I care not, Fortune, what you me 156 deny; ΕΙ Through which Aurora E shows her brightening face; All true glory rests, All praise of safety, and all happiness, And the arts died by which they had been raised. Upon the plain of vanished Syracuse,EI 8. - THE RUINED CITY. 156 I asked of Time, from whom those temples rose, 66 I cried, And, whilst his visage wore Pride's scornful smile, 1. JOHN POUNDS was one of those good Samăritans EI of whom every generation apparently produces some examples. Born on the 17th of July, in the year 1766, at Portsmouth, in England, he was apprenticed, when twelve years of age, to a shipwright, with whom he served three years of his term, when a serious accident happened to the boy. Falling one day from a considerable height into one of the dry docks, he dislocated his thigh, and was in other respects very grievously injured. Time and surgical ingenuity sufficed to restore him to a tolerable state, but he was crippled in such a manner as to be unfitted to resume his trade; and so John Pounds became a cobbler. EI 2. He lived a lonely kind of life. Having no household society," and being little disposed to go abroad in quest of entertainment, he relieved his involuntary solitude by rearing and domesticating all kinds of singing birds and harmless animals; teaching some of them a variety of amusing tricks, and accustoming those of opposite propensities to live together in harmony. He would sit with a cat upon one shoulder, and a canary bird on the other, charming away fear from the one, and curbing destructive inclinations in the other. 97 3. The notion of undertaking the gratuitous education of poor children seems to have been suggested accidentally to John Pounds. A brother of his, who was a seafaring man with a large family, had amongst the rest a feeble little boy, with deformed feet. John benevolently took charge of this lad, cured him of his deformity, and taught him to read. Thinking it would be well for the boy to have a companion in study, he took another, and then another poor child under his care, until at length he became a sort of ragged schoolmaster-general to all the poorer population; and, in a spirit of noble disinterestedness, performed a most serviceable work in his generation. 4. He might be seen, day after day, in his small workshop, about six feet wide, and eighteen in length, in St. Mary Street, Portsmouth, seated on his stool, mending shoes, and attending at the same time to the studies of a busy crowd of ragged children, clustering around him. Sometimes there would be assembled in his shop as many as forty boys and girls, the latter of whom he kept a little apart from the rest. In receiving pupils," he made choice of those who seemed most in need of his reforming discipline. He had a decided predilection for "the little blackguards," and was frequently at great pains to attract such within his door. He was once seen following a young văga 96 ΕΙ bond of this stamp, and endeavoring to entice him to come to school with the bribe of a baked potato.94 91 90 5. His methods of tuition were somewhat original. He collected all sorts of ref'use 82 handbills and scraps of printed and written paper which he found lying any where uselessly about, and with these he contrived to teach reading and spelling. With the younger children his manner was particularly pleasant. He would ask them the names of different parts of their body, make them spell the words, and signify their uses. For instance, taking hold of a child's hand, he would say, "What do you call this?" and, having received his answer, direct him to spell the word. Then, giving the hand a playful slap, he would ask, “What do I do?" and teach him next to spell the word expressive of the act. ΕΙ 6. Should this remind any one of Mr. Squeers's analogous EI method of teaching a boy to spell "horse," " and then, by way of emphatic illustration, sending him to rub such an animal down, that he might the better remember his lesson, it will be proper to recollect the different pretensions of the parties, and not to confound an ignorant charlatan E with an honest and benevolent person, who performs his work with conscientious consideration, and according to the extent of his ability and means. 7. Writing and arithmetic were taught by John Pounds to the elder pupils, in a manner to give them a creditable degree of skill in those branches. Many 25 of the boys he taught to mend their shoes, to cook their food, and perform a variety of useful services for themselves and others. Not only did he superintend their sports and personal habits, but the generous and considerate teacher likewise exerted himself in curing their bodily ailments, such as chilblains, and coughs, and the manifold cuts and bruises to which the children of the poor are continually exposed. Often 65 he shared his own scanty and homely provisions with destitute and forsaken children. He acknowledged universal kinship with the neglected and unhappy. 91 8. The sort of education which John Pounds was enabled to give was doubtless very imperfect; but it was infinitely pref'erable to none at all. He had ample assurances that his steadfast labors, adhered to through a long life, were not fruitless. Coming home from foreign service or a distant voyage, often would some tall soldier, or rough, jovial sailor, now grown up out of all remembrance, call to shake hands with him, and confess the benefits he had received from his instruction. These were proud occasions for the poor and modest cobbler. Other recompense than this he had scarcely any. So quietly and unobtrusively had he all along pursued his purpose, that comparatively few THE SPRING SHOWER. 117 persons, of the respectable sort in the world's estimation, knew 81 any thing of his proceedings. 9. It was the wish of John Pounds that his labors might terminate only with his life. The thought of lingering out any portion of his days uselessly and helplessly, was a painful one for him to entertain; and it was his hope to go off suddenly, in the way, as he said, "in which a bird drops from his perch." The desire of his soul was granted. On the 1st 101 of January, 1839, he expired suddenly from a rupture of one of the large vessels 36 of the heart, at the house of a gentleman whom he had called upon to thank for certain 27 acts of kindness recently rendered to his establishment. 100 ΕΙ 10. A little boy who was with him at the time carried the intelligence to his assembled school-fellows, who were all instantly overwhelmed with sorrow and consternation. Some of the younger ones returned to the house for several successive days, looking painfully about the room, and apparently unable to comprehend the reality of the loss they had sustained. Old and young, in a numerous and motley assemblage, followed his body to the grave, and saw him to his rest with tears and blessings. 11. One cannot sufficiently admire the heartiness and generosity of this poor man's labors. Patiently from year to year he went on, quietly performing these daily acts of charity and. mercy, without needing or expecting any body's approbation, or even conceiving that he was doing any thing remarkable. A good man and a true one, he flung the benefits of his sympathy, and of such talents as he possessed, over all that seemed to need them; finding a joyful satisfaction in being useful to such as had no helper, and leaving, with an assured heart, the results of his endeavors to that universal Providence which heeds and nurtures whatever seeds of goodness 91 are sown any where in the world. No slightest service to humanity can be lost, but successfully proclaims itself, or works silently to some benefit. XLII. THE SPRING SHOWER. 1. AWAY to that snug nook! For, the thick shower 2. There are sweet scents about us: the violet hides On that green bank; the primrose sparkles there; The earth is grateful to the teeming clouds, And yields a sudden 91 freshness to their kisses. In their early green shine out. Let's onward, then, XLIII. -"NOT TO MYSELF ALONE." 1. "NOT to myself alone," The little opening flower transported cries, His dainty fill; The butterfly within my cup doth hide 2. "Not to myself alone," The circling star 98 with honest pride doth boast, "Not to myself alone I rise and set; I write upon night's coronal" of jet His power and skill who formed our myriad host; I gem the sky, open gate, That man might ne'er forget, in every fate, 3. "Not to myself alone," The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum, Content if he repay my ceaseless 91 toil 4. "Not to myself alone," The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings, I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue, |