[Illustration] [Illustration: THE FOX AND THE CRAB. ] UNCLE FRANK'S BOYS' & GIRLS' LIBRARY, BY FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH, EDITOR OF WOODWORTH'S YOUTH'S CABINET. [Illustration] THE DIVING BELL; OR, PEARLS TO BE SOUGHT FOR. With Tinted Illustrations. BY UNCLE FRANK, AUTHOR OF "A PEEP AT OUR NEIGHBORS, " "WILLOW LANE STORIES, ""THE DIVING BELL, " ETC. ETC. BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. PUBLISHERS. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, byPHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. , In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District ofMassachusetts. CONTENTS. THE NAME OF MY BOOK 7THINKING AND LAUGHING 16THE SCHEMING SPIDER 31GENIUS IN THE BUD 46PUTTING ON AIRS 64"TRY THE OTHER END" 80THE FOX AND THE CRAB 97THE GREEDY FLY 101CAROLINE AND HER KITTEN 104"I DON'T KNOW" 119THE LEARNED GEESE 125THE WRONG WAY 131THE RIGHT WAY 135THE OLD GOAT AND HIS PUPIL 140ON BARKING DOGS 147 ILLUSTRATIONS. THE FOX AND THE CRAB (Frontispiece)VIGNETTE TITLE-PAGE 1THE SPIDER'S INVITATION 30THE SPIDER'S TRIUMPH 41KATE AND HER TUTOR 72MY PRETTY KITTEN 109THE LEARNED GEESE 124THE OLD GOAT AND HIS PUPIL 141 I. THE NAME OF MY BOOK. [Illustration] The reader, perhaps, as he turns over the first pages of this volume, is puzzled, right at the outset, with the meaning of my title, _TheDiving Bell_. It is plain enough to Uncle Frank, and possibly it is toyou; but it may not be; so I will tell you what a diving bell is, andthen, probably, you can guess the reason why I have given this name tothe following pages. If you will take a common glass tumbler, and plunge it into water, with the mouth downwards, you will find that very little water willrise into the tumbler. You can satisfy yourself better about thismatter, if, in the first place, you lay a cork upon the surface of thewater, and then put the tumbler over it. Did you ever try the experiment? Try it now, if you never have doneso, and if you have any doubt on the subject. You might suppose, that the cork would be carried down far below thesurface of the water. But it is not so. The upper side of the cork, after you have pressed the tumbler down so low that the upper end ofit is even below the surface of the water--the upper side of the corkis not wet at all. "And what is the reason of this, Uncle Frank?" I will tell you. There is air in the tumbler, when you plunge it intothe water. The air stays in the vessel, so that there is no room forthe water. "Oh, yes, sir; I see how that is. But I see that a little water findsits way into the tumbler, every time I try the experiment. How isthat?" You can press air, the same as you can press wood, or paper, or cloth, so that it will go into a smaller space than it occupied before youpressed it. Did you ever make a pop-gun? "Oh, yes, sir, a hundred times. " Well, when you send the wad out of the pop-gun, you do it by pressingthe air inside the tube. Now if your tumbler was a hundred or athousand times as large, the air would prevent the water from comingin, just as it does in this instance. Suppose I had dropped a pursefull of gold into a very deep river, and it had sunk to the bottom. Suppose I could not get it in any other way but by going down to thebottom after it. I could go down to that depth, and live there forsome time, by means of a diving bell made large enough to hold me, precisely in the same way that a bird might go down to the bottom of atub of water, in a tumbler, and stand there with the water hardly overhis feet. There is a good deal of machinery about a diving bell, itis true. But I need not take up much time in describing it. It isnecessary for the man to breathe, of course, while he is in the divingbell; and as the air it contains is soon rendered impure by breathing, fresh air must be introduced into the bell by means of a pump, or insome other way. I am not very familiar with the necessary machinery, to tell the truth. I never explored the bottom of a river in this way, and I think it will be a long time before I make such a voyage. The diving bell has been used for a good many useful purposes--to laythe foundations of docks and the piers of bridges; to collect pearlsat Ceylon, and coral at other places. I am not sure but the diving bell is getting somewhat out of use now. People have found out another way of groping along on the bottom ofrivers and seas. They do it frequently, I believe, by means of a kindof armor made of India rubber. But so far as my book is concerned, itis of no consequence whether the diving bell is out of use or not. Ishall use the title, at all events. If, after my account of the diving bell, you still ask why I chooseto give such a name to the budget I have prepared for you, I cananswer your question very easily. I think you will find something worth looking at in the budget--notpearls, or pieces of coral, or lost treasures, exactly, but stillsomething which will please you, and something which, when you gethold of it, will be worth keeping and laying up in some snug corner ofyour memory box. I say _when you get hold of it_; for the valuablethings I have for you do not all lie on the surface. You will have to_search_ for them a little. That is, you will have to think. When youhave read one of my stories, or fables, you may find it necessary tostop, and ask yourself "What does Uncle Frank mean by all this?" Inother words, you will have to use the diving bell, and see if youcan't hunt up something in the story or the fable, which will beuseful to you, and which will make you wiser and better. Now you seewhy I have called my book _The Diving Bell_, don't you? II. THINKING AND LAUGHING. It is Uncle Frank's notion, that it is a good thing to laugh, but abetter thing to think. A great many people, however, old as well asyoung, and young as well as old, live and die without thinking much. They lose three quarters of the benefit they ought to get fromreading, and from what they see and learn as they go through theworld, by never diving below the surface of things. I don't supposeit is so with you. I hope not, at all events. If it is so, then youhad better shut up this book, and pass it over to some young friend ofyours, who has learned to think, and who loves to read books that willhelp him about thinking. No, on the whole, you needn't do any suchthing. Just read the book--read it through. Perhaps you will get ataste for such reading, while you are going through the book. I must tell you an anecdote just here. You will not refuse to readthat, at any rate. Not long ago I was in a book store, looking over some new books whichI saw on the counter, when a fine-looking boy, who appeared to beabout nine years old, came in. He had a shilling in his hand, and saidhe wanted to buy a book. "But what book do you want?" one of the clerks asked. The boy could not tell what it was exactly. But it was a "funnybook"--he was sure of that--and it cost a shilling. Well, it finally turned out that the book which the little fellowwanted was a comic almanac--a book filled with miserablepictures--pictures of men and beasts twisted into all sorts of oddshapes--and vulgar jokes, and scraps of low wit. "Will you let me look at it?" I asked the little boy as the clerkhanded the book to him. "Yes, sir, " said he. I took the almanac, and turned over some of its leaves. There was nota particle of information in the book, except what related to the sun, and moon, and stars, and that formed but a small portion of thevolume. "My son, " said I, pleasantly, "what do you buy this bookfor?" "To make me laugh, " said he. "But is _that_ all you read books for--to find something to laugh at?"I inquired. "No, sir, " he replied, "but then this book is _so_ funny. Giles Manlyhas got one, and"--he hesitated. "He has a great time over it, " I interrupted, to which the little boynodded, as much as to say, "Yes, sir, that's it. " "Did your father send you after this book?" I asked. "No, sir. " "Did your mother tell you to get it?" "No, sir. But my mother gave me a shilling, and told me I might buyjust such a book as I liked. " "Well, my son, " said I, "look here. You have heard Giles read some ofthe funny things in this almanac, have you not?" "Yes, sir. " "And you've seen some of the pictures?" "Yes, sir, all of them. " "Then you know pretty well what the book is?" "Yes, sir, all about it, and that's what makes me want to buy it. " "Well, you have a right to buy just such a book as you want. But if Iwere in your place, I would not buy that book; and I'll tell you why. There's a good deal of fun in it, to be sure. No doubt you would laughover it, if you had it. But you can't learn anything from it. Come, now, I'll make a bargain with you. Here's a book"--I handed him one ofthe _Lucy_ books, written by Mr. _Jacob Abbott_--"which is worth adozen of that. This will make you laugh some, as well as the otherbook; and it will do much more and better than that. It will set youto _thinking_. It will instruct, as well as amuse you. It will sowsome good seeds in your mind, and your heart, too. It will teach youto be a _thinker_ as well as a reader. It costs a little more thanthat almanac, it is true. But never mind that. If you'll take thisbook, and give the gentleman your shilling, I'll pay him the rest ofthe money. Will you do it? Will you take the Lucy book, and leave thefunny almanac?" He hesitated. He hardly knew whether he should make or lose by thetrade. "If you will do so, " I continued, "and read the book, when you getthrough with it, you may come to my office in Nassau street, and tellme how you was pleased with it. Then, if you say that you did not likeMr. Abbott's book so well as you think you would have liked the bookwith the funny pictures, and tell me that you made a bad bargain, I'lltake back the Lucy book, and give you the almanac in the place of it. " That pleased the little fellow. The bargain was struck. Mr. Abbott'sbook was bought, and the boy left the store, and ran home. I think it was about a week after that, or it might have been alittle longer, that I heard my name spoken, as I was sitting at mydesk. I turned around, and, sure enough, there was the identical boywith whom I had made the trade at the book store. "Well, my little fellow, " I said, "you've got sick of your bargain, eh?" "No, sir, " he said, "I'm glad I made it;" and he proceeded totell me his errand. It seemed that he had been so pleased with thebook, that he "wanted a few more of the same sort, " as the razor stropman says; and his father had told him that he might come to me, askme to get all the Lucy books for him. Now you see how it was with that little fellow, before he read thebook I gave him. He had got the notion that a child's book could notbe amusing--could not be worth reading--unless it was filled with suchnonsense as there was in the "funny book" he called for. He had notgot a _taste_ for reading anything else. As soon as he did get such ataste, he liked that kind of reading the best; because, besides makinghim laugh a little now and then, it put some thoughts into hishead--gave him some hints which would be worth something to him inafter life. Now, I presume there are a great many boys and girls, who love to readsuch nonsense as one finds in comic almanacs, and books like"Bluebeard, " and "Jack the Giant Killer, " but who, like the youth Imet in the book store, could very easily learn to like useful booksjust as well, and better too, if they would only take them up, andread them. Why, my little friends, a book need not be dull and dry, because it isnot all nonsense. Uncle Frank don't mean to have a long face on, whenhe writes for young people. He believes in laughing. He likes to laughhimself, and he likes to see his young friends laugh, too, sometimes. I hope, indeed, that you will find this little book amusing, as wellas useful; though I should be very sorry if it were not useful, aswell as amusing. [Illustration: THE SPIDER'S INVITATION. ] III. THE SCHEMING SPIDER. A FABLE FOR MANY IN GENERAL, AND A FEW IN PARTICULAR. I. A bee who had chased after pleasure all day, And homeward was lazily wending his way, Fell in with a Spider, who called to the Bee: "Good evening! I trust you are well, " said he. II. The bee was quite happy to stop awhile there-- He always had leisure enough and to spare-- "Good day, Mr. Spider, " he said, with a bow, "I thank you, I feel rather poorly, just now. " III. "'Tis nothing but work, with all one's might-- 'Tis nothing but work, from morning till night. I wish I were dead, Mr. Spider; you know I might as well die as to drag along so. " IV. The Spider pretended to pity the Bee-- For a cunning old hypocrite spider was he-- "I'm sorry to see you so poorly, " he said; And he whispered his wife, "He will have to be bled. " V. "'Tis true sir, "--the knave! every word is a lie-- "That rather than live so, 'twere better to die. 'Twere better to finish the thing, as you say, Than to live till you're old, and die every day. VI. "The life that you lead, it may do very well For the beaver's rude hut, or the honey bee's cell; But it never would suit a gay fellow like me. I love to be merry--I love to be free. " VII. "In hoarding up riches you're wasting your time; And--pray, sir, excuse me--such waste is a crime. And then to be guilty of avarice, too! Alas! how I pity such sinners as you!" VIII. Strange, strange that the Bee was so stupid and blind; "Amen!" he exclaimed, "you have spoken my mind; I've been very wicked, I know it, I feel it; The bees have no right to their honey--they steal it. IX. "But how in the world shall I manage to live? Should I beg of my friends, not a mite would they give; 'Tis easy enough to be idle and sing, But living on air is a different thing. " X. Our Spider was silent, and looked very grave-- 'Twas a habit he had, the cunning old knave! No Spider, pursuing his labor of love, Had more of the serpent, or less of the dove. XI. At length, "I believe I have hit it, " said he; "Walk into my palace, and tarry with me. We spiders know nothing of labor and care; Come in; you are welcome our bounty to share. XII. "I live like a king, and my wife like a queen; We wander where flowers are blooming and green, And then on the breast of the lily we lie, And list to the stream running merrily by. XIII. "With us you shall mingle in scenes of delight, All summer, all winter, from morn until night, And when 'neath the hills sinks the sun in the west, Your head on a pillow of roses shall rest. XIV. "When miserly bees shall return from their toils"-- He winked as he said it--"we'll feast on the spoils; I'll lighten their loads"--said the Bee, "So will I. " And the Spider said, "Well, if you live, you may try. " XV. The Bee did not wait to be urged any more, But nodded his thanks, as he entered the door. "Aha!" said the Spider, "I have you at last!" And he seized the poor fellow, and tied him up fast. XVI. The Bee, when aware of his perilous state, Recovered his wit, though a moment too late. "O treacherous Spider! for shame!" said he. "Is it thus you betray a poor innocent Bee?" XVII. The cunning old rascal then laughed outright. "My friend!" he said, grinning, "you're in a sad plight. Ha! ha! what a dunce you must be to suppose That the heart of a Spider could pity your woes! XVIII. "I never could boast of much honor or shame, Though slightly acquainted with both by name; But I think if the Bees can a brother betray, We Spiders are quite as good people as they. XIX. "I guess you have lived long enough, little sinner, And, now, with your leave, I will eat you for dinner. You'll make a good morsel, it must be confessed; And the world, very likely, will pardon the rest. " [Illustration: THE SPIDER'S TRIUMPH. ] MORAL. This lesson for every one, little and great, Is taught in that vagabond's tragical fate: _Of him who is scheming your friend to ensnare, Unless you've a passion for bleeding, beware_! IV. GENIUS IN THE BUD. Genius, in its infancy, sometimes puts on a very funny face. The firstefforts of a painter are generally rude enough. So are those of apoet, or any other artist. I have often wished I might see the firstpicture that such a man as Titian, or Rubens, or Reynolds, or West, ever drew. It would interest me much, and, I suspect, would provoke asmile or two, at the expense of the young artists. History does not often transmit such sketches to the world. But I wishit would. I wish the picture of the sheep that Giotto was sketching, when Cimabue, one of the greatest painters of his age, came acrosshim, could be produced. I would go miles to see it. And I wish West'smother had carefully preserved, for some public gallery, the picturethat her son Benjamin made of the little baby in the cradle. You haveheard that story, I dare say. Benjamin, you know, showed a taste for drawing and painting, when hewas a very little boy. His early advantages were but few. But he madethe most of these advantages; and the result was that he became one ofthe first painters of his day, and before he died, he was chosenPresident of the Royal Society in London. How do you think he made hiscolors? You will smile when you hear that they were formed withcharcoal and chalk, with an occasional sprinkling of the juice of redberries. His brush was rather a rude one. It was made of the hair hepulled from the tail of Pussy, the family cat. Poor old cat! she lostso much of her fur to supply the young artist with brushes, that thefamily began to feel a good deal of anxiety for her pussyship. Theythought her hair fell off by disease, until Benjamin, who was anhonest boy, one day informed them of their mistake. What a pity thatthe world could not have the benefit of one of the pictures that Westpainted with his cat-tail brush. And then, what a treat it would be, to get hold of the first rhymesthat Watts and Pope ever made. I believe that Watts had been rhymingsome time when he got a fatherly flogging for this exercise of hisgenius, and he sobbed out, between the blows, "Dear father, do some pity take, And I will no more verses make. " That couplet was not his first one, by a good deal. The habit, itwould seem, had taken a pretty strong hold of him, when the whippingdrew that out of him. It seems to me that the childhood and early youth of a genius are moreinteresting than any riper periods of his life; or rather, that theybecome so, when time and circumstances have developed what there wasin the man, and when from the stand-point of his fame in manhood, welook back upon his early history. What small beginnings there havebeen to all the efforts of those who have made themselves masters ofthe particular art to which they have directed their attention. I wonder what kind of a thing Washington Irving's first compositionwas. There must have been a first one; and, without doubt, it was aclumsy affair enough. If I were going to write his history, I wouldfind those who knew him when he was a mere child, and I would pumpfrom them as many anecdotes about his little scribblings as I possiblycould, and I would print them, lots of them. I hardly think I could dothe reader of his biography a better service. I wonder what his first experience was with the editors. Theseeditors, by the way, are often very troublesome to the young sprig ofgenius. Placed, as they are, at the door of the temple of fame, theyoften seem to the unfledged author the most disobliging, iron-heartedmen in the world. He could walk right into the temple, and makehimself perfectly at home there, if they would only open the door. Sohe fancies; and he wonders why the barbarians don't see the geniussticking out, when he comes along with his nicely-written verses, andwhy they don't just give him, at once, a ticket of admission to thehonors of the world. "These editors are slow to perceive merit, " hesays to himself. Your old friend Uncle Frank once set himself up for a genius. Don'tlaugh--pray, don't laugh. I was young then, and as green as a juvenilegosling. Age has branded into me a great many truths, which, somehowor other, were very slow in finding their way to my young mind. Thenotion that I am a genius does not haunt me now, and a great manyyears have passed since such a vision flitted across my imagination. But I will tell you how I was cooled off, once on a time, when I gotinto a raging fever of authorship, and was burning up with a desire tomake an impression on the world. I had written some verses--writtenthem with great care, and with ever so many additions, subtractions, and divisions. They were perfect, at last--that is, I could not makethem any more perfect--and off they were posted to the editor of thevillage newspaper. I declare I don't remember what they were about. But I dare say, they were "Lines" to somebody, or "Stanzas" tosomething; and I remember they were signed "Theodore Thinker, " in avery large, and as I then thought, a very fair hand. "Well, did the editor print them, Uncle Frank?" Hold on, my dear fellow. You are quite too fast. As I said, when thelines to somebody or something were sent to the editor, I was in aperfect fever. I could hardly wait for Wednesday to come, the day onwhich the paper was to be issued--the paper which was to be the mediumof the first acquaintance of my muse with "a discerning public. " "Well, how did you feel when the lines were printed?" When they were printed! Alas, for my fame! they were not printed atall. The editor rejected them. "Theodore's lines, " said he--the greatclown! what did _he_ know about poetry?--"Theodore's lines have goneto the shades. They possessed some merit, "--_some_ merit! that's allhe knows about poetry; the brute!--"but not enough to entitle them toa place. Still, whenever age and experience have sufficientlydeveloped his genius, "--mark the smooth and oily manner in which thesavage knocks a poor fellow down, and treads on his neck--"wheneverage and experience have sufficiently developed his genius, we shall behappy to hear from him again. " If you can fancy how a man feels, when he is taken from an oven, pretty nearly hot enough to bake corn bread, and plunged into a verycold bath, indeed--say about forty degrees Fahrenheit--you can formsome idea of my feelings when I read that paragraph in the editorialcolumn, under the notice "To correspondents. " I am inclined to think there are a great many little folks climbing upthe stairs of the stage of life, who verily believe that genius hasgot them by the hand, leading them along, but who, in fact, are not alittle mistaken. It is rather important that one should know whetherhe has any genius or not; and if he has, in what particular directionhe will be likely to distinguish himself. I don't believe in the old-fashioned notion that people all come intothe world with minds and tastes so unlike, that, if you educate oneever so carefully, he never will make a poet, or a painter, or amusician, as the case may be; while the other will be a master in oneof these branches, with scarcely any instruction. But I do believethere is a great difference in natural capacities for a particularart; and that some persons learn that art easily, while others learnit with difficulty, and could, perhaps, never excel in it, if theyshould drive at it for a life-time. Ralph Waldo, a boy who lived near our house, when I was a child, wasthe sport of all the neighborhood, on account of the high estimate inwhich he held his talent at drawing pictures. Now it so happened thatRalph's pictures, to say the least, were rather poor specimens of theart. Some of them, according to the best of my recollection, wouldnever have suggested the particular animal or thing for which theywere made, if they had not been labeled, or if Ralph had not calledthem by name. Such dogs and cats, such horses and cows, such houses and trees, suchmen and women, were never seen since the world began, as those whichfigured on his slate. And yet he thought a great deal of hispictures. How happy it used to make him, when some of the boys in theneighborhood, perhaps purely out of sport, would say, "Come, Ralph, let's see you make a horse now. " With what zeal he used to set himselfabout the task of making a horse. When it was done, and ready forexhibition, though it was a perfect scare-crow of a thing, he used tohold it up, with ever so much pride expressed in the rough features ofhis face, as if it were an effort worthy of being hung up in theAcademy of Design, or the Gallery of Fine Arts. This state of things lasted for some years. But Ralph did not makemuch progress in the art. His horses continued to be the same stiff, awkward things that they were at first. So did his cows, and oxen, anddogs, and cats, and men. It became pretty evident, at least toeverybody except the young artist himself, that he never would shinein his favorite profession. He was not "cut out for it, " apparently, though it took a great while to beat the idea out of his head, that hewas going to make one of the greatest painters in the country. When hebecame a young man, however, he had sense enough to choose thecarpenter's trade, instead of the painter's art. I think he showed agreat deal more judgment than many other people do, who imagine theyare destined to astonish two or three continents with their wonderfulproductions in some department of the fine arts, but who, unfortunately, are not much better fitted for either of them than agoose or a sheep. V. PUTTING ON AIRS: OR, HOW I TRIED TO WIN RESPECT. Reader--young reader, for I take it for granted you _are_ young, though if you should not happen to be, it does not matter--I haveabout three quarters of a mind to let you know what I think of thepractice of _putting on airs_. The best way to do the thing perhaps, will be in the form of a story, and a story it shall be--a storyabout a friend of mine who is sometimes called Aunt Kate, and who hasbeen known to call herself by that name. It is true that some of the incidents in this story are not much to myfriend's credit. But I am sure she cannot blame me for mentioning themto you; for she gave me the whole story, and I shall tell it almostexactly in her own words. Are you ready for it? Well, then, here itis: Reader, have you ever been from home? Of course you have. Everybodygoes from home in these days; but in the days of my childhood such anevent was not a matter of course affair, as it now is. Most peoplestayed at home then, more then they do now--the very aged, and thevery young, especially. When I was a child, my parents sometimes took me with them, when theywent to visit their city friends. These journeys used to excite theenvy of all my young companions, none of whom, if I recollect right, had ever been to a city. But times have changed even in my nativevillage; and the juvenile portion of its inhabitants begin theirtravels much earlier in life now, than they did then. But the first time I went from home alone--that was an event! Wentalone, did I say? I am too fast. My father saw me safely to the placewhere I was to go, and left me to spend a few days and come home inthe _stage_. When he left me, he gave me a bright half dollar, for spending money. Now would you give anything, my little friend, to know how I spent it?If you had known me in those days, you could have easily guessed, evenif not much of a Yankee. I bought a book with it, of course. Ithought I could not purchase anything to be compared with that invalue. Since then I have learned there are other things in the worldbesides books, although I must own that I still cling to not a littleof my old friendship for them. How long seemed the few days I wasabsent from my father's house. I had seen a great deal of the world, Ithought, during that time. There seemed to be an illusion about it--afeeling as if I had been from home for weeks; and when I returned, andfound some of the good things upon the table which were baked before Ileft home, I thought they must be very old--very old indeed. "I should like to know how long you think you have been gone, " saidsome member of the family. Sure enough! How long had I been away? Not quite a week. But you neednot smile, for that week _was_ a long one. We do not always measuretime by minutes and hours. That is not the only week of my life thathas appeared long. I have seen other weeks that seemed as long as somemonths. We sometimes live very fast, and at other times, more slowly. But this is not _the_ journey I am going to tell you about. I wasyoung then, and a little green, no doubt; but before I left homeagain, I had got rid of my ignorance on some points. Miss Tompkins, amaiden lady, who sometimes came to our house to sew, and who laidclaim to more personal experience in such matters than myself, hadreceived from some one a chapter of instructions about traveling--akind of traveler's guide--and as she did not wish to be so selfish asto keep all her knowledge for her own use, she very freely gave awaysome of it for my benefit. [Illustration: AUNT KATE AND HER TUTOR] "When you travel, " said my instructor, "you must not be too modestand retiring. You must always help yourself to the best things thatcome within your reach, as if you considered them yours, as a matterof course. If you only act as if you think yourself a person ofconsequence, you will be treated as such. But if you stand one side, and seem to think that anything is good enough for you, every one willbe sure to think so too. It is as much as saying that you don't thinkyourself of much importance. Others, of course, will conclude that youought to be the best judge, and that you are a sort of nobody, whomay be disposed of to suit anybody's convenience. " Now as these items of advice were given as the result of theexperience of those who had seen a great deal of the world, and as Iwas very ready to admit my own ignorance, I resolved to lay up thesehints for future service, when I should travel again. The time came, at length, for another journey. The stage, which passedregularly through our village once a day, accommodating those whowished to go north one day, and those who wished to go south the next, picked me and my baggage up, at my father's door. A very young lady, an acquaintance of mine, and two stranger gentlemen, were the onlypassengers besides myself, until we reached the next town, five milesdistant, where we stopped to change horses. When we got into the coachagain, at this place, we found a new passenger safely stowed away inone corner of the back seat. This passenger was an old lady, of a class sometimes found in ourcountry villages, who are aunts to everybody, and claim the greaterpart of the younger portion of the community as sheer boys and girls. It seems the driver was one of her boys, and, on account of his beingso nearly related, she claimed a free passage. She was already_there_, and the driver had to choose between these two things--eitherto admit her claim, or to turn her out. He wisely concluded to make avirtue of necessity. It would not answer to be rude to Aunt Polly, hethought. Some of the other nephews and nieces might think him cruel. But there was another question to be settled. She had possession ofthe back seat. This would hardly do on the strength of a free ticket, when it was claimed by those who had paid their passage. "You must get up, Aunt Polly, " said the driver, "and let these ladieshave the back seat. " But Aunt Polly, alas! declared, in the most positive manner, that she_could not_ ride on the middle seat. "Yes you _can_, " said the driver, "and you _must_; so get up. " But Aunt Polly was by no means easily moved. She still, to the nosmall vexation of the driver, kept on saying that she could not rideon the middle seat. In this state of things one of the gentlemenundertook the task of settling matters, and, addressing me, inquiredwhich seat I preferred. All the instructions which I had received atonce rushed to my mind. Now was the time to put them in practice--tolet it be known that I was not going to give up my seat to any one, certainly not to one who had no claim to it. So drawing myself up tomy full height--which was nothing to boast of, by the way--I answeredwith becoming dignity, "I prefer the back seat, sir. " He then turned to my companion, and said, "Which seat do you prefer?" "It makes no difference with me, sir, " was the modest reply. A smile passed over the face of the gentleman--a smile which evidentlyindicated one of two things; either that he thought my companionshowed her ignorance of the world, in making herself of so littleconsequence, and seeming to say, "You may do what you please with me;"or he thought my reply very old for one of my years. Which was it? Ah, that was the question. I could not forget that peculiar smile. Infact, you see I have not forgotten it yet. It seemed to meansomething; but what did it mean? Oh, how I wanted to know exactlywhat it meant, and how carefully I watched, to see if I could not findout. The matter of seats was soon arranged to the satisfaction of allparties. The old lady and myself had the back seat, while my companiontook the middle seat. I observed that the above-named gentlemanpassenger offered several polite attentions to my companion, while hedid not seem to notice me at all, although I had let him know that Iwas a person of so much consequence. This might be accounted for bythe fact that she was seated very near him, while my seat was moredistant, or there might be some other cause for it. The opinion of a stranger whom I never expected again to meet, was notin itself of any great importance; yet it certainly had a bearing onthe question whether or not my traveling instructions were of theright kind. If they were, my answer was certainly the right one, andcalculated to make a favorable impression upon the minds of my fellowpassengers. But when I tried to look at the affair in this light, Iwas disturbed by a secret thought that I should have had a morecomfortable feeling of self-respect, if I had given up the backseat--for which, after all, I did not care a straw--to an aged female, who really thought she could not ride on the middle seat. When I returned home, I related the incident to Miss Tompkins, theseamstress whose directions I had undertaken to follow, and alsofrankly owned that I was not quite sure which reply had caused thatpeculiar smile. She assured me there could be no doubt on that point. "The gentleman was amused at the ignorance of the world which thatother girl showed. He thought she was not much, or she would not soreadily step aside, and give up her _rights_ to any one who mightchoose to claim them. " But I was by no means convinced of the truth of this statement of thecase; and when I was a little older, I came to such conclusions on thesubject that I believe I have never tried, since that time, toestablish my claim to be a person of consequence by similar means. Indeed, to tell the truth, I have not thought much of the wisdom ofthese instructions, from that day to this; and I certainly would notrecommend to you, my young friend, that which I have turned out of myown service, as useless lumber. Seriously, I do not think you willever suffer in the opinion of your fellow travelers, by being kind andobliging, and showing that you do not think yourself of so muchconsequence as to forget there is any one else in the world. When aperson takes pains to impress others with a sense of his importance, it almost always excites a suspicion that he is trying to pass forsomething more than he really is. It does not require all this showand pretension to keep the place which really belongs to him, and toattempt more than this, will only draw upon him neglect and contempt. To this chapter in the experience of Aunt Kate, I feel very much likeadding a word or two, "by way of improvement, " as the ministers say. But on second thought, I guess it will be as well to let you use thediving bell, and see if you cannot bring out the improvementyourselves. VI. "TRY THE OTHER END. " The other day I came across a man who was tugging with all his mightat the wrong end of a lever. That is, he had a great crowbar, almostas large as he could lift, and was bearing down on one end of it, while the block of wood which he had put under it for a _purchase_, was at the same end. He was trying to pry up a large stone in thatway. But the stone would not be pryed up. It was a very obstinatestone, the good old farmer thought. He had no notion of giving up theproject, however. So he pulled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work in right good earnest. Still the stone did not stir;or if it did it was only just enough to aggravate the man. What could be the matter? The stone was not a very large one. It didnot look as if it could stand a great deal of prying. What was thematter? There happened to be a school-boy passing that way at the time. He wasnot much of a farmer, and still less of a mechanic, I should think;but he thought he saw what the trouble was. It did not seem to be somuch the lever itself, or the farmer, or the stone to be moved, as inthe way the man went to work. The boy ventured to hint this idea tothe farmer: "Why, my dear sir, " he said, "there is no use in your breaking yourneck in that style. You are at the wrong end of the lever. You haven't_purchase_ enough. " The good-natured farmer (for he _was_ good-natured, and did not getinto a passion because a mere boy, young enough to be hisgrand-child, attempted to help him out of his difficulty) thegood-natured farmer stopped a moment, looked at the matter carefully, and frankly acknowledged that he had gone the wrong way to work. "I wonder what on earth I was thinking of, " said he, in his usualblunt language. Of course he shifted his crow-bar immediately, so asto get a good _purchase_. The trouble was all over then. The stonecame up easily enough, of course. It came into my mind while I was thinking about this farmer's mistakein the use of his lever, that certain people--myself included, perhaps--might profit by this blunder. A great many, for instance, use the lever of _truth_--a very goodcrow-bar, the best to be had--in overturning moral evils. But they donot accomplish anything, because they take hold of the wrong end ofthe lever. They have no _purchase_. Here is a man, who, as I think, is in the habit of wrong doing everyday. Well, I settle it in my mind that I will talk to him, and see ifI cannot make a better man of him. I look him up, and go to prying athis sin, like a man digging up pine stumps by the job. I call him hardnames. Why not? He deserves them. Everybody knows that. I do not mincethe matter with him at all. But what I say seems to have no goodeffect upon him. It makes him angry, and he advises me to mind my ownbusiness, assuring me, at the same time, that he shall take good careto mind his. I see plainly enough that I have been working half an hour or more tono purpose, and that very likely I have made matters worse. Yet whatwas my error? Simply this: that I spent all my strength at the short arm of thelever. If I had gone to work with a kind and tender spirit, somethingas Nathan went to work at David, once on a time, and used the otherend of the lever, I should have got a good _purchase_, at least, and Iam not sure but the stone would have yielded. As it is, however, thetroublesome thing is there yet, and it seems to be settling into theground deeper than ever. I know some good people, among whom I can count half a score ofministers, who try very hard to keep bad books and periodicals out ofthe family circle. There is no end to their talk against these things. They tell theirchildren that they must never read such and such books, and that ifthey ever catch one of them reading these books, they shall take goodcare to punish them for it. But in spite of all the efforts of these people, they don't succeed inkeeping these bad books out of the family. In some way or other, theyare smuggled into the hands of a boy or girl, and they are read, whilethe parent, perhaps, knows nothing of it. That is all wrong, ofcourse. I don't mean to say anything to excuse the boy orgirl--nothing of the kind. But why didn't these parents go anotherway to work? Why, instead of preaching all those long sermons on badbooks, and threatening their children with punishment in case theyread these books, why did they not provide other books, equallyinteresting, though innocent and useful? That would have been a wisercourse, methinks. That would have been the right end of the crow-barto work at. The way to get rid of an evil is to find something else toput in its place. So I think. But some of these very fathers and mothers, though they cry out soloudly against immoral books and periodicals, say they cannot affordto buy books for their children. It was only last week that I heardone of them tell a friend, who asked him to subscribe for a magazinefor his daughter, that he was poor, and could not afford it. Poor! hegave one party last winter, on this same daughter's account, whichcost him more than a hundred dollars. He cannot afford it! Well, if hedoes not afford to furnish reading for those children, I am afraidthey will afford it themselves. I have seen a little girl, when her sister had been doing somethingwrong, run straight to her mother, and tell her of it. But it onlymade the little mischief-maker worse. She went the wrong way to work. She labored hard enough to come at her sister's fault; but her laborwas all thrown away. She was at the wrong end of the crow-bar. If, instead of posting off, as fast as she could run, to her mother, everytime that sister did wrong, as if she really _liked_ to be atell-tale, she had said, as kindly as she could, "Susy, don't do so;that's naughty, " or something of the kind, I presume it would all havebeen well enough. VII. THE FOX AND THE CRAB; OR, A GOOD RULE, WITH A FLAW IN IT. A FABLE. A crab boasted that he was very cunning in setting traps. He used tobury himself in the mud, just under a nice morsel of a clam or anoyster; and when the silly fish came to make a dinner of this daintymorsel, he would catch him in his claws, and eat him. He pretended to have a good deal of honor, though. He was quite apious crab, according to his own account of himself. When he hadcaught a fish by his cunning, he used to say, "Poor fellow! it is hisown fault, not mine. He ought to have kept out of the trap. If onedoes not know enough to keep away from my claws, he _ought_ to becaught. Poor fellow! I'm sorry for him; but it can't be helped. " That is the way he took to quiet his own conscience, and to excusehimself to others, when they complained of his deceitful conduct. An old fox, having heard of our crab's mode of catching fish, andwhat he said about it, determined to set a trap for the crab. He didso. He went down to the sea shore, and thrust his long, bushy tailinto the water. The crab, thinking he had got another dinner by hiswit, seized the fox's tail with his claws. But the fox, giving asudden spring, brought the crab out of the water, and prepared to makea meal of him at his leisure. The crab complained, and accused the fox of being a deceitful fellow, and a murderer to boot. "But, " said Reynard, "I have only acted according to your own rule. Ifone does not know enough to keep away from a fox's tail, he _ought_to be caught. It is the same thing as if he caught himself. " "Ah!" said the crab, with a sigh, "I made that rule for others, andnot for myself. I see now that _there is a flaw in it_. " VIII. THE GREEDY FLY. A FABLE. A fly, who was a great lover of sweet things, came across a cup fullof molasses. He alighted on the edge of the cup, and commenced sippingthe molasses. It pleased him very much. He thought he had never tastedanything so good before. At length, beginning to be surfeited with hisdinner, instead of flying away, and going about his business, untilhe should be hungry again, he plunged into the molasses, so as toenjoy as much of it as he could. Mistaken fly! He fared very much as you might suppose he would. Helost his life in the molasses. MORAL. That is just the way with thousands, who have fewer legs and ought tohave more brains than this fly. They are not content with a right andproper use of the good things which God has given them. They plungeinto a sea of pleasure, so as to enjoy as much of it as they possiblycan. But such a surfeit, instead of increasing the enjoyment, makesthem miserable. They are drowned in the midst of their pleasures. [Illustration] IX. CAROLINE AND HER KITTEN; OR, THE PRETTY FACE, WITH A SCAR ON IT. Caroline Rose was as happy a girl as ever you saw in your life--"ashappy as the days are long"--so her schoolmaster used to say. Therewere a great many good points in Caroline's character besides this, that she was so generally cheerful--for I consider that a good pointin any one's character. She was kind to her companions, obedient, respectful, and affectionate to her parents; and she seldom got into afit of anger, or made a fool of herself by being sulky. One might havemet her frequently, and have supposed that he was well acquainted withher, and still have loved her very much. Yet there was one thing inher character which every one, as soon as he saw it, must dislike, andwhich sometimes, where she was well known, made her appear exceedinglyunlovely. Shall I tell you what that was? I will do so, so as to putyou on your guard in that particular point. That trait in hercharacter was _selfishness_. If she ever got anything that she liked, she used to act as if she were not willing that any one else shouldenjoy it with her. Indeed, she appeared to be displeased, if one ofher playmates, as was sometimes the case, did take a great deal ofpleasure in her pretty things. Her father once brought her home a fine set of tea things, when shewas quite young. Now, should you not suppose that she would like tohave all the girls in the neighborhood come and take tea with her, anduse her pretty new cups and saucers, and spoons and plates? Well, soshould I. But she showed a great deal of selfishness in thismatter--so much, in fact, that she made herself appear ridiculous, aswell as unlovely. She was glad to have the girls come and look at thetea things, and hear them say that they were very pretty. But that wasas far as her generosity went. She did not ask the girls to sit downand drink tea with her. Indeed, she did not want her playmates tohandle the cups and saucers. "I'm so afraid you will break them!" saidshe. What a foolish and unreasonable girl! It got to be a sort of proverb in the little village where Carolineresided, when any one was not very generous, "She's almost as selfishas Carrie Rose, " I don't know whether she knew how she was regardedamong boys and girls of her own age; and I don't know how much shecared for their good will, if she did hear what they thought of her. But this I know, that I could not bear to have such a character. Iwould rather give away half of all I am worth than to give any reasonto people to think I was mean and selfish. How I should dislike tohave folks say to themselves, and perhaps to others, when they meet mein the streets, "There goes a selfish man--a man who is about asgood as people will average, in other respects, but who is as small asthe little end of nothing, in his dealings. " I think I would ratherlive on a crust of dry bread than to get money by being close, andsmall, and mean, and selfish. [Illustration: MY PRETTY KITTEN. ] Caroline had a kitten given her, by her uncle, when she had grown upto be quite a large girl. It was a beautiful creature. I think theycalled it a Maltese kitten. Nothing of the kind had been seen in theplace where Caroline lived, before Tommy, as she called her new pet, was brought there. Well, of course she told all the little folks whata fine present her uncle had made to her, and they were invited tocome over and see the "dear little creature. " She talked about herkitten as if it were one of the wonders of the world, and as if shethought she was a young queen, with the wealth of Cleopatra orElizabeth, and that half the inhabitants of the globe would certainlycome and bow before her and her wonderful kitten. When she met her young friends, she talked of nothing hardly but "mypretty Maltese kitten. " That is the way with selfish folks. They think and talk a great dealof what concerns _them_, and you seldom hear them praise anything thatbelongs to their neighbors. I shall never forget--if you will allow me to go a step or two out ofmy way for an illustration--I shall never forget how, when I was alittle school-boy, Mother Budd, a rather selfish old lady, used tocall us into her kitchen, to see the nice honey she had been takingout of her bee-hives. "Isn't that fine?" she would ask; "eh, isn'tthat fine honey, boys?" Of course it was fine, and we said so. "Well, you can go now, " she would say, after that. As for letting us taste ofher fine honey, that she never thought of doing. I don't know but we should almost have served her right, if we haddone something as a good old minister I have heard of, once did invery similar circumstances. He was making a call upon one of theladies of his parish--upon Aunt Katy, who was noted all over theneighborhood for being close-fisted. Almost as soon as the good manhad got into the house, she invited him to go into the buttery, andlook at her nice cheeses. He went in, the old lady acting as a guide. "There, " said she, pointing to a mammoth cheese which she had justmade for the fair, and which she was particularly proud of, "there's acheese for you. " "Thank you, Aunt Katy, " said the minister, "my wifewas saying only this morning that we should have to get a new cheesepretty soon. " And he took the cheese down from the shelf, carried itout to his wagon, bade the astonished lady of the house a goodmorning, and drove off to visit some of the rest of his flock. Selfishness has the same face, look at it where you will. It madequite a scar in the features of Caroline's character. Without that, they would have been beautiful--with it, they were ugly enough. But about that kitten. Clara Goodsell was as full of fun as a hickorynut is of meat. She heard of Caroline's kitten, and she, too, wasinvited to call and see it. She did not go, though, and, indeed, thegirls very generally failed to comply with the invitation. They knewwell enough that, if they went to see the kitten, they would not beallowed to take it, and that all they could do would be to stand alittle way off, and look at it, and remark how beautiful it was. One day, when the girls at school were required to write compositions, Clara thought she would write something which would make Carrieashamed of her selfishness. The teacher read all the compositionsaloud. When he came to Clara's, the girls had as much as they could doto keep from laughing, for they knew, before it was read, what it wasabout. The schoolmaster had to bite his lips to keep from smiling alittle, too. Clara did not call any names. But she wrote such a composition about"_My Pretty Kitten_" that anybody could see it was meant forCaroline. The selfish girl saw it, as well as the rest, and beforeschool was out, she burst into tears, she felt so badly. But thecomposition did her good. She improved wonderfully after that. X. "I DON'T KNOW. " How difficult it is for many people to say these words. They don'tlike to own that they are ignorant of anything. They want to make youthink that they know everything. When you ask them a hard question, instead of saying right out, plumply and honestly, "I don't know, "they will try to trump up some answer that will not expose theirignorance. And oh, what wretched work they sometimes make with theiranswers. They make perfect fools of themselves. People never appear well, among those of good sense, who attempt topass themselves off as knowing more than they do. It is not to beexpected that any one person can know everything; and why should you, or anybody else, be ashamed to own that you can't tell all about thisthing, or that thing? Why it is often one part of wisdom to see thatyou can't understand a particular subject, and another part of wisdomto confess that you can't understand it. I think that the dog, who figures with a certain vain, self-conceitedmonkey, in the fable, showed a good deal of wisdom in his remarks. The monkey, you must know, belonged to a very learned astronomer. Theanimal often watched his master, while he was looking through histelescope. "There must be something delightful in that, " he thought, and one day, when the astronomer was absent, the monkey looked throughthe instrument for a long time. But he saw nothing strange orwonderful; and so he concluded that his master was a fool, and thatthe telescope was all nonsense. Not long after that, he met Rover, the family dog, and he told him what he thought of his master. "Andwhat do _you_ think of the matter, friend Rover?" he added. "I don't know the use of the telescope, " said the dog, "and I don'tknow how wise our master may be. But I am satisfied of two things. " "What are they?" the monkey asked. "First, " said the dog, "that telescopes were not made for monkeys tolook through; and second, that monkeys were not made to look throughtelescopes. " [Illustration: THE LEARNED GEESE. ] XI. THE LEARNED GEESE. A FABLE. A company of geese used to meet together very often, to talk about theaffairs of the nation, and to contrive ways and means to do the publicgood. They were full of learning; had read all the valuable books thatever were printed in the goose language; and had got the notion intotheir heads that when they died, wisdom would perish in the earth. They looked down upon the great mass of goosehood about them withfeelings of pity--almost of contempt. At their public meetings--whichwere held pretty often, for they had much more public than privatebusiness to attend to--they occupied a great share of their time indiscussing questions which were so deep and muddy, that nobody butthey ever saw to the bottom of them. Indeed, many very sensible geese, who made few pretensions to learning, have doubted whether they sawvery clearly into these questions themselves. I, too, have my doubtson the subject, as well as these sensible geese; and I go fartherthan they in my doubts. I doubt whether, in case any learned goosecould see to the bottom of very many of these muddy subjects, hisknowledge would be worth much to him. I will give you a specimen ofsome of the questions they used to debate upon, and leave you to judgeof their value for yourselves. They were such as these: "How _thick_ is the shadow of a goose in the moonlight?" "How much would the shadow of a tolerably learned gander weigh, if itcould be weighed?" "How early do goslings begin to know a great many things, if notmore?" "When a fox starts off after a goose, is it because he loves himself, or because he loves his wife and the little foxes?" "Whether geese ought not to be willing to die, for the sake ofaffording a good dinner to Christians on Christmas and Thanksgivingdays?" "Whether there would be such a thing as a good, pious goose, who wasnot willing to die for such a purpose?" One day, our learned geese were holding a meeting in the barn yard, according to their custom, and were, if possible, more earnest andnoisy than ever in their discussions. This time they were consideringwhat it was best to do to prevent foxes from making such havoc in theneighborhood. The question was submitted, whether it would not besafer and better for geese to sleep with their heads up, instead ofplacing them under their wings, after the old fashion. But right in the midst of the debate, while one of the speakers wasastonishing himself as well as the rest of the company, with hisreasoning and his eloquence, a fox, who had been slily listening tothe debate, stepped into their ranks, and seized the orator, cuttingshort his neck and his speech at the same instant. MORAL. There are several things to be learned by this fable. But I shallcontent myself with simply pointing out one of them, presuming yourgood sense will discover the rest: _Before you attempt to take care ofothers, learn to take care of yourselves_. XII. THE WRONG WAY. Edward was rather a rude, headstrong boy. Like a great many youngpeople of his age, he needed to be punished sometimes, and sometimeshis parents did deal pretty sternly with him. Edward had a sister, older than himself, by some years. Fanny--for this was the name of thegirl--tried one day, to tame little Eddy, when, according to hernotion, he was inclined to be too wild. Fanny was grieved to see herbrother act so rudely. They were visiting that day, at Aunt Sally's, and it was natural enough that Fanny should wish to have her brotherbehave as well as he could. "Eddy, " said she, in the hearing of her aunt and some of her cousins, "you act like a young colt. " "Well, what if I do?" said Eddy, rather tartly. "Why, you will need breaking, if you go on so, that's all. " "And suppose I should need breaking, I'd like to know who'll breakme. " "May be I'd try my hand at it, if there's nobody else to do it. " "I'd like to see you try it. " "Hush, Edward! I'm ashamed of you. " "You had better hush yourself, if you want me to hush. " At this point in the dispute between the brother and sister, AuntSally thought it was best to put a stop to it. She saw that Fannycould do no good to Edward, while he was in that mood, and so she saida word or two which turned the thoughts of both the brother and sisterinto another channel. I suppose it can hardly be necessary to say to you, that, whatevermay have been the right way to manage Edward, that which his sistertried at this time was certainly the wrong. XIII. THE RIGHT WAY. Edward still behaved rather rudely--still "acted like a young colt. ""What a pity!" Fanny said to herself. "Mamma will be mortified, if sheever hears about it. Well, I must try again, and see what I can dowith the little fellow this time. " So she called Eddy out into the yard in front of the house, and there, where nobody else but him could hear her, she said, "Eddy, I want to tell you a little story. " "Well, " said Edward, "I want to hear a little story. " "Once there was a little boy, " the sister said, commencing her story, "that had a sister who was kind to him. His sister took good care ofher brother. She tried to do so, at any rate. When this little boy wasabroad, playing with his cousins, he was rude. He would not mind hissister. He was a good deal younger than she was, and one wouldsuppose that he ought to have listened to her, when she talked tohim. But he did not. He was just as rude as ever; and his sister wasafraid that, when his mamma heard of his conduct, she would feelashamed of her son. What do you think of that boy, Eddy?" "Sister, " said the little fellow, "I am a very naughty boy. But I amsorry I behaved so. I will try to do better, if you will forgive me. " And so, you see, the wild, rattle-headed boy, who was so full of fun, that he could hardly hold in, and who was so wild that Fanny thoughtit was best to check him with a curb bit, something as she would ayoung colt, was completely tamed by this soft, gentle language. Myyoung friend, don't you think there's great power in such words? I do, and I advise you, when you are dealing with such a "young colt" asEddy was, to try the plan that Fanny tried last, and see if it don'tsucceed better than anything else? Use gentle words, for who can tell The blessings they impart! How oft they fall as manna fell, On some nigh-fainting heart! "In lonely wilds by light-winged birds Rare seeds have oft been sown; And hope has sprung from gentle words, Where only grief had grown. " XIV. THE OLD GOAT AND HIS PUPIL. A FABLE. A spruce young goat tried very hard to make himself appear like asheep. He endeavored to talk and act like a sheep. Half his time wasspent in putting on airs. He went so far as to cut off his beard, sothat he might bear a more striking resemblance to the sheep family;and he was once heard to say that he would give anything if hecould either get rid of his horns altogether, or have them twisted asthe horns were worn by some of the old fathers whom he so muchadmired. The little simpleton, however, lost more than he gained byhis singular manners. Instead of his being more respected and beloved, as he expected to be, he was despised by everybody. [Illustration: THE GOAT AND HIS PUPIL. ] One day, after being ridiculed and abused by some of his youngneighbors, he went to his schoolmaster with a great budget full oftroubles. This schoolmaster was an old goat, with a long beard, and along head, too, as it would seem from the character he had. "O dear!" said the little simpleton, "everybody hates me. I wish Iwere dead. I'm sure I don't know what it means. The more I try to begood, the less they all like me. " "My dear fellow, " said Mr. Longbeard, "I am sorry for you. But I cando nothing to help you. It will always be so, until you do better. " "Why, I do as well as I can now, " replied the young goat. "You ape the sheep too much. " "Well, the farmer thinks more of his sheep than he does of hisgoats--a great deal more. " "And what of it?" "Why, if he likes the sheep best, he will like me best when I act asthe sheep do. " "That's your mistake. He will not like you half as well. " "Why not?" "For the same reason that nobody else likes you so well--because youdon't act like yourself. Take my advice, now. _Be yourself_. Don't tryto be anybody else. Depend upon it, if you ever come across a personthat likes you, he will like you as a goat, and not as a sheep. Asheep you could never be, though you should practice all yourlife-time. Be a goat, then--be a goat, and nothing else. " This advice, I believe, proved of some service to the juvenile goat;and by the way, reader, perhaps it may be worth something to you. XV. ON BARKING DOGS. It is an old saying--and there is a good deal of truth in it--that"barking dogs never bite. " I say there is a good deal of truth in it. It is not strictly true. Scarcely any proverb will bear picking topieces, and analyzing, as a botanist would pick to pieces and analyzea rose or a tulip. Almost all dogs bark a little, now and then. StillI believe those dogs bark the most that bite the least, and the dogsthat make a practice of biting the hardest and the oftenest, make verylittle noise about it. Have you never been passing by a house, and seen a little pocketedition of a cur run out of the front door yard, to meet you, withever so much bravery and heroism, as if he intended to eat you at twoor three mouthfuls? What a barking he set up. The meaning of his _bow, wow, wow_, every time he repeated the words, was, "I'll bite you! I'llbite you!" But the very moment you turned round and faced him, he ranback into the yard, as if forty tigers were after him. You see he wasall bark, and no bite. Well, it is about the same with men and women, and boys and girls, asit is with dogs. Those who bark most bite least, the world over. Show me a boy who talks about being as bold as a lion, and I will showyou one with the heart of a young rabbit, just learning to eatcabbage. I do dislike to see boys and girls boasting of what they cando. It always gives me a low opinion of their merits. There is Tom Thrasher. You don't know Tom, do you? Well, he is one ofyour barking dogs. He is all the time boasting of the great things heis able to do. Nobody ever saw him do any such things. Still he keepson boasting, right in the midst of the young people who know himthrough and through, a great deal better than he knows himself. It isstrange that he should brag at that rate where everybody knows him. But he has fallen into the habit of bragging, and I suppose he hardlythinks of the absurd and foolish language he is using. According tohis account of himself, he can run a mile in a minute, jump over afence ten rails high, shoot an arrow from his bow twenty rods, andhit an apple at that distance half a dozen times running. I must tell you a story about this Tom Thrasher. Poor Tom! he got"come up with, " not long ago, by some fun-loving boys that lived inhis neighborhood. Tom had been boasting of his great feats in jumping. He could jump higher than any boy on Blue Hill. In fact, he had justjumped over the fence around Captain Corning's goat pasture, which, aseverybody knows, was eight rails high, and verily believed he couldhave cleared it just as easily, if it had been two rails higher. Thatwas the kind of language he used to this company of boys. They did notbelieve a word he said. "Let's try Tom, " one whispered to another, "let's try the fellow, andsee how high he can jump. " "Say, Tom, " said one of the boys, "will you go down to the captain'sgoat pasture with us, and try that thing over again?" Tom did not seem to be very fierce for going. But all the boys urgedhim so hard, that he finally consented and went. When he got to thegoat pasture, he measured the fence with his eye; and from the mannerin which he shrugged his shoulders, it was pretty clear that heconsidered the fence a very high one indeed. He was not at all in ahurry about performing the feat. But the roguish boys would not lethim off. "Come, Tom, " said one. "Now for it, " said another. "No backing out, " said a third. "It's only eight rails high, " said a fourth. Still, somehow or other, Tom could not get his courage quite up to thepoint. The best thing he could have done, in my way of thinking, whenhe found himself so completely cornered was to have said, "Well, boys, there's no use in mincing the matter at all. I am a littledunce. I can no more jump over that fence than I can build a steamboator catch a streak of lightning. " But that was not his way of gettingout of the scrape. "Let me give the word now, " said one of the lads. "I'll say 'one, two, three, ' and when I come to 'three, ' you shall run and jump. " "Go ahead, " said Tom. And the other boy began: "_One--two--three_"-- Tom started, and ran. I'm not sure but he had boasted so much abouthis jumping, that he had almost made himself believe he really couldjump over that fence. At any rate, he tried it, and--failed, ofcourse. His feet struck the fence about three quarters of the distancefrom the ground, and over he went, head foremost, into the goatpasture. It was fortunate for him that he did not break his neck. Asit was, his _spirit_ was broken, and that was about all. He went homea much humbler boy than he was when he came to the goat pasture; and asomewhat wiser one, too. After that unfortunate leap, if Tom everboasted largely of what he could do and what he had done, it was avery common thing for his playmates to say, "Take care, Tom; rememberthat famous leap. " * * * * * _Woodworth's Juvenile Works_. PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. PUBLISH THE FOLLOWING JUVENILE WORKS, By Francis C. Woodworth, EDITOR OF "WOODWORTH'S YOUTH'S CABINET, " AUTHOR OF "THE WILLOW LANEBUDGET, " "THE STRAWBERRY GIRL, " "THE MILLER OF OUR VILLAGE, " "THEODORETHINKER'S TALES, " ETC. , ETC. UNCLE FRANK'S BOYS' AND GIRLS' LIBRARY. A Beautiful Series, comprising six volumes, square 12 mo. , with eightTinted Engravings in each volume. The following are their titlesrespectively: I. THE PEDDLER'S BOY, or I'll Be Somebody. II. THE DIVING BELL, or Pearls to be Sought ForIII. THE POOR ORGAN-GRINDER, and other stories. IV. LOSS AND GAIN, or Susy Lee's Motto. V. MIKE MARBLE; His Crotchets and Oddities. VI. THE WONDERFUL LETTER-BAG OF KIT CURIOUS. "Of those who have the gift to write for children, Mr. Woodworthstands among the first; and what is best of all, with the ability toadapt himself to the wants and comprehension of children, he has thathigh moral principle, which will permit nothing to leave his pen thatcan do harm. "--_Arthur's Home Gaz_. "We never pen a notice with more pleasure than when any work of ourfriend Mr. Woodworth is the subject. Whatever he does is well done, and in a sweet and gentle spirit"--_Christ. Inquirer_. "The author is a man of fine abilities and refined taste, and does hiswork in a spirit of vivacious but most truthful earnestness. "--_Ladies Repos. _ WOODWORTH'S STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS. 12mo. , with Illuminated Title, andupwards of Fifty Beautiful Engravings; pp. 336. WOODWORTH'S STORIES ABOUT BIRDS. Uniform with the above. With SixtySplendid Engravings. These two volumes, containing characteristic anecdotes, told in abrief and pleasing vein, are among the most entertaining books of thekind to be found in the English language. "Attractive stories, told in a style of great liveliness andbeauty. "--_N. Y. Tribune. _ "A _melange_ of most agreeable reading. "--_Presbyterian_. "They cannot fail to be intensely interesting. "--_Ch. Register_. "Charming stories, told with that felicitous simplicity and eloquenceof diction which characterize all Mr. Woodworth's efforts for theyoung. "--_N. Y. Commercial Advertiser_. "Nothing can be more interesting than the stories and pictorialillustrations of these works. "--_Brattleborough Dem_. * * * * * UNCLE FRANK'S PEEP AT THE BEASTS. Square 12mo. Profusely Illustrated;pp. 160. UNCLE FRANKS PEEP AT THE BIRDS. Uniform with the above. These two volumes are written in the simplest style, and with words, for the most part, of two or three syllables. They are exceedinglypopular among children.