may be very easily killed with the harpoon ¡ The Japanese fishermen attribute to the flesh of the whale, their favourite food, their strength and hardihood, and their extraordinary capability of enduring exposure to cold and foul weather. It was in pursuing the whale to the coasts of Japan that the American ships met with those disasters, and that inhospitable treatment, which first made the government of the United States turn its attention in this direction. Turtles of enormous size are said to abound on the southern or eastern coasts. Salmon, soles, turbot, a sort of cod, smelts, and other delicious sea-fish, together with all sorts of lobsters, crabs, shrimps, oysters, muscles, &c., are taken in surprising abundance; and there are other fish of species unknown to us, and of which some are said to be delicious. It is fortunate for the natives that their prejudices and superstitions allow them to eat fish. In the larger islands every part of the coast is thickly strewed with buildings, and at every second or third mile are populous villages, from which extensive fisheries are carried on. In fact, the Japanese are essentially ichthyophagi. Aided by a good growth of potatoes, or an adequate supply of rice, the sea alone would support a vast population. THE proudest man on earth is but a pauper, for he is fed and clothed by the family of Heaven. STORIES FOR THE YOUNG. FLOWERS. 1. THE BIRTH OF THE SNOW-DROP. FAR away among the vine-clad hills of sunny France, there lived a poor woman with her only child. She was a soldier's widow and gained a scanty subsistence by working in the vineyards. Little Renie was only able to follow his mother in her labours; but he loved to sit under the vines, and see the rich purple clusters of grapes that hung among the green leaves like bunches of amethysts. The widow dearly loved her little son, and often seating him upon her knee after the labour of the day was over, she told him of his father; how he was a good man and a brave soldier who had died fighting for his country; and then she would sob and press the child to her bosom, as she related how handsome the soldiers looked marching on to the sound of fife and drum, and how not one of that gallant band ever returned again. Renie was much too young to understand all this; but as he grew older he learned that his mother had left her home with a young soldier, and that her father never forgave the marriage, or saw his daughter again. The old man was living still in a distant province; but though the heart of the lonely widow yearned for home, and with a mother's pride she longed to show her boy, yet she knew the stern nature of her father, and dared not seek him to plead again for the pardon so often denied. At last the poor widow fell ill, and though it was the season when the rich hue of the grapes deepened into perfection beneath the warm sunbeams, she knew full well that she should not live to gather them. The dying mother bade little Renie come very near to her, and then, in faltering tones, whispered that she must leave him, and perform a long dark journey alone. But the child, with violent sobs of grief, clasped his arms about his mother's neck, praying to go with her, and not to be left behind. Then the widow, whose strength was failing fast, comforted her child murmuring, "I will not leave you for ever, my son; we shall meet again-in my Father's house." She spoke no more, and soon poor little Renie was an orphan. The peasants made the poor widow a grave in a quiet spot, and gave the little boy a home among themselves; but day after day he threw himself upon his mother's grave and wept, refusing to be consoled. Children gathered about and pressed him to join their sports, kind women drew him to their bosoms and promised to cherish him, strong-hearted men raised him up and bade him be of good cheer ;but Renie turned from them all to the cold, damp sod, exclaiming, "She will not leave me for ever; my mother will come back. I will wait for her here." When they saw all their comforting words were of no avail, they left him trusting that the natural joyousness of childhood would overcome his grief; but when weeks passed on and brought no change, they learned to respect the child's sorrow, and the grape-gatherers as they returned from the vineyards with baskets of the beautiful fruit, paused in their vintage song as they saw little Renie with his arms clasped about the wooden cross upon his mother's grave. The leaves at length dropped dry and sere, and the snow rested upon the hills; then Renie himself fell ill, and for many weeks he could not rise from the little cot where a kind peasant and his wife nursed him. tenderly; but during the tedious hours of illness his mother's image was ever before him; and remembering her words, "We shall meet in my Father's house," he resolved, when he grew strong again, to go and seek her, as she did not return to him. The snow had not yet melted in the valleys, though the sun was shining warmly, when Renie feebly turned his steps once more toward the spot where his mother slept. He knelt down before the little cross and his warm tears fell fast upon the snow, when, lo! just where the tears had fallen, appeared a tiny blade struggling to pierce the crusted ground; the boy tenderly scraped aside the snow that the little plant might feel the sun, and another warm shower of tears fell upon it as he did so, for he remembered his lost mother's love for the flowers. When Renie came again to the grave, he saw with surprise a group of lovely white blossoms that seemed to bend sorrowfully over the sod. The child knelt beside them, and a strange feeling of peace crept into his heart. 66 My mother has sent them from the land where she dwells," he thought, "to show that she has not forgotten me;" and a smile of hope beamed on his sad, pale face, as he looked fondly on the flowers. But when the peasants beheld this mysterious little plant blossoming in the midst of the snow, and of a kind they had never seen before, they were filled with astonishment and awe. "It is sent from the spirit land," they whispered, "and born of Renie's tears; see how each snow-white drop quivers upon its stem like a tear about to fall; his mother knows his sorrow and would console him thus." Gradually the grief of the little boy became more subdued, and hope and cheerfulness beamed upon his face once more; he loved to water and nurture the tender blossoms, and soon the grave was covered with the delicate and graceful flowers, gently bending towards the earth. The good curé, who dwelt among these simple peasants, loved the little motherless boy, and spoke often to him, explaining how the child must one day join his mother, but she could no more come to him. Renie listened to the good old man with interest; still the words of his mother seemed ever present with him. "We shall meet in my Father's house!" And so one day the boy filled a basket with tufts of the spirit flowers, as the peasants called them, and going to the curé, said, firmly, "My mother has sent me many messengers. See, I take some with me to show the way, and I go to seek her in her Father's house, where she told me we should meet again." Then the good curé drew little Renie towards him and told him of that heavenly Father's house where his mother awaited his coming; and as he dwelt upon the love and goodness of that all-wise Parent, and the eternal happiness prepared for his children, the boy was comforted, and dared not wish his mother back to the home of that earthly father who had cast her off. As the kind teacher went on and spoke of the loneliness, and perhaps the remorse, of the old man who had refused to forgive his child, little Renie's heart swelled with tears, and as a sense of peace filled his own bosom, he longed to impart it to others. Suddenly he looked up with a brightened countenance. "I will seek my grandfather," he said, "and carry these sweet flowers to him; they are messengers sent to console us both; and when I tell him my mother is gone home to her heavenly Father's house, he will not be angry with her any more, but will love me for her sake." The good Curé blessed the little boy; the peasants gathered around with gifts and many kind wishes; and then Renie, after a last visit to his mother's grave, started on his journey, carrying with him the precious flowers. He met with much kindness on his way; for all who listened to his simple story willingly aided the little orphan boy. Many wished to purchase the strange and beautiful blossoms which he carried, but Renie would not sell them; he regarded them with a love too holy to barter them for money. But whoever did him a kindness was rewarded by a little tuft; and if he met any one in sorrow he offered his simple tribute, strong in the faith of its power to soothe. The twilight was fast fading into night when Renie entered a shaded lane, and softly opening a wicket gate, carried his treasured flowers to the well to water them, ere he sought a shelter for the night. The little garden into which he had entered was overgrown with weeds, and the lowroofed cottage wore an air of desolation. In the porch sat an old man, who with thin, silvery hair floating on his shoulders, leaned heavily upon a staff, and with mournful voice and shaking head constantly murmured to himself, "My child, my child! I have driven you from me, and now am broken-hearted. I shall never see you more-my child, my child!" Little Renie heard these words; a gleam of joy illumined his heart; lifting his basket of flowers he stood before the old man, saying as he offered them, Grandfather, see, I bring you consola tion!" The poor old man was for a time bewildered; but when he had heard Renie's story and read the letter of the good Curé, he clasped the child in his arms and shed over him tears of mingled penitent sorrow and gratitude. The weeds were uprooted, and the precious flowers planted in the garden, where they grew and flourished in luxuriant beauty. When Renie with his grandfather went to visit his mother's grave, tufts of the lovely blossoms met them at every turn, like the foot-prints of angels leading them on, and each one to whom Renie had given the flowers came out to welcome them as they passed. When the next spring-time came, the hills were covered with the delicate blossoms, and for many years the peasants named them, "Renie's consolation." HISTORY OF COALS. Ar a late meeting of the historical section of the Archæological Institute of Great Britain, then sitting at Newcastle, a paper on the history of the coal trade was read by Mr. Thomas John Taylor. He observed that the most ancient employment of coal would be found to have been among the Chinese. It was mentioned, under the name of "lithanthrax," by a single Greek author, as having been found at Elis, and used sometimes by smiths. The name of "stone coal" was natural enough from its hardness; and Eneas Sylvius, in the fifteenth century. mentioned that he had seen, with much surprise, what appeared to him to be lumps of black stone given as alms to the poor at the gates of the Scottish monasteries. The Romans appeared to have had no proper name for coal, yet it was used among them. Coal cinders formed part of the relics found at Roman stations, yet the Romans did not seem ever to have worked it systematically; and beds of coal were yet entire near some of their stations. This was not from any want of mining skill. Wood at that time was so abundant that nothing else was needed for fuel. In the year 852, a payment in kind was made to the Abbey of Peterborough, consisting of ale, wood, and twelve vessels of fossil or pit coal. Probably this was for smiths' use. The use of coal, however, was long very limited; and in the Leges Burgorum, made about 1140, a particular privilege was granted to those who brought fuel into boroughs, but coal was not among the kinds mentioned. These laws were made in Newcastle, by David, King of Scotland, then in possession of the town. Probably coals were used for manufacturing purposes in Newcastle, and exported also, before the grant of any royal charter to work them; because privileges were not sought till their value was known. In 1239, Henry III. granted a charter to the freemen of Newcastle to dig coals in the Castle-field and the Forth. Six years afterwards, coal was called by Matthew Paris, "carbo maris," sea-coal, from its being taken to London by sea. The mines at Liege, the Newcastle of the Continent, were discovered in 1189. In aid of the fee-farm rent payable to king John, the liberty to dig coals was granted by his successor. In 1305, towards the end of the reign of Edward I., artisans and others used coal, other fuel becoming scarce in populous districts; but the Parliament declared it a noxious nuisance, corrupting the air by its smoke. A commission was therefore appointed to destroy these furnaces, and fine all who persisted in using them. This, however, failed; and, a few years after, 10s. worth of coal was used in the king's palace, at the coronation. Coal smoke had been complained of since, and it was to be hoped that some method of consuming it, sufficiently economical to be brought into general use, would soon be discovered. In the beginning of the fourteenth century, the coal trade was found to be progressing by the opening of new mines, while the old were still worked. The term "stathes" was found in English in a lease in 1338; the word then included a store-house for the coal. teenth century, the first notice was found of duties laid upon coal. During the wars of the Roses little respecting coalmining was recorded. The Northumberland" Household Book" mentions the price in 1512; at that time coal was burned with a mixture of wood, till the latter became too scarce. In the latter part of the sixteenth century, coal was in general use for manufacturing and culinary purposes, but not for domestic fires. In 1577, it is mentioned as having found its way into some of the great merchants' parlours. In 1600, Queen Elizabeth incorporated the society of hostmen, who had existed as a guild in Newcastle from time immemorial; they were named in the charter as being incorporated for the better loading and disposing of coals in the Tyne. In 1619, a first attempt was made to smelt iron with pit-coal. Coke had been used for drying malt, and other purposes, previously to 1640, but was not used successfully for coal till long after; when, in consequence, the iron trade, which had literally been almost extinguished for want of fuel, revived, and progressed with extraordinary rapidity. If charcoal had now to be used, nearly half the surface of our island must be devoted to the growth of wood for our iron manufacture alone. Having alluded to the unavoidable omission of many interesting particulars, Mr. Taylor concluded his paper (which took an hour and a half in reading) with the following estimate of the total present consumption of coal in Great Britain :-In operations connected with the metallic ores, 10,500,000 tons; for railways and gas, 3,400,000 tons; for domestic consumption and all other purposes, 22,000,000 tons; total, 35,900,000 tons; exported 3,500,000 tons; total 39,400,000 tons. In the middle of the fourteenth cen- FAULTS. As there are some faults that tury, the working of coals extended on have been termed faults on the right side, the north, south, and west of Newcastle, so there are some errors that might be but only where it lay near the surface. denominated errors on the safe side. Thus Mr. Taylor described the mode of mining we seldom regret having been too mild, in those days, and remarked, that the too cautious, or too humble; but we often price of Newcastle coal in London was repent having been too violent, too pre relatively higher than now. In the four-cipitate, or too proud. HABITS OF FISHES EXPLAINED. water, as the salmon, utter certain sounds Why does swimming resemble flying? Because the organs which are employed for both purposes, resemble the oars of a boat in their mode of action; and, in general, possess a considerable extent of surface and freedom of motion. The former condition enables them to strike the surrounding fluid with an oar of sufficient breadth, to give progressive motion to the body; and the latter permits the same organ to be brought back to its former position for giving a second stroke, but in a different direction, and without offering so great a resistance. The centre of gravity is so placed, that the body, when in action, shall rest on the oars or swimmers, or be brought by certain means to be of the same specific gravity with the water. Why do fishes die almost immediately in the air? Because asphyxia (or suspension of pulsation) is occasioned by the sinking of the branchia, or gills, no longer supported by the interposition of water between their laminæ (or layers;) and this idea has been confirmed in prolonging the life of fishes, by artificially keeping the laminæ in the state of separation which the water produces. On the other hand, by compressing the branchiæ under water, similarly to their condition in the air, death occurred as quickly as in the latter fluid. Why do fishes, when dead, float on the surface of the water, with the belly uppermost? Because the body being no longer balanced by the fins of the belly, the broad muscular back preponderates by its own gravity, and turns the belly uppermost, as lighter, from its being a cavity, and because it contains the swimming bladders, which continue to render it buoyant.-White's Natural History of Sel borne. Why have not fishes any voice? Because they have not lungs. Although fishes possess no voice by which they can communicate their sensations to others, some species utter sounds when raised above the water by expelling the air through the gill-opening when the flap is nearly closed; while others, even under while depositing their spawn; but for what purpose these sounds are uttered, or by what organs they are produced, we are still ignorant.-Fleming. Why are fishes said to have "true" fins and gills? Because these organs may be distinguished from others to a certain degree analogous in young frogs, &c. The gills are filled with innumerable very delicate vessels, and are mostly divided on each side into four layers, which somewhat resemble the beard of a quill, and which are attached at their basis to a corresponding number of little bones.-Blumenbach. Why are these fins essential to swimming? Because they consist of jointed rays, covered by the common integuments: these rays serve to support the fishes, and approach or separate like the sticks of a fan, and move upon some more solid body as a fulcrum. Thus, in sharks, the rays of the fins behind the gill are connected by a cartilage to the spine. The motions of fish are indeed performed by means of their fins. The caudal, or tail fin, is the principle organ of progressive motion; by means of its various flexures and extensions, it strikes the water in different directions, but all having a tendency to push the fish forward; the action resembling, in its manner and effects, the wellknown operation of the sailor termed sculling. The ventral and pectoral fins assist the fish in correcting the errors of its progressive motions, and in maintaining the body steady in its position. Borelli cut off, with a pair of scissors, both the pectoral and ventral fins of fishes, and found, in consequence, that all the motions were unsteady, and that they reeled from right to left, and up and down, in a very irregular manner. Why have fishes gills? Because they are calculated to separate air from water, with which it is always united, and bring it into contact with the blood. It is to be observed, however, that many animals which reside in the water, breathe by means of lungs, and are obliged, at intervals, to come to the surface to respire, such as whales: but there are no animals which reside on the land, and are furnished with gills, which are obliged to return to the water to respire.---Fleming |