Original illustration from The Youth’s Cabinet p. 103.
There is a great deal of ingenuity displayed by many birds in their manner of building nests. But perhaps there is no bird which constructs one so curious as that species of the Parus vulgarly called Bottle Titmouse, or more familiarly, Bottle Tit. The bird is not a native of the latitude of New York, though it is found, I think, in the southern part of the United States. It will be interesting to the reader to know that it belongs to the same family with the snow-bird, that sings his “chick-a-de-de” so merrily during the winter. The little bird called the Bottle Titmouse, is called in the technical language of the ornithologist, the Parus Caudatus. The engraving on the preceding page is an accurate representation of the male and female of this species, with the nest they have so ingeniously built. This little bird is about five and a half inches in length. The bill is very short, and the head round and covered with rough feathers. It has a very long tail, as will be seen by the picture. The bird is most commonly found in low, moist situations, that are covered with underbrush, and interspersed with tall oaks or elms. Its nest is generally placed in the forked branch of a tree overhanging the water. The number of eggs it lays varies from twelve to eighteen. The eggs are spotted with rust color at the larger end. Few of our birds, except the humming bird and the wren; lay an egg so small. The building of their beautiful nest, costs the birds at least a month’s hard labor. The basis is composed of green mosses, carefully woven together with fine wool. The outside consists, in a great measure, of white and grey tree lichens, in small fragments, intermixed with the egg nests of spiders, from the size of a pea and upward, part of which are drawn out to assist in the weaving process—so that when the texture of the nest is stretched, portions of fine, gossamer-like threads appear along the fibres of the wool. Having neatly built and covered her nest with these materials, she thatches it on the top with tree moss, to keep out the rain, and to hide it from the eye of any enemy that may chance to come that way. Within she lines the nest with a great number of soft feathers—so many, that it is a matter of wonder to those who examine the beautiful structure, how so small a room can hold them, and how they can be laid so closely and ingeniously together, as to afford sufficient space for a bird with so long a tail, and so large a family. The nest is of an oblong shape, not unlike that of a pineapple, and somewhat resembling a bottle, from which circumstance the name of the bird was given. On one side (as some say, uniformly on the eastern side) of the nest, is a small door, scarcely large enough, one would suppose, to admit the occupants, which, nevertheless, serves for ingress and egress.
The food of this bird consists of the smaller kinds of insects, and the larvae and eggs of other insects, which are found deposited in the bark of trees. Its sight is remarkably acute. It flits with the greatest quickness among the branches of trees, while in pursuit of its food.
Knight[1], in his entertaining volume on the “Habits of Birds,” says he once saw a flock of Bottle Tits, just at dusk, in a noisy dispute as to the places where they were to roost respectively. That circumstance is not much to their credit, perhaps, and shows, that with all their intelligence and good qualities, they are not altogether destitute of foibles. The ground was covered with snow at the time—so says the observing man on whose authority the statement is made in Knight’s volume—and they were beginning, no doubt, to be cold, as the night approached, and were making preparations for passing the night in as warm a place as they could find. Then commenced a contest for the best spot, which seemed to be a hollow in the neighboring tree of large size. When they had all assembled on the under bough of the tree, they began to crowd together, fidgeting and wedging themselves between one another, evidently quarreling for the coziest corner.
AUTHOR UNKNOWN. “THE BOTTLE TITMOUSE AND ITS NEST.” THE YOUTH’S CABINET 4, NO. 4 (MARCH 1849): 104-5.
[1] Charles Knight’s The Domestic Habits of Birds was first published in London in 1833.
Contexts
The bottle titmouse is a member of the Parus genus of the Paridae family. This family includes titmice and chickadees. The bottle titmouse is more common in Europe than in the U.S. The author suggests that they can be found in the southern states but are not as common as other titmouse varieties, such as the bridled titmouse which resides in the southwest, the black-crested titmouse in the midwest and eastern and central Mexico, the juniper titmouse in the western U.S., the oak titmouse along the west coast, and tufted titmouse along the east coast.
Resources for Further Study
The bottle titmouse is now known as the long-tailed tit (Aegithalos caudatus).
Francis Wheatley. Strawberries, Scarlet Strawberries, Plate 9 from The Cries of London. Stipple engraving in brown, with hand-colored additions, on cream wove paper, 1799. The Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, I.L.
“Strawb’rees! Strawb’rees!” cried a poorly clad, tired-looking woman, about eleven o’clock, one sultry June morning. She was passing a handsome house in Walnut street, into the windows of which she looked earnestly, in the hope of seeing the face of a customer. She did not look in vain, for the shrill sound of her voice brought forward a lady, dressed in a silk mourning wrapper, who beckoned her to stop. The woman lifted the heavy tray from her head, and placing it upon the doorstep, sat wearily down.
“What’s the price of your strawberries?” asked the lady as she came to the door.
“Ten cents a box, madam. They’re right fresh.”
“Ten cents!” replied the lady in a tone of surprise, drawing herself up and looking grave. Then shaking her head, and compressing her lips firmly, she added—
“I can’t give ten cents for strawberries. It’s too much. I’ll give you forty cents for five quarts, and nothing more.”
“But madam, they cost me within a trifle of eight cents a quart.”
“I can’t help that. You paid too much for them, and this must be your loss not mine, if I buy your strawberries. I never pay for other people’s mistakes. I understand the use of money much better than that.”
The poor woman did not feel very well. The day was unusually hot and sultry, and her tray felt heavier and tired her more than usual. Five boxes would lighten it, and if she sold her berries at eight cents, she would clear two cents and a half, and that made her something.
“I’ll tell you what I will do,” she said, after thinking a few moments; I don’t feel as well as usual to-day, and my tray is heavy. Five boxes sold will be something. You shall have them at nine cents. They cost me seven and a half, and I’m sure it’s worth a cent and a half a box to cry them about the streets such hot weather as this.”
“I have told you, my good woman, exactly what I will do,” said the customer, with dignity, “If you are willing to take what I offer you, say so; if not we need’nt stand here any longer.”
“Well, I supposed you will have to take them,” replied the strawberry woman, seeing that there was no hope of doing better. “But it’s too little.”
“It’s enough,” said the lady, as she turned to call a servant. Five boxes of fine large strawberries were received, and forty cents paid for them. The lady re-entered the parlor, pleased at her good bargain, while the poor woman turned from the door, sad and disheartened. She walked nearly the distance of a square before she could trust her voice to utter the monotonous cry of
“Strawb’rees! Strawb’rees!”
An hour afterwards, a friend called upon Mrs. Mier, the lady who had bought the strawberries. After talking about various matters and things, interesting to lady housekeepers, Mrs. Mier said—
“How much did you pay for the strawberries, this morning?”
“Ten cents.”
“You paid too much. I bought them for eight.”
“For eight! Were they good ones?”
“Step into the dining room, and I will show them to you.”
Christian Olavius Zeuthen. Interior in the House of Lord Chamberlain O’Neill, Strandraede, Copenhagen. Pen and brush and black ink, watercolor, graphite on paper, 1844. Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, New York, N.Y.
The ladies stepped into the dining room, when Mrs. Mier displayed her large red berries, which were really much finer than she had supposed them to be.
“You did’nt get them for eight cents,” remarked the visitor incredulously.
“Yes, I did; I paid forty cents for five quarts.”
“While I paid fifty, for some not near so good.”
“I suppose you paid just what you were asked.”
“Yes, I always do that. I buy from one woman during the season, who agrees to furnish me at the regular market price.”
“Which you always find to be two or three cents above what you can get them for in the market.”
“You always buy in the market.”
“I bought these from a woman at the door.”
“Did she only ask eight cents for them?”
“Oh, no, she asked ten cents, and pretended that she got twelve and a half for the same quality of berries yesterday. But I never give these people what they ask.”
“Well, I never can find it in my heart to ask a poor tired-looking woman at my door, to take a cent less for her fruit than she asks me. A cent or two, while it is of little account to me, must be of great importance to her.”
“You are a very poor economist, I see,” said Mrs. Mier. “If that is the way you deal with every one, your husband, no doubt, finds his expense account a very serious item.”
“I don’t know about that. He never complains. He allows me a certain sum every week to keep the house, and find my own and the children’s clothes; and so far from ever calling on him for more, I always have a fifty or a hundred dollars lying by me.”
“You must have a precious large allowance, then, considering your want of economy in paying every body just what they ask for their things.”
“Oh, no! I don’t do that exactly, Mrs. Mier. If I consider the price of a thing too high, I don’t buy it.”
“You paid too high for your strawberries, to-day.”
“Perhaps I did, although I am by no means certain.”
Charles Cromwell Ingham. Portrait of Fidelia Marshall. Oil on canvas, c. 1840, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.
“You can judge for yourself. Mine cost but eight cents, and you own that they are superior to yours at ten cents.”
“Still, yours may have been too cheap, instead of mine too dear.”
“Too cheap! that is funny! I never saw anything too cheap in my life. The great trouble is that everything is too dear. What do you mean by too cheap.”
“The person who sold them to you may not have made profit enough upon them to pay for her time and labor. If this were the case, she sold them to you too cheap.”
“Suppose she paid too high for them? Is the purchaser to pay for her error?”
“Whether she did so, it would be hard to tell, and even if she had made such a mistake, I think it would be more just and humane to pay her a price that would give her a fair profit, instead of taking from her the means of buying bread for her children. At least, this is my way of reasoning.”
“And a precious lot of money it must take to support such a system of reasoning. But how much, pray, do you have a week to keep the family. I am curious to know.”
“Thirty-five dollars.”
“Thirty-five dollars! You are jesting.”
George Linen. Portrait of a New York Lady. Oil on canvas mounted on aluminum, c. 1840. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.
“Oh, no! That is exactly what I receive, and as I have said, I find the sum ample.”
“While I receive fifty dollars a week,” said Mrs. Mier, “and am forever calling on my husband to settle some bill or other for me. And yet I never pay the exorbitant prices asked by every body for every thing. I am strictly economical in my family. While other people pay their domestics a dollar and a half and two dollars a week, I give but a dollar and a quarter each to my cook and chambermaid, and require the chambermaid to help the washerwoman on Mondays. Nothing is wasted in my kitchen, for I take care in marketing, not to allow room for waste. I don’t know how it is that you save money on thirty-five dollars with your system, while I find fifty dollars inadequate with my system.”
The exact difference in the two systems will be clearly understood by the reader when he is informed that although Mrs. Mier never paid anybody as much as was at first asked for an article, and was always talking about economy, and trying to practise it, by withholding from others what was justly their due, as in the case of the strawberry woman, yet she was a very extravagant person, and spared no money in gratifying her own pride. Mrs. Gilman, her visitor, was on the contrary, really economical, because she was moderate in all her desires, and was usually as well satisfied with an article of dress or furniture that cost ten or twenty dollars, as Mrs. Mier was with one that cost forty or fifty dollars. In little things, the former was not so particular as to infringe the right of others, while in large matters she was careful not to run into extravagance in order to gratify her own or children’s pride and vanity, while the latter pursued a course directly opposite.
Mrs. Gilman was not as much dissatisfied on reflection, about the price she had paid for her strawberries, as she had felt at first.
“I would rather pay these poor creatures two cents a quart too much than too little,” she said to herself—“dear knows they earn their money hard enough, and get but a scanty portion after all.”
Although the tray of the poor strawberry woman, when she passed from the presence of Mrs. Mier, was lighter by five boxes, her heart was heavier, and that made her steps more weary than before. The next place at which she stopped, she found the same disposition to beat her down in her price.
“I’ll give you nine cents, and take four boxes,” said the lady.
“Indeed madam, that is too little,” replied the woman; ten cents is the lowest at which I can sell them, and make even a reasonable profit.”
“Well, say thirty-seven and a half for four boxes, and I will take them. It is only two cents and a half less than you ask for them.”
“Give me a fip, ma!—there comes the candy-man!” exclaimed a little fellow, pressing up to the side of the lady. “Quick ma! Here candy man!”
“Get a levy’s worth mother, do, won’t you? Cousin Lu’s coming to see us to-morrow.”
“Let him have a levy’s worth, candy-man. He’s such a rogue, I can’t resist him,” responded the mother. The candy was counted out, and the levy paid, when the man retired in his usual good humor.
“Shall I take these strawberries for thirty-seven and a half cents?” said the lady, the smile fading from her face. “It is all I am willing to give.”
“If you won’t pay any more, I must n’t stand for two cents and a half,” replied the woman, “although they would nearly buy a loaf of bread for the children,” she mentally added.
The four boxes were sold for the sum offered, and the woman lifted the tray upon her head, and moved on again. The sun shone still hotter and hotter as the day advanced. Large beads of perspiration rolled from the throbbing temples of the strawberry woman, as she passed wearily up one street and down another, crying her fruit at the top of her voice. At length all was sold but five boxes, and now it was past one o’clock. Long before this, she ought to have been at home. Faint from over-exertion, she lifted her tray from her head, and placing it upon a door-step she sat down to rest. As she sat thus, a lady came up and paused at the door of the house as if about to enter.
Artist Unknown. Portrait of a Praline Seller. Ink on paper, c. 1910. Smithsonian Natural Museum of African American History and Culture, Washington, D.C.
“You look tired, my good woman,” she said, kindly. “This is a very hot day for such hard work as yours. How do you sell your strawberries?”
“I ought to have ten cents for them, but nobody seems willing to give ten cents, to-day, although they are very fine, and cost me as much as some I have got twelve and a half for.”
“How many boxes have you?”
“Five, ma’am.”
“They are very fine, sure enough,” said the lady, stopping down and examining them; and well worth ten cents. I’ll take them.”
“Thanky, ma’am. I was afraid I should have to take them home,” said the woman, her heart bounding up lightly.
The lady rang the bell, for it was at her door that the tired strawberry-woman had stopped to rest herself. While she was waiting for the door to be opened, the lady took from her purse the money for her strawberries, and handing it to the woman, said,
“Here is your money. Shall I tell the servant to bring you a glass of cool water? You are hot and tired.”
“If you please, ma’am,” said the woman, with a grateful look.
The water was sent out by the servant who was to receive the strawberries, and the tired woman drank it eagerly. Its refreshing coolness flowed through every vein, when she took up her tray to return home, both heart and step were lighter.
The lady, whose benevolent feelings had prompted her to the performance of this little act of kindness, could not help remembering the woman’s grateful look. She had not done much—not more than it was one’s duty to do; but the recollection of even that was pleasant, far more pleasant than could possibly have been Mrs. Mier’s self-congratulations at having saved ten cents on her purchase of five boxes of strawberries, notwithstanding the assurance of the poor woman who vended them, that, at the reduced rate, her profit on the whole would only be two cents and a half.
After dinner, Mrs. Mier went out and spent thirty dollars in purchasing jewelry for her eldest daughter, a young lady not yet eighteen years of age. That evening, at the tea-table, the strawberries were highly commended as being the largest and most delicious in flavor of any they had yet had; in reply to which Mrs. Mier stated, with an air of peculiar satisfaction, that she had got them for eight cents a box when they were worth at least ten cents.
“The woman asked me ten cents,” she said, “but I offered her eight and she took it.”
While the family of Mrs. Mier were enjoying their pleasant repast, the strawberry woman sat at a small table, around which were gathered three young children, the oldest but six years of age. She had started out in the morning with thirty boxes of strawberries, for which she was to pay seven and a half cents a box. If all had brought the ten cents a box, she would had made seventy-five cents; but such was not the case. Rich ladies had beaten her down in price—had chaffered with her for the few pennies of profits to which her hard labor entitled her—and actually robbed her of the meagre pittance she strove to earn for her children. Instead of realizing the small sum of seventy-five cents, she had cleared only forty-five cents [1]. With this, she bought a little Indian meal [2] and molasses for her own and her children’s supper and breakfast.
William Morris Hunt. Violet Girl. Lithograph with tint stone on paper, 1857. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.
As she sat with her children, eating the only food she was able to provide for them, and thought of what had occurred during the day, a feeling of bitterness toward her kind came over her; but the remembrance of the kind words and the glass of cool water, so timely and thoughtfully tendered to her, was like leaven in the waters of Marah [3]. Her heart softened, and with the tears stealing to her eyes, she glanced upward, and asked a blessing on her who had remembered that, though poor, she was still human.
Economy is a good thing and should be practised by all, but it should show itself in denying ourselves, not in oppressing others. We see persons spending dollar after dollar foolishly one hour, and in the next trying to save a penny piece of a wood-sawyer, coal-heaver, or market woman. Such things are disgraceful if not dishonest.
Arthur, T.S. “The STrawberry Woman.” The youth’s companion 21, No. 19 (September 1847): 73-74.
[1] The forty-five cents that the strawberry woman makes would be equivalent to $15.87 in 2022. Mrs. Gilman’s $35 a week would be $1,234, and Mrs. Mier’s $50 a week for the household would be $1,763. Over the course of a year, Mrs. Mier receives the equivalent of nearly $92,000 (an inadequate amount), she pays each of her domestic staff a yearly salary the equivalent of just under $2,300.
[3] Holy Bible, New King James Version: “So Moses brought Israel from the Red. Sea; then they went out into the Wilderness of Shur. And they went three days in the wilderness and found no water. Now when they came to Marah, they could not drink the waters of Marah, for they were bitter. Therefore the name of it was called Marah. And the people complained against Moses, saying, ‘What shall we drink?’ So he cried out to the Lord, and the Lord showed him a tree. When he cast it into the waters, the waters were made sweet.” (Exodus15:22-25)
Contexts
Timothy Shay Arthur moved to Philadelphia in 1841, and given the mention of Walnut Street and the Pennsylvania slang noted in the definitions below, this story is likely set in Philadelphia. Much of Arthur’s writing concerned morality, particularly temperance, which inspired his 1854 publication Ten Nights in a Bar-Room and What I Saw There, the most successful temperance book of the time. The Pennsylvania Center for the Book has a brief biography of Arthur’s life and career.
This story appeared amid ongoing riots and violence perpetrated by white Philadelphians against Black neighborhoods and churches, which were only exacerbated by the growing abolition movement and the Pennsylvania State Constitution of 1838 rescinding the right for free Black men to vote. The Nativist movement continued to gain ground in Philadelphia and elsewhere throughout the 1840s and extended to anti-Irish Catholic sentiment, which was further formalized during the next decade with the American or Know Nothing Party.
Definitionsfrom Oxford English Dictionary:
chaffer: To treat about a bargain; to bargain, haggle about terms or price.
chambermaid: A woman employed to clean the bedrooms in a house or hotel.
dear: At a high price; at great cost; usually with such verbs as buy, cost, pay, sell, etc.
domestic: A household servant or attendant.
fip: Short for fipenny bit; 1860 usage from J.R. Bartlett’s Dictionary of Americanisms: In Pennsylvania, and several of the Southern States, the vulgar name for the Spanish half-real
levy:U.S. regional ‘The sum of twelve and a half cents; a “bit” (Cent. Dict.); from J.R. Bartlett’s Dictionary of Americanisms: In Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia, the Spanish real…twelve and a half cents.
trifle: A ‘small sum of money, or a sum treated as of no moment; a slight ‘consideration’.
During the riots, many all-white volunteer firefighting companies refused to help, and when Good Will Engine Company responded to a fire rioters set at the California House, a rioter shot and killed one of the white firefighters.
A silver trumpet presented to the Good Will Engine Company is an emblem of part of the complex history of philanthropy in the U.S. While this essay suggests a charitable attitude toward the less fortunate, the National Museum of American History and the Smithsonian’s Philanthropy Initiative looks at the “complicated legacy” of helping others.
“Young Girl and Dog” by Percy Moran, 1890, oil on canvas. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Bequest of Alfred Duane Pell. CCO.
It is a good thing for a child to have the care of domestic animals as far as possible; they learn patience from them, as well as the habit of thinking of something besides themselves; and their hearts, if they love the animals, are kept open by them to pity and kindness.
A little girl by the name of Fanny, had the care in her father’s family of feeding two dogs, one a spaniel, the other a poodle. She fed them both at the same time. She had taught each of them to wait while the other was fed. The spaniel was not very patient while the poodle took his portion, but the poodle sat perfectly still and never asked for a morsel till Fanny said “Fidele,” and then he gladly received what she gave him, and after devouring it, sat still again, looking as solemn and quiet as if he were at church. The spaniel on the contrary had now and then to receive a slight box on the ear for his bad behavior.
One day a lady dined at the house of Fanny’s father and was very much pleased at the patient way Fanny waited to be helped. Every one had his or her dinner except Fanny and her younger sister, and when her mother was going to help her she whispered to her, “Help Annie first, or I am afraid she’ll cry. I can wait, mamma.” The lady heard the whisper, for she sat next to Fanny, and perhaps unwisely praised her patience. The child replied, “I should think I might be as patient as our poodle, and he waits very quietly while I feed Rover. He seems to know that Rover can’t wait quietly, any more than little Annie can.”
These two dogs had spoken to her as wisely as Burns’ two dogs did to each other.
F., E. L. “The Two Dogs.” The Child’s Friend and Family Magazine. 12,No. 3 (Dec. 1848): 127.
The Scholars’ Leaf of the Tree of Knowledge. 1849. The tree is filled with words: eminence, humility, peace, power, influence, truth, excellence, happiness, philanthropy, health, and aspiration. Under the tree is the word “liberty” which is the foundation of all.
FRAGMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE. As gold is most frequently found in small grains, and seldom in large masses, so with knowledge. He who would gather much and become rich, must be content with obtaining a grain at a time. But let him not become wearied, or discouraged, because of the slowness of his gains; for he may rest assured that by patience and perseverance he will, in time, amass as much as he wants.
There are misers[1] in knowledge as well as in worldly possessions and pecuniary matters; men who accumulate knowledge for the mere sake of amassing it, and the pleasure of contemplating their riches. Such mistake the true end of acquiring knowledge. It is not for the mere sake of itself, or having it, but the use it may be of, and the advantages it may bring. As gold and silver are useful for a circulating medium in commercial affairs, so knowledge is a circulating medium among men of sense and learning. And there is no barter so pleasant and useful as the interchange of thought and opinion.
The real value of a thing is not always to be estimated by what it costs; for it is sometimes the case that things almost or quite worthless have cost very much, and, on the other hand, things very valuable have cost scarcely anything. Value must be estimated by utility in whatever way we may regard that. Wright’s Paper[2].
PERSEVERANCE.–How easily are some persons discouraged. If they try some project for an hour without success, they fret, get angry and give up. Such characters never did accomplish anything worth naming, and never will. Wieland[3] states that he was three days and a half on a single stanza, which he was endeavoring to translate; one word only was wanted, and that he could not supply. It is said that Gray was ten years in writing the “Elegy in the Country Churchyard.”[4] Yet you are discouraged in an hour. Shame on you!
Wisdom requires three things; knowledge to discern, judgment to weigh, and resolution to determine.
Walker, M. B. “Gleanings for the Mind’s Treasury.” The Scholar’s Leaf of the Tree of Knowledge, vol. 1, no. 2, Jan. 1849, p. 16.
[1] A miser is someone who hoards wealth and spends very little money.
[2] Wright’s Paper was an American periodical written and published by Alfred E. Wright for the American Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
[2] The original text spells the name Wierland but the poet named here is likely Christoph Martin Wieland.
The Scholar’s Leaf of the Tree of Knowledge is a weekly periodical that was published from January 1849-December 1850. It only had two volumes. In each volume is states that it is “devoted exclusively to the physical, mental, and moral elevation of scholars”. The original intention of the periodical was to have readers become contributors. The paper only lasted two years because of the publishers inexperience of running a periodical.
“Gleanings of the Mind’s Treasury” was a section that was included in each issue of The Scholar’s Leaf. It contains all kinds of different information and encouragements for readers.
O! forget him not ye who plead for his slaves. He needs your prayers. God is arrayed against him. “If he turn not, he will whet his sword; he hath bent his bow and made it ready.” [1] O pray for him ere the bent bow twangs above him, and the “arrows of the Almighty” drink up his spirit. He needs your prayers. Never was mortal more destitute [2] of prayer. Remember that no effectual prayer can go up for the slaveholder except from those who pray for the deliverance of the slave. As ye love his soul, as ye hate his sins, as ye deprecate [3]his doom, pray for the guilty slaveholder.
[1] BiblicalPsalms 7:12; Here the author indicates that if one does not repent God will sharpen his sword and ready his bow.
[2] DestituteLacking in possessions or resources, especially: suffering extreme poverty (Merriam-Webster)
[3] Deprecate Play down, or make little of(Merriam-Webster)
Contexts
Amidst exhortations in the 19th century to pray for the slave, this plea to pray for the slaveholder himself might have been important for children and adults alike. Vilified by many in the anti-slavery movement, the slaveholder was less often than the slave the beneficiary of pleas for mercy and kindness.
From the same edition of The Monthly Offering, an expression on the meaning and value of prayer also written by “A.S.”: “Prayer is indispensable. It will strengthen our hearts and our hands while we toil. It will soften and sweeten our spirits, and prepare us to speak the truth in love. It will fill us with that holy courage so needful amid the popular violence and haughty menaces that beset us. It will keep our motives pure, and our eye single.It will buoy us above the pollutions of worldly expediency, and pose us immoveably in the pure upper air of principle.“
Are you surprised to read a prayer for the owner of slaves? Why does the author of the prayer say we should pray for the slaveholder?
Who should pray for the slaveholder, according the the text?
Why do you think the painting The Almighty’s Own, an Impression of the High Andes is included with this selection? What is the feeling of the painting, and how does its title contribute to that feeling?
How does the choice of watercolor as the medium for this painting effect its message? What effects do watercolors uniquely bring to painting?
Abbott Handerson Thayer. Blue Jays in Winter. Oil on canvas, 1909, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.
When the leaves and flowers are dead,
When the other birds are fled,
When the winter wind is keen,
Then the snow-birds all are seen.
When the flakes are falling fast,
When the forest feels the blast,
When the drifts in circles play,
’Tis the snow-birds’ holiday.
When the earth is covered deep,
When in ice the rivers sleep,
When all other things are sad,
Hark! the snow-birds’ voice is glad!
When the frost is on the pane,
When the wailing winds complain,
When the boys come shivering in,
Hark! the snow-birds’ cheerful din!
But when Spring, ’mid rosy light,
Bids stern Winter take his flight,
The snow-birds, in his stormy train,
Fly northward, where he holds his reign.
author unknown. “The SNow-Bird.” ROBERT MERRY’S MUSEUM 15, no. 2 (February 1848): 64.
Contexts
This poem was published as lyrics to a song, and the melody was included in the original printing.
This was not the only song with “snow-bird” in the title, as Francis C. Woodworth (lyrics) and Susanna Newbold (music) published “The Song of the Snow-Bird” in the January 1858 edition — a popular song that also appeared in other periodicals.
The image included above this poem is from Abbott Handerson Thayer’s book Concealing Coloration in the Animal Kingdom. Here is the label underneath this painting, which is located at the Luce Center in the Smithsonian American Art Museum:
“In 1909, Abbott Handerson Thayer and his son, Gerald, published a controversial book titled Concealing Coloration in the Animal Kingdom, offering their theory of animal camouflage. Thayer believed that the coloration of animals, no matter how eye-catching, was meant to disguise them in nature through what he called ‘countershading.’ Even bright pink flamingoes would vanish against a similar colored sky at sunset or sunrise. No matter that at times their brilliant feathers were highly visible, their coloration would protect them from predators at crucial moments so that ‘the spectator seems to see right through the space occupied by an opaque animal.'”
“Not all readers were convinced. The most passionate criticism came from Teddy Roosevelt, who was in Africa when the book came out. He protested upon his return that Thayer’s theory was ludicrous, arguing that on his trip he had spotted some of the animals Thayer mentioned from miles away. Roosevelt’s challenge sparked a heated debate between the two men. Roosevelt wrote a 112-page article refuting Thayer’s ideas; Thayer repeatedly invited Roosevelt to his home in New Hampshire, hoping to demonstrate his theories, but Roosevelt always refused (Nemerov, “Vanishing Americans: Abbott Thayer, Theodore Roosevelt, and the Attraction of Camouflage,” American Art, Summer 1997).”
Resources for Further Study
For background on the children’s magazine Robert Merry’s Museum, visit Pat Pflieger’s website.
George Elbert Burr. Untitled (Trees in Snow). Pen and ink and ink wash on paper mounted on paperboard, 1883, Smithsonian American Art Museum and its Renwick Gallery, Washington, D.C.
With head reclined the Snow-Drop see,
The first of Flora’s progenie,
In virgin modesty appear,
To hail and welcome in the year!
Fearless of winter, it defies
The rigor of inclement skies,
And early hastens forth to bring
The tidings of approaching spring.
Though simple in its dress, and plain,
It ushers in a beauteous train,
And claims, how gaudy e’er they be,
The merit of precendencie.
All that the gay or sweet compose,
The pink, the violet and the rose,
In fair succession as they blow,
Their glories to the Snow-Drop owe.
Bourne, Vincent. “The Snow-Drop.” The Knickerbocker; or New York Monthly Magazine 31, no. 1 (March 1848): 219.
Contexts
Vincent Bourne spent his entire career as a teacher at Westminster School, London, which he attended as a child. He was dedicated to being a Latin poet and continued to be published and translated posthumously. Despite his volume of work, little is known about him.
For more of Bourne’s poems, many of which he wrote in Latin, see The Poetical Works of Vincent Bourne. The volume includes a brief biography and two of Bourne’s letters.
Burleigh, L. R. , 1853?-1923, and Burleigh Litho. Brattleboro, Vt. Troy, N.Y, 1886. Map. https://www.loc.gov/item/75696622/.
A writer in a Vermont paper says, “I attended a meeting about a survey of the country between Brattleboro’ and Fitchburg, with a view to a railroad. I became interested, and was very glad to find others so. I am one of the sanguine ones perhaps, but the subject took possession of my imagination, and I went to sleep with a confused jumble in my head about ‘Railroad Spirit,’ ‘Crocker,’ ‘Montague Fall,’ and ‘Loammi Baldwin’s Survey.’–These mingled in my dreams not at all to the benefit of my body’s rest, until suddenly the scene changed, and I seemed to see a group of children sitting around a table, while one was reading aloud from a miniature newspaper. I listened and heard a clear, silvery little voice repeat this,
The Song of the First Locomotive
ON ITS ENTRANCE INTO THE VALLEY OF BRATTLEBORO’, 1846.
I come, I come, ye have called me long,
I come through the hills with a clattering throng
Of cars behind me, which shake the earth,
And to many an uncouth[1] sound give birth.
I have passed through many a sheltered vale
Where the flowers shrunk at the sudden gale,
Made by my hot and whizzing breath,
As I rushed along, the hills beneath;
The weeping Elm trees gracefully bent,
To see what a hurrying meant,
And the Oriole[2] wondered at my haste,
As he swung aloft in his airy nest;
But I doubt not, now that I am gone,
They think it a dream of the early morn,
(For birds and flowers are careless things,)
And the robin spreads his golden wings,
And the pink spireas[3] look smartly up,
And the Foxglove opens its yellow cup,
And they never dream in their present delight,
That I and my train will be back at night.
How slow your river runs! Strange to me,
That it should not flow more speedily,
But should stop to play o’er each old grey stone,
With as soft and musical a moan,
As if there were nothing on earth to be done,
But to plash, and murmur, and shine in the sun.
It must have caught that lazy song,
From the sleepy stage-coach winding along,
That turnpike road, in old fashioned-times,
Which still around the precipice climbs,
As to show how slowly people could go,
Before they had learned my speed to know.
Your mountains too, has a placid look,
With the shadows resting on each green nook,
And the grey mists, gathered half up its side,
Seem as they could not quite decide,
Whether to float into upper air,
Or still to suspend their curtain fair
Over its rugged and time worn brow,
Which shows so softly through them now.
But I must not get into this gossiping mood,
I only stopped for water and wood,
And to let your villagers have a gaze,
At what seems to set them all in a maze;
My course is onward--and faster yet,
With shriek, and hiss, and hot steam jet,
Shaking the echoes out of your mountains,
And drowning the voice of your shady fountains,
I am off--and as I thunder along,
Ye may hear the last strain of the first engine’s song.”
ANON.
Anonymous. “song of the first locomotive: on it’s entrance into the valley of brattleboro’, 1846.” The child’s friend and family magazine 12, NO. 5 (august 1 1849): 238-239.
[2]Orioles are brightly colored birds, usually orange and black or yellow and black.
[3] Spirea: Flowering shrub that blooms in the spring or summer.
Contexts
It’s likely that the author of this poem attended, or knew about, a meeting of stockholders of the Brattleboro and Fitchburg Rail-Road Company that met the previous month on July 5th, 1849 to discuss a merger with the Vermont and Massachusetts Rail-Road company. The following is a Notice of this meeting given in the Semi-Weekly Eagle, a newspaper published in Brattleboro, VT.
NOTICE
Is hereby given, that a meeting of the
Stockholders of the Brattleboro and Fitch-
burg Rail-Road Company, will be held at Hen-
ry Smith's Tavern, in Brattleboro, on the 5th
of July next, at 12 o'clock, (noon) to con-
sider and determine, whether the Brattleboro &
Fitchburg Rail-Road Company will join with
the Vermont and Massachusetts Rail-Road Com-
pany, in mortgaging the road from Brattleboro
to Fitchburg, and the franchises of the compa-
nies to secure the bonds issued, or to be issued,
for the purpose of completing the Greenfield
Branch, and of paying the outstanding debts.
Dated at Brattleboro, this 13th day of June,
A.D. 1849. 89
J.D. BRADLEY,
Clerk of the Brattleboro & Fitchburg R.R. Co.
Pierre Joseph Redouté. Persica vulgaris. Pêcher commun. (Peach on a branch). Print, circa 1801 to 1819, New York Public Library Digital Collections.
Last evening, (I continued,) I took supper with Lydia’s father and mother. Before supper, Lydia, her parents, and myself, were sitting in the room together, and her little brother Oliver was out in the yard, drawing his cart about. The mother went out and brought in some peaches; a few of which were large, red-cheeked rare-ripes—the best small, ordinary peaches. The father handed me one of the rare-ripes, gave one to the mother, and then one of the best to his little daughter, who was eight years old. He then took one of the smaller ones, and gave it to Lydia, and told her to go and give it to her brother. He was four years old. Lydia went out, and was gone out about ten minutes, and then came in.
“Did you give your brother the peach I sent him?” asked the father.
Lydia blushed, turned away, and did not answer.
“Did you give your brother the peach I sent him?” asked the father again, a little more sharply.
“No, father,” said she, “I did not give him that.”
“What did you do with it?” he asked.
“I ate it,” said Lydia,
“What! Did you not give your brother any?” asked the father.
“Yes, I did, father,” said she. “I gave him mine.”
“Why did you not give him the one I told you to give?” asked the father, rather sternly.
“Because, father,” said Lydia, “I thought he would like mine better.”
“But you ought not to disobey your father,” said he.
“I did not mean to be so disobedient, father,” said she; and her bosom began to heave, and her chin to quiver.”
“But you were, my daughter,” said he.
“I thought you would not be displeased with me, father,” said Lydia, “if I did give brother the biggest peach;” and the tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“But I wanted you to have the biggest,” said the father; “you are older and larger than he is.”
“I want you to give the best things to brother,” said the noble girl.
“Why?” asked the father, scarcely able to contain himself.
“Because,” answered the dear, generous sister, “I love him so—I always feel best when he gets the best things.”
“You are right, my precious daughter,” said the father, as he fondly and proudly folded her in his arms. “You are right, and you may be certain your happy father can never be displeased with you for wishing to give up the best of every thing to your affectionate little brother. He is a dear and noble little boy, and I am glad you love him so. Do you think he loves you as well as you do him?”
“Yes father,” said the girl, “I think he does; for when I offered him the largest peach, he would not take it, and wanted me to keep it; and it was a good while before I could get him to take it.”
“Stories for Children: The best peach.” Massachusetts ploughman 5, no. 39, (JUNE 1846): 4.
Contexts
Massachusetts Ploughman was a weekly newspaper published in Boston from 1841 to 1866. It evolved from Yankee Farmer, and Newsletter, which was published in Portland, Maine, and Boston in 1838, which became Yankee Farmer, and New England Cultivator from 1839 to 1840. The Yankee Farmer split off to an independent Boston newspaper for the beginning of 1841; after 1866 it was known as Massachusetts Ploughman and New England Journal of Agriculture until 1906, when it combined with Boston Cultivator and Vermont Farmer to become American Cultivator until its end in 1915.
White agricultural families in New England at this time were experiencing the shifts that industrialization was causing for farm households, including significant changes for women. In an 1851 town centennial address to farmers in Litchfield County, Connecticut, Horace Bushnell predicted, “This transition from mother- and daughter-power to water- and steam-power is a great one, greater by far than many have as yet begun to conceive—one that is to carry with it a complete revolution of domestic life and social manners” (Bidwell 694). Women increasingly found employment outside the farm “by their leaving the farms and taking employment in the rapidly growing urban centres, either in factories, or as school teachers, or in domestic service; [or] by the introduction of new industrial occupations in the home” (Bidwell 696).
Women in agricultural families often suffered greatly; see these few passages below as examples:
“Whatever general hardships, such as poverty, isolation, lack of labor-saving devices, may exist on any given farm, the burden of these hardships falls more heavily on the farmer’s wife than on the farmer himself. In general her life is more monotonous and the more isolated, no matter what the wealth or the poverty of the family may be.” —Report of the Commission on Country Life,1911
“The farmers’ wives! what monotonous, treadmill lives! Constant toil with no wages, no allowance, no pocket money, no vacations, no pleasure trips to the city nearest them, little of the pleasures of correspondence; no time to write, unless a near relative is dead or dying. Some one says that their only chance for social life is going to some insane asylum!” —Kate Sanborn, Adopting an Abandoned Farm, 1891
“When you bring to bear on these poor, weak souls, made for love and gentleness and bright outlooks [, the effects of] the daily dullness of work, the brutality, stupidness, small craft, and boorish tyranny of husbands, to whom they are tied beyond escape, what wonder is it that a third of all the female lunatics in our asylums are farmers’ wives? that domestic tragedies, even beyond the scope of a sensation novel, recur daily in these lonely houses, far beyond human help or hope?” —Rose Terry Cooke, “The West Shetucket Railway,” 1872.
Artist Unknown. Full of Fun. Chromolithograph, 1898, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Online Catalog.
Aunt Mary’s cat three snowy kittens had,
Playful, and fat, and gay. And she would sport,
And let them climb upon her back, and spread
Her paws to fondle them,—and when she saw
Her mistress come that way, would proudly show,
Her darlings, purring with intense delight,
—But one was missing, and grimalkin[3] ran
Distracted, searching with a mother’s haste
Parlor and garret[4], sofa, box and bed,
Calling her baby with a mournful cry,
And questioning each creature that she met,
In her cat-language, eloquently shrill.
And then she left the house. Two hours pass’d by,
When bringing her lost treasure in her mouth,
She came exulting. While her mewing train
Joined in loud welcome, she with raptured zeal
Washed and rewashed their velvet face and paws.
—It had been given to a kind lady’s care,
By my aunt Mary, out of pure good will
To pussy, fearing she might be fatigued
By too much care and nursing. But she sought
From house to house, among neighbors all,
Until she found, and numbered it again
With her heart’s jewels.
One full month she fed
And nurtured it. Then by the neck she took
The same young kitten, and conveyed it back
To the same house,—and laid it in the lap
Of the same good old lady, as she sat
Knitting upon the sofa. Much surprised,
She raised her spectacles to view the cat,
Who, with a most insinuating tone,
Fawning and rubbing round her slippered foot,
Bespoke her favoring notice.
This is true;
Aunt Mary told me so.
Joseph Brodtmann. Domestic Cat Sleeping with Three Kittens Resting. Lithograph, c. 1820-1860, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Online Catalog.
Did pussy think
Her child too young for service? and when grown
To greater vigor, did she mean to show
Full apprabotion [sic] of her mistress choice
By passing many a nearer house, to find
The lady that its first indentures held?
—This looks like reason, and they say that brutes
Are only led by instinct. Yet ‘tis hard
Sometimes to draw the line where one begins
And where the other ceases.
But I know
That kindness to domestic animals
Improves their nature,—and ‘tis very wrong
To take away their comforts, and be cross
And cruel to them. The kind-hearted child
Who makes them humble friends, will surely find
A pleasure in such goodness, and obey
The book of wisdom in its law of love.
Sigourney, L. H. “Cats and Kittens.” The Youth’s Companion 18, no. 7 (June 1844): 28.
Contexts
Definitions from Oxford English Dictionary:
garret: A room on the uppermost floor of a house; an apartment formed either partially or wholly within the roof, an attic. from cellar to garret, from garret to kitchen, etc.: over the whole house.
grimalkin: A name given to a cat; hence, a cat, esp. an old she-cat; contemptuously applied to a jealous or imperious old woman.
Resources for Further Study
Two or three “Resources for Further Study” (could be a book, chapter, or article); could also include web links to related material (for example, for Stowe, a link to one of her historic home sites).
Two or three “Resources for Further Study” (could be a book, chapter, or article); could also include web links to related material (for example, for Stowe, a link to one of her historic home sites).
Two or three “Resources for Further Study” (could be a book, chapter, or article); could also include web links to related material (for example, for Stowe, a link to one of her historic home sites).
Contemporary Connections
“Contemporary Connections”—thoughts about texts’ current significance.
