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

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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.

And now, gentle reader, if you find it hard to get your lesson, hard to perform your task, hard to do your duty, think of Dick Dribble in the snow-storm, and say to yourself, "Don't give up the ship," and go ahead!

CURE FOR THE TOOTH-ACHE.--Fill your mouth with cream, and bump your head against a post till it turns to butter.

EITHER WAY WILL DO.--"Wilt thou have me, Sarah?" said a modest young man to a girl whom he loved. "No, John," was the reply of Sarah--"but you may have me, if you will!"

"The rolling stone gathers no moss." Unstable people seldom prosper.

The Stormy Petrel.

My course is o'er the sea, the sea, Where the wind roams free,-- Where the tempest flies On a wing of might, And the billow rolls In a robe of white!

My course is o'er the tide, the tide, Where the fearless ride,-- Where the bloody deed In battle is done, And the gory wreath Of victory won!

My course is o'er the deep, the deep, Where the lost ones sleep,-- Down, down in the hush Of a coral bed, Where the mermaid sighs O'er the lonely dead!

My course is east--my course is west-- Where, where shall the petrel rest?-- In the cleft of a rock, Where the surges sweep, And lulled by the shock, Shall the petrel sleep.

Bill and the Boys.

I have been often requested by my young readers to tell them something more about Bill Keeler. I have, therefore, been rumaging over my memory, to see if I could pick up something about him, worth relating. Now Bill was a great story teller, and he with myself and several other boys, used often to get together, and amuse one another by relating such narratives as we could invent or recollect. Bill was always foremost on these occasions, and not only told the best, but the most stories. It is my purpose to present my readers with such of these tales as I can recollect. I shall not try to put them down in the exact language in which they were originally spoken,--but I shall give their substance and point. The first of these tales, I shall call

THE LOTTERY TICKET.

There was once a poor, but worthy man, whose name was Trudge. He was a pedler, and though he dealt only in pins, needles, thread, combs and such little articles, he succeeded in getting a comfortable living. Nay, more--he laid up a trifle every year, and finally he had enough to buy him a small house. He had a wife and two or three children, and to this humble cottage they speedily removed.

Trudge thought himself very happy when he was snugly established at his new house. He kissed Mrs. Trudge, and all the little Trudges; danced "hey Betty Martin!" and thought himself one of the luckiest fellows in the world. And so he was, if he could have been content; but, alas! he was beset with certain very troublesome visiters; they were Ambition, Envy and Idleness. I must tell you all about it.

As Trudge travelled about the country selling his wares, he noticed some fine houses, around which he always saw nice carriages, gay horses, and well-dressed people, who seemed to have nothing to do but to amuse themselves. This made Trudge feel uneasy, and he said to himself--"Why wasn't I rich, and why can't I live in a fine house, and be a gentleman? Here I am--only a pedler--poor Tom Trudge--and it's all trudge, trudge, from morning to night; winter and summer, fair or foul, hot or cold, I must trudge, trudge! If I was rich, and lived in a fine house, I should be Thomas Trudge, Esq., and then I should be as good as anybody. I should have easy carriages and fat, slick horses, and Mrs. Trudge would be a fine lady!"

Thus it was that poor Tom indulged his fancy, and all the time Envy and Ambition and Idleness were at work within, making him very unhappy. Envy made him feel a sort of hatred toward people who were richer than himself. Ambition urged him to make every effort to be rich; and, at the same time, Idleness told him that the greatest comfort in life was to have nothing to do. Thus it was that Tom, who had a neat pretty home, and every necessary comfort and convenience, was really miserable, because of these uneasy and uncomfortable thoughts.

Tom at last opened his mind to his wife, and it seems that she had been feeling pretty much like himself. "I don't see," said she, "why we ain't as good as the best; and I think it mean of you, Mr. Trudge, not to let me have as good a gown as Mrs. Million, up there on the hill. Last Sunday she came out with a bran-new yaller silk gown, and there was I, in the next pew, in my old caliker; and I thought to myself, 'tan't right! And then, you must know, when the minister said any pleasant and comforting scriptures, he looked very kind at Mrs. Million and her new silk gown, and when he said anything about the wicked, he looked at me and my caliker. Now, Tom, I say 'tan't fair." And here Mrs. Trudge buried her face in her apron.

Poor Trudge did all he could to comfort his spouse; but, alas! the peace of the cottage was gone. Tom and his wife had cast out Content and let in Envy, and Envy is a troublesome companion. He is never happy himself, and will let nobody else be happy. Envy is like a chestnut burr--all covered with prickles--and the closer you clasp it, the more it torments you. Yet this was now the inmate of Trudge's cottage.

Well, time went on, and things grew worse rather than better. It is true that Tom and his wife were thrifty people; they had now got to be pretty well off in the world, but still they were by no means as happy as they once were; envy and ambition still goaded them on; they yearned to be rich; and, strange to say, they hated the people who were in the station they themselves desired. They envied and hated Mrs. Million; yet they wanted very much to be like Mrs. Million.

And--who would have thought it?--the time came when they had an opportunity to gratify their desires. Tom was one day in New York, whither he had gone to buy his stock of pins, thread, and needles--when he chanced to pass by a lottery office. Here, in the window, was a picture of a gay, lightly-dressed lady, pouring out gold and silver from a long thing, shaped like a horn, but as big as a corn basket. Plash went the money upon the ground, as free as water from the town pump. A bright thought struck Tom: "it's of no use to plod," said he to himself; "here I've got fifty dollars; if I lay it out in goods, I must go and peddle them out, and that's hard work. Besides, what's the use of it? Though I am a little richer by means of my labors, still, compared with the Millions and the Goldboys, I shall be poor. Now, I've a good mind to step in and buy a ticket in the New York State Lottery, ? HIGHEST PRIZE FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS! ? Perhaps I shall draw it."

The lottery was to draw in about two months. Tom whiled away the time as well as he could. It is strange that creatures who have got only a few years to live, should still, at least half the time, be wishing to annihilate that very time which is so short. Yet so it is. Tom had given up peddling, for he was determined to be a rich man, and toil no more; besides, he had spent his money in the lottery ticket, and he had no cash to buy pins and needles with. He went to the tavern, drank gin sling, loafed with the idle fellows of the town, talked politics and scandal, and thus killed the time; but all did not make him content. Many times did he say to himself, "This idleness is a great curse; I wish I was at work; I'd rather peddle than play;" and yet, all the time, he was hoping and yearning for the day when he could be rich, and live without work.

At last the time came when the lottery was to be drawn, and Tom was preparing to set off for New York, to be present at the important crisis. "Now, Tom," said his wife, "mind! If you draw the highest prize, I want you to buy me a yaller silk gown, jest like Mrs. Million's, only a great deal smarter. And do you buy me a red satin bonnet, like Mrs. Goldboy's, only redder. And then do you buy me a new fan, with a pikter of a Wenus on one side, and a Cowpig on the other. And then if I don't go to meetin', and see who'll hold their heads highest, and who'll get the comfortin' scripters--I'm not Bridget Trudge!"

"Well, well," said Tom, in reply, "and suppose I don't draw the prize?"

"Suppose you don't draw the prize!" said the spouse, "why then you have thrown away your money like a fool, and remember what I say; if you don't draw the prize, remember that I told you so; and if you do draw the prize, get the silk gown and the silk bonnet, and the fan."

After a little further conversation, Tom departed on his errand. The result will be told in another chapter.

Pictures of Various Nations.

INTRODUCTION.

The globe upon which we dwell is a small body compared with the sun, or with Jupiter, or Saturn; yet it contains many millions of inhabitants. The exact number can never be ascertained. The best estimates make the number between eight and nine hundred millions. This number is too great for a young mind to grasp. A better idea may be formed of it, by supposing the whole population of the globe to pass by you, one by one. How long would it take you to count them, at the rate of twenty thousand a day? More than one hundred and twenty years.

These inhabitants are scattered over every part of the earth, and are to be found in almost every island of the sea. They have penetrated into the frozen regions, where scarcely anything grows but moss; where fish, bears and reindeer are their only food; and where they are obliged to live in cabins under ground.

Vast as the number of the earth's inhabitants is, and widely scattered as they are, yet they all sprung from one pair. This the scriptures tell us. About six thousand years ago, God created Adam and Eve in Asia, and from them all mankind have descended.

Do you ask how this can be? Do you say, that the inhabitants of different countries and climates differ much? They do indeed differ. They differ in respect to laws, and government, and manners, and dress, and language, and color. In this last respect, color, they differ almost more than in anything else.

Well, because they differ thus much, you think they could not all have descended from Adam and Eve? If they did not, then the Bible, so far, cannot be true. This would be a sad conclusion.

But, is such a conclusion necessary? Cannot we account for the differences which exist among different nations, upon the supposition that they all did descend from Adam and Eve?

Take the difference in color, which exists among different nations. This, perhaps, is the most difficult to be accounted for. A great variety of color may be noticed; but the various colors may, perhaps, be reduced to three--white, black and red. All the others may be supposed to be different shades of these.

Now, were Adam and Eve white, black or red? This we cannot ascertain. The late Dr. Dwight, I believe, supposed that they were red; but allow that they were white; by what process could their descendants have become some brown, some yellow, others red, and others still quite black?

Suppose that a white person in the United States should constantly go abroad without any covering upon his head. What would be the consequence of his exposure to the wind and sun? He would "tan," as we say, or grow dark colored; and the longer he was exposed the darker he would become.

Exposure, then, to the heat of the sun, and to changes in the weather, causes a change of complexion. Suppose this same person visits the torrid zone. Here, as the heat of the sun is much greater, and the winds are more scorching, we should naturally expect that his complexion would darken faster, and, in time, become of a deeper cast.

This is precisely as we find the fact. All the inhabitants of the torrid zone incline more or less to a black color. Under the equator, where the heat is greater than in any other part of the world, they are quite black. In other parts of the world, where the heat is less intense, as in the temperate climates, they are generally white, or only brown. Still farther north, in the frigid zones, where the air is very dry, and the cold very severe, the inhabitants are tawny.

Thus it appears that difference of climate produces a great difference in the complexion of people. But do not nations living in the same climate, differ in color? They do. This is remarkably exemplified in the Tartars and Chinese. The latter are fairer than the former, though they resemble the Tartars in features; but, then, they are more polished, and adopt every means to protect themselves from the weather. On the other hand, the Tartars, are a roving people, without any fixed dwellings; and hence, are continually exposed to the sun and air.

We might mention many other causes of a variety of color. Perhaps few things injure the complexion more than want of cleanliness. This recalls to my recollection a set of people, who were called Yonkers, and who lived a few miles from the city of Schenectady, in the state of New York. When I saw them, some years since, they consisted of about one hundred souls. Their ancestor's name was Johnson. He and his wife were white persons.

Being poor and shiftless, they removed into the woods a few miles from Schenectady, where they erected a miserable hut, without a floor, and without a chimney. Some loose straw served them for a bed; and in dirt and in filth they lived. They had several children, who followed their examples. Other huts were erected--they intermarried, and in smoke, and in grease, and in filth, they and their descendants have lived. In the hottest season of the year the children are accustomed to roll in the dirt with the pigs around the door; and in the winter season they play with the ashes and live in the smoke. They seldom, if ever, wash; and it is doubtful whether a child's hair is combed half a dozen times, till it is grown up. When I visited them, which was for the purpose of distributing bibles among them, it was stated that only five of the whole clan were able to read.

The consequence of this filthy mode of living may be easily guessed. They appeared like a different race of beings. Their features were greatly changed; but much more their complexion. In this latter respect they were nearly as dark as the North American Indians. From this story my readers may learn something of the influence which manner of living exerts, not only on complexion, but even upon features.

From the foregoing facts it is easy to perceive how white people may, in process of time, become dark-colored, and even black. Hence, admitting that Adam and Eve were created white, their descendants might, through the influence of climate and other causes, become red and even black.

But, you say, perhaps they were not white--perhaps they were red, perhaps black. Yes, they might have been red, or they might have been black. Well, if they were either of these, you ask how any of their descendants became white.

This is a nice question. But, perhaps, something may in truth be said by way of a satisfactory answer. We have seen how a white man might become very dark-colored, and how his descendants might become, in process of time, even black, by removing to the torrid zone, and there continuing to dwell for several hundred years.

Now, might not the very reverse of this prove true? Do not the blacks from Africa grow lighter colored, when brought to the northern parts of the United States? Listen to what President Dwight says on this subject:

"The change of the blacks," says he, "whose ancestors were introduced into New England, is already very great, as to their shape, features, hair and complexion. Within the last thirty years, I have not seen a single person, of African descent, who was not many shades whiter than the blacks formerly imported directly from Guinea."

Now, it is possible that the black people in the United States might become white, in process of time. I do not say that they ever will, because their manner of living is far different from that of the whites. They are not as cleanly; most of them are much exposed to the weather. And this is true of the Indians, or "red men."

But, you ask, can any instances be produced of either "red men" or black men becoming white? I answer, yes, instances of both. I will give an account of an instance of each kind; and I can assure my readers that the account is true, and they may find it in an enlarged form, in Dr. Dwight's travels. And first, I shall tell them the story of the Indian, or "red man."

Or, rather I might say, that my story relates to four Indians. They belonged to the tribe called Brothertown Indians, who lived at a place called Brothertown, in the state of New York. It was in the year 1791, that Mr. Hart, formerly minister at Stonington, in Connecticut, saw four Indians, whose skin, in different parts of their body, was turning white.

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