are rich Port-u-guese gen-tle-men who own these planta-tions, and who live in el-e-gant vil-las by the river side. They lead ver-y i-dle lives, for they need on-ly ex-ert them-selves once a year, when the fruit is ripe. Then the fruit is gath-ered, cut o-pen, the pips ta-ken out, dried in the sun, packed up, and put on board the ships go-ing up the Am-a-zon.

The trees which yield In-di-a rub-ber grow on the banks of the Am-a-zon. They are called Ser-in-ga trees. The In-di-a rub-ber is the sap. There are poor In-di-ans who live by col-lect-ing this sap. They in-hab-it wretch-ed huts close to the wa-ter, and un-der the deep shad-ow of the tall trees.

See that poor man go-ing out to col-lect sap. He goes up to a tree, and wounds it with a knife, then fast-ens a cup un-der the place to catch the milk-y stuff that slow-ly ooz-es forth. In one day he has wound-ed one hun-dred and twen-ty trees. He has walked man-y miles, for the trees do not stand close to-geth-er; they are scat-tered a-mong the oth-er trees of the for-est.

Next day, the poor man goes out a-gain to col-lect the In-dia-rub-ber milk. He finds a lit-tle in each cup. Al-to-geth-er he brings home two gal-lons in a ba-sin. His daugh-ter can make this milk in-to shoes. She takes it in-to a lit-tle thatched hut, where there is a small fur-nace in a jar. She dips a last (which she holds by a han-dle) in-to the milk ; then dries it by hold-ing it in the smoke of the fur-nace for a min-ute; then dips it a-gain, and dries it, and so goes on till the In-di-a rub-ber is thick-ly spread up-on the last. She then lays it in the sun till next day. With those two gal-lons of milk she makes ten pair of shoes in a-bout two hours. Next day the girl comes and cuts off the shoes from

their lasts. Now they are rea-dy to go up the river in the ships.—"Far Of;"


Mung-o Park, the cel-e-bra-ted Af-ri-can trav-el-ler, gives the follow-ing live-ly and in-ter-est-ing ac-count of the hos-pi-ta-ble treat-ment which he re-ceived from a ne-gro wom-an : “Be-ing ar-rived at Se-go, the cap-i-tal of the king-dom of Bam-bar-ra, sit-u-a-ted on the banks of the Ni-ger, I wished to pass o-ver to that part of the town in which the king re-sides; but, from the num-ber of per-sons ea-ger to ob-tain a passage, I was un-der the ne-ces-si-ty of wait-ing two hours. Du-ring this time, the peo-ple who had crossed the river, car-ried in-forma-tion to Man-song, the king, that a white man was wait-ing for a paš-sage, and was com-ing to see him. He im-me-di-ate-ly sent o-ver one of his chief men, who in-formed me that the king could not pos-si-bly see me un-til he knew what had brought me in-to his coun-try; and that I must not pre-sume to cross the river with-out the king's per-mis-sion. He there-fore ad-vised me to lodge, for that night, at a dis-tant vil-lage to which he point-ed; and said that, in the morn-ing, he would give me fur-ther in-struc-tions how to con-duct my-self. This was ver-y dis-cour-a-ging. How-ev-er, as there was no rem-e-dy, I set off for the vil-lage; where I found, to my great mor-ti-fi-ca-tion, that no per-son would ad-mit me in-to his house. From pre-ju-di-ces in-fused in-to their minds, I was re-gard-ed with as-ton-ish-ment and fear; and was o-bliged to sit the whole day with-out vic-tuals, in the shade of a tree.

The night threat-ened to be ver-y un-com-fort-a-ble ; for the wind rose, and there was great ap-pear

ance of a heav-y rain ; the wild beasts, too, were so nu-merous in the neigh-bour-hood, that I should have been un-der the ne-ces-si-ty of climb-ing up the tree, and rest-ing among the branch-es. About sun-set, howev-er, as I was pre-par-ing to pass the night in this man-ner, and had turned my horse loose, that he might graze at lib-er-ty, a ne-gro wo-man, re-turn-ing from the la-bours of the field, stopped to ob-serve me; and perceiv-ing that I was wea-ry and de-ject-ed, in-quired in-to my sit-u-a-tion. I brief-ly ex-plained it to her; af-ter which, with looks of great com-pas-sion, she took up my sad-dle and bri-dle, and told me to fol-low her. Hav-ing con-duct-ed me in-to her hut, she light-ed a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, and told me I might re-main there for the night. Find-ing that I was ver-y hun-gry, she went out to pro-cure me some-thing to eat; and re-turned in a short time with a very fine fish; which, hav-ing caused it to be broiled upon some em-bers, she gave me for sup-per. The rites of hos-pi-tal-i-ty be-ing thus performed to-wards a stran-ger in dis-tress, my wor-thy ben-e-fac-tress (point-ing to the mat, and telling me I might sleep there with-out ap-pre-hen-sion) called to the fe-male part of the fam-i-ly, who had stood ga-zing on me all the while in fixed as-ton-ish-ment, to re-sume their task of spin-ning cot-ton, in which they con-tin-ued to em-ploy them-selves great part of the night.

« They light-ened their la-bour by songs, one of which was com-posed ex-tem-po-re; for I was my-self the subject of it. It was sung by one of the young wom-en, the rest join-ing in a sort of cho-rus. The air was sweet and plain-tive, and the words lit-er-al-ly trans-la-ted were these: The winds roared, and the rains fell. - The poor

white man, faint and wea-ry, came and sat un-der our tree.—He has no moth-er to bring him milk, no wife to grind his corn. Chorus.—Let us pity the white man; no moth-er has he to bring him milk; no wife to grind his corn.' Tri-fling as these e-vents may ap-pear to the read-er, they were to me af-fect-ing in the high-est de-gree. I was op-pressed by such un-ex-pect-ed kind-ness; and sleep fled from my eyes. . In the morn-ing I pre-sent-ed to my com-pas-sion-ate land-la-dy two of the four brass but-tons which re-mained on my waist-coat; the on-ly re-com-pence it was in my power to make her.”Park's "Travels."

. . LESSON LXXVIII.--THE LADY-BIRD. Oh! la-dy-bird, la-dy-bird, why do you roam So far from your chil-dren, so far from your home? Why do you, who can rev-el all day in the air, And the sweets of the grove and the gar-den can share, In the fold of a leaf who can find a green bower, And a pal-ace en-joy in the tube of a flower, Ah! why, sim-ple la-dy-bird, why do you ven-turs The dwel-lings of men so fam-il-iar to en-ter? Too soon you may find that your trust is mis-placed, When by some cru-el child you are wan-ton-ly chased; . And your bright scar-let coat, so be-spot-ted with black, Is torn by his bar-ba-rous hands from your back: Ah! then you'll re-gret you were tempt-ed to rove From the tall climb-ing hop, or the ha-zel's thick grove, And will fond-ly re-mem-ber each ar-bour and tree, Where late-ly you wan-dered con-tent-ed and free:-' Then fly, simple la-dy-bird ! fly a-way home, No more from your nest and your chil-dren to roam.

Charlotte Smith.


Oh! green was the corn as I rode on my way,
And bright were the dews on the blos-soms of May,
And dark was the syc-a-more's shade to be-hold,
And the oak's ten-der leaf was of em'rald and gold ;
The thrush from the hol-ly, the lark from the cloud,
Their cho-rus of rap-ture sung jo-vial and loud ;
From the bright ver-nal sky to the soft gras-sy mound,
There was beau-ty a-bove me, be-neath, and a-round.
T'he mild south-ern breeze brought a show'r from the hill,
And yet, though it left me all drip-ping and chill,
I felt a new pleas-ure as on-ward I sped,
To gaze where the rain-bow gleam'd broad o-ver head.
Oh! such be life's jour-ney, and such be our skill,
To lose in its bles-sings the sea-son of ill.
Through sun-shine and show'r, may our pro-gress be ev'n,
And our tears add a charm to the pros-pect of heav'n.


[ocr errors]

The lit-tle ants, which, you know, live to-geth-er in great num-bers, in their small hou-ses, are ver-y at-ten. tive in-deed in ta-king care of their eggs. All the eggs are laid by one of the ants, which is called the queen ant. She does not lay them in an-y par-tic-u-lar place, but an-y-where a-bout the ant nest. And she does not take the least care of them her-self.

As soon as the eggs are laid, there are oth-er ants, called work-ers, which im-me-di-ate-ly take them up in their mouths, and keep turn-ing them back-ward and for-ward with their tongues to mois-ten them.

« ElőzőTovább »