|- |- - is sys ºw º |- |- - --- º - - - - T - L - --~~ - - º º - - - - - - ------－- → + The Great 3rchitect BENE DICITE ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POWER, WISDOM, AND GOODNESS OF GOD, AS MANIFESTED IN HIS WORKS BY G. CHAPLIN CHILD, M.D. TWO WOLUMES IN ONE NEW YORK AND LONDON G. P. PU T N A M 'S SONS &bt finitkerbother grºss [Reprinted from the London edition of John Murray, issued December, 1866.] Press of G. P. PUTNAM's SoNs New York “Every advance in our knowledge of the natural world will, if rightly directed by the spirit of true humility, and with a prayer for God's blessing, advance us in our knowl- edge of Himself, and will prepare us to receive His revela- tions of His Will with profounder reverence.”—Sir ROBERT H. INGLIS, British Association, 1847. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. EY HENRY G. WESTON, D. D. —e— HE work here offered to the American public, it is confidently believed, will be found worthy of a wide circulation. The author is an intel- ligent physician, at home in the various departments of natural science, who has in the treatment of his theme most happily avoided on the one hand the habit of many scientists of depreciating Revelation, and on the other the forced and strained arguments employed by some true but injudicious friends of Religion. Written in an easy and flowing style, abounding in illustrations and incidents, unincumbered by abstruse and scientific terms, the book cannot fail to interest as well as instruct. Science and Religion, Knowledge and Piety, walk together in these pages in unalloyed friendship; while the charm thrown around the train of thought continues unbroken to the close. An occasional allusion to England and to the Estab- lished Church of that country will be noticed by the careful reader. This edition being an exact and literal reprint, these allusions are of course left untouched ; they are but few in number, do not at all affect the ar- gument, and are never offensively obtruded. A warm 2 Introductory Mote. heart as well as a clear head is demanded for the pro- duction of a work like this, and such a heart must have a country and a church to love. Americans can under- stand and appreciate the feelings which find such almost involuntary utterance, and can respect in others what they cherish in themselves, – that patriotism which does not depreciate other lands while it regards with fondest affec- tion its own God-given home. NEw York, March, 1867. CONTENTS. -º- PAGE. INTRODUCTION. Babylon. Nebuchadnezzar and the Burning Fiery Furnace. The Song of the Three Children - 7 THE HEAVENS - - - - - - - - - 2O THE SUN AND THE Moon. THE PLANETs . - - . 27 THE STARS OF HEAVEN - - - - - - - 5.I WINTER AND SUMMER . - - - - - - • 72 NIGHTS AND DAYS - - - - - - - - 85 LIGHT AND DARKNESS - - - - - - -- , 88 WATERS ABOVE THE FIRMAMENT , - - - - - IOO LIGHTNING AND CLOUDs . . . . . . . . 106 Showers ANd Dew . - e - • - w III WELLS - - - - - - - - e - • I22 SEAS AND FLOODs . - - - - - e - - I34 THE WINDs of GoD. - . . . . . . 158 FIRE AND HEAT . - - - - e • - - 171 FROST AND Cold. — ICE AND SNow . - e. - . 182 POWERS OF THE LORD . - - - - - - - 198 MoUNTAINS AND HILLS . - - • e e - • 220 THE EARTH . - • • - - e - - - 230 GREEN THINGS UPON THE EARTH . - - - - • 25 I BEASTS AND CATTLE . - - - - e - - 286 FOWLS OF THE AIR . - - - - - - - . 3OO WHALES, AND ALL THAT Move IN THE WATERs . - 338 CoNCLUDING REFLECTIONS - - - - - . . 362 GOD MAGNIFIED IN HIS WORKS, GOZ) MAGAVI FIED WAV HIS WORKS. Babylon — the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldees' ex- cellency! — ISAIAH xiii. 19. Her cities are a desolation, a dry land, and a ‘wilderness, a land wherein no man dwelleth. — JERFMIAH li. 43. N an outlying province of the Turkish empire, where sultan and firman are often superseded by - the lawless will of sheik or pacha, two famous rivers — the Tigris and Euphrates — gradually converge, and, after mingling their waters together, glide gently on- ward to the Persian Gulf. In the fork thus formed be- tween them stretches a vast plain, made known to us in early Scripture History as Shinar, Chaldaea, and Babylon, as well as by other less familiar names, but to which the term Mesopotamia has been more usually applied, as it aptly designates a district “ lying between rivers.” The general aspect of this plain is one of desolation. Fertile strips here and there border the Euphrates' banks, and willows are still seen flourishing where the sorrowing Israelites once hung up their harps; but away from those green fringes the eye wanders over wild, dreary wastes. from which the last traces of cultivation are slowly dying out. Vast tracts lie soaked in permanent swamps, while much of the remaining land is, at one period of the year, flooded by the unheeded inundations of the neighboring rivers, and, at another, baked into an arid desert by the burning rays of the sun. It need scarcely be said that population has almost disappeared from those melancholy plains; for the wandering Arab is little tempted to pitch Vº | 8 God magnified in his Works. his tent or to pasture his flocks on so sterile a soil. The doom that was so clearly foretold by the prophets has fallen upon it, and Babylon now “lies desolate in the sight of all that pass by.” It has become the “habitation of the beasts of the desert.” As the traveler plods onward over its unfrequented tracts, the startled wild-fowl rises with quick Splash from the reedy pool, or a few scared gazelles may perhaps be descried bounding over the dis- tant plain. The “owl" and the “bittern,” the jackal and the hyena add their testimony to the exactness with which the words of Scripture have been fulfilled. More rarely a solitary lion may be seen skulking among the strange, mysterious mounds and “heaps” of stones that loom here and there above the plain. Mournful and dreary though this land now be, it is and ever will remain one of the most interesting spots on earth. It was not always “desolate.” No other place, perhaps, claims with a better title to be regarded as the scene where our first parents walked together in paradise. Such, at least, has been the common tradition ; and in a well-known edition of the Bible, published in 1599, may be found a map of the Garden of Eden, of which the site of Babylon forms the centre. But, be that as it may, there can be no doubt of its former greatness and fertility, for the record is plainly written all over the soil. Everywhere it is furrowed by ruined canals, of which some tell us of departed commerce and wealth, others of skillful irrigation . and abundant crops. Heaps of rubbish are to be met with in which lie hidden fragments of pottery which bear witness to the former presence of a highly cultivated peo- ple ; and uncouth mounds rise strangely above the plain, in which the last relics of palaces and cities are buried to- gether. For centuries History appeared to have lost her hold upon those great places of the past, and it is only within the last few years that some of them have been rescued from the oblivion that was slowly creeping ovel God magnified in his Works. 9 them. Questioned by the light of modern knowledge those mysterious stones of the plains open up to us the first page in the history of nations — transport us back almost to the dawn where antiquity begins, and bring within our sight those to whom the deluge was a recent event. They impart a substance to scenes we have often tried in vain to realize. In imagination we see Nimrod the Mighty Hunter, busy with the foundations of the city of Babel on the neighboring Euphrates' bank, and piling up the “tower that was to reach to heaven.” Then it was that the patriarchal dignity of early Bible records expanded into royalty, and Babylon became the starting point in the long pedigree of kingdoms. Babylon touched the zenith of its grandeur two thou- band four hundred and fifty years ago, when Nebuchad- i.ezzar sat upon the throne. He was the great warrior of that age. After overrunning Egypt he had returned to his capital laden with its spoil; he had chastised his rebel- lious subjects and treacherous allies, and he had utterly crushed the power of the Kings of Judah. The wicked and faithless Jehoiakim, blind to the warnings he received, had brought a terrible doom upon his country; for Nebu- chadnezzar, not content with plundering the treasures of the temple at Jerusalem, carried the king himself a pris- oner to Babylon. Among the captives on this occasion were included Daniel the Prophet and his three friends, – Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, who in the land of their exile received the Chaldean names of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Nebuchadnezzar was no less great in the arts of peace than in those of war. He, therefore, encouraged learned men to make his capital their resort, and he also promoted the national prosperity by favoring agriculture and com- merce. He dug canals in all directions to fertilize the land by irrigation. His merchants traded along the rich shores of the Mediterranean, and penetrated even to re- IO God magnifted in his Works. mote China. He provided for the security of Babylon by building or strengthening its walls, and he made it beauti- ful by adorning it with palaces. Its “hanging-gardens.” were acknowledged throughout ancient times to be one of the wonders of the world, and their fame has endured up to this very hour. At the court of such a monarch, Daniel's learning was sure to procure for him distinction, and he soon became a member of the college of Magi or wise men. His subse- quent success in interpreting Nebuchadnezzar's dream, after all others had failed, raised him to the first rank in the tyrant's favor, and we are told that “he sat in the gate of the king.” Nor in his prosperity did he forget his three Jewish friends, – Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed- nego, - who through his influence were promoted to be Governors in the province of Babylon. The history of Nebuchadnezzar and the burning, fiery furnace—so illustrative on the one hand of perfect trust in God, and, on the other, of God's power to deliver his servants from the assaults of their enemies—is endeared to all. as one of the interesting Scripture narratives by which those who watched over us in the days of childhood endeavored to attract us onward to the knowledge of our Bible. In the book of Daniel it is related how Nebu- chadnezzar, after having been brought by the miraculous interpretation of his dream to acknowledge the “God of Gods and Lord of Kings,” subsequently relapsed into idol- atry through the corrupting influence of worldly prosperity. In the full swell of his pride he set up a golden image, and commanded that all his subjects should fall down and worship it. The Babylonian nobles were jealous of the favor shown to the three captives; and they, therefore, en- couraged this wicked fancy of the king, because it seemed to open out the means of effecting their ruin. They rightly calculated that the Hebrew Governors would never forsake the God of their Fathers, nor worship the image God magnified in his Works. U 1. which the king had set up. And we know that when the hour of trial did come, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed- nego remained true to their faith; and were forthwith bound and cast into the burning, fiery furnace, as a pun- ishment for their disobedience to the tyrant's will. From the torments and dangers of this ordeal the Three Hebrews were miraculously preserved. Daniel tells us that Nebuchadnezzar himself saw them “loose and walk- ing in the midst of the fire.” “Not a hair of their heads was singed, neither were their coats changed, nor had the smell of fire passed on them.” Elsewhere, in the Song of the Three Children, we are told that “they walked in the midst of the fire, praising God, and blessing the Lord.” After so signal a deliverance, it is easy to con- ceive the fervor with which their Hymn of gratitude was poured forth. The deepest consciousness of the merciful Power of God welled up in their hearts and burst from their lips, and the whole universe was ransacked for illus- trations to typify and express it. In whatever direction they turned, they beheld Nature crowded with emblems of His Greatness and Mercy, and they eagerly seized upon them as aids to bring their thoughts up to the fervor of their adoration. Shall not we also do wisely to profit by their example Our daily obligations to God may not be so miraculous, in the ordinary meaning of the term, but they are, nevertheless, great and countless beyond our power to conceive. Let us then, in humble consciousness of the poverty and imperfection of our thanksgivings, gladly make this suggestive hymn our own; and let us on this, as on all occasions, accept with joy every aid that helps us to “bless, praise, and magnify the Lord.” I 2 God magnified in his Works. Benedicite, omnia opera. O ALL ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Angels of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Heavens, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and mag- nify him for ever. O ye Waters that be above the Firmament, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O all ye Powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Sun and Moon, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Stars of Heaven, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Showers and Dew, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Winds of God, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Fire and Heat, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Winter and Summer, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Dews and Frosts, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Frost and Cold, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Ice and Snow, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Nights and Days, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Light and Darkness, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Lightnings and Clouds, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. God magnified in his Works. I 3 O let the Earth bless the Lord : yea, let it praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Mountains and Hills, bless ye the Lord : praise him and magnify him for ever. O all ye Green Things upon the Earth, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Wells, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and mag- nify him for ever. O ye Seas and Floods, bless ye the Lord : praise him. and magnify him for ever. O ye Whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O all ye Fowls of the Air, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O all ye Beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Children of Men, bles ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O let Israel bless the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. - O ye Priests of the Lord, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Servants of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye Spirits and Souls of the Righteous, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O ye holy and humble Men of heart, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever. O Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be : world without end. Amen. The “Benedicite ” forms a part of The Song of The I4 God magnifted in his Works. Three Children, with whom tradition has identified Sha drach, Meshach, and Abednego. But, whether tradition be right or wrong in this instance, the Canticle has an intrinsic interest of its own, both because it has been in- corporated with the Service of the Episcopal Church, and because it is one of the most suggestive and soul-stirring hymns in existence. In accordance with an injunction in King Edward the Sixth's First Book, it is customary to sing the “Benedicite” during Lent, and in some churches, we regret to think, it is never heard at any other time, while in a few it seems to be banished from the Service altogether. It is also true that Books of Common Prayer have been published in which this hymn finds no place. It is impossible, indeed, not to perceive that there is a “shyness” or even a repugnance with some in regard to it, which causes it to be sung at the times prescribed rather in obedience to custom or ecclesiastical authority, than from any feeling of its fitness for devotional use. And yet, as it cannot be denied that many find in it a valued help to adoration, the conviction rises strongly in the mind that it is equally fitted to become an aid to all. Whence comes, let us ask, this difference in the effect produced by the same thing—whence this absence of appreciation which spoils and renders distasteful to some a hymn from which others derive such heart-felt benefit? May not the cause lie either in a too literal acceptance of the words themselves, or in the want of those few grains of knowledge which alone were needed to bring home to us the force of the hymn as an exposition of the Power and Mercy of God. When sculptors and painters repre- sent animals bellowing forth their praise from gaping mouths, they embody the literal meaning of the words, and give currency to that erroneous conception of their import which, with more or less distinctness, has found an entrance into the minds of many. It seems almost need- less to remark that such a gross realization of the hymn God magnifted in his Works. I 5 misses its purpose altogether. The “beasts that perish" have no knowledge of their Creator, and are not suscep- tible of those emotions which constitute adoration ; while man is even less nobly distinguished from them by his form than he is by his moral nature, and his privilege of enjoying the perception of God and singing His praise. A literal interpretation given to the “Benedicite ” clothes it with inconsistency, suggests an AEsopian fable rather than a Christian hymn, and tends to check rather than promote devotion. Every shade of such a meaning must be banished from the mind, and exchanged for another more true and elevating. It is only by the thoughts sug- gested by the wonderful perfections of animals that they can serve as aids to adoration ; and it is in the same sense only that dead things— such as stars, the sea, or the wind — can be properly associated with living things as pro- moting with equal fitness the same end. If this interpre- tation be not admitted the words degenerate into extrava- gance, and are stripped of all their beautiful significance in the minds of thoughtful men. Invested with the same indirect meaning, the names of Ananias, Azarias, and Misael are most fitly introduced among the invocations of the hymn. They have, it is true, long passed from the scene of their trials; but, though no voice of praise may rise from the grave, their memories remain to us as sym- bols of God's mercy and power. In thinking of them we recall the example of men who trusted in the Lord and were not forsaken — who were ready to brave the most cruel death rather than deny their faith—and whom no tyrant could either terrify or hurt, because they were up- held by God's protection. Is there no aid to devotion in such examples, or in the thoughts that rise up in asso- ciation with such names On the contrary, no invoca- tion in the hymn is more profitable or suggestive. Thus, by their trusting faith when living, they continue, even though dead, to praise and magnify “the power of the I,ord for ever.” 16 God magnified in his Works. Though all are ready with the general admission that every thing in Nature exhibits the Power and Goodness of God, it will not be denied that a little knowledge of the way in which these are displayed would give additional distinctness to the feeling. Such knowledge, indeed, will often serve to change what is merely a tame and pas- sive acquiescence into a fervent sentiment of adoration founded on conviction and experience. Now, if there be any truth in this remark, it is surely well worth while to turn our attention to such subjects. Physical Science and Natural History liberally reward their votaries, for every onward step is fraught with pleasure, and brings an im- mediate reward in the interest with which it invests the common things around us. Many of their most elevating secrets are to be learnt without that preliminary drudgery which besets the portals of some other sciences: and an amount of knowledge, so moderate as to be within the reach of every body, is all that is required to open out to us a clear view of those proofs of Power and Goodness which cluster round the verses of the “Benedicite.” It need scarcely be remarked, however, that knowledge of this kind is not to be acquired in church, but by pre- vious preparation at home and in our walks. The offer- ing up of praise within the sanctuary exacts our whole mind and our whole heart, and our thoughts at such mo- ments must not be encouraged to wander away in search of illustrations of the truths we are uttering. Experience will soon bring to us the welcome proof that the thought- ful consideration of God’s works which is based upon a knowledge of their nature and of the Power and Good- ness they display, creates a condition of mind so impressi- ble that every solemn allusion to them instantly and with- out conscious effort raises feelings of adoration in unison with the subject. The details of the wonderful perfec- tions by which these feelings were originally developed may be absent, or even forgotten, but the deep devotional - God magnified in his Works. 17 impress with which they once imbued the understanding never fades away. They who have acquired this sensibil- ity to those hymns of praise which are ever ascending from all God's works around, have found an aid to adora- tion, the value of which is known and thankfully acknowl- edged by themselves, but which must sometimes appear like extravagance or affectation to others who have never taken any pains to cherish it. It is only by such means that our sentiments can be brought into full harmony with the spirit of the hymn. But when the words of the “Benedicite ” fall upon ears thus prepared by the under- standing and the heart, they speak the clearest language, and stand forth as the emblems of Power, Wisdom, and Goodness. All Thy works praise Thee, O Lord. — Ps. cxlv. Of the fitness of the natural objects around us to awaken feelings of devotion there can be no doubt. All things are wonderfully made and wonderfully adjusted to each other; and we alone, among created beings, have been endowed with faculties enabling us to recognize the perfections they exhibit, on purpose that we might praise God by the feelings they rouse within us. The Psalms of David are filled with beautiful illustrations to show how natural objects serve as aids to adoration, and it may be safely asserted that a Book of Praise was never yet writ- ten in which they were not thus used. If there be any skeptic who believes not in this power, let him make trial. Experience will soon convert him, and draw an answer of thankful consciousness from his own heart. The object of this book is to offer a series of illustra tions of the Beneficence and Greatness of God, as they are suggested to our minds by the words of the “Benedi- cite.” A few of the verses, it will be noticed, are omitted, not because they are inapplicable to devotion, but be. cause they do not come within range of that kind of illus 2 18 God magnified in his Works. ſ tration to which I have thought it proper to confine my: self. But, within this limitation, enough and more than enough remains for the work on hand. It may, indeed, he truly said that he who undertakes to select from the many fields of Nature the most striking examples of God's Providence will find his chief difficulty to arise from the “embarrassment of riches.” He is like a man wander- ing in a gallery where all is truth and perfection, and who has rashly engaged to single out that only which is pre eminently the best. A feeling of this kind weighs on me now, for, while illustrations abound on every side, I fear lest I should select some examples where others ought to have been preferred, – not because they were more won derful or more perfect, but because they were bette adapted for the purpose here intended. Let me hasten to disclaim all pretension to instruct the learned or the sci- entific. It becomes me here rather to acknowledge with gratitude my own obligations to them. It would, indeed, be difficult to treat satisfactorily of the various matters contained in this book without seeking to profit by the labors of the Herschels, Whewell, Maury, Guillemin, Lardner, Owen, Darwin, and many others whose names are well known as the authors of standard works. I know beforehand that the subject, for its own sake, will be re- ceived with sympathy by those whose delight it is ever to be on the outlook for the suggestion of trains of thought which lead them to magnify God in His Works; but it would be even more gratifying to me if I should succeed: in awakening an interest in the “Benedicite ” in some who, perhaps, may not have hitherto considered the ob- jects therein invoked under the aspect here given to them. Soon will they make the precious discovery that they cannot add a line to their knowledge of the natural objects around them without at the same time adding to the distinctness of the feeling with which they join in the words of the hymn. God magnified in his Works. IQ While endeavoring to illustrate the effect of a little knowledge in developing that sensitiveness to the divine Power and Mercy which, while it softens the heart, beck- ons us onward to that worship which springs from the contemplation of natural objects, I wish carefully to guard against every appearance of desiring to elevate this means above its proper place. We are here dealing with the things that belong to the kingdom of nature, and not with those pertaining to the kingdom of grace ; and, if need be, it must often be recalled that how praiseworthy soever this meditative worship may be, it can never supersede, and must always be subordinate to, those higher motives for worship which are unfolded in the doctrines of Chris- tianity. The one is essential and must be done ; while all that can be said of the other is that it is both fitting and profitable, and ought not to be left undone. God has graciously endowed us with faculties to comprehend His Works, and with every new appreciation of His design we seem to be taken more and more into His confidence. Shall we then neglect or throw away this inestimable privi- lege, or can we ever hope to employ our talents in a no- bler or more elevating purpose? Experience will prove that God blesses our efforts to trace out the perfection of His Works with an immediate reward, for the pursuit is replete with rational pleasure no less than with moral im- provement. O praise the Lord with me, let us magnify His name together. - Ps. xxxiv. THE HEAVEAVS. O ye Heavens, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magniff Him for ever. MONG all the sights the eye can look upon noth- ing is comparable to the Heavens for the senti- ment with which they charm the mind. The lan- guage they speak comes to us from remote, mysterious worlds; but, though it may be imperfectly understood, it is at least universally felt. The great and the little — the civilized man and the Savage, the philosopher and the rustic — all feel their influence, and are from time to time irresistibly drawn toward them by mingled emotions of admiration, gratitude, and awe, such as none of the other features of Nature can excite in an equal degree. No wonder, therefore, that the Three Children, intent on call- ing up every image by which God's Goodness to men and their dependence on Him could be depicted, should first of all turn toward the Heavens. Again and again the grand features of the firmament are passed in review, and invoked with fervor. In the eager intensity of their feel- ings order and method are but little regarded, and they pour forth their thoughts in song as these come welling up in their minds. So may it happily sometimes be with ourselves ; and in those moments when we too are drawn with desire to “bless, praise, and magnify the Lord” for the visible works of Creation, we shall surely find that the Heavens suggest to our conception the grandest symbols of His power and goodness. So strongly, however, is the idea of the “incompre- º The A/eavens. 2 I hensible” associated by many with the mysteries of the firmament, that they are habitually prone to regard the teachings of astronomers as little else than scientific guess-work. Nevertheless, the best intellects in all coun: tries assure us, and demonstrate before our eyes, that, within certain limits, Astronomy is the most exact and per- fect of sciences, and that, even when it deals with dis- tances and magnitudes which are practically inconceivable, its conclusions, though often claiming to be approximative only, have yet no affinity whatever with guess-work. Let such skeptics think of the certainty with which sidereal events are predicted beforehand. Let them reflect on the evidence of the most exact knowledge of the heavenly bodies involved in the calculation of eclipses, in fixing the very moment when the moon's dark outline shall begin to creep over the sun's bright disk, or in predicting the in- stant when a planet's light shall be extinguished behind our satellite. How wonderful the tracking of a comet's wanderings — millions of miles beyond the far-off region of Uranus, and foretelling the time of its return after long years of absence I Do not these, and a thousand other equally wonderful feats, attest both the soundness of the principles on which the astronomer works, and the reason- ableness of receiving his assurances with trust, even though it may be .impossible for more than a few gifted minds to follow the calculations on which they are based ? Did any of our readers ever happen to bestow a glance upon the “Nautical Almanac * : It is published by the British Government at a very cheap rate, in order to facil- itate its entrance into the cabin of every sea-going ship. Ostensibly it is a voluminous collection of dry figures and curious signs running on interminably page after page ; but, in reality, it is a yearly record of the soundness of the teachings of Astronomy, and of the blessings they bring to man. Eclipses of the sun and moon, of Jupiter's satel- lites, sidereal positions and distances, and a multitude of 22 Zhe Heavens. other heavenly events and matters of the last importance to navigation, are there foretold with the most rigid exact- ness. Every single figure and every single sign represents an important sidereal fact, and is charged with a message from the skies for our guidance. On the trackless ocean this book is the mariner's trusted friend and counsellor, and daily and nightly its revelations bring safety to ships in all parts of the world. The acquisition of such rare and precious knowledge — this mapping out beforehand, almost to a hair-breadth, the exact order and track in which the heavenly bodies will run their course through space, and the precise relative position they will occupy at any given moment when they can be seen in any part of the world — is a fact which, if applicable to the current year only, might well fill us with astonishment. But it becomes infinitely more marvelous when we reflect that the “Nautical Almanac" is regularly published three or four years in advance, in order that the mariner, during the most distant voyages which commerce can exact, may never be without his faithful monitor. It is truly some- thing more than a mere book—it is an emblem of the Power and Order of the Creator in the government of the Heavens, and a monument of the extent to which His creatures are privileged to unravel the laws of the Uni- verse ! The year 1846 will ever be memorable for having wit- nessed one of the most striking illustrations of the truth of Astronomy. Few can have forgotten the astonishment with which the discovery of the planet Neptune was then received, or the fact that it was due not to a lucky or ac- cidental pointing of the telescope toward a particular quarter of the Heavens, but to positive calculations worked out in the closet; thus proving that, before the planet was seen by the eye, it had been already grasped by the mind. The history of its finding was a triumph of human intel- lect. The distant Uranus — a planet hitherto orderly The A/eavens. 23 and correct — begins to show unusual movements in its orbit. It is, somehow, not exactly in the spot where ac- cording to the best calculations it ought to have been, and the whole astronomical world is thrown into perplexity. Two mathematicians, as yet but little known to fame, liv- ing far apart in different countries and acting independ- ently of each other, concentrate the force of their pene- trating intellects to find out the cause. The most obvious way of accounting for the event was to have inferred that some error in previous computations had occurred ; and, in a matter so difficult, so abstruse, and so far off, what could have been more probable or more pardonable 2 But these astronomers knew that the laws of gravity were fixed and sure, and that figures truly based on them could not deceive. By profound calculations each arrives at the conclusion that nothing can account for the “pertur- 5ation ” except the disturbing influence of some hitherto anknown mass of matter exerting its attraction in a cer- tain quarter of the Heavens. So implicit, so undoubting is the faith of Leverrier in the truth of his deductions, that he requests a brother astronomer in Berlin to look out for this mass at a special point in space on a particu- lar night ; and there, sure enough, the disturber immedi- ately discloses himself, and soon shows his title to be admitted into the steady and orderly rank of his fellow- planets. The coincidence of two astronomers, Leverrier and our countryman Adams,” arriving at this discovery through the agency of figures based on physical observa- tion, precludes every idea of guess-work; while such was the agreement between their final deductions that the point of the Heavens fixed upon by both as the spot where the disturber lay was almost identical. “Such a discovery,” says Arago, “is one of the nost brilliant manifestations of the exactitude of the system of modern astronomers.” * Of Cambridge, England. 24 The Heavens. As the Heavens have irresistibly attracted the atten. tion of mankind in all ages, Astronomy naturally came to be the Father of sciences, and it was from remotest times cultivated with considerable success by the Chaldeans on the plains of Mesopotamia. Doubtless the Three He- brews at Nebuchadnezzar's court were well versed in the science of their day, but, whatever the amount of that knowledge might have been, it must have been extremely imperfect when measured by modern standards. Com- paratively speaking they knew but little of the grandeur of the Heavens; and yet that little amply sufficed to point with its imagery the fervor of their worship. Since then, by God’s blessing, the range of Astronomy has been widened, its views soar higher and probe deeper, its truths are better comprehended, its marvelous adjust- ments have been analyzed and traced more clearly upon the understanding. Shall we, then, with our better knowl- edge, find less aid in it to rouse our adoration than did the Three Children of old, and shall the more perfect view of the Heavens now vouchsafed to us fall cold and resultless upon our hearts 2 If this, indeed, be the case, are we not treating with neglect an aid to adoration which God himself has spread out before our eyes, and are we not in some degree frustrating that purpose of praise and glorification for which both they and we were created 2 Astronomy is without question the grandest of sciences. It deals with masses, distances, and velocities which in their immensity belong specially to itself alone, and of which the mere conception transcends the utmost stretch of our finite faculties. In no other branch of science is the limited grasp of our intellect more forcibly brought home to us. Yet, though baffled in the effort to rise to the level of its requirements, our strivings are by no means profitless. Is it not truly a precious privilege to be able to trace, imperfectly though it may be, the hand of the All-mighty Architect in these his grandest works, The Heavens. 25 And to obtain by this means a broader consciousness of his Omnipotence 2 In raising our wonder and admiration other sciences need the help of details and expositions, but in Astronomy the mere enunciation of a few measure- ments suffices to elevate our ideas of His Power to the highest point to which man's finite faculties can carry them. The expense of suitable instruments, the preliminary study, the persevering patience, and the long night vigils ...hat are necessary will probably always prevent the higher walks of scientific Astronomy from becoming a popular pursuit; nevertheless, we earnestly recommend all who can to seize every opportunity that may fall in their way of having a thoughtful look at the Heavens through a good telescope. Their reward will be immediate. Even were they to take their peep with feelings not more ele- vated than those with which folks at a fair look at a rare show, the glance would bring some profit; but, if they be prepared beforehand with their “few grains of knowl- edge,” how useful and improving the survey becomes. The first look at the Heavens through a good telescope forms an epoch in our life. Our faith in the realities of Astronomy passes with sudden bound from theory into practice; planets and stars become henceforth distinct and solid existences in our minds; our doubts vanish, and our belief settles into conviction. We behold the myste- rious Moon of our childhood mapped into brilliant moun- tain-peaks, and dark precipices, and softly lighted plains; we see Jupiter shining like another fair Luna, with attend- ant satellites moving round him in their well-known paths; or we turn with admiration to Saturn encircled by his famous ring, with outlines as distinct as if that glorious creation lay but a few miles off. Perhaps we may behold the beauteous Venus shining with resplendent circular disk, or curiously passing through her many phases in mimic rivalry of the Moon. Or, leaving these near neigh- 26 The Heavens. bors far behind, we may penetrate more deeply into space, and mark how the brightest flashing stars are re- duced to a small, round, unmagnifiable point. A few evening explorations in propitious weather will suffice to grave all these objects and many other precious recollec. tions in our minds for ever. Then is realized, better than at any previous moment of our existence, the power of the Lord of Creation. While Astronomy, beyond all other sciences, thus lifts up man's conception of God's glory as displayed in His works, it is no less calculated to bring home to him the “littleness” of his own world amid the great creations of the Universe. The stupendous truths at which the finger of Astronomy is ever pointing ought to keep uppermost in his heart the wholesome lesson of humility. Well may the oft-told interjection rise to his lips, Lord, what is man that Thou art mindful of him | Such thoughts, indeed, bring with them both humility and exultation. Man's habitation is in very truth a mere speck in the Universe, dwarfed and thrown into the shade by nearly all the worlds around it, and he himself is a mere atom creeping through his brief existence upon its surface. His high place in Creation is won by the loftiness of his moral nature, and, above all, by the destiny that awaits him. Apart from this revelation, man and his earth are but a grain of dust among the myriads of worlds that people the infinity of space. Therefore shall every good man sing of Thy praise without ceasing — Ps. xxx. SUM AMD MOOM. Oye Sun and Moon, bless ye the Lord ; praise Him, and magniff Him for ever. †: § HERE are not a few in this world who habitually § § receive God’s blessings so much as a matter of KZººl course that they are scarcely conscious of any active feeling of gratitude in regard to them. The very regularity and profusion with which these blessings are showered on all alike seems to have the effect of deaden- ing the sense of individual obligation. A general admis- sion of thankfulness may occasionally be made at church or in the closet, but there is a want of that abiding con- sciousness of it with which we ought to be imbued, as well as of that frequent pondering upon details which, by illustrating the dependence of every creature upon God, causes the heart to swell with grateful adoration. Such thoughts never fail to improve our moral nature by bring- ing the truth home to us more and more that we are in- deed God's children. It would be no easy task for a thankful mind to sum up all the blessings diffused over our planet by the Sun. It is the mainspring of animated Nature. Without its genial rays the present system of the earth's government could not endure, and life itself would soon disappear from the globe. To it we are indebted for light and warmth — the twin stimulants of vital force—for our food and clothing, for our busy days and rest-bringing nights, for months and years, and happy alternations of the seasons. Its rays, in 28 Sun and Moon. short, are intertwined with all our wants and comforts; they gladden the eye and cheer the heart. I will praise the name of God with a song, and magnify it with thanks giving. — Ps. lxix. The Sun is the central pivot of the solar system, and round it the Earth and all the other planets keep whirl- ing in elliptical orbits. Its power and influence — its light, heat, and attraction—reach through a domain in space which it would require a line of more than 6000 millions of miles to span. With the greater part of this wide field astronomers are familiar, and it may be truly said that scarcely a man knows the roads of his own parish with more exactness than they do the highways of the skies. Not only can they map out to a nicety the paths of the planets careering through it like islands floating in a sea of ether, but they can look backward and tell the exact spot where each globe was at any moment of the remote past, or forward, and point to the place where each will be found at any given moment of the remote future. What is the mighty power which thus maintains such order in the Heavens, which steadies the planets in their orbits, and traces out for them a route so wisely planned as to avoid all chances of collision ? Two antagonistic forces—gravitation or attraction, combined with a cen: trifugal impulse — accomplish the wonderful task. To these faithful servants, which know neither fatigue nor slumber, God commits the safety of the Universe. Let us in imagination glance back to that far-off time when “in the beginning the Heavens and the Earth were created.” Matter having been prepared sufficient, it may be, for the vast requirements of the solar system, every particle of it was endowed with the property of mutual attraction, and the force of this attraction was fixed so as to act in a certain proportion to mass and distance. In Sun and Moon. 29 other words, the law then impressed on matter was, that attraction should increase according to mass, and diminish according to the square of the distance. The matter of the solar system may have been created in separate por- tions, or it may have been divided into separate portions corresponding to the size of the different planets; after which, the particles of each planet, being as yet mobile, arranged themselves in obedience to their mutual attrac. tion into globes, just as we see the mobile particles of water coalesce into a drop, or as quicksilver runs into globules. The Sun was placed in the centre, and became the pivot of the whole system, tying to itself the different planets by the cord of its superior attraction. In accord- ance with the law just mentioned, this loadstone power of the Sun was the inevitable result of its superior mass. It is obvious that in whatever corner of the Sun's do- main the planets had been placed, the searching power of his attraction would have found them out, and would in- evitably have destroyed them by dragging them in upon himself, had this tendency not been counteracted by some other influence. Another force, therefore, was established —the centrifugal. The Great Architect, “weighing in His hand,” as the Psalmist figuratively, and yet almost literally expresses it, the mass of each orb, projected it on its course through space with exactly that force and at exactly that angle which was needed to counterbalance the attractive power of the Sun; and the obedient globe, thus seized upon by the two balanced forces, was com- pelled to move onward in a path representing the diago- nal between both. And as these forces are permanent, the movements of the Earth and of the other planets must be permanent also ; nor can any thing stop the working of this most perfect machine except the Word which cre- afed it. The voice of the Lord is mighty in operation. — Ps. Xxix. 3O Sun and Moon. How shall we mentally gauge the distance or estimate the size of the master-centre which thus holds all the planets in his grasp? The immensity of both confounds our efforts. When we are told that the Sun is separated from us by a chasm of nearly 92 millions of miles, that its diameter is 850,000 miles, and its circumference about 2,671,000 miles, we can realize nothing beyond a vague idea of vastness, and we are forced to look round for other standards to help our laggard faculties. From the com- paratively small size of his disk when viewed from the Earth, we catch the idea how enormous that distance must be which is able thus to dwarf it down. It is 384 times as far off as the Moon. A cannon-ball fired from the earth and keeping up its velocity, would not reach it in less than 22 years. “A railway train,” Brayley observes, “at the average speed of thirty miles an hour, continuously main- tained, would arrive at the Moon in eleven months, but would not reach the Sun in less than about 352 years; so that if such a train had been started in the year 1512, the third year of the reign of Henry VIII., it would only have reached the sun in 1864.” The Sun's diameter is equally astounding. It exceeds by Io'ſ times the mean diameter of the Earth. It is nearly four times greater than the radius of the Moon's orbit round the Earth ; so that if the Earth were placed in the centre of the Sun, the Moon's orbit, so far from extending to the circumference of the Sun, would scarcely reach to within 187,000 miles of its surface. The locomotive just mentioned, on its arrival at the Sun, “would be rather more than a year and a half in reaching the Sun's centre, three years and a half in passing across the Sun, suppos- ing it were tunneled through, and ten years and one eighth in going round it.” “Now the same train would attain the centre of the Earth in five days and a half, pass through it in eleven days, and go round it in thirty-seven days.” The bulk of the Sun is not less than 600 times as great Sun and Moon. 31 as that of all the planets put together; and it would take 1,405,ooo Earths to make a globe of equal magnitude. Great difference of opinion prevails among astronomers respecting the physical condition of the Sun, and both its surface and encircling atmospheres are full of mysteri- ous grandeur. Still, although not so well known as the planets, many points of interest have been partially made out. Its surface is much more rugged than that of our planet, with heights and clefts somewhat on the scale of its vast magnitude. A mountain in the Sun, however, in order to bear the same proportion to it as our highest Himalayan peaks do to our Earth, would require to attain an altitude of 6oo miles: now none of its mountains have been estimated at more than 200 miles high. The moun- tains on the Earth have been compared to the inequalities upon the rind of an orange, while those of the Sun would in their proportion more resemble the tubercles of a pine- apple. Most astronomers consider the Sun to be an incandes- cent body encircled by two atmospheres. Its temperature probably varies in the different parts of its immensity, but, where most intense, it appears to transcend any thing we can conceive. Like the distances and velocities and nearly all else that relates to the heavenly orbs, the degree of the Sun's heat overtasks our power to imagine, and we should require for its comprehension some new standard of meas- urement. The minimum of solar temperature, indeed, seems to begin far above the point where terrestrial tem- perature leaves off. According to one philosopher the heat is “seven times as great as that of the vivid ignition of the fuel in the strongest blast furnace; ” while another, after a careful series of experiments, estimates it at nearly 13 millions of degrees of Fahrenheit ! To aid us in ap- preciating this temperature, or rather to show us how im- possible it is for us even to conceive it, it may be borne in mind that cast-iron requires for fusion a heat which 32 Sun and Moon. amounts only to 2786 degrees, and that the oxy-hydrogen flame — one of the hottest known — does not much ex- ceed 14oooº Fahrenheit, which is scarcely one thousandth part of the temperature here ascribed to the Sun. Of the two atmospheres encircling the Sun, that which is nearest its surface is considered to be nonluminous, while the other floats upon it and forms the “photo- sphere’’ which we see in looking at the Sun's bright disk. From this photosphere, as well as, probably, from the sur- face of the Sun itself, are radiated the heat and light which are to vivify the planets of the solar system. Flame-like masses—some computed to be 150,000 miles in length— are piled upon or overlap each other, and sweep onward in constant agitation, like mountain-billows of living fire. Although the light afforded by this furnace pales that of every other luminary, its amount has been approximately ascertained, for the purpose, as we shall soon see, of serv- ing as a standard to astronomers when estimating the dis- tances of the stars by means of the light they evolve. Thus Wollaston calculated that 20 millions of stars as bright as Sirius, or rather more than 8oo,ooo full moons, would be required in order to shed upon the Earth an illu- mination equal to that of the Sun. Another estimate makes sunlight equal to 5570 wax candles held at a dis- tance of only one foot from an object. Let us now turn our back upon the Sun, which for the sake of comparison may be represented by a globe two feet in diameter, and let us in imagination wing our way across the space filled by the solar system. A short flight of 37 millions of miles brings us to a world which, com- pared with the two-feet globe, is no bigger than a grain of . mustard-seed, while it is so bathed in the Sun's dazzling rays that it is not easily distinguished when viewed from our Farth. This fussy little planet whirls round the Sun at the tremendous pace of a hundred thousand miles an hour, by which he proves his title to be called Mercury, Sun and Moon. 33 the “swift-footed ” of mythology. The Sun being so near attracts it with prodigious force, and to counteract this de- structive tendency a corresponding centrifugal impulse was absolutely needed. From the strength of these two an- tagonistic forces its great velocity naturally results. The adjustment is perfect. At a distance of 68 millions of miles from the Sun we behold Venus, the brightest and most dazzling of the heavenly hosts. In comparative size, she may be represented by a pea. She is our near- est neighbor among the planets, and the conditions under which she exists recall many of those amid which we our- selves live. About 92 millions of miles from the Sun we come upon another “pea,” a trifle larger than the one representing Venus, and in it we hail our old familiar mother Earth. Here we shall not now linger, but passing onward some 50 millions of miles we are attracted by the well-known ruddy glow of Mars, – an appearance which may depend either on the refraction of light in its atmosphere, resem- bling what we ourselves often see at sunset, or on the pre- vailing color of its soil, which may be as highly tinted as our “old red sandstone.” The comparative size is that of a pin's head. Mars is a planet that has lived down a very bad character. For ages every star-poet, astrologer, and almanac-maker had an ill word to say about him, and all sorts of evil things, including “manslaughter, byrnings of houses, and warres,” were ascribed to his cross nature. But truth has at length prevailed, and he is now established as an orderly member of the solar company. His mean orbital speed is 54,000 miles an hour— nearly our own pace — but, as he takes twice as much time to run round the Sun as we do, his year is consequently twice as long. Casting a glance behind we are reminded of the distance that now separates us from the Sun by the perceptible waning of his light. We next spread our wings for a very long flight. In 3 34 Sun and Moon. passing through the “asteroid '' zone of solar space, about 260 millions of miles from the Sun, we may chance to fall in with some worlds so small that a locomotive could travel round them in a few hours. We know not very much about them except that their ways are eccentric and mysterious. They want the smooth round outline of the old planets. Their rugged and fragmentary aspect sug- gests that they may be the mere ruins of some mighty parent-planet, shattered into pieces by the Word of the Architect, and skillfully stowed away in space, so as to harmonize with the nice balancings of the solar system. At length the shores of huge Jupiter are reached at a distance of nearly 500 millions of miles from the Sun. To carry on the comparison, he is a “small orange" to the “pea” of our Earth, or to the two-feet globe that rep- resents the Sun. His orbit is a path 3000 millions of miles long, which he accomplishes in an “annual” period of nearly 12 of our years. The Sun's light has now shrunk considerably, but four brilliant moons or satellites, one or more of which are always “full,” help to afford some compensation. These moons, distant though they be from our Earth, are not without their use to man, and there is hardly a well-informed mariner that leaves our shores who cannot occasionally turn them to account in settling his position at sea. The principle is extremely simple. The exact moment when one of these moons is eclipsed behind Jupiter's disk has to be noted, by chro- nometer rated to Greenwich time, and by a reference to the “Nautical Almanac" it may be compared with the hour at which the same event is timed for Greenwich. The difference in time will give the longitude, 4 minutes being allowed for each degree. If the eclipse be in advance of Greenwich time, the ship is to the east of that place ; and to the west of it in the contrary case. Thus the good Lord has combined the lighting up of this far-off planet with a blessing to the inhabitants of our Earth. Sun and Moon. 35 Before we arrive at Saturn, in our “outward-bound" course, we have to pass through a space nearly equal to the distance of Jupiter from the Sun. We are now more than 90o millions of miles distant from the central pivot. Saturn's comparative size may be represented by an orange considerably smaller than the last. His year swal- lows up almost thirty of our own. The Sun, though hardly giving one ninetieth part of the light which we re- ceive, is still equal to 3oo full moons, and is at least suf- ficient for vision, and all the necessary purposes of life. No fewer than eight satellites supplement thew aning sun- light, besides a mysterious luminous “ring ” of vast pro- portions. Twice as far away from the Sun as Saturn, Uranus, rep- resented by a cherry, plods his weary way. Although he has a real diameter of 35,000 miles, he is rarely to be seen from the Earth by the naked eye. His annual journey round the Sun is Io, ooo millions of miles, and he con- sumes what we should consider a lifetime—84 years— in getting over it. His nights are lighted up by at least four moons that are known, but several others probably exist. The illumination received from the Sun even here is equal to several hundred moons. Our little Earth has now faded out of sight. Only a few years ago Uranus was the last planetary station of our system, but the discovery of Neptune in 1846 gave us another resting-place on the long journey into space. Here, at a distance of 2862 millions of miles from the Sun, we may pause awhile before entering upon the more remote exploration of the starry universe. We are approaching the frontier regions of our system, and the Sun's light and the power of his attraction are grad- ually passing away. Between the shores of our sun-sys- tem and the shores of the nearest star-system lies a vast, mysterious chasm, in the adjacent recesses of which may still lurk some undiscovered planets, but into which, so 36 Sun and Moon. far as we yet know, the wandering comets alone plunge deeply. We stand on the frontier of the Sun's domain, and we are in imagination looking across one of those broad gulfs which, like impassable ramparts, fence off the different systems of the Universe from each other. It seemed needful that the Great Architect should interpose some such barrier between the contending attractions of the giant masses of matter scattered through space – that there should be a sea of limitation in which forces whose action might disturb each other should die out and be extinguished. In it the light-flood of our glorious Sun gets weaker and weaker, and its bright disk wastes away by distance until it shines no bigger than a twinkling star. And the strong chain of its attraction, which held with firm grasp the planets in their orbits, after dwindling by fixed degrees into a force that would not break a gossa. mer, is finally dissipated and lost. It has been already stated that the Earth and its fel- low-planets are kept steady in their orbits by the exact adjustment of centrifugal and centripetal forces. They are in the position of the stone whirled round in a sling. If let go from the centre, they would fly off into space; if surrendered to the sole influence of the Sun's attraction, they would inevitably be dragged into the vortex of its flames. As a curiosity in Astronomy, calculations have been made to show the time which each planet would re- quire for its fall into the Sun. Thus it appears that while Mercury, the nearest, would require a fortnight, Uranus, at a distance of 1820 millions of miles, would be nearly 15 years in falling ; while our Earth would take 643 days before it crashed into the Sun. Such calculations, however, have not always had a merely speculative interest. There was a time, not so very remote, when the possibility, or rather the certainty, of our Earth dashing headlong into the Sun seemed to be only too well established. Weak minds were terrified, Sun and Moon. 37 and even the soundest astronomers were perplexed at the alarming import of their own deductions. A hundred years have scarcely elapsed since the astronomer Halley startled the world by announcing the existence of a flaw in the construction of the solar system, by which the cer- tain though distant ruin of our Earth was involved. He was led to this supposed discovery by a comparison of the eclipses of his own time with those recorded by Ptol- emy in the second, and by Albutegnius in the ninth cen- tury. From this comparison it appeared to be established that the mean velocity of the Earth in her orbit was in- creasing. The philosophers of that day were puzzled, nor was the cause of this circumstance explained until Laplace demonstrated that it was due to a diminution in the eccentricity of the Earth's orbit round the Sun, pro- duced by certain perturbing influences in the planets. This orbit, as our readers know, is elliptical, and, as it was proved that this ellipsis tended to change into a “round * or circle, at the rate of about 41 miles annually, it followed that a perfectly circular orbit would be estab- lished in the course of 37,527 years. But the conclusion to which this discovery led was frightful. The sure effect would be to draw the Earth nearer and nearer to the Sun, until at length the centripe- tal would so overbalance the centrifugal force, that our globe would fall helplessly into it. It is true, the lease of existence thus given to the Earth, even on the most un- favorable estimate, was a long one ; but its direful end- ing appalled contemplation, and concentrated upon the question the whole intellectual strength of astronomers. Never was the surpassing construction of the solar sys- tem made more strikingly manifest than when Laplace demonstrated that this “weak point” had not been overlooked by the Great Architect. In a way which cannot be here explained, but which has received the assent of all succeeding astronomers, he showed that the 38 - Sun and Moon. alteration in its orbit which the Earth is now undergoing can only continue up to a certain point, and that, when this point is reached, other planetary influences will come into play, which, by gradually undoing the work that has been done, will ultimately bring back the Earth once more into her old ellipsoid orbit. And when the limit is again reached in the latter direction, the “influences” will again change, and a new progress toward circularity will re- commence. Thus, so far from leading to the destruction of our Earth, this regular oscillation specially provides for its unlimited endurance; nor can any thing stop the per- fect machinery of our solar system, except the Word of the Almighty Artificer who created it. He hath made the round world so sure that it cannot be moved. —Ps. xciii. In gazing at our fellow-planets, as on a clear night they stand out with preeminent brightness among the twink- ling stars, who has not longed to penetrate the mystery of their being, and to know whether they, like our own Earth, are worlds full of life and movement The vast distance that intervenes between us forbids us to expect a direct solution of the question, for no instruments we can make, or even hope to make, will bring their possible in- habitants within the range of vision. We are reduced, therefore, to survey them with the sifting force of intel- lect, and to rest contented with such circumstantial proof as is derived from a knowledge of their general structure, and the analogies subsisting between them and our Earth. Among our nearest neighbors, Venus is nearly the size of our Earth ; and Mercury and Mars, though considera- bly smaller, would still form worlds which, to our ideas, would not in their magnitude be so very different from our own. All the planets revolve in elliptical orbits round the Sun, and the time consumed in this journey constitutes their year. Their polar axis is not “straight up and down,” but leans over or is “inclined ” to the Sun and Moon. 39 plane of their orbit, so that each pole is turned toward the Sun at one period of the year, and away from it at an other. This arrangement insures the regular alternation of seasons and a variety of climates on their surface. The orbital inclination of Mars, for example, is much the same as that of the Earth, and therefore the relative proportion of his seasons must have a close resemblance to our own. It might be expected under these circumstances that ice would accumulate toward the poles in winter time, as on the Earth, and accordingly glacial accumulations have not only been observed by astronomers, but it has been re- marked that they occasionally diminish by melting dur- ing the heats of summer, while they increase in winter. Again, the planets, like the Earth, turn round on their axes with perfect regularity, and those just mentioned do so in very similar periods of time. Hence all have their days and nights. These divisions represent in our minds intervals mercifully set apart by Providence for the wel- fare of living creatures — times designedly arranged to regulate alternate labor and rest in beings whose require- ments in this respect would seem to be analogous to our own. Diurnal rotation, moreover, insures to each planet a determinate amount of light and heat from the Sun, which is necessary to the well-being both of animals and plants; and it is measured out to them with a regularity equal to that with which we ourselves receive it. One can see no other purpose that could be served by diurnal rotation except the distribution of light and heat; and, if the axes of the planets had been “inclined ” very differ- ently to what is actually the case, this purpose would not have been so efficiently accomplished. The amount of light and heat received by the more distant planets must be necessarily small in comparison with our own supply; thus at Neptune it is a thousand times less than at our Earth. Still it is easy to conceive that by a correspond- ing increase in the sensibility of the retina nearly every 4O Sun and Moon. purpose of vision may be adequately fulfilled. Even on our own Earth there are animals which see with an amount of light which to us is little else than darkness. The next point of analogy is that most of the planets, if not all, are surrounded with atmospheres which distrib- ute and refract the light, while they retain and intensify the heat, just as on our Earth. In some of them, indeed, as in Venus, the soft twilight is as visible to astronomers, as our own twilight is to ourselves. Earth has its atmos- phere often charged with clouds, Jupiter is belted round with them ; from which may be inferred the existence of an atmosphere and of water. An atmosphere must neces- sarily give rise to currents of wind. From the vast size of Jupiter, and the velocity with which his surface moves round at the equator, there must likewise be trade-winds of much greater force than our own. One effect of those stormy trades would be to give a streaky character to the clouds encircling tropical districts — a theory with which the appearance of Jupiter's famous belts exactly corre- sponds. The main divisions of the surface into land and water can be distinguished and mapped out in Mars, while chains of mountains are to be descried in Mercury and Venus. Analogy carries the argument still further. Planets, like our Earth, have their moons, whose number and size are in some degree proportionate to the distance of the planet from the Sun, or, in other words, to the urgency with which supplemental “lamps" are needed. Mercury and Venus, lying near the Sun, bask in his light, and have no proper satellites, although they must act as moons to each other. Our Earth has one. Mars, though lying more remote from the Sun than we are, has none. Jupi- ter, five times more distant from the Sun than our Earth, has four satellites disposed with such careful design that some of them are always shining. Farther off, in the darker regions of the solar system, Saturn's night is Sun and Moon. 41 broken by the light of eight satellites, some of which are always full, as well as by his wonderful luminous “ring”; while Uranus has not fewer than four moons, and proba- bly may have more over which distance has hitherto cast obscurity. As regards Neptune, his enormous distance must continue to make the number of his satellites a question of extreme difficulty. One, however, has already been discovered, and improved telescopes will probably reveal more. As corroborative evidence I need do no more in this place than merely allude to the recent results of spectrum analysis, or the chemical examination of the light itself which they transmit; from which it appears that not only the Sun and planets, but even the stars, act- ually contain substances with which we are familiar here on Earth. That those planetary globes, with their continents and oceans so analogous to our own in the plan of their physi- cal conditions and so vastly surpassing them in extent of surface, should be void and barren and destitute of life in every form, seems scarcely consistent with our knowledge of the ways of the Creator. All over our globe, except, perhaps, among the polar snows or in the desert, we see life abounding. Space is everywhere economized by Na- ture, and thriftily allotted out to living creatures. To pro- mote the spread of life the most dissimilar spots have in- habitants expressly constructed for them, so that every place may become a home in which something living may exist. The abundance of Nature — the profusion of life — is proverbial, and forces itself on our notice in every di- rection. Is it likely that those vast orbs—with masses and densities so wonderfully modified and adjusted in ac- cordance with what we perceive to be the requirements of living creatures — with years and months, days and nights, seasons and climates — with atmospheres and twilights, trade-winds and currents — with clouds and rains, con- tinents and seas, mountains and polar snows — with sun, 42 Sun and Moon. moon, and stars, and, in short, with all the elements that make up the conditions of a habitable globe—is it likely that those glorious works of the Creator should have been formed to lie waste, sterile, and unprofitable Or even if we could bring ourselves to think that those masses, whose united bulk dwarfs our Earth to insignificance, had been created solely as make-weights to keep this little atom of Earth in its place, why should they have been provided with a complicated system of moons revolving round them to give them auxiliary light? The Sun's light they share in common with ourselves; but for what con- ceivable purpose should deserts void of life have been supplied with those wonderful lamps to light them up in the absence of the Sun ? Our own Moon, we know, was made “to rule the night,” to give light to something that could profit by it; has the same beautiful machinery been repeated, and even more extensively than here, for the sake of globes where nothing living exists to which it can be of use Not less wonderful, and for a purpose not less obvious, is the way in which the size and density of the different planets have been modified to harmonize with the probable strength and power of objects existing upon them. The very conditions that would be incompatible with our organization may, from the adjustments of crea- tive wisdom, be exactly suited to the beings called on to inhabit them. All life, even if it be essentially the same in principle, may not everywhere assume the same phase of outward existence, nor need we attempt to set limits in this respect to the Lord of Life. The spaces lie there furnished and ready—the Word only was required to people them with a life which may be different, but which, so far as we can understand the conditions, need not be very different, from life such as we see existing around us. Reflection upon these and other points seems to reverse the question with which we set out, and to make the dif. ficulty consist in believing, not that life in some shape ex- Sun and Moon. 43 ists upon our fellow-planets, but that they can be destitute of it. Such inquiries have an interest which goes beyond their mere astronomical import, for they touch our con- ceptions of God's greatness. Is there any one who does not long to be able reasonably to cherish the thought that, far away from this tiny speck of Earth, in the remote realms of space, we behold worlds inhabited by beings who, it may be, are privileged like ourselves to know their Creator, and to bless, praise, and magnify Him for ever? We turn toward our nearest neighbor in the solar sys- tem with a sentiment bordering on familiar affection. We speak of it emphatically as “our Moon.” The Sun we share with other planets, but this beauteous orb belongs exclusively to ourselves. Although we transmit to each other but little warmth, we yet cheer up the darkness of each other's nights by liberally reflecting the rays which each receives from the Sun. Like loyal friends we give and we take to our mutual advantage; and, as the Earth is the larger reflecting body of the two, we repay with in- terest the light we borrow. To young and old the Moon is ever interesting and beautiful. The infant questions it with delighted eye, and stretches out its tiny arms to play with or to catch it. From moonland have descended some of the mysterious legends of childhood. The boy soon learns to recognize “the man in the moon,” and the familiar face roots itself in his imagination for life. Its gentle light is associated with many pleasures. We wel- come its first curved streak in the west as a sign that our gloomy nights are past; we watch it to “the full” with ever-increasing admiration, and we part from it at last with regret and hope. Our very dogs salute it with their bark; a notice they bestow on no other celestial object. Floating in the clear sky, or poised among the fleecy, tinted clouds, silvering the water or piercing through the trees—in every phase and aspect it is beautiful. Like an enchanter it casts the charm of picturesqueness over the 44 . Sun and Moon. meanest objects, and masses which look hard or ugly in the garish light of the Sun mellow into beauty when touched by the power of the moonbeam. The Moon's journey round our Earth—the lunar month —is accomplished in a little more than twenty-nine days and a half. When interposed between the Earth and Sun she is invisible, because her dark side is turned toward us; but during nearly all the rest of her circuit she re- flects a portion of the light received from the Sun, and cheers our nights with brightness. The actual amount of light thus transmitted is small when compared with that which floods in upon us from the Sun, being scarcely equivalent to the 3oo,oooth part ; and it has been calcu- lated that were the whole heavens covered with full moons, it would not equal the light of the Sun. The distance from the centre of the Earth to the centre of the Moon is 238,793 miles. An express train would easily clear the distance between the two globes in 3oo days. Unlike the active Earth, which rotates on its axis every twenty-four hours, the Moon turns herself round only once in twenty-seven days seven hours and forty-four minutes. Every body must have observed that the well-known feat- ures of “the man in the moon” never change; in other words, the same hemisphere of our satellite is always pre- sented toward us. That this peculiarity is the result of the coincidence in point of time which exists between her axial rotation — constituting her day—and her orbital ro- tation round the Earth, which constitutes our month, may be easily illustrated by experiment. Thus, if a person move slowly round a circular table, keeping his face, which we may suppose to represent the Moon, always di- rected toward the centre of the table, where we may sup- pose the Earth to be placed, he will find that in making one complete circle his face has rotated or turned round once also. Such is precisely the relation between Earth and Moon during the course of the month, and thus it. Sun and Moon 45 may be easily understood why we always see the same side of the Moon, notwithstanding her rotation. . As the Moon revolves only once on her axis in the course of a month, it follows that during half of that time each hemisphere is turned toward the Sun, and during the other half it is turned away from it: — the whole period forming one long day and one long night. The Lunarians, therefore, if any exist, must be subject to a very singular climate. During their long “half-month” day the surface must be scorched by a Sun whose fierce- ness is tempered by no atmosphere; and this must be succeeded by a “half-month " night, in which the Sun is altogether absent, and the darkness is broken only by star- light. During the day the temperature will far transcend the hottest tropical climate, while in the night it will sink far below the greatest cold of the arctic regions. He who once fairly surveys the Moon through a good telescope will never afterward forget its aspect. It charms and fascinates the eye, and, though resembling so many other things, it is yet always so specially its own in- dividual self. A good pictorial chart gives an idea which wonderfully approaches Nature, and it is as easy to follow upon it the various localities in the Moon, as it is to follow upon a map the various features of the land. If we look at the full Moon we take, as it were, a bird's-eye view from a great height, which levels inequalities. Its disk presents a smiling, brilliant yet softly lighted surface — a sunny land, from which all gloom is banished. But both before and after the full Moon, when we see its features more in profile, a different tale is told. Here and there softly shaded plains are still to be noticed, but the chief part of the surface appears to have been fashioned by the most vio- lent volcanic forces. It is scarred and rent, convulsed and burnt into an arid, cindery ruin. Serrated craters, some more than a hundred miles wide, are thickly dotted about, and inclosed within them are levels from whose centre 46 Sun and Moon. cones of igneous origin shoot up. The brightest peaks, the darkest precipices, the most jagged ridges crowd this 'rugged picture. To many minds the idea has suggested itself that some scathing doom has blighted the surface of our satellite, for nowhere else can Nature match this aspect of desolation. Fancy rather than science has tried to deal with such a scene. Some have conjectured that it might be an Earth burnt up and destroyed by the out- pouring of God's wrath. Others have supposed that it is a comparatively recent world — a globe in a state of chaos —whose crust has not yet been sufficiently worn down by the hand of Time to fit it for the abode of living creatures. Destitute of life it certainly appears to be at present, nor do its physical conditions seem to fit it for ever becoming the abode of that kind of life which we see existing on our own globe. Amid these conjectures let us fall back with thankfulness upon what is certain. Cosmically consid ered it performs its part in upholding the balance of our solar system; and, in reference to ourselves, we know that it was created by Our Father “to rule the night,” and in other ways to shed blessings on His children. Many of the mountains in the Moon have been meas- ured by ingenious mathematical processes, and at least one has been found to attain a height of 26,691 feet, which, though not quite equal to that of our highest Him- alayan or Andean peaks, is yet proportionately higher, since the Moon's diameter is little more than a fourth of that of the Earth. As the rays of the Sun fall obliquely upon them they are seen in profile — being bright on the side next the Sun, and in dark shadow on the side turned away from it. Their peaked and jagged outline is best displayed along the inner margin of the crescent Moon. Mountains in the Moon present in miniature an exact counterpart of the effects which sunlight produces on the mountains of the Earth. In alpine districts the rays are first caught by the loftiest peaks, then the side next the Sun and Moon. 47 Sun is brightened, while the side turned away from it still remains in shade. Lastly the western slope becomes il- luminated, and the eastern in its turn passes into dark- ness. In the Moon the mountains may be observed to undergo changes in their lighting up which are precisely of the same nature. From the absence of those effects that would necessar rily result from the refraction of light, astronomers con- clude either that the Moon has no atmosphere, or that, if it exist, it must be as attenuated as the air in the vacuum of an air-pump. For the same and for other reasons it is also to be inferred that water is equally wanting. During the long moon-day of half a month, the Sun's rays beat fiercely upon its surface, and would certainly send up clouds of vapor if any water existed for them to act upon. The result would be to cover the Moon with a nebulous screen impenetrable to vision, — a condition which is plainly inconsistent with the fact that whenever the Earth's atmosphere is clear, we always see the Moon with the same unvarying brightness. According to Dr. Lardner, however, there might possibly be ice, for “in the absence of an atmosphere, the temperature must necessarily be not only far below the point of congelation of water, but even that of most other fluids,” and he points to the fact that, even under the burning Sun of the tropics, the rare- fied condition of the atmosphere existing at a height of 16,ooo feet upon the Andes produces a cold which con- verts all vapor into snow and ice. On the other hand, it seems clear that, if ice existed in the Moon, some amount of vapor could hardly fail to be produced by the long- continued action of the Sun, and we know that in the tropics clouds hang round even the highest peaks. If there were a cloud even 200 yards in extent, it would be visible to us by telescope. Thus all arguments tend to prove that the Moon is destitute of water. The Earth and our satellite, as has been said, mutually 48 Sun and Moon. interchange their good offices, and shine upon each other as moons. A curious illustration of this is seen when the dim outline of the rest of the Moon fills up the hollow of the bright crescent, or when, in popular phrase, “the young Moon has the old one in her arms.” We all know it is the reflected rays of the Sun which makes the cres- cent visible, but how is it that we are able to see the rest of the Moon upon which the Sun is not shining? It is by what is termed “earth-shine,” or by means of those rays which in our quality of moon we send across to her. The “earth-shine" on the Moon is pale and shadowy, but we must recollect that the rays which bring it to us have traveled many a weary mile. They sprang originally from the fountain of the Sun, and had to speed across some 92 millions of miles before they reached our shores. They were then the young and joyous rays that dazzled our eyes by their brightness. The Earth next caught them up, and cast them, softened into mild moonlight, across the 238,000 miles of space that separates us from our satellite. And lastly, these enfeebled remnants of light, after having brightened up Luna's rugged surface, were sent back once more across the wide gulf to the Earth, bringing with them to our eyes the dim image of the Moon they had left behind. Some may be inclined to ask, - How happens it that this earth-shine is not seen at other phases of the Moon It arises from the circumstance that the crescent Moon always coincides with the period when our fully illumined disk is turned toward it. We are then at the “full.” Our lamp-power, therefore, is at its highest, and is strong enough to produce the earth-shine. But when the Moon is about half full, not only is our lamp-power diminished from our “phase "in relation to the Moon having been changed, but the more extensive illumination of the Moon herself by the direct rays of the Sun obscures and, as it were, “puts out" the more feeble earth-shine that was previously visible. 5o Sun and Moon. In arctic regions the Moon and the stars alone break through the darkness of the long winter's night, and all who have read the story of polar voyages will recollect the thankfulness with which moonlight is welcomed and appreciated. The Arab of the desert steers on emer- gency by the light and position of the Moon. Over the pathless seas the Moon is the navigator's friend and coun- sellor. It places in his hand a certain scale for measuring the longitude and fixing the spot where the ship may be. When we think of the fleets of noble vessels, the wealth of merchandise, and the thousands of lives whose safety is dependent on its teachings, we may form some estimate of the value of this blessing. “Without the Moon's aid,” an astronomer observes, “our ships, instead of fearlessly traversing the ocean from pole to pole, would probably even now be incapable of performing long voyages, and would content themselves with exchanging commodities and intelligence between well-known and neighboring shores.” Of old the Moon played a more important part than she now does in the notation of time ; but, among many Eastern peoples, the Moon still indicates the seasons, while its different phases serve as an almanac to mark particular days. Among the Jews the new Moon was as- sociated with certain religious ceremonies, and men were stationed on the hill-tops to give the earliest notice of its approach. Some Orientals are also accustomed to indi- cate the seasonal stages of vegetable life by the epithets they apply to the Moon: — thus there is the rice-moon, the wild-strawberry moon, the leaf-falling moon, and there is likewise an ice-moon. We have, at least, our glorious Harvest-moon. Nor is the Moon unrecognized in our Church festivals; for Easter is always celebrated on the Sunday following the first full Moon which happens on or after the 21st March, or vernal equinox. The Heavens declare the glory of God ; and the firmament showeth His handiwork. — Ps. xix. Z}/E STARS OF HEA VAZAV. O ye Stars of Heaven, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnity Him for ever. FE who turns his thoughts starward will speedily find his power of distinct conception strained to dº its utmost effort; for as the distances, magni- tudes, and movements with which we are familiar upon Earth are dwarfed by those of the Solar system, so do the latter in their turn shrink into insignificance when com- pared to the distances, magnitudes, and movements of the Stellar Universe. Miles now become useless, and no longer speak to us with their old intelligible meaning; and the other familiar aids that helped us on in the com- prehension of Solar measurements are scarcely more ser- viceable. The locomotive with its 30 miles an hour, the cannon-ball with its flight of 5oo miles an hour, are all too slow to mete out distances such as are now to occupy us. Nothing but light itself, cleaving through space with a velocity of 192,000 miles a second — or, according to Foucault's latest estimate, 186,000 miles a second — can supply us with a standard capable of representing the re- moteness of the more distant, visible stars. In the immensity of the plans and natures revealed by Astronomy we miss those homely illustrations of provi- dential design which are so often impressed upon us in our daily experience among the familiar objects around us. But, on the other hand, we behold in their mightiest development the laws governing that Universe of worlds which peoples the realms of space, and among which our 52 The Stars of Heaven. spot of Earth occupies so humble a position. In presence of this grand view the physical details of our little globe seem almost too petty to be remembered. The Omnipo- tence and Infinity of God confront us with all the vivid- ness which our finite understanding can conceive, and we bow our heads in heartfelt adoration. By the Word of the Lord were the Heavens made, and all the hosts of them by the breath of His mouth. — Ps. xxxiii. The “Hosts of Heaven” are truly called innumerable, and, as we glance upward on a clear, starry night, the twinkling points that meet our gaze in all directions seem to defy enumeration. Yet, strange though it may appear, the sum of all the stars that can be distinguished by the naked eye in both hemispheres under the most favorable circumstances does not exceed 6ooo, and of these consider. ably less than a half belongs to our own northern division. But, when the telescope is turned toward the sky, stars come forth in myriads from the dark depths of the firma- ment; and, as each additional light-grasping power is given to the instrument, a new region of the heavens is joined on to those that have been already explored; and every new stratum of space thus added is found to be studded with stars in an ever-increasing ratio. It is diffi- cult to estimate the number which may thus be brought into view, but astronomers compute it to be not less than 1oo millions. To a superficial observer the stars seem scattered about as if by chance, but a more careful in- spection reveals that some fixed law of distribution, which we cannot as yet unravel, reigns supreme among them. “Suppose,” says Dr. Nichol, “a number of peas thrown at random on a chess-board, what would you expect? Certainly that they should be found occupying irregular or random positions; and if, contrary to this, in far more than average numbers, arranged by twos upon each square, it would be a most natural inference that here there is no The Stars of Heaven. 53 random scattering.” Appearances, indeed, have convinced some most eminent astronomers that our own Solar sys- tem—in its entirety—has been planted in the midst of a cluster of stars, of which the exterior rim is composed by the encircling stellar hoop of the Milky Way. Lying beyond the Milky Way are other clusters, which may rep- resent similar systems, but which, at all events, display a certain, recognizable, general structure; and the same may be said of the still more remote nebulae, whenever it has been possible by the aid of the telescope to resolve them with any degree of fair distinctness into their proper forms. In picturing the distant regions of space Dr. Nichol observes: “Mystery, indeed, heavy, almost oppressive, hangs over all the perspective ; but the shapes strewn through that bewildering territory have nothing in com- mon with the fantastic creations of a dream. It is the essence of these nebulae that they are not formless, but, on the contrary, impressed indelibly by system on the grandest scale; clearly as a leaf they have an organism ; something has seized on their enormous volumes, and molded them into a wonderful order.” Thus every thing bears the mark of order impressed upon it by the Al- mighty hand. That noble gift of God to man—the tel- escope — has magnified Him by driving away every sem- blance of chance from the firmament, and by exhibiting in its place design and established law. Up there as down here the idea of irregularity or chance is but the suggestion of our own ignorance. How far into space our view has been carried by the power of the telescope we shall immediately endeavor to point out. Certain groups of stars, named Binary and Multiple, are interesting to us in many respects, and in none more so than from their exhibiting the harmony and order amid which they exist. The telescope reveals to us that two or more stars are sometimes linked together in the relation of sun and planet, or rather as coördinate suns revolving 54 The Stars of Heaven, round each other, or round a common centre. These Binary stars display the evidence of design and power as convincingly as is done by the members of the solar sys- tem. The same law of gravity with which we are so fa- miliar on Earth, is proved to be in full operation among them, and their orbital revolutions in obedience to it have, in some instances, been observed and calculated upon the same principles as those by which the movements of the planets are determined. With more perfect instruments and a sufficient allowance of time for the collection of data, their movements may, at some future day, be chron- icled with as much accuracy as the other sidereal events of the almanac. Yet so well are the orbital movements of some stars understood, even now, that a “perturba- tion ” or deviation from the usual path has been detected in the bright Sirius, of the same nature as happened in the famous case of Uranus ; and calculations indicating the position in which the “perturbator” would be found were made on the same principle as those which led to the discovery of the planet Neptune. Nay more — the disturbing mass which caused the star to stagger in its path has been seen through an American telescope, in the very quarter to which the finger of science had already pointed, and the discovery has since then been amply con- firmed. We shall immediately have to consider the dis- tance of the field in which this scrutiny was held. “When a branch of science,” says Guillemin, “scarcely known two centuries ago, and cultivated steadily for less than a hundred years, arrives at such results, what may we not hope for in the future progress of sidereal astronomy?” Binary and Multiple stars — being suns — are probably attended by their planetary systems, giving rise to cos- mical conditions of extreme interest. The inhabitants of those earths—if there be any — will frequently see two suns, or two sunrises and sunsets on the same day. Oc. casionally there will be no night, from the continuance of The Stars of Heaven. 55 one of the suns above the horizon; or one sun may be rising while another is setting. It often happens too that the stars are of different colors, from which the most sin. gular and beautiful appearances will arise. “It may be easier suggested in words,” says Sir John Herschel, “than conceived in imagination what a variety of illumination two stars, a red and a green, or a yellow and blue one, must afford a planet circulating round either, and what charming contrasts and grateful vicissitudes — a red and a green day, for instance, alternating with a white one and with darkness — must arise from the presence or absence of one or other or both, from the horizon.” The most striking wonders of the Firmament are com- prised in the distances, magnitudes, and velocities of the stars, and it may well excite both our astonishment and our gratitude that we, the humble dwellers upon an atom of earth, should be privileged to gauge them with even approximative accuracy. Yet the principle on which as- tronomers have succeeded in measuring the distance of a few of the nearest stars is none other than that by which the surveyor maps out an estate or a county. It is an ordinary problem of triangulation. There is no doubt as to the truth of the principle employed, and there is no mystery in the process — the difficulty lies in the inevita- ble imperfection of the instruments with which the neces- sary measurements must be made. But every new im- provement in the measuring power of instruments cancels a certain amount of previous error; and even now there is among astronomers — working separately and inde- pendently — so wonderful an agreement in regard to the vast distances involved, that it is impossible to suppose either that such coincidence is accidental, or that there can be any very material amount of error in the estimates thus formed. Has my reader ever heard of the parallax of the stars? The most unlearned need not be dismayed at the scien- 56 The Stars of Heaven. tific look of the expression, for the principle involved in it is in reality most easy to understand. It will, indeed, largely repay a few minutes of attention, for it is the lad- der by which we shall best climb to a clear conception of those truths of the stellar universe which illustrate so grandly the Power of the Creator. And even where the conclusions to which it leads baffle the efforts of our finite faculties, the definite basis on which they rest will at least banish every idea of guess-work from our thoughts. It is easy to understand that parallax movement is that apparent shifting of bodies which arises from changing our own position. We cannot stir a step without producing examples of it. If we pace up and down the street oppo- site to any object on the other side — as a door or a lamp- post—the angular direction or parallax of the object changes at every moment. If we sail down a river and fix our eyes on some church-spire at a distance from its bank, we find that the direction in which we see it is al- ways altering. At first the spire appears in advance of us, then on our sides, and lastly it lies behind. If instead of limiting our attention to one object we look at several that can be easily observed together, we find that as we move they move, or rather seem to move, and the angles formed by their lines of direction are displaced relatively to each other and to us. One cannot look out of a rail- way carriage without being amused by the way in which objects seem to move about. Trees, houses, and churches are never for a moment at rest. Things that are in line “open out,” as sailors would say ; near objects are mov- ing backward, the more distant are moving forward. In this apparent change of position we have an example of parallax movement. In all these cases the line from which our observations are made is the “base . * and if the angle subtended by the objects from the extremities of this base be given, the distance may be easily calcu lated. The Stars of Heaven. 57 In all instances of this parallax shifting it must have been remarked that the effect of a change of our position in altering the direction of objects is greater when they are near than when they are distant. A few paces will sensibly alter the angular position or direction of the door or lamp-post on the opposite side of the street. But if we look at a church some miles off, or at ships anchored in the offing, we find that we require to move much more than a few paces—in other words, we require to increase considerably the length of the base—before we can make any sensible change in the angle or direction in which we see them. In proportion, therefore, as the distance of objects increases, so must we lengthen out the base from which we survey them in order to obtain parallax displace- ment. It follows, too, that if in observations taken from: a short base line objects appear to have changed much, we may infer that they are near ; but, if the base require to be long in order to produce an effect, we may equally infer that they are distant. Such is the plain and certain principle which astrono- mers applied to measure the distance of the stars; but the great difficulty was to find a base line long enough to give parallax displacement to objects so remote. Stations in this country were obviously too near for such a purpose. Simultaneous observations were therefore made from Greenwich and the Cape of Good Hope, — the distance between the two stations of course representing the “base,” — and from these the most interesting and im. portant results were obtained. For it was found that, though a distinct parallax movement could be traced in the planets, none whatever could be detected in the stars. And it followed, therefore, that while the planets were comparatively near, the distance of the stars was such that a still longer base was needed to bring them within the grasp of parallax. The line from Greenwich to the Cape having failed, 58 The Stars of Heaven. astronomers next had recourse to the base represented by the diameter of the Earth's orbit. As our globe revolves annually round the Sun, it is obvious that it must oc- cupy a very different position in space at one period of the year from what it does at another. On the 1st Jan- uary it is at one extremity of its ellipse, on the 1st July it is at the point exactly opposite, and the length of a line drawn from the one station to the other is 190,600,ooo miles. Could it be doubted that a base line was at last obtained long enough to insure a parallax for any con- ceivable distance 2 - It may well be imagined with what astonishment the fact broke upon astronomers that, even from this enormous base, the keenest scrutiny could not detect the slightest displacement among the stars l Not one apparently . changed its position. The result perplexed philosophers, for it forced the conclusion upon them either that the Co- pernican doctrine of the Earth's orbital movement round the Sun was an error altogether, or else — what seemed almost as difficult to believe — that the base line yielded by the Earth's orbital diameter was but an inappreciable point in relation to the inconceivable distance of the stars. For generations, therefore, “to discover the parallax of the stars” was one of the grand astronomical problems; but while the chief observers strove earnestly for the prize, the best among them failed to carry it away. The triumph was reserved for our own time. In truth, however, this want of success in demonstrat- ing the parallax of the stars was no reproach to the older astronomers, for it depended on causes over which they had no control. To accomplish this grand object instru- ments of great delicacy were essential ; and instruments have only been brought to the requisite degree of perfec- tion within the last few years. But, be it remarked, what those old philosophers could not register with the hand they yet saw clearly with the head; and, therefore, with The Stars of Heaven. 59 perfect faith in the truth of the Copernican theory of the world's movement in space and in the ultimate solvability of the problem, they never lost heart, nor ceased to strive for its accomplishment. At length in 1839 the long- looked-for discovery was made almost simultaneously by two observers of equal merit; — the British astronomer, Henderson, at the Cape, having succeeded in measuring the parallax of a star known as a Centauri, while Bessel had already been equally fortunate in regard to 61 Cygni. It is pleasing to think that these astronomical triumphs, after being scrutinized and tested in almost every great Observatory possessed of instruments sufficiently fine for the purpose, have stood their ground and been substan- tially confirmed. The difficulty of the feat becomes at once obvious when we consider the small sum of the stellar displacement ob- tained, which, even in the case where it was greatest, did not quite amount to one second of a degree. But the conclusion that was to be drawn even from so inconsider able a parallax was astounding ; for, when the necessary allowances had been made, it was proved that the distance of the nearest of those stars from the Earth was nearly 20 billions of miles. How can we get into our minds some idea of so great a distance 2 The standard of miles seems utterly vague and profitless. Do we succeed better when we are assured that it is equal to 206,ooo times the space separating our planet from the Sun ; or 2 II,330 radii of the Earth's orbit; or that a ray of light darted from its surface could not reach our eye under three years and seven months, though it traveled with its usual speed of 192,600 miles a second 2 “Such then,” says Sir John Herschel, “is the length of the sounding-line with which we first touch bottom in the attempt to fathom the great abyss of the sidereal Heavens.” “First touch bottom l’ Let us pause, and take breath. Let us try soberly to realize the fact that this flight, 6o The Stars of Heaven. through which our imagination has carried us on the wings of a ray of light, has landed us only at the threshold of the starry universe. So far as is yet known this famous star of the Centaur is our nearest neighbor. Of the thou- ands of others whose parallax astronomers have tried to measure, there are not more than a dozen where it has been detected, and all of them lie at various distances be- yond. The well-known Sirius — the very star whose per- turbations, as we have seen, have already been calculated and accounted for by visible demonstration — which from being the brightest among stars was conjectured to be also the nearest, has been proved by parallax measurement to be at least six times the distance of a Centauri; from which it follows, that every ray of that dazzling orb that now meets our eye set out on its journey toward us some twenty-two years ago. One of the most distant stars that has as yet been gauged is the beauteous Capella. In ex- pressing its enormous distance we may discard all other standards of measurement save that which light supplies; and even a ray of light, with its speed of 192,000 miles each second, would take 72 years to reach our Earth. As for stars placed at greater distances the base line of the Earth's orbit, seconded by the most perfect modern instru- ments of measurement, fails as yet to demonstrate with reliable accuracy any sensible amount of parallax. In relation to those distant orbs, a base line of 190,600,ooo miles shrinks into a mere point. The belt of measurable parallax, therefore, proves to be but a comparatively shallow layer of the firmament. All “the Hosts of the stars” lie farther off in regions which no parallax can reach. A longer base line than 200 mill- ions of miles would be needed to continue the survey, and unfortunately the resources of Astronomy do not as yet supply any that are available. We say “as yet,” for it is not impossible that a longer base may at some dis- tant future day be found, if, as is almost certain, our Sun The Stars of Heaven. 61 itself is moving in an immense orbit round something in space, and carrying along with it the whole solar system. The diameter of the Sun's orbit may then afford a base line of immensity sufficient to conquer the difficulties of distant stellar parallax. Of the interval which would necessarily elapse between the observations made on such a base no one can now imagine the duration. At that depth in the firmament, therefore, where Ca pella lies— representing a space to pass through which light would require 72 years — we come to the limit of parallax. With it ends the means which enable star- measurements to be placed on a reliable basis, and all beyond is subject to the greatest uncertainty. Are, then, our estimates of the distances of stars sunk farther away in space than Capella to be absolute guess-work 2 By no means, thought the illustrious Sir W. Herschel, for when parallax can plumb no longer, light still affords a line which measures immensity with at least a rough approx- imation. It is true that this method sets out with the hardy assumption that the size and illumination of the different stars are the same ; whereas we know with cer- tainty that both are subject, like the planets, to much variation. Nevertheless it may, perhaps, be assumed with considerable probability, that in the multitude of stars examined there must at least be some to which such a method will apply, and which therefore may serve, in the absence of all other means, as a rough measure of the depths of space beyond Capella to which the eye of man can penetrate. All are familiar with the fact that light diminishes as we recede from it, in pºoportion as the square of the distance increases. If, for example, one luminous body be twice as far removed as another equally luminous body, it will give four times less light; if it be ten times as far off, it will give a hundred times less light, and so on in proportion. Now it has just been shown that the distance of a Centauri, an average star of the 62 The Stars of Heaven. 1st magnitude, is in round numbers 20 billions of miles, while it shines with an amount of brightness which, by means of an instrument called a photometer, can be measured, and adopted as a standard from which to set out. A star of the 6th magnitude, just visible to the naked eye, is found to have a light Ioo times less bright than a Centauri ; and, therefore, it must be ten times more distant, supposing the luminous surface to be the same in both. We have now got a second standard of measurement, according to which it may be assumed that a star having a brightness which we can just discern is 200 billions of miles distant. Here we are, for a moment, necessarily brought to a stop, for our unaided sight is unable to force its way farther into space; and here, therefore, our survey must have come to an end but for that wonderful “tube,” by means of which the regions lying beyond have been fathomed to an extent that almost overwhelms. It fortunately happens that astronomers can “scale " a telescope, according to what is termed its “space-penetrating ” power. When, therefore, it is said to have a space-penetrating power of 50, it means that we can see with it 50 times farther than with the naked eye — 5o times as far, therefore, as the distance lying between us and the star of the 6th magnitude which has just been measured. Sir W. Herschel, whose name will ever be remembered in connection with this subject, penetrated into space 75 times farther than the distance which Sep- arates us from a star of the 6th magnitude, by which he brought stars thus deeply sunk in space to shine with a brightness equal to stars of that class. Now, what was the stupendous import thereby implied? A star of the 6th magnitude is at least Io times more distant than a Centauri, its distance, therefore, is 200 billions of miles ; and the star 75 times more distant than the star of the 6th magnitude must have a distance of not less than 15,000 billions of miles How is this distance to be ex- The Stars of Heaven. 63 pressed by an intelligible standard It is equal to 17o million times the distance of the Sun from the Earth — the unit being 92 millions of miles. Told off by terres- trial standards these figures sound vaguely and seem to stupefy the ear, nor indeed can any other measure than light rise to the level of such distances. It is astounding to think that the few straggling rays of light which at length found rest in Herschel's eye might have left their native sun 2656 years ago, although they had been travel- ing at the rate of 192,000 miles a second ever since. The messenger arrives only now, but he speaks of an old event. “It is within the scope of physical possibility,” says Dr Lardner, “that those stars may have changed their conditions of existence, and consequently of appear- ance, or even have ceased to exist altogether more than 20oo years ago, although we actually see them at this mo- ment.” But even those distances, stupendous though they be, do not represent the full depth of that fathoming of space which has possibly been effected by modern instruments. What shall we say of the Nebulae — those “wisps” of cloudy light that faintly gleam down upon us through the telescope from the remotest corners of the Universe to which we can force our vision ? As the more perfect in- struments of recent days conquered their secret, one after another, and resolved the hazy cloudlets into clusters of bright stars, the conclusion naturally arose that, with every new increase of penetrating power, we should only behold a repetition of the process. There do, however, appear to be some Nebulae which cannot be so resolved, and which show no indications of condensing into stars; and “spectrum analysis” — that potent discovery of yesterlay, which is able to extract from a ray of light its history by passing it through a prism — comes to the support of the telescope by declaring that such distant glimmers are due to vast volumes of luminous gaseous matter. But, mak- 64 - The Stars of Heaven. ing allowance for these, there still remain many Nebulae of true stars — Suns like the rest, heat-giving, and light. giving, and animated as our little Earth is by the same universal principle of gravitation. A certain cluster of stars was estimated by Sir W. Herschel to be 7oo times the distance of a star of the 1st magnitude—therefore, at least 7oo times 19 billions of miles | But, observes Guillemin, “if this cluster were removed to five times its actual distance, that is to say to 35oo times the distance of Sirius, the large Herschelian telescope of 40-feet focus would still show it, but only as an irresolvable Mebula. It is, then, extremely probable that, among the many Nebu- lae indecomposable into stars, beyond the Milky Way, in the depths of the heavens, many are as distant as that of which we speak. Doubtless many are more so. Now to reach us, light-rays must have left stars situated at such a distance more than 700,ooo years ago ” On such a subject I prefer to transcribe words recently written by an astronomer, and they at least claim our at- tention as the latest conjectural opinions of science. That such calculations are but the roughest of wide approxima- tions — that they are liable to error of a magnitude which in any other branch of physics except universe-measure- ment would make them utterly valueless, is a point ad- mitted by none more readily than by astronomers them- selves. Still, after every deduction for probable error has been made, more than enough of solid truth remains to leave our highest conceptions hopelessly stranded behind, and it would even mock our power of belief did not rea- son tell us that such conclusions are in perfect accordance with the attributes of Omnipotence. When we have touched the verge of this uttermost range, Infinity, bound- less as ever, still lies beyond. The idea of God extin- guishes in our mind every suspicion that there can be any limit to space, magnitude, or power, in relation to His works. The mighty universe we have been considering The Stars of Heaven. 65 is but the stepping-stone to what is farther on ; and al- though our imagination fails to grasp it, our reason assures us that it must be so. There is no such thing as taking from or adding to The Illimitable. The distance of the stars is likewise impressively brought home to us by the impossibility of magnifying them. It is easy to magnify terrestrial objects, and even when the tel- escope is pointed at the planets, as Venus or Jupiter, they can be made to look bigger than the full Moon. But with regard to the stars the telescope fails to increase their size, for they are absolutely “unmagnifiable.” Viewed by the highest powers they still remain mere specks of light; and, although their comparative brightness is increased, no one star is really made larger than another. When, therefore, the “magnitude” of a star is mentioned it refers to its brightness, and not to the size of its nucleus. As the tele- scope cuts off the external rays, its effect, indeed, is rather to diminish than enlarge, and Herschel used to affirm that the more he magnified the more the nucleus appeared to shrink to a point. But as the faithful telescope, by virtue of its construction, cannot help magnifying the image of the star presented to it, and yet fails to give it any appre- ciable size, we are driven to infer that even the nearest stars are so remote that their apparent magnitude is too minute to be perceived by the eye, though magnified, as was done by Sir W. Herschel, six thousand times. This result appears all the more astonishing when we consider the vast magnitude which the stars must really possess. As they do not form any distinguishable disk, it is of course impossible to calculate their size from their known distance and apparent diameter, as may be done in the case of the Moon ; but astronomers possess other means by which their magnitude may be at least roughly estimated. It has been already mentioned that, as we recede from a luminous surface, the quantity of light re- ceived from it diminishes as the square of the distance in- 5 66 The Stars of Heaven. creases. By applying this principle, the Sun furnishes us with a means of measuring the magnitude of stars, always assuming, as may be done when the trial is extended over a great number, that the average intensity of the luminous surface is nearly the same in both. We know that the Sun, being of a known size and at a known distance, gives a certain amount of light as determined by the photome- ter. Supposing that the Sun were to be moved away from us in the direction of a Centauri, his light would diminish in the proportion in which the square of the distance in- creased ; and, accordingly, before he had got much more than half way, he would have dwindled to the size of a Centauri. If the Sun were to be farther removed, his brightness would go on diminishing until at the distance of a Centauri — 19 billions of miles — he would shine as a star of the 2d magnitude, or like the Pole-star. Thus it appears, that in order to enable the Sun to shine with a light equal to that of a Centauri at the same distance as that star, he would require to be twice his actual size; and, therefore, the magnitude of a Centauri may be roughly estimated as double that of our Sun. In contemplating “the Stars of Heaven” by the aids which Astronomy holds out to us, our thoughts are carried away from the small things of this Earth, and, borne on- ward by the faculties bestowed on us by God, we reach our highest practical perceptions of His Power as Creator and Ruler of the Universe. We cannot, it is true, com- prehend The Infinite, but Astronomy stations us nearer to its frontier than any other science, and we are only stopped in our conceptions by that barrier which subdues all human intellect, and beyond which it is not intended that we should pass. - Not less marvelous are the stars in their velocities. We speak of them as the “fixed" stars, and so they are to us for all practical purposes; yet some, if not all, have a movement through space. Binary stars, as we have The Stars of Heaven. 67 seen, circulate in orbits round each other, or round a com- mon centre, with a regularity and speed which in some in- stances has been calculated. The star 61 Cygni — the same whose parallax has been measured — rushes through space with the enormous velocity of 177,ooo miles an hour; while Mercury, the swiftest of our planets, does not exceed Ioo,ooo miles in the same time. A star in the con- stellation of Ophiuchus, and another in the Scorpion, are moving on so rapidly as to leave neighboring stars behind them. There is a triple star in Cassiopeia journeying through the heavens at the rate of 125,000 miles an hour. Arcturus is the most rapid star-traveler yet discovered, moving onward at a pace equal to 54 miles per second, or three times faster than our Earth in its orbit. Thus every thing connected with the stars—distance, magnitude, and motion — is equally gigantic and marvelous in its scale. Having glanced at the distances, magnitudes, and veloc- ities of stars, let us pause for a moment to consider their number and the vast space they must necessarily occupy in the domain of creation. In an area of the Milky Way not exceeding one tenth part of the moon's disk Herschel computed that there were at least 20,000 stars, and by the most moderate estimate the number of stars that can be counted in the firmament by telescopic aid does not fall short of Ioo millions ! Clusters and Nebulae that have not yet been resolved lie beyond. There is little doubt that most of those twinkling points are suns dispensing light and heat to earths or planets like our own ; and, in- deed, no bodies shining by reflected light would be visible at such enormous distances. From the Superior magni- tude of those stars that have been measured, as compared to our Sun, it may be assumed that the average diameter of their solar systems must exceed our own; but, taking it as nearly equal, it would give a breadth of at least 6000 millions of miles as the field in space occupied by each. Every star or sun-system is, moreover, probably begirt 68 The Stars of Heaven. with a gulf or void like that encircling our own, in which the antagonistic or disturbing attractions of surrounding suns waste themselves out and are extinguished ; hence, the distance of each star from its nearest neighbor is probably not less than that which intervenes between our Sun and the nearest star. Now this distance, as we have seen, cannot be less than 19 billions of miles. How in- conceivably vast, therefore, must be the space required to give room for so many and such stupendous solar sys. tems. The mind absolutely reels under the load of con- ceptions so mighty, Yet Infinity still lies beyond Among those great Hosts of heaven where is the home of our Earth and Solar system : A probability lying nearer to certainty than conjecture suggests that our Sun, with its planetary system, forms a unit in a cluster of stars, similar to other clusters which we see gathered together in the far-off regions of the firmament. The space occupied by our cluster may in shape be compared to a millstone, of which the Milky Way forms the outer rim; while nearly in the centre of this gigantic assemblage of stars, and about half-way between the two sides of “the mill- stone’ rests our Sun and its planets — “an atom in the luminous sand ” of the firmament. Still, we must not say rests, for there is absolutely noth- ing on Earth or in the firmament which is without move- ment. That our Sun — like all his fellow-stars — is trav- eling through space with a speed which though not yet determined is certainly immense, is a point on which as- tronomers are agreed. The most recent calculations as- sign to it a rate of four miles per second. Whither are we hurrying, round what are we moving These are problems of which the solution is left to future observers, yet even now calculations tend to indicate that we are hastening on with rapid strides in the direction of the constellation Hercules. Who has not looked on clear nights at the twinkling Pleiades, and tried, perhaps, to The Stars of Heaven. 69 count their sparkles as they glitter like diamonds on a field of black. Their name recalls to us a heathen fable, but they have an interest far more lasting and reasonable if it be true, as astronomers conjecture, that among them is fixed the pivot which is central to the centre, and round which our Sun with its system careers in an orbit whose length it is as impossible for us to conceive as the distance of the stars themselves. . If Astronomy were altogether silent on the subject, it would still be a hard matter for a reflecting mind to be- lieve that the masses which fill up space, the aggregate sum of which dwarfs our Earth into less than an atom or a speck, can have been created for no other purpose than to shed a glimmer of star-light on our dark evenings. “For what purpose,” says Sir John Herschel, “are we to suppose such magnificent bodies scattered through the abyss of space Surely not to illumine our nights, which an additional moon of the thousandth part of the size of our own would do much better — not to sparkle as a pageant void of meaning and reality, and to bewilder us among vain conjectures. Useful, it is true, they are to man, as points of exact and permanent reference ; but he must have studied Astronomy to little purpose, who can sup- pose man to be the only object of his Creator's care, or who does not see, in the vast and wonderful apparatus around us, provision for other races of animated beings.” Though placed at such inconceivable distances from our Earth, stars are yet near enough to contribute to the happiness and safety of mankind. During the Sun's ab- sence they bestow an illumination which, though feeble, is highly useful. When the Moon has forsaken the long polar night they cast a dim twilight over the snow. In the deserts of the East, stars have served to guide the traveler since those ancient days when Astronomy began to be cultivated on the plains of Chaldea. The pilots of antiquity learnt to steer by the stars before the loadstone 7o The Stars of Heaven. was discovered ; and, in these days of science, Sun, Moon, and Stars may be said to cover the firmament with lamps and sign-posts. Familiarity with the fact has long dulled within us the feeling of surprise ; still it is a wonderful thing to think that, in the most lonely spots of the track- less ocean, the position of a ship can be told with accu- racy by questioning the aspects of the heavenly bodies. By means of Sun, Moon, and Stars, aided by a chronometer keeping Greenwich time, or by the “Nautical Almanac,” both latitude and longitude may be certainly determined. To these aids every ship that sails upon the wide ocean is daily indebted for safety, nor could any thing bring home to us more strikingly how even the most remote works of Our Father are made by his providence to subserve the welfare of His children. With what just propriety of thought has light been called the “voice" of the stars. Through light alone comes all the knowledge we possess concerning them. Had light been created with less marvelous properties than those it actually possesses, even their existence would have been unknown to us. Can any thing be con- ceived more suggestively true than the expressions with which the Heavens are described by the Psalmist There is neither speech nor language, but their voices are heard among them. Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends of the earth! y In the “speechless" voice of light the stars proclaim to us from the depths of space the existence of innumerable other worlds which, like our own, share the Creator's care. Silently they tell us of distances, magnitudes, and veloci- ties which transcend our power to conceive. With mute argument stars prove to us that, in those far-off regions, . gravitation — the power that brings the apple to the ground — still reigns supreme, and with suggestive whis- pers of probability they persuade us that, like our own The Stars of Heaven. 71 bountiful Sun, they bathe attendant worlds in floods of brightest light, deck them in colors of beauty, and shower countless blessings on the life of myriads of beings. He who by thoughtful contemplation has familiarized his mind with the wonders of the Heavens will feel his whole spirit imbued with the glory of the Great Architect, by whose Almighty Word they were called into existence. To him Sun, Moon, and Stars, silent though they be, will speak a language which he will ever deeply feel even though he may not always comprehend. Nor will they fail, when solemnly invoked in the Service of the Church, to stir up responsive adoration in his heart, for they sym- bolize to him more than any other visible objects the Wisdom and Power of the Creator. - Whoso is wise will ponder these things, and they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord. — Ps. xcvii. W/AWZTEAE AAWD S UMMER. O ye Winter and Summer, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnify Him for ever. 㺠HE great Architect has appointed that the earth, 3. like its fellow-planets, should make an annual == journey round the sun in a path which is not far from circular. During this time the earth is separated from the central luminary of our system by a mean dis- tance of 92 millions of miles, which has been designedly fixed as securing to it the reception of that exact amount of heat and light which is best suited to the requirements of all the beings found upon it. Any other distance than this would, in fact, have been incompatible with the order of life we see established around us. But, besides this general arrangement as to distance, there are certain mod- ifications in connection with it which affect most remarka- bly the local distribution of heat over the globe, giving rise to seasonal variations — to Winter and Summer, and to differences of climate. In looking at an astronomical dia- gram it will be remarked that the sun is placed, not in the centre, but in one of the foci of the ellipse which the earth's orbit describes round it ; and the result of this necessa- rily is that the earth is nearer to the sun at one period of the year than it is at another. The conclusion is naturally suggested that this period of “nearness” must coincide with Summer, and that of distance with Winter ; but, strange though it may appear, it is exactly the reverse. On the 1st January the earth is about one thirtieth part nearer the sun than it is on the 21st June. Winter and Summer. 73 It is clear, therefore, that the cold of Winter and the heat of Summer must depend on other causes acting with power sufficient to overbalance the effect which this rel- ative nearness or distance of the sun ought naturally to produce. Such a cause is found in the inclination of the earth's axis to the plane of its orbit. The effect of this arrangement can be easily illustrated by an impromptu orrery. Let a card placed near the centre of a round table represent the sun ; a ball of worsted will be the earth, and a knitting-needle thrust through its centre will form its axis and poles. The rim of the table conven- iently traces the earth's orbit round the sun, while the flat surface forms the imaginary “plane,” on a level with which the centre of the sun and earth are supposed to be arranged. The earth's axis, it must be recollected, is not perpendicular to this plane— not straight up and down — but is inclined toward, or leans upon, it at an angle of 234 degrees. If we now apply the centre of the worsted ball, or earth, against the rim of the table at the point farthest removed from the sun, giving the knitting- needle, or axis, an inclination toward the sun to the amount specified ; and if we then slide it round the rim, taking care not to alter the direction of the inclination, and to make the needle always maintain the same parallel throughout, we have a rough imitation of the orbit which the earth describes in its annual journey round the sun. But let us draw attention more particularly to the point of this arrangement on which the alternation of Summer and Winter depends. If, on starting from that part of the rim of the table which is farthest from the “sun,” the upper or north “pole" of the worsted ball be inclined toward that luminary, it will be found that on arriving at the side of the table exactly opposite — and nearest to the sun — the same “north pole" is now inclined away from it. Exactly the reverse of this has, of course, happened to the “south pole; ” it inclined at first from, but now in 74 Winter and Summer. clines toward the sun. The necessary effect of these changes of position is to place that side of the earth, which for the time being leans toward the sun, in a more favorable position for receiving light and heat than the side which is inclined away from it. The result thus pro- duced upon the temperature much more than compensates for the heat either gained or lost on account of the com- parative nearness or distance of the earth in relation to the sun at the two periods of the year, and it therefore rules the seasons. In the hemisphere which is inclined toward the sun there is Summer ; while, in that which is inclined away from it, there is Winter. Every body knows that when it is Summer in England it is Winter at the Antipodes. When we consider the forethought with which the con- ditions of animal and vegetable life have been adjusted to the distance of the earth from the sun — to their respect- ive sizes and densities—to the length of the earth's orbit — to the velocity with which it travels, and to the nicely poised inclination of its axis— we cannot fail to be deeply impressed with the admirable design of the Creator and the excellence of His Power. All these elements had to be adjusted, one with the other, in order to establish Win- ter and Summer, and the least deviation in any of them from the condition which actually exists would have spoilt the harmonious working of the whole. The beauty and necessity of these arrangements have been happily illus- trated by Dr. Whewell: “The length of the year or inter- wal of recurrence of the seasons is determined by the time which the earth employs in performing its revolution round the sun; and we can very easily conceive the solar system so adjusted that the year should be longer or shorter than it actually is. We can imagine the earth to revolve round the sun at a distance greater or less than that which it at present has, all the forces of the system remaining unal- tered. If the earth were removed toward the centre by Winter and Summer. 75 about one eighth of its distance, the year would be dimin- ished by about a month, and in the same manner it would be increased by a month on increasing the distance by one eighth. We can suppose the earth at a distance of eighty four or one hundred and eight millions of miles, just as easily as at its present distance of ninety-six mill- ions: we can suppose the earth with its present stock of animals and vegetables placed where Mars or where Venus is, and revolving in an orbit like one of theirs; on the former supposition our year would become twenty- three, on the latter, seven of our present months. Or we can conceive the present distances of the parts of the sys- tem to continue what they are, and the size, or the density of the central mass, the sun, to be increased or diminished in any proportion ; and in this way the time of the earth's revolution might have been increased or diminished in any degree ; a greater velocity, and consequently a dimin- ished period, being requisite in order to balance an aug- mented central attraction. In any of these ways the length of the earth's natural year might have been differ- ent from what it now is : in the last way without any ne- cessary alteration, so far as we can see, of temperature. Now, if any change of this kind were to take place, the working of the botanical world would be thrown into utter disorder, the functions of plants would be ent, rely deranged, and the whole vegetable kingdom involved in instant decay and rapid extinction. That this would be the case, may be collected from innumerable indications. Most of our fruit-trees, for example, require the year to be of its present length. If the Summer and the Autumn were much shorter, the fruit could not ripen ; if these sea- sons were much longer, the tree would put forth a fresh suit of blossoms to be cut down by the Winter. Or if the year were twice its present length, a second crop of fruit would probably not be matured, for want, among other things, of an intermediate season of rest and consolidation, 76 Winter and Summer. such as the Winter is. Our forest-trees, in like manner, appear to need all the seasons of our present year for their perfection ; the Spring, Summer, and Autumn, for the development of their leaves and consequent formation of their proper juice, and of wood from this; and the Winter for the hardening and solidifying the substance thus formed.” - As a general rule it may be said that temperature falls in proportion to increase of latitude; at first slowly, and then more rapidly. Our daily experience of midday sun and sunset teaches us that oblique rays give much less heat than those that are more nearly vertical ; and as the earth is round, and as rays from the sun, therefore, fall on it all the more obliquely the greater the distance is from the Equator, it follows that in high latitudes, where the globe from its shape curves in rapidly toward the poles, the temperature will fall with accelerated ratio. Such is the cosmical arrangement by which the general supply of heat is meted out to the earth, but there are many circumstances which modify this distribution, so as to produce great differences of climate in places that are on nearly the same latitude. Thus, in proceeding north- ward from the tropics, the mean annual temperature falls much more quickly in America than in Europe. For ex- ample, the cities of Madrid and Philadelphia are both situated at nearly 40 degrees of latitude; but the mean annual climate of the former is 9° higher than that of the American city. In comparing places farther to the north the difference is still more striking. We have space in this chapter to notice only very briefly some of the causes which modify climate. The reader will find many additional observations bearing on this subject in those sections of this book wherein Moun- tains, Winds, Ice and Snow, the Sea, and the Green things upon the earth are considered. - The great equalizer and mitigator of extremes of hea Winter and Summer. - 77 and cold is the ocean. A maritime climate is for the most part moderate in its seasonal changes, in comparison to an inland climate on the same latitude. In Winter, the sea being warmer than the land, tempers the winds which blow toward it ; while, in Summer, as its temperature is lower than the heated surface of the shore, it imparts fresh coolness to the breezes. Warm or cold ocean currents, if they be extensive, have much influence on climate. Thus the great Gulf Stream, laden with the heat of the Tropics, by laving the shores of Western Europe, and more especially those of our own islands, sensibly moder. ates the rigor of the Winter; while, on the other hand, the cold current from the Greenland Sea and Baffin's Bay, which streams past Newfoundland and the Atlantic shore of North America, materially lowers the climatic tempera- ture of those countries. As a general rule, the effect of a deep inland or con- tinental position in temperate regions is to give what is called an “extreme" character to the climate, – that is, to make it colder in Winter and hotter in Summer than other places on the same parallel of latitude which are surrounded by or near the sea. To illustrate this point, the climate of Warsaw in nearly 52° 13' may be contrasted with that of Dublin in 53° 21'. Warsaw lies on the great plain of Central Europe. In Winter, the surface over a wide tract around loses its temperature under the in- fluence of the long nights and keen frosts, while there is no neighboring sea to mitigate the cold. Had the ocean been near, as its temperature does not fall under 40° Fah- renheit, it would have corrected this rigor; but, instead of the comparatively warm sea, there is an extensive land surface, which, being cooled down far below the freezing point, imparts to the air passing over Warsaw much of its own intense rigor. Dublin, on the other hand, by having a maritime position, enjoys during the Winter a far milder climate, although it lies more than a degree farther north 78 Winter and Summer. The temperature of its coldest month does not fall below a mean of 37°, while that of Warsaw sinks to 27 degrees. In Summer, however, the same physical conditions pro- duce exactly the contrary effect. The sandy plains round Warsaw get baked in the sun, and the air in passing over them is heated as in an oven ; but round Dublin there are no scorched plains, and the sea that encircles Ireland tends still further to cool the temperature. Hence, while the mean of the hottest month at Warsaw is 70°, that of Dublin is only 60°. Thus Warsaw is Io degrees colder than Dublin in Winter, and Io degrees hotter in Summer. To similar causes is to be attributed the extreme char- acter of the climate throughout the greater part of North America. At New York, for example, the thermometer in Summer often rises to above Ioo? in the shade; while dur- ing the Winter of 1866 it fell to 15° below zero, and marked 28° in places more inland. The explanation of this excessive rigor is that most of this vast continent lies far from the sea, while it stretches in unbroken continua- tion into the frozen regions. In the same way Central Asia chiefly owes its “extreme’ climate to its distance from the ocean. Although there be no Winter or Summer within the tropics and in certain adjacent districts in the sense in which we understand them, there is nevertheless a division of the year into “wet and dry " periods, which, in their influence on the functions of animal and more especially of vegetable life, have effects analogous to those produced by the warm and cold seasons of higher latitudes. In the wet season vegetation is most vigorous; but, after the dry season has continued for some time, the grass withers and dries up, the deciduous leaves fall, the growth of plants is arrested, and the vegetable world reposes very much as in the Winter of more northern climes. The analogy between these seasons is still more strikingly shown by the torpor into which some animals fall during Winter and Summer. 79 the dry season, just as elsewhere they pass into a state of hibernation during the Winter. Thus when that reptile- looking fish, the Lepidosiren of the river Gambia, per- ceives that the waters are falling on the approach of the dry season, and that food is becoming scarce, it buries itself in the mud, and there awaits in a dormant state the return of the rains. Sir J. E. Tennent has noticed other animals in Ceylon which become torpid during the dry season in the mud of the great water-tanks, and more ex- tended observation will probably add to the list. Nowhere, from the force of contrast, is Summer more brilliantly joyous or its approach welcomed with greater delight, than in polar regions, where amid perennial frost and snow Winter seems to be enthroned for ever. The long, continuous night, after passing through a tedious dawn, at length opens into that bright, brief interval in which Spring, Summer, and Autumn are blended into one. In rays of warmth the sun sends forth the signal, and Nature promptly answers to the call. As heat increases, the solitude once more shows signs of life and movement. The frozen lumps and ledges covering the sea begin to strain and crack and split asunder, and glacier masses breaking loose from their icy cables yield themselves up to the current and the wind. Food is no longer abso- lutely wanting, and many creatures that have been slum- bering through the Winter now shake off their torpor. Torpor enforced, but merciful! As Winter approached, supplies of food ran short and then became exhausted, so God in kindness sent them sleep. Hunger was extin- guished in lethargy. It was needful to husband the forces of vitality until the time of abundance should again come round ; so the heart was made to beat, and the lungs to breathe, at the lowest rate that was compatible with ex istence. The expenditure of fuel to maintain animal warmth was thus brought down to its minimum, and the lamp of life was sparingly fed with the fat which Nature 8O Winter and Summer. had providentially stored up in the body when food was plenty. But now, called forth by light and warmth, the bear creeps from its lair of snow, and seals and walruses begin to gambol round the rocks where lately solid ice sealed up the surface of the deep. Myriads of migratory waterfowl from the warm South whiten the in-shore cliffs. Then the Esquimau, rousing himself from the enforced idleness of the long night, sallies forth to hunt and fish, and to gather up supplies of food in snow-built safes against the never-distant Winter. The short, thick grass and moss spread their carpet of green over every sheltered spot from which the snow has melted, and the rest of the scanty but often brightsome flora of remotest North puts on with marvelous rapidity its Summer aspects. Diversity of climate and season — of Winter and Sum- mer— over the globe has produced for man's advantage a corresponding variety of animal and vegetable life. Man himself has an organic strength which enables him to exist in every clime ; but other animals, and all plants, have a more limited geographical distribution, and are endowed with constitutions which fit them for thriving in certain regions only. By means of commerce, however, the short-comings of one climate are supplemented by the riches of another, and all the most useful productions growing upon the earth are thus most widely scattered. This necessary interchange, moreover, becomes a means of knitting the whole world in bonds of mutual dependence. We may rest assured that nothing in Nature has been established without benevolent design, and even the dif- ficulties arising from the proverbial uncertainties of cli- mate, as well as the impediments encountered in the cul- tivation of the soil, are not without their use. Every thing shows that we are here as in a training school, and surrounded by circumstances which, by demanding the energetic exercise of our faculties, tend to preserve and strengthen them. In man's contests with the so-called Winter and Summer. 81 faults of climate, he is, for the most part, reasonably vic torious. His prudent foresight, his ingenious contrivances, his dexterous wielding of science to avert evils and im- prove opportunities, are continually showing how abun- dantly the Creator has supplied him with all means need- ful for his welfare, in whatever quarter of the world his lot may happen to be cast. Diversity of climate circumscribes within limits more or less narrow many of the most useful of our food-pro- ducing plants, but this unavoidable evil has sometimes been lessened or obviated in a way which affords another instance of the kind forethought of Our Father. One of the most useful articles of vegetable diet is sugar, and Nature has taken care that many substances in common use shall contain a fair proportion of it. At the same time, there are certain plants in which it exists so abun- dantly that we are accustomed to resort to them for our large supplies. Of these the chief is the well-known “cane.” But the sugar-cane flourishes only in the tropics and adjacent regions; and therefore all sugar from this source consumed in extra-tropical countries must be brought to them by commerce. Many a wide district, however, lying far in the interior of continents, is unfa- vorably situated for thus receiving its supplies, and it might either have been deprived of that article altogether, or at least have been inadequately provided with it, had not Providence, with kind intent, created other sugar- producing plants constitutionally suited to different cli- mates, for the purpose of distributing the gift more gen- erally over the world. Thus we find that, from the “cane” region to the Mediterranean, the supply of sugar is main- tained by several plants, among which may be mentioned the date-palm and the fig. Beyond this, in climates cor- responding to southern Europe, there are the sorghum and maize, from which much sugar is now manufactured in France and America. Farther to the north the beet. 6 82 Winter and Summer. root in the field and the maple in the forest extend the system of sugar-producing plants almost to the confines of the arctic circle. In another article of diet, which from its importance we are accustomed to call the “staff of life,” a similar providential succession is observed. Farinaceous food is tropically represented by the rice- plant in great abundance; in proceeding northward rice is associated with the maize or Indian corn; that is suc- ceeded by wheat ; and lastly, we have oats and barley flourishing almost up to the North Cape. The same rep- resentative system is observed in regard to many other important vegetable principles with more or less distinct- ness. In this manner, then, the difficulties opposed by climate to the wide distribution over the globe of some of the most valuable products of the vegetable kingdom have been entirely surmounted. It is clear that, according to the laws which regulate the vegetable kingdom, it was impossible for the same useful plants to flourish every- where; but Providence has created duplicates, as it were, to yield abundantly the same products, and has adapted them by their constitution to take up their position in the different climatic belts of the world, in order that no extensive region should be without them. With all their imputed faults of climate, we have no occasion in these favored islands” to envy the plantal glories of warmer regions. In absolute beauty who shall say that we are not on an equality, whilst the great charm arising from the well-marked progression of the seasons is more especially our own. Nothing is more frequently debated than the comparative attractions of the different periods of the year, and certainly no season — not even excepting Winter — need be without its admirers. The never-ending contrasts which every season spreads before us unquestionably contribute much to enhance our enjoy- ment. Never do “green things” seem so green or flowers * Great Britain. Winter and Summer. 83 so bright as when our first glimpses of them are caught through the opening portals of the Spring. Then do we feel more than at any other time the great value of this sea- sonal alternation. How gladly the eye wanders over and reposes upon the “universal garb" of Nature. To the beauties of Summer and Autumn we are led up as it were through an avenue which, by gradually preparing us for what is to follow, lessens in some degree the keenness of our relish. The banquet is more varied, but the freshness of the appetite is wanting. Though Winter may yield in beauty to other seasons, it is yet universally felt to have special attractions of its own. There is much to admire in the cheery, ruddy glow of the sun, in the noble and picturesque though naked forms of the woods, in the hoar-frost on the grass, in the sparkle of the ice-gemmed trees, the stalactites of crystal, and the wreaths of snow. Even in Winter's gloomiest moods the comforting thought is ever rising to our mind, that the stillness we see round is not death but needful repose spread over Nature in mercy, and that the woods will soon again be clothed in green, and vocal with the songs of birds. Winter has yet another aspect by which it is endeared to us. At Christmas-time it is crowned by the great Fes- tival of the Church and of the family. Then, while Na- ture slumbers in wood and field, Winter is brightly and lovingly awake around the hearth, gladdening millions of hearts with warm affection. Families that were scattered by the various calls of life once more gather together to enjoy the present, glance at the past, and treasure up new associations for the future. Then shops put on their gay. est looks, and young and old press eagerly forward in search of the little gifts that are to make others happy. Streets and railway stations are thronged with bustling groups hurrying on to claim from expectant friends the cordial welcome of the season. Here and there, too, may 84 Winter and Summer. be seen the “knotless threads " and waifs of the world drawn onward by the social influence of the season to ward some genial home, where, for a time, the sense of loneliness will be forgotten. At Christmas the Church and the Home seem to draw closer to each other, and the thoughts awakened by the solemn festival mingle with and temper the current of family rejoicing. Christmas is pre- eminently the season of “good-will toward men.” Un- der its kindly impulses the mind softens with sympathy, and, while keenly alive to the blessings that fall to its own lot, is more heedful, perhaps, than at other times of the plaints of the less fortunate. The parish work-house is for the day made radiant with merry faces, and Charity enters through its gloomy gates to spread the feast in honor of the Anniversary. In the good soil which Christ- mas thus prepares in the heart old friendships revive and new affections quickly strike their roots; while animosi- ties, curbed by the gentle influences of the season, shrink out of sight, or are swept away altogether in the gush of better feelings. The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground:yea, I have a goodly heritage.— Ps. xvi. AVG HTS AAWD ZXA Y.S. O ye Nights and Days, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and mag- - niſy Him for ever. Sºy:E have already alluded to the earth's orbital § movement round the sun, from which our year R A& results; and we have now to direct attention to that other movement of the earth by which, in turning upon its axis every 23 hours 56 minutes and 4 seconds, it gives rise to the division of time into Nights and Days. How perfect the working of that machine must be by which this division is meted out may be inferred from a calculation by Laplace, which demonstrated that “it was impossible that a difference of one hundredth of a second of time should have occurred between the length of the day in the earliest ages, and at the present time !” Reverting for a moment to our impromptu orrery, it is obvious that if the ball of worsted, representing the earth, were to be held steady during its Solar orbit, so as not to turn round on its axis, one hemisphere of its surface would be directed toward the sun for one half of its cir- cuit, and the remaining hemisphere during the other half. In other words, a whole year would be divided into one long day and one long night. During the day the sun would always be above the horizon, and the accumulation of heat which would thus accrue would far transcend the hottest tropical climate. In the other hemisphere, turned away from the sun, there would be a constant loss of heat from radiation, and as no compensatory rays would be re- ceived from that luminary, the temperature would sink be 86 AWights and Days. low that of the frozen regions. It is clear that such an arrangement would be incompatible with the conditions under which life now exists upon our globe. Having re- gard to the constitution that has been given to animals and plants, it is absolutely necessary that heat and light should be meted out to them at intervals sufficiently fre- quent to guard against extremes of temperature. There- fore it is ordained that the earth shall revolve once upon its axis in a period nearly amounting to twenty-four hours, — an arrangement by which twelve hours of alternate day and night, of warm sunlight and cool darkness, are se- cured to each hemisphere. By the aid of certain cosmical conditions, elsewhere noticed, modifications in the distri- bution of light and heat are produced, by which animals and plants might obtain that particular length of day and night which is best suited to their nature and habits. The intervals of night and day are, moreover, in perfect harmony with that law of Nature by which all animals re- quire seasons of rest to alternate with periods of activity. The demand for repose is universally felt and obeyed. Even plants may be said to have their days and nights, in the sense of intervals for activity and rest; but the hours for labor are struck by the seasons — by orbital and not by axial rotation. In spring, summer, and autumn the sap circulates briskly, the manufacture of wood proceeds without intermission, and the various special products, as gum, starch, Sugar, and other matters, are elaborated. But on the approach of winter—or toward the evening of their long day of work — plants turn weary, and, by a poetical yet truthful figure, we habitually speak of them as “falling asleep.” So necessary is this period of repose that, in the tropics where there is no winter's cold to chill them into rest, Nature wraps them in salutary torpor by means of the sun's fierce rays. And how gladdening the dawn after the long night when plants awake from their sleep, and burst forth once more to resume their day of work | AWights and Days. 87 Night mercifully beckons the world to rest. The busy sounds of day cease to distract the ear, and Nature gently points toward repose. How sad when the silent hours of darkness refuse to steep in sweet oblivion the senses of the careworn, or to dull the racked nerves of him who languishes upon a bed of sickness. Sleep is best wooed by labor—it is the reward with which Nature blesses ex- ertion. How grateful sleep is to the busy workers of the world; to the drones only is it apt to be, like their life, a listless, scarcely enjoyed vacuity. Night, too, calls us to meditation. When darkness drops its curtain over the things of earth, the mind is prompted to look inward. The brief but salutary retrospect of the day should then be made, and the account closed. In prayer the soul finds peace, and sleep steals softly on amid thoughts that recall the Divine protection. My trust is in the tender mercy of God for ever and ever. — Ps, lii. J. MGHT AND DARKMESS. O ye Light and Darkness, bless ye the Lord: praise Him, and mag- nifty Him for ever. * MONG those works of the Lord to which this hymn appeals there is not one more full of blessings to mankind than Light, or one which more praises and magnifies the Creator. But, though many of the laws by which Light is governed are now well known, its essential nature is still a mystery. Some phi- losophers suppose it to be an “emanation” from luminous bodies of inconceivably minute atoms which act on the retina of the eye like odorous particles on the nerves of smell. Others refer its phenomena to “undulations' ex- cited in a subtle ether pervading space, and traveling on- ward to the eye by a movement resembling waves in the ocean. This theory, therefore, points to an analogy with the sense of hearing. - - How wonderful is the construction of that little instru- ment by which light is made to minister to vision | There is truly nothing in the whole range of Nature which more convincingly demonstrates design than the mutual adap- tations of eye and light. This organ, equally perfect in contrivance and in finish, exhibits the most wonderful combination of organic power with a mechanical appara- tus formed on the regular principles of optics. We see objects by reflected light; in other words, the object must first be illuminated, and then it must reflect a cer- tain amount of this light into our eyes. But as the en- trance of too many or too bright rays would have dazzled Light and Darkness. 89 vision, while too few would have left it obscure and indis- tinct, an ever-vigilant sentinel — the iris, on which the color depends — was posted in front across the interior of the eye, to regulate, by the expansion or contraction of the pupil, the exact number of rays that ought to be admitted. It was also necessary that the rays, after en- tering the eye, should be made to converge so as to depict a distinct image on the retina, or nerve of vision, spread out at the back of the organ. For this purpose a lens, as clear as crystal, has been fixed up immediately behind the pupil, to “refract” or bend the rays into the proper focus. Not less careful has the Creator been in regard to the safety of so delicate an apparatus. To preserve the eye from injury, it has been sunk as deeply in the face as was consistent with the free range of vision ; it is de- fended all round by strong ridges of bone, and made to move softly on an adipose cushion. Eyebrows, moreover, have been placed above, and fringing eyelashes in front, to guard against excessive light; while, by the rapid movement of the eyelids, the tears are diffused over the surface of the eye exposed to the air so as to keep it moist and glistening. Such are a few only of the beauti- ful contrivances exhibited by this organ. Light, though colorless and invisible, is in reality made up of seven different tints, which again may be reduced to three—red, yellow, and blue — out of which the others are formed. The whole series is finely displayed in that separation of light into its constituent parts which takes place in a prism of glass or in the water-drops of the rainbow. Objects which absorb nearly all the rays are black ; those which reflect them all are white; and we owe the charm of color to the circumstance that most bodies, while decomposing the rays of light that fall on them, absorb some of the constituent tints and reflect the others. By the endless combination of these last every variety of color is produced. In many ways colors are go Light and Darkness. convenient and useful, nor will any one deny that the face of Nature would have lost its highest charm had not this property been bestowed on light. The sun is the great fountain of Light; but, without the coöperation of the atmosphere to diffuse it over objects, the illumination of this earth would have been most im- perfect, and light could never have become the universal blessing which it now is. Objects on which the direct rays of the sun fell would, of course, have reflected light and been visible; but objects which were in shade, and which, therefore, did not receive any direct solar rays, would have been invisible. Let any one attempt to realize the confusion into which the world would thus have been thrown. Even in the brightest sunshine we should have seen things only in broken fragments. The varied beauty of scenery would have vanished, and every landscape would have been disfigured with seams and patches of inky blackness. The rays of the sun in passing through a window would have brightened the surfaces they touched, but all around would have been left in almost midnight darkness. In conversing with a friend, the side which was turned toward the sun would alone have been visible ; and, if our own face had happened to be opposite to his and in shade, he could not have seen it. If a cloud had passed over the sun both of us would have vanished into darkness, as if from a sudden eclipse. The azure tints of the firmament would have disappeared, and the stars would have shone at midday from a vault of utter blackness. To improve the illumination it was, therefore, essential that something should distribute the light, so as to supply objects that were in shade with a certain amount of rays, by the reflection of which they might be seen. This task was given by the Creator to the atmosphere. Many of the sun's rays fall directly on the earth, but the rest are caught up by the air, and are reflected and re- reflected from one particle to another, and are scattered Light and Darkness. 91 and diffused in every direction, until all objects within their influence are bathed in light. In this manner bodies in shade art illumined and become visible by reflecting into our eyes more or less of the light they have received at second-hand. - The service which the atmosphere renders to the sun, in diffusing its light equally over objects, is amply repaid by the sun in coöperating with plants to purify the atmos- phere. A healthy condition of the latter is of primary necessity to our welfare; and, as the air is continually being vitiated in a variety of ways, some active agency is needed to check deterioration and preserve it in a state of purity. The essential constituent of the air is oxygen, which is diluted with nitrogen to a certain degree; and with this mixture is invariably associated a small propor- tion of carbonic acid gas. The latter is poisonous; but, under ordinary circumstances, the quantity existing in the air— only about one 2000th part of its volume—is too small to be attended with any inconvenience. There are, however, many causes in operation continually tending to destroy this balance, and to produce a noxious excess. In the first place, we manufacture the poison within our- selves to an extent which, though small in the individual, is enormous in the aggregate. With every inspiration we draw into the lungs a certain amount of oxygen, which, after combining with a certain amount of carbon or char- coal, is expired in the shape of carbonic acid gas. Now, although a small proportion of this acid was inspired as a constituent of the air, the quantity evolved exceeds by sixty times the quantity taken in ; so that the whole amount of carbon thus daily carried off from the lungs of a healthy adult is not less than from nine to twelve ounces. When we multiply this unit by the population of the world, and add to it the product of respiration in the iower animals, we may imagine the extent to which the at- tnosphere is vitiated from this cause. 92 Light and Darkness. A quantity of carbonic acid gas still more encrmous is produced by combustion, the decomposition of animal and vegetable matter, and by fermentation. Every can- dle and every lamp sends forth its little rill of poison into the air, while from fireplaces and furnaces it issues in streams. In all these cases the chemical action is the same ; – the carbon of the fuel is changed into carbonic acid by its union with oxygen gas. Notwithstanding these sources of vitiation it is found experimentally that the relative proportions of the con- stituents of the atmosphere vary very little, and that the amount of carbonic acid diffused through it never exceeds its due quantity. It is obvious, therefore, that the Cre- ator must have set some potent machinery in motion to correct and purify. Rain and surface water carry off more or less of the gas, and some mineral springs sparkle with it ; but the work is chiefly done through the agency of Light upon the leaves of plants. When it is said that we “viti- ate ” the air in breathing, the expression refers only to its salubrity as regards ourselves and other animals; but we should greatly err if we supposed that this apparent spoil- ing subserved no good purpose. That which vitiates the air to us only prepares and perfects it for the use of plants; and the carbonic acid which would be poison to us is food to them. Thus the leaves, while bathed in air, extract from it the chief bulk of the carbon which is to build up the woody substance of the tree to which they belong. It is to be observed, however, that they can only perform this function so long as they are stimulated by Light. In darkness, plants, instead of purifying the air, tend to vitiate it still further by a slight evolution of the very gas which it is their special function to remove. But in the day-time, the leaf seizes upon the particles of car- bonic acid gas that come in contact with it; and, while it “fixes” the carbon in its substance, it liberates into the air the oxygen which is to restore its purity. It might be Light and Darkness. 93 thought that, as there are no leaves in winter to purify, the atmosphere would then become poisonous. But by the cosmical conditions of our globe it has been wisely ordained that it never is winter all over the world at the same time. The work, therefore, is always going on, though the scene of the laboratory is shifted. But be- sides this, the period of a single winter, with its dispersing winds and currents, would be too short to allow any inju- rious accumulation to take place. Thus to vast causes of vitiation are opposed vast agencies that purify, whereby the balance which works for the good of all organized Nature is preserved. At midday the unprotected eye cannot face the sun. But at Sunset he ceases to dazzle, because his rays, from their greater obliquity, lose much of their fierceness while passing through the less clear and more vaporous layers of the atmosphere immediately investing the earth. The light is not only weakened, but it is altered in its charac- ter. In their passage toward our eyes many rays are absorbed and lost altogether, and many others are decom- posed and only partially transmitted. Of the ray-frag ments which thus survive and eventually reach our retina the red predominate ; and hence the glowing hues of sun- Set. - When looking at the sun just as he begins to set, it is curious to reflect that he is not really where he appears to be, but actually below the horizon. We are, in fact, looking at his image or picture. There is a rim of the horizon interposed between us; he is in the position of the hull of a ship when, as sailors express it, the ship is “hull-down.” Hence, were it possible that a cannon-ball could be projected in a straight line right through the bright disk before us, it would not strike the sun, but would pass clean over it. This “lifting up" of the image of the sun is due to “refraction” — that property which has already been noticed as enabling the lens of the eye 94 Light and Darkness. to bend the rays of light, and bring them to a focus on the retina. Refraction is familiar to every boy who has thrust a stick into clear water, and noticed the broken or bent appearance it presents at the point of immersion ; and a spoon placed in a teacup into which a little water has been poured will exhibit it equally well. For our present purpose, however, this will be better illustrated by another very simple experiment. Let a shilling be laid at the bottom of a basin placed on the table, and let the ob- server then move slowly backward, keeping his eye fixed on the piece of money, until the rim of the basin just in- tercepts his view. If water be now poured into the basin without displacing the coin, the latter will be as it were lifted up out of its real position, and will become visible. At first the shilling was seen in its true place. When the rays proceeding from it to the eye were intercepted by the rim of the basin, it became invisible. But when the water was added some of the rays from the coin in pass- ing from the water into the air were “refracted,” and bent downward toward the eye so as to fall within the range of vision. Now as in refraction objects are not seen in the direction in which the rays originally left them, but in the direction in which the rays ultimately enter the eye, it follows that the coin is visible in its “lifted up” position. In applying this experiment to the phenomena of sunset, we may consider the shilling as the sun, and the intercept- ing rim of the basin as the horizon behind which the sun has really sunk. The media of water and air represent the dense, vaporous, impure lower strata of the atmos- phere, which gradually “refract,” or bend down toward our eye, the rays that come to us from the sun, and thus lift up its image above its real position. To the “reflecting” power of the atmosphere we owe that interval of half-light which in the morning we call the dawn, and in the evening the twilight. Were it not for this property, we should pass at once from darkness Light and Darkness 95 to light and from light to darkness. When the sun sinks below the horizon, and when his direct rays have bid adieu to the dwellers on the plains, they still continue to tint the tops of the hills; and when, from the further dipping of the sun, these also have passed into shade, the slant- ing rays still enter freely into the higher regions of the atmosphere. Most of these rays continue their course into space and are lost to us entirely; but others are caught up by the particles of air and vapor, as by mirrors of inconceivable minuteness, and are turned back and re- flected from layer to layer downward until at length they reach the earth. The same operation is repeated as the sun approaches from the east in the morning. The soft, mild light of twilight is especially grateful in summer to eyes that seek repose after the hot glare of the sun. It is linked in most minds with pleasant associations. This is the time for leisure strolls on land or gliding movements on the water. It brings us into acquaintance with many animals which select it as their favorite period of activity. Soon as the swallows have ceased their twit-twit, the bats issuing from their retreat begin to occupy the vacant hunt- ing ground, in which they display an activity on the wing scarcely less astonishing. The length of twilight varies according to the latitude and the season of the year. It is shortest within the tropics, whose inhabitants may be said to plunge almost at once from light into darkness; and it lengthens as we proceed toward the poles. In the latitude of London, from the 22d May to the 21st July, so much light lingers behind between sunset and sunrise that, speaking astro- nomically, there is no night at all. At the north pole night lasts from November 12th to January 29th ; it is preceded by one long twilight continuing uninterruptedly from the autumnal equinox ; and it is followed by a dawn reaching to the vernal equinox. During the whole of this period of six months the sun is below the horizon. Those 96 Zight and Darkness. who enjoy the blessing of alternate day and night every 24 hours, can hardly realize the intense thankfulness with which the dawn and the sun are welcomed by men who have just passed through the depressing influences of the dreary polar night. We can sympathize with Doctor Kane in his brig among the Greenland ice, as he records his eager watchings for the sun, and the calculations which, by revealing its daily progress toward him, per- mitted him to anticipate with certainty the day of its reap- pearance. We understand the thankfulness with which he must have watched the dawn growing brighter and bright- er, and the delight with which at length he scrambled up a neighboring height to catch a glimpse of the orb still hidden at the level of the deck. “I saw him once more, and from a projecting crag nestled in the sunshine. It was like bathing in perfumed water.” When wintering in the far north, Captain Sherard Osborn thus describes the return of the sun after an absence of 66 days. On February 7th “the stentorian lungs of the Resolute's boatswain hailed to say the sun was in sight from the mast-head ; and in all the vessels the rigging was soon manned to get the first-glimpse of the returning god of day. Slowly it rose ; and loud and hearty cheers greeted the return of an orb which those without the frozen zone do not half appreciate because he is always with them. For a whole hour we feasted ourselves admiring the sphere of fire.” Light is one of the best and cheapest of Nature's tonics, and, unless it be habitually absorbed, neither animal nor vegetable can permanently prosper. Except in a compar- atively narrow belt round the poles, this needful medica- ment is poured out at short intervals profusely over the world, and streams into every dwelling where it is not re- pelled by ignorance or folly. In man the habitual absence of sufficient light proclaims itself in the wan cheek and bloodless lip ; and in plants, by the general want of green Alight and Darkness. 97 coloring matter. The blood that has been long shut off from the renovating influence of sunlight-air may circulate through the various organs, but it lacks the power to im- part to them a healthy vigor. In the night-time less car- bon is expired from the lungs, and the purification of the blood, therefore, goes on less actively than during the day. The inhabitants of towns, where light is more or less ex- cluded by lofty streets, are pale and feeble when compared with country cottages, although their food may be both better and more abundant. Those who pass their days in dark alleys, or in the basement dens of crowded cities, seldom enjoy perfect health ; and this is due not less, per- haps, to the want of light than to the want of air. Where light is defective elasticity forsakes both mind and body, and the spirits of few are so buoyant as to be altogether insensible to the difference between a bright and a dull day. In the weary polar night there is always a strug- gle against the depressing influence of darkness. When Kane, wintering in Smith's Sound, saw his crew drooping and dying round him, he probably did not err in attributing the calamity less to the want of good provisions than to the want of light. His dogs, too, perished one after the other with strange, anomalous symptoms which he attrib- uted to the same cause, and he looked forward with con- fidence to the return of sunlight as the charm that was to stay the pestilence. It would even appear that some plants, acted on by light, give off that mysterious kind of modified oxygen, termed ozone, which is believed to contribute so peculiarly to the healthy condition of the atmosphere. Nor is the pervading influence of light unfelt even in the inorganic world. To light we owe the beauties of photography; and many other chemical actions can go on only under its stimulus. “And God said, Let there be Light.” Who can ade. quately appreciate the evidences of Power, Wisdom, and 7 Alight and Darkness. 99 than it coinmenced the manufacture of pure air for the use of man, and in token of its activity it was gemmed all over with bells of vital oxygen. Land plants are no less busy in the same task, although their labor is necessarily invisi- ble. Thus by the aid of Light no plant is idle, nor is it useless in Nature's economy, though it may be unseen. Every scattered leaf and blade of grass has its appointed task, and every ray of light that falls upon them helps on the life of the world. This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes. –Ps. cxviii. "GTSN ſº §l ſº [. §§ } º Waters above the Firmament. IOI collect “above the firmament.” There “the clouds drop no fatness,” and the land loosens into sterile sand. In our own country, and still more in hot climates, clouds often interpose as a friendly shield between sun and earth, to check excessive evaporation from the one, and to ward off the too scorching rays of the other. Without this protection the surface of the soil would dry up, roots would find no moisture, plants would languish or wither, and cattle might perish for want of water. The vapor issuing from the spout of a tea-kettle sup- plies a favorite illustration of the theory of clouds, or they may be studied on a larger and very beautiful scale as they are developed from the funnel of a locomotive. With every puff of the engine a quantity of steam is driven into the air. It will be noticed that this steam is invisible at the moment of its escape, and when it has as yet scarcely cleared the funnel; then it is quickly condensed into a white cloud; and, lastly, this cloud itself disappears. A moment's attention to these three points will unfold to us much that is interesting in cloud-philosophy. It is well known that, when water is heated to a temperature of 212° Fahrenheit, it rapidly passes into invisible steam. The steam produced by the engine boiler was, therefore, as transparent as air on escaping into the funnel. But when steam is cooled below the temperature of 212° Fahrenheit it is condensed into vapor; hence the white cloud which the invisible steam of the locomotive formed on coming into contact with the colder air around it. Finally, we observed that as this cloud was diffused more widely through the air it dissolved and vanished. This last fact proves that the atmosphere has the prop- erty of absorbing or dissolving moisture, which it retains in an invisible state. Air, indeed, always contains an ad- mixture of moisture, though the quantity is continually varying. The warmer the air, the greater is its capacity to take up water in this invisible state ; on the other hand, I O2 Waters above the Aºrmament. - the colder the air, the less moisture it can hold. It fol- lows that the atmosphere of the tropics is much more loaded with vapor than that of temperate regions; while this latter, in its turn, contains more moisture than the air of higher latitudes. We speak of “a dry air,” but the expression is only relatively correct. There is always enough of water even in the dryest air to moisten saline substances that are deliquescent; and every body has ob- served the streams condensed from unseen vapor which soon begin to trickle down the sides of a bottle of iced water brought into a room. Few people, however, would have expected to find that a cube of air measuring twenty yards each way and at a temperature of 68° Fahrenheit, is capable of taking up no less than 252 lbs. of water before it reaches the point of saturation. From this it may be imagined how enormous the quantity of water must be which is suspended invisibly in the entire atmos- phere of the world. It is out of this invisible steam pervading the atmos- phere that visible vapors or clouds are manufactured. When one current of air meets another current colder than itself, they intermingle; and, if the resulting mixture be not of a temperature sufficiently high to retain in a state of invisibility the moisture that is diffused through both, the excess is necessarily condensed into cloud. The cloud itself is composed of particles or drops of water so extremely minute that they float in air. But if the con- densation be pushed further, the minute drops coalesce into larger drops, and rain falls to the earth. On the other hand, if warm or dry currents of air happen to set in through the cloud, it will be again more or less com- pletely dissolved, as was observed in the case of the va- por puffed out of the engine-funnel. Hence the continual changes going on in clouds — their thinning, thickening, enlargement, diminution, and the other alteration.s of form. Waters above the Fºrmament. IO3 The atmosphere owes its moisture to the evaporation going on at all temperatures both from land and water, and more especially from the great equatorial oceans of the globe. In temperate climates, like that of Europe, with a mean temperature of 524°, the annual evaporation is equal to a layer of water 37 inches thick; but within the tropics it is much greater, varying from 80 to Ioo inches. The great stimulator of evaporation is the sun, and clouds check evaporation by intercepting his rays. A calm is less favorable to it than a breeze ; in the former, the air rest- ing on the water soon gets saturated, and ceases to absorb ; but a breeze sweeping over the sea is continually present- ing to it new and thirsty portions of air, so that the pro- cess goes on with great activity. The water thus sucked up is carried off into the atmosphere as invisible vapor or steam, which is ultimately condensed into clouds. These may be considered as huge aerial tanks or reservoirs filled with water handed up by the ever-busy air for the service of the earth. When clouds are not condensed in one place, the loaded air passes on with its burden to another; but sooner or later it is relieved either by the vanishing of the vapor through reabsorption, or by the formation of rain. Clouds may, in some degree, be regarded as regula- tors of atmospheric moisture, withdrawing it when in ex- cess, and yielding it back when moisture is needed. Besides supplying all the rain and filling all the rivers of the earth, the invisible moisture of the air is essential to the well-being both of animal and vegetable life. Were the thirsty air not abundantly fed with water from sea and land, it would in its eager search for drink suck out the moisture from every living thing, and in spite of all pre- cautions we should soon pass into the condition of dried- up mummies. Our safety lies in the free admixture of water with the air, by which its keenness is tempered. Nevertheless it is astonishing to mark what care Nature has taken to protect the juices of plants and animals from IO4 Waters above the Firmament. this desiccating action, by investing them with coverings which are more or less impermeable. In respirat on the lungs cannot support an air which is too dry. When the supply of invisible vapor in a room is deficient, unpleasant sensations arise which are relieved by softening the air with steam from hot water. While wintering beyond Smith's Sound, Doctor Kane observed that his crew suffered from the excessive dryness of the air which, in breathing, was sensibly pungent and acrid. Nor is the invisible atmospheric vapor less necessary to the vegetable kingdom. Plants have the power of absorb- ing moisture not only by the roots but also through their leaves; and, in a fairly humid air, the evaporation going on from their surface is thus more or less checked or com- pensated. But in a too dry air this balance is upset, and the leaves droop or wither. The few plants that grow in the sandy desert are mainly dependent on the invisible moisture of the atmosphere for their supply of water, and the same may be said of those plants which live and grow when suspended in the air of a hot-house. From the remarks just made it will be readily under- stood that clouds or wind coming from the north do not usually portend rain. The air, in passing southward, has its temperature gradually elevated ; and, consequently, its power to hold vapor in an invisible state is being con- stantly augmented. Hence, not only is there no rain, but the clouds themselves are often seized upon by the dry air and dissolved. But a south wind, on the contrary, comes loaded with the vapor which it sucked up when its temper- ature was comparatively high, and its capacity for carry- ing invisible moisture great. In travelling northward it gradually cools, and the excess of moisture which it can no longer hold is condensed into clouds and rain. Clouds are habitually less noticed than they deserve to be, and the pleasure which their contemplation is so well calculated to afford is too often lost from neglect. On Waters above the A'armament. Io5 fitting occasions cloud-gazing is no unworthy distraction wherewith to occupy a few of the fragments of time; and it belongs to those enjoyments which are all the more valuable because they so often lie within our reach. There is solid pleasure in letting our eyes lead fancy away among the mazes of cloudland. What endless variety of form . The cirrhoid groups — how light, feathery, placid, gentle, and cheery! The bulky cumulus—stately, som- bre, threatening ! What is there grand in Nature or in imagination which is not to be found among them 2 There are mountains and rocks, peaks and precipices, of which the aiguilles and domes of the Alps are but pigmy models, castles and cities, torrents and waterfalls | Imagination itself is beggared. Beautiful shapes float before our eyes for which we strive in vain to find a name. Under our gaze they melt, and change, and recombine, as if to show the limitless fancy of exuberant Nature. What colors — the softest, the gravest, the richest, the brightest —hues of lead, copper, silver, and gold — all on a scale which mocks the rest of Nature's painting. What masses and magnitudes | Mounds of vapor, built up out of specky fragments, and rolled up the vault of the firmament by the power of the Sun. In repose clouds are the emblem of majesty, but, driven before the gale, they are the symbol of force that is irresistible. “His strength is in the clouds !” When the vapory masses are burnished by the rays of the setting sun, we feel that the Psalmist, in call- ing them the “chariot of the Iord,” has chosen for his metaphor the most gorgeous object that was to be found within the wide limits of the universe. Thy mercy, O Lord, reacheth unto the Heavens, – ard Thy faithfulness unto the Clouds. – Ps. xxxvi. JC/GAZZTAV/AVG AAWD CZO UDS. O ye Lightnings and Clouds, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnify Him for ever. # propriety have been considered among the “Pow- ers of the Lord;” but, from its being specially invoked, in conjunction with clouds, in a separate verse, we are reminded of the great part it plays in warm climates, and of the beneficent office it performs. Light- ning, or Electricity, is believed to be a form of heat ; but, whether it be essentially convertible into and identical with other great powers of motion, such as chemical force and life, we need not here discuss. The prevailing theory respecting its nature — one which at least harmonizes well with most of the pher omena it presents—is that electric- ity is of two kinds, positive and negative ; and that these fluids always attract each other in order to establish an equilibrium. On the other hand, when bodies are charged with the same kind of electricity — whether this be posi- tive or negative — they repel each other... When a certain amount of the one kind of fluid passes toward the other, it is attended with a flash of light which is termed the elec- tric spark. We have yet much to learn respecting the work done by electricity in the economy of Nature; but, both from its universal diffusion and from the provision made for its production, we may safely assume that the part it plays is most important to the welfare of the world. It certainly exercises great influence in meteorological phenomena— º:IKE other natural forces, lightning might with § Lightning and Clouds. Io'7 as in the condensation of clouds and rain, the production of currents and storms and the aurora borealis—as well as in regard to the general sanitary condition of the atmos- phere. We know how much our health and the comfort of our feelings are affected, even in this country, by the electrical state of the atmosphere; but we can form only a faint idea of the intensity of the inconvenience caused in hot climates where lightning is more common. The thunder-storm, notwithstanding the danger occasionally attending it, is there welcomed as a blessing sent to clear and purify the air, and restore it to its wonted salubrity. The earth is the great reservoir of electricity, and its surface may be considered as a vast electrical apparatus on which the fluid is being constantly developed. When we desire by artificial means to exhibit the presence of electricity, we usually rub glass or sealing-wax with a silk handkerchief, or we cause a plate of glass to revolve rapidly and rub itself against a piece of silk, as in the common electrical machine. So, likewise, in the grand machine of Nature, the air is constantly generating elec- tricity as it sweeps or rubs over the earth's surface, and the fluid thus evolved passes back into the earth or into the atmosphere. The fluid passing into the air may accumulate unduly; and the balance between the atmosphere and the earth being upset, Nature steps in and takes means to restore the equilibrium. With this intent, copious rains charged with electricity sometimes draw off the excess to the great reservoir; but when the case is beyond this mode of re- lief, the firmament is filled with thunder-clouds from which dart the sparks that flash toward the earth. The same kind of action happens when neighboring clouds are dif- ferently charged, and the balance is restored by the pas- sage of electricity from one to the other, as shown in the vivid sheet-lightning. There are some substances—such as metals and water iO3 Lightning and Clouds. — that are called “good conductors,” because electricity passes easily through them; and there are other substances —such as glass or dry air — that are called “bad con- ductors,” because electricity passes through them with dif- ficulty. In running off through the former the fluid seems gentle and manageable ; but in forcing a passage through the latter it tears and destroys. Thus the wire which con ducts into the earth the discharge of an electric machine may be held safely in the hand. The fluid will pursue its easy course through the wire to the ground, and will not turn aside to enter the hand and give a shock to the body by forcing its way through so bad a conductor. On this simple fact depends the principle of the lightning-rod. In its flight toward the earth the lightning will avoid a bad conductor, and select a good one, if it is to be had ; and thus it will spare the house or the tower so long as there is a sufficient iron rod attached through which it may descend to the earth. In this way the electric discharge, which would have shattered the “bad conducting ” tower, glides easily, gently, and safely past it into the ground. Formerly people dreaded to enter a smith's forge during a thunder-storm ; but now, being better informed, they wisely direct their steps toward it, well knowing that they cannot be in a safer position than when surrounded by masses of iron, that is, with good conductors in contact with the ground. As there are comparatively few places which can be artificially protected by lightning-rods, Providence, ever wise and kind, has made various natural arrangements to diminish the danger by which we should otherwise be surrounded during every thunder-storm. Thus it so hap- pens that water, whether in the form of liquid or of vapor, promotes the conducting qualities of bodies. How fitly, therefore, in this hymn has lightning been associated with clouds ! Out of the clouds comes the danger, — out of the clouds, too, comes the water which helps to avert “ Lightning and Clouds. 109 -Iom us. Dry air is a bad conductor, and favors undue electrical accumulations; but moist air is a good con- ductor, and drains the fluid harmlessly from the atmos. phere. Each big, round drop of rain, as it falls, becomes freighted with some of the superabundant electricity, and carries it off in safety to the earth. The falling torrent. moreover, soaks house and tower, tree and shrub, coats and other vestments, and thus adds to the facility with which they conduct the fluid harmlessly from the air. If caught, therefore, in a thunder-storm and drenched to the skin, let us console ourselves with the thought that we are thus much safer than we were a few minutes before when our clothes were dry. These means of safety apply chiefly to the thunder- storm itself— to the time when, an undue accumulation having occurred, the balance must be redressed even at the cost of danger. But Providence has not forgotten to take precautions by which undue accumulation, though not absolutely prevented, is at least rendered infinitely more rare than it otherwise would be had no such ar- rangement existed. The world is, in point of fact, studded all over with safeguards against disturbance in the elec- tric equilibrium between the atmosphere and the earth. On this subject a recent writer has well observed that “God has made a harmless conductor in every pointed leaf, every twig, every blade of grass. It is said that a common blade of grass, pointed with Nature's workman- ship, is three times as effectual as the finest cumbric needle, and a single twig is far more efficient than the metallic points of the best constructed rod. What then must be the agency of a single forest in disarming the forces of the storms of their terrors ? — while the same Al- mighty hand has made rain-drops and snow-flakes to be conductors, bridges for the lightning in the clouds, alike, it seems, proclaiming the mercy and the majesty of the Almighty hand.” The Three Children knew well the gladness with which, I IO Lightning and Clouds. toward the end of September, the lightning was welcomed in their beloved Judea. “He maketh lightning for rain,” exactly expressed the message which it brought from the sky. It indicated that the rule of the scorching sun was drawing to an end, and that the “early rains” were about to fall and refresh the earth, and prepare it for the seed The practically small danger that might attend the flash was forgotten in the paramount blessing of which it was the harbinger. Yet it must be confessed that, notwithstand- 1 \g the conviction of its utility, feelings allied to dread attend the explosions of the lightning-cloud; and nothing else in Nature brings so home to our minds the conviction that we live in the midst of peril. After every precaution for safety has been taken, what can preserve us from the fatal flash but the ever-vigilant hand of God? Lightning seems to be the very type of those messengers of “sudden death " from which we pray the Good Lord to deliver us. The close air that precedes the storm stifles and depresses. Dumb creatures stand anxiously about, utter their cries of fear, and seem to recognize instinctively that the forces of Nature are in conflict. The clouds advance, roll up to- gether, and thicken into lurid masses. The sun is walled out from the earth, and something less dark but more op- pressive than the night lies heavily upon us. The dart we see cleaving through the blackness is winged with destruction ; its course is wild and uncertain, its stroke is sudden, the death it deals is instantaneous. The sound- ing of the thunder is awful. From its lowest mutterings, scarcely breaking on the ear from afar, up to its loudest crash it is ever portentous, and no human heart can listen to it without emotion. The voice speaks to all, and it brings a double message:—it tells us that death is in the air; but it also recalls to us the thought that our lives are in God’s keeping, without whose will the lightning cannot hurt us. Nevertheless, though I am sometimes afraid, yet put I my trust in Thee. — Ps. lvi. SHOWERS AAWD DE W. O ye Showers, and Dew, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnify Him for ever. w |HE prominence given in this hymn to water in all Nº. 3. its forms is very remarkable, but is easily under- §l stood when we recollect that the Three Hebrews were chiefly familiar with “seasonal " countries. Such districts are strikingly and visibly dependent on the timely supply of Dew, Rain, and River water, to preserve them from the effects of the excessive droughts which usually set in at certain periods of the year. We read in Script- ure of the “early” and the “latter” rain. The early or, as it was sometimes called, the “former "rain began to be abundant in October, and continued to fall more or less until Christmas. It then either ceased altogether, or became very moderate until spring, when it once more poured down copiously as the “latter” rain. The hus- bandman profited by the first of these periods to sow the seed which was to germinate and stand the winter; while the time that followed the “latter” rain was equally favor- able to the rapid growth and ripening of the harvest. If few showers fell at those seasons, the hopes of the hus- bandman for a good crop were sure to be disappointed, for then, as now, little or no rain was to be expected dur- ing the summer. There are few natural objects inore frequently used as symbols in Scripture than rain and dew, and they invari- ably represent what is good and beneficent. The most blessed of all events—the coming of the Saviour, is thus II 2 Showers and Dew. foreshadowed by the Psalmist, — “He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass; as showers that water the earth.” On various occasions rain represents the Cre- ator's benignity toward man ; while the force of the ex- pression in Deuteronomy, chap. 32, “My doctrine shall drop as the rain,” is derived from its enriching and life- giving virtue. Besides bestowing fertility on the soil, rain cleanses and purifies both the land and the atmosphere. From the latter it often safely conducts the electricity which is accumulat- ing unduly, and by thus restoring the equilibrium between the air and the earth renders the thunder-storm unnec- essary. Rain also relieves the air of some of its superflu- ous carbonic acid, which it hands down to the rootlets of the plants; and, by means of its admixture with this acid, the surface water is enabled to take up a certain quantity of lime, which it transports down rill and river into the sea. to furnish myriads of creatures with materials out of which to build their shells. Rain sweeps down into the plains the weather-worn particles of rock which are to form new soil ; and, while it washes the surface of mountain and valley, street and house, it increases the general salu- brity by clearing off the minute rubbish of the world. When we consider the enormous volume of water which every year is rolled down into the sea by the rivers and rivulets of the earth, it is not to be wondered at that the annual rainfall which feeds them should be computed to have a bulk equal to 186,240 cubic imperial miles. If spread equally over the land of the globe — 50 million square miles — this rain would cover it with water to a depth of three feet. All this huge mass of water comes originally from the ocean, whence it is lifted up into the atmosphere by the agency of evaporation ; and as the southern hemisphere has a water-surface of 75 millions of miles, while that of the northern is only 25 millions, it fol- lows that there is a much greater quantity sucked up on Showers and Dew. I I 3 the south than on the north side of the Equator. As it is chiefly for the sake of the land that rain may be said to fall, and as the land so greatly predominates in the north- ern hemisphere, it might at first sight appear that Nature had for once committed a blunder in thus making the greatest provision for rain in that hemisphere where, from the comparative scarcity of land, the smallest supply is needed. But on looking more closely we shall see that every thing is harmonized through one of those marvelous adjustments by which the whole economy of the universe is characterized. A supply of water greater than what is locally required being thus drawn up into the atmosphere lying over the Southern Ocean, the problem is how to convey it into the northern hemisphere, where the chief masses of land lie, and where more rain is needed than can be obtained by evaporation? The machinery used in this gigantic task is found in the great atmospheric currents, which, though subject to occasional disturbance, do yet in the main act with perfect regularity. The chief evaporation from the Southern Ocean takes place when the sun is to the south of the Equator, and therefore when winter reigns in the northern hemisphere. At this season, the cold in high northern latitudes is most intense, and the heavy air has naturally its greatest tendency to pass toward the Equa- tor. The air thus displaced over the Southern Ocean rises, charged with heat and moisture, into the upper regions of the atmosphere, and there forms a current whose general direction is northward, or contrary to the polar current be- neath it. By this circulation of currents not only is the equilibrium of the air itself maintained, but a most neces- sary distribution of water and heat is likewise effected. One part of the globe which has an abundance is made to give to another part the supplies that are naturally wanted. Thus we can fancy the atmosphere to be a mighty ship indefatigably carrying on the beneficent commerce of Na- 8 II 4 Showers and Dezv. ture. Setting out from the bleak north, she sweeps round the earth to the regions of the south, refreshing them with cool, dry air ; and then, having laid in her cargo of heat and moisture, she starts without delay upon her return voyage, dispensing as she goes the blessings of warmth and rain. The cause of this regular precipitation may be readily understood by what has been said in regard to clouds. The tropical air, as it travels north, becomes colder and colder, and therefore its capacity to hold moisture becomes less and less. Hence it is forced at every stage to let go, in the shape of clouds and rain, the excess of moisture which it can no longer hold in solution ; and as every drop of rain, on being condensed from invisible vapor or steam, gives out as much latent heat as would raise by one degree Fahrenheit the temperature of 103o drops of water, a powerful influence in moderating the rigor of northern climates is exerted. The last remnants of moist- ure are squeezed from the air by the hard grip of the polar regions, where, as snow or ice, it adds to the desolation of those high latitudes. To any one contemplating the great arctic glaciers it must be curious to think, that much of the water there piled up in ice has been sucked up amid the warmth and sunshine of the distant Southern Ocean. The quantity of water thus carried and of heat thus diffused by the agency of the atmosphere almost ex- ceeds belief, and ranks the operation among the greatest of those physical contrivances by which the welfare of the world is maintained. Wonderful Power of the air — work- ing day and night, noiselessly, invisibly—mighty link in the water-circulation of the globe – “dropping fatness” over the earth, and with unerring instinct giving to it from year to year the exact supply that is needful. In tropical countries, where a hot temperature prevails, a proportionately large allowance of rain is needed for vegetation. Notwithstanding the liberal supplies sent off Showers and Dew. I I5 toward north and south, enough is provided through the great capacity possessed by warm air for holding invisible vapor in suspension ; and, when rain does occur, the quantity of water condensed is larger and the downpour heavier than in climates lying beyond. From this cause the annual rainfall also is usually much greater. By way of comparison it may be stated, that while the average rainfall of Great Britain is nearly 28 inches, that of the Equator, according to Humboldt, is 96 inches. In some parts of South America and elsewhere this amount is greatly exceeded. At Maranhao, in Brazil, the rainfall has been estimated at 280% inches. At Cherraponjie, in India, the enormous quantity of 6054 inches have been known to fall during the southwest monsoon, which gives to this place the distinction of probably having one of the wettest climates in the world. Within the tropics the year is divided into the dry and the rainy seasons. The dry corresponds to the winter of higher latitudes, during which plants take their annual rest. In the rainy season showers and sunshine alternate, and vegetable life is stimulated into its most luxuriant growth. The vegetation of warm countries, being habitu- ated to abundant moisture, feels with corresponding se- verity any material diminution in the supply. Thus, at Bombay, the annual average rainfall may be taken at 8o inches; but in 1824 not more than 34 inches fell — an amount not differing much from our own yearly supply — and the consequences were direful famine and pesti- lence. He whose lot has been cast in a temperate climate, where showers and sunshine chase each other throughout the year, can hardly realize the eagerness with which the 1eturn of the rain is longed for in seasonal regions. Lis- ten to “old Indians” describing the anxiety with which they have watched for the coming of the monsoon, and the ecstacy with which they have hailed its arrival. Some I 16 Showers and Dew. friends may be gathered together within doors — languid, drooping, and spiritless. The drought of the preceding dry months has almost desiccated them. Every exertion is a trouble and thinking a fatigue; every thing around pants and fades. Suddenly—not the sound, but—the smell of the coming flood is sniffed in the air. Eyes brighten, muscles begin to be braced, the brain resumes its energy, and in a few minutes afterward —splash and patter— the rain is once more dashing to the ground. Tanks, buckets, jugs — any thing that will hold it—are spread out to be filled with the precious element. Not many hours elapse before the parched earth responds, as if by magic, to the blessing, and with renewed vigor clothes itself in green. Some of the districts inhabited by our cousins in Aus- tralia are liable to suffer from extreme drought, when the river-courses dry up and the herds run the risk of perish- ing. In many places it would seem as if Providence had designedly mitigated this climatic evil by means of the deep hollows or wells which occur so frequently in the course of the streams. Thus the general bed may be dry, but these natural tanks continue to hold a supply of water; and, as if still more plainly to indicate their benefi- cent design, the surface of the reservoir itself often be- comes covered with a thick coating of vegetation, which, by interposing a screen between the water and the sun, tends to prevent loss by evaporation. Rain is so linked with fertility as almost to be synony-. mous with it, and where none falls there the desert must be. The exceptions to this rule are rare, and even these are seeming rather than real. Thus Egypt may be de- scribed as a rainless country; but the inundation of the Nile stands in the place of rain, and, in covering the land with its rich waters, deposits a soil of surpassing fertility Egypt could no more be fertile without water than other countries, and of this the proof lies close at hand, fo. I 18 Showers and Dew. doomed to barrenness so long as the present cosmical arrangements continue. How many there are who thoughtlessly cry out against the climate of this favored land, and forget to weigh its many advantages against its few drawbacks. In regard to heat and moisture, it may be said with truth, that we are equally removed from extremes. We neither bake in the sun nearly all the year round, like the children of the desert; nor are we drenched in ever-falling rain, like the Indians of western Patagonia; neither are we dried up for one half of the year, and soaked in rain during the other, like the people of many tropical countries. With us, on the whole, rain and sunshine are well balanced ; while the frequent changes enhance our perception of the beauty and the services of both. To our frequent, but seldom persistent, rains we owe it that nowhere is verdure finer, and that in few places is it less exposed to the de- structive influences of extreme drought. Even in gloomy winter, when rain sometimes falls more abundantly than is consistent with comfort, there is consolation in the thought that the rain which descends at that season of the year, escaping the devouring rays of the sun, will sink deeply into the soil and fill the ample reservoirs of the earth with water. Thence, in the coming days of the hot summer, it will issue bright and sparkling to feed the springs and rivulets that glisten over the land and delight us with their freshness. Dew may be considered as a kind of supplemental rain. depending on the same cause, namely, a condensation of moisture from the atmosphere. There is, however, this difference between them, that, while rain is formed at a greater or less height in the air, dew is formed on the sur- face of the ground. We need scarcely remind the reader that air—even the dryest—always contains invisible vapor. During the day the earth and the air correspond sufficiently in tempera. Showers and Dew. I I 9 ture to prevent precipitation. But as the sun begins to set, the earth, losing its heat by radiation, suddenly cools, and condenses out of the air in contact with it a portion of its invisible vapor. Hence the night dew. After dawn the returning Sun, by again warming the air, enables it to take up moisture ; and then the land, having still the cold- ness of night upon it, immediately condenses this vapor into water. Hence the morning dew. Whatever favors the rapid cooling of the earth's surface promotes the formation of dew. In cloudy weather heat is radiated as usual from the earth after sunset, but it is intercepted by the clouds, and radiated back toward the earth. The temperature of the latter, therefore, does not fall so much, and little dew is formed. But in clear weather the earth rapidly radiates its heat into space, and there are no clouds interposed to radiate it back. Hence the earth cools quickly and much dew falls. When gardeners cover up their plants on bright even- ings they act in accordance with scientific principles. The matting prevents radiation from the earth ; or, rather, the matting takes the place of clouds, and gives back to the earth much of the heat it receives. In this manner the atmosphere round the plants retains an equable tempera- ture. Dew is twice specially introduced into the Benedicite, from which we may infer the extreme importance attached to it in the countries with which the Three Children were familiar. In most parts of western Asia little rain falls from April to September, and during this long period of drought the earth is dependent upon dew for the scanty supply of moisture it receives. How providential that, by the ordination of the All-wise Creator, dew should be most abundant precisely at that season of the year when the supply of moisture from other sources is most apt to fail. Scripture abounds in allusions to dew which, like rain, is always associated with what is good and benefi. I2O Showers and Dez. cent. The “dews of Hermon " blessed the land where they fell, and the prosperity they brought passed into a proverb. When a patriarch wished to bestow his blessing, he prayed that “God might give of the dews of heaven ; ” on the other hand, there could be no more withering curse than what was implied in their withdrawal. “Ye moun- tains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be rain upon you.” Although the quantity of water which is annually de- posited as dew in this country is small in comparison to the rainfall, still it is by no means inconsiderable. Dr. Dalton has estimated it at five inches, or more than 22 billions of tons of water. In our moist climate it is nat- urally of less importance than in Syria or Mesopotamia; nevertheless it is extremely serviceable, and in autumn, more especially, the grass would often wither were it not for its daily steeping in dew. From what has been said it will be perceived that, though we commonly speak of dew “drops,” dew does not really “drop "from the sky, but forms upon the sur- faces where it is found. Yet which of us would consent to surrender an expression that has been endeared to us by familiar associations since childhood 2 Dew “drops” create for us the most perfect diamond-gardens in the world. Well may they challenge not a lenient but a rigor- ous comparison with their rivals. No diamonds could be brighter, more sparkling, or play more fancifully with the rainbow colors of light. How incomparably finer, too, the setting !. The rare and costly mineral is mostly to be seen in the worn atmosphere of crowded rooms, and, like an artificial beauty, requires the skillful hand for its display. Its brightness pales before the light of day, and needs the garish lamp to stimulate its sparkling. But the diamonds of the garden or the meadow are perfect from Nature's hand. They are set with boundless profusion on a ground of choicest green, and no art can improve their new-born Showers and Dew. I 2 I loveliness. They are to be seen only in the fresh air of the morn, and the light that suits them best is the pure light of heaven. Thou, O God sentest a gracious rain upon thine inheritance, and refresh- edst it when it was weary. — Ps. lxviii. WEAE ZS. O ye Wells, bless ye the Lord: praise Him, and magnify Him for erver. ºN a song of thankfulness and praise uttered by : º children of the East to the Giver of blessings, it uses was to be expected that the “springing wells” of the earth would not be forgotten. Almost always the comfort, and sometimes even the existence of whole com- munities are there dependent on them. In many districts of southwestern Asia rain is scarcely seen from April to September. The “latter rains” which fell in spring have run off, or been absorbed, or evaporated, and the land, thirsty and parched, gathers only its precarious supply of dew. The smaller streams and rivulets are dry also, and the people must then depend on such supplies as wells can afford for all the purposes of the household. Hence the prevalence of wells and fountains in the East. In the towns most of the fountains are public ; other wells are private property, from which considerable profit is derived by the sale of water in dry seasons. He who dwells amid the civilization of the West can scarcely realize the thankfulness with which wells inspire the mind of the Oriental. In the sandy deserts they are of the first necessity, forming as it were the stepping-stones by which travellers direct their route. Districts are named from their wells. Their geological history is often myste- rious, but nothing can be more obvious than that they are providentially placed for the purpose of making those wastes passable. The overflow of the well sinks into the We//s. I 23 sand around, and illustrates in a very remarkable manner the fertilizing power of water. The débris of successive vegetations at length creates an oasis of richest soil — an island of verdant beauty in the midst of a sea of sand. The surface is softly carpeted with grass, while date-trees and other kinds of palms beckon the traveler toward it from afar, and shade him from the sun. What can be more natural than that the pious Arab should approach those wells with emotions of thankfulness, or that while quenching his thirst he should seldom omit to offer a prayer both for him who originally dug the well, and for the generous owner who permits it to be so freely used ? It is said that, for the sake of the blessings thus daily poured upon his head, the proprietor of a well can seldom bring his mind to sell it, unless driven by dire necessity to make the sacrifice. To prevent loss by excessive evap- oration, as well as choking up by drifting sand, wells in the East are usually kept covered, and so precious is the water that in many instances they are locked also. To poison a well is an act which is considered to be justified only by the extremity of warfare, while its complete de- struction is thought to be little less than sacrilege. The well is universally held to be a special gift of God intended for all his thirsty creatures. Holy Scripture abounds in allusions to wells, and noth- ing better illustrates the importance attached to them in the East from the earliest times than the narrative re- corded in the 26th chapter of Genesis. Isaac, forced by famine to leave his country, dwelt in Gerar, and there “waxed great: for he had possession of flocks, and pos- session of herds, and great store of servants: and the Philistines envied him.” Then Abimelech the king said unto Isaac, “Go from us; for thou art much mightier than we. And Isaac departed thence, and pitched his tent in the valley of Gerar, and dwelt there. And Isaac digged again the wells of water, which they had digged in I 24 We//s. the days of Abraham his father; for the Philistines had stopped them after the death of Abraham : and he called their names after the names by which his father had called them. And Isaac's servants digged in the valley, and found there a well of springing water. And the herdmen of Gerar did strive with Isaac's herdmen, saying, The water is ours : and he called the name of the well Esek ; because they strove with him. And they digged another well, and strove for that also: and he called the name of it Sitnah,” for it was associated with hatred. “And he removed from thence and digged another well ; and for that they strove not.” It was a contest between those who dug the well and the herdsmen who possessed the territorial right to the water. The possession of a well was the necessary complement to the other means of liv- ing, and so long as one could not be obtained the tribe was obliged to move onward. The wells that form in the coral islands of the Pacific seem even more strikingly providential than those of the desert. Scarcely has the bare rock risen above the waves before it begins to possess its well of water. The salt ocean is without, and the salt ocean fills the lagoon usually included within, yet, on the mere rim of coral rock that lies between, fresh water is to be obtained when a hole is bored. So generally is this understood by sailors that they are in the habit of touching at thc se solitary spots to fill their tanks. Thus, in the creation of what is soon to be another island added to the fertile area of the world, wells of fresh water are the first provision for the higher forms of life which Nature produces. Whence comes this water? The general opinion is, that it freshens itself in filtering. through from the ocean ; but Darwin, after much attention to the subject, considers it to be the mere surface drainage of the island. In any case, the fact remains as a striking example of providential forethought in thus creating wells for the sake, not only of the traders who casually touch We//s. 125 there, but also for the settlers who in process of time come to occupy the island. - Of the rain that drops from the clouds much is at once returned into the air by evaporation to keep up the supply of atmospheric moisture, while much also passes off as surface drainage, battling its way into the nearest brook. But after these demands have been satisfied, there still remains a third portion which sinks down into the porous earth, and commences by subterraneous routes its return homeward to the sea. - Imagination longs to be able to follow the course of those mysterious wanderings, and to fill up the gap in the history of the spring which is seen Lubbling up in the plain from the time when its constitu- ent drops fell among the distant mountains. Through what curious scenery the source of the future river may have been creeping—among what rocks and caverns and windings in the secret paths of the earth — what minia- ture rapids it may form in regions too deep for human ken — now gliding gently along over rocky plateaus, now lingering among sands, or in the narrow slits of the strata And thus the rill may journey on until, wearied with sub- terranean gloom, it regains the light of day as the useful well or gushing spring, nourishing the earth as it flows, and refreshing both man and beast with a constancy of supply which often contrasts with the fitful rainfall. When it is desired to supply our towns with water we do not rest satisfied with converging upon them the con- tents of numerous rills by means of an ample conduit. During the hot summer days these sources might dry up, and the people might thus be left in want. So the dan- ger is warded off by storing up water abundantly during the rainy season in a reservoir, from which supplies may be drawn for the town in times of drought. In this man- ner a liberal allowance of water is securely maintained independently of the vicissitudes of weather, Now in this arrangement we are only imitating the wise example of I 26 JWe//s. Providence. The town which Nature has to supply is the whole earth. For this purpose the rainfall is undoubtedly her “main,” and does the chief part of the work; but rain, though wonderfully regular on the whole, is some- times capricious in single seasons, and oftener still in the different periods of a season. Something supplementary was, therefore, needed to husband and equalize the sup- ply, and to provide for its regularity independently of the varying rainfall. So Nature formed reservoirs of water in the earth, which, taken on the whole, are subject to very little change. The superficial layers of the crust of the earth are in fact one vast storehouse of water, for moisture pervades them through and through. We habitually speak of “the dry rock; ” but even the dryest rock con- tains water lodged in it as in a sponge, of which nothing less potent than the furnace can deprive it. “Some gran- ites,” says Professor Ansted, “in their ordinary state con- tain a pint and a half in every cubic foot.” Limestone and marble find room for considerably more. Chalk is also highly absorbent, many of its strata being able to take up half their bulk of water without even appearing to be moist. Ordinary sandstones hold nearly a gallon in a cubic foot; and “in the best building-stones belonging to the sandstone group, from four to five pints of water are contained in each cubic foot of the stone.” “The quan- tity of water capable of being held by common loose sea- sand amounts to at least two gallons in a cubic foot.” But the great tanks of the earth are formed more espe- cially by layers of sand, which everywhere alternate with the harder rocks. Into these the water is constantly soaking and accumulating for the supply of wells and springs all over the world. While rainy seasons fill these reservoirs, the dryest season does not exhaust them ; and hence the springs in connection with them appear, like the conduits of a well-supplied town, to be independent both of rain and drought. Wells. 127 Though limestone rocks absorb less than sandstone, they carry the water better; for they are more fissured, and their substance is more easily rubbed away or dis- solved by the passing current. By this means, chiefly, have the famous caverns in the limestone rocks of Adels- berg, Derbyshire, and elsewhere been formed. Hence the subterranean rivers found in Styria and in various other parts of the world. No one who has visited the caves at Adelsberg can have forgotten how the Poik, there larger and swifter than the Mole where it joins the Thames, plunges amid the gloom into the tunneled mountain and is lost. Its course no one knows, but bits of wood and other pilot substances borne along in its mysterious wan- dering proclaim its identity with the Unz, which emerges as a full-formed river at Planina, ten miles beyond, on the other side of the mountain. At Cong in Ireland, famous for its Cross, there is another remarkable example of the same kind, where the river joining Loch Corrib and Loch Mask rushes through a subterranean channel in the lime- stone rocks. To this tendency in the limestone strata to fissure and separate into ledges which form underground passages we owe what are termed “swallows” in streams. Of these we have an example near London in the Mole, which partially “hides her diving flood" in traversing the picturesque vale of Mickleham ; but a much more perfect instance occurs in the wolds of Yorkshire, not far from Malton. In this moist climate of England a hole dug in the ground usually produces, at no great distance from the sur- face, a moderate supply of water from the superficial drain- age; but such wells are, of course, much influenced by the season, and in periods of drought are apt to dry up altogether. By digging deeper, water-bearing strata are reached which are more abundantly supplied, as they rep- resent the drainage of larger districts of country. If these districts lie no higher than the place where the well is 128 We//s. sunk, the water will not rise so as to fill the snaft; but, on the other hand, if the water has flowed down from higher districts, it will, under certain circumstances, rise in the well to the surface, or even above it, to a height in propor- tion to the level where it originally fell. It is believed that the Egyptians and Chinese were practically ac- quainted with this fact at a very remote period, and the excavations that can still be traced attest how extensively they turned it to account. Of late years this mode of ob- taining water has been largely adopted in Europe. and the name Artesian has been generally applied to these wells on account of the success which attended the earliest efforts made at Artois. Of all the wells of this kind the most famous is that of Grenelle, near Paris. Geologically considered, Paris occupies a site very sim- ilar to that of London. The shaft at Grenelle, therefore, first pierced through layers of clay, gravels, and sands such as we are familiar with round our own metropolis, and then through the chalk, until it reached the underlying Green Sand. In the spongy strata of this formation vast quantities of water had accumulated by constantly drain- ing down into it, as into a cistern, from extensive higher- lying districts beyond the chalk. The lateral pressure upon the water in this immense tank was therefore enor- mous. Its floor was formed of impervious clays or rocks, while it was shut in above by a thick lid of chalk. The moment the lid was tapped by the borer, up rushed the water as if through the pipe of a water-work, reaching not only to the surface but spouting into the air to the height of 120 feet. The supply was at the rate of a million gal- lons a day. There are many Artesian wells in London; but the water is obtained from the more superficial strata lying above the chalk; and as the water, therefore, does not in most cases rise nearly to the surface, it has to be aided or lifted up by supplemental pumps. Artesian wells are also common in Liverpool, in the new red sandstone ; We//s. I 29 at Cambridge, where the water-bealing strata lie under the gault; and in many other places. Now and then it happens that Nature taps these high- pressure water-boxes for herself, and the stream rushes up through a “bore ” of her own making with a force that projects it into the air. In the case of the famous Geysers in Iceland the projecting force, as pointed out by Sir C. Lyell, is due to the pressure of steam acting at intervals, somewhat in the same way in which the steam that accu- mulates under the lid of a kettle forces the boiling water with violence through the spout. Occasionally the force may be of a somewhat mixed kind, as in the case of the Sprudel at Carlsbad. Although the height to which that fountain spouts is not great, the gush of water is large ; while the accessories of scenery are such as to produce one of the most beautiful and interesting sights to be found in Europe. The water that sinks into the earth on higher levels, af. ter collecting into tricklings, and wandering through chinks and over ledges, is ultimately turned by some impenetrable obstacle toward the surface, where it breaks forth as a sparkling fountain. In no fairer shape does Nature spread out her water-treasures before us. How refreshing the draught thus obtained at first hand How cool in sum- mer, how temperate in winter, for it comes from those deep regions of the earth which are equally shielded from sun and frost. What a difference there is between the tame water of the “main,” and the living crystal of “the source.” Such a spot is well worthy of a pilgrimage, and adds a fresh pleasure to the summer day's ramble. It is like re pairing to a garden to eat fruit newly plucked by one's own hand from the tree. What sight more tempting when the sun is high. How pleasant to play with the clear water, and how difficult to pass before a gushing spring without lingering for a moment to listen and to look 1 Springs sometimes partially tell the history of their own 9 I 30 We//s. wanderings when they assume the character of “mineral waters.” The rain that has fallen often becomes charged with carbonic acid gas from the air, or from the vegetable soil through which it percolates, and, having thus acquired the power of dissolving the limestone or the chalk through which it has filtered, emerges into day as “hard” or cal- careous water. Occasionally its route has lain among iron- freighted rocks, sands, or clays, and the ordinary strength- giving chalybeate of carbonated iron is prepared ready to our hands. Sometimes the water visits the secret labora- tories of the earth, where chemical forces are at work on decomposing pyrites, from which it brings to us iron in a less common form, or in union with sulphuric acid. Or it may absorb the gases formed during these decomposi- tions, and appear to us as the unsavory but useful sulphur well. Again, its course may lie among the salt-bearing strata of the earth, where the varying kinds of “saline mineral waters” are mixed by Nature herself to benefit mankind. Sometimes the subterranean streamlet may wander into those heated depths where chemical action is forging the materials of the earth into new shapes, or where the internal furnace of the globe imparts to the water a portion of its own warmth; and then the streamlet, turned in an opposite direction, may be urged toward the surface by pressure from below, until it bursts into the world as a “hot spring.” The water of springs and wells is never met with in a state of absolute purity, but the slight admixture of for- eign substances usually present, while it does not impair general usefulness, is attended with certain special advan- tages. By distillation pure water can always be readily obtained, and it is then in its most active state. But this very condition, so essential to the chemist and the manu- facturer, would diminish the utility of water for drinking and other domestic purposes. Water would then have been prone to dissolve many deleterious substances—such We//s. I31 as lead—from contact with which it is difficult to guard it at all times, but on which, in its naturally impure state it cannot act. Another valuable “impurity’ found in water is air, either fixed or common, by which it is rendered pleasant and sparkling as a beverage, while at the same time it acquires the important property of boiling without danger. When water has been carefully deprived of air, it may be heated up to 240° Fahrenheit before it begins to boil, but it is then apt to pass off suddenly into vapor with explosive violence. Let any one try to realize the inconvenience which so unmanageable a property would have introduced into the kitchen and the manufactory. We may here mark with admiration how different quali- ties, even to the most minute details, have been impressed on substances by the great Creator, with evident fore- thought for the comfort and happiness of His creatures. In considering the fountains of the earth as blessings for which praise and thankfulness are specially due, we must not pass from the subject without more particularly alluding to those healing virtues with which some of them have been endowed. Mineral waters are of the most varied character; and there are, perhaps, few chronic forms of disease against which they may not be usefully employed at one stage or another. Providence, too, ever bountiful as kind, has scattered them profusely over most parts of the world, and thousands upon thousands annu- ally owe to them the blessing of restored health. They are gifts from a source that lies beyond our ken, and mod- ern science with all its progress cannot supersede them. We know to a nicety the constituents of the most famous springs; they have been analyzed and imitated most per fectly ; but there is a point of difference between the real and the artificial which no art can seize. Nature is a cunning worker, and in her laboratory she compounds the “mineral water" under conditions of which we are ig- norant, but from which, nevertheless, are derived special I 32 We//s. virtues which similar ingredients mixed artificially never acquire. Even in so simple a matter as the manufacture of hot water there is a difference; as all may have expe. rienced who have contrasted the comparative pungency of a bath of artificially heated water with the softness of another that has been warmed in Nature's own boilers. It is a most singular circumstance that the ingredient to which many celebrated wells are believed to owe their chief efficacy is the virulent poison arsenic. Wiesbaden, Spa, and Kissingen contain that substance in union with iron, and it is also widely diffused in the waters of our own country. Thus may it be seen how skillfully Nature can administer the most active poisons for our advantage. The special virtue lies no doubt partially in the smallness of the dose and the accuracy of the compounding; but much may be due to those unknown conditions under which the mixture is prepared. It might have been ex- pected that mineral waters, in passing among the beds whence they extract their components, would have varied materially by being sometimes strong and at another time weak. But although it is not to be denied that variations do occasionally occur, still it is found that substantially the same spring flows on with wonderfully little change from generation to generation. From this cause arises one chief reason of the safety of their administration and the uniformity of the results obtained from them. In our own country” we have reason to be thankful for many famous wells, which, in a general way, may be con- sidered efficacious for all purposes to which mineral waters are usually applied. Thus there are potent chalybeates at Tonbridge, Harrogate, and elsewhere. There are “salines’ at Leamington, Cheltenham, Bridge of Allan, and in many other places. We have sulphur wells at Harrogate and Moffat, and hot springs at Bath, Clifton, * England. The same may be said of the mineral springs of Saratoga and in Virginia. E. J. We//s. I 33 Matlock, and Buxton. In the olden time, when medicine was in its infancy, when no more skillful physician was to be found than the neighboring monk, and no better drugs than the simples that grew in the Abbey garden, our an- cestors placed unbounded faith in wells, and there was not a county in the realm which could not boast of its famous spring. According to the custom of the time, every well was dedicated to the honor of some patron Saint, and it may be affirmed that more than one name would perhaps have slipped out of the Calendar had it not been preserved in association with those springs. Pilgrimages of a mixed sanitary and religious character used to be made to wells of note, and it is curious to ob- serve to how late a period the custom was kept up. Pen- nant tells us, that in his time pilgrimages to St. Winifred's Well, at Holywell in Flintshire, had not been entirely dis- continued. “In summer,” he says, “a few are still to be seen in the water in deep devotion, up to their chins for hours, sending up their prayers.” How different the feel- ings with which gay spas, especially on the Continent, are visited in these days Customs no doubt change. There is a time and a place for every thing, and the pump-room and the bath seem scarcely suited to religious medita- tion. Still it must be admitted that in principle, at least, our forefathers were in the right; and that their fervent thankfulness, even though shown under circumstances that might provoke a smile, was infinitely preferable to our frivolity. Surely the place where an invalid day by day is conscious of the blessing of returning health, ought above all others to be the place where the Giver of health should not be forgotten. Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks; so longeth my soul after Thee O God. — Ps. x'ii. SEAS AAWD FLOODS. O ye Seas and Floods, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and mag. nify Him for ever. *HO is there that does not love to wander by the § sea-shore ? Its varying aspects have suggested § A& to poets some of their finest thoughts; and, when they fail to inspire, they often lead on even ordinary minds to a point not far removed from the line where poetry be- gins. There are some subjects, indeed, which do a great deal for themselves, and from their own attractiveness are not easily spoiled even though handled clumsily. Thus the commonplace flights of fellow-strollers afford on such occasions a pleasure which their intrinsic merit does not explain ; but sympathy is a powerful varnish which hides defects and stifles criticism. Poetical ideas, moreover, may lighten up the mind with their own beauty and be thoroughly felt and enjoyed, although, in struggling for outward expression, they cannot bring together the right words and often deviate into very common prose. In strolling along the shore we find ourselves sur- rounded on all sides by objects to interest and admire. The cliff and the sands, the boulder rock and the pebbly beach – each has its charm. The ocean enhances beauty where beauty already exists; and it often creates beauty where, but for the charm which it bestows, there would be nothing to admire. On the open shore the air takes hold of us more bracingly than elsewhere ; we realize more thoroughly the healthful consciousness of its presence; the drooping nerves are strung again into vigor, as if Seas and Floods. I 35 watered with its freshness. Here, as in other scenes, Nature has her characteristic sounds with which she re- gales the listener. The cry of the wildfowl is music to him especially whose path of life lies in the crowded city; and the murmur of the crisp ripple or the booming of the wave falls pleasingly on the ear. There is a world of plantal and animal life spread out before us, and we have only to look and to handle in order to be interested. How precious now are the scraps and fragments of Natural History which we can bring to bear. Nowhere is knowl- edge more enjoyment-bringing, for nowhere are the ar- rangements which God has made for the welfare of his humble creatures more conspicuous. How swiftly the time flies as we probe and peer into the clear lakelets that gath- er round the boulders on the sands or in the hollows of the rocks. The eye wanders delightedly among the many- colored tufts of algae that clothe their coasts and depths. These miniature forests teem with varied life, and many a little creature finds in their recesses a secure retreat from cruel foes. Stealthily we draw near to those pools, seek- ing not to destroy but to admire, and feel well rewarded if we obtain but a glimpse of their inhabitants. Not less pleasant is it to retreat step by step before the returning tide, to lose the dreary sands as they are again covered up in their mantle of water, and to watch the thousand eager streams rushing in from the sea among the rocks, and once more joining on to the boundless ocean the pools we have been surveying. What a change sud- denly passes over the black and yellow seaweed 1 A moment before it lay dingy and motionless upon the rocks, but now, revived as it were into new life by the return of the sea, it begins to float and wave its pennons. The mussels and periwinkles, the limpets and the sea-acorns which, an instant before, were glued to the rocks as faded and dead-like as the stones themselves, now hear the rush- ing sound and welcome the returning water. In another I 36 Seas and Floods. minute these trusting waiters upon Providence will be opening their mouths to the currents which bring them their “daily bread,” rasping their food from the tough sea- weed with their file-like tongues, or raking in supplies with their handy tentacles. The ever-bountiful Sea will surely bring nourishment to them all — not one will be forgotten by Our Father. The eyes of all wait upon Thee, O Lord; and Thou givest them their meat in due season. — Ps. cxlv. The lower depths of ocean are still a mystery, although of late years the diving-bell, the dredge, and the plummet have added much to our knowledge both of its bed and its inhabitants. In a general way its bed resembles the land — now rising into mountains, now sinking into valleys, or spreading out into table-lands. The deepest recesses below the level of the sea-surface are believed to be about equal to the height of the highest hills above it; but so inconsiderable is this depth in relation to the diameter of the earth, that a mere film of water laid upon a sixteen- inch globe with a camel's-hair pencil would adequately represent it. It is difficult to say at what depth life be- comes extinct; but just as in ascending into the air on lofty mountains there is a limit beyond which nothing liv- ing can maintain itself, so in descending into the depths of ocean a stratum is reached below which life cannot exist. The life which we know has a frontier downward as well as upward. The floor of the Atlantic appears in some places to be a vast sepulchre, for at Telegraph-ridge it was found at a depth of two miles to be completely covered with calcareous and siliceous remains of microscopic ani- malcules. There the deposit may go on increasing and thickening, until, under the vast pressure of the overlying mass, the limestone strata of new continents have been founded. It need scarcely be said that modern observa- tion has completely overturned the gloomy picture of the Seas and Æloods. I 37 bottom of the ocean which fancy suggested to Shake- speare, but which, in the absence of all practical data, has stood its ground popularly almost up to the present time. Schleiden says that “we dive into the liquid crystal of the Indian Ocean, and it opens out to us the most wondrous enchantments of the fairy tales of our childhood's dreams.” The Professor's description is too long for quotation here, but it introduces us to sub-marine scenery where “strangely branching thickets bear living flowers. The coloring sur- passes every thing : vivid green alternates with brown or yellow : rich tints of purple, from pale red-brown to deepest blue.” “There are Gorgonias with their yellow and lilac fans, perforated like trellis-work: leaſy Flustras adhering to the coral branches like mosses and lichens: yellow, green, and purple-striped limpets resembling mon- strous cochineal insects upon their trunks.” “Like gigan- tic cactus-blossoms sparkling in the most ardent colors, the sea-anemones expand their crowns of tentacles upon the broken rocks, or more modestly embellish the flat bottom, looking as if they were beds of variegated Ranunculuses. Around the blossoms of the coral shrubs play the “hum- ming-birds” of the ocean, little fish sparkling with red or blue metallic glitter, or gleaming in golden green, or with the brightest silvery lustre.” The many-tinted phosphor- escent lights of the ocean crown this gorgeous painting, and “complete the wonders of the enchanted night.” “The most luxuriant vegetation of a tropical landscape,” continues the Professor, “cannot unfold as great wealth of form, while in variety and splendor of color it would stand far behind this garden landscape, which is strangely composed exclusively of animals, and not of plants. What- ever is beautiful, wondrous, or uncommon in the great classes of fish and Echinoderms, jelly-fishes and polypes, and mollusks of all kinds, is crowded into the warm and crystal waters of the tropical ocean.” The abundance of animal life in the ocean greatly ex- Seas and Æloods. 39 The blue color of the sea is one of its chief attractions, and, as the intensity is greatest where the saline matters are most abundant, there would appear to be a close con- nection between the two conditions. Thus the water of the Gulf Stream, south of Newfoundland, is bluer than the fresher water beside which it flows, and the line of demar- cation between them is so sharp as to be easily distin- guished. “Off the coast of the Carolinas,” says Maury, “you can see the bows of the vessel, as she enters the Gulf Stream, dashing the spray from those warm and blue waters, while the stern is still in the sea-green water of the Bank of Newfoundland.” The “blue Mediterranean” has become a proverb, and the fact is explained by the circum- stance that the sun, by causing enormous evaporation, strengthens the brine of its confined waters as in a salt- pan. On the other hand, seas that contain comparatively little salt, such as the German and Arctic Oceans, are of a green rather than a blue color. By this easy test it is said that manufacturers of salt sometimes judge of the richness of the water. Navigators tell us of other colors which the sea excep- tionally assumes. Thus there is a Yellow Sea, called so from the color of the sand, or mud ; a White Sea, from the weakness of the saline solution; and a Red Sea, from slimy fuci cast up from the bottom of its bed. Near Terra del Fuego Darwin observed patches of a brown-red color, produced by prawn-like crustaceans floating in it. The sailors called them whale-food; and in truth, they appeared to be just the sort of banquet on which a whale would feast. Near the Galapagos Darwin also remarked that a film of floating spawn gave a dark yellowish or mud-like color to the sea; on another occasion the ocean was cov- ered for miles with a coating that displayed iridescent col. ors. The sailors, who are often shrewd observers, attrib- uted it “to the carcass of some whale floating at no great distance.” A patch of white water, twenty-three miles in Seas and Floods. I 4 . constitution preserved amid causes tending to disturb the balance, it seems to retain by special ordinance the exact amount of saltness best adapted to the uses it has to ful- fill. At first sight it might appear as if this Saltness would detract from its utility, for there are few purposes to which it can be applied in comparison with those for which fresh water is suitable. But a little reflection will show us that, while there has been no stinting in our supplies of fresh water, the additional gift of salt water has added largely to our resources by properties peculiar to itself. It is thus fitted to be the habitation of countless tribes of fishes and other creatures which afford us most abundant and wel- come supplies of food, and brings to every shore the means of obtaining salt, which is an essential element of healthy nourishment. The ocean is “ever restless.” There are interstitial movements between the drops themselves of which it is composed, and there is a grand circulation in the whole mass of water to which the term current is usually re- stricted. The necessity for this circulation may be inferred from the care which Providence has taken to insure its efficient performance. Within the tropics the fierce sun is con- stantly skimming the surface of the sea, and creating a void that has to be filled up by the surrounding water. Among the most powerful agents of circulation is the moon, by whose attraction is raised the wave of the tide, which, setting out from one extremity of the ocean, traverses it unto the other. The willing atmosphere, seldom standing idly by when any of the grand operations of Nature are going forward, takes its share of the work, and by its trade- winds, monsoons, and other breezes helps on the good cause. Sometimes the wind churns the waves, as in the storm; at other times it drives them before it, and piles them up in confined bays, such as the Mexican Gulf, whence they fall down as a current across the neighboring K42 Seas and Floods. sea, and thus restore the equilibrium. But the mainspring of the machinery is to be found in the ocean itself, which, by means of differences in its weight, or specific gravity, establishes the principal currents. In equatorial regions evaporation thickens the brine, and makes it dense and heavy. In the Polar Sea evaporation is checked by the cold, while melting snows and glaciers pour into it immense quantities of water during the summer, by which it is made fresh and light. There is thus at one end of the mobile mass a dense fluid, and at the other end a light one ; and the necessary result is a circulation from the equator to the poles to displace the fresh water, and a counter-current from the poles to the equator to fill up the void which the dense water leaves behind it. Distance counts for nothing in such a chain, and when one link is moved all the other links must move also. By this means a thorough circula- tion is effected. On the one hand, the ocean is being continually poured into the polar seas; on the other, it is in an equal ratio emptied back into the regions of the tropics. The proofs of this “greater circulation ” are to be found in many places, but they are less conspicuous in the southern than in the northern hemisphere, on account of there being comparatively so little land between the tropics and the antarctic regions. The polar and equatorial streams are consequently more diffused than in the north- ern hemisphere, and their force, with few exceptions, is not so great. Toward the north, on the contrary, the chan- nels of communication between the equatorial and polar seas are narrower, and the currents, therefore, are more distinctly marked. It is just the difference between a river whose strength is wasted by the width of its bed, and one whose waters being confined within a narrow channel rush impetuously along. The surface of the ocean is thus mapped out into cur- rents by the constancy of which the navigator profits. But Seas and Floods. . I 43 besides these stronger streams there are others whose force is so gentle and diffused that their existence cannot be detected by the reckoning, and is only made known by the thermometer. In pursuing an eastward or westward course across the ocean, an alteration in the temperature tells where the water comes from. Thus, if the temperature increase, it may be inferred that there is a flow from the south ; and if the water get colder, a northern origin is equally indicated. - The Gulf Stream is the most famous of all the currents that flow toward the north, and is in itself one of the most wonderful physical phenomena in the world. Its great historian, Maury, thus eloquently describes it: — “There is a river in the ocean. In the severest droughts it never fails, and in the mightiest floods it never over- flows. Its banks and its bottom are of cold water, while its current is of warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its fountain, while its mouth is in the arctic seas. It is the Gulf Stream. There is in the world no other such majestic flow of waters. Its current is more rapid than the Mississippi or Amazon, and its volume more than a thousand times greater.” Rushing past the point of Florida, it starts on its path across the Atlantic as a compact river sixty miles broad and three thousand feet deep, and at a pace of four or five miles an hour. Onward it streams in a northeasterly direc- tion, spreading out its waters like a fan, until it approaches the Cornwall coast, the west of Ireland, and the Hebrides of Scotland. The great bulk of the still warm waters flows onward between the Shetlands and Iceland ; and then, after laving the northern shores of Norway, the current is gradually lost in the Spitzbergen seas. Whether the waters of the Gulf Stream, still recognizable by their tem- perature, are destined to be rediscovered as an open, com- paratively mild sea under the pole, surrounded by arctic deserts that lie outside the influence of this offshoot from the Sunny South, is a problem which the next few years will probably resolve. I 44 Seas and Floods. Side by side with this warm northward-moving flood there is a great polar stream bearing down in an opposite direction, which appears to be more especially its com- pensatory current. It rises in the distant recesses of Baffin's Bay and the Greenland Sea, and then, studded with icebergs, sweeps along the Coast of Labrador, encir- cling the island of Newfoundland in its chill embrace. To the south of the Bank it encounters the Gulf Stream run- ning northeastward;— the paths of the two giants cross each other, and they struggle for the right of way. Their hostile waters refuse to mingle, and each continues to retain its color and its temperature. But, though neither is vanquished, each leaves its mark upon the other. From the force of the shock the Gulf Stream for a moment falters in its course, and is deflected toward the south ; while the polar current, unable to break through the con- centrated mass by which it is opposed, dives under the bed of the mighty stream, and hastens on toward the tropics. The higher latitudes of the Southern Ocean are even more numerously studded with drifting icebergs than the northern, from which, were other proofs wanting, we might safely infer the existence of currents analogous to those just described. The superficial polar currents are some- times very baffling to navigators desirous of penetrating into high latitudes. One of them was carried—ship and all — a distance of 1200 miles upon the ice, as it drifted down the centre of Baffin's Bay. Captain Parry, too, found all his efforts to penetrate toward the pole counteracted by the circumstance that the distance traveled in sledges during the day was only equal to the southern drift of the whole mass of the ice during the night. Under this super- ficial polar current there is in some places, perhaps in all, a deeper current running in the opposite direction. Thus it has occasionally happened in Baffin's Bay, that while ships in calm weather have been drifting to the south on Seas and Floods. I45 the superficial stream, large icebergs, whose bases must have sunk deep into the lower current, have been observed to move in the opposite direction. These currents of the sea aid commerce, distribute seeds over widely distant regions, and sometimes afford abundant supplies of timber to countries destitute of forests. In this way the Icelanders are furnished from the woods bordering the rivers in Siberia. In high latitudes it is obviously im- portant that the sea should remain free from ice as long as possible, both for the sake of commerce and because the Esquimaux find in it their chief stores of food. The saltness of the ocean helps to keep it open ; for while fresh water freezes at 32 degrees, salt water remains fluid down to a temperature of about 28 degrees. But the polar seas, from the rains and melting of the ice, combined with the small evaporation going on in them, tend to become less salt; while, at the tropics, from the great loss of water by evaporation, the saltness tends to increase. The equatorial current, therefore, assists in keeping the Arctic Sea open by bringing to it supplies of stronger brine from the South. By means of the great currents of the ocean another ex- tremely important function is performed. One of the chief cosmical problems which Nature had to solve was how, on the one hand, to warm the North, and on the other to cool the South, to the degree best adapted for the development of life. For the regulation of the heat account between them Nature has employed the most powerful machinery that exists on the earth. We have already seen how heat, packed up in the vapor arising from southern seas, is borne along by the atmosphere to regions where it is wanted; and we now perceive that this machinery — vast as it is— requires to be supplemented by the heat conveyed toward the poles in the currents of the ocean. The means are marvelously great, yet not out of proportion to the magni- tude of the work to be done. Pouillet and Herschel have estimated the daily amount of heat received by the earth 10 146 Seas and Floods. from the sun as sufficient to raise the temperature of 7513 cubic miles of water from the freezing up to the boiling point, and of this heat equatorial regions receive a pro- portion which would be incompatible with life did not some contrivance exist for carrying off the excess. Owing to the preponderance of sea between the tropics, the ocean of course receives the largest share of this heat. It has a mean temperature of about 80° ; while in the Caribbean Sea and in some other places the temperature rises nearly to blood-heat. Were the water not renewed in the Mexi- can Gulf, it would soon become destructive to life. To prevent this, Nature establishes currents by which some of the hot water is continually drawn off from the caldron, and an equal portion of cold water is continually let in. The operation may be compared to a kitchen boiler fed with cold water through one pipe, and from which a pro- portionate quantity of hot water escapes through another. The “main" that issues from this tap is the Gulf Stream, and, in order to form some idea of the service it renders, let us consider the amount of heat it carries along. As it leaves the caldron there is a mass of water, 60 miles broad by 3000 feet deep, with a maximum temperature of 86°; and before it is lost in the Polar Sea its temperature has fallen to nearly 32°. All the heat implied in this difference has been distributed by the way, and has been spent in improving the climate of the regions through which it passed. Maury calculates that the heat discharged over the Atlantic by the waters of the Gulf Stream in a winter's day would be sufficient to raise the whole atmosphere covering France and the British Islands from the freezing point up to summer heat; and in another place he says that it would be sufficient to keep in flow a molten stream of iron greater in volume than the Mississippi. There is “a Providence " even in the refusal of the giant streams to unite together off the coast of Newfoundland. By this designed separation “the heat and the cold” are carried Seas and A'loods. I 47 better and further, and the object of the distribution is more perfectly attained. It is indeed remarkable how well heat and cold are thus conveyed. The cold polar current which we lost to the south of the Bank of Newfoundland, where it dipped under the bed of the Gulf Stream, could still be reached by deep soundings, and recognized by its temperature of 35°, while the “river” flowing above it was 80°. And by the same means it is again to be recognized among the West India Islands, with the cold label of its origin still attached to it. In those seas the temperature of the surface water may be 85°, while that of the deep water is 43°, or only 11° above the freezing point. There is another evidence of design about this wonderful stream which must not be passed over. Maury says, “Its banks and its bottom are of cold water ; ” and, indeed, this was essential, in order to make it a good hot-water pipe. Earth and rocks are better conductors of heat; and, con- sequently, if the banks and bottom had been constructed, as they usually are, of these materials, the Gulf Stream would have held its heat with a less tenacious grasp, and could not have carried it, as it now does, 3ooo miles across the ocean to improve the climate of cold latitudes. At Newfoundland in winter-time the thermometer is often at zero, while within a good day's sail to the south may be enjoyed the genial climate of the Gulf Stream. Its in- fluence in warming the winters of the British islands is shown by a comparison between their thermometric regis- ter and that of places situated on the same parallel of lati- tude on the other side of the Atlantic. When it reaches Hammerfest, near the northern extremity of Norway, and considerably within the arctic circle, its influence suffices to keep the harbor open in the severest seasons. It is even asserted that, in the ocean near Spitzbergen, water is occasionally to be met with in the track of the Gulf Stream which is only one degree colder than it is in the depths of the Caribbean Sea. 148 Seas and Aloods. From this general outline some idea may be formed of the way in which God has made the ocean currents co- operate with other causes in equalizing temperature over the globe. By their means the heat which would other- wise accumulate at the tropics is carried toward the poles: while the cold which would oppress the polar regions is, if we may so express it, carried toward the equator. By this beautiful provision the climates of the world are im- proved ; the bleak North is made less bleak than it other- wise would be, and the temperature of the over-heated South is kept within due bounds. In these islands, more especially, we have reason to bless God for the beneficence of an arrangement which softens the rigor of our climate, and gives to some parts of the kingdom a winter season which in temperature may compete with many in the south of Europe. Nor can any one who considers the vastness of these operations fail to perceive how much the Crea- tor is praised and magnified both by the simplicity of the means employed, and the perfection with which the end is accomplished. - The great currents we have been considering form the main arteries and veins of the ocean ; but there is also a constant interstitial movement and mixing going on among the particles themselves, which might by comparison be termed its capillary circulation. The dynamic force is derived from local changes in temperature or in the degree of saltness. Every beam of sunshine that falls upon the sea, by altering the specific gravity of the portion on which it falls, sets a current in motion to reëstablish the equilib- rium. In like manner every kind of fish, and more especially every kind of shell-building creature that lives there, as soon as it has absorbed a particle of lime, silica, or other matter, alters the specific gravity of the atom of water whence the matter was extracted, and creates a minute current of denser water to restore the equilibrium. Plants which, like corallines, absorb lime act in the same Seas and Flood's. I49 way. The amount of each operation is infinitesiinal, but the grand result is that a capillary circulation of minute currents is everywhere going on, by which the salubrity of the general mass of the ocean is maintained. How won- derful the simplicity of the means by which all this is ac- complished. A grain more or a grain less of common salt contributes its share in keeping the ocean in healthy move- ment | Nor is it to be forgotten that the inhabitants of the sea, by withdrawing lime and silica, prevent these sub- stances from unduly accumulating in its waters. For as all the rivers that fall into the sea are continually bringing saline matters into it, these would soon exist in hurtful excess if no arrangement had been made for their removal. There are some inland seas of the highest value to man- kind, which would ere this have degenerated by evapora- tion into pestilential swamps, had not the Great Architect insured their safety by establishing permanent currents of supply which flow into them from the ocean. The Medi. terranean — one of the greatest water-highways of the world — may be cited as the most remarkable example. It is computed that the evaporation going on from its sur- face skims off no less than three times as much water as it receives from all its tributaries taken together, and it would, therefore, be inevitably dried up were it not fed with a cor- responding equivalent of water from the Atlantic. Yet even this arrangement would not of itself suffice to obviate the threatened danger. It is evident that excessive evapo- ration, besides lowering the level of the surface, would also have the effect of concentrating the brine; and this would go on until, the point of saturation having been reached, layer after layer of salt would be precipitated to the bot- tom so as ultimately to fill up the entire bed. The purpose of the current from the Atlantic is to provide for the waste by evaporation, but being itself salt it does not tend mate- rially to dilute the brine that remains. A sure remedy however, is found in that law which governs the universe— I5o Seas and Floods. gravitation — and thus the saltness which caused the danger, brings also with it the means of safety. For as the deep water in the Mediterranean increases in saltness, it becomes heavier than the less salt water of the adjoining Atlantic, and consequently acquires a tendency to fall in upon and displace it, just as a portion of heavy air dis- places a contiguous portion that is light. In this way a counter-current is established at the Straits of Gibraltar. The superficial current runs in from the Atlantic to main- tain the level of the sea that has been lowered by excessive evaporation; and the deep current runs out from the Med- iterranean to carry off that excess of salt which, if retained, would in the end convert its bed into an unhealthy swamp. The Red Sea would have been even in a worse plight but for a similar arrangement. The sun beats so hotly upon it that its waters are often raised to a temperature of 90° ; consequently, the evaporation is excessive. On the other hand, throughout its whole length of about I2Oo miles not a single stream that can be called a river falls into it. But all is adjusted, and safety is secured by the existence of a double current at the Straits of Bab-el-Man- deb. That which is superficial brings an abundant supply of water from the Indian Ocean ; that which is deep carries off the excess of salt from the Red Sea. Another well-known sea—the Baltic—is in danger of losing its healthy amount of saltness from causes the re- verse of those just mentioned; for while many rivers bring to it supplies of fresh water, it lies so far to the north that comparatively little is dissipated by evaporation. The brine is thus in danger of being over-diluted. The remedy, however, is found in a double current. By the superficial current, some of the brackish water is decanted off into the North Sea; by the deep, a supply of salt is brought from the North Sea into the Baltic. The tidal floods which add so much to the interest of our sea-side strolls are also of the highest utility. Though Seas and Floods. I 51 little else than mere undulations without movement in the open sea—like those we admire in fields of “wavy corn” when agitated by the wind — tides are strong currents in the narrow seas and the rivers where they ebb and flow. Tides, therefore, facilitate commerce ; and from their un- deviating regularity enter as a certain element into the sailor’s calculations. The wave of water thus sent up a river deepens its channel, and gives to many an inland town the advantages of a sea position. But for the tide, the miles of wharves which border the Thames at London would never have existed; and it is not too much to say that to its tide the metropolis owes its rank as the foremost commercial city in the world. At high water the channel at London Bridge is deepened to about 18 feet; while Bristol and Glasgow are even more dependent upon the tide than London. The Avon, at St. Vincent's Rocks, when the tide is at the lowest, would hardly swim a boat; but after it has received its forty feet flood it could float a man-of-war. At Glasgow there are persons living who recollect when the river could be waded across at low water. The height of tides varies extremely. Where there is nothing to confine them, as in the open ocean, they seldom rise above two or three feet; and the same effect happens if the direction of an inland sea lies out of the course of their flow, as in the Mediterranean. On the other hand, where a gradual contracting estuary, like the Bristol Channel, opens fairly to the flood, it sweeps in from the ocean with full volume, and being hemmed in more and more between converging shores it mounts higher and higher as it advances. Thus at Chepstow the tide occasionally attains an elevation of 50 feet. Still more extraordinary is the tide in the Bay of Fundy, on the east coast of New Brunswick, where a wave one hundred feet high is sometimes piled up by the flowing flood. This wall of water advances at such a pace that it often overtakes deer, swine, and other beasts feeding or rambling about I52 Seas and Æloods. the shore, and swallows them up. The swine, as they feed on the mussels at low water, are said to smell, or perhaps to hear, the “bore ” while it is yet distant, and sometimes dash off at the top of their speed to the cliffs to avoid the coming danger. There is something mysteriously melancholy in the first glance which the voyager unaccustomed to ocean life takes from the deck of his ship when it has borne him fairly “out of sight of land.” With nothing visible around but sea and sky, he sees his ship a mere speck upon a track- less waste. Yet there is no hesitation among those who guide the noble bark which forges onward to its destined port. The “pathless" ocean is in fact a mere figure of speech, for its highways and by-ways have been surveyed and accurately mapped. On deck is to be seen the trusty compass, pointing out the course, like an attendant monitor, with a finger that never tires. Above, there are the sun, the moon, or the stars — beacons fixed high in the heavens — sign-posts that never deceive the mariner who has skill to read their writing. The accuracy of modern navigation is truly miraculous. Ships start on a voyage of 15,000 miles, say, from New York to California, during which they may not once see land, yet they strike the sought-for harbor as if the goal had been always before their eyes. The late Captain Basil Hall once sailed from San Blas, on the Mexican coast, round Cape Horn to Rio Janeiro. He was at sea three months, during which he saw neither land nor sail, yet he struck the harbor's mouth so exactly that he scarcely required to alter his course by a single point in order to enter it. Had God not provided for accurate navigation by means of astronomical signs, and had He not designedly endowed man with special faculties capable of understanding their import, commerce as it is now developed could never have existed; and there is not a nation on the earth which would not thereby have lost many of the comforts and blessings now brought Seas and Floods. . I53 to it. Through His beneficence the “pathless ocean” has become the world's greatest highway; and, instead of sepa- rating nations, it joins them together. It is easier now to reach the remotest corner of the globe by sea, than it is to penetrate into Siberia or Arabia, though these countries lie comparatively close at hand. The sea is slightingly called the “unstable element,” but in the permanence of its condition it is much more stable than terra firma. The land is in some places being heaved upward, in others it is sinking downward; but the level of the ocean never changes. Sometimes the sea is hastily identified with “treachery,” but its currents are more trustworthy than the winds on land. True it is that, in obedience to the law of gravity, a ship sometimes sinks and a gallant crew perishes. But upon the upholding of this very law of gravity every other life in the world depends, and its suspension even for an instant would in- volve universal destruction. The sea sometimes bursts its bounds and desolates the dry land, or sweeps the use- ful pier into the deep, or destroys the light-house; but God has given us faculties and provided us with means to grap- ple with all these evils, and control even the ocean itself. Man's industry and skill again shut out the sea with stronger dykes, he builds a better pier, rears another light- house round which winds and waves dash in vain, and he plants the solid breakwater athwart the deep to create the safe harbor within. Thus some of man's greatest victories are won in his battles with the sea. Modern skill in build- ing and in navigating ships has reduced the dangers of the sea at least to a level with those of the land, and has in most cases made ocean disaster synonymous with igno- rance or want of care. The great rivers of the earth are prečminently its Floods, and the harmony with which rivers and ocean are regulated in relation to each other is another marvel of creative ad- justment. “All the rivers run into the sea,” saith the Seas and Floods. I 55 district, and yet there is no outgoing stream to carry off the ^water. If we were to continue pouring water into a basin we know what would happen; — the basin would be filled to the brim, and would then overflow. And in like man- ner the water in these inland seas would overflow and dev- astate the country had not a safety-valve been provided in evaporation. But again, the evaporation might have been too little or too much. It might not have been suffi- cient to correct this tendency to overflow; or it might have been excessive, so as ultimately to have sucked the sea dry, and left its bed an arid, salt-encrusted desert. But no such blunders are to be found in Nature's opera- tions. The waste on the one hand, and the supply on the other, are so exactly adjusted as to equalize each other, and thus the level of those inland seas is for the most part preserved. In some districts of Asia, however, are to be seen what may be called the ruins of ancient seas, which, in the all-wise plans of Providence, were not intended to endure. In them the moisture was in the course of years dissipated by evaporation ; the brackish water thickened into brine, and the brine solidified into salt-encrustations which mark the site of the old bed. Another evidence of providential design is seen in those lakes which so frequently spread themselves out near the chief sources of rivers. In the language of physiology they might justly be called “diverticula,” since they are reservoirs in which water that is in excess is stored up until it is wanted. If there were no provision of this kind inundations from the rapid rise of torrents during heavy rains would occur more frequently, but by the aid of these natural reservoirs the storm passes over in safety. A great portion of the rain, instead of running off at once in vio- lent floods, accumulates in the lake, whence it is given out gradually and profitably, and thus often suffices to keep up a flow of water when drought might otherwise have left the river dry. 156 Seas ama. Floods. Rains, rills, and rivers alike rasp off the surface of the globe as they pass over it or through it. The rubbings of the rocks go to increase the store of fertile soil. As earth or mud they are washed along by the current, and de- posited over the slopes and plains. Sometimes, from peculiar causes, inundations periodically occur, as with the Nile in Egypt, whereby, after subsidence, a rich coating of fertile soil is found deposited over the surface of the land. Most great rivers transport to the sea enormous quantities of earthy matters and gravel, which in the course of ages form round their mouths a “delta,” or projecting tongue of rich alluvial soil. Besides these more bulky matters, rivers bring down into the sea supplies both of lime and silica, which they have dissolved out of the soil or the rock. With such materials of ocean architecture myriads of fishes, mollusks, polyps, and other creatures obtain all they require for the growth of their skeletons, the building of their houses, and the construction of those mighty reefs of coral which are slowly rising like new continents from the deep. - In Holy Scripture we are not less struck with the beauty than with the exactness of expression in which some of the leading points connected with the water-system of the globe have been described. In Ecclesiastes the sea is rec- ognized both as the beginning and the ending of all the rivers of the earth, – “Unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.” Nothing could more truly express the fact. The ocean-vapor which has been the sport of winds and currents in the atmosphere knows its true home ; for no sooner does it touch the earth as rain than, with a seeming instinct and a movement that knows no rest, it hurries down the mountain side and across the plain, or trickles through the mysterious by- paths of the rocks until, collected into brock or river, it plunges once more into its parent ocean. With the exception of the rain that has fallen directly Seas and Floods. - 157 into the sea, every drop of returning water has gone a long round since it issued from the deep, and by God's goodness it has scattered blessings all the way. Water truly is a blessing to us in every form of its existence. It is a blessing in the ocean, where it diffuses life and the means of living to myriads; as vapor, cooling and re- freshing the air at one time, warming and moderating the rigors of climate at another ; as cloud, shielding the earth from sun, checking excessive radiation, and tempering electric influences; as rain, clearing the air from impur- ity and reviving the thirsty soil; as surface moisture, bringing nourishment to plants and animals; as streams, irrigating and fertilizing the land; as springs, infusing health into many a shattered frame; and lastly as rivers, bearing along on their deep currents the commerce that multiplies the comforts of life. Such are a few among the most obvious of its services, but to complete the list would be found an impossibility. In every form and stage God has chosen water as His servant to scatter good gifts among His creatures. - Ocean, clouds, rain, and rivers are the elements of a gigantic circulation on which the life of the world depends. The ocean is the mighty heart — the clouds and vapors driven by the wind are the conducting arteries — the mi- nute rain-streamlets are the capillaries vivifying and nour- ishing every corner of the earth; while the tiny rills, soon swelling into brooks and then into rivers, are the return- ing veins which empty the water back into the mighty heart. Water is the blood of the earth: where it falls, the surface is living and fruitful; where it is denied, the ground withers into sand. Without the ocean there would be no rain ; without rain, no fertile land ; without fertile land, no plants; and without plants, no animals. He gathereth the waters of the sea together, as it were upon a heap; and layeth up the deep as in a treasure-house. — Ps, xxxiii. Sº sº 2% |\ \S-2 º º: G THE WINDS OF GOD. O ye winds of God, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magniy Him for ever. 5: RNE cannot bestow a thought on the machinery by which the various operations of Nature are carried XS-24 on without perceiving how much is accomplished by means of air and water. In one shape or another these ever-busy agents meet us at every turn ; — some- times acting singly, sometimes in combination, but always playing into each other's hands with a perfection which might almost be called intelligence, and which nothing short of infinite wisdom could have devised. Animated by solar heat they form the mightiest engines in Nature's workshop — laboring with unerring instinct, fetching and carrying, fertilizing, vivifying, and supporting life. They form, as it were, the right hand of Providence, and their appointed task is to distribute blessings over the world. As in water, so in air a continual circulation among the particles is going on ; which is not less necessary to main- tain the atmosphere itself in a state of purity, than it is to insure the performance of the various purposes it has to fulfill. These movements constitute currents and winds, and they all originate in a difference in the density of one portion as compared with another. This difference in density may be caused by the presence of vapor, or by the agency of heat, to which may be added the influence of electricity, as is exhibited in the gusts that often suddenly arise in the still, close air which precedes the thunder- Storm. t The Winds of God. I 59 Winds range through an atmosphere encircling our globe to a height of forty-five or fifty miles, and the thickness of this belt in relation to the diameter of the earth has been compared by Maury to the down upon a peach. As air is a fluid, we may consider the atmosphere in its to- tality as a gaseous ocean, at the bottom of which we living creatures exist and move about. The upper surface of this ocean obeys the law of gravitation, by which all fluids are compelled to maintain their level; and hence, when accumulations of air arise upon its surface from internal disturbance, they must, like the waves of the sea, flow down upon the lower levels around, until the equilibrium is restored. The air varies in its density at different heights, according to the pressure of the mass above it. It is greatest, therefore, in low situations, as at the level of the sea, where it weighs fifteen pounds to the square inch, or nearly one ton to the square foot. In ascending, the weight of the aërial column diminishes in a nearly fixed ratio, so that by ascertaining the amount by means of a barometer, the altitude of any given spot may be pretty accurately determined. So rapidly does the weight diminish that, at the top of Mont Blanc, for example, no less than one half of the total mass of the atmosphere is found to have been left below. One chief cause of the varying weight of the atmos. phere at the same level is the greater or less abundance of aqueous vapor present in it. Dry air is 60 per cent. heavier than vapor, and consequently when vapor takes the place of a portion of air the weight of the atmospheric column is diminished. This may be illustrated by filling a teacup to the brim with water to represent a column of atmosphere. Our position as mortals upon earth is, of course, at the bottom of the cup where the tea-grounds usually lie; but for the moment we may suppose ourselves looking down upon the top of the atmosphere represented by the surface of the full cup. If we now displace a por. 16C The Winds of God. tion of the water by pouring in some lighter fluid, as spirits of wine or ether, the weight of the column will be necessa rily diminished ; for the teacup, instead of being completely filled as before with the denser fluid, will be partly filled with the lighter fluid also. In exactly the same ratio the weight upon the bottom of the cup, representing the surface of the earth, will be lightened. There can be no permanent accumulation on the top, for the excess of aeriform fluid, in obedience to the law of gravitation, runs down upon the surrounding lower levels, like a sea wave, by which means the same atmospheric height is always maintained. The instrument with which we measure the varying weight of the air is the well-known barometer. A low state of the barometer, therefore, indicates a light or vaporous condi- tion of the atmosphere and a disturbance in the aërial equilibrium ; hence, in a general way, rain and wind are to be expected. But in interpreting its announcements many other points have to be taken into account, more especially with regard to the direction of the wind, and the rapidity with which changes are taking place in the height of the mercurial column. How many there are who habitually pass by the little instrument as it hangs in its corner in the hall without a thought of gratitude or of admiration at the wonderful series of adjustments on which its signals are founded. How different it is at sea! There the mariner consults it often and anxiously, as he would a truthful friend who can point out to him betimes when danger threatens. Every movement is analyzed, its slightest hints are carefully pon- dered. Never does a day pass by on which lives are not saved by the warning throbs of this atmospheric pulse. Of late years the barometer has been conspicuously placed in almost every fishing village on the coast, and its signals are explained by the best code of instruction which science can supply. To be “as fickle as the wind” is one of those proverb. The Winds of God. I61 ial reproaches which are sometimes with scant justice made at Nature's expense. In reality, however, the laws of the winds are as fixed as other physical laws, although, from the difficulty of tracing their action in the aërial re- gions where they rule, we are as yet in the infancy of our knowledge respecting them. That little, however, is of immense service to mankind, and from the attention now given to this department of meteorology we may soon ex- pect to derive from it still greater advantages. In Ecclesiastes we read, – “The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north ; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.” This is one of those profound expres- sions in physical science often met with in the sacred vol- ume, which, though greatly in advance of the knowledge prevailing at the time when they were written, have been confirmed with literal exactness by modern investigation. It contains, indeed, the pith of all we know in regard to atmospheric circulation, and it could hardly be more clearly or beautifully stated. The grand circuit of the wind is from the poles to the equator and back again in unceasing rounds; at one time sweeping broadly across the surface of the earth ; at another passing in vast vol- umes in the contrary direction in the upper regions of the atmosphere. It is true these great streams of wind are so often deflected from the straight course to form the most varying local currents, that it might at first sight appear as if all were confusion in the atmosphere. But those local currents, though they retard and complicate, do not ultimately prevent the final result by which the “wind re- turneth again according to his circuits.” The “circuits’ are the great wind-channels of Nature, and in them we see established in the atmosphere a system very analogous to those polar-equinoctial streams forever flowing in the OCéan. The power which sets these currents in motion is Na. 11 162 The Winds of God. ture's mainspring — the sun. An enormous body of air lying over the surface in equatorial regions, being heated and rarefied by the sun, is forced to ascend by the pressure of the adjacent heavier air brought from the north and the south by means of the Trade-winds, and this loss is sup- plied by air from higher and higher latitudes, until at last the poles themselves are reached. But no sooner has this tendency toward a vacuum been produced at the poles, by the current flowing from it, than an equivalent current begins to be drawn from circumpolar regions to supply the void, and this suction force, acting backward through lower and lower latitudes, at length arrives at the original fountain, which was the heated air rising up from equa- torial regions. - Such, in general language, is the circuit of the wind upon the globe, although locally the greatest variety in the direction of the currents is observed. Aéronauts experi- ence different currents at different heights; and the thun- der-cloud may sometimes be seen advancing, under the influence of an upper current, apparently in the teeth of the wind that prevails below. On the Peak of Teneriffe Humboldt found himself exposed to a west wind so vio- lent as almost to prevent him from standing upright, while the people on the plain below were under the mild influ- ence of the northeast Trade. It has been proved by many interesting observations that currents rising from the earth in warm regions some- times take long courses through the air in a direction con- trary to the wind prevailing below. Thus, in various parts of Europe bordering on the Mediterranean, red sand, called sirocco-dust, is occasionally deposited by the south wind. According to popular belief this dust comes from the interior deserts of Africa ; but science, aided by the microscope, has proved that sometimes at least it has trav- elled from regions much more remote. A little of this red substance being submitted to Ehrenberg, he found The Winds of God. I63 that it clearly told its own history, being, as it were, la- belled with the débris of infusorial animalcules, whose home he knew was in the mud of the Amazon. It ap- pears that in seasons of great drought the river-mud, charged with these minute remains, is first thoroughly des- iccated, and then reduced to so fine a powder that it is taken up by the heated air into the higher regions of the atmosphere. The current there joins company with winds bound for the northeast, and carries its freight some thousands of miles across the Atlantic. It next sweeps over the northwest quarter of Africa, and after traversing the Mediterranean deposits its load upon the adjacent lands. In this long journey its route has lain through the upper regions of the atmosphere, passing for a considera- ble part of the way over the Trade-wind which was blow- ing in exactly the contrary direction. Let us here briefly notice a few of the principal winds that prevail in different parts of the earth. In tropical countries lying near the ocean, the inhabitants would lan- guish under the stifling air were they not regularly re- freshed by the “sea and land breezes.” In the West India Islands, more especially, these fannings of Nature are described as delicious. Soon after the morning sun begins to glow upon the land, the air, heated as in a furnace, ascends in volumes, and its place is immediately supplied by the cool air that has been resting all the night upon the neighboring ocean. Hence the “sea-breeze.” In the night-time, on the contrary, the temperature of the land falls in its turn, from radiation, below the temperature of the sea, and the direction of the current is reversed. It is now the air over the ocean which is displaced, and the air on the land which rushes off seaward to supply the void. Hence the “land-breeze.” In latitudes far beyond the tropics, as on our own coasts, a sea-breeze is often felt in hot weather toward the middle of the day. The path across the ocean is long and tedious. More 164 The Winds of God. than 4ooo miles of water lie between the Cape de Verde Islands and Mexico ; more than 8ooo miles intervene be- tween South America and Australia. Unfortunate would it have been for commerce had there been no steadiness in the breezes of those regions —if there had been nothing for the sailor to reckon upon, and if every ship in travers- ing them had necessarily to become the sport of ever- changing winds. Ocean voyages, instead of being per- formed with a regularity that astonishes, would have been in the highest degree uncertain. The Ruler of the winds has happily ordered it otherwise. Under the Equator there is a narrow belt of calms, broken by fitful storms of rain and thunder. But on both sides beyond there is a broad region reaching to about the 28th degree of latitude where the wind blows regularly all the year round. North of the Line, it comes from the northeast ; south of the Line, from the southeast ; and thus a favorable breeze is secured for ships sailing across the Atlantic or Pacific in a westerly direction. These are the famous winds called The Trades, in token of the benefits they bring to com- merce; and so steadily do they blow, that the sails of a ship may sometimes be set when off the Cape de Verde Islands, without requiring to be shifted until the opposite shore of America is sighted. In the Indian Ocean the Trades likewise prevail, but owing to the influence of the great Asian deserts elsewhere considered, the northern Trade is seasonally interrupted and changed into the Monsoon. As the Trades help ships across the ocean in one direc- tion only, the question naturally occurs, – How do they get back again? Immediately beyond the Trades there is providentially another region of ocean where the winds, though far less regular, have yet a prevailing direction exactly the reverse of that which governs the Trades: in the northern hemisphere, the set is from the southwest; in the southern, it is from the northwest. Practically, The Winds of God. I65 therefore, in whichever direction a ship may be crossing the ocean, the skillful mariner knows that there are tracks in which propitious winds will for the most part be found. The cause of the Trade-winds has been thus explained. As the earth spins round in diurnal rotation, it is obvious that the land near the equator, being farthest from the axis of movement, must go faster than places situated either to the north or to the south. The former lies, as it were, on the rim of the wheel, while the latter are nearer the axle in proportion as they approach the poles. Hence, at the equator, the surface rotates with a velocity equal to 16 miles per minute ; while in latitude 45°, say at Bordeaux or Venice, the velocity does not exceed 11 miles. Accord. ingly, as the aérial polar current, with the slower rotatory speed of higher latitudes impressed upon it, approaches the tropics, it is unable to keep pace with the increased rotatory movement of the surface, and it lags behind, or is “deflected” in a direction which must necessarily be the opposite to that in which the earth is moving. Now the earth moves from west to east. The north polar current, therefore, gradually becomes converted into a northeast Trade, while the south polar current gradually changes into a southeast Trade. If all parts of the earth, moved with the same speed, or if there were no rotatory move- ment at all, the polar currents would be due north and south, or at right angles to the equator ; but the eastern impulse which they gradually acquire causes them to move in the diagonal between. - The westerly winds prevailing beyond the Trades are due to causes just the reverse of those now mentioned, being produced by currents of air returning from the equator toward the poles. In commencing its journey the current had acquired, like the surface on which it rested, a velocity of 16 miles per minute in an easterly direction ; which merely means that its movement was in equilibrium with that of the earth itself. But when it 166 The Winds of God. reached a latitude, say as high as 45°, it found itself in a part of the globe where, from the contraction of the circle, the rotatory pace had been reduced to 11 miles per minute. Instead, therefore, of lagging behind, as in the case of the Trades, the tendency of the momentum it has acquired is to push it on toward the east more rapidly than the surface over which it passes. The result is a prevailing southwesterly wind. - In thinking of the benefits derived from these useful winds, it is impossible not to admire the combination of wonderful adjustments by which they are brought about. The very same cosmical conditions which give us the Trades, are made likewise by the All-wise Creator to pro- duce the winds which blow in the opposite direction. The constitution of the atmosphere, the shape of the earth, the rapidity of its axial rotation, the effect of the Sun's rays, are all regulated and fitted into each other in such a way as to secure for commerce the advantage of these regional winds. Although the Trades blow with regularity nearly across the entire Atlantic, there is a strip extending about eighty miles off the coast of Africa where the influence of the northeast Trade is scarcely perceived, forming a remark, able example of the effect of deserts in turning the winds out of what may be considered their natural course. At no great distance in the interior the scorched sands of Sahara are continually sending up vast streams of air into the higher regions of the atmosphere, and hence the cooler air off the coast, instead of being left free to the influences which rule the Trades, is sucked away in the opposite direction — rushing to the east, and not to the west — in order to supply the void in the atmosphere of the desert. It is, in reality, a perpetual sea-breeze on a large scale, neutralizing and vanquishing the influences which create the Trade. It was, probably, this very breeze which pre- vented the Portuguese from exploring in a westerly direc. tion, and retarded the discovery of America; for, in push. The Winds of God. 167 ing toward the south, they hugged the coast of Africa, within safe reach of this wind, and therefore never got within range of the Trade. On the other hand, had there been no Trade, Columbus would never have discovered America. That daring explorer, instead of creeping along the coast kept well out to sea, and soon, therefore, fell in with the Trade. It blew so steadily and carried him so far and so swiftly to the westward that his crew began to fear it was a wind that would never change. The cease- less breeze seemed hurrying them hopelessly on and on into that mysterious sea which tradition had crowded with superstitious terrors. Fear, as usual, was fast loosening the bands of discipline, and mutiny was on the point of breaking out, when the sight of the eagerly desired land rescued Columbus from his difficulty, and placed a new world in the hitherto unknown void. The same conditions which produce the Trade-winds on the ocean exist, of course, on land also, but the disturbing influences of hills and other circumstances generally pre- vent them from being so well marked, or even distinguish- able at all. In tropical plains of great extent, however, they are sensibly perceived. Thus in South America there is a variable Trade-wind which, sweeping up the level Valley of the Amazon, enables vessels to sail against the course of the stream. The Monsoons of the Indian Ocean are likewise great aids to commerce, and both on this account and for other important reasons are charged with blessings to man. They may be described generally as blowing six months in one direction and six months in another, but there is a longer or shorter interval of variable winds and storms in- terposed between them. From April to October the south- west Monsoon prevails, and ships sailing northward from the Cape find, about the latitude of 12 deg. South, a wind which wafts them toward the southern shores of Asia. From October to April the northeast Monsoon has its I68 The Winds of God. turn, and speeds the homeward-bound merchantmen across the Indian Ocean on their way to England. . The South- west Monsoon is due to the same cause which has been pointed out as interrupting the continuity of the Trades off the coast of Africa — the influence of the desert. In the present instance, the work of the Sahara is done by the deserts lying in Central Asia, beyond the Himalayas; and the wind, while being drawn in toward them, showers down in profusion over the parched plains of Hindostan the refreshing water it has gathered up in the Indian Ocean. Some additional observations on these winds will be found in the chapter which treats of “Showers and Dew.” The hot sand of the Asian desert during the summer half-year attracts the southwest Monsoon, but it has no corresponding action in causing the northeast Monsoon. In winter the sand of the desert partakes of the surround- ing comparatively cold temperature, and exerts no special influence on the direction of the wind. The northeast Monsoon in the Indian Ocean is, therefore, merely the re- sumption by the air of that course which it would have taken in summer also but for the disturbing attraction of the desert. It is in reality the northeast Trade, similar to that which prevails in the Atlantic and Pacific. But there are no extensive deserts situated in the southern di vision of the Indian Ocean, and consequently the south- east Trade blows there with comparative regularity all the year round. It is interesting to remark that the sandy deserts, which one might have been inclined to consider as mere incum- brances on the earth, are thus of high importance in Na- ture's economy. They may, indeed, be often regarded as vast suction-pumps, providentially placed at certain sta- tions on the earth, to create winds and help on the trans- port of moisture to lands that are in want of it. But for the Thibetian deserts there would have been no southwest The Winds of God. I69 Monsoon ; and without the Monsoon, the fertile plains of Hindostan would have been a waste of sand. It is at first sight more difficult to understand the ad- vantages of winds like the Khamsin and Harmattan, over- powering the traveler in the desert with their suffocating blasts ; or the Sirocco of Italy and Greece, prostrating mind and body under its hot, moist, relaxing breath ; or the Typhoon of the China seas; or the hurricane of the West Indies; or the Cyclone which revolves across the ocean. The evil they inflict is obvious, while the good they do is obscure. But that they harmonize with all God's other laws, and that their operation is ultimately beneficial to the world, we may confidently believe. The currents and admixture they promote in the air are of importance to the general welfare, and without doubt outweigh the lo- cal inconvenience they produce. It is often observed that great storms are followed by a sensible improvement in the air and by a feeling of increased comfort; hence it may justly be inferred that they are sent to cure something that is going wrong in Nature's household. We know that the storm sometimes checks the pestilence which human skill fails to subdue. On the banks of the La Plata, in South America, there is a prevailing wind which comes, charged with the germs of intermittent fever, from the marshes lying to the north. The wretched inhabitants droop and sicken and shiver into their graves. Suddenly a hurricane sweeps over the pampas from the cold summits of the An- des in the southwest, and in a few days the seeds of the disease are roughly yet effectually expelled. It has, more- over, been remarked that cholera epidemics in this coun- try have usually been attended with great stillness in the atmosphere, by which the operation of causes tending to concentrate the disease was no doubt favored. Therefore, when we hear the stormy wind howling round our houses, and sweeping through our courts and closes, let us think 17o The Winds of God. of it as one of Nature's most efficient sanitary agents, by which she renovates the air that was tainted through stag- nation, and scatters the seeds of the pestilence that were growing up for our destruction. He bringeth the wind out of His treasures. –Ps. cxxxv. APIRAE AAVZ) HEAT O y” Fire and Heat, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magniff Him fºr ever. |IRE and Heat enter so essentially into the grand operations of Nature that there are few of them Jää, which might not fitly be considered in this place. Heat is truly an almost universal “Power of the Lord;” it is the force of forces, the mainspring of movement, and nothing is either too great or too small to be beyond its action. How busily it is ever at work among the natural features invoked in the hymn ! It streams from the sun and the stars; it rules among the planets. Winter and Summer, Climate, Winds, Showers and Dew, Ice and Snow, Cloud and Seas, exist only through its operation ; the Green Things upon the earth, Cattle, the Fowls of the air, and all that move in the waters, depend on it for life. Under its agency the earth itself has been com- pounded and shaped. Heat is the great antagonist of the attraction exercised between the particles of matter, which, were they not forced by it into expansion and openness, would condense into one solid mass. - In the affairs of daily life Fire and Heat are absolutely necessary to our welfare. Without them the thousand needful processes of home would be brought to a stand- still. Of Fire steam is born—a power which we have subdued and trained to do our work, which fetches and carries, which lifts and lowers for us with more than a giant's strength, which feeds and clothes us, and which wafts us for business or pleasure over land and sea. Fire I 72 Aºre and Heat. wins our metals from the ore, and fashions then into a thousand shapes for our convenience. Heat is the strong- est of that band of Nature's servants which work without ceasing and which know neither fatigue nor slumber. The great fountain of Fire and Heat is the sun. “There is nothing hid" from it. Its rays, however, are very un equally distributed over the earth, and without some cor. rective agency there would be an excess of heat at the tropics, and a degree of cold in high latitudes incompat- ible with life. Now the great equalizers of heat are, as we have seen, air and water, and, to a less extent, the crust of the earth itself, whose superficial layers are continually transmitting a wave of warmth from the tropics toward the poles. When we say that, in the ordinary business of life, the source of heat is the combustion of fuel, we may probably be only indicating another shape in which the sun's rays minister to our welfare. It may truly be, as is suggested in the beautiful theory of Professor Tyndall, that the heat given out by bodies in combustion is only the yielding up of those rays of the sun which had for ages been impris- oned within them, and that a piece of coal is only a store of condensed sun-heat, absorbed during the time when it was being formed. The fuel which offers itself most obviously to the notice of man is wood ; and, as it exists abundantly in most countries, it has invariably happened that the fagot pre- ceded the use of the mineral. That the employment of wood should have continued so long in England is easy to understand when we consider the extent of her ancient forests. When Julius Caesar landed on these coasts the whole country was a vast wood, and a British town meant little more than a patch inclosed and cleared, with a few huts for men and sheds for cattle. But before a thousand years had passed the character of the country had alto- gether changed, and the Conqueror, in carving out his I 74 Aºire and //eat. in the meteoric form. In the various processes for reduc- ing it to its metallic condition, Fire, aided by a certain amount of carbon, and with a portion of limestone as a flux, is the chief agent employed. Wherever, therefore, iron-ore and fuel are found near together there the man- ufacture establishes itself, and it is to this circumstance more especially that England owes her preeminence in the production of this metal. - Before the days of coal, iron was smelted with wood ; and as Sussex and the forest of Dean not only contained the ore but were abundantly provided with timber, they became the first seats of the English iron manufacture. In process of time, as the forests were cut down, the works were transferred from Sussex to the iron fields of the north and west, where the furnaces would be heated and the ore smelted by coal found abundantly on the spot. And in proportion as, in these days, the use of iron has expanded and driven other competing substances almost out of the field, an ever-bountiful Providence has led man to new stores of the metal practically inexhaustible. The most recently discovered field in Yorkshire has an extent of several hundred square miles, and alone would be suffi- cient to meet the present enormous demand for many cen- turies to come. In the year 1863 considerably more than nine millions of tons of iron were produced in the United Kingdom, at the cost of a consumption of coals equal to two millions of tons. Most of the other valuable metals obtained in this country are also won by the agency of Fire and Heat, from which may be estimated the services per- formed by them in a single department only. If we add to the operations of metallurgy the labors of the coal pit, we have a branch of industry in the prosecution of which immense numbers of our population obtain the means of daily support. Coal is the most valuable fuel in existence. It is, how- ever, a singular illustration of the slowness with which Aire and Heat. I75 useful discoveries are made, even under favorable cir- cumstances, that some thousands of years should have rolled over the world before the superiority of coal ovel wood as a heat-producer came to be generally recognized. The inferiority of wood is in great measure due to the quantity of water which it contains ; as the water, in pass- ing off in a state of vapor, absorbs much heat which would otherwise have become sensible. Hence, also, the advantage of keeping wood that is to be used for fuel un- til it becomes dry. Coal was unknown to the Greeks and Romans; and although cinders have been found in the excavations at Uriconium, it is doubtful if it began to be burnt as fuel in England until long after the Romans had left. It is probable, however, that the black lumps found here and there upon the surface, or in digging for wells, or in other accidental ways, were known to be combusti- ble long before the increase of population and the dwind- ling away of the forests forced men, as it were, to the regular use of coal. Like many other valuable discover- ies, it had for centuries to contend against the prejudices of numerous enemies, and many evil things were said about it. In the 13th and 14th centuries it was the fash- ion to petition against it as a nuisance, just as we now protest against noxious exhalations from chemical works. So prejudicial to health were coals considered, that they were not tolerated in London, or even in its vicinity, un- der the severest penalty, and a smith who used them in his forge instead of wood was in danger of being sent to prison. Not until toward the year 14oo did the use of coal become general in the metropolis, and, even after that, wood continued to be the fuel of the country until the time of Charles I. - Although we speak of coal as a mineral, it is neverthe- less of vegetable origin. Every particle of it, except that earthy residuum which in good coal is very small in amount, once formed part of a living plant. There is a 176 Aºre and Heat. kind called Lignite, which often consists of little else than fossilized trees; but the more perfect varieties may be considered as having their origin in peat-producing plants — chiefly mosses — which have been in the course of time compressed and metamorphosed into coal. All traces of moss structure have for the most part been ob. literated. But in the same way as fragments of wood have been abundantly preserved in our bogs, so in the coal strata — those bogs of ancient days — relics of the trees which once flourished beside the peat are frequently found, likewise converted into coal, and in them the original structure of the wood, even to its microscopic details, is often beautifully displayed. The quantity of carbon anciently extracted from the air, fixed in the tissues of plants, and then gradually converted into coal, is enormous. The area of all the known coal- fields in the world is computed to be 220,000 square miles — more than the whole surface of France — which, allow- ing a moderate average thickness of 20 feet, would be equal to a solid cube nearly 1o miles in dimension. As Professor Rogers observes, it would form “a square pla- teau Ioo miles wide at the base, and more than 500 feet in height.” The proportion of our British lump of coal “would be a cube of a little more than three miles in diameter.” Within the last century the consumption of coals has increased to an extent never dreamt of by our forefathers. In round numbers we are using up about 1oo millions of tons annually. Who can enumerate or even conceive the sum of enjoyment which is daily extracted from this huge black heap : How many millions of hearths are made cheery by its glow, how many palaces and cottages are filled by it with comfort-bringing heat. What countless numbers of things of use or beauty are manufactured by ‘ts aid for our enjoyment. For how many mouths does it not prepare daily food. What great work is there which Fire and Heat. 177 it does not help on ? From its dull-looking fragments is distilled the gas which brightens up our houses and out streets. To coals we owe steam, and what is there in these days which we do not owe to steam 2 Steam gives us muscles stronger than iron, and yet finer in action than the most delicate hand. With the tools which man's in- genuity has provided, it labors incessantly without rest, and performs its task with a certainty and exactness with which nothing human can compete. Be the work rough or smooth, coarse or fine, steam adjusts itself to it with matchless skill. Steam wields the ponderous hammer as if it were no heavier than a feather, and can with equal ease crush an iron beam or crack a nutshell. The amount of labor saved and the physical strength thus gifted to man are enormous. Give a good steam-engine a bushel of coals, and it will lift a weight of 125 million lbs. one foot from the ground ! Every three tons of coals are “the convertible equivalent of one man's life-long mus- cular activity.” The 15 millions of tons annually con- sumed in this country in the production of mechanical force is equal to 20 millions of horses, or to a band of Ioo millions of men The power thus acquired is turned at will into an infinity of channels, all working in the ser- vice of man. By the beneficent design of Providence coal-mines are widely distributed over the earth, and our own islands, more especially, have been blessed with an abundance that calls for thankfulness. The aggregate extent of our coal-fields amounts to no less than five thousand four hun- dred square miles. Yet when we consider our enormous consumption and reckless waste, we wonder not that thoughtful minds should look forward with anxiety to the possible advent of a day when our pits shall have become exhausted. That day may be distant; still it is confess- edly not so very remote as to lie beyond the range of pres- ent interest. In a question of this nature, where the 12 178 Aºre and Aſeat. difficulty of obtaining exact data is so great, it is but naţ. ural that opinions should widely differ; but, on the whole, we may accept with some confidence the assurance that the stock of coal yet on hand will suffice for at least a thousand years to come. Within the last few years the bounteous earth has yielded up to man another source of light and heat in Petroleum, which has already assumed commercially the highest importance. It was observed during the Burmese war that rock-oil was much used by the natives for ordi- nary illumination; and, when peace was concluded, it be. gan to be imported into this country. It is now obtained in considerable quantities from other quarters also, es- pecially from the districts on the Lower Danube. But all these sources are thrown into the shade by the oil-wells of North America. In 1863 the quantity raised from the Pennsylvanian springs alone was 40 millions of gallons, while that from Canada amounted to 250,000 gallons; and since then the produce has been steadily increasing. In this country, after purification, Petroleum is much used as oil for lamps; and paraffine, or mineral-wax candles, are also extensively manufactured from it. Large quanti- ties of oil of an excellent quality are likewise obtained from the shale in contiguity with the coal measures, a substance which only a year or two ago was deemed refuse of no value. A single ton of the Torbanehill mineral is capable of producing 120 gallons of oil. Recent trials also indicate that Petroleum is well adapted as fuel for marine engines, as it produces a larger quantity of steam in proportion to its bulk than can be obtained from coal. How much it seems to be a matter of course to see the fire burning brightly on a cold winter night. We enjoy the comfort it diffuses, and, perhaps, we congratulate our- selves that coals are so easy to be had. But how rarely do we carry our thoughts a step further, or reflect upon the ex'raordinary nature of the blessing. Countless ages Aºre and Heat. I79 ago our Father anticipated our wants and provided for their relief. The coal we burn is, so to speak, manufac- tured, and the manufacture was established thousands of years ago, when God caused to grow the mosses and other little plants which by slow accumulation became masses of peat. The raw material then went through other long processes. It was compressed and solidified and chem- ical changes were wrought in it. Then, lastly, the pre- cious coal was stowed away carefully in the cellars of the earth on purpose that we might be made warm and happy by the “Fire and Heat,” which from the beginning of its creation it was designed to supply. In looking back at the history of fuel, the mind that loves to trace design in the ways of Providence cannot fail to be struck by the wise economy with which the treasures of the earth have been gradually unlocked, and one supply after another has been granted as the neces- sity for it seemed to arise. In the old time, when forests were everywhere and population was sparse, wood was the fuel invariably used. So long as manufactures were in their infancy the primeval forest answered all demands made on it. But in process of time population multiplied, and it was necessary to strip the land of trees on purpose that it might be sown with corn. Wood then became less abundant. New Sources of heat were, therefore, abso- lutely needed ; so God taught man the use of coal, which had previously been esteemed mere rubbish. Again, as oil from the old supplies became more scarce, and the demand for street and house lighting increased, the gas imprisoned in the coal was discovered, and our power of illumination was thereby almost indefinitely augmented. To economize Nature's resources vegetable wax and vari. ous vegetable oils have also recently been much employed, Lastly Petroleum was discovered, and the oil fountains of the earth were made to flow for our use. There is still the probability that some of the metals may be made avail. 18o Aºre and Æeat. able for illumination, and that before many years are over our means may be still further economized by a more fre quent application of the electric light. Have we now ar- rived, it may be asked, at the end of the long list of Na. ture's resources, and are we to believe that when the last coal-pit has been worked out, and the last oil-spring emp- tied, we shall be left to perish with cold, or at least to live miserably, deprived of the comforts which for so many ages have been placed within our reach * With the firmest conviction we repel such a thought. It is utterly repug. nant to our knowledge of the merciful ways of Providence. Our Father enriches but never impoverishes the earth, and the intelligence of His creatures is ever made the means by which new gifts are discovered. The essential constituents of fuel are only two — carbon and hydrogen. To them wood, coal, and every other kind of fuel owe their heating virtue. Now the world is literally packed with carbon and hydrogen, and it is not in the power of man to dissipate these elements of supply. Carbon is the staple out of which animals and vegetables are built up ; it is a constituent of many rocks and of every soil, and it pervades the air. Hydrogen is even more abun- dant. It forms one ninth part by weight of every drop of water on the globe, and therefore it may be said that rivers and lakes and the ocean itself are vast reservoirs of latent fire. Of the two constituents of water, one — oxygen — is an admirable promoter of combustion, and the other — hydrogen — burns under ordinary circum- stances with more heat than coal, while by the skillful ad- mixture of the two a temperature of the highest intensity is produced. We do not attempt in these conjectural hints to indicate the way in which such materials will be made available, and the want of coal supplied, but only to point out that sources of “Fire and Heat” exist every- where around us, and that, when need comes, God will in- spire His children with wisdom to turn them to account. Aºre and Heat. I 81 In looking into the future, therefore, let us dismiss anxiety from our minds, in the firm conviction that Nature's re. Sources are boundless, and that, if the world be still exist- ent in those far-off days, God will not forsake the race for whom Hiº providence has done, and daily does so much. O put your trust in Him alway. — Ps. lxii FROST AND COZ D. — ZCE AAVD SAVO W. O ye Frost and Cold, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, ana mag. miſy Him for ever. O ye Ice and Snow, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnify Him for ever. ROST and snow are so often associated in the § mind with physical suffering, or with bleak winter and inhospitable polar regions, that their services in Nature's economy are apt to be overlooked. That the Three Children understood their operation better is ob- vious from the circumstance that cold and its effects are dwelt upon in the hymn with a minuteness bordering on redundancy, as illustrations not only of Power but also of Goodness and Wisdom. It seems unnecessary to remind any of my readers that cold has no existence as a separate or independent princi- ple, and that it merely implies in a general way the lower ranges of temperature. The word, therefore, will fre- quently be found in the remarks that follow, both because it is a convenient term, familiarly used and well under- stood by all, and because it has been specially introduced into the hymn. Snow has its well-known aspects of beauty. Where can the eye rest upon such an expanse of purest, dazzling white as the unbroken sheet it lays upon the fields in winter, and how picturesque the trees appear with the snow-flakes clinging to their twigs and branches. Bathed in the light of the sun the snow-wreath often sends back the color in pale but beautiful reflection. At sunrise and at sunset A rost and Cold — Ice and Snow. 183 the stow-clad Alps glow in rose and gold. Sometimes the snow, especially of polar regions, is tinted red by myriads of minute algae which a pass frugal life upon its sterile surface, and the famous crimson snow-cliffs of Baf- fin's Bay arrest the attention of the passing navigator at a distance of ten miles from the shore. The beauty of snow is of that true kind that bears a close inspection. A few grains taken from the heap that gathers upon the window- sill will exhibit the prettiest crystals when looked at in the microscope. Ice is even more beautiful than snow. Who has not stopped to admire the sunbeams playing with the icicles and winning glowing tints from their cold surface, or the windows encrusted with their frosty featherings, or the trees decked stiffly in fleeting robes of crystal 2 Who has not peered curiously at the stones and plants lying under the clear sheet of glass in which ice wraps up the brook in winter. Sometimes it is prettily “belled ” with air, as if the water had been suddenly struck motionless in the act of effervescence ; sometimes the tiny air-globules are so crowded together as to make the ice look white like hardened snow. But it is in glaciers, more especially, that the most beautiful tints are to be seen. Transmitted light frequently imparts a greenish color to their masses; at other times, they assume the milky dimness of the opal. Sometimes their huge fragments have been compared to blocks of beryl; more rarely their blue has the fine tint of aquamarine. Not unfrequently the ice decks itself in all the colors of the rainbow. The play of the low, midnight sun on the glaciers of the coast of Greeland has been described as making “ the ice around one great resplen- dency of gem-work, blazing carbuncle and rubies and mol- ten gold.” Ice water is purer than that procured from snow. The latter, besides the air mixed with it, usually contains some animal matter and other impurities gathered from the 184 Frost and Cola. atmosphere. In freezing, water has a strong tendency to free itself from the foreign matters it may contain; and advantage has been taken of this circumstance, in arctic regions, to procure, on the one hand, salt; and, on the other, drinkable water. M'Clintock found that in each successive freezing the ice became less salt; until, after the fourth time, ice was formed which on melting yielded fresh water. From the brine left behind salt was readily procured by evaporation. - The Three Children could not survey the river that washed the walls of Babylon without being reminded how much it owed to frost and snow. In the fierce Mesopota- mian summer, when wells were drying up and many streams had ceased to flow, the Euphrates was still fed from the snowy reservoirs of the Armenian Mountains. And when the people, like Nature all around, drooped under the withering heat of the sun, the winds which braced their exhausted nerves gathered coolness from the same high sources. As there are “sweet uses in adversity,” so does the rigor of winter in northern climates enhance the enjoyment of summer. Thankful thoughts should rise when we call to mind the wood and coal and springs of oil given to us as means by which cold may be mitigated or subdued. These, no doubt, are commonplace subjects and reflec- tions. Our life itself is spent among commonplace things; but, when we make them lead to thoughts that honor God, we elevate them above their commonness and invest them with the dignity of aiding devotion. It is well known that water under ordinary circum- stances freezes at 32°Fahr. In passing to the solid state it expands with a force sufficient to burst pipes of lead, or even of iron, as householders know to their cost. This force, which acts on a vast scale over the greater part of the world, may well be deemed one of the “Powers of the Lord.” Thus it splits wood, rends the rock, and breaks up the weather-worn fragments into fertile soil. Ice and Snow. 185 Under varying circumstances cold produces the different effects mentioned in the hymn. It converts water into ice, and atmospheric vapor into rain or snow or hail ; and when the vapor is in contact with the ground, instead of being deposited as dew, it may be frozen into hoar-frost Cold brings sleep to the vegetable world, and prepares it by a period of rest to burst forth with fresh vigor in the spring. Snow and frost are valuable servants to the husbandman. By expanding the moisture with which the hard clods are permeated, Frost crumbles them down and renders the stiff land friable, porous, and mellow. Frost, likewise, rids the soil of some of its insect, or vermin life, which, but for this check, might increase to an extent that would seriously damage the crops. In winter it gives the soft, moist ground the necessary hardness to allow field operations to be carried on. Snow is even more useful. It covers up the tender plants as with a blanket, and pre- serves them against the effects of excessive cold. “He giveth snow like wool.” The blanket thus softly laid on is “a bad conductor,” neither allowing the heat which is in the earth to pass out, nor, if we may use the expression, the external cold to pass in. Observation shows that the inner surface of the snow seldom falls much below 32° Fahr., although the temperature of the air outside may be many degrees under the freezing point; and it is found that the crops can stand this amount of cold without injury, so long as their covering protects them from the raking influence of the wind. In climates where the winter's cold is longer and more intense than in our sea- girt island, the protecting influence of the snow is more conspicuously marked. In northern climates snow, in its own fashion, sometimes opens out routes which were im- practicable in summer from their ruggedness, and prepares a path for the sledge, or for the “lumberer,” over which the largest stems of the forest may be dragged with ease to the canal or river. 186 Frost and Cola. In polar regions snow supplies the ever-ready material out of which the Esquimaux construct their houses, and hardy explorers extemporize the huts in which they find shelter when absent from their ships on distant expedi. tions. Nor are the ships themselves considered “snug in winter-quarters ” until their sides have been banked up in walls of snow, and the roof raised over the deck has been thickly covered with it. Experience has proved that a layer of frozen snow, four inches thick, forms an excellent thatch for houses and ships in those biting regions. Snow huts are warmer than might have been anticipated. If built on ice covering the sea, their temperature is sensibly affected by the heat of the unfrozen water below, which is said seldom to fall much under 40° Fahr. in any part of the ocean. Even where the external temperature has sunk to 20° or 30° below zero, sufficient warmth is produced in a snow hut by the huddling together of three or four per- sons within it. When Kane passed a cold arctic winter's night in the hut of “Mrs. Eiderduck,” beyond Smith's Sound, the temperature produced by its complement of lodgers and two or three oil lamps reached 90°Fahr. ; so that he was compelled by the heat to follow the example of the rest of the party and partially to divest himself of his clothing. In latitude 79° north, Kane marked a tem- perature of 75° below zero in the month of February. No fluid could resist it. Even chloric ether became solid, and the air was pungent and acrid in respiration. How great soever may be the intensity of the cold which is naturally produced in high latitudes, it is moderate in comparison to that which can be obtained by artificial means. The principle of freezing-mixtures depends on the fact that heat is absorbed and becomes “latent” when- ever a solid passes into a liquid state, or when a liquid passes into vapor; and that cold is, therefore, produced in the medium from which that heat is withdrawn. This is easily illustrated by the cold which is excited when a little Ace and Snow. 187 Eau de Cologne is placed on the forehead and allowed to evaporate. The intensity of the cold is in proportion to the rapidity with which the vaporization is accomplished. Snow melts in temperatures above 32°, and produces a certain amount of cold ; but if we can, by mixing it with some solvent, make it melt faster, a greater degree of cold is the result. Thus a mixture of equal parts of snow and common salt brings down the temperature from 32° to zero, merely from the rapidity with which the salt causes snow to change from the solid to the liquid form. When, therefore, in winter the pathway is strewn with salt, the snow no doubt quickly disappears, but at the cost of an amount of cold which may be very dangerous to persons who have to wade through it. The greatest artificial cold, however, is produced not by liquefaction but by evaporation. Alcohol, ether, and Eau de Cologne evaporate quickly and cause cold ; but there are substances which by skillful management can be made to evaporate much more rapidly, and, therefore, to produce a much greater amount of cold. There are many sub- stances, of which carbonic acid is an example, which in their natural state exist as gases, but which by a combina- tion of pressure to eliminate, or, as it were, “squeeze out” their component heat, and of a surrounding cold mixture to absorb this heat the instant it is developed, may be made to assume a liquid, or even a solid state. Subse- quently when these agencies are removed the solid evapo- rates, or resumes its natural condition of a gas with almost explosive rapidity, producing, by its inordinate absorption of heat, a most intense cold in things in contact with it. By employing a bath of solid carbonic acid and ether, Faraday produced a cold equal to 106° below zero in the open air, and 166° in vacuo. But even this intense tem- perature has been left far behind by Natterer, who, by em- ploying in vacuo a mixture of protoxide of nitrogen and bisulphide of carbon, produced a cold equal to 220° below Zero. Ice and Snow. I 91 remarked that sea-water does not follow the same law in cooling as fresh-water. Thus it freezes, according to Des- pretz, at a temperature of nearly 27.3% Fahrenheit, while its density increases regularly up to that point We have seen that in falling below 40° fresh-water ex- pands, but if in the act of solidifying it had contracted, much of the benefit of the arrangement just described would have been lost. The particles of ice as soon as formed would have sunk to the bottom, where they would have remained and been continually increased by new accumulations. Water being “a bad conductor,” the heat of the winter sun would have reached the bottom with difficulty, while every new touch of frost during the cold winter nights would have precipitated more ice to add to the deposit below. The intervening mass of water would thus have been placed between two cold strata, by which its heat would soon have been exhausted, and the whole mass converted into ice. There is, perhaps, nothing within the range of physical science which more strikingly dis- plays the forethought and mercy as well as the Power of the Great Designer than the relations which He has estab- lished between water and heat. So long as the result was good, water was made to follow the general rule; but the instant when the continuance of the law would have pro- duced evil, He designedly reversed its operation, and thus restored harmony and safety to the world. The work of “Frost and Cold" is seen in its grandest forms amid the mighty glaciers — those “silent cataracts" which return the waters that are above the firmament to those that are below the firmament in rivers of solid crys- tal. No picture or description can excite such emotions as stir the mind of him who, standing for the first time on the glacier's brink, thoughtfully surveys its rugged desola- tion, and in the midst of summer feels its icy breath creep. ing over him. The giant crystals of creation are before him — a strange, unearthly sea, with fantastic, foamy waves I 92 Aºrost and Cola. stiffened into stones, with domes and pinnacles and end. less fanciful resemblances of common things, with chasms which the eye cannot search or fathom, with caverns out of whose darkness mysterious streams steal forth into the light. What power is here sealed up ! Loosen but for a moment the fetters that hold this pile of waters together, and try to imagine the force with which the valley, with its green fields and smiling villages beyond, would be over- whelmed. What an emblem of desolation 1 Life hurries across, but neither lingers nor lives upon it. The sounds that break upon the ear are all its own : the trickle of dropping water so clear and distinct amid the stillness; the ringing click of the unseen atom of ice falling down from ledge to ledge in some neighboring crevasse; the sharp crack of some new fissure, drowned from time to time in the thunder of the distant avalanche. The silence that reigns between these sounds is so profound as to be almost oppressive. Glaciers are formed in the highest valleys of the Alps out of the snow precipitated directly from the atmosphere and the avalanches which from time to time crash down the mountain's side. In summer the sun partially dis- solves the surface, and the water in percolating through the mass fills up the interstices with ice. The enormous pressure to which the glacier is subsequently exposed as its bulk increases, has a still more powerful effect in con- densing and welding it into compact, slightly plastic ice, No sooner is the glacier formed than it begins to glide downward through the valley, receiving many contributions by the way. The motion of glaciers was long a disputed point, but for some time past it has been established be- yond all question. In 1836 a Chamounix guide fell into a crevasse in the glacier of Teléfré, a feeder of the Mer de Glace, but contrived to escape, leaving his knapsack be- hind him. In 1846 the identical knapsack was yielded up - by the glacier 4300 feet below the place where it was lost Ice and Snow. I93 In an expedition to the summit of Mont Blanc in 1820 three guides lost their lives by the fall of an avalanche, which buried them beyond recovery in the glacier below. Forty years passed by, and then some relics of their bodies came to light on the Glacier des Bossons, far below the point where the accident occurred. In the course of 1863 and 1864 various other fragments were recovered ; and in 1864—that is, 44 years after the accident—there was found, projecting from a large hummock of ice, “an entire leg from the knee downward, in a state of perfect preser- vation, with the nails on the toes as perfect as those of the living.” From certain marks it was recognized as having belonged to one of the lost guides. Many other relics have since been recovered, and it would appear from a carefully kept register that only one leg and two hands are now missing. From the above and other evidence there can be no doubt as to the motion of those enormous masses of ice. The force that pushes them onward is chiefly the weight of the accumulation behind. The rate of travel- ing varies according to the steepness of the valley through which they slide, the shape of its bed, and the rocky obstacles that oppose their descent, but it is computed to be from a few inches to two or three feet daily. The rising and sinking, the rending and fissuring of the glacier give to the surface its tempest-tost appearance. Under favorable circumstances it is pushed onward into the culti- vated valley or the plain, where its rugged, uncouth masses stand out in strange contrast to the bright corn-fields or meadows upon which it has intruded. At the point where the melting power of the sun balances the supply of ice coming from above, there the glacier ceases to advance. Round its termination is found the “moraine,” or mound of rubbish formed of fragments of rocks, with sand and mud, which have either fallen upon the glacier or been scraped off from the sides of the valley in its downward progress. When the ice melts they are, of course, deposited 13 Ice and Snow. I95 Wales abound with old glacier markings, and the plains of our island are strewn with fragments of foreign rocks which were probably ice-transported. It awakens curious thoughts to stand on the top of Snowdon, and in imagina- tion look back to the time when it was a Welsh Mont Blanc, piercing through its Mer de Glace, and launching from its sides seven huge “cataracts of ice" to fill the neighboring valleys where Llanberis, Bettws Garmon, and Beddgelert now bloom in beauty. Nowhere in Great Britain, and scarcely in any other part of the world, can the traces of ancient glacier action be seen in greater per- fection. The icebergs of the ocean are means employed by Na- ture to provide fresh water to compensate for the evapora- tion going on in southern seas, and to temper the heat of southern latitudes. The “cold,” if such an expression may be used, is locked up in them as they are formed in polar regions, and it is given out during the process of melting. Stated more correctly, melting produces cold by absorbing the heat around as the ice is passing into the state of water. In the district of the Gulf Stream the cold of the iceberg is sometimes perceived at a distance of 40 miles, and the temperature which a few miles off may be 60°, falls to 43° or even lower in the immediate vicinity. In the north Atlantic, icebergs are seldom seen below 40% degrees of latitude; but in the southern hemi- sphere, where they are much more numerous, they are sometimes seen about latitude 35°, off the Cape of Good Hope. Some idea of their size may be formed from the fact that they are occasionally two miles in circumference, with a height of 200 feet; and it must be borne in mind that only one seventh part of the whole mass appears above the water. Parry estimated that a single iceberg which he saw aground in 61 fathoms must have contained 1 billion 292 million tons' weight of water. Sometimes the ocean is studded with them. On one occasion Scoresby 190 Aºrost and Cold counted a fleet of 5oo icebergs sailing majestically toward the south. Favored by wind and current their speed is equal to that of a well-manned boat. Fearful collisions sometimes occur between them, and pieces of wood have been ignited by the violent compression of the blow. Ice. bergs carry a freight of rocks and rubbish, estimated by Scoresby to be in many instances not less than 50,000 tons in weight, which is ultimately deposited over the bed of the Atlantic, to the south of Newfoundland. Icebergs are born in the remote polar regions, being the offshoots of the huge glaciers which there cover up so much of the soil. The whole interior of Greenland is filled by a Mer de Glace, which in its enormous propor- 'tions dwarfs every other sea of ice that has as yet been dis- covered. It is estimated to have a length of 1200 miles, while some of the glacier-spurs proceeding from its flanks down the valleys into the sea have a breadth of 60 miles. This stupendous ice-mass is thus described by Kane : — “Imagine the centre of this continent of Greenland oc- cupied through nearly its whole extent by a deep unbroken sea of ice that gathers perennial increase from the water- shed of vast snow-covered mountains, and all the precipi- tation of the atmosphere upon its own surface. Imagine this moving onward like a great glacial river, seeking outlets at every fiord and valley, rolling cataracts into the Atlantic and Greenland seas; and having at last reached the northern limit of the land that has borne it up, pour- ing out a mighty frozen torrent into unknown arctic space.” In another place it is finely said that this mighty glacier “seems to remind one at once of time and of eternity: of time, since we see portions of it break off to drift and melt away; and of eternity, since no change is percepti- ble in its appearance from age to age.” Darwin describes icebergs crashing into the sea from the precipices of Terra del Fuego, and raising a wave high enough to swamp boats exposed to their influence AO WERS OF THE ZOK? D. O all ye Powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise Him, and magniſy Him for ever. tº HITHER can we go from Thy presence,” or in A. SA tº § what direction can we cast our eyes without per- İşA& ceiving that we are hedged in on every side by Žel the Powers of the Lord? Above, below, around — in the air, in the water, on the earth and under the earth they pervade creation. At every turn they reveal themselves in the mighty language of physical, chemical, and vital force, bringing home to our minds at every instant our depend- ence upon Him, and leading us on to thankful adoration. The verses of the Benedicite may be considered as a summary of these Powers, and many of them, therefore, will be found noticed elsewhere in this book. In this place we shall confine our attention to a few of the more striking illustrations drawn from the familiar objects around us. The Powers of the Lord shine forth in the heavens — in sun, moon, and stars — with a grandeur which we can- not fully comprehend, but which nevertheless elevates our nature in the mere effort to grasp it. In every meditation on those Powers we find ourselves instinctively turning again and again toward the sun, the great messenger of the Lord, which brings to our earth so much of the force and movement we see continually displayed upon it. Under Providence, the sun stands forth as the pivot of the solar system, sustaining and preserving by the power of gravity the planets that circle round it. On earth the Powers of the Lord. I99 operation of the same power is no less necessary and universal. By solar gravity all things are attracted toward the centre of the sun, while by terrestrial gravity every thing belonging to our globe is drawn toward the centre of the earth. Terrestrial gravity, therefore, counteracts the centrifugal tendency of objects, resulting from the earth's rotation, and keeps them fixed upon the surface with a force of which the amount is termed their weight. Let us reflect how universally useful this power is. It holds every thing in its place. It keeps one stone pressed down upon another, and thus makes building practicable. Bodies that have little gravity, or that are light, possess little stability and are readily tossed hither and thither. Our bones and muscles, and the strength of plants and all other materials, are adjusted to the strain which gravity makes upon them. In obedience to its laws the ship floats upon the water, and the balloon soars into the air. It is gravity which enables us to balance ourselves in walking, running, or riding. By the adjustment of their gravity to the medium in which they are placed birds fly and fishes swim. In short there is no limit to the con- veniences and benefits we derive from this “Power of the Lord.” Another Power essential to our well-being is Friction, which, in conjunction with gravity, regulates physical motion. It is the force which opposes displacement, which keeps things steady, and finally brings them, if in motion, to a state of rest. With every kind of movement some frictional opposition will always be found at work tending to stop its continuance. It may be the rough surface of the ground, or the comparatively unresisting water, or the still softer air, but each with varying degrees of frictional energy ultimately subdues the moving force, and sets the body at rest. Many are the attempts ingenious man has made to overcome this difficulty, but his search after “per- petual motion” is ever baffled by omnipresent friction, 2OO Powers of the Lord. and his greatest success is measured only by the gain implied in substituting a friction that is less for one that was more. Thus we oil axles and hinges, to diminish the rubbing opposition. Thus wheels were invented to escape in some degree from friction by rolling over the rough ground instead of scraping over it. Thus, also, by gradual improvement rude tracks were changed into smooth, macadamized roads, and these last in their turn are yield- ing to the even rail. Every new success has been merely the lessening of friction. In these and in many other ways friction may be said only to create difficulties which man's ingenuity enables him to overcome with more or less success; but, as a set- off against these evils, let us for a moment try to realize what would have happened if there had been no such Power in existence. When a surface offers little friction we call it slippery ; and ice, though offering resistance sufficient to bring a skater or a stone gradually to rest, is yet remarkable for the comparative absence of friction. What occurs ? In venturing upon it most persons find their movements difficult even when the surface is level, but they find it impossible to stand when ice is upon the slope. Now if there were no such thing as friction, land would be no longer terra firma, but would be as slippery as ice. Without mechanical support it would have been impossible to ascend a hill. Horses could not have kept their feet against a strain; every thing we handled would have slipped through our fingers with eel-like glibness Quiescence and steadiness would have been banished from the world, and objects once set in motion would have gone on without stopping until brought up by some equal opposing force. Thus it may be perceived that the fric- tion of matter assists us in almost every act we perform ; and, without its aid, the innumerable purposed movements of every-day life would have been impossible in the general confusion of the world. “Without this property,’ 202 Powers of the Lord. mysterious caverns of this crust, the molten rocks, the in- candescent vapors, and bursting gases, heated by the internal furnace, are ever battling together and struggling . with inconceivable force to rend their prison walls. Some. times we hear with awe the distant thunder of the con- flict, and sometimes the foundations of the earth itself are shaken or torn asunder. Those are the regions where fierce chaos is mereifully held down by the weights which God has heaped upon it; but, be it remembered, the Power is there, and is ready, if the word be spoken, to burst forth and in an instant submerge this fair world in molten fire, and change it into a ruin. In this internal crucible were compounded in olden time the granites, the porphyries, and the basalts which subsequently forced their way roughly through overlying strata, and consol- idated themselves, lava-like, into rocks and mountains. The convulsions of the early world must have been truly awful, for in every country the rocky layers bear testimony to the violence then sustained. Many of the strata have been started from the bed on which they had been gently and evenly deposited as a sediment, and have been cracked, splintered, or tilted over in all directions. Sometimes the fiery giant, unable to burst completely through, has lifted and strained the brittle strata over him until they rose into ridges, or, by causing partial upheavals and subsi- dences, has produced those dislocations or “faults” which are now so perplexing to the miner. Nor are the marks of heat less evident than those of the violence which at- tended it. Sometimes the soft sandstone touching the fiery stream has been fused into quartz, or indurated into a flinty hardness which shades off into the natural texture of the rock as it recedes from the point of contact. Occa- sionally the glowing stream baked the contiguous clay into coarse porcelain. The chalk and the limestone, instead of being changed into quick-lime, as would have happened had they been calcined in the open air, have been indu. Powers of the Lord. 2O3 rated and sometimes fused into crystalline marble, such as is quarried at Carrara, from their having been heated under the pressure of superjacent strata. Owing to the same cause shales are found occasionally converted into hard, porcellaneous jasper, while seams of coal are coked or charred to a varying distance around. Although internal igneous action has happily been now restrained within moderate bounds, yet have we sure proof in the volcano and earthquake that subterranean fires do still possess much of their ancient fury. At never-distant intervals Vesuvius, AEtna, and Hecla heave up their molten lavas out of depths that lie beyond our power to explore; and during the spring of this year, 1866, a volcano has been cast up in the harbor of Santorin. The great centres of volcanic action, however, are now to be found in South and Central America, along the line of the Andes, and in the nearest islands of the Pacific. In one of the Sand- wich Islands, for example, there is a crater nine miles in circumference, and 1200 feet deep, in which a broad sea of molten lava surges and splutters. The caldron, however, never boils over. Apparently the pressure occasionally forces an opening in its side through which the lava runs, as through a spout, down into the ocean, where it quickly consolidates and tends gradually to enlarge the area of the island. Sometimes the internal force, instead of assuming the fitful violence of the volcano or earthquake, operates with regularity, as if through the expansion or contraction of large masses of heated matter, by which the surface-land is slowly upheaved in some places and lowered in others. It is remarkable that in all such cases, the only trustwor- thy standard of measurement is the sea, which, in regard to permanent level, is far more stable than the land. The more this subject is inquired into, the more common are such movements proved to be ; and it is, perhaps, not too much to say that there are probably few regions in the 2O4 Powers of the Lord. world which are absolutely stationary. The southern shores of the Firth of Forth are rising at a rate which al- lows a sensible difference in their shape to be noted in the course of a single generation. Southern Sweden and Norway are sinking, while their northern end is rising. On the shores of the Bay of Baiae the columns of the ruined temple of Jupiter Serapis are seen oddly planted in the sea. The base is covered with the water. They were originally built on dry ground ; then they were gradually lowered so as to dip into the sea; after the volcanic turmoil of 1538, they were again elevated out of it. In 1819 the floor was six inches above the sea-level ; in 1845 it was eighteen inches below it at low water. And it still contin- ues to subside in consequence probably of the shrinking of the strata beneath from loss of heat. The connection between volcanoes, earthquakes, and the upheaval or subsidence of tracts of land is most clearly exhibited in those countries where the evidence of the ac- tion of subterranean fire is displayed with greatest inten- sity. Along the line of the Andes, more particularly, these phenomena go hand in hand together. On the 20th Feb- ruary, 1835, an earthquake, which has been graphically described by Darwin, occurred at Concepcion. The city itself was shaken into ruins, together with 7o neighboring villages. One of the most singular and fearful evidences of the “Power” at work was the rising of a wave or mountain of water, 23 feet higher than spring-tides, which rolled in from the Pacific and broke with fury on the town, surging and swirling along its streets, and drowning many inhabitants and cattle. The adjoining country was strewn with the débris of what a few minutes before had been a noble town. A heavy gun, 4 tons in weight, was lifted 15 feet from its position. One ship was deposited high and dry 200 yards from the beach. Some ships riding in 36 feet water were for a few minutes aground; another ship was knocked about like a shuttlecock, having been twice Powers of the Lord. 205 lifted on to the shore and twice replaced again in deep Water. The connection between this earthquake and subterra- nean fire was made abundantly clear from attendant cir- cumstances. On the same 20th February the island of Juan Fernandez, 360 miles northwest of Concepcion, was violently shaken by an earthquake, and “a volcano burst out under the water close to the shore.” Moreover, in the Andes behind Chiloe, 340 miles south of Concepcion, two volcanoes suddenly broke at the same instant into violent action. Thus the subterranean struggle raged along a line of at least five hundred miles, at either end of which its violence culminated in volcanoes. Over large districts where the imprisoning walls of rock were not absolutely broken through, they were yet forced to yield to a certain extent before the expansive efforts of the subterranean fire, and were lifted up above their former level, as if upon the back of some mighty monster. The amount of elevation of the shore round the bay was three feet, and at the isl- and of St. Maria, 30 miles off, Captain Fitzroy subse- quently found beds of putrid mussel shells still adhering to the rocks at a height of Io feet above high-water mark. “For these very shells,” says Darwin, “the inhabitants had been previously in the habit of diving at low-water spring-tides.” In many places the hills in that volcanic country are strewn with sea-shells to a height of a thou- sand feet, a circumstance probably due to the upheavals to which the coast has at various times been subject. Even in our own quiet islands we are every now and then reminded that they by no means lie beyond the reach of these fearful “Powers of the Lord.” On two occasions recently the shocks of earthquakes have been felt in Eng- land, and almost every year it happens that volcanic dis- turbance in the south of Europe causes responsive throb- bings among the Perthshire Hills. Chemical force is another “Power of the Lord ” from 2O6 - Powers of the Lord. which this verse of the Benedicite receives some of its most striking illustrations. Many of the greatest workings of Nature are chemical processes. It is by virtue of this power that digestion and fermentation are accomplished, and that those preliminary steps are taken in the seed by which germination is promoted. To it we owe the tints of red and yellow which paint the leaves in autumn. By the aid of carbonic acid, abstracted from air or soil, water carries off into the sea the lime which, after having been “built into shells for living animals, is ultimately to be laid down to form new strata. To the energy of chemical force we owe combustion, which, by producing “Fire and Heat,” ministers in so many ways to our happiness. To man himself Providence has vouchsafed to impart a certain knowledge of this Power, which he wields to his infinite profit and advantage. But, in the vast domain of chemis- try, when the known is contrasted with the unknown, man will for long ages to come continue to resemble the little child wandering on the sea-shore and “picking up now and then a pretty pebble, while the great ocean of truth lies undiscovered before it.” - It has been finely observed that chemistry confers a kind of creative power upon man, by which he produces many substances which have no independent existence, and decrees at will unions and separations among the passive objects around him. There is scarcely a domestic opera- tion or a manufacture in which the energies of chemistry are not turned to account. Nearly all the metals, for ex- ample, are presented to us by Nature in a crude state, and the power through whose intrumentality they are obtained in purity is chemical action. Many of the most servicea- ble substances we employ in daily life are the products of the same force — set in motion and gaided by our skill. To chemistry we are indebted for the perfection of our sugars, soaps, candles, leathers, dyes, medicines, paper, and glass; and the list might be extended so as to include nearly every manufactured article in use. Powers of the Lord. 2O7 Chemistry is the science of experimental surprises, and its transmutations, while they transcend imagination, afford evidence of the wonderful power of which they are the effects. Thus, the most inert substances often produce by combination a compound of the greatest energy. “Nitro- gen and hydrogen,” Brande and Taylor observe, “are two comparatively inert gases, while carbon is an innoxious Solid. The combination of these three elements produces a highly poisonous liquid – Prussic acid. Hydrogen has no smell, and sulphur only a slight smell on friction; when combined these bodies produce a most offensively smelling gas — sulphide of hydrogen. Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen are innoxious agents, and have no taste; but when combined in certain proportions they form strychnia, remarkable for its intensely bitter taste, and highly poison. ous qualities.” Sometimes the most worthless substances, under the magic touch of chemistry, cast off their com- monness and become things of value and beauty. Who, for example, could have anticipated that matters so dull and common as sand and the ash of a wood fire should under certain circumstances unite to form bright, trans- parent glass 2 What feat can be conceived more wonder- ful than from a substance so dingy, dirty, and unpromis- ing as coal-tar, to create the beautiful series of aniline colors which we admire as mauve, Magenta, Solferino, and Bleu de Paris. To such perfection, indeed, has chemistry now carried this branch of manufacture that there is hardly any tint which many not be obtained from coal-tar by skill- ful treatment. Chemistry is a wonderful economist of Nature's means, and never shows itself to more advantage than when it takes in hand and turns to account the frag- ments that would otherwise be lost. As the highest praise that could be offered, it may now almost literally be said that chemists have of late years expunged the word “rub- bish’ from the dictionary, as well as “waste” from the workshop. 208 Powers of the Lord. The vegetable kingdom, although it consist of a great variety of forms, tissues, and products, is essentially built up out of a very few ultimate elements. Whole classes of products consist merely of carbon and hydrogen; and, as a general rule, only three principal constituents are found in plants — carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen — to which a small quantity of nitrogen is sometimes added. Thus there is often a remarkable similarity, and sometimes even an identity of composition, between substances in common use which differ widely in their properties. Sugar and gum, for instance, consist exactly of an equal number of atoms of the same elements—carbon, hydrogen, and oxy- gen ; while starch and cellulose, the base of wood, are most closely allied. In the same manner whole classes of vegetable substances, presenting a similarity in their atomic composition, are, nevertheless, possessed of very different properties, of which oil of turpentine and oil of lemons may be adduced as examples. Differences in the properties of many vegetable substances, therefore, appear to depend not only on the nature of the ultimate atoms of which they are composed, but also on the peculiar way in which these atoms are arranged. The idea naturally suggests itself that this remarkable system of similarity in composition must be intended to subserve some useful purpose; and, perhaps, the opinion might be hazarded that it is not without relation to the eventual increase of the world's food-supplies by chemical means. - Seeing that many vegetable substances are identical, o nearly allied in composition, it scarcely appears surprising that chemistry should have already demonstrated the con- vertibility of some into others. Thus gum and starch are changed into sugar by the action of sulphuric acid. Much sugar is now manufactured in France from potato-starch and sago. Sugar acted on by nitric acid is changed into oxalic acid; so is sawdust when treated by potash. The common, woody fibre of plants, freed from impurity, is 2 IO Powers of the Lord. tion, the necessity for augmenting the old sources of food- supply should ever become urgent, God will inspire his children with the means of unlocking those latent stores, and of turning them to account; for chemical force is eminently a Power of the Lord, to whose conquests no limit can be assigned. Having drawn some illustrations of the “Powers of the Lord ” from the domain of physics and chemistry, we would now invite attention to some examples taken from that other field of Nature, in which vitality works with a force even more wonderful and mysterious. It is no part of the object of this book to enter into any discussion of what is termed the correlation of the great natural forces, or to inquire how far these are in reality only different manifestations of the same Power. In time this question, like many others that have perplexed man- kind, will be sifted until the truth becomes apparent; but, in the mean time, we cannot help thinking that the argu- ment is pushed too far when the principle of life is reduced to notling more than a mode of physical or chemical action, or a mere manifestation of motion or of heat. Analogies may exist which seem to level the barriers between them, but it seems to us that, notwithstanding all that has been hitherto alleged, the presumption is in favor of the opinion that life is something apart and essentially different from all other kinds of force. God has willed that we should, to a certain extent, fathom the depths both of physical and chemical force, and for reasons obviously connected with our welfare many of their secrets have been committed to our hands, so that we can wield and direct them. But the living principle is a power which, for the wisest purposes, He appears to have reserved solely to Himself. That is delegated to none. From Him alone are “the issues of life.” Every effort to penetrate into the mysterious temple of life that we may lay bare its principle has utterly failed, and the greatest philosopher approaches Powers of the Lord. 2 I I no nearer than the crowd. We know not where to seize the principle of vitality, or what to look for; and we un- derstand nothing more of its essence now than was known a thousand years ago. Under these circumstances we must believe that God does not intend we should comprehend or in any way become masters of that mystery; and, if this be the case, we may rest assured that, as He has meted out to us our faculties according to the work He intended them to accomplish, there is no likelihood of our ever be- ing able to penetrate a secret over which He has thrown an impenetrable veil. - In reflecting on some of the grand operations of Nature one is surprised to find that they are often accomplished not only silently and invisibly, but by agents which at first sight seem strangely out of proportion to the magnitude of the task on hand. Thus at the very bottom of the animal kingdom there are workmen busily engaged day and night in the service of Providence, in numbers which, like the stars, baffle computation. No one even dreamt of their existence until about 200 years ago, when Leeuwenhoek, a Dutch philosopher, discovered them with his newly in- vented microscope, and exhibited them to an astonished and incredulous world. Yet in these animalcules — so minute as to be invisible to unaided vision — is to be rec- ognized one of the “Powers of the Lord ' " As we take our first glance at the little creatures careering over the field of the microscope, it seems as if a new world has been opened out to us; nor is the expression extravagant when we call to mind that this is a corner of Nature into which few ever turn their eyes, and that the forms of life seen here are altogether unlike those with which we were previously familiar. Our first emotion is astonishment; our next, curiosity; and we wonder what purpose in the economy of Nature can be served by creatures so small and insignificant. But before noticing their operations more fully, it is right 2 I 2 Powers of the Lord. that we should become better acquainted with the work men themselves. If we desire to find them, it is more difficult to say where they are not than where they are. They abound in sea and river, pond and puddle. Wherever an organized atom can swim — and the minutest drop of water is an ocean to thousands — there they are often to be found. If a few shreds of meat, or blades of grass, or stalks of a bouquet be placed in water in a glass, in- fusorial animalcules will be found to swarm in it after a few days. The population of this minute world varies much under different circumstances; but a great observer in this department, Ehrenberg, tells us that, in a single drop of an infusion he examined, there were probably no fewer than 500 millions of independent individuals | The spectacle of miniature bustle disclosed in one such drop surpasses imagination. The atoms dart forward and backward and sideways with most perfect movement ; some shiver or shake ; others spend their time in wheeling round and round like dancing dervises. Many show a graver temperament, and stalk across the “field '' in a style which by comparison we must call majestic. Yet it will be observed that there is order in all these movements. Though “fidgeting about” in a way that realizes the idea of perfect restlessness, they seldom jostle each other; and they twist in and out, avoiding the rocks raised up by minute particles of dust with as much precision as if they always maintained the keenest “ lookout.” Occasionally one sees in their movements something that recalls the hunting of well-bred dogs in search of game. Infusoria assume an endless variety of shapes. One of the simplest among them, the slow-moving Amoeba dif- fluens, may be compared to an atom of transparent jelly; but it is so often changing its outline by its contractions and protrusions that, except when it is shrunk together into a roundish dot, it can scarcely be described as having one special form more than another. There is neither Powers of the Lord. 213 mouth nor stomach; but when a particle of food touches its sensitive surface, it is soon included or overlapped by a fold of its “diffluent’’ body, and in the hollow thus made the food is digested and disappears just as if it were in a real stomach. Or the particle is thrust by the inverted fold into the yielding substance of the body, like a pea into a lump of paste, and it is made to move slowly through the body by means of forcible contractions until it is finally absorbed as nourishment. Another animalcule, Actino- phrys sol, has flexible tentacles, like rootlets, streaming from its round body in a way which, as the name implies, reminds one of the rays of the sun in a picture. With these he seizes his prey and slowly thrusts it against some part of his surface, which, by first yielding and then closing over it, improvises a stomach for the occasion. After the nourishment is extracted the refuse is thrown out, and the little glutton again stretches out his arms in search of food. These infusorial animalcules are for the most part very voracious, and sometimes gorge themselves until from dis- tortion they can scarcely be recognized. Who can set bounds to Nature's fertility in expedients In the higher classes of animals we are accustomed to see certain parts of the body “specialized ” into particular organs, whose functions are limited to one particular purpose; but on the lower steps of the ladder we see many purposes accom- plished by one single means. Thus a little dot of living jelly moves without muscles, enjoys the light of the sun, and sees without eyes, feels without nerves, digests without a stomach, and circulates its nutriment without the vestige of a vessel ! We can merely touch upon this fascinating branch of Natural History, for it would take more space than can here be given to describe, even in the most cursory way, the various groups of animalcules associated together for the work we are now about to describe. Many of these are much higher in the scale of organization than the two 2I4 Powers of the Lord. mentioned:— thus the curiously beautiful wheel-animal. cules belong to the Rotifera, and other nondescript look. ing creatures belong to the same natural group as out lobsters. But, in their general habits and functions they resemble the infusoria, with which many of them were for- merly classified. When we consider the magnitude and utility of the work performed by these animated atoms, the feeling suggested by their insignificance is exchanged for wonder at their aggregate power. They form, in fact, another of those mighty mechanisms by which Providence insures the sa- lubrity both of land and water; and with this function is combined the equally important task of economizing the stock of organized matter already gained from the mineral kingdom, and preserving it in a state fit for animal food. These objects are so important in Nature's household that their attainment, as is usual in such cases, is insured by being associated with the instincts and wants of the creatures themselves. Their voracity was necessary to accomplish Nature's design. But for their labors the at- mosphere we breathe would become tainted with the ex- halations of decaying animal and vegetable matter, and every drop of water in which putrefaction was going on would cast up into the air its germ of malaria and fever. Without their aid the surface of our pleasant earth and our bright seas would be covered with impurity. Think of the myriads of fishes dying at every instant in the ocean, and the quantity of putrescible matter which must thus be diffused through it! Were no provision made for its speedy removal, it would rot, fester, and corrupt both air and watér. But these willing workers are always at hand when wanted, and, by voraciously feeding on the de- caying atoms, preserve both air and sea in sweetness and salubrity. With this general purification is combined, as has been said, another scheme of providential utility. Nature is the Powers of the Lord. 2 I5 most admirable of housekeepers, and is futi of thrifty con- trivances even in the midst of her proverbial profusion, It has, therefore, been so arranged that dead animal matter, often got from the mineral kingdom at the cost of tedious, time-consuming processes, shall not in every case immedi- ately revert back to it through decomposition, but shall be saved and preserved in its organic form so as to be at once again available as animal food. The decaying atoms thus saved, though but the rubbish and sweepings of the world, are yet so valuable that innumerable myriads of creatures specially adapted for the purpose have been stationed at the outlets of organization for the purpose of intercepting them ; and, though they are singly minute enough for the digestion of microscopic animalcules, they nevertheless amount to an enormous aggregate by reason of their almost universal diffusion. Had the decaying an- imal matters been left to their fate without this interven- tion, they would have been quickly resolved into their ultimate mineral constituents, and, in the form of carbonic acid, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, would have been speedily dissipated by the winds in all directions. Who can tell how long these gases might have been blown about the world before they again became fixed in vegeta- ble shape, or how long it might have been, even after that preliminary step had been accomplished, before the plants that fed upon them served in their turn as food for ani- mals Yet not until this cycle had been run would they again have been won back to the animal kingdom, and the loss that would have been thus sustained may be im- agined from the amount of decay going on around us. To avoid this evil Providence has drawn as it were a cordon round the frontier of the animal kingdom, and has in- trusted the guarding of it to uncountable numbers of Na- ture’s “invisible police,” with orders to seize upon escap- ing particles of food, and to turn them back again by a short route into the active stream of life. Hence, just as 2 I6 Powers of the Lord. the fugitive atoms were on the point of decomposition, they were caught up and impriso, led for a time in the bodies of these animalcules, and then began the quick process of “consecutive nutrition.” The infusory was de- voured by some microscopic tyrant a little bigger than itself, which in its turn was snapped up by a hungry larva or some prowling insect; the latter afforded a tempting mouthful to a greedy fish or bird ; and these again, secured by the rod, or the gun, helped to supply some hungry man's dinner. We are accustomed, and with reason, to speak of the “lower or inferior” ranks of animal life; but we must recollect that the expression is one of relation only, for every thing about all God's creatures is perfect in respect to the place they inhabit and the functions they perform. In mere beauty and finish the structure of the highest classes of animals is equaled and often surpassed in creat- ures very near the bottom of the scale. To the Great Creator structural loveliness and perfection cost but the Word ; and they are lavished without stint on all His liv- ing works. One cannot look at those curious, infusorial animalcules without being convinced that in their way they are perfection itself, and that what we might have been pleased to call higher development would only have impaired their efficiency for the work that was given them to perform. Every thing is in all-wise harmony. Their size and strength correspond to the minute atoms they have to deal with ; their numbers, to the stupendous task before them ; their simple organization, hardy constitu. tion, and wonderful tenacity of life, to a geographical distribution stretching, so far as we know, from pole to pole. Wherever moisture is found and organized matter can decay, there they flourish in numbers to which the work to be done alone assigns the limit. When we look round and see how good every created thing is, how perfectly the system works, and how even these in 2 I 8 Powers of the Lord. them by proper precaution. The means are placed within his reach. On the other hand, when we weigh this com- paratively rare evil against the blessings showered upon man at every instant by “Fire and Heat,” into what im- perceptible dimensions does not the accidental evil shrink I The noble ship sinks under the waters and its crew per- ishes, or a Sheffield reservoir bursts its dam and sub- merges villages and plains, or laborers are crushed by a falling bridge or tower. Well—all this mischief results from the inexorable law of gravity; but would any one wish that, in order to prevent these accidents, there had been no law of gravity in existence? In most cases these calamities might have been prevented. Were gravity an uncertain, capricious thing, then, indeed, there would be cause for fear and lamentation, and it would be impossible to cope with the evils attendant on its action. But care has been taken that a Power operating thus universally should be subject to the most rigid laws, and that man should be able not only to parry many of the dangers to which it may lead, but that he should also be able to turn it to account for his own purposes. Let us reflect that, in order to have absolutely prevented such accidents, the law of gravity itself must have been suspended ; and were that law suspended but for an instant, the earth and the whole heavens would collapse into destruction. A law so essential to the existence of the world must be made per- emptory and universal—it cannot be made to hold for some occasions and not for others; it is a chain of safety that must not be left to be slackened at discretion. If it extinguish life now and then, we must not forget that it alone makes life possible for all. In the same way the tempest, the lightning, and the stormy sea have their uses in Nature's economy, and these will be noticed in another place. The earthquake and the volcano appear to be agents employed in modifying the crust of the earth, and preparing it for future purposes in which we of the present Powers of the Zord. 2 I 9 generation have no part. But even in regard to these ter- rible displays of force we must not forget that they are the result of that same Power of the Lord which is almost universally working for our advantage. And when we are assailed with difficulties in regard to the material govern- ment of the world—when we see evils prevailing for which we cannot even imagine any equivalent advantage —let us fall back with confidence on our experience of God's ways. Surrounded as we are on every side with evidence of the care bestowed by our heavenly Father on all His creatures, we can well afford to wait with patience until these and other perplexing questions are solved, in the full conviction that, when the fitting time comes, they will be found to exhibit new proofs of God's Power and Goodness. Great is our Lord, and great is His power; yea, and His wisdom is infinita. Ps. cxlvii. MOUNTAINS AND HIZZS. O ye Mountains and Hills, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnify Him for ever. WºR it were required to name the grandest natural º objects upon earth, it is probable that “mountains 3,5 and hills” would rise to the lips of not a few. In sublimity they take rank with the ocean and the clouds. They were chosen by the Psalmist to typify God's power, — “And the strength of the hills is His also.” On the one hand, their height, their mass, and the deep planting of their roots in the earth ; and on the other, the beauty which rests upon their varied outlines, which clothes their sides and precipices, and lies among their wide valleys and deep glens, mark them out not only as the most con- spicuous, but also as among the most attractive objects in the world. Nor is it without wise design that these grand features of the earth should twine themselves round the affections. The love of the Highlander for his hills is proverbial. Love for the spot where one was born — for the district where one has lived, secures for it the interest of friends who will look to its welfare. Memory lingers over the dim outline of a mountain long after other scenes grouped round its base have faded away; and one can easily understand that the eyes which day by day rest on the familiar hills must ultimately open up for them a way to the heart. Exiles from a country abounding in famous mountains, it was to be expected that the Three Children, in their survey of Nature, should invoke them as testimo- nies of the Mercy and Power of the Lord. Had not their Mommtains and Hi//s. 22 I’ beloved land been traversed with hills to bring down the fertilizing rain from the clouds, Judea might have been as arid as the neighboring desert. The dying Moses had, in blessing the tribes, spoken of “the precious things of the lasting hills.” Many of the mountains which they might have seen in their childhood, and with whose names we, too, are familiar, were treasured in their thoughts as en- during monuments of the power of God in delivering His chosen people. The hill of Bashan marked for ever the spot where Moses gained the victory over Og, its king. Mount Carmel was identified with the deeds of the Prophet Elijah. It was here that the “fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt-sacrifice ’’ which the servant of God prepared when he would confound the priests of Baal. From the top of Carmel, too, the Prophet discerned the “little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand,” which an nounced the welcome rain. They might have knowl Mount Tabor, conspicuous among all the hills of Lower Galilee, with its plain where Sisera “with his chariots and his multitude ’’ was delivered into the hands of Barak, and where more recently their oppressor Nebuchad- nezzar had striven with and vanquished the children of Israel; but they knew not that it was destined in after ages to become still more interesting to us as the tradi- tional scene of the Transfiguration. From the rock in Horeb Moses miraculously drew forth the water to quench the thirst of the children of Israel. Nor from this list can Sinai, the most famous mountain of all, be omitted, where the Lord delivered the law to Moses, and revealed Himself to the children of Israel in the cloud upon the smoking mountain, and where other momentous events in the pas- sage through the desert took place. The mountain of which the Bible makes earliest men- tion is Ararat, and it is identified with an occurrence that renders it a testimony for ever of God's power and mercy. When the race which had provoked the wrath of Heaven 222 Mountains and A/7//s. by its wickedness had been destroyed in the waters of the deluge, the ark with its favored inmates was guided to rest and safety upon its heights. The Lord let loose the powers chained up in Nature against His enemies, and yet, “remembering mercy,” preserved a remnant by which the fair earth was again filled with life. Mount Ararat forms the loftiest peak in the long ridge of the Taurus, rising 17,750 feet above the level of the sea, or nearly 2000 feet higher than the summit of Mont Blanc. It is situated in that corner of Asia Minor where the dominions of Russia, Turkey, and Persia touch, and from the circumstance that it is partly detached from the groups around it, the eye takes in nearly its whole outline from base to apex ; hence in isolated majesty it stands forth among the most sublime mountains in the world. Its crest is mantled in Snow, and so difficult is the ascent that, although often attempted, it was never achieved until 1829, when the feat was accom- plished by Professor Parrot, of the Russian service. Since the days of Noah, perhaps, no other human foot had ever been planted on the top of that famous hill. Mount Ararat is an object of interest and veneration not only to Christians but to Mohammedans also, as well as to the in- habitants generally of that district of Western Asia. An Oriental traveler relates that when an Armenian for the first time beholds the well-known outline of the mountain after a long absence, he kisses the ground, makes the sign of the cross, and repeats certain prayers. Stupendous though mountain masses be, they form but trifling inequalities when compared to the diameter of the globe on which they rest. Between the summit of Chim- borazo, one of the highest of the Andes, and the deepest part of the Atlantic yet sounded lying to the south of Newfoundland, there is an estimated difference of level amounting to about nine miles. This may be considered as representing with near approximation the difference be- tween the highest and the lowest spots upon the globe, Mountains and H2//s. 223 The loftiest peaks of the Himalayas hardly exceed an elevation of five miles above the sea, which is a height so inconsiderable in relation to the diameter of the globe that it is a great exaggeration to compare it, as is often done, to the rugosities on the surface of an orange. Pro portionate inequalities on an orange would be invisible to the naked eye. According to other estimates the highest table-lands of the world might be fairly represented by the thinnest sheet of writing-paper, and the highest mountain by the smallest visible particle of sand laid upon a 16- inch globe. Mountains play an important part in the economy of Nature, and they are the agents by which the Creator be- stows many blessings upon his children. They act as loadstones to the clouds, and draw down from them the fertilizing rain. Often it is a mountain-range which de- termines whether a country is to be a garden or a desert, and points out the place where rain-bringing winds are to yield up their treasures. While considering the “waters above the firmament” it has been shown how the barren- ness of the deserts of Thibet and Mongolia has been produced by the rain-intercepting ridge of the Himalayas, and how the southwest monsoon, which covers the wide plains of Hindostan with fertility, is the result of their combined action. As Maury has observed, the desert and the mountain are “counterpoises or compensations to make the machine perfect,” and they are placed in certain selected situations over the earth for the general good, to regulate up to a certain point the course of the winds, and determine where the rains shall most abundantly fall. In relation to this important function, no less than to other cosmical considerations, it may be said, with literal truth, that “He has comprehended the dust of the earth in a measure, and weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance.” Had the “dust” of the deserts of Central Asia been measured out either with greater or 224 Mountains and Hills. with less abundance than actually is the case, or had the Himalayan mountains been weighed in masses greatly differing from those they now present, the whole monsoon- machinery would have been thrown off the balance on which it has been so perfectly adjusted, and the wide plains of India would have been changed into a sterile desert. Mountains “drink the waters of the rain of Heaven.” They are the great water-sheds of the earth. On their tops the river-systems of the world are born, and the tiny rills thence first started on their way soon coalesce into streams, and then into rivers, to be poured back eventually into the sea whence they came. It is obvious that, if the earth had been a dead level, and if there had been no slopes and hollows to collect the moisture together, water would have lodged in stagnant pools over its surface, spoilt its fertility, and covered it with unhealthy swamps. As a general rule, to which for wise reasons there are some remarkable exceptions, mountains form the back- bone or central ridge of continents; and Nature, by de- creeing that the chief rains shall fall among them, has secured the greatest amount of fertilizing service which it is possible for them to render. As it flows downward to the sea, the rain-water, collected into streams, dispenses fertility on all sides. Had it been otherwise arranged, and had the chief rainfall occurred near the coasts, the course of the rivers produced by it would have been necessarily short, and the amount of good done by them would have been comparatively small. Let us for a moment trace the influence which the posi- tion of mountains exercises on the climates of certain dis- tricts. The extraordinary fertility of the soil and the rich- ness of vegetation found throughout the vast basin of the Amazon and in some regions to the south are produced by the absence of high mountain ridges running parallel with the eastern shore of equatorial America. The Trade- wind reaches the shores of Brazil saturated with moisture Mountains and Hills. 225 gathered up while sweeping across the Atlantic. If it now encountered lofty mountains, the rain would be drawn from it in quantities which, while they deluged the districts near the shore and made them comparatively useless, would have left little moisture behind to fertilize the vast interior. The Valley of the Amazon might then have been changed into a desert, instead of being adorned, as it now is, with the most glorious vegetation in the world. Let us consider what has actually happened on the opposite side of South America, where the conditions just mentioned are reversed. One of the most rain-charged winds in existence blows from the Pacific Ocean against the coast of Patagonia. But no sooner does it reach the shore than it encounters the lofty Andes; torrents of water are immediately drained off from the clouds, and one of the wettest climates of the earth is the result. The vegetation, however, is of a rank and not very useful kind, owing to the superabundance of moisture and the want of sun ; and the whole country is covered with gloomy, impenetrable forests of pine. But mark what happens to the districts lying beyond. The interior of Patagonia is a vast desert ; for the moisture, which otherwise would have fertilized it, has been already condensed out of the wind by the cold tops of the Andes. And the same fate would unquestionably have overtaken Brazil and La Plata had the Andes been placed upon the eastern instead of on the western side of the continent. Many mountain ranges in warm or tropical countries, like prudent foster-mothers, hold near their summits vast reservoirs of water frozen into ice and snow, in order that they may pour down from their sides the needful supply of moisture when the plains below are parched by the summer's sun. Thus the glaciers of the Himalayas ſeed the Ganges, the Indus, and the Burhampootra ; and the higher Andes roll down cool streams into the rainless dis- tricts bordering the Pacific. The Rhine and the Rhone, with many of their early affluents, issue from glaciers in 15 226 Mountains and Hills. Switzerland, and they would dwindle into small propor- tions in the summer time were it not for the supplies given to them by these compensating reservoirs of ice. In winter, indeed, these alpine sources are partially locked up by the frost; and hence it is remarked that these rivers never have their channels better filled than during the hot sum- mer months when the melting of the glaciers is most rapid. In ascending lofty tropical mountains successive belts of vegetation are traversed, which represent in miniature the different climates of the earth as we pass from the Equator toward the poles. At the base of the Peruvian Andes, for example, the traveler finds himself in the glow- ing temperature of the tropics. For the first 5ooo feet of ascent his way lies among pine-apples, cocoas, bananas, and other kinds of palms, with bright and fantastic-looking orchids clustering on the trees, and marking the equatorial character of the belt. While plodding his way up the next 5ooo feet of ascent the traveler sees much to remind him of the vegetation of temperate climates: the vine flour- ishes, while crops of maize and wheat luxuriantly clothe the ground, as in Southern Europe. In passing through the next 50oo feet the temperature gradually chills into severe cold. At first vegetation wears the aspect of the higher “temperate” climates. The wheat has disappeared, and figuratively the traveler may be said to be as far north as John o'Groat's ; but the potato still thrives, while barley and rye assimilate the climate to that of parts of Norway. The stately trees of the lower belts have disappeared, and the forests are thin and degenerate, until at length a scrubby pine or birch is their sole representative. Here, at an altitude equal to the summit of Mont Blanc, the first wreaths of perpetual snow and the last efforts of expiring vegetation come into contact. Plantal life as usual dies out with the moss and the lichen. Mountain ranges and lofty plateaux form a natural san Mountains and Hills 227 atorium frequently established by Providence in the midst of hot, unhealthy tropical countries. The worn-out invalid finds on these cool heights a climate which soon restores him to health, and enables him again to encounter the less favorable influences of the plains. Recent improvements in traveling have enhanced the value of this blessing by enabling many to take advantage of the change who for- merly could not profit by it. The Madrasian retires to recruit his exhausted vigor among the bracing Neilgherries; the citizen of Calcutta travels to the “upper country” to seek health among the slopes of the Himalayas; the Cin- galese leaves the sultry coast to profit by the more bracing air of the coffee districts near Adam's Peak; the Mexican leaves the Caliente for the Templada or the Fria; and the Peruvian or Chilian of the coast finds cool air, verdure, and health on the lofty sides of the Andes. On the whole, there are few tropical districts so unfortunately placed as to be beyond moderately easy access to some mountain sanatorium. Mountains exhibit wonderful proofs of the force dis- played in the arrangement of the surface of the earth. Geology tells us that many of them — like the lofty peaks of the Andes, or Ailsa Craig, or Teneriffe — have been cast forth as liquid lava from the interior of the earth by the force of fire. Others, again, though deposited originally at the bottom of the sea, have been lifted as it were on the back of other rocks, so as now to form lofty ridges. There are limestone strata of marine origin, labelled with shells identical with others found in low-lying beds near Paris, which are now placed at a height of 10,000 feet above the ocean, crowning the summit of the Diablerets among the Swiss Alps. Examples of similar elevations are met with among the Himalayas, in Tahiti, and elsewhere. Viewed under another aspect, mountains show forth the power of the Creator in a way still more marvelous. Many mountain masses and level strata consist chiefly of the 228 Mountains and Hills. remains of animals that formerly existed on the globe. The beautiful marbles of Derbyshire, for instance, owe their variegated markings to the shells which successive generations of creatures built up and left behind. One feels astounded at the profusion of ancient life revealed by those “medals of creation.” Nearly the whole city of Paris has been reared out of the consolidated remains of microscopic Miliolae quarried from the neighboring ter- tiary beds; and calculations show that every cubic inch of this stone contains not fewer than 2000 millions of indi- viduals. The most famous of the pyramids are formed out of the remains of microscopic nummulites, cemented into a building-stone which is found abundantly in Egypt and in many other places. One of the most remarkable exam- ples of the former profusion of life is to be found in the polishing slate of Bilin, in Bohemia, which is estimated to contain the remains of 41,000 millions of infusory animals in every cubic inch. Look at those distant hills | We recognize the English Downs by their soft, wavy outline, by the marvelous bright- ness of their green, by their springy turf, by the white sheep specks that dot their gently sloping sides, and by the bracing air which sweeps over them with the crisp fresh- ness of the sea. They undulate in a broad belt through England, from the shore of Dorset to the cliffs of Flam- borough and Dover. In the north of Ireland the chalk has been broken through and almost fused by the volcanic fires which once formed the Giant's Causeway. It extends across the Continent of Europe in several directions nearly from end to end, and in other quarters of the world it is largely developed. The vast mass is heaped upon thou- sands of square miles of the earth's crust. Yet it is but the sepulchre of myriads of creatures that formerly existed, and the visible evidence of the profusion of life that issued in ancient times from the Creator's hand. Scattered throughout are the bones of reptiles and fishes, with corals, Z}/E EAAE 7"H. 0 let the Earth bless the Lord: yea, let it praise Him, and mag- nifty Him for ever. º N those summer strolls amid rural scenes which ¥º now and then cast sunshine on the way of even Sº the busiest among us, who has not rested on some river's bank or green hill-side, and in his heart humbly thanked God, both for having clothed the earth with beauty, and for having bestowed upon himself the faculty to appreciate and enjoy it? Which of us can estimate the sum of purest pleasure that would have been lost to man had he been created as unconscious of this beauty as the beasts that perish But by the love of our Father—who careth for our pleasure as well as for our wants — a power to perceive the charms of Nature has been implanted uni- versally within us, and none are shut out from its enjoy- ment. The savage and the civilized, the old and the young, the rich and the poor — all are capable of feeling its softening influence. This admiration awakens a taste which grows and strengthens by what it feeds on ; for he who has once truly experienced the charm of Nature's scenery will ever afterward be on the watch to discover and enjoy it. In the midst of scenes like these let the thought now and then rise in the mind that in making Nature so attractive it was intended, not merely to please the eye, but to draw man on to the consideration of the work itself, and to move him by the aspect of its beauteous perfection to magnify the Great Artificer. But while there are many whose delight it is to feast The Earth. 231 upon such treats, spread out before them for enjoyment by the Father, there are some who pass on without caring to taste. The very commonness of the privilege dulls their perception, and they either see it not at all, or look on with apathy. There are others who ardently profess their love of Nature, but the feeling, though sometimes even extravagantly expressed, is nevertheless capricious and uncertain. They are ready to admire on great occasions; but they have little relish for Nature in its ordinary dress, and exact the stimulus of “fine scenery" before they will condescend to enjoy. Alas! what loss is theirs—and how thriftless they are in thus throwing away a pure and oft-recurring pleasure in a world where pleasures without alloy are all too few It is, indeed, only reasonable that we should be most keenly impressed by the more rare dis- plays of Nature's highest beauties; but surely that need not render us insensible to such charms as may with cer- tainty be found in almost every landscape. In our daily intercourse with Nature out-of-doors it is wisdom not to encourage too fastidious a taste. A few earnest, sympathiz- ing glances, however homely may be the scene on which they dwell, will rarely fail to gather up some grains of gratification, and Nature will surely smile back on us if we will but look with interest upon her. A little en- couragement given to this appreciative disposition will return a rich reward, for it will bring within life's circle a thousand moments of enjoyment which would otherwise be wholly lost. In other parts of this book some remarks will be found on the cosmical relations of our planet. Various illustra- tions of God's Goodness and Wisdom, as exhibited in the productions of the earth and in its physical geography, are likewise given elsewhere. In this place I shall en- deavor to point out by some further illustrations how mar- velously man has been able, by the favor of Providence, to convert many of the raw materials of the earth into The Earth. 233 though sand may be when heated in the furnace by itself, the admixture of an alkaline substance with it in the crucible tames its obdurate nature, conquers its opacity, and fuses it into the precious, transparent glass which we apply to so many useful purposes. Glass-making was one of the earliest of the arts. Its manufacture, as practiced 35oo years ago, is painted on the walls of the Egyptian tombs of Beni Hassen, and the mummy-chambers of that and subsequent periods have yielded up numerous articles in glass, of which an interest- ing collection may be seen in the British Museum. Not the least remarkable were the artificial gems which were turned out with a success rivaling the best modern pro- ductions of Paris. Fairholt tells us that “the green eme- rald, the purple amethyst, and other expensive gems, were successfully imitated, and a necklace of false stones could be purchased of a Theban jeweler with as much facility as at a London shop of the present day.” During the early period of its history, indeed, glass-making was even more of an ornamental than a useful art, and it is curious to note how long it was before some of the most valuable applications of glass to the wants of man were discovered. A few of the windows in Pompeii appear to have been glazed. Some houses in England had windows containing foreign glass in the reign of Henry II. ; but there was no manufactory of it in this country until the year 1557. Windows, before that time, were either open to the weather, or were closed with paper or linen made translucent by being soaked in oil. In some countries a natural but very inferior substitute for glass had been provided in the shape of thin scales of mica. It has been remarked that, to a superficial observer, nothing appears to be of less value than sand, except it be its twin sister clay. But we have seen how God has in- spired man with the power to turn sand into glass; and with equal goodness He has taught him how to convert 234 The Earth. clay into useful pottery. Let any one try to realize how much comfort and convenience would have been lost had our Father not impressed those substances with their val- uable, secret qualities; or had He not with corresponding design, led man on to the knowledge of how to profit by them. The making of pottery was one of the earliest arts prac- ticed in the world. In its rudest state it seems an easy invention. On the one hand, the common wants of man urgently suggest it; on the other, the plastic clay im- pressed by his foot and baked in the sun obviously points toward it. It was impossible for man long to shut his eyes to such plain hints from Nature ; hence pots and cups of rudest earthenware form the only record of many peo- ples who lived before history began, and few savages are found by travelers and voyagers at the present day who are destitute of vessels of some sort fashioned out of clay. The ancient Egyptians were clever potters. The wheel employed in the time of Moses and Pharaoh does not dif- fer greatly from the one now in use, while it constitutes the earliest “machine” of which we have any record. As is well known, the Chinese were the first to make that finer kind of pottery to which the term porcelain is now re- stricted, and the art with them seems to have reached its highest perfection about the year Iooo A. D. With the “renaissance” in the 15th century, the coarse pottery of Europe began to be improved. In Italy it was raised into Majolica, Faienza, Raffaelle, and Robbia ware; in Hol- land improvement took the less beautiful and often quaint form of Delft ware ; in England the well-known Queen Elizabeth ware was thought wonderfully fine, and, though extremely coarse according to modern standards, was at least an improvement upon the black-jack and drinking- horn which it superseded. All such works, however, owed their value, not to their quality as porcelain, but to the paintings enameled on them by Raffaelle or his pupils; 236 The Earth. prison, carrying their secret with them. Most of the early porcelain manufactories owed their origin to these run- aways. The most remarkable exception was that at Ber- lin, which was established by Frederick the Great by means of workmen whom he seized as prisoners after the successes of the Seven Years' War. Thus, as Fairholt observes, the last of the alchemists, though he did not succeed in finding the philosopher's stone for converting common matters into gold, made a discovery hardly less valuable, by which a substance as ordinary as clay might be changed into porcelain, the finest specimens of which are so precious as to be worth more than their weight in gold. Clay consists essentially of silica, or sand, in union with the oxide of a bright metal which has assumed a homely working dress for the purpose of fitting it to take a most useful part in the composition of the soil. To the clay thus mixed up in it the ground is indebted for some of its best qualities as a producer of food. But when treated skillfully by the chemist, clay casts off this unattractive dress, and appears as the metal aluminium. For thousands of years clay had been handled and worked without its true nature having been suspected ; nor was it until the discoveries of Sir Humphrey Davy had proved potash, soda, and magnesia to be metallic oxides, that a similar nature began to be theoretically imputed to clay. Great was the sensation in the chemical world when, in 1827, Wöhler announced the discovery of the long-looked-for metal in a pure state, although, from the difficulty of the process of extraction, it was for some years to be seen only in museums or at scientific conversazioni. But its useful qualities were, nevertheless, speedily recognized, and it at once took high rank among the metals. Aluminium pos- sesses the quality of lightness which is so rare among metals, and it is hard and white like silver, though much less brilliant. It can be beaten readily into plates or rolled 238 The Earth. our skillful weakness. Powerful in our knowledge, we sum- mon this metal to sustain our houses and bridge our rivers, and we bend and roll and twist and fashion it as we please for a thousand useful purposes. Do we want a medium to help on commerce by making clumsy barter unnecessary? there is gold. Is heaviness required 2 it is to be found in platinum ; or lightness 2 there is aluminium ; or softness 2 there is lead ; or brittleness there is antimony; or flu- idity? there is mercury; while for a combination of many qualities useful in domestic life, there are copper and tin. By the design of Providence one metal appears to have been created to supplement the deficiencies of another. Thus iron, strong though it be, yields to the combined at- tacks of air and moisture. But by sheathing it in a film of zinc or tin — metals which, though comparatively weak, are yet less sensitive to air and moisture — iron gains the priceless quality of endurance. By the skillful union of other metals the chemist knows how they may be adapted to almost every purpose. Thus the value of the metals as a gift to man can only be compared to that of wood and stone, to which it is supplementary. In bestowing these three blessings, what a provision has been made by Our Father for our comfort | - Let us pass to another compartment of the storehouse, and consider the beneficence and the knowledge of our wants with which the rocks of the earth have been treasured up. Fire and water, under the formative guid- ance of the Lord of Nature, have contributed their mighti- est forces in preparing them for our service, and have split and blocked and layered them into shapes convenient for our use. Sometimes they are cemented into huge masses out of which colossal breakwaters and docks may be con- structed. Some rocks cleave readily into slices for our pavements; others split into fine plates for our slates. Some are so soft that they may be cut with a saw, and yet harden firmly when exposed to the air; others are so hard The Earth. 239 that iron will scarcely scratch them, while they surpass that metal in endurance. The rocks yield lime, so useful as manure ; and salt, which is a necessary of life. Vast strata of coal lie cellared in the earth. These blessings are so common, and are so intertwined in the daily expe. rience of us all, that it appears almost to be trifling to re. capitulate them. But should a gift be less formally ac, knowledged because it is given abundantly Instead of withholding these blessings altogether, or bestowing them niggardly, He has diffused them everywhere ; but, strange to say, it is this very lavishness which often dulls percep- tion, and creates the danger of our passing by without a thought of gratitude. All occasionally make general ad- missions of their obligations; but how few ever stop before a quarry or a coal-mine to quicken their gratitude by thanking God specially for His good gift Yet what abundant evidence is afforded by every quarry of God's providence toward us. Is it a small thing to be able to think and to know that long before we came into existence Our Father was alréady caring for us and for our wants, and was already “preparing the dry land,” by storing it with good gifts to add to our happiness 2 Let us for a moment pause to survey the famous quarry of Craigleith, and try to estimate the shelter, the comfort, and the happiness that have been dug out of that vast chasm. Stand on its brink, and it will make you giddy to look down into the fearful gulf. Far away in its lowest depths you descry busy workmen dwarfed by distance into pygmies. The birds, whom your approach has disturbed, hurriedly cast off, and seem by their long fluttering as if they never could reach the opposite shore of the abyss. Descend to the bottom by the climbing zigzag, which calls to mind some engineering triumph in the Alps; stand in the centre — look round — and then try to realize in im- agination the vastness of the void that was once filled up . brimful to the top with solid stone. Frowning precipices The Earth. 24 I that it is possible to do everything to His glory, and we are enjoined so to do it. “Whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.” Nothing is excepted — no act is either so great or so small as to be beyond the circle of this command. By it we learn that it is the motive which sanctifies. Unless the motive be God's glory, the finest work sinks into worthlessness; but, hallowed by that mo- tive, the smallest offering is graciously accepted. One way by which we endeavor to promote God's glory is the building of churches, and in this act especially we seem to be turning the materials of the earth to account, and to be dedicating them to His service. In what mind, then, ought we to undertake this duty? Is it consistent with the feeling of gratitude and propriety, or even of de- cency, that His temple should be raised barely and meanly when we have it in our power to do more ? The widow's mite was highly valued because it was the utmost she could give ; but if she had possessed more it would not have been so considered. Ought we not then to follow out this principle as far as we can, and to give our best? Can it be right that, while we deem no architectural beauty too good for our own dwellings, we should be satisfied with His House being only a little better than a barrack — when it is in our power to do more? While we adorn our palaces with every thing which good taste can obtain from the sculptor or the painter, can it be right to consider the carpenter and the plasterer good enough artists for the church — if we have it in our power to do more ? Or while we fill our concert rooms with finest music, shall we celebrate His praise in the sanctuary in hymns that are often discordant to healthy ears—when we have it in our power to do more? We would rather be among those whose rule it is to do their best for God's glory, than with others who are con- tent to consider what is inferior or easy to be had as good enough for the adornment of His House. Scarcely do 16 242 The Earth. - they seem to understand or appreciate their high privilege when they withhold what ought gladly and lovingly to be laid upon the altar. These services are in themselves true offerings, yet not less are they due on the lower, yet still high, ground of consistency and fitness, for they seem to be only the natural outward expression of our gratitude. Surely it will not be denied that the feeling is good, or that the principle of offering the best in our power wherever the service of God is in question, must be right and safe. Though paradoxical, it is nevertheless true that giving lib- erally for such purposes does not practically diminish the sources from which the means are drawn. There probably never was a case yet where one church remained unbuilt, because another had been suitably adorned ; but, on the other hand, we think it may be safely asserted that the aspect of a church whose fitting adornments inspired de- votional feeling has often acted as a stimulus to help on similar works. We may rest assured that, when our all has been done, we have equally fallen short of His glory and our own obligations. Let us for a moment consider how our pious forefathers acted in this matter. They invariably built churches to the best of their knowledge of art, and adorned them to the best of the means that lay within their reach. The works that have come down to us from mediaeval times attest how carefully they were originally built and set apart for God's service. The most skillful master-masons were employed, the most beautiful stone that could be procured was brought even from distant sources. The Norman Bishop Walkelyn built his new Cathedral at Winchester with materials brought from quarries in the Isle of Wight, . and the beautiful white stone of Caen was in request for the decoration of God's House from a very early period. Our forefathers, however, were limited in their materials for decoration, and hence their architectural adornments chiefly took the form of column, arch, and tracery. When The Earth. 243 we consider the ecclesiastical works — the cathedrals and churches — erected in the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries, in relation to the resources from which they were produced, we are equally impressed with the earnest purpose of our forefathers, and humbled at our own supineness. Happily in these latest days church architecture has revived, and all denominations of Christians now vie with each other in taking advantage of its taste and resources. The internal adornment of churches has also much im proved of late, although there is some difference of opinion as to the extent to which it ought to be carried. In a diffi- culty of this nature it is surely safe to apply the principle that we are to “do the best that lies in our power ; ” nor need we fear that we shall do too much, so long as orna- mentation is governed by good taste, suitableness, and de- votional feeling. To what more elevating use can man apply the woods and the metals, the stone and the mar- bles, with which this earth has been blessed for his sake, than in dedicating them to the serviee of his Maker? ol how can man better employ sculpture and painting — the direct offspring of those talents which are the special gift of God—than by devoting them to His honor It surely cannot be otherwise than right and consistent, when we are enjoined to “do all to the glory of God,” that the best fruits of the talents with which God has endowed man should be humbly dedicated to the glory of Him who created them. Can we believe that Fra Bartolomeo was wrong when he studied painting in order that he might devote his art to the illustration of his Master's life ; or that Michael Angelo was wrong when he dedicated the best years of his life to labor at St. Peter's as architect, sculptor, and painter, for the “love of God’? Marbles were little known in this country in the olden time, but our forefathers were glad to make use of them when they fell within reach, as in Sussex and elsewhere; and there can be no doubt that they would have turned 244 The Earth. them still more extensively to account had it been within their power. Marbles are the flowers of the rocks, traced out and colored by God's own hand; and they serve to remind us that He has not stopped short in His benefi- cence at the point where our bare wants were supplied, but has been pleased to add the charm of beauty, over and above, in order to gratify His children. For what other purpose, indeed, is it conceivable that God should have made marble beautiful, since, of all creatures on this earth, man alone has been gifted with faculties capable of enjoy- ing it. Considered under this point of view, the flowers of the rocks seem peculiarly suitable for church decora- tion. Our forefathers in mediaeval times liberally employed the best sculpture of their day; but while we admire the devo- tional feeling which often spread a charm over their works, even when poor art marred artistic success, it would surely be a great mistake in us were we to aim at reproducing any of their defects. In those days anatomy was almost unknown, and art was too often found in alliance with bad taste and incongruity. These errors come down to us softened by the lapse of time, and the motive which pro- duced them covers them with our respect; but shall we, in our turn, be “doing our best” iſ, with better knowledge of anatomy and greater technical power, we aim at nothing higher than imitation ? With still stronger reason figures twisted into impossible attitudes, exaggerations, monstrosi- ties, and other inconsistencies ought to be avoided. The strange cloister-jokes and fancies often cleverly carved in wood or stone are scarcely excused by the want of refine- ment which then universally prevailed; but, if it were only because they are falsifications, they are clearly out of place in the House of Truth. One can hardly understand a sculptor hewing out grotesque impish figures as fit decora- tions for any part of God's Temple. Surely these cannot be held as suited in any way to promote His glory, and 246 The Earth. museum of monumental rococoism. Out of respect for the dead let us accept what has been bequeathed, but it is surely time to substitute something better than this ques- tionable custom for the future. - It seems strange that while the aid of sculpture in dec- orating God's House has been, more or less, almost uni- versally accepted, the service of its twin-sister, painting, has often been altogether repudiated. We know not any good reason why this should be, or why the work of the pencil should be accounted evil, while that of the chisel. is held to be good. The question is one to be decided by judgment, and not by the mixture of feelings engen- dered by association which is often mistaken for principle. There is nothing that can be said in favor of sculpture, or other architectural ornamentation, which cannot likewise be said in favor of painting; and if it be alleged that painting is disqualified for Protestant churches because it has been abused in other churches, the same thing may be said of sculpture and every other kind of embel- lishment. Both equally represent the employment in God’s service of the talents with which He has blessed His children. Both come into the church by the same title —that they are done “to the glory of God.” And if, in addition, the ideas they suggest penetrate to the mind and touch the feelings, surely they are both serving as in- nocent means toward a good end. The principle of the admissibility of painting appears, indeed, to be so gener- ally conceded in practice that it seems inconsistent to deny it in theory. Nearly all denominations now consider themselves free to admire the paintings that adorn the win- dows of their churches, and we do not see how they can with consistency object on principle to representations of similar subjects painted upon the walls. Is it, for ex- ample, a right thing to depict the “Ascension ” upon glass, and a wrong thing to take the very same drawing and the same colors, and lay them upon plaster? At all events, The Earth. 247 the principle which sanctions the one cannot logically be turned against the other. We give no opinion as to how far painting should be employed in decoration. Judgment and good taste, to say nothing of the difficulty of procur- ing it of a sufficiently high degree of merit, will always circumscribe its employment, and practically almost con- fine it to cathedrals and other great churches. Better, too, that it should be altogether omitted than introduced at the cost of congregational discord. No one would desire to see this or any other kind of church ornamentation pushed to excess, for it is extravagance which so often casts a blight over what is really good. - The inscription of illuminated text scrolls over arches and in other appropriate situations seems a very suitable kind of ornamentation. It produces a pleasing effect in the parish church by relieving the large bare spaces of white, and adding to the distinctness of architectural out- line. Another advantage is that, while painting and sculpture must always be rare from their costliness, the suitable execution of these texts is seldom beyond the re- sources of a congregation, assisted by such art as may be found in almost every country town. Nor are these scrolls without a higher aim and use. They are read over and over by young and old ; and every time this simple act is performed there is the chance that some good feeling may be touched. They are sacred words placed favorably to catch the eye, and appealing week after week to the hopes, the affections, and the consciences of the congregation. Often they arrest the wandering thought and turn it back more fitted than before to join again in the Service of the Church. - If it be right to sing unto the Lord in His House, surely it must be right not only to raise that “melody in our hearts” which is the most precious quality of praise, but also to make the outward expression of it the best that it is in our power to offer. What that best is must be left, 248 The Earth. as in the case of sculpture and painting, to be regulated by the standard of propriety and devotional fitness. The only limit that need be put to the style of music adopted is that it shall be devotional in its character, and within the power of the congregation to execute, or at least to join in. The difficulties and “effects * into which parish choirs are sometimes tempted are no less misplaced than excess in sculpture and painting, and while they display skill, have occasionally the result of excluding the congre- gation from the Service altogether. Within the limit above assigned there is range enough to occupy the best means that can be brought to bear. There is no grace in praising like fervor, and a too elaborate choral display, how beautiful soever it may be in itself, goes beyond the real aim of congregational singing, and, by checking or silencing it, tempts one to wish for another Gregory to sweep away redundancies, introduce simplicity, and impart devotional feeling. It is unnecessary to make any estimate of the compar- ative value of these “aids’ to devotion. Much depends on the peculiar mental impressionability and associations of the individual, and probably in no two persons would the standard be the same. We seek here to establish nothing more than the principle that, as they were all given for our use, not one of them should be neglected. A touching allusion to the Cross, for example, may excite the same religious feeling in the mind whether it be spoken, printed, painted, or sculptured. Who or what gave one sense the monopoly in things religious over all the others ? What is there that so exclusively fits the ear to promote adoration, and which so rigidly excludes the eye? Does the whole substance of religion consist of creed only, and has feeling no part in it 2 Is there no such thing as love, pity, or sympathy in it? If such emo- tions form any part of religion, then every means that can rouse them becomes of use, and was given for the purpose, The Earth. 249 Provided the idea reaches the mind it signifies little how it came there, whether its starting-point was a star, a plant, a statue, a picture, words spoken, or letters printed. They are all equally symbols and means to an end. If they fail to send on the idea to its goal, they are all equally worth- less; but if they succeed in doing this, they are all useful. Were we more perfect we might possibly dispense with many aids; but, being as we are, we cannot afford to lose even the least of those that have been given to us. It is true that some feel the meaning of a symbol, and some do not ; but why should they who can profit by such appeals be deprived of them because there are others on whom they are lost? Excess is always wrong, and a sparing use of symbolism in church adornment is perhaps expedient. We know with what force association molds conviction, and this is a point on which much may be yielded to opin- ion or even to prejudice. But supposing it were possible to surround ourselves in every direction with symbols of God's attributes, what other result than our advantage could arise? what monitors for good, what shields against evil they would be! Yet, if we look meditatively around, is not this in reality our own position ? God has encom- passed us on every side with symbols that recall Him to our thoughts, and it is habitual neglect alone which makes them profitless. What object is there in Nature which does not in some way suggest His Power, Wis- dom, or Goodness Thus were these objects used by the Three Children of old, and thus may they be profitably used by ourselves. If there be any kind of adornment which more than another seems fitted to God's House, it is that thoughtful use of the “green things upon the earth” with which our churches are decorated at certain seasons of the year. Flowers are the painted sculpturings of Nature — the shapes and colors of beauty which the Creator has lav- ished upon the world, and surely they can never be em- 250 The Earth. ployed for a better purpose. In the church flowers sug. gest thoughts that are in unison with the occasion. Who does not understand the signs of joyfulness which they ex- press at Christmas and Easter; and do they not some- times serve to quicken our sympathy for those who stand around the font ? These are small matters; but let us throw nothing away that tends to good. The time and care thus bestowed on the adornment of the parish church are not without their reward. Pious thoughts arise while skillful fingers are busy with the work, which, as it is done for the sake of God's honor, must from its very nature be linked with good to all concerned in it. Whoso offereth Me praise glorifieth Me. — Ps. l. GREEAW TH/AWG.S UPOAV ZAZE EAA’TH. O all ye Green Things upon the Earth, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnify Him for ever. Fº N considering the green things upon the earth we º } are in turn impressed by their beauty, their use- Zººl fulness, and the wisdom of design displayed in their creation. Everywhere we see plants fitted to the dif. ferent conditions involved in the various climates of the earth—to the length of the day, which regulates the amount of light and heat they are to receive — and to the duration of the year, within the compass of whose seasons the cycle of their functions — growing, flowering, and fruit-ripening — must be completed. If the axial rotation of the globe were a little quicker or a little slower, the length of the day would be different from what it now is, and the actual conditions of plants would be disturbed. If the earth under less perfect adjustment were placed nearer the sun, plants would be overwhelmed in a flood of heat and light. Or, again, if the orbital speed of the earth were greater or less than it is, the length of the year would be altered, and the whole routine of the annual functions of plants would be thrown into disorder. Even as it is, we know the confusion which arises in the garden from a summer prolonged far into autumn, or from a too early spring. In reality, we observe that the Creator has everywhere endowed plants, in regard to their external relations, with the exact constitution which insures their well-being. Dr. Whewell has well pointed out the harmony subsist. 252 Green Things upon the Earth. ing between the functions and structure of plants and that law of gravitation which rules the universe. Had the earth been more or less dense than it actually is — had its size been a little larger or a little smaller — had its dis- tance from the sun much exceeded or greatly fallen short of 92 millions of miles, the influence of gravity over every thing on the earth would be different from what it now is, and the whole machinery of animal and vegetable life would be thrown off its balance. The sap of plants, for example, rises from the root into the stem, and from the stem into the leaves, against the power of gravity. Now the force which urges on this stream is exactly ad- justed to the weight that has to be lifted; but it is clear that if, from any of the causes mentioned, the gravity, or weight, of the sap were increased, the force which now suffices to raise it would be too weak for the purpose; or if the weight of the sap were less, the force now moving it would be out of proportion, and destruction of the plant would inevitably ensue. We see also that the strength of the framework of plants has been nicely calculated on the same principle. The thickness of the stem, the tapering of the branches, the weight of the leaves, flowers, and fruit, are all modeled, to a grain, on the actual astronomical conditions in which the earth is placed. Were terrestrial 'gravity greater than it now is every thing would weigh more than it now does; or, in other words, the force with which the earth pulls every thing toward its centre would be increased. The trunk of the tree, which we now see towering into the air as a symbol of strength, would be unable to support the branches, and the branches would be overpowered by the leaves. The blossoms and the fruit would break down the stalks that hold them up, the valleys would no longer be adorned with wavy corn, for it, as well as the grass, would be dragged prostrate to the ground. But by the wise de- sign of the Creator, stem, branches, leaves, flowers, and Green 7.%ings upon the Earth. 253 fruit have been framed in accordance with the weight they have to carry; the weight is regulated by the attraction of the earth ; and this, again, is in exact proportion to the size, density, and distance of the sun and planets. Every minute microscopic fibre throughout the whole vegetable world has been created in exact relation to this principle, and in nothing, perhaps, is the fact more beautifully illus- trated than in plants which, like the fuchsia, the arbutus, or the snow-drop, incline their flowers in graceful pendants. As a general rule flowers are erect, and the stamens are longer than the pistils, in order that the pollen, or fructify- ing powder, may naturally fall on the stigma, or germ. It is obvious, however, that if these relative proportions as to length had existed in drooping plants, the stamens would have been placed lower down than the pistils; and, conse- quently, the pollen when set free would have fallen to the ground without coming into contact with the pistil. But, by an obviously designed departure from the usual plan, the comparative length of the stamens and pistils has been reversed in drooping flowers, by which means the anthers are made to occupy their ordinary superior position ; and, consequently, when the pollen is set free it naturally falls upon the stigma, placed below it. In noticing this exqui- site adjustment Dr. Whewell observes, – “We have here a little mechanical contrivance which would have been frustrated if the proper intensity of gravity had not been assumed in the reckoning.” “There is something curious in thus considering the whole mass of the earth from pole to pole, and from circumference to centre, as employed in keeping a snow-drop in the position most suited to the promotion of its vegetable health.” And all men that see it shall say, This hath God done; for they shall per- ceive that it is God's work. — Ps. lx v. The love of flowers exists within us almost as a part of our nature. It calls forth some of the first cries of admira- 254 Green Things upon the Earth. tion in the infant, and, by clinging to us through life, strews many an innocent pleasure on the way. In the daisies, the buttercups, the dandelions, and other wild flowers which the hand of childhood eagerly grasps, or twines into garlands and wreaths, we behold the earliest treasures of life. Even more especially do the “green things upon the earth" merit our regard for their usefulness. Plants give us houses for shelter and ships for commerce, and medi- cines with which to combat disease. They feed us and they clothe us. Often we may see the fields decked with the blue flowers of a plant which for its own beauty's sake obtains a welcome in many a garden border, but which is largely cultivated on the farm to yield a most useful cloth- ing. It is the common flax. From the earliest days of Babylon and Egypt this plant has never ceased to be a blessing to mankind. Specimens of linen as old as the Pharaohs, wrapped in endless coils round shrunken mum- mies, have survived to our own time ; while paintings on the walls of Theban tombs show us with minuteness the process of its manufacture, and prove that it was then es- sentially the same as now. In creating the flax-plant God gave to man a thread which by its tenacity and flexibility is particularly adapted to be made into clothing, while from its hardy constitution it is widely spread over the world. Thus it thrives on the mountain slopes of India, as well as in Northern Europe and America. In this wide distribution it has the superiority over its twin-blessing — cotton; for the latter is limited to the warmer regions of the globe, and attains perfection in comparatively few of them. The cotton-plant was also from remote times known in the valleys of the Euphrates and the Nile, and was aptly termed by ancient writers the “fleece-bearing tree.” From the more complicated preparations required for its conver- sion into cloth, it did not, however, come into such gen- eral use as flax at an early period. It was little known in Green 7%ings upon the Earth. 255 England till the reign of Charles I., when it was meritori- ously introduced by the East India Company, which was then in its infancy. So long as it was manufactured into cloth by hand its use was necessarily much restricted ; but at length Providence, in order to extend its usefulness, in- spired our countrymen with the invention of the needful machinery. In the latter part of the last century three men arose within a few years of each other — Hargreave, Arkwright, and Compton — whose ingenuity produced the spinning-jenny (1767), the spinning-frame (1775), and the spinning-mule (1779), which have brought good and cheap clothing within easy reach of a large portion of the human race. There are, in fact, few inhabited spots upon the earth into which machinery-manufactured cotton has not pene- trated, and more families, perhaps, owe their daily bread to it than to any other branch of industry. Distributed everywhere, this little plant has also become a great agent in the spread of civilization ; and, as the missionary often enters with the merchant, it may likewise be considered as assisting in the propagation of true religion. Certain it is that the way to many a heathen tribe would have re- mained barred against every Christian effort, but for the opening which the cotton traffic prepared for it. The history of the cotton-plant points to something more elevated than commerce and manufactures. When we consider that the time of its introduction into England coincided with the commencing expansion of our trade — that in the course of a century afterward, when the popu- lation of the world had much increased and had become accustomed to its use, the needful machinery was invented, by which the cloth might be produced to an extent some- what in proportion to the demand — when we think of the perfection and cheapness of the manufacture, the wide penetration of modern commerce into every land, and the active zeal of missionary enterprise — each step being, as it were, a preparation for the one that followed — who can 256 Green Things upon the Earth. resist the conviction that these events are to be regarded not as unconnected and accidental, but as the planned working of Providence 2 Various plants supply a soft white down which, judging by ordinary examination, appears as well adapted for manu- facturing cloth as cotton itself. But there is a structural peculiarity inherent in the fibre of the latter which distin- guishes it not only from flax-fibre but from most other downs; and, although so minute as to be microscopic, it nevertheless distinctly marks the purpose of the great Designer. It may here be observed that cotton is a vege- table hair enveloping the seed capsules, while flax-thread is a kind of fine woody fibre of which the stem of the plant is chiefly composed. Both are originally round in form ; but the flax-fibre being strong continues to retain its shape, while the cotton-fibre being weak collapses in drying up. In the field of the microscope it will be seen that every cotton-fibre is flattened into a minute ribbon twisted round at intervals upon itself, while its surface and edges are roughened and unequal. From this roughness comes the invaluable property that when the fibres are twisted in the manufacture they cling and lock into each other, by which not only is the strength of the thread in- creased, but the inconvenient tendency to untwist observed in many other fibres is also obviated. The degree of fine- ness to which, from this peculiarity, cotton-fibres may be spun is almost incredible. A single pound weight of cot- ton has been twisted by machinery into a thread 4770 miles in length | Such fairy-like thread, it need scarcely be observed, cannot be applied to any useful purpose, for cloth made from twist many degrees coarser than this, by means of a machine as delicate in its action as a watch, was found to be as fragile as a spider's web, and would not bear handling. Are we not too apt to take our good gifts as mere things of course, and to lose sight of the magnitude of a blessing Green Things upon the Earth. 257 in its commonness? The necessity for clothing is, for the greater part of mankind, only second to the necessity for food ; and flax and cotton stand in the same relation to our clothing as wheat and other cereals do to our daily bread. If all the health and happiness which these two “green things of the earth" have diffused among mankind could be added up into one sum, what expression would be comprehensive enough adequately to represent it? Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits. –Ps. ciii. The lower animals have their food given to them al- ready prepared by the hand of Nature ; but man requires not only to cook his food, but often to alter the original condition of the plant itself whence it is derived, and im- prove it by cultivation. Those cereals, for example, on which we now mainly depend for “the staff of life” were originally wild grass. They have been brought to their present state of perfection by long years of patient cultiva- tion, but they would infallibly relapse into their original wildness if they were neglected even for a few seasons. The same observation applies to the potato, turnip, cab- bage, and many other useful vegetables. How great the skill and perseverance expended in bringing them to their present state, and what gratitude is due to the King of Nature for having prompted us with the knowledge neces- sary to accomplish so great and beneficial a result In our comparatively cold climate Nature is, as usual, kind and bountiful, but she exacts a greater labor-payment than in warmer countries The tax thus levied must not, however, be regarded as altogether without profit. If the climate bring the difficulty, it also brings energetic heads, well-braced muscles, and firmly strung nerves to cope with it. Hence, although our farmers are doomed to a con- stant struggle with the weather, the soil, and other adverse influences, they generally triumph in the end by skill and 17 258 Green. Things upon the Earth. industry, and are able to produce both enough and to spare. - In tropical countries, on the contrary, the Creator, as if in compassion to that muscular relaxation and want of energy which heat engenders, has caused the earth to pro- duce its fruits with comparatively little expense of labor, and has often multiplied in a wonderful manner the uses to which a single plant can be applied. The catalogue of products yielded by the date-palm includes, according to Humboldt, “wine, oil, vinegar, farinaceous food, and sugar, timber and ropes, mats and paper.” An allied tree—the cocoa-nut palm — which grows without cultivation, is in itself a storehouse of every thing needful to sustain life in those climates. Thus it “forms a grateful shade from the vertical sun ; its timber serves to build huts, and its leaves to thatch them. The cut sheath of the flowers distils a sweet liquid, which by fermentation speedily becomes the palm-wine so eagerly drunk by the natives of hot climates. From this liquor sugar may be obtained by boiling, or, if it be long exposed to the air, an excellent vinegar is made. The nut is most valuable as food, and indeed forms the staff of life to the coral islanders cf the Pacific ; it like- wise supplies an oil, equal to that of almonds, which is extensively used in India. The strong fibres enveloping the nut are turned to numerous domestic purposes, while the shell itself may be made into cups or goblets.” The various climates of the globe have impressed a special physiognomy on the flora of its different regions. Within the tropics the great stimulants of vegetable growth — light, heat, and moisture — exist at their maximum, and consequently the glories of the plantal world are there developed in the highest perfection. Tropical for- ests surpass those of the rest of the globe in their beauty, color, size, density, and fragrance; but their characteristic physiognomy is more especially stamped upon them by the bananas, cocoas, and other kinds of palm, and by the. Green Things upon the Aarth. 259 dazzling orchids which gem or garland the trees. No de- scription can adequately portray the profusion of tropical vegetation. In the vicinity of the larger towns, where cul- tivation prevails, the rank exuberance of plantal life is of course kept within bounds; but in the jungles and in the recesses of the primeval forest its density is extreme, and the surface of the earth is packed with the abundance of its own richness. Through obstacles like these the ser- pent may creep, or the wild beast, sheathed in the armor of its thick fur, may force a passage ; but man can only cut out his way with the hatchet in his hand. On either side of the passage thus driven through, vegetation tan- gled, interwoven, compressed by plant growing upon plant, builds itself up as solid almost as a wall. The den- sity of the leafage overhead is in keeping with the require- ments of such climates. Strong, protecting coverings are necessary to intercept and absorb the fierce rays of the sun, and shield the surface of the earth from their scorch- ing touch ; they are needed, also, to break the fall of the deluge which pours down like a water-spout from southern skies. The blackness of the shade may be measured when it is contrasted with the vivid points and lines of al- most dazzling light which here and there pierce through chinks in the leafy canopy. The course of a river search- ing for a passage through the thick forests of South Amer- ica seems hewn out among the trees; it has no shelving banks of green, but is cut clean out of the forest mass. “In descending the streams between the Orinoco and the Amazon,” says Humboldt, “we often tried to land, but without being able to step out of the boat. Toward sun- set we sailed along the bank for an hour to discover, not an opening, since none exists, but a spot less wooded, where our Indians, by means of the hatchet and manual labor, would gain space enough for a resting-place for twelve or thirteen persons.” There must be something extremely captivating both to the eye and the imagination 26o Green Things upon the Earth. in tropical scenery. All travelers speak of it—both cf its wild forests and its cultivated spots — with enthusiasm, and with that affection in which memory embalms only a few of the places one visits in a lifetime. Of the smiling environs of some Brazilian cities Darwin thus writes: — “While quietly walking along the shady pathways, and admiring each successive view, I wished to find language to express my ideas. Epithet after epithet was found too weak to convey to those who have not visited the inter- tropical regions the sensation of delight which the mind experiences. I have said that the plants in a hot-house fail to communicate a just idea of the vegetation, yet I must recur to it. The land is one great wild, untidy, lux- uriant hot-house, made by Nature herself, but taken pos- session of by man, who has studded it with gay houses and formal gardens. How great would be the desire in any admirer of Nature to behold, if such were possible, the scenery of another planet! Yet to any person in Europe it may be truly said that, at the distance of only a few degrees from his native soil, the glories of another world are opened to him. In my last walk I stopped again and again to gaze on those beauties, and endeav- ored to fix in my mind for ever an impression which at the time I knew sooner or later must fail. The form of the orange-tree, the cocoa-nut, the palm, the mango, the fern-tree, the banana, will remain clear and separate ; but the thousand beauties which unite them into one perfect scene must fade away; yet they will leave, like a tale told in childhood, a picture full of indistinct, but most beautiful figures.” Here is another sketch of southern vegetation, drawn by Piazzi Smith during his excursior to Teneriffe : —“When walking at midday in one of the basalt-paved streets, each glittering stone sending back the full rays of a vertical sun, and the gleaming houses on either side affording 2 steady, white, hot glare of unmitigated sunshine, what Green Things upon the Earth. 261 z words in a northern language can express the delightful emotions, when at the open gateway of one of the semi- Moorish abodes we look in upon a grove of bananas Throwing a tender green shade over the interior court, their grand and delicately structured leaves rise up aloft, catch the fierce rays of the sun before they can do mis- chief, receive them into their substance, make them give out the most varied yellow greens; pass them on from leaf to leaf subdued and softened — pass them on to the oleander's fountain of rose-pink flowers, to the dark-green of the orange-like myrtle and the bay; and leave just light enough at last in the green cavern below to show the bubbling of some tiny fountain — the welling heart of the fairy oasis.” - In striking contrast to such pictures of tropical splendor, let us, for an instant, turn to those desolate tracts in the far north, where the physical conditions we have been con- sidering are reversed, and where light, heat, and moisture are at a minimum. Still, even into this inhospitable climate a meagre vegetable life extends. There is, in fact, no latitude into which man has penetrated where plants do not exist; and it may be confidently predicted that, if land should be found under the poles, there also a flora will be seen to flourish. Covered up in its blanket of snow there is a lichen on which in the winter time the Esquimaux can contrive to exist when other provisions ſail; and it was by means of this plant that a boat-party detached from Kane's expedition beyond Smith's Sound were saved from starvation. Some nutritious mucilage is also extracted from the Iceland moss, which from its mild, demulcent properties is favorably known in many a sick- room. But as the short, polar summer advances, and the ground is bathed day and night in warm sunlight, vegeta- tion springs up upon the surface with a bound. Scarcely has the last snow-flake melted from the ground before the earth is carpeted with the softest, shortest, greenest grass. 264 Green 7%ings upon the Earth. when they become dry; others wait until moisture and other circumstances are propitious for germination, when the seed-vessels open and the contents are scattered around. De Candolle tells us that the seed of the rose of Jericho does not ripen until the season is so far advanced that every drop of water has been sucked out of the soil. It would answer no good purpose were the seed to be allowed to fall upon such arid ground. The plant, however, is. rescued from its dilemma by a curious device of Nature. Under the influence of the scorching sun the branches dry up and become rolled into an irregular, elastic ball. By and by the wind of the desert, as it sweeps along the dusty plain, catches the plant and tears it up by the root. The ball rolls easily over the surface, and is driven to and fro until it sticks fast in some little oasis or spot of moisture. During this rough journey the seed-vessels hold their pre- cious contents firmly and safely; but no sooner do they perceive the “signal” of moisture than they open freely, and the seed falling on “good ground" springs up rapidly. Though much seed is lost—or at least does not germi- nate — there is a providence which takes care that every spot of earth shall be supplied with the vegetable growths that suit it. What wonderful efforts are sometimes made to stock new land with plants . An eminent naturalist, after describing the beauty of the cocoa-nut groves that flourish on the Coral Islands of the Pacific, has suggested the chapter of designed accidents to which they owe their origin. When the island emerges from the deep it is a barren reef of limestone rock, glittering white and bright under a tropical sun. In process of time patches of chalky mud and sand, formed upon its surface by the action of rain and waves, are washed into clefts and sheltered places along the shore. The island now begins to be fit for vege- tation ; and, strange though it may seem, the cocoa is usually one of the first plants to appear. How does the seed get there 2 The bulky nut is too large to be carried Green Things upon the Earth. 265 by birds, and ships avoid the reef as a source of danger. A stray cocoa-nut that grew in far-distant groves, after being the sport of storms and currents, has hit the new spot in the lone ocean. Cast ashore by the surf, it has become fixed in one of the muddy clefts, where it finds enough of nourishment for its growth. By and by a young plantation of descendants is established around. The fall of the leaves and the decay of each generation add to the stock of mold and supply the soil for more varied vegeta- tion, until at length the bare, white reef is changed into a scene which sailors describe as an earthly paradise. With what orderly providence all the steps of this long operation succeed each other. There is, first, the emer- gence of the bare rock, and the preparation of a little store of mud. Then some palm-tree, growing perhaps hun- dreds of miles away, drops a nut, which, rolling into the neighboring stream is carried downward into the sea. It is thus launched upon a seemingly random and useless voyage — a waif of the ocean, unseen by man, but guided by the hand of Providence. Encased in its armor of shell, against which wind and wave beat in vain, it seems as if constructed on purpose to carry a life-freight across stormy seas. Soon the current takes it in possession — slowly it drifts along — months roll on, and the cocoa-nut is still sailing on its mission. Rocks are avoided against which it might have dashed, and shores on which it might have been stranded, until it arrives at last at the lonely spot in the wide ocean, and then the surf casts it ashore into its destined cleft where the little patch of mud is ready to receive it. As a protection against the accidents to which seeds are exposed, Nature has endowed them with wonderful tenac- ity of life. Passing over the assertions that have been made about the vitality of Egyptian wheat after a 3ooo. years' slumber in Theban tombs, there are other cases suf ficiently wonderful, about the authenticity of which there 266 Green Things upon the Earth. can be no question. In some parts of the country “dykes" or mound-fences have existed from time imme- morial ; but no sooner are these leveled than the seeds of wild flowers, which must have lain buried in them for ages, Sprout forth vigorously, just as if the ground had been recently sown with seed. Plants, too, which formerly flourished in the district, but which had long disappeared from it, have sometimes been recovered in this manner. In a well-authenticated case, a house that was known to have existed for 200 years was pulled down, and no sooner was the surface soil exposed to the influence of light and moisture, than it became covered with a crop of wild mus- tard or charlock. Instances might easily be multiplied almost indefinitely, but we shall be satisfied with noticing one of a very extraordinary kind. In the time of the Emperor Hadrian a man died soon after he had eaten plentifully of raspberries. He was buried at Dorchester. About thirty years ago the remains of this man, together with coins of the Roman Emperor, were discovered in a coffin at the bottom of a barrow, thirty feet under the sur- face. The man had thus lain undisturbed for some 17oo years. But the most curious circumstance connected with the case was that the raspberry seeds were recovered from the stomach, and sown in the garden of the Horticultural Society, where they germinated and grew into healthy bushes. - There is a period of helplessness in the life of a plant when it is dependent on the provision that has been made for it by its parent, and which corresponds very closely to a similar condition in the life of animals. A seed may be compared to an egg. The greater part of the bulk of an egg consists of nutritive matter, which the embryo chick ab- sorbs until it is sufficiently developed to break its prison shell and shift for itself. In like manner the greater part of the seed consists of nutritive matter, which is ab- sorbed by the embryo plant until it is sufficiently devel- Green Things upon the Earth. 267 oped to provide independently for its own growth by send- ing its root down into the soil and its stem up into the air. How strikingly the providence of the Creator is displayed in the different phases through which a seed passes | The old plant, before parting with its tender offspring, softly envelops it in a thick, warm blanket of starch, and covers this over with the tough, dense wrappers of the seed, in order that the life-spark within may sleep in safety through the winter, until Spring awakens it with her signal calls of light and heat. This starchy substance is insoluble, and, therefore, easily preserves itself, in most cases, against the melting influences of damp or rain. But this very quality, which protects it so well during the winter, is a fatal bar against its being used as nourishment by the embryo plant, whose delicate powers of assimilation enable it to feed only on substances that are soluble. To meet this ne- cessity a process of vital chemistry is instituted on the ap- proach of spring, by which the insoluble starch is con- verted by a kind of fermentation into a soluble saccharine substance called “ diastase.” On this the germ can act readily, and thus obtains abundance of food. Every body has observed how potatoes change as spring comes on. Their mealiness, that is, a portion of their starch, is gone, and they have become waxy and sweet. Their value for the table is impaired, but their fitness to serve as seed has been secured. There is no “spoiling,” as is often thought. The covering which kept out the rain now splits to allow the passage of stem and root; and the blanket which kept out the winter cold, being no longer needed, is put off at the command of Nature, or, rather, it begins a new course of usefulness by converting itself into a soluble substance on which the young plant can feed. How happens it — is it from contrast merely, or from revived association, — that “green things” never seem more attractive than when they greet us unexpectedly in the midst of crowded cities 2 Buried though the Londoner Green Things upon the Earth. 269 changes the scene, and finds himself face to face with Nature. There he can note how plants grow, how seeds germinate, how the root grasps the soil, how the foliage bursts forth, how summer ripens the fruit and autumn strikes down the leaves. Thus, though fate claims him for the town, he is not absolutely cut off from the “green things upon the earth ; ” and in his cherished spot of gar- den he finds ideas that link his thoughts with country scenes. Nor is our rapid survey less pleasing when we reflect that such pursuits for leisure hours have a moral value to the workman beyond the mere interest that lies upon the surface, for they are antagonistic to dissipation, and lead straight from the dram-shop. Let all the trees of the wood rejoice before the Lord. — Ps. xcvi. Among “green things” trees stand out prečminently as the grandest of God's works. In beauty they are sur- passed by no other kind of plant, while in height, size, and strength they have no rival among living things. When polished, many kinds of wood exhibit a variety of color and figure which may compete with the finest marble. In its physical qualities wood is admirably adapted to our use. Thus many kinds are soft, like pine or poplar ; others hard, like oak or holly; some light, as cedar or lime ; others so heavy that they sink in water, like ebony or lignum vitae. The yew has a durability expressed in the proverb that “a post of yew will outlast a post of iron.” Some are remarkable for their toughness, like the ash. In short, there is hardly any quality rendered neces- sary by the thousand purposes both of use and ornament to which wood is applied which is not to be found in one kind or another. How much this variety contributes to the comfort and resources of our daily life need not here be pointed out, but we cannot fail to see in it an evidence of the kindness with which our Father has foreseen and provided for all our wants. 270 Green Things upon the Earth. Some of the giants in the forests of Northwestern America attain a height of upward of two hundred and thirty feet, and they are said to have a girth of one hun- dred and twelve feet, which represents a diameter rathel exceeding thirty-seven feet. In tropical forests the great cable palm has a stem five hundred feet in length. Fa- vored beyond most other living things, there is for trees no age that excludes beauty — not even the period of decay. What a goodly sight it is to see an old oak battling with Time ! The sturdy monarch yields only inch by inch to the power that conquers all things, and he protracts his fall with dignity and picturesqueness. The bole is rugged with the scars that were left ages ago, when the huge arms of his strong days were torn from his side by the storm; and it is breached here and there with gaps and fissures which it has taken centuries to chisel out, but through which all-conquering Time, baffled elsewhere, is fain to enter in and gnaw out a way to the heart. Of the trunk that once formed an emblem of strength but a shapeless fragment remains; yet in the midst of ruin the brave old oak still sends forth to every spring its accustomed tribute, whose green freshness stands out in curious contrast to the withered stem that bears it up. Following the universal law the old tree instinctively fights for life, and shrinks from ceasing to exist. Trees are full of interest as the broadest living links that bind us to the past. There is nothing else with life that bridges across the Middle Ages and carries us back into re- mote antiquity. The oldest forest patriarchs were planted long before history occupied herself with chronicling such events, still there are other means by which the age of trees may be approximatively determined. There are, perhaps, in England as many oaks named after William the Con- queror as there are old feudal towers attributed to Julius Caesar, and there are at least some trees to which even a higher antiquity may be indubitably assigned. The oldest Green 7%ings upon the Earth. 271 and largest tree of which Windsor can boast is the “King Oak,” which Loudon tells us is said to have been a favor- ite with the Conqueror when he inclosed the forest. It is twenty-six feet in circumference, and is supposed to be a thousand years old. More famous still is the Winfarthing oak, near Diss, in Norfolk, which tradition asserts was Known as “the old oak" even in the Conqueror's time. . Immediately above the root its circumference is seventy feet, and forty feet at the middle of the bole. According to the best authorities this oak is believed to be not less than 15oo years old ! Not many buildings now existing, except in ruins, are so ancient as this tree. In the Con- queror's time it might well be called “old,” for it had then seen some seven hundred summers. It was an old tree when Alfred the Great was fighting the Danes and founding the English monarchy; in fact, it may be said to have lived through the whole “History of England.” Another tree, the sober-mantled yew, -associated in our thoughts with the peaceful parish church-yard, – attains a remarkable size and longevity. Numbers are to be found with a girth of 25 or 27-feet ; and there is one at Anker- wyke, near Windsor, which is believed to be Iooo years old, and which, therefore, must have been flourishing in ripe maturity when King John was signing Magna Charta on the neighboring Runnymede. Another famous yew grew near Fountain's Abbey, whose age, as indicated by the concentric rings of its trunk, must have been about 1214 years. Scientific deduction was in this instance cor- roborated by history; for it is on record that, while the abbey was being built in 1133, the monks were accustomed to take shelter under it from the rain. Mention is likewise made of another yew, which, one would think, must have been the Methuselah of its tribe, for its age, as was infer- red from the usual structural evidence, reached back over a space of 2880 years. Admitting this estimate to be true, the tree must have been planted about the time when Sol. 472 Green Things upon the Earth. omon began to reign in Israel. The great botanist, De Candolle, believed that the age of the famous Baobab of the Cape de Verde Islands, whose circumference is io9 feet, reached far beyond the period mentioned. Hardly less interesting than these celebrated trees are the lineal descendants and last existing remnants of the primeval forests which in the time of Caesar and Tacitus covered our island. A few of these oaks, with the badge of their ancient pedigree strongly stamped upon them, still linger on in several places ; and their venerable aspect never fails to suggest that they belong to an older race of trees than the new-looking generations that flourish around. Such are the noble oaks of Cadzow, near Hamil- ton, the true descendants of those Caledonian forests which root back beyond the beginnings of Scottish history. In various parts of the “middle south " of England, near Croydon, for example, one stumbles now and then upon a group of patriarchal oaks, living apart by themselves, and far out of the way of woods and parks. It is impossible for a moment to doubt their ancient descent, or not to rec- ognize in them the last survivors of the forest of Andred's Weald, which in days of yore spread widely over this southern district of England. - Among all the “green things upon the earth” which crowd around to attract our notice there are none which creep in about our hearts like certain individual trees. They stand apart by themselves, and are regarded by us with what we must call a sentiment of affection, if such an expression may be used toward a tree. We have come to know them so well, that we begin almost to fancy that they must know us. Trees, moreover, are objects around which memory twines some of her firmest cords, and not unfre- quently they appear among the starting-points of our rec- ollections. With advancing years the scenes of early life grow dim in spite of every effort to retain them ; and in looking back at the vanishing picture we often see the 274 Green Things upon the Earth. heart to pump, and elastic vessels to convey the blood; but here there is no heart to urge on the current, and the vessels are, for the most part, stiff, unyielding tubes. It is now many years since Hales first demonstrated the force with which the sap is propelled in plants by dividing a vine in spring and connecting the lower end with a tube. He then found that the sap was urged upward with a power equal to a column of thirty-eight inches of mercury, or nearly five times greater than the current in the crural artery of a horse. The forces that produce this startling result are somewhat obscure. Transpiration from the leaves may exert a suctional action. Chemico-vital agen cies are doubtless busily at work. Capillary attraction as: sists, and in particular that curious power by which thick fluids attract thin fluids through membranes such as cell- walls, and to which the term endosmose is applied. In all that relates to the “green things upon the earth” we see evidences of design and care not less striking than those we admire in the animal kingdom. It may be said that leaves and roots have a power which reminds us of the instinct possessed by the lower animals. Leaves cannot perform their functions without light; hence they invariably seek it out, one might say, intuitively, and pre- sent to it their upper surface. In whatever position the seed is placed in the ground the root will turn downward, while the future stem will grow upward. Again, the roots of plants contain numerous absorbent vessels, of which the ultimate extremities, or “spongioles,” are surrounded by a mass of tender cells, forming a kind of spongy mem- brane through which the nutriment derived from the soil must pass in a state of solution. Now these rootlets pos- sess a certain discrimination, or power of selecting food, and of rejecting what would be poisonous or hurtful to the plant. Besides this they seek out the nourishing patches of the soil, ard have a way of divining, as if instinctively, where the richest food is to be obtained. The root of the Green Things upon the Earth. 275 famous vine at Hampton Court once fell under the at: tractive influence of a neighboring sewer, and actually forced its way through solid masonry in order to reach it. A case even more remarkable is related by Dr. Carpenter, in which a drain at Thoresby Park was found blocked up by the roots of some gorse growing at a distance of six feet. Another instance of what we are tempted to call the instinctive sagacity of roots in their efforts to obtain nour- ishment is given in the “Gardener's Magazine” for 1837. Near the river Leven, in the West Highlands, a shoot was thrown out from the bole of an old oak, about 15 feet from the ground. Receiving, as it would appear, insuffi- cient nourishment from the tree, the shoot sent a root first down to the ground, and then about 30 feet onward across a bare rock, until it met with a patch of suitable soil, in which it imbedded itself. Few things connected with plants are more remarkable than the certainty with which they detect crevices in walls or other solid obstacles, of which they take advantage and pass through in search of food. The tender rootlet first insinuates itself, and then, under the thickening and hardening process of subsequent growth, it becomes an ever-widening wedge, which forces its way through the densest soils, loosens blocks of ma- sonry, and rends even solid slabs of rock. Leaves are the lungs, or gills, of plants, where, as in the higher orders of animals, the nutritive fluid or sap is per- fected by the action of the air for the purpose of forming the different tissues and secretions. They might equally be termed aerial roots, for they extract from the air the chief portion of the carbon, or charcoal, of which the wood and the other solid parts of plants mainly consist. In respect to this important part of their nutrition, there- fore, the atmosphere forms an inexhaustible reservoir of supply in which the leaves are always plunged—a pasture- field in which they browse all the day long. As carbon is a solid substance, it is obvious that the 276 Green Things upon the Earth. leaves could not have obtained it in that form ; and in order that it might be brought to them by diffusion through the atmosphere, it was essential that it should assume the gaseous state. The Creator, therefore, combined it with oxygen, so as to convert it into carbonic acid, in which condition it readily diffuses itself through the air, and sweeps over the surface of every leaf. In a matter so im- portant Nature has left nothing uncertain, but has so ar ranged it that the mixture shall not only be most intimate, but that it shall be of uniform strength, and that no part of the atmosphere into which plants can penetrate shall be without its due proportion. This supply of gaseous food, as has been elsewhere pointed out, is lavishly pro- vided from many inexhaustible sources. When stimulated by light, therefore, plants are always at work upon the carbonic acid of the air, decomposing it into carbon, with which they build up their tissues, and into oxygen, which they set free into the atmosphere. It is ever the thrifty plan of Providence to combine the performance of the functions of one order of living things with the necessary wants of another ; and thus all parts of the animated world are linked together by the benefi- cial interchange of good offices. Not for their own advan- tage only do plants pick out the carbon from the atmos- phere ; for in setting the oxygen at liberty they purify the air and render an essential service to the whole animal world. The carbonic acid which the plants so eagerly imbibe is a poison so deadly to air-breathing animals that a very few inspirations of it, in a concentrated state, are sufficient to destroy human life; while an atmosphere con- taining even so small a proportion as ten per cent. would be fatal if used in ordinary respiration. Yet, as is else- where pointed out, the air is being continually flooded with this poison. It is given off abundantly from the lungs o' man and all other “air-breathers.” Volumes of it are poured into the air during the combustion of sub- Green Things upon the Earth. 277 stances used for light and fuel. Occasionally it streams from cracks in the earth, especially in volcanic countries, and it is continually rising from certain mineral waters. It is, therefore, most obvious that had no provision been made for removing the poison, the accumulation of car- bonic acid resulting from all those sources would have gradually contaminated the air to an extent incompatible with life. But the Great Architect has so admirably con- stituted the living world that what would be death to ani- mals is life to plants, and that what we get rid of as a poison, they necessarily seize as food, while by that very act they restore to us the atmosphere in healthy purity. Thus the alternate conversion goes on in an endless chain. Nothing is lost or created in vain ; for the waste and ref- use of one kingdom becomes the life of the other. Although oxygen is liberated by plants during the day, the process is of course invisible when it is performed in the air. It is different with aquatic plants, for as they necessarily operate on the carbonic acid gas diffused through the water, the bubbles of oxygen when liberated are seen rising to the surface. The process, indeed, forms one of the attractions of the vivarium, in which the plants are studded all over with myriads of bright air-bells. On a larger scale the same operation may be observed going on, while the sun shines, in every pond and brook in whose waters vegetation is found. In every one of these bells there is a minute contribution toward the purity of the atmosphere ; and the resulting aggregate of oxygen obtained from all the plants in the world is just sufficient to counteract the action of the various causes constantly tending to deteriorate it. Thus no plant on which the sun shines — whether it flourish on the surface of the earth or under the water— exists in idleness or passes a useless life. All work for Nature in their appointed way. Under certain circumstances, and more especially when the air is moist, leaves absorb much invisible vapor and Green. Things upon the Earth. 279 lying coast-lands require to be defended not only from the sea, but also from the sand cast ashore by the waves. This loose sand gradually accumulates, is driven hither and thither by every gale of wind, and has a tendency to encroach upon the fertile fields, and convert them into desert wastes. The threatened danger is averted by this humble plant, and the slightest consideration of its habits demonstrates that it was specially created for the purpose. While most plants instinctively seek out the richest soils, this one prefers the driest sands. The “gritty” storms so often raging around, which would overwhelm or de- stroy the tender organization of other plants, beat harm- lessly against the silicious coverings of this hardy reed. In striking its roots into the sand it binds the loose par- ticles together ; and, as its sapless-looking tufts appear above the surface, they arrest the stony current as it is driven along by the wind, and consolidate it into little mounds. In process of time these are piled up into the well-known hillocks by the growth and decay of countless generations of tufts. Such sand-hills are common in va: rious parts of Britain where the coast is low ; but they are seen oy a more extensive scale in the rugged “dunes.” which stretch in almost endless succession along the shores of Holland. Not only do they intercept the dev- astating progress of the sand, but they likewise form the stoutest bulwark against the encroachments of the sea. The common broom has long been employed in the Landes of Aquitania as a means of binding the low-lying tract; of sand, and preparing them for the growth of pine- forests. Professor Piazzi Smith informs us that there is a kind of mountain-broom which grows on the sterile, shift- ing lava sands of the Peak of Teneriffe, more than a ver- tical mile above the level of the sea. “How wonderful,” he eloquently remarks, “the adaptations of Nature to the necessities of various regions ! For here, where the cease- less motion of the sliding particles composing a hill's sides 280 Green Things upon the Earth. destroys every other living thing; where the aridity of the soil during many months is only surpassed by the aridity of the air, which is drier than that of the Sahara, Nature has produced a plant that on the mere remembrance of winter rain long since evaporated, can furnish no con- temptible supply of wood ; and with its richly stored white flowers, arranged in close rows along its smaller branches, affords illimitable honey-making materials to all the bees of the country.” There is, perhaps, no better way of estimating the value of God's gifts than by trying to realize what the world would have been without them. Conceive the variety of uses to which wood is daily applied, and for which no other substitute could be found. There is, in fact, hardly a work of construction that goes on anywhere into which wood does not almost necessarily enter. The growing employment of its rival, - or rather let us with thankful- ness say its twin-blessing, — iron, serves happily to econ- omize the world's decreasing stores of wood, but it does 'not detract from the value of this inestimable gift. The most serviceable properties of wood, hardness and strength, have been secured by the peculiar way in which it has been ordained that wood should grow. If the myr- iads of sap-vessels and cells contained in the tree had been equally dispersed through its whole thickness, the condition of the timber would necessarily have been soft and prone to rot, and the formation of that dry, hard, and central part, which from its soundness we call the heart- wood, would have been prevented. Nature, therefore, with the intent of making her work more useful to man, has collected the chief channels of the sap immediately under the bark. It is here that the layer of mucilaginous cells and vessels is found, to which the term cambium is given. Here is the chief laboratory of the tree, and here the prin- cipal formative operations are carried on. Thus, on the outer side of the cambium the cells are periodically laid Green Zhings upon the Earth. 281 in the order which qualifies them in due time to assume the functions of the bark; while, on the inner side of the layer, the cells are arranged so as to form new wood. The annual time of wood-manufacture corresponds to the season. of the year during which the circulation of the sap is active ; and it stops in winter when the flow of the sap has been reduced to the lowest degree compatible with the preservation of life. Every year's increase is a distinct and separate contribution to the thickness of the tree, and is represented ever afterward by one of those “concentric rings" with which all are familiar in cross sections of the stem. From their mode of formation, therefore, each con- centric ring indicates a period of one year, and the entire number forms one of the most reliable data from which the age of the tree may be calculated. At the same time this rule does not apply under all circumstances. In trees that are evergreen, for example, the circles are indistinct, because, as the leaves are always present, the interruption to the circulation of the sap, on which the line of separa- tion between the circles depends, does not at any season occur in so marked a manner as in trees that are decidu- ous. In some equatorial countries with peculiar climates there are, it is said, several distinct periods of growth fol- lowed by intervals of repose during every year. It has been asserted that, in certain parts of tropical America, rings in trees are sometimes to be found for every month in the year. From the way in which the wood-mass of the tree is thus built up year after year in regular “courses,” it fol- lows that the worst, or at least the softest timber, is found towards the outside of the trunk. Within this layer, and more especially as the centre is approached, the hardness of the wood increases, because no new growth is being carried on there, and because the old lignite cells, which were comparatively soft when originally deposited, have in the course of years gradually become blocked up, solidified, 282 Green Things upon the Earth. and hardened by the thickening of their walls. On this account the timber of the tree has been divided into the soft, external sap-wood, or alburnum, and the hard, internal heart-wood, or duramen. Between these two parts of the tree the color is often very conspicuous. As familiar ex- amples may be mentioned the well-known heart-wood of the ebony and the laburnum. Besides these the black- walnut is remarkable for its dark-brown centre. In the barberry the heart-wood is yellow ; in some kinds of cedar it is purplish red, and in the guaiacum-tree, or lignum vitae, it is greenish. When we reflect that, in the roots of trees, the sap-vessels are distributed through the whole substance, making the wood soft and useless ; while, in the stem, this order has been changed, and they have been collected under the bark, by which means the chief bulk of the timber remains hard and serviceable, it is impossible not to perceive that there is here the clearest evidence of that beneficent planning to satisfy our wants in which we recognize the hand of our Heavenly Father. One of the most mysterious properties of plants is that of regulating their temperature. The twigs of the tree are not frozen through in winter, neither does their tempera- ture mount up in summer in proportion to the external heat. Their vitality protects them equally from both ex- tremes. The bark, moreover, with its loose texture and included a r, is a bad conductor, and forms, as it were, a great-coat in which the plant is wrapped up. Many trees perish from cold when stripped of their bark. Winter berries differ in their power of resisting cold. White of Selborne tells us that the haws are spoilt by the first sharp frost, while ivy-berries do not seem to freeze, but “afford a noble and providential supply of food to birds in winter and spring.” The surface evaporation in summer pro- duces, no doubt, a certain amount of freshness in the leaves, and we know how cool they feel even in hot days. But evaporation does not explain this circumstance in Green Things upon the Earth. 283 regard to many kinds of fruit which are encased in an envelope of closest texture through which evaporation is difficult if not impossible. The coolness of fruit in hot climates is remarkable. Dr. Hooker relates that the juice of the milky Mudar, growing by the side of the Ganges, was found to have a temperature of 72° Fahrenheit, while the damp sand on which it flourished was scorching in a heat that reached from 90° to Io.4°. But, in order to enjoy the coolness of tropical fruit in perfection, it must be eaten soon after it has been gathered. With the ex- tinction of life its power to resist heat ceases also, and by falling under the same laws as other dead matters, it soon acquires their temperature. In our survey of the “green things upon the earth” let us ever gratefully remember the means with which they providentially supply us for com- bating most of the diseases to which flesh is heir. Herbs possessing medicinal virtues are, like mineral waters, widely distributed over the globe. The most valuable drugs may, perhaps, be considered as limited more espe- cially to tropical countries, where the stimuli of light and heat, being at their highest power, develop in perfection the various vegetable principles; but commerce has abun- dantly placed most of them within our reach. Yet even to countries situated in higher latitudes Providence has been bountiful. As for ourselves, it may be said that, were the supply of foreign drugs to fail, we could still obtain from our native plants a “materia medica” of the utmost value. Time was when every abbey and monastery in the land had its “physic garden” and its stores of simples; and when the priest, on whose skill the whole district was dependent, searched the woods and meadows in quest of the herbs with which he was to assuage suf- fering. As autumn draws on, the leaves begin to prepare for a new sphere of usefulness; for as yet they have been pass. ing through one phase only of their mission in Nature's 284 Green 7%ings upon the Earth. economy. Yet what a life of beneficent activity has been theirs since they issued from the bud in spring ! First, let us thankfully acknowledge how much they have contrib. uted by their beauty to gladden the aspect of the earth They have moderated evaporation from the soil, and shielded it from excessive heat and cold. Under the thick foliage cattle have enjoyed a welcome shelter from sun and storm, and many a timid creature has found there a safe refuge against pursuing enemies. Every single leaf has done its part in the work of perfecting the sap of the plant on which it lived. Leaves have purified the atmos- phere which was contaminated, and have prepared it anew for the respiration of the animal world. But now “the turn of the year” is upon them. Their pleasing tints of green are passing into warning shades of red and yellow. The flow of sap grows languid in their veins, and the sharp night frosts shrivel and crisp them up. The melancholy “fall” is at hand. The vitality of the shed foliage is gone, and it is about to be made subject to the action of another Power of the Lord. Upheld no longer by life, the leaves must yield themselves, like the other dead matter around, to the inexorable laws of chemistry. Wind and weather will soon break up their delicate texture, until, reduced at length to mold, they will mix with and enrich the soil, and serve in their turn as food for other plants. Not a leaf will be lost, for each will contribute something toward the general good. Thus amid the boundless profusion of Nature economy is ever the ruling law. The fragments are gathered, and nothing is wasted. Bountifulness and thrift go hand in hand. Great is the enjoyment associated with the hours spent among the “green things of the earth,” when every sense we possess was gratified in its turn. There was beauty for the eye, perfumes floated in the air, and sounds that were sweet and fascinating broke pleasingly upon the ear. The treat was one we could not prize too highly, for our Fathe. Green Things upon the Earth. 285 himself spread it out before us for our enjoyment. Nature might have been made dull, colorless, silent, and ugly, ol we might have been formed without the power to appreci ate it ; but the Creator has made it lovely, and has given us minds to see and feel its loveliness. Shall we not, then, cherish the gift 2 Can we for a moment doubt that if we neglect or despise it we are to a certain extent frustrating the purpose for which it was bestowed 2 Our Lord Himself illustrated many of his precepts by examples derived from the vegetable kingdom. The lilies, the wheat and the tares, and the grain of mustard-seed, are all associated in our minds with His teaching. Moral lessons — calls to duty — causes for thankfulness — rea- sons for praise — the desire to adore, flow gently in upon our thoughtful contemplations in field and forest. In sur- veying “the green things upon the earth” we see how un- speakably our Father has blessed and cared for us. We look and analyze, we trace, calculate, and study the All- merciful and the All-wise, and our hearts are filled to over- flowing with “wonder, love, and praise.” “Let all Thy works praise Thee, O Lord,” or, as it might be expressed, Let Thy children, inspired by the contempla. tion of Thy works, praise Thee, as the Psalmist exhorts, “with understanding.” Viewed in this light the plantal world is no longer silent, but justifies through us the invo- cation of the Benedicite. It speaks in a language almost infinitely varied, but the lofty theme it proclaims is eve the same. Like the “voices of the stars,” the green things upon the earth are truly a fair Hymn of Praise, written all over the land, not in words, but in living characters of beauty. May we not also regard them as smiling moni- tors placed everywhere around our path to whisper to us thoughts of God's greatness and love? Delight thou in the Lord; and He shall give thee thy heart's desire. - Ps. xxxvii. A'easts and Cattle. 289 fended by callous pads placed where the chief pressure is sustained. These pads, as well as another situated on the chest, serve for the camel to rest upon in reposing. An animal very analogous to the camel is seen in the llama of the Andes; but a point of difference in their structure may be here noticed, as it has an obvious relation to the field of labor designed for each. The camel travels over the flat, loose sand, and has a broad expanded foot; but the llama is intended to climb the steep mountain slopes, and is furnished with a cleft hoof, the ends of which are prolonged into a kind of hook or claw, by which its foot-hold is made more certain. - In tropical countries, where excessive heat in some measure disqualifies man for severe exertion, and where more aid in performing the heavier parts of labor is re- quired, he finds an invaluable servant in the docile ele- phant. Whole volumes have, ere now, been written to illustrate the sagacity and usefulness of this animal. His structure, too, offers many points of admirable contrivance, into which want of space prevents us from now entering. In northern countries, beyond the natural limits of horse and donkey, a substitute was needed which might carry on the work of transport, and yet live amid the snows on the roughest fare. The elk and, more especially, the reindeer fill up the gap, and place their strength and fleetness at the service of man. The range of the reindeer is very extensive. From the northern parts of Sweden and Nor- way it extends deep into the polar regions, and this animal is said to flourish in perfection among the inhospitable regions of Spitzbergen. Its very appetite and powers of digestion are molded on the productions of the home which Nature has given to it. Though the climate is un- favorable to grass and cereals, many of the forest-trees, and much even of the most barren land, are abundantly covered with lichens, of which the animal is fond. A Lap who is fortunate enough to possess plenty of ground whit- 19 29O A'easts and Cattle. ened over with lichen, surveys it with feelings akin to those with which a farmer might regard his promising fields of wheat or barley. He regulates his movements by the wants and likings of his precious reindeer. In win- ter, it lives amid the rough shelter of the woods: in sum- mer, when the mosquito drives the herd from the forests, he repairs with it to the higher grounds, where it finds food and coolness. Its acute sense of smell guides it to where the lichen grows, where it “routs like swine,” or clears away the snow with its fore-feet. In case of need Nature has armed the reindeer's head for a part of the year with a shovel and a pick conveniently placed just over their muzzle. No one can look upon those brow antlers, of which at least one is flattened out like a spade and tipped with horn almost as hard as ivory, without the conviction that they were designed for this special pur- pose. The hardy Laplander's riches centre in his reindeer. It is his beast of burden, and his carriage-horse. Seated in his sledge he traverses long journeys with great rapidity. A distance of 150 miles in 19 hours is not considered a great feat, and many most marvelous exploits are re- corded. The reindeer supplies his owner with milk and cheese for the winter, and with an ever-ready store of veni- son. Like cattle elsewhere, every thing about this animal is of use. The hide makes shoes and the warmest of winter wraps. The skin of an allied animal, the cariboo of North America, supplies a cloak so warm that it en- ables its wearer to defy with safety the rigor of an Arctic night. Consistently with the established order of things the Laplander could not have horses or cows, wheat or hay; but Providence has given him a kind of “Cattle” substitute, which in itself supplies all his requirements, and has combined with this gift the growth of a hardy licher which is better adapted for its food than the finest hay. Man needed, moreover, a confidential friend to guard Beasts and Cattle. 291 his house and property, to lighten his labors by sagacious activity in tending flocks and herds, and to help him by instinct and fleetness in the chase. Such a friend is found in the dog, the most loyal and trusty of the brute creation For man's sake the dog has forsaken its gregarious in- stincts, and the company of its fellows, in order to become his attached servant and companion. The dog is brave, intelligent, honest, unselfish, and submissive. The camel is a substitute for the horse, and the reindeer is in some degree a substitute for both ; but nowhere on earth could a fitting substitute be found for the faithful dog. Beyond the limits of the reindeer the Esquimau is carried swiftly and safely in his sledge over the frozen seas of Greenland by the aid of his team of dogs, and many a life is saved by their untiring exertion. Thus the geographical distri- bution of this “good gift” has been made almost univer- sal, and from the Equator to Kamschatka the ubiquitous dog is found doing his appointed work. Not only are the animals of polar regions wrapped up, in thickest fur, but they are generally clad in white — a color which economizes the internal heat by diminishing radiation from the surface. Many animals in Northern countries, as ptarmigan and hares, which are of a speckly or bluish color during the summer months, change more or less to white in winter, and for the same reason. Ani- mals living in polar climates are remarkable for the abun- dance of their fat, which acts as a blanket to keep them warm when living, and, when killed in the chase, affords large supplies of carbonaceous food to the natives to main- tain the needful temperature of the body in winter by being burnt in the lungs. These are points with which most persons are familiar, but they illustrate very strik- ingly how, even in minute matters, the peculiarities of animals are adjusted and designed according to the neces- sities of their position, and with reference to the special wants of mankind around them. Beasts and Cattle. 297 dence appoints with unerring wisdom the kind of work- man to be employed. With all her boundless variety Nature is the most con- sistent of artificers, and so strict is the relation subsisting between the various organs of the body, that from a single tooth or other bone can often be inferred the chief points connected with the habits and structure of the animal to which it belonged. In this manner Cuvier, by his knowl- edge of Comparative Anatomy, was able to reconstruct with approximative accuracy many fossil animals of which mere fragments only had been preserved in the strata of the rocks; and his system has been followed up with suc- cess by Professor Owen and others. Cuvier tells us that there is an extreme pleasure to be found in thus tracing the structural harmonies established between the different parts of animals, and in noting how one organ entails an- other. “None of these parts can change without the whole changing; and consequently each of them, sepa- rately considered, points out and marks all the others.” In many cases animals have been sent into the world for certain obvious purposes, and it is instructive to note the perfect way in which they are fitted for their task. It is the highly necessary mission of the Ant-eater of South America to keep within bounds the enormous profusion of that form of life by destroying myriads of ants as food. It is, in the first place, armed with strong claws to tear up the houses or earth-galleries in which the ants live. Hav- ing disinterred its active prey, how are the ants to be seized An ordinary mouth would be of little use, but Nature has provided the animal with a prodigiously long tongue, which it smears over with a viscid, adhesive mucus, derived from enormously developed glands sur- rounding the throat, and it then thrusts in this fatal trap among the little insects. The ants adhere in thousands, and are thus conveyed into the mouth with marvelous rapidity. The next point is that the ants should be 298 Beasts and Cattle. crushed; for the hard, parchment-like coveling in which they are encased offers great resistance to the gastric juice. The mouth is ill adapted for the purpose; for it is, in fact, little else than a tubular case for the long tongue. In the next place, it is destitute of teeth ; and, indeed, teeth would have formed far too powerful a mill for such tender food, while many of the active little creat- ures would certainly have escaped from the mouth during mastication. The crushing, therefore, goes on in the stomach; and, as Owen has expressed it, the Ant-eater has borrowed the gizzard of a fowl for the purpose. In this muscular stomach or gizzard, therefore, myriads of ants are reduced to a pulp, out of which their arch-enemy extracts abundant nourishment. How clear the evidence of the special design with which claws, tongue, glands, mouth, and stomach are mutually and in a very peculiar manner adapted to each other | A whole series of structural adaptations is displayed in the Aye-aye, a quadrumanous, or four-handed, animal found in Australia. It is nocturnal in its habits, therefore the pupil of the eye is large to admit as much light to the retina as possible. The organ of hearing is also greatly developed, for the purpose of enabling it to detect the scraping operations of its favorite food, which is a kind of grub that bores and burrows in trees. Having found the spot under which the grub is at work, it chisels down upon it by means of strong jaws and teeth specially con- structed for the purpose. But no sooner does the grub find its dwelling broken into than it retreats to the other end of its burrow ; and all the labor of the Aye-aye would probably have been in vain, had not Nature antici- pated this difficulty by bestowing on it a pecuiliar and most odd-looking contrivance in the shape of an enor- mously prolonged slender middle finger having a hook at the end, with which it probes into the recesses of the bur. row and extracts the impaled grub. FO IV./LS OF 7'HE AIR. O ye Fowls of the Air, bless ye the Lord; praise Him, and mag - miſy Him for ever. ſº T may be truly affirmed that Birds are not sur- º passed by any class of animals in the illustrations Sº they afford of the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of the Creator. Their shape and plumage attract our admiration. Their voices fill our woods in spring with sounds of cheerfulness and life. The grace, boldness, and endurance of their flight excite astonishment; the unerring certainty with which, at the period of migration, many of them traverse seas and continents exceeds our comprehen- ision; while the industry, faithfulness, and devotion dis- played by them in the construction of their nests and the rearing of their young claim for them our sympathy and protection. The song of birds has evidently the closest relation to the period of breeding, and common sense plainly tells us that it must be one of the chief attractions between the mated pair. The mistress of the future nest listens com- placently to the notes poured forth in her honor, which, in a language she well understands, both encourage her in her preparations, and add to the pleasure with which she sets about them. At other seasons of the year, unless incubation be going on, there is comparatively little sing- ing. It has answered its purpose, and the presence of the loved young ones in the nest is Nature's guaranty that the parents will tenderly bring their offspring up, and send them forth into the world when they are ready to cope with its difficulties. Fowls of the Air. 3OI The importance of the organ of voice to birds may be inferred from the details of its structure. The windpipe is comparatively wider and stronger than in any other class of animals. In man and other mammalia there is a single organ, or larynx, but in birds it is double ; or it may be considered as divided into two parts, one being placed at the top, the other at the bottom of the windpipe, or trachea. The sound is produced in the lower larynx by a mechanism which is generally compared to the reed in a clarionet, and it is subsequently modified in passing through the upper aperture into the bill. There are, more- over, dilatations frequently found at the lower larynx, the air in which adds to the sound by its vibrations. We shall have occasion to point out that there are also air-sacs abundantly dispersed over the body with which the organ of voice is in communication, — a circumstance which serves to explain how so small a creature as a bird can pour forth its loud stream of song uninterruptedly for so long a period. From these reservoirs it can supply itself with wind for its instrument of voice, in the same way as the Scotch “pipes” are supplied with air from the “bag,” or the organ from the bellows. The sound thus produced is often remarkable for intensity. The nightingale, accord- ing to Nuttall, can be heard farther than a man, while the cries of storks and geese are said to be four times more powerful than the human voice. Flocks of these birds may be heard during their migratory flight from an altitude of three miles, and when they themselves are scarcely visible. Let us not pass on without a tribute to the skylark, which sings to us nearly all the year round. When other birds leave us, he never forsakes his home ; when others become mute, his cheery voice may still be heard. Scarcely are the noise and dust of the busy city left behind before he salutes us with his song; as we walk onward the gladsome carol is caught up by others of the band ; and 3O2 Fowls of the Air. as our stroll ends it still lingers in our ears. Of all the feathered songsters he is the most constant companion of our rambles, and ever seems as ready to sing as we are to listen. Poised as a dark speck in the clear air, or rising on quivering wings above his nest, his song gushes out as if from an abounding fountain. Upward — upward— higher and higher until at length the songster himself sometimes vanishes from sight, and the notes, softened and faintly heard, seem to come out of the depths of the firmament. There is no bird we could not sooner spare, or whose absence we should feel so much. The singing of birds may be considered from another point of view. It is something more than a language be- tween themselves, for it is likewise a contribution toward the pure enjoyments of life. To thousands it brings a pleasure which, though small perhaps in itself, must be added to the list of the little enjoyments scattered abun- dantly around, which in reality make up so much of the happiness of daily life. These concerts of Nature's choris- ters form one of the attractions of the country; but even to the inhabitants of cities birds bring much pleasure, if we may judge by the number of feathered songsters ten- derly preserved by them. In reflecting upon such things, do we not find that their value consists less in the direct pleasure they bring than in the proof they afford that even in little things “He careth for us”? The natural history of birds is a captivating study, and has given rise to some of the most delightful volumes in our language. The limits of the present work, however, forbid us to do more than briefly point out a few of those structural contrivances, and peculiarities of nature and habits, which exhibit to us in the most striking manner the power of the Great Artificer. It will be generally admitted that no animals possess a covering which in beauty is comparable to the plumage of birds; and yet, as always happens where Nature is the Fowls of the Air. 3O3 artist, this beauty has not been purchased at the cost of any useful quality. On the contrary, what lighter clothing could have been devised for creatures whose aerial flights render lightness indispensable 2 The entire plumage of an owi weighs only an ounce and a half! Or what cloth- ing could be warmer than the feathered quilt in which they are wrapped 2 And how essential a warm covering is to shield them from the heat-robbing currents of air and water to which they are exposed No air is too keen for those cold-defying feathers, nor can the chill even of polar seas, where so many pass their lives, strike through this non-conducting blanket. To make the clothing perfect it was only necessary that it should be waterproof. The other qualities of the plumage would be useless if the water could penetrate among the feathers, and convert them from a dry, impermeable armor into a sodden mass clinging to the skin. Unable to resist the cold, the bird would then have perished. But the plumage has been perfected by giving to birds, and especially to water-fowl, the power to secrete an oily matter, which being smeared over the feathers renders them impervious to moisture. All must have observed that when a bird is dead, and can no longer diffuse this oil over its feathers, the water soaks in and Soon spoils the plumage. The feathers are so arranged over the body of the bird that in flying or swimming the pressure of the air or water keeps them closely applied to the skin, so as to offer the least resistance to motion. Thus may we with admiration perceive how perfect in all points is the feathery covering of birds in relation to the purposes it is required to serve. The wings of birds exhibit some beautiful proofs of cre- ative design. In rapid flight the wings beat so forcibly against the air, that it is obvious that, unless the feathers were strongly bound together, the weaker parts would give way, and allow the air to pass through, by which the power of flight would be impaired. But this danger has been 3O4 Fowls of the Air. obviated by furnishing the barbs of the vane, or more pliant part of the feather, with what are called “barbules,” forming on either side minute hooks, curved in contrary directions, which by intercrossing and locking with each other knit the feather into a strong compact paddle, so firm in most birds that it may be driven without yielding against the air, with a force that often produces a whistling sound. It is a further proof of design that certain birds, such as owls, which are in the habit of stealing slyly upon their victims, do not possess this structure, as it would be attended with the great inconvenience of giving their prey notice of their approach. The wings of owls are conse- quently loose and soft, but by allowing much of the air to pass through they are not adapted for rapid flight. Hence the slow, noiseless, almost mysterious gliding of these birds. Another interesting example of design in relation to feathers is afforded by the woodpecker. When this bird is at work, excavating its house in the substance of some soft tree, or hunting for food in the crevices of the loose bark, it supports itself upon the perpendicular stem by planting its claws firmly into it, and then using its tail as a sort of third leg to lean upon behind. It thus stands firmly supported as it were upon a tripod. But as feathers of the ordinary kind would have been too weak for this “propping ” service, the tail of the woodpecker is made of unusual strength and thickness. The prominence of the keel of the breast-bone, with which all are familiar in poultry, gauges the size of the muscles which move the wings, and indicates the flying power of the bird itself. In those whose flight is rapid this projection is large, while in others not intended to fly the keel is shallow or wanting, and the pectoral muscles small in proportion. The speed of birds offers great variety. When the flight does not exceed 30 miles an hour, they are considered slow flyers. The speed of the Fowls of the Air. 3O5 swallow is computed at 90 miles, the hawk 150 miles, while that of the swift is said to attain the astounding velocity of 180 miles an hour. The endurance displayed by birds upon the wing is wonderful, and many instances are recorded which almost exceed belief. In the time of Henry IV. of France there was a falcon which became famous in Europe by flying from Fontainebleau to Malta, 1350 miles, in 24 hours. But, without going so far back, we may on a summer's afternoon watch a flock of swallows for an hour without detecting the briefest interval of rest. Their skimming, busy, rapid wings never seem to tire. What strength of flight, too, must be required in those annual migrations which bring our winter water-fowl across the North Sea from frozen Scandinavia, and our summer visitors, the nightingales and swallows, from Southern Europe or Africa. Longer feats of flight are performed by some others, such as the Frigate or Man-of-war bird, which is sometimes found hunting for food in the Atlantic more than a thousand miles from shore. Yet it never seems to tire, or to seek rest either on the surface of the sea or in the rigging of the ship. It is said indeed never to visit the shore from choice, but only when the return of the breeding season renders a short sojourn on land indis- pensable. Feathers are of considerable value in arts and manufac- tures. Since the seventh century nearly the whole litera- ture of Europe has been written by means of quills, though in these latter days all-pervading iron threatens to drive them out of the field. When feathers are alluded to in connection with dress, they are usually suggestive of the vanities of life, but they have other uses of greater impor- tance. Among savages, and especially among the Esqui- maux, warm coverings are made of the skins of wildfowl, the feathers being turned inward. The great point in warm clothing is that the texture shall be loose enough to 20 306 Fowls of the Air. contain sufficient air to make it a bad conductor, and yet not so loose as to permit currents of cold air to circulate through it. Now it is found that the feathered skin of the Eider-duck fulfills these requirements in a very perfect manner, while it possesses in addition the valuable quality of lightness; hence it is regarded as the most complete model of warm clothing in existence. Birds supply the civilized world with the luxury of soft beds and warm coverlets ; and, indeed, there are few houses above the line of poverty which are not indebted to birds for some of their comforts and attractions. Goose feathers are the most esteemed for beds on account of their combined softness and elasticity; while Eider-down is best adapted for coverlets, because, although it is supe- rior in softness, it is less elastic and does not bear heavy pressure so well. It is painful to think how cruelly the geese are treated from which we obtain our supplies. Unfortunately the best feathers are considered to be those which are taken from the living bird, and for this reason the poor creature has in many districts to undergo the tor- ture of partial plucking several times a year. The Eider duck parts with its plumage on terms which, if less cruel, must still involve much suffering. It abounds on the coast of Norway, and in various parts of the Baltic, where the feather trade employs a number of men and produces a considerable revenue. In preparing her nest for the ex- pected brood, the mother plucks the soft down from her breast, and lines her habitation with it. Soon afterward the hardy “fowler” appears upon the scene, suspended by his rope, and scrambling along the face of the cliff. The eggs are taken for food, and the feathers for commerce; and then the poor bird, after doubtlessly passing through her season of grief, sets to work to repair the mischief by plucking off another supply of down, and laying another set of eggs. Once more the spoiler visits the nest, and carries off as before the eggs and the down. But the in- Fowls of the Air. 3O7 stinctive courage and perseverance with which Nature has inspired the bird are equal to the trial. For the third time she fits up her habitation as before and again she lays her eggs. But now the sagacious fowler leaves her in peace. He knows that, in making this final effort to refit the nest, the Eider-duck and her mate have torn the last shreds of down from their breasts, and that were he again to rob the nest, the brood by which he hopes at some future day to profit could not be reared. - The weight of dead birds is familiarly known to every body. There is, in fact, no very striking difference in this respect between them and the other animals that live upon the ground, and it is obvious that mere wing-flapping alone would be insufficient to sustain them in the air, were they not aided by other means. As bones are the heaviest of the structures which enter into the composition of birds, it might naturally be expected they would offer the chief impediment to flight; and such would undoubtedly have been the case, had not Nature, by a slight deviation from the general rule, converted what would have been a draw- back into a source of assistance. Animals whose move- ments are on the rough surface of the ground, require to have bones of great strength and density to enable them to withstand the shocks and strains to which they are liable; but birds, whose chief movements are in the air, do not : require bones of such solidity. Nature, therefore, by forming them into hollow cylinders, has given them the shape which mechanically combines the greatest strength with the greatest lightness; and after every particle of superfluous bony matter has been thus removed, the in- terior of the bone is generally filled with air instead of marrow, by which the weight is still further reduced. Not only does air pass freely into the bones of birds, often down to the ends of the small bones composing the toes, the tips of the wings, and even into the quills of the feathers, but, by means of a peculiar system of air-cells ol 308 Fowls of the Air. receptacles, it is diffused all over the body, with an abun- dance which corresponds to the flight-power of the bird. These air-cells are in free communication with the air-pas- sages of the lungs, and many of them can be inflated or emptied at will. They are of large size in the thorax and abdomen; occasionally they reach high up in the neck, forming as it were a balloon in front of the body, and they are generally very widely distributed under the skin. In birds distinguished for their power of flight, such as the Solan-goose, Albatross, and Pelican, the air not only fills the bones but surrounds the viscera, insinuates itself be- tween the muscles, and buoys up the entire skin. The whole body is inflated like a balloon. The circumstance, however, which chiefly promotes buoyancy, and gives to this remarkable arrangement its lifting power, is the comparatively high temperature of the included air. Birds are warmer blooded than mamma- lians; thus while the internal temperature of man sel- dom exceeds 98° Fah., that of birds varies from Ioé° to I 12° Fah. This higher temperature is an indispensable requirement of their great muscular energy; and it, no doubt, also helps to counteract that tendency to cold which necessarily arises from their rapid movements both in air and water. But the purpose served by this high tempera. ture to which we now draw attention is that it acts as a furnace to heat the air within the bones and cells. In cir- culating round the walls of the cavities containing air, the blood imparts to the latter a portion of its own warmth, just as a service of hot water pipes heats the air in a room round which it is carried. The heated air, of course, renders the whole bird buoyant, on the principle of a fire balloon or caoutchouc ball, both of which readily rise into the air on being warmed. When the weight of the bird has thus been brought more or less into equilibrium with the surrounding air, the action of the wings easily lifts it from the ground. How completely this equilibrium is Fowls of the Air. 3O9 - sometimes attained, even in the case of very large and heavy birds, may be inferred from the fact that the gigan- tic Condor of the Andes is occasionally seen wheeling in circles for hours together without the aid of a single flap from its wings. The perfection of buoyancy is even more wonderfully displayed by the Frigate bird of the Atlantic, which is said not only to rest its wings, but even to slum- ber as it floats in the air like a balloon. The comparison just made may be carried a step further. If an opening be made in the balloon or the caoutchouc ball, through which the warm air can escape, they will collapse and fall to the ground. And in like manner, if the bone of a bird be fractured, or an opening be made into it at a place that is favorable for the escape of the air, the buoyancy of the bird is destroyed and it tumbles to the earth. So easy is the communication be- tween the air-cavities of the bones and the lungs, that when the windpipe of a bird is closed, respiration can still be carried on for a short period through a broken bone, which serves as an artificial windpipe to convey the air to the lungs. - Many birds, instead of seeking for their food on shore, skim over the surface of the sea, and dive after their prey, or even pursue it under the water. It might reasonably be expected that the inflation of the body with air, which has just been described, would unfit them for diving and swimming under water, exactly in proportion as it pro- moted their power of sustaining themselves in the atmos- phere. It is a singular fact, however, that the birds most remarkable for flight are sometimes no less distinguished for the ease with which they dive and glide about under water | The Solan-goose, for example, whose usual haunts in this country are the lofty heights of the Bass Rock and Ailsa Craig, is a most expert diver, as is proved by its being sometimes accidentally caught in fishing nets that have been sunk from Io to 30 fathoms under water. Fowls of the Air. 31 J view. Some bills, as in the Flamingo, are veritable scoops to ladle up the food into the mouth. Not the least ad- mirable adaptation is to be found in the common duck, whose bill is soft, expanded, and sensitive, while the mar- gins are supplied with horny transverse plates which act as a strainer to separate the particles of food from the turbid water in which it searches for them. The woodpecker's bill is a finely pointed chisel of great strength, tipped with horn almost as hard as ivory, to enable it to splinter the decayed bark of trees while hunting for insects, or to ex- cavate the substance of the wood itself in nest-building. Not unfrequently the beak serves as an organ of locomo- tion. A parrot, for example, uses it in climbing as dexter- ously as in cracking a nut and separating the kernel. The anterior extremities being appropriated for wings, the bill serves as a kind of hand with which birds lift, carry, and build. What human fingers could unhusk the seed with the nimble dexterity of some of our caged birds? There is, it is true, no arm to wield this hand, but Nature has made the neck of birds long and flexible, on purpose that it might act as an arm to apply this “bill-hand” wherever it is wanted. As birds usually swallow their food the instant it is taken into the mouth, any particular development of the sense of taste would be superfluous. With few exceptions the tongue is stiff, cartilaginous, or even horny. In hum- ming-birds and woodpeckers it is usually thought to be of great length, but this appearance is in reality due to a peculiar structure connected with the hyoid bone, to which the tongue may be regarded as attached somewhat as a spear-head is fixed to the end of the shaft. By this means the tongue may be darted out far beyond the limits of the mouth. In the humming-bird the tongue consists of a pair of narrow muscular tubes, resembling the double- barrel of a gun, and it divides at the tip into two spoon- like blades, or fringes, with which the bird adroitly seizes Aowls of the Air. 3.13 true stomach, where they are exposed to the solvent action of the gastric juice. And, lastly, after having been thus soaked and softened, they slip on into the gizzard, where they are ground into a pulp. As this process is contin- ued, the food passes onward, and the nutritious portion is soon absorbed. The gizzard is truly an instrument of astonishing power when its small size is considered. The force applying the triturating pressure consists of strong opposing muscles, and the cavity lying between them is lined by a tendinous expansion almost as hard as horn, on which the grain is ground as in a mill. There is a kind of petrel found far to the north, in which the cavity is inlaid with a hard tu. berculous pavement, forming no inapt representation of the rough surface of a millstone. The gizzard of some mollusk-feeding birds, as ducks, is strong enough to crunch up shells with ease. In experiments on turkeys and com- mon fowls, in which they were forced to swallow sharp, angular fragments of glass, metallic tubes, and balls armed with needles, and even lancets, all these sub- stances were found to be broken or compressed by the powerful action of the gizzard, without having produced any wounds, or apparently even any pain. The chief bulk of the gizzard being made up of the muscular walls, the cavity is necessarily small, and only a little can be taken in at one time ; hence the presence of a gizzard requires the aid of the other receptacles just described, to act as “hoppers,” and by their special vital tact furnish a gradual supply. Graminivorous birds habitually swallow sand or pebbles to facilitate the grinding operation of the gizzard; and if the ear be applied to the side of a fowl while the gizzard-mill is at work, the sound of the “stones” rub- bing against each other is often to be heard. In a certain sense the gravel may be said to act as teeth to pierce and lacerate the food in the stomach, and it has been remarked that fowls grow thin when it is rigidly excluded from their 3I4 Fowls of the Air. diet. They are, as it were, suffering from the loss of their teeth. Although true crops are seldom found except in grami- nivorous birds, it is often desirable that there should be a receptacle in which food may be temporarily stored, either because the supply is precarious, or in order to facilitate its transport to the nest. In the pelican, the skin under the lower jaw forms a capacious expansile bag, in which fishes and other food may be carried to the young ones. Our favorite, the Swift, has also a jaw-pouch in which it deposits its insect prey until it is convenient to hand it over to the eager mouths in the nest. It is a curious cir- cumstance that this pouch is found only in the breeding season, and then only in birds old enough to have a home and a family to provide for. So minutely are details at- tended to by Nature. But when we think how busily these birds feed their young throughout the day, we may form some idea of the time and trouble saved by means of this game-bag. In other cases the gullet is expanded into a receptacle, as in the vulture, which is thus enabled to lay in a stock of carrion, both for itself and its young, as opportunity offers. A similar arrangement exists in certain waders and swimmers. Bishop Stanley says that “in watching cormorants at a distance through a tele- scope, they may be sometimes seen quietly reposing with their mouths half-open and the tail of a fish hanging out, the remainder gorged in their capacious gullet; and sea- gulls will swallow bones of three or four inches in length, the lower end only reaching their stomach, while the rest continues in the gullet, and slips down gradually in propor- tion as the lower ends are consumed.” There are some wildfowl whose whole substance is, as it were, infiltrated with oil. It makes them buoyant on the water, and, like a blanket wrapped round the various organs, serves to retain the animal heat. It is also a store of fuel, to be drawn upon in times of scarcity for combus. Fowls of the Air. 315 tion in the lungs. The oil, moreover, sometimes forms a welcome addition to the “lighting” resources of commu- nities placed far out of the way of gas and candles. Thus the hardy inhabitants of St. Kilda, a solitary island in the Atlantic, lying about fifty miles west of the Hebrides, ale in the habit of levying on the Fulmar petrels frequenting the rocks an oil-tax, which is collected by making them dis- gorge a quantity of “pure oil " by means of the skillful ap- plication of pressure. The number of the different kinds of birds known to ex- ist is four times greater than that of quadrupeds ; but it is the multitude of individuals that most astonishes us. They immeasurably exceed both mammalia and reptiles, and we must descend to fishes before we find tribes comparable to them in this respect. Strolling on the sea-shore of the Isle of Wight on an October afternoon, we have seen swallows flocking away to their winter homes in numbers that seemed countless, and in a broad stream which required ten min- utes to pass by. Illustrations of the astounding multitudes of birds are to be found in every book on Ornithology, but we will here only refer to one given by Audubon. Among the Rocky Mountains flocks of migrating pigeons are often seen moving in a stream more than a mile broad, and although their speed probably exceeds a mile in a minute, three hours are sometimes spent before the long proces- sion has ended. At the moderate estimate of two pigeons to each square yard, Audubon calculates the number in tºne such flock to be one billion one hundred and fifteen unillions. Such dense clouding of the air with birds leads the inind back to a scene that occurred in the wilderness, near Mount Sinai, more than three thousand three hundred years ago. We read in the sixteenth chapter of Exodus that the Israelites, dispirited and mistrustful, bitterly up- braided Moses for having led them so far away from Egyptian plenty to perish miserably in the desert: “Ye 318 Fowls of the Air. their power. There is no reason to doubt that all birds have been created by Providence to perform some useful part in the economy of Nature; and that, while it is often expedient to keep their numbers in check, extirpation al- most invariably turns out to be an act of folly. It is not without interest to remark that in the Jewish Law promulgated by Moses nearly 1500 years before the Christian era, a law with which the Three Children were doubtless familiar, the case of the poor bird had been carefully considered, and some degree of protection legally afforded to it. In the twenty-second chapter of Deuteron- omy it is enjoined: “If a bird's-nest chance to be before thee in the way in any tree, or on the ground, whether they be young ones or eggs, and the dam sitting upon the young or upon the eggs, thou shalt not take the dam with the young; but thou shalt in any wise let the dam go.” The restriction doubtless referred to the allowable appro- priation of the contents of the nest for the sake of food; but it evinces the same spirit of kindness to the lower an- imals generally by which the enactments of Moses were distinguished. It would be easy to fill a volume with stories about the affectionate ways of birds, but it is impossible adequately to portray them in a few paragraphs. The genuine, un- selfish, almost self-immolating tenderness they display toward their young is proverbial, while the contemplation of it always affords to hearts open to such influences a large amount of pleasure. The very names of some birds are a testimony to their gentle nature; thus the word “Stork” both in Hebrew, Greek, and English expresses affection and kindness. It has been said that the young retain their love for their parents long after the usual nest-ties have been dissolved, and even cherish and feed them when they have become helpless through old age. What truth there may be in this popular tradition need not here be discussed, but every Fowls of the Air. 319 body must at least wish that so pleasing a trait of bird. nature should be true. It can excite no surprise that creat- ures about which such things are said should be favorites all over the East, and indeed in every country where they are found. Among Mohammedans more especially the stork is a welcome visitor, and is privileged to build its nest in whatever spot it may choose to select. Its habita- tion is held sacred, nor does it fail to show by its tameness that it understands the friendly footing on which it has been placed. It, moreover, repays the consideration it re- ceives by waging incessant war against snakes and various other kinds of vermin; and by thus checking their undue increase, it fulfills its part in the appointed business of the world. In Holland the stork is held in such reverence that it is protected by law. All travelers in that part of the world must have observed its grave, statue-like figure perched on roof or gable. There was a certain stork whose fame has spread far beyond its native Holland, as an example of devotedness to its offspring. It had taken up its quarters in Delft, and had the misfortune to build its nest on a house which was subsequently burnt down during a fearful conflagration. As the fire raged round the nest, the poor stork was seen anxiously yet vainly endeav- oring with her wings to protect her young. Nearer and nearer swept the flames, the thatch crackled and blazed, but the faithful mother would not desert her post, and per- ished with her young ones. The Pelican, so associated in our minds with Holy Writ and Eastern story, abounds in Palestine and in the wilder- ness spreading beyond the Tigris and Euphrates. This is another bird whose affection for its young has become classical. It is a most dexterous fisher, catching up with sure aim its finny prey, which it deposits for a time in the mouth-bag, formed by the dilatable skin under the lower mandible, until it can be conveniently conveyed to the nest. 32O Fowls of the Air. Tradition long would have it that the affection of the peli can for its young induced it in periods of scarcity to lac. erate its breast in order to feed them with the blood. Later observations, however, have shown this to be an error, arising from the habit which the bird has of pressing the mouth-pouch against its breast for the purpose of emptying its occasionally red-tinged contents into the nest. The pouch itself is an example of the considerate contrivance of Nature, by which she facilitates the trans port of food-supplies to the young brood. The examples we have cited are, so to speak, classical and historical, and they are so beautiful and characteristic that they never fail to be read with interest. But the ex- perience of almost every body can recall instances which illustrate the affectionate ways of birds toward their young with equal truth, and, perhaps, with even greater force, since they have happened within his own knowledge. Who does not recognize the expressive cries of birds when their fears are excited by danger threatening their young? How fiercely the shy blackbird menaces and almost as: sails the prowling cat which an evil chance has brought too near her dwelling ! With what cunning sagacity the lapwing, the wood-pigeon, the partridge, and a host of others, imitate the struggles of a wounded bird, in order to decoy the sportsman from the nest where the young ones lie hidden. And the fidelity with which in the midst of their terror most birds cleave to their young in the nest, up to the very moment when the hand is about to seize them, is a spectacle of devotedness which none can have witnessed without interest. The tenderness of birds is not limited to their young, but is often lavished upon their mates also. Let us not forget that faithfulness in union is nowhere more conspic- uous than in those birds that are notorious for fierceness and rapacity, as eagles and hawks. Ravens and crows generally pair for life. The dove, known in Scripture as Fowls of the Air. 32 I the emblem of innocence and of the calm happiness it im. parts, is also distinguished in this respect. The pigeon devotes her life to one companion, and the union is only dissolved by death. When bereaved she mourns her loss, and long refuses to accept another mate. “The black pigeon of the East, when her mate dies, obstinately rejects all others, and continues in a widowed state for life.” Among thousands of examples few are, perhaps, more touching than one given in a note to White's “Selborne.” “Lord Kaimes relates a circumstance of the canary which fell dead in singing to his mate while in the act of incuba- tion. The female quitted her nest, and finding him dead, rejected all food and died by his side.” The affection of birds is frequently extended to their old haunts, and they cling with constancy to the place where they were born. Nightingales, swallows, and many others find their way back to the spot where their early days were spent, and often to the very nest-homes with which their joys are associated. Every body knows with what fidelity rooks cleave to their native trees, and how doggedly they resist every effort to dislodge them. With all the trees of the country open to their choice, rooks sometimes strangely prefer a nest in a solitary tree in some great city, because it is the home where they were born. For eight months of the year not a bird, perhaps, except the universal sparrow, is to be seen there ; but with commencing spring the constant rooks, winging their way over streets and houses, once more appear, and set about patching up the old nest. It is remarked in White's “Selborne,” a rich quarry in all that relates to the habits of birds, that “even great disparity of size and kind does not always prevent social advances and mutual fellowship. For a very intelligent and observant person has assured me, that, in the former part of his life, keeping but one horse, he happened also on a time to have but one solitary hen. These two incon- 21 324 Fowls of the Air. is strongest, namely, in maternal affection. It certainly is proved, on evidence which cannot be disputed, that the cuckoo, instead of taking the trouble of building a nest for herself, stealthily drops her egg in the nests of other birds, and then leaves it to its fate. Such a habit seems a libel on Nature herself; but, instead of at once accepting the inference that seems to follow from it, we shall act wisely if we suspend our judgment for a moment, in the convic- tion that Nature would not thus strangely depart from her usual kind ways without some good and sufficient reason. Let us first consider what the facts against the accused really are, and then let us see what may be said for the defense. It appears that this strange deception is practiced upon a variety of unsuspecting little birds. Yarrell gives a list of fourteen, among which are to be found the robin and blackbird, the skylark and the hedge-sparrow. The cuckoo chooses her time with great adroitness, generally after one or two eggs have been laid in the nest; and as the plot is favored by an unaccountable obtuseness on the part of the intended foster-mother, it never fails of success. The con- duct of the young cuckoo by and by only makes the matter worse. Although the title of the other occupants of the nest is so much better than its own, scarcely have a few hours elapsed after its birth before it begins to take forci- ble measures to secure the whole nest to itself, and mu- nopolize all the little bird's feeding attentions. Dexterously insinuating its head and shoulders under any unhatched eggs that may still remain, or under the bodies of its foster-nestlings, it raises them up on its back, and ruth- lessly pitches them overboard. Let us now see what can be said in excuse for this apparently bad case. How a hedge-sparrow or any other bird can be so stupid as not to perceive the gross fraud thus practiced on its maternal tenderness, is difficut to explain upon any other principle than that, throughout the whole affair, Nature herself has Fowls of the Air. 325 been in league with the deceiver. First, it may be re. marked that the cuckoo's egg is singularly small in pro- portion to the size of the bird. It is no bigger than that of the skylark, although the cuckoo is four times as large. In regard to size, therefore, the egg may pass muster in a small bird's nest. Secondly, it is observed that the newly born cuckoo has a peculiarity in its back, which is pro- portionally broader than in other birds, and has a depres- sion in the middle, formed as if expressly to facilitate the process of ejectment. This view is further confirmed by the fact that this selfish propensity of the young cuckoo gradually subsides and disappears completely about the twelfth day, when the peculiarity in the back is no longer to be seen. Besides the circumstances mentioned, the old cuckoo remains too short a time in this country to admit of its rearing its offspring to maturity. The eggs are laid at intervals from about the middle of May to the middle of July, and at the end of that month the old birds take their departure. It was therefore necessary that the young should be left in charge of other birds, which might take care of them and feed them when the parents left. By September or October the young cuckoos have attained strength sufficient to enable them to set out toward their winter-quarters. From the evidence now adduced we infer that a verdict must be given in favor of the cuckoo, as it clearly appears that when the bird drops her egg into a nest which is not her own, she is neither cruel nor destitute of maternal affection, but is only obeying an instinct of her nature, which is, perhaps, absolutely necessary for the safety of the future brood and the preservation of the species. Nowhere is the vulture regarded with friendly eyes, and nothing that can be said in his favor will ever make him a lovable bird. But, though his appearance be fierce and sinister and his occupation repulsive, it must not be for. 326 Fowls of the Air. gotten that his work is of very great utility in the countries where he is found, and that he is admirably adapted for its performance. - In our survey of Nature we are frequently reminded how necessary the removal of dead matter is to the salubrity of the air by the care which the Creator has taken to pro. vide for it. In another part of this book it has been seen how innumerable infusorial animalcules are day and night at work in cleansing away minute animal rubbish. Insects and larvae labor for the same purpose ; and, in continuing to ascend the scale, we find that many of “the fowls of the air” have been appointed to discover where bulky animal matters are left to decay, and to arrest decomposition by converting them at once into food. In this useful band of Nature's scavengers vultures occupy a foremost place. No charge of cruelty lies against vultures. They rarely attack any thing with life, and confine themselves closely to their own special work. They follow the movements of the camp and the caravan, and attend upon travelers and hunting parties. If a man take a siesta in the desert, observes a writer, he may find on opening his eyes that some of those birds are hovering around, evidently spec- ulating on his death-like immobility, and the chances it seems to hold out of a speedy banquet. The great Condor of the Andes is likewise a scavenger in his habits. The height to which he soars and the acuteness of his vision doubtless assist him much in his search for food. Vultures and other scavenger-birds are found to be most numerous in warm climates, where the speedy removal of dead animal matter is more especially necessary on account of the rapidity of its decomposition. In our own country, also, the hooded and the carrion crow, as well as some other birds, perform a little work of the same kind. Num- bers of these birds were seen to follow in the wake of the Danish army in its retreat from the Dannewerke during the late war. Fowls of the Air. - 329 to pale many a cheek. Surely it is time for the wide- spreading knowledge of the day to dissipate such puerile fancies, more especially as they are often suggestive of cruel acts against these harmless creatures. Ravens were chosen on one remarkable occasion to show forth God's power and mercy, by conveying to Elijah the food on which he lived when he was a fugitive: “And the word of the Lord came unto him, saying, Get thee hence, and turn thee eastward, and hide thyself by the brook Cherith, that is before Jordan. And it shall be, that thou shalt drink of the brook ; and I have com- manded the ravens to feed thee there.” “And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening.” — I Kings xvii. Ravens are also interesting to us from their having been selected by Christ to inculcate upon all men the lesson of trustfulness in God : “Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap, neither have storehouse nor barn ; and God feedeth them. How much better are ye than the fowls.” In the periodical migrations of birds we have a source of never-failing wonder. As certainly as winter approaches and the first icy blasts begin to blow over the land, our feathered visitors from the north swarm in upon us ; while with returning spring they wing their way back again to their summer haunts. In this migratory circle many of our winter wildfowl annually revolve. In the land to which they repair they mate and build their nests and rear their young, until the passing season once more warns them that it is time to depart for the south. There is a corre- sponding southern migratory circle, in which the seasonal movements are just reversed — our visitors coming in the spring and leaving in autumn — but which is even more interesting to us than the former, since it brings the nightingale, the swallow, the cuckoo, and the other favorite birds with which we more especially associate the bright days of summer. Migration, indeed, strictly considered, 33O Fowls of the Air. goes on to an extent hardly suspected, as it is calculated that five sixths of all the feathered tribes shift their quar- ters more or less according to the change of season. Practically, however, the term is restricted to the few birds which take long flights. - The regularity with which migration occurs has been known from remote times, and is frequently alluded to in Holy Writ: “The stork in the heavens knoweth her ap- pointed times; and the turtle and the crane and the swal- low observe the time of their coming.” So fixed is the advent of some of these travelers that, in certain Eastern countries at the present day, almanacs are timed and bargains struck upon the data it supplies. Nor is the period of return less remarkably punctual in some of our British birds. About the middle of April the nightingale makes its appearance in many localities, and there is sel- dom a difference of more than a day or two in the date of its annual return to the same place. Keen is the contest then between friendly neighbors as to who shall first enjoy the pleasure of hearing the expected note. Most fre- quently, perhaps, the nightingale is first heard in the morning, because his journey ended only during the pre- vious night; but little time is lost before he salutes with his song the garden or the copse of his early days. At first his notes are low and interrupted, and he seems as if reserving himself for the arrival of his mate. Like a prudent pioneer he comes first by himself, as if to see that the old ground is clear, and that all things are propitious for taking up house. In a few days thereafter he will be joined by his mate, and then the work of the breeding season will begin. There is something extremely pleasing in the idea of birds seeking out not only their native clime or country, but even their native garden and the nest in which they were born. Storks invariably return to their old quarters; swallows not unfrequently occupy the same nest during several consecutive years, and the same remark applies to many other birds. Fowls of the Air. 333 lamp which guides them—whatever it may be — is not dependent on external objects. Our limits prevent us from doing more than merely touch on Ornithology, yet enough has been said to indicate some of the many ways in which the “fowls of the air' magnify the Creator. In reflecting on this subject we are no less struck by the wonderful things that are achieved than we are by the simplicity of the means that are em- ployed. What could be apparently a more difficult prob- lem than to fit animals, formed chiefly of such solid mate- rials as bone and muscle, to fly with ease through the light air 2 Yet this has been accomplished without the intro- duction into the plan of creation of any new type of struct- ure, but merely by the skillful modification of structures already existing. The feathers, the claws, and the beak are only modified hairs or horn. The same bones which support fins in fishes, legs or paddles in reptiles, or legs or arms in mammalia, have by slight changes been made the framework of wings. The jaws, for reasons connected with the food, form a horny beak instead of teeth. This beak is not only a mouth but a hand, with the great ad- vantage for birds of having the eyes set closely behind it. The neck is modified so as to be a long, supple, dexterous arm to wield this hand. Mastication was inadmissible in the mouth, so the weak muscular fibres usually found en- veloping the stomach of vertebrate animals are developed into a powerful gizzard to crush the food independently of any assistance from the mouth. The anterior extremi- ties being required as wings, the posterior are admirably placed to support the centre of gravity, and there are few animals which are such excellent balancers as birds. Many birds rest by perching on one leg, but notwithstand- ing their skill in balancing, they would be in danger of falling off every time they went to sleep, were there no self-acting contrivance to assist them in holding on. The bulky muscles which move the toes are placed for conven- Fowls of the Air. 335 the germ up to the fully developed chick. The future bird first shows itself as a short white line, or “primitive streak,” as it is called, lying on the membrane that con- tains the yolk. This germ gradually grows and develops itself, forming in succession a spinal column, brain, and heart, with blood which is at first colorless and then red, The other organs appear simultaneously or in succession. The egg itself, like a seed, is stored with abundance of food for the embryo ; and, in proportion as this food is absorbed, room is made for the growth of the chick. A certain amount of aeration is required during development, and, therefore, the shell has been made porous. It is essential, also, that the rudimentary chick should always lie uppermost in the egg, in order that it may thus be placed next to the warm body of the hen during the proc- ess of hatching. To secure this end the yolk is made to float freely in the “white,” and the side opposite to the germ is weighted or “ballasted,” so as always to lie lower- most. Therefore, no matter how an egg is laid down, the germ will always be found to correspond to the side that is uppermost. There is, moreover, a little reservoir of air at the thick end of the egg, easily recognized by its trans- lucency when held before a candle, from which the chick slightly inspires before emerging from the shell, and is thus enabled to emit the feeble chirps by which the act is sometimes preceded. Any one who has looked at the newly born chick must have wondered how such a soft creature can deal with so hard a substance as its contain- ing shell ; but if the upper part of the beak be examined, a few hard, horny scales will there be noticed. Thus Nature has not forgotten to supply the chick with a ham- mer for the purpose of breaking open its prison. - How truly, then, may it be said that the “fowls of the air” magnify the goodness and power of the Creator | Heartily may we respond to the invocation contained in this verse of the hymn for the sake of their beauty which All that move in the Waters. 339 productions of the Eastern and Mediterranean Seas. There was a time when whales frequented that great Atlantic inlet, and the circumstance of their having now forsaken it is probably due, not to any difficulty in regard to food or climate, but to their having been hunted off the ground. It is well known that seas which afforded rich whale-fishings even a century ago are now barren and profitless, and this timid, harmless creature is year by year driven further away from the haunts of man, and deeper into the recesses of the polar regions. He fights a losing battle with his human foes; for, from the more perfect ap- pliances of modern skill, the chances are ever growing worse against him. It is the opinion of many naturalists that the Great Northern Whale is destined to disappear altogether from the earth at no very distant date; and then, like the Ichthyosaurus and the other extinct animals of bygone days, he will be known only by the bony relics he may have left behind him. There are many different kinds of whales. Some, like the Cachalot or Spermaceti Whale, are almost peculiar to the southern hemisphere ; others, as the Great Whalebone Whale, inhabit the northern seas. It is well to recollect that the latter is known by a variety of names. Thus it is often called the Right Whale, or the Mysticete, or the Baleen Whale; again, it is familiarly termed the Green- land, or simply the Common Whale. We shall here di- rect attention chiefly to the Mysticete, because from better acquaintance with its structure and habits we shall be able more clearly to perceive the fitness with which it illustrates God’s power and beneficence. • The whale is the leviathan of creation. The Rorqual, a species which sometimes gets stranded on our coasts, is a moving mass of life often more than a hundred feet long and of extraordinary girth, with a weight which has been known to reach two hundred and forty-nine tons. The common whale seldom exceeds seventy feet in length. In 34O Whales, and looking at the skeleton of the latter preserved in the Mu- seum of the London College of Surgeons, we perceive with astonishment a spinal column which in thickness and strength might be compared to the trunk of a goodly sized tree, and which in its thicker parts is built up of massive vertebral blocks, tied together in the living animal by the toughest ligaments and cartilages. Yet every organ reared upon this huge frame displays the same wonderful and per- fect workmanship throughout. Every single fibre of the muscle-masses that wield these ponderous bones, and every nerve and blood-vessel, down to structures so fine that they cannot be seen without a microscope, or handled without the risk of being broken, have been finished with a delicacy and beauty not surpassed in any department of creation. The head of the whale seems of monstrous size, espe- cially when the animal is viewed out of the water and stranded on the beach. In the Cachalot, which is often seventy or eighty feet long, the head forms about a third of its whole bulk, a circumstance which is chiefly owing to the spermaceti lodged in a hollow on its upper surface. The jaws of the common whale are the portals of a mouth capacious enough to ingulf a boat; and, when broughl home as curiosities from Arctic regions, they are suffi- ciently long and strong to serve as piers for gates and as supports for swings in play-grounds. Had the nature of this enormous creature been ferocious, these jawbones would doubtless have been armed with teeth of correspond- ing size, and he would have been the most fearful tyrant of the deep which it is possible to conceive — a monster more formidable than the Ichthyosaurus or Megalosaurus of ancient times. Happily the nature of the common whale is timid and gentle, and he is formidable to nothing except the small fry, medusae, and various little mollusks which swarm in the polar sea. Though living in the water, the whale, like the dugong, All that move in the Waters. 341 porpoise, dolphin, and other cetacea, belongs to the mam- malian or highest class of the Animal Kingdom. The term whale-fishing, therefore, is misapplied, though now fixed by custom beyond recall ; whale-hunting would be a more correct expression. It is distinguished from fishes by many very clear marks. Fishes breathe by gills, which require the air to be conveyed to them through the me. dium of water. They seem always to be gulping or swal- lowing water, while in reality they are only propelling a current of it over the vascular fringes which form the gills. On the other hand, whales breathe by lungs, to which the atmosphere must be directly admitted. From this cause a fish dies if it be kept long out of the water, and the whale would be drowned if he were kept very long immersed in it. The fish has “cold blood,” a heart with only two chambers or cavities, and what is termed “a single circu- lation.” The whale is a “warm-blooded " animal, has a heart with four cavities, as in man, and has a “double cir- culation.” In the fish, therefore, the blood which is sent from the heart passes to the gills, and, after receiving the small amount of aeration it requires, continues its course onward to nourish all parts of the body. In the whale the blood is first propelled from the right side of the heart, through the capillaries of the lungs, to be thoroughly aérated, or arterialized, and then returns to the left side of the heart, whence it is propelled to circulate generally over the body, for the purpose, on the one hand, of carrying nutriment to the various organs and building them up ; and, on the other, of conveying away, in the returning current of venous blood, the rubbish or waste of the dif- ferent organs to the lungs, where it is finally got rid of by being burnt. Fishes, moreover, have no external ear- openings; whales have them, and hear well in the water. Lastly, fishes multiply by spawning; whales bring forth their young alive, and suckle them with the greatest ten. derness. 342 Whales, and The whale, being an air-breather, requires to rise at intervals to the surface for respiration ; but, as its hunting operations are chiefly carried on under water, it would obviously be a great hindrance were it obliged to come to the surface very frequently for that purpose. This circum- stance has not been overlooked by the Gleat Artificer, and has been met by special modifications of structure, which are no less beautiful than wonderful. It may be are remarked that the absolute quantity of blood in a whale is greater in proportion to its size than in most other animals. The arrangements for its reception and circulation are on a corresponding scale. Hunter tells us that the heart and aorta of the cachalot “are too large to be contained in a wide tub,” and that ten or fifteen gallons of blood are pumped out by every pulsation, through an aorta measuring a foot in diameter. Paley estimated this torrent as greater than the stream “roaring” through the main pipe of the water-works at old London Bridge | Now, in order to afford stowage-room for all this blood, it is found that, at various parts of the circulation, both arte- ries and veins have been made to assume a peculiar tortu- ous or plexiform arrangement, by which their capacity to contain blood is so increased that they may be considered as forming collectively a tubular reservoir. When the whale is breathing at the surface, the arterial reservoir natu- rally becomes filled with what may be called a supplement- ary store of highly ačrated blood, upon which the whale draws, as it were, while under water, until it is exhausted by being changed into venous blood in the course of circu- lation. The whale must then return to the surface for a fresh supply. The diver, when working at the foundations of our piers or forts, carries down with him the air which is to renovate his blood ; but the whale carries down a supplemental stock of blood which is already renovated. By means of this simple but wonderful adaptation, whales usually remain from five to ten minutes under water be All that move in the Waters. 3.43 tween the breathing periods; while some of the larger kinds are said to be able to remain for an hour and a half without coming to the surface. The whale does not breathe through its mouth, but through the nostril or “spiracle,” placed conveniently for the purpose at the very top or apex of the head. At such times it is to be seen spouting or “blowing.” The mech- anism of this act is admirable. In the passage leading to the nostril there is a sac which, inferiorly, communicates with the back of the mouth, and, superiorly, with the ex- ternal surface by means of the spiracle. When the whale is about to “blow,” the sac is filled from the mouth with water mixed with air, and the opening between the two is then closed. The sac is now forcibly compressed by a muscle spread over it like a net, by which action the water, unable to escape downward, is forcibly driven through the upper aperture, or spiracle, so as to spout into the air like a water-work. It is as if a caoutchouc syringe filled with water were suddenly grasped by a powerful hand. To make this structure perfect, the spiracle when not in use is closed partly by its valvular margin, but still more effectu- ally by a hard, tendinous structure, like a plug, which, being drawn into the orifice by means of a special muscle, is held there by the pressure of the outside water, and the greater that pressure, the more firmly is the plug wedged in. The skin of the whale is of extraordinary thickness, and, under several points of view, illustrates very remarkably the wise design of the Creator. The blubber which yields the oil is not collected in a layer under the skin, as is commonly thought, but is distributed through the sub- stance of the skin itself. To form a correct idea of this structure we have only to suppose ordinary skin loosened or opened out into innumerable interstices or cells, in which the oily matter is lodged. In this manner fresh blubber acquires a firmness and elasticity which enables sailors, in “flensing” the whale, to cut it up into conven- A // that move in the Waters. 345 which has procured for it the distinction of being called “the bird of the sea.” When harpooned, it can dive into what are termed “tinfathomable depths’ with startling ra- pidity. Scoresby tells us that on one occasion a whale which had been struck carried the line sheer downward for nearly a mile with almost the quickness of an arrow. With equal ease and velocity it can lift itself up again to the surface. In all these movements it depends on the strength of its tail. The extremity of this wonderful scull is flattened out into a blade, which often has a surface equal to a hundred square feet; and, for the sake of act- ing more effectually in diving and lifting movements, it is spread out horizontally, not, as in fishes, vertically. The power of the muscles which wield this scull is enormous. When excited the whale lashes the sea all around into foam, and can sink or crush a boat with a single stroke. Darwin tells us that while sailing along the coast of Terra del Fuego, he “saw a grand sight in several spermaceti whales jumping upright quite out of the water with the exception of their tail-fins. As they fell down sideways, they splashed the water high up, and the sound reverber- ated like a distant broadside.” When we think of the weight of those whales, we may form some idea of the force that must have been required to lift them up from the sea in the manner described. Who can feel surprised that whaling should be considered a service of danger? The wonder is that, in the encounters which occur with the leviathan, he should so generally be worsted. In some whales, as in the Cachalot, the lower jaw is furnished with powerful teeth, which enable them to prey upon large fishes, seals, and porpoises. The common Whalebone Whale feeds chiefly on the myriads of diminu. tive mollusks, jelly-fishes, and crustaceans that abound in the polar ocean. The scale of abundance on which this food is provided will be found described at page 138, and will again be immediately noticed. The gullet of All that move in the Waters. 347 And yet, strange though it may appear, the actual number of living creatures swallowed by the whales at their ban- quet was as nothing compared to the countless millions of organisms that are sometimes required to make up a feast for a single medusa On examining the stomach of one of these inert-looking lumps of jelly, it was found to contain myriads of microscopic diatoms on which the medusa had been regaling when surprised by the whale. To arrive approximately at the aggregate of life here in- dicated, one would have to multiply the 225 millions of medusae by that infinitely greater figure represented by the included diatoms. The latter were enveloped in their siliceous shields, and thus exhibited a singular instance where animals — if such they really are — so hard that they may be described as cuirassed in flint, were selected as a banquet by the softest animals in creation. Jelly though the medusa be, these flinty substances cannot resist the vigorous action of its digestive power. Circumstantial evidence of the strongest kind suggests that the great mysticete should be added to the list of distinguished arctic discoverers ; for, at a time when the existence of a northwest passage was still in doubt, the question was virtually solved by a Greenland whale. In the “fishery” it is customary to mark the harpoons with the name of the ship and the date of the voyage. On one occasion it happened that a whale was killed not far from Behring's Straits, and in its body was found a harpoon labeled with the name of a Greenland ship, by one of whose crew the weapon had been implanted at an early period of the same season. The question that naturally arose was — How did the whale get to Behring's Straits 2 Now it is ascertained that the common whale never crosses the line ; for the warm sea-water and the hot climate of the Equator form a barrier across which it will not pass. Moreover, the interval since the whale in question was harpooned near Greenland was too short to have afforded 348 Whales, and , time for it to come round either by the Cape of Good Hope or Cape Horn. The conclusion, therefore, which almost necessarily followed was that the whale must have traveled by the short, direct route of the northwest pas- sage. The circumstance seemed equally to indicate the important fact that the intervening Polar Sea must have been almost, if not quite, open throughout, for, as we have seen, the whale cannot remain long under water at one time. The whale appears to have been anciently captured in the Bay of Biscay by the hardy fishermen of the coast, and by the Norwegians in the German Ocean, less for the sake of its oil or whalebone than as an article of food. We are assured in the Naturalists' Library that when the flesh of a young whale is cleared of its fat, and then broiled and seasoned with pepper and salt, it eats somewhat like coarse beef. Even the blubber, when pickled and boiled, is said to be “very palatable.” We know that the Esquimaux generally regard it with great favor. A stranded whale is truly a rich treasure to the ill-supplied inhabitants of the polar regions. They banquet on the flesh, and carry the oil about with them as a refreshing cordial. When some of the internal membranes are dried, they become sufficiently transparent to serve as windows for huts. The sinews are separated into filaments to be used as thread for sewing. Some of the bones are fashioned into spears and harpoons for killing sea-birds and seals. Various parts of the whale are likewise turned to account in the construction of tents and boats. The English whale-fishery began at Spitzbergen in 1598, where it had been previously carried on by the Dutch. Until recently from 1800 to 2000 whales were annually caught ; and, indeed, the fishery has been prosecuted with a perseverance which threatens the annihilation of the Northern whale altogether. In the arctic seas this inoffen sive animal has no other enemy than man; but in those All that move in the IWaters. 351 the oil-springs of the earth, on which some observations have already been made. Thus there is reason for thank- fulness when we reflect that, although one source is likely to be impaired, others are gradually opening up to us through the never-failing providence of Our Father. Praised be the Lord daily; even the God who helpeth us, and poureth His benefits upon us. – Ps. lxviii. In the brief space that remains for the further consider- ation of “all that move in the waters,” more cannot be done than merely to give a rapid glance at some interest- ing points connected with the habits and general structure of fishes. It is a pleasant sight to watch the finny tribes as they swim about in the transparent waters. The whole fish is an instrument of progression, the very ideal of easy, graceful movement. The filmy, waving fins implanted on its sides and back balance, stop, and steer, besides aiding somewhat in slight changes of position, but the chief pro- pelling power is in the tail. The entire body forms an animated scull, of which the bony vertebral column is the stem and the tail-fin the blade, while the powerful muscles grouped advantageously along both sides ply it with vigor, and urge the fish forward with a dexterity and effect which no artificial sculling can rival. The body of the fish is solidly massed in front to afford a firm support from which the scull may work, and the head is joined on to it without any intervening neck in order that it may offer a stiffer wedge in cleaving through the water. How smoothly and with how little effort fishes glide gently against the current, or poise themselves nearly motionless with head to stream, waiting patiently for their food to float down toward them. But, if suddenly alarmed, the whole water is thrown into commotion, as with a few vigorous tail- strokes they dart away with the quickness of an arrow. When fishes leap into the air, they gain the required im- 352 - Whales, and pulse by a sudden blow with the tail against the resisting water. Even the feats of the, so-called, flying-fish are really not flights, but immense bounds produced by a jerk of the tail. The large pectoral fins are never used as wings, although they act as parachutes in breaking the force of the fall back into the water. The covering of fishes is admirably adapted to the me- dium in which they live. To resist the macerating action of the water they are, as it were, tiled over, like the roof of a house, with impermeable scales; and the direction in which these lie and overlap is the one which offers the least impediment in swimming. Scales present much va- riety of form in different fishes. They are pretty objects when viewed in the microscope, and are manufactured into many kinds of useful ornaments. Popularly they are re- garded as a mere external epiderm, but in reality they are developed within the substance of the skin, and are them- selves covered by the cuticle as well as by a layer to which they owe their color. In structure they approach more or less to the nature of bone. In a few fishes, as in the slender pipe-fish and the burly trunk-fish, the scales are neatly joined together like a piece of finely tesselated pavement, and have very much the character of plates of bone covered with a layer of enamel. This kind of scale-armor, though rare in existing fishes, was common among the older races, and universal among those that swam in the most ancient waters of the globe. The nearest approach to an external bony skeleton among the fishes of this country is found in the sturgeon. This ungainly creature is the scavenger of European rivers, rout- ing with its snout among the mud and stones that form their bed, and it is probably to guard against the pressure and rough blows which such an occupation involves that it is provided with this shield. To diminish friction during rapid movement, and for protection against the macerating action of the water. All that move in the Waters. 353 Nature has taken care that the scales shall be well lubri- cated. Birds, as is elsewhere noticed, make their plum- age impermeable to water by diffusing an oily matter over it by means of their bills; but as the want of a flexible neck in fishes precludes any analogous action, the same result is obtained by a beautifully designed modification of structure. Thus the lubricating glands, instead of being gathered together, as in birds, so as to form what may be termed an “oil-bottle” near the tail, are arranged in a row along either side of the body, where with their investing scales they exhibit the conspicuous “lateral line.” Through openings in these scales the lubricating fluid exudes, and is subsequently applied over the surface by the diffusing action of the water during the movements of the fish. Lying under the spinal column in most fishes there is a sac, containing a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen gas, to which the term swim-bladder is given by physiologists, but which is familiarly known to most persons as “the sounds.” The weight of the body of a fish, bulk for bulk, is so nearly the same as water, that the mere distension or collapse of this air-bladder often makes the difference between floating and sinking. All fishes are not sup- plied with a swim-bladder. As might be anticipated, there is none in the plaice, turbot, sole, and many other flat fishes habitually living near the bottom of the water. But it was not to have been expected that some fishes which are usually found near the surface, as the red mul- let and the mackerel, are equally destitute of it; while the eel, which generally frequents the muddy bottom of . rivers, has a well-developed swim-bladder. On the whole, therefore, it may be inferred that, although the flotation influence of this sac must be considerable, it probably serves for other purposes also. Fishes possess little power either of touch or taste. The scaliness of the skin, indeed, precludes the former; while 23 354 Whales, and the latter would be unnecessary, as the food is for the most part merely seized and gorged or gulped down into the stomach, without previously undergoing any thing that can be called mastication. In some fishes, as in the barbel and rockling, there are flexible feelers appended to the mouth, which must be considered as organs of touch of considerable delicacy, fitted to aid them in the selection of their food. Fishes also possess, in a slight degree, the sense of smell. Hence they are sometimes caught by per- sons who have smeared their hands with strongly scented matters; and Mr. Jesse relates that certain fishes which he kept in a pond gave the preference to bait that had been perfumed. Hearing is a sense of more importance to fishes, and, although there is no external opening or ear, the essential parts of the organ are found internally. There can be no doubt, therefore, that they possess this sense, though not acutely. In corroboration it may be mentioned that in China tame fish are sometimes called together for feeding by means of a whistle ; some have been taught to pay attention to the ringing of a bell; while others have been seen to be startled at the sound of a gun. In the latter case, however, the effect may have been produced by the concussion communicated to the water. Vision, on the other hand, is of high importance to fishes; accordingly the nerve of seeing is largely devel- oped, and the optical apparatus of the eye is admirably adapted to the medium in which they live. Fishes do not possess a lachrymal gland, and it is obvious that tears can not be required to moisten the eyes of animals living in the water. Where the obscurity is so great as to afford no light, eyes are of course useless, and they are reduced by thrifty Nature to a merely rudimentary condition. From this cause fishes living in the dark lakelets of the “Mam. moth Cave” of Kentucky, which has been traced for ten miles underground and is known to extend much further, are destitute of organs which they cannot turn to account. All that move in the Waters. 355 But, as a compensation for this visual defect, they are en- dowed with wonderful acuteness of hearing. Fishes are preeminently omnivorous, and they can deal with every thing, from a soft jelly-like medusa up to hard lobsters and masses of stony corals. A few browse peace- fully on tender sea-weed or fresh-water plants, but the ma- jority are ravenously carnivorous, and prey upon one another. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the variety observed in the number, shape, and position of the teeth should be greater in fishes than in any other class of animals. The sturgeon and a few others have no teeth. Some have only three or four; while in many they are so numerous that they cannot be counted. Some teeth are so fine that they resemble the pile on velvet, as in the perch; other teeth are like bristles, or cones, or blades for cutting, or saws, or grinders. The mouth of a shark bristles with the most cruel-looking teeth. Of these some are obviously designed for stabbing and cutting, others for tearing and sawing. The wolf-fish has powerful front teeth for seizing, branching outward like grappling-hooks, and, as it finds its chief nourishment in lobsters, whelks, and other shell-protected creatures, it is likewise supplied with some massive blocks of teeth between which the shells are crunched into fragments. A harder diet still forms the favorite food of the scarus, or parrot-fish, of the Pa- cific, which, as Owen observes, “literally browses upon the corals clothing the bottom of the sea, as with a richly tinted-carpet, just as the ruminant quadrupeds crop the herbage of the dry land.” Its object is, of course, to get at the minute polypes; but as these, when disturbed, shrink into their cells, the parrot-fish can only reach them by grinding down the coral mass ; for which purpose its strong, broad jaws are laid with teeth consolidated to- gether like a pavement. The voracity of fishes is, of course, no sign of cruelty, but only the means appointed by Nature for carrying out 356 Whales, and her plans for the general welfare, in which man himself is interested more than any other creature. Considering the amazing fecundity of fishes, it was essential that some check should be set to guard against their undue increase. An idea of the rate at which fishes, if unchecked, would multiply may be formed from the circumstance that nine millions of eggs are estimated to exist in a single cod's roe, and two hundred and eighty thousand in that of a perch. Six hundred thousand have been computed in the roe of a carp weighing nine pounds. The roe of a herring contains between three and four thousand ova; and it was a speculation of the sagacious Buffon that a pair"of them, if left undisturbed for twenty years, would produce a prog- eny whose bulk would equal that of the entire globe. Sprats are so abundant that many hundred tons of them are annually used as manure. The profusion of life con- tained in the roe is intended not only to stock the sea, but also to feed its inhabitants. The small fry yield an abun- dance of food to fishes of larger growth, and these last in their turn contribute, more abundantly, perhaps, than any other sub-kingdom of Nature, to the support of mankind. If fishes were not voracious, and if they did not prey on one another, the vast shoals that people the ocean could not be fed. With insufficient nourishment their numbers would necessarily fall off, and the abundant supply now granted to man would thus be inevitably curtailed. It has been ascertained that in many fishes, among which may be mentioned the pike, carp, tench, and eel, a regurgitation of food takes place which is analogous to rumination in quadrupeds. The matters thus chewed are most frequently of an animal nature. Fishes, it is true, have no grinders fixed along the jaws; but, on the other hand, various parts about the top of the gullet are often densely crowded with teeth, by which the food is torn, comminuted, and otherwise prepared for digestion. Until the discovery of rumination in fishes was made, the exist. A // that move in the Waters. 357 ence of these teeth toward the back of the throat was an enigma to physiologists. Every angler has stories to tell of the voracity of fishes, They live for the most part by preying on each other. That pleasant naturalist, Mr. Jesse, mentions that on one occasion he had an opportunity of ascertaining that eight pike, weighing five pounds each, consumed nearly eight hundred gudgeon in three weeks. We will here allude only to one other evidence of voracity which was exhibited at a public lecture in Dublin. It consisted of the “skele- ton of a frog-fish, two and a half feet in length, in whose stomach the skeleton of a cod two feet long was found. Within the cod were contained two whitings of the ordi- nary size, while in the stomach of each whiting were found numerous half-digested fishes which were too small and broken down to admit of preservation. On the other hand, Nature has set checks to the voracity. of the tyrants of the deep, and the weaker fishes have not been left altogether without the means of escape or de- fense. Flat fishes partly owe their safety to the sameness of color subsisting between them and the bottom of the sea or river on which they usually lie. We know by expe- rience how difficult it is to detect them so long as they remain motionless and half-buried in the mud. Hence, as fishes hunt by sight, they readily escape being seen ; and the same inconspicuous color which protects them from their enemies, favors the unsuspecting approach of the creatures on which they-prey. So important does color appear to be, that ground fishes are invariably found to have the same general tint as the bottom soil, whatever that may be ; and, indeed, it is affirmed that fishes have to a certain extent the power of gradually changing their color, and assimilating it to that produced by alterations from any cause in the color of the bed itself. Many fishes, as sticklebacks and perch, have strong sharp spines implanted on the ridge of the back, which 358 Whales, and under the excitement of fear or anger are erected like bayonets, so as to be equally available for attack or defense. The Diodon, or Globe-fish of the Brazil coast, has a very singular means of baffling its enemies. This creature, by swallowing air, is able to puff itself out like a ball, during which operation the sharp spines by which its body is beset all over are brought into an erect position. It may be easily supposed that a fish thus stuck round with daggers, like a sea hedgehog, has no attraction for even the most voracious of its enemies. It sometimes happens, however, that a shark snaps it up before it has had time to inflate itself; but no sooner does it reach the stomach than it begins, if the shark's teeth have left any life in it, to blow itself up into a very awkward morsel. Not only has the Diodon been found in this situation inflated and bristling, but it is asserted that it has been known actually to eat its , way out of prison. The saw-fish is so called, because it has the upper jaw prolonged into a most formidable bony weapon, from which teeth project on either side so as to give it somewhat the general appearance of a saw. The sword-fish has the jaw lengthened out into a round spear three or four feet in length, of great strength, and finely tapered to a point. Men have been stabbed to death by this fatal weapon. The sword-fish has, it is said, a strong antipathy to the whale, and has been known to run full tilt at ships under the erroneous idea, as it is thought, that it was charging one of its natural enemies. The shock of the blow on these occasions is sometimes so great as to lead the crew to suppose that their ship has struck upon a rock. It is believed that ships have been sunk by the water rushing in through the hole thus made ; but more frequently the “spear” itself is broken off from the violence of the thrust, and the end which is left behind acts as an efficient plug. Among the various means of attack and defense pos. All that move in the Waters. 359 sessed by fishes, the power which a few possess of dis. charging an electric shock at their enemies is, perhaps, the most remarkable. Such animated batteries are observed in various fishes, but are chiefly developed in the Silurus of the Nile; the Torpedo, a kind of Ray found in the seas of Southern Europe; and in the Gymnotus, or elec- tric eel, which is peculiar to some of the rivers of South America. These fishes appear to have the power not only of exciting electricity in their batteries, but also of par- tially regulating the direction in which it is to pass off from their bodies. The capture of the Gymnotus, as it is carried on in South America, has been graphically de- scribed by Humboldt. Acting on the fact that these creatures exhaust their electrical power, and become in- nocuous after repeated discharges, the natives forcibly drive horses into the waters where they abound; and after the horses, to their extreme terror as well as suffering, have received all the shocks which can be given at that time, the owners quietly step in, and secure the spent eels as prizes. The instincts and powers with which the Creator has endowed fishes for the purpose of meeting certain local or climatic difficulties are really wonderful. In Ceylon many reservoirs and streams well stocked with fish dry up dur- ing the hot season. In circumstances so desperate one would think that the fate of the fishes was sealed, but they habitually rescue themselves by migrating across fields and forests in quest of water. The most extraordinary part of the case is that, if there should happen to be a pool still remaining in the neighborhood, they seem to divine its situation by a kind of instinct, and make for it as straight as a crow could fly. Sir J. E. Tennent gives a curious vignette in which a troop of fishes are seen en route on one of these occasions, and considering they are almost as devoid of legs as serpents, without having been formed like them for crawling, it is wonderful what dis. 360 Whales, and tances they traverse in their journeys. They have the instinct always to set out by night, or in the early dawn, so that they may have the advantage of the dew then lying heavy on the ground. As a special provision against the drought of the climate, some of these fishes are supplied with a peculiar structure near the top of the gullet, depend- ent on an expansion of the pharyngeal bones, which ena- bles them to retain for a time as much water as is suffi- cient to keep the gills moist during their venturesome journeys. In our own country eels occasionally travel short distances across meadows. Within the tropics some fishes escape death from starvation by burying themselves in the mud on the approach of the dry season. The fa- mous Lepidosiren of the Gambia forms for itself a cell or chamber in the soft mud, which soon becomes baked hard over it, and there it remains in a torpid state until the return of the floods. Some fishes in Ceylon insert their head into the mud, and bore in with the whole body until they come to a sufficiently moist layer, in which they bury themselves. The sun then bakes the superjacent clay, and seals them up as in a bottle, where they remain torpid until liberated by the loosening of the mud on the return of the rainy season. In India, Siam, Guiana, and else- where, there are many migratory and burrowing fishes, and such probably exist to a greater or less extent in all tropical countries subject to droughts. In higher latitudes, on the other hand, fishes sometimes bury themselves on the approach of cold weather. Eels for the most part descend from the shallow rivulets to deeper water, but many occasionally get caught by the frost and are sealed up in the mud. It is said that in some parts of England the country people are in the habit of digging up half-frozen, torpid eels in the winter time. On the coast of Coromandel there is a kind of perch which not only makes excursions inland in search of food, but which actually pursues its prey, a small crustacean, up tall 362 Concluding Reflections. opening at each end to facilitate easy ingress and egress; and round this castle the brave little stickleback mounts faithful guard, and tolerates no intruders. Where these fishes are numerous such castles abound, although from their color, closely resembling that of the other plantal surfaces around, it is not easy to distinguish them. There is something almost ludicrous in the bravery of this minute champion — this preux chevalier — among fishes. The Rev. J. G. Wood tells us that “his boldness is astonishing, for he will dash at a fish ten times his size, and, by dint of his fierce onset, and his bristly spears, drive the enemy away. Even if a stick be placed within the sacred circle, he will dart at it, repeating the assault as often as the stick may trespass upon his domains.” I will think of all Thy works; and my talking shall be of Thy doings.- Ps. lxxvii. SUCH are a few illustrations of the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, which a cursory glance at Nature brings most readily to our thoughts; but the field is boundless, and, did space permit, might be profitably surveyed from other parts. Below the higher ranks of the Animal King- dom more especially noticed in this book, countless tribes exist, the contemplation of whose habits and structure is not less interesting to us, or less glorifying to the Creator. It has often occurred to me that, amid the various branches of education which compete for the time of youth, Natural History is still too much neglected. What solid, endur- ing advantages would result were it an established study, instead of being a mere accident, of school-life I Would it not also be better in every point of view, if more atten- tion were directed toward it in institutions designed for Concluding Reflections. 363 the improvement of the working-classes, even though it trenched a little on the time frequently devoted to politics or critical discussion ? A profound acquaintance with Natural History, it is obvious, can only be attained by few ; but every body in these days, at the cost of a little reading of the most agreeable kind, may prepare himself with knowl- edge amply sufficient to crowd his walks with pleasure. And not with pleasure only . While leading its followers among the “green things upon the earth,” the pursuit of Natural History strengthens both mind and body, and awakens trains of thought that are well calculated to serve as a shield against the temptation of grosser pleasures. Not many persons, perhaps, habitually realize the extent to which devotional feelings may be roused by the contem- plation of surrounding objects. Yet we cannot doubt that these objects are placed there for that very purpose ; and when we reflect how much they are interwoven with our happiness, and the relief of our wants, do they not naturally excite us to greater love, and suggest to us greater thank- fulness? Thus were they wisely used by the Three Children in their hymn. Nature is a book written by the finger of God Himself, and of which every page is filled to over- flowing with illustrations of His wisdom ; it is a picture in which His Goodness is painted in colors of perfect truth ; it is a sculpturing in which His Power is expressed in marvels of form and harmony. Who does not long to be able to read this book, to view with appreciation this picture, to study with intelligence the wonders of this sculpturing 2 Next to the knowledge which saves, what more precious knowledge can there be than this 2 It is never too early to instill tenderness toward all creatures into the young heart, and it almos: seems as if the attractive lessons of Natural History courted our notice in order that they might be used for the purpose. Such teaching should not depend exclusively upon appeals to feeling, for though a good guide in the main, it sometimes Concluding Reflections. 365 worn on account of its fancied ugliness. The heart soft- ened betimes will never afterward be sullied by cruelty, On the contrary, the germs of kindliness thus early plant- ed will surely grow and ripen, until they cover with their protection every inoffensive living thing that God has created. At the beginning of this commentary it was mentioned that a few verses of the hymn would be omitted, not from their being unsuited to arouse devotional feelings, but be- cause they were scarcely adapted to the kind of illustra- tion which has here been followed. I cannot, however, pass from the subject without at least some allusion to them. One verse carries our thoughts back to the marvel- ous things that were done in olden time for the sake of the people whom God had chosen ; another calls to our remembrance the fiery furnace at Babylon, and the ordeal through which the Three Children passed in safety, be- cause they were upheld by the power of the Lord. In one verse, they who are specially set apart for the sacred service, and are placed among us as the ministers and stewards of its mysteries, are called on to join in the work of praise ; in another, we are reminded of that higher and purer worship which angels and the spirits of just men made perfect are privileged to offer to the Throne. In the appeal to the holy and humble men of heart, we recognize the fitness with which holiness and humility are ever asso- ciated together as the best preparation for approaching the footstool of Infinite Power. Lastly, in the invocation ad- dressed to the servants of the Lord, and to all the children of men we feel the hymn brought home more especially to ourselves, and we join heartily in the chant raised through- out the universe in honor of the Great Creator. It has been my aim to point out that the beauty in which “all the works of the Lord ” are enshrined is not a mere garnish on which we are only to expend criticism or praise, but a substantial blessing expressly created for our enjoy. 368 Concluding Æeffections. are showered upon them. May it not even be said, that the physical evils attendant upon fallen nature are often so tempered through our Father's mercy that they seem to change their very nature, and to be converted into bless- ings 2 There is something which irresistibly draws us on to contemplate the attributes of the Deity, even although con- scious that we can never fully comprehend them. His Omnipotence fascinates our thoughts. Though ever baf- fled, we return to it again and again ; – hopeless to fathom, yet eager to see more. At other times we try to grasp more largely the idea of His Omnipresence. Again our efforts falter and break down. But, though we cannot elevate our understanding to the level of such ideas, there is nothing in the material world which lifts us higher or brings us nearer to success than the marvels of Natural Theology. Through it we see His presence, power, and government proclaimed by every star that glimmers in the depths of space, and we feel that we have thus won for ourselves a loftier and clearer view of Him than we had before. Or if we turn to the opposite end of the material world, we trace the same mighty finger shaping with ex- quisite skill the microscopic particles of matter, and the perception that every atom in creation is in contact with Omnipresence becomes more real and practical than it was before. Well might the Psalmist ask, -Whither shall I go from Thy presence It is as distinct and palpable at the pole of minuteness as it is at the pole of immensity. A great Prophet — a man after God's own heart, and who spoke with the authority of inspiration—has left in The Book of Psalms a standard by which in all coming time we may learn how the Lord is to be praised. As the direct work of the Holy Spirit, it has inherently a weight to which nothing merely human can lay claim, and it is in- structive to mark the general agreement that subsists be. tween the 'ast three Psalms of David and the Song of the INDEX. A. AIR-CELLs of birds, 307. All that swim in the waters, 351. Aluminium and Alumina, 236. Animalcules, miscroscopic, 2II; their use, 214. Animals, their structure perfect in relation to their habits and func- tions, 216. Ant-eater of South America, 297. Aral, Sea of, balance maintained between evaporation and sup- ply, I54. Ararat, Mount, 221. Asteroids, 34. Astronomy, the Father of sciences, 24. Atmosphere, distributes light, 91; reflects light, 93; purified by plants acted on by light, 92; causes of deterioration, 91; ab- sorbs moisture, IoI ; capacity for vapor varies according to temperature, IoI ; necessity for atmospheric moisture, 103 ; at- mosphere described, 158. Aye-aye, the, 298. B. BENEDICITE, THE, 12 ; its mean- ing sometimes misunderstood, 14, its fitness as an aid to adoration, 15. BEASTS AND CATTLE, 286; the horse, 287; camel, 287; llama, 289; elephant, 289; reindeer, 289; dog, 291 ; sheep, 292; kangaroo, 292; buffalo, bison, mammoth, 293; animal scav- engers, 296; ant-eater, 298. Babylon, present and past, 7. Baltic, the, supplied with salt from the North Sea, 150. Barometer, 160. Beak of birds, 310. Birds, the song of 300; plumage, 3O2; wings, 303; buoyancy in flight how secured, 307; tem- perature of blood, 308; air- cells, 307; diving, 309; beak, 31o; vision, 312; digestion, 312 ; habits, 318; affection of, 32O. Blubber of whale, 343. Bones of birds, 307. Buffalo and bison, 293. C. CATTLE ; see Beasts and Cattle. CoLD, 182; see Frost and Cold. Camel, the, 287. Carbonic acid gas in the atmos- phere, 91; removed by plants, 92. 372 Index. Caspian Sea, balance maintained between evaporation and sup- ply, I54. Centrifugal force, 29. Chalk, 228. Chemical force, a “Power of the Lord,” 205. Christmas, 83. Church-building' and decoration, 24.I. Circulation, capillary, of the ocean, 148; in whales and fishes, 34I. Clay, 236. - Climate, 76; advantages of di- versity of 8o; Great Britain, 82, 118. Clouds; see Waters above the Firmament. Coal, 174. Colors, from coal-tar, 207. Cotton, 254. Craigleith quarry, 239. Cuckoo, the, 323. Currents of the ocean, 141. * D. DARKNESs, 88; see Light and Darkness. - DAYS, 85; see Nights and Days. Deserts, from absence of rain, 117. Dew, 118; cause of, I19; in the East, II9. Diving, of birds, 309; of whales, 345. Dog, the, 291. E. EARTH, the, 230; glass, 232; pot- tery, 234; metals, 237; rocks, 238; church-building, 241; and decoration, 243. Earthquakes dependent on sub terranean fire, 204. Earthshine, 48. Easter, time of, determined by the moon, 50. Egg, the, of birds, 334. Eider-down, 306. Electricity and lightning, 106; in fishes, 359. Elephant, the Siberian, 293. Elevation and subsidence of land, 2O3. Eye, the, 88. F. FIRE AND HEAT, 171; fuel, 172; coal, 174; petroleum, 178. FLOODs, 134; see Seas and Floods. Fowls of THE AIR, 300; see Birds. FROST AND Cold, 182 ; snow and ice, 183; snow-huts, 186; cold temperatures, 187; freez- ing of water, 188; glaciers, 191; icebergs, 195. Feathers, 303. Ferocity in animals bestowed in mercy, 294. Fishes, 351 ; scales of 352; or- gans of sense, 353; teeth, 355; fecundity, 356; rumination, 356; electrical, 359; torpidity, 360; nest-building, 361. Flax-plant, 254. Flight of birds, 303. Forests of ancient Britain, 172, 272. Friction, 199. Index. 373 Fruit, temperature of, 282. Furnace, the burning fiery, Io. G. GREEN THINGS UPON THE EARTH, 251; adjustments to climate and physical conditions, 251 ; flax and cotton, 254; out of labor comes a blessing, 257; variety of useful products from same plant, 258; tropical veg- etation, 258; polar, 261 ; seed, 263; “green things” in town, 267; trees, 269 ; the sap, 273 ; leaves, 275; wood, 28o ; me- dicinal plants, 283; leaves form mold, 284. Gibraltar, currents at Straits of, 150. Gizzard, the, in birds, 312. Glaciers, their scribed, 191; ancient glaciers in Britain, 195; Great Greenland glacier, 196; supply rivers in Summer, 225. Glass, 233. Golden image, the, Io. Gravity, solar and terrestrial, 198. Gulf Stream, 139. Gullet of whale, 346. Gymnotus electricus, 359. H. HEAVENS, THE, 20 ; Astronomy one of the most exact of sci- ences, 21 ; see sun, moon, stars, etc. HEAT, 171; see Fire and Heat. Heat, internal, of earth, 20I. Herdsmen, in the bible, 299. Hiberration of fishes, 360. color, 183; de- I. INTRODUCTION, 7. ICE, 182; see Frost and Cold. Icebergs, 195. Inland climates, 77. Iron, manufacture of 173. J. Jupiter, 34. K. Kangaroo, the, 292. Khamsin, the, 169. Killers, in Australian seas, enemy of the whale, 349. L. LIGHT AND DARKNESS, 88; the eye, 88; light, distributed by atmosphere, 91 ; action on plants, 92; importance to health, 96; the organized world dependent on it, 98. LIGHTNING AND CLOUDS, 106; artificial conductors, Io& ; nat- ural, Io9. Lakes, ancient, dried up, 155; use of, near river sources, 155. Leaves the lungs of plants, 275; purify atmosphere, 92,275; ab- sorb moisture, 277; conversion into mold, 284. Life, principle of 210; abundance in the sea, I37. Limestone rocks, caves and rivers in, 127. M. Moon, 43; appearance of 45; has Index. 375 Representative plants in different climates, 80. Reservoir of water, the crust of the earth is a, 126; reservoirs of blood in the whale, 34I. Rocks, 238. Rumination in fishes, 356. S. SEAs AND FLOODS, 134; bed of the sea, 136; color, 139; phos- phorescence and saltness, 140; profusion of life in, 137; deso- late regions, 138; currents, 142; distribute heat, 145. SHOWERS AND DEW, III ; see Rain and Dew. SNow, 182; see Frost and Cold. STARS, the, 51 ; number, 52, 67 ; arrangement, 52 ; binary and multiple, 53 ; parallax, 55 ; gauging the heavens, 61 ; can- not be magnified, 65; size, 65; velocity, 66; Milky Way, 67 ; Nebulae, 67 ; nature of, 69. SUN, the, 27; attraction of, 28; distance, 30 ; diameter and hulk, 30 ; temperature, 31 : atmosphere, 32; light of, 32; movement and position in space, 68; in polar regions, 96. Sap, circulation of, 273. Saturn, 35. Scales of fishes, 352. Scavengers, animal, 214, 296. Sculpture, in churches, 244. Sea-reed, its use, 278. Seasons, 72; tropical, 78; see Winter and Summer. Seed, the, 263,266. Sheep, the, 292. Skylark, the, 301. Solar space, excursion through, 32; the frontiers of, 35, 67. Spiracle of whale, 343. Springs, 122; see Wells. Stickleback, the, 361. Stork, the, 319. Swimming of fishes, 351; swim bladder, 353. Symbolism, 249. T. Teeth of fishes, 355. Temperature of earth in different latitudes, 76. Text scrolls, in churches, 247. Tides, 150 ; their height, I51. Torpidity of fishes, 360. Trade-winds, 163. Trees, 269; size, 270; age, 270. Tropical vegetation, described, 258. Twilight, 94. Uranus, 35. V. Vapor in the atmosphere, 1or ; gathered in tropical seas to be carried to higher latitudes, where it supplies heat and rain, II3. Vegetable principles, conversion of 208. Venus, 33. Volcanic action, 201. Voracity of fishes, 357. Vulture, the ; its use, 325; sagac ity, 327. 376 Index. i W. WATERs Above the FIRMAMENT, IOO ; clouds, their use, Ioo ; formation, IoI. - WELLS, 122; their importance in the East, 122; early appearance of, in coral islands, 124; in England, 127; Artesian, 128; spouting, 129; mineral, 131. WHALES, 338; the whale not a fish, 338, 341 ; size, 339; cir- culation of 342; spiracle, 343; blubber, 343; power of the tail, 345; narrow gullet, 346; the mouth and the whalebone, 346; a whale's feast, 346; dis- covery of Northwest passage, 347; former distribution, 348; its enemies, 348; tenderness to its young, 349; oil, 35o. WINDS, 158; circulation, 158; upper and lower currents, 162 ; land and sea breeze, 163; Trades, 164; Monsoons, 167; use of winds, 169. WINTER AND SUMMER, cause of 72 ; correspond to dry and wet seasons within tropics, 78; summer in polar regions, 79. Wasps, destruction of, in autumn, 295. Water, action of “cold" on, 188; its circulation, essential to or- ganized existence, 157. Wings of birds, 303. Wood, various properties of, 269; concentric rings in, 281 ; sap- wood and heart-wood, 282. A UB L/CA TYOAWS OF G. P. PU 7"AWAM'S SOAVS. In the appendix to the first volume, it is proposed to give some extracts from the Talmud and translations from contemporary inscriptions of the Assyrians and other nations, bearing upon the events of Hebrew history. The second volume will comprise selections from the distinctively poetical works, such as Psalms, Ruth, Lamentations, Job, and the Wisdom Litera- ture, and also such poetical compositions and fragments as are found in the historical and prophetical portions. of the Old Testament, like The Song of the Well in Numbers, The Song of the Sea in Exodus, Deborah's Song, The Blessing of Jacob, etc. It will also contain the selections from the prophecies; grouped, as far as possible, around the persons of the individual prophets, telling the story of the prophet by and with his prophecies. As an appendix to this volume will be added a section covering the history and intellectual development of the period intervening between Malachi and Jesus. The third volume will comprise the selections from the New Testament, arranged as follows: - I.—THE GOSPEL AccordinG TO ST. MARK, PRESENTING THE Evan- GELICAL Story IN ITs SIMPLEST ForM ; SUPPLEMENTED BY SELECTIONS FROM ST. MATTHEw AND ST. LUKE. II.—THE ACTs of the APOSTLEs, witH some INDICATION OF THE PROBABLE PLACE OF THE EPISTLES IN THE NARRATIVE. III.--THE EPISTLEs of St. JAMES, AND THE FIRST EPISTLE OF ST. PETER. IV.-THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL. V.—THE EPISTLE TO THE HEBREws. VI.--THE REveLATION of St. John (A PortION). VII.--THE FIRST EPIstLE of St. John. VIII.—THE Gospel of St. John. 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Being a selection of the more devout, practical, and important portions of the ancient Hebrew and Christian Scriptures; to which are added some kindred selections from the other sacred scriptures of the world. Translated, compiled, and arranged by the Rev. M. K. Schermerhorn, primarily for his own use as preacher and pastor. Handsomely printed in large, open type, in one octavo volume, cloth extra . e . 2 5o “The compilation has been made with good judgment. * * * The volume should prove of great service.”—R. HEBER NEwToN. IV. The Present Religious Crisis. By A. Blauvelt. I 2 m O - - - - - • . - . I OO CHIEF CONTENTs.-Dogmatic Theology. The Inspiration of the Bible. The Historical Character of the Gospels. The Religion of the Bible. The Religion of Christ. Religious Repressions and Religious Liberty. “Mr. Blauvelt's style is clear and direct, and his sincerity and earnest- ness of purpose are made very plain in these pages.”—Gazette, Boston. G. P. 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