For the Schoo.master. Early Impressions. BY REV. WILLIAM BATES. In a retired village in Vermont, two hundred miles from any seaport, a traveller, some years since, turned his horse up to the door of a farm house to ask for entertainment and shelter for the night. He was hospitably received. In the evening, in conversation with his host and hostess, he learned that their three sons, their only children, were absent from them upon the sea. He was told that each of them, from early boyhood, had manifested a desire to become a sailor, so strong and ardent that all the earnest entreaties of their parents could not quench it. To these parents it was a mystery how their sons, so far from the sea and surrounded by all the attractions of rural life, should each of them, in turn, exhibit such an unconquerable desire to be wanderers on the ocean. The traveller thought he could solve the mystery. He had noticed, in a recess in the wall over the mantle-piece, a beautiful glass model of a ship completely rigged and in full sail. He believed that that little glass ship, a bridal gift to the mother, as he was told, and constantly before the eyes of those boys from infancy, had inspired in their breasts that love for a sailor's life upon the ocean-wave. Who will say it was a groundless belief? Were we to trace one of the majestic rivers of our country to its source, we should find (if the reports of travellers be true) not far from the spot where it issues from its parent spring, a rock lying directly across the path it would naturally pursue, and turning its stream into an entirely different channel, thus determining, ever after, the direction in which that proud river is to convey its waters to the ocean. So is it with character. Often a trivial circumstance in early life gives a new and decisive turn to the purposes or tastes of a child, which determines his whole future character, and shapes the course of all his subsequent life. ARTESIAN WELLS IN THE DESERT OF SAHARA.-The French papers have interesting accounts of newly bored artesian wells in the Sahara Desert, in Algeirs. They are six in number, and some of them are 275 feet deep. The appearance of the water in each case produced the greatest excitement among the desert tribes. The names immediately applied by the people such as "the well of bliss," and the "well of gratitude," sufficiently attest their feelings. It is said that these will work an important part in a social revolution of the tribes in their neighborhood. Having been obliged, like their ancestors, to wander from place as the desert springs dried up, they will now remain around the constantly flowing wells, cultivate the land, and take the first steps towards civilization. A single incident in early life is often the pivot upon which a person's whole character and destiny turns. It is stated in the biography of Michael Angelo, the great Italian sculptor, that when a child, his nurse, who HORSE CHESTNUTS. In this country we was the wife of a stone-mason, was accustom-waste a great many things which in the old ed to give him for play things, a little hammer and chisel. Had it not been for those toys, the genius of Angelo might have taken an entirely different course, and we should have read of him in history as a poet, an orator, or a statesman. Had a little sword and drum been given him for toys, in place of the hammer and chisel, his name might have come down to us as a renowned chieftain, a great general, rather than as the man Who made the senseless stone to breathe and speak, world are made to subserve many useful and economical purposes. A foreign paper states that horse chestnuts, of which immense quantities are produced in France, from the trees which line the roads and streets, this year sell at a price equal to that paid last season for potatoes. They are bought up by the starch manufacturers. We have before seen it stated that these nuts, in Europe, are largely used as food for sheep.-Woonsocket Patriot. A little explained, a little endured, a little The dull rock reflect the perfect form of youth passed over as foible, and lo! the rugged and age. atoms will fit like smooth mosaic. "Little Ben" and his Poetry. We were greatly amused and much instructed, in our boyhood, by "Weem's Life of Franklin." Having some months since procured a copy-the first we have seen since our childhood days,-we propose to make occasional extracts from it for the pages of the Schoolmaster. The incidents are so instructive, and the style so entertaining, they will certainly interest the children, and, we think, the older readers. "Accordingly, his two poems being ready, Ben, who had been both poet and printer, with a basket-full of each on his arm, set out in high spirits to sell them through the town which he did by singing out as he went, after the manner of the London cries Choice Poetry! Choice Po-e-try! The people of Boston having never heard any such cry as that before, were prodigiously at a loss to know what he was selling. But still Ben went on singing out as before, Choice Poetry! Choice Poetry! I wonder now,' said one with a stare, if it is not poultry, that that little boy is singing out so stoutly yonder.' 'Come all you jolly sailors, You all so stout and brave; Come hearken and I'll tell yon What happen'd on the wave. Oh! 'tis of that bloody Blackbeard I'm going now for to tell; And as how by gallant Maynard He soon was sent to hell With a down, down, down, derry down.' The reader will, I suppose, agree with Ben in his criticism, many years afterward, on this poetry, that it was wretched stuff, mere blind men's ditties.' But, fortunately for Ben, the people of Boston were at that time no judges of poetry. The silver-tongued Watts had not, as yet, snatched the harp of Zion, and poured his divine songs over New England. Having never been accustomed to anything better than an old version of David's Psalms, running in this way 'Ye monsters of the bubbling deep, The people of Boston pronounced Ben's poetry mighty fine, and bought them up at a prodigious rate, especially the Light-house Tragedy. A flood of success so sudden and unexpected, would in all probability have turned Ben's brain and run him stark mad with vanity, had "Well, then,' cried a third, I vow it must not his wise old father timely stepped in and be pastry.' checked the rising fever. But highly as Ben At length, Ben was called up and interro- honored his father and respected his judgment, gated. he could hardly brook to hear him attack his Pray, my little man, and what's that, that beloved poetry, as he did calling it mere you are crying there so bravely?' Ben told them that it was poetry. 'O!aye! poetry!' said they; that's a sort of something or other in metre-like the old version is n't it?' Odes, to be sure,' said they all, it must be like the old version, if its poetry;' and thereupon they stared at him marvelling hugely that a little curly headed body like him should be selling such a wonderful thing!' This made Ben hug himself still more on account of his poetry. I have never been able to get a sight of the Light-house Tragedy, which must no doubt have been a great curiosity; but the sailor's song on Blackbeard runs thus Grub-street.' And he even held a stiff argument in defence of it. But on reading a volume of Pope, which his father who well knew the force of contrast, put into his hand for that purpose, he never again opened his mouth in behalf of his blind men's ditties.' He used to laugh and say after reading Pope, he was so mortified with his Light-house Tragedy and Sailor's Song, which he had once thought so fine, that he could not bear the sight of them, but constantly threw into the fire every copy that fell in his way. Thus was he timely saved, as he ingenuously confesses, from the very great misfortune of being a miserable jingler for life. But I cannot let fall the curtain on this cu rious chapter, without once more feasting my eyes on Ben, as, with a little basket on his arm, he trudged along the streets of Boston crying his poetry. Who that saw the youthful David coming up fresh from his father's sheep cots, with his locks wet with the dews of the morning, and his cheek ruddy as the opening rose-buds, would have dreamed that this was he who should one day single handed, meet the giant Goliah, in the war-darkened valley of Elah, and wipe off reproach from Israel. In like manner, who that saw this curly headed child,' at the tender age of thirteen, selling his blind men's ditties,' among the wonder struck Jonathans and Jemimas of Boston, would have thought that this was he, who, single handed, was to meet the British ministry at the bar of their own house of Commons, and by the solar blaze of his wisdom, utterly disperse all their dark designs against their countrymen, thus gaining for himself a name lasting as time, and dear to liberty as the name of Washington. HOW EASY it is to say a billion-how easy it is to write a billion-but can you count a billion-Why not? Stop a bit. Suppose you can count 200 in one minute, that is 12,000 in one hour; that is 288,000 in one day; and 105,120,000 in one year. But this would not allow a single moment for sleep, or any other business whatever. To count a billion it would require 9,512 years, 24 days, 5 hours, and twenty minutes, according to the above reckoning; but suppose we were to allow the counter twelve hours daily for rest, eating and drinking, it would then take 19,024 years, 68 days, ten hours and forty minutes, to count a billion. No man is wholly bad all at once. The Watch. "I have now in my hand a gold watch, which combines embellishment and utility in happy proportions, and is often considered a very valuable appendage to the person of a gentleman. Its hands, face, chain, and case are of burnished gold. And its seals sparkle with the ruby and emerald. I open it, and find that the works, without which this elegantly furnished case, would be a mere shell— those hands motionless, and those figures without meaning—are made of brass. Investigate further, and what is the the spring, by which all these are put in motion, made of? I am told it is made of steel! The reply is that it is made of iron, which has undergone a certain process. So, then, I find the mainspring, without which the watch would always be motionless, and its hands, figures, and embellishments, but toys, is not of gold— that is not sufficiently good; nor of brassthat would not do—but of iron. Iron, therefore, is the only precious metal! and this watch is an emblem of society. Its hands and figures, which tell the hour, resemble the master-spirits of the age, to whose movements every eye is directed. Its useless but sparkling seals, sapphires, and embellishments, are the aristocracy. Its works of brass are the middle class, by the increasing intelligence and power, of which the master-spirits of the age are moved; and its iron mainspring, shut up in a box, always at work but never thought of, except when it is disorderly, broke, or wants winding up, symbolizes the laboring class, which, like the mainspring, we wind up by the payment of wages, and which classes are shut up in obscurity, and though constantly at work, and absolutely necessary to the movement of society, as the iron mainspring is to the gold watch, are never thought of except when they require their wages, or, are in some want or disorder of some kind or another.-EVERETT. EDITOR'S DEPARTMENT. WILLIAM A. MOWRY, Editor. The End of the Year. But, what we wish to say, dear, patient reader, although we have been a long time getting at it is that we wish you all a merry, "Merry Christmas" and a hearty "Happy New Year," and a good many of them, too. "Christmas is coming," and then, before we fairly wake up to the fact that it has come and gone, we hear each happy one-especially the - greeting us with "Happy New little ones Then, if it should happen, as two years ago, that the "Coronation of Winter" should come THE year 1857 is drawing to a close. Our evenings are lighted by its last new moon. The morning of the year, with its sweet perfume of buds and flowers, its rich foliage, and the melodious song of the birds, came and went with its usual rapidity. The noon-day sun of summer poured his life-giving beams upon us and upon all nature, but as quickly was past. Autumn, in conjunction with Christmas, and last till after New Years', it would be a sight we should most then,-sable autumn,-with its fruits and rich harvests paid us a visit, just looking in at our dearly love to see. That was a peculiar Christdoors, merely intending to glance at us, to see if mas to us. We remember looking out of our the children had had their suppers and the cattle window, No. 11 Hope College, upon a sight that were well fed for the night; if the crib were lock- cannot be described. Those old elms in the coled and the rose bush covered up to shield it from lege yard,-all covered with sparkling gems,-it the frost. Autumn, too, has gone, and now we was a rare sight. We were soon out among them, scanning their various fantastic shapes are left to the cold mercies of stern and rigid winter. He is now with us, and although occa- and enchanted by their joyous rainbow hues, sionally his face is lighted up with a warm and when by our side we found our friend, the poetgenial smile, he cannot avoid showing us his nat-orator, our present worthy mayor, Hon. Wм. M. He was attracted to the college ural disposition, and the poisonous influence of We expecthis life-destroying breath has already been ob- grounds by the beauty of the scene. served on every hand. We all are buttoning up ed his muse would be inspired by the beauty,our coats, as if some thief or pickpocket were our's was. By the way, that reminds us that we around, and we were afraid of losing our port-have somewhere laid away a few lines, written on that memorable occasion. They were not designed for the readers of the Schoolmaster, but nevertheless, we will venture to wind off this already too long bit of rambling chit-chat with our readers, by inserting our description of a monnaies. sons. But even cold winter has its pleasures. We sometimes think they are more numerous and weighty than those of either of the other seaWe have our Thanksgiving just at the threshold of winter, as if to usher in the coming season of pleasure. Then, following close upon it, are Christmas and New Year's, making the trio of ever-to-be-remembered festivals of our glorious New England winter. The boys have the fun of coasting and skating, the girls the pleasure of parties and social gatherings, the men their daily papers, with the proceedings of congress, exciting, certainly, if not particularly elevating and beneficial, and promising a full share of interest to all parties the present session. The winter schools, with all their excitements and pleasures and profits (prophets?), the lyceum lectures, the village and city libraries, with their attractions, and last, not least, the periodical literature, including the New Atlantic Monthly and the SCHOOLMASTER. In fact, we may say, like the people of California, we have but two seasons,-not, however, like theirs, the rainy season and the dry, butthe reading and the busy season-the latter may be dry to some, however, as times are now, certainly it is to our pockets. RODMAN. A CHRISTMAS SCENE. All day the air was keen, and sharp, and cold, away, The sun came forth and shone with dazzling When all around, both near and far away, Along the streets the crowds are hastening fast, We next observe enchanted by the scene, Who dares to wish this gorgeous ice had been The wretched miser's curse affects him not, Causes of Natural Phenomena. No department of knowledge is possessed of more practical interest to mankind than Natural Science; and there is probably none concerning which more error exists among the mass of men. Perhaps there is no point in the whole range of thought in Natural Science, which is, and has been, so generally misunderstood as the causes of natural phenomena. The opinions entertained by any nation or by any age upon this question may not be an inacsix-curate index of the state of progress of that nation or that age. A school-boy next upon his way to school, 'Tis he alone enjoys the beauteous crown Upon scarcely any subject has there been a greater diversity of ideas at different periods of the world's history than upon the whole subject of philosophical investigation and the cause of natural phenomena. According to the law of the great French philosopher, M. Comte, there are three periods in the progress of knowledge and of natural science. Modifying somewhat the language of the atheist philosopher, we may state them as follows: The first is the superstitious age, when men looked upon nearly all the natural phenomena as the direct interposition of Divinity, and philosophical explanation was cut short by referring all the operations of nature thus directiy to supernatural agency. But as humanity became enlightened, and reason regained her posessions from the province of superstition, this false idea of the subject was driven from the mind, and in its place sprang up mere metaphysical theories, not based upon facts in the phenomena of nature. These for a time held their sway, and in turn were overthrown and disappeared. The final period of progress commenced when men were led to examine the facts pertaining to natural phenomena and from these facts only, to deduce laws which govern the operations of nature. A law thus deduced must be true, and consequently cannot be overthrown. We are now in this third age of progress. We have left the ground of the old philosophers, and have come back to the examination of facts |