12. But what inventors suffer, is only a small part of what mankind in general endure from thoughtless and unkind discouragement. Those high-souled men belong to the suffering cla.s.s, and must suffer; but it is in daily life that the wear and tear of discouragement tells so much.

Propose a small party of pleasure to an apt discourager, and see what he will make of it. It soon becomes sicklied over with doubt and despondency; and, at last, the only hope of the proposer is, that his proposal, when realized, will not be an ignominious failure. All hope of pleasure, at least for the proposer, has long been out of the question.

DEFINITIONS.--2. Des'ig-nat-ed, called by a distinctive t.i.tle, named. 5.

Yam, the root of a climbing plant, found in the tropics, which is used for food. 6. Im-paled', put to death by being fixed on an upright, sharp stake. 8. Di-late', to speak largely, to dwell in narration. 10. Rise (pro. ris, not riz), source, origin. Pro-jec'tor, one who forms a scheme or design.

CIV. THE MARINER'S DREAM.

William Dimond (b. 1780, d. 1837) was a dramatist and poet, living at Bath, England, where he was born and received his education. He afterwards studied for the bar in London. His literary productions are for the most part dramas, but he has also written a number of poems, among them the following:

1. In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay; His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

2. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While Memory each scene gayly covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn.

3. Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise; Now, far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

4. The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

5. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

6. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast; Joy quickens his pulses,--all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,-- "O G.o.d! thou hast blest me,--I ask for no more."

7. Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?

Ah! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear?

'T is the lightning's red glare painting h.e.l.l on the sky!

'T is the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere!

8. He springs from his hammock,--he flies to the deck; Amazement confronts him with images dire; Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck; The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.

9. Like mountains the billows tremendously swell; In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, And the death angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave!

10. O sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frostwork of bliss!

Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright,-- Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?

11. O sailor boy! sailor boy! never again Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.

12. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge.

13. On a bed of green sea flowers thy limbs shall be laid,-- Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, And every part suit to thy mansion below.

14. Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye; O sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul!

DEFINITIONS.--1. Ham'mock, a hanging or swinging bed, usu-ally made of netting or hempen cloth. 4. Trans'port, ecstasy, rapture. 5. Im-pearled'

(pro. im-perled'), decorated with pearls, or with things resembling pearls. 7. 'Lar'ums (an abbreviation of alarums, for alarms), affrights, terrifies. 12. Dirge, funeral music.

NOTES.--13. Coral is the solid part of a minute sea animal, corresponding to the bones in other animals. It grows in many fantastic shapes, and is of various colors.

Amber is a yellow resin, and is the fossilized gum of buried trees. It is mined in several localities in Europe and America; it is also found along the seacoast, washed up by the waves.

CV. THE Pa.s.sENGER PIGEON.

John James Audubon (b. 1780, d. 1851). This celebrated American ornithologist was born in Louisiana. When quite young he was pa.s.sionately fond of birds, and took delight in studying their habits. In 1797 his father, an admiral in the French navy, sent him to Paris to be educated.

On his return to America, he settled on a farm in eastern Pennsylvania, but afterward removed to Henderson, Ky., where he resided several years, supporting his family by trade, but devoting most of his time to the pursuit of his favorite study. In 1826 he went to England, and commenced the publication of the "Birds of America," which consists of ten volumes--five of engravings of birds, natural size, and five of letterpress. Cuvier declares this work to be "the most magnificent monument that art has ever erected to ornithology." In 1830 Audubon returned to America, and soon afterwards made excursions into nearly every section of the United States and Canada. A popular edition of his great work was published, in seven volumes, in 1844, and "The Quadrupeds of America," in six volumes,--three of plates and three of letterpress, in 1846-50. He removed to the vicinity of New York about 1840, and resided there until his death.

1. The mult.i.tudes of wild pigeons in our woods are astonishing. Indeed, after having viewed them so often, and under so many circ.u.mstances, I even now feel inclined to pause and a.s.sure myself that what I am going to relate is a fact. Yet I have seen it all, and that, too, in the company of persons who, like myself, were struck with amazement.

2. In the autumn of 1813 I left my house at Henderson, on the banks of the Ohio, on my way to Louisville. In pa.s.sing over the Barrens, a few miles beyond Hardinsburgh, I observed the pigeons flying, from northeast to southwest, in greater numbers than I thought I had ever seen them before, and feeling an inclination to count the flocks that might pa.s.s within the reach of my eye in one hour, I dismounted, seated myself on an eminence, and began to mark with my pencil, making a dot for every flock that pa.s.sed.

3. In a short time, finding the task which I had undertaken impracticable, as the birds poured in in countless mult.i.tudes, I rose, and, counting the dots then put down, found that one hundred and sixty-three had been made in twenty-one minutes. I traveled on, and still met more the farther I proceeded. The air was literally filled with pigeons; the light of noonday was obscured as by an eclipse; and the continued buzz of wings had a tendency to lull my senses to repose.

4. Whilst waiting for dinner at Young's inn, at the confluence of Salt River with the Ohio, I saw, at my leisure, immense legions still going by, with a front reaching far beyond the Ohio on the west, and the beech wood forests directly on the east of me. Not a single bird alighted, for not a nut or acorn was that year to be seen in the neighborhood. They consequently flew so high that different trials to reach them with a capital rifle proved ineffectual; nor did the reports disturb them in the least.

5. I can not describe to you the extreme beauty of their aerial evolutions when a hawk chanced to press upon the rear of a flock. At once, like a torrent, and with a noise like thunder, they rushed into a compact ma.s.s, pressing upon each other towards the center. In these almost solid ma.s.ses, they darted forward in undulating and angular lines, descended and swept close over the earth with inconceivable velocity, mounted perpendicularly so as to resemble a vast column, and, when high, were seen wheeling and twisting within their continued lines, which then resembled the coils of a gigantic serpent.

6. As soon as the pigeons discover a sufficiency of food to entice them to alight, they fly round in circles, reviewing the country below. During their evolutions, on such occasions, the dense ma.s.s which they form exhibits a beautiful appearance, as it changes its direction, now displaying a glistening sheet of azure, when the backs of the birds come simultaneously into view, and anon suddenly presenting a ma.s.s of rich, deep purple.

7. They then pa.s.s lower, over the woods, and for a moment are lost among the foliage, but again emerge, and are seen gliding aloft. They now alight; but the next moment, as if suddenly alarmed, they take to wing, producing by the flappings of their wings a noise like the roar of distant thunder, and sweep through the forests to see if danger is near. Hunger, however, soon brings them to the ground.

8. When alighted, they are seen industriously throwing up the withered leaves in quest of the fallen mast. The rear ranks are continually rising, pa.s.sing over the main body, and alighting in front, in such rapid succession, that the whole flock seems still on wing. The quant.i.ty of ground thus swept is astonishing; and so completely has it been cleared that the gleaner who might follow in their rear would find his labor completely lost.

9. On such occasions, when the woods are filled with these pigeons, they are killed in immense numbers, although no apparent diminution ensues.

About the middle of the day, after their repast is finished, they settle on the trees to enjoy rest and digest their food. As the sun begins to sink beneath the horizon; they depart en ma.s.se for the roosting place, which not unfrequently is hundreds of miles distant, as has been ascertained by persons who have kept an account of their arrivals and departures.

10. Let us now inspect their place of nightly rendezvous. One of these curious roosting places, on the banks of the Green River, in Kentucky, I repeatedly visited. It was, as is always the case, in a portion of the forest where the trees were of great magnitude, and where there was little underwood. I rode through it upwards of forty miles, and, crossing it in different parts, found its average breadth to be rather more than three miles. My first view of it was about a fortnight subsequent to the period when they had made choice of it, and I arrived there nearly two hours before sunset.

11. Many trees, two feet in diameter, I observed, were broken off at no great distance from the ground; and the branches of many of the largest and tallest had given way, as if the forest had been swept by a tornado.

Everything proved to me that the number of birds resorting to this part of the forest must be immense beyond conception.

12. As the period of their arrival approached, their foes anxiously prepared to receive them. Some were furnished with iron pots containing sulphur, others with torches of pine knots, many with poles, and the rest with guns. The sun was lost to our view, yet not a pigeon had arrived.

Everything was ready, and all eyes were gazing on the clear sky, which appeared in glimpses amidst the tall trees. Suddenly there burst forth the general cry of, "Here they come!"

13. The noise which they made, though yet distant, reminded me of a hard gale at sea pa.s.sing through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As the birds arrived and pa.s.sed over me, I felt a current of air that surprised me. Thousands were soon knocked down by the pole men. The birds continued to pour in. The fires were lighted, and a magnificent as well as wonderful and almost terrifying sight presented itself.

14. The pigeons, arriving by thousands, alighted everywhere, one above another, until solid ma.s.ses, as large as hogsheads, were formed on the branches all round. Here and there the perches gave way under the weight with a crash, and falling to the ground destroyed hundreds of the birds beneath, forcing down the dense groups with which every stick was loaded.

It was a scene of uproar and confusion. I found it quite useless to speak or even to shout to those persons who were nearest to me. Even the reports of the guns were seldom heard, and I was made aware of the firing only by seeing the shooters reloading.

15. The uproar continued the whole night; and as I was anxious to know to what distance the sound reached, I sent off a man, accustomed to perambulate the forest, who, returning two hours afterwards, informed me he had heard it distinctly when three miles distant from the spot. Towards the approach of day, the noise in some measure subsided; long before objects were distinguishable, the pigeons began to move off in a direction quite different from that in which they had arrived the evening before, and at sunrise all that were able to fly had disappeared.

DEFINITIONS.--5. A-e'ri-al, belonging or pertaining to the air. 6. A-non', in a short time, soon. 8. Mast, the fruit of oak and beech or other forest trees. 10. Ren'dez-vous (pro. ren'de-voo), an appointed or customary place of meeting. Sub'se-quent, following in time. 15. Per-am'bu-late, to walk through.