papers about one Robert Fulton, who was trying to make vessels go by fire and water, instead of wind. Most people thought Fulton either crazy or a fool, to attempt so hopeless a task. He was laughed at and ridiculed, particularly by that class of people who think themselves the wisest, and who imagine that the only way to live is to make money and keep it.

But Fulton was a great man, whose mind was above all this littleness. So, letting the world make itself merry at his expense, he went calmly and patiently on. If he met with a difficulty he labored till he overcame it; sneers, scoffs, gibes, could not turn him from his purpose. He persevered, and at last he triumphed. The engine began to turn the crank, the wheels went round, the paddles took hold of the wave, the boat moved forward, and steam navigation was accomplished!

This was the greatest invention of modern times. I am speaking of what happened in 1808, only thirty-four years ago. There are now many thousand steamboats throughout the world. The great rivers are navigated by them, and even the Atlantic is now traversed by steam power. The journey of a week is at present but the trip of a day—a voyage of two months is but the passage of a fortnight. This very Hudson river, upon which Fulton achieved his noble invention, before but a pathway for a few straggling vessels, is now the thoroughfare of millions. It is a literal fact that millions of persons pass up and down this river every year, where before only a few hundred annually performed the trip. Before, it was often a fortnight's work to get a vessel from New York to Albany; now a steamboat with five hundred passengers will accomplish it in twelve hours!

Such are the mighty results, proceeding from one man's labors. Let us all

reflect a moment upon this. What a great blessing is a great man who devotes himself to the good of his country! How ought such a man to be honored! How paltry, how base is that littleness of soul which leads some persons to run down the great and the good-the public benefactor!

Let the story of Fulton teach us all another lesson, which is this-When we feel that we are right in our devotion to any cause, let not the scoffs of the world move us. Even though there may be dark days, when we seem given up to ridicule by the world around; when even friends desert us, and poverty besets us, and slander assails us, and sorrow and gloom seem gathering around our path, let us look to the beautiful example of Fulton and be comforted. Let us say to ourselves, "Fulton persevered, and we will persevere. Fulton met with difficulties and suffered from poverty; but he met them patiently, and at last he triumphed." Let us imitate his steadfastness, and gather confidence from his success.

The little steamboat approached us rapidly. Never in my life have I felt a deeper excitement than at that moment! All the people on board our little sloop were leaning over the side, straining their eyes to watch this wonder of the water. On she came, cutting the current and seeming like a thing of life, moving by her own power. She came nearer and more near. I have seen other steamboats since; those that were ten times as large; but never one that touched my imagination like that. passed close to her side. There was a tall, slender man standing upon her deck. His face was dark, and careworn; his eye black, deep-set, and sparkling; his hair black and curlingthough perchance a little grizzled. It was Robert Fulton! His name was spoken by our captain, and instantly a

We

cheer broke from every man on board our little vessel. "Fulton! Fulton!" was the cry; and the name was echoed a hundred times among the hills. This was a bright spot in my life. I shall never forget it-I could not tell my feelings then-I cannot express them now. I have often thought of this scene: the image of Fulton, calm, thoughtful and modest in that day of triumph, always comes back as distinctly to my memory, as when he stood before me then. It has not been to me a barren incident; for in my humble career, I too have had difficulties, cares, sorrows; and I have drawn comfort, I trust composure, from his example. The humblest plant may extract beams from the sun-and Robert Merry would say to his readers, that he, poor as he is, humble as he is, has a sort of feeling that Robert Fulton, though dead and departed, comes to cheer him in his lonely journey through life. Often, in some dark hour, has his image broke in upon him like a ray of light; thus converting gloom into sunshine. I know that this may seem to be a mere fancy, yet there is reason in it, or, if not, there is comfort in it.

In a day or two after meeting the steamboat, we arrived at the city of New York. Nearly ten years had elapsed since I had left it. I recollected very little of it. It was indeed like a new place to me at first. I felt as if I had never seen it before, until, after a day or two, it became familiar to me as if I had once seen it in a dream. Though it was then a great city, New York was much smaller than it is now. It had not more than one fourth part as many inhabi

tants.

Nothing of importance occurred here, and after three days, Matthew and I entered a sloop and sailed to Norwalk, in Connecticut. Having landed, we immediately set out on foot for Salem, which is a distance of about twenty miles. I

had now been gone a month, and was exceedingly anxious to get home. I had a great desire to see my uncle; for although I had not much intercourse with him when at home, still he was always kind to me, and I was so accustomed to his good-humored face, that I seemed solitary and homesick without it.

As I began to approach the village, my heart beat quick at the idea of getting home, of meeting my uncle, and seeing my friends and companions once more. Not a thought of evil fortune crossed my mind. I expected to see them all well and happy as when I left them. When we reached the village, it was night. We met no one in the street-all was still and solitary. We came to the tavern. There was a bright light in the bar-room, and it looked as cheerful as ever. I was about to enter, when a dusky figure took hold of my arm and said, "Go not in there. Come with me." I perceived in a moment that it was old Sarah of the mountain. She led me to the front door, and as we passed along, she said, in a low, but solemn tone, "He is gone, lad, he is gone. There is trouble for you here. When it is all over, come and see me in the mountain."

I was struck with horror, and stood still for a moment. I was alone, for Matthew had gone into the bar-room. I was convinced that my uncle was dead. I grew giddy, and the dim objects that were near me seemed to swim around. I recovered, however, lifted the latch and went in. The entry was dark, and I was obliged to grope my way to the stairs. I ascended and approached my uncle's chamber. It was partly open, and there was a dim light within. I was about to enter, but paused a moment at the threshold and looked round. On a low couch lay the lifeless form of my uncle, and at a little distance sat Raymond, pale as marble, and wrapped

in profound meditation. My step was so light that he did not hear my approach, but my quick and convulsed breath roused him. He instantly came to me, but spoke not. Words were indeed vain. Nothing could break the force of the stern reality. My uncle, my kind-hearted uncle, my only relative, --he who had been to me as father and mother, was no more.

I cannot dwell upon the scene, nor could I describe my feelings, should I attempt it. For nearly an hour my heart was stunned, my mind bewildered. But tears at length came to my relief, and after a time I was able to hear from Raymond the sad story of my uncle's death. He had died in a fit, cut down without a moment's warning, and, as I afterwards learned, in consequence of his intemperate habits.

The funeral took place the next day. I walked in the procession to the burial ground, but I was so completely overwhelmed with my loss as scarcely to notice anything around me. But when the coffin was let down into the ground and the earth was thrown upon it, I felt such a pang at the idea of being forever separated from my uncle, as almost to distract me. For a moment, I was on the point of leaping into the grave and asking to be buried with him; but it was closed, and the procession moved away. I returned, and I was then alone, without a relative in the world, so far as I knew.

A few days after these events, an examination of my uncle's affairs was made, and it was discovered that his estate was insolvent. Every dollar of my own property was gone, and I was now a beggar! These facts were told me by Raymond; they did not, however, immediately make a deep impression upon me; but I soon learned what it is to be without parents, without money, and without a home.

Who planted the Oaks?

THE truth that no animal is created but for some wise purpose, is beautifully illustrated in the case of the squirrel. It is a singular, but well authenticated circumstance, that most of those oaks that we call spontaneous, are planted by this little animal, in which way he has performed the most essential service to mankind, and particularly to the inhabitants of Great Britain. It is related in some English work, that a gentleman walking out one day in the woods belonging to the Duke of Beaufort, his attention was attracted by a squirrel, which was on the ground at no great distance from him. He stopped to observe his motions: in a few moments, the squirrel darted to the top of a tree, beneath which he had been sitting.

In an instant, he was down again with an acorn in his mouth, and after digging a small hole, he stooped down and deposited the acorn; then covering it, he darted up the tree again. In a moment he was down with another, which he buried in the same manner. This he continued to do, as long as his observer thought proper to watch him. This industry of the little animal is directed to the purpose of securing him against want in winter; and it is probable that his memory is not sufficiently retentive to enable him to remember the spot in which he had deposited every acorn. He, no doubt, loses a few every year; these few spring up, and are destined to supply the place of the parent tree. Thus is Britain, in some measure, indebted to the industry and bad memory of a squirrel for her pride, her glory, and her very existence.

A BULL.-A son of Erin once commenced the translation of Cæsar's Commentaries thus: "All Gaul is quartered into three halves!"

The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences of Thomas Trotter.

CHAPTER XXI.

Holy week at Rome. A Roman tavern.-Strange crowds at St. Peter's.--Description of the church.-The Pope.-The Coliseum.-A fox among the ruins.-The Vatican-its splendor and immense extent.-General description of the city. Cheapness of living.-Oddities of the tradesmen.-The malaria.-Climate and salubrity of Rome.

THIS was Holy Week, the season of the most pompous and showy display of religious ceremonies and festivities at Rome: on which account the city was full of strangers. People flock to Rome to see these sights, far and near. English travellers and Roman country people crowded the streets. All the hotels appeared full to overflowing, and I thought myself lucky to find at last a snug little tavern on the banks of the Tiber, with the sign of the Albergo del Orso, or the "Bear's Hotel." This was a very good name, for it was not much better than a bear's den. The entry was a stable; and the kitchen stood where there should have been a parlor. I had no choice; so, depositing my trunk in this same den of the bears till better quarters could be found, I set off for a ramble through the city.

To a traveller who enters Rome as I did, at the waste end of the city, where he sees nothing but mouldering walls and heaps of grass-grown ruins, it is quite a matter of wonder to find, at the other extremity, such a collection of populous streets and splendid structures. My first steps were directed to St. Peter's church, that ornament and wonder of modern Rome, the most magnificent edifice that the world ever saw. Vast crowds of people were moving in the same direction, so that I had no difficulty in going straight to the spot. The

near approach to it is most imposing. An immense circular piazza is in front, surrounded with rows of columns and adorned with two beautiful fountains, which are constantly in play, throwing the water up to an immense height. This grand area, and all the other avenues to the church, were thronged with a motley population, which seemed to have flowed thither from the four quarters of the earth. Priests, soldiers, pilgrims and beggars, in variegated costume and manner, were mingled up together in picturesque confusion. Cardinals, in red dresses, rolled along in their gilt coaches, drawn by such fat, sleek, black horses as we never see on this side of the Atlantic. Capuchin friars, in dingy brown woollen gowns, tied with bits of bedcord, bare legs and sandaled feet; friars, of other denominations, in black, white and gray-shaven crowns, Quaker broad-brims and three-cornered scrapers; Swiss guardsmen in steel armor; Roman militia in red baize regimentals and coffee-pot hats; little hump-backed gobboes like the black dwarf; ragged Roman peasants in straw and oakum spatter-dashes; country girls in square flat caps and tawdry finery; strapping fellows in red breeches and cocked hats, who look like major-generals, but are only livery servants, all these, and a hundred other varieties impossible to describe, gave such a diversity and animation to the scene as to constitute it one of the most striking spectacles in the world.

But all description must fall short of the reality when I attempt to offer my impressions of the interior of St. Peter's. The first view, on entering, overpowers the spectator with magnificence and beauty: but many days are requisite to see the whole building. It is a mountain of architecture, and the eye can take in, at once, nothing but a small fragment. All that human labor and

exp T

at the world. costly marb great dome your head. aisle, stretches of a mile in open on every s into recesses of thing adds to the overpowering g The world will r ture like this!

In the midst of Pope was brough ter, supported on lofty canopy was and on each side of enormous fan of d was a little decrep with a benevolent e After goin ceremonies, he was cony in the front of th pronounced a blessing below, who all fell At night the church the great dome being co and looking like a mou On ascending to the r I almost imagined my streets below. Long extended right and left, w seen from below; such is extent of the building. dwelling-houses were bui masons and carpenters, wh employment in repairing keeping the roof in orde even a fountain of water c ning here. It is quite a the air. Formerly the much by lightning, but si

human genius can expend upon a work of art-painting, sculpture and every other species of ornament-are here lavished with a richness and profusion characteristic of an edifice constructed at the expense of the whole Christian world. The walls glitter with mosaics, costly marbles, gems and gold. The great dome rises like heaven above your head. The long nave, or central aisle, stretches out before you an eighth of a mile in length. Immense arches open on every side, and lead the eye off into recesses of unknown extent. Everything adds to the general impression of overpowering grandeur and sublimity. The world will never see another structure like this!

In the midst of an immense crowd the Pope was brought into church on a litter, supported on men's shoulders. A lofty canopy was held over his head, and on each side of him was carried an enormous fan of ostrich feathers. He was a little decrepit-looking old man, with a benevolent expression of countenance. After going through various ceremonies, he was carried into the balcony in the front of the church, where he pronounced a blessing on the multitude below, who all fell upon their knees. At night the church was illuminated, the great dome being covered with lamps, and looking like a mountain of fire.

On ascending to the roof of the church I almost imagined myself among the streets below. Long rows of domes extended right and left, which cannot be seen from below; such is the enormous extent of the building. Workshops and dwelling-houses were built there for the masons and carpenters, who find constant employment in repairing damages and keeping the roof in order. There is even a fountain of water constantly running here. It is quite a town up in the air. Formerly the dome suffered much by lightning, but since the erec

tion of lightning-rods it has never been struck.

Next to St. Peter's, in interest, is the great ruin of the Coliseum, that enormous edifice, which could contain 80,000 spectators, besides the area in the centre where wild beasts were hunted, and where gladiators killed each other, for the amusement of the Roman populace. These walls are now overgrown with weeds and flowers, lonely and desolate. During the day they resound only with the notes of the birds who nestle among the stones, and in the night you may hear the owls hooting out of their dark recesses. Travellers visit it by moonlight, when the spectacle is very solemn and striking. For a great distance around this building are scattered the ruins of the palaces of the Roman emperors, triumphal arches, baths, theatres and gigantic structures, that fill us with amazement in the contemplation of the ancient splendors of the city. While I sat on a broken column, among the ruins of Nero's golden palace, a fox peeped out from a crumbling arch, and, fixing his sharp eyes on me for a minute, gave a whisk with his tail and bounded off across a bed of artichokes which a gardener was cultivating on the Palatine Hill. The poor man complained that he had lost all his chickens by the depredations of these marauders.

Everybody has heard of the Vatican. This is an immense palace adjoining St. Peter's, formerly the residence of the Pope, and now famous for its pictures and statues. I hardly knew which of the two struck me with the greater astonishment-St. Peter's, with its stupendous architecture and gorgeous embellishments, or the Vatican, with its endless treasures of art. Gallery, hall and saloon open upon you, one after another, till there seems literally to be no end of statues, vases and columns of precious marble and porphyry. Beautiful foun