Various
Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 429
JUVENILE ENERGY
In December 1807, W.H. Maynard, Esq., was teaching a school for a quarter in the town of Plainfield, Massachusetts. One cold, blustering morning, on entering his schoolroom, he observed a lad he had not seen before, sitting on one of the benches. The lad soon made known his errand to Mr Maynard. He was fifteen years old; his parents lived seven miles distant; he wanted an education, and had come from home on foot that morning, to see if Mr Maynard could help him to contrive how to obtain it. Mr Maynard asked him if he was acquainted with any one in the place. 'No.' 'Do your parents know any one here?' 'No.' 'Can your parents help you towards obtaining an education?' 'No.' 'Have you any friends that can give you assistance!' 'No.' 'Well, how do you expect to obtain an education?' 'I don't know, but I thought I would come and see you.' Mr Maynard told him to stay that day, and he would see what could be done. He discovered that the boy was possessed of good sense, but no uncommon brilliancy; and he was particularly struck with the cool and resolute manner in which he undertook to conquer difficulties which would have intimidated common minds. In the course of the day, Mr Maynard made provision for having him boarded through the winter in the family with himself, the lad paying for his board by his services out of school. He gave himself diligently to study, in which he made good but not rapid proficiency, improving every opportunity of reading and conversation for acquiring knowledge: and thus spent the winter. When Mr Maynard left the place in the spring, he engaged a minister, who had resided about four miles from the boy's father, to hear his recitations; and the boy accordingly boarded at home and pursued his studies. It is unnecessary to pursue the narrative further. Mr Maynard never saw the lad afterwards. But this was the early history of the Rev. Jonas King, D.D., whose exertions in the cause of Oriental learning, and in alleviating the miseries of Greece, have endeared him alike to the scholar and the philanthropist, and shed a bright ray of glory on his native country.
LITERARY CIRCLES OF LONDON
The society of the literary world of London is conducted after this wise:—There are certain persons, for the most part authors, editors, or artists, but with the addition of a few who can only pride themselves upon being the patrons of literature and art—who hold periodical assemblies of the notables. Some appoint a certain evening in every week during the season, a general invitation to which is given to the favoured; others are monthly; and others, again, at no regular intervals. At these gatherings, the amusements are conversation and music only, and the entertainment is unostentatious and inexpensive, consisting of tea and coffee, wine or negus handed about in the course of the evening, and sandwiches, cake, and wine at eleven o'clock. Suppers are prohibited by common consent, for costliness would speedily put an end to society too agreeable to be sacrificed to fashion. The company meets usually between eight and nine, and always parts at midnight.—The Critic.
THE SKY-LARK'S SONG
It comes down from the clouds to me,
On this sweet day of spring;
Methinks it is a melody
That angel-lips might sing.
Thou soaring minstrel! wingèd bard!
Whose path is the free air,
Whose song makes sunshine seem more bright,
And this fair world more fair!
I ask not what the strain may be,
Thus chanted at 'Heaven's gate'—
A hymn of praise, a lay of joy,
Or love-song to thy mate.
Vain were such idle questioning!
And 'tis enough for me
To feel thou singest still the notes
Which God gave unto thee.
Thence comes the glory of thy song,
And therefore doth it fall,
As falls the radiance of a star,
Gladdening and blessing all!
Oh! wondrous are the living lays
That human lips have breathed,
And deep the music men have won
From lyres with laurel wreathed:
But there's a spell on lip and lyre,
Sweet though their tones may be—
Some jarring note, some tuneless string,
Aye mars the melody.
The strings sleep 'neath too weak a touch,
Or break, 'neath one too strong;
Or we forget the master-chord
That should rule all our song.
When shall our spirit learn again
The lay once to it given?
When shall we rise, like thee, sweet bird!
And, singing, soar to heaven?
Fanny Farmer.
DOG-SELLING EXTRAORDINARY
Two ladies, friends of a near relative of my own, from whom I received an account of the circumstance, were walking in Regent Street, and were accosted by a man who requested them to buy a beautiful little dog, covered with long, white hair, which he carried in his arms. Such things are not uncommon in that part of London, and the ladies passed on without heeding him. He followed, and repeated his entreaties, stating, that as it was the last he had to sell, they should have it at a reasonable price. They looked at the animal; it was really an exquisite little creature, and they were at last persuaded. The man took it home for them, received his money, and left the dog in the arms of one of the ladies. A short time elapsed, and the dog, which had been very quiet, in spite of a restless, bright eye, began to shew symptoms of uneasiness, and as he ran about the room, exhibited some unusual movements, which rather alarmed the fair purchasers. At last, to their great dismay, the new dog ran squeaking up one of the window curtains, so that when the gentleman returned home a few minutes after, he found the ladies in consternation, and right glad to have his assistance. He vigorously seized the animal, took out his penknife, cut off its covering, and displayed a large rat to their astonished eyes, and of course to its own destruction.—Mrs Lee's Anecdotes of Animals.