IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) M. is (/ J ^Z^ v^^ ^< ^ ^ ^o 1.0 I.I |50 "^^ M^H ■tt lU 122 IL25 i 1.4 m 1.6 7 0^ A^ Sciences CorpQration 4^ ^'\ WrS 23 WIST MAIN STMIT WIBSTIR,N.Y. M5M (716)«7Sl-4503 '^ ,^ f: signifia "A SUIVRE", la symbola ▼ signifia "FIN". Mapa. plataa. charta. ate. may ba filmed at different reduction ratioa. Thoaa too large to be entirely included in one expoaura are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, aa many framea aa required. The following diagrama illuatrata the method: Lea cartea, planches, tableaux, etc.. peuvent Atre fiimAa A daa taux da rAduction diffArents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seui ciichA. 11 est f ilmA A partir da i'engle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut an baa, an pranant la nombra d'imagea nAcessaira. Lea diagrammas suivants illuatrent la mAthoda. 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 Catniibirs Sntisji-Iiutnrait imt% of ^c|ool-Sonk8. THE FIFTH BOOK ur READING LESSONS. FOR THB Utl OP SCHOOLS IN THB BRITISH-AMBRIOAN PROVlNOIS. JAMES CAMPBELL AND S O ^7..., '..• V* V MONTREAL AND TORONTO. ••.*••'* ' V{ MDOCCtXTI. • • •• ■r^: ' 1 i \ 1 ■» ?>a 1 (^3a'6 2~ Entered according to Act of the Provincial Legislature in the Year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Sixty-six, by James Cabipbell, in the Office of the Registrar of the Province of Canada. .*'■ • • .3'>A'iaji'< M I Tlifnii Miitf amoiif teachen a considerable dWerfUy of oplnloii u «o Mm place i^hfoh a Reftdln; Book ongfkt to ocoap^ In tbe odaoattdn of yoQlk. Om «lM one hand, U la maintained thai fuoh 4 bodir <^'|l^t to be an epitomoof nnlvenml knowledf^e, and that the ri^t^^'^dio^ ^fiMAihonM be ootliiatod by tbo ammnt of Infonnatlon it ednialna, 4H> ma^or wkolhev Interesting to the reader or not ; It la upoB «Ml prtnjB^l* that the more adraneed Tolnmei of the "Irlih MlatkMMl Smim*" hi^To been. oomplled. On the other hand, it la oontotdod that the wle and simple aim of a book of this character should be, to teadl the art of reading ; and. many of the most modem School Readers have been prepared In accordance with thiji view. In the |>resfnt book, and throughout tbe whole of the Series, the plan adopted la, to 0ombine the advantages of both systems without their disadrantages, or in other words, to convey Information in an intoresUng manner, to endeavour to excite and stimulate the curiosity of the scholar to flurther researches by extracts which shall not merely eonvey initmotlon, but will at once attract his attention and will convert a •tody into a pleasure. The lessoni in this, as well as in the other advaaoed books of tbe Series, have been selected from the works of anthers, recpectoblo not only for their merit but also for their elegance of ifyle ; tho* p t o ii i 'rlng the trne character of the Series, as intended to teaoh thft idrt of Reading. The names of such men as Brougham, Manry^ Hugh Miller, Darwin, Dickens, Livingstone, Goose, Kane, Smileo^ Maoaal&y, Gibbon, .Bulwer, Robertson, Warburton, Ao., are a iuffleient gniarantee for the literary character of the work. One important feature in this and its companion book, the 6th, to which the attention of teachers is directed, is the aystematio arrange- ment of the snbjeots, by which it is hoped that the pnpU may be led to that moat important step towards sound scholarship— the accurate olairifleation of all knowledge acquired. No attempt has been made to give an epitome of any seieaee whatever. Under the headings of the Physioal and Hlstorieal Boienees, the scholar is f^ystematically and progressively introdnood It. mrAOi. to the broad fleld of knowledge In theie departmenii, of wblob, tb« objects are clearly statod, and the boundariei oareftiUj defined in the Introductory chapters. Instead of that uninteresting detail which serves but to prejudice the minds of the young against lonie of the most delightful and elevating studies, the tetencos are illus- trated by incidents or by examples, and the legitimate curiosity of the scholar is thereby excited and stimulated to obtain a deeper insight into those wonders which are here presented to his fkooj. The whole is tbiclcly interspersed with readings iu rerse ttom tiM works of our best poets ; and a national tone has been givcm ta Um book by the introduction of sketches of the Provinces, itc» •' o* , While the lessons are unincumbered with those explanationt df commonly occurring words, explanations which reflect upon tbo teacher, and deprive him at once of pleasure and authority ; tho etymologies of all scientific terms employed are ftiUy glfen in lb« text. Toronto, September, 1866. O) •!*■. .lid i«f • Joil ■)o e^^c-^d fvvKK, . , : •jfji iim-il ot h'ilHifiiv.' ■ ■■... ■ "h -'(iK ■■ • . 'Hlf yd» aolrfraon m; ,»!«iO»r TJilJo 01 lO •/.'i Ol lU0tti'>hc\'i .r un\ ,uoii3in}«ui ■>iimooIiilM • 'til ni en. •>■>'•! odT '(!i li^jril n«tl ^fno Jon '- ' "IT .-^luhn-*^^ 1<' i-i. , .:;i;t(oJl ,*xa7/I»frt, .rioddiJ) .Y«rBU'>/;M[ .imh -{•nivMl mi lul 09ln. i ..btnag ■ ' .' ■ '.;„hf»q(i!i onO ' . • • .,.i;JiOf|inl }8om JiufI ot iMlfl lfiii«Tfiffi'J*l?158 Pt ..r . A' ,lt »nti, of which, th« trefUHj deflntd in loterMttng deUU •ung ftgainit loiii* ■eiencos are iUui- imate ourioiitjr of obtain a deeper nted to hU Iknoj. In rerie ttom the been givtn to the oes, A«. 9 explanatlOBt dt reflect upon the Id aathoritgr ; th# tnWf glfen in the . 'Hi! . hilU fliooii h inlifitio** h'uwH 'i'idio 01 10 /.;* ol -iuofn'.thn'i ^d'i^lt'ni'>■l VJiiiiiit it jihf ,(joihfnJ«(il ni en.>'>^ ! odT •ffifl .TilliM il^i/ll orfdif) ^\iihuy tM ooisrTiDisrTs .aid'/ or TUi gxUJx iQ0b Of SiAtftng %n$nt^$. <♦•» OwrLtmdi or liU Sm^ ^(lU JVmiM At/riod, Illuttrat«dlMWlonN«wi. OaUMPleuurMofSoltiMW, QrouglMinw ^ The e«*, !.>.. Ooodrtokbi- / Th» Forging tff Iht Anchor, .Ano» larly Narlgaton, Qoodrldi. Th« Cbfl«4M«ke ud Sluinnon, Adtiaa Tk» Omvid Ad^.......,. T.,K :srrv«j. The Ouir Straam, Maiir>. > ChuvtarisUoi of tb« New World Or. Clycu • WhtnU (M BrUmi't Bamif Bulver. Natural bcienoes. Tbe Netanl Soleooee GaoMOT :— Oeologj FInrt BIttdiea of a young Oeologiit. Mlneialoi^ . IMolCMk OOHMrlSBee of Lake Superior. Botakt: — Bouiajr....... i. <«.«.. Oeoeral Aviilonor PlanU.... TkenmoMtkiMtt,.. ADMiorVefetabielii BetaaieelOleeDlBgi.... Linnwu Naaiing tbe Flowen Ttlkt Fringed OmtkuL.. Tlopioal 8oMiei7 .* Vegetable Ctotbtog— Flax, Hemp and Cotton. . . Lambering .......;;........ Th$ lAmitn 2Vm..... Km linklnwater'e Window. Aadentaiid Modem* Farming. fMTii$m Anlmtlit — I'ur, Wool, Bilk, \ l.Mih«r / n*rUd l\fr t^ Hwmtlin Th« PUMnger PIgoon To a Wt^trfml Th« Ch«qa«r«d flnak* Th«TkUoriT«d|N>l« til The Iftwfboadland FtohorlM..... AteMUMT longtngt Amerioftn IdmcU Snail TluOwnU Jnuet Utk In a Wat«rdrop Mrmmoloot:— Th« Air OcMn AlmoaptMrlo Phenomena TKt CItoiNL A Storm among the Altai Mounialna Among the loo ASoii0Mtl*'C«eaUi'$Dap,im CammT:— Chemlakrjr Tho Ohemlatrj of a Candle CbmpoaltiOD of Solla Men of Scloww From *' Tkt Deterted ViUagt'' Knowledge ,.,,,.,, Id. Carpenter. Putaam'a Mafuiae. Dr. Uvlngttooe. Dr. Alkla. Browning. Audttboo. Bryant. Oomml Anoo. Utrobe. Kearlejr. Mi&BlgooriMf. Bbarpe'i Mafuin*. Maury. CoaaUble'i tttkn. Bhellejr. Atklnion. Xaaei Dryden. Fowaea HooMboM Wordft Wealv. Ooldmltb. ^'^•^W MATHEMATICAL SCIENCEg. C.lfl Tb« Mathematloal Bolenoea. , . , , MwBAinoi :— Tb« Inventions of ArchlmedM. J'ViaM Springa and JTountalns The Stoam Engine 7%* Song qf Steam The Barometer The Wlnda The Inquiry. AanoROiiT:— The Unlvene. " Earth, «• Sun. ....« '( Motions of the Earth «• Moon 5 «•■ Planets '< Fixed Stan....:......... Comets and Meteors. The Stmbtom. ....... .......... Sir WiUlam Herschel. . .^. . ..... Id. .... TlnibM/.-i-it(M BsntUsk Letsws Hoar, Anderson. Anon. Araott. Anderson^ ; /. Charies MMkfiy. Ed. ,»■« . , , ^^...y - , iihi.> «»k!c! -„■ . ....'.'. lO'iaio A '^» •■./;■. ■,:/. .i..:.y Is;.. ''. ,'ifr* ■>! »f"»ftft Smiles. rpMUr. IBMB'I MSfUlM. , Uvtnfvioa*. . Alkla. OWllDg. idttboQ. yani. iirob*. MriAjr. n. Bitomv0f> lurp«'i MafitilM. •U17. NUrtabU*! Hikn. tieUajr. tklmoB. ana rjrdMi. owoei. oaaebdM Worte ^Mta. milAi. Dldatnltti. Hoar, TKATV>a molt, i^enoo. f,...i ./.-. r -.lU.Tf.l rjr: kileft III it»1 OrTiea:— Llfhl 4 Rtf. J. V. Wtlaoa; j)pMlMlt% «r JM|M te MM Bjrrea. Otiilcal JBrtrmntr-- TtlMo m x, Ml«r«MMpo. . . . Aoopfitci :-»MBd. Haannf , Kcbo, «MI MiatMl KMw IJrndalL rJUiMk.,' «r« liifwA. ro«. OTRIR PHYSIOAI. SCIBNCI?. Tho 0(h«r Phriioal folMMM. . . . M. * *" RiAT : — Haal, Co»4iMtlon «q4 BiwUatlon T/UM^ '" '"* HaaU-Ripaoilon ; tb« Tb«rmoro«lor \ Fowdml rA«JlMi«on i^rt fPootf Marvel* or Human Caiorto Dr. Goorgo Wllaoo. Tlia Vuloano and tbo Eartbquaka. Rold. KjJKTaiorrr:~ElofiirlcU]r Ra?. J. M. Wltaon. Tba AUantifl Ocoan and tba Telegraph Maury and Wllaon. BUnji ^ Pnuptro 8hakM|wr«. MAOiiiTMii : —Tba Loadatona and the Magnat Goodrich. PBTaiotooT:<— TbaClrouUtlonof tba Blood Mm Haok. Tba Complaint of a Stomaob Obamban. Linti on a Skdtlen. Anon. Dr. Jannar, and tba dlaoovary of Vaoolnatloa . . TImbi. Foot-ball Hugbaa On distant fteiped 0/ Eton CMigt Qny. HISTORICAL SCIENCES. Tba Hlatorloal Soleneea Ed. Mttw>u)qt :— Indian Mytbologjr Schooloiafl. LinttwrUtm OH pasting thai Mam^ I Itlamd.,.. Moora. Tba Lotus Batan Cox. Tkt Lotus Mattn. TennTton. IIWTOBT : — Battla of Marathon. Bulwar. The 4^/inct«fftkt bridge against the Tuscan Armjf. Maeanlajr. Fall or the Roman Empire CoUlar. Boadieta Gowpar. Tba Noraamen In America Ooodricli. Tba Origin of tha Brttlab Nation Maoaulaj. The Battla of Aginoourt MIohalet. FallorCooatantinopla Gibbon. Seng qf the Chrtik Bard. Byron. Diwoveryor America Robertaon. Edinburgh t^fter Ftoddm Aytoan. Tba Battla of Naaaby Tbomai On the dowt^fiM iff Poland CampbelL FatUa or Baladava. W. H. RnawlL Charge ttf the Light Brigade. Tennyaon. HinoKT or nra Bbituh PaonacM:— DiacoTaryorNawftrandland Warburtoo. NovnSootla. #VoM EvangeUne Longfellow. New Bnuiflwlck. MoOregor. ftt* OONTBNTf* !: ■ f :'■ /i PHMt RdiraN blMA Jm^mOmUm <)Mta^«r llM Miljr iMary arowtiik IM llffr iNtlNMal PmiMMt:-ajii«rylBW«r40 AmmumIoot:— MMovtrfiMMf tlMniiMoriflMV«li Li««iA AiAM^IlMhM. KniMUMT:— NortliAiMncM ladluc..... 1.11' .IfulV i' ) .itM titi.'l ^^il^ ,1' •.'•■i>.' .1' .,. ., ,, .4 9^ I .♦. ••a? »*tev**"*^'' MitTHJtr f* ^li ' ' » , \UR LAND; OR, THE SONG OF THE FINNISH PATRIOTS. (Translated from the Swedish of Runeherg.) Our land, our land, our Fatherland I Thoa glorious word, ring forth ! No mountain rises, proud and grand. Nor slopes a vale, nor sweeps a strand, More dear than thou, land of the North — Our fathers' native earth. Our land is poor, as all can tell ; No gold our rivers hold ; A stranger scorns its heath and fell. And yet this land we love full well ; For us — with mountain, wood, and wold — 'Tis still a land of gold. We love our rivers' thnndering tide, Our streamlets sparkMng bright ; The murmuring of our forests wide ; Our starry nights, our summer's pride ; All, all that e'er, with sound or sight, Has fiird us with delight. 'Twas here our fathers fought the fight, With thought, and sword, and plough ; Here — here in moments dark or bright, 'Mid Fortune's smile, or Fortune's spite, The Finnish people's heart would glow, , 'Twonld bear both weal and woe. A'.; 3 OUR LAND ; OR, THE SONQ OF THE FINNISH PATRIOTS. And ivho could count the straggles dire VVIilch that brave people stood, When battle raged with sword and fire, And frost and famine spent their ire ? And who coald mete their outpourM blood — Their patient, dauntless mood ? It was for us their life-blood flow'd,. Here, here upon this shore ; 'Twas here with joy their bosoms glow'd, 'Twas here in sorrow they abode ; Long ere we lived, in days of yore Our burdens here they bore. How bleat, how precious, is this spot, All that we love Is here ; Howe'er hard fate may cast onr lot, A land — a fatherland — we 've got ; Oh, what on earth can e*er Be to our hearts more dear ? And here, yes here, we see the land — sight, how full of bliss ! We need but stretch our good right hand. And joyous point to sea and strand. And say, ** Behold this country — this — . Our fatherland it is." And were we calPd to dwell in light, 'Midst golden clouds of morn, Where thousand stars are glittering bright. Where tears ne'er flow, nor sorrows blight ; Still, for this land so poor, so stem, Onr longing hearts would yearn. land ! thon land of thousand lakes. Of song and constancy ; Against whose strand life's ocean breaks. Where dreams the past, the future wakes ; Oh, blush not for thy poverty — Be hopeful, bold, and free. ISH PATRIOTS. ON THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. Thy blossom, in the bad that lies, Shall burst its fetters strong ; So, from oor tender love shall rise Thy light, thy fame, thy hopes, thy joys ; And prouder far shall sound ere long Our Fialand's Patriot Song. ^Illustrated London News. ON THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. To pass our time in the study of the sciences has, in all ages, been reckoned one of the most dignified and happy of human occu- pations, and the name of philosopher, or lover of wisdom, is given to those who lead such a life. But it is by no means necessary that a man should do nothing else than study known truths, and explore new, in order to earn this high title. Some of the greatest philosophers, in all ages, have been engaged in the pursuits of active life ; and he who, in whatever station his lot may be cast, prefers the refined and elevating pleasures of knowledge to the low gratifi- cation of the senses, richly deserves the name of a philosopher. It is easy to show that there is a positive gratification resulting from the study of the sciences. If it be a pleasure to gratify curio- sity — to know what we were ignorant of — to have our feelings of wonder called forth, how pure a delight of this very kind does natu- ral science hold out to its students t Recollect some of the extra- ordinary discoveries of mechanical philosophy. Is there anything in all the idle books of tales and horrors, with which youthful readers are so much delighted, more truly astonishing, than the fact, that a few pounds of water may, without any machinery, produce an irresistible force ? What can be more strange, than that an ounce weight should balance hundreds of pounds, by the intervention of a few bars of thin iron? — Observe the extraordinary truths which optical science discloses t Can anything surprise us more, than to find that the colour of white is a mixture of all others ; that red, and blue, and green, and all the rest, merely by being blended in certain proportions, form what we had fancied rather to be no colour at all than all colours together ? — Chemistry is not behind in its wonders. That the diamond should be made of the same material with coal ; that water should be chiefly composed of an inflammable substance ; OS THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. that acids shonld be almost all formed of different kinds of air ; and that one of those acids, whose strength can dissolve almost any of the metals, should be made of the self-same ingredients with the common air we breathe ; these snrely are things to excite the won- der of any reflecting mind — nay, of any one but little accustomed to reflect. And yet these are trifling when compared to the pro- digies which astronomy opens to our view : the enormous masses of the heavenly bodies ; their immense distances ; their countless num- bers, and their motions, whose swiftness mocks the uttermost efforts of the imagination. Akin to this pleasure of contemplating new and extraordinary truths, is the gratification of a more learned curiosity, by tracing resemblances and relations between things which, to common appre- hension, seem widely different. It is surely a satisfaction, for in- stance, to know that the same thing which causes the sensation of heat causes also fluidity ; that electricity, the light which is seen on the back of a cat when slightly rubbed on a frosty evening, is the very same matter with the lightning of the clouds ; that plants breathe like ourselves, but differently, by day and by night ; that the air which burns in our lamps enables a balloon to mount. No- thing can at first sight appear less like, or less likely to be caused by the same thing, than the processes of burning and of breathing,— the rust on metals and burning, — the influence of a plant on the air it grows in by night, and of an animal on the same air at any time, nay, and of a body burning in that air ; and yet all these operations, so unlike to common eyes, when examined by the light of science, are the same. Nothing can be less like than the working of a vast steam-engine and the crawlmg of a fly upon the window ; yet we find that these two operations are performed by the same means — the weight of the atmosphere ; and that a sea-horse climbs the ice- hills by no other power. Can anything be more strange to con- template? Is there, in all the fairy tales that ever were fancied, anything more calculated to arrest the attention, and to occupy and gratify the mind, than this most unexpected resemblance between things so unlike to the eyes of ordinary beholders? Then, if we raise our views to the structure of the heavens, we are again grati- fied with tracing accurate but most unexpected resemblances. Is it not in the highest degree interesting to find, that the power which keeps the earth in its shape and in its path, wheeling round the sun, extends over all the other worlds that compose the universe, and gives to each its proper place and motion ; that the same power keeps the moon in her path round the earth ; that the same power THE SEA. 5 causes the tides npon onr earth, and the peculiar form of the earth itself; and that, after all, it is the same power which malces a stone fall to the groand? To learn these things, and to reflect upon them, fills the mind, and produces certain as well as pure gratiti- cation. The highest of all our gratifications in the study of science re> mains. We are raised by science to an understanding of the infinite wisdom and goodness which the Creator has displayed in all His works. Not a step can we take in any direction without perceiving the most extraordinary traces of design ; and the skill everywhere conspicuous is calculated in so vast a proportion of instances to pro- mote the happiness of living creatures, and especially of ourselves, that we can feel no hesitation in concluding, that if we knew the whole scheme of Providence, every part would appear to be in har- mony with a plan of absolute benevolence. Independently, how- ever, of this most consoling inference, the delight is inexpressible, of being able to follow, as it were, with our eyes, the marvellous works of the great Architect of Nature, and to trace the unbounded power and exquisite skill which are exhibited in the most minute as well as in the mightiest parts of His system. -—Brougham. THE SEA. *'' The sea is His, and He made it," cries the Psalmist of Israel in one of those bursts of enthusiasm in which he so often expresses the whole of a vast subject by a few simple words. Whose else, indeed, could it be, and by whom else could it have been made ? Who else can heave its tides and appoint its bounds ? Who else can urge its mighty waves to madness with the breath and wings of the tempest, and then speak to it again in a master's accents, and bid it be still ? Who else could have peopled it with countless inhabitants, and filled it from its deepest bed to its expanded sur- face, filled it from its centre to its remotest shores, filled it to the brim with beauty and mystery and power ? Altijestic ocean ! Glo- rious sea I No created being rules thee or made thee. There is mystery in the sea. There is mystery in its depths. It is unfathomed, and perhaps unfathomable. What glittering 9 TUE SEA. riches, wliat heaps o( ^old, what stores of gems, there most be 8catterc(l in lavish profuMion in the ocean's lowest bed I What spoils from all climates, what works of art from all land8, have been ingulfed by the insatiable and reckless waves 1 Who shall go down to examine and reclaim this uncounted and idle wealth ? Who bears the keys of the deep ? Who but IIo to whom the wild- est waves listen reverently, and to whom all nature bows ; He who shall one day speak, and be heard in the ocean's profoundirst caves ; to whom the deep, even the lowest deep, shall give up its dead, when the suu shall sicken, and the earth and the isles shall languish, and the heavens be rolled together like a scroll, and there shall be KO MORE SEA ! In early times, in the scriptural and classic periods, the great oceans were ui)knu3 with wild stories of enchantresses, of bulls that breathed fire, and of a race of men that sprang, like a ripened harvest, from the prolific soil. If the ancients were ignorant of the shape of the earth, it was for the very reason that they were ignorant of the ocean. Their geographers and philosophers, whose observations were confined to fragments of Europe, Asia, and Africa, altemat ;ly made the world a cylinder, a flat surface begirt by water, a drum, a boat, a disk. The legends that sprang from these confused and contradictory notions made the land a scene of marvels, and the water an abode of terrors. At a later period, when, with the progress of time, the love of adventure or the needs of commerce had drawn the navigator from the Mediterranean through the Pillars of Hercules into the Atlantic, and when some conception of the immensity of the waters had forced itself upon minds dwarfed by the contracted limits of the inland sea, then the ocean became in good earnest a receptacle of THE SEA. fj^foomj and appalling horrors, and the marvels narrated by those fortunate enough to return, told how deeply the imagination had been Htirred by the new scones opened to their vision. Pytheas, who coasted from Marseilles to the Shetland Isles, and who there ob- tained a glance at the bleak and wintry desolation of the North Sea, declared, on reaching home, that his further progress was barred by an immense blaclc mollusc, which hung suspended in the air, and in which a ship would be inextricably involved, and where no man could breathe. The menaces of the South were even more appalling than the perils of the north ; for he who should venture, it was said, across the equator into the regions of the sun, would be changed into a negro for his rashness ; besides, in the popular belief, the waters thera were not navigable. Upon the quaint charts of the Middle A\;qh, a giant located upon the Canary IslandH forbade all farther venture westward, by brandishing his formidable club in the puth of all vessels coming from the east. Upon these singular maps, the concealed and treacherous horrors of the deep were displayed in the grotesque shapes of sea-monsters and distorted water* unicorns, which were represented as careering through space and waylaying the navigators. Even in the time of Columbus, and when the introduction of the compass into European ships should have somewhat diminished the fantastic terrors of the sea, we find that the Arabians, the best geographers of the time, represented the bony and gnarled hand of Satan as rising from the waves of the sea of darkness — as the Atlantic was then called — ready to seize and ingnlf the presumptuous mariner. The sailors of Columbus, on reaching the Sargasso Sea, where the collected \\ eeds offered an impediment to their progress, thought they had arrived at the limit of naviga- tion, and the end of the world. Five years later the crew of Da Gama, on doubling the Cape of Good Hope, imagined they saw, in the threatening clouds that gathered about Table Rock, the form of a spectre waving off their vessel, and crying woe to all who should thus invade his dread dominion. The Neptnne of the classics, in short, who disported himself in the narrow waters of the Mediter- ranean, and of whoso wrath we have read the famous mythologic accounts, was a deity altogether bland and debonnaire compared to the gloomy and revengeful monopolist of the seas, such as tbo histo- rians and geographers of the Middle Ages painted him. And now Columbus had discovered the Western Continent, Da Gama bad found an ocean route to the Indies, and Magellan, sailing round the world, had proved its sphericity and approached the Spice Islands from the east. For centuries now, the two great oceans 8 THE FORQINO OF THE ANCHOR. were the scenes of grand' and u.sefal maritime expeditions. Tlie tropical islands of the Pacific arooo, one by one, from the bosom of* the sea, to reward the navigator, or relieve the outcast. For years property was not safe upon the sea, and trading ships went armed, while the armed vessels of nations turned buccaneers. Commerce was by and by spread over the world, and civilisation and Christi- anity were introduced into the desert and the wilderness. Two cen- turies more, and steam mnde the Atlantic Ocean a ferry-transit. The ocean, then, has a history ; it has a past worth narraiin;r, adventures worth telling, and it hatt played a part in the advance- ment of science, in the extension of geographical knowledge, in the spread of civilisation and the progress of discovery, which it is eminently worth our while to ponder and digest. — GooDRicirs " The Sea:' THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. CoHE, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ; 'tis at a white heat now ; The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound ; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare : Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves below. And red and deep, a hundred veins burst out at every throe ; It rises, roars, rends all outright — Vulcan, what a glow I 'Tie blinding white, 'tis blasting bright ; the high sun shines not so ! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show, The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe. As quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster, slow Sinks on the anvil — all about the faces fiery grow — "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out — leap out;" bang, bang the sledges go ; Hurrah ; the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low ; THE fORQINO Of TUB ANCHOR. t A hailing foant of fire Is itruck tt every sqaashlDg blow ; The leathern mail rebounds the hall ; the rattling cinders strow The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering fountains How ; And thick and loud the swiukiug crowd, at every stroke, pant "Ho!" Leap out, leap out, my masters ; leap out and lay on load I Let 's forge a goodly anchor, a bower, thick and broad ; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode, And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road ; The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean poar*d From stem to stern, sea after soa, the mainmast by the board ; The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains, But courage still, brave mariners, the bower yet remains. And not an inch to flinch he deigns save when ye pitch sky-high, Then moves bis head, as though he said, **Fear nothing, here ami!" Swing in yoor strokes In order, let foot and hand keep time ! Yonr blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime ; But, while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be, ** The anchor is the anvil king, and royal craftsmen we." Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red ! Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped. Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array, For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy conch of clay ; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here. For the **• YeO'heavO'O," and the *' Heave-away," and the sighing seaman's cheer ; When weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home, And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o*er the ocean foam. In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last, A shapely one he is and strong, as e'er from cat was cast. trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me, What pleasares would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea ! deep sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou ? The hoary monster's palaces ! methiuks what joy 'twere now To go plump plunging down amid the assembly of the whales. And feci the churn'd sea round me boil beneath their scoarging tails I Then deep in tangle- woods to fight the fierce sea-nnicorn. And scud him foii'd and bellowing back, for all hid ivory horn ; in THE roRuiNO or Tiiiy anchor. To loAvo tho snbtio twonler- fl^h, of bony blade, forlorn, And for the gImNtly grinning MJiarkf to Uuirh hin Jaws to scorn ; To leap down on the krakcn's back, when*, niUI Norwegian idles He lies, a lubl)er anchorage for Nuddt'n shallowed miles ; Tdi snortin;;, like an nnder-Koa volcano, oti' he rolU, Meanwhile to Mwin;(, a-butfutint; tho far asttonlsh'd Hhoiils Of his back-browMJng ocean-calves; or hsply in a cove, Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love, To find the ioni;-haii'd mermaidens ; or, hard by icy lands, To wieMtlu with tho sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands. broad-armed flsther of tho deep, whose sports can equal thine? The Dolphin weighs a thouinand ions, that tugs thy cable line ; And night by night, 'tis tliy dcli}:ht, thy glory day by day. Through sablo sea and breaker white, the giant gamn to play. Hut, shamer of our little sports ! forgive the name I gave, A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine olHco is to save. O lodger in the soa-kiug*s halls, couldst thou but understand Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band, Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend, With sounds like breakers in a dream, blessing their ancient friend — Ob, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger stops round thee, Tiiine iron side would swell with prido, thou 'dst leap within the sea ! Give honour to their memories who left the pleasant strand. To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland — Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave — Oh, thouuh our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, Honour him for their memory, whose bones he goes among ! — Blackwood't Magazine. s--<5^- lARLY KAViaATOM. u EAnLY NAVIGATOiiS. Wr have taken tho birth of Christ aa a point of dcpartord in tho Itistory of navigation, moroly Ix^cnuiio of tho prominence of that event ill the annals of iho world, not on account of nny connexion that it has with tho chronicles of the sea. So far from that, the Hrst five centuries of thu Christian era aro an absolute blank In all matters which pertain to our subject. Tho Roman Empire rose and fell ; and its rise and fall concerned tho Mediterranean only. Not even ./alius Coisar, tho greatest man in Uoman history, has a place in mai'itiino rccordd ; unless, when crossing tho Adriatic in a (ishing- boat during a storm, his memorable words of encouragement to tho fisherman, ** Fear nothing I you carry Ca3Har and his fortunes 1 '* are sufficient to connect him with the sea. Neither Pompoy, nor Sylla, nor Augustus, nur Nero, nor Titus, nor Constantino, nor Theodosiua, nor Attila, can claim purt or lot in the dominion of man over tho oceiin. And so we glide rap*dly over Ave centuries. Upon the invasion of Italy by the barbarians, a.d. 476, tho Venetii a tribe dwelling upon the north-eastern shores of the Adriatic, escaped from their ravages by fleeing to the marshes and sandy inlets formed by tho deposits of the rivers which there fall into the gulf. I^re they wore secure ; for the water around them was too deep to allow of an attack from tho land, and too shallow to admit the approach of ships from the 8ea. Their only resource was the water and thu employments it afforded. At first they caught fish ; then they made salt, and finally en^'aged in maritime traffic. Early in the seventh century their traders were known at Constantinople, in the Levant, and at Alexandria. Their city soon covered ninety Islands, con- nected together by bridges. They established mercantile factories at Home, and extended their authority into Istria and Dalmatia. In tho eighth century they chased tlie piratos, and in the ninth they fought the Saracens. At this period Genoa, too, rose into notice, and the Qenoose and the Venetians at once became commercial rivals, and the monopolists of the Mediterranean. And now Peter the Hermit, barefooted and penniless, inveighing against the atrocities of the Turks towards Christians at Jerusalem, exhorted the warriors of the Cross to take np arms against the in- fidels. He inspired all Europe with an enthusiasm like his own, and enlisted a million followers in the cause. The passion of the age was for war, peril, and adventure ; and fighting for the Sepul- chre was a more agreeable method of doing penance than wearing 12 EARLY NAVIUATUIW. itckcloth or mortifying the flcih. The flrit Cni^ido, a motley trrny of knit{lit«, ■|MMi(ltlirlft«, baroiiM, lnnggMt^ wonion, niul childron, »et out upon tlioir wild c«reor. TIkmi ciiido the second, tlio third, and the fourth. Cruvading wait the amuncmcnt and occupation of two centurivii. Two niilllona of tluropcans poriihcd in tho cauae before It WAS abandoned. A fuw words concerning itn vflfoct npon the oiviliaatiou of Europe are necesnary here, in direct pursuance of our lubjeot. During their atny In Palestine the OuNaders learned, and In a measure ac(|uired, the liablta of Eastern life. They brought back with them a taste for the pccniiar products of that region — Jewels, silks, cutlery, perfume, spices. A brisk commcco through the length and brdadth of the Mediterranean was the speedy conse* quence. Genoa, Pisa, Florence, Venice, covered the waters of their inland sea with sails, trafficking from the ports of Italy to those of Syria and Egypt. In every maritime city conquered l9y tho Crus< aders, trading stations and bazaars were established. Marseilles obtained from the kings of Jerusalem privileges and monopoliea of trade upon their territory. Venice surpassed all her rivals In the splendour and extent of her commerce, and it was for this that the Pope, Alexander III., sent the Doge tho famous nuptial ring with which, in assertion of his naval supremacy, ** to wed the Adriatic." The ceremony was performed from the deck of the Bucentaur^ or state galley, with every possible accompaniment of pomp and par- ade. The vessel was crowned with flowers like a bride, and amid the harmonies of music, and the acclamationtt of the spectators, the ring was drop|)ed Into tho sea. The Republic and the Adriatic, long betrothed, were now indissolubly wedded. This ceremony was repeated from year to year. The Normans, the Danes, tho Dutch, imitated the example of the Italians, or, as they were then called, the Lombards, bnt were rather occupied In conveying provisions to the armies tb .n in trad- ing for their own account. It was during the Crusades that the French navy was created. Philip Augustus, who, on his way to Syria, and thence home again, could not have remained Insensible to the advantages of possessing a strong force upon the ocean, formed, upon his return, the nnclens of a national fleet, for the purpose of defending his coasts either against pirates or foreign Invasion. While the necessity of transporting articles from the East to sop- ply the demand thus created in the West, gave a stimulus to com- merce and navigation, manufactures were encoaraged and developed EARLY NAVIGATOR!. 1.1 by the oprrfttton of ihA Rfimo emtM. Tlio Iialiini li^nrnod from t\\« (JruokN the nrt uf Hnivinit Milk, which »wm rcHuitrd in the ^mvlii^ of cloth of i;ohl ttixi Nilvrr. From the maniitnctoriflit of Syrin, whcrA ■tutTM wont nuuU' <*i ciuikIn' hair, iinprovcinoiitM wcrn iiitrnduceil Into the mmiiirmiori««H of Kuro|)«, wli«ro they w«'re woven of no other nintiM'iiii tliiin knibH* wool. I'aleNtino alio iiU};K<'>*tc(l to cm- HNders ntiiiiiiiiiC homo the AdvRntA(];e0 of windmill« for Kriiidinf; (lour. Ambitk furnished tho art of tempering urniii and potiiihini; Mieel, of ctiAMing gold and silver, of mounting stones in rich and masnivti Mctdngs. Constantinople furnished the Christians with mnny tiplendid specimens of ancient art. Nearly all tho Gothic monnments of Europe which stttl excite the admiration of tho tourist, owe thoir existence to this communication with tho Greeks by moans of tho Crusades, and to the wonder which seized the Frnnks and Lombards at the sight of tho churches and palaces of Byxantium. Painting npon ginss wss also bronght from Constantinople ; and tho early painters of Cliristendom wore speedily employed in tracing in colourM, upon the windows of abbeys and cathedrals, tho exploits of tho Crusaders, and the trinmpht of tho Cross. From tho Arabs and tho Greeks, too, tho Europeans received their first lesMons in the natural and exact sciences. Imperfect and in- complete as were tho astronomy, tho botany, tho mathematics, and the geography of tho Arabians, they were far in advanco of tho samo prufessioiis as understood and practised in Europo. Tho lan- guages were improved and enriched by the association and exchange of ideas into which £uglisb| Germans, Italians, and French were forced. It is obvious, therefore, that the cflfect of the Crusades was to give the people of Europe a new motive for maintaining an inter- course with tiie people of Asia. They had seen their superior civilisation, and sought to introduce it among themselves. They had learned to appreciate their skill in the arts, and resolved to acclimate those arts at home. They had accustomed themselves to many articles of luxury, which had become articles of necessity, and whi h it was now essential, therefore, to transport from the Levant, from tho Rod Sea, and the Persian Gulf, to the Bay of Venice and the Gulf of Genoa. There was a demand, in short, in the West, for the products, the manufactures, the arts, of the East. Here was the origin of the immense Eastern commerce which now fell into the bands of the Genoese and Venetians, and which resulting from the Crusades, compelled ns to the digression we have made u EARLY NAVIGATORS. A map, published jnst anterior to the first Crusade, fully displays the ignorance which then prevailed in geographical science. The sea, as in the age of Homer, is made to surround the world as a river, the land being divided into three parts, Europe, Asia, and Africa. Africa and Asia are joined together in the south, and the Indian Ocean is an inland sea. Asia is as large as the other two continents combined. On the east, there is a small spot indicated as the position of the Garden of Eden by the words, Hie est Para- diaus. Europe and Africa are separated from Asia by a long canal, which may be either the Nile or the Hellespont. Africa is still considered the land of mystery and fable ; its northern part only is considered inhabitable, the south being even unapproachable, on account of the torrents of flame poured on it by the sun. The Frozen Ocean, the Baltic, the*White Sea, and the Caspian, are all united. The northern regions are represented as forming one single island ; and Scandinavia is made the birthplace and residence of the Amazons, the famous women- warriors to whom antiquity had given a home in the Caucasus. — Goodbich's "TAe Sea:' TBE WOBtD AS KNOWN TO THE ANCIENTS 200 B.O. THE CHESAPEAKE AND THE SHANNON. U THE CHESAPEAKE AND THE SHANNON. " And as the war they did provoke, We '11 p vy them with our cannon ; The firnt to do it will be Broke, In the gallant ship the Shannon." — Old Song. The 1st of June has long been a glorious day in the annals of the British navy. It was then, in the year 16G5, that the Duke of York and Sir William Penu defeated the Dutch Fleet at Solebay ; and on the same day, in 1794, Lord Howe gained his faoiPus victory over the French. But the 1st of June upon wbicb'^ur story opens was that of 1813, the second year of the Amlliicau war. Great Britain had, for many years, been engaged in an un- equal contest with the giant power of the first Napoleon } victorious upon her native element, she was also driving his armies from the soil of Spain, and was tasking all her powers in men and money to the utmost, in order to bring a long and exhaustive struggle to a happy conclusion. Taking advantage of her embarrassed situation, the new republic of the United States availed itself of a supposed insult which Great Britain had offered in searching its ships for uaval deserters,, and declared war on the 18th of Jane 1812, IG THE CHESAPEAKE AND THE SHANNON. exactly three jears before the battle of Waterloo. Then commenced a sad and unjust war; sad, because it was between people of the same blood and language ; and unjust, because the Americans had no real ground of provocation. The United States carried on the war both by land and by sea, invading Canada with their armies, and attacking British frigates and merchant vessels upon the ocean. No large men-of war could be spared from their duty upon the European coast to oppose the ships of the enemy, which, on account of their superior size and armament, had already succeeded in cap- turing several of the smaller British craft. '* England had so long regarded her naval supremacy as indisputable, and had been rendered so confident by a long series of ocean victories, that, at first, she treated the American war with undisguised contempt. On the other hand, the Americans introduced into their military operations the same ' smartness ' which characterised their commercial deal- ings, and, aware of the importance of damaging the world's belief in England's invincibility, they quickly put to sea several powerful uicn-of-war, heavily armed and fully manned, which they, neverthe- less, designated * frigates' and * sloops.' It was then with a burst of indignation, wrath, and wonder, that England heard of disgrace after disgrace, disaster upon disaster, — of English frigates captured by American frigates, aiid English sloops by American sloops — until it seemed as if the boasted prowess of our sailors had suddenly dis- appeared, and the knell of England's power was to be rung by her youthful and aggressive ofilspring. The war spirit, which had hitherto slumbered in the Saxon heart, shot up into a sudden flame, aud from north to south, and east to west, went forth the cry that the honour of England must be avenged. It was while public feel- ing was thus unnaturally excited, that a single ship restored the old and just belief in our maritime renown. That ship was the frigate Shannon^ whose gallant encounter with the Chesapeake is one of the most stirring episodes in all onr naval history." <<0n the 21st of March 1813,Gaptrun Broke sailed from Halifax, in company with a frigate of the same size as the Shannon, the TenedoSy commanded by an equally zealous officer. Captain Hyde Parker. Looking into Boston harbour, the two British captains saw, to their great delight, two heavily-armed United States frigates, the President and the Congress^ ready for sea. Notwithstanding the disparity of force, they resolved, if possible, to engage the Americans, and took up a station off tVe harbour to intercept their escape. Meanwhile, by another channel, the American 3 6 -gun-frigate Chesapeake had ran into port. During a thick fog on the 1st of May, the two THE CHESAPEAKE AND THE SHANNON. 17 Americans contrived to elude the vigilance of their sentinels, and put out to sea ; and the English captains had the mortification of finding only the C/ieaapeake left in the harbour. They were too brave to think of opposing their united strength to a single frigate, and, moreover, it was evident that the Chesapeake would hardly venture from her place of shelter to encounter two British ships of war. Captain Broke, therefore^ as senior ofiicer, ordered the Tenedoa to proceed on a cruise, with instructions not to rejoin him until the 14th of June." During the long month of May the IS THE CHESAPEAKE AND THE SHANNON. the British tars turn traitors to their country. About a quarter to six o'clock the C/tesapeake CAme up within fifty yards of tlie Shannon. " Ah they drifted on their path, Tliere was Hilenoe deep as death, And the boldeHt held hin breath For H time." Tlien a cheer arose from the American ship, followed by a shot from the British frigHte. Thirteen such single shots passed from vessel to vessel, followed by crashini; timbers, and the groans of wounded and dying men. Then the Chesapeakt poured in a broadside ; the Shannon replied, and, for a few minutes, the decks of the opposing frigates were swept by the iron hail, driving the men from their quarters in which no human being could live. Now a well-aimed shot,^ for the Shannon's crew are splendid gunners, brings down the steersman of the Chesapeake; she falls sharp to the wind, and exposes herself to the full sweep of the British fire. Already Captain Law- rence has fallen mortally wounded, exclaiming, with his last breath, " Don't give up the ship ; " for he was a brave roan and a good officer. A terrible volley is poured into the sternports of the Chesa- peake, and the second officer in command wishes to get the vessel uway from her gallant British enemy ; but Broke will not let him, and so the two ships fall aboard oue another. ** Lash them to- gether," cries the captain of the Shannon^ and brave men strive to bind the frigates fast, while the enemy is raining musketry upon them, and Stevens, the veteran boatswain, has his left arm literally hacked off with repeated swordcuts. The rest of the Shannon's crew are boarders ; the Americans are expecting them, and a large barrjects. " The moral efl'ect of this memorable action, both in England and America, was immense ; it restored confidence to the public mind of Great Britain, while it proved to the Americans that they were by no means able to contend with English sailors, when the terms were at all equal. We do not doubt that if a parricidal war should again — which God forbid 1 — break out between the mother country and the commonwealth, nurtured of her strength and bred from her loins, our seamen would still maintain the honour of the Red Cross, and repeat, if necessary, that gallant encounter between the Shannon and the Chesapeake^ which, in the stirring times of the great war, fired with patriotic ardour the hearts of our Torefathers, and reasserted our sovereignty of the seas !" — Adapted from Adams's ^^ Famous SJiips of the British Navy.''* v*# 20 THE CONVICT SHIP. THE CONVICT SHIP. Morn on the waters ! and purple and bright, Bursts on the billows the flashing of light; O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun. See the tall vessel goes gallantly on ; Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale ; The winds come around her, in murmur and song, And the surges rejoice as they bear her along. See I she looks up to the golden-edged clouds. And the sailor sings gaily aloft in her shrouds : Onwards she glides amid ripple and spray. Over the waters, away and away ! Bright as the visions of youth ere they part, Passing away, like a dream of the heart ; Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, Music around her, and sunshine on high. Pauses to think, amid glitter and nhow. Oh t there be hearts that are breakiog below ? Night on the waves ! and the moon is on high. Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky. Treading its depths in the power of her might, And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light. Look to the waters ! asleep on their breast. Seems not the ship like an island of rest, Bright and alone on the shadowy main, Like a heart- cherish'd home on some desolate plain ? Who, as she smiles in the silvery light, Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, A phantom of beauty, could deem with a sigh. That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin. And souls that are smitten, lie bursting within ? Who, as he watches her silently gliding, Remembers that wave after wave is dividing Bosoms that sorrow and gnilt could not sever, Hearts that are parted and broken for ever ? Or dreams that he watches, afloat on the wave, TLe death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's grave ? w^ THE GULF STREAM. 21 *Ti8 thus with our life : while it passes alonif, Lilce a vessel at sea, amid sunshine anri song, Gaily we gliue in the gaze of the worlJ, With streamers afloat, and with canvis nnfurPd ; All gladness and glory to wandering eyes, Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with sighs *. Fading and false is the aspect it wears. As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears ; And the withering thoughts that the world cannot know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore, Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'd and o*er. — T. K. Hervkv. •7-r XMiAlt // \\// ..■■'/■■■ .//•:■/ -q THE GULF STREAM. There is a river in the ocean. In the severest droughts it never fails, and in the mightiest floods it never overflows. Its banks and its bottom are of cold water, while its current is of warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its fountain, and Its month 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 the Amazon, and its volume more than a thousand times greater. 22 THE OULP 8TRKAM. The currents of the ocean arc amonpf the most important of Its movements. They curry on a constant interchanKe between the waters of the poles and those of the equator, and thus diminish the extremes of heat and cold in every cone. The sea has its climates as well as the land. They both change with the latitude; but one varies with the elevation above, the other with the depression below the sea level. The climates in each are regulated by circulation ; but the regulators are, on the one hand, winds ; on the other, currents. The inhabitants of the ocean are as much the creatures of climate ns nro those of the dry land ; for the same Almi^'hty hand which decked the lily and cares for the sparrow, fashioned also the pearl, and feeds the great whale, and adapted each to the physical con- ditions by which His providence has surrounded it. Whether of the land or the sea, the inhabitants are all His creatures, subjects of His laws, and agents in His economy. The sea, therefore, we may safely infer, has its offices and duties to perform ; so, may we infer, have its currents ; and so, too, its inhabitants : consequently, he who undertakes to study its phenomena must cease to regard it as a waste of waters. He must look upon it as a part of that exquisite machinery by which the harmonies of nature are pr< served, and then he will begin to perceive the developments of order and the evidences of design. From the Arctic Seas a cold current flows along the coasts of America, to replace the warm water sent through the Gulf Stream, to moderate the cold ol western and northern Europe. Perhaps the best indication as to these cold currents may be derived from the fishes of the sea. The whales first pointed out the existence of the Gulf Stream by avoiding its warm waters. Along the coasts of the United States all those delicate animals and marine productions which delight in warmer waters are wanting; thus indicating, by their absence, the cold current from the north now known to exist there. In the genial warmth of the sea about the Bermudas on the one hand, and Africa on the other, we find in great abundance those delicate shell-fish and coral formations which are altogether want- ing in the same latitudes along the shores of South Carolina. No part of the world affords a more difficult or dangerous naviga- tion than the approaches of the northern coasts of the United States in winter. Before the warmth of the Gulf Stream was known, a voyage at this season from Europe to New England, New York, and even to the Gapes of the Delaware or Chesapeake, was many times more trying, difficult, and dangerous than it now is. In THK OULF STHKAM. 23 making this part of tlio coa^t, veRfloU wcro frequently met by snow- 8toriii8 and kiiIcs which niocic tho Kcanmn's strentttli, and set at naught liis Dkill. In a little while hiM bark beconivs a mass of ice ; with her crew frosted and hclploMs, she remains obedient only to her helm, and is kept away for tho (iulf Stream. After a few hours' run slio reaches its edge, and almost at tho next bound passes from the midst of winter into a sea at sumnuT heat. Now the ico dis- appears front her apparel, and tho sailor bathes his stiffened limbs in tepid waters. Feeling himself invigorated and refreshed with tho genial warmth about him, he realises out there at sea tho fable of Antiuns and his mother Earth. Ho rises up and attempts to make his port again, and is again, perhaps, as rudely met and beat back from tho north-west ; but each time that he is driven off from the contest ho comc3 forth from thin stream, like tho ancient son of Neptune, stronger and stronger, until, after many days, his fresh- ened strength prevails, and he at last triumphs, and enters his haven in safety, though in this contest ho sometimes falls to rise no more. Tlio ocean currents are partly the result of the immense evapora- tion which takes place in the tropical regions, where the sea greatly exceeds the land in extent. Tho enormous quantity of water there carried off by evaporation disturbs the equilibrium of tho seas ; but this is restored by a perpetual flow of water from the poles. When those streams of cold water leave the poles, they flow directly towards the equator; but, before proceeding far, their motion is deflected by the diurnal motion of tho earth. " At the poles they have no rotatory motion ; and although they gain it more and more in their progress to tho equator, which revolves at the rate of a thousand miles an hour, they arrive at the tropics before they have gained the same velocity of rotation with the intertropical ocean. On that account they are left behind, and, consequently, flow in a direction contrary to the diurnal rotation of the earth. Henco the whole surface of the ocean for thirty degrees on eacli side of the equator flows in a stream or current three thousand miles broad from east to west. The trade winds, which constantly blow in one direction, combine to give this great Equatorial Current a mean velocity of ten or eleven miles in twenty-four hours." Were it not for the land, such would be the uniform and con- stant flow of the waters of the ocean. Tho presence of the land interrupts tho regularity of this great western movement of the waters, sending them to the north or south, according to its con- formation. u THE QVLT RTRKAM. The principal branch of the Fquntorlnl (!iinont of the Atlantic tftkcs a noith-wosterly direction from oft' Cape St HtHpic, in Sontli Aniorica. It ruAhos alon^ tlic conNt of Drazil ; and, tifter paflsiiiK tlirough tho Caribbean Sen, iind Rwocplni; round tlio Gulf of Mexico, it flows between Florida iiiid Ciibn, and entors tho North Atlantic under the name of tho Uiilf Btream, tho moot beautiful of all tho oceonic currenttt. In the Straits of Florida the Clulf Stream la fhirty-two mller wide, two thousand two hundred feet deep, and flows at the rate of four miles an hour. Its wators are of the purest ultra tnarino blue as far as the coasts of Carolina ; and so completely aro I hoy separated from tho sea through which they flow, iliat a ship may be seen ut times half in tho one and half in the other. As a rule, the hottest water of tho Gulf Stronm r at or near the surface ; Hnd as the deep-sea thermometer Is pent down, it shown that these waters, though still much warmer than the water on either side at corresponding depths, gradually become less and less warm until tho bottom of tho current is reachpd. Tiiero is reason to believe that the warm waters of tho Gulf Stream are nowhere permitted, in tho oceanic economy, to touch the bottom of the sea. There i» everywhere a cushion of cold water between them and tho solid parts of the earth's crust. This arrangement is suggestive, and strikingly beautiful. One of the benign offices of the Gulf Stream is to convey heat from the Gulf of Mexico, — where other- wise it would become excessive, — and to dispense it in regionH beyond the Atlantic, for the amelioration of the climates of the British Islands, and of all Western £urop.e. Now, cold water la one of the best non-conductors of heat ; but if the warm water of the Gulf Stream were sent across the Atlantic in contact with the solid crust of the earth, comparatively a good conductor of heat, instead of being sent across, as it is, in contact with a non- conducting cushion of cold water to fend it from the bottom, all its beat would be lost in the first part of the way, and the soft climates of both France and England would be as that of Labrador severe iu the extreme, and ice-bound. It has been estimated that the quantity of heat discharged over the Atlantic from the waters of the Gulf Stream in a winter's day would be sufficient to raise the whole column of atmosphere that rests upon France and the British Islands from the freezing point to summer heat. Every west wind that blows crosses the stream on its way to Europe, and carries with it a portion of this heat to temper there ClIARACTKRISTICft OF HIE NKW WOULD. 2/5 Mt or near the own, it showfl tlifl nortlicrn wIihIh of winter. It Ii the influ<^nco of thi^ Htrftm thKt mtiket Erin tlie *' Kmcrald Uie of the Hea,*' aimI thnt clothm the ihorcs of Albion in evorgrcrn rol)e8 ; while, in tho oamo liili- tudo, the coARtH of Labrador arc fast bound in fetters of Ice. Aa the Oulf Strpam proceeds on its couri«e, it gnulnaliy increapra in width. It (iowa aiong tho coast of Nortli America to Newfound- land, where it turns to the east, one branch setting towards tho Hritish blandM, and away to tlie coasts of Norway and the Arctic Ocean. Another brancli reaches tho Azores, from which it bcndM round to tho south, and, after running aiong tho African coast, it rejoins tho great equatorial flow, leaving a vast space of nearly motionless water between the Azores, the Canaries, and Gape do Vei'd Islands. This great area is tho GracHy or Sargasso Sea, covering a space many times larger than tho British Islands. It is eo thickly matted over with gulf weeds that the speed of vessels passing through it is often much retarded. When tho companions of Columbus saw it, they thought it marked the limits of navigation, and became alarmed. To the eye, at a little distance, it seems substantial enough to walk upon. Patches of tho weed are always to be seen floating along the outer edge of the Gulf Stream. Now, if bits of cork or chaff, or any floating substance, be put into a basin, and a circular motion be given to the water, all the light substances will be found crowding together near the centre of tho pool, where there is tho least motion. Just such a basin is tiiu Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf Stream ; and the Sargasso Sea is tiie centre of the whirl. Columbus flrst found this weedy sea in his voyage of discovery: there it has remained to this day, moving up and down, and changing its position like the calms of Cancer, according to the seai^ons, tho storms, and the winds. Exact ob- Rorvations as to its limits and their range, extending back for fifty years, assure us that its mean position has not been altered since that time. — Maury. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE NEW WORLD. Three centuries and a half ago, in October of the year 1492, Christopher Columbus, while sailing from the extreme west of the ancient continents in hopes of finding a direct route to their extreme east, made the wonderful discovery of a new quarter of the globe. 30 rif An.\fTrnisTic!i or rirr xrw wont.n. Thfl«« thrcfl ccnturiffs nnd n hnlf linvo not divrMtod AmrricA of Iti n^wnoNM ; fur tlio novelty which it poii40MM<>N conMiMtN in iomrthint( nioK* than tho IntiMivM of iiM iliNcovvry. NocoitMariiy tho |)h)-iiici«l fcMturuN of tlio Old World uro rpproducod in tho Ninv ; hut thi>ii rolativo proportioMM nncl thoir nrrnntrcnuMit arn extremely ditforunt. One churacteriNtic of tho Netv World in the nnlf»rmity of its two continental maMNeM. F.ach of the throf ctnitinentii conipoMin;; the Old World han an individuality of iiM own — Knrope beiii(( remark- ftble for peninMnlaN, Aftia for tabtelandH, and Africa lor duiiertii ; but North and Month America are reniarliabte chiefly at bein^ tho countorpartH of each other. They occupy, indeed, diJIerent Koiie^, and tho Kocky Mountainrt of North America Me much farther troni the oosst than the Andc!) of Houth America, but all el^e \n corre.Hpondencc. Both are pear-shaped, and tho narrow end of the p<'ar pointH Houthwards in each ; in both, the principal mountaiuM run north and sonth, and not far from iho weMiern shoro; the St Lawrence and Mi8(d.sHip|>i in Norlh America, correspond in direction to tho Amazon and La Plata in South America; tho Ikazilian group of mountainfl, which scpuriito tlie8<> in the lower part of their course, ifl repretiented by the AlleghanieM, which separate those; and towards the sources of tho rivers their bAsin.4 are htparated in North America and in Sonth America alike, only by a ((entle undu> lation, so that, as tho inland region of Nortli America, from the Arctic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico, is but one continuous plain, so also is the inland region of South America, from tho Caribbeau Sea to Patagonia. Tho scenery of these plains, called prairies and savannahs in North America, llanos and pampas in Soutli America, is characterised by Iho same uniformity wliich pervades tho physical conformation of the whole continent. Whether they are clothed with grass, as on the right bank of the Mississippi, or covered with primeval forests, as on the left bank of that river, and throughout the Amazonian plain, day after day the travellers who explores them has but one unvary- ing landscape all around him. The deep solitude of those plains, wherever it remains unbroken by advancing civilisation, adds power to the depressing uniformity of the scene. In the following passage, Humboldt, the most learned of travellers, while acknowledging tho tendency of American scenery to depress, declares the mind capable of recovering itself, so that, though yielding at tlrst, it conquers at last : — *' An uninhabited region appears to the European as a land foriaken by Its inhabitants. But he who has lived for years in America, iu the forests of the flat coaotry, or on the ridge of the (iIAHAfTKRI«T!r« Of TIIR NKW WOULD. S7 \\y : but tlifiir (?or(lillf rsM, iind han »eon dtatricta fqiml in extent to France, occnple«l l)v only ft few Mcattrrcd liutM, (Indn tlint evon aolitiidi'M no widu nn tlieMo lofte their power to deproMN iind to ninrm. IMm runcy iH'Comci* titiniliiir with the aspect of a world which nourinheM only the plant and the lN*aMt of the titdd, and in which the Monndii of human Joy or woe arc never heard." Kverywhere in the Now World, nl/.o and nimpHcity characterit'i' itii natural featuren. Their MiinplUity n'MultN from their fize ; thiiH, the rlvcr*baMinM depend on the mountain HyHtenm ; and both aro exceedlnK'y simple, Im'cuumo both aro enonnouHly larjfo The only inouutaina in the Old World which rival the mountain backbone of America in heiuht are the Himalaya, and none of them can iii, all compare with it in length; 'or tin? An»erican rauKC stretches, with thealuKle intorrnplion of Panama, lor 10,000 milca, from Ticrra del Kuego to the Arctic Ocean, which \n about aa far as from (iib^ raitar to KamtHchatka. The MiMHiH^ippi and the Amazon, includin(( their lonReat renpective atfliienta, viz., the MiHHourl and the Tcayali, are the longest rivers in the world, each of them mcaauriii}; al)out 4000 milen, which is nearly a thousand more than the Yan^-tMe- kiunj?, the largest river in the OIal mountains, throughout the whole length of both Americas. Tlie lakes of Canada are inland .seas. Luko Superior, the largest of them, though not the largest inland sea, for It yields in extent to the Caspian and the Sea of Aral, is yet the largest collection of fresh water ; and the five great Canadian lakes togetlier are believed to contain more than half of all the fresh water on the globe. The American waterfalls also take precedence of all others. The roar of Niagara can bo heard at a great distance, and the cloud formed by its spray can bo seen at a distance of ninety miles. Scarcely less remarkable aro the cataracts of the Madeira, in South America, near the Peruvian fron- tier. There aro nineteen of them, and at the eighteenth the whole river, about half a mile wide, is poured over a rock one hundred feet high. For volume of water this fall is believed to be the largest in the world, not excepting Niagara. The American forests, too, are on a magnificent scale. The largest covers the whole basin of the Amazon and its tributaries. Humboldt calculates its area as being twelve times that of all Germany. The aboriginal inhabitants of the New World present, like the regions they inhabit, a remarkable uniformity of type. The Esqui- maux, who occupy the extreme north, being excepted, a single native race is spread over North and South America; and the CHARACTERISTICS OF THE NEW WORLD. nations composing; this race have scarcely any distinctive nationill character. The aboriginal population of America offers no such contrasts as those between Caucasian and Negro ; between Anglo- Saxon and Chinese ; perhaps not even a difference so great as that between the Northern and Southern European. The mode of life in Mexico and Peru, the only two countries which had risen above bar- barism prior to the discovery of America by Columbus, was of course very different from that of the other Indians, who lived chiefly by hunting ; for the Mexicans and Peruvians practised most of the use- ful arts, had constructed good roads, and had built for themselves cities and temples. But they both stopped short at the same level of attainment, and, which is unexampled in the history of the Old World, they had both arrived at the agricultural stage without pass- ing through the pa^^toral. The Mexicans had no domestic quad- rupeds at all; the Peruvians had only the Uama, a poor creature, though called the camel of the Andes, which has since been super- seded by the mule as a beast of burden, and is now reared only for its wool, called alpaca. Such being the case, the value of milk was unknown, and the pastoral stage of civilisation impossible in America. The native civilisation of America was not strong enongh to effect even a compromise with that of Europe. The Spaniards, overbear- ing right by might, made their discovery of Mexico and Pern the occasion of an attack, which resulted in the complete destruction of every institution native to the soil. Tbroughont the rest of America barbarism prevailed. Accordingly, the present civilisation of the New World simply repeats that of Europe, or rather of those Euro- pean countries which have at any time obtained an extensive footing in Americaf viz.^ of Spain, Portugal, Great Britain, and France. Though less uniform than that which preceded it, this civilisation is 3'et less varied, not only than that of the old World, but than that of Europe. Domestic slavery, that great blot in the aspect of the United States, and the Brazilian empire, is the only American feature which does not find its counterpait in Europe. Europeans were certainly not guiltless of this wrong at its commencement, bnt for a long time now all Europe, excepting only Spain, which cannot protest against a system maintained in her own islands of Cuba and Porto Rico, has protested by word and deed against its continnance. The American slave-holders, however, not only retain negro slavery as a lucrative inheritance, but defend it as an institution sanctioned by reason and revelation.^ * Slavery is now abolished in the United States. WHERE IS THE BRITON^S ROME t 29 Neither Spain nor Portugal now retains a single foot of ground on the American mainland. It is worth noting that the former Portu- guese possessions have been kept together, whereas the former Spanish possessions have fallen asunder into numerous republics, which are in a state of chronic revolution. A portion of Guiana is nil tiiat France now possesses on the American mainland, but a French element still prevails in Lower Canada, and in several of the rioatbern states oi' the Union. British America is nearly as exten- sive as the territory of the United States ; and a British element, in respect of race, language, literature, religion, education, and manners, prevails, not only throughout what still are, but also throughout what formerly were, British possessions, viz., the greater part of the United States. As the British clement is the most widely distributed in America, so it is also inherently the most powerful. The Spaniards and Por- tuguese have freely mingled their blood, the former with that of the Indians, the Liter with that of the negroes. The majority of the inhabitants in some of the Spanish republics are of Indian descent ; and in Brazil six-sevenths of the population consists of negroes and mulattoes, the whites amounting to little more than a million. The French have mingled thetr blood more sparingly than the SpaniardH and Portuguese with the non-European races in America, and the British more sparingly still. The British r^ce alone has been able, not only to maintain but rapidly to multiply, its numbers in the New World. It is also the only race there wliich, instead of merely following in the wake of European civilisation, keeps pace with it, and even contributes to its development. — Dk Clyde. WHERE IS THE BRITON'S HOME ? Where is the Briton's homo ? Where the free step can roam, Where the free sun can glow, "Where a free air can blow, "W^here a free ship can bear Hope and strength : everywhere Wave upon wave can roll — East and west — pole to pole — :iO WHERE IS THE BRITON's HOME ? Where a free step can roam — There is the Britou s home ! Where is the Briton's home ? Where the brave heart can come, Where labour wins a soil, Where a stout heart can toil — Any fair seed is sown — Where fold or fame is won, Where never sets the sun. Where a brave heart can come — There is the Briton's home ! Where is the Briton's home ? Where the mind's light can come, Where our God's holy word Breaks on the savage herd — Where a new flock is won To the bright Shepherd-one, Where the church-bell can toil, Where soul can comfort soul, Where holy faith can come — There is the Briton's home ! Where is the Briton's home ? Where man's great law can come, Where the great truth can speak, Where the slave's chain can break. Where the white's scourge can ceast. Where the black dwells in peace, Where, from His angel-hall, God sees us brothers all — Where light and freedom come, There is the Briton's home ! BULWEU. THE NATURAL SCIENCES 31 The youngest reader of this book will easily anderstand the differ- ence that there is between natural and artificial objects. Ttie great Creator of all things has placed mankind in a world of earth and air and sea, of rocks and plants and living creatures; this is the natural world. But man could never supply all his wants or pro- vide for his comfort without making some alteration in the form and character of these objects in the natural world ; this he accord- ingly does, and the materials, thus changed and fitted for the con- veniences of human life by the labour of his bands, are called artificial. The pine-tree in the forest, the clay which lies under the soil, and the limestone in the quarry, are the works of Nature ; but the house, whether built of timber, bricks, or stone, is a work of Art. Everything, then, in the wide world, belongs to one or other of thesei two great classes of natural and artificial objects. Let us, for the time, strive to forget the existence of all that is artificial ; this will not be a very difficult task for those who live in the country. Away with shops and houses, bridges and boats, roads, fences, and everything that bears the impress of man's hand npon it. Look around now, and see what still remains with us. Above is the blue sky, partly hidden by fleecy clouds, lit up doting the day by the brilliant beams of the sun, at night by the pale- faced moon and all the stars of heaven. Aronnd as is the air we breathe, and without which we and all other living beings would soon cease to exist. Sometimes it is silent and almost motionless, while at others it moves gently along as a summer breeze, or rushes .*" .52 THE NATURAL SCIENCES. fiercely on its path, a tempestuous wiiirlwrind ; tlirougii its invisible body the clouds roll tlieir thunders, flash their lightnings, and send down hail, snow, and rain, to protect and water the earth. Tall forests of pine and oak, of birch and maple trees, raise the:r green summits over the slirubs and wild flowers, ferns and mosses, that cover the ground; through their tangled mazes, four-footed animals, birds, reptiles, and insects, run and fly aud crawl; and in the mighty ocean which beats upon the shore, in the lakes and rivers which divide the empire with the land, other plants and animals, with all the flnny tribes, And a suitable habitation. But this is not all. Beneath our feet is the great earth's crust, consisting of broad layers of sand and clay, rock, slate, and gravel, traversed by rich metallic veins ; and, firmly imbedded In their surface, lie the record of many thousand years, in the shape of fossil plants and animals, that once peopled with life the face of our old mother Earth. Such are the works of Nature, some of which, at least, we meet with in their natural state every day that we live, and which afford the materials for those artificial objects upon which the ingenuity and activity of mankind are exercised. From a very early period in the history of the world, men have examined these objects, have studied their nature and properties, have classed them according to their resemblance to one another, and, collecting all the Information they could concerning them, have formed sciences or systems of knowledge. The total number of the sciences and their subdivisions is very large, as you will hereafter karn ; but we ahali at present turn onr atten* tion only to five of them, commonly called the Natural Sciences. Remember, now, all those objects which we found to remain with us after carefully excluding the works of man. They were the heavens above us, the earth with its minerals and rock masses beneath our feet, and around us plants and animals and the invisible atmosphere. The first of these — namely, the heavens — we shall not consider at present, because Astronomy, the science that treats of them, belongs to what you will afterwards become acquainted with as the Mathematical sciences. Let us, therefore, keep our eyes from wandering out of the world we live in, and endeavour to understand how it is, that the many natural objects which meet our view are all comprised within the small compass of five sciences. One of the earliest objects that would naturally strike a man of observant mmd is the ground he walks upon, in its diversified forms of mountain, plain, and valley, with the seas, lakes, and rivers that flow over many parts of its surface. Digging far down below the TUE NATURAL SCIENCES. 33 soil, he would find regular beds of black earth and clay, of sand and rock, lying evenly upon one another, as if a master mason had laid their great foundations with scrupalons care. He picks up a piece of stone, finds in it curioui petrified figures of shells and corals, and strange creatures that do not now exist in the world, and wonders how they came there, so far below the surface of the earth. At other times he stumbles upon a great vein or fissure in the solid rock, containing lead or tin, iron orcopper ore; or, perhaps, falls in with vast beds of coal, and sees, rising erect through the ^M'imy mass, ferns and cones and trunks of trees, all of the same black material. Then he asks himself the questions — What are aU these things ? Where did they come from ? At what time, and for what purpose, were they created ? As soon as he sets his mind and his eyes to work to answer these interesting questions, ho has be- come a student of the science of Geology. The term Geology, like most names of sciences, consists of two Greek words, and means a discourse about the earth. Just as one cordial friend cheerfully communicates information to another, so will oar good friend Geology, if we are really desirous to learn, discourse pleasantly to us about the earth, and tell us all that man has hitherto discovered as to its character and history. It is a mistake to sup- pose that this science has to do only with the rock masses that occur within the earth ; everything upon onr globe that is unorganised or without life, whether land or water, earth or rock, metals or fossils, coal or amber, volcanoes or mineral springs, all belong to the science of Geology. You will afterwards learn more fully what are the special objects of this youngest of the natural sciences in its subdivisions of Physical Geography, Mineralogy, and Geology proper. Although we naturally imagine that man would early turn his attention to the study of Geology, this is not the case. Long before men thought of examining the crust of the earth, they had made themselves familiar with the several objects composing the beautiful mantle of verdure that nature has thrown over its otherwise bare and uninviting surface. Far away, in the Eastern birthplace of our race, they saw " The feathery palm-tree ri^e, And the date grow ripe under sunny skies ;" or the great banian, the fig-tree of India, sending down roots from his giant branches, and, like a broad, living tent, spreading his cool shade over a circumference of 1500 feet. In more western lands a different sight awaited them; there they beheld the orange groves of c I 3t THE NATURAL SCIENCES. Italy, tlie chestnut forests of Spain, the vine-clad hills of Portugal, the applo orchards of France, and the linden avenues of Germany, with the English oaks, the Scotch firs, and the Norway pines, thnt adorn the landscapes of these northern countries. Crossing the ocean to the shores of this great Western continent, covered with tliick forests of maple and birch, tamarack and balsam trees, what now objects of interest in the plrnt world must have greeted them. Then, when other distant lands had been explored, and the prodnc- tiona of other climes had been pressed into the service of men for the supply of their luxuries, how interested must they have been in the tea and coffee plants of China and Arabia, the cotton shrub of the East, the scarlet geraniums of the Cape of Good Hope, the varie- gated fuchsia of Mexico, and the vast variety of shrubs and flowers that please the eye and minister to the wants and enjoyments of man. What a mine of wealth appeared to them in the great family of the grasses, from the gigantic bamboo, sixty feet high, to the delicate meadow grass, six inches in length ; and what objects of wonder and admiration in the graceful fern, the velvety moss, the dry lichen, the fleshy mushroom, and the floating seaweed ! But the number of these objects of the vegetable world was too vast, too overpowering, for the memory of man. No sooner had he acquired the knowledge of some new plant than the old ones vanished away ; and he put to himself the question, " How can I remember all these objects, and distinguish them from one another?'* You have, no doubt, already guessed his answer to this self-put question. It was — " by carefully examining the form and structure of every plant ; by comparing them with each other; and, finally, by arranging them in groups or classes according to their points of resemblance." And thus the science of Botany was commenced. Botany is a Greek word, and, in that language, simply means a plant ; so that the science of Botany is the &yiiem of knowledge about plants. What more simple, beautiful; and interesting study could there be than that of Botany ? The materials for it are all around us, in fields, and on the road-sides, in woods and gardens ; even a vacant town-lot, overgrown with rank weeds, contains sufiS- cient variety to occupy and interest a botanist for whole weeks and months. No country aflfords greater opportunities for the study of this science than the one we live in ; and, among civilised regions, there are very few in which the labours of the botanist will be better rev/arded by the discovery of unknown plants, or of interesting par- ticulars regarding those already known. Plants, however, were not the only, nor, perhaps, the first ^ # THE NATURAL SCIENCES. 85 haps, the first natural objects that attracted the attention of man. If he were an Kf?yptian, a worshipper of animals, hib were the wary crocodile and the sacred ibis of the muddy Nile. If a Greek, he had no doubt heard the fierce laugh of the hyena in Asia Minor; or flahed at Crete for the bee-cater, as the boys do at the present day, with a locust fiying from the end of his line ; or quarrelled with a friend over the changing hues of the chameleon in Greece or Sicily. If a Roman, he had seen, in the cruel games of the amphitheatre, ele- phants, lions, and panthers slaughtered for the amusement of the people. Whatever his country may have been, at whatever time he lived, whether an ancient patriarch or a modern farmer, he was perfectly at home among the domestic animals, and had, no doubt, also marked the deer in the forest, the fish in the river, the croak- ing frog in the swamp, and the busy insect fiitting through the air or creeping on the ground. If he were a man of inquiring mind, he would be anxious to learn what forms of animal life other lands bad to exhibit, to compare them with those of his own country, and thus to find, little by little, all the links in that wondrous chain which leads from the minute animalcule, of which the point of a needle will crush a thousand, to man himself, the noblest work of the Creator. The man who thus observed the habits and peculiarities of the animal kingdom, who sought to accumulate information regarding its difi^erent members, and who classed them together in accordance with their manifest points of resemblance, would be called a student of Natural History ; but he would, at the same time, be a builder up of the science of Zoology. As ge in Geology means the earthy so the word zoon is the Greek for an animal^ and Zoology is thus a discourse about animals. This study, above all others, is that in which young people take especial delight, and it is also one to which have been devoted the life labours of some of the greatest minds that the world has produced. We have now surveyed three of the Natural Sciences, embracing the mineral, vegetable, and animal kingdoms. You will be ready to say, " Surely we have exhausted the world of Nature ; what is there that is not inclnded in those three sciences of Geology, Botany, and Zoology ? " Not so fast, dear reader. Have we not an atmos- phere around us, invisible it inay be, yet in which we live and breathe? Are there no clouds in the heavens, no dew on the grass? Are there no long rainy days and months of ice and snow? Do not the cold March winds chill us with their keen blast, and the summer breezes fan our flushed cheeks with their cool and gentle 3G THE NATURAL SCIENCES. motion ? Thon, liavo wo not watched tho coming of tho fierce tempest, heard the rumbling of tho thunder, and t»oen tlie vivid lightning ilasih across tho sky ? Wo have neon, too, the beautiful arch of tho rainbow by dny, and tho fiery metoor at night ; and, in bool(8, wo have read about tho groat ico mountains of tho North, the waterspouts that, uniting the clouds above to tho sea beneath, brealc with fatal violence in tho Southern Ocean ; with many other strange sights and sounds that talco placo in tho unseen body around us. All these are well worthy, not only of observation, but of diligent and accurate investigation ; therefore they have a science to themselves, and that science is called Meteorology. Meteorology is a Groek word, made up of meleorOf meaning thin(j8 in the air, and logos^ a discourse — a discourse about things in the air. Learned men, masters of this science, are em- ployed by many governments to observe tho stato of the atmo- sphere, and to keep a record of all that occurs in it from year to year ; for this purpose, they are furnished with a suitable build- ing, generally situated on a rising ground, and having a tower of some height upon it, whence they may be able to detect tho appearance of anything in the air, whether it be watery like snow and rain, airy like wind, or fiery as falling stars. Such a building is called an ohservatoryy and is also sometimes used for making astronomical observations ; the most celebrated one is that of Greenwich, near London in England. So far then, we have four sciences brought before us ; discourses about plants and animals, about the earth and things in the air. Is there any natural object upon this earth which is not included in the four sciences tiaat treat of these several departments of Nature ? No, there is nothing more, bat yet there is another science. We examine a piece of rock, tho leaf of a tree, the leg of a frog, and a handful of snow, and we put the question — What are all these things made of? Now, this seems a very strange ques- tion ; if you were asked, you would, perhaps, answer, that the rock was made of some kind of stone, and the leaf of delicate fibres and cells, the frog's leg of flesh and bones, and the snow of frozen water ; and you would expect the person who put the question to smile approvingly and say — " Your reply is quite correct." But I very much fear that such an answer would not satisfy a chemist ; he would desire to go deeper into the matter, and would, probably, ask you, what stone and fibres, flesh and bones and water are com- posed of. To say that rock is stone is as much an explanation as to say that a house is a domicile, and that a leaf is made up of THE NATURAL RCIENTES. 37 !r, that the rock tibros and colls, as that a hotiflo is made up of rooms. Hat if yon wuro asked what a house were made of, you would reply, ** of brick or stone, and mortar," or "of wood," as the case might be. Now, just such an answer as tliis is what the chemist rtuiuircs to his question. He would tell you that the stone, suppose it were iimeatone, was composed of a certain number of parts of lime and carbonic acid, and 80 on with the rest. Again, ho would inform you that lime is made up of so many atoms or small particles of a metal called calcium, and a gas called oxygen ; and carbonic acid, of simihu' atoms of oxygen, and another substance, denominated carbon. Hut calcium, oxygen, and carbon cannot be reduced to anything lower; they are the bricks and mortar that make the house, and all tlitu went before them were only the rooms. Tlie^o three bodies, or substances, are named elements or elementary substances^ bccau.se they are not composed of aiiyihing more simple. The elementary bodies are about sixty-three in number, and of these sixty-three elements everything in the world is made up, whether it belong to the mineral or vegetable, the animal or the aerial kingdom. It is with these simple bodies that the chemist wprks, building up or taking to pieces, room by room, and brick by brick, the materials of which the earth and everything in it is composed ; and the science which teaches the one and explains the other is called Chemistry. The term Chemistry is very like one of the simple bodies which the science investigates, for its origin is very obscure, and the Greek word chemeiay from which it is thought to be derived, has no simpler meaning. However, it is supposed by some that it comes from the Greek chymicos^ equivalent to what is said concerning a thiny extracted ; so that, with this, explanation^ chemistry wonld be the system of knowledge about things extracted. Since 1o extract has the meaning of to draw out, you will easily perceive that it is appli- cable to the science which draws forth the simple elements that make up a compound body. Of all the sciences, none is so prac- tically useful as that of chemistry, the laws of which are found to govern most of the simplest as well as the most important opera- tions of man upon natural objects. We have now found out what are the five natural sciences, under which everything in the world, whether simple or compound, may be ranked. If you would be well-informed men and women, you should gain some knowledge of each of these. To all right- minded persons they will prove an endless source of amusement, as well as of profit, stimulating legitimate curiosity, encouraging .18 oeOLOOY. hftbltfl of obacrvillon, and Increasing revcionco for Him who in wUdum has iiudo all the objuctn of which they treat. Tlic Natural Sciencet art — I. Oe«th)try. .'I. Zitoiojfy. 1>. Botany. 4. Meteorology. 5. CheiuUtry. GEOLOGY. RAILWAY CUTTIMO 8HOWINO STRATA. Gkolooy, from two Greek words — ge^ the earth, and logot^ a dis- course or reasoning— embraces, in its widest sense, all that can be known of the constitntion and history of oar globe. Its object is to examine the varioas materials of which our planet is composed, to describe their appearance and relative positions, to investigate their nature and mode of formation, and generally to discover the laws which seem to regulate their arrangement. As a department of natural science, Geology confines itself more especially to a consideration of the mineral or rocky constituents of OEOLOaY. 30 Ilim who in the earth, and letres its surface conflgnrfttion to Geography, it* vegetable life to Botany, its animal life to Zoology, and tho clvmcii- tary constitution of bodies to tho science of Chemistry. Being un- able to penetrate beyond a few thousand feet into the solid substance of the globe, the labours of geologJMts are necessarily confined to it ' c:.terior shell or crust ; henco we Mpeuk of the '* crust of the globe," meaning thereby that portion of the rocky structure accessible to human investigation. The materials composing this crnst are rocks or minerals of vari- ous kinds — as granite, basalt, roofing* slate, sandstone, marble, coal, chalk, clay, and sand — some hard and compact, others soft and iiicohering. Thi to substances do not occur indiscriminately in every part of the world, nor, when found, do they always appear in the same position. Granite, for example, may exist in one district of a country, marble in another, coa' in a third, and chalk in a fourth. iSomo of these rocks occur in regular layers or courses, termed ttrata, from the Latin word stratum^ strewn or spread out, while others rist* up in irregular mountain- masses. It is evident that substances differing so widely in composition and structure must have been formed under different circumstances and by different canses ; and it becomes the task of the geologist to discover those causes, and thus infer the general conditions of tho regions in which, and of the periods when, such rock substances were produced. When we sink a well, for example, and dig tlirough certain clays, sands, and gravels, and And them succeeding each other in layers, we are instantly reminded of the operations of water, seeing it is only by such agency that accumulations of clay, sand, and gravel are formed at the present day. We are thus led to inquire as to the origin of the materials through which we dig, and to discover whether they were originally deposited in river-courses, in lakes, in estuaries, or along the sea- shore. In our investigation we may also detect shells, bones, and fragments of plants imbedded in the clays and sands ; and thus we have a further clue to the history of the strata through which we pass, according as the shells and bonea are the remains of animals that lived in fresh-water lakes and rivers, or inhabited the waters of the ocean. Again, in making a railway- cutting, excavating a tunnel, or sinking a coal-pit, we may pass through many successions of strata— -such as clay, sandstone, coal, ironstone, limestone, and tho like ; and each succession of strata may contain the remains or impressions of different plants and ani- mals. Such differences can only be accounted for by supposing each stratum or set of strata to have been formed by different agencies. 40 (lKOI.(K)V. «nd under dlffflrpnt fondltlon« of cllniftlft, •■ woll si ainlor different an Aiiffi'incntH of Mt*a niid land, JuMt an nt tliu pruiiLMit day titu rlvvrii, (■Htuaric!*, nml NoaN of diffurcnt countrit'x ar« cliaractitrUcd by their own Rpecinl accunmlationft, and by tlio imbedded rcnminn of the plantH and aninialit pecniiar to theite i-e;;ioni. In mailing thoxo Invetti^tttioiiM, thu {{ooloKUt In i^utded by hia l deepeHt fitrata. Now, as at present, so in all former time must the remains of plants and animals have been similarly preserved; and as ono tribo of plants is peculiar to the dry plain, and another to the swampy morass, — as ono family b(>- longs to a tompurato, and another to a tropical region,— so, from tho character of the imbedded plants, are wo enabled to arrive at some knowledge of tho conditions under which they flourished. In the same manner with animals : each tribo has its locii'ity assigned it by peculiarities of food, climate, and tho like ; and by comparing foatil remains (fossil, from fosaus^ dug up, applied to all remains of plants and animals imbedded iu tho rocky crust) with existing races, we are enabled to determine many of tho past conditions of the world with considerable certainty. Hy examining, noting, and compuring, ns indicated in tho preced- ing paragraphs, tho geologist finds that tho strata composing the earth's crust can be arranged In scries ; that ono sot or series always underlies, and is succeeded by another set ; and that each series contains the remains of plants and animals not to bo found in any other series. Having ascertained tho existence of such a sequence among the rocky strata, his next task Is to determine that sequence In point of time — that Kx, to determine the older from the newer series of strata ; to ascertain. If possible, the nature of tho plants and animals whose remains are imbedded in each set ; and, lastly, to discover the geographical range or extent of the successive series. These series he caWs formations, as having been formed during dif- ferent arrangements of sea and land, and under the varying influ- ences of climate and other external conditions; and it is by a knowledge of these that the geologist is enabled to arrive at some- thing like a history of the globe — imperfect, it may be, bat still 42 FIRST STUDIES OP A YOUNG GEOLOGIST. gnfflcient to show the nnmerons changes its surface has undergone, and the varied and wonderful races of plants and animals by which it has been successively inhabited. To map ont the various muta- tions of sea and land, from the present moment to the earliest tim6 of which we have any traces in the rocky strata : to restore the forms of extinct plants and animals ; to indicate their habits, the climate and conditions under which they grew and lived, — to do all this, and trace their connexion up to existing races, would be the triumph, as it is now the aim, of all true geology. — Page. Eocka (U to their origin are — 1. Sedimentary or Aqueous, formed by the agency (Inorganic, as Sandstone. of water and deposited in regalar strata ; theuQ< Organic, as Coal, Shell- rocks areeither ( marl, &c. 2. Metamorphic or Changed Rocks ; originally Sedimentary, but become crys- ttdUsed by the action of heat ; such are gneiss, marble, &c. 3. Eruptive ; never occur in strata but in irregular masses ; when appearing on the surface are culled Volcanic ; such are granite, lava, pumice, &c. FIRST STUDIES OF A YOUNG GEOLOCIST. It was twenty years last February since I set out a little before sunrise to make my first acquaintance with a life of labour and restraint, and I have rarely had a heavier heait than on that morn- ing. I was but a slim loose-jointed boy at the time — fond of the pretty intangibilities of romance, and of dreaming when broad awake ; and, woeful change ! I was now going to work at what Bums has instanced, in his " Twa Dogs," as one of the most dis- agreeable of all employments, to work in a quarry. Bating the passing nneasiness occasioned by a few gloomy anticipations, the portion of my life which had already gone by had been happy beyond the common lot. I had been a wanderer among rocks and woods, — a reader of curious books when I could get them, — a gleaner of old traditionary stories ; and now I was going to ex- change all my day-dreams, and all my amusements, for the kind of life in which men toil every day that they may be enabled to eat, and eat every day that they may be enabled to toil ! The quarry in which I wrought lay on the southern shore of a noble inland bay, or fritl\ rather, with a little clear stream on the FIRST STUDIES OF A YOUNO GEOLOGIST. 48 one side, and a thick fir wood on the other. It had been opened in the old red sandstone of the district, and was overtopped by a huge banic of diluvial clay, which rose over it in some places to the height of nearly thirty feet, and which at this time was rent and shivered, wherever it presented an open front to the weather, by a recent frost. A heap of loose fragments, which had fallen from above, blocked up the face of the quarry, and my first employ- ment was to clear them away. The friction of the shovel soon blistered my hands, but the pain was by no means very severe, and I wrought hard and willingly that I might see how the huge strata below, which presented so firm and unbroken a frontage, were to be torn up and removed. Picks and wedges and levers were applied by my brother workmen ; and simple and rude as I had been accustomed to regard these implements, I found I bad much to learn in the way of using them. They all proved ineffi- cient, however, and the workmen had to bore into one of the inferior strata, and employ gunpowder. The process was new to me, and I deemed it a highly amusing one : it had the merit, too, of being attended with some such degree of danger as a boating or rock excursion, and had thus an interest independent of its novelty. We had a few capital shots ; the fragments flew in every direction, and an immense mass of the diluvium came toppling down, bearing with it two dead birds, that in a recent storm had crept into one of the deeper fissures, to die in the shelter. I felt a new interest in examining them. The one was a pretty cock goldfinch, with its hood of vermilion, and its wings inlaid with the gold to which it owes its name, as unsoiled and smooth as if it had been pre- served for a museum. The other, a somewhat rarer bird, of the woodpecker tribe, was variegated with light blue -and a grayish yellow. I was engaged in admiring the poor little things, more disposed to be sentimental, perhaps, than if I had been ten years older, and thinking of the contrast between the warmth and jollity of their green summer haunts, and the cold and darkness of their last retreat, when I heard our employer bidding the workmen lay by their tools. I looked up and saw the sun sinking behind the thick fir wood beside us, and the long, dark shadows of the trees stretching downwards towards the shore. This was no very formidable beginning of the course of life I had so much dreaded. To bo sure, my hands were a little sore, and I felt nearly as much fatigued as if I had been climbing among the rocks ; but I had wrought and been usefnl, and had yet enjoyed the day fully as much as usual. It was no small matter, too, that the 44 FIRST STUDIES OP A YOUNG GEOLOGIST. evening, converted, by a rare transmutation, into the delicious " blink of rest '' which Burns so truthfully describes, was all ray own. I was as light of heart next morning as any of my brother- workmen. There had been a smart frost during the night, and the rime lay white on the grass as we passed onwards through the fields ; but the sun rose in a clear atmosphere, and the day mellowed as it advanced, into one of those delightful days of early spring, which give so pleasing an earnest of whatever is mild and genial in the better half of the year. All the workmen rested at midday, and I went to enjoy my half-hour alone on a mossy knoll in the neigh- bouring wood, which commands through the trees a wide prospect of the bay and the opposite shore. There was not a wrinkle on the water, not a cloud in the sky, and the branches were as motion- less in the calm as if they bad been traced on canvas. From a wooded promontory that stretched half-way across the frith, there ascended a thin column of smoke. It rose straight as the line of a plummet for more than a thousand yards, and then, on reaching a thinner stratum of air, spread out equally on every side, like the foliage of a stately tree. Ben Wyvis rose to the west, white with the yet unwasted snows of winter, and as sharply defined in the clear atmosphere, as if ail its sunny slopes and blue retiring hollows had been chiselled in marble. A line of snow ran along the oppo- site hills ; all above was white, and all below was purple. They reminded one of the pretty French story, in which an old artist is described as tasking the ingenuity of his future son-in-law, by giving him, as a subject for his pencil, a flower-piece composed of only white flowers, of which the one half were to bear their proper colour, the other half a deep purple hue, and yet all be per- fectly natural ;. and how the young man resolved the riddle, and gained his mistress, by introducing a transparent purple vase into the picture, and making the light pass through it on the flowers that were drooping over the edge. I returned to the quarry, con- vinced that a very exquisite pleasure may be a very cheap one, and that the busiest employments may afford leisure enough to enjoy it. The gunpowder had loosened a large mass in one of the inferior strata, and our first employment, on resuming our labours, was to raise it from its bed. I assisted the other workmen in placing it on edge, and was much struck by the appearance of the platform on which it rested. The entire surface was ridged and furrowed like a bank of sand that had been left by the tide an hour before. I coqjd trace every bend and curvature, every cross hollow and PIRST STUDIES OP A Y0U50 GEOLOGIST. 45 counter ridge of the correKpondiog phenomena ; for the resemblance was no half resemblance — it was the thing itself; and I had ob- served it a hundred and a hundred times, when sailing my little 8cliooner in the shallows left by the ebb. But what had become of the waves that had thus fretted the solid rock, or of what element had they been composed ? I felt as completely at fault as iiubinson Crusoe did on discovering the print of the man's foot on the sand. The evening furnished me with still further cause of wonder. We raised another block in a different part of the quarry, and found that the area of a circular depression in the stratum below was broken and flawed in every direction, as if it had been the bottom of .. ' ocl recently dried up, which had shrunk and split ill the harden'" Several large stones came rolling down from the diluvium u- ■ jourse of the afternoon. They were of differ- out qualities from the sandstone below, and from one another ; and, what was more wonderful still, they were all rounded and water- worn, as if they had been tossed about in the sea, or on the bed of H river for hundreds of years. There could not, surely, be a more conclusive proof that the bank which had enclosed them so long could not have been created on the rock on which it rested. No workman ever manufactures a half- worn article, and the stones were all half-worn ! And if not the bank, why then the sandstone underneath? I was lost in conjecture, and found I had food enough for thought that evening, without once thinking of the un- happiness of a life of labour. The immense masses of diluvium which we had to clear away rendered the working of the quarry laborious and expensive, and all the party quitted it in a few days, to make trial of another that seemed to promise better. The one we left is situated, as I have said, on the southern shore of an inland bay — the Bay of Cromarty ; the one to which we removed has been opened in a lofty wall of cliffs that overhangs the northern shore of the Moray Frith. I soon found I was to be no loser by the change. Kot the nnited labours of a thousand men for more than a thousand years could have furnished a better section of the geology of the district than this range of cliffs. It may be regarded as a sort of chance dissec- tion oa the earth's crust. We see in one place the primary rock, with its veins of quartz and granite, its dizzy precipices of gneiss, and its huge masses of hornblende ; we find the secondary rock in another, with its beds of sandstone and shale, its spars, its clays, and its nodular limestones. We discover the still little known but highly interesting fossils of the Old Bed Sandstone in one deposi- v#^ 46 riRST STUDIES OP A YOUNG GEOLOGIST. LIAS tlon; we find the beautifally preserved shells and lignites of the Lias in another. There are the remains of two several creations at once before us. The shore, too, is heaped with rolled fragments of almost every variety of rock, — basalts, ironstones, hypersthenes, porphyries, bituminous shales, and micaceous schists. In short, the young geologist, bad he all Europe before him, could hardly choose for himself a better field. I bad, however, no one to tell me so at the time, for geology had not yet travelled so far north ; and so, without guide or vocabulary, I had to grope my way as I best might, and find out all its wonders for myself. But so slow was the process, and so much was I a seeker in the dark, that the facts contained in these few sentences were the patient gatherings of years. — Hugh Miller. Epoch of Modern Life. Rocks as to age and order of succession are classified as- f 4 f 1. Modern deposits, * 2. Drift formation, ^3. Tertiary system, changes now going on. to this belong the scattered boulders. recent fossil remains. V m-^^ UINERALOOY. 47 '1. Crotrceotu lyitem, 2. Oolitic ,, Epoch of Middle Life. 3^ rrriagsic Epoch of Ancient Life. i Epoch of Doubtful Life. from the Lntin creta, chalk, which aucompanicH it in Europe. from two Greek wordit meaning efffj and atone, becauHO comi)o«ed of lini(!8t()iiu ooiiiisting of egg- ghuited griiine. 10 called from the number three, because in Europe it oouHiHts of three strata — marl, liiuvHtono and sandstone. from Perm in Russia; in England it is called New Red Handutone. or coed-bearing; to this belong the coal-fields, from Devonshire in England ; also called Old Red Sandstone, from the ancient kingdom of the Silures in Britain, where it was first observed. from the Greek words meaning " changed form." Huronian, from Lake Huron, and times divided in- ( Laurentian, from the river St to two formations, j Lawrence, near which they are called the ^ found. ' 1. Permian system, 2. Carboniferous ,, 3. Devonian ,, 4. Silurian ,, Metamorphic System, This system is some Eruptive rocks being of all ages have no order of succession. MINERALOGY. Natural History is a science which consists of many branches ; one, which treats of animals, is called Zoology ; another, Botany, teaches the structure and properties of plants j the third, which malces I's acquainted with the inorganic portions of our planet, namely, stones or minerals, is called Mineralogy ; and if, at first sight, it should appear less attractive or less useful than the other two branches, a very little consideration will prove that it is of equal importance to mankind, and contributes materially to their comfort, wealth, and luxury. From materials found in the interior of the earth we erect our dwellings, we supply ourselves with fuel, we construct num- berless tools and machines; and, finally, we obtain our most brii< liant ornaments. Some knowledge of many of these substances must have been possessed at a very remote period. The most ancient nations of whom we have any record manufactured arms, and ornaments of gold and silver. The Romans, who made great improvements in 48 UINERALOOT. the arts of civilisation, greatly enlarged this knowledge ; bringing to light many substances previously unknown, and employing them for useful or ornamental purposes; they were acquainted with several of the precious stones, and, with the exception of the diamond, succeeded in cutting and engraving on them. The elder Pliny, a man of inquiring mind and unwearied dili- gence in the pursuit of knowledge, collected, from every source within his reach, accounts of all the natural productions that were then known, or of which any description existed in his time ; and he added to these his own observation on such as he had actually examined. It is much to be regretted that the latter were not more numerous; for he too often copied, without inquiry, the descriptions he met with ; and has transmitted to us a vast number of inaccu- racies and absurdities, such as accounts of the magical properties of certain stones, plants, and animals, and charms, by which particular diseases might be cured. As civilisation extended, and the arts of life advanced, a greater number of useful minerals became known ; improvements in ma- chinery and practical science led to greater facility in the working of mines, motals were more sought after, new ones were discovered, and new and rich ores of those already known were found to exist, which had formerly been thrown aside as valueless, from ignorance of their nature. Mineralogy now became a subject of importance, and much attention was paid to it ; but it still retained somewhat of a vague and unsatisfactory character, from want of knowledge of the principles on which it ought to be based. Chemistry, indeed, lent its aid in the analysis of minerals ; but it was before chemistry itself had been raised to the state of an exact science by the wonder- ful and beautiful law of definite proportions^ a law which pervades all chemical combinations, whether natural compounds or the result of operations in our laboratories. This law assists us in ascertain- ing with precision the composition of mineral substances, and con- sequently in identifying mineral species, and giving them their true place in a scientific classification. The want of some knowledge of the real nature of stones, which even a slight acquaintance with mineralogy would furnish, has occasioned to many persons, within a comparatively recent period, very ruinous loss ; whilst others have rapidly acquired a fortune from profiting, under similar circumstances, by opportunities that had been unseen or totally neglected. It is not above fifty years since a man found in Shropshire a considerable vein of sulphate of baryta, which, in consequence of its weight, he mistook for white MINIRALOOT. 40 /nad ore, and he erected a smeltlng-hooso and farnaces for the pnr- pose of reducing it to a metallic state. Another person in the same coanty, having met with some mica in the form of small silvery scales or spangles, was persuaded that he had found a silver mine, and ruined himself in attempts to obtain the silver. Among many other unfortunate adventures which have arisen from ignorance of mineralogy, may be mentioned that of a poor man, who was persuaded to lay out a hundred pounds, nearly the whole of some years' economy, in the purchase of a few pieces of white topaz, under the idea that they were diamonds. But in- dependently of the utility of this '■ ience, any one who studies natural history for his amusement, will be richly rewarded by the wonders and the beauties displayed in the mineral kingdom. The bodies which are the objects of study to the mineralogist, comprise the earthy, metallic, saline, and other substances which compose our earth — that Is to say, the unorganised part of the creation. To understand clearly what is meant by the term unorganised, let US remember that an animal and a plant are said to be organised^ because they consist of several different parts, all varying in their form, their position, and their functions, yet all equally necessary to form a perfect animal, or a perfect plant; so that to remove any one of them would be to destroy, or at least to render imperfect, the body to which it belongs. These parts are called organs ; in animals we find a stomach to digest the food they convey to it, and by means of which they are nourished and have life ; nerves and muscles for sensation and motion ; in plants we observe a root to fix them to the ground, and absorb nourishment from it, and vessels for the circulation of the sap. But in a mineral, in its most perfect state, all the parts exactly resemble each other, so that, by breaking it, we diminish it in size without destroying its existence or its completeness. Take, for example, a flat pebble, or a fragment of limestone from a quarry, and break it ; we shall find that each substance is of the same tex- ture and composition throughout. It is trne that we ma^ also take up a stone, or break off a piece of rock, which has not this homo- geneous structure, as, for instance, a granite paving stone; but granite is an aggregate rock, which consists essentially of three sim- ple minerals, each of which may plainly be distinguished on inspec- tion ; and mineralogy teaches us to recognise in it, — 1st, quartz, which usually appears in grayish semi-transparent grains, of a some- what glassy appearance ; 2d, felspar, of a reddish or yellowish white, 90 TUBAL CAIK. And opaque ; 3d, mica, In small scales, which have a shining and somewhat metallic lustre. It is true that the essential difference of minerals consists in their composition; but it is not therefore necessary to subject every mineral to chemical analysis in order to linow something of its nature. The difference of composition is manifested in difference of form, struc- ture, colour, weight, hardness, transparency, &c. ; and an acquaint- ance with these and some other properties or characters will, in most cases, enable us to recognise a mineral species, and to know of what elementary substances it principally consists. These are called physical characters. But it sometimes happens that we meet with a specimen in which these characters are not clearly marlied, or some of them may have a great resemblance to those of another species ; in such cases wo may derive great assistance from an ex- amination of some of the chemical characters, by means of acids and the action of the blowpipe, which have a very different eflfect on different species. — Weale. Dana's Clastification of Minerals— ClftM I. Oasea ; consiiting of, or containing nitrogen or hydrogen, air, kc. Class II. Water ; crTstallises as ioo. Class III. Carbon and compounds of carbon ; the diamond, coal, plumbago, amber, &c. Class rV. Sulphur and its acids. Class V. Haloid or salt-like minerals ; salt, nitre, borax, alum, gyp- sum, &o. Glass VI. Earthy minerals ; quartz, opal, felspar, mica, ruby, emerald, »Lc. Class VII. Metals and metollio ores ; gold, silver, mercury, iron, lead, cop- per, &o. TUBAL CAIN. Old Tubal Gain was a man of might, In the days when earth was young ; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright, The strokes of his hammer rung : And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. TUBAL CAIN. 01 a shining and rax, alum, gyp- And he sang, — ** Hnrrah for my handiworic t Hurrah for the spear and sword I Hurrah for the hand that shnii wieid tbem wcll| For he shall be icing and iord I" To Tubal Gain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire, And each one pray*d for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his desire : And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee ; And they gave him gifts of pearls and gold. And spoils of the forest free. And they sang, — ** Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who hath given ns strength anew ! Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true ! " But a sudden change came o'er his heart, Ere the. setting of the sun ; And Tubal Cain was fiil'd with pain For the evil he had done : He saw that men, with rage and hate, Made war upon their kind, That the land was red with the blood they shed, In their lust for carnage blind. And he said, " Alas I that I ever made. Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and the sword, for men whose joy Is to slay their fellow-man 1 " And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o*er his woe ; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And his furnace smoulder'd low. But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright courageous eye, And bared his strong right arm for work, While the quick flames mounted high. And he sang, — " Hurrah for my handiwork !" And the red sparks lit the air ; " Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made," And he fashioned the first ploughshare. 02 COPPER MINKS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. And men, ttaght windom from the psst, In friendship Join'd their hands ; Hung the sword in the hail, the spear on the wail, And plough'd the wiiling land^ : And i«ang,— " Hurrah for Tubal Cain I Our Mtaunch gcxxi friend is he ; And for the ploughshare and the plongh, To him our praise shall be. But while oppression lifts its head, Or A tyrant wonid be lord ; Though we may thank him for the plongh, We'll not forget the sword I" — Charles Mackat. COPPER MINES OF LAKE SUPERIOR. To untntored man, provided only with implements of stone, the facilities presented by the great copper regions of Lake Superior, for the first step in the knowledge of metallurgy, were peculiarly avail- able. The forests that flung their shadows along the shores of that great lake were the haunts of tho deer, the beaver, the bear, and other favourite objects of the chase; the rivers and the lake abounded with fish ; and the rude hunter had to manufacture weapons and implements ont of such materials as nature placed within his reach. The water-worn stone from the beach, patiently ground to an edge, made his axe and tomahawk ; by means of which, with the help of fire, he could level the giants of the forest, or detach from them the materials for his canoe and paddle, his lance, club, or bow and arrows. The bones of the deer pointed his spear, or were wrought into fish-hooks ; and the shale or flint was chipped and gronnd into his arrow* head, after a pattern repeated with little variation, in all countries, and in every primitive age. But besides snch materials of universal occurrence, the primeval occupant of the shores of Lake Superior found there a stone possessed of some very peculiar virtaes. It could not only be wrought to an edge without liability to fracture, but it was malleable, and could be hammered out into many new and convenient shapes. This was the copper, found in connexion with the trappean rocks of that region, in inexhaustible quantities, in a pore metallic state. In other rich mineral regions, as in those COPPER MINM OF LAKE lUPElltOlt 53 ":» Mackay. of Cornwidl tnd Devon, the prinoipal sonr*:e of thii metal is firom ores, which require both laboar tnd sliill 40 At them for economic purposes. But in the veins of the copper-region of Lalie Superior the native metal occurs in enormous masses, weighing hundreds of tons ; and loose bioclts of various sizes have been found on the lake shore, or lying detached on the surface, in sufflciunt quantities to supply ail the wants of the nomad hunter. These, accordingly, he wrought into chisels and axes, armlets, and personal ornaments ot various kinds, without the UaO of the crucible; and, indeed, withotat recognising any precise distinction between the copper which he mechanically separated from the mass, and the nnmalleable stone or Hint out of which he had been accustomed to fashion his spear and arrow-heads. It was in the year i847 that attention was first directed to sach traces of ancient mining operations by the agent of the Minnesota Mining Company. Following up the indications of a continuous depression in the soil, he came at length to a cavern where he found several porcupines had flxed their quarters for hybernation ; but detecting evidences of artificial excavation, he proceeded to clear out the accumulated soil, and not only exposed to view a vein of copper, but found lu the rubbish numerous stone mauls and ham- mers of the ancient workmen. Subsequent observation brought to light ancient excavations of great extent, frequently from twenty- Ave to thirty feet deep, and scattered over an area of several miles. The rubbish taken from these is piled up in mounds alongside, while the trenches have been gradually refilled with the soli and decaying vegetable matter gathered through the long centuries since their desertion ; and over all the giants of the forest have grown, withered, and fallen to decay. Whatever be the dates of their commencement or desertion, the condition in which some of the ancient works on Lake Superior have been found, when reopened in later times, is suggestive of peculiar circumstances attending their abandonment. It is incon- ceivable that the huge mass of copper discovered in the Minnesota mine, resting on its oaken cradle, beneath the accumulations of centuries, was abandoned merely because the workmen, who had overcome the greatest difficulties in its removal, were baffled in the subsequent stages of their operations, and contented themselves by chipping off any accessible projecting point. Well-hammered copper chisels, such as lay alongside of it, and have been repeatedly found in the works, were abnndantlv sufficient, with the help of stone hammers, to enable them to cut it into portable pieces. If, 5A ooprcR MINIS or lake ttrpiRion. Indeed, the ancient mlneri were IncifMiWe of doing more with their mast of copper In tho mino titan hrcaklnj? off a few projectlona, to what ftirthir uao could they have turned It when transported to the ■urfaco ? It weighed npwarda of alx toni, and moaaurcd ton feet long and three feet wide. The trench, at Ita greatest depth, waa twenty-alx feet ; while tho maaa was only eighteen feet from the aorface ; and In tho estimation of tho skilled engineer by whom It was first seen, it had been elevated upwards of Ave feet since It waM placed on Ita oaken frame. Tho excaratlono to a depth of twenty-six feet, the dislodged copper block, and the framework pre- pared for elerating the solid mans to tho surface, all consistently point to the same workmen. But the mere detachment of a few ftccenslblo projecting ft-agmcnts Is too lame and Impotent a con- clusion of proceedings carried thns far on so diflfereut a scale. It Indicates rather such results as would follow at the present day, were the barbarian tribes of the North-west to displace the present Minnesota miners, and possess themselves of mineral treasures they are as little capable as ever of turning to any but the most simple uses. Such evidences, accordingly, while they serve to prove the exist- ence, at some remote period, of a mining population in the copper legions of Lake Superior, seem also to indicate that their labours had come to an abrupt termination. Whether by some terrible devastating pestilence, like that which nearly exterminated the na- tive population of New England immediately before the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, or by the breaking out of war, or, as seems not less probable, by the invasion of the mineral region by a barbarian race, ignorant of all the arts of the ancient monnd-bnilders of the Mississippi, and of the minors of Lake Superior : certain it Is that the works have been abandoned, leaving the quarried metal, the laboriously wrought hammers, and the Ingenious copper tools, Jnst as they may have been left when the shadows of the evening told their long- forgotten owners that the labours of the day were at an end, but for which they never returned. Nor during the centuries which have elapsed since the forest reclaimed the deserted trenches for its own, does any trace seem to indicate that a native population again sought to avail itself of their mineral treasures, beyond the manufacture of such scattered fragments as lay upon the surface. — Dr D. Wilson's Prehutoric Man, BOTAKT. as BOTANY. We i«« pUnti growing fVom tho icod In sprlng-ttroe, an>* gradnalij (iovoloping thoir ptrt«: at length tlicjr blossom, boar fru<' am' pro- duce seeds like those from which they grow, tihall wo comn.jnc«i tho study of tho plant with the fall- grown herb or tree, ad<' seU with flowers or laden with fruit? Or shall we commence with th^ seedling Just rising from tho ground? On the whole, we mny f^ut a clearer Idea of the whole life and structure of plants if wo begin at tho beginning, — that Is, with tho plantlot springing from the sr rf, and follow It throughout Itn course of growth. This also ag ees best with tho sqamou in which tho study of botany is ger.crally commenced, — namely, in tlu; spring of tho year, when tho growth of plants from tho seed can hardly fail to attract attention. Indeed. It Is this springing forth of vegetation from seeds and buds, after the rigours of our long winter, clothing the earth's surface alnoi^t at once with a mantle of freshest verdure, which gives to spring its greatest charm. Even tho dullest beholder, the least observant of nature at other seasons, can then hardly fail to ask, What are plants ? How do they live and grow ? What do they live upon ? What Is the objoct and use of vegetation in gen. <'.\ and of its particular and wonderfully various forms? A reflecting as well as observing person, noticing the resem- blances between one plant and another, migb^ go on to inquire whether plants, with all their manifold d'* rsitles of form and appearance, are not all constructed on one and the same general plan. It will become appa.ent, as wo proceed, that this Is the case ; thnt one common plan may be discerned, which each particular plant, whether herb, shrub, or tree, has followed mnch more cloialy than wonld at first view be snpposed. The dlfieronces, wide as the^ are, are merely incidental. What is true In a general way of any ordinary vegetable will be found true of all, only with great varia- tion in the details. In the same language, though in varied phrase, the hundred thousand kinds of plants repeat the same story, — are the living witnesses and illustrations of one and the same plan of Creative Wisdom in the vegetable world. So that the study of any one plant, traced from the seed It springs from round to the seeds it produces, wonld illustrate the whole subject of vegetable life and growth. It matters little, therefore, what particular plant we begin with. Take, for example, a seedling maple. Sugar maples may be 50 BOTANY. THE MAPLE. fonnd in abnndance in many places, starting from the seed or ger- minating in early spring, and red maples at tlie beginning of summer, shortly after the fruits of the season have ripened and fallen to the ground. A pair of narrow green leaves raised on a tiny stem make up the whole plant at its first appearance. Soon a root appears at the lower end of the stemlet ; then a little bud at its upper end, between the pair of leaves, which soon grows into a second joint or stem bearing another pair of leaves, resembling the ordinary leaves of the red maple, which the first did not. Was this plantlet formed in the seed at the time of germination, something as the chick is formed in the egg during the process of incubation ? Or did it exist before in the seed, ready formed ? To decide this question, we have only to inspect a sound seed, which in this instance requires no microscope, nor any other instrument than a sharp knife, by which the coats of the seed (previously soaked in water, if dry) may be laid open. We find within the seed, in this case, the little plantlet ready formed, and nothing else; namelv« a pair of leaves like those of the earliest seedlings, only smaller, borne on a stemlet Just like that of the seedling, only much BOTANY. 67 shorter, and all snngly coiled ap within the protecting seed-coat. The plant then exists beforehand in the seed in miniature. It was not formedf but only developed in germination; when it had merely to unfold and grow, — to elongate its rudimentary stem, which talces at the same time an upright position, so as to bring the leaf-bearing end into the light and air, where the two leaves expand; while from the opposite end, now pushed farther downwards into the soil, the root begins to grow. All this is true in the main of all plants that spring from real seeds, although with great diversity in the particulars. At least, there is hardly an exception to the fact, that the plantlet exists ready formed in the seed in some shape or other. The rndimentary plantlet contained in the seed is called an «m- bryo. Its little stem is named the radicie, because it was supposed to be the root, when the difference between the root and stem was not so well known as now. It were better to name it the cauliclCf (little stem ;) but it is not expedient to change old names. The seed-leaves it bears on its summit (here two in number) are techni- cally called cotykdom. The little bud of undeveloped leaves which is to be found between the cotyledons before germination in many cases (as in the pea, bean, &c.) has been named the plumule. In the maple, as also in the morning glory and the like, this bud or plumule is not seen for some days after the seed-leaves are expanded. But soon it appears in the maple as a pair of minute leaves, ere long raised in a stalk which carries them up to some dis- tance above the cotyledons. The plantlet now consists, above ground, of two pairs of leaves — viz., 1. The cotyledons or seed* leaves, borne on the summit of the original stemlet, (the ndicle) ; and 2. A pair of ordinary leaves, raised on a second joint of stem which has grown from the top of the first. Later, a third pair of leaves is formed, and raised on a third joint of stem, proceeding from the summit of the second, just as that did from the first, and so on, until the germinating plantlet becomes a tree. So the youngest seedling, and even the embryo in the seed, is already an epitome of the herb or tree. It has a stem, from the lower end of which it strikes root ; and it has leaves. The tree itself in its whole vegetation has nothing more in kind. To become a tree, the plantlet has only to repeat itself upwardly by producing more similar parts, — ^that is, new portions of stem, with new and larger leaves, in succession, — while beneath, it pushes its root deeper and deeper into the soil. 08 BOTANT. C//,«*.. i^•5*l^ Instil „^ Stamen ^^^ >^ Stam*n Petal Stontcrop Receptacle THE FLOWER. The Flower. — The object of the flower is the prodnction of seed. The flower consists of all those parts or organs which are sobser- vient to this end. Some of these parts are necessary to the prodnc- tion of seed. Others serve merely to protect or support the more essential parts. The organs of the flower are, therefore, of two kinds ; namely, flrst, the protecting organSf or leaves of the flower^ — also called the floral envelopes^ — and, second, the essential organs. The latter are situated within or a little above the former, and are enclosed by them in the bud. The floral envelopes in a complete flower are double ; that is, they consist of two whorls, or circles of leaves, one above or within the other. The outer set forms the calyx ; this more commonly consists of green or greenish leaves, but not always. The inner set, usually of a delicate texture, and of some other colour than green, and in most cases forming the most showy part of the blossom, is the corolla. Each leaf or sepa- rate piece of the corolla is called a petal ; each leaf of the calyx is called a sepal. The sepals and the petals — or, in other words, the leaves of the blossom — serve to protect, support, or nourish the parts within. They do not themselves make a perfect flower. Some plants, however, naturally produce, besides their perfect flowers, others which consist only of calyx and corolla, (one or botk.) — that is, of leaves. These, destitute as they are of the esseatial organs, and incapable of pf^ucing seed, »% called neutrd flow>«rs. We have an example in tiA flowers roonc the marpn di the cyme of the hydrangea, and of Van cranberry-tret, or snowball. BOTANY. 50 in their wild state. By long cultivation in gardens, the whole clnster has been changed into showy, bat useless, neutral flowers, in these and some other cases. What are called double flowers^ such as full roses, buttercups, and camellias, are blossoms which, under the gardener^s care, have developed with all their essential organs changed into petals. But such flowers are always in an unnatural or monstrous condition, and are incapable of maturing seed for want of the essential organs. The essential organs are likewise of two kinds, placed one above or within the other, — namely, first, the stamens, or fertilising organs; and, second, the pistils, which are to be fertilised and bear the seeds. Taking them in succession, therefore, beginning from below, or at the outside, we have, first, the calyx, or outer circle of leaves, which are individually termed sepals; secondly, the corolla, or inner circle of delicate leaves called petals ; then a set of stamens ; and in the centre, one or more pistils. The end of the flower-stalk, or the short ax's, npon which all these parts stand, is called the torus, or recq)tacle. A stamen consists of two parts, — namely, the ^lament, or stalk, and the anther. The latter is the only essential part. It is a case, commonly with two lobes or cells, each opening lengthwise by a slit, at the proper time, and discharging a powder or dust-like sub- stance, usually of a yellow colour. This powder is the pollen, or fertilising matter, to produce which is the sole office of the stamen. A pistil is distinguished into three parts ; namely, — begin- ning from below, — the ovary, the style, and the stigma. The ovary is the hollow case or young pod, containing rudimentary seeds called ovules. The style is the tapering part above, some- times long and slender, sometimes short, and not rarely altogether wanting, for it is not an essential part, like the two others. The stigma is the tip or some other portion of the style, (or of the top of tb*" ovary when there is no distinct style,) consisting of loose tissue, tol covered, like the rest of the plant, by a skin or epidermis. It i^ .pon the stigma that the pollen falls ; and the result is, that the ovules contained in the ovary are fertilised and become seeds, by having an embryo formed in them. To the pistil, therefore, all the other organs of the blossom are in some way or other subservient : the stamens furnish pollen to fertilise its ovules ; the corolla and the calyx form coverings which protect the whole. These are all the parts which belong to any flower. But these parts appear under a variety of forms and combinations, some of ihem greatly disguising their natural appearance. To understand 60 GENERAL DIVISION OF PLANTS. the flower, therefore, under whatever gnise it may assume, we must study its plan. — Gray. GENERAL DIVISION OF PLANTS. A PLANT consists of certain parrr which are called organs. The root, stem, and leaves are concerned in the nourishment of the plant, and are called nutritive organs ; while the flowers are connected with the production of seeds, and are denominated reproductive organs. Some plants produce flowers and seeds, and are called flowering or phanerogamous^ (Greek, visible reproduction ;) while others do not produce flowers, but have peculiar organs which give origin to germs, equivalent to seeds, and they are hence C2k\\Q'\ flowerkss or cryptogamous, (Greek, hidden reproduction.) To the former division belong our ordinary trees, shrubs, and herbaceous flowering plants; to the latter belong ferns, mosses, lichens, sea- weeds, and mush- rooms. In flowering plants the seed contains the young or embryo plant, either alone, as in the bean, pea, and wall-flower, or associated with a separate store of nourishment, as in the cocoa-nut, the cereal grasses, and the pansy. When the skin of a bean or pea is re- moved, the young plant is found within, consisting of the rudimen- tary root and stem, with two large lobes called cotyledons ; these cotyledons in the pea are thick and fleshy, and constitute the great bulk of the seed. In the case of the cocoa-nut, the seed, which is contained within the hard shell, consists principally of a mass of nourishing matter, (the white part used for food), in a cavity of THE FERN AND THE MOSS. 61 which, at the end where the hole in the shell exists, the little embryo plant lies. The embryo is a'small and somewhat club-shaped body; its parts are the rudimentary root, and the stem with a single coty- ledon, which ia wrapped round it. In floweriui^s plants, in place of seeds little germs are formed, called spongy (Gr. seed,) which do not exhibit any separate parts, and have no cotyledons. Thus all the plants in the world are divided into three great classes, founded on the nature of their embryo — viz., 1, Dicotyledonous plants, having two cotyledons, or seed-lobes, or seed* leaves ; 2, Monocotyledonoua plants, in which there is one cotyledon ; and, 3, Acotykdonous plants, in which there is no cotyledon. The first two divisions embrace flowering; or plianerogamous plants, the last flowerless or cryptogamons. Here we see a natural division of the vegetable productions of the globe, and we observe to some extent the plan on which they were formed by the Creator. — Baltour. THE FERN AND THE MOSS. There was a fern on the mountain, and moss on the moor ; And the ffrns were the rich, and the mosses the poor. And the glad breeze blew gayly ; from heaven it came, And the fragrance it shed over each was the same ; And the warm sun shone brightly, and gilded the fern, And smiled on the lowly-born moss in its tnrn ; And the cool dews of night on the mountain fern fell, And they glisten'd upon the green mosses as well. And the fern loved the mountain, the moss loved the moor, For the ferns were the rich, and the mosses the poor. Bnt the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed high, And the ferns they were broken, and wither'd and dry ; And the moss on the moorland grew faded and pale ; And the fern and the moss shrank alike from the gale. So the fern on the mountain, the moss on the moor. Were wither'd and black where they ftonrish'd before. 69 A DISH OF VEGETABLES. Then the fern and the moss, they grew wiser in giief, And each turned to the other for rest and relief ; And tliey plann'd that wherever the fern-roots sljoald grow, There surely the moss should be sparkling below. And the keen blasts blew bleakly, the sun waxed fierce ; But no wind and no sun to their cool roots could pierce ; For the fern threw her shadow the green moss upon, Where the dew ever sparkled undried by the sun ; When the graceful fern trembled before the keen blast. The moss guarded her roots till the storm-wind had pass'd ; So no longer the wind parch'd the roots of the one, And the other was safe from the rays of the sun. And thus, and for ever, where'er the ferns grow. There surely the mosses lie sparkling below ; And thus they both flourish, where naught grew before, And they both deck the woodland and mountain and moor. — Eliza Cook. A DISH OF VEGETABLES. From the moss to the palm-tree the number of contributions made by the vegetable world towards the sustenance of man would make a bulky list of benefactors. We have not room to advert to them all, still less to talk about them all. It may be well, however, and only grateful in us, as human beings and recipients of vegetable bounty, to do a little trumpeting in honour of the great families of plants which have contributed with more especial liberality to- wards the colonisation of the world by man. For example, there is, in the first place, the Potato family, famous for its liberal principles, and the wide sphere over which its influence is spread. The members of this family, with equal gene- rosity, are prompt to place a luxury upon the rich mau*s gravy, or a heap of food beside the poor man's salt. The potato family has been for many years one of the noblest benefactors to the human colony ; and when it was prevented lately, by ill-health, from the fulfilment of its good intentions, great was the anxiety of men, and many were the bulletins of health bought for and issued. A DI8B or YEQETABLES. CIS The family seat of the potatoes is well known to bo in America. Thoy are a comparatively new race in our own country, (England,) since they did not come over until some time after the Conqueror. The genealogists have nearly settled, after much discussion, that all members of this family spread over the world, are descended from the potatoes of Chili. Their t'wn- seat is in the neighbourhood of Valparaiso, upon hills facing the sea. The potatoes were early spread over many portions of America, on roissionu for the benefit of man, who had not been long in discovering that they were friends worth cultivating properly. It is said that the first potato who visited Europe came over with Sir Francis Drake in 1573; it is Raid, also, that some of the family had accompanied Sir Juhn Haw- kins in 1563 ; it is certain that a body of potato s quitted Virginia in 1586, and came to England with Sir Walter Raleigh. M. Duval, who has written an elaborate history of the potato family, shows it to be extremely probable that, before the time of Raleigh, a settle- ment of potatoes had been found in Spain. Reaching England in 1586, the benevolent potato family was welcomed into Belgium in 1590. In 1610, the first potatoes went to Ireland, where they eventually multiplied and grew to form one of the most important branches of this worthy race. The Scotch potatoes date their origin, as a distinct branch, from 1728. It was at dates not very different from this that other branches of the family settled in Germany. The potatoes of Switzerland first settled in 1780, in the Canton of Berne. In 1738, the thriving family extended its benevolent assistance to the Prussians ; but it was not until 1767 that its aid was solicited in Tuscany. In France, the kindly efforts of this family were not ap- preciated until in the middle of the last century, there arose a man, Parmentier, who backed the introduction of potatoes into France with recommendations so emphatic, that it was designed to impute to him the interest of near relationship, not indeed by calling him potato, but by calling potatoes by his name, Parmcntiers. The benevolent exertions made by the potato family on behalf of France, daring the famine of 1793, completely established it in favour with the grateful people. Potatoes, though so widely spread, are unable to maintain their health under too warm a climate. On the Andes, ihey fix their abode at a height of ten to thirteen thousand feet ; in the Swiss Alps, they are comfortable on the mountain • sides, and spread in Berne to the height of live thousand feet, or not very much less. Over the north of Europe the potato family extends its labours farther on into the coKd than even barley, which is famous as the 64 A DI8U OP VEQETABLES. hardiest of grain. There are potatoes settled In Iceland, though that Is a place In which barley declines to livre. The potato Is lo nntrltloas, and can be cultivated with so little sltill and labour, thit it tempts some nations to depend solely on it for sustenance. Tho recent blight, especially in Ireland, consequently occasioned the most disastrous effects, Tlie Barley branch of the grass family has, however, a large establishment in Scotland, even to tho extreme north, In the Orkneys, Shetland, and. In fact, even in the Faroe Islands. They who are in the secrets of the barleys, hint that they would be very glad to settle in the southern districts of Iceland — say about Reikiavllc — if it were not for the annoyance of unseasonable rains. In Western Lapland there may be found heads of the house of barley as far north as Cape North, which is the most northern point of the continent of Europe. It has a settlement in Russia, on the shores of tho White Sea, beyond Arcliangel. Over a great ma^s of Northern Siberia no barley will undertake to live ; and as the potatoes have found their way into such barren districts only here and there, the country that is too far north for barley, is too far north for agriculture. There the people live a nomad life, and owe oblisration in the world of plants, to lichens for their food, or to such families as offer them the contribution of roots, bark, or a few scraps of fruit. It is not much that barley asks as a condition of Its gifts to any member of the human colony. It wants a summer heat, averaging about forty-six degrees ; and it docs not want to be perpetually moistened. If it is to do anything at all in moist places, like islands, it must have three degrees added to the average allowance of summer heat, with which it would otherwise be content. As for your broiling hot weather, no barley will stand it. Other grasses may tolerate the tropics if they please ; barley refuses to be baked while it is growing. The barleys are known to be settled as an old native family in Tartary and Sicily, two placeH very far apart. Their pedigree, however, and, indeed, the pedigrees of all the branches of the great grass family must remain a subject wrapped in uncertainty, buried in darkness, and lost in a great fog of con- jecture. We find Oats spread over Scotland to the extreme north point, and settled in Norway and Sweden to the latitudes sixty-three and sixty-five. Both oats and rye extend in Russia to about tlie same latitude of sixty-three degrees. The benevolent exertion of oats is put forth on behalf not only of men, but also of their horses. In A DISH or VCOETABLFtl. U Scotland ind LancMhirOf In some countries of Germtny, etpeciilljr Houtb of Westphftliaf the peopio look to oats for sustenance. Scotcii bone and niascle are chiefly indebted to oatmeal; for porridge (which consists of oatmeal and water, and Is eaten with milk) is the staple — almost the only — food of the sturdy Scotch peasantry. SoDth of the parallel of Paris, however, the friendship of oats is little caltivated. In Spain and Portugal nobody knows anything about oats, except as a point of curiosity. The Rye branch of the grass fe ; as in the cases of the cereal grains — wheat, barley, oats, &c., and culinary vegetables, snch as cabbage, cauliflower, turnips, radishes, peas. These permanent varieties wore not establisliod all at once, but only after a series of years, and by the art and skill of the gardener or cultivator; and oven yet, on a poor soil, and in a neglected condition, there is still a tendency In their seeds to produce tho original wild form Many species, however, vary in a manner so remarkable, that external in- fluences fail to account for it. This is the case with that beautifal and favourite plant the fuchsia. It has produced in successive years flowers diflering so much in form and shape that, if they had not been known to be prodnced by the same plant, they would have been considered as belonging to distinct species. Some, indeed, have of late years advanced the doctrine of transmntatlon of species, or the conversion of one species Into another. They have said that oats may be changed into rye, by being constantly cut down for a series of years before flowering ; but there is no fonnda- tion for such an opinion. All the species, more nearly allied than others, are grouped together as a distinct kind or genut. Roses, for instance, compose a genns distinguished by marked characters. And it was amongst the highest titles LinnsBUS earned to fame, that he invented the device of giving, in the name of a plant, the genus as well as the species. Rosa spinosissima is a particular species of rose — Rosa being the generic ; spinosissima^ the specific, or, as Linnssus called it, the " trivial" name of the plant. But, after all, it Is in the multitude of minute and individual facts, rather than in the classiflcation of names and the conflict of systems, that the value of knowledge in general, and of the knowledge of plants in particalar, consists ; and often, when the jargon of modern science has grated on our ear, have we longed to live back in the history of human intelligence, that we might, with Shakespeare, be ^' culling of simples" under the moon, instead of botanising with a microscope. Let us descend, then, to particalars, and begin with the Crowfoot BOTANICAL OI.KANINdl. ff fumily^Mmti familiiir to the lover of flold floweri. Theie pUntN are found in cold, damp climatca, and in the elevated rfgUn\n of yrami countriea. Kiirufie contalna one-flfih of them, and North America about a aoventh. The clematii, anemone, raniinculuM, or buttercup, hellebore, hepatica, columbine, Ike, beloni; to th<>m. Tbejr have narcotic and acrid properties, and are, uiuaiiy, more or leia poifionouN. One of them, monkithood, cootaina a narcotic uhpiI as an anodyne, (a medicine which bj its soothing qualities asfluaKes ' pain,) and is chiefly employed where the nerves are afTcctcd. The May-apple of America is employed as a purgative ; and many of the crow-flowers are marked by bitter tonic properties. The Magnolia family, oliiefly found in North America, (certain species alMO occurring in South America, China, Japan, New Hoi- land, and New Zealand,) may perhaps be familiar in name, if not in ap|tearance. The properties of the order are bitter, tonic, and often aromatic. Captain Winter brought from the Straits of Magel- lan, in 1&79, the magnolia, which yields winter's* bark, employed medicinally as an aromatic stimulant. The bark of swamp- sassa- fras, or beaver- tree, is. In fact, used as a substitute for Peruvian bark ; and the tulip-tree has similar properties. The Water-lily family, to which botanists, with rare felicity, have given the lively name of Nymphacea, have very showy flowers. They adorn the ponds and rivers of North America, and are, generally, widely distributed throughout the northern hemisphere ; yet it is in the waters of South America that the Victoria regia, one of the largest known aquatics, expands its great flowers, a foot in diameter, with its still larger leaves, which are in diameter from four t9 six and a half feet, and dispenses its delicious odour. Of this plant there is a delightful reminiscence wafted from the poetry of L. E. L. : — ith the Crowfoot " There floftti the water-lily, like a Bovereign Whoiti lovely empire ia a fairy world; The purple aragon-fly above it hovering, Ai when its fragile ivory unourl'd, A long time ago." The LotuSf figured on Egyptian and Indian monnments, is said to belong to the Water-bean family of aquatic plants, with showy flowers and floating leaves, found in the temperate as well as the tropical regions of the Old and New World. The Sidesaddle flower family appear in North America and Gni- ana. To them belongs the remarkable pitcher-plant of onr swamps, 70 BOTANICAL OLIAinNOS. furnished with a leafy receptacle for water, in which are generally to be fonnd the remains of unwary flies and other insects. It has been very extensively used in Nova Scotia, Canada, and Newfound- land, as a remedy for that most loathsome of diseases, the small- pox. With the Poppy family wo are, however, more familiar ; though few will be prepared to learn that they are chiefly European. This, notwithstanding their extension over tropical America, Asia, China, New Holland, the Cape of Good Hope, &c., is, however, the ca^e. They are distinguished by their milky or coloured juice, and the well-marked narcotic properties of their order. The concrete, milky juice from the unripe capsules of the somniferous poppy is, in fact, opium — the particular plant from which it is procured being a native of Western Asia, and not improbably of Southern Europe also, but now distributed over various other countries besides. The Cabbage or Cresswort family are a very extensive order, chiefly European. Everything connected with them goes by fours, generally in the form of a cross. None of them are poisonous, but most of them are antiscorbutic and stimulant. In fact, they are cabbages, cauliflowers, turnips, radishes, cresses, horseradishes, and other garden stuffs most familiar to our readers. Sulphur and nitrogen are contained in them to snch an extent, that their decay- ing odours are anything but agreeable. Not only the garden vege- tables, but the more ordinary garden flowers, such as wallflowers, stocks, rockets, honesty, &c., belong to the order. One of the tribe, the rose of Jciicho, is remarkable as a hygrometer — literally, a measure df the moisture in the snrronnding atmosphere; its old withered, annual stems, which are rolled up like a ball in dry weather, and drifted about by the wiuds in the deserts of Syria and Egypt, resuming when rain falls their original form and direction, and continuing for many years thus to curl up and expand accord- ing to the state of the atmosphere. Woad, the plant yielding the well-known woad-blne coloor when treated like indigo, and with which the ancient Britbns used to dye their bodies, belongs to this order. The Caper family is probably familiar to those who affect a boiled leg of mutton. Capers are the flower-bads of a plant of this order. Their properties are stimulant. The plant is a native of the south of Europe, and is considered by Royle to be the hyssop of Scrip- ture. Our sweet and pretty favourites, the Mignonette family, inhabit Europe and the adjoining parts of Asia. *' The uses of the order," USVMVn NAMING THE FLOWERS. n les, the small- says the hard-hearted man of science, **are unimportant." And yet one kind, weld^ yielda a yellow dye ; another is the fragrant mignonette. Ah I how many hearts has not that gentle fragrance flolaced ! In the lone garret it has blended with the inmates' sighs, and mingled with the qnick, warm breathings of emotion on the lordly parten'e. The mignonette is in France an object of snch favourite culture that, by preventing the development of its blos- soms, it is common to render it shrubby or wood;,, when it is known as the tree-mignonette. We shall conclude this short excur- sion into botany with a notice of the Violet family. They are natives of Europe, Asia, and America. They possbss many valuable medicinal properties. The roots of the sweet-scented European violet have been employed as an emetic. Other species are used in South America as substitutes for ipecacuanha. The rich odour of the Eastern violets is almost entirely absent in those of the western hemisphere. The only North American species possessing any degree of fragrance is the tall Viola Canadensis^ which flowers twice a year — in the spring and fall. The Viola tricolor (heart's- case) is the origin of all the cultivated varieties of pansy. — Adapted from W. W. Fyfe. LINN-ffiUS NAMING THE FLOWERS. It is pleasant to trace the steps of a genins like Linnseus going over completely new ground in the wide field of natural history ; classing and naming birds, insects, and flowers, oftentimes according to a system which his own ingenuity and penetration had devised to supply the deficiencies of former naturalists. An active examina- tion of the minuter parts of the object under his consideration, fre- quently enabled him to arrive at a juster conclusion as to the order or genus to which it belonged, than others who had preceded him ; and sometimes, after having with indefatigable industry ascertained these points, he ''ndulged himself in combining with his new dis- covery associations of friendship, or of historical or classica? allusion^ After this fashion he honoured several of his patrons and pupils. Thas the Celsia was so named after Gelsui, one of his earliest bene- factors ; and the Kalmiaf now so well known in our gardens, com- memorated his friendship for Professor Kalm, his pupil and fellow- 7-2 LlKKiCUS NAMING THE FLOWERS. labourer. In his *' Critica Botaiiica " he observes, concerning this iiabit of the appropriation of celebrated names to the genera of plants, that '^ a proper connexion should be observed between the habits and appearance of the plant and the name from which it has its derivation;" and as an embjfni of himself he chose the Linnaa LINKiEA BORGALIR horealis* which he described as *' a little northern plant flowering early, depressed, abject, and long overlooked." It was gathered by him at Lycksele, May 29, 1732. It is common in West Bothnia, and in almost all the great northern forests ; but it may be easily overlooked, because it grows only ^here the woods are thickest, and its delicate twin- blossoms are almost hid among the moss, and Inter- woven with ivy. Their smell resembles that of the meadow-sweet, and is ''o strong during the night as to discover the plant at a con- siderable distance. Whon he received his patent of nobility, Linntens adopted this * This little plant is to be found abundantly in the temperate regions of the Xorth American continent. TO THE PRINGID GENTIAN. n floweret as a part of his crest — the helnn^. which surmoants the araiB of hin family beinf; adorned with a sprig of Linnaea. One of those pupils who visited distant countries to add to the collections of his great master, sent from China a service of porcelain, manu- factured purposely for him, having a representation of this plant as its only decoration ; and the Cardinal de Noailles erected a c(>notaph in his garden to tbc memory of the naturalist, and planted the Lin- iisca by its side as its most appropriate ornament. What lover of flowers but will regard with interest this little flower of the north, for the sake of him whose name it bears ! — C. L. Brigiitwell. TO te:. fringed gentian. Thou blossom, bright with antumn dew, And coloarM with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night ; Thon comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in crimson drest, Nod o'er the ground- bird's hidden nest. Tbon waitest late and com'st alone. When woods are bare and birds are flown. And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near its end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Bine, — bine — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. — Bbyant. 74 TROPICAL SCENERY. TROPICAL SCENERY. On leaving Ascension we sailed for Bahia, on the coast of Brazil, in order to complete the chronometrical measurement of the world. We arrived there on August 1st, and stayed four days, during which I took several long walks. I was glad to find my enjoyment in tropi- cal scenery had not decreased from the want of novelty, even in the slightest degree. The elements of the scenery are so simple, that they are worth mentioning, as a proof on wl:at trifling circumstances exquisite natural beauty depends. The country may be desciibed as a level plain of about three hundred feet in elevation, which in all parts has been worn into flat-bottomed valleys. This structure is remarkable in a granitic land, but is nearly universal in all those softer formations of which plains are usually composed. The whole surface is covered by vari- ous kinds of stately trees, interspersed with patches of cultivated ground, out of which houses, convents, and chapels arise. It must be remembered that within the tropics, the wild luxuriance of nature is not lost even in the vicinity of large cities ; for the natural vege- tation of the hedges and hill-sides overpowers in picturesque eflfiect the artificial labour of man. Hence, there are only a few spots TROPICAL SCENERY. n where the bright red soil aifordfl a strong contrast with the nniver- sal clothing of green. From the edges of the plain there are distant views either of the ocean, or of the great Bay with its low-wooded shores, and on which numerous boats and canoes show their white 3ail8. Excepting from these points, the scene is extremely limited ; following the level pathways on each hand, only glimpses into the wooded valleys below can be obtained. The houses, I may add, and especially the sacred edificcH, are built in a peculiar and rather fantastic style of architecture. They are all whitewashed ; so that when illumined by the brilliant sun of mid-day, and as seen against the pale blue sky of the horizon, they stAnd out more like shadows than real buildings. Such are the elements of the scenery, but it is a hopeless attempt to paint the general effect. Learned naturalists describe these scenes of the tropics by naming a multitude of objects and mentioning some charac eristic feature of each. To a learned traveller this possibly may communicate some definite ideas : but who else, from seeing a plant in an herbarium, can imagine its appearance when growing on its native soil ? Who, from seeing choice plants in a hothouse, can magnify some into the dimensions of forest trees, and crowd others into an entangled jungle? Who, when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist tbo gay exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and the lazy flight of the former, — the sure accompaniments of the still, glowing noonday of the tropics ? It is when the sun has attained its greatest height that such scenes should be viewed : then the dense splendid foliage of the mango hides the ground with its darkest shade, whilst the upper branches are rendered, from the pro- fusion of light, of the most brilliant green. In the temperate zones the case is different — the vegetation there is not so dark or so rich, and hence the rays of the declining sun, tinged of a red, pnrple. or bright yellow colour, add most to the beauties of those climes. When quietly walking along the rhady pathways, and admiring each successive view, i wished to find liiugnage to express my ideas. Epithet after epithet was found too weak to convey to those who have not visited the intertropical 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, luxuriant hothouse, made by Nature for herself, but taken possession of by man, who has studded it with gay houses and formal gardens. How great would be the desire in every admirer of nature to behold, if such 76 VEGETABLE CLOTHING— FLAX, HEMP, AND COTTON. were possible, the scenor'^ uf another planet I yet to every person in Europe, it may be truly uaid, 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 these bcautio;<, und endeavoured to fix in ray mind for ever an im- pression vhtch, at the time, I knew sooner or later must fail. The form cf i.)^ V <^ i\ 13 WBT MAIN STRIIT «VSB$TIII,N.Y. 145t0 (716)«72^S03 81 LUMBERINO. progress of the wood, which mast remain within It till all the timber has left the forest. After this every raftsman searches out his own timber, which he recognises by the mark he pats on it, and, having formed it into a raft, floats it down the river to its destination. The boom is generally owned by private indlvidaals, who levy a toll on all the wood collected by it The toll on the Penobscot River is at the rate of three per cent, on the valae of the timber. The rafts into which the timber is formed, previoas to being floated down the large rivers, are strongly pat together. They are furnished with masts and sails, and are steered by means of long oars, which project in front as well as behind them. Wooden honses are boilt on them for the accommodation of the crew and their families. I have counted upwards of thirty persons working the steering oars of a raft on the St Lawrence ; from this some idea may be formed of the number of their inhabitants. The most hazardous part of the lumberer*s business is that of bring- ing the rafts of wood down the large rivers. If not managed with great skill, they are apt to go to pieces in descending the rapids ; and it not unfrequently happens that the whole labour of one, and sometimes of two years, is in this way lost in a moment. An old raftsman with whom I had some conversation on board of one of the steamers on the St Lawrence, informed me that each of the rafts brought down that river contains from 15,000 to 25,000 dollars' worth of timber, and that he, on one occasion, lost 12,500 dollars by one raft, which grounded in descending a rapid, and broke up. The safest sine for a raft, he said, was from 40,000 to 50,000 square feet of surface ; and when of that size they require about five men to manage them; Some are made, however, which have an area of no less than 300,000 square feet. These unwieldy craft are brought to Quebec in great numbers from distances varying from one to twelva hundred miles ; and it often happens that six months are occupied in making the passage. They are broken up at Quebec, where the timber is cut up for exportation into planks, deals, or battens, at the numerous saw-mills with which the banks of the St Lawrence are studded for many miles, in the neighbourhood of the town. Sometimes the timber is shipped in the form of logs. The timber-rafts of the Rhine are, perhaps, the only ones in Europe that can be compared to those of the American rivers ; but none of those which I have seen on the Rhine were nearly so large as those on the St Lawrence, although some of them were worked by a greater number of (jands, a precaution rendered necessary, perhaps, by the mor» intricate navigatioa of the river. The principal woods ex- THB LINDEN TRRI. 83 ported from the St Lawrence are white oak, white pine, red pine, eim, and white ash. — Stevknson. THE LINDEN TREE. Herb 's a song for thee—- of the linden tree ! A song of the sillcen iime ! There is no other tree so pleaseth me, No other so fit for rhyme. When I was a boy, it was all my joy To rest in its scented shade, When the snn was high, and the river nigh A musical murmur made. When floating along, lilte a winged song. The traveller-bee would stop. And choose for his bower the lime-tree flower. And drink — to the last sweet drop. When the evening star stole forth, afar, And the gnats flew round and round, I sought for a rhyme beneath the lime, Or dreamed on the grassy ground. Ah I years have fled ; and the linden dead. Is a brand on the cottier*s floor, And the river creeps through its slimy deeps. And youth — is a thought of yore ! Yet — they live again, in the dreamer*s brain, As deeds of love and wrong. Which pass with a sigh, and seem to die. Survive in the poet's song. — Babry Cornwall. H TIM LINKINWATlte's WINDOW. TIM LINKINWATER'S WINDOW. (From " Nicholas NickUby.'') "Thebb is a double wallflower at No. 6 in the court, Is there?" said Nicholas. ** Yes, there is," replied Tiro, ** and planted in a cracked jug without a spout. There were hyacinths there this last spring, bios- soming in — but yon '11 laugh at that, of course." "At what?" " At their blossoming in old blacking-bottles," said Tim. ** Not I, indeed," returned Nicholas. Tim looked wistfully at him for a moment, as if he were encouraged by the tone of this reply to be more communicative on the subject ; and sticking behind his ear a pen that he had been making, and shutting up his knife with a sharp click, said, " They belong to a sickly, bed-ridden, humpbacked boy, and seem to be the only pleasures, Mr Nickleby, of his sad existence. How many years is it," said Tim, pondering, " since I first noticed him, quite a little child, dragging himself about on a pair of tiny cratches ? Well ! well 1 not many ; but though they would appear nothing, if I thought of other things, they seem a long, long time, when I think of him. It is a sad thing,'* said Tim, breaking off, " to see a little deformed child sitting apart from other children, who are aotive and merry, watching the games he is denied the power to share in. He made my heart ache very often.'* *' It is a good heart," said Nicholas, " that disentangles itself from the close avocations of every day, to heed such things. Ton were saying*' '*That the flowers belonged to this poor boy,*' said Tim, ** that's all. When it is fine weather, and he can crawl out of bed, he draws a chair close to the window, and alts there looking at them, and arranging them all day long. We need to nod at first, and then we came to speak. Formerly, when J called to him of a morning, and asked him how he was, he would smile and say, * Better,' but now he shakes his head, and only bends more closely over his old plants. It mnst be dull to watch the dark house-tops and the flying donils for 80 many months ; but he is Tery patient." ** Is there nobody in the house to cheer and help him ? ** asked Nicholas. ** His father lives there, I believe/' replied Tim, ** and other people, too ; but no one seems to care much for the poor sickly cripple. I ANCIBNT AND MODIIVN PARMIKO. have asked him yery often if I oan do nothing for him ; his answer is always the same — ' Nothing.' His voice has grown wealc of late, but I can see that he makes the old reply. He can't leave his bed now, so they have moved it close beside the window ; and there be lies all day, now looking at the sky, and now at his flowers, which he still makes shift to trim and water with his own thin hands. At night, when he sees my candle, he draws back his cortaln, and leaves it so till I am in bed. It seems such company to him to know that I am there, that I often sit at my window for an hoar or more, that he may see I am still awake ; and sometimes I get np in the night to look at the dnll, melancholy light in his little room, and wonder whether he is awake or sleeping." ** The night will not be long coming," said Tim, ** when he will sleep and never wake again on earth. We have never so much as shaken hands in all onr lives, and yet I shall miss him like an old friend, /re there any country flowers that could interest me like these, do yon think ? Or do you suppose that the withering of a hundred kinds of the choicest flowers that blow, called by the hard- est Latin names that were ever invented, would give me one fraction of the pain that I shall feel when these old jugs and bottles are swept away as lumber ? Country 1 " cried Tim, with a contemptu- ous emphasis ; *^ don't you know that I couldn't have such a court under my bedroom-window anywhere but In London ? *' With which inquiry Tim turned his back, and, pretending to be absorbed in his accounts, took an opportunity of hastily wiping his eyes, when he supposed Nicholas was looking another way. — Charles Dickens. ANCIENT AND MODERN FARMING. Is early times, when the population was scattered widely over the land, and their wants were few and easily satisfied, the spontaneous products of the earth, scanty as they were, would amply sufBce. Bat as the people increased in numbers, and civilisation progressed, attempts would bo made to extend the products of the land by the efforts of industry and skill. The cereal crops would then be culti- vated, and farinaceous food used to supplement the spontaneous herbage of the soil. But the system of culture this discovery in> augurated was confined solely to the preparing of the land to re- ceive the seed, not to any attempts to stimulate its productiveness. What the land naturally yielded would be considered as the extent M ANCIENT AND MODBBN FARMING. of its capability. The nature of all agricultnral proceises for agei was simple in the extreme, progress beiog retarded by the devastate ing wars and civil discords which for many ages afflicted all the nations of Europe. The hnsbandman reaped his tiny crop beneath the shade of the feudal castle, and was ready at the shout of the warder, or the trumpet call, to throw down the sickle and seise the sword ; and it was long ere he left this sheltering shade, and culti- vated the valleys, and crept up the hill-side ; dotting the smiling landscape with his flocks of sheep and cattle, and adding to the beauty of the scene by the glistening glories of the summer corn. But long after intestine wars had ceased, when the rusty flrelock or the notched sabre were the only relics of the troublous times we have alluded to, agriculture still presented the same torpid symptoms, and little evidence was shown of the desire to increase the natural productiveness of the soil by improved methods of treatment It was very early discovered that the cereal crops were exhaustive ones — that is, if crop after crop of the same grain was raised from the same patch of soil, it was observed soon to be incapable of further production, at least to any amount. This proved that the crop withdrew certain properties of the soil. In districts where land was plentiful and easily obtained, this difficulty would be got rid of by cultivating new patches of soil, just in the same way now fol- lowed by the careless farmer in America, who crops until he ex- hausts his land, when he moves off to another ** location,'* where virgin land, abounding in all the elements of fertility, is to be had, which in its turn undergoes the same process of exhaustion. In process of time, the lands which were discarded as exhausted and incapable of producing crops would be returned to, or taken into cultivation by other hands, the result beinsr that crops would be raised as before. This necessarily attracting attention, and the fact becoming registered, that exhausted land would again become productive if allowed to remain nncultivated — that is, at rest — for a certain period, the ** fallow '* system was inaugurated. The old Roman system consisted in raising a crop of grain one year, allow- ing the land to remain at rest the next In this country* a variety of circumstances tended to introduce a peculiar system of agricul- ture ; the exigencies of a population concentrated in a much greater degree than in any other of the European states ; the length of the winter, and the uncertainty even of the favourable months ; the comparative scarcity and deamess of land, and t|ie existence of a * Britain ; but applicable to Britiah America in many particulars. ANOIEMT AND MODBRN rAKMIIfO. •r higher degree of exhiastiye property in the cereali thin in the sottthem coantries ; the natural richnefli of the herbage of the flelda — all induced a comparitiyely peculiar system. As daily experience registered facts, the truth would soon become apparent that it was not necessary to wait for the land becoming again productive by allowing it to lie a comparatively long period Idle ; that the fertilis- ing properties could be restored to it by the addition of manure^ this being obtained from the stock of the farm — the cattle, sheep^ horses, cows, &c. The increase, therefore, of the cereal productiveness of the land evidently depended upon the amount of manure placed at the dispossl of the farmer; hence the efforts to increase the number of stock kept. At first the aystem was much aided by the spontaneous growth of large crops of grass— one of the peculiarities of our climate. The plan adopted, therefore, was to have half the farm devoted to pasture lands, and half to the cultivation of cereals, a portion of this latter half being kept in fallow. But the exigencies of our climate placed a limit to the number of cattle kept, and. In consequence, the amount of manure produced. For a large portion of the year the herbage is liable to be frozen or covered with snow ; the animals are, in consequence, unable to partake of it It became necessary, therefore, if the stock was to be increased on our farms, to provide a supply of food by which to maintain the animals during the severe weather of winter, these being housed, instead of starving in the open fields, as in the old system. The want being thus felt, it was in time supplied by the introduction of what are known as the green cropi — artificial grasses, and roots, as turnips, exclusively raised for the maintenance of the stock. As this system was adopted, the breadth of land under fallow, and latterly that under the cereal crops, was diminished. In process of time the grand principle which completely revolutionised agriculture was introduced; we refer to the ** Rotation of Crops," or the **Four Year Course System.'* This was founded upon the theory that forage plants derive the principal elements of their growth from the atmosphere giving to the soil more than they take from it, and afford in addition a large amount of manure when consumed by stock ; thus they con- tribute in two ways to the refertilisation of the soil exhausted by the cereal crops, which derived their nutriment, to a great extent, from the inorganic or mineral constituents of the soil. This system oaee fairly established, all the other improvements of modern agri- culture, such as drainage, subsoiling, irrigation, and steam cultiva- tion, followed in comparatively quick succession. — Busm's OuUine* of Modem Farming. THI TOY or THE GIANT'S CHILD. THE TOY OP THE OIANrS CHILD. (From the German of Chamiuo.) BuRO Nied«ck is t monntain in Alitce, high and strong, Where once a noble eastle stood — the giants held it long ; Its Tery mine now are lost, its site is waste and lone. And if 70a seek for giants there, they are all dead and gone. The giant's daughter once came forth the castle- gate before, And plajed with all a child's delight, beside her father's door ; Then saantering down the precipice, the girl did gladly go. To see, perchance, how matters went in the little world below. With few and easy steps she passed the monntain and the wood ; At length near Haslach, at the place where mankind dwelt, she stood; And many a town and village fair, and many a field so green, Before her wondering eyes appeared, a strange and curious scene. And as she gazed, in wonder lost, on all the scene around, She saw a peasant at her feet, a tilling of the ground ; The little creature crawled about so slowly here and there. And, lighted by the morning sun, his plough shone bright and fair. *' pretty plaything I " cried the child, *' I '11 take thee home with me;" Then with her hifant hands she spread her kerchief on her knee, And cradling horse, and man, and plough, all gently on her arm, She bore them home with cautious steps, afraid to do them harm : She bastes with Joyous steps and quick, (we know what children are,) And spying soon her father out, she shonted from afiu-^— ** father, dearest father, such a plaything I have found, I never saw so fair a one on all onr mountain ground." Her father sat at table then, and drank his wine so mild, And smiling with a parent's smile, he asks the happy child — *^ What struggling creature hast thou brought so carefhlly to me ? Thou leap'st for very joy, my girl ; come, open, let us see." She opes her kerdiief carefully, and gladly, you may deem; And shows her esger sire the plough, tL peasant, and his team ; And when she 'd placed before his sight the new-found pretty toy. She clasped her hands, and screamed aloud, and cried for very Joy. But- her fkther looked quite seriously, and shaking slow his head, ** What hast thou brought me home, my child ? This is no toy," he said j ZOOLOGY. M " Qo, take It qalckly back again, and put It down below ; The peaaant la no plaything, girl — how coaldst thou think him ao? So go, withont a algh or aob, and do my will," be aaid ; '' For know, withont the peaaant, girl, we none of na had bread ; 'Tia from the peaaant'a hardy atock the race of gianta are ; The peaaant la no plaything, child — no, God forbid he were." — R1CHAED8ON. ZOOLOGY. ZooLoor, aa yon have already learned, la that branch of natural science which treata of animals, Including not only the qnadrnpeds or fonr-footed beaata to which the name ** animal" la generally applied, but all living creaturea aa diatinguished from planta. Between the many different animals which inhabit the variona por- tiona of land and water that constitute our earth, there are points of resemblance more or leaa atriking, mr' i)*g, what we may term, a family likeneaa; and the zoologlat, i^Ving advantage of these, arranges all the membera of the animal kingdom under certain claaaes, dlvlalona, and familiea. My object, in thia leaaon, la to introdace to your notice the five great diviaiona, or, as they are called, aub-kingdoma of the animal world. The flrat and most important of these great diviaiona la the anb* kingdom VartebnUa. It comprlaea all thoae animals which poaaeaa an internal akeleton, of which the principal feature la a spine or backbone, composed of nnmerona smaller bones, called ** vertebrae," fitting into one another with the greatest nicety. To this spine or main column all the other bones are attached by jointa of different kinds, anited to the fttnctiona which the animal baa to perform. While preaerving the same general character, these bones or limbs differ greatly in appearance in different classes of animals ; thus, if we take the fore pair of limbs which nearly all the vertebrates possess, we find them represented by the arms of man, the legs of the horse, the flappers of the whale, the wings of birds, and the fins of fishes. The tail also, which is almost or entirely wanting in some groups, is enor» monsly developed in others. We mnst be careful not to mistake outward reaemblance for real relationship ; a humming*bird, for lu<- stance, is not unlike a dragon-fly, and a turtle has aomething the appearance of a crab; yet, while the humming-bird and the turtle 90 ZOOLOGY. •re both members of the vertebrate lub-kingdom, the dragon-flj •nd the crab belong to one totally distiuct from It. Thie Important diviiion of the animal kingdom hnn Ave •nbdlvislonii or claMet, well known to yon ae mammaU^ birdi^ reptitet, amphibiani, %nd/Uhti. The second of the great provinces of ecology is ocoopied by the snb-klngdom Articulata. Under it ara comj^rahended the numerous tribes of animals that, possessing no internal skeleton, wear their bones outside, in the shape of a hard or homy covering. Their bodies appear half-divided Into segments, generally three in number; the name of the sub-kingdom, indeed, means j'otW«m these useAil members may be counted by the hundred. Grabs, spiders. Insects, and worms are some of the classes into which the Articulata are divided. The third place on our list is reserved for the moUuea. The Mollusca are soft-bodied animals, having no skeleton either exterior or interior, but, to protect their pulpy bodies from injury, they are generally provided with a shell. This shell may either be all in one piece, like that of the common snail, or it may consist of two valves opening by a hinge, as in the case of the clam or oyster. Some molluscs — the slugs, for instance — have no shell, or, at any rate, so very small a one that it serves no useful purpose, being a mere ornament upon the tip of the poor animal's 'tail. To this interesting sub-lcingdom belong the voracious cnttle-flsh and the beaatiftil nantilus, snails, and barnacles, and all those fresh and salt water animals which we designate theU-JUh. Keeping still to the water, we are introduced to the fourth great division, which bears the name of RadkUa. The radiates are so called because, their months being in the centre of the body, all the other parts radiate from it like spokes from the nave of a wheel. None of the animals of this sub-kingdom attain a great siae, yet, strange to say, islands of considerable magnitude owe their origin to one of the smaller classes into which it is divided. This class you wiU at once recognise as the coral insects, although they are not insects at all, but marine animals, possessing a name of their own, pofypetf which is a Greek work, signifying " many-footed." Besides the polypes, we find in this division homy star-fishes, prickly sea- urchins, transparent jelly-fish, that melt away when taken out of the water, and many other curious tribes. Finally, we arrive at the very outskirts of the animal kingdom, lOOLOOT. 91 where the minate protozoa call for • farewell notice. The nama Protosoa is improperly given to an animal lub- kingdom, being Greek, while all the othen — Vertebrata, Articnlata, Molloioa, and Radlata^ ere Latin ; it roeane '*(int •nimali," since the creatures comprehended aoder it are the lowest in the scale of animal life, and show the point St which It maj be said to commence. The protosoa are rerj small, bjr fsr the larger number of them being microscopical ; they seem to have no organs, and to be mere masses of floating Jelly. Sponges, snd animslcules inhabiting water of all kinds, are the principsi members of the last of the animal sub-kingdoms. Typical formi of the Jive animal tub- kimjdomt — The animal kingdom ie divided into 1. Vertebrata. Sub-kingdoms. ( 2. Articulata. S. Mollasca. 4. Radiata. 1,6. Protozoa. VBMTKMATI AJTIMAMI. VERTEBRATE ANIMAI.S. Thi VertebrAt«d inb- kingdom, looloding thw cIumi of mtinin«U, (toimala which suckle their young,) birde, reptllee, betreohkne, (or emphlbUni, the frog femllj,) and flihea, is ohareoterised by the presenoe, In all Us members, of an Internal skeleton composed of bone or cartilage, and fbrming an envelope to the nervous centres. In the Articulated classes, there Is no vrstlge of anj such structure ; and the only mollusca (some of the cuttle-flsh tribe) In which there Is the least approach to It are sufflciontly distinguished by other characters. It Is true that among many of the Radlata — such a« a few of the Jelly* Ash tribe and a large proportion of the polyp«'S — there Is an Internal skeleton, sometimes composed of a homy or cartilaginous tissue, and sometimes possessing even a stony hard- nets ; but this gives equal support to the whole fabric, and Is not arranged in such a manner as to give the least degree of pecnilar protection to the nervous centres ; so that, although It may be fan- cifully regarded as a kind of sketch or shadowing forth in this lowest group of the plan of structure which is characteristic of the highest, it cannot be said to have any real correspondence with It. The animals of the Vertebfltted series are, of all sentient beings, those whose faculties are the most varied and the most perfect. The principle of the division of labour la carried out In them to its highest degree; every ftinctlon to be performed having IM own separate organ whose operations are limited to it alone ; consequently, the Vertebrate a^'e, of all Mimals, those in which the distinct organs are the most numerous and the most complicated. We may encounter many among the lower tribes in which the number of parts is as great or even greater ; but where this Is the case, most of these parts are but repetitions of one another. It Is by the variety existing in the form and structure of their several organs, and in the perfec- tion with which each Is adapted to perform its allotted function, that the Vertebrata are chiefly characterised. It is manifest that the structure of such animals must be regarded as more elaborate than that of beings in which the number of dissimilar parts Is small, and every one of them capable of discharging -a variety of offices ; and that their functions most be performed with more energy and com- pleteness, when carried Into effect by instruments peculiarly adapted to each, than when several are the result of the actions of one organ. Hence we are justified in ranking the Vertebrata as the highest group in the animal scale, independently of its being the one which IIATUn Of MonoM. M conttini M«B. Rat we are not Jattifled in ipenking of th« animals Romposing it at more parfectiy eunttnicted tban any olb«rt ; tinoa, in tba cya of the Creator, tbej mutt be all eqaallj perfect In every ono, the adaptation between the actiona of iti several parte mnat be complete ; or it con Id not maintain its exintence. And it sbonld not l»e less wonderful to os to meet in the aoophyte with a simple struo- tiire capable of performing all the fanciiona of absorption, assimila- tion, respiration, and secretion, than to contemplate the naraerous sod elaborately constmcted organs by which theae several opera- tionM are respectivelj performed in the Vertebrated animal. — Caipejitkb. Sub-kingdom Vertebrata, 1. Mammals itf* : a. Two>han whelming nnmber of beasts of prey, to seek new pastures and new dwelling-places. Others, again, follow man in his migrations over the globe, and tbna spread from country to country. To the former belong the horses which now roam wild on the plains of Sooth America, and travel at times thousands of milesw The wild asses, also, in the wilderness, ** which stand np in the high placea and snuff the wind like dragons,'* travel in bands of two or three hun- dred, and leave, in winter, the tropica for a atill warmer region in the aoBth of Africa. They are called '* the Bushman's harvest," for 94 NATURE IV MOTION. the wild Boshman hants and consames what has been left by the royal lion and the hangry vnltare, who follow them in their march, and feast upon them for a season. Gazelles and antelopes mlgrats in like manner; and even huge elephants are seen wandering in large herds over the boundless plains of Africa. The shaggy buffalo roams in vast numbers over the prairies of the American continent, and migrates at regular intervals from the north to the south, and from the plain to the mountain. Salt springs are with them the great centre of attraction ; but generally their movements seem to be regulated by the state of their pastures. As soon as the fire has spread over a prairie, and is succeeded by a fine growth of tender grass, immense herds are sure to appear. How they discover that their table is spread we know not ; it has been surmised that strag- glers from the main body, who have wandered away when food became scarce, may first notice the new growth, and by some mys- terious means communicate the good news to their hungry brethren. Monkeys also wander from land to land, when driven by hunger or fierce enemies ; they have even been suspected of passing through a tunnel under the Straits of Gibraltar, from Africa to Europe. Their mode of crossing rivers is a beautiful evidence of their ingenuity and instinct. A powerful male seizes a branch that projects over the banks of the stream, and suspends himself by his prehensile tail; another takes hold of him, and so on until they have a row as long as the river is wide. Then they begin to swing the living chain, and continue until the impetus is powerful enough to enable the last one to take hold of a tree on the opposite shore. Over this strange bridge the whole host passes safely ; as soon as they are across, the first monkey lets go his hold, the chain swings again, and so they all safely get over large rivers. The so-called domestic animals travel exclusively by the agency of man and in his company. It is thus that the horse, a native of the rude steppes of Central Asia, which was not known in America before the arrival of the Spaniards, now roams over it in vast herds from Hudson Bay to Gape Horn. To man we owe it that the goat climbs onr rocky mountains, and white, woolly sheep graze on scanty monntdn-sides, whilst the heavier, slower cattle fatten on rich low grounds, and remind us, in the far backwoods, by the sweet har- monies of their bells, of the neighbourhood of men. But here, also, the weeds have come with the good plants. Thus the domestic rat, a native of the Old World, was carried in ships tA the Gape, to Mauritins and Bourbon, to the Antilles and Bermuda. An Antwerp ship brought them in 1544 first to America, where they astonished FROM ** WINDSOR FOREST, It 9d the good Peruvians so much that they obtained with them the name of *" things that came oat of the sea." Now they are rarer in Europe than in America. The importance of the nsefal domestic animals cannot be overrated. The very existence of man is bound np with the horse, the ox, and the sheep. Brazii lives almost exclusively by means of her horses and her cattle ; and Anstralia has developed her resources and pro- gressed in civilisation only since sheep have been introduced. It is strange, surely, that like all the best gifts in the vegetable world, (the cerealia,) so these domestic animals also are presents which the East has sent to the West, and for which no return has been made. Here, also, an invisible but insurmountable barrier seems to prevent such an exchauge. — Putnam*$ Magatine, FROM " WINDSOR FOREST." Ske from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings : Short is his joy, he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and, panting, beats the ground. Ah ! what avail his glossy, varying dyes, His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes. The vivid green his shining plumes unfold. His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold ? Nor yet, when moist Arctnrns clouds the sky. The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny. To plains with well-breathed beagles we repair And trace the mazes of the circling hare : (Beasts, urged by us, their fellow beasts pursue. And learn of man each other to undo,) With slaughtering guns the unwearied fowler roves, When frosts have whitened all the naked groves ; Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o*ershade, And lonely woodcocks haunt the watery glade. He lifts the tube and levels with his eye ; Straight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky: Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamorous lapwings feel the leaden death : ▲N ELEPHANT HUNT. Oft as the monnting larks their notes prepare^ They fall and leave their little lives in air. In genial spring beneath the quivering shade, Where cooling vaponrs breathe along the mead, The patient fisher talces his silent stand. Intent, his angle trembling in his hand ; With looks unmoved he hopes the scaly breed And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed. Our plenteous streams a various race supply. The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel in shining volumes roll'd. The yellow carp in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift tronts diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the watery plains. Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car : The youth rush eager to the silvan war. Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround. Rouse the fleet hart and cheer the opening hound. The impatient courser pants in every vein. And, pawing, seems to beat the distant plain : Hills, vales, and floods appear already crossed, . And ere he starts, a thousand stops are lost. See the bold youth strain up the threatening steep. Rush through the thickets, down the valleys sweep. Hang o'er their coursers' heads with eager speed. And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed. Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain. The immortal huntress and her virgin train ; Nor envy^ Windsor, since thy shades have seen As bright a goddess and as chaste a qneen ; Whose care, like hers, protects the silvan reign. The earth's fair light, and empress of the main. — PppE. AN ELEPHANT HUNT. We entered a most beantifhl valley, abounding in large game. Finding a buffalo lying down, I went to secure him for onr food. Three balls did not kill him, and, as he tnmed roand as if for a AN ELIPHAMT BTTHT. »T charge, we ran for the shelter of some rocks. Before we gained them we foDod that three elephants, probably attracted by the strange noise, had cut off onr retreat on that side ; they, however, tomed short off, and allowed ns to gain the rocks. We then saw that the buffalo was moving off quite briskly, and, in order not to be entirely banlked, I tried a long shot at the last of the elephants, and, to the great joy of my people, broke his fore leg. The young men soon brought him to a stand, and one shot in the brain des- patched him. I was riglit glad to see the joy manifested at such an abundant supply of meat. On the following day, while my men wore cutting up the ele- phsnt, great numbers of the villagers came to enjoy the feast. We were on the side of a fine green valley, studded here and there with trees, and traversed by numerous rivulets. I had retired from the noise to take an observation among some rocks of laminated grit, when I beheld an elephant and her calf at the end of the valley, about two miles distant The calf was rolling in the mud, and the dam was standing fanning herself with her great ears. As I looked at them through my glass, I saw a long string of my own men appearing on the other side of them, and Sekweba came and told me that these had gone off saying, "Onr father will see to day what sort of men he has got." I then went higher np the side of the valley, in order to have a distinct view of their mode of hunt- ing. The goodly beast, totally unconscious of the approach of an enemy, stood for some time suckling her young one, which seemed about two years old ; they then went into a pit containing mud, and smeared themselves all over with it, the little one frisking about his dam, flapping his ears and tossing his trunk incessantly, in elephantine fashion. She kept flapping her ears and wagging her tail as if in the height of enjoyment. Then began the piping of her enemies, which was performed by blowing into a tnbe, or into the closed hands, as boys do into a key. They called out to attract the animal's attention. "0 chief! chief! we have come to kill you. chief! chief! many more will die besides yon. The gods have said it,^ &&, &c. Both animals expanded their ears and listened, then left their bath as the crowd rushed toward them. The little one ran toward the end of the valley, bnt, seeing the men there, returned to his dam. She placed herself on the danger side of her calf, and passed her proboscis over it again and again, as if to assure it of safety. She frequently looked back to the men, who kept np an incessant shouting, singmg, and pip- ing; then looked at her young one and ran after it sometinea o 98 AH ILIFHAIIT HUVT. ■{dewtys, u If her feellngi were divided between anxiety to pro- tect l>er offspring, and desire to pouish the temerity of lier per- eeontori. Tlie men liept about a liandred yards in her rear, and some distance from her flanks, and continaed thos nntii she was obliged to cross a rirnlet The time spent in descending and getting np the opposite baalL allowed of their coming np to the edge, and discharging their spears at about twenty yards* distance. After the first discbarge she appeared with her sides red with blood, and, beginning to flee for her own life, seemed to thinli no more of her young. I had prcTiously sent off Sekwebn with orders to spare the calf. It ran very fast, but neither young nor old ever enter into a gallop ; their quickest pace is only a sharp walk. Before Sekwebn could reach them, the calf had taken refuge in the water, and was killed. The pace of the dam gradually became slower. She tamed with a shriek of rage, and made a furious charge back among the men. They vanished at right angles to her course, or sideways; and as she ran straight on, she went through the whole party without coming near any one, except a man who wore a piece of cloth on his shoulders. Bright clothing is always dangerous in these cases. She charged three or four times, and, except in the first instance, nevor went farther than a hundred yards. She often stood after she had crossed a rivulet, and faced the men only to receive more spears. It waa by tliis procesa of spearing and loss of blood that she was killed ; for at last, making a short charge, she staggered round, and sank down dead in a kneeling posture. I turned from the spectacle of the destruction of noble animals, which might be made so nsefal in Afirica, with a feeling of sickness ; and it was not relieved by the recollection that the ivory was mine, though such was the case. I regretted to see them killed, and more especially the young one, the meat not being at all necessary at that time ; but it is right to add that I did not foel sick when my own blood was np the day before. — ^Db Liyimgstoni. OLOTHINO FBOM ANIMALS. CLOTHING FROM ANIMALS— FUR, WOOL, SILK, LEATHER. In the hide of an tnimtl, the hair and skin are two entirely distinct thingSf and must be considered separately as materials for clothing. The hair of qoadrapeds differs mach in fineness. It is chiefly the smaller species which are provided with those soft, thiclc, glo»sy coverings that bear the name of /«r, and they are found in the great- est perfection where they are most wanted, that is, in the coldest coantries. They form indeed the riches of those dreary wastea which produce nothing else for human use. The animals most esteemed for their fur are of the weasel kind : the glutton, the mar- ten, the sable, and the ermine. Fur is used either growing to the skin, or separated from it. In its detached state, it is usually em- ployed in making a stufl' called /«ft. The scales of hair are so dis- posed, that they make no resistance to the finger drawn along the hair from the root to the point, but cause a roughness and resistance in a contrary direction. From this property, hairs, when beaten or pressed together, are disposed to twist round each other, and thus to cohere into a mas& It is in the manufacture of hats that felting is chiefly practised ; and the fur used for this purpose is that of the beaver, the rabbit, and the hare. Wool differs from common hair in being more soft and supple, and more disposed to curl. These properties it owes to a degree of unctttosity, or greasiness, which is with difficulty separated from it. The whole wool, as taken from the animal*s body, is called z fleece. The first operation this undergoes is that of picking and sorting into the different kinds of wool of which it is composed. These are neit cleansed from marks and stains, and freed from their offensive greasi- . ness. The wool is then delivered to the wool-comber, who, by%ieans of iron-spiked combs, draws out the filures, smooths and straightens them, separates the refuse, and brings it into a state fit for the spin- ner. The spinner forms the wool into threads, which are more or less twisted, according to the manufacture for which they are de- signed ; the more twisted forming wonted^ the looser yearn. The khids of stuffs made wholly or partly of wool are extremely various ; and Great Britain produces more of t^m, and in general of better quality, than any other country. A more perfect mann-' facture than our broad cloths, with respect to beauty and utility, cannot easily be cmioeived. TJie threads in it are so concealed by a fine nap or down raised on the sorfiue, and curioosly smoothed 100 CLOTHIMO PROM ANIMALS : and glossed, that It looks more like a rich textnre of Datnre's fonn« iug, than the work of the weaver. Wool, in common with other animal substances, takes a dye better than any vegetable matters. Our cloths are therefore maide of every hue that can be desired ; but, in order to fit them for the dyer, they are first freed firom all greasiness and foulness by the operation of JUUingt in which the cloths are beaten by heavy mallets as they He in water, with which a quantity of fuller's earth has been mixed. This earth nnltes with the greasy matter, and renders it soluble in water ; so that, by con- tinnally supplying fresh streams while the beating is going on, all the foulness is at length carried off. The operation of fnlling has the farther effect of thickening the cloth, and rendering it more firm and compact, by mixing the threads with each other, something in the manner of a felt. The cloths of Inferior fineness are mostly called narrow cloths. Some of those nsed for greatcoats, by their substance and shagginess, resemble the original fleece, or rather the fur of a bear, and render unnecessary the use of furred garments. Indeed, with the single material of wool, art has been able much better to suit the different wants of man in his clothing, than can be done by all the productions of nature. What could be so com- fortable for our beds as blankets ? What so warm and at the same time so light, for pained and palsied limbs, as flannel ? The several kinds of the worsted manufacture are excellent for that elasticity which makes them sit close to a part without impeding its motions. This quality is particularly observable in stockings made of worsted. Even the thinnest of the woollen fabrics possess a considerable de- gree of warmth, as appears in shawls. The real shawls are made of the fine wool of Thibet, in the eastern part of Asia ; but they have been well imitated by the product of some of our English looms. A very different article made of wool, yet equally appropriated to luxury^ is carpeting. Upon the whole. Dyer's praise of wool seems to have a just foundation : — " Still ihall o'er all prevail the shepherd's stores, For numerons ttses known : none yield such wannth, Such beauteous hues reoeivej so long endure : So pliant to the loom, so various, — none." Men mnst have been far advanced in the observation of nature before they fonnd out a material for clothing in the labours of a caterpillar. Ohina appears to have been the first country to make ose of the web spun by the tUkworm. This creature, which, in its perfect state, is a kind of moth, is hatched from the egg, ^i.the form PUR, WOOL, SILK, LBATHKR. 101 r-ooa -cociiOM — uhhymaus— caterpillak. of a caterpillar, ^nd passes from that state successively to those of a chrysalis, and of a winged insect. While a caterpillar, it eats voraciously, its proper and favourite food being the leaves of the different species of mulberry. By this diet it is not only nourished, but is enabled to lay up, in receptacles within its body formed for the purpose, a kind of transparent glue, which has the property of hardening as soon as it comes into the air. When arrived at full maturity, it spins itself a web out of this gluey matter, within which it is to lie safe and concealed during its transformation into the helpless and motionless state of a chrysalis. The silkworm's web is an oval ball, called a cocoon, of a hue varying from light straw colour to full yellow, and consisting of a single thread wound round and round, so as to make a close and impenetrable covering. The thread is so very fine, that, when un- ravelled, it has been measured to 700 or 1000 feet, all rolled within the compass of a pigeon's egg. In a state of nature, the silkworm makes its cocoon upon the mulberry tree itself, where it shines like a golden fruit among the leaves ; and in the southern parts of China, and other warm countries of the East, it is still suffered to do so, the cocoons being gathered from the trees without farther trouble. But, in even the warmest climates of Europe, the inclemencies of the weather in spring, when the worms are hatched, will not permit the rearing them in the open air. They are kept, therefore, In warm but airy rooms, constructed for the purpose ; and are regu- larly fed with mulberry-leaves till the period of their full growth. / V. V "-# 102 OLOTHnrO IllOM ANIMALS : As this tree is one of the litest in leafing, silkwonns cannot advan> tageonsly be reared in cold climates. Daring their growth, they several times shed their skins, and many die nnder this operation. At length they become so taW of the silky matter, that It gives them a yellowish tinge, and they cease to eat. Twigs are then presented to them upon little stages of wicker-work, on which they immedi- ately begin to form their webs. When the cocoons are flnlshed, a small number, reserved for breeding, are sofTered to eat their way out in their butterfly state ; the rest are killed In the chrysalis state, by exposing the cocoons to the heat of an oven. The next business is to wind off the silk. After separating a downy matter from the outside of the cocoons, called ^o«s, they are thrown into warm water ; and the ends of the threads being found, several are Joined together, and wound in a single one, npon a reel. This Is the silk In its natural state, called raw silk. It next under- goes some operations to cleanse and render it more supple ; after which it is made into what is called orgamine^ or thrown silh^ being twisted into thread of such different degrees of flnesess as are wanted in the different manufactures. This is done in the large way by mills of curious construction, which turn at once a vast number of spindles, and perform at the same time the processes of unwinding, twisting, reeling, &c. The largest and most complicated machine for this purpose, in England, is at Derby, the model of which was clandes- tinely brought from Italy, where all the branches of the silk manu- facture have long flourished. The excellence of silk, as a material for clothing, consists in its strength, lightness, lustre, and readiness in taking dyes. When little known in Europe, it was highly prized for its rarity ; it is ucw esteemed for its real beauty and other valuable qualities. As it can never be produced in great abundance, it must always be a dear article of clothing. The fabrics of silk are very numerous, and almost all devoted to the purposes of show and luxury. In thick- ness they vary from the finest gauze to velvet, the pile of which renders it as close and warm as a fur. Some of the most beautiful of the silk manufactures are the glossy satin ; the elegant damask, of which the flowers are of the same hue with the piece, and only show themselves from the difference of shade ; the rich brocade, in which flowers of natural colours, or of gold and silver thread, are interwoven ; and the infinitely varied ribands. It is also a common material for stockings, gloves, buttons, strings, &c., in which its durability almost compensates for its deamess. Much la used for .the purpose of sewing, no other thread approaching it in strength. m% « rVMj WOOL, tILB, LIATHl lOS Silk, in shortf be«n the itme •uperlority anoig clotbiof oMttriala tb»l gold doei Among metali ; it gives tn tppotrtnco of richnett wherever it it employed, and confers a resl vslut. £?sn the refuse of silk is csreftillj collected, tnd serves for nsefnl pnrposes. The down sbont the cocoons, and the waste separated in the operations raw silk undergoes, are span Into a ooarser thread, ef which ▼cry serviceable stockings are made ; and the Interior part of the cocoon is reckoned to be the best material for making artificial flowers. Whilst the covering of the skins of animals thns affords a valoable material for clothing, the skin itself is not less nsefnl. It requires, however, greater previous preparation. It is necessarj to impreg« nate it with a matter capable of preserving it from putrefaction, and at the same time to keep it in a state of fleiibility and suppleness. When this Is effected, skin becomes hather^ — a substance of the highest utility, as well in clothing as for numerous other purposes. The principal operation in the preparation of leather is called tanmng. The hide, taken off with due care by the skimier, is first throwm into a pit with water alone, in order to free it from dirt After lying a day or two, it is plsced upon a solid half*cylinder of stone, called a beam^ where it is cleared of any adhering £it or flesh. It is then put into a pit containing a mixture of lime and water, in which it is kept about a fortnight. The intent of this is to swell and thicken the hide, and to loosen the hair. Being now re[daced upon the beam, the hair is scaped off, and it is next committed to the moitering-pii. The contents of this are some animal dong (pigeons' is preferred) and water ; and its operation is to reduce that thickening which the lime had given. After this is eff!ected, it is again cleansed on the beam, and is then put into the proper tan- ning liquor, called the 00x0, which is an infusion of coarsely-pow- dered oak-bark in water. The bark of the oak, as well as every other part of it, abounds in a strongly astringent matter ; and it is the thorough impregnation with this which praserves the hide from decay' or putrefaction. When at length It is thought to have im- bibed enough of the astringent matter, the hide is taken out and hung upon a pole to drain, after which it is put upon a piece of wood with a convex surface, called a korse^ on which it is stretched and kept smooth and even. Finally, it is taken to the drytng-hotue^ a covered building with apertures for the free admission of air ; and it is there hung up till it becomes completely dry ; and thus the process of tanniog is finished. From the tanner the hide or skin is consigned to the currier^ 104 CLOTHIKO FROM AMI MALI. whoM art U fkrtber neceMary in order to make it perfect leather. He flrit ioaka it thoroagbljr in water, and ttien placet It npon a btam^ made of hard wood, with one side eloping and polished. He lays it with the grain-eide, or tb^t on which the hair grew, inwardi, and the fleeh-ilde ontwarde. He then, with a broad two-edged lunife, having a handle at each end, ehaves or parea the hide on the latter side, till all ita ineqoaiities are removed, and it li reduced to the degree of thinness required for use. After this operation it is again pnt into water, then scoured and rnbbed with a polished stone. It is next besmeared with a kind of oil procured from sheep or deer-skin, or made by boiling train-oil and tallow together, with a view to soften or supple it. A great part of ita moisture is then evaporated by hanging it up In a dryiug< house for some days ; and it is farther dried by exposure to the sun, or to the heat of a stove. It is then differently treated, according as it is meant to be blacked or stained, or not. Without entering Into minute particu- lars, it is enough to observe, that the astringent principle with which the leather has been impregnated in the tanning renders nothing necessary except the application of a solution of vitriol of iron, at once to strike a good black. This is laid on with a brush, generally on the grain-side of the leather ; and it afterwards undergoes the operation of giving it that roughness which is called the grmn. This is performed by rubbing it in all directions with a fluted board. When leather is blackened on the flesh-side, the colour is given by a mixture of lampblack and oil. It is in the manner above described that leather Is prepared for the making of shoes and boots, which Is one of the principal uses of this material ; and certainly no other substance could so well unite strength and suppleness with the property of keeping out water. The hides principally used in the shoe-mannfacture are those of neat- cattlcj or the ox-kind. For the more delicate work, the skins of the goat, dog, seal, and some other animals, are employed. — Dr AiKor. *^#^ V TBI PIIO PIPIB or HAMEUM. lOd THE PIED PIPER OF HAMEUN. I. Hamblik town '• in Rruniwtck, Bj famons Hanover city ; The river Weser, deep and wide, Waahea ita wall on the sonthcm side, A pleaaanter spot yon never spied ; Bat when begins my ditty, Almost Ave hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suflTer so, From yermio, was a pity. RaU t m They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles. And ate the cheeses out of the vats. And licked the soap from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nesta inside men's Sunday liats, And even spoiled the women's chats. By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking. In fifty different sharps and flats. m. At last the people, in a body. To the Town Hall came flocking : " 'Tis clear," cried they, " our Mayor's a noddy ; And aa for our corporation, — shocking To think we boy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that don't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin ! You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease 1 Ronse up, airs I give your brains a racking. To find the remedy we're lacking; Or, sure as fate, we'll send yoa packing!" At this the Mayor and Gorpdration Qnaked with a mighty conatemation. IM TBI PIID nPK« or UAHBUM. An hoar thtj Mt in council. At length the Mftyor broke tilence : " For A guilder I 'd my ermine gown fell ; I wiih I were a mile hence I It'i eaay to bid one ruik one's brain. I 'm lure mj poor heed acb«a tgtln, I 've icratched it io« And All In vaIb. Oh for A trAp, a trAp, a trAp !*' Just AS ho iAid thiHf whAt should bAp, At the ohAmbcr-door, but a gentle tAp? '' Blflss UN," cried the Mayor, '' whAt's tbAt?" (With the GorporAtion as he sAt, liOolting little, though wondrous fit ; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister ThAu A too-long-opened oyster, Save when At noon his paunch grew mutinous. For A plAto of turtle green And glutinous,) *' Only A scrAping of shoos on the mAt ? Anything like the sound of a rAt llAkes my heart go pit-a-pat I*' T. *' Gome in I" the Mayor cried, looking bigger : And iu did come the strangest figure. His queer long coat from heel to head, Was half of yellow, and half of red ; And he himself was tall and thin. With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin ; And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin ; No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in. There was no gnessing his kith and kin ! And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one : ^* It's as my great-grandaire, Starting up at the trump of doom'a tone. Had walked this way ftom bis painted lombatone." VI. He advanced to tHe council table : And, '^ Please your hononn," laid he, *' rm able, V THi riBD riPBB or uahbuit. lOT By tM%n» of ft MMr«t ohtrm, to draw All erefttarea living benefttb the •un, Thftt ortep, or swim, or flj, or mn, After mo, to u jon never »ftw t And I chiefly use my ohftrm On creitures that do piH)ple harm : The mole, and toed, and newt, and viper ; And people call roe the IMed IMper." (And here thej noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same check ; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe. And his flngem, they noticed, were ever stray lug, As If Impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low It dangled Over his veature so old-fangled.) " Yet," said he, ** poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats ; I eased in Asia the Nisam Of a monstrous brood of vampire bats ; And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats. Will you give me a thonsand guilders?" *'One? fifty thounandl" — was the esclamation Of the Mtonished Mayor and Corporation. TO. Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if be knew what magic slept In his qnlet pipe the while ; Then, like a musical adept. To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled. And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled ; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, Yon heard at If an army muttered ; And the mattering grew to gmmbling ; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling ; And out of the boosea the rats came tumbling. lOS THF. PIED PIPER OF HAMELTIC. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats. Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins. Cocking tails and pricking whiskers ; Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives. Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing. Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished ; Save one, who, stout as Julius Csesar, Swam across, and lived to carry (As he the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was, " At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe : And a moving away of pickle-tnb-boards. And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter casks ; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, rats, rejoice ! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery ! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncion, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon ! And just as a bulky sugar puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious, scarce an inch before me, Just as, methought, it said, ' Gome, bore me !' I found the Weser rolling o'er me." vni. You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rock'd the steeple : " Go," cried the Mayor, ^* and get long poles ! Poke oat the nests, and block up the holes ! THE PIED PIPER OP HAMELIK. 109 Consult with ctrpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats ! " When suddenly up the face Of the Piper. perlced in the marlcet- place, With a '* First, if you please, my thousand guilders !" IX. A thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked blue ; 3o did the Corporation, too. For Council dinners made rare havoc With claret, moselle, vin- de-grave, hock ; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gipsy coat of red and yellow ! '* Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, *' Our business was done at the river's brink ; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what 's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we 're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving yon something to drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke ; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Besides our losses have made us thrifty : A thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty !" X. The Piper's face fell, and he cried, ** No trifling 1 I can't wait, beside ! I 've promised to visit by dinner-time Bagdad, and accept the prime Of the head- cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scoipions no survivor. With him I proved no bargain driver — With you, don't think I '11 bate a stiver 1 And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe to another fashion." I THE PASSENGER PIGEON. One of their cnrions roosting places on the banks of the Green River in Kentucky I repeatedly visited. It was, as is always the case, a portion of the forest where the trees are of great magnitude, and where there was little underwood. I rode through it upwards of forty miles, and found its average breadth to be rather more than three miles. My first view of it was about a fortnight subsequent to the period when they had made choice of it, and I arrived there nearly two hours before sunset. Few pigeons were then to be seen, but a great number of persons with horses and waggons, guns and ammunition, had already estab- lished encampments on the borders. Two farmers from the vicinity of Russelsville, distant more than a hundred miles, had driven up- wards of three hundred hogs to be fattened on the pigeons that were to be slaughtered. Here and there the people employed in plucking and salting what bad already been procured, were seen sitting in the midst of large piles of these birds. Many trees, two feet in diameter I observed, were broken off at no great distance from the ground; and the branches of many of the largest and tallest had given way, as if the forest had been swept by a tornado. Everything proved to me that the number of birds resorting to this part of the forest mast be immense beyond conception. As the period of their arrival approached, their foes anxiously prepared to receive them ; some were furnished with iron pots containing sul- phur — others with torches of pine-knots, — many with poles, and the rest with guns. The sun was lost to our view, yet not a pigeon had arrived. Everything was ready, and all eyes were gazing on the clear sky which appeared in glimpses amidst the tall trees. Suddenly there burst forth a general cry, ''Here they come." lU TO A WATEBrOWL. The noise which they made, though yet distant, reminded mc of a hard gale ftt sea, passing through the rigging of a close reefed vessel. As the birds arrived and passed over me, I felt a current of air that surprised me. Thousands were soon knocked down by the pole-men ; the birds continued to pour in ; the flres were lighted, and a most magnificent as well as wonderful and almost terrifying sight presented itself. The pigeons, arriving by thousands, alighted everywhere, one above another, until solid masses as large as hogs* heads were formed on the branches all round. Here and there the perches gave way with a crash, and, falling on the ground, de- stroyed hundreds of the birds beneath, forcing down the dense groups with which every stick was loaded. It was a scene of uproar and confusion ; no one dared venture within the line of devastation ; the hogs had been penned up in due time, the picking up of the dead and wounded being left for next morning's employment The pigeons were constantly coming, and it was past midnight before I perceived a decrease in the number of those that arrived. Toward the approach of day, the noise in some measure subsided; long before objects were distinguishable, the pigeons began to move off in a direction quite different from that in which they had arrived the evening before, and at snnrise all that were able to fly had disappeared. The howlings of the wolves now reached our ears, and the foxes, lynxes, cougars, bears, racoons, and opossums were seen sneaking off, whilst eagles and hawks of different species, accompanied by a crowd of vnltnres, came to sup- plant them, and e.ijoy their share of the spoil. —Audubon. TO A WATERFOWL. Wbitheb, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day. Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler*8 eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong. As, darkly painted on the crimson sky. Thy figure floats along. TO A WATXRFOWL. 110 Seek*tt thoa the plashy brink or weedy lake, or mure of river wide, t Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean-side? There is a power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,— The desert and llUmiuble air,— Lone wandering, but not lost All day thy wings have fanned. At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere : Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; So Shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou *rt gone ; — the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form : yet on my heart Deeply bath sunk the lesson thou hast given. And shall not soon depart. He, who from zone to zone. Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. — Bryamt. lie THE CMIEQUERRD 8NAKR. '<«L THE CHEQUERED SNAKE. Charles. There is a snake crossing the road. Are there many species of snal^es found in tliis country ? Father. I have never seen any but this species, the common chequered snake, but it is possible there may be more.* C. Is it venomous ? F. No, perfectly harmless ; as I have proved by examining the mouth : all venomous serpents have two or more large curved fangs ill the upper jaw, which are wanting in harmless ones. " In general it may be said that innocent serpents have four rows of teeth in the upper jaw ; two on the palate, and one on each side ; bat that poisonous serpents have no other outward or side- teeth but the fangs." When attacked, this snake, tke many other harmless kinds, rears itself up in a threatening attitude, dilates its body, brightens its colours, and darts in and out and vibrates its red, forked tongue : this organ, called by the vulgar, ** its sting," and supposed to be the weapon of offence, is considered an undoubted token of its venomous nature. But in reality, all these motions are hut menaces ; there is no power to do hurt, though they no doubt often serve as a protection. In common with the whole serpent race, it is the object of universal enmity: every person seems to consider it a aort of duty to kill snakes whenever they can be met with, perhaps in consequence of |^e cnrse entailed on the serpent that beguiled Eve. C. The snake becomes torpid during winter, I believe. * More than poisible; over twelve species are found in many parts of Canada. fm THE CHEQUERED 8NAKR. 117 F. Yeo; It coucotls Itself In the fall, in some convenient spot. saoh M nnder logs, oUen in heaps of stones, and somctimeii, I havt* reason to think, in the earth ; for in ploughing late in tho MUtunni, I once turned up a chequered snake ; it waa inert and dull, but not torpid. C. At what period of the year does It cast Its skin ? F. I believe that is the first operation performed, after its revi- vification in Hpring, and before it leaves its winter concealment. An intelligent neighbour informed me that once in turning ov«t heap of stones early in spring, before the snow lind all din- iared, he discovered a snake in the very act of sloughing its ';4He skin was stripped off from the head to about the middle of tbe body ; the displaced part lay around it in close folds or wrinkjes; even the eyes were skinned. If I recollect aright, in I Bingley's '* Animal Biography,*' it is intimated that the snake crawl;* among the stalks of plants, in order that the skin may be rubbed off by friction, and that it is turned inside out, as we draw ofl' a stocking. My neighbour's account appears far more probable ; be sides, it is supported by analogy, for it is exactly the mode in which all caterpillars slough their skins, as I have many times witnessed. The food of the snake is frogs, toada, lizards, and probably int^eoti*. 1 once killed a snake which I found in the field, (supposing then that it was poisonous,) by dashing it against tlie ground ; and something protruded which I supposed was its bowels, but on examination, I found it to be the pretty olive-spotted frog, with an orange-coloured belly ; It, too, was torn, but whether this was done by the snake, or by the shock against the ground, I don't know ; I suspect the latter, and that it had been swallowed whole, and probably alive. A friend of mine informed me that he once saw a snake of unusually large E^ize, and determined to kill and open it, which he accordingly did, and found a very large green frog, which was dead of course, but unbroken. It seems impossible that no slender an animal as a snake can swallow or contain so large a creaturer as a frog, but the jaws, throat, and body, are capable of prodigious distension. C. I have read that the sloughs of snakes are an object of superstition with some Indian tribes, and are used in their pre- tended magical rites. ^ F. They are also an indispensable article In the nests of some birds; perhaps from their softness, as they are extremely thin and smooth. — Gossb's Canadian Naturalist. mg^ TBI TAIL OF A TADPOLI. THE TAIL OF A TADPOLE. A BLADE of graM Is a world of mystery, '* would men obserrlnglj distil it oat." When my erudite friend, Dr Syntax, glancing round my workroom, arrested bis contemptuous eye on a vase abounding in tadpoles, and asked me with a sniflSng superiority : " Do yon really mean to say you find any interest in these little beasts?" I ener- getically answered, ** As much as yon find in books/* " Hem," grunted Syntax. '^ Very absurd, isn't It ? But we have all our hobbies. I can pass a bookstall, on which I perceive that the ignorance of the book- seller permits him to exhibit an edition of Persins among the mb- bish at * one shilling each.' The sight gives me no thrill — it does not even slacken my rapid pace. But I can't so easily pass a pond in which I see a shoal of tadpoles swimming abont, as ignorant of their own valne as the bookseller is of Persins. I may walk on, but the sight has sent a slight electric shock through me. Why, sir, there is more to me in the tail of one of those tadpoles than in all the poems of that obscure and dreary Persins. But I won't thrash your Jew unless you thrash mine." ** Why, what on earth can you g dispenses with a talT, and gradually loses it by resorption, (drawing in by suction,) as he reaches the frog form, the tadpole needs his tail to swim with ; and Nature kindly supplies any accident that may deprive him of it." ** Yes, yes," added Syntax, glad to feel himself once more in the region of things familiarly known ; *' Just like the lobster or the crab, you know. They tear off their legs and arms in the most reckless manner, yet always grow them again." ** Would yon like to know what has become of these tails ?*" "Am't they dead?" *' Not at all. Alive and kicking.** '' Alive after nine days ? Oh 1 oh ! " *' Here they are in this glass. It is exactly nine days since they were cut off, and I have been watching them daily under the micro- scope. I assure you that I have seen them grow, not larger^ indeed, but develop more aud more, musclc'fibres appearing where no trace of fibre existed.'* ** Gome, now, you are trying my gullibility I '* ** I am perfectly serious. The discovery is none of mine. It was made by M. Vnlpian in Paris. He says that the tails con- stantly live many days — as many as lighteen on one occasion ; but I have never kept mine alive more than eleven. He says, more- over, that they not only grow, as I have said, but manifest sensibi- lity, for they twist about with a rapid swimming movement when Irritated. I have not seen this, but M. Yulpian is too experienced a physiologist to have been mistaken ; and with regard to the growth of the tails, his observations are all the more trustworthy, because he daily made drawings of the aspect presented by the tails, and could thus compare the progress made." ** Well, but I say, how couid they live when separated fix)m the body? Our arms or legs don*t live; the lobster's legs don*t live." '* Quite true; but in these cases we have limbs of a complex » f ISO mi TAIL or A TADPOm. orginiMtion, which require « complex apptrttas for their miiin- tenance ; thej mnet have blood, the blooU mutt circulate, the blood maat be oxyKenated.** ** Stop, itop ; I don't want to andentand whj oar arm* can't live apart from our bodici. Tliey c/onV. The fact ia enoagh fur me. I want to know why the tail of a tadpole can live apart from the body." *Mt can. U not the fact enough for you in that caae aluo? Well, I wu going to tell you the reason. The tail will only live apart from the body lo long aa it retains its early Immature form ; that is to say, so long as it has not bocomo highly organi«od. If you ont it off from a tadpole which is old enough to have lost its external gills a week or more, the tail will not live more than thre« or four days. And every tail will die as soon as it roaches the point in Its development, which requires the ctrcniatloQ of the blood as a necessary condition." " But where does it get food?** ** That is more than I can say. I don't know that it wants food. The power of abstinence of reptiles is amazing.'' " Really I begin to think there is more in these little beasta than I SQspected. But you see it requires a deal of study to get at these things.'* '* Not more than to get at any of the other open secrets of nature. But since yon are interested, look at these tails as the tadpoles came bobbing against the side of the glass. Do you see how they are covered with little white spots?*' "No." " Look closer. All over the tail there are tiny cotton-like spots. Take a lens, if yonr unaccustomed eye isn't sharp enough. There, now yon see them " " Yes ', I oee a sort aKjiuff scattered about." '* That fluff is an immense colony of parasites. Let us place the tadpole under the microscope, and you will see each spot turn out to be a multitude of elegant and activo animals, having bodies not unlike a crystal goblet supported on an extremely long and flexible stem, and having round their rim, or mouth, a range of long delicate hairs, the incessant motion of which gives a wheel-like aspect, and makes an eddy in the water which brings food to the animal." ** Upon my word, this is really interesting I How active they %x^ I How they shrink up, and then, unwinding their twisted stems, expand again! What's the name of this thing?" ** VortktUa. It may be found growing on water-fleas, plants, ti O'' THE Niwrov{(ut.AND riaMBiini. \^l dM«]r«d wood, or th«M tadpoles. Penple who study th« tnlmii- colet are very fond of thii vortic«lk." *' Well, I nev^r could have b«llQvtni«, and Ai>h, live on vegetablea and animals? Don't these veget tbles and animals live on other organic matters ? Gat and be eaten is one law : live and let live Is another." The learned doctor remained thoughtful ; then he screwed np one side of his face into frightful contortions, as with the eye of the other he reaamoU hia observations of the vorticella. — Q. H. Lewes. THE NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERIEa Tub banks of Newfoundland, the most extensive submarine elevation on the globe, In their full extent occupy 16 degrees of longitude, and nearly 10 degrees of latitude; they are between 600 and 700 miles in length; the depth of water on them varies from 4 to IGO fathoms. The temperature of the water on the Great Bank is 10 or 12 degrees lower than in the surrounding ocean. The outer bank, also called the False Bank, extends from 44° 10' to 47° 30' N. lat., and from 44'' 16' to 46° 25' W. long. The Great Bank, which lies 2^° west of the False Bank, occupies more than 9° of latitude and 6° of longitude. Whale Bank, Green Bank, and St Peter's Bank, to the south of the island| are of much smaller dimensions. Cod-fish is found on the Great Bank in the greatest abundance ; bat there are so many disadvantages attending the fishing-gronnd, as compared with the harbours and shores of the island, that bank< fishing has of late years been much neglected by the English, although it is still prosecuted by the American and French flsheruien. The bank is covered by continual fogs ; rain and sleet are also frequent, and in the early part of the season mnch inconvenience ia ezperiuuced ^^ 122 THE NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERIES. from ice. Besides avoiding tiiese inconveniences, tlie flshennen who remain near to tlie sliore tiave better opportunities for caring and drying ttieir fish, the quality of wliicli is therefore preferred. FISHDia ON THE BANKS. The following description is by Lieutenant Chappell, R.N. : — ^* There are a number of boats fitted with masts and sails belonging to each fishery, two or four men being stationed to a boat. At the earliest dawn of day the whole of these vessels jiroceed to that part of the coast where the cod are most plentiful, for they move in shoals, and frequently alter their position, according to the changes of the wind. When the "^sort of the fish has been ascertained, the boats let fall their anchors, and the men cast over their lines. Each roan has two lines to attend, and every line has two hooks affixed to it, which are baited either with caplin (a small f ah swarming vpon the banhi) or herrings. The men stand upon a flat flooring, and are divided from each other by bins, like shop-counters, placed ath- wart the centre of the boat. Having drawn up the line, they lay the cod upon the bin, and strilce it upon the back part of the head with a piece of wood in the shape of a rolling-pin ; this blow stuns the fish, and causes it to yawn its jaws widely asunder, by which me into the I instantly that one instant, they proc are pitchf taken to might pre the fish, fresh qua water, w reach the The cu ''Each which an throats, h the boats, and place the bowel he passes] whose bui from the« The head the liver sounds, if gone this splitter, 1 twinkling barrows 1 top of ea( In this si taken in pended t knees in The fish I and the 1 ing day 1 in the su tnmed di at night, ward, so ^ Pl^ TUB NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERIES. 123 which means the hook is easily extracted. Then the fish is dropped into the bin and the line again thrown over, whilst the fisherman, instantly turning round, proceeds to pall np the opposite line, so that one line is running out and the other pulling in at the same instant. Thus the boatmen continue until their vessel is filled, when they proceed to discharge their cargo at the fishing-stage. The cod are pitched from the boat upon the stage with a pike, care being taken to stick the pike into their heads, as a wound in the body might prevent the salt from having its due effect, and thereby spoil the fish. When the boats are emptied, the fishermen procure a fresh quantity of bait, and return again to their employment on the water, whence, in the course of an hour or two, perhaps, they again reacli the stage with another cargo." The curing is managed as follows : — ^^ Each salting-house is provided with one or more tables, around which are placed wooden chairs and leathern aprons for the cut- throats, headers, and splitters. The fish having been thrown from the boats, a boy Is generally employed to bring them on the stage, and place them on the table before the cut-throat, who rips open the bowels ; and having also nearly severed the head from the body, he passes it along the table to his right-hand neighbour, the header, whose business it is to pull off the head and tear out the entrails ; from these he selects the liver, and in some instances the sound. The head and entrails being precipitated through a bunk into the sea, the liver is thrown into a cask, where it distils in oil ; and the sounds, if intended for preservation, are salted. After having under- gone this operation, the cod is next passed across the table to the splitter, who cuts ont the backbone, as low as the navel, in the twinkling of an eye. From hence the cod are carried in hand- barrows to the Salter, by whom they are spread in layers upon the top of each other, with a proper quantity of salt between each layer. In this state the fish continue for a few days, when they are again taken in barrows to a stout wooden box full of holes, which is sus- pended from the stage in the sea. The washer stands np to bis knees in this box and scrubs the salt off the cod with a soft mop. The fish are then taken to a convenient spot and piled up to drain, and the heap thus formed is called a * water-horse.' On the follow-* ing day the cod are removed to the fish-fiakes, where they are spread in the sun to dry ; and ft'om thenceforward they are kept constantly turned during the day, and piled up in small heaps, called * flackets,* at night The upper fish are always laid with then: bellies down- ward, so that the skins of their backs answer the purpose of thatch 124 THE NEWFOUNDLAND FI8HBRIBI. to keep the lower fiah dry. By degrees the siBe of these flackets is increased, until at length, instead of small parcels, they assume the form of large circular stacks, and in this state the cod are left for a few days, as the flshernien say, * to sweat.* The process of curing is now complete, and the fish are afterwards stored ap in ware- houses, lying ready for exportation. ** With such amazing celerity is the operation of heading, splitting, and salting performed, that it is not an unusnal thing to ttee ten cod- fish decapitated, their entrails thrown into the sea, and their back- bones torn out, in the short space of one minute and a half. The splitter receives the highest wages, and holds a rank next to the master of a fishery ; but the Salter is also a person of great con- sideration, upon whose skill the chief preservation of the cod depends. *' There are three qualities of cured cod-fish in Newfoundland. They are distinguish! 1 by the different titles of merchantable Jhh, those of the largest size, best colour, and altogether finest quality ; Madeira fishy which are nearly as valuable as the former ; this sort is chiefly exported to supply the Spanish and Portuguese markets ; West India fishy the refuse of the whole. These last are invariably sent for sale to feed the negroes of the Garibbee Inlands. '* The cod-fishery does not commence until the 10th of June ; pre- vious to which the hardy Newfoundland fishermen occupy themselves in the seal-fishery. The 17th of March is the day fixed for the de- parture of the vessels employed in this business. At this time the harbours are frozen, and it is necessary for the crews to cut a channel through the ice sufficiently wide for the passage of the vessels, which are usually schooners of from 40 to 70 tons, or decked boats of from 25 to 85 tons' burthen, very strongly built, and fortified against the pressure of the ice by strong poles suspended over their sides. The crews of the larger vessels usually consist of from thirteen to eighteen men, who are all partners in the expedition, receiving a certain proportion of the vessel's earnings at the conclusion of the fish- ing. When a channel has been cut to the sea, the vessels make their way to the field-ice, pushing through the opening which it presents until they meet with a herd of seals, or what is whimsically called a seal-meadow. The hunters contrive, if possible, to surprise the seals while sleeping in the sun. When thus enabled to approach their prey, the men strike them on the nose with a bludgeon, which^ speedily kills them. The practice of shooting seals is not willingly resorted to, as the skin is thus likely to be injured. The skins are stripped off, together with the fat, and conveyed to the vessels, THE NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERIES. 125 asAL-riBHiNa im newfoundlakd. where they are packed away in the hold. When the vesHels are thus loaded, they return to port and dispose of their cargoes to the merchants. If they are successful, the vessels are generally able to make a second trip before the melting of the ice. The meichaint separates the fat or blubber from the skin. This fat is cnt into small pieces and thrown into vats, which are exposed to the heat of the sun. In three or fonr weeks the oil will have separated itself. A small quantity of inferior oil is then procured by boiling the blubber. The oil which separates without the aid of fire is of a pale colour, and is frequently used for the adulteration of sperm-oil, its price being much lower. The boiled oil, being partially burnt, is of a dark colour, and cannot well b« used for this purpose. When the fat has been removed, the skins are carefully stretched and laid np in piles with layers of salt between^ They are shipped in bundles of five skins each for the convenience of stowage. — Geography of America. 126 SUMMER LONOIWaS. SUMMER LONGINGS. Ah ! my heart is weary waitiog, Waiting for the May — Waiting for the pleasant rambles, Where the A-agrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way. Ah 1 my heart is weary waiting. Waiting for the May. Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, Longi::ig for the May — Longing to escape from study, To the young face fair and ruddy. And the thousand charms belonging To the summer's day. Ah ! my heart is sick with longing. Longing for the May. Ah t my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May — Sighing for their sure ratuming. When the summer beams are burning, Hopes and flowers that dead or dying, All the winter lay. Ah I my heart is sore with sighing, . Sighing for the May. Ah I my heart is pained with throbbing. Throbbing for the May — Throbbing for the sea-side billows, Or the wftter-wooing willows ; Where in laughing and in sobbing, Glide the streams away. Ah 1 my heart, my heart is throbbing. Throbbing for the May. Waiting sad, dejected, weary. Waiting for the May. Spring goes by with wasted warnings — Moon-lit evenings, sun-bright mornings — AMERICAN INSECTS. 127 Samnier comes, yet dark and dreary Life still ebbs away ; Man is ever weary, weary, Waiting for the May 1 — *4iion. AMERICAN INSECTS. These are few among the insect tribes of Ecrope capable of produ- cing sounds of any voinme. The hum of bees and wasps, the buzzing of innumerable small flies, the piping of the gnat, the chirp of the grasshopper, the cry of the cricket, the tick of the death-watch — ^are the greater number of those an Englishman would enumerate. In southern Europe sounds are added sharper, louder, and more inces- sant ; and I remember having been both amused and astonished, by the effect produced by the mole-crickets of France and the Jura, and yet more by the cicada of Italy, as, sitting among the thfck foliage of the Roman pine, they would fill the ear of the panting traveller for minutes before he reached the place of their luxurious enjoy- ment. But what are these scattered and solitary sounds, to the din which fills the ear at certain times and seasons from the insect tribes in the Transatlantic forest or swamp? The main agents in its production are, nevertheless, members of the same families of Oryllus and Cicada. The latter consists of many species, and affords some of the most laborious and successful musicians among the insect tribes. Every traveller has dilated upon the singular effect produced by one of them called the Catydid, as, sitting in little coteries among the trees, they fill the ear of night with their sharp and incessant wrangling ; and my notice regards at present one of the same family. When we returned from Mexico to the United States, in the sum- mer of last year, 1834, among many points of interest, political, domestic, and foreign, which our re-entrance into the high-road of civilisation brought to our.ears, was the fact that this was the " locust year." The observation of a past century had shown the inhabitants of Pennsylvania and Maryland, that every seventeenth year they were visited by a countless horde of insects of the Cicada tribe, hence called Stptendectm^ distiaiBt in aspect and habits from those whose annual 128 AHmiCAN iNuon. appearance and mode of life were understood. Thongli of a different tribe, and with perfectly different habita from the locust of the East, the fdct of its occasional appearance, as though by magic, in such vast swarms, had caused it to be familiarly alluded to by that name. Its last appearance had been in 1817, and its re-appearance was thus confidently predicted for the third or fourth week iu May this year. (1834.) Nature, true to her impulses, and the laws by which she is so iiiysterlouitly governed, did not fail to fulfil the prediction. On the 24th of May, and following day, the whole surface of the country in and about the city of Philadelphia, suddenly teemed with this sin- gular insect. Tiie subject interested me, and as a ring these days I liad every opportunity of being daily, I may say hourly, attentive to the phenomena connected with it, both here and in Maryland, I send you the result of my observations. The first day of their appearance, their numbers were compara- tively few, — the second, they came by myriads ; and yet a day or two might pass before they reached their full number. 1 happened to be abroad the bright sunny morning which might be called the day of their birth. At early morning, the insect, in the pupa state, may be observed issuing from the earth in every direction, by the help of a set of strongly barbed claws on the forelegs. Its colour is then of a uniform dull brown, and it strongly resembles the perfect insect in form, excepting the absence of wings, ornament, and antennae. The first impulse of the imperfect insect, on detaching itself from its grave, is to ascend a few inches, or even feet, up the trunlcs of trees, at the foot of which their holes appear in the greatest nnmber ; or upon the rail-fences, which are soon thickly sprinkled with them. In these positions they straightway fix themselves firmly by their barbed claws. Ualf-an-hours observation will then show yon the next change which is to be undergone. A split takes place upon the shell, down from the back of the head to the commencement of the rings of the abdomen, and the labonr of self-extrication follows. Wiih many a throe and many a strain, yon see the tail and hind- legs appear through the rent, then the wings extricate themselves painfully from a little case in the onter shell,, in whicn they lie ex- quisitely folded np, but do not yet nnfnrl themselves ; and, lastly, the head, with its antennae, disengages itself, and you behold before yon the new- bom insect freed from its prison. The slongh is not disengaged, but remains firmly fixed In the fibres of the wood ; and the insect, languidly crawling a few inches, remuns as it were in a dose of wonder and astoniahuent. It is rather uidtr an inch in length, am glazed, th< opened, ap sun has gs of the inse and the bo tlvlty and Betweei instrumeni wide, difi'e A low dist compared impercepti — thonsan whole cou insects arc few hours activity, a Well mi joice at th many day this is the fatten on cover the The pre and its gl: a little wc sunrise to six days' < scribe, th( Like all tl strong vit muscles u network, i often witE do not kn means of ; Though insect is i times — bi OQsy, or ^ scribed bj AMiBioAH iMncn. 139 teogth, ind appetrs humid and tender; thecoloart are dnll, the eye glazed, the legs feeble, and the winga for a while after they are opened, appear crampled and nuelastic. All this passes before the sun has gained his full strength. As the day advances, the colonra of the insect become more lively : the wings attain their fhll stretch, and the body dries and is braced up for ita fatnre little life of ac- tivity and enjoyment. Between ten and eleven, the newly-risen tribes begin to tune their instruments ; you become conscious of a sound, filling the air far and wide, different from the ordinary ones which may meet your ear. A low distinct hum salutes yon, turn where yon will. It may be compared to the simmering of an enormous cauldron, — it 8wells« imperceptibly changes its character, and becomes fiiller and sharper — thousands seem to Join in, and by an hour after mid-day, the whole country far and wide riiige with the unwonted sound. The Insects are now seen lodged in or flying about the foliage above : » few hours having been thus sufBclent to give them full strength and activity, and bring them into full voice. Well may the school-boy and the young e^..y -headed negro re- joice at the sound, for their hands will never want a plaything for many days to come. Well may the birds of the forest rejoice^ for this is the season of plenty for them^the pigs and poultry toO) they fatten on the innumerable swarms which, before many days, will cover the ground in the decline of their strength. The pretty insect, for it is truly snch, with its dark body, red eyes, and its glassy wings interlaced by bright yellow fibres— enjoys but a little week ; and that merry harping which pervades creation from sunrise to sundown, for the time of ita continuance, is but of some six days' duration. Its character wonld be almost impossible to de- scribe, though it rings in my ears every time I think of the insect. Like all those of its tribe, the sound produced is not a voice, but a strong vibration of mnsical chords produced by the action of internal muscles upon a species of lyre, or elastic membrane, covered with network, and situated under the wings, the action of which I have often witnessed. The female insect may utter a faint sound, bnt I do not know how — it is the male who is endowed with the powerful means of instrumentation which I have described. Though the sound is generally even and continuous as long as the insect is uninterrupted, yet there is a droll variety observable at times — but what it expresses, whether peculiar satisfaction or jeaN onsy, or what other passion, I cannot divine. It has been well de- scribed by the word Pha rof the first syllable bebg long and I 130 AMERIOAM INSECTS. •astained, and connected with the second, which Is pitched nearljr an octave lower, by a drawling descent. During the whole period of their existence, the closest attention does not detect their eating anything ; and with the exception of the trifling injury received by the trees consequent upon the process ob* served by the female in laying her eggs — which I will describe imme- diately — they are perfectly innoxious. The end to which they seem to be sent to the upper day is purely confined to the propagation of tlieir species. A few days after their first appearance the female be- gins to lay her eggs. She is furnished with an ovipositor, situated in a sheath on the abdomen, composed of two serrated, hard paral- lel spines, which she has the power of worlcing with an alternate perpendicular motion. When her time comes, she selects of the outer- most twigs of the forest trees or shrubs, and sets to work and makes a series of longitudinal Jagged incisions in the tender bark and wood. In each of these she lays a row of tiny eggs, and then goes to work again. Having deposited to her heart's content, she crawls up the twig a few inches yet further from the termination, and placing her- self in a fitting position, makes two or three perpendicular cuts into the very pith. Her duty is now terminated. Both male and female become weak ; — tiie former ceases to bo tuneful ; the charms of their existence is at an end ; they pine away, become blind, fall to the ground by myriads, and in ten or fifteen days after their first ap- pearance, they ail perish. Not so, however, their seed. The per- forated twigs die, the first wind breaks them from the tree, and scatters them upon the ground. The eggs give birth to a nnmber of small grubs, which are thus enabled to attain the mould without Injury ; and in it they disappear, digging their way down into the bosom of the earth. Year goes after year — summer after summer, the sun shines in vain to them — they ** bide their time ! " The re- collection of their existence begins to fade : a generation passes away ; the surface of the country is altered — lands are reclaimed from the forest — streets are laid out and trampled on for years — houses are built, and pavements hide the soil. Still, though man may almost forget their existence, God does not. What their life is in the long interval none can divine. Traces of them have been found in digging wells and foundations, eight and ton feet below the surface. When seventeen years have gone by, the memory of them returns, and they are expected. A cold, wet spring may retard their appearance, but never since the attention of man has been dhrected to them, have they failed — hut at the ar^pointed time, by one common impulse, they rise from the earth, piercing SNAILS. 131 their way tbroagh the matted Aod, throngh the hard trampled vlnr of the pathwaysi through the gravel, between the Joints of the stones and pavements, and into the very cellars of the housep, — like their pre- decessors, to be a marvel in the land, to sing their blithe song of love and enjoyment under the bright sun, and amidst the verdant land- scape; like them to fulfll the brief duties of their species, and close their mysterious existence by death. We are still children In the small measure of our knowledge and comprehension, with regard to the phenomena of the natural world I — Latboue. SNAILS. Wb will open the case by claiming for the snails the respect that h always accorded to old and long-established families. There were snails before the Flood — before Adam even — in those far remote «i h» of the past, when the lower orders of the animal creation bad the world all to themselves. The family seems to have " come in " somewhere about the time when the huge Dinotherium wallowed in the rivers of central Europe ; and it is not at all improbable that some of the earliest members of it may have banqueted on the self- same herbage which sustained the enormous bulk of that unwieldy monster. Later down, in the classic days of Greece and Rome, the snails were not only known, bnt held in great repute, and regularly had the honour of appearing at the tables of wealthy epicures, fresh from contact with a silver gridiron. It was in those days, indeed, that the tribe derived the family name by which it has ever since been known — Helix, a spiral, being the name that was given to the dainty morsel ; while the same term, metamorphosed into Helicidte, now stands, all the world over where the science of zoology obtaino, as the distinctive appellation of the wide-spread family. All that by the way, however : what we want to impress upon our readers is, that if there be any honour attached to long descent and distinguished connexions, then that honour can fairly be claimed by the snail family. It may be as well, too, to observe at once, that thongh the re- presentatives of the family which make themselves at home in our fields and hedges have nothing particnlarly attractive in their ap- pearance, that la not by any means the case with those branches of 132 tNAIlA th« family that reside abroad. In *' foreign parts *' there are inail^ to be found as far exceedin({ onr own in delicacy and beauty of col- ouring, as there are birds and insects that excel in brilliancy the winged tribes of our woods and fields. But these gaily-coloured individuals belong, of course, to the rich pastures and the sunny skies of tropic regions ; and we do not mesu t(» call in their aid Juot yet, in order to make good our position as to the claims of the family. Let us come back, therefore, to the little ffllow with the duvky spotted nheli, that crawls across oar garden path, and to his somewhat prettier companions of the hedgerow. .And, now observe, that they make their way in the world by means of an expanded disc or foot, which, as it is in close contact wiih the ventral region of the body, has procured for the tiibe a place amongst the great class of Gasteropodt, or belly- footed molluscs. The foot itself is a very curious organ, and consists of a nearly uniform mutig of mnscolar fibres, interwoven much in the same way as those of the human tongue. The regular gliding motion with which the common snails crawl along, is due to a pair of muscles extending along the centre of the foot ; but in some of the species the surface of the foot is divided by a longitudinal line along the centre, the muscles on the two sides of which act in rotation, and so canse the animals to pro- gresa in a perpetual zigzag. The glistening slimy tracks which they leave behind — '^ the silver slimy trails,*' as poor Clare calls them — are produced by a discharge of mucus, designed to protect their ten- der bodies, and smooth the asperities of their way. It must be a very comfortable thing for the snails to be able to carpet their path In this easy, off-hand manner, and we confess we like to see the sil- very line on posts and paiilngs, or gravelly walks ; bnt when, as happens sometimes, the little fellows pay us a visit in our parlour, where the place is carpeted beforehand, they might be considerate enough to wipe their feet before coming in. A good deal of discnssion has taken place amongst naturalists, as to whether snails have any eyes or not. The popular notion, of course, is that the little knobs at the extremity of their long feelers or horns are eyes ; and though several writers have questioned or boldly denied the truth of this opinion, it seems to be now pretty generally conceded, that the little club-shaped projections are true visual organs. Swammerdam, indeed, long ago demonstrated the matter to his own satisfaction, and pointed cot the five distinct parts of which the eye consists. It would be a diflScult matter, probably, to find a person anywhere who had never aeen a snail draw in its horns on their being touched ; but how the snair schoolbo; tinall in words of The seen withdravi tight glo always tl pvrliapK, trudod not by b( \\H'U\ 01 pfHI'!*, Hi the WI8(I( rtfectnal We speal «'ye, b»it durful. Tiir roHAL INlirCT. 1.13 hut how many, we NhoDld like to know, have ev^r dovety watchrd the inaire manner of doinic it? Tlio tliinir in eaaily seen, and any Hclioolbojr may ascertain iiow it in done, thu next time li« Htopii a (tnail in his traveia acroM the foofputh, nu admonlMhoM hiii In tlie words of the old dofrgerel, '* fo shut up his house and ko away home.'* The secret is, that the tenlacU or horn Is r hollow tube, and in Ix'iitg withdrawn, it is simply inverted and retracted like the finger uf a tight glove ; only (hat the extremity, with the eye-spot upon it, is always the first part to disappear The manner nf it is here seen, purhapn, when after the tentacle has been withdrawn, it is again pro- truded ; as you can then readily discern that the organ is lengthened, not by being pushed out from its base, but by gradunlly unfolding itjieif ; or being everted at the extremity till the clubhed point np- pcMi'!*, Hid the tentacle is fully extended. One cannot but admire \\w wisdorr which tlins gives the little mollusc such a ready and effectual means of defending its rather oddly located visual organs. We speak of the wonderful contrivances connected with the human eye, hni surely there is something here that is not much less won- derful. — Kkaiilky. THE CORAL INSECT. Toil on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main, Toil on — for the wisdom of man ye mock, With yonr sand-based atmctnres and domes of rock ; Your colnmns the fathomless fountains lave, And year arches spring up to the crested wave ; 1.11 TiiK CORAL i>nircr. Yo Vu « piinjr mw, Ihim Iwldly to rc«r A fabric no vntt In * r«Alin »o drear. Y« bind the dffp with ynnr wcrnt snnf, The oc(>«n li MtttlM, and th« nuiKe a Mtonf ; I*>oi»h wroatiiM from thn corni pavf>n*iMit «|irlng, Like the terraced pridn of Aitnyriait kliiK; Ttie turf lookii groon where the brrak^rs roJI'd ; O'er the whirlp(M)l rlpnii the rind of gold ; The sea-anatch'd inio in the home of men, And moaDtaiua exult where the wav(; hath hvvu. Rot why do you plant, 'noath the billowa dark Thft wrcc.kin(( rrof for the ({allant hark ? There are ennrea enongh on the tcntod Add, 'Mid the biotiitom'd Hwecta that the valleya yield ; There are aerpenta to coil, ore the flowera are up ; There 'a a polson^drop in mnn'a parent cnp, There are foea that watch for hia cradle>hreath. And why need yo sow the floods with death ? Yo build — yo build — but yo enter not in, Like the tribes whom the desert devoured In their sin ; From the land of promise ye fade and die, Ere its verdure gleams forth on your weary eye ; As the kinga of the cluud crowuM pyramid Their DOtolesa bone» in oblivion hid, Yo slumber unmarked *ntid the desolate main. While the wonder and pride of your works remain. — Sir.oUKNF.Y. v/*.. ^W '^•'^ :^^' - ^--^ CUIUL RBCr. Liri in A WATCIl-DllOr 185 1. Amnilllul* fluTlatllU. 3- Cyolopi quadrioornli. S. ActinophnrM Sol. 4. Oulept nirtui. «. VortlmllA. 6. AmalM prlnerpt. 7. AoloeU mjntMiiia. I. Oxjrtrjrcha. 0. Triophthnlftmus donwll*. 10. PolyiurUin. LIFE IN A WATER-DROP. The son !« reflected In the ocean an in the water-drop, and In both are called into existence beings the most varied In size and form. We admire the myriads of creatorea which inhabit the depths of the ocean, from the monstrous whale to the tiniest specimen of the flony tribe. Bat If the siae, the power, and the variety of the deniaens of the deep excite our admiration, how much more do we find onr- selvea carried away by that feeling while looking into the water- drop. Clear and trabsparent It lies before us : vainly our eye endeavonrs to discover the least evidence of life, or the smallest creature. In that which seems In Itself too imall to contain any living object ; the breath of onr mouth is strong enough to agitate It, and a few rays of the sun are snflloient to convert It Into vapour. But we place this drop of water between two clean sqpares of glass, beneat)i ISB UFE IV A WATER-DROP. tbe microscope, tnd lo I what life saddenly presents itself : we scarcely trust oar senses. The little drop has expanded into a large plain, wonderful shapes msh backwards and forwards, drawing to- wards and repulsing each other, or resting placidly and rocking themselves, as if they were cradled on the waves of an extensive sea. These are no delusions ; they are real, living creatures, for they play with each other, they rush violently upon one another, they whirl round each other, they free and propel them- selves, and run from one place in order to renew the same game with some other little creature ; or madly they precipitate them- selves upon one another, combat and struggle until the one conquers and the other is subdued ; or carelessly they swim side by side, until playfulness or rapacity is awakened anew. One sees that these little creatures, which the sharpest eye cannot detect without the aid of the microscope, are susceptible of enjoyment and pain ; in them lives an instinct which induces them to seek, and enables them to find, sustenance, which points out and leads them to avoid and to escape the enemy stronger than themselves. Here one tumbles about in mad career and drunken lust, it stretches out its feelers, beats about its tail, tears its fellows, and is as frolicsome as if perfectly happy. It is gay, cheerful, hops and dances, rocks and bends about upon the little wa- es of the water-drop. There is another creature ; it does not swim about — remains upon the same spot — but it contracts itself convulsively, and then stretches itself palpitatingly out again. Who could not detect in these motions tbe throes of agony ; and so it is ; for only just now it has freed itself from the jaws of a stronger enemy. The utmost power has it ex- erted in order to get away ; but he must have had a tight hold, Severely wounded it, for only a few more throes, each becoming weaker and more faint, it draws itself together, stretches out its whole length once more, and sinks slowly to the bottom. It was a death struggle. It has expired. On one spot a great creature lies, apparently quiet and indiffer- enti A smaller one passes carelessly by, and, like a flash of light- ning, the first dashes upon it. Vainly does the weaker seek to escape its more powerful enemy ; he has already caught it, embraces 'it, the throes of the vanquished cease— -it has become a prey. This is only a general glance at the life in a water-drop, but how great does even this already show the small; how wondrously does everything shape itself within that, of which we bad formerly not the least conception. These are creatures which Nature nowhere presents^ to the eye upon an enlarged scale, so marvellous, odd, and LIFB IN A WATEB-DROP. 137 •Iso again so beaatifal, so merry, happy in their whole life and movementa; and although defective, and, in some respects, only one step removed from vegetable life, they are yet animated and possessed of viil and power. It would be impossible here to give a description of all, or even of a great part of the ephemeroas world in all its varied aspects, bnt we propose to take a nearer survey of gome few at least, in order to display the life which exists in a siogle drop of water taken from a pond. Slowly and gracefully through the floods of this small drop of water comes gUdingly, swimming along, the little swan animalcule, turning and twisting its long, pliant neck, swaying itself comfort- ably, and moving in every direction, sucking whatever nourishment or prey may present itself. This animalcule has its name from its likeness to the swan ; it carries its neck juat as proudly and grace- fully-arched, only the head is wanting, for at the end there is a wide opening mouth, surrounded by innumerable beam-like lashes. The entire little creature is transparent, and it seems impossible that any species of nutriment could possibly pass through the thin throat, for even water seems too coarse a material for this small tube ; but scarcely does one of the variously formed monads^ (single cells,) which exist in all 'waters, and of which many thonsandit could move and tumble freely about in the hollow of a poppy seed, approach its month, ere it gulps them down, we see them gliding through the throat, and see the green, gray, or white monad lying in the little, bnt for this animalcule, great stomach. This monad is itself an animalcule, a living atom ; and possibly a still small< r animalcule serves for its nourishment ; but the human eye has not yet penetrated thus. far, possibly it may never do so, for the Crea- tor has hidden from the material vision of man the limits of His creating power, alike in the infinitely great as in the infinitesimally small. Whirling along comes swimming by the side of the swan animal- cule, the BeU. Here Nature has retained a form out of the vegetable kingdom, for the body of this animalcule is similar to the bell-shaped blossom of a Mayflower, fastened to a long stem ; this stem, through which passes a spiral-formed vein, a fine dark tube, is easily mov- able ; it closes itself, screw- like, together and stretches itself out again— this is the tail of the bell animalcule ; at the end there is a little knot, and soon this knot become^; attached to.the bottom, or to a blade of grass, or to a piece of wood, and the little animalcule is like a ship at anchor in a bay or harbour ; its tail extends and turns itself, and the body of the animalcule, the little bell, whose opening 138 LIFE IN A WATER-DBOP. is at the top, begins to whirl itself roand and round, and this move** ment is so quiclc and powerfal that it creates, even in the billows of the water-drop, a whirlpool, which Iceeps ever going roand wilder and more violently ; it grows to a CharyhdU^ which none of the little monads who are caught within it can escape ; the whirlpool U too tierce, they get drawn into it and find a grave in the jaws of the bell animalcule. The bell closes, the tail rolls together, but soou it stretches itself out again ; the bell whirls, the whirlpool goes round, and in it many a quiet and thoughtless passing monad is drawn down. But the bell animalcule is also about meeting its punishment ; again it whirls its bell violently, the tail breaks fronr, the body, and the bell floats without control hither and thither oi the waves of the water-drop ; but it knows how to help itself ; Na- ture has provided for such a catastrophe in its creation. The bell sinks to the bottom, and soon the missing tall grows again, and if death even comes, Nature has been so liberal in the creation of this little world — new life and new creatures arise so quickly out of those which have passed away, and so great is their number — that the death of one is less than a drop in the ocean, or a grain of sand in the desert of Sahara. The lives of innumerable animalcules pass away as a breath, but they rise into existence in equally infinite numbers. The animal- cules multiply in every variety of way, but the most curious is that of dividing, and out of the severed parts new animalcules are formed, which, in a few hours, again divide themselves into parts, forming new creatures ; and this process of increase proceeds to in- finity. Numbers alone are able in some measure to give an idea of this infinite increasing power. An animalcule requires for its part- ing process about five hours, after which time the new creatures stand then perfect, and these again require the same time for their in- crease. At this rate of increase, one single animalcule would, by the process of separation, be increased to half a million in four days, and after a month it would be inconceivable where this innumerable quantity of animalcules, which are, singly, imperceptible to the naked eye, can possibly be placed.- But Nature has limited even this vast increasing power, and she freely sacrifices millions in order to preserve their species always in their proper quantities. What are, compared with these numbers, the quantities of herrings, sprats, and other fish which crowd the sea in such mighty masses? They vanish into nothingness* -^Sharpe'M Magoaine, 'A, METBOROLOGT — THE AIR OOEAIT. 139 METEOROLOGY—THE AIR-OCEAN. ';*: Ektelopino this solid globe of oars are two oceans, one partial, the other nnlversal. There is the ocean of water, which has settled down into all the depressions of the earth's surface, leaving dry above it all the high lands, as nooantain ranges, continents, and ifflands ; and there is an ocean of air, which enwraps the whole in one transparent mantle. Through the bosom of that ocean, like fishes with their fins, and whales with their flippers, birds and other winged creatures swim ; whibt, lilce crabs and many shell* fish, man and other mammalia creep about at the bottom of this aerial sea. The air-ocean, which everywhere surrounds the earth, and feeds and nourishes it, is even more simple, more grand, and more majestic than the ** world of waters;" more varied and change- ful in its moods of storm and calm, of ebb and flow, of brightness snd gloom. The atmosphere is, indeed, a wonderful thing,, a most perfect example of the economy of nature. Deprived of air no animal would live, no plant would grow, no flame would burn, no light would be diff'nsed. The air, too, is the sole medium of sound. Without it mountains might fall, but it would be in perfect silence — neither whispers nor thunders would ever be heard. The atmosphere is supposed to extend from the earth to a height of between forty and fifty miles. A philosopher of the East, with a richness of imagery truly oriental, tbns describes it : — ^* It surrounds ns on all sides, yet we see it not ; it presses on ns with a load of fifteen pounds on every square inch of surface of our bodies, or from seventy to one hundred tons on us in all, yet we do not so much as feel its weight. Softer than the softest down, more impalpable than the finest gossamer, it leaves the cobweb undisturbed, and scarcely stirs the lightest flower that feeds on the dew it supplies ; yet it bears the fleets of nations on its wings round the world, and crushes the most refractory sub- stances with its weight. When in motion, its force is snflBcient to level the most stately forests and stable buildings with the earth — to raise the waters of the ocean into ridges like monntaiuH, and dash the strongest ships to pieces like toys. It warms and cools by tnrns the earth and the living creatures that inhabit it It draws up vapours from the sea and land, retains them dissolved in itself, or suspended in cisterns of clouds, and throws them down again as rain or dew when they are required. It bends the rays of 140 METKOBOLOQT — THE A R-OOEAIT. the san from their path, to give the twilight of evening and of dawn ; it disperses and refracts their varioas tints to beautify the approach and the retreat of the orb of day. Bnt for the atmos- phero sunshine wonid burst on ns and fail us at once, and at once remove us from midnight daritness to the blaze of noon. We should have no twilight to soften and beautify the landscape ; no clouds to shade us from the scorching heat, but the bald earth, as It revolved on its axis, would turn its tanned and withered front to the full and unmitigated rays of the lord of day. It affords the gas which vivifies and warms our framei*, and receives into itself that which has been polluted by use, and is thrown off as noxious. It feeds the flame of life exactly as it does that of fire ; it is in both cases consumed, and affords the food of consumption ; in both cases it becomes combined with charcoal, which requires it for combustion, and is removed by it when this is over." *^ It is only the girdling, encircling air," says another philosopher, **that flows above and around all, that makes the whole world kin. The carbonic acid with which to day our breathing fills the air, to-morrow seeks its way round the world. The date-trees that grow around the falls of the Nile will drink it in by their leaves ; the cedars of Lebanon will take of it to add to their stature ; the cocoa'nuts of Tahiti will fjrow rapidly upon it ; and the palms and bananas of Japan will change it into flowers. The oxygen we are breathing was distilled for us some short time ago by the magnolias of the Susquehanna, and the great trees that skirt the Orinoco and the Amazon ; the giant rhododendrons of the Himalayas contributed to ir, and the roses and myrtles of Cashmere, the cinnamon tree of Ceylon, and the forest older than the flood, buried deep in the heart of Africa. The rain we see descending was thawed for us out of the icebergs which have watched the polar star for ages, and the lotus lilies have soaked up from the Nile, and exhaled as vapour snows that rested on the summits of the Alps." ** The atmosphere which forms the outer surface of the habitable world is a vast reservoir, into which the supply of food designed for living creatures is thrown ; or, in one word, it is itself the food, in its simple form, of all living creatures. The animal grinds down the flbre and tissue of the plant, and the nutritious store that has been laid up between its cells, and converts these into the sub- stance of which its own organs are composed. The plant acquires the organs and nutritious store, thus yielded up as food to the animal, from the air surrounding it." ** Bnt animals are furnished with the means of locomotion and of ATMOSPHERIC PHENOMENA. 141 seizure — they can approach their food, and lay hold of and swallow it; plants mnst wait till their food comes to them. No solid particles find access to their frames ; the restless ambient air, which rushes past them loaded with the carbon, the hydrogen, the oxygen, the water, everything they need in the shape of supplies, is constantly at hand to minister to their wants, not only to afford them food in due season, but in the shape and fashion in which alone it can avail them." There is no employment more ennobling to man and his intellect than to trace the evidences of design and purpose in the Greator, which are visible in all parts of the creation. Hence, to him who studies the physical relations of earth, sea, and air, the atmosphere is something more than a shoreless ocean, at the bottom of which he creeps along. It is an envelope or covering for the dispersion of light and heat over the surface of the earth ; it is a sewer into which, with every breath we draw, we cast vast quantities of dead animal matter ; it is a laboratory for purification, in which that matter is recomponnded and wrought again into wholesome and healthfnl shapes ; it is a machine for pumping up all the rivers from the sea, and conveying the waters from their fountains 11 the ocean to their sources in the mountains; it is an inexhaustible magazine, marvellously adapted for benign and beneficient purposes. — Mauet. ATMOSPHERIC PHENOMENA. Moisture — Evaforition — Dew — Mists and Clouds — Rain, Snow, AND Hail. •Plants derive the moisture which is necessary for their support and growth mainly from the moisture held in the atmosphere as vapour. Evaporation is well illustrated by the gradual disappearance of a pool of water, and by the drying of wet bodies. Thus water is diffused through the air as an invisible vapour. The capacity which the air has of holding vapour increases with its temperature; hence the greater rapidity of evaporation in warm than in cold air. Beyond the capacity of the surrounding air, evaporation will not go on ; and hence when the air is as highly saturated with vapour as its tem- perature admits of, it is said to be fully charged ; if it holds fifty 142 ATMOSPHERIC PHSNOMBITA. per contM it is fald to be lialf cliarged ; if twenty- five per cent., one qaarter cliarged, and so on. The degree of charge, therefore, vhowg only the an^onnt of moisture in the air as compered with its capacity at it» then temperature^ so that the air is generally moister in winter than in snmmer, though less saturated with va|K)ur. If the air is by any cause cooled down below the temperature at which the moisture which it holds will be ita tull charge, a part of ir« vapour will necessarily separate from it in the form of water. Thus we see that cold bodies placed in the open air became studded with drops of water — dew-drups — because they cool down the surround- ing air below its point of full charge. The same phenomenon is daily witnessed in the windows of inhabited rooms. The cold panes cool down the warm moist air of the room, lessen the amount of moisture which It is capable of containing, and cause it to part with ita superabundance in the form of water. Dew^ after sunset, is caused by the temperature of moist, solid bodies falling below that of the air, the extent to which the cooling is carried depending on the power which the snbstanoes have of radiating or parting with the heat which tLiey have absorbed during the day. Plants radiate better than stones or soil, and these again bettor than metals. Dew is deposited mo9t plentifully in cloudless, starry nights, because, in these circumstances, radiation goes on more quickly than when the sky is clouded. Under the clear skies of the tropics the effect of the fall of dew is like that of a smart shower of rain. When the dew is frozen it is called hoar-frost. Mists and Clouds. — The dew-deposits of which we have been speaking are brought on by means, and on the surface, of bodies surrounded by the air ; but if a large mass of the air is cooled down throughout below dew-point, (that is, below the point at which it is overcharged with moisture, and consequently begins to deposit dew-drops,) the water that separates from it does not mn together into drops, but forms little vapour-vesicles, or clond- bubbles, which float in the air, containing within these thin bulbs air fully charged with moisture. This state of the atmosphere causes mists. Clouds are only masses of mist in the upper air, caused by the cooling of the higher layers of the atmosphere. iiaifi, Snow^ Hail. — If, being on a mountain while it rains, you enter the region of clouds, yon will find yourself suddenly sur- rounded with thick masses of fog, and will perceive the fine droplets of the falling mists. But these little drops become larger as they fall ; for, just as happens when any other cold body is plunged into moist air, water is thrpwn down apon the anrfacea of these ATMOSPHBRIO PUBKOIIBWA. U3 little drops on their wty down throogh the lower, warmer, and Tftpoor-charged layers of the atmosphere. The rain, therefore, which comes down to the earth is derived not only from the clouds Hoating in the higher atmosphere, which are only Its first sources, but also from the lower regions between them and the earth, the whole of which contribute to its increase as it descends. A great difference may, therefore, be found between the amount of rain which falls on the top of a monntain, or even of a high tower, and that which is caught during the same time at the foot of either. Thus the yearlv rain-fall on the roof of the Royal Palace at Berlin is eighteen iuones in depth, while that on the pavement of the Fulace-Place amounts to twenty inches. When the moist air in the upper regions is cooled down below the freezing-point, the water that it lets fall solidifies and comes down as snow. It is often remarked that it rains on the low-lying lands while it is snowing on the mountains. In such case the rain was withdrawn from the moifit, cold air, in the form of snow, but was melted during its fall through the lower and warmer regions. This thawing is often imperfect ; it then rains and snows at once, or the snow-flalces, only softening, cling together, and come down as sleet, which falls so often when winter is passing into spring. Sleet is met with in summer only on high mountains. It Is prob- able that hail consists of flakes of snow or sleet, which have been formed in the upper regions, and round which, on their way down, the clear crust of ice was formed, which in almost all hail- stones, surrounds a core of white within. On the crests of very high mountains — for instance, on the Alps — single clouds are often seen to hang for days apparently motion- less. They are, however, in ceaseless motion, just as is the moist air from which they are formed, as it sweeps over the cold and per- haps, snow-capped peaks. With this air they travel on, and vanish again as soon as they are out of reach of the cooling influence; not, however, generally without leaving behind a part of their moisture as a fail of rain or snow. Thus the Alps are often, for many days together, shrouded in dense clou j, from which rain pours heavily every day, while over the warm vaiiey of the Po, notwithstanding the constant south-wind, the sky has never been clouded for a moment. In the same manner all high mountains are withdrawing the waters from the air, even when it does not raiu on the plains. Thus they are, in ail parts of the world, the spots which form the chief points for the settlement of the moisture of the air, and are the main feeders of the rivers. . T44 THE CLOUD. The wide plains of Northern India are, as jou know, homing hot and dry daring the summer. Tlie currents of air rising np from the heated soil hinder the fall of wet from the air. The waters of the air, which are brought in unceasingly f^om the Indian Ocean by the south wind, (the summer monsoon,) cannot, there- fore, be set down before they reach the Himalaya mountains, which, stretching for a length of nearly fourteen hundred miles, almost dne east and west, form the boundary of India. Here, however, the moisture is so thoroughly arrested, that the south wind having passed the mountain-range, is almost completely dry before it reaches Inland Asia. Thus the steppes of arid Asia form, for the most part, dry, barren wastes, with very hot summers and severe winters. —Constable's Sixth Reader. THE CLOUD. I BRiHO f^h showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams ; From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet birds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast. As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under ; And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers. Lightning, my pilot, sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder — It struggles and howls by fits : ':.. TBI OLOUD. OTsr earth and oc«an, with gentle motion^ Tbii pilot is gnidiag me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea ; Oyer the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dreara, under mountain or stream, The spirit he loves remains } And I all the whUe bask in heaven*8 blue smile, While he Is dissolving in rains. 145 The sanguine snnrise, with bis meteor eyes^ And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning star shines dead ;• As on the jag of a monntalB crag, Which an earthqusrko rocks and swings^ An eagle, alit, one moment may sit. In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath. It ardours of rest aud love. And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above ; With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest^ As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden. Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o*er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear. May have bi'oken the woof of my tent*s thin roof. The stars peep behind her and peer -^ And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like » swarm of golden bees. When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes and seas. Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, .Afo each paved wkh the moon and these. 146 A ITORM AMOKO THI AI/TAI MOUMTAIIft. I bind tho sun's throne with a burning tone, And tho nioon*8 with a girdle of pearl ; The volcanooti are dim, and the start reel and iwim, When the whirlwinds my banners nnfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam proof I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march, With hurricane, Are, and snow. When the powers of the air are chained to my clialrt Is tho million-coloured bow ; The sphere- fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was langhlng below. I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky ; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; I change, but I cannot die. For, after the rain, when, with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams. Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain. Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. —Shelley. A STORM AMONG THE ALTAI MOUNTAINS. The ascent of the Gholsoun from the north side is not abrupt, though the last half verst is steep and rocky : nevertheless, wo rode our horses to the summit, or rather to the foot of the large rocky peaks that shoot far above the rounded mountain top. These are bare granite, without a blade of gross upon them, and do not form a continuous ridge or crest on the mountain, but stand up in isolated masses, often at a considerable distance from each other. Having ascended with some dlfficnity to the top of one of these peaks, I A WORM AMONG Till ALTAI MOUNTAINS. Ui Mw our little cartvtn, eompoMd of the men I bad left to proceed by another route, nk^rting the mountain lower down. J knew that they would cro«« ife Hummit aeven or eight vorstH to the east, go straight to the ChoUoun pans, and descend Into a valley on the itnath, which I hnd arranged should be our place of rest for the night. The views from this part of the chain arfi very grand. On one side, Nature exhibits her most ragged forms, peaks and cragii of all shapes rising up far into the clear bine vault of ht^aven ; while on the other, mountain rii«es above mountain, vanishing Into dl^tanco, until they nrolt into forms like thin gray clouds on the horizon. It was impossible to spnre much time going from place to place, look- ing to the north, south, or west, to decide which view I should sketch first. The chains to the north happened to be beautifully lighted up, some iu sunshine, others in shade, producing a wonder* fVil effect of distance and space. This induced me to sit down to work in right good earnest, and I was soon so absorbed In my occupation, that I thought neither of time, distance, nor the country we had to ride over. Our horses had been secured and left to feed, and my men were much interested in my work, until at last, as I supposed, they grew weary. First one would leave, and go to the south side of the rocks under which I was sketching. Soon after he returned the other went; yet they said nothing. I had now been at work more than two hours, and this going to and fro had occurred several times. At length I was certain that they wished to speak to me. I looked at them, and waited for the communi- cation. Then one of them said in bis native language, ** It will thunder soon," and made a sign for me to go with him. I put down my sketch, and hurn>d to the other side of the peak, when I beheld the cause of their alarm : evidently a frightful storm was coming toward ns, for th>) high peaks to the west were just being wrapped in a terrible black mantle. There was not a moment to lose ; the men ran to bring the horses, and I hastened to pack up my sketch- ing materials. This was but the work of a few minutes. We then mounted and rode past the rocks to see if the storm was approach- ing. Several of the peaks were already obscured, and now the clonds were wheeling round a very high summit, which I supposed to be eight, or, at most, ten versts distant, across a deep valley. To be canght on this summit in such a storm was something fear- ful, and the men were really alarmed. There was only one place on the south side by which we could descend : It was the Gholsoun pass, and that was, perhaps, more than eight versts distant. Hav- 148 A rrOBM AMOMO TUB ALTAI MOUNTAIMI. Ing witclicd the ftorm two or throo minntef, we beard the die* Unt thunder, and then knew that the confliot of the elcmenta had beirnn. Without ipeaking a word, we turned oar horses, and stitrted off at a gallop. It was a race for the pass, as it was only In this ravine that we could hope ^'r shelter. Kvorj few minutes the thauder rolled nearer and nearer, and on we galloped ; the horses, with an instinctive dread of what was following, putting forth thoir Alii powers without either whip or spur. Koad or track there was none ; only some high rocky (Maks pointed out to my companions the head of the pass. Our course was s'tralKlit toward these; sometimea over Ane roossy tnrf, then over ground rouKh and stony, which would, under any other circumstaiicos, have caused both horse and rider to hesitate before dashing onward at the speed at which we were going. The storm was still behind us, for as yet we had only seen the flash, but not the streams of lightning that were de> scending every two or three minutes in our rear, followed by claps of tbnnder, which resounded among the mountains until the distant echo was lost in another loud roar. At a short distance In front of OS I beheld huge pillars of rock rising np fifty or sixty feet, which reminded me of Stonehengc, but on a most gigantic scale. My men tnmed a little to the left to avoid this labyrinth of rocks. I looked at the place with intense interest, determined to visit it, if possible, on the morrow. We were within a couple of versts of the head of the pass when we heard a great rushing sound behind ns. Instantly onr heads were tnmet to see what was coming, when we beheld branches of cedar torn up from the valley, carried over the rocky peaks, and whirled high into the air : this was the blast before the storm, which now swept on with terrific force. Fortunately for us, the rocky pillars broke the fury of the gust, or we should have been hurled down to a certainty ; for, at a short distance to each side of ns, the dwarf cedars whieh creep over the rocks were torn up, and carried along by the hurricane. We fonnd it difficult to sit our horses, as they swerved and boanded on when the fearful squall rushed past. The storm was now near, bnt for the last few minutes there had not been a flash. This was even more appalling than the load thunder. I turned my head, and saw a thick red stream strike among the rocks we had just passed ; at the same instant there were three reports like the firing of a heavily-loaded mnsket over oar head8| and then came a crash which made oar horses shudder, A tiTOill AMONQ Till ALTAI MOVlfTAIKI. 149 Rltliouuli In a gallop. Now ciim« htlUtonei to thick, that for i iiionioiii they ilmoat blluded ui; tho lightnlug fMbeU io quick •!!«• ccaiion, and the thundur waa liu, >iuiant. Wo reached the paai, and i.rned Into U§ tagged JawR with a delight known only to a mariner when hts runt hii iilnking craf^ into a lafe haven. In al)ont ten miuuiea se were quietly atanding under tho shelter of lome friendly rocki, ^ur tin*'' oritr trembling with fear. The men croMed tbemielveii ; nor d I forget to offer up my thanka for our preservation. The stornt full raged above us with terrlHo fury and awful grandeur; . ' tho overbao g masses under which we crouched aflbrdoil us oo.. >lete protection, and I listened to the dreadful tempest wiUi mingled feelings of awe •<' pleasure. In a very few minntea the ground waa covered with a thick coating of hail, giving a wintry aspect to the scene which had been so calm and beaotiful two ahorf honrs before. The storm rolled on : in about an hour we coold oniy hear its roormuriogs la the distance. Presently the clouds were dispersed ; the sun shone out in all his splendour, rendered still more brilliant by the intensely black masses of vaponr which enveloped the distant crags. Ily companions now discovered that wo were not In the Cholsoun pass, but in a small ravine down \'-)h it was Impossible to proceed even on foot, for at a very short ui.tcance below onr sheltering place the precipices were perpendicular to the depth of at leut three hundred feet, over which a little ' iream waa leaping, to be dispersed in vaponr before reaching th*^ ^: tom. It waa the dashing of the water which drew my attention to it ; from below, no doubt, it mast have ap- peared exroedingly prettjr. It was now quite time to descend, as oui' people were encamped somewhere in the valley beneath. One of my men found that we had missed the pass, and gone conniderably beyond it during the storm. We therefore rode back and turned into a ravine, which ho said would lead us to the right track lower down. This proved correct; and in about two hoars we were quietly seated by our camp-fire, under some magnificent cedars, on the bank of a roaring torrent greatly swollen by the storm. Onr companions had heard the thunder in the distance, and there had been a few drops of rain, but not even enough to wet the ground. The forest was so thick around onr camp that they could not see the mountains ; it was only the rising and thundering of the torrent that told them what had happened there. After tailing sofficient refreshment, and writing up my jonrotl by l.w AMONG THE ICE. the light of a blazing fire, I tamed down at the root of a magnificent cedar, wrapped myself in my cloak, and slept soundly until morning. — Atkinson. AMONG THE ICE. Br Saturday morning it blew a perfect hurricane. We had seen it coming, and were ready with three good hawsers ont a-bead, and all things snug on board. Still it came on heavier and heavier, and the ice began to drive more wildly than I thought T had ever seen it. I had just turned in to warm and dry myself during a momentary lull, and was stretching myself ont in a bunk, when I heard the sharp twanging snap of a cord. Our six-inch hawser had parted, and we were swinging by the two others ; the gale roaring like a lion to the southward. Half a minute more, and "' twang, twang I " came a second report. I knew it was the whale line by the shrillness of the ling. Our noble ten-inch manilla still held on. I was hurrying my last sock into its sealskin boot, when M 'Garry came waddling down the com- panion-ladders : — ** Captain Kane, she wont hold much longer : it's blowing tremendously, and I am afraid to surge." The n deck; ai praises, the ratth the deatl gun; an out by t1 West bed in tl to beat 1 driving. It cost a bat at til the great farther t and the shore cli one thin] helm, b^ allowed : the enen At SO' We drop the brig us. W( let her s Down lee of id line as \ only on( mass roi siting hi brig boi charmec Now just bey sliding j avoid t dashed somepr them, \i edge, at AMONG THE ICE. 151 The manilla cable was proving its excellence when I reached the deck ; and the crew, as they gathered round roe, were loud in its praises. We could bear its deep iEollan chant, swelling through all the rattle of the running gear and moaning of the shrouds. It was the death song ! The strands gave way with the noise of a shotted gun ; and, in the smoke that followed their recoil, we were dragged out by the wild ice, at its mercy. We steadied, and did some petty warping, and got the brig a good bed in the rushing drift ; but it all came to nothing. We then tried to beat back through the narrow ice-clogged water-way, that was driving, a quarter of a mile wide, between the shore and the pack. It cost us two hours of hard labour, skilfully bestowed I thought ; but at the end of that time, we were at least four miles off, opposite the great valley in the centre of Bedevilled Reach. Ahead of us, further to the north, we could see the strait growing still narrower, and the heavy ice-tables grinding up, and clogging it between the shore cliffs on one side, and the ledge on the other. There was but one thing left for us ; — to keep in some sort the command of the helm, by going freely where we must otherwise be driven. We allowed her to scud under a reefed foretopsail; all hands watching the enemy, as we closed in silence. At seven in the morning, we were close upon the piling masses. We dropped our heaviest anchor with the desperate hope of winding the brig ; but there was no withstanding the ice-torrent that followed us. We had only time to fasten a spar as a buoy to the chain, and let her slip. So went our best bower I Down we went upon the gale again, helplessly scraping along a lee of ice seldom less than thirty feet thick ; one floe, measured by a line as we tried to fasten to it more than forty. I had seen such ice only once before, and never in such rapid motion. One upturned mass rose above our gunwale, smashing in our bulwarks, and depo- siting half a ton of ice in a lump upon our decks. Our staunch little brig bore herself through all this wild adventure as if she had a charmed life. Now a new enemy came in sight ahead. Directly in our way^ just beyond the line of floe-ice against which we were alternately sliding and thomping, was a group of bergs. We had no power to avoid them ; and the only question was, whether we were to be dashed in pieces against them, or whether they might not offer us some providential nook of refuge from the storm. But, as we neared them, we perceived that they were at some distance from the floe edge, and separated from it by an interval of open water. Oar hopes •Wf" il 152 AMONG THE lOE. rose as the gale drove ns toward this passage, and into it ; and we wera ready to exnlt, when, from some unexplained canse, — probably an eddy of the wind against the lofty ice-walls, — we lost onr head- way. Almost at the same moment we saw that the bergs were not at rest ; that with a momentum of their own they were bearing down upon the other ice, and that it must be our fate to be crushed be- tween the two. Just then, a broad sconce-piece, or low water-washed berg, came driving up from the southward. The thought flashed upon me of one of our escapes in Melville Bay ; and as the sconce moved rapidly close alongside us, M'Garry managed to plant an anchor on its slope, and hold on to it by a whale line. It was an anxious moment. Our noble tow-horse, whiter than the pale horse that seemed to be pursuing us, hauled us bravely on ; the spray dashing over his wind- ward flanks, and his forehead ploughing up the lesser ice, as if in •com. The bergs encroached upon us as we advanced : our channel narrowed to a width of perhaps forty feet : we braced the yards to clear the impending ice-walls. We passed clear, but it was a close shave ; — so close that onr quarter- boat would have been crushed if we bad not taken it in from the davits; — and we found ourselves under the lee of a berg, in a comparatively open lead. Never did heart-tried men acknowledge with more gratitude their merciful deliverance from a wretched death. The day had already its full share of trials ; bat there were more to come. A flaw drove us from our shelter, and the gale soon car- ried ns beyond the end of the lead. We were again in the ice, sometimes escaping its onset by warping ; sometimes forced to rely on the strength and buoyancy of the brig to stand its pressure ; sometimes scudding wildly through the half-open drift. Oor jibboom was snapped off in the cap ; we carried away our barricade stanchions, and were forced to leave our little Eric, with three brave fello . and their warps, out upon the floes behind us. A little pool of open water received us at last. It was iudt be- yond a lofty cape that rose up like a wall, and under an iceberg that anchored itself between us and the gale. And here, close under the frowning shore of Greenlaad, ten miles nearer the Pole than our hold- ing ground of the morning, the men turned in to rest. I was afriud to johi them, for the gale was unbrokeo, and the floes k^ pressing heavily i^(m onr berg, — stt one time ao heavily as to twagr it on its vertical sris toward the shore, anfi mifc* its ^nacle ovi^ang our veaieL My poor fellowi had but a pracarioM sleep %' A BONO FOB ST CECILIA DAY, 1867. 153 before our little harbour was broken up. They hardly reached the deckf when we were driven astern, our rudder splintered, and the pintles torn from their boltings. Now began the nippings. The first shock took us on our port- quarter ; the brig bearing it well, and, after a moment of suspense, rising by jerks handsomely. The next was from a veteran floe, tongued and honey-combed, but floating in a single table of over twenty feet in thickness. Of course no wood or iron could stand this ; but the shoreward face of our iceberg happened to present an inclined plane, descending deep into the water ; and up this the brig was drivn, as if some great steam screw-power was forcing her into a dry dock. At one time I expected to see her carried bodily up its face, and tumbled over on her side. But one of those mysterious relaxations, which I have elsewhere called the pulses of the ice, lowered us quite gradually down again into the rubbish, and we were forced out of the line of- pressure toward the shore. Here we succeeded in carry- ing out a warp, and making fast. We grounded as the tide fell ; and wonld have heeled over to seaward, but for a mass of detached land- ice that grounded alongside of us ; and, although it stove our bul- warks as we rolled over it, shored us up. — Kan£*s Arctic Explorationt. A SONG FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY, 1687. Fbom harmony, from heavenly harmony. This universal frame began; When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head. The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead. Then cold and hot and moist and dry, In order to their stations leap. And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony, Through all the compass of the notes it ran. The diapason closing fnll in Man. 154 A BONO FOH ST CECILIA DAY, 1867. What passion cannot Masic raise and qnell? Wlien Jabal strnck ttie cliorded shell, His listening brethren stood aronnd, And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sonnd. Less than a Qod, they thought, there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly and so well. What ^rssion cannot Music raise and qnell? The trumpet's lond clangour Excites us to arms, « With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum Cries, Hark ! the foes come ; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat. The soft complaining fluie In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers. Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealons pangs and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion. For the fair, disdainful dame. But oh ! what art can teach. What human voice can reach, The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To join the choirs above. Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees uptooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre : But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : ^ When to her organ vocal breath was given, An angel beard and straight appeared, ' Mistaking earth for heaven. CHEMISTRY. 155 Grand GiioRrs. As from the power of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sang the great Creator's praise To all the blessed above ; So, when the last and dreadfal hoar This crumbling pageant shall devoar, The trumpet shall be beard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky. — Dryden. CHEMISTRY. The science of Chemistry has for its object the study of the nature and properties of the different sabstances of which the earth, the waters, the air, and their inhabitants, (namely, plants and animals,) are composed, ^n a word, it embraces the study of everything under heaven accessible to man. In its highest branches it aims at dis- covering the laws or rules which regulate the formation of chemical compounds generally, and in its nsefnl applications it has been already exceedingly serviceable in directing and improving the various arts of common life, as agriculture, the working of metalsi dyeing, and many other pursuits. It serves also to gnide the medical man in the preparation of his remedies, and also occasion- ally in distinguishing between diseases which are in other respects much alike. There is, indeed, scarcely a situation in life in which a knowledge of chemistry may not prove directly useful. Lastly, it is a science, the study of which, from its simplest beginnings to its highest attempts, is rendered delightful by the constant succession of new and interesting things brought before the eye and the mind. Almost all the substances just spoken of as the objects of che- mical study, namely, the various rocks, clays, sands, and soils which compose the solid earth ; the water of seas and rivers ; the materials of plants and animals, are of a compound nature, that is, are made up of two or more other substances united or combined together in a manner so close and intimate as not to be generally separable by any common means ; and the compound so produced 156 CHEMISTRY. Is almost always diflerent in properties and appearance from the substances of which it is really composed. These latter may them- selves bo of a compound nature, and each formed in lilce manner by the union of two or more other substances very strongly Joined together, but still capable of separation by proper chemical meann. Snch an act of separation is called by the name of chemical decom- position, and the original compound substance is in such a cane said to be chemically decomposed into its components or consti- tuents. As an example: — A piece of limestone, coral-rock, or chalk, heated red-hot for half an hour, loses nearly half its weight, and becomes quicklime. The loss is caused by the separation from the limestone of another substance (called carbonic acid) which is carried off by the vapours of the fire, but which could be easily caught and collected by proper means. The limestone is there- fore decomposed by the action of heat into its components, lime and carbonic acid, which, by their union, formed the limestone, or, as it is called in chemical speech, carbonate of lime. Both the carbonic acid, however, and the lime, are themselves of a compound nature; the first may be decomposed into two other substances, carbon and oxygen, and the second into a metallic matter, calcium and oxygen. Mere heat, indeed, will^not produce this effect, which can only be brought about by very powerful means of decomposition. In this manner a limit or boundary is sooner or later reached, and substances obtained which completely defy the efforts of the chemist to decompose them further; the carbon, oxygen, and cal- cium of the limestone arrived at by two successive steps of decom- position are found to resist ali further attempts at decomposition; snch substances are called simple or elementarj/j or sometimes, che- mical elements. The number of these elementary substances known to exist, alters with the progress of chemical science ; substances which at one period resisted decomposition gave way when new and more powerful means for that purpose were applied * besides which, minerals and waters containing new elements are met with from time to time. At present they amount to over sixty. Very many of them, however, are exceedingly rare, the compounds containing them being found in very small quantities. Elementary substances are always divided by chemists into two classes, namely, metals and non-metallic substances. The well- known and abundant metals, gold, silver, copper, iron, tin, and lead, CHEMISTRT. 157 together with a grett number of rarer and less familiar sobstances, will stand In the first class. The components of the atmosphere, oxygen and nitrogen, hydrogen, sulphur, phosphorus, and several others, belong to the second class. Several of the elements, how- ever, p<^sse88 properties which render it difficult to decide in which class to place them. It is very important to understand what in science is called a phy- tical state or condition of a subistance, simple or compound, as con- trasted with its chemical nature. There are three such states, the solid^ fluid or liquidy and gaseous, which one and the same substance may assume, passing from one to the other, backwards and forwards, with- out the slightest change o^ chemical nature. For example, water, as commonly met with, is liquid, but when cooled sufficiently it takes the solid form^ and becomes ice; and, on the other band, when sufficiently heated, boils and becomes steam or vapour, which is the gaseous condition of water. By cooling this vapour, it again becomes liquid, and, by still further cooling, it freezes to ice, and all this without the least chemical change or decomposition of any kind. The metal zinc melts easily when heated to a moderate extent, and, when still further heated, vaporises, or becomes converted into vapour, which, by cooling again, becomes liquid ; and lastly, solid. In fact, very many substances, simple and compound, behave in the same manner, and have the power of existing in all three states, and a still greater number in two of them, the solid and the liquid, or the liquid and the gaseous. Although a gas or vapour (which is the same thing in reality) is very frequently invisible to the eye, it is as much substance or mat- ter as a solid or a fluid } it fills vessels, and possesses weight, and can be handled and experimented with, by proper means, with as much ease and certainty as a solid or a liquid. Some gases, how- ever, are coloured yellow, violet, or red, and theu they become, of course, evident to the eye. The physical state of a substance is, in fact, dependent upon its relations to heat ; a subject which must be considered in a future lesson. — FowNEs. 15$ TIIE CnEMISTRT OF A CANDLE. THE CHEMISTRY OF A CANDLE. The Wilkinsons were having a small party — it consisted of them- aelves and Uncle Bagges — at which the yoanger members of the family, home for the holidays, had been just admitted after dinner. Uncle Bagges was a gentleman from whom his affectionate relatives cherished expectations of a testamentary nature. Hence the great> est attention was paid by them to the wishes of Mr Bagges, as well as to every observation which he might be pleased to make **Eh! what? you sir," said Mr Bagges, facetiously addressing himself to his eldest nephew, Harry — ^*ehi what? I am glad to bear, sir, that you are doing well at school. Now — eh ? now, are yon clever enough to tell me where was Moses when he put the candle out ? " '* That depends, uncle," answered the young gentleman, '* on whether he had lighted the candle to see with at night, or by day- light to seal a letter." '* Eh ? very good, now I 'Pon my word, very good," exclaimed Uncle Bagges. '* Yon must be Lord Chancellor, sir— Lord Ghan» cellor, one of these days." ** And now, uncle," asked Harry, who was a favourite with the old gentleman, **can you tell me what you do when yon put a candle out ? " *' Clap an extinguisher on it, yon young rogue, to be sure.*' *' Oh, but I mean, you cut off its supply of oxygen," said Master Harry. " Cut off its ox's— eh ? what?" ** He means something he heard at the Royal Institution," ob- served Mrs Wilkinson. *' He reads a great deal about chemistry, and he attended Professor Faraday's lectures there on the chemical history of a candle, and has been full of it ever since." ** Now, you sir,'' said Uncle Bagges, '* come you here to me, and tell me what yon have to say about this chemical, eh ? — or comical ; which ? — this — comical chemical history of a candle." ** Harry, don't be troublesome to your uncle," said Mr Wilkinson. "Troublesome? Ob, not at all. I like to hear him. Let him teach his old uncle the comicality and chemicality of a farthing rushlight." ** A wa^ candle will be nicer and cleaner, uncle, and answer the same purpose. There's one on the mantle-shelf. Let me light it." • f TUI CUEMItTRT Of ▲ OANDLK UO ** Take care joa don't burn your Augers, oi' set anything on fire," said Mrs Wilkinson. ** Now, uncle," commenced Harry, having drawn his chair to the side of Mr fiagges, ''we have got our candie burning. What do yon see ? " ** Let me put on my spectacles," answered the uncle. ** Look down on tlie top of the candle around the wick. See, it is a little cup full of melted wax. The heat of the flame has melted the wax just round the wick. The cold air keeps the outside of it hard, so as to make the rim of it. The melted wax in the little cup goes up through the wick to be burned, just as oil does in the wick of a lamp. What do you think makes it go up, uncle ? " ** Why — why, the flame draws it up, doesn't it ? " " Not exactly, uncle. It goes up through little tiny passages in the cotton wick, because very, very small channels, or pipes, or pores, have the power in themselves of sucking up liquids. What they do it by is called cap — som(3thing." ** Capillary attraction, Harry," suggested Mr Wilkinson. ** Yes, that 's it ; just as a sponge sucks up water, or a bit of lump'sngar the little drop of tea or coffee lefl in the bottom of a cup. Now I '11 blow the candle out ; not to be in the dark, though, but to see into what it is. Look at the smoke rising from the wick. I '11 hold a piece of lighted paper in the smoke, so as not to touch the wick. But see, for all that, the candle lights again. So this shows that the melted wax sucked np through the wick is tnmed into vapour, and the vapour burns. The heat of the burning vapour keeps on melting more wax, and that is sucked up too within the flame, and turned into vapour and burned, and so on till the wax is ail Qsed np, and the candle is gone. So the flame, nncle, yon see, is the l^t of the candle, and the candie seems to go through the flame into nothing, although it doesn't, but goes into several things ; and isn't it curious, as Professor Faraday said, that the candie should look so splendid and glorious in going away ? " " How well he remembers, doesn't he ?" observed Mrs Wilkinson. ** I daresay," proceeded Harry, " that the flame of the candle looks flat to you ; but if we were to put a lamp-glass over it, so as to shelter it from the draught, you would see it is round — round sideways, and running up to a peak. It is drawn up by the hot air ; you know that hot air always rises, and that is the way smoke is taken np the chimney. What should you think was in the middle of the flame ? " . " I should say fire," replied Uncle Bagges. 100 TUE CnEMlITRT Of A CAITDLB. *' )h, no. The flame it hollow. The bright flame we aee ia •oin( thing no thicker than a thin peel or skin, and It doct not toach the wick. Iniido of it is the vupour I told you of Just now. If yon put one end of a t>cnt pipe into the middie of the flame, and let the other end of tlio pipe dip into a bottle, the vapour or ga.^* from the candle will mix with the air there ; and if you set Are to the mixture of ^'as from the caudle and air in the bottle, it would go off with a ban^." *' I wish ou 'd do that, Harry/' said Master Tom, the younger brother of iiu juvenile lecturer. " i want the prof)er things," answered Harry. " Well, uncle, the flame of the candle is a little shining case, with gas in the inside of it and air on the outside, eo that the case of flame is between the air and the gas. The gas keeps going into the flame to burn, and when the candle burns properly none of the gas ever i>asse8 out through the flume, and none of the air ever gets in through the fluaie to the gas. The greatest beat of the candle is in this skin, or peel, or case of flame." *^Gase of flame 1" repeated Mr Bagges. **Live and learn. I should have thought a candle-flame wa^ fH| thick as my poor old nouule." ** I can show you the contrary," said Harry, '* I take this piece of white paper, look, and hold it a second or two down upon the candle flame, keeping the flame very steady. Now I '11 rub off the black of the smoke, and — there — yon find that the paper is scorched in the shape of a ring, but inside the rhig it is only dirtied, and nut singed at all." ** Seeing \» believing^" remarked the nncle. *' But," proceeded Harry, " there is more in the candle flame than the gas that comes out of the candle. You know a candle will not burn without air. There must be always air around the gas, and touching it like, to make it burn. If a candle has not got enough air it goes out, or burns badly, so that some of the vapour inside of the flame comes out through it in the form of smoke, and this is the reason of a candle smoking. So now you know why a great clumsy dip smokes more than a neat wax catndle : it is because the thick wick of the dip makes too moch fuel iu proportion to the air that can get to it." *' Dear me I Well, I suppose there is a reason for everything," exclaimed the young philosopher's mamma. '* What should you say, now," continued Harry, " if I told you that the smoke that comes out of a- candle is the very thing that makes a by consu small dui earbon, i made, an wh( '•« th the gaM touch till *»Can brightnee " Beca make a fj liquid — I " Ver) ness." " Som a flame } put into words, ui blown thi light. B so bright tine pass brightnes "I wo a bright '* Taki put my the brig so of cou *'So Giving li Mr Baggi *'But away? "Now nothing.' "Oh somewhe "Eh? ised. "You I, or 1 old THE CIIKMItTRY Of A CAICDLC. Ifll makes a candle butti with a bright light? Yen; a ctindlo shineii by coDfluming its own smolce. The smolie of a ciuullc i« a cloud of small dust ; and tho littlo grains of th« dust aro bitK of clinrcoal, or Qarbon, nn chemlstn call It. They are burned tlu^ monuMit tlu^y aro made, and tlie ptaco they are mado in is the case of fltune itself, wh< <-o the stron^OMt h(Mit is. The great heat separates them from the gas which comes from the melted wax, and, as Hoon as they touch the air on rhe outside of the thin case of tinme, they burn." **Gan you tell how it is that the littlo bits of carbon cause the brightness of the flame?" asked Mr Wilkinson. *' Because they are pieces of solid matter," answered Harry. '^To make a (lame shine, there must bo always some solid — or at least liquid — matter In It." " Very good," said Mr Bagges ; '* solid stuff necessary to bright- ness." " Some gases and other things," resumed Harry, " that hum with a flame you can hardly see, burn splendidly when something solid is put into them. Oxygon and hydrogen — toll mo if I nse too hard words, uncle — oxygen and hydrogen gases, if mixed together and blown through a pipe, burn with plenty of heat, but with very littla light. But if their flame is blown upon a piece of quicklime, it gets so bright as to be quite dazzling. Make the smoke of oil of turpen- tine pass through the same flame, and it gives the flame a beautiful brightness .lirectly." *^ I wonder," observed Uncle Bagges, *' what has made you such a bright youth." " Taking after my nndo, perhaps," retorted his nephew. " Don't put my candle and me out. Well, carbon or charcoal i what causes the brightness of all lamps, and candles, and other common lights, so of course there is carbon in what they are all made of." ** So carbon is smoke, eh ! and light is owing to your carbon. Giving light ont of smoke, eh ! as they say in thd classics," observed Mr Bagges. *' But what becomes of the candle," pursued Harry, *' as it burns away ? where does it go ? " ** Nowhere, 'J^^said his mamma, '' I should think. It bams to nothing." " Oh dear, uo I " said Harry ; ♦* every thing — everybody goes somewhere." "£h? rather an important consideration that," Mr Bagges moral- ised. *^ Yea can see it goes into smoke, which makes soot for one thing," 163 nil cniMtRTnY or a caxdli^ •aid Harry. '* There are other thinj^ it ^m^i into, not to be Reen hf only looking, bat yoa can [gtt to aee them by taking the right meana : Juat pnt your hand over the candle, uncle." ** Thank you, young gentleman, I would rather t>e oxcuiied.*' ** Not cloae enough down to burn you, uncle ; higher up. There ; you feel a Htroam of hot air, no something seomit to riMo from the candle. Suppose you were to put a very long, slender gas-burner over the Hanie, and let the Hamo burn just within the end of it, as if it were a chimney, some of the hot steam would go up and come out at the top, but a sort of duw would be left behind in the glass chimney, if the chimney was cold enough when you put it on. There are ways of collecting this sort of dew, and when It la collected it turns out to bo really water. I am not Joking, uncle. Water is one of the things which the candle turns into In tturning — water coming out of fire. In some lighthouses, Professor Faraday says, they burn up two gallons of oil in a night ; and if the windows are cold, the steam Trom the oil clouds the Inside of the windows, and in frosty weather freezes into ice." ** Water out of a candle, ch 1 " exclaimed Mr Bagges. '* As hard to get, I should have thought, as blood out of a post. Where doea it come from ? " *' Part from the wai, and part from the air ; and yet not a drop of it comes either from the air or the wax. What do you make of that, uncle?" <^ Gh ? oh ! Tm no hand at riddles. Give it up." *' No riddle at all, undo. That which comes from the wax is a gas called hydrogen. We can obtain it from water by passing the steam of boiling water through a red-hot gun-barrel which contains a quantity of iron wire or turnings, and change them to rust ; and the other part, which comes out of the end of the barrel, will be hydrogen gas, and this part of the water we can set on fire." «'£h?" cried Mr Bagges. *' Upon my word I One of these days we shall have yon setting the river on fire." " Nothing more easy," said Harry. " When pure hydrogen bums, we get nothing but water. I would like to show yon how light this kydrogen is ; and I wish I had a small balloon to fill with it and make it go up to the celling, or a bagpipe full of it to blow soap- bubbles with, and show how mich faster they rise than common ones Mown with the breath." '* So do I," interposed Master Tom. ** And so," resumed Harry, ^' hydrogen, yoa Icnow, ancle, is part •f water, and )nst one ninth part." TBI CnEMIimiT OF A CAlfT>t& 163 *' Ai hydrogen is to water, lo U t tailor to an ordinary Individual, eh ? *' Mr Uaggea remarked. " Well, now, then, uncle, if hydrogen ia tho taUor'a part of the water, what are the other partM?" " There rouat be eight of them, to he lure.** *'0ood again, uncle; and those oiKlit parta are a gas alio, that la called oxygen. Thia is a vrry curious gas. It won't burn in air at all !t-*<^lf, like gas from a lamp, but it has a wonderful power of mak III,? things burn that are lighted and put into It. A lighted candle pat .nf< ajar of oxygon blazes up directly, and Is consumed before you can say Jack Robinson. Charcoal bnms away in it as fast, with beantiful bright sparks ; phosphorus with a light that dazzles you to look at ; and a piece of iron or steel, just made rod-hot at the end flrat, is burned in oxygen quicker than a stick would be in common air. The experiment of burning things in oxygon boats any Are* works." ** How fanny that must be t '* exclaimed Tom< ** Now we SCO, uncle," Harry continued, ** that water Is hydrogen and oxygen united together ; that water Is got wherever hydrogen ia burned In common air ; that a candle won't burn without air ; and Chat, when a candle bnms, there is hydrogen in it burning and forming water. Now, then, where does tho hydrogen of the candle get the oxygen from to turn into water with it ? " "From the air, eh?" " Just so. It is the oxygen In the air that makes things bam ; but if the air were nothing but oxygen, a candle would not last above a minute." " What a tallow* chandler*8 bill we should havef " remarked Mrs Wilkinson. " * If a house were on fire in oxygen,' as Professor Faraday said, * every iron bar, or, rather, every pillar, every nail aud iron tool, and the fireplace itself; all the zinc and copper roofs, and leaden coverings, and gutters, and pipes, would consume and bum, increasing the combustion.' " " That would be, Indeed, buming * like 'a house on fire,' " observed Mr Bagges. " But there is another gas, called nitrogen," said Harry, " which is mixed with the air, and it is this which prevents a candle from burning out too fast.** • '*Eh? '' said Mr Bagges. <* Well, I will say I do think we are under considerable obligations to nitrogen." ** I have explained to you, uncle," pursued Harry, " how a candle, 164 COMPOSITION OF SOILS. in burning, turns into water. But it turns into something else besides that. The little bits of carbon that I told you about, which are burned in the flame of a candle, and which malce the tiame b;Ight, roinglo with the oxjgen in burning, and form still another gas, called carbonic acid gas, which is so destructive of life when we breath it. So yon see that a candle flame is vapour burning, and that the vapour, in burning, turns into water and carbonic acid gas." <' Haven't you pretty nearly come to your candle's end ? " said Mr Wilkinson. ** Nearly. I only want to tell uncle that the burning of a candle is almost exactly like our breathing. Breathing is consuming oxygen, only not so fast as burning. In breathing we throw out water in vapour and carbouic acid from our lungs, and take oxygen in. Oxy- gen is as necessary to support the life of the body as it is to keep up the flame of a candle." *^ So," said Mr Bagges, " man is a candle, eh ? and Shakespeare knew that, I suppose, (as he did most things,) when he wrote, * Out, out, brief candle ! ' Well, well ; we old ones are moulds, and you young squires are dips and rush-lights, eh ? Any more to tell us about the candle?" *' I could tell you a great deal more about oxygen, and hydrogen, and carbon, and water, and breathing, that Professor Faraday said, if I had time ; but yon should go and hear him yourst '', uncle." ^* Eh ? well, I think I will. Some of us seniors may learn some- thing from a juvenile lecture, at any rate, if given by a Faraday. And now, my boy, I will tell you what," added Mr Bagges, '• I am very glad to find you so fond of study and science ; and you deserve to be encouraged ; and so I *11 give you a — what-d'ye-call-it ? a gal- vanic battery on your next birthday ; and so much for your teaching your old uncle the chemistry of a candle." Adapted from Household Words. COMPOSITION OF SOILS. Soils adapted to the growth of plants consist of two principal por- tions — the organic and the inorganic. The organic portion or humus, as it is sometimes called, from a Latin word meaning moist earth, consists of the decayed remains of animal and vegetable mat' COMPOSITION OF SOILS. 16/i ter, and varies greatly in quantity in different soils. In peaty soils it forms from 60 to 70 per cent, of tiie whole weigiit. In rich and long cultivated soils, it has been known to amount to 25 per cent. ; but in general the proportion is much smaller. Oats and rye will grow on a soil which contains only 1^ per cent, of humus; barley will flourish with only 2 to 3 per cent ; good wheat soils require from 4 to 8 per cent. In stiflf clayey soils, from 10 to 12 per cent, have been found. Now it must not be supposed that a soil is fertile in proportion as it is rich in humus. Humus supplies plants with food in the form of carbonic acid by the roots ; dissolved in water, humus acts injuriously; a very small quantity imparts to water a yellow or brown colour, a state in which manures cease to be beneficial to cultivated plants, because this colouring matter indicate? a defi- ciency of oxygen to complete the conversion of the humus into car- bonic acid. In a soil impregnated with this matter In solution, the roots of plants are deprived of oxygen, without which they can- not exist; for a similar reason, the stagnant water of a marshy soil excludes air; but if the marsh be thoroughly drained, so as to admit the air freely, a fruitful meadow takes its place. The inorganic portion of the soil consists of two subdivisions, the soluble saline portion, from which the plant obtains nearly all the saline ingredients contained in the ash, and the insoluble earthy portion, which forms th'? great bulk of most soils, being rarely less than 95 lbs. in a hundred of their whole weight. This earthy constituent consists of three main Ingredients: — 1, Silica^ in the form of sand; 2, Alumina, mixed oi combined with sand, as clay; and 3, Lime, in the form of carbonate, as chalk, lime- stone, &c. Soils are named according to the proportions in which these three ingredients are mingled together. According to Johnston, 100 grains of dry ordinary soil, containing only 10 of clay, would form a sandy soil; if it contained from 10 to 40 grains of clay, it would make a sandy loam; from 40 to 70, a loamy soil; from 70 to 85, a day loam; from 85 to 95, a strong clay fit for making tiles and bricks ; if it contain no sand, it would be pure agricultural clay or pipe-clay. With respect to alumina, it rarely happens that arable land (land fit for the plough,) contains more than from 30 to 35 per cent, of that substance. If a soil contain more than 5 per cent, of carbonate of lime, it is called a marl; if more than 20 per cent., a calcareous soil. Oxide of iron forms 2 or 3 per cent, of sand soils, and in red soils much more. The sand, lime, clay, oxide of iron, and organic matters mingled I 100 MEN CF SCIENCE. in various proportions, give rise to soils of varlons colours. In challc didtricts the soil is white ; in the coal fields the land ia black ; in the central part of England dark-red soil prevails ; in other districts, the prevailing character of the soil is derived from yellow, wtite, and brown sands and clays. The sulMoil Is of variable character ; in some places consisting of porons sand or gravel ; in others u light loam ; in a third a stiff clay. On removing the soil we get to the solid rock, such as sand- stone, limestone, slate-clay, &c. All kinds of rock by their disin- tegration will furnish either sandstone, limestone, or clays of differ- ent degrees of hardness, or a mixture of two or more of these in different proportions. By the action of winds, rain, and frost, rocks become disintegrated at the surface, seeds get deposited by means of winds, waters, and sometimes animals, and a soil slowly accumulates, partaking necessarily of the chemical character of the rock on which it rests. Thus, on a sandstone rock the soil is sandy ; on a clay- stone, it is more or less a stiff clay ; on limestone, it Is more or less calcareous ; and if the rock be a mixture of these, a similar mixture will be observed in the soil formed by its crumbling. Geo- logy has furnished the important observation, that if the soil be bad on each of two contiguous rocks, it is generally of better qua- lity at the place where the two rocks meet. Thus, where the plas- tic clay comes in contact with the top of the chalk, there is much better soil than eitLcr on the clay or on the chalk ; so also where the chalk and the upper green sand mingle, there are fertile patches celebrated for their wheat crops, in the production of which the phosphates in the marls are supposed to have an influence. — Weale. MEN OF SCIENCE. Sib Humphrey Davt, when an apothecary's apprentice, performed his first experiments with instruments of ' the rudest description. He extemporised the greatest part of them ^^imself, out of the motley materials which chance threw in his way. The pots and pans of the kitchen, and the phials and vessels of his master's surgery, were remorselessly pnt in requisition. It happened that a French vessel was wrecked off the Land's End, and the surgeon escaped, bearing with liim his case of instruments, among which was an old-fashioned MEN OF SCIENCE. 1G7 a id la m glyster apparatus ; this article ho presented to Davy, with whom he had become acquainted. The apothecary's apprentice received it with great exultation, and forthwith employed it as a part of a pneumatic apparatus which he contrived, afterward using it to per- form the duties of an air-pump in one of liis experiments on the nature and sources of heat. In like manner, Professor Faraday, Sir Humphrey Davy's scien- tific successor, made his first experiments in electriciiy by means of an old bottle, while he was still a working bookbinder. And it is a curious fact that Faraday was first attracted to the study of chemistry by hearing one of Sir Humphrey Davy's lectures on the subject at the Royal Institution. A gentleman, who wuh a mem- ber, calling one day at the shop where Faraday was employed in binding books, found him poring over the article "Electricity" in an Encyclopedia placed in his hands to bind. The gentleman having made inquiries, found he was curious about such subjects, and gave him an order of admission to the Royal Institution, where he attended a course of four lectures delivered by Sir Humphrey. He took notes of the lectures, which he showed to the lecturer, who acknowledged their scientific accuracy, and was surprised when informed of the humble position of the reporter. Faraday then expressed his desire to devote himself to the prosecution of chemi- cal studies, from which Sir Humphrey at first endeavoured to dis- suade him ; but the young man persisting, he was at length taken into the Royal Institution as an assistant; and eventually the mantle of the brilliant apothecary's boy fell upon the worthy shoulders of the equally brilliant bookbinder's apprentice. The words which Davy entered in his note-book, when about twenty years of age. working away in Dr Beddoes' laboratory at Bristol, were eminently characteristic of him : — " I have neither riches nor power, nor birth to recommend me, yet, if I live, I trust I shall not be of less service to mankind and my friends than if I had been born with all these advantages." Davy possessed tho capability, as Faraday does, of devoting all the powers of his mind to the practical and experimental investigation of a subject in all its bearings ; and such a mind will rarely fail, by dint of mere industry and patient thinking, in producing results of the highest order. Coleridge said of Davy, " There is an energy and elasticity in his mind which enables him to seize on and analyse all questions, push- ing them to their legitimate consequences. Every subject in Davy's mind has the principle of vitality. Living thoughts spring up like turf under his feet." Davy, on his part, said of Coleridge, 168 FROM " THE DESERTED VILLAGE." ivhose abilities he greatly admired, ** With the most exalted genius, enlarged views, sensitive heart, and enlightened mind, he will be the victim of a want of order, precision, and regularity." Guvier, when a youth, was one day strolling along the sands near Fiquamville, in Normandy, when he observed a cuttle-fish lying stranded on the beach. He was attracted by the curious object, took it home to dissect, and began the study of the moUusca, which ended in his becoming one of the greatest among natural his- torians. In like manner, Hugh Miller's curiosity was excited by the remarkable traces of extinct sea animals in the old red sand- stone on which he worked as a qnarryman. He Inquired, observed, studied, and became a geologist. '^ It was the necessity," said he, *' which made me a quarrier, that taaght me to be a ^^eologlst." —Smiles' Self- Help. FROM " THE DESERTED VILLAGE." In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given me share — I still had hopes my latest years to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband ont life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wastinj? by repose. I still had hopes, (for pride attends us still,) Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill ; Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of zX\ I felt and all I saw. And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first ho flew, J still had hopes, ray long vexations past, Here to ceturu — and die at home at last I O blest retirement ! friend to life's decline I Retreat from care, that never mu?t be mine ! How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, A yo'ith of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly. For him no wretch is born to work and weep, Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep : FROM " THE DESERTED VILLAGE.' 1C9 8, )0 Is ll IS a, 8- •y j- e, No surly porter stands in guilty state, Tu 8purn imploring Famine from the gate. But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way ; And all his prospects brightening to the last, ll'iH lieaven commences ere the world be pnst ! — Goldsmith. KNOWLEDGE. "What an excellent thing is knowledge!" said a sharp-looking, bustling little man to one whu was much older than himself. "Knowledge is an excellent thing I Knowledge is power!" re- peated he ; " my boys know more at six and seven years of age than I did at twelve." " They can read all sorts of books, and talk on all sorts of sub- jects. The world is a great deal wiser than it used to be. Every- body knows something of everything now. Do you not think, sir, that knowledge is an excellent thing?" '* Why, sir," replied the old man, looking gravely, " that de- pends entirely upon the use to which it is applied. It may be either a blessing or a curse. Knowledge is only an increase of power, and power may be a bad as well as a good thing." " That is what I cannot understand," said the bustling little man. *' How can power be a bad thing?" " I will tell you," meekly replied the old man ; and thus he went on : " When the power of a horse is under restraint, the animal is useful in bearing bnrdens, drawing loads, and carrying his master ; but when that power is unrestrained, the horse breaks his bridle, dashes his carriage to pieces, or throws his rider." " I see ! I aee I " said tlie little man. " When the. water of a pond is properly conducted by trenches, it renders the fields around fertile ; but when it bursts througn its banks, it sweeps everything before it, and destroys the produce of the field.'* " I see ! I see I" said the little man ; " I see I" *^ When a ship is steered aright, the sail that she hoists enables her the sooner to get into port ; but if steered wrong, the more bail she carries, the further she will go out of her course." "I seol I see I" said the little man ; " I see clearly !" 170 THE MATHEMATICAL SCIENOElT. We have seen in a former lesson, that the immense variety of ob- jects, with which a bountiful Creator has enriched and beautified the world, can bo reduced to systems of linowledge under five great heads, commonly called the Natural Sciences. It is true that there exists upon our earth no substance which is not included under two of these sciences, being classed as belonging either to Geology, Bo- tany, Zoology, or Meteorology, and also to Chemistry. But although substance or matter is thus, as it were, exhausted, we roust always remember that it alone does not make a world. As man would be nothing wichout mind, so would matter be actually nothing without power. It 33 power or force, call it what you will, that first brought together the itoms of which our earth is composed, and that still continues to hold them bound in one ; it is power which makes this globe circle thx'ough the heavens on its course around the revolving sun, and that sends down to us the light and heat which that great luminary bestows : it is power, mysterious power, that excites in the atmosphere the whirlwind and the zephyr, that causes the great sea waves to toss and foam, and that brings to our ears the wonder- ful thing we call sound. Power, then, is not to be despised. Try to imagine a world without it. Yon cannot ; for if there were no power added to matter, the atoms — which you will remember read- ing about in the paragraph on chemistry — the particles, I say, of which everything in the world c^ '^ists, would have nothing to hold them together. You think, perhaps, that the miUions of atoms com- posing the world would fly about in space. Not ac all ; fot there would be no force to make them fly. Then they would stand still in the place where they wero created. Not even that ; for thtre THE MATHEMAnOAL SCIENCES. m I would be no power to separate them from flnrronndiog space, no force to hinder them from falling away into nothingness. There is no soch thing, therefore, in this world, whatever may be the case in others, as matter unaccompanied by force. Nobody ever saw force, or felt it ; it is Invisible and intangible like the human mind ; but, like that mind also, we can see and feel its effects daily, hourly, momentarily, at all times and in all places. It is visible in the motion of the heavenly bodies, in the ship sailing before the wind, and in the river dashing over its rocky bed. Every day that we live we feel that it dwells within us by the actions it onables us to perform ; and the resistance of the solid earth, the upward growth of the flower, the many motions of the animal creation, all attest the existence of that wonderful agent, — force. If power or force can neither be handled nor seen, how are we to describe it and its operations ? How can we study it systemati- cally as we would the objects of the Natural Sciences ? What can be said about it ? We cannot speak of a red or a blue, a wet or a dry, a hard or a soft force ; but there is one way by which we can characterise it, and that is by quantity. We can say of a stone which is thrown only half as far as another, that it is projected with half the force of the other, or, if we are speaking of two walls of unequal strength, we may remark that it would require twice as much force to knock down the one as it would to demolish the other. Thus, we make use, in the first place, of the fraction i, and, in the second, of the whole number 2, in describing one force as compared with another. These belong to the science of Arithmetic, a Greek word meaning pertaining to numbers. At other times it is convenient to make a different kind of cal- culation. Suppose that two boys kick a football at the same mo- ment, and in the same direction. We wish to know how mnch force each boy exerted in kicking the ball. But it might happen that we would often require to make such a calculation ; and, there- fore, we find a convenient form that will apply to all boys, forces, and footballs, at all times and places. We call the force of one boy's kick a, that of the other boy*s 6, and the distance the ball was kicked altogether c. Now we can make ever so many forms or formula (the plural of formula^ a. form or model) out of these three letters, which cannot fail to be correct, whatever the numbers may be ifmt they stand for. Thus we can say, the force a added to, or ptu8 (a Latin word meaning more) the force b is equal to c, the dis- tance the ball travelled. So, if we take away the force a from c, we will know what the force 6 is ; or if we take b from c, we wiU 173 THE MATHEMATICAL SCIENCES. And tho valne of the force a. This we express by saying, c minus (a Latin word meaning kas) the force a, or with a subtracted from it, is equal to 6, and c minus b is equal to a. Instead of using the words plus and mtntM, however, we put between tlie letters the signs -f (plus) and - (minus.) These letters and signs belong to the science of Algebra. Algebra is an Arabic word of uncertain meaning; the Arabians being tho first to introduce into Europe the knowledge, which they acquired from the Hindoos, of the science that reasons about quantities by means of letters, signs, and symbols. There is still another method of calculation which can be employed to describe a force, both as to its quantity and its direction. Suppose that our two boys were to strike the football with equal force, but in different directions ; the one forward, and the other sidewayf. The ball would naturally go neither forward nor sideways, but ex- actly half-way between the two directions, making with each of them what is called an angle, thus (Fig. 1.) — If, Instead of striking with equal force, one of the boys were to hit harder than the other, the ball would go more in his direction, (Fig. 2,) thus making a smaller angle between the course in which he wishes to send it and that which it really takes, while, of course, the angle between the ball's direction and that In while the other boy wished it to go would be greater. If, therefore, we could learn the proportions of angles to one another, we conld find how much greater the force of the one stroke would be than that of the other. But all this depends upon the science which deals with the measure- ment of lines, angles, and all figures made up of them ; this science ' is Geometry. The word Geometry, like other names of sciences, is from the Greek, and signifies land-measuring ^ — the science of Geo- metry bell now callei We hav bra, and science cs from the C because tl upon MatI work of t quantity i are of tw called pun that is, y^ only spcal 3, and 4, themselvei stand for angle, a st angle, line tics are uf sure fields how to fi sciences, t There are sciences tl jects whic descriptioi in the wo weighing suring th( become A knowledgi following of a math in earnes respects, < The si3 ranked ni signifying Natural I of Nature templatio THE MATHEMATICAL SCIENCES. 173 metry being, In early timefl, first applied to that parpoie, which Is now called the Art of Mensuration, or measuring. We have thus seen that forcos are described by Arithmetic, Alge- bra, and Geometry ; but these are ail included under one great science called Mathematics. The word Mnthcmatics comes to ns from the Greek, and may bo fairly translated as the Science^ so called, because the ancients, who were devoted to the study of it, looked upon Mathematics as the only true science and the basis or ground- work of all others. Everything belonging to form and position, quantity and number, is embraced by this science. Mathematics are of two kinds: pure, and mixed or applied. When they are called pure, it is in the same sense as we speak of water being pure, that is, without any mixture of other ingredients. Now we not only speak of 2 books, 3 lessons, 4 scholars, but of the numbers 2, 8, and 4, without referring to anything apart from the numbers themselves. In Algebra, you know that the letters a, b, c, &c., stand foi' anything at all ; and in Geometry we can speak of an angle, a straight line, or a circle without alluding to any particular angle, line, or circle. Such are Pure Mathematics. But Mathema- tics are applied to numberless uses ; to keep accounts and to mea- sure fields, to direct the sailor in his course, and to teach the soldier how to fire a rifle or point a cannon. These, however, are not sciences, they aro arts ; for an art is a science put into practice. There are applications of the science of Mathematics which are sciences themselves : namely, the application of it to the many ob- jects which naturo exhibits to our gaze, and, more especially, to the description of force, that force which lives and moves in everything in the world. Thus mixed up with solids and liquids and gases, weighing the earth, sounding the sea, numbering the stars, and mea- suring the speed of light and sound, they are no more Pure, but become Applied Mathematics, and give birth to several systems of knowledge which may be called the Mathematical Sciences. In the following short sketch of these you will meet with little or nothing of a mathematical nature ; not till you begin to study these sciences in earnest will yon have to do with that system which, in many respects, deserves the title of The Science. The six sciences to which Mathematics are applied are generally ranked under the one great head of Physics, from a Greek word signifying things pertaining to nature, or, as it is oftener called, Natural Philosophy. Natnral Philosophy has to deal with the whole of Nature's wide domain, viewing it, not as a passive field for con- templation, but as a scene of restless activity, and attempting to I 174 THE MATHKUATIOAL 8CICNCE1I. explain the ctnics to which that artlvit- \n duo. Kndeat Ktir, now, to KHiJ^p with your mind this wide domain ; strive to include in your thoughts the earth tve live upon ; the sity above uh, with the "an, moon, and stars shining? in it; land and water; | lautt^ ,1.1' animals, and the atmosphere with hU that it contains. These . lo all com- posed of matter that may be seen and fi.>lt, whetl/m- It be solid mat- ter, as stone and wood ; li Hnd {\v.\t the Natural World, which is to be carefully distinguished frum the Spiritual World, coutiniiH but two great elements — matter and force. I have already said that we cannot see force ; we can, however, see its efiects. When force is applied to a body at rest, the body be- gins to move, and when a similar force is applied to it in an opposite diiection it stops ; wo thus see the effucts of f'orco not only in motion but also in reat. Force is frequently called by the name of one of its effects, and in many books we see the Hrst lawa of Physics treated of under the title of Matter and Motion. Let ns enter now upon the consideration of the Mathematical Sciences, and, in order to do so aright, lot U8 first reflec ipon the two great subjects of thought, matter and motion. We loolc up into the heavens, and see the planets moving through space in their paths oronnd the sun ; we know, also, that our own earth revolves along with them, while the moon, \\ heeling round the earth, accent panics it on hs cour^. We ask ourselves the question : what is th< ivn^on that the heavenly bodies thus move in regular order through tiic sky, without anything visible to support or keep them in their places? Upon this globe, the round ball which we inhabit, there are conti- nents, seas, and islands, that constantly revolve with it in all direc- tions, now up and now down, so that we speak of those who live upon the other side of the world as being at our antipodes, or oppo« site onr feet. Why do not these people fall o£f ? What hinders the earth from flying to pieces with so much whirling about ? How is it that the water of oceans, lakes, and r.Wers, does not flow out of the world, when the parts of the earth in which these are situated are tamed npside down ? There are many other questions suggested by onr daily experience. When we throw a stone np in the air, why does it retnm to the ground and not remain aloft, like the stars ? How is it that a ball will not continue to roll along the ground in the same way as the stars perpetually circle round in the sky? These questions are all very Important, notwithstanding that they appear so simple, and have engaged the attention of some of the greatest men that ever lived. The science which answers these and similar ques- <^^' . O" c^ \ THB MATIIKMATIOAL SCIENCES J 73 fiouf, which doscribeii tho properties or qualities of matter, and ex- plain! ttie lawn tliat govern tlM> force which act4 upon it, in called MechanicH. Mt^l micu U a Ur«ek word, and Its priipary, or first, signiticatlon wa«, thu which jKitaim to mwhinet or contrivancti, because it first denoted the cxfjljination of that power or force which man exertit upon natural obj. d^ by means of his anus, han(l. I'lor ; soli') matter, such as earth, htoue, wood, and Hesli ; fluid, as wu or, quicksilver, sap, and I)1u(kI ; and gasi>ous or elnrtio, because it contracts and expands, such as air, ga»4, vapour, fkc. Each of theso kinds of matter has a su|)arat«.' division of me- chanics allotted to it. Thus wc have three sciences instead of one; namely, mechanics of solids, mechanics of fiuid»<, and mechanics of elastic bodies. Let us first examine the mectiauics of solids. Wo havi! already learned that wherover there is mutter, force is also pre- sent and acting upon it. No v, vo observe tliat Ijv far the greater portions of this earth, such as its mouutains and rocks, tike buildings which men have erected upon it, and many similar things, do not move at all. The earth certainly moves and they go along with it, but they do not alter their jmsitions un tho earth. If we set down a chair, a book, or other inanimate object, in any place, we naturally expect to find it in tho same spot, unless moved by some person. But if force is constantly acting upon objects, (and we have seen that force reveals its existence by motion,) why do not these objects move? The reason simply is, that they are beset, m it wore, by eipial forces on every side, and are thus prevented from shifting their position. That division of tho science of the mechanics of solids, which treats of solid bodies in a state of rest, and of the forces that keep them so, is called Statics, a Greek word which means bringing to a standstilL Bat solid bodies do not always ' tand still. The world revolves through space, snow and hail fall from the clouds, a hand* sleigh slides down a hill, and if we strike a ball it will fly forward with greater or less velocity, according to the force with which it is struck. There must, therefore, be a division of the science treating of the motions of solid bodies, and of the influence of moving bodies upon one another. This division is called Dynamics, ako from the Greek, and signifying //la/ which pertains to power or force. When we turn our attention to fluids, we And that water or any other liquid, whether in seas, lakes, and rivers, or in an open vessel, O" <^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // ^/ J!: of the starts a law, or rather a series of laws, which could never have been discovered but for the existence of the science of Mathematics. The sun is the great source of light to the system of which our earth forms a part. How great must that force be which sends down the cheering sunbeam through ninety-five millions of miles, in eight minutes of time, to illumine our eaith 1 You wonder, perhaps, how men could calculate the time that such a very subtle body as light takes to travel. It is not, however, my intention to tell you in this lesson, which is only designed to stimulate your curiosity with regard to the Mathematical Sciences. All such information you will find in books written upon the science of Optics, or, as the Greek term may be translated, of ^inga pertaining to eight or vision^ for our eyes are the instruments with which we see and study light. This science embraces everything connected both with light in itself and our per- ception of it. It tells us what light is, how it moves, through what flubstances it will pass, and from what bodies it is reflected. It also explains the nature of all optical instruments, natural and artiflcial ; 178 THB MATHBMATIOAL S0IEN0E8. the eye, the telescope, the microscope, spectacles and lookiog-glasses. Under it also is included the wonderful phenomena or appearances which we know as colours; for a single white raj of light is composed of seven smaller rays, red, orange, yeUow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, such as yon have seen separated by a glass prism. This science consists of three divisions : Dioptrics, the science of light passing through any medium, as air, water, and glass ; Gatoptrics, the science of reflected light, as from a mirror ; and Chromatics, or the science of colour. All these are Greek names appropriate to the objects of the optical sciences. We have now arrived at the last of the Mathematical Sciences ; that, namely, which investigates the nature and properties of sound. If, by means of a machine called the air-pump, we empty a glass vessel of the air which you know pervades everything, and ring a bell in the empty jar, no sound will be heard. From this it is plain that the presence of air, or some other medium, is necessary In order to constitute sound. The science of Acoustics, a Greek word mean- ing things pertaining to the sense of hearing, teaches that sound is produced in consequence of the waves excited in the atmosphere or other medium (for water will carry sound) by the moving body, such as a bell, a falling tree, or a gunshot, striking upon the ear in rapid succession. To this science belongs the whole theory of music, vocal and instmmental, with many other interesting subjects of a similac nature. Acoustics are of two kinds : Diacoostics, or the science which treats of sound conveyed through a medium, as air, water, &a; and Oatacoustics, dealing with reflected sounds, such as an echo. These words are derived, like most of those with which we have be- come acquainted in this lesson, from the language of the ancient Greeks, who first studied the subjects to which they are applied; and, as yon will at once perceive, are analogous to those denoting two of the divisions of the science of Optics. We have now completed onr view of the Mathematical Sciences. They are not so easily understood, nor so evident to our senses, as the five Natural Sciences, but the objects with which they have to do are those we meet with every day in our lives, and which, if we be true searchers after knowledge, we will not neglect to look into. Before doing so, however, we must apply ourselves diligently to the study of Pure Mathematics, and, when we have fairly mastered their various branches, we will find their application to matter and force one of the most ennobling of pursuits and agreeable of all recreations. MATTER AND MOTION. 179 I. Pure Mftthematios. II. Mixed or Applied Ma^ thematioa, Pnysioi, or NaionJ Philoeopby. The MathemaHecU Seiencti. M«h«.lc..fS.Ud. {^^ «>- °'"»'*. iijtd';s!s;w Do. of OaiM, or Pneu- ( Aeroitatioa. mntioa, \ Aerodynamioa. Aitronomy. ( Dioptrics. Optica, < Oatoptrica. vChromatica. Acouaticfl i Diacouatics. ^Acouatica, ) Catacouatica. MATTER AND MOTION. All thIngSf of the existence of which we are informed by onr senses, bear the general appellatioB of matter. The earth which we inhabit, the air which we breathe, the distant planets and sans, and probably the whole of that spaee in which the heavenly bodies move, are matter, though some are mach more solid or dense than others. A stone, for instance, is denser tban water; water again is denser than cork; yet all are alike matter. The earth is more solid than the planet Japiter, whieh has been ascertained to be as light as water ; bat still both are alike material. Matter, in all its forms, is subject to various fixed rules or laws, which have been established by the Creator for very important ends. By one of these it is ordered that every particle or mass of matter possesses a power of extracting other particles or masses. The attractive power of masses of matter is in proportion to their respective sizes, when their densities and distances are the same. Thus, one of those globules of ink which sometimes start from our pen, and settle lightly upon a hair of the paper, will be found to be drawn up towards a larger drop which we carefully bring near to it. Thus, also, we often observe that a little stalk of tea, floating in our cup, no sooner approaches the side than it is suddenly drawn towards it, and settles as closely as it can alongside. All pieces of matter would be observed to exercise the same attractive influence over each other, if in circumstances equally favourable to allow of a movement. 180 MATTES AND M OTIOW. The attraction of a body is greatest in its own immediate neigli- bonrliood. Tlie attraction lias also a reference, not to the surface of the body, but to its whole mass, the centre being the point where the influence is strongest. At a point twice as far ft'om the centre as the surface is, the attraction is diminished to a fourth of what it is at the surface ; at three times the distance it is 'only a tenth ; at four times a sixteenth ; at five times a twenty-filth ; and so on, the diminution being always as the aquaret of the distances ; that is, the distances multiplied by themselves. The distance from the centre of any mass of matter to its surface is called its semi-diamet§r; that is, the half of its diameter or thickness. When we wish, there- fore, to ascertain the relative amount of the attraction which any mass of matter exercises over another, we have to inquire how many semi- diameters of the larger the smaller is distant from it, and to multiply that number by itself. The result shows how many times the attraction at this distance is less than at the surface. The moon, for instance, is distant 240,000 mUes from the earth, or as much as sixty semi-diameters of the earth ; 60 multiplied by 60 gives 8600 ; consequently, the attraction exercised by the earth upon the moon is a 8600th part of what it would exercise upon the same mass at its own surface. When the particles of a body can be suspended in the air in a fluid state, they will, if not under the attractive influence of some other body, arrange themselves, by virtue of the same law, around a centre, and take a spherical form. Thus a small quantity of dew suspended on the point of a thorn or leaf becomes a globule, because, in that case, the attraction of the particles towards their own centre is greater than the attraction of any neighbouring body. In con- sequence of this law of nature, it is considered probable that the globes of space, including our own earth, were originally in a fluid state — that, in that state, they unavoidably assumed a spherical shape, and were then hardened into their present consistency. . Attraction also bears the name of gravitation^ firom a word signi- fying weight, for weight is enth-ely a result of the laws of attraction. The attractive influence of the earth pulls down and holds bodies to it. Thus the falling of a body to the earih is only an effect of attraction, and the weight of a body is only a pressure downwards, in obedience to the same law of gravitation. As gravitation acta upon all the particles or atoms of matter in a body, and not upon the mere surface or superficial bulk, those bodies in wh'.cb matter ia most dense, or have the greatest number of particles, are the heaviest All falling bodies tend in a direct line to the centre of M ATTIB AND MOTIOIT. 181 the earth, which Is the centre of the earth's tttraetlTe power ; tnd therefore, whenever we let fall a body from our hand, It proceeds in a straight line down to the surface, where it is arrested. This is well exemplified by the act of dropping a ball from oar hands as we stand upon a slope or mountain side. The ball does not fall towards the centre of the mountain, but in the direction of the earth's centre. What we call down and up are merely relative terms. That which is down to us is up in respect to those who live on the opposite side of the globe, and that which is up to us is down to them. Attraction, as already stated, is strongest when the bodies are near each other. As we proceed upwards from the earth, it be- comes weaker. For this reason it has not so much strength at the top of high mountains aS at the level of the sea. Weight, conse- quently, differs in different situations. A ball of iron, weighing a thousand pounds at the level of the sea, if weighed in a spring balance on the top of a mountain four miles high, will be found to have lost two pounds of its weight, in consequence of the attractive power j;|f the earth being diminished to that extent at that greater remoteness from the centre. In consequence of its having begun to revolve when in a state of fluidity, the earth at its equator has a diameter exceeding that of its poles by twenty-six miles ; conse- quently the surface at the poles is thirteen miles nearer the centre than the surface at the equator, a proportion being observed in all intermediate places. Objects are therefore found to weigh more heavily in a spring balance as we advance firom the equator to the poles. From the same cause objects fall more rapidly at the poles than at the equator. Pendulums, being similarly affected, swing more actively at the poles than at the equator. For this reason pendnlnms for regulating the motion of clocks require to be adjusted in length according to the distance of the place where they are used from the equator ; because the longer the rod of the pendulum is, it vibrates the slower. A pendulum in Edinburgh would require to be a little longer than one in London, in or^er to vibrate exactly sixty times in a minute. Oravitaiion, as already mentioned, does not act on the mere sur- face of bodies, or according to their bulk, but is exerted in reference to all the particles or atoms individually which compose the mass of a body. In the case of liquids, in which the atoms slightly cohere, the atoms have liberty to spread themselvee over the earth, and to seek the lowest situation for repose. In the case of solids a different operation is observable. In them the particles of matter 183 MATTER AHD MOTIOIT. ^tick eo clospljr toffotber that they are not at liberty to obey the laws of (gravitation individually, but rally, as it were, round a common centre, upon which the force of attraction may be considered to act for the general behoof. This common centre, or point, is scientifl- caiiy called the centre of gravity. This point in bodies always seeks the lowest level, in the same manner that water seeks the lowest level. The centre of gravity in ronnd, square, or other regular shaped bodies, of uniform density in all their parts, is the centre of these bodies. Wl)en a body is shaped irregularly, or when there are two or more bodies connected, the centre of gravity is the point about which they will balance each other. The disposition which the centre of gravity in bodies has to seek the lowest level is the cause of the tumbling or overturning of bodies. Unless the base be made sulHciently broad to prep up the bodies, their heaviest part will fall over. Heavily and highly-loaded coaches and carts frequently over- turn from the raising of their centre of gravity too high, and flrom the base or wheels of the vehicle not being wide enough to support them when any jar occurs. In the various natural structm-es dis- played in the animal and vegetable kingdoms, the centre of gravity is always so situated as to produce a just balance and harmony of parts. Another of the laws of matter relates to its movements. Rest and motion are equally natural to matter, and both alike result from certain circumstances. Thus, for instance, if a cricket-ball be allowed to lie upon the ground, it naturally remains at rest If it be put into motion, it is natural for it to continue in that motion, in a straight line, until stopped by some resisting force. In the case of a cricket-ball driven by a bat, the air, which is another, though rarer kind of matter, presents a certain amount of resisting force. It encounters another obstruction in the friction or rubbing of its body on the ground ; this obstruction being the greater In propor- tion to the roughness or unevenness of the ground. When at length as much force has been exerted in stopping it as was exerted in setting it in motion, it comes to a pause. Being ourselyes placed in circumstances where the forces just described are constantly operating, we cannot well conceive that it is equally natural for a piece of matter to remain in motion as to remain at rest, for, on account of those forces, we always see motion sooner or later brought to a stop. But* when we conceive a mass of solid matter set in motion through a space entirely free of all resisting forces, we readily perceive how natural it is for it to continue in motion, aeebg that, MATTEB AXn MOTIOIT. 183 In inch circnmstancef, an amonnt of obitraction equal to the impalie U not to be fooiu). When a body revolves on a centre, the outer parti of course acquire motion. The tendency of the motion of these parts is, in reality, to go in a straight line. They are only kept within the circle of revolution because they are fixed. If any piece of the revolving body were suddenly detached or let loose, it would be seen to fly off in a straight line, being forced or impelled to do so by the motive power or force already exerted upon it. We may observe this law operating when we whirl a stone round in a sling. The stone is then felt to have an inclination to start away, and if we suddenly let slip the string, it does start away with great speed. For the same reason, when a mop is twirled, we see each of the threads flying straight out, and they only cease to do so when ibe twirling is stopped. Motion thus produced is called centrifUgat (that is, centre- flying) /orc«, m distinction from the power of attrac- tion, which is sometimes called centripetal (centre* seeking) force, lu consequence of centrifugal force, the planets, in wheeling round the sun, have a tendency to fly away into space ; and they would fly away if they were not Ulned in a particular path or orbit by the attractive power. T! rown outwards by one power, and drawn inwards by another, they have settled into paths where the two forces balance each other, so that they can neither go farther from the sun nor come nearer to him than they do. In each case the size of the planet, the rate of its speed, and its distance from the sun are circumstances exactly suiting each other; and were there the least change in one, the rest would need to be changed to preserve the economy of the planet. Were the earth, for instance, made a little larger, and its attraction to the sun thus increased, it would require either to move quicker or to remove to a greater dis- tance, in order to keep from falling into the sun. Or were the dis- tance of the earth from the sun to be lessened, the earth would equally require to move quicker in order to keep itself away from the sun. In fact, the earth is, at one time of the year, a little nearer the sun than at another time, and, when nearer, it does move more quickly, and thus maintains itself in its appointed course. There are many other equally nice arrangements in the planetary system, which show that it must have originated in accordance with fixed laws in nature, and that by these laws it is still sustained. It is supposed that the planets and the sun were originally one soft mass ; and that the planets were portions disengaged from the mass, 184 MATTBR AMD MOTIOIT. which, bj the law of tttraotion, neceiiarllj Mfomed a globoltr ihtpe, and, by the lawi of attraction and motion together, began a circular rovolntion in certain orbit*. The laivi by which theie reiults are auppoied to hate been brought abont appear very simple, for we see them operating in many familiar things on earth; but this apparent simplicity only serves the more expressively to show the greatnesa of that power which created both matter and its laws. All objects connected with moving bodies possess a motion in common with these bodies. Thus, all things on the earth, including the atmosphere, have a motion in common with the earth ; a person driving in a chaise has a motion in common with the chaise ; a per- son in a moving vessel at sea has a motion in common with the vessel. In all cases, the motion which is given to any large body passes also into the smaller bodies abont or connected with it. This participation of motion in all bodies moving in connected masses forms one of the most remarkable phenomeua in nature. In conse- quenoe of it, all ol^ts whateverlieep their proper places in or abont the large moving bodies with which they are in contact, and hence no confbsion arises In the relative situation of objects on the earth ftt>m its motion. For example, when we leap straight upwards from the ground, the earth does not slip away from below ns ; we fall on the spot whenoe we arose. Sitting in the cabin of a moving vessel, if we let a small objeot drop ft'om our hand to the floor, it falls on a point in the floor immediately below ; the floor does not leave it behind. The reason is, that the small objects possess an onward motion which is derived from the larger, and which is retained during their descent. This onward motion remains in the disengaged bodies till they meet some new impression of force — something to stop them. If we attempt to leap from a moving body, such as a coach or boat, we continue to possess the motion which we previously had nntil we reach the earth, when we receive a shock by the destruction of the motion we possessed. If the motion of the vehicle be very quick at the time, it is scarcely possible, in maldng such a leap, to avoid being pitched forward, by the npper part of our bodies retaining the motion which our feet lose on resting on the ground. The motion we possess in common with the earth, and the perfect smoothness of the earth's motion, render ns incapable of feeling onr own motion, or of seeing the earth move along with ns. Also, in driving in a coach, and looking at the road-side, we feel as if it were not the coach which was running bnt the road, which aeema to be moving past US. TUB IHYEMTIOVI Of ARCHIMEOBI. \W Bj the ippllcatlon of a motive or moving force to lolid objeote, ■och M instraroentf, toola, or machineif very wonderful reiiuUi are effected ; aa, for example, when we nee a man oilng a bar or beam to raiie a block of wood or atone, which he could not lift bj hie banda alone. The bar which ia aeed for purpoiee of thlt nature la called a Uver^ from a French word aignifylng to ralie. The object which enpporta the lerer where it presses against the ground is called the prop or Jktkrum, By lengthening the lever betwixt the prop and the handle, we can increase the effect, or the power of lifting to any extent ; but the longer or more powerful we make the lever, the longer time ia occupied In working It. In this manner power is gained by a aacriflce of time, or a loss of quickness ; and if we wish quickness, we must exert the greater force in proportion. Practi- cally, the loss of time is of no importance, because it would often be qnite impossible to raise heavy weights by the united effoits of men's hands, without the aid of some kind of instruments or machines. The purpose of machinery, therefore, is to lesson and aid human labour. At an inconsiderable expense, and with a small degree of trouble in attending to it, a machine may be made to do the work of ten, fifty, or perhaps as many as five hundred men ; and the work 80 simply effected by inanimate mechanism serves to cheapen and extend the comforts and luxuries of life to the great body of the people. The operations of motive forces in connexion with solid bodies form the subject of the science of IIkohakics. — Introduction to Sciencu. THE INVENTIONS OF ARCHIMEDES. It is scarcely possible to view the vast steam-ships of onr day without reflecting that to a great master of mechanics, upwards of 2000 years since, we in part owe the invention of the machine by which these mighty vessels are propelled upon the wide world of waters. This power is an application of ** the Screw of Archimedes," the most celebrated of the Greek geometricians. He was bom in Sicily, in the Corinthian colony of Syracuse, in the year 287 b.c., and, when a very young man, was fortunate enough to enjoy the patron- age of his relative Hiero, the reigning prince of Syracuse. 186 TnE INVBMTinNa or ARCIIIMBDEt. The anolenU tttrlbote to Archimedet more than forty meohanicat inventioDi — among which are the endleaa icrew; the combination of puileye; an hydraulic organ, according to Tertullian; a machine caliod the heiix, or icrew, for iannching ihipe; and a machine oaJied tocuhtt^ which appears to have ooniisted of forty piecci, by the put* ting together of which various objects could be framed, and which was used by boys as a sort of artificial memory. Archimedes is said to have obtAtned the friendship and confidence of Hiero by the following incident. The king had delivered a cer- tain weight of gold to a workman to bis made into a crown. When the crown was made and sent to the king, a suspicion arose in the royal mind that the gold had been adulterated by the alloy of a baser metal, and he applied to Archimedes for his assistance in detecting the imposture : the difficulty was to measure the bulk of the crown without melting It into a regular figure ; for sliver being, weight for weight, of greater bulk than gold, any alloy of the former in place of an equal weight of the latter would necessarily increase the bulk of the crown ; and at that time there was no known means of testing the purity of metal. Archimedes, after many onsuc- cessful attempts, was about to abandon the object altogether, when the following circumstance suggested to his discerning and prepared mind a train of thought which led to the solution of the difflcalty. Stepping Into his bath one day, as waa his custom, his mind doubt- less fixed on the object of his research, he chanced to observe that, the bath being full, a quantity of water of the same bulk aa bia body must flow over before ho could immerse hlmtielf. He probably perceived that any other body of the same bulk would have raised the water equally ; but that another body of the same weight, but less bulky, would not have produced so great an effect In the words of Yitru- vlns, * as 800U as be had hit upon this method of detection, he did not wait a moment, but Jumped Joyfully out of the bath, and run- ning forthwith towards his own house, called out with a loud voice that he had found what he sought. For as be ran he called out, in Greek, Eureka! Eureka! * I have found it out! I have found it out!' When his emotion had sobered down, he proceeded to investigate the subject calmly. He procured two masses of metal, each of equal weight with the crown— one of gold, and the other of silver ; and having filled a vessel very accurately with water, he plunged into it thu silver, and marked the exact quantity of water that overflowed. He then treated the gold In the same manner, and observed that a less quantity of water overflowed than before. He next plonged the crown into the same vessel full of water, and observed that It TUB iKTBirrioNi or aborimkobi. 187 lich diipltcod more o^ tbo fluid than the gold h«d done, and lent than th« Hllver ; by which he Inferred that the crown wu neither pure i;old nor pure ailver, but a mixture of both. Hleru waa so grati- fled with this reault, aa to declare that from that moment he could never refuse to believe anything Archimedes told him. Travelling Into Egypt, and observing the necessity of raising the water of the Nile to points which the river did not reach, as well as the difllculty of clearing the land from the periodical overflow- ings of the Nile, Archimedes Invented fur this purpose the screw which boars his name. It was likewise used as a pump to clear water from the holds of vessels ; and the name of Arcblmedca was held In great veneration by seamen on thu account. The Krew may be briefly described as a long spiral with its lower extremity immersed In the wster, which, rising along the channels by the revo- lution of the machine on its axis, is discharged at the upper extre- mity. When applied to the propulsion of steam-vessels, the screw Is horizontal ; and, being put In motion by a steam engine, drivea the water backwards, when Its reaction, or return, propels the vessel. The mechanical Ingenuity of Archimedes waa next displayed in the various machinea which he constructed for the defence of Syra- cuse during a three years' siege by the Romans. Among these inventions were catapnlts for throwing arrows, and balistie for throwing masses of stone; and iron hands or hooka attached to chains, thrown to catch th« prows of the enemy's vessels, and then overturn them. Ho is likewise stated to have set their vessels on fire by burning-glasses ; this, however, rests upon modern autho- rity, and Archimedes is rather believed to have set the ships on fire by machines for throwing lighted materials. After the storming of Syracuse, Archimedes was killed by a Ro- man soldier, who did not know who ho was. The soldier inquired; but the philosopher, being intent upon a problem, begged that bis diagram might not be disturbed ; apon which the soldier put him to death. To Archimedes is attributed the apothegm : ^' Give me a lever long enongh, and a prop strong enough, and with my own weight I will move the world." This arose from his knowledge of the pos- sible effects of machinery ; but however it might astonish a Greek of his day, it would now be admitted to be as theoretically possible as it is practically impossible. Archimedes wonld have required to move with the velocity of a cannon-ball for millions of ages to alter the position of the earth by the smallest part of an inch. In mathe- matical truth, however, the feat is performed by every man who i8d THE INVENTIONS. OF ARCHIMEDES. leaps from the gronnd ; for he kicks the world awaj when he rises, and attracts it again whon he falls back. Under the soperiutendence of Archimedes was built the renowned Gi^lej for Hiero. It was constracted to half its height, by 300 master workmen and their servants, in six months. Hiero then directed that the vessel shonld be perfected afloat ; but how to get the vast pile into the water the builders knew not, till Archimedes invented his engine called the Helix, by which, with the assistance of very few hands, he drew the ship into the sea, where it was com- pleted inf six months. The ship consumed wood enough to build sixty large galleys ; it had twenty tiers of oars, and three decks ; the middle deck had on each side flfteen dining apartments, besides other chambers, luxuriously furnished, and floors paved with mo- saics of the btory of the Iliad. On the upper deck were gardens with arbours of ivy and vines ; and here was a temple of Venus, paved with agates, and roofed with Cyprus wood; it was richly adorned with pictures and statues, and furnished with couches and drinking vessels. Adjoining was an apartment of box-wood, with a clock in the ceiling, in imitation of the great dial at Syracuse ; and here was a huge bath set with gems called Tauromenites. There were also, on each side of this deck, cabins for the marine soldiers, and twenty stables for horses ; in the forecastle was a fresh- water cistern, which held 258 hogsheads; and near it was a large tank of sea-water, in which fish were kept. From the ship's sides projected ovens, kitchens, mills, and other offices, built upon beams, each supported by a carved image nine feet high. Around the deck were eight wooden towers, from each of which was raised a breastwork full of loopholes, whence an enemy might be annoyed with stones ; each tower being gutrded by four armed soldiers and two archers. On this upper deck was also placed the machine invented by Archimedes to fling stones of 300 pounds* weight, and darts eighteen feet long, to the distance of 120 paces; while each of the three masts had two engines for throwing stones. The ship was fhmished with four anchors of wood, and eight of iron ; and "the Water-Screw" of Archimedes, already mentioned, was used instead of a pump for the vast ship; by the help of which one man might easily and speedily drain out the water, thongh it were very deep. The whole ship's company consisted of an immense multi- tude, there being in the forecastle alone 600 seamen. There were placed on board her 60,000 bushels of corn, 10,000 barrels of salt fish, and 20,000 barrels of flesh, besides the provisions for her company. She was at first called the SyracuBe^ but afterwards the FAMR. 189 Alexandria. The boilder was Arohiu, the Corinthian shipwright. The vessel appears to have been armed for war, and snmptaQusly fitted for a pleasure-yacht, yet was nltimately used to carry com. The timber for the mainmast, after being in vain sought for in Italy, was brought from England. The dimensions are not recorded ; but they must have exceeded those of any ship of the present day : indeed, Hiero, finding that none of the surrounding harbours sufficed to receive his vast ship, loaded it with corn, and presented the vessel with its cargo to Ptolemy, king of Egypt ; and on arriving at Alexandria, it was hauled ashore, and nothing more is recorded respecting it. A most elaborate description of this vast ship has been preserved to us by Athenseus, and translated into English by Bnrchett, in bis " Naval Transactions." Archimedes has been styled the Homer of Geometry ; yet it mnst not be concealed that he fell into the prevailing error of the ancient philosophers — that geometry was degraded by being em- ployed to produce anything nseful. " It was with difficulty," says Lord Macaulay, **■ that he was Induced to stoop from speculation to practice. He was half ashamed of those irventions which were the bonder of hostile nations, and always spoke of them slightingly, as mere amusements, as trifles in which a mathematician might be suffered to relax his mind after an intense application to the higher parts of this science.*' — TniBS. 1 FAME. Ah 1 who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ; Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star. And waged with Fortune an eternal war ; Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar. In life's low vale remote has pined alone. Then dropped into the grave, unpitied and unknown 1 And yet the languor of inglorious days Not equally oppressive is to all ; Him, who ne'er listened to the voice of Praise, The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. 190 SPRINGS AND FOUNTAINS. There arOf who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, Woald shrink to hear the obstreperoas tramp of Fame ; Supremely blest, if to their portion fail Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim. — Beattie. SPRINGS AND FOUNTAINS. The quantity of water evaporated by the agency of heat from the broad surface of seas, lakes, and rivers, is thoaglit to be sufficient to account for the existence of our multitudinous springs. It first hangs suspended in mid*air as invisible vapour : then, by the operation of other wonderful forces of nature, electricity, a lowering of the tem- perature, &c., this floating vapour becomes condensed into the per- ceptible forms of cloud, mist, fog, or into the sterner shapes of snow, hail, and rain. This constant precipitation is undoubtedly propor- tioned to the general amount of evaporation ; and thus the beauti- fully adjusted balance between demand and supply is perfect. In order to account for the force with which natural fountains break forth and claim the name of springs, it must be remembered that if the water condensed on the surface of lofty regions find its way through a porous soil, it may filter downward to a great depth, until it meets with some opposing barrier of impenetrable hardness. The pressure from above now becomes irresistibly great ; and the water at length forces for itself a way of escape, bounding out to the surface as a sparkling and living spring. There is one beautiful phenomenon which may here be alluded to — the " Fountain Tree " of Ferro, the most westerly of the Canary Islands. This particular island is entirely destitute of springs, and, therefore. Nature is taught by the kind Creator to supply the fatal deficiency by means of a remarkable tree which grows in a fissure of the rocks. A moisture-laden cloud is often seen hovering above the branches; these attract the vapours; they are distilled into drops, &nd a little series of sparkling runlets falls off from the points of the long, straight, evergreen leaves. The natives of the island constantly resort to this graceful natural fountain, just as the in- habitants of other lands flock to the springs with their empty urns, pitchers, and pails. BPRINOS AND FOUNTAINS. 191 And DOW for ma I's share in the work. A hidden force of water has been pressing downward from a great height. It has encoun- tered an oppositlou of more than common sternness. Man comes and bores a way down into the natural reservoir, and the emanci- pated stream quiclcly rises to the surface as a sober, steady ire//, or, impelled by the intense pressure from the heights, gushes eagerly forth as a leaping and glistening /oun torn. It Is with this last divi- sion of our subject that we have now to deal. Men are only too glad to receive this bountiful gift from the heart of the hills, whether the fountain be one of Nature's own forming, or whether artificial aid has intervened ; and various have been the contrivances both for its reception and for its guidance into the right channel. The acting principle is the same in all, that water^ /lowing from a superior htiyht through a confined channel, always seeks its own level. The ancient Romans were not ignorant of this universal principle, which they applied to the supply of their cities with water; but they overlaid it with a cumbrous machinery, which shows that any engineer of our numerous water companies might have given the most slcilful of these masters of the world an instructive lesson in hydrostatics. He would have told them that the magnificent and costly aqueduct which they were laboriously leading from the burst- ing urn of some fabled Naiad in the distant ravine of the purple hills was wholly unneeded, and that he could lay down such arteries beneath the ** scarf-skin " of their plains as would make an abound- ing stream overflow the long ranges of their mosaic-paved public baths, fill every private bath in their thousand marble homes, and leap out in the sculptured fountains which often adorned the central court in their houses. That the Romans had some small foretaste of the system of conveying water by pipes is proved amid the ruins of Pompeii, where a considerable number of leaden pipes has been found, while the almost perfect remains of some of their public fountains, and even the frescoed designs upon the walls, show that the principle of the ascending tendency of water, when flowing from a higher source, was not wholly unknown to these luxurious citizens of Magna GrsBcia. Bronze figures have been disinterred from the buried city, which had evidently taken their part in spouting water from the ornamental fountains. In Rome there was an ofiScer of high rank who was appointed to superintend the supply of water ; and the citizens appear to have paid a high price for the privilege of having it conveyed into their houses. Agrippa is recorded to have presented to his city t05 fountains in a single year, besides 70 ponds of water, and 130 reservoirs. Even the provinces, which r-im 192 SPBIVOS AND rOUNTAINI. were remote from the capital, were endowed with splendid aqnedocti and their attendant Inxaries of baths and fountains ; for it was the wise policy of Rome to insure the willing submission of her pros- trate conquests by making the people sharers in the benefits of her own more advanced civilisation. Many of the beautiful cities of Greece were sparkling with fountains. At Oorinth, a statue of Pegasus was perpetually bathing its light feet in a flow of water ; and a bronze Neptune, seated on the scaly back of a dolphin, super- intended a gushing fountain which spouted from the creature's mouth. This paper may be closed by a reference to a brilliant illustration of the universal law by which water struggles to attain its own level. A great aqueduct has been made to convey a whole river of water into the city of New York. This river, the Groton, called by the Indians '^ The Clear Water," is dammed up at its source, forty miles from the city, and forms there a vast reservoir amid its native hills and woods. A great water-course, built of squared stones, and mounted on piers of stone-work, traverses these forty interven- ing miles, now striding boldly across a valley, now penetrating a hill, and again stepping bravely over a river. The channel is covered over throughout its adventurous course, and it pours **a mile and a half of fine water" into New York every hotir. This is truly a Roman>like work; but now for the impromptu fountain. Just where the aqueduct steps across a valley, the engineer per- forated the water-course by making an opening of about seven inches in diameter ; and instantly there leaped up toward the sky a magnificent column of water, 115 feet high, forming, perhaps, the very grandest jet cteau (water-spout) which has ever been beheld. The pillar of water spread itself out like a tree waved by the winds, and shivered itself into a thousand leaflets of diamond spray, shak- ing its glittering boughs amongst the quiet woods and the sleeping hills. '^Leisure Hour, \