3. Life everywhere! on the earth, in the earth, crawling, creeping, burrowing, boring, leaping, running. If the sequestered coolness of the wood tempt us to saunter into its checkered shade, we are saluted by the murmurous din of insects, the twitter of birds, the scrambling of squirrels, the startled rush of unseen beasts, all telling how populous is this seeming solitude. If we pause before a tree, or shrub, or plant, our cursory and half-abstracted glance detects a colony of various inhabitants. We pluck a flower, and in its bosom we see many a charming insect busy at its appointed labor. We pick up a fallen leaf, and if nothing is visible on it, there is probably the trace of an insect larva hidden in its tissue, and awaiting there development. The drop of dew upon this leaf will probably contain its animals, visible under the microscope. 4. This same microscope reveals that the "blood-rain" suddenly appearing on bread, and awakening superstitious terrors, is nothing but a collection of minute animals; and that the vast tracts of snow which are reddened in a single night owe their color to the marvellous rapidity in reproduction of a minute plant. The very mould which covers our cheese, our bread, our jam, or our ink, and disfigures our damp walls, is nothing but a collection of plants. The many-colored fire which sparkles on the surface of a summer sea at night, as the vessel ploughs her way, or which drips from the oars in lines of jewelled light, is produced by millions of minute animals. 5. Nor does the vast procession end here. Our very motherearth is formed of the débris* of life. We dig downward thousands of feet below the surface, and discover with surprise the skeletons of strange, uncouth animals, which roamed the fens and struggled through the woods before man Our surprise is heightened when we learn that the very quarry itself is mainly composed of the skeletons of microscopic animals. The flints which grate beneath our carriage wheels are but the remains of countless skeletons. was. * Pronounced da-brec'. 6. The Apennines and Cordilleras, the chalk cliffs of England-these are the pyramids of by-gone generations of atomies. Ages ago these tiny architects secreted the tiny shells which were their palaces; from the ruins we build our Parthenons, our St. Peters, and our Louvres. So revolves the luminous orb of Life! Generations follow generations; and the Present becomes the matrix of the Future, as the Past was of the Present-the Life of one epoch forming the prelude to a higher Life. 7. We have thus taken a bird's-eye view of the field in which we may study. It is truly inexhaustible. We may begin where we please, we shall never come to an end; our curiosity will never slacken. "And whosoe'er in youth G. H. LEWES. N XVI.—NAUHAUGHT, THE DEACON. I. AUHAUGHT, the Indian deacon, who of old Dwelt, poor but blameless, where his narrowing Cape Stretches its shrunk arm out to all the winds A fair, broad gold-piece, in the name of God. II. He rose and went forth with the early day The partridge drummed: and as his thoughts went back What marvel that the poor man felt his faith 66 "Send me," he prayed, "the angel of my dream' Nauhaught is very poor; he cannot wait." III. Even as he spake, he heard at his bare feet With his great need, feeling the wondrous coins IV. The angel brought One broad piece only; should he take all these? Who would be wiser, in the blind, dumb woods? The loser, doubtless rich, would scarcely miss This dropped crumb from a table always full. Still, while he mused, he seemed to hear the cry Of a starved child; the sick face of his wife Tempted him. Heart and flesh in fierce revolt Urged the wild license of his savage youth Against his later scruples. V. All the while The low rebuking of the distant waves Stole in upon him like the voice of God Among the trees of Eden. Girding up His soul's loins with a resolute hand, he thrust The base thought from him: "Nauhaught, be a man! VI. "God help me! I am deacon of the church, The birds would tell of it, and all the leaves VII. Then Nauhaught drew Closer his belt of leather, dulling thus The pain of hunger, and walked bravely back "I," said a voice; "Ten golden pieces, in a silken purse, My daughter's handiwork." He looked, and lo! And the glazed hat of a seafaring man, Shrewd-faced, broad-shouldered, with no trace of wings. VIII. Marveling, he dropped within the stranger's hand But the man said: "A tithe at least is yours; IX. So down the street that, like a river of sand, J. G. WHITTIER F XVII.—THE CHEERFUL LOCKSMITH. ROM the workshop of the Golden Key there issued forth a tinkling sound, so merry and good-humored, that it suggested the idea of some one working blithely, and made quite pleasant music. Tink, tink, tink-clear as a silver bell, and audible at every pause of the streets' harsher noises, as though it said, "I don't care; nothing puts me out; I am resolved to be happy." 2. Women scolded, children squalled, heavy carts went rumbling by, horrible cries proceeded from the lungs of hawkers; still it struck in again, no higher, no lower, no louder, no softer; not thrusting itself on people's notice a bit the more for having been outdone by louder sounds— tink, tink, tink, tink, tink. 3. It was a perfect embodiment of the still small voice, free from all cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any kind. Foot-passengers slackened their pace, and were disposed to linger near it; neighbors who had got up splen'etic that morning, felt good-humor stealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees became quite sprightly; mothers danced their babies to its ringing;-still the same magical tink, tink, tink, came gayly from the workshop of the Golden Key. 4. Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light. fell full upon him, as though attracted by his sunny heart. There he stood working at his anvil, his face radiant with exercise and gladness, his sleeves turned up, his wig pushed off his shining forehead-the easiest, freest, happiest man in all the world. 5. Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light and falling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess of comfort. The very locks that hung around had something jovial in their rust, and seemed like |