And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
    And 'portance in my travels' history;
    Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,
    Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,
    It was my hint to speak--such was the process;
    And of the cannibals that each other eat--
    The Anthropophagi--and men whose heads
    Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to bear
    Would Desdemona seriously incline:
    still the house affairs would draw her thence;
    Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
    She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
    Devour up my discourse; which I observing,
    Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
    To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
    That I would all my pilgrimage relate,
    Whereof by parcels she had something heard
    But not intentively: I did consent;
    And often did beguile her of her tears,
    When I did speak of some distressful stroke
    That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
    She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
    She swore--in faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
    'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful;
    She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd
    That Heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me;
    And bade me if I had a friend that loved her,
    I should but teach him how to tell my story,
    And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake;
    She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
    And I loved her that she did pity them.
    This only is the witchcraft I have used:
    Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

    SHAKSPEARE.

       *       *       *       *       *




FILIAL LOVE.


[Illustration: Letter V.]

Verily duty to parents is of the first consequence; and would you, my
young friends, recommend yourselves to the favour of your God and
Father, would you imitate the example of your adorable Redeemer,
and be made an inheritor of his precious promises; would you enjoy
the peace and comforts of this life, and the good esteem of your
fellow-creatures--Reverence your parents; and be it your constant
endeavour, as it will be your greatest satisfaction, to witness your
high sense of, and to make some returns for the obligations you owe to
them, by every act of filial obedience and love.

Let their commands be ever sacred in your ears, and implicitly obeyed,
where they do not contradict the commands of God: pretend not to be
wiser than they, who have had so much more experience than yourselves;
and despise them not, if haply you should be so blest as to have gained
a degree of knowledge or of fortune superior to them. Let your carriage
towards them be always respectful, reverent, and submissive; let your
words be always affectionate and humble, and especially beware of pert
and ill-seeming replies; of angry, discontented, and peevish looks.
Never imagine, if they thwart your wills, or oppose your inclinations,
that this ariseth from any thing but love to you: solicitous as they
have ever been for your welfare, always consider the same tender
solicitude as exerting itself, even in cases most opposite to your
desires; and let the remembrance of what they have done and suffered for
you, ever preserve you from acts of disobedience, and from paining those
good hearts which have already felt so much for you, their children.

The Emperor of China, on certain days of the year, pays a visit to his
mother, who is seated on a throne to receive him; and four times on his
feet, and as often on his knees, he makes her a profound obeisance,
bowing his head even to the ground.

Sir Thomas More seems to have emulated this beautiful example; for,
being Lord Chancellor of England at the same time that his father was a
Judge of the King's Bench, he would always, on his entering Westminster
Hall, go first to the King's Bench, and ask his father's blessing before
he went to sit in the Court of Chancery, as if to secure success in the
great decisions of his high and important office.

DR. DODD.

       *       *       *       *       *




QUEEN MARY'S BOWER, CHATSWORTH.


[Illustration: Letter W.]

When the widowed Mary, Queen of Scots, left France, where she had dwelt
since her fifth year--where she had shared in the education of the
French King's own daughters, in one of the convents of the kingdom, and
been the idol of the French Court and people, it is said that, as the
coast of the happy land faded from her view, she continued to exclaim,
"Farewell, France! farewell, dear France--I shall never see thee more!"
And her first view of Scotland only increased the poignancy of these
touching regrets. So little pains had been taken to "cover over the
nakedness and poverty of the land," that tears sprang into her eyes,
when, fresh from the elegant luxurious Court of Paris, she saw the
wretched ponies, with bare, wooden saddles, or dirty and ragged
trappings, which had been provided to carry her and her ladies from the
water-side to Holyrood. And then the palace itself; how different from
the palaces in which she had lived in France! Dismal and small, it
consisted only of what is now the north wing. The state-room and the
bed-chamber which were used by her yet remain, with the old furniture,
and much of the needle-work there is said to have been the work of her
hands. During her long and melancholy imprisonment in England, the art
of needle-work and reading were almost her only mode of relieving the
dreary hours.

From the moment Mary of Scotland took the fatal resolution of throwing
herself upon the supposed kindness and generosity of Elizabeth, her fate
was sealed, and it was that of captivity, only to be ended by death.
She was immediately cut off from all communication with her subjects,
except such as it was deemed proper to allow; and was moved about from
place to place, the better to ensure her safety. The hapless victim
again and again implored Elizabeth to deal generously and justly with
her. "I came," said she, in one of her letters, "of mine own accord; let
me depart again with yours: and if God permit my cause to succeed, I
shall be bound to you for it." But her rival was unrelenting, and, in
fact, increased the rigours of her confinement. Whilst a prisoner at
Chatsworth, she had been permitted the indulgence of air and exercise;
and the bower of Queen Mary is still shown in the noble grounds of that
place, as a favourite resort of the unfortunate captive. But even this
absolutely necessary indulgence was afterwards denied; she was wholly
confined to the Castle of Fotheringay, and a standing order was issued
that "she should be shot if she attempted to escape, or if others
attempted to rescue her."

[Illustration: QUEEN MARY'S BOWER, AT CHATSWORTH.]

Burns, in his "Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots," touchingly expresses the
weary feelings that must have existed in the breast of the Royal
captive:--

    "Oh, soon to me may summer suns
      Nae mair light up the morn!
    Nae mair to me the autumn winds
      Wave o'er the yellow corn!
    And in the narrow house of death,
      Let winter round me rave;
    And the next flowers that deck the spring,
      Bloom on my peaceful grave."

       *       *       *       *       *




TUBULAR RAILWAY BRIDGES.


In the year 1850, a vast line of railway was completed from Chester to
Holyhead, for the conveyance of the Royal mails, of goods and
passengers, and of her Majesty's troops and artillery, between London
and Dublin--Holyhead being the most desirable point at which to effect
this communication with Ireland. Upon this railway are two stupendous
bridges, which are the most perfect examples of engineering skill ever
executed in England, or in any other country.

The first of these bridges carries the railway across the river Conway,
close to the ancient castle built by Edward I. in order to bridle his
new subjects, the Welsh.

The Conway bridge consists of a tube, or long, huge chest, the ends of
which rest upon stone piers, built to correspond with the architecture
of the old castle. The tube is made of wrought-iron plates, varying in
thickness from a quarter of an inch to one inch, riveted together, and
strengthened by irons in the form of the letter T; and, to give
additional strength to the whole, a series of cells is formed at the
bottom and top of the tube, between an inner ceiling and floor and the
exterior plates; the iron plates which form the cells being riveted and
held in their places by angle irons. The space between the sides of the
tube is 14 feet; and the height of the whole, inclusive of the cells, is
22 feet 3-1/2 inches at the ends, and 25 feet 6 inches at the centre.
The total length of the tube is 412 feet. One end of the tube is fixed
to the masonry of the pier; but the other is so arranged as to allow for
the expansion of the metal by changes of the temperature of the
atmosphere, and it therefore, rests upon eleven rollers of iron, running
upon a bed-plate; and, that the whole weight of the tube may not be
carried by these rollers, six girders are carried over the tube, and
riveted to the upper parts of its sides, which rest upon twelve balls of
gun-metal running in grooves, which are fixed to iron beams let into the
masonry.

The second of these vast railway bridges crosses the Menai Straits,
which separate Caernarvon from the island of Anglesey. It is constructed
a good hundred feet above high-water level, to enable large vessels to
sail beneath it; and in building it, neither scaffolding nor centering
was used.

The abutments on either side of the Straits are huge piles of masonry.
That on the Anglesey side is 143 feet high, and 173 feet long. The wing
walls of both terminate in splendid pedestals, and on each are two
colossal lions, of Egyptian design; each being 25 feet long, 12 feet
high though crouched, 9 feet abaft the body, and each paw 2 feet 1
inches. Each weighs 30 tons. The towers for supporting the tube are of a
like magnitude with the entire work. The great Britannia Tower, in the
centre of the Straits, is 62 feet by 52 feet at its base; its total
height from the bottom, 230 feet; it contains 148,625 cubic feet of
limestone, and 144,625 of sandstone; it weighs 20,000 tons; and there
are 387 tons of cast iron built into it in the shape of beams and
girders. It sustains the four ends of the four long iron tubes which
span the Straits from shore to shore. The total quantity of stone
contained in the bridge is 1,500,000 cubic feet. The side towers stand
at a clear distance of 460 feet from the great central tower; and,
again, the abutments stand at a distance from the side towers of 230
feet, giving the entire bridge a total length of 1849 feet,
corresponding with the date of the year of its construction. The side
or land towers are each 62 feet by 52 feet at the base, and 190 feet
high; they contain 210 tons of cast iron.

[Illustration: CONWAY CASTLE AND TUBULAR BRIDGE.]

The length of the great tube is exactly 470 feet, being 12 feet longer
than the clear space between the towers, and the greatest span ever yet
attempted. The greatest height of the tube is in the centre--30 feet,
and diminishing towards the end to 22 feet. Each tube consists of sides,
top and bottom, all formed of long, narrow wrought-iron plates, varying
in length from 12 feet downward. These plates are of the same
manufacture as those for making boilers, varying in thickness from
three-eighths to three-fourths of an inch. Some of them weigh nearly 7
cwt., and are amongst the largest it is possible to roll with any
existing machinery. The connexion between top, bottom, and sides is made
much more substantial by triangular pieces of thick plate, riveted in
across the corners, to enable the tube to resist the cross or twisting
strain to which it will be exposed from the heavy and long-continued
gales of wind that, sweeping up the Channel, will assail it in its lofty
and unprotected position. The rivets, of which there are 2,000,000--each
tube containing 327,000--are more than an inch in diameter. They are
placed in rows, and were put in the holes red hot, and beaten with heavy
hammers. In cooling, they contracted strongly, and drew the plates
together so powerfully that it required a force of from 1 to 6 tons to
each rivet, to cause the plates to slide over each other. The weight of
wrought iron in the great tube is 1600 tons.

Each of these vast bridge tubes was constructed on the shore, then
floated to the base of the piers, or bridge towers, and raised to its
proper elevation by hydraulic machinery, the largest in the world, and
the most powerful ever constructed. For the Britannia Bridge, this
consisted of two vast presses, one of which has power equal to that of
30,000 men, and it lifted the largest tube six feet in half an hour.

The Britannia tubes being in two lines, are passages for the up and down
trains across the Straits. Each of the tubes has been compared to the
Burlington Arcade, in Piccadilly; and the labour of placing this tube
upon the piers has been assimilated to that of raising the Arcade upon
the summit of the spire of St. James's Church, if surrounded with water.

Each line of tube is 1513 feet in length; far surpassing in size any
piece of wrought-iron work ever before put together; and its weight is
5000 tons, being nearly equal to that of two 120-gun ships, having on
board, ready for sea, guns, provisions, and crew. The plate-iron
covering of the tubes is not thicker than the hide of an elephant, and
scarcely thicker than the bark of an oak-tree; whilst one of the large
tubes, if placed on its end in St. Paul's churchyard, would reach 107
feet higher than the cross of the cathedral.

[Illustration: CONSTRUCTING THE BRITANNIA TUBULAR BRIDGE.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.


    Ye mariners of England!
      Who guard our native seas,
    Whose flag has braved a thousand years
      The battle and the breeze,
    Your glorious standard launch again,
      To match another foe,
    And sweep through the deep
      While the stormy tempests blow;
    While the battle rages long and loud,
      And the stormy tempests blow.

    The spirits of your fathers
      Shall start from every wave!
    For the deck it was their field of fame,
      And Ocean was their grave;
    Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
      Your manly hearts shall glow,
    As ye sweep through the deep,
      While the stormy tempests blow;
    While the battle rages long and loud,
      And the stormy tempests blow.

    Britannia needs no bulwarks,
      No towers along the steep;
    Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
      Her home is on the deep:
    With thunders from her native oak,
      She quells the floods below,
    As they roar on the shore,
      When the stormy tempests blow;
    When the battle rages long and loud,
      And the stormy tempests blow.

    The meteor-flag of England
      Shall yet terrific burn,
    Till danger's troubled night depart,
      And the star of peace return.
    Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
      Our song and feast shall flow
    To the fame of your name,
      When the storm has ceased to blow;
    When the fiery fight is heard no more,
      And the storm has ceased to blow.

    CAMPBELL.

       *       *       *       *       *




KAFFIR LETTER-CARRIER.


"I knew" (says the pleasing writer of "Letters from Sierra Leone") "that
the long-looked-for vessel had at length furled her sails and dropped
anchor in the bay. She was from England, and I waited, expecting every
minute to feast my eyes upon at least one letter; but I remembered how
unreasonable it was to suppose that any person would come up with
letters to this lonely place at so late an hour, and that it behoved me
to exercise the grace of patience until next day. However, between ten
and eleven o'clock, a loud shouting and knocking aroused the household,
and the door was opened to a trusty Kroo messenger, who, although one of
a tribe who would visit any of its members in their own country with
death, who could 'savey white man's book,' seemed to comprehend
something of our feelings at receiving letters, as I overheard him
exclaim, with evident glee, 'Ah! massa! here de right book come at
last.' Every thing, whether a brown-paper parcel, a newspaper, an
official despatch, a private letter or note is here denominated a
'book,' and this man understood well that newspapers are never received
so gladly amongst 'books' from England as letters." The Kaffir, in the
Engraving, was sketched from one employed to convey letters in the South
African settlements; he carries his document in a split at the end of a
cane.

[Illustration: KAFFIR LETTER-CARRIER.]

It is a singular sight in India to see the catamarans which put off from
some parts of the coast, as soon as ships come in sight, either to bear
on board or to convey from thence letters or messages. These frail
vessels are composed of thin cocoa-tree logs, lashed together, and big
enough to carry one, or, at most, two persons. In one of these a small
sail is fixed, and the navigator steers with a little paddle; the float
itself is almost entirely sunk in the water, so that the effect is very
singular--a sail sweeping along the surface with a man behind it, and
apparently nothing to support them. Those which have no sails are
consequently invisible and the men have the appearance of treading the
water and performing evolutions with a racket. In very rough weather the
men lash themselves to their little rafts but in ordinary seas they
seem, though frequently washed off, to regard such accidents as mere
trifles, being naked all but a wax cloth cap in which they keep any
letters they may have to convey to ships in the roads, and swimming like
fish. Their only danger is from sharks, which are said to abound. These
cannot hurt them while on their floats; but woe be to them if they catch
them while separated from that defence. Yet, even then, the case is not
quite hopeless, since the shark can only attack them from below; and a
rapid dive, if not in very deep water, will sometimes save them.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SEASONS.



SPRING.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

    Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come,
    And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
    While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
    Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Hail! Source of Being! Universal Soul
    Of heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail;
    To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thought
    Continual climb; who, with a master hand.
    Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd.
    By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
    Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
    Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew:
    By Thee disposed into congenial soils,
    Stands each attractive plant, and sucks and swells
    The juicy tide--a twining mass of tubes.
    At thy command the vernal sun awakes
    The torpid sap, detruded to the root
    By wintry winds, that now in fluent dance,
    And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
    All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things.
    As rising from the vegetable world
    My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend
    My panting Muse! And hark! how loud the woods
    Invite you forth in all your gayest trim.
    Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh, pour
    The mazy running soul of melody
    Into my varied verse! while I deduce
    From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,
    The symphony of spring, and touch a theme
    Unknown to fame, the passion of the groves.

[Illustration: SPRING.]



SUMMER.


[Illustration: Letter F.]

    From bright'ning fields of ether fair disclosed,
    Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
    In pride of youth, and felt through nature's depth:
    He comes attended by the sultry hours,
    And ever-fanning breezes on his way;
    While from his ardent look the turning Spring
    Averts his blushing face, and earth and skies,
    All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Cheer'd by the milder beam, the sprightly youth
    Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth
    A sandy bottom shows. Awhile he stands
    Gazing the inverted landscape, half afraid
    To meditate the blue profound below;
    Then plunges headlong down the circling flood.
    His ebon tresses, and his rosy cheek,
    Instant emerge: and through the obedient wave,
    At each short breathing by his lip repell'd,
    With arms and legs according well, he makes,
    As humour leads, an easy-winding path;
    While from his polish'd sides a dewy light
    Effuses on the pleased spectators round.

    This is the purest exercise of health.
    The kind refresher of the Summer heats:
    Nor, when cold Winter keens the brightening flood,
    Would I, weak-shivering, linger on the brink.
    Thus life redoubles, and is oft preserved
    By the bold swimmer, in the swift elapse
    Of accident disastrous.

[Illustration: SUMMER.]



AUTUMN.


[Illustration: Letter C.]

    Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
    While Autumn nodding o'er the yellow plain
    Comes jovial on, the Doric reed once more,
    Well pleased, I tune. Whatever the wintry frost
    Nitrous prepared, the various-blossom'd Spring
    Put in white promised forth, and Summer suns
    Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
    Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Hence from the busy, joy-resounding fields
    In cheerful error let us tread the maze
    Of Autumn, unconfined; and taste, revived,
    The breath of orchard big with bending fruit.
    Obedient to the breeze and beating ray,
    From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower
    Incessant melts away. The juicy pear
    Lies in a soft profusion scatter'd round.
    A various sweetness swells the gentle race,
    By Nature's all-refining hand prepared;
    Of tempered sun, and water, earth, and air,
    In ever-changing composition mix'd.
    Such, falling frequent through the chiller night,
    The fragrant stores, the wide projected heaps
    Of apples, which the lusty-handed year,
    Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes.

[Illustration: AUTUMN.]



WINTER.


[Illustration: Letter S.]

    See, Winter comes to rule the varied year,
    Sullen and sad, with all his rising train--
    Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
    These--that exalt the soul to solemn thought
    And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms;
    Congenial horrors, hail: with frequent foot,
    Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
    When nursed by careless solitude I lived,
    And sung of nature with unceasing joy;
    Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain,
    Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure;
    Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst,
    Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd
    In the grim evening sky.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand
    Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year,
    How mighty, how majestic are thy works!
    With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul,
    That sees astonish'd, and astonish'd sings!
    Ye, too, ye winds! that now begin to blow
    With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you.
    Where are your stores, ye powerful beings, say,
    Where your aerial magazines reserved
    To swell the brooding terrors of the storm?
    In what far distant region of the sky,
    Hush'd in deep silence, sleep ye when 'tis calm?

           *       *       *       *       *

    'Tis done; dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
    And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
    How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
    How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
    His desolate domain. Behold, fond man!
    See here thy pictured life! Pass some few years
    Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength,
    And sober autumn fading into age,
    The pale concluding winter comes at last
    The shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
    Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes
    Of happiness? those longings after fame?
    Those restless cares? those busy bustling days?
    Those gay-spent festive nights? those veering thoughts,
    Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life?
    All now are vanish'd; virtue sole survives,
    Immortal, never-failing friend of man--
    His guide to happiness on high.

    THOMSON.

[Illustration: WINTER.]

[Illustration: AND PALE CONCLUDING WINTER COMES AT LAST, AND SHUTS THE
SCENE.]

       *       *       *       *       *




ON MUSIC.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

There are few who have not felt the charms of music, and acknowledged
its expressions to be intelligible to the heart. It is a language of
delightful sensations, that is far more eloquent than words: it breathes
to the ear the clearest intimations; but how it was learned, to what
origin we owe it, or what is the meaning of some of its most affecting
strains, we know not.

We feel plainly that music touches and gently agitates the agreeable and
sublime passions; that it wraps us in melancholy, and elevates us to
joy; that it dissolves and inflames; that it melts us into tenderness,
and rouses into rage: but its strokes are so fine and delicate, that,
like a tragedy, even the passions that are wounded please; its sorrows
are charming, and its rage heroic and delightful. As people feel the
particular passions with different degrees of force, their taste of
harmony must proportionably vary. Music, then, is a language directed to
the passions; but the rudest passions put on a new nature, and become
pleasing in harmony: let me add, also, that it awakens some passions
which we perceive not in ordinary life. Particularly the most elevated
sensation of music arises from a confused perception of ideal or
visionary beauty and rapture, which is sufficiently perceivable to fire
the imagination, but not clear enough to become an object of knowledge.
This shadowy beauty the mind attempts, with a languishing curiosity, to
collect into a distinct object of view and comprehension; but it sinks
and escapes, like the dissolving ideas of a delightful dream, that are
neither within the reach of the memory, nor yet totally fled. The
noblest charm of music, then, though real and affecting, seems too
confused and fluid to be collected into a distinct idea.

Harmony is always understood by the crowd, and almost always mistaken by
musicians. The present Italian taste for music is exactly correspondent
to the taste for tragi-comedy, that about a century ago gained ground
upon the stage. The musicians of the present day are charmed at the
union they form between the grave and the fantastic, and at the
surprising transitions they make between extremes, while every hearer
who has the least remainder of the taste of nature left, is shocked at
the strange jargon. If the same taste should prevail in painting, we
must soon expect to see the woman's head, a horse's body, and a fish's
tail, united by soft gradations, greatly admired at our public
exhibitions. Musical gentlemen should take particular care to preserve
in its full vigour and sensibility their original natural taste, which
alone feels and discovers the true beauty of music.

If Milton, Shakspeare, or Dryden had been born with the same genius and
inspiration for music as for poetry, and had passed through the
practical part without corrupting the natural taste, or blending with it
any prepossession in favour of sleights and dexterities of hand, then
would their notes be tuned to passions and to sentiments as natural and
expressive as the tones and modulations of the voice in discourse. The
music and the thought would not make different expressions; the hearers
would only think impetuously; and the effect of the music would be to
give the ideas a tumultuous violence and divine impulse upon the mind.
Any person conversant with the classic poets, sees instantly that the
passionate power of music I speak of, was perfectly understood and
practised by the ancients--that the Muses of the Greeks always sung, and
their song was the echo of the subject, which swelled their poetry into
enthusiasm and rapture. An inquiry into the nature and merits of the
ancient music, and a comparison thereof with modern composition, by a
person of poetic genius and an admirer of harmony, who is free from the
shackles of practice, and the prejudices of the mode, aided by the
countenance of a few men of rank, of elevated and true taste, would
probably lay the present half-Gothic mode of music in ruins, like those
towers of whose little laboured ornaments it is an exact picture, and
restore the Grecian taste of passionate harmony once more to the delight
and wonder of mankind. But as from the disposition of things, and the
force of fashion, we cannot hope in our time to rescue the sacred lyre,
and see it put into the hands of men of genius, I can only recall you to
your own natural feeling of harmony and observe to you, that its
emotions are not found in the laboured, fantastic, and surprising
compositions that form the modern style of music: but you meet them in
some few pieces that are the growth of wild unvitiated taste; you
discover them in the swelling sounds that wrap us in imaginary grandeur;
in those plaintive notes that make us in love with woe; in the tones
that utter the lover's sighs, and fluctuate the breast with gentle pain;
in the noble strokes that coil up the courage and fury of the soul, or
that lull it in confused visions of joy; in short, in those affecting
strains that find their way to the inmost recesses of the heart,

    Untwisting all the chains that tie
    The hidden soul of harmony.--_Milton_.

USHER.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE AFFLICTED POOR.


    Say ye--oppress'd by some fantastic woes,
    Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose,
    Who press the downy couch while slaves advance
    With timid eye to read the distant glance;
    Who with sad pray'rs the weary doctor tease,
    To name the nameless, ever new disease;
    Who with mock patience dire complaint endure,
    Which real pain, and that alone, can cure:
    How would ye bear in real pain to lie,
    Despised, neglected, left alone to die?
    How would ye bear to draw your latest breath,
    Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?

    Such is that room which one rude beam divides,
    And naked rafters form the sloping sides;
    Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen,
    And lath and mud are all that lie between,
    Save one dull pane that coarsely patch'd gives way
    To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day:
    There, on a matted flock with dust o'erspread,
    The drooping wretch reclines his languid head!
    For him no hand the cordial cup supplies,
    Nor wipes the tear which stagnates in his eyes;
    No friends, with soft discourse, his pangs beguile.
    Nor promise hope till sickness wears a smile.

    CRABBE.

[Illustration: GEORGE CRABBE.]

       *       *       *       *       *




MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS.


[Illustration: Letter T.]

    Thou, who didst put to flight
    Primeval silence, when the morning stars,
    Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball:
    O Thou! whose word from solid darkness struck
    That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul;
    My soul which flies to thee, her trust her treasure,
    As misers to their gold, while others rest:
    Through this opaque of nature and of soul,
    This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
    To lighten and to cheer. Oh, lead my mind,
    (A mind that fain would wander from its woe,)
    Lead it through various scenes of life and death,
    And from each scene the noblest truths inspire.
    Nor less inspire my conduct, than my song;
    Teach my best reason, reason; my best will
    Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve
    Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear;
    Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, pour'd
    On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain.

    The bell strikes One. We take no note of time
    But from its loss; to give it then a tongue
    Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
    I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
    It is the knell of my departed hours.
    Where are they? with the years beyond the flood!
    It is the signal that demands dispatch:
    How much is to be done! My hopes and fears
    Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge
    Look down--on what? A fathomless abyss!
    A dread eternity! How surely mine!
    And can eternity belong to me,
    Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
    How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
    How complicate, how wonderful is man!
    How passing wonder He who made him such!
    Who center'd in our make such strange extremes--
    From different natures, marvellously mix'd:
    Connexion exquisite! of distant worlds
    Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
    Midway from nothing to the Deity;
    A beam ethereal--sullied and absorpt!
    Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine!
    Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
    An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
    Helpless immortal! insect infinite!
    A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,
    And in myself am lost. At home a stranger.
    Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast,
    And wondering at her own. How reason reels!
    Oh, what a miracle to man is man!
    Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread
    Alternately transported and alarm'd!
    What can preserve my life, or what destroy?
    An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
    Legions of angels can't confine me there.
    'Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof.
    While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion spread,
    What though my soul fantastic measures trod
    O'er fairy fields, or mourn'd along the gloom
    Of pathless woods, or down the craggy steep
    Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool,
    Or scaled the cliff, or danced on hollow winds
    With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain!
    Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature
    Of subtler essence than the trodden clod:
    Active, aerial, towering, unconfined,
    Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall.
    Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal:
    Even silent night proclaims eternal day!
    For human weal Heaven husbands all events;
    Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain.

    YOUNG.

       *       *       *       *       *




FAREWELL.


[Illustration: Letter N.]

    Nay, shrink not from that word "Farewell!"
    As if 'twere friendship's final knell--
      Such fears may prove but vain:
    So changeful is life's fleeting day,
    Whene'er we sever, Hope may say,
    We part to meet again!

    E'en the last parting earth can know,
    Brings not unutterable woe
      To souls that heav'nward soar:
    For humble Faith, with steadfast eye,
    Points to a brighter world on high,
    Where hearts, that here at parting sigh,
    May meet--to part no more!

    BARTON.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *




VOCABULARY OF WORDS USED IN THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON READING BOOK.


       *       *       *       *       *

[We have considered that it would be useful to the young reader to have
a ready means of reference, in the READING BOOK itself, to all unusual
words of one syllable, and all the words of two syllables and above,
that occur in the various lessons. In the following pages will be found,
properly accentuated, all the more difficult polysyllables, with their
meanings, derived from Johnson, Walker, and other competent
authorities.]

       *       *       *       *       *



ABA'NDON, _v.a._ give up; resign, or quit; forsake; leave

ABI'LITY, _s._ capacity; qualification; power

A'BJECT, _a._ mean; being of no hope or regard; destitute

ABLU'TION, _s._ the act of cleansing or washing clean; water used in
    washing

ABO'LISH, _v.a._ make void; put an end to; destroy

ABO'UND, _v.n._ have in great plenty; be in great plenty

ABRE'AST, _ad._ side by side

ABRU'PTLY, _ad._ hastily; suddenly; without the due forms of preparation

A'BSOLUTE, _a._ positive; certain; unlimited

A'BSTRACT, _s._ the smaller quantity containing the virtue or power of
    the greater

ABSTRU'SE, _a._ hidden; difficult

ABU'NDANT, _a._ plentiful

ABU'TMENT, _s._ that which borders upon another

ACA'DEMY, _s._ (from _Academus_, an Athenian, who founded a public
    school at Athens, which after him was called Academia, _Latin_),
    place of education; an assembly or society of men, uniting for the
    promotion of some art

A'CCENT, _s._ the sound of a syllable; a modification of the voice
    expressive of the passions or sentiments; the marks made upon
    syllables to regulate their pronunciation

A'CCIDENT, _s._ that which happens unforeseen; chance

ACCO'MPANY, _v.n._ associate with; become a companion to

ACCO'MPLICE, _s._ an associate; partner

ACCO'MPLISHMENT, _s._ ornament of mind or body; acquirement

ACCO'ST, _v.a._ speak to; address; salute

ACCO'UNT, _s._ the state or result of a computation--as, the _account_
    stands thus between us; narrative; value

ACCO'UTRE, _v.a._ dress; equip

A'CCURACY, _s._ exactness; nicety

ACCU'STOM, _v._ to habituate; to inure

ACQUI'RE, _v.a._ gain; obtain; attain

A'CRID, _a._ having a hot biting taste; bitter

A'CRIMONY, _s._ sharpness; severity; bitterness of thought or language

ACRO'POLIS, _s._ a citadel; the highest part of a city

ACTI'VITY, _s._ quickness; nimbleness

ACU'TE, _a._ sharp, not blunt; sharp, not dull; not stupid; vigorous;
    powerful in operation

ADAMA'NTINE, _a._ made of adamant; having the qualities of adamant, viz.
    hardness, indissolubility

ADA'PT, _v.a._ admit, justify; yield; permit

ADIEU', _ad._ used elliptically for _à Dieu je vous commende_, at the
    parting of friends; farewell

A'DMIRABLE, _a._ to be admired; of power to excite wonder

ADMIRA'TION, _s._ wonder

ADMI'T, _v.a._ suffer to enter; allow

ADO'PT, _v.a._ take a son by choice; make him a son who is not so by
    birth; place any person or thing in a nearer relation than they have
    by nature or something else

ADRO'ITNESS, _s._ dexterity; readiness

ADU'LT, _s._ a person above the age of boyhood or girlhood

ADVA'NCE, _v.a._ improve; forward; propose

ADVA'NTAGE, _s._ superiority; opportunity

ADVE'NTURE, _s._ chance; hazard; an enterprise in which something must
    be left to hazard

ADVE'NTURER, _s._ he that puts himself into the hands of chance

ADVE'NTUROUS, _a._ bold; daring; courageous; inclined to adventures

ADVE'RSITY, _s._ affliction; calamity; misfortune; the public misery

ADVE'RTISEMENT, _s._ something advertised; the public notice of a thing

A'DVOCATE, _s._ he that pleads a cause

AE'OLIAN, _a._ an epithet applied to lyric poetry, because Sappho and
    Alcaeus were natives of Lesbos in Aeolia, and wrote in the Aeolic
    dialect

AE'RIAL, _a._ belonging to the air; lofty

AFFABI'LITY, _s._ civility; condescension; easiness of manners

AFFE'CT, _v.a._ act upon; produce effect in any other thing; move the
    passions; aim at; aspire to

AFFECTA'TION, _s._ an elaborate appearance; false pretence

AFFE'CTION, _s._ state of being affected by any cause or agent; love;
    kindness; good-will to some person; passionate regard

AFFE'CTIONATE, _a._ full of affection; fond; tender; warm; benevolent

AFFI'NITY, _s._ connection with

AGGRE'SSION, _s._ first act of injury

A'GONY, _s._ the pangs of death; any violent pain in body or mind

AGRE'EABLE, _a._ suitable to; pleasing

A'GRICULTURE, _s._ the science of making land productive

A'LABASTER, _s._ a kind of soft marble, easier to cut and less durable
    than the other kinds

ALA'RUM, _s._ notice of any approaching danger; any tumult or
    disturbance

A'LIEN, _s._ foreigner; stranger

A'LKALI, _s._ any substance which, when mingled with acid, produces
    effervescence and fermentation

ALLEGO'RY, _s._ a figurative discourse, in which something is contained
    other than is literally understood

ALLE'VIATE, _v.a._ make light; ease; soften

ALLO'W, _v.a._ permit; give leave

A'LPHABET, _s._ the order of the letters, or elements of speech

ALTERA'TION, _s._ the act of changing; the change made

A'LTITUDE, _s._ height of place; space measured upward

AL'TOGETHER, _ad._ completely; without exception

AMA'LGAMATE, _v.a._ to unite metals with silver

AMA'ZEMENT, _s._ height of admiration; astonishment

AMBI'GUOUS, _a._ using doubtful expressions; doubtful; having two
    meanings

AMBI'TION, _s._ the desire of preferment or honour; the desire of
    anything great or excellent

AMBI'TIOUS, _a._ fond of power; desirous of power

AME'RICAN, _s._ native of America

A'METHYST, _s._ a precious stone of a violet colour

A'MIABLE, _a._ kind; gentle; good natured; loving; not selfish

AMMUNI'TION, _s._ military stores, applied to artillery

AMPHITHE'ATRE, _s._ a building in a circular or oval form, having its
    area encompassed with rows of seats one above another

AMPU'LLA, _s._ (pronounced _am-poo-la_) a vessel of pure gold, used for
    containing the holy oil at coronations

AMU'SE, _v.a._ entertain with tranquillity; draw on from time to time

ANA'LOGY, _s._ resemblance between things with regard to some
    circumstances or effects

ANATO'MICAL, _a._ relating or belonging to anatomy

ANA'TOMY, _s._ the art of dissecting the body; the doctrine of the
    structure of the body

A'NCESTOR, _s._ one from whom a person descends

A'NCIENT, _a._ old; past; former

A'NECDOTE, _s._ something yet unpublished; biographical history;
    personal history

ANEMO'METER, _s._ an instrument to measure the force of the wind

ANGE'LIC, _a._ resembling angels; belonging to angels

A'NIMAL, _s._ a living creature

ANIMA'LCULE, _s._ a small animal, generally applied to those which
    cannot be seen without a microscope

ANIMO'SITY, _s._ vehemence of hatred; passionate malignity

ANNIHILATE, _v.a._ reduce to nothing; destroy

ANNO'Y, _v.a._ incommode; vex; tease; molest

A'NNUAL, _a._ that comes yearly

A'NTELOPE, _s._ a goat with curled or wreathed horns

ANTHROPO'PHAGI, _s._ man-eaters; cannibals

ANTI'CIPATE, _v.a._ take an impression of something which is not yet as
    if it really was

A'NTIQUARY, _s._ a man studious of antiquity

ANTI'QUE, _a._ ancient; old; odd; of old fashion

ANTI'QUITY, _s._ old times; remains of old times

A'NTRE, _s._ a cavern

ANXI'ETY, _s._ perplexity; lowness of spirits

ANXIOUS, _a._ disturbed about some uncertain event

A'PATHY, _s._ exemption from feeling or passion

APO'CALYPSE, _s._ the Book of Revelations

APO'LOGY, _s._ defence; excuse

APO'STLE, _s._ a person sent with commands, particularly applied to
    those whom our Saviour deputed to preach the Gospel

APOSTO'LIC, _a._ delivered or taught by the Apostles

APPARA'TUS, _s._ tools; furniture; show; instruments

APPE'AR, _v.n._ be visible; in sight

APPEARANCE, _s._ the act of coming into sight; phenomenon; apparition;
    presence

APPE'NDAGE, _s._ something added to another thing without being
    necessary to its essence

    A'PPETITE _s._ hunger; violent longing

    APPLA'USE _s._ approbation loudly expressed; praise

APPLICATION, _s._ close study; intenseness of thought; attention; the
    act of applying; the act of applying anything to another.

APPORTIONMENT, _s._ dividing into portions

APPRECIATE, _v.a._ set a price on anything; esteem

APPRO'ACH, _v n._ draw near; somewhat resemble

APPROBATION, _s._ the act of approving, or expressing himself pleased,
    or satisfied; support

APPRO'PRIATENESS, _s._ a fitness to be appropriated

APPROPRIATION, _s._ the application of something to a certain purpose

AQUA'TIC, _a._ that inhabits the water; that grows in the water

A'QUEDUCT, _s._ a conveyance, tunnel, or way made for carrying water

ARA'TOO, _s._ a bird of the parrot kind

AR'BALIST, _s._ a naturalist who make trees his study

A'RBITRABY, _o._ despotic; absolute; depending on no rule

ARBU'TUS, _s._ a strawberry tree

ARCA'DE, _s._ a continued arch; a walk arched over

ARCHBI'SHOP, _s._ a bishop of the first class, who superintends the
    conduct of other bishops

ARCHITE'CTURE, _s._ the art or science of building

A'RCTIC, _a._ northern; lying under the Arctos or Bear

A'RDUOUS, _a._ lofty; difficult

ARI'SE, _v.n._ mount upward; get up; proceed

ARMI'LLA, _s._ a bracelet, or jewel worn on the arm

A'RMY, _s._ collection of armed men; a great number

AROMA'TIC, _a._ spicy; fragrant; strong-scented

ARRI'VE, _v.n._ reach any place; happen

ARRA'NGE, _v.a._ put in the proper order for any purpose

ARRA'NGEMENT, _s._ the act of putting In proper order, the state of
    being put in order

ARRA'Y, _s._ order, chiefly of war; dress

A'RROGANCE, _s._ the act or quality of taking much upon one's self

A'RROW, _s._ the pointed weapon which is shot from a bow

A'RTICLE, _s._ a part of speech; a single clause of an account; term

ARTI'CULATE, _v.a._ form words; speak as a man; draw up in articles;
    make terms

A'RTIFICE, _s._ trick; fraud; stratagem; art; trade

ARTIFI'CIAL, _a._ made by art; not natural

ARTI'LLERY, _s._ weapons of war; cannon; great ordinance

A'RTISAN, _s._ professor of any art

ASCE'NDANCY, _s._ influence; power

ASPE'RSE, _v.a._ bespatter with censure or calumny

A'SPIC, _s._ the name of a small serpent

ASSA'ILANT, _s._ one that assails

ASSE'MBLY, _s._ a company met together

ASSE'RT, _v.a._ to declare positively; maintain; to defend either by
    words or actions; claim

ASSIDU'ITY, _s._ diligence

ASSI'MILATE, _v.a._ bring to a likeness; turn to its own nature by
    digestion

ASSISTANCE, _s._ help

ASSISTANT, _s._ a helper

ASSI'ZE, _s._ a jury; any court of justice; the ordinance or statute

ASSO'CIATE, _s._ a partner; a confederate; a companion

ASSU'RE, _v.a._ give confidence by a firm promise

ASTO'NISHMENT, _s._ amazement

ASTRO'NOMY, _s._ the science of the motions, distances, &c. of the stars

A'THEISM, _s._ the disbelief of a god

ATHE'NIAN, _s._ a native of Athens

A'TMOSPHERE, _s._ the air that encompasses the solid earth on all sides

ATRO'CIOUS, _a._ wicked in a high degree; enormous

ATTA'CH, _v.a._ arrest; fix one's interest; win; lay hold on

ATTA'CK, _v.a._ to make an assault

ATTA'IN, _v.a._ gain; procure; reach

ATTAINMENT, _s._ an acquisition; an accomplishment

ATTE'MPT, _v.a._ venture upon; try; endeavour

ATTE'NDANT, _s._ one that attends; one that is present at anything

ATTENTION, _s._ the act of attending; the act of bending the mind upon
    it

ATTE'NTIVE, _a._ regardful; full of attention

ATTI'RE, _s._ clothing; dress; equipment

A'TTITUDE, _s._ position; expression

ATTRA'CT, _v.a._ draw to something; allure; invite

ATTRA'CTIVE, _a._ having the power to draw anything; inviting

ATTRIBUTE, _v.a._ to ascribe; to yield as due; to impute as a cause

AU'DITOR, _s._ a hearer

    AURO'RA-BOREA'LIS, _a._ electrical light streaming in the night from
    the north; the northern lights or streamers

AUSTE'RITY, _s._ severity; cruelty

AUTHENTIC, _a._ genuine

AU'THOR, _s._ the first beginner or mover of anything; a writer in
    general

AUTHO'RITY, _s._ power; rule; influence; support; legal power

AU'TUMN, _s._ the season of the year between summer and winter

AVAILABLE, _a._ profitable; powerful; advantageous

AVALA'NCHE, _s._ immense mass of snow or ice

A'VERAGE, _s._ a middle proportion

AVI'DITY, _s._ eagerness; voracity; greediness

AVO'ID, _v.a._ shun; shift off; quit

AWA'KE, _v.a._ rouse out of sleep; put into new action

AW'KWARD, _a._ clumsy; inelegant; unready

A'ZURE, _s._ blue; faint blue


    **


BA'CCHANALS, _s._ the drunken feasts of Bacchus; fabulous personages who
    assisted at the festivals of Bacchus

BALCO'NY, _s._ a frame before the window of a room

BALLO'ON, _s._ a large hollow ball of silk, filled with gas, which makes
    it rise in the air

BA'NDIT, _s._ a man outlawed

BA'NISH, _v.a._ condemn to leave one's country; drive away

BA'NISHMENT, _s._ the act of banishing another; the state of being
    banished

BARBA'RIAN, _s._ a savage; a man uncivilized

BA'RBAROUS, _a._ savage; ignorant; cruel

BA'RREN, _a._ unfruitful; sterile; scanty

BARRIC'ADE, _v.a._ stop up a passage; hinder by stoppage

BASA'LT, _s._ a variety of trap rock

BASA'LTIC, _a._ relating to basalt

BASTI'LE, _s._ (pronounced _basteel_) a jail; formerly the state prison
    of France

BA'TTER, _v.a._ beat; shatter; beat down

BA'TTLE, _s._ a fight; an encounter between opposite enemies

BEA'CON, _s._ something raised on an eminence to direct

BEA'RABLE, _a._ that which is capable of being borne

BEAU'TY, _s._ a particular grace or feature; a beautiful person

BECO'ME, _v.a._ befit; be suitable to the person

BEDE'CK, _v.a._ to deck; to adorn; to grace

BE'DSTEAD, _s._ the frame on which the bed is placed

BEHI'ND, _ad._ out of sight; not yet in view; remaining

BEHO'VE, _v.n._ to be fit

BELI'EVE, _v.n._ to have a firm persuasion of anything

BENEFA'CTOR, _s._ one that does good

BE'NEFIT, _s._ a kindness; a favour conferred; an advantage

BENE'VOLENT, _a._ kind; having good-will

BENI'GHT, _v.a._ involve in darkness; surprise with the coming on of
    night

BENI'GNANT, _a._ kind; generous; liberal

BE'NISON, _s._ a blessing

BENU'MB, _v.a._ make torpid; stupify

BESIE'GE, _v.a._ to beleaguer; to lay siege to

BESPRE'NT, _v. def._ besprinkled

BESTO'W, _v.a._ give; confer upon; lay up

BETWE'EN, _prep._ in the middle space; from one to another; noting
    difference of one from another

BI'LBERRY, _s._ the fruit of a plant so called

BO'ATMAN, _s._ he that manages a boat

BO'DY, _s._ material substance of an animal; matter; person; collective
    mass; main part; main army

BO'RDER, _s._ edge; edge of a country; a bank raised round a garden and
    set with flowers

BO'UNTEOUS, _a._ liberal; kind; generous

BOUQUE'T, _s._ (pronounced _boo-kay_) a nosegay

BOWSPRI'T, _s._ (a sea term) the mast that runs out at the bow of a ship

BRA'CELET, _s._ an ornament for the arms

BRA'CH, _s._ a she hound

BRA'CKISH, _a._ salt; somewhat salt

BRI'LLIANCY, _s._ brightness; lustre

BRI'LLIANT, _s._ a diamond of the finest cut

BRI'LLIANT, _a._ shining; sparkling; full of lustre

BU'BBLE, _s._ a small bladder of water; anything which wants solidity
    and firmness

BU'LKY, _a._ of great size or stature

BU'LWARK, _s._ a fortification; a security

BUO'YANCY, _s._ the quality of floating

BU'RDENSOME, _a._ grievous

BU'RIAL, _s._ interment; the act of putting anything under earth or
    water

BU'RY, _v.a._ inter; put in the grave; conceal

BU'TTRESS, _s._ a prop; a wall built to support another



CA'DENCE, _s._ the fall of the voice; state of sinking, decline

CALA'MITY, _s._ misfortune; cause of misery; distress

CA'LCULATE, _v.a._ reckon; adjust

CAL'CULA'TION, _s._ a practice or manner of reckoning; a reckoning

CA'LEDO'NIANS, _s._ the ancient inhabitants of Scotland

CAMPA'IGN, _s._ a large, open, level tract of land; the time for which
    any army keeps the field

CA'NADA, _s._ a province of the British possessions in America

CANA'L, _s._ any course of water made by art; a passage through which
    any of the juices of the body flow

CANA'RY, _s._ an excellent singing-bird--so called from its native
    place, the Canary Islands

CA'NNIBAL, _s._ a savage that eats his fellow-men taken in war

CA'PABLE, _a._ susceptible; intelligent; qualified for; able to receive;
    capacious; able to understand

CAPA'CIOUS, _a._ wide; large

CAPA'CITY, _s._ power; ability; state; condition; character

CAPERCA'ILZIE, _s._ (pronounced _cap-per-kail-zeh_) cock of the wood

CA'PITAL, _s._ the upper part of a pillar; the chief city of a nation or
    kingdom

CA'PITAL, _a._ applied to letters--large, such as are written at the
    beginning or heads of books

CA'PTAIN, _s._ a chief commander

CA'PTIVE, _s._ a prisoner

CAPTI'VITY, _s._ imprisonment; subjection by the fate of war; bondage;
    slavery; servitude

CA'PTURE, _v.a._ take prisoner; bring into a condition of servitude

CA'RAVAN, _s._ a conveyance; a troop or body of merchants or pilgrims,
    as they travel in the East

CARE'ER, _s._ a course; full speed; course of action

CA'RGO, _s._ the lading of a ship

CARNI'VOROUS, _a._ flesh-eating

CA'ROB, _s._ a plant bearing a nutritious fruit so called

CA'RRIAGE, _s._ the act of carrying or transporting; vehicle; conduct

CA'RRION, _s._ the carcase of something not proper for food

CA'RRONA'DE, _s._ a short iron cannon

CA'RRY, _v.a._ convey from a place; transport; bring forward; bear

CAR'TILAGE, _s._ a smooth and solid body, softer than a bone, but harder
    than a ligament

CARTILA'GINOUS, _a._ consisting of cartilages

CA'RTRIDGE, _s._ a case of paper or parchment filled with gunpowder,
    used for greater expedition in loading

CASCA'DE, _s._ a cataract; a waterfall

CA'STELLATED, _a._ that which is turretted or built in the form of a
    castle

CATAMARA'N, _s._ a rude species of boat

CA'TARACT, _s._ a waterfall

CATA'STROPHE, _s._ a final event

CATHE'DRAL, _s._ the head church of a diocese

CA'VALRY, _s._ horse soldiery

CA'VERN, _s._ a hollow place in the ground

CA'VIL, _s._ a false or frivolous objection

CA'VITY, _s._ a hole; a hollow place

CE'DAR, _s._ a kind of tree; it is evergreen, and produces flowers

CE'LEBRATE, _v.a._ praise; commend; mention in a set or solemn manner

CELE'BRITY, _s._ transaction publicly splendid

CELE'RITY, _s._ quickness

CELE'STIAL, _a._ heavenly

CE'METERY, _s._ a place where the dead are deposited

CE'NTRE, _s._ the middle

CE'NTURY, _s._ a hundred years

CEREMO'NIOUS, _a._ full of ceremony

CE'REMONY, _s._ form in religion; form of civility

CE'RTAIN, _a._ sure; unquestionable; regular; particular kind

CHAO'TIC, _a._ confused

CHA'PTER, _s._ a division of a book; the place in which assemblies of
    the clergy are held

CHARACTERI'SE, _v.a._ to give a character of the particular quality of
    any man

CHARACTERI'STIC, _s._ that which constitutes the character

CHARACTERI'STICALLY, _ad._ constituting the character

CHA'RITY, _s._ kindness; love; good-will; relief given to the poor

CHA'TEAU, _s._ (pronounced _shat-oh_) a castle

CHA'TTER, _v.a._ make a noise by collision of the teeth; talk idly or
    carelessly

CHE'RUB, _s._ a celestial spirit, next in order to the seraphim

CHRI'STENDOM, _s._ the collective body of Christianity

CHRI'STIAN, _s._ a professor of the religion of Christ

CHRO'NICLE, _s._ a register of events in order of time; a history

CHRO'NICLER, _s._ a writer of chronicles; a historian

CHRONO'METER, _s._ an instrument for the exact measuring of time

CI'PHER, _s._ a figure, as 1, 2

CI'RCUIT, _s._ a circular band

CI'RCUIT, _s._ ring; round; stated journey repeated at intervals

CIRCU'MFERENCE, _s._ the space enclosed in a circle

CIRCUMSCRI'BE, _v.a._ enclose in certain lines or boundaries; bound;
    Limit

CI'RCUMSTANCE, _s._ something relative to a fact; incident; event

CI'STERN, _s._ a receptacle of water for domestic uses; reservoir

CI'STUS, _s._ rock-rose

CI'TADEL, _s._ a fortress; a place of defence

CI'TIZEN, _s._ a freeman of a city; townsman

CI'TY, _s._ a corporate town that hath a bishop

CI'VIL, _a._ political; not foreign; gentle; well bred; polite

CIVI'LITY, _s._ politeness; complaisance

CI'VILIZA'TION, _s._ civilising manners

CI'VILIZE, _v.a._ reclaim from savageness and brutality

CLA'MOUR, _s._ noise; tumult; disturbance

CLA'RION, _s._ a trumpet

CLI'MATE, _s._ a region, or tract of land, differing from another by the
    temperature of the air

CLU'STER, _s._ a bunch

CO'GNIZANCE, _s._ trial; a badge by which one is known

COLLE'CT, _v.a._ gather together; bring into one place; gain from
    observation

COLLO'QUIAL, _a._ that relates to common conversation

COLO'NIAL, _a._ that which relates to a colony

CO'LONIST, _s._ one that colonises; one that dwells in a colony

COLO'SSAL, _a._ of enormous magnitude; large

CO'LOUR, _s._ the appearance of bodies to the eye only; hue; appearance

CO'LUMN, _s._ a round pillar; a long file or row of troops; half a page,
    when divided into two equal parts by a line passing down the middle

COLU'MNAR, _a._ formed in columns

COMBINA'TION, _s._ a union; a joining together

CO'MFORTABLE, _a._ admitting comfort; dispensing comfort

COMMA'NDER, _s._ a general; chief; leader

COMMEMORA'TION, _s._ an act of public celebration

COMME'NCE, _v.a._ to begin

CO'MMERCE, _s._ intercourse; exchange of one thing for another; trade

COMME'RCIAL, _a._ that which relates to commerce

CO'MMINUTE, _v.a._ to grind; to pulverise

COMMO'DITY, _s._ wares; merchandise

COMMONWE'ALTH, _s._ a polity; an established form of civilized life;
    public; republic

COMMU'NICATE, _v.a._ impart knowledge; reveal

COMMU'NITY, _s._ the commonwealth; the body politic; common possession

COMPA'NION, _s._ a partner; an associate

CO'MPANY, _s._ persons assembled together; a band; a subdivision of a
    regiment of foot

CO'MPARABLE, _a._ capable of being compared; of equal regard

COMPA'RE, _v.n._ make one thing the measure of another; find a likeness
    of one thing with another

COMPA'RISON, _s._ the act of comparing; state of being compared;
    comparative estimate

COMPE'TE, _v.a._ to vie; to contend; to strive; to endeavour to outstrip

COMPLA'INT, _s._ representation of pains or injuries; malady;
    remonstrance against

COMPLAI'SANCE, _s._ civility; desire of pleasing

COMPLE'TION, _s._ accomplishment; act of fulfilling

COMPLI'ANCE, _s._ the act of yielding to any design or demand

CO'MPLICATE, _v.a._ to render difficult and incomprehendable; to join
    one with another

COMPOSI'TION, _s._ a mass formed by mingling different ingredients;
    written work

COMPREHE'ND, _v.a._ comprise; include; conceive; understand

CONCE'AL, _v.a._ hide; keep secret; cover

CONCE'IT, _s._ vain pride

CONCE'NTRIC, _a._ having one common centre

CONCE'PTION, _s._ the act of conceiving; state of being conceived;
    notion; sentiment

CONCE'SSION, _s._ the act of granting or yielding

CONCI'LIATE, _v.a._ to gain; to win; to reconcile

CONCI'SE, _a._ short; brief; not longer than is really needful

CONCO'CT, _v.a._ to devise

CO'NCORD, _s._ agreement between persons or things; peace; union; a
    compact

CONCU'SSION, _s._ the state of being shaken

CONDE'NSE, _v.n._ to grow close and weighty

CONDI'TION, _s._ rank; property; state

CO'NDOR, _s._ a monstrous bird in America

CONDU'CT, _v.a._ lend; accompany; manage

CONE, _s._ a solid body, of which the base is circular, but which ends
    in a point

CONFE'R, _v.a._ compare; give; bestow; contribute; conduce

CO'NFERENCE, _s._ formal discourse; an appointed meeting for discussing
    some point by personal debate

CONFE'SS, _v.a._ acknowledge a crime; own; avow; grant

CONFI'NEMENT, _s._ imprisonment; restraint of liberty

CO'NFLUENCE, _s._ the joining together of rivers; a concourse; the act
    of joining together

CONFORMA'TION, _s._ the form of things as relating to each other; the
    act of producing suitableness or conformity to anything

CONFO'RMITY, _s._ similitude; consistency

CONGE'NER, _s._ a thing of the same kind or nature

CONGE'NIAL, _a._ partaking of the same genius

CONGLO'MERATE, _v.a._ to gather into a ball, like a ball of thread

CO'NICAL, _a._ in the shape of a cone

CONJE'CTURE, _s._ guess; imperfect knowledge; idea

CONNEC'TION, _s._ union

CO'NQUER, _v.a._ gain by conquest; win; subdue

CO'NQUEROR, _s._ a victor; one that conquers

CO'NQUEST, _s._ a victory

CO'NSCIENCE, _s._ the faculty by which we judge of the goodness or
    wickedness of ourselves

CO'NSCIOUS, _a._ endowed with the power of knowing one's own thoughts
    and actions; bearing witness by the dictates of conscience to
    anything

CONSCRI'PTION, _s._ an enrolling or registering

CO'NSECRATE, _v.a._ to make sacred; to canonize

CO'NSEQUENCE, _s._ that which follows from any cause or principle;
    effect of a cause

CO'NSEQUENT, _a._ following by rational deduction; following as the
    effect of a cause

CONSI'DERABLE, _a._ worthy of consideration; important; valuable

CONSI'ST, _v.n._ subsist; be composed; be comprised

CONSI'STENCE, _s._ state with respect to material existence; degree of
    denseness or rarity

CONSI'STENCY, _s._ adhesion; agreement with itself or with any other
    thing

CONSPI'CUOUS, _a._ obvious to the sight

CO'NSTANT, _a._ firm; fixed; certain; unvaried

CONSTELLA'TION, _s._ a cluster of fixed stars; an assemblage of
    splendours

CONSTERNA'TION, _s._ astonishment; amazement; wonder

CO'NSTITUTE, _v.a._ give formal existence; produce; erect; appoint
    another in an office

CONSTRU'CT, _v.a._ build; form; compile

CONSTRU'CTION, _s._ the act of building; structure; form of building

CONSTR'UCTIVE, _a._ by construction

CONSU'MPTION, _s._ the act of consuming; waste; a disease; a waste of
    muscular flesh

CO'NTACT, _s._ touch; close union

CONTA'GIOUS, _a._ infectious; caught by approach

CONTA'IN, _v.a._ hold; comprehend; restrain

CONTE'MPLATE, _v.a._ study; meditate; muse; think studiously with long
    attention

CONTEMPLA'TION, _s._ meditation; studious thought

CONTE'MPLATIVE, _a._ given to thought or study

CONTE'MPORARY, _s._ one who lives at the same time with another

CONTE'MPTIBLE, _a._ worthy of contempt, of scorn; neglected; despicable

CO'NTEST, _s._ dispute; difference; debate

CONTE'ST, _v.a._ to strive; to vie; to contend

CONTI'GUOUS, _a._ meeting so as to touch

CO'NTINENT, _s._ land not disjoined by the sea from other lands; that
    which contains anything; one of the quarters of the globe

CONTI'NGENCY, _s._ accidental possibility

CONTI'NUE, _v.n._ remain in the same state; last; persevere

CONTRA'CT, _v.a._ to shrink up; to grow short; to bargain

CO'NTRARY, _a._ opposite; contradictory; adverse

CONTRI'VANCE, _s._ the act of contriving; scheme; plan; plot

CONVE'NIENCE, _s._ fitness; ease; cause of ease

CONVE'NIENT, _a._ fit; suitable; proper; well adapted

CO'NVENT, _s._ an assembly of religious persons; a monastery; a nunnery

CO'NVERSE, _s._ conversation; acquaintance; familiarity

CONVE'RSION, _s._ change from one state to another

CONVE'RT, _v.a._ change into another substance; change from one religion
    to another; turn from a bad to a good life; apply to any use

CONVE'Y, _v.a._ carry; transport from one place to another; bring;
    transfer

CONVU'LSIVE, _a._ that gives twitches or spasms

CO'PIOUS, _a._ plentiful; abundant

CO'PPICE, _s._ a low wood; a place overrun with brushwood

CO'RDIAL, _a._ reviving; hearty; sincere

CORONA'TION, _s._ the act of crowning a King

CORPORA'TION, _s._ a body politic, constituted by Royal charter

CORPO'REAL, _a._ having a body; material; not spiritual

CORRE'CT, _v.a._ punish; discipline; remark faults; take away fault

CORRESPONDENCE, _s._ intercourse; relation; friendship

CO'UNCILLOR, _s._ one that gives counsel

COU'NTENANCE, _s._ the form of the face; air; look; calmness of look;
    patronage

CO'UNTRY, _s._ a tract of land; a region; rural parts

CO'URAGE, _s._ bravery; boldness

CO'VERING, _s._ dress; anything spread over another

CRA'FTY, _a._ cunning; knowing; scheming; politic

CRA'TER, _s._ the bowl, opening, or funnel of a volcano

CREA'TION, _s._ the act of creating; universe

CREA'TOR, _s._ the Divine Being that created all things

CRE'ATURE, _s._ a being created; a general term for man

CRE'VICE, _s._ a crack; a cleft; a narrow opening

CRI'MINAL, _s._ a man accused; a man guilty of a crime

CRI'MINA'LITY, _s._ the act of being guilty of a crime

CRI'TIC, _s._ a judge; otherwise a censurer

CRI'TICAL, _a._ relating to criticism

CRO'CODILE, _s._ an amphibious voracious animal, in shape like a lizard

CROO'KED, _a._ bent; winding; perverse

CRU'ELTY, _s._ inhumanity; savageness; act of intentional affliction

CRU'SADE, _s._ an expedition against the infidels; a holy war

CRY'STAL, _s._ crystals are hard, pellucid, and naturally colourless
    bodies, of regular angular figures

CU'LPABLE, _a._ criminal; guilty; blamable

CU'LTIVATE, _v.a._ forward or improve the product of the earth by manual
    industry; improve

CULTIVA'TION, _s._ improvement in general

CU'POLA, _s._ a dome

CU'RFEW, _s._ an evening peal, by which the Conqueror willed that every
    man should rake up his fire and put out his light

CURIO'SITY, _s._ inquisitiveness; nice experiment; an object of
    curiosity; rarity

CU'RIOUS, _a._ inquisitive; desirous of information; difficult to
    please; diligent about; elegant; neat; artful

CU'RRENT, _a._ passing from hand to hand; authoritative; common; what is
    now passing

CU'STOM, _s._ habit; fashion; practice of buying of certain persons

CY'MBAL, _s._ a kind of musical instrument

CY'PRESS, _s._ a tall straight tree. It is the emblem of mourning



DALMA'TIA, _s._ a province of Austria

DALMA'TIAN, _a._ belonging to Dalmatia

DA'MAGE, _s._ mischief; hurt; loss

DA'NGER, _s._ risk; hazard; peril

DA'NGEROUS, _a._ hazardous; perilous

DA'STARDLY, _ad._ cowardly; mean; timorous

DA'UNTED, _a._ discouraged

DECE'PTION, _s._ the act or means of deceiving; cheat; fraud; the state
    of being deceived

DECLI'NE, _v.a._ shun; avoid; refuse; bring down

DE'CORATE, _v.a._ adorn; embellish; beautify

DECORA'TION, _s._ ornament; added beauty

DE'DICATE, _v.a._ to inscribe

DEFA'CE, _v.a._ destroy; raze; ruin; disfigure

DEFE'CTIVE, _a._ wanting the just quantity; full of defects; imperfect;
    faulty

DEFE'NCE, _s._ guard; protection; resistance

DEFI'CIENCY, _s._ want; something less than is necessary; imperfection

DEGE'NERACY, _s._ departure from the virtue of our ancestors

DEGE'NERATE, _a._ unworthy; base

DE'ITY, _s._ divinity; the nature and essence of God; fabulous Rod; the
    supposed divinity of a heathen god

DE'LICACY, _s._ daintiness; softness; feminine beauty; nicety; gentle
    treatment; smallness

DE'LICATE, _s._ fine; soft; pure; clear; unable to bear hardships;
    effeminate

DELI'CIOUS, _a._ sweet; delicate; agreeable

DELI'GHT, _v.a._ please; content; satisfy

DELI'NEATE, _v.a._ to paint; to represent; to describe

DELI'VER, _v.a._ set free; release; give; save; surrender

DE'LUGE, _v.a._ flood

DE'LUGE, _v.a._ drown; lay totally under water; overwhelm; cause to sink

DEME'ANOUR, _s._ carriage; behaviour

DEMO'LISH, _v.a._ raze; destroy; swallow up

DEMONSTRA'TION, _s._ the highest degree of argumental evidence

DENO'MINATE, _v.a._ to name anything

DEPA'RTMENT, _s._ separate allotment; province or business assigned to a
    particular person

DEPO'RTMENT, _s._ carriage; bearing

DEPO'SIT, _s._ a pledge; anything given as a security

DEPO'SIT, _v.a._ lay up; lay aside

DEPRA'VITY, _s._ corruption

DE'PREDA'TION, _s._ a robbing; a spoiling; waste

DEPRI'VE, _v.a._ bereave one of a thing; hinder; debar from

DE'RVISE, _s._ a Turkish priest

DESCE'NDANT, _s._ the offspring of an ancestor

DESCRI'BE, _v.a._ mark out; define

DESCRI'PTION, _s._ the sentence or passage in which anything is
    described

DESCRY', _v.a._ give notice of anything suddenly discovered; detect;
    discover

DE'SERT, _s._ a wilderness; solitude; waste country

DESE'RVE, _v.a._ be entitled to reward or punishment

DESI'GN, _s._ an intention; a purpose; a scheme

DESIGNA'TION, _s._ appointment; direction; intention to design

DESI'RE, _v.a._ wish; long for; intreat

DE'SOLATE, _a._ without inhabitants; solitary; laid waste

DESPA'TCH, _s._ to send away hastily; to do business quickly; to put to
    death

DE'SPERATE, _a._ without hope; rash; mad; furious

DE'SPICABLE, _a._ worthy of scorn; contemptible

DESPI'SE, _v.a._ scorn; condemn; slight; abhor

DE'SPOTISM, _s._ absolute power

DESTINA'TION, _s._ the place where it was our destiny to go; fate; doom

DE'STINE, _v.a._ doom; devote

DE'STINY, _s._ doom; fate

DE'STITUTE, _a._ forsaken; abject; in want of

DESTRO'Y, _v.a._ lay waste; make desolate; put an end to

DESTRU'CTION, _s._ the act of destroying; the state of being destroyed;
    ruin

DETA'CH, _v.a._ separate; disengage

DETA'CHMENT, _s._ a body of troops sent out from the main army

DETE'R, _v.a._ fright from anything

DETERMINA'TION, _s._ absolute direction to a certain end; the result of
    deliberation; judicial decision

DETE'RMINE, _v.a._ fix; settle; resolve; decide

DETE'STABLE, _a._ hateful; abominable; odious

DETRA'CTION, _s._ the withdrawing or taking off from a thing

DETRU'DE, _v.a._ thrust down; force into a lower place

DEVASTA'TION, _s._ waste; havoc; desolation; destruction

DEVE'LOP, _v.a._ to disentangle; to disengage from something that
    enfolds and conceals

DEVIA'TION, _s._ the act of quitting the right way; wandering

DEVO'TE, _v.a._ dedicate; consecrate

DE'VOTEE, _s._ one erroneously or superstitiously religious; a bigot

DEVO'TION, _s._ piety; prayer; strong affection; power

DE'XTEROUS, _a._ subtle; full of expedients; expert; active; ready

DIABO'LICAL, _a._ devilish

DI'ADEM, _s._ the mark of Royalty worn on the head

DI'AL, _s._ a plate marked with lines, where a hand or shadow shows the
    hour

DI'ALECT, _s._ subdivision of a language; style; manner of expression

DI'ALOGUE, _s._ a discussion between two persons

DIA'METER, _s._ the straight line which, passing through the centre of a
    circle, divides it into two equal parts

DI'AMOND, _s._ the most valuable and hardest of all the gems; a
    brilliant

DI'FFER, _v.n._ be distinguished from; contend; be of a contrary opinion

DI'FFERENT, _a._ distinct; unlike; dissimilar

DIFFICULTY, _s._ hardness; something hard to accomplish; distress;
    perplexity in affairs

DI'GNITY, _s._ rank of elevation; grandeur of mien; high place

DILA'TE, _v n._ widen; grow wide; speak largely

DI'LIGENCE, _s._ industry; assiduity

DIMI'NISH, _v.a._ to make less

DIMI'NUTIVE, _a._ small; narrow; contracted

DIRE'CT, _v.a._ aim at a straight line; regulate; order; command;
    adjust; mark out a certain course

DIRE'CTION, _s._ tendency of motion impressed by a certain impulse;
    order; command; prescription

DIRE'CTLY, _ad._ immediately; apparently; in a straight line

DISAGRE'EABLE, _a._ unpleasing; offensive

DISA'STROUS, _a._ calamitous

DISCI'PLE, _s._ a scholar; one that professes to receive instruction
    from another

DISCIPLINE, _s._ education; the art of cultivating the mind; a state of
    subjection

DISCONCE'RT, _v.a._ unsettle the mind; discompose

DISCOU'RAGE, _v.a._ depress; deprive of confidence

DISCO'VER, _v.a._ disclose; bring to light; find out

DISCO'VERY, _s._ the act of finding anything hidden

DISCRI'MINATION, _s._ the state of being distinguished from other
    persons or things; the mark of distinction

DISHO'NOUR, _s._ reproach; disgrace; ignominy

DISLO'DGE, _v.a._ to go to another place; to drive or remove from a
    place

DISMA'NTLE, _v.a._ strip; deprive of a dress; strip a town of its
    outworks; loose

DISMA'Y, _s._ fall of courage; desertion of mind

DISOBE'DIENCE, _s._ the act of disobeying; inattention to the words of
    those who have right to command

DISO'RDER, _s._ irregularity; tumult; sickness

DISPA'RAGEMENT, _s._ reproach; disgrace; indignity

DISPLA'Y, _v.a._ exhibit; talk without restraint

DISPOSI'TION, _s._ order; method; temper of mind

DISQUI'ETUDE, _s._ uneasiness

DI'SREGARD, _v.a._ to slight; to neglect

DI'SSIPATE, _v.a._ scatter every way; disperse; scatter the attention

DISSO'LVE, _v.n._ be melted; fall to nothing

DISTANCE, _s._ remoteness in place; retraction of kindness; reserve

DISTE'MPER, _s._ disease; malady; bad constitution of the mind

DISTI'NCTION, _s._ the act of discerning one as preferable to the other;
    note of difference; honourable note of superiority; discernment

DISTINCTLY, _ad._ not confusedly; plainly; clearly

DISTRE'SS, _s._ calamity; misery; misfortune

DISTRI'BUTE, _v.a._ to deal out; to dispensate

DI'STRICT, _s._ region; country; territory

DIVE'RGE, _v.n._ send various ways from one point

DIVE'RSIFY, _v.a._ make different from another

DIVE'RSION, _s._ the act of turning anything off from its course

DIVE'RSITY, _s._ difference; dissimilitude; unlikeness; variety

DIVI'DE, _v.a._ part one whole in different pieces; separate; deal out

DI'VIDEND, _s._ a share

DO'CILE, _a._ teachable; easily instructed; tractable

DOMA'IN, _s._ dominion; possession; estate; empire

DOME'STIC, _a._ belonging to the house; private

DOME'STICATE, _v.a._ make domestic; withdraw from the public

DOMI'NION, _s._ sovereign authority; power; territory

DO'RSAL, _a._ pertaining to the back

DO'UBLE, _a._ two of a sort; in pairs; twice as much

DRAMA'TIC, _a._ representable by action

DRA'MATIST, _s._ author of dramatic compositions

DRAW'INGROOM, _s._ a room to which company withdraw--originally
    withdrawing-room

DRE'ADFUL, _a._ terrible; frightful

DRE'ARINESS, _s._ gloominess; sorrowfulness

DRE'ARY, _a._ sorrowful; gloomy; dismal; horrid

DU'CAT, _s._ a coin struck by Dukes; in silver valued at about four
    shillings and sixpence, in gold at nine shillings and sixpence

DURA'TION, _s._ power of continuance; length of continuance

DU'RING, _prep._ for the time of the continuance


EA'RLY, _ad._ soon; betimes

EA'RTHQUAKE, _s._ tremour or convulsion of the earth

EA'STERN, _a._ belonging to the east; lying to the east; oriental

EA'SY, _a._ not difficult; ready; contented; at rest

ECLI'PSE, _s._ an obscuration of the heavenly luminaries; darkness;
    obscuration

ECO'NOMY, _s._ frugality; discretion of expense; system of matter

E'DIFICE, _s._ a fabric; a building

EDI'TION, _s._ publication of anything, particularly of a book

EDUCA'TION, _s._ formation of manners in youth

EFFE'CT, _s._ that which is produced by an operating cause; success;
    purpose; meaning; consequence

EFFE'CTUAL, _a._ productive of effects; expressive of facts

EFFE'MINACY, _s._ softness; unmanly delicacy

E'FFLUENCE, _s._ what issues from some other principle

E'FFULGENCE, _s._ lustre; brightness; splendour

EFFU'SE, _v.a._ to pour out; to spill, to shed

EJA'CULATION, _s._ an exclamation

ELA'BORATE, _a._ finished with care

ELE'CTRIC, _a._ relating to electricity

    ELE'CTRO-MA'GNETISM, _s._ a branch of electrical science

E'LEGANCE, _s._ beauty, rather soothing than striking; beauty without
    grandeur

E'LEGY, _s._ a mournful song; short poem without points or turns

E'LEPHANT, _s._ a large quadruped

E'LEVA'TED, _a._ exalted; raised up; progressed in rank

ELEVA'TION, _s._ the act of raising up aloft; exaltation

ELOCU'TION, _s._ the power of fluent speech; the power of expression;
    eloquence; flow of language

E'LOQUENCE, _s._ the power or speaking with fluency and elegance

ELU'DE, _v.a._ to mock by unexpected escape

E'MANATE, _v.a._ to issue; to flow from something else

EMBA'LM, _v.a._ impregnate a body with aromatics, that it may resist
    putrefaction

EMBA'RK, _v.n._ to go on board a ship; to engage in any affair

EMBROI'DERY, _s._ variegated work; figures raised upon a ground

E'MERALD, _s._ a precious stone of a green colour

EME'RGE, _v.n._ to issue; to proceed; to rise

EME'RGENCY, _s._ the act of rising into view; any sudden occasion;
    pressing necessity

E'MINENCE, _s._ loftiness; height; summit; distinction

E'MINENT, _a._ celebrated; renowned

EMI'T, _v.a._ to send forth; to let fly; to dart

EMO'LUMENT, _s._ profit; advantage

E'MPEROR, _s._ a monarch of title and dignity superior to a king

EMPLO'Y, _v.a._ busy; keep at work; use as materials; trust with the
    management of any affairs; use as means

E'MULATE, _v.a._ to vie

EMULA'TION, _s._ rivalry; desire of superiority

ENA'BLE, _v.a._ make able; confer power

ENCA'MPMENT, _s._ the act of encamping or pitching tents; a camp

ENCHA'NTMENT, _s._ magical charms; spells; irresistible influence

ENCI'RCLING, _a._ environing; surrounding

ENCLO'SE, _v.a._ part from things or grounds common by a fence;
    surround; encompass

ENCOU'NTER, _v.a._ meet face to face; attack

ENCRO'ACHMENT, _s._ an unlawful gathering in upon another man; advance
    into the territories or rights of another

ENDA'NGER, _v.a._ put in hazard; incur the danger of

ENDU'RANCE, _s._ continuance; lastingness; delay

E'NEMY, _s._ foe; antagonist; any one who regards another with
    malevolence

ENERGE'TIC, _a._ operative; active; vigorous

E'NERGY, _s._ activity; quickness; vigour

ENGA'GE, _v.a._ employ; stake; unite; enlist; induce; fight

ENGINE'ER, _s._ one who manages engines; one who directs the artillery
    of an army

ENGRA'VER, _s._ a cutter in wood or other matter

ENGRA'VING, _s._ the work of an engraver

ENGRO'SS, _v.a._ thicken; increase in bulk; fatten; to copy in a large
    hand

ENJO'Y, _v.a._ feel or perceive with pleasure; please; delight

ENLA'RGEMENT, _s._ increase; copious discourse

ENNO'BLE, _v.a._ to dignify; to exalt; to make famous

ENO'RMOUS, _a._ wicked beyond the common measure; exceeding in bulk the
    common measure

ENQUI'RY, _s._ interrogation; examination; search

ENRA'GE, _v.a._ irritate; make furious

ENSNA'RE, _v.a._ entrap; entangle in difficulties or perplexities

E'NTERPRISE, _s._ an undertaking of hazard; an arduous attempt

E'NTERPRISING, _a._ fond of enterprise

ENTHU'SIASM, _s._ a vain belief of private revelation; beat of
    imagination; elevation of fancy

E'NTRAILS, _s._ the intestines; internal parts

ENU'MERATE, _v.a._ reckon up singly; number

ENVE'LOPEMENT, _s._ covering; inwrapment

E'PIC, _a._ narrative

EPI'STLE, _s._ a letter

EPI'STOLARY, _a._ transacted by letters; relating to letters

E'QUAL, _a._ even; uniform; in just proportion

EQUITY, _s._ justice; impartiality

ERE'CT, _a._ upright; bold; confident

ERE'CT, _v.a._ raise; build; elevate; settle

E'RMINE, _s._ an animal found in cold countries, of which the fur is
    valuable, and used for the adornment of the person. A fur worn by
    judges in England

ERRO'NEOUS, _a._ wrong; unfounded; false; misled by error

ERU'PTION, _s._ the act of bursting out; sudden excursion of a hostile
    kind

ESCO'RT, _v.a._ convoy; guard from place to place

ESPE'CIAL, _a._ principal; chief

ESPE'CIALLY, _ad._ principally; chiefly; in an uncommon degree

ESPLANA'DE, _s._ the empty space between a citadel and the outskirts of
    a town

ESSE'NTIAL, _a._ necessary to the constitution or existence of anything;
    important in the highest degree

ESTA'BLISHMENT, _s._ settlement; fixed state

ESTRA'NGE, _v.a._ keep at a distance; withdraw

ETE'RNAL, _a._ without beginning or end; perpetual; unchanging

ETE'RNALLY, _ad._ incessantly; for evermore

ETE'RNITY, _s._ duration without beginning or end

ETHE'REAL, _a._ belonging to the higher regions

EVA'PORATE, _v.a._ to drive away in fumes

E'VENING, _s._ the close of the day; beginning of night

EVE'NTUALLY, _ad._ in the event; in the last result

E'VIDENT, _a._ plain; notorious

EXA'CT, _a._ nice; not deviating from rule; careful

EXA'MINE, _v.a._ search into; make inquiry into

EXA'MPLE, _s._ copy or pattern

E'XCAVATE, _v.a._ hollow; cut into hollows

EXCE'L, _v.a._ to outgo in good qualities; to surpass

E'XCELLENCE, _s._ the state of abounding in any good quality; dignity;
    goodness

E'XCELLENT, _a._ eminent in any good quality; of great value

EXCE'PT, _prep._ exclusively of; unless

EXCE'SSIVE, _a._ beyond the common proportion

EXCI'TE, _v.a._ rouse; animate

EXCLU'DE, _v.a._ shut out; debar

EXCLU'SIVE, _a._ having the power of excluding or denying admission

EXCRU'CIATE, _v.a._ torture; torment

EXCU'RSION, _s._ an expedition into some distant part

EXCU'RSIVE, _a._ rambling; deviating

EXECU'TION, _s._ performance; practice; slaughter

EXE'MPLARY, _a._ such as may give warning to others; such as may attract
    notice and imitation

E'XERCISE, _s._ labour of the mind or body

EXE'RTION, _s._ the act of exerting; effort

EXHI'BIT, _v.a._ to offer to view; show; display

EXHIBI'TION, _s._ the act of exhibiting; display

EXHI'LARATE, _v.a._ make cheerful; cheer; enliven

EXI'STENCE, _s._ state of being

EXPA'ND, _v.a._ to spread; to extend on all sides

EXPA'NSE, _s._ a body widely extended without inequalities

EXPE'DIENT, _s._ that which helps forward as means to an end

EXPEDI'TION, _s._ an excursion

EXPE'L, _v.a._ drive away; banish; eject

EXPE'RIENCE, _s._ knowledge gained by practice

EXPE'RIENCED, _a._ wise by long practice

EXPE'RIMENT, _s._ a trial of anything

EXPI'RE, _v.a._ breathe out; close; bring to an end

EXPLO'SION, _s._ an outburst; a sudden crash

EXPO'RT, _v.a._ carry out of a country

EXPO'SE, _v.a._ lay open; make bare; put in danger

EXPRE'SSION, _s._ the form of language in which any thoughts are
    uttered; the act of squeezing out anything

E'XQUISITE, _a._ excellent; consummate; complete

EXTE'MPORE, _ad._ without premeditation; suddenly

EXTE'ND, _v.a._ stretch out; diffuse; impart

EXTE'NSIVE, _a._ large; wide; comprehensive

EXTE'RIOR, _a._ outward; external

EXTE'RNAL, _a._ outward

EXTI'NGUISH, _v.a._ put out; destroy; obscure

EXTI'RPATE, _v.a._ root out; eradicate

E'XTRACT, _s._ the chief parts drawn from anything

EXTRAO'RDINARY, _a._ different from common order and method; eminent;
    remarkable

EXTRA'VAGANT, _a._ wasteful; not saving; otherwise, improbable, false

EXTRE'MELY, _ad._ greatly; very much; in the utmost degree

EXTRE'MITY, _s._ the utmost point; highest degree; parts at the greatest
    distance



FACI'LITY, _s._ ease; dexterity; affability

FA'CTORY, _s._ a house or district inhabited by traders in a distant
    country; traders embodied in one place

FA'CULTY, _s._ the power of doing anything; ability

FAMI'LIAR, _a._ domestic; free; well known; common; unceremonious

FAMI'LIARITY, _s._ easiness of conversation; acquaintance

FA'MILY, _s._ those who live in the same house; household; race; clans

FA'MOUS, _a._ renowned; celebrated

FANA'TICISM, _s._ madness; frenzy; insanity

FANTA'STIC, _a._ whimsical; fanciful; imaginary

FA'RTHER, _ad._ at a greater distance; beyond this

FA'SHION, _v.a._ form; mould; figure; make according to the rule
    prescribed by custom

FA'TAL, _a._ deadly; mortal; appointed by destiny

FATI'GUE, _s._ weariness

FATI'GUE, _v.a._ tire; weary

FAUN, _s._ a kind of rural deity

FA'VOURITE, _s._ a person or thing beloved; one regarded with favour

FE'ATHER, _s._ plume of birds

FE'ATURE, _s._ the cast or make of the face; any lineament or single
    part of the face

FE'ELING, _s._ the sense of touch; sensibility; tenderness; perception

FERMENTA'TION, _s._ a slow motion of the particles of a mixed body,
    arising usually from the operation of some active acid matter; as
    when leaven or yeast ferments bread or wort

FERO'CITY, _s._ savageness; wildness; fierceness

FE'RTILE, _a._ fruitful; abundant; plenteous

FERTI'LITY, _s._ abundance; fruitfulness

FE'STAL, _a._ festive; joyous; gay

FE'STIVAL, _a._ time of feast; anniversary-day of civil or religious joy

FESTO'ON, _s._ In architecture, an ornament of carved work in the form
    of a wreath or garland of flowers or leaves twisted together

FEU'DAL, _a._ dependant; held by tenure

FI'BRE, _s._ a small thread or string

FI'CTION, _s._ a fanciful invention; a probable or improbable invention;
    a falsehood; a lie

FIDE'LITY, _s._ honesty; faithful adherence

FI'GURE, _s._ shape; person; stature; the form of anything as terminated
    by the outline

FI'LIAL, _a._ pertaining to a son; befitting a son; becoming the
    relation of a son

FI'RMAMENT, _s._ sky; heavens

FLA'GON, _s._ a vessel with a narrow mouth

FLA'MBEAU, _s._ (pronounced _flam-bo_) a lighted torch

FLA'VOUR, _s._ power of pleasing the taste; odour

    FLEUR-DE-LIS, _s._ (French for a lily, pronounced _flúr-de-lee_) a
    term applied in architecture and heraldry

FLE'XIBLE, _a._ capable of being bent; pliant; not brittle; complying:
    obsequious; ductile; manageable

FLOAT, _v.n._ to swim on the surface of water; to move without labour in
    a fluid; to pass with a light irregular course; _v.a._ to cover with
    water

FLO'RIDNESS, _s._ freshness of colour

FLO'URISH, _v.a._ and _v.n._ yield; prosper; wield; adorn

FLU'CTUATE, _v.n._ roll to and again, as water in agitation; be in an
    uncertain state

FLU'ID, _a._ anything not solid

FLU'TTER, _v.n._ move irregularly; take short flights with great
    agitation of the wines

FO'LIAGE, _s._ leaves; tuft of leaves

FO'LLOWING, _a._ coming after another

FOME'NT, _v.a._ cherish with heat; encourage

FO'REFATHER, _s._ ancestor

FO'REIGN, _a._ not in this country; not domestic; remote; not belonging
    to

FO'REPART, _s._ anterior part

FO'REST, _s._ a wild uncultivated tract of ground, with wood

FO'RMER, _a._ before another in time; the first of two

FO'RMIDABLE, _a._ terrible; dreadful; tremendous

FORTIFICA'TION, _s._ the science of military architecture; a place built
    for strength

FO'RTITUDE, _s._ courage; bravery; strength

FO'RWARD, _v.a._ hasten; quicken; advance

FO'RWARD, _a._ warm; earnest; quick; ready

FO'RWARD, _ad._ onward; straight before

FO'RWARDNESS, _s._ eagerness; ardour; quickness; confidence

FOSSE, _s._ a ditch; a moat

FOUNDA'TION, _s._ the basis or lower parts of an edifice; the act of
    fixing the basis; original; rise

FRA'GMENT, _s._ a part broken from the whole; an imperfect piece

FRA'NTIC, _a._ mad; deprived of understanding

FREE'STONE, _s._ stone commonly used in building, so called because it
    can be cut freely in all directions

FREIGHT, _s._ anything with which a ship is loaded; the money due for
    transportation of goods

FRE'QUENT, _a._ often done; often seen; often occurring

FRE'SCO, _s._ coolness; shade; duskiness; a picture not drawn in glaring
    light, but in dusk

FRI'CTION, _s._ the act of rubbing two bodies together

FRI'VOLOUS, _a._ trifling; wasteful; dawdling

FRO'NTIER, _s._ the limit; the utmost verge of any territory

FU'RNACE, _s._ a large fire

FU'RNISH, _v.a._ supply with what is necessary; fit up; equip; decorate



GA'BLE, _s._ the sloping roof of a building

GA'LAXY, _s._ the Milky Way

GA'LLANT, _a._ brave; daring; noble

G'ALLEY, _a._ a vessel used in the Mediterranean

GA'RDEN, _s._ piece of ground enclosed and cultivated

GA'RMENT, _s._ anything by which the body is covered

GA'RRISON, _s._ fortified place, stored with soldiers

GAUGE, _s._ a measure; a standard

GENEA'LOGY, _s._ history of the succession of families

GE'NERAL, _a._ common; usual; extensive, though not universal; public

GENERA'TION, _s._ a family; a race; an age

GE'NEROUS, _a._ noble of mind; magnanimous; open of heart

GE'NIAL, _a._ that gives cheerfulness, or supports life; natural; native

GE'NTLE, _a._ soft; mild; tame; meek; peaceable

GEOGRA'PHICAL, _a._ that which relates to geography

GEO'GRAPHY, _s._ knowledge of the earth

GE'STURE, _s._ action or posture expressive of sentiment

GI'ANT, _s._ a man of size above the ordinary rate of men; a man
    unnaturally large

GIGA'NTIC, _a._ suitable to a giant; enormous

GLA'CIER, _s._ a mountain of ice

GLA'NDULAR, _a._ having glands

GLI'STER, _v.n._ shine; to be bright

GLO'BULE, _s._ a small particle of matter of a round figure, as the red
    particles of the blood

GLO'RIOUS, _a._ noble; excellent; illustrious

GLO'SSY, _a._ shiny; smoothly polished

GO'RGEOUS, _a._ fine; magnificent; gaudy; showy

GO'SLING, _s._ a young goose; a catkin on nut-trees and pines

GO'SSAMER, _s._ the web of a male spider

GOUT, _s._ a disease attended with great pain

GO'VERNOR, _s._ one who has the supreme direction; a tutor

GRADA'TION, _s._ regular progress from one degree to another; order;
    arrangement

GRA'DUALLY, _ad._ by degrees; step by step

GRA'NDEUR, _s._ splendour of appearance; magnificence

GRANGE, _s._ a farm

GRATIFICA'TION, _s._ pleasure; something gratifying

GRA'TITUDE, _s._ duty to benefactors; desire to return benefits

GRA'VITY, _s._ weight; tendency to the centre; seriousness; solemnity

GROTE'SQUE, _a._ distorted of figure; unnatural

GUARD, _s._ part of the hilt of a sword; a man or body of men whose
    business is to watch

GUIDE, _s._ director; regulator



HABITATION, _s._ place of abode; dwelling

HABI'TUALLY, _ad._ customarily; by habit

HA'GGARD, _a._ deformed; ugly

HARA'NGUE, _v.n._ make a speech

HA'RMONIZE, _v.a._ to adjust in fit proportion

HARPO'ON, _s._ a bearded dart, with a line fastened to the handle, with
    which whales are struck and caught

HA'ZARDOUS, _a._ perilous, dangerous

HE'AVY, _a._ weighty; burdened; depressed

HE'RALDRY, _s._ the art or office of a herald; registers of genealogies

HE'RBAGE, _s._ grass; pasture; herbs collectively

HERBI'VOROUS, _a._ that eats herbs

HERE'DITARY, _a._ possessed or claimed by right of inheritance;
    descending by inheritance

HE'RETIC, _s._ one who propagates his private opinions in opposition to
    the Catholic Church

HE'YDAY, _s._ frolic; wildness

HI'DEOUS, _a._ frightful; ugly

HIPPOPO'TAMUS, _s._ a large animal--the river horse

HISTO'RIAN, _s._ a writer of facts and events

HISTO'RICAL, _a._ that which relates to history

HI'STORY, _s._ narration; the knowledge of facts and events

HO'LLOW, _a._ excavated; not solid; not sound

HO'NEY, _s._ a sweet substance produced by bees

HO'NOUR, _s._ dignity; fame; reputation; glory

HO'RIZON, _s._ the line that terminates the view

HO'SPITABLE, _a._ giving entertainment to strangers; kind to strangers

HO'TTENTO'T, _s._ a native of the south of Africa

HOWE'VER, _ad._ in whatsoever manner; at all events; happen what will;
    yet

HOWI'TZER, _s._ a kind of bomb

HU'MAN, _a._ having the qualities of a man; belonging to man

HUMA'NITY, _s._ the nature of man; benevolence

HU'MBLE, _a._ not proud; modest; low

HU'MID, _a._ wet; moist; watery

HUMI'LITY, _s._ freedom from pride; modesty

HU'NDRED, _s._ a company or body consisting of a hundred.

HU'RRICANE, _s._ a blast; a tempest

HYDRAU'LIC, _a._ relating to the conveyance of water through pipes

HY'DROGEN, _s._ a gas, one of the component parts of the atmosphere



I'CEBERG, _s._ a hill of ice; a moving island of ice

I'CICLE, _s._ a pendent shoot of ice

I'DOL, _s._ an image worshipped as God; one loved or honoured to
    adoration

IGNO'BLE, _a._ mean of birth; worthless

IGUA'NA, _s._ a reptile of the lizard species

ILLE'GAL, _a._ unlawful

ILLUMINA'TION, _s._ brightness; splendour

ILLU'MINATIVE, _a._ having the power to give light

ILLU'SION, _s._ mockery; false show

ILLU'STRATE, _v.a._ brighten with light; brighten with honour; explain;
    clear

ILLUSTRA'TION, _s._ explanation; example; exposition

ILLU'STRIOUS, _a._ conspicuous; noble; eminent

I'MAGE, _s._ a statue; a picture; an idol; a copy

IMA'GINARY, _a._ fanciful; poetical

IMAGINATION, _s._ fancy; conception; contrivance; scheme

I'MITATE, _v.a._ copy; counterfeit; resemble

IMMATE'RIAL, _a._ incorporeal; unimportant

IMMEA'SURABLE, _a._ immense; not to be measured

IMME'DIATELY, _ad._ without the intervention of any other cause or event

IMME'NSE, _a._ unlimited; unbounded; infinite

I'MMINENT, _a._ unavoidable; perilous

IMMO'RTALISE, _v.a._ to render immortal

IMMORTA'LITY, _s._ exemption from death; life never to end

IMPA'RT, _v.a._ grant; give; communicate

IMPA'RTIAL, _a._ indifferent; disinterested; just

IMPA'SSABLE, _a._ not to be passed; not admitting passage

IMPA'SSIBLE, _a._ incapable of suffering

IMPA'TIENT, _a._ not able to endure; hasty; eager

IMPERCE'PTIBLE, _a._ not to be discovered; not to be perceived; small

IMPERFE'CTION, _s._ defect; failure; fault

IMPE'RIAL, _a._ belonging to an emperor, king, or queen; regal;
    monarchical

IMPE'RIOUS, _a._ commanding; powerful

IMPE'TUOUS, _a._ violent; forcible; vehement

IMPLA'CABILITY, _s._ irreconcileable enmity

IMPLI'CITLY, _ad._ with unreserved confidence

IMPO'RT, _v.a._ carry into any country from abroad

IMPO'RTANCE, _s._ thing imported, or implied; consequence; matter

IMPO'RTANT, _a._ momentous; weighty; of great consequence; forcible

IMPO'SE, _v.a._ lay on as a burden or penalty; deceive; fix on

IMPO'SSIBLE, _a._ that which cannot be; that which cannot be done

IMPRE'GNABLE, _a._ invincible; unsubdueable

IMPRE'SSION, _s._ the act of pressing one body upon another; mark made
    by pressure; image fixed in the mind

IMPULSE, _s._ communicated love; the effect of one body upon another

IMPU'NITY, _s._ freedom from punishment; exemption from punishment

INABI'LITY, _s._ want of power; impotence

INACCE'SSIBLE, _a._ not to be reached or approached

INA'CTIVE, _a._ sluggish; slothful; not quick

INCA'LCULABLE, _a._ that which cannot be counted

INCAPA'CITATE, _v.a._ disable; weaken; disqualify

INCARNA'TION, _s._ the act of assuming body

INCE'NTIVE, _s._ that which kindles; that which provokes; that which
    encourages; spur

INCE'SSANT, _a._ unceasing; continual

I'NCIDENT, _s._ something happening beside the main design; casualty

INCLO'SURE, _s._ a place surrounded or fenced in

INCLU'DE, _v.a._ comprise; shut

INCONCE'IVABLE, _a._ incomprehensible

INCONSI'DERABLE, _a._ unworthy of notice; unimportant

INCONSI'STENT, _a._ contrary; absurd; incompatible

INCRE'DIBLE, _a._ surpassing belief; not to be credited

INCU'LCATE, _v.a._ impress by frequent admonitions

INCU'RSION, _s._ an expedition

INDENTA'TION, _s._ an indenture; having a wavy figure

I'NDICATE, _v.a._ show; point out

INDI'CTMENT, _s._ an accusation presented in a court of justice

INDIGNA'TION, _s._ wrath; anger

INDISCRI'MINATE, _a._ without choice; impartially

INDISPE'NSABLE, _a._ not to be spared; necessary

INDIVI'DUAL, _a._ single; numerically one; undivided; separate from
    others of the same species

INDU'CE, _v.a._ persuade; enforce; bring into view

INDU'LGENCE, _s._ fond kindness; tenderness; favour granted

INDU'STRIOUS, _a._ diligent; laborious

I'NDUSTRY, _s._ diligence; cheerful labour

INEQUA'LITY, _s._ difference of comparative quantity

INE'VITABLE, _a._ unavoidable

INEXHA'USTIBLE, _a._ not to be spent or consumed; incapable of being
    spent

INEXPRE'SSIBLE, _a._ not to be told; unutterable

I'NFANTRTY, _s._ a body of foot soldiers; foot soldiery

INFA'TUATE, _v.a._ to strike with folly; to deprive of understanding

INFE'RIOR, _a._ lower in place, station, or value

I'NFIDEL, _s._ an unbeliever; a Pagan; one who rejects Christianity

I'NFINITE, _a._ unbounded; unlimited; immense

INFINITE'SSIMAL, _a._ infinitely divided

INFI'NITY, _s._ immensity; endless number

INFI'RMITY, _s._ weakness of age or temper; weakness; malady

INFLA'TE, _v.a._ to swell; to make larger

INFLE'XIBLE, _a._ not to be bent; immoveable; not to be changed

INFLI'CT, _v.a._ to impose as a punishment

I'NFLUENCE, _s._ power of directing or modifying

INFLUE'NTIAL, _a._ exerting influence or power

INGE'NIOUS, _a._ witty; inventive

INGENU'ITY, _s._ wit; invention; genius; subtlety

INGLO'RIOUS, _a._ void of honour; mean; without glory

INGRA'TITUDE, _s._ unthankfulness

INHA'BITANT, _s._ dweller; one that lives in a place

INHE'RENT, _a._ existing in something else, so as to be inseparable from
    it; innate

INI'MITABLE, _a._ not able to be imitated; that which is incapable of
    imitation

INJU'RIOUS, _a._ hurtful; baneful; capable of injuring; that which
    injures; destructive

INJU'STICE, _s._ iniquity; wrong

INNU'MEROUS, _a._ innumerable; too many to be counted

INQUI'SITIVE, _a._ curious; busy in search; active to pry into
    everything

INSCRI'PTION, _s._ something written or engraved; title

I'NSECT, _s._ a small animal. Insects are so called from a separation in
    the middle of their bodies, whereby they are cut into two parts,
    which are joined together by a small ligature, as we see in wasps
    and common flies

INSE'NSIBLY, _ad._ imperceptibly; in such a manner as is not discovered
    by the senses

INSE'RT, _v.a._ place in or among other things

INSI'DIOUS, _a._ sly; diligent to entrap; treacherous

INSI'GNIA, _s._ ensigns; arms

INSIGNI'FICANT, _a._ unimportant

INSI'PID, _a._ tasteless; void of taste

INSIPI'DITY, _s._ want of taste; want of life or spirit

I'NSOLENCE, _s._ petulant contempt

INSPE'CT, _v.a._ to examine; to look over

INSPE'CTION, _s._ prying examination; superintendence

INSPIRA'TION, _s._ infusion of ideas into the mind by divine power; the
    act of drawing breath

INSTABI'LITY, _s._ inconstancy; fickleness

I'NSTANT, _a._ _instant_ is such a part of duration wherein we perceive
    no succession; present or current month

I'NSTANTLY, _ad._ immediately

I'NSTINCT, _s._ natural desire or aversion; natural tendency

INSTITU'TION, _s._ establishment; settlement; positive law

INSTRU'CT, _v.a._ teach; form by precept; form authoritatively; educate;
    model; form

INSTRU'CTION, _s._ the act of teaching; information

INSUFFI'CIENT, _a._ inadequate to any need, use, or purpose; unfit

INTE'GRITY, _s._ honesty; straightforwardness; uprightness

INTELLE'CTUAL, _a._ relating to the understanding; mental; transacted by
    the understanding

INTE'LLIGENCE, _s._ commerce of information; spirit; understanding

INTE'LLIGIBLE, _a._ possible to be understood

INTE'MPERANCE, _s._ the act of overdoing something

INTE'NSE, _a._ excessive; very great

INTE'R, _v.a._ cover under ground; to bury

INTERCE'PT, _v.a._ to hinder; to stop

I'NTERCOURSE, _s._ commerce; communication

I'NTEREST, _s._ concern; advantage; good; influence over others

INTERE'ST, _v.n._ affect; move; touch with passion

INTERLO'CUTOR, _s._ a dialogist; one that talks with another

INTERME'DIATE, _a._ intervening; interposed

INTE'RMINABLE, _a._ immense; without limits

INTE'RPRETER, _s._ one that interprets

INTERRU'PT, _v.a._ hinder the process of anything by breaking in upon it

INTERSE'CTION, _s._ point where lines cross each other

I'NTERSPACE, _s._ space between

INTERSPE'RSE, _v.a._ to scatter here and there among other things

INTERVE'NE, _v.n._ to come between

I'NTERVIEW, _s._ mutual sight; sight of each other

INTERWE'AVE, _v.a._ to intermingle; to mix one with another in a regular
    texture

I'NTIMATE, _a._ inmost; inward; near; familiar

INTONA'TION, _s._ the act of thundering

INTO'XICATE, _v.a._ to inebriate; to make drunk

I'NTRICATE, _a._ entangled; perplexed; obscure

INTRI'GUER, _s._ one that intrigues

INTRI'NSIC, _a._ inward; real; true

INTRODU'CTION, _s._ the act of bringing anything into notice or
    practice; the preface or part of a book containing previous matter

INTRU'DER, _s._ one who forces himself into company or affairs without
    right or welcome

INUNDA'TION, _s._ the overflow of waters; the flood; a confluence of any
    kind

INVA'LUABLE, _a._ precious above estimation

INVA'RIABLE, _a._ unchangeable; constant

INVESTIGATION, _s._ the act of investigating; the state of being
    investigated

INVI'NCIBLE, _a._ not capable of being conquered

INVI'SIBLE, _a._ not to be seen

I'RIS, _s._ the rainbow; the circle round the pupil of the eye

IRRA'DIATE, _v.a._ brighten; animate by heat or light; illuminate

IRRE'GULAR, _a._ deviating from rule, custom, or nature

I'RRIGATE, _v.a._ wet; moisten; water

I'RRITATE, _v.a._ provoke; tease; agitate

IRRITA'TION, _s._ provocation; stimulation

I'SLAND, _s._ a tract of land surrounded by water

I'SSUE, _v.a._ send forth

ITA'LIC, _s._ a letter in the Italian character



JA'VELIN, _s._ a spear; a dart; an implement of war

JE'ALOUSY, _s._ suspicion in love; suspicious fear; suspicious caution

JE'WEL, _s._ a precious stone; a teem

JO'CUND, _a._ merry; gay; lively

JO'URNEY, _s._ the travel of a day; passage from place to place

JO'YOUS, _a._ glad; gay; merry; giving joy

JUDI'CIOUS, _a._ prudent; wise; skilful

JU'GGLER, _s._ one who practises sleight of hand

JU'NCTION, _s._ union; coalition

JU'STIFY, _v.a._ clear from imputed guilt; maintain



KANGARO'O, _s._ an animal found in Australia

KE'RNEL, _s._ anything included in a husk; the seeds of pulpy fruits

KI'NGDOM, _s._ the territories subject to a monarch; a different class
    or order of beings, as the mineral kingdom; a region

KNI'GHTHOOD, _s._ the character or dignity of a knight

KNO'WLEDGE, _s._ information

KNU'CKLE, _s._ joints of the fingers, protuberant when the fingers close




LABU'RNUM, _s._ a kind of tree

LA'MENTABLE, _a._ deplorable

LAMENTA'TION, _s._ expression of sorrow; audible grief

LA'NCEOLATE, _a._ in a lance-like form

LA'NDSCAPE, _s._ the prospect of a country; a picture of the prospect of
    a country

LA'NGUAGE, _s._ human speech; style; manner of expression

LA'NGUOR, _s._ faintness; softness; inattention

LA'RVA, _s._ an insect in the caterpillar state

LA'TENT, _a._ concealed; invisible

LA'TERALLY, _ad._ by the side

LA'TITUDE, _s._ latent diffusion; a certain degree reckoned from the
    Equator

LA'TTER, _a._ lately done or past; mentioned last of two

LA'VA, _s._ molten substance projected from volcanoes

LE'AFLET, _s._ a small leaf

LE'GION, _s._ a body of Roman soldiers, consisting of about five
    thousand; military force; a great number

LE'NITY, _s._ mildness; gentleness

LENS, _s._ a glass spherically convex on both sides

LEVA'NT, _s._ east, particularly those coasts of the Mediterranean east
    of Italy

LEVI'ATHAN, _s._ a water-animal mentioned in the Book of Job

LI'ABLE, _a._ subject; not exempt

LI'BERAL, _a._ not mean; generous; bountiful

LI'BERATE, _v.a._ free from confinement

LI'BERTY, _s._ freedom, as opposed to slavery; privilege; permission

LICE'NTIOUSNESS, _s._ boundless liberty; contempt of just restraint

LI'CHEN, _s._ moss

LIEUTE'NANT, _s._ a deputy; in war, one who holds the next rank to a
    superior of any denomination

LI'GHTHOUSE, _s._ a house built either upon a rock or some other place
    of danger, with a light, in order to warn ships of danger

LI'NEAR, _a._ composed of lines; having the form of lines

LI'QUID, _a._ not solid; fluid; soft; clear

LI'QUOR, _s._ anything liquid; strong drink, in familiar language

LI'STEN, _v.a._ hear; attend

LI'TERALLY, _ad._ with close adherence to words

LI'TERARY, _a._ respecting letters; regarding learning

LI'TERATURE, _s._ learning; skill in letters

LI'TURGY, _s._ form of prayer

LOCA'LITY, _s._ existence in place

LOCOMO'TIVE, _a._ changing place; having the power of removing or
    changing place

LO'CUST, _s._ a devouring insect

LU'DICROUS, _a._ fantastic; laughable; whimsical

LU'MINARY, _a._ any body which gives light

LU'MINOUS, _a._ shining; enlightened

LU'NAR, _a._ that which relates to the moon

LU'PINE, _s._ a kind of pulse

LUXU'RIANT, _a._ superfluously plentiful



MACHINE, _s._ an engine; any complicated work in which one part
    contributes to the motion of another

MACHI'NERY, _s._ enginery; complicated workmanship

MAGAZI'NE, _s._ a storehouse

MA'GICAL, _a._ acted or performed by secret and invisible powers

MAGNANI'MITY, _s._ greatness of mind

MAGNA'NIMOUS, _a._ of great mind; of open heart

MAGNI'FICENT, _a._ grand in appearance; splendid; otherwise, pompous

MAJE'STIC, _a._ august; having dignity; grand

MAJO'RITY, _s._ the state of being greater; the greater number; the
    office of a major

MALE'VOLENCE, _s._ ill-will; inclination to hurt others

MA'LICE, _s._ hatred; enmity; desire of hurting

MALI'CIOUS, _a._ desirous of hurting; with wicked design

MALI'GNANT, _a._ envious; malicious; mischievous

MALI'GNITY, _s._ ill-will; enmity

MA'NDIBLE, _s._ a jaw

MA'NKIND, _s._ the race or species of human beings

MA'NNER, _s._ form; method; way; mode; sort

MANUFA'CTORY, _s._ a place where a manufacture is carried on

MANOEUVRE, _s._ a stratagem; a trick

MARA'UDER, _s._ a soldier that roves in quest of plunder

MA'RGIN, _s._ the brink; the edge

MA'RINER, _s._ a seaman

MA'RITIME, _a._ that which relates to the sea

MA'RSHAL, _v.a._ arrange; rank in order

MA'RTYR, _s._ one who by his death bears witness to the truth

MA'RVELLOUS, _a._ wonderful; strange; astonishing

MA'SONRY, _s._ the craft or performance of a mason

MA'SSACRE, _s._ butchery; murder

MA'SSIVE, _a._ heavy; weighty; ponderous; bulky; continuous

MA'STERPIECE, _s._ chief excellence

MATE'RIAL, _a._ consisting of matter; not spiritual; important

MATHEMA'TICS, _s._ that science which contemplates whatever is capable
    of being numbered or measured

MA'XIM, _s._ general principle; leading truth

ME'ASURE, _s._ that by which anything is measured; proportion; quantity;
    time; degree

MECHA'NIC, _s._ a workman

MECHA'NICAL, _a._ constructed by the laws of mechanics

ME'DAL, _s._ a piece of metal stamped in honour of some remarkable
    performance

MEDI'CINAL, _a._ having the power of healing; belonging to physic

MEDITA'TION, _s._ deep thought; contemplation

ME'DIUM, _s._ the centre point between two extremes

ME'LANCHOLY, _a._ gloomy; dismal; sorrowful

ME'LLOW, _a._ soft with ripeness; soft; unctuous

MELO'DIOUS, _a._ musical; harmonious

ME'MBRANE, _s._ a web of several sorts of fibres, interwoven for the
    wrapping up some parts; the fibres give them an elasticity, whereby
    they can contract and closely grasp the parts they contain

MEMBRA'NOUS, _a._ consisting of membranes

ME'MOIR, _s._ an account of anything

ME'MORABLE, _a._ worthy of memory; not to be forgotten

ME'MORY, _s._ the power of retaining or recollecting things past;
    recollection

MENA'GERIE, _s._ a place for keeping foreign birds and other curious
    animals

ME'NTION, _v.a._ to express in words or in writing

ME'RCHANDISE, _s._ commerce; traffic; wares; anything to be bought or
    sold

ME'RCHANTMAN, _s._ a ship of trade

META'LLIC, _a._ partaking of metal; consisting of metal

ME'TEOR, _s._ any body in the air or sky that is of a transitory nature

ME'TRICAL, _a._ pertaining to metre or numbers; consisting of verses

METROPO'LITAN, _a._ belonging to a metropolis

MI'CROSCOPE, _s._ an optical instrument, contrived to give to the eye a
    large appearance of many objects which could not otherwise be seen

MI'LITARY, _a._ engaged in the life of a soldier; soldierlike warlike;
    pertaining to war; affected by soldiers

MIND, _s._ intellectual capacity; memory; opinion

MI'NERAL, _s._ fossil body; something dug out of mines

MI'NSTER, _s._ a monastery; a cathedral church

MI'NSTRELSY, _s._ music; instrumental harmony

MINU'TE, _a._ small; little; slender

MI'RACLE, _s._ a wonder; something above human power

MIRA'CULOUS, _a._ done by miracle

MI'RROR, _s._ a looking-glass

MI'SERY, _s._ wretchedness; calamity; misfortune

MISFO'RTUNE, _s._ calamity; ill-luck

MI'SSILE, _s._ something thrown by the hand

MI'SSIONARY, _s._ one sent to propagate religion

MI'XTURE, _s._ the act of mixing; that which is added and mixed

MO'ATED, _a._ surrounded with canals by way of defence

MO'DERATE, _a._ temperate; not excessive

MODERA'TION, _s._ state of keeping a due mean between extremities

MO'DESTY, _s._ decency; purity of manners

MODULA'TION, _s._ the act of forming anything to certain proportion;
    harmony

MO'LTEN, _part. pass._ the state of being melted

MO'MENT, _s._ an individual particle of time; force; importance

MOME'NTUM, _s._ the quantity of motion in a moving body

MO'NARCH, _s._ a sovereign; a ruler; a king or queen

MO'NASTERY, _s._ a residence of monks

MO'NEY, _s._ metal coined for the purposes of commerce

MO'NKEY, _s._ an animal bearing some resemblance to man; a word of
    contempt, or slight kindness

MO'NUMENT, _s._ anything by which the memory of persons or things is
    preserved; a memorial; a tomb

MO'RALIST, _s._ one who teaches the duties of life

MORA'LITY, _s._ the doctrine of the duties of life

MO'RNING, _s._ the first part of the day

MO'RTAR, _s._ a cement for fixing bricks together; otherwise, a kind of
    cannon for firing bomb-shells; a kind of vessel in which anything is
    broken by a pestle

MO'RTIFY, _v.a._ destroy vital properties, or active powers; vex;
    humble; depict; corrupt; die away

MO'SLEM, _s._ a Mussulman; relating to the Mahometan form of religion

MOSQUE, _s._ a Mahometan temple

MO'TION, _s._ the act of changing place; action; agitation; proposal
    made

MO'ULDED, _v.n._ be turned to dust; perish in dust

MO'UNTAINOUS, _a._ hilly; full of mountains; huge

MO'VEABLE, _a._ capable of being moved; portable

MULETE'ER, _s._ mule-driver; horse-boy

MULTIPLI'CITY, _s._ more than one of the same kind; state of being many

MU'LTITUDE, _s._ a large crowd of people; a vast assembly

MU'RMUR, _v.n._ grumble; utter secret and sullen discontent

MU'SSULMAN, _s._ a Mahometan believer

MU'TILATE, _v.a._ deprive of some essential part

MU'TUALLY, _ad._ reciprocally; in return

MY'RIAD, _s._ the number of ten thousand; proverbially any great number



NA'RROW, _a._ not broad or wide; small; close; covetous; near

NA'TION, _s._ a people distinguished from another people

NA'TIVE, _a._ original; natural

NA'TIVE, _s._ one born in any place

NA'TURAL, _a._ produced or effected by nature; not forced; tender

NA'TURALIST, _s._ one who studies nature, more especially as regards
    inferior animals, plants, &c.

NA'TURE, _s._ constitution of an animated body; regular course of
    things; disposition of mind; native state or properties of anything;
    sort; species

NAU'TICAL, _a._ that which relates to a sailor

NA'VIGABLE, _a._ capable of being passed by ships or boats

NAVIGA'TOR, _s._ a sailor; seaman

NE'CESSARY, _a._ needful

NECE'SSITY, _s._ compulsion; want; need; poverty

NEGO'TIATION, _s._ treaty of business

NEI'GHBOURHOOD, _s._ vicinity; place adjoining

NE'ITHER, _pron._ not either; nor one nor other

NICHE, _s._ a hollow hi which a statue may be placed

NIDIFICA'TION, _s._ the act of building nests

NI'MBLY, _ad._ quickly; speedily; actively

NI'TROUS, _a._ impregnated with nitre

NOBI'LITY, _s._ high-mindedness; the highest class of people in
    civilized life

NO'BLE, _a._ magnificent; great; illustrious

NO'TICE, _s._ remark; heed; regard; information

NOTWITHSTA'NDING, _conj._ although; nevertheless

NO'XIOUS, _a._ hurtful; harmful; baneful; guilty

NU'MBER, _s._ many; more than one.

NU'MBERLESS, _a._ more than can be reckoned

NU'MEROUS, _a._ containing many; consisting of many

NU'TRIMENT, _s._ food



OBE'DIENCE, _s._ submission to authority

OBE'ISANCE, _s._ courtesy

O'BJECT, _s._ that about which any power or faculty is employed

OBJE'CTION, _s._ adverse argument; criminal charge; fault found; the act
    of opposing anything

OBLI'QUE, _a._ not direct; not parallel; not perpendicular

OBLI'VION, _s._ forgetfulness

OBNO'XIOUS, _a._ hateful; hurtful; injurious

OBSERVA'TION, _s._ the act of observing, noticing, or remarking; note;
    remark

OBSE'RVE, _v.a._ watch; regard attentively note; obey; follow

O'BSTINACY, _s._ stubbornness

OBSTRU'CT, _v.a._ block up; oppose; hinder

OCCA'SION, _s._ occurrence; casualty; incident; opportunity; convenience

OCCA'SION, _v.a._ cause; produce; influence

O'CCUPY, _v.a._ possess; keep; take up; employ; use

OFFE'NSIVE, _a._ displeasing; disgusting; injurious

O'FFER, _v.a._ present itself; be at hand; be present

O'FFER, _v.a._ propose; present; sacrifice

O'FFICE, _s._ a public charge or employment; agency; business

OLFA'CTORY, _a._ having the sense of smelling

O'LIVE, _s._ a plant producing oil; the fruit of the tree; the emblem of
    peace

O'MINOUS, _a._ exhibiting bad tokens of futurity

OMI'SSION, _s._ neglect of duty; neglect to do something

OMNI'POTENT, _s._ the Almighty

OMNIPRE'SENCE, _s._ unbounded presence

OMNI'SCIENCE, _s._ boundless knowledge; infinite wisdom

O'NSET, _s._ attack; storm; assault

O'PAL, _s._ a precious stone

O'PALINE, _a._ resembling opal

OPPORTU'NITY, _s._ convenience; suitableness of circumstances to any end

OPPRE'SS, _v.a._ crush by hardship or unreasonable severity; overpower;
    subdue

OPPRE'SSOR, _s._ one who harasses others with unreasonable or unjust
    severity

O'PTICAL, _a._ relating to the science of optics

O'PTICS, _s._ the science of the nature and laws of vision

O'PULENT, _a._ rich

O'RACLE, _s._ something delivered by supernatural wisdom; the place
    where, or persons of whom, the determinations of heaven are inquired

O'RAL, _a._ delivered by mouth; not written

O'RATOR, _s._ a public speaker; a man of eloquence

O'RBIT, _s._ a circle; path of a heavenly body

O'RCHARD, _s._ a garden of fruit trees

O'RCHIS, _s._ a kind of flowering plant

O'RDER, _s._ method; regularity; command; a rank or class; rule

O'RDINANCE, _s._ law; rule; appointment

O'RDINARY, _a._ established; regular; common; of low rank

O'RDNANCE, _s._ cannon; great guns

O'RGAN, _s._ natural instrument: as the tongue is the organ of speech. A
    musical instrument

ORGA'NIC, _a._ consisting of various parts co-operating with each other

O'RGANISM, _s._ organic structure

O'RIENT, _a._ eastern; oriental; bright; gaudy

ORI'GINAL, _a._ primitive; first

O'RNAMENT, _v.a._ embellish; decorate

OSCILLA'TION, _a._ the act of moving backward or forward like a pendulum

O'SSEOUS, _a._ bony; resembling bone

OSTENTA'TION, _s._ outward show; pride of riches or power

OSTRICH, _s._ a large bird

OTHERWISE, _ad._ in a different manner; by other causes; in other
    respects

OU'TLET, _s._ passage outward

OU'TSET, _s._ setting out; departure

OU'TWARD, _a._ external; opposed to _inward_.

OVERFLO'W, _v.a._ deluge; drown; overrun; fill beyond the brim

OVERTA'KE, _v.a._ catch anything by pursuit; come up to something going
    before

OVERTHRO'W, _v.a._ turn upside down; throw down; ruin; defeat; destroy

OVERWHE'LM, _v.a._ crush underneath something violent and weighty;
    overlook gloomily



PACI'FIC, _a._ mild; gentle; appeasing

PA'LACE, _a._ a royal house

PA'LTRY, _a._ worthless; contemptible; mean

PA'RADISE, _s._ the blissful region in which the first pair were placed;
    any place of felicity

PA'RALLEL, _a._ extending in the same direction; having the same
    tendency

PARALLE'LOGRAM, _s._ in geometry, a right-lined four-sided figure, whose
    opposite sides are parallel and equal

PA'RAPET, _s._ a wall breast high

PA'RCEL, _s._ a small bundle; a part of a whole

PA'RDON, _s._ forgiveness

PARO'CHIAL, _a._ belonging to a parish

    PARO'TIDA-SA'LIVART, _a._ glands so named because near the ear

PA'RTICLE, _s._ any small quantity of a greater substance; a word
    unvaried by inflection

PARTICULAR, _s._ a single instance; a minute detail of things singly
    enumerated. IN PARTICULAR, peculiarly; distinctly

PARTICULARLY, _ad._ in an extraordinary degree; distinctly

PA'SSAGE, _s._ act of passing; road; way; entrance or exit; part of a
    book

PA'SSENGER, _s._ traveller; a wayfarer; one who hires in any vehicle the
    liberty of travelling

PA'SSIONATE, _a._ moved by passion; easily moved to anger

PA'SSIVE, _a._ unresisting; suffering; not acting

PA'STORAL, _a._ rural; rustic; imitating shepherds

PATHE'TIC, _a._ affecting the passions; moving

PA'THOS, _s._ passion; warmth; affection of the mind

PA'THWAY, _s._ a road; a narrow way to be passed on foot.

PA'TIENCE, _s._ the power of suffering; perseverance

PA'TIENTLY, _ad._ with steadfast resignation; with hopeful confidence

PA'TRIARCH, _a._ one who governs by paternal right; the father and ruler
    of a family

PA'THIMONY, _s._ an estate possessed by inheritance

PA'TRIOT, _s._ one who loves his country

PA'TRON, _s._ one who countenances, supports, or protects; defender

PEA'CEABLE, _a._ not quarrelsome; not turbulent

PE'CTORAL, _a._ belonging to the breast

PECU'LIAR, _a._ appropriate; not common to other things; particular

PECULIARITY, _s._ particularity; something found only in one

PE'DESTAL, _a._ the lower member of a pillar; the basis of a statue

PE'DIMENT, _s._ an ornament that finishes the fronts of buildings, and
    serves as a decoration over gates

PE'NANCE, _s._ infliction, either public or private, suffered as an
    expression of repentance for sin

PE'NDULOUS, _a._ hanging

PE'NETRATE, _v.a._ enter beyond the surface; make way into a body;
    affect the mind

PENINSULA, _s._ laud almost surrounded by water

PE'NURY, _s._ poverty; indigence

PE'OPLE, _s._ a nation; the vulgar

PERCEI'VE, _v.a._ discover by some sensible effects; know; observe

PERCE'PTIBLE, _a._ such as may be known or observed

PERFECTION, _s._ the state of being perfect

PERFO'RM, _v.a._ execute; do; accomplish

PE'RFORATE, _v.a._ pierce with a tool; bore

PERHA'PS, _ad._ peradventure; may be

PE'RIL, _s._ danger; hazard; jeopardy

PE'RIOD, _s._ length of duration; a complete sentence from one full stop
    to another; the end or conclusion

PE'RISIH, _v.n._ die; be destroyed; be lost; come to nothing

PE'RMANENT, _a._ durable; unchanged; of long continuance

PERNI'CIOUS, _a._ destructive; baneful

PERPENDICULAR, _a._ a straight line up and down

PERPE'TUAL, _a._ never-ceasing; continual

PERPLE'X, _v.a._ disturb; distract; tease; plague

PERPLE'XITY, _s._ anxiety; entanglement

PE'RSECUTE, _v.a._ to harass or pursue with malignity

PERSEVE'RANCE, _s._ persistence in any design or attempt; constancy in
    progress

PERTINA'CITY, _s._ obstinacy; stubbornness; constancy

PERTURBA'TION, _s._ restlessness; disturbance

PERU'SAL, _s._ the act of reading

PETI'TION, _s._ request; entreaty; single branch or article of prayer

PHA'LANX, _s._ a troop of men closely embodied

PHENO'MENON, _s._ appearance

PHILOSOPHER, _s._ a man deep in knowledge

PHILOSOPHICAL, _a._ belonging to philosophy

PHILO'SOPHY, _s._ moral or natural knowledge

PHY'SICAL, _a._ relating to nature or to natural philosophy; medicinal;
    relating to health

PICTO'RIAL, _a._ produced by a painter

PIC'TURESQUE, _a._ beautiful; magnificent

PI'LCHARD, _s._ a kind of fish

PI'LGRIMAGE, _s._ a long journey

PI'OUS, _a._ careful of the duties owed by created beings to God; godly;
    religious

PI'RATE, _s._ a sea robber

PISTA'CHIO, _s._ a dry fruit of an oblong figure

PI'TIABLE, _a._ that which deserves pity

PLA'CABLE, _a._ willing or able to be appeased

PLA'INTIVE, _a._ complaining; lamenting; expressive of sorrow

PLA'NETARY, _a._ pertaining to the planets; produced by the planets

PLANTATION, _s._ a place planted; a colony

PLAU'SIBLY, _ad._ with fair show

PLEA'SANT, _a._ delightful; cheerful; merry

PLEA'SANTRY, _s._ merriment; lively talk

PLEA'SURE, _s._ delight

PLE'NTIFUL, _a._ copious; fruitful; abundant

PLI'ABLE, _a._ flexible; easy to be bent; easy to be persuaded; capable
    of being plied

PLI'ANT, _a._ bending; flexible; easy to take a form

PLU'MAGE, _s._ feathers; suit of feathers

PNY'X, _s._ a place where assemblies of the people were held

PO'ETRY, _s._ sublime thought expressed in sublime language

POI'GNANCY, _s._ power of irritation; sharpness

POI'SON, _s._ that which taken into the body destroys or injures life;
    anything infectious or malignant

POLI'TE, _a._ glossy; smooth; elegant of manners

POLITICAL, _a._ that which relates to politics; that which relates to
    public affairs; also cunning, skilful

PO'PULAR, _a._ vulgar; familiar; well known

POPULARITY, _a._ state of being favoured by the people; representation
    suited to vulgar conception

POPULA'TION, _s._ the state of a country with respect to numbers of
    people

PO'RTABLE, _a._ manageable by the hand; supportable

PO'RTION, _s._ a part; an allotment

PORTMA'NTEAU, _s._ a chest, or bag, in which clothes are carried

POSI'TION, _s._ state of being placed; situation

PO'SITIVE, _o._ absolute; particular; real; certain

POSSE'SS, _v.a._ have as an owner; be master of; seize; obtain

POSSESSION, _s._ property; the thing possessed

POSSIBLE, _a._ having the power to be or to be done; not contrary to the
    nature of things

POSTE'RITY, _s._ succeeding generations

PO'TENTATE, _s._ monarch; prince; sovereign

PO'WER, _s._ command; authority; ability; strength; faculty of the mind

PRACTICABLE, _a._ capable of being practised

PRA'CTICAL, _o._ relating to action; not merely speculative.

PRAE'TOR, _s._ a functionary among the ancient Romans

PRAI'RIE, _s._ a meadow

PRECAUTION, _s._ preservative caution; preventive measures

PRECE'PTOR, _s._ a teacher; an Instructor

PRE'CINCT, _s._ outward limit; boundary

PRECI'PITOUS, _a._ headlong; steep

PREDECE'SSOR, _s._ one who was in any state or place before another;
    ancestor

PREDOMINANCE, _s._ prevalence; ascendancy

PREDOMINANT, _a._ prevalent; ascendant; supreme influence

PREDOMINATE, _v.n._ prevail; be supreme in influence

PREFI'X, _v.a._ appoint beforehand; settle; establish; put before
    another thing

PRELI'MINARY, _a._ previous; introductory

PREJUDICE, _s._ prepossession; judgment formed beforehand; mischief;
    injury

PREPARATION, _s._ anything made by process of operation; previous
    measures

PREROGATIVE, _s._ an exclusive or peculiar privilege

PRE'SCIENT, _a._ foreknowing; prophetic

PRESENT, _a._ not past; not future; ready at hand; not absent; being
    face to face; being now in view

PRESE'NT, _v.a._ offer; exhibit

PRESE'RVE, _v.a._ save; keep; defend from destruction or any evil

PRESU'MPTION, _s._ arrogance; blind confidence

PREVE'NT, _v.a._ hinder; obviate; obstruct

PRINCIPAL, _a._ chief; capital; essential; important; considerable

PRINCIPLE, _s._ constituent part; original cause

PRO'BABLE, _a._ likely

PRO'BABLY, _a._ very likely

PROBA'TION, _s._ proof; trial; noviciate

PROCEE'D, _v.n._ pass from one thing or place to another; go forward;
    issue; arise; carry on; act; transact

PRO'CESS, _s._ course of law; course

PROCE'SSION, _s._ a train marching in ceremonious solemnity

PRODI'GIOUS, _a._ enormous; amazing; monstrous

PRO'DUCE, _s._ amount; profit; that which anything yields or brings

PRODU'CE, _v.a._ offer to the view or notice; bear; cause; effect

PRODU'CTION, _s._ the act of producing; fruit; product; composition

PROFESSION, _s._ vocation; known employment

PROFU'SE, _a._ lavish; too liberal

PROFUSION, _s._ extravagance; abundance

PRO'GRESS, _s._ course; advancement; motion forward

PROHI'BIT, _v.a._ forbid; debar; hinder

PROJE'CT, _v.a._ throw out; scheme; contrive; form in the mind

PRO'PAGATE, _v.a._ extend; widen; promote

PRO'PER, _a._ fit; exact; peculiar

PRO'PHECY, _s._ a declaration of something to come

PROPHE'TIC, _a._ foreseeing or foretelling future events

PROPORTION, _s._ symmetry; form; size; ratio

PROPOSITION, _s._ one of the three parts of a regular argument, in which
    anything is affirmed or denied; proposal

PROPRIETOR, _s._ possessor in his own right

PROPRI'ETY, _s._ accuracy; justness

PROSA'IC, _a._ belonging to or resembling prose

PROTE'CTOR, _s._ defender; supporter; guardian

PROTRU'DE, _v.a._ thrust forward

PROVI'DE, _v.a._ procure; furnish; supply; stipulate

PROVIDE'NTIAL, _a._ effected by Providence; referrible to Providence

PRO'VINCE, _s._ a conquered country; a region

PROVINCIAL, _a._ that which relates to provinces

PROVISION, _s._ the act of providing beforehand; measures taken
    beforehand; stock collected; victuals

PROVOCATION, _s._ an act or cause by which anger is raised; an appeal to
    a judge

PROXI'MITY, _s._ nearness

PTA'RMIGAN, _s._ (pronounced _tár-mi-gan_) a bird of the grouse species

PU'BLIC, _s._ the people; general view; open view

PU'LLEY, _s._ a small wheel turning on a pivot, with a furrow on its
    outside, in which a rope runs

PU'NISH, _v.a._ to chastise; to afflict with penalties or death for some
    crime

PU'NISHED, _a._ chastised

PU'PIL, _s._ a scholar; one under the care of a tutor

PU'RCHASE, _v.a._ acquire; buy for a price

PU'RITY, _s._ clearness; freedom from foulness or dirt; freedom from
    guilt; innocence

PU'RPOSE, _v.t._ intention; design; instance

PU'TRIFY, _v.n._ to rot

PU'ZZLE, _v.a._ perplex; confound; tease; entangle

PY'RAMID, _s._ a solid figure, whose base is a polygon and whose sides
    are plain triangles, their several points meeting in one

PYTHA'GORAS, _s._ the originator of the present system universe

PYTHAGORE'ANS, _s._ followers of Pythagoras



QUALIFICATION, _s._ accomplishment; that which makes any person or thing
    fit for anything

QUA'NTITY, _s._ any indeterminate weight or measure; bulk or weight; a
    portion; a part

QUA'RRY, _s._ game flown at by a hawk; a stone mine



RA'DIANT, _a._ shining; emitting rays

RAMIFICA'TION, _s._ division or separation into branches; small
    branches; branching out

RA'NCID, _a._ strong scented

RAPA'CIOUS, _a._ given to plunder; seizing by violence

RAPI'DITY, _s._ celerity; velocity; swiftness

RA'PTURE, _s._ transport; haste

RA'TTLE, _s._ a quick noise nimbly repeated; empty and loud talk; a
    plant

RA'TTLESNAKE, _s._ a kind of serpent, which has a rattle at the end of
    its tail

REA'CTION, _s._ the reciprocation of any impulse or force impressed,
    made by the body on which such an impression is made

RE'ALISE, _v.a._ bring into being or act; convert money into land.

REA'SON, _s._ the power by which man deduces one proposition from
    another; cause; ground or principle; motive; moderation

REASONABLENESS, _s._ the faculty of reason

REASONING, _s._ an argument

REBE'LLION, _s._ insurrection against lawful authority

RECE'DE, _v.n._ fall back; retreat; desist

RECEI'VE, _v.a._ obtain; admit; entertain as a guest

RE'CENT, _a._ new; late; fresh

RECE'PTACLE, _s._ a vessel or place into which anything is received

RECOGNITION, _s._ review; renovation of knowledge; acknowledgment;
    memorial

RECOLLE'CTION, _s._ recovery of notion; revival in the memory

RECOMME'ND, _v.a._ make acceptable; praise another; commit with prayers

RECOMMENDA'TION, _s._ the act of recommending; that which secures to one
    a kind reception from another

RE'COMPENSE, _s._ reward; compensation

RECOMPENSE, _v.a._ repay; reward; redeem

RE'CORD, _s._ register; authentic memorial

RECREA'TION, _s._ relief after toil or pain; amusement; diversion

RE'CTIFY, _v.a._ to make right

RE'CTITUDE, _s._ straightness; rightness; uprightness

REDE'MPTION, _s._ ransom; relief; purchase of God's favour by the death
    of Christ

REDU'CE, _v.a._ bring back; subdue; degrade

REFLECTION, _s._ that which is reflected; thought thrown back upon the
    past; attentive consideration

REFLE'CTOR, _s._ considerer

REFRA'CT, _v.n._ break the natural course of rays

REFU'LGENT, _a._ bright; splendid

REGA'LIA, _s._ ensigns of Royalty

REGA'RD, _v.a._ observe; remark; pay attention to

RE'GIMENT, _s._ a body of soldiers under one colonel

RE'GION, _s._ tract of land; country

RE'GULAR, _a._ methodical; orderly

REINFO'RCE, _v.a._ strengthen again

REJE'CT, _v.a._ cast off; refuse; throw aside

RE'LATIVE, _s._ a near friend; a relation; a kinsman

RE'LATIVE, _a._ having relation

RELAXATION, _s._ the act of loosening

RELA'XED, _a._ slackened; loosened; let loose; diverted; eased;
    refreshed

RELEA'SE, _v.a._ quit; let go; slacken; free from

RELE'NT, _v.n._ slacken; remit; soften; melt

RE'LIC, _s._ that which remains

RELIE'VE, _v.a._ ease pain or sorrow; succour by assistance; support;
    assist

RELI'GION, _s._ a system of divine faith and worship

RELU'CTANT, _a._ unwilling; acting with repugnance

REMAI'N, _v.n._ continue; endure; be left

REMAINDER, _s._ the part left

REMA'RKABLE, _a._ observable; worthy of note

RE'MEDY, _s._ a medicine by which any illness is cured; that which
    counteracts any evil; reparation

REME'MBER, _v.a._ bear in mind; not to

REMO'NSTRANCE, _s._ strong representation

REMO'RSELESS, _a._ without remorse

RE'NDER, _v.a._ restore; give back; represent; exhibit; give

REPEA'T, _v.a._ use again; do again; speak again

REPO'RT, _s._ rumour; popular fame; sound; loud noise

RE'PRESENT, _v.a._ exhibit; describe; personate; exhibit to show

REPRESENTA'TION, _s._ image; likeness; public exhibition

REPRIE'VE, _s._ respite after sentence of death

REPRI'SAL, _s._ something seized by way of retaliation for robbery or
    injury

RE'PTILE, _s._ an animal that creeps on many feet

REPU'BLIC, _s._ commonwealth; a government without a King or other
    hereditary head

REPU'GNANT, _a._ disobedient; contrary; opposite

REPU'LSE, _v.a._ beat back; drive off

REPUTA'TION, _s._ character of good or bad; credit

REPU'TE, _s._ character; reputation

REQUE'ST, _s._ petition; entreaty; demand

RE'QUIEM, _s._ a hymn, in which they ask for the dead, requiem or rest

REQUISITE, _a._ necessary

RE'SCUE, _v.a._ set free from any violence, confinement, or danger

RESE'MBLE, _v. a_ to be like; to compare; to represent as like something
    else

RESE'NTMENT, _s._ anger; deep sense of injury

RE'SERVOIR, _s._ a receiver; a large basin which receives water

RESIDENCE, _s._ dwelling; place of abode

RESOU'RCE, _s._ resort; expedient

RESPECTIVE, _a._ particular; relating to particular persons or things

RESPIRA'TION, _s._ the act of breathing; relief from toil

RESPLENDENT, _a._ bright; shining; having a beautiful lustre

RESPONSIBLE, _a._ answerable; accountable

RESTRAINT, _s._ abridgment of liberty; prohibition; restriction

RETALIATION, _s._ requital; return of like for like

RETA'RD, _v.a._ hinder; delay

RE'TINUE, _s._ a number attending upon a principal person; train

RETROSPECTION, _s._ act or faculty of looking backward

RETU'RN, _s._ the act of coming back to the same place; act of restoring
    or giving back

REVELA'TION, _s._ discovery; communication; apocalypse; the prophecy of
    St. John, revealing future things

REVE'NUE, _s._ income; annual profits received from lands or other funds

RE'VERENCE, _s._ veneration; respect; title of the clergy

REVE'RSE, _v.a._ turn upside down; overturn

RHINO'CERUS, _s._ a large animal with a horn on its nose

RHODODE'NDRON, _s._ the rose-bay

RI'BALDRY, _s._ mean, lewd, brutal language

RI'DICULE, _s._ contemptive mockery

RI'VET, _v.a._ fasten strongly

RI'VULET, _s_ a small river; streamlet; brook

ROMA'NTIC, _a._ wild; fanciful

ROO'KERY, _s._ a nursery of rooks

ROYA'LIST, _s._ adherent to a King

RU'BY, _s._ a precious stone of a red colour

RU'DIMEMT, _s._ the first principle

RU'GGED, _a._ rough; uneven; rude

RU'STIC, _a._ rough; rude; pertaining to the country

RUSTI'CITY, _s._ rural appearance; simplicity



SA'CRAMENT, _s._ an oath; an outward and visible sign of an inward and
    spiritual grace

SA'CRED, _a._ immediately relating to God; holy

SA'CRIFICE, _v.a._ offer to heaven; destroy or give up for the sake of
    something else; destroy; kill

SAGA'CITY, _a._ quickness of scent; acuteness of discovery

SA'LINE, _a._ consisting of salt; constituting bait

SA'NCTITY, _s._ holiness; goodness; purity

SA'NGUINARY, _a._ cruel; bloody; murderous

SA'PPHIRE, _s._ a precious stone, of a blue colour

SAU'RIAN, _s._ a reptile belonging to the order of Sauris or lizards

SAVA'NNAH, _s._ an open meadow without wood

SCABBARD, _s._ the sheath of a sword or dagger

SCE'NERY, _s._ the appearances of places or things; the background of
    the scenes of a play

SCE'PTRE, _s._ the ensign of royalty borne in the hand

SCI'ENCE, _s._ knowledge; certainty grounded, on demonstration

SCIENTIFIC, _a._ producing demonstrative knowledge

SCREECH, _s._ cry of horror and anguish; harsh cry

SCRI'PTURE, _s._ sacred writing; the Bible

SCU'RRY, _a._ mean; vile; dirty; worthless

SCU'LPTURE, _s._ carved work

SE'AMAN, _s._ a sailor

SE'ASON, _s._ one of the four parts of the year; a fit time

SE'CRET, _s._ something studiously hidden; privacy; solitude; a thing
    unknown

SECRE'TE, _v.a._ put aside; hide

SECU'RITY, _s._ protection; safety; certainty

SEE'MING, _s._ appearance; show; opinion

SELE'CT, _v.a._ choose in preference to others rejected

SELE'CTION, _s._ the act of choosing; choice

    SE'MI-GLO'BULAR, _a._ half circular

SE'MINARY, _s._ place of education

SE'NATOR, _s._ a public counsellor

SENSA'TION, _s._ perception by means of the senses

SENSIBI'LITY, _s._ quickness of sensation; delicacy

SENSORIO'LA, _s. plur._ little sensoriums

SENSO'RIUM, _s._ the seat of sense; organ of sensation

SE'NTINEL, _s._ one who watches or keeps guard, to prevent surprise

SEPARATION, _s._ the act of separating; disunion

SE'QUEL, _s._ conclusion; consequence; event

SEQUE'STER, _v.a._ separate from others for the sake of privacy; remove;
    withdraw

SERE'NITY, _s._ calmness; mild temperature; peace; coolness of mind

SE'RIES, _s._ sequence; order; succession; course

SERRA'TED, _a._ formed with jags or indentures, like the edge of a saw

SE'RVANT, _s._ one who attends another, and acts at his command

SERVICEABLE, _a._ active; diligent; officious; useful; beneficial

SE'VERAL, _a._ different; divers; many

SHA'NTY, _s._ a temporary wooden building

SHE'LTER, _s._ cover; protection

SI'GNAL, _s._ a notice given by a sign; a sign that gives notice

SI'GNIFY, _v.a._ to declare; to make known; to declare by some token or
    sign; to express; to mean

SILT, _s._ mud; slime; consisting of mud

SI'MILAR, _a._ like; having resemblance

SIMPLICITY, _s._ plainness; not cunning; silliness

SIMULTANEOUS, _a._ acting together; existing at the same time

SINCE'RITY, _s._ honesty of intention

SI'NGER, _s._ one that tings; one whose profession or business is to
    sing

SI'NGULAR, _a._ single; particular

SI'TUATE, _part. a._ placed with respect to anything else; consisting

SKE'LETON, _a._ the bones of the body preserved together, as much as can
    be, in their natural situation

SKI'RMISH, _s._ slight fight; contest

SLA'TY, _a._ having the nature of slate

SLEIGHT, _s._ artful trick; dexterous practice

SLU'GGISH, _a._ slow; slothful; lazy, inactive

SOBRI'ETY, _s._ soberness; calmness; gravity

SOCI'ETY, _s._ company; community

SO'CKET, _s._ a hollow pipe; the receptacle of the eye

SO'LDIER, _s._ a fighting man; a warrior

SO'LEMN, _a._ religiously grave; awful; grave

SOLE'MNITY, _s._ gravity; religious ceremony

SOLI'CITOUS, _a._ anxious; careful; concerned

SOLI'CITUDE, _s._ anxiety; carefulness

SO'LID, _a._ not liquid; not fluid; not hollow; compact; strong; firm;
    sound; true; profound; grave

SOLI'LOQUY, _s._ a discourse made by one in solitude to himself

SO'LITARY, _a._ living alone; not having company

SO'LITUDE, _s._ loneliness; a lonely place

SO'RROW, _s._ grief; pain for something past; sadness

SOU'THERN, _a._ belonging to the south

SO'VEREIGN, _s._ supreme lord.

SPA'NGLE, _s._ any little thing sparkling and shining

SPA'NIEL, _s._ a dog used for sport in the field, remarkable for
    tenacity and obedience

SPEA'KER, _s._ one that speaks; the prolocutor of the Commons

SPE'CIES, _s._ a sort; class of nature; show

SPECIMEN, _s._ sample; a part of any thing exhibited, that the rest may
    be known

SPE'CTACLE, _s._ a show; sight

SPECTA'TOR, _s._ a looker-on; a beholder

SPECULA'TION, _s._ examination by the eye; view; spy

SPHE'RICAL, _a._ round; globular

SPI'CULA, _s. plur._ little spikes

SPI'CY, _a._ producing spice; aromatic

SPI'DER, _s._ the animal that spins a web for flies

SPI'RAL, _a._ curved; winding; circularly involved

SPI'RIT, _s._ breath; soul of man; apparition; temper

SPI'RITUAL, _a._ that which regards divinity; that which regards the
    soul; not temporal

SPLE'NDID, _a._ showy; magnificent; pompous

STABI'LITY, _s._ steadiness; strength to stand

STA'GNANT, _a._ motionless; still

STA'GNATE, _v.a._ lie motionless; have no stream

STA'NDARD, _s._ an ensign in war; a settled rate

STA'RLING, _s._ a bird that may be taught to whistle, and articulate
    words

STA'TESMAN, _s._ a politician; one employed in public affairs

STA'TION, _v.a._ place in a certain post or place

STA'TUE, _s._ an image; solid representation of any living being

STA'TURE, _s._ the height of any animal

STE'RIL, _a._ barren; unfruitful

STO'IC, _s._ an ancient philosopher of a particular sect, that met under
    the _Stoa_ or portico of the temple

STO'ICAL, _a._ pertaining to the Stoics

STRA'TAGEM, _s._ an artifice in war; a trick by which some advantage is
    gained

STRU'CTURE, _s._ building; form

STRU'GGLE, _v.n._ labour; strive; contend

STU'DENT, _s._ a bookish man; a scholar

STUPE'NDOUS, _a._ wonderful; amazing; astonishing

STU'PIFY, _v.a._ make stupid; deprive of sensibility

    SUB-DIVI'DE, _v.a._ to divide a part into more parts

SUBDIVI'SION, _s._ the act of subdividing; the parts distinguished by a
    second division

SUBDU'E, _v.a._ crush; oppress; conquer; tame

SUB'JECT, _s._ one who lives under the dominion of another; that on
    which any operation is performed

SUBME'RGE, _v.a._ to put under water; to drown

SUBMI'SSIVE, _a._ humble

SU'BSEQUENT, _a._ following in train

SUBSI'STENCE, _s._ competence; means of supporting life; inherence in
    something else

SU'BSTANCE, _s._ something real, not imaginary; wealth; means of life

S'UBSTITUTE, _s._ one placed by another to act with delegated power

SUBTERRA'NEOUS, _a._ living under the earth

SUBVE'RSION, _s._ overthrow; ruin

SU'CCEED, _v.a._ follow; prosper

SUCCE'SSFUL, _a._ prosperous; happy; fortunate

SUCCE'SSION, _s._ a series of persons or things following one another; a
    lineage

SU'CCOUR, _s._ aid; assistance; help in distress

SU'CCULENT, _a._ juicy; moist

SU'DDEN, _a._ coming unexpectedly; hasty; violent

SU'FFER, _v.a._ bear; undergo; endure; permit

SUFFI'CE, _v.n._ be enough; be sufficient; be equal to the end, or
    purpose

SUFFI'CE, _v.a._ afford; supply; satisfy

SUFFI'CIENT, _a._ equal to any end or purpose

SU'LLY, _v.a._ spoil; tarnish; dirty; spot

SU'LTRY, _a._ hot and close

SU'MMON, _v.a._ call up; raise; admonish to appear

SU'MPTUOUS, _a._ costly; expensive; splendid

SUPE'RB, _a._ grand; pompous; lofty; magnificent

SUPERINCU'MBENT, _a._ lying on the top of something else

SUPERINDU'CE, _v.a._ bring in as an addition to something else

SUPERINTE'NDENCE, _s._ superior care; the act of overseeing with
    authority

SUPERINTEN'DENT, _s._ one who overlooks others authoritatively

SUPE'RIOR, _a._ higher; greater in dignity or excellence; preferable;
    upper

SUPERIO'RITY, _s._ pre-eminence; the quality of being greater or higher
    than another

SUPERSE'DE, _v.a._ make void by superior power

SUPERSTI'TIOUS, _a._ full of idle fancies or scruples with regard to
    religion

SUPPLY', _v.n._ fill up a deficiency; yield; afford; accommodate;
    furnish

SUPPLY', _s._ relief of want; cure of deficiencies

SUPPO'RT, _s._ act or power of sustaining; prop

SUPPO'RT, _v.a._ sustain; prop; endure

SUPPO'SE, _v.a._ admit without proof; imagine

SU'RFACE, _s._ superficies; outside

S'URPLUS, _s._ overplus; what remains when use is satisfied

SURROU'ND, _v.a._ environ; encompass; enclose on all sides

SURVE'Y, _v.a._ view as examining; measure and estimate land; overlook

SUSCE'PTIBLE, _a._ capable of anything

SUSPI'CION, _s._ the act of suspecting; imagination of something ill
    without proof

SWA'LLOW, _v.n._ take down the throat; take in

SY'CAMORE, _s._ a tree

SY'COPHANT, _s._ tale-bearer

SY'MMETRY, _s._ adaptation of parts to each other; proportion; harmony

SY'MPHONY, _s._ harmony of mingled sounds

SY'NAGOGUE, _s._ a Jewish place of worship

SY'STEM, _s._ any combination of many things acting together

SYSTEMA'TIC, _a._ methodical; written or formed with regular
    subordination of one part to another



TA'BLET, _s._ a small level surface; a surface written on or painted

TA'BULAR, _a._ set in the form of tables or synopses

TA'CTICS, _s._ the art of ranging men on the field of battle

TA'FFETA, _s._ a thin silk

TA'NKARD, _s._ a large vessel with a cover for strong drink

TA'PER, _v.n._ grow gradually smaller

TA'TTOO, _v.a._ mark by staining on the skin

TA'WDRY, _a._ meanly showy; showy without elegance

TA'XATION, _s._ the act of loading with taxes; accusation

TE'CHNICAL, _a._ belonging to the arts; not in common or popular use

TE'LESCOPE, _s._ a long glass by which distant objects are viewed

TEA'CHER, _s._ one who teaches; an instructor

TE'MPERANCE, _s._ moderation in meat and drink; free from ardent passion

TE'MPERATE, _a._ moderate in meat and drink; free from ardent passion;
    not excessive

TE'MPERATURE, _s._ constitution of nature; degree of any qualities;
    moderation

TE'MPLE, _s._ a place appropriated to acts of religion; the upper part
    of the sides of the head

TE'MPORAL, _a._ measured by time secular; not spiritual

TEMPTA'TION, _s._ the act of tempting

TENA'CITY, _s._ adhesion of one part to another

TE'NDENCY, _s._ direction or course toward any place, object, inference,
    or result

TE'NDER, _a._ soft; sensible; delicate; gentle; mild; young; weak, as
    _tender_ age

TE'NDRIL, _s._ the clasp of a vine or other climbing plant

TE'NEMENT, _s._ anything held by a tenant

TENU'ITY, _s._ thinness; smallness; poverty

TE'RMINATE, _v.n._ have an end; be limited; end

TERMINA'TION, _s._ the end

TERRE'STRIAL, _a._ earthly

TE'RRIBLE, _a._ dreadful; formidable; causing fear

TE'RRIER, _s._ a kind of dog

TE'RRITORY, _s._ land; country

TE'RROR, _s._ fear communicated; fear received; the cause of fear

TE'XTURE, _s._ the act of weaving; a web; a thing woven; combination of
    parts

THE'REFORE, _ad._ for this reason; consequently

THOU'SAND, _a._ or _s._ the number of ten hundred

TIDE, _s._ time; alternate ebb and flow of the sea

TI'MID, _a._ fearful; wanting courage

TI'MOROUS, _a._ fearful; terrified; susceptible of fear; capable of
    being frightened

TI'TLE, _s._ a general head comprising particulars; an appellation of
    honour; claim of right; the first page of a book, telling its name,
    and generally its subject

TO'CSIN, _s._ an alarm-bell

TO'RPID, _a._ motionless; sluggish

TO'RTURE, _s._ torments judicially inflicted; pain by which guilt is
    punished, or confession extorted

TO'RTURE, _v.a._ punish with tortures; torment

TOUR, _s._ (pronounced _toor_) a journey for pleasure

TOU'RIST, _s._ one who travels for pleasure

TO'WARD, _prep._ in a direction to; near to

TOW'ER, _s._ high building; fortress; an elevation

TRADI'TIONAL, _a._ delivered by tradition

TRA'GEDY, _s._ any mournful or dreadful event

TRA'GIC, _a._ mournful, calamitous

    TRA'GI-CO'MEDY, _s._ a drama compounded of merry and serious things

TRAIN, _v.a._ draw along; entice; educate

TRA'NQUIL, _a._ quiet; peaceful

TRANQUI'LLITY, _a._ quietness; peace; freedom from trouble or annoyance

TRANSA'CT, _v.a._ manage; negotiate; perform

TRANSA'CTION, _s._ negotiation; management

TRA'NSIENT, _a._ short; momentary

TRANSI'TION, _s._ removal; passage from one to another; change

TRANSMI'T, _v.a._ send from one place to another

TRANSPA'RENT, _a._ clear; translucent

TRA'VEL, _s._ journey; labour; toil

TRA'VEL, _v.n._ make travels; move; go

TRA'VERSE, _v.a._ to cross; to lay athwart; to cross by way of
    opposition; to wander over

TREA'CHEROUS, _a._ faithless; guilty of deserting or betraying

TREA'CHERY, _s._ perfidy; breach of faith

TREA'SURER, _s._ one who has the care of money; one who has the charge
    of treasure

TRE'LLIS, _s._ a structure of iron, wood, or osier, the parts crossing
    each other like a lattice

TREME'NDOUS, _a._ dreadful; horrible

TRE'MOUR, _s._ the state of trembling or quivering

TRE'MULOUS, _a._ trembling; fearful; quivering

TREPIDA'TION, _s._ fear; terror; hurry; confused haste; terrified flight

TRI'ANGLE, _s._ a figure of three angles

TRIBU'NAL, _s._ the seat of a judge; a court of justice

TRI'BUTE, _s._ payment in acknowledgment; subjection

TRI'PLE, _a._ threefold; treble

TRI'UMPH, _s._ victory; conquest

TRIU'MPHANT, _a._ victorious; celebrating a victory

TRO'PHY, _s._ something shown or treasured up in proof of victory

TRO'UBLE, _v.n._ disturb; afflict; tease; disorder

TRU'NCATE, _v.a._ maim; cut short

TRU'NNIONS, _s._ the knobs or bunchings of a gun, that bear it on the
    checks of a carriage

TUBE, _s._ a pipe; a long hollow body

TU'BULAR, _a._ resembling a pipe or trunk

TUMU'LTUOUS, _a._ uproarious; noisy

TU'NIC, _s._ part of the Roman dress, natural covering; tunicle

TU'NNEL, _s._ funnel; shaft of a chimney; passage underground

TU'RBAN, _s._ the covering worn by the Turks on their heads

TU'RPITUDE, _s._ shamefulness; baseness

TY'RANNY, _s._ severity; rigour

TY'RANT, _s._ an absolute monarch governing imperiously; a cruel and
    severe master; an oppressor



U'LTIMATE, _a._ intended as the last resort

UNABA'TED, _part._ not lessened in force or intensity

UNACCOU'NTABLE, _a._ not explicable; not to be solved by reason; not
    subject

UNA'LTERABLE, _a._ unchangeable; immutable

UNAPRROA'CHED, _a._ inaccessible

UNAWA'RE, _ad._ unexpectedly; without thought

UNCE'RTAINTY, _s._ want of certainty; inaccuracy

UNCHA'NGEABLE, _a._ not subject to variation

UNCO'MFORTABLE, _a._ affording no comfort; gloomy

UNCU'LTIVATED, _a._ not instructed; uncivilised

UNDAU'NTED, _a._ unsubdued by fear; not depressed

UNDERGO', _v.a._ suffer; sustain; support

UNDERMI'NE, _v.a._ to excavate under

UNDIMI'NISHED, _a._ not to be lessened; incapable of being lessened

UNDISCO'VERED, _a._ not seen; not found out

UNDISTI'NGUISHABLE, _a._ not to be distinguished

UNFO'RTUNATE, _a._ unsuccessful; unprosperous

U'NIFORM, _a._ conforming to one rule; similar to itself

UNIFO'RMITY, _s._ conforming to one pattern

UNINHA'BITABLE, _a._ unfit to be inhabited

UNINI'TIATED, _part._ ignorant of; not conversant with

UNIVE'RSAL, _s._ the whole

U'NIVERSE, _s._ the general system of things

UNJU'STIFIABLE, _a._ not to be defended

UNMO'ULTED, _part._ unchanged in feather

UNPA'LATEABLE, _a._ nauseous, disgusting

UNRETA'LIATED, _part._ unreturned, applied to injuries

UNSA'Y, _v.a._ retract; deny what has been said

UNSUCCE'SSFUL, _a._ not having the wished event

UNSWA'THE, _v.a._ unbandage

UNVI'TIATED, _part._ pure; not defiled

UNWIE'LDY, _a._ unmanageable; not easily moving, or moved

URGE, _v.a._ press; incite; provoke; solicit

U'SHER, _s._ an under-teacher; one whose business it is to introduce
    strangers, or walk before a person of high rank

UTE'NSIL, _s._ an instrument for any use, such as the vessels of the
    kitchen, or tools of a trade



VALE'RIAN, _s._ a plant

VA'LLEY, _s._ low ground; a hollow between two hills

VA'LUABLE, _a._ precious; worthy

VA'LUE, _s._ price; worth; rate

VAN, _s._ the front of an army; the first line

VANI'LLA, _s._ a plant, the fruit of which is used to scent chocolate

VA'NISH, _v.n._ lose perceptible existence; disappear; be lost; pass
    away

VA'RIANCE, _s._ discord; disagreement

VA'RIEGATE, _v.a._ diversify; stain with different colours

VA'RIOUS, _a._ different; several; diversified

VA'RY, _v.a._ change; change to something else

VA'TICAN, _s._ the palace of the Pope at Rome

VEGETA'TION, _s._ the power of producing the growth of plants

VEGETA'TIVE, _a._ having the power to produce growth in plants

VE'HICLE, _s._ a conveyance

VE'NERABLE, _a._ old; to be treated with reverence

VE'NISON, _s._ game; the flesh of deer

VENTILA'TION, _s._ the act of fanning

VENTILA'TOR, _s._ an instrument contrived to supply close places with
    fresh air

VE'NTURE, _v.n._ dare; run hazard; engage in

VE'RIFY, _v.n._ justify against the charge of falsehood; confirm; to
    prove true

VE'RILY, _ad._ in truth; certainly

VE'SSEL, _s._ any capacity; anything containing; the containing parts of
    an animal body

VESU'VIUS, _s._ a burning mountain near Naples

VICI'NITY, _s._ nearness; state of being near

VICI'SSITUDE, _s._ regular change; revolution

VI'CTIM, _s._ sacrifice; something destroyed

VI'CTORY, _s._ conquest; triumph

VI'GIL, _s._ watch; a fast kept before a holiday

VI'GOROUS, _a._ full of strength and life

VI'GOROUSLY, _ad._ energetically; forcibly; with force; without weakness

VI'LLAGE, _s._ a small collection of houses

VI'NDICATE, _v.a._ justify; clear; assert; revenge

VI'NTAGE, _s._ the produce of the vine for the year; the time in which
    grapes are gathered

VI'OLATION, _s._ infringement of a law

VI'OLENT, _a._ forcible; unseasonably vehement

VI'PER, _s._ a serpent; anything mischievous

VI'PERINE, _a._ belonging to a viper

VI'RULENT, _a._ poisonous; venomous; poisoned in the mind; malignant

VI'SIBLE, _a._ perceptible by the eye; apparent

VI'SION, _s._ sight; the faculty of seeing; the act of seeing; a
    supernatural appearance; a spectre; a phantom; a dream; something
    shown in a dream

VI'SUAL, _a._ using the power of sight

VI'TIATE, _v.a._ deprave; spoil; make less pure

VOLCA'NO, _s._ a burning mountain

VO'TARY, _s._ one devoted, as by a vow, to any particular service,
    worship, study, or state of life

VU'LTURE, _s._ a large bird of prey



WA'NTONLY, _ad._ sportively; carelessly

WEA'PON, _s._ an instrument of offence; something with which one is
    armed to hurt another

WI'LDERNESS, _s._ a desert

WI'STFUL, _a._ attentive; earnest; full of thought

WO'NDERFUL, _a._ admirable; strange; astonishing

WO'RSHIP, _v.a._ adore; honour; venerate



ZEST, _s._ relish

ZOOLO'GICAL, _a._ that which relates to animals




THE END.











End of Project Gutenberg's The Illustrated London Reading Book, by Various