LESSON LXXII.

'GU' TEN BERG, JOHN, was born in 1400, near Mentz, in Germany; and died in 1468. He is supposed to have made his first experiment in the art of printing with movable types between 1434 and 1439; but it was in 1443 that he turned his great invention to account, and brought upon himself great persecution. There are some points not cleared up in the history of this invention; but it is now generally agreed that the honor belongs to John Gutenberg. A beautiful statue has been erected to his memory.

THE INVENTION OF PRINTING.

OSBORNE.

JOHN GUTENberg. — Rupert, a Usurer,

Rupert. FRIEND John, what's wanted now? Ah! I can guess. 'Tis the old story, — money !

John.

I bring you good security.

Rup.

Master Rupert,

What's this?

A family ring,solid, and set with diamonds!

John. Let me have fifty florins* on the pledge. Rup. That's twenty more than I can well afford; But you shall have the money.

As I have perfected my great invention.

Rup. Ah! John, that great invention, much I fear, Will come to naught. Take to some honest trade; Leave dreaming o'er thy scheme of movable types For multiplying copies of a book.

*Florin, a silver coin varying in value from twenty-three to fifty-four

cents.

Shouldst thou succeed, the copyists, who now
Derive their living from their manuscripts,

Will persecute thee, — make it out (who knows?)
That thou hast dealt in magic.

Let them murmur!

John.
Think, Master Rupert, of the good locked up
In this invention. Look upon this book:

Know'st thou

It is the book of books, the Bible.
How long it takes a writer to complete
A copy such as this?

John. As long as that! Now, by this plan of mine,

After the types are set, ten thousand copies

Might be struck off, and by a single man,

Within less time than now is given to make

A single copy.

Rup.

John, thy wits are wandering.

Thou art but a dreamer.

John.

To any

I can make it plain

mechanician, what I say

Is but the sober truth. Av, Master Rupert,

The day will come when this same book, which now
Few men are rich enough to own, will be

So multiplied and cheap, that every peasant
Can own it, if he chooses.

Rup.

John, go home;

Tell thy good wife to put thee straight to bed,
And send for a physician. I shall hear

Of a brain-fever next.

I

John.

The day will come.

may not live to see it; after years Of penury and struggle, I may fall

Into the grave unnoticed: but the spark

Kindled by me shall grow to be a light
Unto the nations; and religion, freedom,
Science, and education, all shall date

An epoch from the day when here, in Mentz,
1, poor John Gutenberg, the small mechanic,
Produced my movable types, but could not win,
From rich or learned, words of cheer or help.
Rup. 'Tis for posterity thou art laboring, then!
Now listen to a word of common sense:
Posterity will nothing do for thee.

Posterity will put upon thy back

No coat to shield thee from the winter's cold.

Posterity will give no single meal,

Though thou wert starving. Why shouldst thou then,

John,

Labor for such an ingrate as this same

Vain, unrequiting herd, posterity?

John. The noble giver finds his solace in
The act of giving,— in the consciousness
He has conferred upon his fellow-men
A certain blessing. Should requital come,
'Twill be, like all good things, acceptable :
But not for that, not even for gratitude,
Did he confer his boon; and so he quails not,
Should disappointment and ingratitude
Pursue him to the grave.

Rup. John, thou art a riddle.

Where, then, is thy reward for all thy pains?

John. My friend, the little good that we can do,

In our short sojourn here, will not alone
Shed comfort on this transitory life,

But be (such is my faith) a joy hereafter.

1.

WH

LESSON LXXIII.

THE THREE VOICES.

ANON.

AT saith the Past to thee? WEEP!
Truth is departed;

Beauty hath died like the dream of a sleep;
Love is faint-hearted;

Trifles of sense, the profoundly unreal,
Scare from our spirits God's holy ideal:
So, as a funeral bell, slowly and deep,
So tolls the Past to thee! Weep!

2. How speaks the Present hour? ACT!
Walk upward glancing;

So shall thy footsteps in glory be traced,
Slow, but advancing.

Scorn not the smallness of daily endeavor,
Let the great meaning ennoble it ever;
Droop not o'er efforts expended in vain;
Work, as believing that labor is gain.

3. What doth the Future say? HOPE!
Turn the face sunward;

Look where the light fringes the far-rising slope;
Day cometh onward.

Watch! though so long be the daylight delaying,
Let the first sunbeam arise on thee praying;

Fear not, for greater is God by thy side
Than armies of Error against thee allied.

SINCE

LESSON LXXIV.

ACTION OF CLIMATE UPON MAN.

PROF. ARNOLD GUYOT.

INCE man is made to acquire the full possession and mastery of his faculties by toil, and by the exercise of all his energies, no climate could so well minister to his progress in this work as the climate of the temperate regions. Excessive heat enfeebles man; it invites to repose and inaction. In the tropical regions, the power of life in nature is carried to its highest degree: thus, with the tropical man, the life of the body overmasters that of the soul; the physical instincts of our nature eclipse those of the higher faculties; passion predominates over intellect and reason, the passive faculties over the active faculties.

2. Nature, too rich, too prodigal of her gifts, does not compel man to wrest from her his daily bread by his daily toil. A regular climate, and the absence of a dormant season, render forethought of little use to him. Nothing invites him to that struggle of intelligence against Nature, which raises the powers of man to their highest pitch. Thus he never dreams of resisting physical Nature; he is conquered by her; he submits to the yoke, and becomes again the animal man, in proportion as he abandons himself to external influences, forgetful of his high moral destination.

3. In the temperate climates, all is activity and movement. The alternations of heat and cold, the changes of the seasons, a fresher and more bracing air, incite man to a constant struggle, to forethought, and to the vigorous employment of all his faculties. A more economical Nature yields nothing, except to the sweat of his brow: every gift on her part is a recompense for effort on his.