fourth, then the fifth, then the sixth of the assailants, who were thereby reduced to the number of 138. How many were there originally?" Answer: "360.". Question: "How did you find that?" Answer: "If there had originally been sixty, there would have remained twenty-three after the attacks; but twenty-three are the sixth of 138; therefore the assailants were originally six times sixty; that is to say, 360." Question: "But why did you suppose the number sixty, in preference to fifty or seventy?" Answer: "Because neither fifty nor seventy is divisible by either four or six. It is evident that he did not employ any of the usual methods of reckoning. Means have been taken to give Vincent Zuccaro a good education, and bring him up to usefulness and virtue. broom of the house-maid, destroys in a minute the labor of a spider's life time. In this case, the persevering animal generally sets about repairing his loss. It is much fonder of mending than of making, as it is furnished originally with but a certain quantity of glutinous matter, which, wher exhausted, nothing can renew. An old spider is thus frequently at a loss for a home. In this pitiable condition, it hunts about to find out the web of another spider, younger and weaker than itself. As soon as it has succeeded in its search, it drives the young one out of its web, and then takes possession itself. As soon as the spider has completed its web, its care is to seize and secure whatever insect happens to be caught in the toil. For this purpose, it sometimes remains for weeks, and even for months, upon the watch, without even catching a single fly. THE SPIDER. There are several kinds of spiders, all of which have eight crooked legs, two arms, six or eight eyes, and the head furnished with two claws, or feelers. A little below the point of the claw there is a small hole, through which the animal emits a poison, which, though harmless to us, is powerful enough to destroy flies and other small in sects. The spider is supplied, within its body, with a glutinous matter, which it uses for the purpose of making its web. It spins out this glue into a fine thread, which it fastens upon some object, and then strains it across to some other point, doubling and twisting it, and interweaving it in a curious manner. Between the railings of fences, spiders may often be seen weaving their webs as represented in the picture above. On a summer morning, it is a pretty sight to see It often happens that the wind, or the them glittering with dew drops. KEEPER'S TRAVELS. A little volume, with this title, has lately been published in this city. This volume tells about the wanderings and adventures of a dog named Keeper, who one day lost his master, and then travelled many miles in search of him. Poor Keeper suffered many hardships in his search, which for a long time proved unsuccessful. At one time, he got buried up to his head in snow the vast body of which, though not firm enough to support him, and so unstable as to drift with every wind, yet yielded but little to his endeavors to extricate himself. Above, is a picture of his situation. "Nothing presented itself to his view, but one wide prospect of insipid and chilling whiteness. No sunny spot enlivened the distant view to console the weary and desponding traveller, but in snowy perspective, "Hills peeped o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arose !" "Gusts of wind frequently agitated the powdery expanse, and scattered its frozen particles on Keeper's defenceless head. He howled piteously; and the blast bore his groans over the solitary waste. His murmurs became fainter, and less incessant. His body grew stiff; and the last remaining warmth of life was about to leave him." Poor Keeper was at last rescued from his dangerous situation by a peasant, who was going home to his dinner, and who waded through the snow, and took him in his arms. He carried the dog to his humble cottage, and placing it on the hearth, soon had the pleasure of restoring it to life. But Keeper, when he awoke, began to bark, and was in consequence turned out of doors. At last, after many trials, he arrived within sight of his master's house. But what was his disappointment to find it inhabited by strangers, whom he had never seen before. Every creature in the house was as strange to Keeper as he was strange to them. The furniture, also, was new to him. Keeper is not discouraged by all these difficulties. No flattery could induce him to forget his master; and at last his fidelity is fully rewarded. He finds his master, and his wanderings happily end. A saw-mill is a well-known contrivance for sawing planks and other materials for building. Most of the saw-mills in our country are set in motion by water, which is cheaper than any other method. There are both wind-mills and water-mills, which do the office of sawing wood, with much more ease and rapidity than the hand. These mills sometimes drive several parallel saws, which are made to rise and fall perpendicularly. But the saw-mills in this country, are generally furnished with one saw only. When ten or fifteen are used, which saw up a whole log at once, they are called a gang. It is necessary, that the piece of timber to be cut into boards be urged forward so as to receive the strokes of the saw; for here the wood is to meet the saw, and not the saw to follow the wood. Saw-mills are very numerous in North America. Some have been built on a very extensive plan. There is one in New Brunswick for the purpose of sawing planks, to be sent to England. This machine works fifteen saws in one frame, and is capable, it is said, of cutting every year, not fewer than eight million feet of timber. When it was attempted to introduce saw mills into England, it was opposed, because it was feared, that the common wood-sawyers would be deprived of their means of getting a living. Many of my young readers, who reside in the country, have, I dare say, seen a saw-mill; and to them my description may seem incomplete. Well: will they tell us something new about it themselves? ERRORS OF THE PRESS. My young readers may sometimes have noticed mistakes in print, which produced a curious alteration in the meaning of the author. These mistakes occur often from accident and often from neglect. Sometimes the types, of which letters are the impressions, are misplaced, and at other times they are accidentally omitted. Sometimes a type will push itself where it has no right to be, just like a person who strives to get into a situation for which he is not fitted, and where he is almost sure to make himself ridiculous. So with a type; when it has left its proper station, it generally turns sense into the most lamentable nonsense. Read for in stance the following incredible piece of news, which appeared not long ago in a news-paper:— "A man in a brown surtout was yesterday brought before the police-court on a charge of having stolen a small or from a lady's work-bag. The stolen property was found in his waistcoat pocket." Now I can readily believe, that a lady might carry a small box in her work-bag, but that she should carry about an or, even were it ever so small, is, to say the least of it, very improbable. the stage-driver. The gentleman was no cannibal, however unwise he might have been in allowing himself to get into a passion. "At the late Fourth of July dinner in the town of none of the poultry were eatable except the owls.". Here the letter f mischievously left its place at the commencement of the last word. A country paper observes, "our village was recently thrown into considerable excitement, by the rumored arrival of an English Duck at one of our hotels." The Another paper gives an account of an duck, says a Philadelphia paper, was probaaccident both serious and singular bly a counterfeit duke. "A rat descending the river came in contact with a steamboat; and so serious was 'the injury to the boat, that great exertions were required to save it." If the letter ƒ had not slipped away from between a and t in the word rat, this statement would not have seemed so very absurd. It was a raft, which occasioned the accident. An English paper once stated, “that the Russian general Kachkinoffkowsky was found dead with a long word sticking in his mouth." It was a sword and not a word that was meant; unless it is to be inferred, that the unfortunate man choked, in trying to utter his own name. It must have been the same paper, which, in describing a battle between the Poles and the Russians, remarked, that "the conflict was dreadful, and the enemy was repulsed with considerable laughter." The letter s was accidentally omitted at the beginning of the last word. "A gentleman was yesterday brought up to answer to a charge of having eaten a stage-driver, for demanding more than his fare." The complaint was for having beaten I could mention many more instances of blunders occasioned by the omission or misplacing of a single letter. But I have said enough to prove to you, that it is necessary for types as well as for persons to keep in their proper places. WINTER IN RUSSIA. In Russia, the weather is very cold during the winter. At Petersburg, persons in the open air frequently perish by the severity of the climate. It is not uncommon to hear two people conversing in the following manner, on meeting in the street:-"I beg leave to acquaint you that your nose is freezing". to which the other probably answers, "I was just going to observe to you that yours is already frozen." On such occasions, both the sufferers stop, and rub each other's nose, either with a piece of flannel, or with a handful of snow, in order to restore the circulation of the blood. After this service mutually rendered, the parties separate with the usual ceremonial of bows and salutations. One day, an Italian arrived at Peters burg, for the first time, in the month of December. He had not walked a short distance from the house before his nose became completely frozen. A good-natured peasant seeing his mishap, took up a handful of snow, and without even saying "by your leave," instantly commenced rubbing the stranger's nose in the most liberal man ner. The Italian, far from being grateful for the peasant's application, mistook his humane, but somewhat blunt procedure for an insult, and began to beat him severely. A crowd soon collected round them, and at last the Italian was made to understand the motive of the peasant's operations. The Italian now lamented his hasty severity, and giving the poor nose-rubber some money, they were soon good friends. The Italian was rejoiced at the preservation of his nose, the loss of which would have subjected him to some inconvenience. He retreated homewards holding that organ fast with his hand, and resolved never to expose it to a similar danger. The peasant was well repaid for his timely application as well as for the beating, which he received in consequence. SUNDAY EVENING CONVERSATION. Mamma, you tell me that there is a God who made all things, and who takes care of us by night, when we sleep, and by day; that He is a good God, and that I must love and fear Him. But I do not see God. I see you, and I see Papa, and you are good and take care of me; but I do not see God. Mamma, have you seen God? No, my dear, I have not seen God, nor can we see him. We see all that God has made—the earth, the sea, the sky, the sun, the moon, and stars, with all that lives and moves and grows. All these things seem to be made for us, or serve to make us glad. In these things, then, we see how great, how wise, how good God is. We do not need to see his form, since we see God in his works. If we are sad, it is, generally, that we are bad, and make a bad use of the things God has made, and which he made to bless us. If we do wrong, we cannot have a glad heart. Then it seems to us that God looks at us through these His works, with a frown; and then it is we dread the wrath of God. We fear he will not love us, and take care of us, and bless us. But when we have done no wrong, when we have been good and kind to all, at all times, how gay we feel when we look at the earth, the sea, and the sky; and the sight of them seems to make us more glad; for we feel that we have done no ill. Then it seems to us, that the Creator looks at us through these His works with a smile; and then it is we love Him, and are sure that he loves us; for we feel that we are good and may hope for his love. It is true that we still fear Him; for we must think on his great name, and view his great works with awe. But the fear I now speak of is not like the dread we feel of his wrath for our ill deeds; it is a fear which makes us shun what is wrong, and look up to Him to shield us, and keep us in the right way. Thus, then, though you do not see the form of God as you see me, you see as much as is good for you to know; and if you think of this as you ought to think, and do to all men as you would have all men do to you, you need not fear but that God will love and bless you, both in your youth and in your old age. |