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Read Ebook: Autobiography of Friedrich Froebel $c translated and annotated by Emilie Michaelis ... and H. Keatley Moore. by Fr Bel Friedrich Michaelis Emilie Translator Moore Henry Keatley Translator
Font size: Background color: Text color: Add to tbrJar First Page Next PageEbook has 854 lines and 87655 words, and 18 pagesJANUARY TO JUNE, 1844. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by S. G. GOODRICH, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. MERRY'S MUSEUM. Well--here we are again! The old year has passed away, and the new one has come. How rapidly the months have flown! It seems but a brief space since our last farewell to the old year,--and since we greeted you all with wishes of a happy new one. And yet, within that space, this great world on which we live has made its annual journey of three hundred millions of miles around the sun--and we have kept it company. The year 1843 has departed, and carried up to heaven its record of good and of evil! And we are now at the threshold of another year; we are about to begin a new race--to perform a new journey. The year 1844 is an untried region--an unknown country. What may be there in store for us, we cannot say. But let us start with cheerful hearts, with hopeful anticipations, and with a stock of good resolutions. It is the first day of January,--that cold and stormy month, which the ancients represented under the image of an old man, with a long beard,--such as appears at the head of this article. Boys and girls--I wish you all a happy new year! But what are mere wishes? They are idle breath--a mockery of words, unless the heart goes with them. And my heart, on the present occasion, does go with my words. I not only wish you a happy new year, my friends, but, so far as in me lies, I intend to make it a happy one for my readers. I have in store for them--not cake and candy--not sweetmeats and sugar-plums--but rhymes and riddles--fables and allegories--prose and poetry--lays and legends--fact and fancy--in short, a general assortment of such things as belong to a literary museum for young people. And although I profess to deal in matters that may amuse my friends, I have still a desire that, while they are entertained, they shall be instructed. The only way to be happy--really and truly happy--is to be wise; and wisdom comes through teaching--through education. I think I can make this very plain, if you will listen to me a few moments. You know there are such people as savages--those who roam wild in the woods, or dwell in wigwams, sitting upon the ground, and sleeping upon the skins of beasts; those who have no books, nor schools, nor churches; those who have never read the Bible; those who know not Jesus Christ, nor the ten commandments. Well--what makes the difference between these wild, savage people, and those who live in good houses, in towns and cities, and have all the comforts and conveniences of life? Knowledge makes the whole difference, and knowledge comes by instruction--by education. Do my little readers know that without education they would be savages? Yet it is really so. All are born alike--the child of the savage, and the child of the Christian. One grows up a savage, because its father and mother do not send it to school--do not furnish it books, do not teach it to read and to write. The other grows up a Christian, because it is instructed--it is educated. Education, therefore, makes us to differ. Now, what do you think of this? Do you observe, that all our little friends, who hate books, and school, and instruction, are trying to be like little savages? Bah! I hope none of my readers are so unreasonable. I hope they see that it is best for them to be Christians--and as far as possible from the savage state. I think one thing is very clear: our good Father in heaven, whom we ought all to love and obey, did not intend us to be savages; and, at the same time, he has provided only one way to avoid it--and that is by education. He makes it our duty, therefore, as well as our happiness, to seek instruction--education. This design of Providence is very apparent, when we compare man with animals. Birds and beasts do not go to school; they are provided with all needful knowledge by that power which we call instinct. A little chicken, only a day old, will run about and pick up seeds, which lie scattered among the stones and dirt. How does the chicken know that seeds are made to eat, and that stones are not made to eat? How does the chicken distinguish the wholesome and nutritious seed, from the dirt and gravel? God has taught it--God has given it a wonderful instinct, by which it is guided in the choice and discovery of its food. But the infant has no such instinct; left to itself, it will pick up dirt, stones, pins--anything that comes in its way--and put all into its little greedy mouth! The child has to be taught everything by its parents or its nurse. It must be taught what is good and what is evil--what to seek, and what to shun. The chicken runs about, as soon as it is hatched; the child must be taught first to creep, then to walk. The chicken, left to itself, though but a day old, will hide from the hawk that would devour it; the child, if left to itself, would as soon go into the fire, or the water, or the bear's mouth, as anywhere else. The chicken is guided by instinct--the child by instruction. Thus it appears, that, while instinct is the guide of the animal world, education is the instrument by which children are to reach their true destiny. God meant us to be educated; and children who hate education, hate God's will and God's way; they hate the road that leads to their own happiness. Think of that--black-eyes and blue-eyes!--think that when you resist instruction, you resist the will of Providence, and sin against your own peace! The designs of Providence, in respect to animals and mankind, appear very striking from other considerations. Now a beaver is a natural architect, and his instinct not only teaches him the art of house-building, but he has a set of tools ready furnished. He has sharp teeth, with which he cuts down trees, and divides them into proper lengths: thus his teeth answer both as hatchet and saw. His tail is flat, and when he has laid on his mortar, he turns round and spats it with his tail, which operates like a mason's trowel. So here is a carpenter and mason, both in one, educated by nature and provided with a set of tools, scot free. What a happy fellow! So it is with the woodpecker; he never learnt a trade, or paid a shilling for tools--yet he knows how to chisel out his hole in a dry tree--and his bill answers as both gouge and hammer. The spider has no shuttle or loom; he never had a lesson in the factories of Lowell--yet he weaves his ingenious web--and he sets it, too, so as to take his prey. Surely, Providence has taken care of these creatures in a wonderful way. And perhaps you think that God has been more kind to them than to human beings; for while He teaches the animal world, He leaves children to schoolmasters; and while He teaches the beavers and the birds their trade, and furnishes their tools, gratis--boys and girls must serve seven years for a trade, and pay for their tools when they have done! But let us look a little farther. It is true that if children refuse to learn--refuse to be educated--they remain ignorant, and like savages. But children can learn, if they will. Education is offered to them--and, if it is improved, what is the result? Look around, and see what mankind, who have obeyed the will of God, and who have improved their faculties by education,--see what they are, and what they have done. The instinct of the beaver is very wonderful--but, after all, it only enables the beaver to build rude mounds of earth, wood and stone, which serve as its abode; and also enables it to provide its simple food of roots and grass and fruits. This is the whole stretch of instinct. But let us look at the results of education, operating upon the faculties of man. Look at Boston--what a mighty city! How many houses--and if we go into them, how beautiful--how convenient! Look at the paved streets--the pleasant side-walks! Go into the shops, and see the beautiful merchandises. Go into the Museum, in Tremont street, and see the wonders there, gathered from the four quarters of the globe. Go down to the waters and see the ships, made to plough the mighty ocean, and hold intercourse with the ends of the earth. Go to the Atheneum, and see the stores of knowledge, which man has discovered. Go to the churches, and see the people holding communion with that God who built the earth, and spread out the heavens. Open the Bible, and read the wonders of revelation--the immortality of the soul--the mighty plan of man's salvation. Go to the fireside, and see the comfort--the peace--the happiness, which are there. And remember that all these things--every one of them--is the product of education. Oh, who then would be content with instinct, merely because it is easy, and costs nothing; and spurn education, because it requires effort? Education, then, is a great and glorious thing; but remember that you must take advantage of it. The old adage says--"One man may lead a horse to water, but ten can't make him drink." It is so with children in education: it is easy to send them to school--easy to put books before them--easy to give them good counsel; but if they will not try to learn, they will not learn. You cannot teach an unwilling mind. When I was a boy, I caught a blue jay, and put him in a cage; but the fellow wouldn't eat. I got hold of his head, and opened his mouth, and put some cherries down, but he wouldn't swallow; and as soon as I let him go, he threw it all up; and so he died! Now, this is just the way with some boys and girls--they will not take knowledge into their minds; they reject good counsel; even if you cram it down, they throw it up. Isn't that bad? Yes--very bad indeed. Now--ladies and gentlemen--boys and girls--walk up,--here's Merry's Museum for 1844! We are going to set matters all right; we are going to show the advantages of education, the pleasures of education, the duty of education. We shall have our sweetmeats and sugar-plums, as we go along; but still--still--we mean to know a great deal more at the end of the year, than we do now! We mean to lay up a good stock of knowledge, which may last us through life. Who will go with us? A TEST.--"Never," said the celebrated Lord Burleigh, "trust a man who is unsound in religion, for he that is false to his God can never be true to man." SIGNIFICANT.--An old picture represents a king sitting in state with a label, "I govern all;" a bishop, with a legend, "I pray for all;" a farmer, drawing forth, reluctantly, a purse, with the inscription, "I pay for all." The Thorn. There was once a boy, named James, who, with his little brother and sister, was going to take a walk in the fields and woods. It was a beautiful warm day, and James thought he would take off his stockings and shoes, and go barefoot. I suppose my young friends all know how pleasant it is to take off the covering of the feet, in a warm summer day, and run about on the smooth grass. How light one feels--how swift one can run with his foot free as that of the mountain deer! Now it happened that James had been forbidden by his mother to take off his stockings and shoes, for she was afraid that he would take cold. But he was now at a distance from home, and he thought he would do as he liked. So he took off his stockings and shoes. Oh, how he did scamper about for a time; but, by and by, as he was skipping along, he stepped upon a thorn, which entered the bottom of his foot, and inflicted a severe wound. As it gave him great pain, he sat down and tried to pull out the thorn; but, alas! it had entered quite deep, and had then broken off in such a manner, that he could not get hold of it. There he sat for some time, not knowing what to do--but at last he was obliged to hobble home as well as he could. James told his mother what had happened, for how could he help it? "Ah--ah--my son!" said she, "this comes of your disobedience. When will children learn that parents know what is best for them?" However, the good woman set to work to try to get out the naughty thorn, but she could not succeed. The Old Man in the Corner; or, the Pedler's Pack. Not long since, an old man--a very old man--came into the office of Merry's Museum, and sat down in a corner of the room. He looked a little like old Peter Parley--but it can't be that it was he, for some say Peter is dead--and, at any rate, he is not to be seen about these days. After the old man had sat for some time,--saying nothing to anybody, and only looking about with a kind of mournful countenance,--he got up, and slowly marched away. When he was gone, one of the boys found a little parcel on the bench where the old man sat, addressed to "Mr. Robert Merry; care of Bradbury & Soden, 10 School street, Boston." On opening the paper, we found an old greasy book within, written full of tales, fables, sketches, &c.; some of them very good indeed, and some very queer. The title of the little book was the "Pedler's Pack," and it had the following motto: Come, all my youthful friends, come near-- For every one I've something here: Anecdotes for those who choose-- Rhymes for all who love the muse-- Riddles and conundrums--bless 'em-- For little folks who love to guess 'em; Odd scraps have I from history torn, Strange tales from other countries borne-- And many a story, true and funny, Well worth your reading and your money. So, all my youthful readers, come-- Boys and girls, each shall have some. Walk up, my friends--Blue Eyes and Black-- And let us ope the Pedler's Pack. Here is his queer article about The Blues. How it rains! Patter, patter, patter! Well, let it pour! I love the rumble of the drops upon the roof, like the prolonged roll of a distant drum. Let it rain; I am secure. I shall not go out to-day, nor shall any one intrude upon my privacy. This day is mine! A wet day is often considered a lost day. To me it is otherwise. I can shut the door upon the world--turn the key upon life's cares, and give myself up freely to the reins of a vagrant fancy, without reproach of conscience. Providence has stepped in, and, arresting my tasks and my duties, gives me a sort of Sabbath of leisure and mental recreation. To me a wet day brings no blues, or, if it does, they are those which come on the wings of reverie, and are such as I am sometimes willing to entertain. Your reasonable blue is a communicative, suggestive thing, and I always court its society. And, after all--what are "the Blues?" Everything else has been classified, analyzed, and reduced to scientific system; and why not these beings which figure so largely in the history of the human mind? This is a subject of profound inquiry, and I wonder it has not attracted the attention of the philosophical. Let us look at it. To get firm hold of the subject, we must suppose a case. I sit in my room alone. Alone, did I say? As nature abhors a vacuum, the mind instinctively shrinks from solitude. If fleshy forms are not present, a host of imps press in from crack and crevice, to gambol around us. The mind is like the room in which the body is held, and these shadowy elves issue forth from the plastering of the walls, or peep out from the dark arras that hangs betwixt the visible and invisible world. Could we break through the plastering, or lift the arras, and see what these seeming imps are--whether they are things, or only images of things; whether they are substantial spirits, which, like invisible eels in water, are ever playing their pranks behind the curtain of vision; could we do this, our task would easily be done; and for our discovery we should expect to be made a member of some philosophical society. But, alas! there is no bridge that crosses the gulf between life and death--none, at least, upon which a being of flesh and blood can return. It is therefore impossible to follow "the blues" to their retreats--to the recesses from which, unbidden, they come, and to which, pursued, they fly. What, then, are "the Blues?" In natural history, there is nothing like dissection. But, before dissection, we must have a subject. How, then, shall we catch a blue?--that is the first question. The easiest way is to take one by supposition, and, while we are supposing, we may as well include the whole race. These can be arranged as follows: These have no head, no heart, no ears, no breathing organs; body, invisible; food, the human heart. We might now proceed to give the several kinds into which each class is divided, and then the numerous species of each kind. But this must be reserved for some future work on the subject; and if we should publish such an one, let no person laugh at our labors, nor sneer at our philosophy. "The Blues" constitute a great subject of scientific research, and are by no means unworthy of the moral philosopher. We have only time to make a few observations, to show the force of this latter remark. But that numerous class, who are in the habit of neglecting some daily duty, or violating some moral or physical law; those who eat too much; those who take strong drinks; those who follow pleasure rather than peace; those, in short, who keep the mind like an ill-swept garret, decorated with dust, cobwebs and confusion--those persons are doubtless particularly interested in our subject. For these, the little blues of the pestiferous classes have a strong affinity. Around the hearts of these persons they are ever to be found. Upon their lifeblood these elves live. CHINESE NOTION OF DANCING.--When Commodore Anson was at Canton, the officers of the ship Centurion had a ball upon some holiday. While they were dancing, a Chinese, who very quietly surveyed the operation, said softly, to one of the party, "Why don't you let your servants do this for you?" "Don't give up the Ship." During the last war with England, a bloody battle was fought between the British vessel of war Shannon and the American vessel Chesapeake. This took place in the waters off Boston harbor. Richard Dribble,--familiarly called Dick Dribble,--was a poor boy, about eleven years old, who was put out to a farmer, to go to school, and do chores at odd hours. I need not describe his appearance particularly, for his portrait is at the head of this article; but I must tell you that Dick was rather disposed to be lazy and idle. He was a good-natured fellow, but he hated exertion, and was even too indolent to keep himself tidy. He therefore had always a kind of neglected, shabby and shiftless look. Well, it was winter, and one day Dick was sent of an errand. The distance he had to go was two or three miles, and his way led through some deep woods. Dick had a great coat, but he was too lazy to put it on, and, though the weather was bitter cold, he set off without it. He had not gone far before he began to shiver like a pot of jelly, but still he kept on. After a while it began to snow, and pretty soon Dick's neck and bosom were almost filled with it, though some of it melted and went trickling down his back and breast. The boy took it very quietly for a time; instead of beating off the snow, he let it rest, until at last he was almost crusted over with it. His fingers now began to ache, his nose tingled, his toes grumbled, his teeth chattered, and his whole frame shivered like an aspen leaf. At last the poor fellow began to snivel, and, stopping plump in the path, he exclaimed "It's too bad! it's too bad!" Saying this, he gathered himself all into a kind of heap, and stood stock still. How long he would have remained here, if he had been left to himself, I can't say; it is probable that he would have remained inactive till he had become benumbed and unable to move, and that he had then lain down and been frozen to death. Indeed, he was already chilled through, and his limbs were getting stiff, and almost incapable of motion, when a gay young fellow came driving by in a sleigh. As he passed, he saw Dick, and exclaimed, "Don't give up the ship!" He was driving very swiftly, and was out of sight in an instant. Dick had sense enough left to appreciate the force of the counsel thus hastily given; it forced him to see, that, if he did not make an effort, he would die; at the same time, it put into his bosom a feeling that he could overcome the cold and extricate himself from his trouble. "At any rate," said he to himself, "I will try!" No sooner had he adopted this view of the case, than he began to march forward. He rubbed and beat his fingers; he knocked off the snow from around his neck; in short, he laid out his whole strength, and before he had gone half a mile, he was in a fine glow, and though his fingers and toes tingled a little from the hot-ache, he was very comfortable. So Master Dick trudged on; he performed his errand, and returned in safety. Nor was the adventure wholly without its use to him. He often thought of the advice of the gay sleigh-driver, and the effect it had upon him. "Don't give up the ship," said he, amid the piercing and trying circumstances of after life; and often that brief but pointed counsel enabled him to triumph over difficulties which, perchance, had otherwise overbalanced him. Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page |
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