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triumph, while the crows flew around, cawing most noisily, as if begging mercy for their captive companion. The monkey continued a while to grin and chatter in mockery of their distress; he then deliberately placed the captive crow between his knees, and began to pluck it with the most humorous gravity. When he had completely stripped it, except the large feathers in the wings and tail, he flung it into the air as high as his strength would permit ; and the crow, after flapping its wings for a few seconds, fell on the ground with a stunning shock.
The other crows, which had been so fortunate as to escape a similar fate, now surrounded it, and immediately 'pecked it to death. The expression of joy on the monkey's countenance was altogether indescribable; and he had no sooner seen this fate inflicted upon the purloiner of his repast, than he ascended the bamboo to enjoy a quiet repose. The next time his food was brought, not a single crow approached it; and I dare say that he was never again troubled by those voracious intruders.
XXIII. THE MOCKING BIRD.
J. R. DRAKE.
EARLY on a pleasant day
Every thicket, bush, and tree
As it mildly swept along,
Soft and low the song began:
XXIV. - YOUTHFUL COURAGE.
FROM THE FRENCH.
ON the night of the 12th of November, 1842, a fishing ves、 sel, called the Napoleon, was overtaken by a dreadful storm, when a few miles distant from the coast of France. Towards midnight, the master of the vessel, whose name was Ramelly, ordered his son Gustavus to go down into the hold for some implement he wanted.
Hardly had the boy, who was only about fourteen years old, gone down, than he felt a great shock; and he rushed back upon deck. During his few minutes' absence, the vessel had shipped a sea which had swept every one from the deck, and thrown her upon her side. It was in vain that Gustavus called his father; nothing was heard but the noise of the raging sea; no reply was returned to his distracted cries: of the four persons that had been on board, the boy alone remained.
Without losing an instant in useless lamentations, as an ordinary mind might have done, Gustavus eagerly gazed upon the waves, and soon perceived, amid their white foam, a black point alternately appearing and disappearing. He could not swim; but what difficulty may not be overcome by courage united to presence of mind?
He lashes himself to the rigging, takes a rope in his hand, throws himself into the sea, and flings the rope to the poor creature, who seizes it eagerly, without guessing what deliverer Heaven sends him. By its help he regains the vessel at the same moment with Gustavus, who sees with unspeakable joy that the man whom he had rescued was his father.
But all was not done; and Gustavus tears himself away, to fly to the succor of one of his companions, whose cries for help he could hear above the storm. It was one of the two sailors belonging to the little vessel. He is saved; and the intrepid boy once again flung himself into the sea, to rescue the third sufferer; but he had disappeared forever.
Gustavus then returned to his father, and the surviving sailor, both of whom he found stiff with cold and incapable of motion. He encouraged them, soothed, roused them; and pointing out to his father the still threatening dangers in the storm, now redoubled in fury, he called upon him to remember his expecting mother, and her agony of suspense. And the two men, roused from their stupor, took fresh courage, and exerted themselves to escape destruction.
The elder Ramelly now perceived that the boy's hands were dreadfully excoriated.* "A mere trifle," said Gustavus; "let us to work." And he was the first to work the vessel; and at length, with the help of his father, succeeded in putting the rudder † into a condition to be used. Ramelly takes the helm,‡ and Gustavus and the sailor go down into the hold, and busy themselves in removing the cargo, so as to restore the vessel to an upright position, by lightening that part of it which was lying in the water.
Almost in the very moment of success, a cry of alarm brought Gustavus back to the deck, when he sees his father, who could not venture to leave the helm, pointing, with a ges-. ture of dismay, to a thick smoke mingled with flames issuing from the cabin. "Fear not, father," said the brave boy, with the calmness of true courage, - and never was there exhibited a more rare combination of moral and physical courage, "fear not, God is with us." In an instant he determines on what is best to be done; he sees a bucket at his feet, happily forgotten by the tempest that had swept the deck of every thing else; snatches it up, fills it with water, and pouring it on the place where the fire appears to be greatest, he thus makes a passage for himself to dart into the cabin.
The fire issued from some burning clothes; Gustavus
*Excoriated, deprived of skin.
† Rudder, a piece of wood, attached to the stern of a vessel by hinges, by which the vessel is steered.
Helm, the handle or instrument, by which the rudder is turned. To take the helm means to take charge of steering the vessel.
bundles them up, and rolls himself upon them, in order that his own clothes, saturated as they were with sea water, might put out the flames; but not being able to succeed, he rushes up with his burning load, and flings it into the sea.
The little bark was saved. Some hours after, it entered the port of Cherbourg with the noble boy as much surprised at the admiration the recital of his heroism called forth, as he was unconscious of its deserving any praise.
"What else could I have done?" was his simple answer to the compliments he received.
XXV. - SPEAKING ACTIONS.
CHAMBERS'S LIBRARY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
"WHAT did you mean, mother, by saying to Mrs. Thornton, just now, that actions spoke?" asked little Fanny, who had been sitting in a thoughtful position for some minutes a thing
not very common with little girls.
The lady addressed smiled. "You think it strange for an act to speak, my love? Is that the riddle which is puzzling your little head?”
"Well, Fanny, if you will sit down by my side, I will explain my meaning."
The little inquirer promptly availed herself of the permission.
"Now, my dear, you have yourself illustrated my assertion," Mrs. Montague observed. "The alacrity with which you brought your stool to my feet plainly said, 'My dear mother, I really desire to hear what you are going to say.""
The little girl laughed. "Well, I did not think of that," she said; "but now tell me of some other actions that speak."
"That I will readily do, my child; for it is a truth which I wish should be deeply impressed on your mind. It might save