s a A YEAR.]	OFFICE 30 ANN-STKEET.			(10 COPIES	fio
VOL. 1.	NEW-YORK, SATUUDAV, (XTOBER 22, IA\2.			NO.	22.

ANOTHKK TUl'K rTOKV. |

“ Mv own dear nianima,” said little Charles j Stuart one day to his mother, Jis he sit down mxin a low seat by her side, “ I want you to tell me a ^ story. I heard papa befjin to tell one the other day : it was about a dog, a large water-dog, he .said, and I wished very much to hear it ; but nurs* came to call me to walk, and I did not like to stay." j

“ My very dear little boy,” said his mamma, as j she kissed his pretty rosy cheek, “ I shall indeed j tell you the story, for you are a good little boy. I : saw that you wished to .stay and hear it ye.sterday, but would not even do so, after your nurse had called you ; that was being good, and good Imys de¬ serve to be happy. Bring my work to me — there i it is upon the sofa; and then you must sit ijuite : still, and I shall tell you all I know about the dog. j It belonged to a farmer who lived in the west of . England, but I must Ix'gin my story at the very fie- j ginning. j

“One night the wind blew very loud; there wa.s j a great storm : it was in the end of winter, and cold i and dark it was : many a one, in a little village by | the .sea-coast, went to their windows that night, ^ and looked out, and thanked Goii that they had a ] roof over their heads, and a warm lire ; and then | j^rayed that no ship on such a night might be near

the coa-st, as there were many rocks upon which it might strike. Some hours passed away, and the gray light of early day was Ix'ginning to spread over the sky, when the sound of a gun was heard. Well did all know what that sound me.ant ; for it was too often heard in that village. It was a ship in di.stress : another and another shot, and then no more was heard. Men and women ran to the sea- .shore with lights and rojie.s, and some brave peo¬ ple went out in a boat; but it was still Ux) dark to see the shiji, and theie was no more firing, so that they did not know where to go to look for it ; and, after a time, they came back, sayins: the ship must have gone down, or they would have tired again to show W’here they lay. Cold, and bad, andstormyas the night wa.s, no one could leave the shorn ; they still hoped to be able to do somelliing or give some help. Wtren it grew light, then they knew, indeed, that the ship-had struck U{)on a rock, and been broken to pieces ; for parts of the masts and large lioards were .seen everywhere upon the water.

“ Some men went up to the top of a high rock and looked about. ‘ I .see a man .swimming,’ said one ; ‘ let us go down and get the boat : we will go and take him up, he may not have strength to get to land.’ They ran down the rock, but the boat had already gone out, and quite a different way : then they began to shout very loud, in the

hope that their voices might guide the swimmer to an easy place to land at.

j “ For a moment or two they did not see him any more. ‘ Ah ! jioor fellow,’ said some, • he has sunk, ami we who are near could not save him but the brave swimmer hml not sunk ; it came nearer, and then, they saw it was not a man but a large dog. It held its head high above the water, and carried something in its mouth. * It is a baby ! it is a baby !’ cried a woman. ‘ Oh, save the child !’ ami she ran into the water; but the strong wave.s threw her ujhui the ground, and she wa.s dragged Ixwk faint and without breath. The dog reached the shore. U wa.s, indeed, a baby it held in its mouth : it laid it upon the dry sand, and then it was so tired that it fell down by its side ami could not move.”

I “ For a long time the poor little baby seemed dead ; its eyes were shut, ami its cheeks pale ; but when it had been warmed, and its pretty hands rub- j lied, it licgan to get well ; then it opened its eye.s and smiled, and looked round and called mamma,

I but its mamma could not hear it. The baby was the only one of a great many in a large ship who was ever seen again : all went down into the deep except it and its faithful dog, who came running to its side the moment it heard its voice, and walked round and round it, as if to be quite sure that it had not been hurt. When a long time had passed on, and no one came to claim the poor baby, it was sent to live wiih a rich farmer in the country.

“ For some time he was very kind to the little girl ; whom as they did not know what her real name was, they called her Mar)’. He had a sistec who live<l with him, and who loved the little girl very much, so that for two or three years she Wics very happy; but then the sister died, and the far¬ mer married, and his wife was not kind to poor little Mary : .she used to treat her ill that she grew very sad, and had nothing to make her happy, except only her dear dog, who never left her side. Many a blow did poor \ep (so they called it) get from the farmer’s wife for its love to Mary ; but it did not change. When she went out to walk it went with her ; and often she sat for hours with her little arm round the neck of the dog, playing with its long black .silk hair, or covering it w’ith wild flowers.

“ ‘ Dear Xep,’ she w'ould say, ‘ I have got no friend but you : what should I do without you ? vou walk with me, and play with me; and though you cannot sjieak to me, I speak to you : and you look as if you understood me, and that makes me happy.”

SOS

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE

•• Poor Mary was indeed a pad, a very sad little girl : she did not live very near the village, so that she had no one to play with to make her fotiget her sorrow ; and the farmer’s wife was, a.< I have told you, very unkind to her. When she first went to live in the cottage, she slept in a neat little room, just big enough for her, with a very little l»ed in it; but now Mrs Niinn said, she must have that to keep her eggs and butter in; juid that Mary could sleep quite well up stairs — any place was good enough for her, she thought. Si poor Mary, who w'as at this time only six years old, was sent to sleep up Stairs in a cold garret : she did not mind this change at first, liecause it was summer; and, though the garret was quite dark, for there was no window in it, she liked In-tter to sit there when she could not be out, than to stay down stairs to hear crofc.s words, and meet unkind looks. But when winter came, often did the jioor child long once more to be in her own nice little room. The rain came through the roof, and the wind soumled so loud that she could not .sleep. She sometimes thought the roof must give way, and often the rain and snow fell round her as she lay in lied. All this soon made poor Mary ill ; even when there was no wind she could not sleep, for the great cold kept her awake hour after hour.

“ One night, as she was going to beii, she met Nep on the stairs, and putting her little arm round its neck, they went up together. When Mary had undresM-d, she put an old shawl all round her, that she might not feel the cold so much ; and then she kneeled down and said a pra\er to God, and bej^ed of him to take rare of her, for that no one loved her, or was good to her. Go<l heard Mary’s prayer, for (icxl hears ali prayers; but he did not see fit to grant it yet. When she rose from her knees, she got into hei cold, hard lK‘d, and lay down, and Nep jumjied upon it; he thought he would lie much better on the lied, hard as it was, than on the floor; so he lay down too, and a nice, soft, warm rug he made for her feet. She did not think so much of the wind this night, and was so warm and comfortable, that she s<H>n fell asleep; but not till she had wished Nep good niglit, and claplied it, and kissed it.

“ ‘ Conie up every night with me, dear, dear Nep,’ she siiid, ‘ and then 1 shall not care if 1 sleep all my life in this garret : with you here 1 shall not mind the wind, or the snow, or the rain, or the cold.’

“ With a happy heart, the little girl fell asleep ; but she was sad enough when she awoke in the morning, for it was a loud cry of (lain from her faithful Nep that rouscnl her. Mary luui slept longer than usual, so that Mrs. Nunn had come up to Bce w’hy she was not ready to carry the fresh eggs up to the castle. When she came in and found where Nep was laid, .she raised a large stick, and gave It a blow.

“ ‘ Oh ! do not hurt it ! do not hurt it ! ’ cried Mary ; ‘ it was my fault, indeed it was my fault that it came up.’

" The cruel woman did not mind what she said, but beat ]KK>r Nep, till at last it got out of the room, and ran down stairs. Mary cried a great deal ; she cried for all the blows her dear Nep had got, and she cricHl U'cause it could never again come up to her room and make her so warm and so happy as she had [lH.‘cn| tliat night. {When evening came

again, and Mary was going to bed, Nep wa.s lying on a rug at the foot of the stairs ; «he bent down and kissed him ; she halt thought that it would get up and come with her, but she looked back, and it had not moved.

“ ‘ Ah, no, dear Nep,’ she .said, ‘ you will ne\;jer dare to come again ; ’ and, with a heavy sigh, she went into her room and shut the door; but she could not sleep ; no, .she was much too cold ; and now, more than ever, she missed her dear Nep. She had lain awake for about two hours, and everv' one had gone to bed, when she heard a soft pat, jiat, jiat, come upstairs, and then a low scratching at the d(K)r. She jumjied uji ; she knew it was Nep, and she flew to let it in.

“ ‘ Oil, my dear, dear, gcKKl dog ! ’ she slid, * you niu.st not stay : no, no, you will be beat in the morn¬ ing : you must go down again.’ But, for the fust time in its life, Nep wouhl not obeyhi.s little friend; it jumjied upon the bed, she tried to pull it off;

‘ ^'ou will k* lieat ; indeed you will lie beat,’ she said ; you must go ; ’ but no, Nep would not move ; at l;i.>»t she got into bed. For some time the thought of what .\ep would suller in the morning, kept her aw;ike ; but then she fell asleep without knowing it, and slept very soundly till the gray light began to shine in through the open parts of the roof: when .\ep .saw’ that morning was near, he got up ;ind touched her cheek with one of his jiaws, to aw’aken her; then jumping off the lied, it ran to the d(X)r, and scratched to get out. Mary ojiened it — away it went down stairs, and when Mrs. Nunn got up in the morning, she found it, as usual, sleeping on the rug.

“ ‘ Ah,’ she said, ‘ I thought you would not dare to go up again after yesterday morning.’

“But in thi.s she ivas wrong; Nep //m/ dared, and (Ini dare, every night, when all had gone to lied, to go up stairs, and lie at Mary’s feet, and keep her warm ; but it wa.s always wise enough to be safe down upon the rug again before any one was up in the morning.”

“ Oh, m;imma, was that really true i" cried little Charles Stuart, “ was it a real, real dog; and did it indeed do this

“ It was, indeed, a real dog,” said his mamma. “ and it did indeed do this: it is alive now, and so is the little girl, and the very first time 1 see her I shall ask her to tell you the story herself.”

THK arro(;anck of wealth. -

The v;issalage of fashion, which is a jiart of rank, prevents, continually, the free expan.sion of men’s jiowers. I^et us have the greatest diversity of cKCupations. But this does not imply that there is a need of splitting society into castes or ranks, or that a certain number should arrogate superiority, and stand ajiart from the re.st of men as a separate race. Men may work in different dep.artments of life, and yet recognize their brotherly relation, and honor one another, and hold friendly communion with another. Undoubtedly men will prefer as friends and common associates, those with whom they symiuithise most. But this is not to form a rank or ca.'ste. F'or e.xample, the intelligent, the pious, those who reverence God. Butsuppose the intellectual and the religious to cut themselves off by some brixul, visible distinction from the rest of society, to form a clan of their own, to refuse ad-

[Voi.. 1.

mission into their houses people of inferior knowb edge and virtue, and to diminish as far as i)os.sible the occasions of intercourse with them, would not society rise up as one man against this arrogaiit < exclusiveness ? And if intelligence and piety m.iy not be foundations of a caste, on what ground shall ^ they, who have no distinction but wealth, sujerior costume, richer equipage, finer houses, draw hno^ around themselves, .and constitute themselves higher class ? That some .should k‘ richer than others is natural, and is necessary, and could only be prevented by gross violations of right. I.e.ivp men to the free use of their powers, and some will accumulate more than their neighbors. But, to bp prosjierous is not to be sujierior, and should form no barrier lietween men. Wealth ought not to s,.. cure to the pro.sptTous the slightest consideration The o.ilj' di.stinctions which should be recogii.A'.l are tho.se of the soul, of .strong principle, of incor¬ ruptible integrity, of usefulness, of cultivated inti-.- lect, of fidelity in seeking for the truth. A n.an. in projiortion as he has these claims, .should ;<• honored and welcomed everywhere. 1 .see ni’. why such a man, however coarsely, if neatly dres- sed, should not lie a resjiectcd guc.st in the mo'-; splendid mansion, and at the most brilliant meetini:>.

A man is worth infinitely more than .salloons, anj the co.stuines, and the show of the univers*'. He was made to treat all these lieneath his feet. Wlm: an insult to humanity is the present deference lo dress and upholstery, as if silk-worms 'and loon.-, scissors and needles, could produce .something no¬ bler than man. Every good man should proto't against a ca.ste founded on outward prosperity, k- cause it exalts the outward above the inwani, the material above the spiritual ; necause it sprin:» from and cherishes a contemptible pride in siqierfi- cial and transitory distinctions ; because it alienati - man from his brother, breaks the tie of coniinon humanity, and breeds jealousy, scorn, and iniitua; ill will. — [Dr. Channing.

Resoi.i tion. — There is nothing in man so jo- tential for weal or woe as firmness of purp^p Resolution is almost omnipotent. Sheridan wa-a: first timid and obliged to sit down in the midst of ,i speech. Convinced of, and mortified at the caus* of his failure, he said one day to a friend, “ It i^.n me, and it shall come out.” From that moment hr rose and shone, and triumjihed in a consunini.a;e eloiiuence. Here was true moral courage. And.', was well observed by a heathen moralist, that it .< not because things are difficult that we dare do: undertake them, but they apjiear difficult becauv we dare not undertake them. Be then bold in sp;r: Indulge no doubts, for doubts are traitors. In the practical pursuit of our high aim, let us never lo.‘f sight of it in the slightest instance ; for it is more by a di.'^regard of small things than by open and grant offences that me n come short of excellence.

There is always a right and a wrong ; and if you ever doubt, be sure you take not the wrong. Ob¬ serve this rule, and every experience will be to you a means of advancement.

Ixiuis Wholeman, a pound keeper, died lately a: Doneraile, Cork, aged 118 years and 7 month'

His employer, Mr. Nagle, of Ballinamonia Cattle, says that he never lost a tooth and had not a gra.^ hail on his head.

No. 22.]

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE.

TO MV DAUGHTERS. by t !i e late d o c r . m a g i :i >• .

O my darling little daughter.^ !

Omy daughter?, lov'd »u well :

Who by Mrighton’s breezy waters Fora time have gone to dwell.

Here 1 come with spirit yrarnini?,

With your sigiit my eyes to cheer.

When this sunny day returning IJrin ’s my forty-second year.

Knit to me in love and duty Have you been sweet jH'ts of mine !

Long in health, and joy, and beauty.

May it be your lot to shine !

And at last, when t»od commanding,

1 shall leave you both behind.

May 1 feel witti soal e.vpanding 1 shall leave you good and kind !

May I leave my Nan and Pigeon*

Mild ot faith, of purpose true,

Full of faith and meek religion,

With many joys, and sonows f« w.

Now I pirt, with fond caressing.

Part you novv, my daugliters dear —

Take, then, take your father'.s bles.sing,

111 his forty-second year.

[Bi'iitley'j .Maga?jn*.

* pet name for liis youngest ilaugliter.

TALES OF TRAVELLERS.

Number Ten.

ADVKNTFKES IN THF ARCTIC DCKAN.

“ Mamma, do yon know vvliat I like (inrticularly

“ I know many thin-rs tliat you like, Harry ; but I cannot tell whicli you are now thinking of.”

“ It is this, mamma: I like to have things ex- jilained, especially things that puzzle me. Do not you think that is right ?”

“ When you ask to have thing.s explained, from a wish to understand them better, it is very kind of any one to answer your inquiries, and by thi.s ■means you may gain a great deal of knowledge ; but the questions prompted by idle curiosity, or by the mere love of talking, should never be asked nor answered.”

“Then, when I really wish to understand any¬ thing, you have no objection to answer my .ijues- tions.”

“ That depends on whether the ‘ anything’ be something proper for you to know, and which I am able to explain. What do you wi.sh me to tell you now, Harry ?”

“ I am often thinking of poor Golownin, and wondering how he goes on, and guessing what will hapi>en to him. I do not think he will mind the cold, bccausT' he is a Russian, and such a brave fellow, too. How do t/on think he will manage, mamma ?”

“ I really do not know ; hut I dare say he will conquer many difficulties, liecause he is .so active and courageous; and if it should be possible to get to the North Pole this summer, he is a very likely person to accomplish it.”

“ Why do you doubt it, mamma .’ You sjieak a.s if it were uncertain.”

“ When we are considering how Golownin is likely to .sjicceed, we should recollect what has happened to other men who have maile the same attempt.”

“ Mamma, if you did hut know what happened to those men, and would tell it to us, it would be

the very thing to please me. Then we could givi a good guess what sort of adventures Golownin’? will be.”

“ There have Wen so many ships sent to tin Arctic ocean, in hojies of finding a j»a.ssage through it, that you would be tired, .as well as myself, if I were to tell you all that has bi^en done, or rather attempted, for none of the ex{teditions succeeded. In one of these voyages there is a very enlermining .account of such adventures as srilor? in the .Arctn ocean are likely to meet with; and if you wish ti hear the nairative of their dangers and escaiies, I am quite willing to indulge you.”

“ D.ingers and escajics ! Tfiey are the most de¬ lightful things in the world : only, after every d;ui- ger, be sure to have an escajie.”

“ Tiiat you must take your ch.ance for, Harry.

I am going to tell you the affair as it really hap- pned.”

“ Come, dear mamma,” said Lucy, beginning to feel rather impatient, “ now let us hear your story ’

“ Several unsuccessful attempts had Wen made, at different times, to find a j)as.sage along the north¬ ern coasts of h'.urop* .and -Asia; and perhaps the whole .affair might have Ikou forgotten, or the en¬ terprise abandoned as hopeless, had not Russia, at that time, happened to be governed by Peter the Great: a monarch w!,o was not only distinguished for his military genius, but for the wisilom and va¬ riety his plans for the improvement and civili¬ zation of bis subjer ts. Hr ensraged many foreigners in his service, and among others a Dane, named X'itus Rehring, whom he commissioned to traverse the wild and desolate country of SiWria, and to continue his journey as far .as Kamt.schatka. When Ikduing had thus crossed the whole extent of north¬ ern Asia, he was to build tme or more ve.s.sels, in some of the harbors of Kamtschatka, and then to explore the neighboring seas, particularly toward the north.

“ Captain Rehring executed his commis.sion suc¬ cessfully, and returned to Petersburgh in .safety, after having surmounted incredible hard.ships, and travelled, in going and returning, eighteen thousand miles by land.

“ Peter was no longer living to reward his jiast e.xertion.s, or to encourage future enterprise. But the spirit of inquiry was awakened ; and akiut the year 1740, Behring once more embarked from Kamt.schatka, and sailed southward as far as Ja]ian : then steering his cour.se to the ea.st, he di.scovered land, along which he coa.sted (following its direc¬ tion) toward the north-west, till he passed through the straights which War his name, and doubled the north-east cape of Asia. Arrived at the mouth of a great river, he sent his boats, with most of his crew, on shore. I’hey returned to them no more, being, probably, either killed or detained by the n.atives. Those who were left on board, were not a .sufficient number to manage the vessel jiroperly : she wentjon shore on an uninhabited island, where poor Behring died.”

“ Ah, pcxrr man ! that wa.s a sad end to his ad¬ ventures. I hope our Golownin will fare better than tlrnt !”

“ How did the business of discover)’ go on after the death of Behring?” inquired Lucy.

“ Like the rest of human knowledge,” replied her mother, “ our acquaintance with the remoU countrie.s of the globe proceeds gradually: one

generatiou of men passes away after another, leav- to that which succeeds, the result of its discoveries •ind inventions. The next advances, perhaps, still a little further — adds a little more to the general stock of knowledge, and then leaves the further prosecutions of its enterprises to posterity. Much lias Wen learned since the time when the world was thought to W of a flat, circular form, like the op of a round table ; and that the heavens aWve t, with the sun, moon, and :itars, were created -olely for the use and ornament of the earth. But iiurh yet remains to W done. Many a trackless H'a, and pathless desert, and gloomy forest, must >e explored, Wu'ore the earth will W fully known o its inhabitants.

“ .Vbout forty-tive years ago, a great desire wa.s lelt by the English to accomplish what other na¬ tions had attempted in vain. It was then undeter¬ mined, as It is at present, whether the regions round the jioie were land or water, or whether the sea was always frozen. This question the English intended to settle, if they could.

" They set aWut this bu.siness very prudently. The vessels that were chosen for the purpose were not large, but juirticularly strong. They had an out.side case of seasoned oak, three inches thick, to preserve the sides and bottoms of the ships from lieing injured by the .sharp jioints of those ma.s.ses of ice which would W dashed against them They were, Wsides, furnished with a double set of ice- |H>les, anchors, cables, sails, and rigging, that they might W .able to repair any los.ses or misfortunes. Equal care was taken to provide for the health and comfort of the men who were to W sent on this px|M‘dition ; and when every prejiaration was com¬ plete, the comm.Tnd of one of the ships, which was named the (’arcase, was given to Captain Lutwych : the other ship, called the Uace-horse, was com¬ manded hy ('onsUmtine Phipps, who was also com- mixlore.”

“ That i.s quite a new word, mamma,” said Harry. “ Pray tell us, what i.s tlie difference between a capUiin and a commoilore ?”

“ A captain commands one ship : a commoilore commands a squailron, or several ships. Commo¬ dore Phipps not only commanded his own ship, but was appointed to manage the expedition ; and Captain Lutwych was to act in conformity to his lirections.

“ On the 3d of June, 1773, the commcnlore made the signal to weigh anchor, and both the ships took their departure with a fresh breeze, and reached the I ^Shetland I.slands, without any nraterial occurrence. On the Ifith they left Shetland, and were soon in¬ volved in a Utg, of almo.st pitchy d.arkness ; so that the people in one ship could not see the other ship it all. How do you think they contrived lor the ships to keep near each other? for, as they could not !>ee, there was danger of their jiarting company.”

“ Indeed, mamma, 1 cannot tell.”

“ They tireil guns, and beat drums, that they might judge of the distance by the sound. When the mist vani-shed, they found themselves near the Hist degree of north latitude, and immediately steered toward the north-east.

“ When they had passed the Hath degree, they *>egan to feel very cold, and the warm clothing, which had been provided by the English govern- nent, for the use of both officers and sailors, was given out. Ob the 20th they were within the

’!

310

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE.

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i S'

f {

( »

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)

H t

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Arctic Circle, and at midnight they took an obner- vation of the aun.**

** How oddly that aounda to us, who never see the stm at midnight; but what do you mean by taking an observation of the sun, mamma ?**

" You know it must be of the greatest conse¬ quence to sailors, to know exactly in what part of the world they arc. If tliey do not know this, the map and charts they take with them would 1)C of no service ; they would not know when it was ne¬ cessary to take particular care, or when they might sail boldly forward.”

“ That is true, mamma ; and I have often won¬ dered how a captain, when he has been several days out of sight of land, can tell just in what part of the sea his ship is. You know he can see no¬ thing but the sea and the sky.”

“ You have forgotten, Lucy, when the sailor is out of sight of land, he can still liehold some of the moot striking objects.”

Harry did not allow his sister time to consider what tliese objects might be : he exclaimed, “ Yes, I know ; I can tind that out. He can see the moon, and the stars, and the bright, glorious sun ; but they are all a great way ofl'; and they can only show him nortli, south, east and west.”

You are mistaken, Harry : ‘ the bright, glorious sun,’ is a very good friend to the sailor; but liefore we go any furtiier, can you tell me what the hori¬ zon is.’”

” 1 believe it i.s the furthest point that we can see.”

“ The horizon is a circle, not a point. 'I’o a ship out of sight of land, the sky will ap{)ear as if it rested on the water, and tlu distant circle where the sky and the water seem to meet, is the horizon. When the captain wishes to know m what latitude his ship is, one way of finding it is, to observe very exactly how high the sun is above the horizon at noon : when the place of the sun is found, they can tell in what latitude the .'«hip is.”

‘‘That is very curious, and very useful; hut 1 cannot understand how in tan be.”

“ They find the latitude at sea by a calculation, or reckoning from the height of the sun ; hut this cannot be explained to you till you know a great deal more of arithmetic.

‘‘ They were now within the Arctic circle ; and it appeared from the observation just taken, that they were in latitude 66 degrees, .'>2 minutes, north.”

‘‘ Then they were very neai f)' degrees; all but eight minutes.”

Harry wondered how his sister came to know this. “ I learned it in the table,” said she : “ 60 seconds make a minute, and 60 minutes make a degree.”

‘‘ I will learn the table too, then ; but I did not know’ before, that it w’ould help one to understand pretty stories.”

‘‘ The next day,” said Mrs. B. continuiiig hei narration, ‘‘ they saw a whale for the first time. The Commodore also observed a shi]i w’ith Ham burgh colors flying, and wishing to speak with her, hail a gun fired as a .signal. The vessel, on hear¬ ing the gun, 8toppc‘d her course, or brought to, at- sailors call it. IShc was returning home, laden with seals ; and a gentleman who had embarked on board the K.ace-horse, w’ith an intention of going ti the Nortli Pole, being alreaiiy tired of the vo}'age. took that opjxirtunity of returning home ; he bade

his friends farewell, and went on board the Ham¬ burgh ship. The Commodore, with the ship under his command, proceeded on the voyage ; and, amid , fogs, gales, .sleet, and piercing cold, advanced be¬ yond the 74th degree of latitude.

‘‘On the 29th, they came in sight of land, and met with a Greenland ship, called the Marquis of Rcxkingham. The captain presented them with some venison, which was very’ good. They learned from the crew of this ship, which was ju.st returned | frofii the ice, that three whale-ships had been | crushed to pieces the day before, by some floating ice suddenly closing upn them.

‘‘On the first of July they had light breezes and clear weather at midnight, when the sun shone as brightly as at noon. On the oth, they’ were .sur¬ rounded by a thick fog, and w’cre obliged to tire their guns again, to keep in company. A dreadful crackling was now heard at a distance, which proved to be occasioned by the dashing of the loose masses of ice against each other. Next day’ the ' islands of ice appared ; and the log becoming thicker, their situation was very’ alarming. About ten at night the commodore sailed away from the ice ; but it continued to trouble him on the follow¬ ing day, when it w’as very difficult to keep any regular course ; for the ice came in such drifts, as to whirl the ships round irt an astonishing manner.”

‘‘ I am afraid,” said Lucy, ‘‘ I should have wished myself in the Hamburgh ship !” Her mother, not noticing this little interruption, proceeded with her story.

‘‘ The commodore continued strugtrling with ice, much in the .same manner, till the 12th, when they came in sight of Spitzbergen ; and the next day they anchored in Smearingburgh harlmr. This harlior was discovered by the Dutch, who erected sheds and other conveniences there, for boiling the blubber of whales. They also built a village, and endeavored to establish a colony ; but the new settlers prished the finst winter. The remains of this village were still to be seen, when our English adventurers arrive at Spitzbergen.”

Lucy inquired whether this was the .same iSpitz- liergen on which the four Ru.ssian sailors were left, whose adventures are related in Sand ford and Mer¬ lon ?

“ I believe,” replied her mother, ‘‘ tliat the name Spitzbergen belongs to a group or clu.ster of islands. On one of them, tho.se four Russians remained .several years ; and though the Dutchmen all pr¬ ished, I have read of eight Engli.shmen who were left there by accident, and surv’ived. It is a most dreary and desolate country, and one that men would not be tempted to visit, were they not in¬ duced to frequent those seas in pursuit of the whales and seals with which they abound.

‘‘ The commodore determined to remain several Jays in this harbor, to supply the ships with water: and while the sailors were thus engaged, the gen¬ tlemen who went on this expdition amu.sed them¬ selves by exploring that wild, romantic country, which alrounds in mountain.<s rocks, and precipices : among these arc hills of ice, of the most varied and whimsic;U forms. Ycu may even fancy that they i-epresent trees and castles, and many other objects. Some of these ice-hills strike the beholder with as¬ tonishment. They are called the Seven Ice-bergs; ind when the sun shines full upn tliem, the re¬ flection of its rays causes these icy pinnacles to as-

[VOL. 1.

sume the most beautiful colors : their luster is too dazzling for the eye to bear, and the air is filled with an astonishing brightness.”

‘‘ The.se ice-beigs are much more magnificent than the palace of ice you told iis of one day.”

‘‘ Yes, my dear Lucy ; the most extraordinary works of men sink to nothing, when compred wi'.h the sublime majesty of nature.

‘‘ On the southern and western sides of the rwks of Spitzbeigen, wood-strawberries, priwinkles, and several kinds of herbs and mosses, are found during the summer ; but on the northern and east¬ ern declivities the wind is .so cold, that it will not sillier even the hardest plant to appar. The-e rocks are full of holes and clefts, which allbrd con¬ venient shelter for the bird.', who resort there m vast numbers, in the spring, and build their nests among these lofty precipices.

“ The other inhabitants of this dismal country are white bears, deer, and foxes. How these ani¬ mals can find subsistence during the winter, when the earth is covered with snow, and tlie sea with ice, can hardly be imagined.”

‘‘ I should very much like to see this curious country in summer ; esjrecially the glittering ice- ire rgs.”

‘‘It is not only the icebergs that glitter, Harry: the air of Spitzbergen is often filled with small par¬ ticles of ice, which sparkle like diamonds. Theie is no difference between night and day, with re.spct to light; but at midnight the sun appars to be in the north, and may be looked at, like the moon, without dazzling the eyes. This climate is al.so very subject to fogs, -which come on so suddenly, that, one minute you may be enjoying a bright sun¬ shine, I’lnd the next Ire shrouded in the deepst gloom .

‘‘On the 19th of July the commodore made the signal to weigh anchor, and at two in the afternoon the ships were under sail. At three they tacked, and steered to the north ; and before four they weie again entangled in the loose ice, through which they .sailed, directing their course along a va.st, solid field of ice. In this manner they continued sailing for several days. On the 25th, they entered among mountains and islands of ice, which came upn them so fast, that it was with the utmost difficulty the could proceed. The Carcass several times struck with such violence against the ice, as to raise her head four feet out of w’ater.”

‘‘ I should have lieen very much afraid of such bumjiing,” said Harr)’, ‘‘ though the ships had out¬ side cases. I am sure that was a very’ wise con¬ trivance, better than Ali Bey’s dao which had a false keel under the real one, but the whole outside case was better still.”

“On the 26th, at seven in the morning, they found themselves in the neighborhood of Muffin’s Island ; and Captain Lutwych sent out the long¬ boat with ten men, under the command of an officer, to .sound along the shore. This island is adout a mile long : the ground is flat, and mostly covered witli sand and loose stones. There is hardly a green weed upn it ; but, though .<!0 l«uren and desolate, it is a favorite resort of the birds who frequent these northern regions during the summer.

“ When the prty from the long-boat landed on the island, they found the ground so covered with eggs, that they could hardly walk w’ithout stepping upn them. While the men were walking about,

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE.

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they observed two white bears coming toward them, one on the ice, the other in the water.”

“ Can bears swim, then, mamma

“Oh, yes ! These shaggy gentlemen are quite at home, either m the water or on the land, and in both situation they hunt diligently /or their prey.

“ The bears came on verv' fast, and the officer who Commanded this little party, not being re¬ markable for courage, began to feel rather alarmed, and ordered his men to lire. Now the sailors thought that, as the bears were so far oil', they could not take gooil aim ; but, as the officer com¬ manded them, they presented their muskets, and some of them tired ; the others only pretended to do so, and then retreated.”

“ I see we shall have some good diversion with this brave officer and the bears. I just wish I had seen him !”

“ I cannot say that he made a very respectable figure on the occasion. When he saw his men re¬ treat, he had no inclination to brave the approach¬ ing danger alone, so he endeavored to follow his companions ; but, unfortunately, he was very fat, and consequently running did not suit him, and he wa.s soon quite out of breath. He saw that the bear wdiich came in the water had just reached the shore, and now he thought of nothing but becom¬ ing the prey of this formidable animal.

“ His hair stood on end. He looked behind him, and saw the bear but a little way olF, ailvancing with his nose in tlie air, as if he was snuffing the scent. Not doubting that he was the object of the bear’s pursuit, his terror became excessive, and he had scarcely breath left to call to his men to stop. Just at this moment he unfortunately dropped his gun, and stooping to pick it up again, he stumbled against the nest of a goose, who was sitting on hei eggs, and down he fell flat. He had hardly time to get up Jigain, before the enraged gander flew to the as.sistance of the half-smothered goose : he darted at the eyes of the officer, but luckily missed his aim, and only injured the j)oor man’s nose. This, you will say, was bad enough; but the gan¬ der prepared fo^ a second attack, which might have had worse consequences, if the sailors, seeing theii commander so beset, had not come to his relief.”

“ I am glad they came to help him at la.'st,” said Lucy. “ I was beginning to be angry with them. You laugh, Harrj'; but you know the {)oor man could not help l)eing out of breath, and tumbling down.”

“ Perhaps not ; but it seems so rediculous to be attacked by a gander ! What did the .«ailors do to help him ?”

“ One of them, perceiving that the gander wa<^ hovering round the officer’s head, with the inten¬ tion of attacking him again, levelled his gun, and fired with such good aim, that the bird fell dead to the ground. Overjoyed at seeing his men about him, and animate.l by the death of one enemy, the officer, who had recovered his gun, faced about to assist in the attack of the other. By this time the bear ^vas scarcely ten yards from him ; and begin¬ ning to growl, the officer’s courage once more failed him, he dropped his arms, and shrunk back.

“ Happily for them all, the sailors had more pre¬ sence of mind than their commander : they fired, and the poor bear fell down e.xpiring. When all ib« danger was pwt, the officer, resolving to have

at least a share in killing this formidable creature, advanced and thrust his lance into his body.”

“ Oh, mamma ! 1 cannot bear this man : he was cruel as well as cowardly.”

“ You are right, my dear Lucy : one may pity a cowara, but the union of cowanlice and cruelty is contemptible.

“ After this valiant exploit, the officer took shel¬ ter in his boat, leaving a few of his men to dispatch the other liear. The sailors were highly entertained by the cowardice of their leader ; and, not unwil¬ ling to show, that they were superior to him in courage and dexterity, they attacked a .sea-horse, who made his appearance stxm after in the water ; but this animal defended himself with such des¬ perate courage, that he would have come otf victo¬ rious, hail only one boat been engaged in the combat. But the jieople on boiud the liace-horse having heard that there were bears and sea-horses on this little island, were desirous of sharing the sjiort of hunting them. They accordingly set otf in their boats, and arrived just in time to assist in the con¬ quest. The people on the island continued to at¬ tack the diffirent animals they discovered, till their ammunition was almost spent. Just then, one great bear came up to avenge the death of his fel¬ lows ; and he advanced so furiously, growling and barking, that he put the whole company to llight, and some of them, it is said, had no great rc.ason to laugh at their leader.”

“ I think they were serx'ed just right,” observed Lucy : “ I cannot bear to be laughed at when I am frightened. What became of the commodore and his people, after this adventure “ The next day the air was perfectly serene ; and the fishes apjieared, by their sjiorting in the water, to enjoy the plea'^antne.ss of the weather. The whales were seen spouting their fountain.^ in the lir, and the dolphins playing about among the waves. The whole prosjiect was plea.sing and animated. The very ice by which they were sui- roundfd looked beautiful, and apjiearetl in a thou- •land glittering forms. The tops of the mountains, which they could see like sparkling gems at a vast iistance, resembled .so many silver stars illuminat¬ ing the horizon. Wishing to know* exactly wVere they were, they took an obsen'ation very carefully ; and found themselves in latitude 8t) degrees 47 minutes north, and in longitude 21 degrees 10 min¬ utes east from London : tliat is, east from the line which is called the meridian of T/ondon. There, I have made a dot on the globe w’ith my pencil : I believe that is almost the situation of the ship.

“ They observed seven islands toward the north, to which they directed iheir course. The next day was the 28th, and the plea«ant weather they had enjoyed changed to piercing cold At midnight they found themselves in the very sj»ot where a former navigator had sujiposed there was an open¬ ing in the Tolar sea- They could, however, dis¬ cover nothing from the mast-head but a continent of solid ice, and the .seven islands I have just men¬ tioned. On this ice were a great many bears, and some of them came so near the ship as to be shot by small -arms. They found the flesh of the boars very good to eat ; and they might have had plenty of this provision, for many of them are as large as on ox. The following day the sun shone so plea¬ santly, that it almost made them forget the climate in whieh they were sailing. They coasted along

the ice, and observed many openings, through which, from their appearance, at a distance, they were in hopes of finding a pa.‘*sage ; but when they made the attempt they were disappointed. They were now about fonr miles distant from the nearest land.

“ On the la-st dav of the month, the Caixa-se filleil her empty casks with water from the ice.”

“ Did they di.ssolve the ice, then i But if they did, that would have been salt water, like the re.-'i of the sea.”

“ I do not wonder at your thinking so, Harry ; hut our voyagers did not find this to be the case : the melted ice tasted like fresh water, and the sea itself was much less salt than any sea-water they had ever tasted bi'foiv. It was not, however, with melted ice that they filled their water-ca.sks. On the surface of the ice was a great quantity of snow ; and as soon as they dug a pit in the .solid ice, it filled with fine, soft, clear water.”

“ That water must have come from the snow. And I do believe I know the reason why the ic« had not the salt taste of sea-water.”

“ I should like to hear your reason for that, Hariy.”

“ You know, mamma, that I have often held a little snow to the fire, and it melted into water di¬ rectly. Now, if I hail a place cold enough to put that snow-water into, it would have frozen, not into snow again, but into ice.”

“ Very true, Harry ; but what has that to do with the ice in the Arctic ocean ?”

“ Do not you .see, mother, that it has a great deal to do with it ? I think that sweet-ta-sted ice wa.s once snow. When the sea was frozen over, the snow would lie very thick upon the ice ; and when the snow thawed a little where the sun shone, and then froze again, I think it would be ice.”

“ Indeed, Harry, you have explained your mean¬ ing better than I expected. It is the opinion of men who have considered this subject, that the ice in the .-Vrctic ocean is not .sea- water frozen, but that it comes from the fresh-water rivers which dis¬ charge themselves into that sea. Observe how many rivers in the northern part of the Russian empire flow into the Polar sea, which, of course, must receive the ice that is formed in those rivers.”

“ That is very true,” replied Harry ; “ but I do not understand why the sea itself does not freeze as well a.s the rivers.”

“ The saltness of the sea is one reason. Water that contain.^ as much salt as sea- water does, will not become hard, clear ice, even when exposed to the greatest degree of cold, but resembles tallow or suet.”

“ That is an easy experiment, and one that I should like to try, if you would lend me one tum¬ bler for my fresh water, and one for my salt and water. I should like to see the diflerence of the ice with my own eyes. But you said the saltness of the sea was one reason : can you tell me an¬ other?”

“ Yes ; the tides that prevail in the ocean pre¬ vent it from freezing so readily. The Black ^jea freezes, as well as some parts of the Baltic ; but neither of these .seas has any tides, and the water of both is less salt than that of other seas, because so many rivers flow into them. However, I quite approve your plan of trying the difference between

312

EVERY YOUTH’S G’AZETTE.

[VoL. r.

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( f »

f : i ’

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t I

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salt-water ice and fresh- water ice : so you may ask me for the tumblers next time it freezes, Harry.

“ On the first of August the ships were lying-to among the close ice, with the loose ice driving fast toward the shore.

“ The commodore was desirous of surveying the westernmost of the seven islands, which appeared the highest, in order to judge, from the prosjrect on the hills, of the possibility of proceeding any fur¬ ther to the north. He therefore ordered the ice- anchors to Ire thrown out, and made both the ships fast to the main l)ody of the ice. This is the crrm- mon practice of the fishing vessels employed in those seas.

“ The party who explored this island consisted of the two captains, the pilots, some sailors selected from both ships, and three other jrcrsons. They set out about two in the morning, and sometimes sailing, sometimes drawing their boats over the ice, they reached the shore with difficulty.

“ When they landed they saw a heard of deer, so very tame that it would have been easy to kill them with their bayonets ; hut the officers did not allow the sailors to destroy the harmle.ss creatures: one, indeed, was fired at by a sailor, but it wa« during the absence of the commanders.

“The gentlemen who had undertaken this expe¬ dition, climbed one of the highest hills on the coa.<‘t, to take a survey of the country and of the neigh¬ boring sea. The haziness of the air on the top ot this hill disap|X)inted their ho|>es, and prevented tlicir taking an observation, though they had carried their instruments for that purjH).se.”

“ To observe the height of the sun, and then reckon the latitude of the island. I remember about that, you see, mamma.”

“ I am glad of it, my dear. Finding they could do nothing in consequence of the .state of the air, they determined to return to the ships, where they arrived safely, after an absence of twenty hours. What o’clock was it then, Lucy

“Twenty hours after two o’clock in the morn¬ ing — twelve and eight. I think it was ten o’clock the next night, mamma.”

“ When they were again on lioard, the commo¬ dore discovered that, by grappling the ships to the ice, in the manner practiced by the (Ireenland ships, he had exposed his vessels to great danger.

“ The loose ice had closed so fast around the ships, that they found it impossible to disengage them ; and there w’as great reason to fear that one or both of them would soon be crushed to pieces.

“ One cannot think of their terrible situation, without recollecting these lines :

‘ Miserable they.

Who, litre enlanj^ied in the gathering ice.

Take their last look of the descending sun !

While full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost.

The long, long night, incumbent o’er their heads,

Falls horrible.’”

“ This is a very shocking part of your story, mamma. If they could not contrive some way of •scaping before the * long, long night’ of winter, I think they must all be starved or frozen to death.”

‘‘ That misfortune really did happen to the jieo- ple| who first discovered Spitzbergen.”

“Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Lucy, who were they ? and when did it happen .>”

“ About two hundred and twenty years before the expedition of Commodore Phipps, three ships, i

under the command of Sir Hugh VV'illoughby, sailed from England, intending to go to China by a north¬ east pas.sage through the Arctic ocean. Sir Hugh discovered Spitzbergen, but was soon afterward ."so involved in storms, and beset with ice, that he found it imfiossible either to proceed on his voyage, or to return. It was the unhappy fate of these men, which suggested the lines I have just repeated to you. They proceed in this manner :

‘ Such was the Briton’s fate,

Ab with first prow (what have not Britons dared !) He for the passage sought, attempted since 8o much in vain, and seeming to be shut By jealous nature with eternal bars.

In these fell regions in Arzina caught.

And to the stony deep his idle ship Immediate seal’d, he with his hapless crew,

Each full exerted at his several task.

Froze into statues; to the cordage glued The sailor, and the pilot to the helm.’ ”

Lucy thought this a veiy .strange story, and a.sked her mother whether she really believed it to be tnie?

“ I fancy the jioct has embellished it a little,” said Mrs. H. “ It is not at all likely that the sail¬ ors were actually frozen as they were working the ship. The most probable accotint I have seen is, that Sir Hugh Willoughby, after having sailed within sight of Spitzlicrgen, wa.s beset with ice, and endangered by storms. Finding he could not re¬ turn, he resolved to winter in the river Arzina, in I.apland, where he and his comj)anion really t(X)k

* Their last look ot ihe descending sun — While full of death, and fierce with ten- fold frost. The long, long night, incumbent o’er their heads, Kell horrible.’”

“How could that ever l)C known, if the people were all frozen ?”

“ Their bodies were found by some wandering I^planders; audit is said that Sir Hugh Wil¬ loughby had left upon his table an account of his discoveries.”

“Ah ! that makes it plain enough,” said Harry. “ How surprised the l.aplanders must have been, to see the ships and all the frozen people !”

Lucy had nolhoughts to spare for the I^aplanders and their a.stonishment : her mother’s account of the fate of Sir Hugh and his jieople appeared to her so very dismal, that she said, “ If Phipps and his companions thought of it, it was enough to make them low-spirited.”

“ When courageous people are placed in situa¬ tions of danger, they generally exert all theii jKjwers of resource and invention : while they an intent ujion extricating them.selves, they have no time to be low-spirited. If you commanded a ship in such a dreailful situation, Harry, how would you prevent it from being crushed to pieces ?”

“ Indeed I do not know. I supjiosc the ice came ujxin them with too much force to be pushed back with their ice-jmks.”

“ Indeed it did ; but the danger was imminent, and it wa-s necessary to do something effectual im¬ mediately. The commodore, therefore, set all hi* men to work, to form a dock in the solid ice, Iarg« enough to receive both the ships. This xvas jier- formed cheerfully and expeditiously ; and thus the) were preserved from the danger of immediate dis truction.”

Lucy said she did not understand what a dock is like.

“ It is a basin, a hollow place,” replied her mo¬ ther, “ sufficiently large to recieve the hull of one or more ships. When vessels want repairing, they are frequently put into dock, that the workmen may get to every jiart of them conveniently. Some docks are dry ; that is, they have great gates, which shut out the water till the vessel is repaired and ready for use : when they open the gates, let in the water, and the ship floats out again. But the dock that Commodore Phipp.s contrived was merely a placed scooped out of the solid ice, suffi¬ ciently large to receive the ships, which were thus defended from the pressure of the moveable ice, which before was likely to crush them. When this was accomplished, he summoned all the pilots and officers on board hi.s own ship, to consult what would be the best course to pursue. They were all of opinion that there was no hope of being able to disengage the ships from the ice ; and that they must either pass the winter in the neighboring isl¬ ands, or attempt to launch their boats into the open .sea, which was already a great way off; for the ffoating ice had collected in such an astonishing quantity, that the sea was quite out of sight. Be¬ fore anything further Wits undertaken, the sailors were desired to refresh them.selves with sl«ep.”

Lucy said she could not have gone to sleep in such a situation.

“ Perhaps not,” replied her mother ; “ but it h<is been remarked that while commanders jireservc their fortitude, .sailors are never disheartened. On thi.s occasion the men rose in the morning wdth a.s much chcerfulno.«s and unconcern a.s if they had been sailing with a fine breeze in the British chan¬ nel.”

“ I am sure they were fine, brave fellows!” ex¬ claimed little Harry.

Mrs. B. said she thought such unconcern wa.s more like thoughtlessness than courage.

“ Next day,” continued she, resuming her nar¬ rative, “it was determined to make one desperate attempt to liberate the ships, by cutting a channel through the ice to the westward, into the opn sea. As they had scoojied out a dock so expeditiously the day before, they did not dispair of accomplish¬ ing even this undertaking : the laborious ta.sk was ‘>egun with surprising cheerfulness and confidence. Their ice-saws, axes, sledges, and poles, were all busily employed ; but after cutting through solid blocks of ice from eight to fifteen feet thick, they came to others which they were quite unable to 'et through, and the plan was laid aside as entirely hopeless.

“ On the .3d of August, after the men had again refeshed themselves with sleep, it was resolved to lit up the boats belonging to both ships, in the best manner they could, and draw them over the ice till they came to the open sea. If they could but man- •ige to do this, they hoped, by sailing and rowing, to reach the northernmost harbor of Spitzbergen, before the dejiarture of the last .ships belonging to the fishery, and in some of them they might return to Europe.

“ This was, probably, the best plan they could devise, but it w'as very difficult to execute ; for the pilots, who had been sent out to examine the ice. Drought word that the nearest water was about ten leagues to the westward ; so that, you see, they would have to drag the boats thirty miles before they could float them.

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE

313

No. 22.]

» The ice that surrounded our voyagers appeared to become more and more solid ; but while the boats were preparing, tlie people kept up their spirits; and those who were not employed, diverted them¬ selves with hunting the bears, that now came every day over the ice, attracted, perhaps, by the smell of the dinners that were cooked on board the ships.

It was on the morning of the 5th of August that those three bears matle their appearance, of which you have read an affecting account in Percival’s Tales; so I"need not tell you the story again.”

“ No,” said Harry, “ I would rather not hear that sad story : it always made me unhappy. The poor old bear behaved so much like a human mother ! I think they were cruel men who could kill her. But pray, mmuma, go on with your own .‘<tory.”

“ On the 6th they found that the whole body of ice drifted toward the east, and a party of sailors with the pilots were sent to the most northern of the seven islands, to see what discoveries they could make there. They returned at night, after a fatiguing journey, with a dismal account, that they could see nothing in that direction but a vast con¬ tinent of ice ; and they thought it would be more dreadful to jass the winter in such a situation, than to perish by sudden death.

“ These accounts made them still more anxious to set off in their boats ; and when they were all ready, and had ixicked up such provisions and other necessaries as they thought they could take with them, the men went to sleep, to recruit their strength, before they began this formidable under¬ taking. At six the next morning they all turned out ui)on the ice. Fifty men from each ship, headed by their officers, were appointed to begin the hard task of hauling the boats over the ice. The commodore directed the ojKM-ation of dragging the boats, leaving Captain Lutwych the care of both the shi])s, that he might be ready to take ad¬ vantage of any favorable change in the situation of the ice.

“ The men who remained with Captain Lutwych, and those who went to haul the boats with the commodore, equally preserved their courage and .steadiness.”

“ Indeed, mamma, they were very brave fellows, not to Ix! afraid when they were in such a frightful situation.”

“ The haulers,” re.sumed Mrs. B. “ worked very hard for six hours ; and in all that time they had dragged the boats only a single mile, though they had used the utmost exertion. It was now time for them to dine, which afforded a little rest from this hard labor. They had just finished their dinner, and were setting to work again, when a messenger came from the ships, with intelligence that the whole body of ice was moving to the westw'ard ; that the ships were both afloat, and the ice apiieared to be parting.

“ You cannot imagine the joy which was felt by the whole company who were hauling the boats: they shook off their harness, and ran back to the ships, to assist in working them. They found that Captain Lutwych, who was no less beloved by his men than the commodore, had done wonders during their absence.

“ Both the ships were not only afloat with their sails set, but had proceeded nearly half a mile through the ice. The hopes they had begun to

indulge were once more disappointed. The ice suddenly drifted again toward the east, and closed upon them as fast as ever.

“ All the rest of that dismal evening, and until two o’clock the next morning, the drift continued towanl the east ; and the men were worn out with fatigue, in defending the ships with their ice-j)oles, from the danger of being crushed by the mas.-^es of ice closing the channel in xvhich the vessels rode.”

“ Poor fellows !” said Harry, “ I supiwsc they were obliged to stand on deck, and keep pushing the ice back with their poles : it must have been very hard work, especially as there seemed no hoix* of succeeding.”

“ Indeed it was; and men of less determined courage would have given up the contest. At last, when their strength and spirits were almost ex¬ hausted, when every hope of deliverance from their own endeavors seemed to fail, the wind began to blow, and the ice to part in an astonishing manner, rending and cracking with a tremendous noise, greater than that of the loude.st thunder. At this moment, the vast continent of ice, which extended beyond the reach of sight, even when they climbed the loftiest hills in hop«‘s of seeing the w:iter beyond it, beg-an to move in various directions, splitting and dividing into vast bodies, and forming bills and plains of dilferent shapes and sizes.

“ I the midst of this awful scene, how thankful these |KK>r men must have felt to that merciful Providence, whose power the winds and the waves obey. No human strength or skill could have effected their deliverance, while this unexjjected change of wind accomplished it directly.”

“ But, mamma, I think their own strength and skill did some good, because it brought them into a situation to take advantage of the favorable change.”

“ C'ertainly, Lucy ; but their own strength and skill were not sufficient : I have no doubt that they were sensible of this, and thankful for their escajie. With this change their spirits revived, and they endeavored to profit by it, and spread all their sails to catch the favorable breeze.”

“ That was wise,” .said Harry ; “ for when the wind filled the sails, it would send the ships through the ice with such force. T think it was a very good plan.”

“ They had a great deal to do, and a great deal of trouble to get the ships along between the mas¬ ses of ice. They pu.shed away with their ice-poles ; but they did not forget the floats which they had left on the ice, and sent a party to launch them. But there were not men enough to push these heavy boats into the water : while they were try¬ ing to do it, the ice parted under their feet.”

“ Oh, mamma ! were they drowned ?”

“No; they escaped without the loss of a man, got into the boats, and reached the ships when they had not advanced much more than a mile.”

“ How came they to move so much quicker than the ships ?”

“ You know a boat could iiass through an open¬ ing that would be too small for a ship.

“On the 10th the wind was changeable, and they proceeded but slowly. About eight o’clock the wind sprung up fresh from the north-east, and ojiened the ice to the westward. They then made all the sail they could, driving along with the loos¬ ened ice, and pushing it aside with all their force. Toward noon they loet sight of the Seven Islands ;

and a little while after, to their great joy, Spitzber- gen was seen from the mast-heail.

“ Now they began to feel themselves out of dan¬ ger; and they could not help admiring the varied forms of the broken masses of ice among which they were sailing. One remarkable piece was shaped like a magnificent arch, so large and lofty, that a good-sized sloop might have sailed through it without lowering her mast. Another represnted a church, with windows, pillars, and domes; and a thinl was like a fable with icicles hanging round it, as if it had been covered with a fringeil cloth.”

“ How very beautiful ! I like to hear of these curious things, mamma.”

“ .\nd I dare say, if you had been there, Lucy, you would have found many more wonderful re¬ semblances.

“ On the 1 ith they cleared the ice, and bore away, with all sails set, for the harbor of Smear- ingburgh, in which they hal before cast anchor. Here they found four Dutch Greenlandmen lying in readiness to depart. They were told that the F.nglish fishing ships had all set sail a month be¬ fore. On the •2()th of Augu.st the Commoilore left Srnearingburgh Harlior ; and though they met with a heavy gale of wind on their return, when the Carcase was in considerable danger, and the Race¬ horse lost her boats, and was obliged to throw most of her guns overboard, both .ships anchored safely at Deptford, on the 3()th of September.”

“ Well I am very glail that they came safe home agiiin ; but I think they took a great deal of useleas trouble when they were among the Seven Islands.”

“ I do not understand what you mean by useless trouble, Harry.”

“ I mean cutting the ice-dock and hauling the boats, and all that hanl labor. You know, if they had remained tpiietly in the cabins of their ships, the wind would have blown from the north-east and cracked the ice, all the same.”

“ Without deciding how the wind might have blown in that case, if you consider the matter, Harry, you will .see that you are mi.staken. Your si.ster remarked, very justly, that the strength and skill of our voyagers teere of use to them ; because, by their own exertions, they placed the ships in a situation proper for taking advantage of the change of wind.”

“ If it had not been for that change of wind, 1 suppose they must all have perished, like Sir Hugh VV'illoughby and his people. Mother, do not yq^ call the escape of Commodore Phipps providen¬ tial V'

“ Nothing can happen but by the appointment of Providence : therefore, one event is not really more providential than another.”

“ 1 thought that only surprising events and gieat deliverances, were providential. What is Providence ?”

“ The care which the Almighty takes of the be¬ ings that he has created, is called Providence. When it preserves us from great and sudden dan¬ ger, we are more ready to acknowledge it with ger, we are more ready to acknowledge it with gratitude. But we equally need the same constant care of our Heavenly Father in the common occur¬ rences of life : and we ought to endeavor to feel thankful even for affliction.”

“ What ! if we are ill, or people are unkind to us, ought we to be thankful for it mamma ?”

314

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE

* 1

V '

i ’

r i

(

“Certainly we ought — luch things to do not happen by chance ; they are under the control of that providential care which is always watching over us, and which orders all things so that they

may promote our real welfare— the welfare of our

souls, iC not of our bodies.

“ I do not understand that at all, mamma. I should tliink misfortunes wonld happen from the want of care.”

VV^hat we call misfortunes do not always de¬ serve that name. Vou have heard, that in the reign of Queen Mary, many good people were cru¬ elly burned alive, on account of their religion.”

“ Yes, it was becau.se they did not think it right to be Papists.”

“ One of the j)ersons who refused to join the Papists, was Bernard (iilpin. He was taken pri¬ soner ; and the persons who were sent to apprehend him were bringing him to London, th.'it he might suffer as others had done. It is said that he broke his leg on the journey, which detained him on the road. Now he had often been heard to .siy, that * nothing happens to us but what is intended for our good;’ and his enemies scoffingly asked him, ‘ whether he thought his broken leg was so in¬ tended He did not reproach them for thi.s cruel speech, but meekly an.swered, ‘ he made no ques¬ tion but it was.’ And, indeed, so it proved; for before he was able to travel. Queen Mary died, and Gilpin was set at liberty ; so that breaking his leg saved him from a shocking death.

“ That is a very pretty little story,” said Harry ; “ and 1 see that even a man’s breaking his leg may be a happy thing for him.”

“ Yes, and a providential thing, though it is so painful and disagreeable, i fancy that is the rea¬ son you told us the story mamma.”

“ You are right, my dear I.ucy ; and I hope you will both endeavor to think, like Bernard Gilpin, that every thing which hap()ens to you is intended for your good, thoi^h it may not be just what you desire. The great Father of the universe is * Good when he gives, supremely good.

Nor less when he denies.

Afflictions from his gracious hand Are blessings in disguise.’”

Thames Tvnnkl. — The Thames Tunnel ha.s cost two millions of dollars. It is 1200 feet long, and is built in the most durable manner, so that it will last for ages, unless an earth(|uake should inter¬ fere with it. It. saves three miles of travel through crowded thoroughfares. With the o.\|)erience ac¬ quired in building this tunnel, it is supjiosed a second could be built for one half of the money. Waterloo bridge and Ixmdon bridge, over the Thames, (stone bridges.) cost five millions of dollars each.

Rather New. — An advertiser in a western pa¬ per^ who rejoices in the various occupations of doctor, lawyer, justice of the peace, and dry goods merchant, adds the following to his list of pursuits and qualities : ‘N. B. Auctioneering of the loudest kind, interwoven with ventriloquism.’

Dvtch Bull. — ♦ Dc conrkekation vil pleeshe to sing the von dousandth and two’th {xsalm,’ said a Dutch parson, as he gave out the morning hymn. ‘ There are not so many in the book,’ responded the chorister, ‘ Vel, den, pleeshe to sing po many as tare pe.’

THOUGHTS IN VERSE.

BY JA.MES AI.PR1CII.

THE LVW’LY BORJi.

Art thou scorned, dost thou repine That a lowly birth was thine 1 Boldly friend, look up, and know None may higher lineage show—

Holy Nature is thy mother,

God thy father, Christ thy brother !

ETERNITY.

Self-tortured, self-deceived, why treiuhlest thou At that great sea which laves no mortal shore—

Rightly conceived Eternity is now.

And Time, with all its troubles, is no more. j

vainseekinc, . I

Why seekest thou with vain unrest '

For that the desert cannot give ;

Unsval the fountain in thy breast,

And freely drink therefrom, and live.

CHARITY.

Her feel, unto the poor man 'sear Have music in their tread, nd wliere she moves, a presence seems With golden wings out.«prea(l !

RICHES.

” Am 1 not rich in that which I have 1”

No, my friend, only in that whicli thou art.

1. 1 r e’s I* a s s a *; e .

( Inward, human generation.^

Move like clouds of burning sand, iSwiftly o’er Life’s waste tr^ahara Into the silent land.

Christ’s h r .m a n i t v .

Christ, the holy, just, and true,

1 could not love as now I do.

Did I think that he were other Than my human friend and brother.

SELF-RELIANCE.

In the sweet freshne.** of thy youth Learn thou, and ponder well, this truth ;

He only wins life’s highest prize Whose soul upon itself relies.

HEATH.

“ Gl' death alone is all my thought,”

Deceived the sick man saith ;

The thought is inconceivable.

He cannot think of death.

SERMONS FOR MY CHILDREN.

N nmbe r Four.

K A C I, T S OF C H I L D U F .N .

EVEN A CHILD IS KNOWN BV HIS DOINGS. WlIF.THER HIS WORK Bt rCBK AND WHCTHCH IT BE kIGlIT.

This is a wise saying which concerns children ; and it may be found in the Book of Proverbs, 20th chapter, llth verse. The meaning of it is, that a child, as well as a man, is to he known, or distin¬ guished, by his character, his habits, his behavior, his talk ; so thtit you can tell, young as he i», and brief as his residence has been in this world, whether his work, or the amount of what he does, is pure and right, or whether it is impure and wrong.

Some children are obedient to those whom they ought to obey, and some disobedient ; some are dis¬ posed to be calm and quiet, and some to be jieevish and fretful ; some are gentle, and some are rude and passionate ; some speak the truth always, and some speak a great deal of falsehood. Now by all these doings a child is known. He is not so widely

[Vet. I.

known as a man is, because he does not act on so wide a stage as a man does; but still he is known. He is known by his playmates and schoolmate.s. and he is known by many grown up jieople, the friends and acquaintances of his family, the nc^h- bors, and others. He cannot help being knoun. There arc many eyes upon him, which must see what he is doing, how he conducts himself ; and, therefore, there arc many miiul.s which form an opinion concerning his work and his conduct.

It is important that you .should be aware of this, my children, and that you should govern youi- selves accordingly. It is imjKirtant that you should be aware, that even at your early time of life, [loople observe you, ami have their thought.s and feelings about you. You are sometimes too ajit to imagine that jieople are taking notice of your clothes, when in fact they arc not; but you may dejicnd on it, that many persons, who do not care the lca.st whether you are dres.sed !j'n one way or another, cannot fail to mark your behavior, and are pleased to sec you behave well, and dis})lea‘<ed to see you behave ill. Surely you desire to give pleasure rather than jmin. Surely you prefer to be thought agreeable rather than disagreeable, and good rather than bad. Von must e.stecm it more plea.saiit to go about with an cvcellcut character among friends, than with a poor character among those who dislike you.

I take it for granted, that you would, all of yon, rather be loved than not be loved. But in or¬ der to be loved, you must attract and deserve love ; and in order to deserve love you must he virtuous and amiable ; and in order to be virtuous and amiable, you must avoid those faults to whicli you are liable, and amend those faults which you may have alrciuly contracted. It is therefore a friendly act to warn you kindly of your faults; and this is what I projKise to do in the present sermon.

I am not one of those who think that children have no faults. I love children. I love the frcsli- ne.ss, the simplicity, the ojienness of heart, the tendernes.s of heart, the comparative innocence, which are so generally the characteristics of child- h(K).l. But I remember what children were when I was a child, and I 8-*e what they are now; and I know that they have faults. Indeed it would be a wonder if they had not. And if I should tell you, my children, that you had no faults, your own consciences and recollections would contradict me, and tell you that I wa.s mistaken. Tf I should say to you, my children, you are altogether with¬ out sjiot or stain ; your thoughts and feelings are all e.xactly right; in order to do what you ought, you have only to do what you please, and wo to those who check you and your sweet impulses; you have no .sins, no selfishness, and never would have, ii your elders would only let you alone ; you arc, in short, angels upon earth — If I should hold this languirgc to you, you might 'or a moment, i jierhaps, be pleased with the flattery, but the next I moment you would blush and hang your heads with uneasy consciousness, and wonder hew I j could be either so ignorant, or so regardless of : fact, as to address you in so strange a manner. It i is not improbable that some of you might call to j mind something which you had done wrong this I very day, which would itself prove my lofty praises I to be empty and worthless. I think so well of

No. 22.]

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE.

you, that I believe you would prefer lionert words from my mouth to flattery ; and it is only because I love you, and wish you to become better by amending your faults, that I sj)eak to you con¬ cerning them.

I shall sj)eak of a few of the faults which ap- jtear to me to be most common to children. Hut in doing this, I do not mean to imply that all of you are chargeable with each of the faults which 1 shall name. Some of you will probably lx* blamelcs.s of one sj)ccifieJ fault and some of an¬ other. Your own consciences must tell you of what you are guilty, and of what you are not guilty.

1. The first fault which I .shall mention is that of wilfulnes.s. Children are very ajit to lie wil¬ ful ; to set up their own will in opjtosilion to the will of tliose whose right and whose duty it is to direct and govern them. To be sure, it is quite natural that you should jirefer your own will and your own way. Hut then your will is often un- reiusonable, and your way dangerous ; and they who are older and wiser than you are, know, that if you were always to have your own way, the consequences would lie highly injurious, not only to others, but to yourselves. If there is to lx; or¬ der, and jteace, and virtue, in a hou.se, all who live in it cannot have, each one, his .sejKirate will and way ; for the wills and ways would clash to¬ gether and produce endless confusion. There must be government in that hou.se. The w'ills of some must occasionally yield and Ire given up Now who ought to yield, and give up their wills ? Should the old yield to the young, or the young to the old? Should the parent yield to the child, or the child to the parent ? Certainly the child should yield ! And why ? Hecause the parent has more wisdom than the child can have, and knows Iretter than the child can, what is for the child’s good.

And remember, too, that it is because your pa¬ rents love you, that they sometimes opj>ose your will, and refuse to grant your wishes. It is as un¬ pleasant to them to contradict and deny you, as it can be to you to be contradicted and denied ; but they j)erform this unplea.'^ant duty, Irecau.se they love you too well to let you do what they think w’ould hurt you at otree, or turn out to your injury in the end. You love lil^erty, you desire to be fa*e. V’ery well. Liberty is good. But so is obedience, and so is submission. Liberty is not the only gocxl ; and it is not gexx! at all, when it does not mind the limits which are set to it, and rebels against wis¬ dom and love, which are its natural and eternal su- jreriors and guides.

Try, my dear children, and try hard, if it be not easy to you, to bring your wrlls into subjection to the wisdom and love of your parents and instruc¬ tors. Put forth your true strength, and try’ to con¬ quer your ow’n wilfulness. The next time that you feel disi»ose(l to Sjieak rudely to those w’ho nurture you, or take your own way in opposition to their commands or wishes, think how much longer they have lived than you have, and how much more know’ledge they have acquired ; think how they clothe, and feed, and instruct you; think how tenderly they love you, and watch over you, and how readily they would risk their lives for your benefit. Think — and suffer not the rude an¬ swer to pass the gates of your lips. Think — and then cheerfully and gracefully obey.

‘2. Another fault to which childnui are liable, is a projiensity to disturb each other, or their elders, by teasing them. This pro|)ensitv to tease is one branch of the love of mischief — that vile and gli¬ ding vine with the bitter fruit. 1 would not deny to you one moment of s|K»rt in its proix'r sea-son. But s|)ort is sport, and jiain is |Kiin ; and that ought to lie no sjiort to you which gives unnecessarv pain to others. Who does not know that the jx'ace and enjoyment of a quiet circle may be most seriously troubled by the annoyaiicesof children, wlio jHTsist in annoying, in spite of all entreaty and rebuke. Who has nut marked the unhappiness which chil¬ dren cau.se to each other, at home and abriKul, in the hous<*, and the .scIukiI, and the street, by sneer- 1 ing, and jeering, and ridiculing each other, by with- i holding .some article of projieity, by doing some one of the hundred vexing things which are signi¬ fied by the word teiuing. He assured that the.se are i all transgressions of the great law of love. You do \ not like to be veved yourselves, and therefore you i ought not to vex otliers. Sime children can Iteller i licar to be tea.sed than others, and it is well that you ; should learn to liear it, for it is a rough world you ' live in. Hut while you should endeavor to Ix'ar provocation, when itcomes, with as calm and strong a spirit as |K>.s.sible, you .should re.solve not to give (trovix-ation, but to be kind and amiable, and con¬ siderate (d the feelings of every one.

And here I would throw in a word for the brute creation. .Vvoid tea.sing not only your fellow he- ; ings, but the inferior animals. (J<k1 made them, and i iniule them for enjoyment. See that you embitter i not their lives, their .short lives, which (»chI gave .so kindly. Study their habits, for they are curious and intere.sting. Admire their form and strucluie, for they are well adapted to their habits and wants, j .\ccept their services, which are many and great. i Hut do not teiise them. IX) not make them wish, if they can wish, that they had never Ix-eii Ixirii. j Show that you de.serve your own superiority of rank, by treating them gently and humanely.

.3. There is a fault, or I should rather call it a sin, ' which is to lx; observed in .some children, but from which 1 hojx‘ you are free, for 1 cannot think of it without indigmation — I mean the habit of tyraniii- 1 zing over inferiors in age or strength. I believe I : .state no more than the bare f;u-t, when I say, that many have had their days of childluKxl alnio.Ht spoiled for them, by the sufferings of mind and Ixxly which have been inflicted on them by some little ! tjTant of the neighborhood. A grievous sin is the sin of tyranny, and perhap.s as often to lx; met with among children as among men. Sometimes one I will tyrannize over many,and sometimes many will | join together to tyrannize over one. Hut in all ca.ses, tyranny is a grievous ami hateful sin — it causes so much unhappiness! Kven children of • the softer sox are not free from it. Kven little girls | will sometimes combine together to treat with rude and cutting neglect some one of their comiianions, because they have some foolish jirejudice agaii .st her, and thus, if she has any feeling, make her miserable ; and she, all the while, may be as good a child, and as worthy of notice, as any of them. Avoid, I beseech you, the taint of this sin of ty¬ ranny. And let those who are free from it them¬ selves, frown upon it, when they see it in others. Discourage it ; talk against it ; take the part of those who are oppressed by it. As far as you are able,

.'ll 5

I jx?rmit it not to show its hatelul form, or exerci.'x;

I its hateful |)ower.

.\nd hen* I will stop; not Ix’cause I have got through the list of the faults of children, but be¬ cause those which I have named belong to one cla-'s j or family of faults, .and IxH'aus** I havealrea<ly said enough for your attention and your memory. I have sjxiken to you a.s your sincen* friend, more desirous to improve you than to entertain you.

It will do you no harm, but onlv gooil, to lx; n*- iiunded witMUiably of your im|x*rfection.s, and think and reflect on them, .so that you may be led to ameml them. (Jo on, my children, from weak¬ ness to strength, and from stn-ngth to more strength, and may the gixxl Spirit of thxl our Father go with you and help vou !

TIIK 1*<)\VKK ok SONO.

Trantlated from tho German of Schiller

i:v loll.N -. DWK.IIl'.

Kkom rocky cleft the torrent da.^'hes;

Hovvn, down Im coin**s with thiiiuler-sliock ;

'f'tie stiirdv ouk Iteneatli him crashes,

,\iid after rolls the loosened rock.

.Vma/.ed, o’erjoyed, with awe and wonder 'I'll*- truvelli-r st«n>s nnd gazes round ;

Me hears the all-iM-r\ading thunder

lliit cannot tell Iroin whence the sound.

!’“o rolls the tiile of’ Song, for ever.

Where iiiorial fo<»t hath wandered never.

Leagiivd with the dreaded jwiwr rs above u».

Who durkiv .'ij)in life’s slender thread.

Win) can r«-sist his jiower to move us ?

Who can tin- singer’s s|)ell evade ? lie Merlin’s' magic wand inherits.

And charms the heart with influence soft,

I •own to the realm of tortureil s|iirili),

< 'r hears It heavenward aloft,

< ‘n Fancy’s airy latidcr reeling, fc'wayed to and fro with giddy feeling.

Ah when into the scene of |i|e.-isure Some dread disaster stalk.s along.

With giant-hke, unearthly measure.

And scatters terror through the throng;

M«* .^tri|>sat once the gay delusion —

This stranger from the other world ;

The masks fall ofl in dire confusion;

Karth’s greatnciw to the ground ut hurled ;

And hefnre Truth’s all compering mirror.

Withers each work of sin and error.

So, every earthly burden spuming,

.Man’s thoughts at Music’s bidding riM* ;

.\nd with luiniortal ardor Iniriiing,

With gixllike tread he walk.s the skies ;

Tlie gods as one •)f theirs embrace him;

Tliere niiwt his daily troiddes sleep;

Thith'-r no destiny can chase hitn.

Thither no eaithly thinv can creep:

Hi.s brow is smooth ; no fear alanns him ;

He knows no care while .Mu-^ic charms him.

And, as the boy, wiili bo;»eles8 longing—

When stolen freedom yields no rest.

But horne-thouglifs to his heart keep thronging Flies to bis injured mother’a breast ;

.Mu.«ie has the power to charm us.

When turned from nature’s simple truth ;

From cold and foreign ways to warm us With the old feelings of our youth.

In Nature’s arms, O ! there we rest us.

Where freezing foniis may ne’sr molest us.

iXian Swift says a woman may knit her stock¬ ings, but not her brow — she may dam her hose, but not her eyes — curl her hair, bat not her lip*—

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE

[VoL. I.

A U T U M N A L S T 0 K M S .

BY PAKK BKNJAMl.'l I.

Oyy In thff Wrut thrrc i* a wm of hln^ ;

Whilr gloomioBt vaiMim, i luhti run; on hieh,

Tril that tlu* hour of Morin i* draw ini{ nish ;

For dark they rw**, and darker to tli** vi^w.

Oh, coldly from the Kant rar*‘**rH ih* Rale — Shaq* aa Advf'mity or the pana ol Rnel,

Which acres the heart like Autumn’s w iiher’d leal. When thod*' we love in their allection tail.

Now from the scutterinit mists, relenile!*i Ruin Falla in chill dro|is, pre nipK'ra of the shower.

That aoc*n will |>ro8irate the iinaheliered dower, Ihooiiiing ol late a«‘riirely on the plain.

It conies ' in sudden Ruat.s it ruslies down — •And anRry clouds o’er all the lands<-u|H* frow n.

It.

The Northern wind hath Mow n his hiiitle Ma.-t : And troo|js ol clouds come liurryinR on the fields the dark skv, and wide their hanneiv ra.M, And lift ahovc the earth their massive shield.-. Now, all iinonlered, all nnmarshalled, they Make preparation for the dire ullniy :

Their weai«ons are the sleet, ilie rani, the hail — C’oncealed iM'hiiid those p.irapel.- of nii.-l :

Iai I now, their koen-edRed fury doth a.-v-ail The RiiurdiiiR ntnio-jdiere. and o’er the land — f^ave where ii.s breast i.s cawd iii ro<-ky mail —

I’luirs devastation, at thy slein command,

( 'h. Northern w iiid ' Nor w ill the w ar de.-i.-t.

Till thou art conquered hy w'tne hostile "ale?

(•n(’,\SKI,S TO THK VOI NO.

nv iiokack oKKEi.m.

Tiikei; million.^ of youth, iK-twoon the ;i^s of nix and Iwenly-otio, now rapidly cotnitig forward, to take rank a.s the future husbands and fathers, legislators atid divines, instructors and governors, politicians and voters, capitali.sts and lalnirers, arti¬ sans and cultivators, of this vast country, who.<t' destinie.s are even yet .so faintly imagined, much le.s.s develojied. Not one is so humble that he will not certainly e.vert an influence — it may l>e an im¬ mense and iinjierishahle inihienceon the happiticss and elevation of his countrymen and his race The humhlest cottage maiden, now toiling thank¬ fully as the hou.stdiuld servant of some proud family hy whom she is regarded as nobcHly, may yet l)C the mother of a future President — or, nobler Mill, of some unaspiring but (IiKl-dirocted man, who a.« a le:u*lier of riglileousness, an ameliorator of human suflering, a sucees.sful reprover of wrong, Ht nsuality or sclli.shiie.ss, may leave his impress on the annals of the world ;is a lover and .server of his race. Nearly all our now eminent men, jHiliti- cally — Jackson, Clay, Van Himui, etc , were not merely of pcxir and humble jiarentage, but left or¬ phans in early life, and thus dejtrivcd of the sup- |H>rt and coun.sel wloch seems mo.st imminently ncccs-sary to success in the world’s rugged ways. Ill the higher walks of genuine uscfulne.ss, the pro- |Kirtion of these enjoying no advantages of family influence or hereditary wealth who attain the lofti- c.st eminence, is very great. Call to mind the first twenty names that occur to you of men distin¬ guished for uhility, cnet^y, philanthropy, or lofty achievement, and generally three-fourths of them will be those of men born in obscurity iuid dejiend- rnce.

All Literature is full of anecdotes illustrative of these encouraging tiuths; n single fact now occurs to me which i have never seen recorded : I have

often worshipjied in a Raptist meeting-house in Vermont, whereon at its construction some thirty years since a studious and e.\emplary young man was for some time employed as a carjienler, who afterward qualified himself and entered ujion the respoii.sibilities of the Christian ministry. That young man was Jared Sharks, since editor of the North American Review, of Washington’s volu¬ minous Writings, &c., and now recognized as one of the foremost scholars, historians and critics in America.

I projiosi- here to K*t forth a few im|iortant max¬ ims for the guidiuice and encounigement of those yuitli who will hearken to me — maxims based on my own immature ex|)erience and obst'rvation, but wliieh have doubtless in substance been proiiounded and enforced by elder and wisiT men long ago and often. Still, as they do not yet ajijK*ar to have ex¬ erted their full and projier eflect on the ripening I intellect of the country — as thousands on thou- Ki"ds are toilsomely, painfully .struggling forward III the race for jKisilion and knowledge in paljiiible defiance of their .scope ;um1 spirit— I will hojic that their pa'.scntation at thi.s time ciuinot lie without some eiFcct on at least a few exptuiding minds. 'Fhey are as follows :

I. Avoid the common error of esteeming a col¬ lege education nccessirv to usefulness or eminence in life Such an education may lie desirable and lieneficial— to many it i.s doubtless so. Rut (in-ek and l-itin are not n'al knowledge ; they are only means of iicquiring such knowledge ; there have lieen great, and wi!'e,and surpassingly u.seful men in all Jiges who knew no language hut their mother tongue. , Reside, in our day the treasures of ancient and con tern |>orary foreign Literature are brought home to every man’s dinir by translations, which cmbotly the substance if they do not c.xliibit all the beauties of the originals. If your circum¬ stances in life enable you to enjoy the ailvantages of a ctillege education, do not neglect them — above all, do not misimprove them. Rut if your lot be ditlbrent, waste no time in humiliating beggary. The stern, self-R'sjiecting indejiendencc of your own .soul is worth whole shelves of classics. All men cannot and need not be college-bred — not even all those who are horn to instruct and improve their kind. You can never Ik? justly deemed ignorant or your acquirements contemptible, if you embrace ;uiJ fully improve the op|K)rtunitics whicli arc fairly ofi'ered you.

II. Avoid likewise the kindred and equally per¬ nicious error that you must have a Profession — must be a Clergyman, I..awyer, Doctor, or some¬ thing of the sort — in order to be influential, useful, resjiectcd — or, to state the case in it.s best aspect, that you may lead an intellectual life. Nothing

I of the kind is necessary — very far from it. It your tendencies are intellectual — if you love knowledge, Wi.svlom, Virtue for themselves — you will grow iti them, whether you earn your bread by a profess¬ ion, a trade, or hy tilling the ground. Nay, it may lie doubted whether the Farmer or Mechanic who devotes his leisure hours to intellectual pursuits frtim a pure love of them has not some advantages therein over the profesvsional man. lie comes to his book at evening with his head clear and his mental appetite sharjiened by the manual labors of the day, which have Uixed lightly the spirit or the brain; while the lawyer, who has been rtmning

over old dry books for precedents, the doctor, who has been racking his wits for a remedy adapted to .some new modifleation of disease, or the divine, who, immured in his closet, ha.s been busy prejiar- ing his next .sermon, may well approach the eve¬ ning volume with senses jaded and pulled. There There are few men, and jierhaps fewer women, who do not sjicnd uselessly, in sleep, or play, or frivolous employments, more time than would be required to ifiidcr them, at thirty, well versed in History, Philosophy, Kthics, as well as the Physi¬ cal Sciences, ^c.

111. Neither is an ailvantageous liKation essen¬ tial to the pro.sccution of ennobling studies, or to an intellectual life, on this jMiint misapprehension is very prevalent and very iH-rnicious. A youth horn in some rural or but thinly settled district, where books are f«w and unlit and the means of intellec¬ tual cultun- apparently scanty, feels within him the stirrings of a spirit of inquiry, a cravintr to ac¬ quire and to know aspinitions for an intelloctiuil condition above the dead level around him. At once he jumps to the conclusion that a change of place is nocesisary to the satisfaction of his desires — that he must resort, if not to the university or the seminary, at least to the City or the Village. He fancies he must alter his whole manner of life — that a persistence in manual labor is un.<uited to, if not absolutely inconsistent with the aspinitions awakened within him — that he must become, if not an author, a profes.sor, a lawyer, at least a merchant or follower of some calling unlike that of his fathers. Wrajqied in this dclu.sion, he betakes himself to the city’s dusty ways, where sooner or later, the nature and extent of his mistake breaks ujKiii him. If he finds satislactory employment and is prosjiered in the way of life which he pre¬ fers, the cares and demands of business almo.st con¬ strain him to relinquish those pursuits for which he abandoned his more ()uiet and natural life. If he is less fortunate, anxieties for the morrow, a consteuit and difficult struggle for the means of cred¬ itable subsi.stence, and to avoid becoming a burthen or a detriment to others, who have trusted or en¬ deavored to sustain him, these crowd out of being the thought or the liojie of mental culture and ad¬ vancement. Nay, more, and far worse — in the tumultuous strife of bu.siness and money getting, whether successful or otherwise, the very ticsirc of intellectual elevation is too often stifled or greatly enfeebled, and that death of the soul ensues in which sati.sfaction of the physical appetite becomes the aim of life — the man is .sunk in the capitalist or trader, and the gathering of .shining dust made the great end of his lieing.

Rut what shall the youth do who finds his means of intellectual culture inadequate to his wants .’ I hesitate not to say, that he should create more and better ju.st where he is. Not that I would have him reject any real opportunity or proffer of increased facilities which may open before him. I will not say that he should not except a university education, the means of studying for a profession, if such should come fairly in his way, and be sec¬ onded by his own inclination. But I do insist that nothing of this sort is essential to the great end he has or should have in view — namely, Self Culture. To this end it is only needful that he should put forth fully the jxiwers within him, and rightly mould the circumstances by which be is surround.

■

No. 22.]

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE.

ed. Are the bDoks within reach few and faulty ? let him purcha.se a few of the very best, and study them uitently and thoroughly. He who is truly acquainted with the writings of a very few of the world's master-spirits can never al’ter lie deemed ignorant or undeveloped. To know intimately the Bible, and Shakspeare, and the elenient.sof History and the Pliysical Sciences, is to have imbibeil the substance of all human knowledge. That knowl- eilge may be presented in a thousand varied, grace¬ ful and attractive forms, and the variations may Ik* highly agreeable and useful— nay, they are so. But though they may improve, reline and fertilize (so to sjieak,) they do not make the .man. If he has tlie elements within him, no future hour of solitude can be lonely, or tiresome, or profitless. The mild moon and the calm high stars, are com¬ panionship and instruction, elo<|uent, of deep sig- niHc.ance, and more impressive than the profouiid- est volumes.

But, grant that greater or more varied means of culture than the individual's narrow means can supply are desinihle, has he not .still inodes of pro¬ curing them Is he a solitary, and our ginxlly land his isle ofj.luan Fernandez ? Are there not others all around him, if not already of kindreil tastes and aspirations, at least m whom kindred a.spirations may he awakened ? May he not gath¬ er around him in the rudest town.sliip or vicinity, .some dozen or more of young men in whom the celestial spark, if not already glowing, may Ik‘ kindled to warmth and radiance. And by the union of these, may not all their mutual, mental wants, lie abundantly supplied ?

And herein is found one of the jiervading ad¬ vantages of the cause I would commend. The awakened youth who h.os withdrawn t(|the .semi¬ nary or the city, may have secured hisownad-' vancement ; but he who has remained constant to his childhood’s home, its duties and as.sOei-ation.s, will probobly have attracted others to enter with him on the true pathway of life. The good thus accomplished. Time may not measure. Doubtle.ss many a Township Library, owes its e.vistence to the impul.se given by .some poor and humble youth inspired by the love of Knowledge and Wi.sdom.

IV. The great central truth which I w'ould im¬ press on the minds of my reailers is this — pre¬ mising a genuine energy and singleness of purpose — the circumstances are nothing ; the Man is all. We may be the slaves or toys of circumstimce if we w’ill ; most men, jierhaps, are so ; and to these all circumstances are alike evil — that is rendered so if not by rugged Ditficulty, then by soft Tempt¬ ation. But that man who truly ruleth his own spirit — and .such there is, even among us — readily deties all material influences, or liends them to his will. Be hojieful, ke confident, then, 0 friend ! if thou hast achieved this great conquest, and believe that all else shall follow in its season !

A Ghost. — A foolish fellow went to the parson of a parish with a long face, and told him that he had seen a ghost as he was passing the grave-yard, moving along against the side of the wall. In what shape did it appear ? ‘ In the shape of an ass.*

* Go home and hold your tongue about it,’ said the pastor, ' you have been frightened by your own shadow,’

T H K B K O T H K K .

liy CUARLE^« Sl>K.\«il K.

\V> are but two — ttir oiliera

Through death’s untrouliled night.

We are but two — 1>, let ua keep The link that bind.s us bright.

Heart leal's to heart — the sacred tlood That warms us is the game.

That good old man — his honcft blood .Mike we fondly claim.

We in our mother’s arms were Lckrd —

Lour he her love re|>Aid ;

In the same cradle we were rocked,

ItoumI the same hearth we played.

t >ur boyish sports were ull the .same,

Kuch little joy and wo ;

Let manhood keep alive the llamc Lit up so long ago.

HV urt but Iwu — be tliul the band To hold us till we die.

Shoulder to shoulder let us st.md,

'fill side by siile we lie.

(iUKA r LAIiOIl KSSI’.NTIAL i’O GBKAT A«’- <HMUi:.MKNTS Oli ACHIKVK.MFNT.s.

' r.Y IlKV. W.M. It. SIKA'il K, l>. I>.

No man ever makes great nioial attainments without a corresponding degree of labor. There may indeed l*e great physical courage, ami mnrh of good-nature ami even generosity, witiumt any ellbrt whatever ; ljecan.se the.se gre.at qnalitie.s lie- long to many a man’s original conslitntioii ; ami to e.vercisc them is not to re.sist a current, hut to fall in with it. But when 1 sjieak of moral attain¬ ments, 1 refer esjiecially to the power of .self-con¬ trol, and to its everci.se in accordance with the great princijiles of re.'lson ami righteou.sness ; to the re¬ duction of the various passions to their projier 'jilacesfand the keepiHg of all onr moral pojuers ready for healthful and vigorous action. Ami this I venture to .say, i.s what no man ever gained with¬ out diligent and untiring efforts. JSuch a character for instance, as that of Washington, could have been the re.sultof nothing but the most patient and vigorous self-discipline. Washington, if history has given a fair rejKirt, while he was great in all the elements of his nature, was a man of like pas¬ sions with those who h.ave the the strongest ; and if he had grown up under the mastery of those IKUssions, and they had Ijeen sutlereil always to ty¬ rannize over him, how much would it have abated our admiration of him, even as a conqueror, that he had enemies in hi.s own bosom that were strong¬ er than he ! But it was with his foe* within that he began to tight first ; and the victory which he gained over them was the pre|)aration for other victories ; the great secret of his success and of his glory. He had indeed great phy.sical courage, which was born with him, hut he had also a mor¬ al courage that impartcsl to his character a yet brighter attraction, of which he was to .a great e.v- tent himself the author. He was cool and thought¬ ful in the time of danger. He ventured on no rash e.xperiraents. He loved his country better than his life. yThe shocks of adversity never disheartened him, and the furnace of prosperity singed not a hair q/jBp head. He was the patron of ail that was go^ aiul useful. He was generous to his race —

great in everything ; so that even the nation which he vanquished have erected monuments to his glory- But 1 repeat, that chaia ter, even with the material which the Gul of nature ongmally sup¬ plied, could have lieen the re.siill of no siijierticial ellort : it wu.sa silent, hut yet a laborious priK-esa, by which itro.se and towered into such un|>aralleled magniticence. And what was true of Washing¬ ton has U'en true of every other great man : he hasliem hmg active in moulding the elements of • his own moral nature.

.\nd surely it is no wonder that men must stiug- j gh* h.inl lor great moral attauimeni, when we cou- I suier the circninstances in which they are to Ik^ j made. .Vccount lor the hut as \on imiv, there i.s I a moral di.sorder that has seized iiiKin human na- Inre ; the ••licet of which is, that while the con- .science |Kjints out one wav, the passions often draw witli tremendous power the tilher ; and there i.s always reason to fear that th»* pa.ssioiis will get the iH'tter in every conihet. In addition to this, the atmosphere that we breathe is lull of noxious ingredients: the theatre in which we move is a mere sIkiw-Ihix of temptations ; luid there are inllu- ences without ro-o|M‘rati(>iis with lh«* iiilhiences within, to impart t<» us a ln••an, or MMisual, or grov¬ elling chaiacler. I.<^ it not obvious, then, that the man who will heeoiiie moially great, who will rise* far toward the |K*rf«.‘ction of his nature in such :idvcr.s<‘ ciiciiinstances, must make up his mind to lalxir for it. Is it not a self evident truth, tlnat no indolent man can !••• truly great not greal^-ven in g(K»diies.s ?

If nothing great i.s accomplisheil without lalMjr, then every one should Im: p.irticniar in respect to the object tow ard which hislalHir i.s directed ; for labor is too valuable to lie thrown away on unim)Hirtant ohjeets. There are those indeed who are uidii.stri- ou.s in doing positivi* and acknowledged evil ;.-^’ho task their powers, and noble jKtwer.s too, to the uK mot, in endeavoring to {toison the fountains of inor.'il iiiliuence, and carry a blight to every rising plant of virtue. But there i.s another cla.ss who e.xhaust their efl'orts iijK>n ohjeebs of an indifferent character ; who ate always busy, without being busy to any iiii{K)rtant pnr|Mise ; and the only chiusm which their removal from the world occa¬ sions, i.s to be found in the empty space which their Ijodies had been accustomed to fill. no man then, think it enough that he is active, unlesH hi.s activity is directed in a suitable citannel. If you will act with the greatest wisdom, yon will en¬ deavor to compass the double object of cultivating and e.xalting your own intellectual and moral na- furc, and rendering the lje.st service to your genera¬ tion and to posterity. This is an object that will I abundantly reward your ialjors, IkiUi in this world and in the next. But the idea of living merely to amuse your fellow-mcn, is utterly unworthy of a rational creature. There are multitudes who spend i their whole lives in writing books merely for amu.senient ; ami their whole object is game<i in i provoking a vulgar laugh. But I would respect I a man just about a.s much, who should sit at the corners of the streets from morning till night to i amuse the pa.s.sers by with many .•engs. Man was made for a noble service ; and he degrades hi.s nature by wasting his energies upon nothing.

If nothing is accomplished without labor, then every mind suould he trained to labor, from thd

ti,- . '■

tr; :

! n ^

; Jil8 R VER Y YOUTH’S G A ZETT

(tarliput development of its faculties. Ft is a serious has: yet so inextinguishable was his desire for defect in the matter of education, as it is goner- knowledge, that he trotild gain it though he had ally conducted, that the training of the mind to a no better light than the light of a kitchen tire ; and habit of activity is not commence<l early enough ; ; that man's labor had its reward ; for he rose to re- and that not unfrcquently there is an adverse habit j sjiectability and usefulness ; and he edified us by

formed during the years of childhoo«l .and youth, his conversation and his pro:u:hing ; and even as

which, in after life, is never etfectually overcome, an intellectual man, he has left a name that is fra-

, I would say, let every young man esjiecially, under grant throughout the community. Ix-'t no young

‘ a high iien.so ol his obligation to answer the great man, then, find an o|K)logy, even in the most ad-

' purpose of his existence, resist every temj»tation to | verse circumstances, for neglecting the culture of

j indolence, and hsik for happiness only in a course ! his mind; for there are no obstacles which will not

of vigorou.s and well ilirected activity. F/*t there i «lisiip|»eai liefore a vigorous and |»er.seveiing ajipli-

F>e a delightful association formed in his mind with | ration, labor — sternly and |»erseveringlal)or. lx“t him avail ^ j. y j

himstdf of all the rational helps whirh are witliin —

his reach, to aid in the eultiire of his jniwers, and H<»w sweet, when day detmris,

in the prosecution of all the great and good ends to His mercy to imidore,

which lie is devoted. 1 say again, vou cannot suf- " looks on broken heart.s,

ficiently realize the im|K)ilanre of forming this '‘’“^‘h “nd to restore,

habit early. Indtdeiice in youth is the harbingiT We seek his love and feel

of a career marked by ignoraiife :uid useles-siiess, 1 1 is gracious presence near :

not to say folly and crime. Diligence in youth Pure bliss, from earth and sin to steal,

directed to worthy and im}Hufant ends, is the pledge know that Ood will hear!

of Ji useful life, a dignified character, and honored He will protect and love —

graves. Direct us all our days —

There is a large cl;i.ss of young men, xvlio are If thus we place our hojies above,

engaged in some lalmrioiis worldly (Kcupation, \i {kui " orship, adore and praiw.

whom that uirt of the original ctirn* is literally .

. . 1 . , • . , , , ■ S K I., h - Ji K I, I A N (’ K.

visited, by which man was ibHUiied to get his

bread by the sweat of his brow: audit too often No great work was ever yet accomplished, which hap|>en^ that young men of this description resign in its beginning was not looked upon as impossible, themselves to an ineveusable degree of ignorance, by the gmate.st and wisest men of the day. lielicve from an erroneous impression that their condition in you that if ('a'.siir, or (’ortez, or Najiolcon, or Wel- life forbids the extensive culture- hf their intellec- lington, h;id acknowledged their plans, or their tual lowers. Kut in this they offend against their holies to the world, in the very outsed of their ca- high destiny as rational lUid immortal Fieings. lie reer, that they would not have been pitied for their it so, that they must lalair with their hands ; yet folly, or regarded with amazement and derision .’ y sometimes surely, this kind of lalior must lie inter- If (talileo, in his boyhcxKl, had prmthesied of the i ' V'.s^iptetl, and then let the claims of the mind bo re- stars, and told others '^ow he walked’ among the cognized and nu t. Some part of every d;iy should constellations in his dream.s — where would have. . be .sacred even with the mechanic and the fanrier, .lljeiifound one to listen to liiTn with'iiatienc^ An^ to high purposes of intellectual improvement ; and when Franklin — already past his youth — went up this I have no doubt, would always Fic found prac- and touched his knuckle to the key, at the ri.sk of ' ticable in the adoption of sy.stematic arningement certain death — for to him it was the key of a great and rigid economy. More than this — when the mystery in Heaven, and for aught he knew — when mind has once been trained to a habit of retlection, he touched the dam])cd string, the thunders of the it will b«* found that the head and the hands can be liottomless pit might have consumed him — believe put in requisition at the sjime time ; and that while you that even Franklin would have been jiermitted the artiziui is turning his wheel or blowing his bel- to acknowledge to those about him what he really lows, he can al.so In* framing an argument or solv- hoiKd ov exjyclcd, without being denounced for s '• ing a problem. And then' ate many ca.s<*s in which nmdman or a fool .> Had he done so in the market- intellectual and nuuiu.d lalior may goluiiul in hand : place, through which he hail wandered a few years ! and this is esjiecially true ii mechanics ; when the before, munching a two-iienny loaf — would he not principle which the mind ri'volves, and the work hax’C lieen packed off to a lunatic hospital ? And ' which the hands jierform, mutually illustrate and "hat would have become of his reputation for : adjust each other. We need cultiv;ited men in ev- modest ij? Once triumplmnt, with the whole world i ery department ol life ; cultivated farmers and arti- on his side, there would have been no danger in i zans, as xx'ell as hiwyets, physicians and ministers; avowing what it was th.at had tempted him so to i but it not unfretjuently hapi»ens that an ardent risk his life. Ihit — had the bright thunder fallen I thirst for knowledge, even when combinetl with uikui him when he touched that key — had he been i the humblest occupation, gradually elevates the in- liftcil from the earth a blackened corpse — xvhat liv- 1 dividual to higher and yet higher employments, till ing man was there, of all this world, who would I he who h.ad jKvs.-jed hi.s childhcxxl in learning to not have pitied his rashness, or shuddered at his ]

make shoes, or set tyjics, occupies before he comes presumjition .’ He would hax'e gone down to all i

to his grave, some of the highest stations of dignity future ages as another Prometheus, thunder-blasted i and intluence. What an example of the etlect of for his awful prc.sumption, in the very act of steal- i early and I'ersevering labors was Lemuel Haynes ! ing fire from Heaven. And pious men would have ; though he came into the world with the disadvan- wondereil and liftetl up their hands to the sky ; and ; tage of having a dark skin, and at a jvrioil too when all would have acknowledged that he had deserved i

a dark skin had much fewer attractions than It now his fate — poor man — for having rushed into the i

B. _ [Vot. 1.

Holy of Holies, without putting off his shoes -for having touched the ark without leave : for “ Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” Lo the stout¬ heartedness of such men ! They not only “ .stake their lives upon the throw,” and “ .sUind the hazard of the die but they stake what to them is ten thousand times more precious than life — their repu¬ tation for common sense.

And .\rkwright, and Watt, and Ferguson, and Hrinley, iuid Fulton — which of them all, even when best -satisfied of their final success, would have bt'en lK?rmittcd to reveal them.selves, otherwise tluin at the risk of U'ing hooted to death.

“ Much learning hath made thee mad,” is itiway.s the answer of unthinking Power to him who talks of mysterious things liefore the multitude. It is in vain that he would reply — “ 1 am not mad, most noble Fe.stus! 1 sjieak the words of trutli and .so¬ berness.” They dare not lK?lieve — lest thrones might 1r* tumbled to the earth and the nations Ite lifted up.

Has it not l>cen so always, and every where — that just in proiKirlion to the disclosures of their plans and hojH,*s, by the great men of every age, m advance of their {onsummation, has been the lack of sympathy and faith, on the part of the world ’ To preserve a character for modesty — or common .sen.se indeed — such men are obliged to withhold these revelations, (’all to mind the difficulties of Mahomet —of (’(dnmbtis — of (Justavu.s Adolphus — of Fulton — of Ix-dyard— of (Jalileo— of Harvey — of (hill and Spiirzeim — of all, indeed, who have lieen greatly distinguished, and you will find t’vo things to be always true of the whole : First, that they were upheld by a .strength of purpo.se— a holy self-reliance, which nothing coulAifuench or abate : and -secondly, that although they never betaayed jligmselves to the world, till their great works wem accbtnplished — nor ever |)ermitted a thous;uidth part of^their good,opinion of themselves to leak out, dV’en' bcTore theiVbd^ friends — their difficulties were multiplied at every ifi^sclosure— their character for common sense put in jeojiardy by every revelation - -and they' themselves were regarded even by their Fatrona as little lietter than visionaries, whom it would do no harm to let have their own way for a while — since, at the worst, glorious simpletons ! they were noliody’s enemies but their own.

Most of these great men were obliged to tell their story in the highways; to let the multitude into their slore-houst's and laboratories for a jieniiy piece as it were — having not the means, like Tyco Brahe, or Sir Humphrey Davy, to carrj' on their experiments by themselves. And yet — even they suffered — and would have been made to suffer a thousand times more, had the leading philosophers of their age, to say nothing of the world, been per¬ mitted to look into their hearts, or even to guess at the ho|)e they entertained — or the opinion they had of themselves. What would have become of iiir Humphrey Davy’s reputation for modesty, if he had foretold the safety lamp.’ Just what became of poor Fulton’s, when he undertook to set the North river afire. Have you forgotten — or have you never heard of what they said of Olix er Evans, the millwright, or of Perkins, the manufacturer of steam guns and copper- plates, nntrujstable engines and tannery- vats -one of the most ingenious me¬ chanics the world ever saw — when the former un¬ dertook to prophesy that carriages would be run —

:MV

hi'!)* *

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE

519

No. 0-2.]

clothe)^ ^whe<^ — and potatoes boiled by steam, within fifty years from the day he wrote, (forty of which have not yet expired,) and the lat¬ ter to declare th.at he could throw a ton weight of iron from Dover to Calais, with a steam engine. Bt)th were proverb.s among their brethren, the mill¬ wrights and engineers — until the prophesies of both were fulfilled, or as g(xxl as fulfilled. Why, man alive ! luul .\rchimedes himself, in the height of his reputation — while he wa.s prejKiriiig hi.s lua- ehinery for snatching up the galleys — iind getting ready his burning glasses — for the destruction t>l the fleets, then lying before Syracuse — had he ac¬ knowledged his opinion of himself and of his pro¬ jects, before the l)est friends he had on earth, it is highly probable they would have had out a com- mis.sion of lunacy against him, and shut him up in a tmul-hottse.

Keep your own counsel, therefore, if you mean to do any thing, or to />c any thing in this world. I/Ct no more of your plans lx> gues.se»l at, than maV’ l*e absolutely necessary for getting on, l)efore yoii^ reputation is established — nor even then. Hail Na|K)leon held his tongue -he tnight have come back triumphaivt from Moscow. HiTt liaving for¬ gotten the jKdicy of his youth — having published his plans — having threatened — he was obliged to do what he threatened, or to forfeit his |H)sition forever, as a warrior prophet. An so with Spain and Kngl.and. Had he not puhli.shed hi.s jdans had he not turned himself inside x»ut,'.a.^Nit ^b#e, before all the nations of the earth, all that he thre.atened might have been accomplished. Had Fulton but liveil some forty years earlier — Kngland m/g/d have l>een«carried by steam-ships. The le¬ gions of \ajK)leon, five hundred thou.s:ind strong, would have overswept the land like a hurric.ane. He might venture to say that he would answer monarch after monarch .at hiscapitol — that was one thing. It might me.an much or little. It w.as an oracular threat, which was (piite sure to be accom¬ plished. But when he came to talk freely of his plans .and purposes, of the how and the when, so that all the world were piqtied into thwarting him, or provoked into unbelief, and his glorious self- confidence became visible afar oil', it was all over with him. Yes — Napoleon boasted h'm.self into the grave. Keeping his own secrets m.ade him, on the earth, a king of kings. Publi.shing his own secrets in after life made him a jmsoner and a pan jier.

►

A Woi,K. — A Mrs. Starks was left with three small children recently, at a clearing, near Moores, in New York, her husband having been called away by business. As night approached, a lai^e half-famished wolf crawled under the floor of the house, and by constant growling, so alarmed the f.omily that they torik refuge in the garret. He re¬ tired to (lie wrxxls at the dawn of d.ay, and Mrs. Starks sent her little .son to a mill for a gun, which she charged heavily with buckshot. At evening, the wolf again approached the dwelling, when Mrs. S. raised the window, and taking delilxrate aim, shot the wolf dead on the s*x)t ; she sulFered only a slight injury by tiie heavy recoil.

Never foroettinu one’s self. — “Whatever circumstances I may be placed in,” said S. “ I never forget myself.” “ The most worthless object you could be employed in remembering,” replied W.

ERRING B U O T 11 E 11 .

He cannot know the human heart.

Who when a weaker brother errs.

Instead of acting mercy’s |Mri,

Each base, malignant feeling stirs.

llar<ih words and e|>iiliets but |>rove That he himself la in the wrong —

That first he needs a brother's lo\e.

To move his heart and giiide his tonsue.

DN .'STRENGTH OF (H.VllAt TF.R

If I can sjx'ak experimentally to any mmal Ixmefit ill growing older, it is, that increasing years augment the strength and firmness of the charac¬ ter. This is a jiart of the natural progress of the human system, and i.s proliably as much owing to physical a.s to mor.il caus<*s. The diminution of mohility and irritability in the anim.al frame, must fortify it tigainst e.xternal impressions, .and give it a greater stability in its action and re-action. .Si far, however, as this is a cor|x)real prfx:es.s, it can¬ not lx? antic ip.ated ; and the young must lx* e.xhorl- cd to Wait })atittntly for this advantage, till it comes to them ill due course of time, toromjx'ns.atc for the many privations they injist undergo. But if an iii- (]uirv into thcLpnrely mimil' CUu.h’s of the ojqxisite defects can suggest moral means of obviating them in some measiiie at any, perirxl, it will certainly he sivofth the pains ; for a due degree of firmness anil cnH^tency is absolutely e.ssential in forming a re- sjx'ctahle ch.aracter. Let us, then, enter upon siirh an investigation.

On retrai'inginy own feelings, I find that the first and principal cause of juvenile weakne.ss is /»//<«■ dniiiif. The shame of lieing singular — the shame of lying under restraints from whieh others are free — the shame of apjx'aring nngenteel — are .allaciit.*- ly felt by young jX'r.sons in general, and require strong principle or much native firmne.ss of temper to surmount. Mo.st of the defections from partie.s and .sects in which {x}rson.s have Ix'on educated, originate from this .sensation, which is ]x‘rhap.s more .seductive to the young, than even interest to the old. It first makes them hesitate to avow them.selves, anil desirous of p.assing undistingui.sh- ed in mixed companies; it next leails them to jx-tly deceptions and compliances ; and finishes with making entire converts of them, frequently with an atlectation ot extraordinary contempt of tho.se whom they have forsaken, in order to prevent all suspi¬ cion of their having been of the numlx*r. The lie.st gimrd .against this conduct is a strong impression of its meannes.s. If young men were brought to di.s- cem that cowardice and servility were the chief agents in this progie.ss, their native generasity of spirit wnuld powerfully oppose such a degradation of character. Still more might be gained by accus¬ toming them to set a value uixm the circumstances of standing apart from the mass of mankind, and to esteem as honorahle every distinction prrxlured by the exercise of freedom in thinking and acting. I am aware that there is a danger to be .avoided on this side, Uxi, .and th.at the pride of singularity is equally ridiculous and di.sgustfiil in a young man. But this, I lx?licve, is not the leading error of the tiine.s ; which is rather a propensity to submit im¬ plicitly to the decisions of fashion, and to value one’s self more u|K)a following, than opposing, tlic manners and opinions of the majority.

The/ciir of ojj'eudiiisr is another .snare to young minds, which, though cuminoiily originating in an amiable delicary of character, must in vmie degree be overcome before a m.anly steadme.ss of conduct c;ui lx* supported. Many instances have I known III which the s|X‘cie.s of ailulation, called by the [.iiitins (issentativ, h;is Ix'en ix'insioned by a mere dread of giving ofience by contradiction. But ^^rh a habit of ;issenting to cverythiug tluit iiuay lx* ad- vanc«*«I, is in dangi'r of subverting all our princi¬ ples ; ind we may come to practice from artifice that complaisance whieh we jierreive to be so ;igree;ible, w hen only the const'quence of modest delcrence. This is ;iii evil attending the prurtice, otlierwiM* xo instructive, of frequenting the com¬ pany i>t ^ iiu.!> and siqieiiors : and it is only lo lx? countciacted by ;i mixture of free society with equals.

Akm to this is thr Jciir of •jiiunt' piiin. It in- spiri’s an insu|x*r;ible repugnance to the delivery of dis.agreeahlc truths, or the undertaking of unpleas¬ ant oUiees ; things which in the commerce of life .arc often neces.sjiry to the discharge of our duty. In particular, one whow* otlice it is to apply ntedi- l ine to the mind, must^a.s well a.s.lhe phys^;in of the Ixuly, conquer his«reluctance toigive teiKii^niry pain, for the sikeof ntibrding lasting benefit. h!\. cess of jMilileness dexiates into this weakne»s. It makes no distinetion Ix-tween saying an unplea.s- ant thing, and saying a rude one. A course of s«*n- timental reading is likewls«> apt to foster such an extreme delicacy of f»*eling, as makes the {Kiinful duties of the heart insup|xirtabie. The most effir- tual remedy in this slate of morbid .s«*nsibilifv, is an unavoidable neee.ssityof mixing in the business of the world, and encountering all it.s roughness. To |K>rsons ot a retired condition, the liest substitute IS strengthening the mind with the dictates of a masculine and high-toned philosophy.

The di 'lie of plea 'll II IT idt mnnknid, U’hich is the counter|iart of the two former principles, i.s a fertile source of weakne.ss .and imit.ahilily in some of the best di.s|K)sltions. It i.s the quality commonly term¬ ed frooil-niituir. Young person.s are not only themselves prone to fall into exce.ss of easy good¬ nature, hut it is the quality which most re.ailily capti¬ vates them ill the choice of ;ui early friend. It is imjKissihle here to blame the disjxisition, although it he highly im|K>rtant to guard against the indul- g«?nce of it ; for it leiuls to the very .“ame imbecil¬ ity of conduct that false .sluame and cowardice do. In the course of our duties we are almost as fre- (luently called ujxin to undergo the censure .and en¬ mity of mankind, as to cultivate their friendship and good opinion. Cicero, in enumerating the causes which induce men to desert their duty, very pro|x*rly mentions an unwillingness, •• suscipere inimeitias,” to take up enmities. This is, indeed, one of the severest trials of our .attachment to prin • ciple ; hut it is what we must be ready to sustain when (Kcasinn requirc.s, or renounce every claim to a .strong .iml elevated character.

When young in life, I derived much satisfaction from thinking that I had not an enemy in the world. .V tiNi great facility in giving up my own interest, when it involved a ix)iiit of contention, and a habit ofa.ssenting to, or at least nut oppxwing, the various opinions I heard, hail, in fact, preserved me from direct hostilities with any mortal, and, I bad rea'

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EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE

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son to belitve, bad conciliated foi me the passive regard of most of those with whom I was acquaint¬ ed- But no sooner did different views of things, and a greater firmneM of temi)er, incite me to an open declaration re8i)ecting jKiints which I thought highly interesting to mankind, than I was made sensible^ that my former source of satisfaction must be exchanged for self-approbation and the esteem of a few. The event gJive me at first some sur¬ prise and more concern ; for I can truly say, that in my own breast, I found no obstacle to the isiint of agreeing to iliffer. It was even some time be¬ fore I could construe the estranged hxiks of those who meant to intimate that they had renounced private friendship with me, ujion mere public grounds. But enough ! At jiresent, I can sin¬ cerely a-ssu re you, that 1 feel more compunction for early compliances, than regret for the conseijuen- ces of latter assertions of principle. And it is my decided advice to you, who arc Ix'ginning the world, not to lie intimidaUni fromojienly es|K)using the cause you think a right one, by the apprehen¬ sion of incurring any man’s displea-sure I sup¬ pose this to U; done within the limits of candor, modesty, and real good temjH*r. 'I’hese lieing ob¬ served, you can have no enemies but those? who are not worthy to lie your friends.

KI,E(;iAC STANZA8.

«Y W. WORIiSWOnTH.

The lamented youth, whose untimely death gave occasion for these elegiac verst's, \va.s Frederick William (itxldard, from Boston, in North America. He w'as in his twentieth year, and hatl res; ’t-d for some time w'ith a clergyman in the neighborhootl of Geneva for the completion of his •education. Ac¬ companied by a fellow pupil, a native of Scotland, he had just set out on a Swiss tour, when it wa.t his misfortune to fall in with a friend of mine who was hastening to join our party. The travellers, after sjiending a day together on the road from Berne and at Soleurc, took leave of each other at night, the young men having intended to prixeed directly to Zurich. But early in the morning my friend found his new acquaintances, who were in¬ formed of the object of his journey and the friends he was in pursuit of, equipjwd to accomi>any him. We met at Lucerne the succeeding evening, and Mr. (1. and his fellow student became, in conse¬ quence, our travelling com|uinions for a couple of days. We ascended the Righi togetlier; and, after contemplating the sunrise fmm that noble mountain, we separated at an hour, and on a sjHit well suited to the jmrting of those who were to meet no more. Our |»arty descendetl through the valley of our Lady of the Snow', and our late companions to Art. ^Ve had hoj)ed to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on the the third succeeding day (on the “’1st of August) Mr. (ioddard jierished, lieing overset m a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich. His com¬ panion saved himself by swimming, .and w'as hos¬ pitably received in the mansion of a Swiss gentle¬ man, (Mr. Keller,) situated on the eastern co.ast of the lake. The corp.se of jxxir G. was ciist inshore on the estate of the same gentleman, who gener¬ ously iH'rformeil all the rites of hospitality which could be rendered to the dead .a.s w’cll as to the living. He caused a hand.some mural monu¬ ment to be erected in the church of Kusnacht, which

records the premature fate of the young American ; and on the shores, too, of the lake, the traveller may read an inscription pointing out the spot where the body was deposited by the waves.

Lulled by the sound of pastoral bells,

Itude Nature’s Pilgrims did we go.

From the dread summit of the Queen Of mountains, through a deep ravine.

Where in her holy Chapel dwells “ Our Lady of the tfnow.”

The sky was blue, the air was mild ;

Free were the streams, and green the bowers; As if to rough assaults unknown.

The genial spot had ever shewn A countenance that sweetly smiles.

The lace of summer hours.

And we were gay, our hearts at ease ;

With pleasure dancing through the frame We journeyed; all we knew of care —

< *ur path that straggled here and there.

Of trouble — but the lluttering breeze.

Of Winter — but a name.

If foresight could have rent the veil • )f three short days — but hush — no more !

Calm is the grave, and calmer none Than that to which thy cares are gone.

Thou victim of the stormy gale.

Asleep on Zi-rich’s shore !

Oh Ooi>iMRu! what art thou.’ — a name —

A sunbeam followed by a shade !

Nor more, for aught that time sut>plies, '

The great, the exi>erienced, and the wise;

Too much from this frail earth we claim.

And therefore are betrayed.

We met, while festive mirth ran wild.

Where, from a deep Lake's mighty urn.

Forth slips, like an enfranchised slave,

A sea-green river , proud to lave.

With current swift and undeftled.

The towers of old LrcKRNE-

We parted upon solemn ground Far-lilted toward the unfading sky ;

But all our liioughths were then of earth.

That gives to common pleasures birth;

And nothing in our hearts we found That prompted even a sigh.

Fetch, sympathizing Powers ol air.

Fetch, ye that post o’er seas and lands.

Herbs moistened by Virginian dew,

A most untimely sod to strew.

That lacks the ornamental care Iff kindred human hands!

Beloved by every gentle Muse He left his Transatlantic home:

Euro|>e, a realized romance,

H.\d opened on his eager glance t What present bliss! — what golden views !

What stores for years to come !

Though lodged within no vigorous frame.

His soul her daily task renewed.

Blithe as the lark on sun-gilt wings High poised — or as the wren that sings In shady places, to proclaim Her modest gratitude.

Not vain is sadly-uttered praise ;

The words of truth’s memorial vow Are sweet a.s morning fragrance shed From Howers’mid OoLn.vc’s ruins bred;

As evening’s fondly-lingering rays.

On Kiuut’s silent brow.

Lamented Youth ! to thy cold clay Fit obsequies the Stranger paid;

And piety shall guard that stone Which hath not left the spot unknown Where the wild waves resigned their prey.

And that which marks thy bed.

And when thy Mother weeps for Thee,

Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;

This tribute from a casual Friend A not unwelcome aid may lend.

To feed the tender luxury.

The rising pang to smother.

(W THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION.

nv A. o. paterso.n.

Tilts is too frequently an affair of caprice, .some¬ times on the part of a jiarent, sometimes on that oi the young man himself; not unfrequently it has its rise from observing how fortunate some certain individual has Iteen in the same course, and, with¬ out taking into consideration the thousand circum¬ stances : mental, physical, and .adventitious, in which there may be essential differences, the resolu- tion is taken, and the young man must follow a similar pursuit, with the .sanguine expectation of similar if not greater success.

The inexperienced youth, meanwhile, jxrhaps agrees passively in the determination of the parent, plods on year after year, in occupations for which he had not any previous inclination, and finds too late that he is a man of mediocrity in his business, of mediocrity in his fortunes, and of mediocrity in the esteem of his neigbours. Still worse than this, perhaps the young man is fi.vcdly averse to the course of action chalked out f«ir him, and yields an unwilling obedience to an authority, which he dtxs not feel himself ju.stified in disputing. It would !« vain to say that such a one cannot succeed, although .a.ssuredly the chances are greatly against his suc- ce.ss. A well-framed mind and tenf]x?r ha.s trium¬ phed many a time over circumstances more adverse than this; the determination to make the best of it, rather than run counter to parental authority and e.xperience; and some consciousness |x;rhapsthat the last quality was greater than/ic could pretend to, have cheered him to perseverance in a career for which he at first felt no vocation, and final success and distinction have attended him. But although this /los occurred, and may still occur under our view of the case, we fear that it is not a general consequence — not a rule, but our exception; — yet there is a course still more to be deplored. When obstinate youth is deaf to advice and entreaty, al¬ though uttered from the lips of age, experience, and affection; although the heartfelt wishes of observant parents,. and the concurrent testimony of experienced friends join in deprecation of a mistaken career of life which headstrong and unreflecting youth has resolved to pursue, what good consequences can be expected to follow .’ The estrangement of friends, the sorrow of parents, the consciousness of disobe¬ dience and self-will, lie heavy on the young man’s mind, thus depriving him of the energies necessary for a fortunate course of action ; they render him sour and morose, they unfit him for companionship and the intercommunion of information ; they end in dk^ippointment to himself, and grief to all who I had felt interested in his welfare. I.et us grant that this also is not always the case, let us suppose I that a dogged resolution to show his advisers how

No.f2.]

EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE.

well he has chosen, may engage him to close per¬ severance and industry, and that he becomes eminent and fortunate. But although this may be, it is not likely, for the premises are against it ; “a corrupt tree cannot bring forth gootl fruit,” and to say the best of this jiosition, it is rather to be hoped for than expected. On the other hand we may assume that subsequent remorse, on the pint of the young man, for despised admonition and neglected advice, may lead to a steady application and perseverance in the walk he has selected ; thereby hoping to alleviate some portion of distress, which he has caused in the hearts that love him, and that he ought to love. Our own exjierience of human nature leads us to repeat that this also, is rather to l>e hoped for than expected. The truth is, that The Choice of a Pro¬ fession is a matter of immense importance, and that very much of future worldly prosiierity depends, on the right exercise of the privilege ; herein l oth parent and child have to defer in .some resjK'ds to each other. In the lirst place it is a parental duty to watch the growing dis{)o.sition, temj»er, and in¬ clinations of a child ; to train all these, while in their incipient state, toward the cointition in which he should feel satisfied subsequently to find them ; to confer frequently with his teachers as to his ca- jiacity, his progress, his peculiar fitness, the best of his pursuits : and thus, if he cannot .satisfacto¬ rily find a probability of pre|Kiring the youth for a particular jiursuit originally designed for liim, he may betimes so mixlify or alter his original plan, as to harmonize with the son’s qualifications and wishes. These cares are indispen.'^ble on the part of every parent and guardian who has opportuni¬ ties to e.xercise them, and .such opportunities should as much as jiossible be provided for. On the part of the young man, he should be bred up in deep- wrousrht convictions of the parental atfection, re¬ gard for his best interests, wisdom and experience, and the right to interpose authoritively, when jietulant youth oversteps the projR-rly circuniscri- l»ed bounds. With these preparations should com¬ mence the choice of a profe.ssion. The senior should a'lvi.se, admonish, direct attention, exjo.-e error, but not directly oppose the junior, and the latter should weigh with resiiect, and entertain with confidence the advice and admonition of the former. Thus may a career be commenced under the most favorable auspices, it may Ikj cheered by the approbation ol those whose love and esteem are most cherished, and may be forwarded by diligent attention and rigorous self-culture. There are few things upon which the happiness ol the future de¬ pends, in a higher degree, than that of the choice of a profession. It requires the general deliberation , the utmost discretion ; and hence, although we shall have many an cKcasion to recur to it, we would not lose theearlyopjMjrt unity to press it 141011 every heart.

Art of Happiness. — “ hlither enthusia.sm, or utter mechanical coldness is neces.sary to reconcile men to the cares and mortifications of life. V'ou must feel nothing, or you must feel for others. Unite yourself to a great object ; see its good dis¬ tinctly ; cling to its course courageously ; hojie for its triumph .sanguinely ; and on its majestic progress you will sail, as in a ship, agitated indeed by the storms, but unheeding the breeze and the surge that would appal individual effort. The largest public objects make us glide smoothly over our minor pri¬ vate griefs. Learn benevolence, it is the only cure to a morbid nature.”

FIRE AND WATER.

BY PROFESSOR SILLIM-CN.

Two great agents are continually at work U{ion our globe — fire and water — the former including all substances which fire can melt, and the latter, all that water can dissolve. These two involve all the agencies at work u|>on the earth ; ami to these may all others be attributed. Let us look first at the ingenious agencies. There is no one present who has not heard of volcanoes. We Inaveakren- eral knowledge of only a few — such as .are found in countries which are much visited, as Ves.'^uv iu>, .'Etna, &c. ; and these are to be regarded only as sjiecimcns of the whole. Of these magnificent valves, these breathing holes for the indwelling fires of the earth, exi.st in an active state at least the number of three hundred ; though it mu.st be home in mind, that we include in the list of active or eruptive volcanoes all tho.se. of whose* erruptions history ortraiiition gives us any account, for if by history we know they once have lieen active, we have every reason to Indieve they will be so again, though long ages may intervene. I obse•r^e that Mr. Lyell, a distinguished Engli.sh (leologi.M, re¬ duces their number to one hundred ; hut he in¬ cludes in this number only those which are now really in action. At their geographical position I can only give a ha.sty glance : and first, all along the western .side of this continent, from Ikdi rings’s Straits to Cajie Horn, we have a va.st line of vidca- noes, extending through Mexico, Central America, Peru, Chili, and Patagonia. We often rcaii of their terrible eruptions, of the cities swallowed up, and the va.stde.struction of life and {Kisse.xsions caused by their agency ; and we jiass them without the slightest thought of their real relation to our own comfort and well-being. We little dream how much we owe tr. their agency, nor d<H*s it once cxr- cur to us, that were these vents .sealed, a.s they will be by-and-by, by the .solid mas.ses falling into their mouths, the seat of this volcanic lire must then be tninsferrcd to our side of the continent, nor can we hope to i>arry oil' this result.

If we IcKjk at the Pacific (\;ean, we find it all dotted over with volciuiic Islands. In the Island of Owyhee, is one of the most remarkable in the world. There is no mountain there ; but an im- meuse gulph yawns from the surface. The travel¬ ler approaches, descends a little, then comes to a plane — descends ag<ain, and arrives at another plane ; where the gaping gulf — seven mile«i in cir¬ cumference — apjiears beneath. U|Km its sides the fiery billows dash and break like the waves of the ocean upon its shores, nor is its surface ever tran¬ quil. All the Ishuuls discovered by navigators, in the Pacific, are either comjHised of coral reefs, or are of volcanic origin. ISo are nearly all those south of Asia, in the Indian Seas, the Phillippine, Spice, Loo Choo Islands — Sumatra, Java, Borneo and New Holland. Thus tcx>, may the same agen¬ cies lie traced in the Atlantic — llirough the Cape de Verde Islands, up through the middle of Creece, in Palestine and Central Asia ; and in the other direction, to Kainschatka, and back to Behrings's Straifis.

The extinct volcanoes, as they are called, are equal in number, and even more numerous than those in an eruptive state. All along the banks of the Rhine, and to the centre of France, may be seen

3*21

the craters of hundreds of extinct volcanoes, with lips a.s jierlect as in those noxv in action. Loose scoria; are found around them, and in many cases they hax’e stopped rivers, filled up lakes, and caus¬ ed other wonderful changes m the earth’s structure. Still, we have no history of their action ; no tra¬ dition or storx' of their eruptions ha.s survived. Even Julius (Vsar, who travelleil among them, ami planted his camp at the foot of one of the largest, makes no mention or even allusion to iheni ; and yet so acute and ohserx’ant a traveller wonld scarce¬ ly have omitted it, hail any such eruption taken place within the knowledge of his time. But all along the Rhine, through Tran.sylvania, and Cata- lania, as well as in Ihilestine, Syria and Central A**ia, theie is evidence thatvoloanoe have existed, as jsiwerful m their action iw Versuvius or .Etna. We are told by Darwin, who travelled in that re¬ gion, that in the centre of Scuith .Vmeiica, near the Equator, may In* seen two or three hundred of these extinct volcamx*s.

It is well esfablishetl, concerning volcanoes, that many of them have a submarine origin ; that they liegan their action at the bottom of the s«*a, and went on piling up their matter, until they finally rose almvcthe surface, and constituted islands. This is the history of a multitude of volcanoes, nor i.s there any re.a.-mn in nature why they should not break forth at the bottom of the Ocean. The irn- mens4* jiower of this volcanic action may be infer¬ red from the consideration that, for every hundred feet of water, there is a pressure of fifty {nmnds u|ion a .S4|iiure inch, and that the s(*a is from four to live miles in depth ; and yet against this immense force, the internal matter i.s thrust forth with tre- meiuious velocity. In this way, in 1831, an island rojs* oil’ Sicily ; but the volwanic action soon subsi- ilod, and the island is now sunk beneath the sur¬ face of the sea.

IS HE A MECHANIC.”

'I'here is nothing disreputalile in being a me¬ chanic — on the contrary, the man who earns an honorable livelihcxKl by the exertion of his skill and industry — “ by the sweat of his brow” — ile- .serves as much consideration in scxriety as any other man. But there is an inveterate prejuiiicc against mechanic.s, with those who have more pride than g<H)d sense — and we have often seen the lip curled with cunteinpt, when an alhrmativc answer has been given to the question “ is he a mechanic ?” We care not what grace of person or*accompli5h- ment of mind a young man may have, the fact of his being a mechanic is sutlicient to exclude him from what Is falsely termed the first society, jiar- ticularly among young females. They have great predilccion for what i.s called gentlemen, and too often .sacrifice the happine.ss of their lives by con¬ necting themselves with men who have no other recommendation tlnui that of being too lazy to work. Now all ihose di.stinciionssave those between merit and demerit, are perfectly ridiculous in a country where all are regarded as equal by the laws — and nothing is more contemptible than to attempt to discriminate between gentlemen and mechanics. There is nothing in the occupation which prohibits the mechanic from cultivating his mind, being mo¬ ral and upright in his deportment, or of obtaining distinction among his fellow-citizens. Nor is there any thing in a profession which necessarily rehnen

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EVERY YOUTH’S GAZETTE

Uie m«iiner» ; purities the heart, and particularly qualifies for distinction

Some of the ablest men in the wot Id have be¬ longed to both classes — and great criminals are to l>e found in either. But pride and vanity would draw a line of se]iaration, and inferiority is at- ' tempted to be stamped upon the mechanic ; not lie- 1 cause of his ignorance or want of character, but from his following an occu|Kiiion which requires j boarding-school misses, who may thenisidves l>e j indebted for their im|K>rtance to the laji- stone or the i needle. To please such, and to Ik* ranked among! gcntlamen, youths are raised in idleness, and die in | poverty. It is a great mistake in jarents to yield I to this weaknes.s. It i.s their duty to provide their t ^ins with nieiuis of future support, not by leaving them fortunes to be Mjuandered — but by giving them trades by which they can live, and be industrious, and prudent habits which will always secure them independence. The wheel of time is jM*rjK'tually turning, and its revolutions elevate professional men, and precipitate to the Ixittom the hxilish and improvident. The scene is continually shifting ; (Uid men are like the hutkets in a well, as one de¬ scends the other rises — alternately full and einjity.

“The wealthy to-day are the poor of to-morrow;

They rise up in joy and sink down in sorrow.” And this is greatly owing to the ambitious desire of out-r.'inking others. They seek happiness in fleeting shadow’s; forgetful that “ Worth inukea the man, the want of it the fellow.”

It is true that the mechanic, like other men, is subject to the mutations of fortune — Imt he has al¬ ways a n'source — a something to break the s<*verity of his fail — for while not deprived of his physical powers, lie carries in his hands the jtowers of re¬ covery.

For a female, a small, .soft hand, may Ik* deemed n beauty but in a man it is no recommendation with persons of good sense — and yetan efleminate, lisping ignoramus, with the dirty ajiiK*nd:ige of iiniK'rial and mustache, will he received into society from which the intelligent and honorable mechanic is excluded. This would Ik* a matter too insignifi¬ cant for notice, were it not that it has a jicrnicious influence over the minds of the younger jiortion of the community, male and female.

BK.A UTl FI' I. 1 NriDF.NT.

A few’ days since, was recorded the death of a child of alicrtit tw’o and a half years of :ige the daughter of N. A. Thompson, e.««]., of Itoston. Connected w’ith her death, is one of thost* licautiful and touching incidents which sometimes occur, as if to remind ua of the clo.se connection and sisterly communion which’exist between the innttcentr hild I and the spirits of the lietter laiul, and which should n*concile parents to the early loss of the little ones which are lent them but for a season, or rather, as we should .s;iy, to the return of a wandering child of heaven to her celestial abtHle.

The Boston F.vening (lazelte thus lioautifully notices the death of the little one :

“ A few days liefore the child's illness, a butter- dy, very large and of singular iH'auty, was found j hovering in the rcKim where she was at play, quite fascinating her with its graceful motions aud brill¬ iant colors, and, after lK*ing several times thrust out, flying ba»k at last and n'sting on the infant's forehead. For a moment the beautiful insect re¬

mained there, expanding its brilliant wings to the great delight of the child, then suddenly, as if it had accomplished its purpose, took its departure and was soon out of sight. The child sickened — and, again, but a few hours before her death, the butterfly was seen fltittering and seeking en¬ trance at the window of her chamber. It matters not, to our faith, w’h ether, as the innocent super¬ stition of .'mother land w’ould tell us, there was a mes.s’ige thu.s borne from the Iroly world, that this 5’oung life w’.ns needed there, and must be taken away. But at lea.st, whilst we remember that this frail insect is the emblem not only of a fleeting e.\- istence, but of a resurrection from a narrow and humble life to a higher and brighter, we may find in the incident an illustnition that shall teach us of that Chri.stian les.son w’hich can never teach us too |)o\verfully — that the spirit, of w’hich we witness the first unfolding here, ha.s a freer and nobler e.x- paii.sioli in a home w’here our love, though not our care, can hdlow it.”

TlllXtJS TO BF. KK.MKMBKUFn.

A ehesnut tree grew at Tamwortli which was 52 feet round; it was planted in the yearSOO; and in the reign of Stephen, in 11 (55, it was in.'ide a iHiundary, and called the great ehesnut tree. In H)5!», it bore nuts, which produced young tree.s.

Botani.sts recor.l ofi.ooo .sjiecies of various planl.*^, and .'{'^.ooo are to Ik* found in the catalogue.s.

I.iine, combined with pho.sphoric acid is the biusis of bones, and found also in fluids. .Shells consi.st of a carbonate of lime ; and hence their remains have k'en considered as the basis of limestone mountains. Silica and m.'ingane.se are found in hair. Iron, with phosphoric .acid, constitutes part of blood.

The Iluids of animals contain alk.alie.s, esjiecially .sexia.

The .sense of feeling is created by the jiapille of the skin, consisting of small white nervous fibers erecting themselves when the sense of touch is e.\- cited.

The heart by its muscular contraction distributes two ounces of blooii from seventy to eighty times a minute.

There is iron enough in the blood of forty-two men to make a plowshare weighing twenty-four IKHinds.

A man is taller in the morning than at night to the extent of half .an inch or more, owing to the rela.xation of cartilages.

It has been computeil th.at nearly two years of sickness isexjx*ricncd by every jwrson before he is 70 years old, and that, therefore 10 days {ler annum is the aver;u;e sickness of human life ; till 40 it is but half, but after 50 it rapidly increases.

Do.n't Fkkt. — What if the world does not goon .'is smtxithly as you could wish, of what avail is it to lx* fretting continually, and .sufl'er the cre.am of existoiH e to mn to w.a.ste ? ^'ou cannot find jier- fection here ; and the more you repine and scold, ami fret, the mon* you may, without either benefit¬ ing yourselves or those around you: Take our .advice and don't fret .at the little ills of life. Take things by the .sintxilhe handle, laugh away care, with the determination to possess a merry heart, .and if you do not find more satisfaction in so doing, than to fret, fret, fret, etenially, we will never at¬ tempt to advise you a^n.

[VoL. I.

MANY FACTS IN FEW WORDS.

A legal stone is 1 4 lbs., or the eighth of an hundred, la England, and 10 lbs. in Holland.

The fathom, 0 feet, is derived from the height of a full grown man. A hand, in horse measure, is four inches.

An Irish mile is 2210 yards ; a Scotch mile is 19^ I yards ; an English, or statute mile, 17G<J yards ; Ger¬ man, 1'306; Turkish,

An acre is 4S10 spuare yards, or Git yards, 1 foot, &4 inches eace way. Asuuare mile, 17G0 yards each way, contains G40 acres.

The Christain era was first used, in counting time, at Rome, in .5’27 ; adopted in France, in 7.50; in Spain, in 13.50; and in Portugal, 1410. The early Chris¬ tians dated from the accession of Dioclesien in 2S1.

The Persians give names to every day in the month, just as we give them to days of the week.

A man is taller in the morning than at night, to the extent of half an inch or more, owing to the relaxa- (ion of the cartilages.

The Flsquimiux attain the height of but 1 feet 3 in¬ ches, and the Mogul Tartars but 4 feet 0 inches.

The human body consists of 210 bones, 9 kinds of articulations or joinings, 100 cartilages or ligaments, 400 muscles or tendons, and 100 nerves, besides blood, arteries, veins, Jcc.

Riley lasserts that Arabs, in the desert live 200 years.

The foot of a Chines? female, from the heel to the great toe, is only 4 inches long.

Total abstinence from food above seven day.o, is fatal to man; but their ars instances of surviving after a longer period. A religous fanatic, in 17S9, deter¬ mined to fatt 10 days, but died on th« 16th.

In marching, soldiers lake 7-3 steps per iriiniite ; quick marching, lOS ; and In charging, 150 steps.

< DNTENTS <*K .Ntl. .X.XII.

Another True Story— illustrated. The A-rogaiire of Weal li. Resolution. Tales of 'rravellers, No. 10 — Xdvciiturrs in the Arctic Ocean. Thames Tunnel. Rather New. Dutch Rail. Sennnns for my Children, No. The F'auIUofChildren. Counsels to the Young — liy Horace Greeley. A Ghost. Great LalM>r Essential to Great Acquirements and -Xcliievments — l)y Rev. William B. Sprague. Self Reliance. A Wolf. On Strength of Character^ Elegiac Stanras — by William Wordsworth. On tiie Choice of a Profession — by A. D. Patterst)u. Art of Happiness. Fire and Water — l>y Professor Sillinian. Is He a Mechanic.' Beautiful Incident. Things to l>e Remembered. Don’t Fret. Many Facts in Few Words.

Poetry. — To My Daughters— by the late Dr. Magi.in. Thauglits in Verse — by James Aldrich. The Power of Song — translated from the German of Schiller, by John S Dwight. Autumnal Storms— by Park Beqjaniin. The Brothers — by Chas. Sprague. Devotion. Erring Brother. Stanzas -by William Wordsworth.

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