-^-. •-"^"^•ifl*^ £ ^ \' TO THE TEACHER. O'er wayward childhood wouldst thou hold firm rule', And sun thee in the light of happy faces', Love', Hope', and Patience'," these must be thy graces'; And in thine own heart' let them first keep school'. For as old Atlas on his broad neck places Heaven's starry globe', and there sustains it', so Do these upbear the little world below Of education' — Patience', Love', and Hope'. Methinks I see them group'd in seemly show', The straiten'd arms upraised', the palms aslope', And robes that touching as adown they flow, Distinctly' blend', like snow emboss'd in snow'. Oh part them never' ! If Hope prostrate lie'. Love too will sink and die'. But Love is subtle', and doth proof derive From her own life' that Hope is j'ct alive' ; And bending o'er', with soul-transftising eyes', And the soft murmurs of the mother dove', Woos back the fleeting spirit', and half supplies' ; Thus Love repays to Hope' what Hope first gave to Love\ Yet haply there will come a weary day. When, overtask'd at length. Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way'. Then with a statue's smile', a statue's strength', Stands the mute sister, Patience', nothing loth', And both supporting', does the work of both'. Coleridge. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-one, by HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Clerk' ^^ Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. PREFACE. The Fifth Reader of the " School and Family Series" more fully devel- ops the plan of the author than the preceding numbers. While we have aimed to compile a series of books in every respect adapted to give all needed instruction in the art of reading, we have also endeavored to make rhem the medium of conveying, in as interesting a form as possible, a large amount of useful knowledge ; and it is with a great degree of confidence that all practical educators will acknowledge the possibility of harmonizing these two objects in a reading-book for schools, that the present volume is submitted to them. What better reading-\ciis,ow?, could be given than the numerous poetical extracts which are used to illustrate the lessons in Bot- any, where we find such gems as '" The Moss Rose" (p. 150) ; Roscoe's ad- dress to "The Camellia" (p. 15-t); Leigh Hunt's "Chorus of Flowers" (p. 157) ; Mrs. Southey's "Night-blooming Cereus," or "Unpretending Worth" (p. 159j; Dickens's "Ivy Green" (p. 1G3); Emerson's "Rhodora"(p. 171); Mary Hewitt's "Corn-fields" (p. 194); that fine moral story of "The Fern and the Moss," by Eliza Cook (p. 201); and Longfellow's tribute to the " Drifting Sea-weed" (p. 210)? And why should not Holmes's beauti- ful description of " The Living Temple" (see p. 85) be both a more useful and a more interesting reading exercise when appropriate!}' made a lesson in Physiology than when read as an isolated piece, dissevered from its natural connections ? And where can be found better reading exercises than such as we have used to illustrate and give interest to Physical Ge- ography, among which are found Mrs. Sigourney's description of "The Coral Insect" (p. 371) ; Bryant's description of mountain scenery, and of "The Prairies" (p. 372, 379); Willis Gaylord Clark's address to "The Alps" (p. 375); Prentice's "Mammoth Cave" (p. 384); Coleridge's "Val- ley of Chamouni" (p. 388) ; Proctor's, and Percival's, and Byron's descrip- tions of "The Ocean" (p. 394-7); and the several descriptions given of the "Falls of Niagara" (p. 405-7)? Such selections, every one must ad- mit, are far more interesting and instructive when they are used to illus- trate, and are themselves illustrated by, important facts and principles in science, than when they appear in miscellaneous collections merely as " Orient pearls at random strung.'' It is only when the subjects to which they refer are understood that such pieces are duly appreciated. As variety, within the limits of good style, and embracing. both prose and poetry, is correctly considered an essential requisite of a good reading-book for advanced pupils, we may justly urge that the plan of the present work has peculiar advantages in this respect; for not only do the illustrative se- lections to which we have alluded give great variety to the scientific divi- sions, but each ot these departments of knowledge lias a literature of its own ; each has its peculiar words, and i forms of expression, as well as its principles, with which not only ever scholar, but every general reader IV PREFACE. # should ho. familiar, but none of which would be presented in a miscellaneous reading-book that should omit all notice of tlie subjects themselves. But, to meet all possible demands for suitable variety, we have given "Miscella- neous Divisions" also, and in these have endeavored to make good what- ever may be wanting in the more scientific portions. In Part I. we have given a pretty full elucidation of some of the higher principles of elocution, with abundant examples for illustration ; and in Part XI. we have made such a selection of reading-lessons, in great part poetical, as will present, in chronological order, the outlines of Ancient History. Of the amount of useful knowledge which the plan adopted in these reading-books is calculated to impart, we need only remark that we have aimed to present the leading truths of science in a form as attractive as possible, and have therefore avoided the dry details and technicalities which would have been required in a complete scientific text-book. Our object has been to present a pleasing introduction to science rather than to give any thing like a full exposition of any one department. The gi'cat mass of pupils in our schools know nothing whatever of many of the subjects here treated, nor is there any possibility of their becoming acquainted with them by any other method than by the one here adopted. It is thought, if all the pupils in our schools should acquire some knowledge of these sub- jects while attending to their ordinary reading-lessons, and become inter- ested in the wonderful truths with which they abound, they will, in most instances, be stimulated to seek a farther acquaintance with them, and that ^he foundations may thus be laid for a wider dissemination of scientific knowledge, and a higher degree of popular education than has hitherto been thought attainable. We might refer to the Natural History illustrations in the present volume as surpassing any thing of the kind ever before published in this country; but while their beauty — for which we are indebted to the ])cncil of a Par- sons — Avill be acknowledged by all, it is their vlilitij, as objects of interest and instruction to pupils, to which we would more particularly call atten- tion ; for not only does an accurate and striking illusti-ation of an object often give a more correct idea of it than pages of description, but so mpps it upon the memory that, by the most interesting of all associations, the very description itself is indelibly pictured there. The admirable system of yohjcct teaching," whose principles should be earned throughout the entire educational course of every individual, could scarcely receive better aids than those furnished in the illustrations here given. For valuable aid in several of the scientific divisions of the present work, it affords me pleasure here, as in the preceding volume, to acknowledge my indebtedness to Prof. N. B. Webster, of Virginia ; and while doing this I would take occasion to express the hope that, however much the citizens df different states and sections may differ in their political views, in the sacred cause of science and popular education they may ever be united. M. WiLLSON, New Yoek, May 15th, 1861. CONTENTS. [ExPLANATOKV. — Those lessons desiguated by italics^ or the authors of whicli, in whoit or in part, are so designated, are poetical selections ; the names of authors in small capi- tals denote prose selections; and those marked "Adapted" are occasionally original, but mostly adapted or compiled from various sources.] PART I. ELOCUTIONARY. Page I. Inflections ; Elementary Rules 11 II. Higher Piinciples of Elocution IS Lessoa FIRST MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. I. Green River Bryant. 43 II. The best Kind of Reveng3 Cuambers. 44 III. A viodeat Wit Anoni/mom. 46 IV. The Eloquence of Action Webster. 47 V. Use plain Language Ea Eeuyeee. 43 VI. The Three Black Croivs B/irom. 4S VII. What is a Gentleman ? G. W. Doane. 40 VIII. What is 'Time ? Marsden. 50 PART II. HERPETOLOGY, or the NATURAL HISTORY OF REPTILES. I. Introductory View Adapted. 51 n. A Letter about the Chelonians, or Turtles Adapted. 54 III. A second Letter about Turtles Adapted. 57 IV. A Letter about the Saurians Goodeiou ; Adapted. Gl V. The Crocodile and the Ichneumon Mrs. J. L. Graii. 67 VI. A Letter about the Ophidians Virgil; Southey; Adapted. 63 VII. A Letter about the ,\mphibians Adapted. 72 SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. I. To a Girl in her Thirteenth Year Sidney Walker. 75 II. The Love of Country Geimkb. 7(5 III. A noble Revenge Thomas de Quinoev. 77 rV. Hamlers Soliloquy Shaksi)eare. 78 V. The FoUy of Castle-building Addison. 79 VI. The Stranger and his Friend Montgomery. SO Vll. Scene between Brutus and Cassius Shakspeare. S3 PART III. SECOND DIVaSION OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. I. The Window of the Soul- Adapted. 83 Our Sight the most delightful of all oiir Senses Addison. 84 II. The Livinj Temple Oliver Weitdell Holmes. 85 III. The Brain: the Nerves of Voluntary Motion and the Nerves of Feeling. Adapted. 87 IV. Other Forms of Nervous Action Adapted. 93 V. Spirit, the Motive Power of the Body Laednee. 96 VI. Various Phenomena of the Nervous System Ailapted. 98 1. What is necessary to Sensation and Voluntary Motion 98 2. Nei-vous Paralysis 99 3. No Feeling in the Nerves of Motion, in the Brain, or in the Heart 100 4 The Reunion and Healing of severed Nerves 101 VII. Intemperance the Prime Minister of Death Anonymous. 102 VII I. iyooA; not upon the Wine .V. P. Willis. 103 IX. The Water-drinker E. Johnson. 104 X. How the Mind speaks through the Nerves and Muscles Adapted. 105 XI. The Language of theCountenance. .. .Kw.w; Shakspeare; Spen-fer; Adapted. 107 XII. Uses of .\natomy and I'hysiology to the Painti^r SiE Charles Bell. Ill XIII. Marvels of Human Caloric Eclectio Review. 112 XIV. Lines on a Skeleton London MorninR. 133 III. The Fawilij Meeting Charles Sxrrague. 135 IV. Tact and Talent London Atlas. 136 V. Rain upon tlie Roof Arumynujus. 133 VI. Good Advice Anonymous. 139 VII. True Knowledge Bishop Mast. 139 PART IV. SECOND DIVISION OF BOTANY. I. The Study of Botany Crabbe. Adapted. 140 n. Clas.-jification of Plants Milton. Adapted. 141 in. Natural Method of Classification Adapted. 143 The Floral Kingdom Thmnson. 145 May Flmcers Barrington. 146 FIRST DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM : EXOGENS. IV. The Rose Family Cowley ; Carey, and others.^ Adapted. 147 To the Rose Mrs. Uemans. 147 The Feast of Roses Moore. 149 The Moss Rose From the German. 159 V. Our Common Fruits Thomson; Moore; Virgil; li'ordsworth. Adapted. 151 To the A Vmond Blossovi Edwin A mold. 153 VI. Camellia, Mallow, and Citron Families Goethe. Adapted. 154 To the Camfllia W. Ro^coe. 155 Vn. rjmrus of Flo->cers Leigh Hunt. 157 VIII. The C.ictus Family Adapted. 15S Cactus Blossovi Mrs. Sigoumeij. 153 Sight-Blooming Vereiui A nonymous. 159 Unpretending Worth Mrs. Southey. 159 IX Leguminousand L'mbelliferous Plants.. S/i«iie?/; Z^arwi'n; Prior. Adapted. 161 The Ivy Green Charles Dickens. 163 X. The Composite, or Sunflower Family Moore; Camjjbell. Adapted. 164 The Marigold A noity incus. 165 The Daisy Wordsworth ; John Sfason Good. 166 The Thistle-jlowcr Twamley. 167 XI. Jessamine, Honeysuckle, and Heath Families. . .jSco^?; Landon. Adapted. 168 The Jasmine Cowper ; Moore. 163 The Rhodora , R. W. Emerson. 171 The Psychology of Flowers Hunt's Poetry of Science. 171 XII. Labiate and Trumpet-flower Families Adapted. 172 Xin. Forest Trees Washington Irving. 173 XIV. The Oak FamUy Adapted. 174 Selections from Co;*;;'*''' • Scott; Southey; Morris; Longfellow; Shak- spearc; Cawphell, and others. XV. The Oak and the Nobleman Washington Irving. 173 XVI. The Elm, Willow, and Birch Families Adapted. 173 Selections from Homer ; Ovid ; Cowper ; jV. i'. Dodge ; Byron ; Sci}tt. Hiaicatha's Canne LonnfcUow. 183 XVn. TheCone-bearing, or Pine Faniil}-. rir^7,'J/uod; P(t»j>on<; Z)//ron. Adapted. 183 X VIIL To a Pine-tree James Russell Lowell. 185 SECOND DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM : ENDOGENS. XIX The Iris, LUy, and Palm Families Ticamley; Thomson; Montnomeni. Adapted. 186 XX. Sedges and Grasses Adapted. 190 The Voice of the Grass Sarah Roberts. 193 The Harvest Moon Henry Kirke VThite. 194 Corn-fields Mary Hoiritt 104 XXI. Of the Hidden U.-)es of Plants }f. F.Tupper. 195 CONTENTS. VU Lesson THIRD DIVISION : CRYPTOGAMOUS PLANTS. Page XXII. Ferns, Liverworts, and Mosses (.Vcrogens) if. Scott. Adapted. 196 XXIII. The Mosses (Acrogens) Akensidc; Thomson. Adapted. 199 The Lovebi Mo^s Miss M. A. Browue. 199 The Moss in the Desert Mungo Pare. 200 XXIV. The Fern and the J/o.-,.s Eliza Cook. 201 XXV. Lichens (Thallogens) Campbell; Darwin; Maiy Howitt. Adapted. 2(i2 XXVI. Fungi, or Fungous Plants (Thallogens) Adapted. 206 XXVIL Alg», or Sea-weeds (ThaUogens) Charlotte Smith. Adapted. 209 The Driftiwj S/a-iccca Lonn/elloic. 210 The Sea-wort M. F. fvjiper. 211 The Sea-weed C. G. Fenner. 211 XXVIIL Domestic Flower Culture Chambeks' Miscellany. 213 FOURTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. L Eva Culwer Lytton. 21.5 n. Gil Bias and the Archbishop Le Sage. 216 IIL The Bells I- cigar A . I'oe. 219 IV. Speakiwi and Doing luUeid. 221 V. Kesistance to British Oppression Patrick Heney. 222 VL The American Indians Speagce. 222 PART V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR THE XATFRAL HISTORY OF FISHES. I. Nature, of the Study Si^enser ; Milton. Adapted. 223 XL The Physiology of Fishes (Agassiz's Arrangement) Adapted. 225 FIRST CLASS: SPINE-RAYED BONY FISHES. in. The Perch Family A^isonius; Juvena' ; Horace. Adapted. 228 IV. Other Families of the Spine-rayed Fishes. .Esgi.isu ^IAGAZINE ; Dr. 11am- iLTO.v ; Sojjhoclcs ; Oppian Adapted. 232 V. The Spiue-rayed Fishes — continued. .0/jpian,' Captain Richards ; Mont- gomery; Sw.viNsON Adapted. 23T SECOND CLASS : SOFT-RAYED BONY FISHES. VI. Soft-rayed Bony Fishes with Abdominal Ventral Fins : Carp, Pike, and Cat- fish Families. .J/oore ; Wordsworth ; Montgomeni.,a.nA olhera. Ad.npted. 242 VIL To the Fhjing-iish ' Mm.re. 24T VIH. Fishes with Abdominal Ventral Fins (continued): Salmon, and Trout, and Herring, and Pilchard Families Adapted. 248 IX. The Svb-braehial soft-rayed Bony Fishes Adapted. 251 1. The Cod Family. A Charade on Cod Adapted. 252 2. Family of the Flat-fijh . .Yarrell; Swalnson; Juvenal. Adapted. 253 3. The Salt-water Suckers Adapted. 254 X. Tlie A2)odal Soft-rayed Bony Fishes Yarket.i,. Adapted. '256 XI. Fishes with Tufted (;ills Adapted. 253 Fishes with Soldered Jaws Adapted. 258 THIRD CLASS : CARTILAGINOUS FISHES. Xn. The Shark Family L. E. Mccleati ; Ccviee; Sooresby. Adapted. 260 XUI. Sturgeon, Chimjera, Ray, and Lamprey Families Adapted. 204 Concluding Remarks 267 XTV. The Aquaria, or Drawing-room Fish-ponds Adapted. 263 FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. L The Glory of the Tniaaination Wordstcorth. 272 IL Shyloek : a'Scene of Contending Passions Sh-ivkspeare. 273 ni. Shyloek and the Merchant : the Trial Srene Shaksjirare. 274 IV. Character of Portia, as displayed in the Trial Scene JlRS. Ja.meson. 273 V. The Philosopher's Scales Jane Taylor. 2S0 PART VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTURE. I. Grecian and Roman Architecture Adapted. 2S3 II. Athenian Architecture during the Age of Pericles EuL wer. 2S5 HI. F.uins of the C'oUst'um at Rome Adapted. 287 liuinx of the Colifcum Ilyron. 2S7 IV. Gothic .Architecture Adapted. 287 VUl CONTENTS. Lesson Pa?e Castlea and Abbeys of Feudal Times. Warlon : W.vi. I^hattie ; W. f^cott. 'JST V. Of thu Useful in Archiluclure A. J. 1>owning. 'i'X.i YI. ( )f Kxpression in Civil or I'ublic Architecture Litkeakv Woulp. 2'J5 YII. Uf Expreaaion in Domestic Arcliitecturu A. J. DowNi>«. 200 VIII. 'I'lic I'oi try of Cottage Architecture Loudon's Magazine. 29S IX. riie Slii'2>lii;-d'!i Cottatje Charlotte !iinitli. 3i)0 X. Uf Trutlifulne.--.i in Architecture A. J. Downing. 302 XI. Mouuincnts of the liurial-ground J. A. I'lcroN. 303 XII. The Architecture of .Nature Adapted. 305 (j'od'a Fii-.-it Tcwples lUijant. 306 The Parthenon of AtheiiA Mrs. Ileiiumn. 308 SIXTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. I. Indimi Suvwicr -Vrs. Sigoumey. 309 II. Forgivenesa of Injuries Blaie. 310 III. I'as^ing A way Pierpont. 311 IV. The Dream of the Two Hoada Jean Paul PacniEB. 312 V. Thaiuitopbia; or, Reflections on Death liryant. 31-t VL The Village Clacksnlith Lonnfellow. 315 PART VII. SECOND DIVISION OF NATUP^L PmLOSOPIir. I. The Library: Introductory Adapted. 317 II. Hydrostatics, or Liquids in a State of Rest Adapted. 319 III. Hydrostatics (continued) Adapted. 323 IV. Floating Bodies ; Specific Gravity .Adapted. 327 Archime'des and the Crown Ror.EKT C. Wintheop. 330 V. Hydraulics : the Excursion Adapted. 331 Song of the Brook Tennyson. 331 The Bucket Woodicorth. 334 The Cataract of Lodm-e Southe;/. 337 VL Pneumatics : Galileo and Torricelli Adapted. 340 Practical Value of the Barometer De. Aknoct. 343 ^^I. Atmospheric Slachini's Daririn ; Adapted. 347 Tlie Lost Kite A noni/mous. 351 A Riddle Anoni/mous. 352 VIIL The Steam-engine Adapted. .853 The Steam-engine Saxe ; Ix)ed Jeffeey ; De. Aenott. 355 The Song of steam 0. \V. Cutler. 356 SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. I. Blessings on Children IP. G. Simm.'i. 357 II. The Saracen Brothers Seir Monthly Magazine. 359 III. Our Country and our Home James Montgomery. 363 IV. The Gipsy Fortune-teller Anonijmoiis. 363 V. Success alone seal L. E. Maclean. 364 PART VIII. FIRST DIVISION OF PHYSICAL GEOGPuiPHY. I. General Description Adixpted. 365 IL Contintuts and Islands Adapted. 367 III. Coral Islands and Reefs Percival; Adapted. 369 IX. The Coral Insect Mr.-i. Sigounwy. 371 V. Mountains Howitt ; GurOT ; Hitmboldt; Adapteil. ."72 Miiuiitain Scenery Bnrint. 372 The Alps ' Willis Gntilord Clark. 375 VI. Table-lands, Plains, and VallcTs Adapted. 376 "\ai. The Prairies '. Bryant 379 VIII. Caves and Grottoes of the Old "World Goldsmith; W.Scott; Adapted. 3S0 IX. Caves in the United States Adapted. 3S3 X. 7'he Mammoth Cave George D. Prentice. 3S4 XI. Avalanches and Glaciers Adapted. 3S6 Hymn before Sunrise in the Vallcii of Chamouni Coleridqc. 3S3 Xn. The Cottage oftheEilU '. A nonmnous. 3S9 XIII. Volcanoes and Earthquakes De. HiTcncocK ; Adapted. 390 Destniction of Sciilhi in 17S3 1 nomimous. 393 XIV. The Ocean : its Moral Grandeur Adapted. 393 The Ocean Dr»an W. Proctor. 394 CONTENTS. IX Lesson Page XV. The Ocean : its Physical Aspects /ohnWilson; Adapted. 3'J5 XVI. Ship among the Icebtrgs \nonymous. 396 XVII. The Depths of Ocean .1 Dbummond. 396 The Ocean Depths Percival. 397 X VIIL The Ocean Waves Adapted. 39T '■^Roll OH, thou dee2) and dark blue ocean" Byron. 397 To a dying Wave Anonymous. 398 XIX. Tides and Currents Mes. S05iekvtli.e ; Lieut. Mauev; Adapted. 399 XX. Lakes Adapted. 401 To Seneca Lake Percival. 402 XXI. Springs and Rivers Adapted. 402 XXII. Cataracts Adapted. 404 The Falls of Niagara Greenwood ; Howison. 405 XXTTT , A Vision's Spell; }\iagara Anonymous. 407 EIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. I. The Wayxide Spnng Thomas Buchanan Read. 403 II. The Headstone John Wilson (Cueistopheb Nokth). 409 III. 1. The Seanons of Life ; Souihey. 2. Small Things. 3. How we should live. 4. To my Son 413 IV. The Stream of Life Heueb. 414 PART IX. FIRST DIVISION OF CHEMISTRY. I. Introductory View Adapted. 415 II. First Principles : Ultimate Atoms .. Kennedy ; Shakspeare; Hunt. Adapted. 416 in. The Man and the A torn Charles Mackay. 413 IV. Chemical Agents : Heat — Light Adapted. 419 To the Sunbeam Mrs. Hemans. 421 Dream of Darkru'ss Byron. 421 V. Chemical Agents (continued) : Electricity Adapted. 422 VL The Electric Telegraph Adapted. 424 The Electric Telegrajih Anonymous. 424 VII. Chemical Affinities Adapted. 425 VIII. Leading Characteristics of the four principal Elements : Oxygen, Hydrogen, Carbon, Nitrogen Adapted. 426 IX. Chemical Knowledge and the Useful Arts. Sulphur and Chlorine. Adapted. 429 X. The principal Metals : Gold, S:ilveT,lioa.. Burns; Homer ; Ctitler. Adapted. 430 "■Gold! Gold! Gold!" Hood. 480 The Silver Bird's-ne^t H. F. Gould. 431 XL Acids, Allialies, and Salts Adapted. 433 Easy Le.-ison in Chemistry Anonymotis. 434 XII. The Chemistry of a Candle Dickens' Household Words. 435 XIII. The Poetic Realities of Nature Hunt's Poetry of Science. 442 XIV. The Extent of Chemical Action Robeet Hunt. 444 NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. L Elegy loritten in a Country Church-yard (with 32 Illustrations) . Thomas Gray. 445 IL The Razor-seller John Wolcott (.Peter Pindar). 456 PART X. FIRST DI%aSION OF GEOLOGY. I. Introductory : The Creation Adapted. 457 II. Raphael's Account of the Creation Milton. 458 III. Character of the Geological History of the Earth Ltell; Shakspeai-e. Adapted. 459 IV. The Primary Period of the Earth's History Hugh Millee. Adapted. 462 The Scencrii of the Primary Period T/icmns A ird. 4C3 V. The Transition Period Adapted. 464 Geological History of the Nautilus Mr^. Howitt. 465 VI. The Secohdarv Period De. Buceland; Hugh Miller. Adapted. 466 Vn. The Tertiary Period Horace Smith. Adapted. 469 Song of the Dinotherium Aiumymous. 471 VIII. The Jlodern Geological Period Adapted. 472 IX. Retrospective View of Geology Mantell. 473 X. A Visit to the Country of the Iguanodon Mantell. 474 XT. The Vision of Moses Hugh Miller. 476 XIL Geological Agencies now in operation Adapted. 479 A 2 X CONTENTS. LeflsOD Page XIII. Coral Islands Monfuomerji. 481 XIV. Geological Monuments Sib HuMPiniKT IJavy. 482 XV. Mineralogy, the Alphabet of Geology. Simple Minerals Adapted. 4SH XVI. Compound Minerals Adapted. 4Sn Gcoloriiciil Cooker !i ATVonymous. 480 XVII. Brief K.vtracts IIebscuei. ; Paukinson ; Mantell. 487 XVIII. Concluding Keniarki Fioni Manteli.'s Wonders of Geology. 48S TENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. I. The Raven F.dgar A. Poe. 48D II. The Dignity of Work Thomas Caeltle. 492 III. The Duty of Labor Uewey. 492 IV. Work A way Anonymous. 49.3 V. Never Despair Anonymous. 4!'5 VI. God is Every ivhere Aruinvmous. 495 Paternal Affection Walter Scott. 496 PART XI. ANCIENT HISTORY PRIOR TO THE CHRISTIAN ERA. I. Early Grecian History Adapted. 497 II. Grecian Mythology Wordmmrth. 498 III. The Persian Wars : Battle of Thermopylse Adapted. 499 rv. Address of Leonidas to the Spartans Richard Glover. 601 V. The Spartans nobly kept their Oath Geo. W. Doane. 501 VI. The Glory of their Fall Dyrov. 5ii2 VII. Battle of l^aramia, and Flight of Xerxes Adapted. 5' 2 Description of the Datlle of Sal'amis jEschylus. 502 The Flight of Xerxes Mrs. Je%esbury. 504 VIII. Battle of Platse'a ; End of the Persian Wars Bui-wer. 505 IX. The Era of Grecian Eloquence and Literature .Adapted. 508 The Political Demagogue Aristojihanes. 509 X. The Olympian Games : Chariot-race., and Death of Orestes Sojihocles. 510 XI. The latter Days of Grecian History Adapted. 511 XII. Early Koman History Adapted. 512 XIII. The Story of Horatins Macanlay. 513 XIV. Patrician and Plebeian Contests Adapted. 516 XV. The Story of Virginia Macaulay. 517 XVI. The Carthaginian Wars Adapted. 520 XVII. RegvXus before the Senate Dale. 521 XVIIL The Downfall of Carthage Adapted. 522 XIX. Address of Hannibal to his Army 523 XX. Continuation of Roman History Adapted. 524 Maritis seated on the Ruins of Carthage Mrs. Child. 524 XXI. Roman Gladiatorial Combats Adapted. 525 The Dying Gladiator Baron. 525 XXn. The Revolt of Spartacus Adapted. 526 Speech of Spartacus to the Gladiators I'. Kellogg. 527 XXHL The Conspiracy of Catiline Adapted. 528 Bamsliment of Catiline Croly. 528 XXIV. Wars of Cresar and Pompey : Death of Cato Adapted. 531 Cato's Soliloqwi A ddison. 531 XXV. Th? Death of Coesar Adapted. 532 Brutus and Mark Antony on the Death of C cBsar tn the face of the waters. ^ Note. — But when strong emphasis, with the falling inflection, comes near the close of a sentence, the voice often takes the rising inflection at the close. Examples. — If William does not come, I think Joh.r\> -will be here'. — If he should come, what^ would you do' ? Casbius. What night is this ? Casca. a very pleasing night to honesf^ men'. Proceed^, I am attentive'. This is the course rather of our enemies, than of friends'' of our country's liberty.' If the witness does not believe in (jod, or a future state, you can not sicear^ him'. Rule V. — Words and clauses connected by the disjunctive or, generally require the rising inflection before the disjunctive, and the falling after it. Where several words are thus connected hi the same clause, the rising inflec- tion is given to all except the last. Examples. — Will you go' or stay' ? I will go\ — Will you go in the buggy', or the car- riage', or the cars', or the coach' ? I will go in tlie cars'. He may study law', or medicine', or divinity' ; or', he may enter into trade\ The baptism of John, was it from heaven', or of men' ? 14 willson's fifth reader. Tart I. Did he travel for health', or for pleasure' ? Did he rcpcmble hiri father', or his mother' ? Note I. — When the disjunctive or is made emphatic, with the falling inflection, it is followed by the rising inflection, in accordance with the note to Rule IV.; as, "He must have traveled for health, or' pleas- ure'." Examples.— He must either luorK'^ or^ study'. — He must be a mechanic, or^ a lawyer'. — He must get his living in one way, or^ the other'. Note II. — When or is used conjunctively, as no contrast is denoted by it, it requires the rising inflection after as well as before it, except when the clause or sentence expresses a completion of the sense. Example. — Did he give you money', or food', or clothing' ? No\ he gave me nothing^ Rule VI. — 'When negation is opposed to affirmation, the former takes the rising and the latter the falling inflection, in whatever order they occur. Comparison and contrast (antithesis) come under the same head. Examples. — I did not hrar him', I saic him'. — I said he was a good soldier', not' a good citizen'. — He ^vill not come to-day', but to-mori'ow'. — He did not call me', but you'. — He means dutiful', not undutiful'. — I come to burtj Caesar', not to jj/ai'se him'. This is no time for a tribunal of justice', but for showing mercy" ; not for accusation', but for philanthropy' ; not for trial', but for pardon' ; not for sentence and execution', but for compassion and kindness'. Ciyni2Mri,son and Contrast. — Homer was the greater genius', Virgil the better artist'; in the one we most admire the man', in the other the work'.— There were tyrants"at home', and robbers abroad'. By honor' and dishonor' ; by evil report' and good report' ; as deceivers', and yet true' ; as unknown', and yet well known' ; as dying', and behold we live' ; as chastened', and not killed' ; as sorrowful', yet always rejoicing' ; as poor', yet making many rich' ; aa having nothing', yet possessing all things'. Wlien our vices leave us', we flatter our.-elves we leave them^. The prodigal robs his Iieir', the miser robs himself '. Note I. — Negative sentences which imply a continuance of thought, al- though they may not be opposed to affirmation, frequently close with the rising inflection ; as, True politeness is not a mere compliance with arbitrary custom'. Do not suppose that I would deceive you'. The?e things do not make your ijovernment' . This is nearly allied in character to Rule IX. ; and such examples as those under Note I. may be considered as expressive of tender emotion, in opposition to strong emotion. Affirmative sentences similar to the fore- going require the rising inflection, in accordance with Rule IX., when they express tender emotion ; as, I trust you will hear me'. I am sure you are mistaken'. But, sir, the poor must not starve' ; they must be taken care of. Note II. — When, in contrasted sentences, negation is attended with deep and calm feeling, it requires the falling inflection. Example. — We are perplexed', but not in despair' ; persecuted', but not forsaken'. Rule VII. — For the sake of variety and harmony, the last pause hut one in a sentence is usually preceded by the rising inflection. Examples. — The minor longs to be of age' ; then to be a man of business' ; then to ar. rive at honors' ; then to retire'. Time taxes our health', our limbs', our faculties', our strength', and our feature'. Note. — The foregoing rule is sometimes departed from in the case of an emphatic succession of particulars, for which, see Rule VIII. Part 1. ELOCUTIONARY. 15 In the second preceding example, the rising inflection is given to the words health, limbs, faculties, and strength, both because they are not attend- ed with strong emphasis, and because they are followed by the panse of sus- pension, in which the mind anticipates a continuation of the sentence. Rule VIII. — 1st. A Commendnr/ Series. In an emphatic series of particulars, where the series begins the sentence, but does not either end it or form complete sense, every particular except the last should have the falling inflection. Example. — Our disordered hearts', our guilty passions^ our violent prejudices^ and misplaced desires', are the instruments of the trouble which we endure. 2c?. A Concluding Series. When the series ends the sentence, or forms complete sense, every par- ticnlar in the series, except the last hut one, should have the falling inflec- tion ; and, indeed, all should have it, if the closing member of the series is of suflScient length to admit a pause with the rising inflection, before the end. ExA.MPLE. — Charity ?uffereth long', and is kind' ; charity envieth not' ; charity vatint- eth not itself'; is not puflfed up'; doth not behave itself unseemly'; seeketh not her own'' ; is not easily pcotofced' ; thinketh no evil'. Note. — The degree of emphasis, and often of solemnity, with which the successive particulars are mentioned, decides, in cases of the pause of sus- pension (see Ru-le II.), whether the rising or the falling inflection is to be used. Thus, a succession of particulars which one reader deems unimpor- tant, will be read by him throughout with the rising inflection, while an- other, feeling more deeply, will use the falling inflection. Thus : 1. The birds sing', the lambs play', the grass grows', the trees are green', and all na- ture is beautiful'. 2. The blind see' ; the lame walk' ; the lepers are cleansed' ; the deaf hear' ; the dea 1 are raised' ; and to the poor', the gospel is preached'. In this example all the particulars have the falling inflection. The first line in ^lark Antony's harangue is read dirterently by equally good readers; but the difference arises wholly from their different appre- ciation of the spirit and intention of the speaker. Thus : Friends', Tomans', countrymen', lend me your ears' ! Friends', Romans', countrijnu'n', lend me your ears' ? If Antony designed to characterize " cotmtrymen" with peculiar empha- sis, he gave it the falling inflection, otherwise he gave the word no greater prominence than the preceding words "friends" and "Romans." Rule IX. — Expressions of tender emotion, such as grief, pity, kindness, gentle joy, a gentle reproof, gentle appeal, gentle entreaty or expostulation, etc., commonly require a gentle rising inflection. Examples. — Mary' ! Mary' ! do' not do so'. My mother' ! when I learned that thou wast dead', Say', wast thou conscious' of the tears' I shed'? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son'. Wretch even then', life's journey just begun'? I would not live alway' ; I ask not to stay. Where stoi-m nfter storm rises dark o'er the way'; I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin' ; Temptation without, and corruption within' ; — Is your father' well', the old man' of whom ye spake' ? T.-> he' yet alive' ? 16 wilison's fifth reader. Part I. Rule X. — Expressions of strong emotion, such as the language of ex- clamation (not designed as a question), authority, surprise, distress, denun- ciation, lamentation, earnest entreaty, command, reproach, terror, anger, hatred, envy, revenge, etc., and strong affirmation, require the falliiKj in- flection. HxAMrLEB. — WHiat a piece of work is man' ! llow noble in reason' ! how infinite in faculties' ! in action', how like an angel' ! in apprehen.sion', how like a God' ! ■ My lords, I am amazecV ; yes, my lord?, I am innazed^ at hla Grace's speech. Woe unto you Pharisees' ! Woe unto you Scribes' ! _ You blocks', you stones', you worse than senseless things' ! Go to the ant', thou sluggard' ; cousider her ways, and be wise'. Jesus snitli unto her, Maiy'. She turned herself, and said unto him, Iiabboni\ I tell you, tliough iiou\ though all the icurld\ though an angel from heaven' should de- clare the truth of it, I could not believe it. I dare' accusation. I de///' the honorable gentleman. I'd rather be a dog\ and bay the moon\ than such a Roman'. Cas. O ye qods' .' ye gods'' .' must I endure all thia' ? Bru. All this ? ay', and tnore\ Note. — When exclamatory sentences become questions they require the rising inflection. Examples. — What are you saying' ! — Where are you going' I They planted by your care' ! No' ! your oppressions planted them in America'. THE CIRCUMFLEX OR WAVE. Rule XI. — Hj-pothetical expressions, sarcasm, and irony, and sentences implying a comparison or contrast that is not fully expressed, often require a union of the two inflections on the same syllable. Explanation. — In addition to the rising and falling inflections, there is what is called the circumjlex or ivave, which is a union of the two on the same syllable. It is a significant twisting or waving of the voice, generally first downward and then upward, but sometimes the reverse, and is attend- ed with a sQusihle protraction of sound on the syllable thus inflected. It is marked thus: ('") as, "I may possibly go to-mdrrow, though I can not.go to-day." " I did it myself, sir. Surprising"! 5o?ididit!" Examples If the rlghteoiis scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear? I grant you I was down, and out of breath ; and so was he. And but for these vile guns, he would himself have been a 8oldier\ QtTEEN. Hamlet', you have your father much offended. Hamlet. Madam', y'ni have my father much offended. SuTLOCK. If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revinge. Hath a dog money' ? Is it possible a cur can lend two thousand ducits' ? They tell ;/.s to be moderate; but they^ theij are to revel in profusion. Yi'm pretend to reason' ? Vou don't so much as know the first elements of reasoning. Note. — A nice distinction in sense sometimes depends upon the right use of the inflections. Examples '• I did not give a sixpence'." "• I did not give a sixpence'." The circumflex on sixpence imjilies that I gave more or less than that sum ; but the falling inflection on the same word implies that I gave noth- ing at all. "Hume said he would go twenty miles to hear "Whitefield preach," (here the circumflex implies the contrast), " but he would take no pains to hear an«5rdinary' preacher." " A man who is in the daily use of ardent spirits, if he does not become a drunkard', is in danger of losing his health and character." Fart I. ELOCUTIONARY. 17 The rising inflection on the closing syllable of drunkard would pervert the meaning wholly, and assert that, in order to preserve health and char- acter, one must become a drunkard. '■'• The dog would have died if they had not cut off his head." The falling inflection on died would make the cutting off his head neces- sary to saving his life. A physician says of a patient, "He is better\" This implies a positive amendment. But if he says, "He is better'," it denotes only a partial and perhaps doubtful amendment, and implies, " But he is still dangerous- ly sick." THE MONOTONE. Edle XII. — The monotone, which is a succession of words on the same key or pitch, and is not projjcrly an inflection, is often employed in passages of solemn denunciation, sublime description, or expressing deep reverence and awe. It is marked with the short horizontal dash over the accented vowel. 1^^ It must not be mistaken for the long sound of the vowels, as given in the Pronouncing Key. Examples. — And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts. The whole efirth is fiill of his girry. Blessing, honor, glory, and p.iwer be unto him that sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb forever and over. In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deCp sleep falleth on men, fear c."ime upon me, and trOmbling which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit pissed before my face ; the liiiir of my flCsh stood up. It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: an Image was before my eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, Shall mortal man be more j Tist than God ? Shall a mJin be more pure than his Maker ? EMPHASIS. Emj^hasis is a forcible stress of voice upon some word or words in a sen- tence on account of their significancy and importance. Sometimes it mere- ly gives proloncjed loudness to a word, but generally the various inflections are connected with it. Thus it not only gives additional yb/xe to language, but the sense often depends upon it. Examples. — I did not say he struck me' ; I said he struck Johii^. I did not say he stri(ch me ; I said he jnlithed me. I did not say he struck me ; I said Joim did. I did not any he struck me ; but I vrbte it. i did not say he struck me; but John said he did. He that c;in not hear a jest, should never make'' ona It is not so easy to h'lde one's faults as to mend them. Cassids. I may do that I shall be sorry f.ir. Bbutus. Vou have'- done that you .should be sorry for. (The varied eftects of emphatic stress and emphatic inflection arc so fully shown in the Reading Lessons of all the Headers as to need no further il- lustration.) 18 WILLSON « FIFTH KKADKli. Part I II. HIGHER PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. A SERIES OF CONVERSATIONS, IN WHICH SOME OP THE HIGHER PEINCIPLE8 OF ELOCCTION ABE DEVELOPED. FIRST EVENING. Analtbib — Modificationa of general rules, owing to the great variety of emotions, pas- sions, and feelings, which language is designed to express. Direct questions whose an- swers talce the rising inticctioii. i:,xample3. No one can be a correct reader without a correct appreciation of what he reads. When good readers will read the same passage differently. Questions that contain an appeal. The inflections in spoken language. Why printed language is a very imperfect representation of spoken language. Importance of the inflections in obscure passages. Bernardo. Well', Crito', I believe we agreed to devote the evenings of this week to an examination of some of the higher principles of Elocution. At what point shall we begin' ? Crito. As I have met with some difficulties in what are called the "Ele- ments of Elocution," perhaps it would be well to take up these first. Bernardo. By all means. Let us know what these difficulties are, that we may remove them, if possible. Crilo. In the first place, I would ask, as introductory, why there should be so many modifications, hy way of notes and exceptions, of the Rules laid down in the " Elements ?" Bernardo. The answer is very easy. It is owing to the great variety of emotions, passions, and feelings, which written language is designed to ex- press. Plain and simple language, which has but little variety, requires but few rules. Thus, in the case of plain direct questions, without emotion, if the answers are plain and simple also, they will in all cases take the fall- ing inflection. Lofik at the cxamjiles given under the Notes to Rule I. Do you not see that all of them are, more or less, the language of passion or emotion'? Crito. I had not thought of it before ; but I see it is so. I suppose', then', the reason for every departure from Rule I., in tlie case of direct questions, is to be found in the nature of the passion or feeling which is de- signed to be expressed. Bernardo. Exactly so\ Depend upon it, if the answer to a direct and simple question does not take the falling inflection', it is because something more than a ])lain and direct answer is contained in tlie reply. Crito. I was puzzled, a few days ago, to find a rule for the inflection which I heard given, in a political debate, to several answers to dh'ect ques- tions. The following are the examples : Mr. A. Did not you vote for Harrison' ? Mr. B. To be sure I did' ; but has that any thing to do with the question'? Mr. A. Certainly it has'. Does it not show thnt you belong to the llepublican party' ? Mr. B. Not at ^11, sir'. I belonged to the Whig party then', and I advocate the same principles »ioio\ Can you say as much — that yru have not changed both party and prin- ciples too' ? Mr. A . Most assuredly I can'. Here the answers take the rising inflection ; and I suppose the principle, or rule, is to be found in the first Note under Rule I. Bernardo. You are correct. The answers are given with a feeling, and in a tone of self-assurance, that may be considered as approaching to Part I. ELOCUTIONARY. 19 "slight disrespect." Yet this style becomes monotonous and tiresome if carried too far ; and I think it would have been better if Mr. A. had drop- ped the taunt in his last reply, and answered in a tone of dignified candor, which would have required the falling inflection at the close. You will find a good example of the rising inflection required in the answer to both kinds of questions in the following dialogue, from Shakspeare, between the vil- lain lago and Othello. Observe Othello's answer with the rising inflection, " He did';'' also the effect of the assumed indifference, or pretended careless absent-mindedness of lago, in giving to several of his answers the rising in- flection : Icuio. My noble lord' — Othello. What dost thou say',' lago' ? larfo. Did Jlichael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, know' of your love' ? Oih. He did', from first to last' : why dost tliou ask? laqo. But for a satisfaction of my thought':^ No further harm'. 0th. Why of thy thought', lago'? larjo. I did not think he had been acquainted' with it. 0th. Oh' yes', and went between us very oft. lago. Indeed' ? 0th. Indeed'! ay, indeed' I^ Discern' st thou aught in that'? I8 he not honest' ? • laxfo. Honest', my lord' ? 0th. Ay, honest\ lago. My lord, for aught I know'. 0th. AVliat dost thou think' ? /rtr/o. Think', ray lord' ? oih. Think, my lord ? By heaven he echoes me As if there were some monster in his thoughts Too hideous to be shown. Crito. How much the beauty of such a piece depends upon the manner of reading' it ! One can almost look into the very heart of Othello, and see the first awakening of a suspicious nature, as, startled by lago's "In- deed' ?'' he repeats the word after him in a manner that indicates how eas- ily his jealousy may be fully aroused. Bernardo. Yes ; and this passage from Shakspeare not only furnishes a fine illustration of the principle referred to in Note I., under Kule First, but is a fine reading exercise also, on account of other nice points contained in it. Both the cunning treachery of lago, and the gradually awakened sus- picion in the breast of the honest Othello of a something wrong, mtist be fully appreciated by one who would read the passage well. Unpremedi- tated language seldom fails to give a truthful expression of the feelings ; but when lue read this language of another, we must fully enter into his feel- ings if we would as truthfully express all tliat he intended. You see\ therefore, Crito', that in order to read Shakspeare well\ one must fully en- ter into, and thoroughly understand, the characters represented. Crito. This gives me some new ideas of the art of reading ; for it ap- pears, from what you say, that if we would correctly express the thoughts and feelings of another', we must first know precisely what those thoughts and feelings are' ; and that no one can read well', unless he reads under- standingly'. Truly, this view of the subject, while it shows the difficulties in the way of good reading, elevates reading to the dignity of one of the Fine Arts. But', let me ask', can not one imitate good reading', so as to read correctly, even without a correct understanding of what he reads? Bernardo. To some extent one may ; as one may learn, pan'ot-like, to 1 Tor the rising inflection to " sa.''," see Note to Rule III. « Note 1 to Rule I. " ' .Surprise : Rule X. 20 willson's fifth KEADEU. Part I. utter words without meaniuf^. But such a jjcrson could never be sure of ruadiuf; u new jiiece, or even a sinj^le sentence, correctly. Tiie chief rea- son why so many are jjoor readers is, either they do not fully understand what they read, or they do not fully enter into its sjnrit while reading. You may lay this down as a ))rinci])le : that no one can be a correct reader with- out a coi'rect appreciation of ichat he reads. Crito. Then I should su))])Ose that if two persons have precisely the same understanding of a passage, both ought to read it in the same manner. Bernardo. Certainly they ought, in all important particulars ; and, if they read it differently — one, for example, with the marked rising inflection where the other uses the falling, it must be either because both do not at- tach precisely the same meaning to it, or because one of them reads it er- roneously. Crito. And yet I have in my mind an example of a direct question which I have heard asked with tlie falling inflection at the close, and which, it ap- pears to me, might as well have taken the rising slide. It is this. One morning William was told by his father that he must do a certain piece of work in the garden. At noon he was again reminded that the work must be done, when William asked, "Must the work be done to-day'?" giving to the (piestion the falling inflection, whereas he might have given it the rising. But if the same question may be asked with one inflection as well as with the other, I do not see that the rule is of any use. Bernardo. One very important use of it, and of the notes imder it, is to lead you to notice lohat it is that causes the falling inflection to be given to the question in this particidar case, in violation of the general rule. Did William merely ask the question for information' ? or did he connect with it something like a fretful appeal to his father that the work might be deferred' ?* Crito. The latter, I suppose. Do you mean to say, then, that it is he- cause William's question had in it "the nature of an appeal," that it takes the falling inflection, in ojjposition to the general rule' ? Bernardo. That is precisely what I mean. Nature has adopted the fall- ing inflection in this case to show that the question contains this appeal. The rising inflection v/ould not have shown it. You can try it, and you will at once see the difference. Crito. But if I find this same question in a book, how do I know, from the mere words (as they are the same in one case as in the other), whether William spoke it pleasantly', or fretfully' ?* Bernardo. We do not always know, unless the mark of inflection is given as a guide. In spokeii language, the inflections in such cases are always correctly used, even by children ; and they are always correctly undei-stood by the hearer. Crito. Then why should they not be used in written or printed lan- guage' ? Would not the language thereby more plainly express the mean- ing intended' ? Bernardo. Without doubt it would ; and if Shakspeare, throughout all his plays, had marked the inflections as he wished the passages spoken, he would have made all his characters so well understood that the critics would have been saved a great amount of controversy. Our jirinted lan- guage is, at the best, a very imperfect representation of spoken language. ' See Rule V., also Rule III., for the domiward slide here, as the question does not ad- mit a categorical answer, yes or no. Part I. ELOCUTIONARY. 21 To be any thinp; like perfect, it must represent not onl}' the u-ords {general- ly, but all their varied modulations, tones, and inflections, accent, and em- phasis, and a great variety of rhetorical pauses which now are not desig- nated at all. Some of these things, indeed, are not essential to a correct understanding of the meauiiif/ of printed language, however much they would exemplify its force and beauty ; but I am of the opinion that it would be better if the inflections at least were inserted in all cases where their omission, as in the examjile of William's answer, renders the sense obscure. No valid objection could be made to so small, and, at the same time, so use- ful an innovation as this. More than this would, perhaps, be undesirable. SECOND EVENING. Analysis. — The pause of suspension, wifli the rising or the falling glide. A prolonged horizontal suspension of the voice. Klietorical pauses, as distinguished from graniniatit-al or sentential pauses. The rlietorical pause proper : wlien used, and its effect. Kxani- ples: Patrick Henry's speech — the Karl of Cliatham — Dr. Kott — Pope. Other cases of pause where none is allowed in the grammatical construction. The rhetorical pause used in cases of contrast. I'.xample from Cicero — from Dr. Blair. A contrast in sentiment requires contrast in voice. Prolonged utterance of words in certain cases. Proper man- agement of tlie voice. Crito. Since our last conversation, I have been examining the Second Rule in connection with the Eighth, and I find it stated that in certain cases the pause oj' suspension takes the rising inflection, and in others the falling. It has occurred to me that there might be a pause of suspension that takes neither the rising nor the falling slide, but I have found no no- tice of such. Is not such a pause frequently used in reading or speaking ? — a kind of prolonged liori;^ontal suspension of the voice'? Bernardo. There is, indeed, such a pause — a rhetorical pause proper it should be called ; and a judicious use of it is, next to a correct use of the inflections, one of the greatest beauties in reading. The hyphen or dash (-») sometimes indicates it, but not always; and the dash, moreover, is used with both kinds of inflections. Cri/o. Are not all the pauses — such as the comma, colon, semicolon, and .the marks of interrogation and exclamation, ?7/e^onc«/ pauses'? Bernardo. With the exception of the marks of interrogation and excla- mation, I should say they are not, properly speaking, as their primary ob- ject is to mark the divisions of a sentence, and show its grammatical con- struction. I should call them grammatical or sentential pauses. Moreover, these pauses are so far from being sufficient or accurate guides to the reader, that an obsequious attention to them is one cause of the hea^y, monoto- nous style of reading into which most persons fall, and which it is so difli- cult to correct. The marks of interrogation and exclamation, the parenthe- sis, and the hyphen or dash, however, are wholly rhetorical, as they denote no grammatical relation, and have no established length. The rhetorical pause proper, which is sometimes, but not always, denoted by the hyphen, is perhaps the only one of these that requires any special attention. Crito. I would like to know more of the cliaracter of this rlietorical pause, and the principles on which it is based. Will you explain it, and give me some examples of its use' ? Bernardo. The rhetorical pause pi'oper is used, first, where there is an abrupt suspension of the line of thought, for the ])urpose of giving place to some new suggestion ; and, secondly, it is used either before or after some- thing very striking or significant is uttered. In the latter case, the effect is, by holding the hearer momentarily in suspense, suddenly to arrest his at- 22 willson's fifth rkadek. Takt I. tendon, for the purpose of directing it with greater force to the emphatic word or clause. Crito. 1 think, from your descri])tioii, it is this j)ausc which I have heard appropriately used in the concluding sentence of Patrick Henry's famous speech : I know not what courae others may take\ but as for me," give me liberty," or give me" death'' ! Bernardo. This is correct. Here this pause is used three times, but with the greatest force before the closing emphatic word — '■'^ death." Another fine example of it is found in the Earl of Chatham's speech on the repeal of the Stamp Act. He is reported to have s])oken as follows, alluding to the ministry who had been opposed to the rejteal : Some of tliom have done mc the honor to ask my poor opinion before tliey would en- gage to repeal the act. They will do me the justice to own I did advise them to engage to do it ;~ but, notwithstanding," for I love to be explicit," I can not give them my con- fidence. Pardon me, gentlemen," confidence" i.s a plant of glow growth. Here this rhetorical pause is used several times, in some instances in con- nection with the grammatical pauses ; but the one which is the most mark- ed of all is used where no other pause is designated. The concluding words, after this pause, are to be spoken slowly, and with marked emphasis. Crito. I recollect a passage in Kev. Dr. Nott's discourse on the death of Hamilton which requires a similar rhetorical pause in reading. I allude to the following: I would uncover the breathless corpse of Hamilton," I would lift from his gaping wound his bloody mantle," I would hold it up to heaven before them, and I would ask — in tha name of God I would ask — whether at the eight of it" they felt no compunction. Here, evidently, great force is given to the concluding words by a pro- tracted rhetorical pause after the emphatic pronoun it. Bernardo. Let me give one example more, which is from Pope's Essay on Man : Know then thyself : presume not God to acan^ : The proper study of mankind" is man\ As intimately connected with this subject, I would remark that good read- ers often give a slight rhetorical pause, or rest, in some other cases also, where no pause is designated, and where none is allowed in the gram- matical construction. Especially does this occur where the speaker would fix attention on a single word that stands as immediate nominative to a verb, and also in antithetic or contrasted clauses. Thus, as an example of the first : Some~_\i\!\.ce the bliss in action, sovxe' in ease; Those~ call it pleasure, and contentment these. Every good reader will suspend the voice briefly, after each of these em- phatic words, although no punctuation mark is found there. Crito. You mentioned antithetic or contrasted clauses also. I observe that in some of the examples of "Comparison and Contrast," under the Sixth Rule, the s;\me kind of pause is made, even where none is required in the grammatical construction. Thus I observe it after the words " Ho- mer," "Virgil," "the one," "the other," etc. Bernardo. I find a still better example in one of Cicero's orations, in which the orator is speaking of Pompey. In order to show the contrasted ])arts distinctly, it is desirable to make a longer pause between them than if there were no opposition in the sense. Thus : He waged more wars'" than others had read' ; conquered more provinces'" thun othors Pakt I. ELOCUTIONARY. 23 liad governed' ; and had been trained up from his youth to the art of war^ ; not by the precepts of others'," but by hi^^own commands' ; not by miscarriages in the field', ' but by victories'; not by campaigus',''but by triumplis\ Here a pause of some length is required after wars, provinces, others, etc. I am tempted to give one more example, which I select, not only for its ap- propriateness in illustrating the principle under consideration, but also for the beauty of the sentiment. It is from Blair's sermon on Gentleness : As there is a worldly happiness which God perceives to be no more than disguised mis- ery'; as there are worldly honors which in his estimation are reproach', go there is a worldly wisdom which in his sight is foolishness. Of this worldly wisdom the characters are given in the Scriptures, and placed in contrast with those of the wisdom which is from above. The one" is the wisdom of the crafty', the other" that of the upright'; the one terminates in selfishness', the other" in charity'; the one is full of strife and bitter envy- ings', the other" of mercy and of good fruits. Here the first two clauses should be pronounced in a somewhat elerated tone of voice ; then, after a somewhat protracted pause at rejnoach, the voice should drop into a lower tone, with a slower pronunciation. The first members of the contrasted parts should be pronounced in a higher tone than the latter members. It may be well to recollect that this rule should be observed in all antithetic or contrasted clauses. A contrast in senti- ments' requires conti'ast in voice'. Crito. Very nearly allied to the kind of pattse which we have been con- sidering seems to be that prolonged pronunciation which good readers some- times give to a word, without actually pausing after it. I have noticed this cs])ecially in the following beautiful extract from Pope, where the poci, is speaking of the soul of God as seen throughout all nature. Warmj" in the sun, refreshes" in the breeze, Glows" in the stars, and blossoms" in the trees, Lives" through all life, extends" through all extent. Spreads" undivided, operates" unspent. — Pope. Bernardo. You have selected a fine illustration of an important prin- ciple. If we will notice our own conversation, or listen to any extempore speaking in which nature is followed, we shall find that while some words and clauses, apparently used as mere connectives, are quickly passed over, others, of more importance, are prolonged in the pronunciation. The prop- er management of the voice in this respect, so as to give to every word just the degree of importance to which it is entitled, is another of the beauties of good reading. The ways in which the voice manages to express every jiossible variety of thought are almost numberless. We can represent but few of them to the eye. THIRD EVENING. Analysis. — Indirect questions that take the rising inflection. First example — not a completed sentence. Deceptive examples, which have the falling inflection, although they it2)pt'nr to have the rising. The questions completed in the:^e examples. The rising inflection at the close of sentences : explained on the principle of the ordinan- pause of suspension. The pause of suspension in inverted sentences. The rising inflection in c ises of gentle entreaty or expostulation. Negation and affiiTnation. On what the in- flations depend. They are natural signs of thought. Bernardo. If you have met with any more points of difficulty', Crito', which relate to the Rules laid down in the " Elements," if you will bi-ing them forward, we will consider them this evening; for tliere are some new ]irinciples to which I wisli to call your attention in our subsequent conver- sations. Crito. I shall be rery glad, indeed, to have a few difficulties removed, 24 willson's fifth keader. pAnxI. if it can f)c done. To begin, then : I liavo found several examples of in- direct (inestions wliicli I can not reconcile with Itulc Third. Thus, in the following: Q^iestion. Will ho ro'? Ana. 1 think it doiibtful'. Qtcestion. Why not' ? The last question here is indirect ; that is, it can not he answered by yes or no, and yet it is evident to nic that it takes the risinj; iiifiection. I do not sec that cither the Kule', or the Note', provides for a case of this kind Can you explain it' ? Bernardo. I think yon yourself will discover, by a little reflection, that the oxamjile does not, in reality, violate the Rule. You will obsen'e that the answer, "Why not'?" is not a completed sentence. What would the answer be if completed' ? Crlto. Indeed, I did not think of that ; bnt I can explain it now. The comjdete answer is, " Why will he not' go'?" which has the falling inflection. Bernardo. Yes, you have given the correct explanation — partially so, at least. In nearly all cases the falling inflection begins at a point higher than the key-note ; and in this case it strikes the word "not" on a high key, preiiaratory to its downward slide. As soon as the voice strikes it, however, it begins to fall ; and, if I were to be critically conect, I should ])erhaps say this very word " not" is pronounced with the falling inflection. I admit that it appears to have the rising slide. In the word " doubtful'," in the same example, we find a parallel case, for the first syllable of it is struck on a high key, and might, with the same propriety as in the case of the word "not," have received the rising inflection. Crilo. But I have still another kind of indirect question, which I think can not be explained in this way. It is the following, which I recently heard an eloquent divine read, giving the rising inflection to all the questions : How, then, shall thoy call on him in whom they have not believed' ? nnd how shall they believe in him of whom tliey have not lieard' ? and how shall they hear without a preach- er' ? and how shall they preach except they be sent' ? Now, although these questions maij be read with the falling slide, yet it seems very evident that they may also be read with the rising, with equal' projiriety. Bernardo. And yet I think it may be maintained, with very good reason, that all these questions, even as you have read them, take the falling slide in the closing syllable, the voice merely striking tlie closing words at a high pitch, and then immediately falling. The word "preacher 'is pronounced, in the example given, in a manner very difi'crent from what it is in the fol- lowing exam])le, ' ' Is he a preacher' ?" As the latter is plainly the rising in- flection, it may well be doubted if the former is. Crito. I perceive a difference ; and yet I think most persons would con- sider that the examples given have the rising inflection. The voice certain- ly rises very high to strike the closing words; and its downward slide, if there be any, is scarcely perceptible. Bernardo. If we should admit that these questions may be pronounced with the rising inflection as well as with the falling, then I should say that t\iQ precise meanbui, or the force of the expression, can not be the same in both cases ; and this brings us back to one of the i)rinciples which we establish- ed in our first evening's conversation — that, " if two persons have the same understanding of a ^lassage, both ought to read it in the same manner."' Crito. But I do not see that this principle furnishes any reason for a de- Pakt I. ELOCUnONAEY. 25 parture from the Rule, that an indirect question requires the falling inflec- tion. Are not the examples which I gave indirect questions' ? Beriiardo. They are, assuredly ; but they can scarcely be said to be com- plete questions any more than the other examples which puzzled you. Let me cliange the form a little, and complete the question in each case, and I think you will admit that each still takes the falling inflection at the close, even if you think it does not now. How shall they call on him If they have not believed' what is said concerning him* ? and how shall they believe in him if they have not heurcV of him* ? and how shall they hear without a preacher' be sent to them' ? and how shall they preach except they be sent' for that pni-pose ■ f Crito. The words "believe," "heard," "preacher," and "sent," which ended the several questions in the first form of expression, yoii^ have made emphatic'.' Bernardo. They were also made emphatic before ; and that is the prin- cipal reason why the divine, whom you heard read them, struck them on so high a key as to give them the appearance of taking the rising inflection. He supposed that the Apostle Paul, in these remarks, wished to give the greatest force and prominence to the ideas embraced in these particular words ; and as these words were contained in the class of indirect ques- tions, which naturally end with the falling inflection, it was only by strik- ing them on a very high key that the object could be accomplished. Hav- ing in mind this view of the apostle's meaning, nature directed him how to express it. Another divine, not taking the same view of the passage, would read these questions, as I have usually heard them read, with the falling in- flection very apparent. You will please remember that the Third Rule says, " Indirect questions generally require the falling inflection." Crito. And, as you have explained the examples which I produced, I see that even they, the strongest cases which I could find, can scarcely be call- ed exceptions to the Rule. Bernardo. And, what is of still greater interest and importance, these ex- amples are additional testimony in confirmation of the principle that, when difi"erent readings are given to a passage, and both are considered correct, they always arise from somewhat difl"ercnt views in the minds of the read- ers. Are there any other points which you would like to take up at this time' ? Crito. Since our last conversation I have found several cases in which the rising inflection is found at the close of a sentence not a question, and I find nothing by which to explain this apparent opposition to Rule Fourth. I will read the examples : 1. Then said Agiippa unto Festus', Tliis man might have been set at liberty* if he had not appealed unto Caesar'. 2. Ingi-atitude i.<, therefore, a species of injustice*, said Socrates. I should think so*, answered I.eander'. 3. Whence arises the misery of thi^ present world* ? It is not owing to our cloudy at- mosphere', our changing seasons', our inclement skies'. It Is not owing to the debility of our bodies*, or to the nneriual distribution of the gifts of fortune*. It is owing to our cor- rupt hearts*, our sinful natures*. 4. If we have no regard for religion in youth\ we ought to have some regard for it in ape'. 5. If we have no regard for our oitm character*, we ought to have some regard for the character of others.' 1 Here the rising ?lide is given to the closing word, in accordance with the Note to Rule IV. So, also, if Crito had said, " Yoii^ have made emphatic' ; but /* did not'." Proba- bly the true principle which controls the inflection here is that embraced in Rule IX. B 26 WILLSON S FIFTH EEADER. Pakt I. Bernardo. For a solution of these difficulties, I must refer you, in the first place, to what is said of the j)misc of suspension under Ilule Second. Crilo. I confess that I am still in the dark, as I do not see wherein this rule applies to the examples which I have given, Bernardo. Perhaps it would have been well if the following had been in- serted as a Note exjjlanatory of Rule Second : Sentences which are inverted inform, often bring the jiause of susj tension, and consequentlij the rising inflec- tion, at the close, thus forming an apparent, but not real, exception to the rule. Now let us change some of these examples back to their more simple forms : 1. Then said Agrippa unto Featus, If this man had not appealed unto Cseaar' he might have been Bet at liberty\ 2. Ingratitude is tlierefore a species of injustice^ said Socrates. Leander answered', I should thinlc so\ 3. Whence arises the misery of this present world^ ? It is not owing to our cloudy at- mosphere', our changing seasons', our inclement skies' ; but it is owiag to our corrupt hearts^ our sinful natures'. Although the last two examples which you gave may also be changed so as to bring the falling inflection at the close, yet, without this, they may be explained as having much the character of sentences of gentle appeal, re- proof, or expostulation, which take the rising inflection in accordance with Rule IX., and with what is said of both negative and affirmative sentences imder the Note to Rule VI. I will give you one or two examples, quite similar to those mentioned by you, but in which the tone of " gentle en- treaty or expostulation" is a little more apparent : 6. But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to drigs'. 7. But she said, Tnith\ Lord' : yet the dugs' eat of the crumbs which fall from their wiasfer's table'. — Matt., xv., 20-27. • If you will examine closely you will find that several of the examples given, especially those numbered 1, 3, 4, 6, 6, and 7, are examples in which negation is opposed to affirmation ; and you must bear in mind that, although the speaker may not express the affirmative part of the sentence, yet, if he has it in his mind, he will give to the negative part the rising inflection, in ac- cordance with Rule VI. Thus, if I speak the negative sentence, " I did not say he was a good citizen'," and give it the rising inflection, I thereby show that I have also an affirmative declaration in my mind. Crito. I must confess that the difficulties which troubled me have been more easily removed than I anticipated. I am beginning to think there is more science and tme philosophy in the art of reading than is usually con- ceded. Bernardo. You will find this philosophy more and more apparent the farther you proceed. The inflections which we give to speech depend ivholly upon the sentiments which we wish to express. Being designed as the ex- ponents of thought, they are not arbitraiy or optional, but have their basis in the nature of speech itself. Words are but arbitrary signs of thought; but inflections, especially where they are at all marked, are natund signs, and are therefore ike same in all languages. But I have not time to dwell upon this subject here, although it is one that has been wonderfully over- looked by our best elocutionists. In our next conversation I trust we shall be able to enter upon an examination of principles that are somewhat in advance of the Elementary Rules that we have thus far been considering. Pakt I. ELOCUTIOI^JAKY. 27 FOURTH EVENING. Analysis. — ^The " Elements of Elocution" treat chiefly of the pronunciation of loords rather than of sentences. The various modulations of the voice that are required for whole sentences. Principles rather than rules are required to guide us. How we natu- rally express a contrast. " Discretion and cunning," an example from Addison. Where the speaker puts a question, and then answers it himself. Example from Cicero. Ques- tions that take a declarative form. Emphatic repetition of a word or thought. Jlxamplea The introduction of a simile or comparison in poetry. Addison's description of Marlbor- ough. The principle that governs the reading of a simile. A simile from Milton, The reading of sublime, grand, and magnificent descriptions. Extract from Pope. Crito. I have been reflecting that thus far, in our conversations, we have been considering chiefly the pronunciation of separate words and syl- lables, and that the twelve Rules which are given in the " Elements of El- ocution" treat almost wholly of luords, separately considered, rather than of sentences and ^tire discourses. Are there no principles of Elocution which apply especially to the differentybrms of expression', and dilFerent kinds of writing' ? Bernardo. There are, most assuredly ; and your question very appropri- ately calls up the very subject to which I alluded at the close of our last conversation. Different modulations of the voice, separate from the in- flections, accent, and emphasis that are given to single words, are required to express diff"erent sentiments, emotions, and passions. Thus, in reading, .sometimes a high pitch of voice, and sometimes a loiv pitch is required for whole sentences ; and, according to the sentiment and the circumstances of the occasion, the voice must have all varieties of tone or expression, and range through all degrees of high and low, loud and soft, forcible and fee- ble, quick, moderate, and slow, just as we hear it in natural and free con- versation. Crito. But so many rules are here required to be known that it would seem impossible to learn all the rules for correct reading that might be given. Bernardo. It is not so much particular rules as correct general princij^les that we require to guide us. Moreover, we are already acquainted with these general principles, for we make use of them daily in our ordinary con- versation ; and what we especially need is to notice iioiv we naturally ex- press our own sentiments, and then to ajjply the principle when we read the similar sentiments of others. Thus — for a simple illustration — in briefly describing two persons or objects by contrast or contrai-ie.'i (a figure of speech called antithesis), we naturally express the first clause of the contrast in a little higher tone of voice than we apply to the latter, with a prolonged pause between them, as in one of the examples under Rule VI. : "Homer" was the greater genius' — VirgiF the better artist'." You will also oteserve that "rhetorical pause of suspension" after the words Homer and Virgil, to which we have before alluded. Crito. It occurs to me that a fine example for the exemplification of this principle is furnished by Addison, in a number of the Spectator, in the con- trast which is drawn between Discretion' and Cunning\ It is very evident that throughout this extract the word cunning is to be pronounced on a lower pitch than discretion, and that it receives the falling inflection on its first syllable, while it has a I'cry slight rising inflection at its close. It ft an extract worthy of being remembered^ also', for the moral which it con- veys. 28 willson's fifth KEADEE. Pakt I. DISCRETION AND CUNNING. At the pamn time that I think discretion' the most useful talent that a man can be master of, I look upon cunniDg to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. DLs- cretion'" points out the noblest ends to us, jind pursues the most proper mid hiudable meth- ods of obtaining* them : cunning'" has only private nelfish aims, and sticks .'it nothing that may make them succeed. Discretion'" has large and extended vieiv-s\ and, like a well-fonn- ed eye, conmiands a whole horizon' : cunning'" is a kind of short-siglitcdness', that discovcra the mimitent objects that are ue.ar at hand, but Is not able to discern things iit a dl-tance. Discretion', the more it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the person who pos- sesses it : cunning', when it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even those events which he might have done if he had passed only for a plain man. Discretion'" is the perfection of reason\ and a guide to us in all the duties of life: cunning'" is a kind of instinct', that only look.s out after our immediate intere-t and welfare. Discretion'" is only found in men of strong sense and good understanding : ci'm- ning'~ la often to be met with in brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest removes from them : in short', cunning'" is only the mimic of discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same manner that vivacity id often mistaken for wit', and gravity for wisdom. BeiTiardo. The extract which yoii have given furnishes a fine illustration of the principle refeiTed to, and some good examples of the rhetorical pause of suspension. A similar style of reading is required for passages in which the speaker puts a question, and then answers it himself. If you should ever hear a speaker asking questions, and then answering them himself, if you will notice, I think you will obsen-e that he pronounces the question in a higher, a more open, and declarative tone ; and the answer (after a long pause) in a lower, slower, and yet firmer and more emphatic one. Cicero, in his oration for Murtena, makes use of this figure when he says, Join issue with me upon the crimes them-^elves. What is your charge', Cato'? What is to be tried' ? What do you offer evidence of ? Do you impeach corruption' ? — I do not defend it. Do you blame me for defending, by my pleading, what I punished by law'? — lansiver, tlmt Ijnuiislted cor>uption\ nnd not innocence' : as to corrui)tion, if you please, I will go hand in hand with yourself in impeaching it. Sometimes the question takes the declarative form, as in the following ex- tract from Cicero's second oration against Antony. It is not difficult to see that, in the following passage, the answers are to be pronounced in a lower, fuller, and more energetic tone than the question part, but with in- creasing force, to the last Antony. As trees and plants necessarily aiise from seeds, so are you, An'tony, the seed of tliis most calamitous war. You mourn, O Romans ! that three of your armies have been slaughtered'; they were slaughtered by AnHony: you lament the loss of your most illus- trious citizens' ; they were torn from you by An'^tony: the authority of this order is deep- ly wounded' ; it is ivounded by A7iHony: in short, all the calamities we have ever since beheld (and what calamities have we 7wt' beheld' ?), if we reason riglitly, have been entire- ly owing Jo An'tony. As Helen was of Troy, so the bane, the misery, the destruction of this state" is An'tony. Crito. As one figure of speech is very apt to suggest another, I am here reminded that the repetition of a word or thought is always pronounced somewhat emphatically ; and, when it takes the pause of suspension after it, it usually has the rising inflection also.^ Thus: Sir, I should be much surprised to hear that motion opposed by any member in tliis house. A ■motion'' founded injustice', supported by precedent', aud warranted by neces- sity'. Bernardo. I will add to your illustration by quoting a passage from Cic- 1 It is laid down by Dr. Porter as a rule, that " Emphatic repetition requires the falling slide." He gives as example : # " You wrong me every way, you irrong'^ me Brutus." I regard this, however, merely as a case of ordinarj' emphasis, having the usual falling inflection. Certainly the examples of repetition given above do not take the fiiUing in- flection. Paet I. ELOCUTIONARY. 29 ero's oration against Antony, in which tlie word laws receives increasing force upon every repetition, which gives it a climax of importance : And shall we think of ratifjang the acts of Cfesar, yet abolish his lawn' f Those laws which he himself, in oiu' sight, repeated, pronounced, enacted' ? Laws' which he valued himself upon passing' ? Laws" in which he thought the system of our government was comprehended'? LAWS" which concern our provinces and our trials'? Are we, I say, to repeal such laws, yet ratify his acts'? Yet may we at least complain of those which are only proposed : as to those which we pass', we are deprived even of the liberty to com- plain. Crito. Again the principle of suggestion comes in to furnish me with a parallel passage. It is that in which Germanicus, addressing his mutinous soldiers, employs questions to give force and spirit to his reproaches. The repetition of the pronoun you, with the circumflex, forms a climax of great beauty. Wliat is there in these days that you have not attempted^ ? What have you not pro- faned^? What name shall I give to this assembly^? i>hall I call you soldiers'? YorC who have besieged mth your arms, and surrounded with a trench, the son of your emper- or' ? Shall I call you citizens' ? You" who have so shamefully trampled upon the au- thority of the senate'? Y6U who have violated She justice due to enemies', the sancti- ty of embassy', and the rights of nations' ? Bernardo. As I remarked at the beginning of this conversation, that sometimes a high pitch of voice is required, and sometimes a low one, ac- cording to the sentiment, it may be well to notice, in this place, the change of voice with which we should introduce an illustrative simile or comparison in poetry. I think it will be found that at least the beginning of the simile should be read in a lower and more plaintive tone of voice than that part of the passage which precedes it. But let us take an example or two. Sup- pose we begin with Addison's beautiful descrijjtion of Marlborough in battle. 'Twas then great Marlb'rough's mighty soul was proved, That in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, Amid confusion, horror, and despair, Examined all the dreadful scenes of war ; In peaceful thought the field of death survey' d, To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid ; Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rago. (So when an angel, by divine command. With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, (Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past). Calm and serene he drives the furious blast ; "J I And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, I^Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm. — Addison. You perceive how mvich the reading of this piece is embellished by al- lowing the voice to drop into a monotone at the commencement of the simile, and then gradually slide out of it, and rise to a higher pitch to avoid too great a sameness. Crito. And I think that I perceive a peculiar propriety in this mode of introducing a simile in poetry. It must be based upon this principle, that the mind, in forming a simile, is seldom agitated by any strong passion ; and as the simile is something that is thrown in to explain or illustrate, that tone of voice which expi'esses serene, tranquil contemplation, seems to be the tone most suitable to it ; and this, if I am not mistaken, will be found to be the plaintive tone, approaching to a monotone. Milton's beau- tiful descrijition of the sports of the fallen angels alibrds a good opportuni- ty of exemplifying the rule : Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal With rapid wheels, or fronted brigades form," 80 willson's fifth KEADER. Pari I. {An when, to warn proud cities, war appears Waged in the troiiblpd sky, and armies rash To battle in the cloud.", hefori; each van I'rick fortli tlic airy knights ; — with feats of arms From eitlier end of heaven the welkin bums. Others with vast Typhojan rage more fell, Eend up both rocks and hills, smd ride the air In wliirlwind ; hell scarce holds tlie wild uproar, CAs wlicn Alcidcs, from (Echalia crown'd _« I With conquest, felt tli' envcnoni'd robe; and tore, a "1 Through pain, up by the roots Thessalian pines, •^ 1 And Liclias from the top of Oita tlirew (.Into th' Kuboic sea IkliLTON. Bernardo. Something allied to the principle involved in reading the sim- ile, is that which requires that sublime, grand, and magnificent descriptions in poetry should be read with a similar falling of the voice, and a sameness nearly approaching to monotone. Thus, in the following extract from Pope, a series of grand images, commencing at the fifth line, fills the mind with surprise approaching to astonishment. As this passion has a tendency to fix the body, and deprive it of motion, so it is best expressed, in speaking or reading, by a deep and almost unifurm tone of voice, — such inflections as are required being less in degree than in most other cases. ■ And if each system in gradation roll', Alike essential to th' amazing whole', The least confusion but in one', not all That system only', but the lohole must fall\ Let earth unbalanced from her orbit fly, Planets and suns run lawless through the sky'j Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd," Being on being wreck' d, and world on world'. Heaven's whole foundations to their centre nod, And Nature tremble to the throne of God' : All this dread order break^ ! — for whom' 1 for thee' ? Vile worm' ! — oil madness' ! pride' ! impiety' ! — Pope. But I see our time is already exhausted, and we must defer a farther con- sideration of the subject until the next evening. FIFTH EVENING. ANA1-Y8I8. — Public speaking ; and reading in public the speeches of others. General principles that should govern both. How should we read a quoted speech in the speech of another ? The speech of Cassius, in which he repeats the supplicating words of Ca3."ar. The principle that should govern the reading of it. Hoti^pur's description of a conceited fop. The swain in Gray's ElegJ'- The '^ Last words of Mannion." General principles. The reading of dialogue, where the personification is complete. Gray's poem, "The Bard." The personification of Pride, in Pope's Essay on JIan. Bernardo. Weir, Crito', what topic or topics have you to suggest for our consideration this evening* ? Crito. I have been thinking upon the subject of public speaking, and also about reading in i>ublic the speeches of others. Bernardo. A very imjiortant subject; or, rather, tivo important subjects, as they are not one and the same thing. Do they suggest any difficulties to you' ? Ci-ito. I have seen it In id down as a rule that in speal-ing the speech of another, we should give it all the force and energy that would become the character whose words are assumed. This apjicars reasonable, because we assume to personate another — to put oiu-selves in his place. But I would like to know if we ought to read the speech of another just as we should pronounce it from the rostrum. In other words, if we read a speech Fart I. ELOCUTIONARY. 31 merely for the information uf our hearers, should we do it oratorical- Bernardo. I am pleased with your question, for it shows that you have already discriminated between the character of an orator uttering his own sentiments, and that of one who merely reads from a book. Where the reader merely reads his own speech, he may safely act the orator in his own person ; but if he merely assumes the character of a reader of the words of another, he occupies a different position in the view of his hearers, and his manner must be different. Yet I would have you bear in mind that these two kinds of style or manner of reading should differ only in degree of force ; the greater degree in the case of the orator, and the lesser in that of the reader : the tones, inflections, and gesticulations should be the same in kind in both. Crito. I see there is much reason in this rule ; for it would be very diffi- cult for one who had assumed the character of a reader to change wholly to that of an orator, without doing violence to the feelings of his hearers. And yet the reader must give tones and inflections of the same kind as the ora- tor used, or he will not faithfully represent him. But still another point has been suggested to me. What if the speaker quotes what another person said : how should we read this speech within a speech^ ? For example, we will take the speech of Cassius, in which he is describing Caesar under the paroxysms of a fever. Cassius says. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And," when the fit was on liim', 1 did mark How he did aliake^ : 'tis' true\ this god' did shake\ HLs coward lips did from theii' color fly\ And that same eye', whose bend dotlx awe the world', Didlose his lustre^ : I did hear liim f/roaji\ Ay,~ and that tongue of his', that bade the Romans Markjiim', and write liis speeclies in their books', Alas !~ it cried', " Oive me some drink^, Titinius'" As a sick* girl Suakspeake. Must these words of Ca;sar, "Give me some drink\ Titinius',"! be pro- nounced in exact imitation of the small, feeble voice of a sick person' — just as Cajsar spoke them' ? Bernardo. By no means, because Cassius did not pronounce them so ; for, with only a partial imitation of the feeble voice of Ca3sar, Cassius united a tone of scorn and contempt, which we should preseiTe when reading the passage. You must bear in mind that when reading a speech you are to assume the character of the leading speaker throughout, modified only in de- gree. If Cassius (the leading speaker) had merely mimicked Caisar, without uniting scorn and contempt with the mimicry, he would have lowered him- self to the character of a buftbon, and would thus have made himself ap- pear ridiculous. Much more ridiculous should we appear if, in reading this passage, toe should become the mere mimic, and that at third hand too. In Shakspeare's Henry the Fourth, the hero. Hotspur, describes a con- ceited fop in language indicative of anger and contempt. In reading the speech we must assume the character of Hotspur rather than that of the * If the reader supposes that Crito designed this as a re23eatcd question, he will give it the falling inflection, in accordance with Note 3, Rule I. Otherwise he will give it the rising inflection. Now who shall decide what Crito's intention was? All those who re- gard it as a repeated question will evidently read it in one way, and all tliose wlio regard it as merely explanatory will read another way. This well illustrates the principle laid down, that different readimjs of a passage arise from different iiiterpretations of it. t Even here the degree of force must be less than when these words are supposed to bo fpoken by Cassius. 32 WILLSON 8 FIFTH READER. Part I. fop wliom lie describes, carrying out tlic leading passion instead of the secoiuhiry. If in reading any piece we so far forget tlie leading passion as to assume the secondary entirely, we fall into mimicry, and render our ex- pression, however just in other respects, ridiculous. I will read the whole speech of Hotspur, in one part of which, as you will perceive, he assumes to give the language of the fop. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But I remember, when the fit^ht was done, Wlien I was dry mth rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dre--»'d, Fresh as a bi"idegroom ; and liis chin, new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-field at harvest-home: He was perfumed like a milliner ; And 'twixt his finger and liLs tliumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took't away again ; Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff: and still he smiled and talk'd ; And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. He called them" untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many a holiday and lady terms He question'd me; among the rest demanded My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 1 then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold. To be so pester' d by a popinjay, Out of my grief and my Impatience, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not ; for he made me vuxd\ To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet. And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark!), And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth Was spermaceti for an inward bruise ; And that it was great pity, so it was. That villainous saltpetre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed So cowardly ; and, but for these \-ile giins, He would himself have been a soldier\ This bold nnjointed chat of his, my lord', I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; And I beseech you, let not this report Come current for an accusation. Betwixt my love and your high majesty. — Shakspeabe. Crito. I perceive that the rule which you have laid down will .ilso apply to what is supposed to have been said by the hoary-headed swain in Gray's Elegy in a Country Church-yard. For thee, wlio, mindful of the unhonor'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate. If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit should intiuire tliy fate'. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, " Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. *' There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech. That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by," etc. — Geat. Bernardo. You are correct. It would be very ridiculous, in reading this Part I. ELOCUTIONARY. 33 passage, to quit the melancholy tone of the narrator, and assume the indiffer- ent and rustic accent of the old swain. What is needed in reading the last seven lines 'of this extract is to abate the plaintive tone a little, and give it a slight tincture only of the indifference and rusticity of the person introduced. The same principle applies to the "last words of Marmion,"in the fol- lowing extract from Sir Walter Scott : The war, that for a space did fail, Now trebly tliimdering swelled the galo. And— Stanley ! was the ciy. A light on Marmion's visage spread, And fired his glazing eye. With dying hand, above his head He shook the fragment of his blade. And shouted " \'ictory! Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on !" Were the last words of Marmion. — Scott. How often have I heard this passage, containing the last words of the dying hero, murdered by the schoolboy in a vain attempt to give it all the force of the living reality. Where the narrator stands out prominently be- fore the mind, and is represented as telling what another person said, it is not in good taste for one who is reading the narration to change to, and fully assume, the character of that other person. He must give the greater prominence throughout to the passion shown by the leading character — that of the supposed narrator. For example, the reader or speaker should give greater prominence to the passion of Cassius' than to that of sick Cae- sar' ; to that of Hotspur' than to that of the fop* ; to that of the narrator in the Elegy' than to that of the rustic swain* ; and to that of the describer of the battle' than to the character of Marmion*. Much force should, in- deed, be given to the repeated words of Marmion, but they must not be screamed out, as Marmion uttered them. Crito. But what if I am reading a dialogue, or one of Shakspeare's Plays. Do the same principles prevail here', and is the same rule to be observed' ? Bernardo. By no means. The principles of the composition are entirely different. In dialogue, the personification of each character is complete and entire in itself, and wholly independent. Therefore, in dialogue, or in dramatic composition, full force and energy should be given to the passion shown by each character. Crito. May not, then, the personification be so complete in some other kinds of composition as to require the same degree of force and energy as in dramatic writing' ? Bernardo. Certainly it may be. Thus, at the beginning of Gray's Poem, "The Bard," one of the bards of Wales is represented as meeting King Edward on his march, and addressing him in the following language of sublime rage, wliich should be read or spoken with all the vehemence which nyiy be supposed to have characterized the language of the bard himself. " Ruin seize thee, ruthless king ! Confusion on thy banners wait ! Tliough fann'd by conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air witli idle state. Helm, or liauberk's twisted mail. Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears. From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tear.- !" Such Mere the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Kdward scatter' d wild dismay, B2 34 WILLSOn's fifth KEADEU. Part I. As down the stfinp of Snowrton's shaggy side He wouud with tuildomii march hirf Icing array. — Geay. Here the personification is comiilcte, and the languaj^e of the hard is strictly dramatic. I will give you one example more. The personification of pride, in Pope's Essay on Man, is complete, and not subordinate to any other passion, and may therefore be allowed a forcible dramatic expression. Ask for wliat end the lieavenly bodies shine', P^artli for whose uae' : Pride' answers', "'Tiafor mine'. For ine~ kind Natnro wakes Iier genial power, Suckles eacli herb, and spjeads out eveiy flower ; Annual for me the gnipc, the rose, ren(."w The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew' : For 'ine the mine a thousand treasures brings', For vie health gushes from a tliousand springs'; Seas roll to waft me', suns to light me rise'. My footstool earth', my canopy the skies'." — Pope. This passage is essentially dramatic, and admits of a certain splendor in the pronunciation expressive of the ostentation of the speaker, and the riches and grandeur of the objects introduced. But I think we have gone over sufficient ground for one evening. The topics which we have here only briefly adverted to may be considered as merely introductory to the subject of Okatoey, which I trust you will have opportunity to attend to hereafter.* SIXTH EVENING. Analysis. — Directions for the cultivation of the voice. Flexibility. Power of voice. The natural pitch of the voice. The middle tone. I^-actical directions for strengthening this middle tone. Macbeth' s address to Banquo's ghost. Exercises for strengthening the low or bass tones. Lady Macbeth' s reproach of her husband. Lady Constance reproach- ing the Duke of Austria. Exercises for strengthening the high tones. Cautions suggest- ed. Extract from an oration of Demosthenes. The harmonizing of the sense and the sound. To preserve the melody of verse and avoid monotony. Lamentation of Orphe- us. Darius. Repetition of a word. When a sing-song tone may be admissible. " The Pauper's Drive." Extensive use of the circumflex or wave. Use of the tremor. Crito. In our former conversations it appears to have been taken for gi-anted that the reader is able to execute readily all those inflections and modulations of voice that are required in the various kinds of elocutionary reading. But may not some useful directions be given for the cultivation of the voice' ? Bernardo. The cultivation of clearness and distinctness of intonation, together with practice in the inflections and modulations, will give the voice all requisite flexibilitif ; but something more is required to give it power. That requires a different kind of practice — a physical training of the voice, which should be under the guidance of physiological principles. Crito. But may not judicious exercises be appropriately given for strength- ening the voice, even without a knowledge of the principles to which you re- fer'? Bernardo. There may, indeed, and to some of them I purpose now to call your attention. You are perhaps aware that every one has a certain natural pitch of voice, in which he is most easy to himself, and most agreea- ble to others. This is the pitch in which we converse ; and this must be tlu' basis of ever)'- improvement we acquire from art and exercise. If we would increase our power of voice, we must strengthen this ordinary middle tone ; and in order to do this, we must read and speak in this tone as loud as possible, without suffering the voice to rise into a higher key. * The subject of Okatouy is set apart as one of the divisions of the Seventh, or Aca- demical Reader. Part I. ELOCUTIONARY. 35 When we attempt this for the first time we find it no easy operation ; it is not difficult to be loud in a high tone, but to be loud and forcible without raising the voice into a higher key requires great practice and management. If you wish to strengthen your voice without danger of injuring it by over-ex- ertion, I would advise you to practice reading and speaking some strong, ani- mated passages in a small room, and to persons placed at as small a distance from you as possible ; address them with your voice at a natural pitch, and throw into it all the force possible, taking care not to let the voice rise into a higher key. This will tend to swell and strengthen the voice in the mid- dle tone, the tone that is most required in reading and oratory, and the only tone that one can speak in for a long time with comfort to himself or pleas- ure to others. A good practice on this tone of voice will be such passages as Macbeth's address to Banquo's ghost, or any other language addressed to persons near us. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth hide thee ! Thy bones are man'owless, thy blood is cold ; Tliou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with ! What man dare I dare : Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear. The arm' d rhinoceros, or the llyrcan tiger ; Take any shape but that^, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble. Ilence, horrible shadow ! Unreal mock'ry, hence I — Macbeth^ Act III., Scene 4. Crito. Such exercises, I perceive, are well fitted to strengthen the ordi- nary tone ; but if one is deficient in the low or bass tones (which I know are sometimes very effective in oratory), what kind of pieces will then be most suitable for practice ? Bernardo. Those, doubtless, which indicate hatred, scorn, or reproach ; for such feelings are naturally expressed in a full, audible tone of voice, and in a low key. Such pieces should be read or spoken at first a little below the common pitch ; when we can do this with ease we may practice them on a key a little lower, and then lower still, and so on until we get as low as we desire. The following, from Shakspeare, where Lady Macbeth reproach- es her husband with want of manliness, will he found a good exercise for this purpose : O proper stuff" ! This^ is the proper painting^ of your fears : This is the air-drawn dagger\ which you said Led you to Duncan\ Oh, these flaws and starts (Impostors to true fear) would well become A womatis story at a winter' .s fire, Authorized by her grandam^. Shame itself ! Why do you make such facea^ ? When all's done', You look but on a stooP. — Macbeth, Act III., Scene 4. Or where Lady Constance, in King John, reproaches the Duke of Austria with want of courage and spirit : Austria. Lady Constance', peace\ Constance. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war. O Austria I thou dost shame That bloody spoil. Thou slave! thou wretch 1 thou coward I Thou little valiant, great in villainy ! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! Thou fortune's^ champion, that dost never fight But when her humorous ladyship is by To teach thee safety^ ! thou avt perj^ir''d too,. And sooth'st up greatness. Wliat a fool art thou\ A ramping /ooi\' to brag\ and 6tamp\ and awear^ 36 willson's fifth reader. Part I Upon my party^ I Thou cold-blooded Blave% Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my wide' ? Ucen sworn my solilier'? biildinf; nie depend Upon tliy stars, thii fortune, iind tliij strength' ? a. And dost thou now fall over to my foes' 1 b. Thou wear a lion''s hide I Doff it for shame, c. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. King Johii, Act III., Scene 1. Crito. And I suppose that for acquiring strength in a high tone of voice, the very opposite class of pieces should be practiced upon — those which nat- urally require a high tone. Bernardo. Certainly. But here one or two cautions are requisite. Care must be taken not to strain the voice by over-exertion ; and, in the second place, when the entire piece read or spoken requires a high pitch, we must avoid the evil of a loud and vociferous beginning. Thus, in the following passage from an oration of Demosthenes, the series of questions ought to rise gradually in force as they proceed, although thepitch should be the same throughout the series. In the closing sentence, however, the voice should fall to a slow but forcible monotone. ■\Vhat was the part of a, faithful citizen^ ? of a prudent, an active, and honest minister^ ? Was he not to secure Kuboea, as our defense against all attacks by sea' ? Was he not to make Boeotia our barrier on the midland side' ? the cities bordering on Peloponnesus our bulwark on that quarter' ? Was he not to attend with due precaution to the importation of corn, that this trade might be protected through all its progress up to our own harbor' 1 Was he not to cover those districts which we commanded by reasonable detachments' ? to exert himself in the assembly for this purpose', whUe with equal zeal he labored to gain others to our interest and alliance' ? Was he not to cut off the best and most important re- sources'of our enemies, and to supply tliose in which our country was defective' ? — And all this you gained by my counsels and my administration. Crito. It has occured to me that, as all possible varieties of emotions and feelings may be expressed in verse, and as the reading of verse requires the obsei"vance of certain pauses of melody, the sense and the sound may some- times fail to harmonize. Bernardo. That ought seldom to happen; for as a coincidence in the pauses of sense and melody is a capital beauty, a good poet will always strive to attain it. In reading verse, the pronunciation should conform as nearly to the melody as the sense will admit, care being taken to break the monotony by a judicious use of the inflections. You will observe that, in reading the following selections, I presence the melody of the verse, while the monotony is broken by a judicious varying of the inflections. The first example, which is from Virgil, is the plaintive lamentation of Orpheus for his beloved Eurydice : Thee', his lov'd wife', along tlie lonely shores ; Thee', his lov'd^ wife', his mournful song deplores ; Thee', when the rising morning gives the light ; Thee', when the world was overspread wath night. — VrEGiL. The next is from Dryden, who thus paints the sad reverse of fortune suf- fered by Darius : Deserted at his greatest need By those his former bounty fed', He chose a mournful muse," Soft pity to infuse' : He sung Darius', great and gcod\ By too severe a fate," Fallen', fallen," fallen', fallen', a. These questions gi'adually increase in elevation of tone and intensity. b. Here the voice suddenly falls, and takes a tone of the most bitter Irony. c. Spoken with the bitterest scorn. Part I. ELOCUTIONAKY. 37 Fallen' from his high estate, And weltering in his blood. — Deyden. I will give one more example, in which, also, there is a repetition of a word — a figure of speech which is sometimes used to mark the importance of some emphatical word or phrase. Happy', happy," happy^ pair' I None but the brave\ Noiie" but the brave. None liut^ the brave, deserve the fair. Crito. I observe in these examples that a sing-song monotony and tame- ness of expression are avoided by a judicious use of emphasis and inflec- tions. But may not, sometimes, a sing-song tone be required, in order to express the sentiments or the feelings of the writer' ? Bernardo. I am very glad you have asked the question, for it recalls to my mind an English ballad of great power and beauty, in one portion of which this very sing-song tone of reading is required, to harmonize with the sense and the scene represented. It is the "Pauper's Drive," written by Thomas Noel. As we read the dirge which the driver sings, we can scarce- ly refrain from singing it too, and with a kind of careless sadness, which, in the closing of the fourth verse, changes to a plaintive and impressive re proof. THE pauper's drive. There's a grim one-horse hearse, in a jolly round trot ; To the church-yard a pauper is going, I wot ; The road it Is rough, and the hearse has no springs. And hark to the dirge which the sad driver sings : Rattle his bones over the stones ; He's only a pauper whom nobody owns. Oh where are the mourners' ? alas ! there are none ; He has left not a gap in the world now he's gone ; Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man : To the grave with his carca:^s as fast as you can. Kattle his bones over the stones ; He's only a pauper whom nobody owns. What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din! The whip how it cracks, and the wheels how they spinl How the dirt right and left o'er the hedges is hurled ! The pauper at length makes a noise in the world ! Rattle his bones over the stones ; He's only a pauper whom nobody owns. Poor pauper defunct' ! he has made some approach To gentility', now that he' s stretched in a coach' ; He's taking a drive in his carriage at last, But it will not be long if he goes on so fast : Rattle his bones over the stones ; He's only a pauper whom nobody owns. But a truce to this strain', for my soul it is sad," To think that a heart, in humanity clad, Should make," like the brutes," such a desolate end". And depart from the light without leaving a friend. Bear softly his bones over the stones : Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maker yet owns. Thomas Nobx. Crito. The reading of this last line leads me to ask if the intqnation de- noted by the circumflex or wave is not frequently employed to express ten- der and pathetic feelings ? Bernardo. It is ; and the " gentle rising inflection" which is mentioned in Rule IX. as the proper intonation for tender emotion is in reality the 38 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Paet I. circumflex that terminates with the rising slide. Thus, in the example there given — "Is your J'uther well', the old man' of whom ye spake'? Is he' yet alive' ?^' — the rising inflection, as marked, is really the ending of the circumflex. This kind of circumflex, it may be remarked, is the proper intonation of prayer, and of all serious appeal, and even of narrative into which tender emotion enters. Thus, if the following, which has no em- phatic words, be read with tender feeling, every syllable will have a gentle circumflex or wave, ending with the upward slide : " Beneath those rugged elnia, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Eacli in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet 8leep."-^GEAY. In the following example, however, it is only the emphatic words which receive the circumflex, which is a little more conspicuous here than when it is given to every syllable. " And is this (ill your store' ? and a share of th'is do you offer to one you know not' ? Then never saw I charity before\" I have one more remark to make on this subject of expression. You have doubtless noticed that in very effective reading or speaking, into which emotion enters, a kind of tremor of the voice may often be observed. It is not confined to any one kind of emotion, but, when skillfully used, gives additional force to expressions of joy, rapture, triumph, scorn, and contempt, and also to those of great grief and anguish. Its two extremes tend to- ward laughter on the one hand, and crying on the other. We have an ex- ample of the former from Shakspeare, in Shylock's exultation at the deci- sion of the learned judge, seemingly in his favor : " A Daniel come to judgment^ ! yea, a DanieP I O wise young jiulge\ how I do honor' thee!" but Still better in Gratiano's exultation at the discomfiture of the Jew : " O upright judge ! — mark Jew ; — O learned judge !" and of the latter we have a good example in Shylock's grief, which shows itself in the tremulous tones of a broken-heai-ted old man : " I pray you give me leave to go from hence : I am not well ; send the deed after me, And I will sign it." It is impossible, however, to appreciate the spirit of these extracts, and read them appropriately, M-ithout a knowledge of the whole play. The fol- lowing, which almost every one would naturally read in a monotone, and with a slight tremor, will be better appreciated : " The tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier. And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine." — Halleck. That old but truly beautiful piece, "The Beggar's Petition," loses all its pathos if not read with the tremor which we should expect from one whose condition is there represented. I will pronounce the first verse only : " Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store." It requires an accomplished rhetorician to read such pieces Well. Paet I. ELOCUTIONARY. 39 ADDITIONAL ELOCUTIONAEY EXERCISES, WITH REFERENCES TO THE RULES. [The figures refer to the rules indicated by them.] Can he exalt his thoughts to any thing great and noble who only believes that, after a Bhort turn on the stage of this world, he is to sink into oblivion, and to lose his conscious- ness forever' ?i How can he exalt liLs thoughts to any thing gi'eat and noble who only believes that, aft- er a short turn on the stage of this world, he is to sink into oblivion, and to lose his con- sciousness forever^ '?3 h. Where amid the dark clouds of pagan philosophy, can he show us so clear a prospect of a future state\ the immortality of the sour, the resurrection of the dead", and the gen- eral judgment', ^ as in St. Paul's First Epistle to the Corinthians^? (Jan he sliow us, any where, amid the dark clouds of pagan philosophy, so clear a pros- pect of a future state', the immortality of the soul', the re:^urrection of the dead', and the general judgment', as in St. l^aul's First Epistle to the Corinthians' ? (Rule VIII., Note.) Shall we, in your person, crown the author of the public calamities', or shall we destroy him^'?^ a. To ad^-ise the ignorant\8 relieve the needy,^8 comfort the afflicted', are duties that fall in our way almost every day of our lives. a. The miser is more industrious than the saint. The pains of getting\8 the fear of Iosing\8 and the inability of eujoying his wealth', have been the mark of satire in all ages. a. The descriptive part of this allegoi-y is likewise very strong, and full of sublime ideas. The figure of Death\8 the regal crown upon his head\8 his menace to Satan \8 his advancing to the combat\8 the outcry at his birth', are circumstances too notahle to be passed over in silence, and extremely suitable to this king of terrors. — Addison's de- scrijiHon of Milton's Figure of Death. b. Life consists not of a series of illustrious actions' or elegant enjoyments" ;5 the great- er part of our time passes in compliance with necessities", in tlie performance of daily du- ties", in tlie removal of small inconveniences', in the procurement of petty pleasures.— Johnson. c. The ill-natured man, though but of equal parts with the good-natured man, gives himself a larger field to expatiate" in ; he exposes those failings in human nature which the other would cast a veil" over ; laughs at vices which the other either excuses or con- ceals" ; falls indifferently upon friends or enemies" ; exposes the person who has obliged^ him ; and, in short', sticks at nothing that may establish his character of a wit. — Specta- tor, No. 169. When the proud steed shall know why man restrains" His fiery course," or drives him o'er the plains' ; When the dull ox,~why now he treads tlie clod," Is now a victim," and now Egypt's god' :" Then shall man's pride and dullness comprehend d. His actions", passions', being's" use and end" : d. Wliy doing", suffering", check'd', impell'd" — and why This hour a slave', tl;e next a deity". As no faculty of the mind is capable of more improvement than the memory',^ so none is in more danger of decay by disuse". Is the goodness' or wisdom"^ of the Divine Being more manifest in these his proceed- ings" ?3 Is the power' or greatness' of the Divine Being manifest in these his proceedings' ? (Rule v., Note II.) Whither shall I turn" ?3 Wretch that I am' != to what place shall I betake" myself ?3 Shall I go to the Capitol' ?i Alas ! it is ovei-flowed with my brother's blood". Or shall I a. a. a. These are exampless of commencing series. 6. This contains an example of a concluding series, in which all the particulare, except the last but oni\ have the falling inflection. c. This contains an example of a concluding series, in which all the particulars have the falling inflection, because the concluding member has a pause with the rising inflec- tion before the end. d. d. Examples of the concluding series. ObseiTe in this extract numerous examples of the pause of suspension, in which the voice preserve' a monotone. 40 WILLSON 8 FIFTH READER. Part I retire to my house^ ?5a Yet there I behold my mother plunged in mwery, weeping and d&tions be impre-s'd,~ blameless Bethel," to relieve thy breast' ? Wlieii tills loose mountain trembles from on high," Shall graritation cease," while you go by' ? Or some old temple," nndding to its tall," For (Jhartres' head reserve the hanging wall' ? — Pope. I knew when seven justices could not make up a quarrel ; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an if : as if }ou said so, then I said sd;i' and they shook hands', and were sworn brothers^ — Shakspeaee. This thy vaunt : " Give death his due', the ivretclud', and the old> ; " Let him not violate kind nature' rt laws', " But own man born to live'^ as well as die'." "Wretched and old thou n'lvest him' ; young and gay He takes^ ; and plunder ia a tyrant's joy. What, Tubero, did that naked sword' of yours mean in the battle of Pharsalia* ? At whose breast' was its point aimed' ? "What was then the meaning of your arms', your spirit', your eyes', your hands', your ardor of soul' '? AVbat did you desire', what wish* for ? I press the youth too much ; he seems disturbed. Let me return to myself, I too bore arms on the same side*. — Ciceko. What is time} ? 1 asked a spirit lost* ! but on the shriek That pierced my soul' ! I sliudder while I speak — a. The application of the Fifth I^ule here will be very apparent if the preceding sen- tence (" Alas !" etc.) be stricken out. b. b. The word mien, being emphatic, must have the falling inflection : so also o/t. c. This line well illustrates the beauty of the rule relating to a concluding series. d. The pause of suspension in this extract denotes a sameness of voice, or monotore, wherever it is used. e. The falling inflection thionghout this cxampL^ is nearly allied to the circumflex. PaktI. elocutionary. 41 a. It cried, " A particle' — a speck^ — a mite' Of endless years', duration infinite!" — IIaksden. The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, b. Yea, all which it inherit\ shall dissolve; And, like the baseless fabric of a yision. Leave not a rack behind. — Shakspeaee. Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new color, as it gasps away, _ c. The last still loveliest, till — His gone and all is gray. d. High on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind ; Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, Show'rs, on her kings barbaric, pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat JItlton. e. O my soul's joy' ! If after every tempest come mich calms'. May the winds blow till they have waken'd death' ! e. Ojoy' ! thou welcome stranger'! twice three years I have not felt thy vital beam' ; but now It warms my veins', and plays ahout my heart' : A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground," And I could mount — /. I am not mad' — I would to heaven I were' ! For then ' tis like I should forget myself : Oh if I could, what grief should I forget ! g. That strain again' ! it had a dying fall' ! Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and gi\-ing odor. The expres; heauty of a plain', the greatness of a mountain', the ornaments of a building', the sion of a picture', the composition of a discourse', the conduct of a thii-d person', the proportion of different quantities and numbers', the various appearances which the great machine of the universe is perpetually exhibiting', the secret wheels and springs which produce them', all the general subjects of science and taste', are what we and our companions regard as having no peculiar relation to either' of us."" TOMOKEOW. To-morrow didst thou say' ? Methought I heard Horatio say to-morrow' ; i. Go to', I wUl not hear' of it ; to-morrow' ! 'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury' Against thy plenty' ; who takes thy ready cash, And pays thee naught but wishes, hopes, and promises'. The currency of idiots' ; injurious bankrupt, i. That gulls the easy creditor. To-morrow' ! a. This is an example of intensive emphasis, which rises into a climax at mite. h. This also requires a gradually rising pitch of the voice on each successive member to the acme of the passage ; then, by a gradual descent, the voice should return to its ordi- nary level. c. Rhetorical pause of suspension. d. Rule XII., the monotone. e. e. Unexpected joy, which elevates the voice to the highest pitch. /. Extreme sorrow, which also raises the voice to a high pitch. In the second line the voice should fall partially; and in the third line it should be still lower, hut very forcible. g. Here is an example of pleasing melancholy, which adopts a slow pronunciation, and a soft, low tone. The List three lines should be spoken in a monotone. These examples show that in exclamatory sentences the tone of the passion should reg- ulate the t(jne of the voice. h. The reader would also do well to consider the particulars in this series as emphaiie, and read the whole as a concluding series. i. i. Where exclamatory sentences have the character of direct questions, they receive the rising inflection. Rule X., Note, 42 willson'b fifth readek. Pakt I. It ia a period nowhere to be found In all the hoary rcgistcrH of Tinie\ Unless perchance in the /oof .s calendar. Wisdom dinclaiiiiH the word, nor holds society With those who own^ it. No\ my Horatio', 'Tis Fdneifa child\ and Follij is its father'' ; Wrought of sucli stuff as dreavis'' are, and as baseleBU As the fantastic visions of the evening Cotton. The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss : to give it tlicn a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. Where are^ thoy ? With the years beyond the flood. It ia the signal that demands dispatch : How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down — on wliat'? A fathomless abyss 1 A dread eternity^ ! how surely mine! And can eternity belong to me, Poor iiensionor on the bounties of an hour'? — Yoitno. a. There are tears^ for his love'; joy^ for iiis fortune'; honor^ for his valor' ; and death' for his ambitiou\ a. There are tears" for his love^ ; joy" for his fortune^ ; honor" for liis valor' ; and dcalh^ for his arabition\ 6. Do you think he will come to-day' ? Do you think he will come to-day' ? said John'. Am I my brother's keeper' ? said the unhappy man'. h. Wliere are you going' ? Where are you going' ? said John'. A c. For Heaven's' sake, Hubert', let me not be ftoMwd'.' Nay', hear^ me, Hubert' ! drive these men away'. And I will sit as quiet as a lamb^ ; I will not stir^, nor un')ve\ nor speak a word', Nor look^ upon the irons angi'ily' ; Thrust but these men away', and Til forgive'* you, Whatever torment you do put me to'. Shijlock. He hath disgraced^ me, and hindered me of half a million'' ; Uaighcd at my losses', mocked at my gains', scorned my nation', thwarted my bargains', cooled my friends', Ticated mine enemies'; and what's his reason'.^ lama jcio'/ Hath not a Jew iyes'f hath not a Jew hands'^ organs'^ dinihisions', senses', affections', 2^('ssions' f fed with the same food', hurt with the same ireapoiis', subject to the same diseases', heated by the same means', warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is' ? if you x>rick^ us, do we not bleed' ? if you tickle^ us, do we not hhigh' ? if you poison'' us, do we not d'le' f and if you icrong^ us, shall we not revenge' ? if we are like you in the rest', we will resemble you in that. If a Jew'' wrong a Christian', what is his humility'' f revenge'' ; if a Christian'' wrong a Jiw', what should his siifferance^ be by Christian ex- ampW ? why, revenge*. The villainy you teach' me' I will execute'' ; and it shall go hard'' but I will better^ the instruction. a. a. See Note to Rule VIII. Here are two different readings of the same passage, and each has its advocates. The fir?t rendering supposes that the words were spoken with little or no depth of feeling; the second gives to them a considerable degree of intense feeling and emphatic solemnity. Those who agree as to the meaning will read the pas- sage alike. It is not, therefore, t'he^irincii'les of elocution that are at fsxult here, but the impossibility of knowing, in this as in thousands of other instances, what were the exact sentiments and emotions of the speaker. (See also p. 20.) 6. b. Not only has a direct question the rising slide, but a succeeding dependent circum- staiire ifikes the rising slide also. A dependent circumstance foUoAving an indirect ques- tion also takes the rising slide. The principle in both cases will be made apparent, as already explained, by restoring the natural order of the sentences. Thus : John said', do you think he will come to-day'? John said', where are you going' ? For the inflection after " said," see Rule 11. c This is spoken throughout in the tone of plaintive entreaty. FIEST MISCELLANEOUS DIYISIOK LESSON I. — GREEN RIVER. When breezes are soft and skies are fair, I steal an hour from study and care, And liie me away to the woodland scene, Where wanders the stream with waters of green. As if the briglit fringe of herbs on its brink Had given their stain to the wave they drink ; And they, whose meadows it murmurs through, Have named the stream from its own fair hue. 44 WILLSOk's FIFTU KEADER. 2. How pure its waters ! its sliallows are briglit With colored pi^hhles and sparkles of light, And clear the depths where its eddies play, And dimples deejjcn and whirl away. Oh, loveliest there the spring days corae. With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum ; The flowers of summer are fairest there. And freshest the breath of the summer air ; And sweetest the golden autumn day In silence and sunshine glides away. 3. Yet, fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide. Beautiful stream ! by the village side ; But windest away from haunts of men, To quiet valley and shaded glen ; And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill. Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still. Lonely," save when, by thy rippling tides, From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; " Or the simpler comes with basket and book, For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me. To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee. Still," save the chirp of birds that feed On the river cherry and seedy reed, And thy own wild music gushing out With mellow murmur and fairy shout. From dawn to the blush of another day, Like traveler singing along his way. 4. I often come to this quiet place, To breathe the airs that ruffle thy face, And gaze upon thee in silent dream. For in thy lonely and lovely stream An image of that calm life appears That won my heart in my greener years. — Bryant. LESSON II. TUB BEST KIND OF EEVENGE. 1. Some years ago, a warehouseman in Manchester, En- gland, published a scurrilous^ pamphlet, in wliich he endeav- ored to hold up the house of Grant Brothers to ridicule. William Grant remarked upon the occurrence that the man would live to repent what he had done ; and this was con- veyed by some tale-bearer to the libeler,^ who said, " Oh, I sup- pose he thinks I shall some time or other be in his debt ; but I will take good care of that." It happens, however, that a man in business can not always choose who shall be his cred- itors.3 The pamphleteer became a bankrupt,^ and the broth- ers held an acceptance^ of his which had been indorsed^ to them by the drawer,' who had also become a bankrupt. FIKST MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 45 J'- 2. The wantonly-libeled men had thus become creditors of the libeler ! They now had it in their power to make him repent of his audacity. He could not obtain his certificate without their signature, and without it he could not enter into business again. He had obtained the number of signa- tures required by the bankrupt law except one. It seemed folly to hope that the firm of " the brothers" would supply the deficiency. What ! they, who had cruelly been made the laughing-stocks of the public, forget the wrong and favor the wrong-doer ? He despaired. But the claims of a wife and children forced him at last to make the application. Hum- bled by misery, he presented himself at the counting-house of the wronged. 3. Mr. William Grant was there alone, and his first words to the delinquent were, " Shut the door, sir !" — sternly utter- ed. The door was shut, and the libeler stood trembling be- fore the libeled. He told his tale, and produced his certifi- cate, which was instantly clutched by the injured merchant. " You wrote a pamphlet agamst us once !" exclaimed Mr. Grant. The supplicant expected to see his parchment thrown into the fire. But this was not its destination. Mr. Grant took a pen, and, writing something upon the document, hand- ed it back to the bankrupt. He, poor wretch ! expected to see " rogue, scoundrel, libeler" inscribed, but there was, in fair round characters, the signature of the firm. 4. "We make it a rule," said Mr. Grant, "never to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we have never heard that you Avere any thing else." The tears start- ed into the poor man's eyes. "Ah!" said Mr. Grant, "my saying was true. I said you would live to repent writing that pamphlet. I did not mean it as a threat. I only meant that some day you would know us better, and be sorry you had tried to injure us. I see you repent of it now." " I do, I do !" said the grateful man ; " I bitterly repent it." " Well, well, my dear fellow, yon know us now. Plow do you get on? What are you going to do?" The poor man stated that he had friends who could assist him when his certificate was obtainecl. " But how are you off in the mean time ?" 5. And the answer was, that, having given up every far- thing to his creditors, he had been compelled to stint his fam- ily of even common necessities, that he might be enabled to pay the cost of his certificate. "My dear fellow, this Avill not do ; your family must not suffer. Be kind enough to take this ten-pound note to your wife from me. There, there, my 46 WILLSON S FIFTH KEADER. dear fellow! Nay, don't cry; it will be all well with you yet. Keep up your Bpirits, set to work like a man, and you will raise your head among us yet." The overpowered man endeavored in vain to expi*ess liis thanks : the swelling in his throat forbade Avords. He put his handkerchief to his face, and went out of the door crying like a child. — Chambees. 1 SotJB'-EiL-ous, grossly abusive. 2 LI'-uEL-BR, one who, ia a written article, wantonly injures the reputation of another. 3 €RiiD' -IT-OB, one to whom another is in- debted. * Bank'-bupt, one who can not pay his debts. 5 A€-okpt'-ance, in commerce, is the accept- ing or signing of a bill or order, so as to bind the acceptor to make payment. ^ In-dobbe', to write one's name on the back of a note, etc., bo as to become liable to pay it. ' Deaw'-eb, the maker of a note. LESSON III. A MODEST WIT. 1. A supercilious' nabob° of the East — Haughty, being great — purse-proud, being rich — A governor, or general, at the least, I hare forgotten which — Had in his family a humble youth. Who went from England in his patron's'' suite, An unassuming boy, and in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute. 2. This youth had sense and spirit ; But yet, with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit. 3. One day, at table, flush'd with pride and wine, His honor, proudly free, severely merry. Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretaiy.* 4. "Young man'," he said, "by what art\ craft', or trade', Did your good father' gain a livelihood ?" — "He was a saddler\ sir," Modestus said, "And in his time was reckon'd good." 5. "A saddler\ eh' ! and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew' !^ Pray, why did not )'our father make A saddler, sir, of you' ?" 6. Each parasite,* then, as in duty bound. The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length Modestus, bowing low, Said (craving pardon if too free he made), " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your^ father's trade !" 7. " My ./a^Acr's trade' ! by heaven, that's too bad ! My father's trade' ? Wliy, blockhead, arc you mad FIRST MISCBLLAiTEOUS DIVISION. 47 My father, sir, did never stoop so low — He was a gentleman, I'd have you know." "Excuse the liberty I take," Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of yozi^?" — Anon. J Su-peb-oTl'-i-ous, lofty with pride. 2 Na'-bob, a man of great wealth. 3 Pa'-teon, a guardian or protector. * Se€'-ee-ta-ry, one employed to write let- ters ; a chief clerk. 5 Sew, pronounced so. 6 Pab'-a-bitb, a sycophant ; flatterer. LESSON IV. — THE ELOQUENCE OP ACTION. 1 . "When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at state and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in siDeech further than it is con- nected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clear- ness, force, and earnestness are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It can not be brought from for. Labor and learning may toil for it', but they will toil in vain\ Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way', but they can not compass^ it. It must exist in the man\ in the subject', and in the occasion\ Affected passion\ intense expression^ the pomp of declama- tion\ all may aspire after it' — they can not reach^ it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original native force. 2. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men when their own lives; and the fate of their wives, their chil- dren, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent ; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his ob- ject — this, this is eloquence ; or, rather, it is something great- er and higher than all eloquence — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action ! — Daniel Webstek. 48 willson's fifth ekadee. LESSON V. — USE PLAIN LANGUAGE. 1. What do you say'? What'? I really do not under- stand^ you. Be so good as to explain^ yourself again. Upon my word, I do not ! Oh ! now I know : you mean to tell me it is a cold day. Why did you not say at once, " It is cold^ to-day ?" If you wish to inform me it rains or snows', pray say, "It rains\" "It snows^;" or, if you think I look well', and you choose to compliment me', say, " I think you look weir." " But," you answer, " that is so common and so plain, and what every body can say." " Well, and what if every body can ? Is it so great a misfortune to be understood when one speaks, and to sptak like the rest of the world' ? 2. I Avill tell you what, my friend — you do not suspect it, and I shall astonish you — but you, and those like you, want common sense ! Nay, this is not all ; it is not only in the di- rection of your wants that you are in fault, but of your sup,er- fluities ; you have too much conceit ; you possess an opinion that you have more sense than others. That is the source of all your pompous nothings\ your cloudy sentences\ and your big words without a meaning. Before you accost a person, or enter a room, let me pull you by the sleeve and whisper in your ear, " Do not try to show off your sense : have none at all ; that is your cue. Use plain language, if you can ; just such as you find others use, who, in your idea, have no under- standing ; and then, perhaps, you will get credit for having some." — La Bbuyere. LESSON VI. THE THREE BLACK CROWS. [It must be remembered that where the circumflex is used (" ") in the reading lessons., it does not designate the character of the vowel sound, but the nature of ths inflection.'] 1. Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand," One took the other briskly by the hand' : "Hark ye\" said he', " 'tis an odd story this, About the crows' !" "I don't know what it is\" Eeplied his friend. " No'? I'm sui-prised" at that; Where / come from', it is the common chat : But you shall hear' : an odd affair indeed' ! And that it happened, they are all agreed : Not to detain you from a thing so strange', A gentleman', that lives not far from 'Change', This week', in short', as all the alleyjcnows'^ Taking a puke', has thrown up three" black crows'." FIRST MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 49 2. •' Impossible M" " Nay, but it's really true' ; I had it from good hands, and so may you." " From whose', I pray' ?" So, having named the man, Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. " Sii'', did you tell'" — relating the affair — " Yes\ sir', I did' ; and if it's worth your care, Ask Mr. Such-a-one' ; he told it me ; But, by-the-by, 'twas two'' black crows, not three'. " 3. Resolved to trace so wondrous an event. Whip to the third the virtuoso went. . " Sir" — and so forth — " Why, yes ; the thing is fact, Though in regai-d to number not exact ; . It was not two black crows' ; 'twas only one'' ; The truth of that you may depend' upon : The- gentleman himself told me the case." " Where' may I find' him ?" " Why, in such a place" 4. Away he goes, and having found him out — "Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." Then to his last informant he referred. And begged to know if true what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow'?" "Not' I' !" "Bless' me! how people propagate a lie' ! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one, And here I find at last all comes to none ! Did you say nothing of a crow at all'?" "Cruw — crow — perhaps I might', now I recall The matter over'." "And pray, sir, what was't?" "Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did^ throw up, and told my neighbor^ so. Something that was as black, sir, as a a-ow." — Btrom. LESSOiST VII. WHAT IS A GENTLEMAN? 1. A GENTLEMAN is just a ge7itle-ma.n ; no more, no less ; a diamond polished, that was first a diamond in the rough. A gentleman is gentle. A gentleman is modest. A gentleman is courteous. A 'gentleman is generous. A gentleman is slow to take offense, as being one that never gives it. A gen- tleman is slow to surmise evil, as being one that never thinks it. A gentleman goes armed only in consciousness of right. A gentleman subjects his appetites. A gentleman refines his taste. A gentleman subdues his feelings. A gentleman deems every other better than himself. 2. Sir Philip Sidney was never so much a gentleman — mir- ror though he was of England's knightliood — as wnen, upon the field of Zutphen, as he lay in his own blood, he waived the draught of cold spring water that was brought to quench 50 willson's fifth eeader. his mortal thirst in favor of a dying soldier. St. Paul de- scribed a gentleman wlien he exhorted the Philippian Chris- tiaus : "Whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." — G. W. Doane. LESSON VIII.— WHAT IS TIME ? 1 . I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares, Wrinkled and curved, and white with hoary hairs ; "Time is the wai-p of life," he said : "oh tell , The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well !" I asked the ancient venerable dead\ Sages who wrote', and warriors who bled' ; From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed," "Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode!" 2. I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide Of life had left his veins : " Time !" he replied, " I've lost^ it ! ah ! the treasure' !" and he died. I asked the golden sun, and silver spheres. Those bright chronometers of days and years : They answered, " Time is but a meteor glare ! " And bade us for eternity prepare. 3. I asked a spirit lost' ; but oh~ the sVriek That pierced my souF ! I shudder while I speak ! It cried, "A particle' ! a speck' ! a mite Of endless years, duration infinite !" Of things inanimate, my dial I Consulted, and it made me this reply : "Time is the season fair of living well'. The path of gloiy', or the path of hell'." 4. I asked old Father Time himself, at last, But in a moment he flow swiftly past ; His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind His noiseless steeds, which left no trace beBind. . • I asked the mighty angel, who shall stand One foot on sea, and one on solid land ; "By heavens !" he cried, " I swear the mystery's o'er; Time was," he cried, "but time shall be no more !" Marspes. Time is the cradle of hope', but the grave of ambition'; the salutary counselor of the wise', but the stern corrector of fools'. Wisdom walks be- fore it', opmortunity with it', and repentance behind' it : he that has made it his friemf' will have little to fear from his enemies'; but he that has made it his enemy', will have but little to hope from his friends'. — Lacon". Pakt II. HERPETOLOGY, OB REPTILES, 51 PART II. THIRD DIVISION OF ZOOLOGY; EMBRACING HEEPETOLOGY, OR THE NATURAL HISTORY OF REPTILES. [For the Ist and 2d Division? of Znnlnrjy, ?po Ttiird and Fourth Readers Representatives of the four okdees op the Reptile Race. — The Lizard ; the Fresh- water Terrapin, or Turtle ; the Adder; and a South American Frog, with " homed eyelids." LESSON I. — INTRODUCTOET VIEA|^ 1. The two divisions of animal life already described in the Third and Fourth Readers embrace the Mammalia and the Birds, which are called the wann-bloocled Vertebrates,^ be- cause they have warm blood, and a jointed back-bone or spinal column. The third division, which is composed of the Reptiles, and the fourth, which is composed of the Fishes, embrace the cold-blooded Vertebrates, which are so called because a spinal column, more or less apparent,^ is found in all of them, and their natural temperature,^ although 52 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Part II. their blood is red, is but little, if at all, above that of the at- mosphere or Avater in which they dwell. To our touch they appear decidedly cold. In this and a few succeeding lessons we are to treat of Jlerpetology, or the natural history of rep- tiles, 2. " It can not be denied," says Swainson, " that the form which nature has assumed in this division of animal life is as- sociated in most minds with deformity or with horror. Yet, however the bulk of mankind may turn with disgust from the contemplation of these creatures, the philosophic observer, who knows that eveiy thing which has proceeded from the hand of Omnipotence is, in its kind, good and perfect, will pa- tiently investigate* their history, and will endeavor to illus- trate, in these despised and repulsive animals, those sublime truths of Unitt of PLA:>i, which are as perfect and apparent in the character of a loathsome rej^tile as in the formation of a Paradise-bird." 3. The skeleton of reptiles presents much greater varia- tions in structure^ than are found in the warm-blooded verte- brates. Indeed, all fte parts of which the skeleton of rep- tiles is composed, excepting the head and the vertebrated col- umn and ribs, are wanting in one or another group ; yet in such of the bones as are found we may trace a striking resem- blaqce to the corresponding bones of mammalia and birds. Throughout all the divisions of animal life the changes of form are very gradual. 4. Although reptiles, with the exception of amphibians^ during a part of their existence, breathe by means of lungs, their circulating apparatus is not so i:)erfect as in the mam- malia and birds ; for although the heart, in all but the am- phibians,*' has two auricles,'' it has but one ventricle,^ into which both of the auricles open, and where the pure and im- pure blood are mingled, and then sent in part to the lungs, and in part ta the body. The veins and arteries of reptiles, therefore, are Tiot filled with pure red blood, like those of the mammalia and birds, but with an imperfect fluid not so well adapted to give them a high degree of life and vigor. Hence, as the animal heat is always in proportion to the quantity of lespiration — to the amount of oxygen or fuel consumed — reptiles are comparatively cold-blooded. Their lungs are suiall ; their circulation is slow ; and as they consume less air than the mammalia, they are capable of living for a longer time without it. 5. In all cold-blooded animals, the vital principle is much Tart II. HERPETOLOGY, OR REPTILES. 53 stronger than in those whose blood is warm. Their heart pulsates, iia some cases, for many hom-s after it has been re- moved from the body ; the tortoise will continue to live, and exliibit voluntary motion, for a considerable time after having lost its head. The physiologist Lewes affirms that a frog moved about voluntarily the day after he had removed its brain ; and one was kept alive forty days after having been sub- jected to the total deprivation of its lungs. As might be ex- pected from the character of their blood, its slow circulation, and the smallness of the brain, reptiles are in general sluggish and indolent in their habits of life, and obtuse^ in their sensa- tions ; and in cold countries they pass a great part of the winter in a dorTnant^° state. Almost all reptiles are carniv- orous.'^ They produce their young from eggs, which they generally dej^osit in warm sandy places, leaving them to be hatched by the warmth of the atmosphere. 6. Reptiles have been divided, by most naturalists, into the folloAving four orders or classes : first, the Chelonians^ or tortoises ; second, the Saurians^ or lizards, which embrace the crocodiles; third, the Ophidians, or serpents; and fourth, the A)nphibia7is, Avhich embrace the frogs, toads, salaman- ders, and sirens — animals Avhich undergo a wonderful trans- formation'^ rj,t a certain period of their lives, from the nature and habits of fishes to those of the true land reptiles. Think not that the study of the nature, character, and habits of such creatures is unworthy the human intellect : they form links in the great chain of animated nature ; and the ffreat ichole of this most interesting portion of God's creation can not be understood without a knowledge of the par?s of which it is composed. We may well ajiply to this subject Pope's cele- brated lines — " From Nature's chnin, whatever link yon strike, Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike." 1 Ver'-te-br.\te, an animal having a gpino with joints. 2 Ap-pab'-ent, easily seen; obvious. 3 Tkm'-pep.-a-tCee, state of a body with re- gard to heat or cold * I"K-VE8'-Ti-GATE, examine into. * StrC Ac'-Ei-CLE, one of the cavities of the heart! ' ' €AE-Niv'-o-EOus, feeding on flesh. i" TBANS-FOEM-i'Tiox, change of form, which receives the blood /roTO the lungs ol veins. See Fourth Reader, p. 49. 8 Vf;N'-TRi-€i.E, aca,vity of the heart wbicl> propels the blood to the lungs or arteries. See Fourth Header, p. 40. 9 Ob-tCse', dull; not having acute sensi- bility. 10 Dor'-m ANT, sleeping; not activ £4 WILLSON's fifth reader. 1>art II. LESSON II. — A LETTER ABOUT THE CHELONIANS.^ " "What do you think of turtles^ ?" Such was the question asked lue by a young friend and former puf»il of mine, then on a visit with me to our great metropoHs,^ as, stepping out of a diuing-saloon in Broadway, we stopped a moment to look at three enormous living sea-turtles that had just been depos- ited on the sideAvalk from a dray-cart, with their backs down- ward to prevent them from running away. After some com- ments upon turtle-soujD and aldermauic dinners, my young friend remarked that he knew very little «,bout the better portion of the turtle family, and had a prejudice against the whole race : he had seen, he said, great numbers of ugly-look- ing mud-turtles in swamps and river-marshes, and he thought these reptiles were very well adapted, by their disagreeable appearance, to the places which they inhabit. With a prom- ise to give my friend some account, by letter, of the turtle portion of the reptile kingdom, we jDarted ; and now I pro- ceed to make good my promise. Dellwild, May loth, 18—. 1. My youxg Friend, — I begin this letter by recalling to your remembrance the substance of the remark which you made at our jDarting, " that turtles are pecuUarly adaj^ted to certain unpleasant localities which Nature seems to have set apart for them," A fit starting-place is this ; for here, by your own admission, is a beautiful harmony^ in nature, which would not be if the loveliest of singing-birds inhabited the marshes, and turtles, lizards, and crocodiles crawled in our gardens. The same kind of harmony will be found to exist throughout earth, air, and water : the eagle and the condor naturally betake themselves to mountain heights far from the dwellings of man ; gaudy sun-birds and delicate humming- birds " gleam between Tlie crimson blossoms of the coral-tree In the warm isles of India's sunny sea;" the lion for the forests, the tiger for the jungles, the fishes for the waters, and why not reptiles to crmcl upon the earth, and turtles to wallow in the marshes ? You may lay it down as a principle to begin with, that the harmony^ of nature would be incomplete if every nook of creation were not filled with its appropriate inhabitants. 2. But perhaps it may serve to give these lowly creatures Part II. HERPEXOLOGY, OR REPTILES. 55 a greater degree of importance in your estimation, and digni- fy the study of their character and habits, to learn (if you are ignorant of it) that the celebrated naturalist* Agassiz^ has devoted the greater part of one of his foho^ volumes upon the Natural History of the Animals of this Country to the sub- ject of tortoises alone, and that he has filled the greater part of another volume with exquisite'' drawings of these animals. Do you think it was time wasted on his part? or that the cause of science will not be benefited by his labors? Not content with information at second-hand, he has examined hundreds, and probably thousands, of the living animals them- selves, and from his own personal knowledge has wiitten his ►descriptions and made his drawings. 3. "Surely," you say, "he must have traveled much, and waded through swamps and marshes innumerable, to have found so many of these disgusting animals !" By no means. Breaking in upon the natural harmony to which Ave have al- luded, he had his gai'den full of them, in the city of Cambridge, near Boston ; and there he walked among them daily, fed them, and studied their character and habits. "But," you ask, " how did he obtain them^ ?" Scientific men from all parts of our country collected them for him, and sent them to him. Thus Agassiz tells us that a gentleman of Natchez, Mississippi, not satisfied with collecting, extensively, the tui'- tles in the neighborhood of his residence, undertook a journey of many hundred miles for the special purjDose of securing all the species living in the adjoining regions, and, having com- pleted the survey, set out with a cargo of living turtles, and brought them safely alive to him in Cambridge, after a jour- ney of over a thousand miles. 4. I think you will agree with me that if such a man as Agassiz, whose name is every where honored for his contri- butions to science, devotes so much time to the study of tor- toises, and publishes costly books to explain their structure and describe their habits, it is surely not unworthy a stu- dent's ambition to learn something about these animals, and the position which they occupy in the kingdom of animated nature. You will doubtless admit that it is very desirable, to say the least, in an age when natural history is receiving so much attention, to have some general knowledge of all its great divisions, that of herpetology among the rest, that you may not be wholly ignorant of what the learned are so much interested in. 5. Let me remind von of another advantage Avhich will be 5G WILLSON » FIFTH UEAJJKK. Vart II. the natural result of a more extended acquaintance with tliis subject. The feeliugs of disgust with which, douDtless, the siglit of most reptiles now fills you, will give Avay to some de- gree of satisfaction at least, if not of pleasure, by reason of the ■ interest which a knowledge of their structiu-e, character, and habits will excite in you. If we could look upon all God's " creatures with j^leasure, and find something to interest us in all of them, even the humblest, how much would our stock of general happiness be increased thereby ! 6. But let us return to our subject, and see if we can not treat of it in a more scientific order. As tortoises are in- cluded in the great division of vertebrated animals, you will naturally ask, " for what reason^ ?" I reply, " Because they# have a back-bone or spinal column." " But the tortoise," you say, " is a soft animal, between two shells, and I see no such bone in its body." Let me explain to you. The back-bone of the tortoise is on the oid- side of the body, and forms a part of its shell, or covering. Here is a drawing which will make it all plain to you. It represents the under side of the upper shell of the tortoise, with the bones of the limbs attached in their proper places. Downward through the length of the shell runs the spinal column ; branching out from each side of it are the flat ribs, which have so grown together as to leave only a Upper Bheii of Tortoise. ^^^^.^ li^g.^^ark to show where they are imited. Thus the spinal column and the ribs groAV on the outside, so as to form the upper shell of the animal. 7. " This is wonderful," you say ; " what I had never thought of before." Do you see any wisdom', or apparent design', in such an arrangement' ? The tortoise, when on land, is a slow animal, and it has a soft body, which, if unpro- tected, would be easily crushed, or destroyed by other ani- mals. The peculiar growth of its back-bone and ribs has given it a firm bony shell to protect it from above ; and in a similar manner the breast-bone, or sternum (which has been removed in the drawing), spreads out, in a shell-like form, ex- tending from the base of the neck to tlie tail. By this singu- lar provision the turtle is incased in a coat of bony armor, formed of its own skeleton ! It will be well for you to recol- lect that the upper shell is called the carapace^ and the lower one \\\% plaBtron. • Part II. HEKPETOLOGY, OR REPTILES. 57 8. The Gheloiiian order of reptiles (for it is well to #now the terms which scientific men use) — the Chelonians, I say, may be conveniently divided into the three following fami- lies : laud tortoises, river and marsh tortoises, and marine tur- tles; although Agassiz divides them into two classes, with seven families in one, and two in the other, placing the land tortoises and the river and marsh tortoises in oue class, and the marine turtles iu the other. I shall not have room in this letter to describe any of these classes or families, but iu my next I will give you some account of a few of the most im- portant or most noted species. ' Che-lo'-ni-ah, from the Greek c7tt'Z-o-7ie, a 5 Ag-as-siz Cig'-d-s(,oT a-fids'-siz). tortoise. .^ Fo'-li-o, a book formed hy once doubling 2 Me-teOp'-o-us, chief city (New York). each sheet of paper. 3 H.<-VEr/-op8, covers ; incloses. 5 Bkosvs'-i.nc, feeding on branches. Pakt II. UKKPKXOLOUV, OK KKPTILKS. 61 LESSON IV, — A LETTER ABOUT THE SATJEIANS.* ■Scale t, young; beginning to grow. Tart 11. HEEPETOLOGY, UK KEPTILES. 67 LESSON V. — THE CROCODILE AND THE ICHNEUMON". 1 . On the banks of the fertile and many-mouthed Nile, A long time ago lived a fierce crocodile, Who round him was spreading a vast desolation, For bloodshed and death seemed his chief occupation ; 'Twas easy to see no pity had he ; His tears were but water — there all could agree. 2. The sheep he devoured, and the shepherd I ween ; The herd feared to graze in the pasture so gi-een. And the farmer himself, should he happen to meet him, The monster ne'er scrupled' a moment to eat him. There never before was panic so sore On the banks of the Nile as this creature spread o'er. 3. Wherever he went, all were flying before him. Though some in their blindness thought fit to adore^ him; But as they came near, each his suit to prefer, This god made a meal of his base worshiper. By day and by night it was his delight His votaries^ to eat — it was servdng them right. 4. Grown proud of his prowess, puff'ed up with success. The reptile must travel — how could he do less ? So one fine summer morning he set out by water On a pleasure excursion — his pleasure was slaughter ! To Tentyra's isle, to visit awhile, The careless inhabitants there to beguile.* 6. Though the Tentyrites thought themselves able before To conquer each monster that came to their shore, Yet now they, with horror, were fain to confess That this crocodile gave them no little distress. So in great consternation, a grand consultation Was called to convene^ of the heads of the nation. 6. It met ; but, alas ! sttch the terror and fright. They failed to distinguish the wrong from the right ; When, just at this crisis, an ichneumon small Stepped forth on the platform in front of them all, With modesty winning, to give his opinion Of measures and means to secure the dominion. 7. " Grave sirs," said he, bowing, "I see your distress. And your griefs are, I fear me, past present redress ; Yet still, if to listen should be your good pleasure, I think I can help you, at least in a measure : For 'tis my impression, a little discretion Than valor itself is a far greater blessing. 8. "No doubt 'tis a noble and great undertaking, Great war on a mighty great foe to be making ; But still, I assure you, 'tis better by far Not to let this great foe become mighty for war ; 68 willson's fifth kkadkk I'ART 11, While the crocodile lies in an egg of small size, To crush him at once you should never despise. 9. " You see mc before you a poor feeble creature; Yet I cope' with this monster, for such is my nature ; And while you have met here in f^rand consultation, This one crocodile to expel fi-om the nation, I thought it a treat for breakfast to eat A dozen or more, which I happened to meet." MORAL. 10. And now that my fable is pretty near ended, 1 think there should be a brief moral appended ; Beware how you let evil habits grow u]j ; While feeble and young, you to crush them may hope, But let them remain till strength they attain. You may find your best eftbrts to conquer them vain. Mrs. J. L. Grat. >- SoeC'-ple, to doubt ; to he,-itate. I* Be-guile', deceive ; impose upon. 2 A-dObe', to worship as divine. \^ €'oN-vtNE', assemble. 3 Vo'-TA-RiE3, those devoted to him ; his Ivor 6 £'opE, oppose with success, shipers. | LESSON VI.— A LETTER ABOUT THE OPHIDIANS. The Ophidians, or Sfkpknts.— 1. The (;obra-de-< 'apeno. or Hooded Serpent of India, Xajntrijnulian.i. 2. The Vaia //ryV of Africa. 3. The Rattlesnake of America, C;oraJw8 dtt/tsstts. 4 Europenn Black \ iper, Peiias berus. Part II. HEEPETOLOGY, OK REPTILES. 69 Dellwild, Jane 2Sth, 18— . 1. My- YOUNG Feiexd, — I am gralilied to learn from you, in response to my last letter, that the bi'ief description which I have given of the Saurian reptiles has not been devoid' of interest to you. Let me say to you, then, in this place, by way of further encouragement, that when you come to the subject of Geology, and find that the fossil remains of the Saurians, some of them of monster size, throw much light upon the his- tory of the earth's formation, you will begin to realize some- thing of the true importance of this and kindred portions of natural history, and see beauties in them which I can not ex- pect you now to appreciate. But I must proceed to the sub- ject set apart for this letter — the Ophidians, or Serpents, which comprise the third division or order of the reptile race. 2. In the little space which I can devote to this order in one letter, I can do little more than take a general view of the subject, and give you drawings of a few species. This you may not regret, as the very name of serpent, or snake, almost makes some peojile shudder ; and I am not surprised that you should ask, "What can'' there be interesting about such creatures^ ?"* I shall not attempt here to combat preju- dices which seem so natural, and which were perhaps design- ed by the Great Author of our being. 3. Although many of the serpents are of the most resplen- dent coloring, and although, deprived of feet, fins, or other obvious members^ for walking, they glide on the earth, ascend trees, and even direct their course through the waters with surprising agility and Avith graceful evolutions,^ yet the sei'- 23ent was cursed "above every beast of the field;" and man, as if remembering this curse and the lamentable event Avhich caused it, turns from the reptile with disgust and horror, or seeks to efiect its instant destruction. 4. But, strange as it may appear, while in every country, ancient and modern, serpents have been viewed with aversion, no other class of animals has furnished man with so many va- ried emblems,'^ mythological-'' symbols,*^ and allegories.'' In Hindoo mj^thology the god Chrisna is sometimes represented entwined by a large cobra, which is fixing its poisoned fangs in the heel ; and again the god is represented as crushing the head of the serpent, while he triumphantly tears tlie crea- ture from his body — emblems which seem to spring from the great prophetic promise of Scripture, "It shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel." * See Notes to Rules III. and IV. 70 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part II. 5. In Grecian mythology snakes armed the hand of Discord ; and both the Gorgons and the avenging Furies were repre- sented with snakes wreathed around their heads instead of hair. As an emblem of prudence and circumspection, as well as from their reputed medicinal virtues, they were the attribute of ^sculapius, the father of medicine ; entwined around the Avand^ of Mercury, they were the type of insinuating elo- quence ; and from the venomous powers of many, they were used as the symbol of torment. Among the Egyptians the serpent was the emblem of fertility ; while the circle formed by a snake biting its own tail — without beginning or end — was the chosen symbol of eternity. 6. The renowned Pythian games of Greece were fabled to have been established in commemoration of the slaying of the monster serpent Python by the arrows of Ai5ollo. The slaying of the nine-headed Lernean hydra was the second of the twelve labors imposed upon Hercules. One of the most remarkable groups in sculpture which time has spared to us is " the La- ocoon,"^ which represents the Apollonian joriest, Laocoon, and his two sons, in the folds of two enormous serpents which had issued from the sea. The story is thus told by Virgil, as translated by Dryden : 7. " Tlien (dreadful to behold !) from sea we spied Two serpents, rank'd abreast, the seas divide. And amoothly sweep along the swelling tide. Their flaming crests above the wavft they show, Their bodies seem to burn the seas below ; Their speckled tails they lash to urge their course, And on the sounding shore the flying billows force. And now tho strand, and now the plain, they held. Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were tiU'd ; Their nimble tongues they brandish'd as they came, And lick'd their hissing jaws that sputter' d flame. 8. " We fled amazed : their destined way they take. And to Laocoon^ and his children make : And first around the tender boys they wind, Then with their sharpen'd fangs their limbs and bodies giind. The wretched father, nmning to their aid. With pious haste, but vain, they next invade; Twice round his waist their winding volumes roU'd ; And twice about his gasping throat they fold. The priest thus doubly choked — their crests divide. And tow'ring o'er his head in triumph ride. With both his hands he labors at the knots ; His holy fillets'" the blue venom" blots: His roaring fills the flitting air around. Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound. He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies. And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies." 9. Among the Mexicans the serpent was the basis of their hideous and bloody religion. The supreme Mexican idol, Mexitli, was represented encircled and guarded by serpents, before which were offered human sacrifices. Pakt II. HEKPETOLOGY, OR KEPTILES. 71 " On a blue throne, with four huge silver snakes, As if the keepers of the sanctuary, Circled with stretching neck and fangs display' d, Mexitli sat : another graven snake Belted with scales of gold his monster bulk." 10. Even among our British ancestors the priests are said to have had tame serpents of great size, which they suflered to twine around their bodies, thereby inspiring the people with wonder, fear, and servile obedience. Southey, in his poem of Madoc, has vividly depicted such an exhibition and its eifects. Neolin, the priest of the snake-god, is a prisoner in the hands of Madoc and his party, when 11. " Forth from the dark recesses of the cave The serpent came : the lloamen at the sight Shouted; and they who held the priest, appall'd, Relax'd their hold. On came the mighty snake. And twined in many a wreath round Xeolin, Darting aright, aloft, his sinuous neck, . With searching eye and lifted jaw, and tongue Quivering; and hiss as of a heavy shower Upon the summer woods. 12. " The Britons stood Astounded at the powerful reptile's bulk, And that strange sight. His girth was as of man, But easily could he have overtopped Goliath's helmed head ; or that huge king of Basan, hugest of the Anakim. What then was human strength if once involved Within those dreadful coils ! The multitude Fell prone," and worship' d." — Sodthey. 1.3. Thus much for the fable and poetry of our subject, which assuredly it is well to be acquainted with. A few words now as to the more tangible realities of serpent life. Serpents may be divided into the two large sections, the ven- omous and the non-venomous, of which about sixty sjiecies of the former have been enumerated, and more than three hundred of the latter.* They are numerous, and some of them of great size in the jungles, marshes, savannas,!^ ^nd other desolate places of the tropics, but are rare and diminutive in cold regions. Only three species are found in Britain ; none in Ireland ; sixteen species are found in New York and the New England States, of which only two are venomous, the copperhead and the rattlesnake. All serpents are carnivorous, of slow growth, and long lived. Like all slow breathers, they can exist a long time without food. 14. Many thrilling accounts might be given of the serpent- charmers of the East ; of deadly contests between serpents of different species, and between serpents and other animals, * More correctly, the division is into Vipeeine and Colubeine serpents. In the for- mer division are embraced the Viper family and the Rattlesnake family ; in the latter, the Coluber serpents (our common harmless snakes), the Boas and Pi/thoii.'!, and the nia- rine nerpents. A few of the C'olubrine serpents are believed to he venomous. 72 WILLSON'8 FIFTH RKADER. Part II. their natural enemies, and of tlie slaying of enormous boas and pythons of South America and Southern Asia, which have been known to envelop and crush in their folds a goat, deer, or ox, and even a man. Some of these accounts, Avhich may be regarded as authentic, I will send for your perusal, and pass on in my next letter to a brief notice of the amjDhibians, the last of the four orders of the reptile race. 1 Pe-void', destitute f>f. 2 Mf.M'-iiKRS, limbs of animal bodies. 3 Kv-o-lC'-tions, niotionr!. * km'-hlem, tbat which represents one thing to the eye and another to the understand-' ' La-oc'-o-(5n. ing. . 1 10 Fil'-let, a head-band. 6 JIvTH-o-LocV-ir-AL, pertaining to the fa-:" Ven'-om. bleii of the heathen gods. i'* Sa-van'-na, an opei meadow or plain. '' SvM'-noL, an emblem or sign of somothing. ' al'-le-go-et, a t-tory in which the literal meaning Li not the direct or simple one. X Wani>, a Ftaff or rod of authority. LESSON VII. A LETTER ABOUT THE AMPHIBIAJS'S. acale oj Inches. The Amthibians, oe Bateachias's. — 1. The Proteus, or "Eij; Water Lizard," Meno- hranclitifi lateralis (common in the water? of Western New York). 2. European Edible Frog, Rana excillenla. 3. Common American Frog, Rnna silvatica. 4. Sirinam Toad, l'i)iaAmerican(i. 5. Southern Squirrel Tree-Toad, //;/?(i SijM(7e??(T. 6. Crimson-spotted Triton, Evct, or Salamander, Tnton vdllepunctatus. 7. Common European Water Newt, Triton cristalus. S. Mexican Siren, or Axolot. Dellwild. July lOtli, 18—. 1. My young Fkiexd, — In beginning this promised Mter,I must premise that the amphibians, called also, by some writers, hatrachians (from a Greek word meaning a frog), have been Part II. HEEPETOLOGY, OB REPTILES. 73 thought by some naturalists to possess peculiarities sufficient- ly important to entitle them to rank as a group distinct from the reptiles. Their arrangement, however, whether among- the reptiles or as a distinct class, is unimportant, so long as we understand that, in descending from the higher to the low- er forms of life, they hold a rank intermediate between the true reptiles and the fishes. 2. The chief interest connected with the amphibians, which comprise the frogs, toads, salamanders, and sirens, lies in the curious transformations^ or metamorphoses^ which they un- dergo, from the character of fishes in their infancy, breathing by means of gills, to the nature and habits of true reptiles, rising to the dignity of four legs, and breathing by means of lungs. Thus the common frog begins life as a tadjyole ox pol- liicog, hatched from an egg in a pond or in some marshy j^lace. In its fish-like state it continues for several weeks, breathes by means of gills, and feeds upon the vegetable food of fish- es ; at length the hinder legs bud, and are gradually devel- oped ; ere long the fore legs are produced in a similar man- ner ; then gradually the tail shortens, dwindles away, and finally disappears ; the gills are changed, lungs are formed, and the tadpole becomes a land animal. It has now risen to a higher life. Whereas it before swam by means of a tail', it now leaps by means of legs^ ; and as before it ate only roots and grass', it now becomes a hunter of insects and worms\ 3. Similar changes occur in all the amphibians, except that in a few of them, as in the sirens, the branchial organs^ which project from the sides of the neck are permanent through life, and the animal breathes equally well in the water and on the land. In their full-grown state the habits of the amphibians are various. Thus the frogs, newts, many of the salamanders, and sirens pass most of their time in the slime of ponds, riv- ers, and ditches ; others, like the toads, ai-e essentially land animals. Some of the green frogs, which inhabit clear run- ning streams, are extensively eaten in France, and considered a great delicacy. 4. The toads, although a harmless and inoffensive race, have had the misfortune to encounter the violent prejudice of mankind in all ages. A modern naturalist, writing upon this subject, says : " Yet if, with these pi-ejudices to contend against, an observer of nature will have the courage to place one of these poor creatures in such a position as to examine its eye, his disgust or repugnance will be turned into pity and compassion ; and he will wonder how such an expression D 14: willson's fifth eeadeb. PabtII. of mildness and patient endurance could beam from the eye of a being to which nature has given a form so repulsive, and which ignorance has invested with venomous^ malignancy.'* There is not, in fact, the least shadow of truth in these fabu- lous accounts of the venom of the toad, notwithstanding the authority of Shakspeare, and the day-dreams of the old natu- rahsts." 5. Equally destitute of foundation is the notion that the salamander is the most venomous of animals. The Romans, who looked upon it with horror, had a proverb, that he who w^as bitten by a salamander had need of as many physicians as the animal had spots ; and another more hopeless, " If a salamander bites you, put on a shroud." But the greatest absurdity was the belief that the salamander Avas incombus- tible — that it not only resisted the action of fire, but extin- guished it : an idea which had no other foundation than the fact that its body is covered with Avarty glands, from which it emits, in time of danger, a milky fluid. Thus a very small fii'e might be extinguished by it. 6. The sirens, which are found only in Xorth America, are the most singular of all the reptiles, as they have permanent branchial organs, which project froin the sides of the neck, and can breathe equally well in the water and out of it. They may therefore be considered the only true amphibians. The siren of the Carolinas, found in the muddy water of the rice-swamps, is nearly tAVO feet long, and has only two legs. The Mexican siren, or axolot, has four legs. It is cooked like eels, and is regarded as a great delicacy. It was so plentiful when Cortez invaded Mexico that he is said to have subsist- ed his army upon it. v. But I must bid adieu to my subject, and close this series of letters. If I have interested you, dispelled some preju- dices, disposed you to look with more complacency upon this part of God's creation, and prepared you the better to appre- ciate the great Avhole of animated nature, the little time which both of us have given to tliis subject will not have been spent in vain. Had you passed this subject by, it would not only have been to you a link broken in the chain of animal life, but your future acquisitions in other allied sciences would thereby have been rendered incomplete and unsatisfactory. 1 Traxb-foe-ma'-tion, a met-a-morph'-o-:' Ten'-om-ous, spiteful, poi=onons. si?, a change of form. I* MA-LiG'-MAN-cr, extreme malice or hos- ' BRAN<-n'-i-AL, pertaining to the branchiceA tilitf. or gilla. SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. LESSON I. — TO A GIRL IN HER THIRTEENTH YEAR. 1. Thy smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays, So beautiful approve thee, So winning light are all thy ways, I can not choose but love thee. Thy balmy breath upon my brow Is like the summer air, As o'er my cheek thou leanest now, To plant a soft kiss there. 2. Thy steps are dancing toward the bound Between the child and woman. And thoughts and feelings more profound, And other years are coming : 76 willson's fifth eeadee. And thou shalt be more deeply fair, More jirecious to the heart, But never canst thou be again That lovely thing thou art ! 3. And youth shall pass, with all the brood Of fancy-fed afiection ; And grief shall come with womanhood, And waken cold reflection. Thou'lt learn to toil, and watch, and weep O'er pleasures unreturning, Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep Unto the cares of morning. 4. Nay, say not so ! nor cloud the sun Of Joyous expectation, Ordain'd to bless tlie little one, The freshling of creation ! Nor doubt that he who thus doth feed Her early lamp with gladness, Will be her present help in need, Her comforter in sadness. 5. Smile on, then, little winsome thing ! All rich in Nature's treasure. Thou hast within thy heart a spring Of self-renewing pleasure. Smile on, fair child, and take thy fill Of mirth, till time shall end it ; 'Tis Nature's wise and gentle will — And who shall reprehend it ? — Sidney Walkek. LESSON II. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. We can not honor our country with too deep a reverence ; we can not love her with an aftection too \mve and fervent ; we can not serve her with an energy of purpose or a faithful- ness of zeal too steadfast and ardent. And ^\•hat is our coun- try? It is not the J^dst, Avith her hills and her valleys, with her countless sails, and the rocky ramparts of her shores. It is not the North, M'ith her thousand villages and her harvest- home, with her frontiers of the lake and the ocean. It is not the West, with her forest-sea and her inland isles, M'ith her luxuriant expanses, clothed in the A-erdant corn ; with her beautiful Ohio, and her verdant Missouri. Nor is it yet the Soilth, opulent in the mimic snow of the cotton, in the rich plantations of the rustling cane, and in the golden robes of the rice-field. What are these but the sister families of one greater^ better^ holihr family^ cue countet? — Geimke. »ECO:jfD MISCKT.LAJf£OUS D1V1S10>'. LESSON III. — A NOBLE REVENGE. 1. A YOUNG officer had so far forgotten himself, in a mo- ment of irritation, as to strike a pi'ivate soldier, full of personal dignity, and distinguished for his courage. The inexorable laws of military discipline forbade to the injured soldier any practical redress — he could look for no retaliation by acts. Words only were at his command, and, in a tumult of indig- nation, as he turned away, the soldier said to his officer that he would " make him repent it." This, wearing the shape of a menace, naturally rekindled the officer's anger, and inter- cepted any disposition which might be rising within him to- ward a sentiment of remorse ; and thus the irritation between the two young men grew hotter than before. 2. Some weeks after this a partial action took place with the enemy. Suppose yourself a spectator, and looking down into a valley occupied by the two armies. They are facing each other, you see, in martial array. But it is no more than a skirmish which is going on ; in the course of Avhich, how- ever, an occasion suddenly arises for a desperate service. A redoubt, which has fallen into the enemy's hands, must be re- captured at any price, and under circumstances of all but hoiDcless difficulty. 3. A strong party has volunteered for the service ; there is a cry for somebody to head them ; you see a soldier step out from the ranks to assume this dangerous leadership ; the party move rapidly forward ; in a few minutes it is swallow- ed up from your eyes in clouds of smoke ; for one half hour, from behind these clouds, you receive hieroglyphic reports of bloody strife — fierce repeating signals, flashes from the guns, rolling musketry, and exulting hurras advancing or receding, slackening or redoubling. 4. At length all is over ; the redoubt has been recovered ; that which was lost is found again ; the jewel Avhich had been made captive is ransomed with blood. Crimsoned with glo- rious gore, the wreck of the conquering party is relieved, and at liberty to return. From the river you see it ascending. The plume-crested officer in command rushes forward, with his left hand raising his hat in homage to the blackened frag- ments of what once was a flag, while with his right hand he seizes that of the leader, though not more than a private from the ranks. That perplexes you not ; mystery you see none in that. For distinctions of order perish, ranks are confound- 78 willson's fifth reader. ed ; " high aud low" are words without a meaning, and to wreck goes every notion or feeling that divides the noble from the noble, or the brave man from the brave. 5. But wherefore is it that now, when suddenly they wheel into mutual recognition, suddenly they pause ? This soldier, this officer — who are they ? O reader ! once before they had stood lace to face — the soldier that was struck, tlie officer that struck him. Once again they are meeting ; and the gaze of armies is upon them. If for a moment a doubt divides them, in a moment the doubt has perished. One glance exchanged between them publishes the forgiveness that is sealed for- ever. 6. As one who recovers a brother whom he has accounted dead, the officer sprang forward, threw his arms around the neck of the soldier, and kissed him, as if he were some martyr glorified by that shadow of death from which he was return- ing ; while, on his part, the soldier, stepping back, and carry- ing his hand through the beautiful motions of the military salute to a superior, makes this immortal answer — that an- swer which shut up forever the memory of the indignity offered to him, even for the last time alluding to it : " Sir," he said, " I told you before that I would make you repent it." TUOMAS DE QUINCET. LESSON" IV. — hamlet's soliloquy. [Hamlet contemplates suicide to end his troubles, but is deterred by ''the dread of iomething after death."] To be', or not^ to be ? That is the question' : Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to sutFer' The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune', Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. And, by opposing', end' them? To die' ; to sleep' ;~ No more;" and, by a sleep', to say we end The heart-ache', and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to;~ 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die' ;~ to sleep' ;~ To sleep' ! perchance to dream ;"" Ay', tliere's the rub'; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come', When we have shuffled oif this mortal coil', Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life' : For who would bear the whips and scorns of time', The oppressor's wrong', the proud man's contumely', The pangs of despised love', the law's delay', The insolence of office', and the spurns That patient merit of th6 unworthy takes', When he himself might his quietus make SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 79 With a bare bodkin' ? Who would fardels bear, To groan and sweat under a weary life', But that the dread of something after' death," That undiscover'd country', from whose bourn No traveler returns', puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear the ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all' ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry'. And lose the name of action. — Shakspeaee. LESSON V. — THE FOLLY OF CASTLE-BUILDING. 1. Alnas'chae, says the fable, was a very idle fellow, who never would set his hand to any business during his father's life. His father, dying, left to him the value of a hundi'ed dBachmas in Persian money. Alnaschai*, in order to make the best of it, laid it out in glasses, bottles, and the finest earthen- ware. These he jDiled up in a large open basket, and, having made choice of a very little shoj^, placed the basket at his feet, and leaned his back upon the wall, in exi^ectation of cus- tomers. As he sat in this posture, with his eyes upon the basket, he fell into a most amusing train of thought, and was overheard by one of his neighbors, as he talked to himself. " This basket," says he, " cost me at the wholesale merchant's a hundred drachmas, which is all I have in the world. 2. " I shall quickly make two hundred of it by selling it in retail. These two hundred drachmas will in a little while rise to four hundred, which of cotu-se will amount in time to four thousand. Four thousand drachmas can not fail of mak- ing eight thousand. As soon as by this means I am master of ten thousand, I will lay aside my trade of a glass-man and turn jeweler. I shall then deal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of rich stones. When I have got together as much wealth as I can well desire, I will make a purchase of the finest house I can find. I shall then begin to enjoy myself and make a noise in the world. I will not, however, stop there, bixt still continue my traffic, till I have got together a hundred thousand drachmas. 3. " When I have thus made myself master of a hundred thousand drachmas, I shall naturally set myself on the footing of a prince, and will demand the Grand Vizier's daughter in marriage, after having represented to that minister the in- 80 willson's fifth reader. formation which I have received of the beauty, wit, discretion, and other high qualities which his daughter possesses. I will let him know, at the same time, that it is my intention to make him a present of a tliousand pieces of gold on our mar- riage night. As soon as I liave married tlie Grand Vizier's daughter, I will make my father-in-law a visit with a gi-and train and equipage ; and when I am placed at liis right hand — where I shall be, of course, if it be only to honor his daugh- ter — I will give him the thousand pieces of gold which I promised him, and afterward, to his great surprise, will pre- sent him another purse of the same value, with some short speech, as, ' Sir, you see I am a man of my word ; I always give more than I promise.' 4. " When I have brought the princess to my house, I shall take particular care to keep her in a due respect for me. To this end, I shall confine her to her own apartment, make her a short visit, and talk but little to her. Pier women will rep- resent to me that she is inconsolable by reason of ray unkind- ness, and beg me with tears to caress her, and let her sit down by me ; but I shall still remain inexorable, and Avill turn my back upon her. Her mother will then come and bring her daughter to me, as*I am seated upon my sofa. The daughter, with tears in her eyes, will fling herself at my feet, and beg of me to receive her into my favor. Then will I, to imprint in her a thorough veneration for my person, draw up my legs and spurn her from me with my foot, in such a manner that she shall fall down several paces from the sofa." 5. Alnaschar was entirely swallowed up in this chimerical vision, and could not forbear acting with his foot what he had in his thoughts. So that, unluckily striking his basket of brittle Avare, which was the foundation of all his grandeur, he kicked his glasses to a great distance from him into the street, and broke them into ten thousand pieces. — Addisoj^. LESSON VI. — THE stranger axd his FKiEisrD. Matt., XXV., 35. • 1 . A POOR wayfaring man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief That I could never answer nay. I had not power to ask his name, Whither he went or whence he came ; Yet there was something in his eye That won my love, I knew not why. SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 81 2. Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He entered — not a word he s]jake — Just pcrisliing for want of bread. I gave him all ; he blessed it, brake, And ate, but gave me part again ; Mine was an angel's portion then, For while I fed with eager haste. The crust was manna to my taste. 3. I spied him where a fountain burst Clear from the rock ; his strength was gone ; The heedless water mocked his thirst ; He heard it, saw it hurrying on — I ran, and raised the sufferer up ; Twice from the stream he drained my cup, Dipp'd, and returned it running o'er; I drank, and never thirsted more. 4. 'Twas night. The floods were out ; it blew A winter hurricane aloof; I heard his voice abroad, and flew To bid him welcome to ray roof; I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest, I laid him on my couch to rest ; Then made the ground my bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed. 5. Stripp'd, wounded, beaten nigh to death, I found him by tlie highway side ; I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, Revived his spirit, and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment. He was healed, I had myself a wound concealed. But from that hour forgot the smart. And peace bound up my broken heart. 6. In prison I saw him next, condemned To meet a traitor's doom at morn ; The tide of lying tongues I stemmed, And honored him, midst shame and scorn. My friendship's utmost zeal to try. He asked if I for him would die : The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried " I will." 7. Then in a moment to my view The stranger started from disguise ; The tokens in his hands I knew — My Savior stood before my eyes. He spake, and my poor name he named — "Of me thou hast not been ashamed ; These deeds shall thy memorial be ; Fear not, thou didst "them unto me." — Montgomebt. D2 82 WILLSON'S FIFXU KEADE14. LESSON" VII. — SCENE BETWEEN BRUTUS AKD CASSIU8. Cas. Must I endure all this' ? Bru. All this' ? ay\ more^ : Fret till your proud heart break ; Go show your slaves how choleric^ you are\ And make your bondmen'' tremble. Must / budge' ? Must / observe you' ? must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor' ? By the gods\ You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split^ you ; for, from this day forth', I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish. Cas. Is it come to this' ? Bru. You say you are a better^ soldier : Let it appear' so ; make your vaunting true\ And it shall please me weir : For mine own part', I shall be glad to learn of noble' men'. Cas. You wrong' me every' way ; you wrong^ me, Brutus' : I said an elder' soldier, not a better' : Did I say better' ? Bru. If you did\ I care not'. Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not' ? Brti. No. Cas. What ! durst not tempt him' ? Bru. For your life' you durst not. Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love' ; I may* do that I shall be soriy' for. Bru. You have' done that you should be sorry* for'. There is no terror*, Cassius', in your threats' ; For I am arm'd so strong in honesty', That they pass by me as the idle wind*. Which I respect' not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold', which you denied* me — For I can raise no money by vile means ; 1 had rather coin my heart', And drop my blood' for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions'. Which you denied me : Was that done like Cassius' t Should / have answered Cains Cassius so' ? When Marcus Brutus' grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends', Be ready, gods, with all your thiinderbolts, Z>asA' him to pieces ! Shaespeare. 2d Div. OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 83 PAET III. SECOND DIVISION OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. (This subject Ls continued from tbe Fourth Reader.) Kg. 1. SIDE VIEW OP A VERTICAL SECTION OF THE EYE. The eyelids are here closed : cr, upper eyelid; 6, lower eyelid? t, transparent cornea, immediately beneath the eyelid; y, anterior chamber of the aqueous humor ; a;, posterior chamber of the aque- ous humor ; wi, the iris, with its circular opening called '' the pu- pil," in the direction toward which V is pointing ; ?, the crystalliiia humor or lens ; s, s, the vitreous humor ; e, e, between these pass- es the optic nerve ; o, o, the reti- na, which is an expansion of the optic nerve spreading over the vitreous humor. The retina is considered the inner coat of the eye. Next outward of this is j,j, the choroid coat, of a dark color, and filled with minute branches of blood-vessels. Adjoining this is A, A, the sclerotic coat, or white of the eye, into which the cornea fits like a watch-glass into its case; r, capsular artery. LESSON I. — THE WINDOW OF THE SOUL. 1. The Eye has been appropriately called the " window of the soul." It opens to us, by its wonderful mechanism, a world of beauty, enabling us to perceive the form, color, size, and position of surrounding objects ; and it probably contrib- utes more to the enjoyment and happiness of man than any other of the organs through which mind holds communion with the external world. 2. A general knowledge of its structure and action, as a living instrument of vision, may be gathered from the draw- ing above, by the aid of a brief description. The eyelids — the shutters to this window — which open and close to admit or exclude the light, stand also as watchful guardians to protect the instrument from danger; and by their involuntary ac- tion the hard and transparent cornea at the front of the eye is kept constantly lubricated, ^ and free from dust. 3. Back of this cornea is a chamber containing the aqueous, or watery humor f and suspended in this is a circular curtain, the colored iris, which has the power of contracting and dilat- ing, to regulate the quantity of light that enters the round 84 WILLSON S FIFTH KKADEK. Tart J 11. opening in its centre, called the 2)^2)11. Immediately back of the i)U])il is tlie crystalline^ lens, com2:)Osed of numerous lay- ers or coatings, whicli increase in density toward the centre; an arrangement which prevents that spherical aberration, or too great dispersion of the rays of light, which it has been found so difficult to overcome in artificial lenses. Back of the crystalline lens, and tilling a large part of the cavity of the eye, is the vitreous, or glassy humor, and sjiread over this is the thin and delicate membrane of the retma,'^ which is the expan- sion of the optic nerve. 4. It is on the retina, where it concentrates at the back part of the ball to form the optic nerve, that the images of objects at which the eye looks, Avhether near or distant, are beautiful- ly pictured or daguerreotyped. We can not look Avithout wonder upon the smallness yet correctness of these pictures. Thus a landscape of several miles in extent is brought into the space of a sixpence, yet the objects which it contains are all distinctly portrayed in their relative magnitudes, positions, figures, and colors, with a fineness and delicacy of touch to which art can make no approach, 5. Yet the mechanical part of this ajDparatus — its beautiful structure, its perfect adaptation to the laws of light, and its ready adjustment to meet the ever-varying degrees of light, and shade, and distance — are far less wonderful than the men- tal or sjiiritual part, the manner in which the pictures on the retina are made knoAvn to the mind or soul within, through the medium of the oj^tic nerve. The former is a mechanical wonder, of ■which we comprehend sufficient to excite our im- bounded admiration ; the latter is a spiritual mystery, of which we know nothing but the bare fact itself. 6. Mr. Addison, in a number of the Spectator, has drawn a much-admired picture of the sense of sight, in the introduc- tion to the first of his celebrated Essays on the Pleasures of the Imagination. We select the opening passages, which Mr. Blair so highly commends for their rhetorical grace and beauty. 7. "Our sight is the most perfect and most delightful of all our senses. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues the longest in action without being tired or satiated with its proper enjoyments. 8. "The sense of feeling can indeed give us the idea of extension, figure, and all the other properties of matter which are perceived by the eye ex- cept colors ; but, at the same time, it is very much straitened and confined in its operations with regard to the number, bulk, and distance of its ob- jects. 9. "Our sight seems designed to supply all these defects, and may be considered as a more delicate and diftusive kind of touch, that spreads it- 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 85 self over an infinite multitude of bodies, comprehends the largest figures, and brings into our reach some of the most remote parts of the universe. 10. " It is this sense which furnishes the imagination with its ideas : and by the pleasures of the imagination or fancy (terms which I shall use pro- miscuously) I here mean such as arise from visible objects, either when we have them actually in our view, or when we call up their ideas in our minds by paintings, statues, descriptions, or other similar means. 11. " We can not, indeed, have a single image in the fancy that did not make its first entrance through the sight ; but we have the power of retain- ing, altering, and compounding those images which we have once received, and of forming them into all the varieties of picture and vision that are most agreeable to the imagination ; for, by this faculty, a man in a dun- geon is capable of entertaining himself with scenes and landscapes more beautiful than any that can be found in the whole compass of nature." » LC'-BRi-€A-TED, made smooth or slippery! 3 €et8'-tal-lTne, clear ; resembling crystal. by moisture. * Eet'-i-na, plural rel'-i-noe. » HC'-MOE, dju'-mor^ or hiV-mor). \ LESSON II. THE LIVING TEMPLE.^ Oliver Wendell Holmes. I. Not in the world of light alone. Where God has built his blazing throne', Nor yet alone in earth below. With belted seas that come and go', And endless isles of sunlit green. Is all thy Maker's glory seen' : Look in upon thy wondrous frame'," Eternal wisdom still the same' ! 5. The smooth, soft air, with pulse-like waves. Flows murmuring through its hidden caves,* Whose streams of brightening purple rush. Fired with a new and livelier blush, ^ While all their burden of decay The ebbing current steals away' ;* And red with Nature's flame they start From the warm fountains of the heart. $. No rest that throbbing slave^ may ask. Forever quivering o'er his task, Wliile far and wide a crimson jet Leaps forth to fill the woven net,^ Which in unnumbered crossing tides The flood of burning life divides ; Then, kindling each decaying part,'' Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. L But, warmed with that unchanging flame,' Behold the outward moving frame' ; Its living marbles jointed strong With glistening band and silvery thong,' 86 WILLSON's fifth READEU. Part IIL .And linked to reason's guiding reins'" ' By myriad rings" in trembling chains, Each graven with the threaded zone'''' Which claims it as the Master's own. 5. See how yon beam of seeming white Is braided out of seven-hued light ;^^ Yet in those lucid globes'* no ray By any chance shall break astray. Hark how the rolling surge'* of sound, Arches and spirals cu'cling roimd, Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear With music it is heaven to hear. 6. Then mark the cloven sphere'' that holds All thought in its mysterious folds ; That feels sensation's" faintest thrill, And flashes'** forth the sovereign will ; Think on the stormy world that dwells Locked in its dim and clustering cells !" The lightning gleams of power it sheds Along its hollow glassy threads I"' 7. O Father' ! grant thy love divine To make these mystic temples thine^ ! When wasting age and weaiying strife Have sapped the leaning walls of life', When darkness gathers over all, And the last tottering pillars fall', Take the poor dust thy mercy wanns. And mould it into heavenly forms ! [A full explanation of the foregoing exquisitely beautiful verses •would lead to a gen- eral re\-iew of tlie entire subject of Physiology. Every pupil should give as much expla- nation, at least, as is contained in the following notes.] 1 The human frame. 2 The air-cells of the lungs. 3 The blood, by being purified in the lungs, is changed from a dark purple to a light crimson hue. See Fourth Reader, p. 4S. * " Ebbing current" — the expired air. A great portion of the decayed and worn-out particles of the body are thro^Nii out from the hmgs in the form of carbonic acid and va- por. See Fourth Header, p. 50. 5 The heart. See Fourth Reader, p. 51. 6 " Woven net" — the net-work of veins and capillaries. See Fourth Reader, p. 51 and 60. ' The blood supplies new material to all parts of the body, and bears back to the lun^ the decaying and worn-out particles. 8 The warm blood is often spoken of as the /fame of life. 9 Tendons, cords, and sinews knit the " marbles," or bony frame-work etrongly to- gether, as with f/iO)!(7<. 10 The frame-work of the body is linked to the " guiding reins," or the mind, by those " trembling chains," the nen'e tubes, or nerve fibre=. See page 90. 1 1 All the tissues of the body are formed primarily of cellx. Cells, opening, form rings ; and tliese rings unite, in certain cases, to form nerve fibres. Hence these nerve fibres may well be described as " myriad rings in trembling chains." 1- The " threaded zone," or hoUow of each nerve fibre, contains a fluid substance like that found in the brain itself. 13 The " seeming white" light is made up of the seven primary colors, red, orange, yeU loic, nreen, blue, indiijo, and vioUt. 1* The balls of the eye, through whose humors the rays of light pass to the retina. 15 The air, whose vibrations in the chambers of the ear give the sensation which we c«ll sound. 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 87 16 " Cloven sphere" — the two hemispheres of the brain ; the seat of "all thought." See p. 89. 17 That receives impressions through the "nerves of feeling," or sensonj nerves. See p. 91. IS That Fends forth its commands through the motor nerves. See p. 90. 19 The nen'e-cellfi, forming the gray sub.-tance of the brain. See p. 92. 20 " Glassy threads" — the nerve threads or nerve fibres. LESSON III. — THE brain: the nekves of voluntary MOTION AND THE NERVES OP PEELING. 1. In that part of the Fourth Reader which was devoted to "Human Physiology and Health," we treated of the bones', and the injuries to Avhich they are liable^ ; of the muscles', and the laws of their healthy action^ ; of the organs that jDre- pare nourishment for the body', their proper treatment', and the variety of ways in which we too often abuse^ them ; of the organs of circulation and of respiration, and their myste- rious workings^ ; of the skin, its uses and abuses, and its com- plicated mechanism^ ; of the phenomena of growth and decay, of life and death^; and generally' of the laws of health which depend upon the harmonious action of all the bodily organs. The functions of which we treated were those chiefly of or- ganic life, which, to a certain extent, are common to both plants and animals ; for both live and grow, decay and die, through organic pi'ocesses that are essentially alike. As we have before stated, the microscope has shown, in a most strik- ing manner, that vegetables and animals are alike construct- ed of cells. 2. But the parts and functions which we have described are, in all animals, subordinate to the Nervous System, the higher department of animal physiology, to the study of which we shall devote several of the lessons in the j^resent Part of this volume. It is through this system that all governing power is exerted in the body^ ; that the muscles are made to move', and the blood to flow^ ; that respiration and digestion are carried on^ ; that growth is regulated', and every action directed in the thousand mysterious processes of life^ ; and it is through the same channel also that the mind derives sens- ations and ^perceptions from, and holds communion Avith, the external world. It is also found that, throughout all animal life, from the lowest grades up to the highest, the degree of intelligence bears a close relation to the degree of develop- ment of the nervous system. 3. What, then, is this nervous system in man, that ranks so 88 WILLSon's fiith header. Part III. high above every other in the body as to be tlie direct agent on wliich all the functions of life depend, and which, in our mortal state, is the innnediate minister and messenger of the mind, and of the ))rincii)le of life itself^ ? It is a brief and easy answer to say that this nervous system consists of all the nerves in the body, of which the chief bundles or masses are the brain, and the spinal marrow, and several other small nerv- ous bundles called gan"er. ' Is, then, the being who such rule maintains Naught but a bunch of fibres, bones, and veins' ? E 98 WILLSON'S fifth reader. Part III. Is all that acts, contrives, obeys, commands, Naupht but the fingers of two feeble hands' ? Hands that, a few uncertain summers o'er. Moulder in kindred dust, and move no more' ? 9. "No' :~ powers sublimer far that frame inspire. And waiTTi with energy of nobler fii-e. And teach mankind to pant for loftier joys. Where death invades not, nor disease annoys ; But transports pure, immortal, unconfined, Fill all the vast capacity of mind." 1 Le'-vf.e, or Lev'-ee. See Fourth Reader, 1* Hv-pOTn'-E-sis, a supposition. p. 312. 6 Ob-gan'-ic. Orfjanic bodies sre such aa ' Skep'-tic-al, doubting. possess organs, on the action of which de- 3 JIa-te'-ri-al-ist, one who denies anyspir- pend their growth and perfection. itual existence apart fnrm matter. y In-ebt', without power to move. * A-nal'-o-<;t, remote likeness or similarity between different objects. I LES. VI. VARIOUS PHENOMENA OF THE NERVOUS STSTEAI. (Adapted from Hooker and other writers.) I. WHAT IS NECESSARY TO SENSATION AND VOLUNTARY MOTION. 1. The nerves, branching out to all parts of the body, do not terminate in sharp points, but usually in loops, where im- pressions from external things are first received; and it is found that if the organ on "vvhich the nerve is thus expanded is seriously injured, the nerve will not receive the impression. If the eye be so injured hi its textures^ that the impression of light can not be made on the optic nerve, there can be no vis- ion. So, too, of the other senses. Taste and smell are often impaired, sometimes even destroyed for a time, by an in- flammation of the mucous membrane,^ on which the nerves devoted to these senses are expanded. This is sometimes the case in a common cold. The trunk of a nerve must also be in a proper condition. If the nerve of vision be pressed upon by a tumor,^ no impression will be transmitted from the im- ages formed in the eye. So, too, if the nerve going to any part of the body be cut off, there can be no transmission of •impressions to the brain from that part. 2. Again, it is necessary to sensation that the brain should be in a state to communicate the impression to the mind. If the brain be pressed upon strongly by a depression of the skull from violence, or by eftusion* of blood by the rujiture^ of an artery, as sometimes occurs in apoplexy, there can be no sensation. Excitement of mind, too, sometimes prevents 2d DiV. OP. . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 99 the occurrence of sensation by its action upon the connection between the mind and the brain. The pain of a Avound re- ceived in battle is often unfelt until the excitement of the bat- tle is over, and the aching of a tooth is often stopped by the excitement consequent upon going to the dentist to have it extracted. 3. In these cases the cause of the joain is acting all the time iipon the nervous extremity, the trunk of the nerve is capable of transmitting the impression, and the brain is doubt- less capable of receiving it, but the mind is so intensely occu- pied M'ith other things that it takes no notice of the messages sent up from the nerves. Thus the mind may at times rise superior to physical suflering, and withdraw itself, to a cer- tain extent, from bodily influences. We witness this in the exultation with which the savage at the stake sings his death- songs, and the Christian heroism^ with which martyrs have met death amid the direst tortures of the body. It is on the same principle that the man of stubborn and resolute will is often enabled to resist pain, while the feeble-minded and the irresolute are overcome by it. II. NERVOUS PARALYSIS. 1. Sometimes the nerves of expression which extend ov-er the face are paralyzed'' on one side only. The result is, that while the individual can masticate® equally well on both sides, he can laugh, and cry, and frown only on one side, and he can not close the eye on the side aftected. Thus, if the nerve of expression covering the left side of the face be paralyzed, the left eye can not be closed by any efibrt, and the left side of the face will be wholly devoid of expression. This nerve of expression is often paralyzed by itself, the other nerves in the neighborhood, both nerves of sensation and of motion, being entirely unaflected. This nerve has been called the respe- ratory nerve of the face, because it controls motions which are connected with the movements of respiration,^ 2, If we observe how the various passions and emotions are exj^ressed, we shall see that there is a natural association between the muscles of the face and those of the chest in this expression. This is very obvious in laughing and in weep- ing. But this association can be effected only through nerv- ous connections, and these connections in this case are very extensive and intimate. When the nerve of exj^ression, or the facial respiratory nerve, is paralyzed, all the motions of the face connected with the respiration are absent. Though 100 willson's fifth READEB. PaktIII. the individual may sob in weeping, or send forth the rapid and excessive expirations of laughter, yet the face on the side where the nerve is paralyzed Avill be perfectly quiescent. ^° So, too, those movements of the nostrils Avhich are sometimes used in expression can not be pei'formed. Sneezing can not be done on the affected side, nor can the individual whistle, be- cause a branch of this nerve goes to the muscles at the corner of the mouth, which are therefore disabled. Sir Charles Bell, in cutting a tumor from before the ear of a coachman, divided this branch of the nerve. Shortly after, the man thanked him for curing him of a formidable disease, but complained that he could no longer whistle to his horses. 3. Another singular case of paralysis narrated by Sir Charles Bell is that of a mother who was seized with a paralysis, in which there was a loss of muscular power on one side, and a loss of sensibility on the other. She could hold her child with the arm of the side which retained its jDOwer of motion, but had lost its sensibility. But she could do it only when she was looking at it. She could not feel her child on the arm, and therefore, when her attention was drawn to any thing else, and she ceased to have her eyes fixed on the child, the muscles, having no overseer, as we may say, to keep them at work, were relaxed at once, and the child would fall from her m. NO FEELING IN THE NERVES OF MOTION, IN THE BRAIN, OR IN THE HEART. 1. It was formerly supposed that a nerve must, of course, have an exquisite^^ sensibility.^^ But there is no sensibility in nerves devoted to motion, as we have already seen. Nei- ther is there any in the brain itself, but only in its envelop- ing membranes. Portions of the brain may be cut off with- out producing any pain. The heart, too, is insensible to touch. A case proving this fell under the observation of Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood. A young noble- man, from an injury received in a fall, had a large abscess^-' on the chest, which occasioned such a destruction of the parts as to leave the lungs and heart exposed. Charles the First, on hearing of the case, desired Harvey to see it. 2. "When," says Harvey, "I had paid my respects to this yoimg nobleman, and conveyed to him the king's request, he made no concealment, but exposed the left side of his breast, when I saw a cavity into which I could introduce my fingers and thumb. Astonished with the novelty, again and again 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PnYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 101 I explored the wound ; and first, marveling at the extraor- dinary nature of the case, I set about the examination of the heart. Taking it in one hand, and placing my finger on the wrist, I satisfied myself that it was indeed the heart which I grasped. I then brought him to the king, that he might behold and touch so extraordinary a thing, and that he might perceive, as I did, that, unless when Ave touched the outer skin, or when he saw our fingers in the cavity, this young gentleman knew not that we touched his heart !" 3. This absence of sensibility in the heart is not because it is not well endowed Avith nerves. It is well endowed, not with the nerves of ordinary sensation, but with those which are devoted to another purpose. They are nerves of sym- pathy, which notify the condition of the heart to the seats of involuntary motion in the spinal marrow, and which also establish a connection Avith every part of the body, making the heart to be so easily aftected by motion, by disease, and by every passing emotion in the mind. IV. THE REUNION AND HEALING OF SEVERED NERVES. 1. There are some wonderful facts in regard to the reunion and healing of severed nerves. It has been seen that if a nerve trunk be divided, all communication between the part Avhich it supplies Avith branches and the brain is cut off. But the two cut ends of the trunk can grow togethei", and the communication can thus be more or less restored. This must appear to us passing wonderful when we consider that each nerve trunk is made up of a great number of separate fibres, each one of which goes from its origin in the nervous centre to its destination by itself. For these nerves to heal Avithout causing confusion, it is essentially necessary that each little fibre should unite, at its cut end, with its corresponding end, and not with the end of some other fibre. For example, if the nerves distributed to the hand were cut, it would not do to have the fibres which go to the thumb unite with those Avhich go to a finger. 2. The difliculty of accurate union would seem to us to be still further increased by the fact that, in the same bundle of nerve fibres, the diflx^rent kinds, those of motion and those of sensation, are bound up together, and we know that it would not do for a nerve of motion to unite with a nerA^e of sensa- tion. Yet we learn, by repeated experiments, that the most accurate union of severed nerves is often effected, each mi- nute fibre, in Avhatever position it may be placed, apparently 102 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part ni. seeking out and uniting witli its severed part, so that event- ually the communication of inij^ressions is as perfect as be- fore. 3. But a still more -wonderful fact is exhibited in the union of parts which did not originally belong together, as, for ex- ample, when a piece of skin is dissected from the forehead, and is twisted down so as to be made to grow upon the nose, to supply a deficiency there. Here entirely new relations are established between the nerves of the divided parts, and, as we should expect, there is confusion in the sensations. The patient at first, whenever the new part of the nose is touch- ed, refers the sensation to the forehead. But this confusion of the sensations is after a while removed. And it is curious to observe, that while the old nervous connections are break- ing up, and the new ones becoming established, there is an interval of partial, sometimes entire insensibility in the part. How these new relations can be established consistently with the known arrangement of the fibres in the nerve bundles is a mystery. Physiologists do not attempt to explain it ; they merely attribute all such processes to what they call the " Healing Power of Nature." 1 Tkst'-ures, different parts or layere, each' ' PIe'-a-lyzed, affected with the palsy; be- likened to a web that is woven. numbed. ! Mu'-foc8 Mem'-beane, a thin and slimy s Mas'-ti-cate, chew; grind with the teeth. flexible skin. ' Ees-pi-e.\'-tion, the act of breathing. 3 Tu'-MOR, a swelling. i" Qui-es'-cent, in a state of repose. * Ep-pO'-$ion, apouring out from the properi'i ex-'qui-site, peculiarly delicate; keenly vessels. felt. [feeling. ' Rvpt'-Cbe, a breaking. \^- Ses-si-bTl'-i-tt, acuteness or delicacy of ' Her'-o-ism, the spirit and conduct of a '3 Ab'-scess, a swelling containing a whiiish hero; fortitude. I matter called pus. LES. VII. INTEMPERANCE, THE PRIME MINISTER OF DEATH. 1. Death, the king of terrors, was determined to choose a prime minister ;i and his pale courtiers^, the ghastly^ train of diseases, were all summoned to attend, when each preferred* his claim to the honor of this illustrious office. Fever urged the numbers he destroyed ; cold Palsy set forth his preten- sions by shaking all his limbs; and Dropsy, by his swelled, unwieldy carcass ; Gout hobbled up, and alleged his great power in racking every joint ; and Asthma's inability to speak was a strong though silent argument in favor of his claim. Colic and Rheumatism pleaded their violence ; Plague his rapid progress in destruction ; and Consumption, though slow, insisted that he was sure. 2. In the midst of this contention, the court was disturbed 2d Div. OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 103 by the noise of music, dancing, feasting, and revelry,^ when immediately entered a lady, with a confident air and a flushed countenance, attended by a troop of cooks and bacchanals :^ her name was Intemperance. She waved her hand, and thus addressed the crowd of diseases : " Give way, ye sickly band of pretenders, nor dare to vie with my superior merits in the service of this great monarch. Am not I your parent ? Do ye not derive the power of shortening human life almost wholly from me ? Who, then, so fit as myself for this im- portant oflice ?" The grisly monarch grinned a smile of ap- probation, placed her at his right hand, and she immediately became his principal favorite and prime minister. — Anony- mous. 1 Prime Min'-is-tee, a cliief officer in civil affairs. 2 t'ouuT'-iEE, an attendant wlio flatters to please. ^ G u.vst'-ly, deatli-Iilie ; very pale ; liideous. * Pke-fer'eed, put forward ; urged. ^ Eev'-el-ky, carousing witli noisy merri- ment. 6 BA€'-€nA-NAL8, those who indulge in di'unken revels. LESSON VIII. — "look not upon the wine." 1. Look not upon the wine when it Is red within the cup ! Stay not for pleasure when she fills Her tempting beaker' up ! Though clear its depths, and rich its glow, A spell" of madness lurks below. 2. They say 'tis pleasant on the lip, And merry on the brain ; They say it stirs the sluggish^blood, And dulls the tooth of pain. Ay — but within its glowing deeps A stinging serpent, unseen, sleeps. 3. Its rosy lights will turn to fire, - Its coolness change to thirst ; And, by its mirth, within the brain A sleepless worm is nursed. There's not a bubble at the brim That does not carry food for him. 4. Then dash the brimming* cup aside, And spill its purple wine ; Take not its madness to thy lip — Let not its curse be thine. 'Tis red and rich — but grief and woe Are in those rosy depths below. — Willis. 1 Beak'-ek, a drinking-oup or glass. |3 SLUG'-Gisn, having little motion. 2 Spell, a charm consisting of words of hid- * Beim'-mlng, full to the very brim, den power. I 104 willson's fifth BEADEB. Pakt III. LESSON IX. — THE -WATEE-DEINKEE. 1 . On, water for me ! bright water for me, And wine for the tremulous debauchee.' Water coolctli the brow, and cooleth the brain, And maiicth the faint one strong again ; It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea, All freshness, like infant purity ; Oh, wator, bright water, for me, for me ! Give wine, give wine, to the debauchee !* 2. Fill to the brim ! fill, fill to the brim ; Let the flowing ci^stal^ kiss the rim ! For my hand is steady, my eye is true. For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew. Oh, water, bright water's a mine of wealth. And the ores which it yieldeth are vigor and health. So water, pure water, for me, for me I And wine for the tremulous debauchee ! 3. Fill again to the brim, again to the brim ! For water strengtheneth life and limb. To the days of the aged it addeth length. To the might of the strong it addeth strength ; It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight, 'Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light ! So, watei", I will drink nothing but thee, Thou parent of health and energy ! 4. When over the hills, like a gladsome bride, Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride, And, leading a band of laughing hours. Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers. Oh ! cheerily then my voice is heard Mingling with that of the soaring bird. Who flingeth abroad his matin' loud. As he freshens his wing in the cold gray cloud. 5. But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew, Drowsily flying, and weaving anew Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea. How gently, O sleep, fall thy poppies* on me ! For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright. And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong* night. So hurra for thee, water ! hun-a ! hurra ! Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star : Hurra for bright water ! hurra ! hurra ! E. Johnson. 1 Deb-ati-chee' (dcft-o-s^ee'), a profligate ; ap JIat'-in, morning song. drunkard. I* Por'-PiES. opium, obtained from the pop. 2 <^Bvs'-TAL, here used for tcater, which is| py, lulls to flee]). clear as crystal. i= Live'-losq, long in passing. 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 105 LESSON X. — HOW THE MIND SPEAKS THROUGH THE NERVES AND MUSCLES. (Adapted chiefly from Sir Charles Bell) "There's a language that's mute^ there's a silence that speaiks,' There is something that can not be told; There are ivords that can only be read on the cheeks ; And thoughts — but the eye can unfold." 1. There is quite as much truth as poetry in the above lines — and, indeed, poets are often the most faithful interpret- ers of nature. Spoken and written language are not the only methods by which mind communicates with mind ; and it will be found, on examination, that " the language that's mute," and that is read only in the " moving i^lay of the muscles," forms the greater portion of the language of daily life. 2. Thoughts and feelings are exj^ressed only by muscular motion as controlled by the nerves. Even the voice in sjDeak- ing, and the hand in writing, merely translate the language of the muscles into conventional signs ; but it is more espe- cially of the mute language of the features, and of bodily mo- tions, that we are now to speak. As we watch an animated speaker, we observe that not only are the muscles of the fore- head, the eyebrows, the eyes, the cheeks, the nose, and the mouth in almost constant action, but the head is nodded or shaken, the shoulder is shrugged, the foot is stamped, the body variously inclined, and, above all, the hand executes a great variety of motions, and all to give force to the thoughts and feelings which the mouth utters. 3. Various muscles of the human features are also used to express thought or passion without any connection with the voice. So, also, the feelings or emotions which are attributed to the heart find expression here. Says the Son of Sirach, " The heart of a man changeth his countenance, whether for good or evil." And so also Shakspeare, " I do believe thee ; I saw his heart in his face." Certain strong feelings of the mind produce a disturbed condition of the heart ; thence the impulse is sent to the organs of breathing, which then give us, in this indirect way, the outward signs of the mental emo- tion. Sir Charles Bell says, " The man was wrong who found fault with Nature for not placing a window before the heart, in order to render visible human thoughts and intentions. There is, in truth, provision made in the countenance and out- ward bearing for such discoveries." These principles form a rational basis for the science of physiognomy.^ E 2 1 06 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Part III. 4. The heart and the hings are so intimately connected by nerves that the closest sympathy exists between them ; nor has the mind always sufficient control over them to allay the excitement which a word or a whisper may have occasioned. Thus the "feelings of the heart," as they are called, wall ex- press themselves by outward signs, distinct from those wliich the mind directly controls. We can readily conceive why a man, under the influence of terror, stands with eyes intently fixed on the object of his fears, the eyebrows elevated to the utmost, and the eye largely uncovered ; and why he moves with hesitating and bewildered steps, and glances his eye wildly around him. In all this, the mind acts directly on the outward organs. But observe this man further : there is a spasm on his breast; he can not breathe freely; the chest is ele- vated, the muscles of his neck and shoulders are in action, his breathing is short and rapid, there is a gasping and convul- sive motion of his lips, a tremor on his hollow cheek, a gulp- ing and catching of his throat — and why does his heart knock at his ribs while yet there is no force of circulation^ ?~ for his lips are ashy pale. 6. Sometimes the mind, by a strong eflbrt, can restrain, to some extent, the outward expressions of emotion, at least in regard to the general bearing of the body ; but who, while suffering under the influence of any strong emotion, can re- tain the natural fullness of his features, or the healthful color of his cheek, and unembarrassed respiration^ ? The murderer may command his voice, and mask his purpose with light words, or carry an habitual sneer of contempt of all softer passions ; but his unnatural paleness, and the sinking of his features, will betray that he suffers. Clarence says to his murderer, " How deadhi dost thou speak' ! Your eijes do menace me : why look you pale' ?" 6. Thus the frame of the bod;% tJiough constituted for the support of the vital functions, becomes the instrument of ex- pression, and in the anatomy of the system we find the cause. We see why, when the mind sufters, the breathing should be agitated, for then the oi'dinary involuntary motions of the res- piratory organs are interfered with by a more potent^ neiw- ous influence than ordinary ; we see why the muscles of the throat should be affected with spasm — why slight quivering motions pass from time to time over the face, the lips and cheeks, and nostrils ; why the voice sticks in the throat, and the paralyzed* lips refuse the commands of the will ; and why 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 10/ even the vnalk should often indicate the workings of the mind, or the general character of the individual. " You may sometimes trace A feeling in each footstep, as disclosed , By Sallust in his Catiline, who, chased By all the demons of all passions, showed Their work even by the way in which he trode." 1 -Cou-vek'-tion-al, agi'eed upon, or arising 3 Po'-tent, powerful. out of custom. I* P.\r'-a-lyzed, benumbed; incapable of mo- 2 Phys-i-og'-no-my, the science of discerning, tion. the character from the face. I LESSOX XI. — THE LANGUAGE OF THE COUNTENANCE. ( Continued.) (Adapted chiefly from Sir Charles Bell.) Fig. 8. THE FACIAL NEEVE. Fig. S shows the Facial Nerve— the nerve of expression of tlie coun- tenance. All the principal divisions and branches of this nerve, and their exact localities, are known to anato- mists and named by them ; but it is not necessary to specify them here. Each nene branch has its appropri- ate office to perform in moving the contiguous muscles; and it is only when we consider the vast number of combinations that may be made of them that we begin to realize thf« wonderful versatility of this natural language of the human countenance. It must be remembered that on the opposite side of the head is another facial nerve, the exact counterpart ■* of the one here represented, and that the facial is but one of twelve 2mrs of cranial nerves distributed to the different parts of the head. Injury of the facial nerve produces paralysis of the parts to which it is distributed, rendering the muscles of the face powerless, and the counte- nance therefore distorted. So of the other cranial noi'\-es ; yet one of a 2}ciir — as one e.ve, one ear, one nos- "- tril, etc may be affected, and the other continue in healthy action. 1. In the preceding lesson we treated, generally, of the lan- guage of muscular motion ; but the various expressions of the human countenance, in particular, are what we would now no- tice, together with the immediate causes which produce them. Over each side of the face and each half of the head extends what is called the facial nerve ; and it is through this and its numerous and minute ramifications^ that are produced those movements of the muscles which give to the face its wonder- ful variety of expression — the mute language of thought, feel- 108 WILLSON ,S FIFTH READER. Pabt III. Fig. 9 Laughter. ing, and emotion. What a wonderful net-work of nervous fibres is here set apart for the purpose of producing the only- universal language Avhich is known and read of all man- kind ! 2. It will be interesting to know how some of the expres- sions of the countenance are pro- duced. If we will notice, we shall observe that the wrinkling of the muscles of the eyebrow and fore- head causes a frown to pass over the features ; Avhen a smile occurs, it is produced by the muscles which raise the corners of the mouth ; and when sadness is expressed, it is by the opposite action of drawing down the corners of the mouth. Hence the origin of the common expression, '^ Down in the mouth." In- hearty laughter, which is repre- sented in the annexed engraving, the muscles which raise the corner of the mouth act strongly, pushing up and wrinkling the cheek, while the eyes are nearly closed by the action of the circular muscle of the eyelids. The muscles of the throat, neck, and chest are also agitated, and so violently that the individual may be said to be actually " convulsed" with laugh- ter. 3. In severe weeping, on the contrary, the muscles that draw down the corners of the mouth act strongly, the muscles of the eyelids contract Avith great force, closing the eyes, and the frowning muscle at the same time wrinkles the eye- brows. The cheeks, drawn be- tween two adverse powers, lose their joyous elevation, the breath- ing is cut short by sobbing, the in- spiration is hurried, and the ex- piration is slow, with a melancholy note. In weeping, the same mus- cles are affected as in laughter ; but they act differently, and the expres- sion is as much opposed to that of laughter as the aature of the emotion which produces it. 4. In unrestrained rage, which is a brutal passion; the Fig. 10.— Cryiag 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY A:NT) HEAXTH. 109 whole frame trembles, the fea- tm*es are iinsteady, and the whole visage is sometimes pale, sometimes dark and almost liv- id ;2 the exposed eyeballs roll and are inflamed, the forehead is alternately kuit^ and raised in furrows, the nostrils are in- flated to the utmost, the lips are swollen, the corners of the moi;th open, and the teeth are so firmly closed that words escape with difiiculty. Tasso, in describing the rage of Ar- gantes, dwells with great effect upon this "strangling of speech" Fig. 11. — Rage. by the violence of passion. 5. The pagan lord, to such affronts unused, Bit both his lips, wrath's strangled orators ; He would have spoke, but only sounds confused Broke forth, such sounds as when a lion roars ; Or, as when lightning cleaves the stormy doora . Of heaven, to rouse from its reluctant rest , The thunder growling as the tempest pours ; F9r eveiy word, which he with pain express'd, Escaped in tones as gruff from his infuriate breast. -Canto vi. 38. 6. Bodily fear gives to the features a different expression, by differently affecting the mus- cles. In men, as in animals, the expression is without dignity — the mean anticipation of pain. Here the frontal muscle, un- Avrinkling the eyebrows, raises them to their fullest extent ; the eyeball is largely uncovered, and the eyes staring ; the whole up- per lip is raised instead of a part of it. The nostrils are spread out, and the lower jaw is fallen, while in rage it is in the oppo- site condition. There is a spas- modic affection of the muscles of the chest, a trembling of the lips, a hollowness and convulsive motion of the cheeks, and a cadaverous* aspect, caused by the receding of the blood. 1. Terror, that species of fear which rouses to defend or escape, is thus alluded to by Shakspeare : Fig 12.— Bodily Fear. 110 willson's fifth reader. Part III. Canst thou quake nnd chnngn thy color', Murtlier tliy hrcatli in niidilli; of a woid', And then again begin', and flop again'. As if tliou wast dintraught^ and mad with terror'? — Richard III. Bnt when terror is mixed with astonishment, tlie fugitive*' and uiHierved steps of mere terror are changed for the root- ed and motionless figure of a creature appalled and stuj^efied. Spenser characterizes well this kind of teri-or : lie answer'd naught at all ; but, adding new Fear to his first amazement, staring wide With stony eyes, and heartless hollow hue, Astonisli'd stood, as one that Iiad ospy'd Infernal furies with their chains unty'd. 8. Differing from any thing to which we have yet alluded is the mixed expression which a testy,'' peevish, suspicious, jealous mel- ancholy gives to the countenance — the expression of one who is incapable of receiving satisfac- tion, from whatever source it may be offered ; who can not endure any man to look steadily upon him, or even to speak to him, or laugh, or jest, or be familiar, with- out thinking himself contemned,^ insulted, or neglected. See how the corners of the mouth are drawn down, and the chin drawn up ; notice the peevish turn given to the lowering eyebrows, and the peculiar meeting of the jierijendicular and transverse^ furrows of the forehead. 9. Envy, which " consumeth a man as a moth doth a gar- ment," has a similar expression. Jealousy, which is a fitful and unsteady passion, is marked by a frowning and dark ob- liquity^° of the eyes ; and suspicion by the same, combined with earnest attention. The latter passion is thus forcibly characterized by Spenser in his Faery Queen : Foul, ill-favored and grim,ii Under his e}-ehrows looking etill askance ; And ever as Dissemblance laughed on him. He lower' d on her with dangerous eye glance, Showing his nature in his countenance : His rolling eyes did never rest in i)lace. But walked each where, for fear of hid mischance,'' Holding a lattice still before his face. Through which he still did peep as fonrard he did pace. — B. iii., c. 12. 10. It is an important truth that all these muscular move- ments, which give expression to the countenance, are directed and controlled by the nervous influence transmitted from the Fig. 13. — Jealous Melancholy. 2d Div. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. Ill brain through the nerve fibres, as shown in the engraving at the head of this lesson. Is not the variety of expression thus produced a very striking proof of design — an evidence that all our emotions are intended to have their aj^propriate out- ward characters ? • Ram-i-fi-ca'-tion8, branchings. I s Con-temn'ed, regarded with contempt. 2 Liv'-ID, black and blue. ^ Tkans-verse', running crosswise. 2 Knit, contracted. i" Ob-liq'-ui-ty (oh-lik'-we-ty), a deviation * €a-dav'-eb-0U8, like a dead body; pale. from a right line. 5 Dis-tbauuut' (»i.s-^rfHt'«'), disti'acted. ii GeTm, adapted to create terror; ill-look- ' Fu'- Ci-TivB, inclined to flee away. ing. ' Test'- Y, petulant ; fretful. ]'2 Mis-chance', ill fortune. LESSON XII. — USES OF anatomy and physiology TO THE PAINTER. 1. As anatomy makes us acquainted with that structure by w^hich the mind expresses emotion, and through which the emotions are controlled and modified, it introduces us to the knowledge of the relations and mutual influences which exist between the mind and the body. To the painter, therefore, the study is necessarily one of great importance. It does not teach him to use his pencil', but it teaches him to observe na- ture\ to see forms in their minute varieties, which, but for the principles here elucidated,^ would pass unnoticed^ ; to catch expressions so evanescent^ that they must e^.cape him' did he not know their sources\ It is this reducing of things to their principles which elevates his art into a connection Avith phi- losophy', and which gives it the character of a liberal^ art.^ 2. Anatomy leads to the observation of all the characteris- tic varieties which distinguish the frame of the body or coun- tenance. A knowledge of the peculiarities of infancy, youth, or age'; of sickness or robust health'; or of the contrasts be- tween manly and muscular strength and feminine delicacy' ; or of the appearances which pain or death present', belongs to its province as much as the study of the muscles of the face when affected by eraotion\ Viewed in this comprehensive light, anatomy forms a science not only of great interest, but one which will be sure to give the artist a true spirit of ob- servation, teach him to distinguish what is essential to just expression, and direct his attention to appearances on which the effect and force, as well as the delicacy of his delinea- tions,* will be found to depend. — Sir Charles Bell, ' E-LC'-ci-RA-TEn, made plain. - I the liberal arts — such as painting, music, 2 Ev-A-NES'-CENT, fleeting; quickly passing etc. away. 4 De-lin-e-a'-tion8, drawings of the Outlines ' LTii'-EE-AL, embracing elegant culture, as I of a thing. 112 WILLSON's fifth EEADEB. Past III. LESSON XIII. — MARVELS OF HUMAN CALORIC. Eclectic Review. [In the Fourth Reader, papre W, tlie principle of animal heat was explained as being caused by the union of the oxiiijea of the air with the carbon, or worn-out particles of our bodies. This carbon, taken in as a part of our food, and being used to form the tissues of the body, is dislodged, particle by particle, whenever we move a muscle, be it of the heart, lungs, or limbs, and whenever we think or feel ; and it is then that the union with oxy- gen that is, the combustion, takes place. The more intensely, therefore, we think, and act, and feel, the more carbon we burn, and the more repairs our bodies need. The con- dition of life is, therefore, death, and the faster we live, the more rapidly are the particles of our bodies burning up — passing away. The following humorous article may help to fix Bome of these principles in our memories.] 1. We must be plain with our readers. It will not do to mince matters where questions of science are concerned. Dainty^ people will, no doubt, object to the projiosition we are about to advance. Nevertheless, we persist. Fearless of the consequences, utterly iinawed by the hisses which we know will ensue, we proceed to lay down the following asser- tion : We are all living stoves — walking fireplaces — furnaces in the flesh. 2. Now we do not intend to say that any one can light a cigar, or boil an Qgg^ or even ignite^ a lucifer-match at these human hearths. Still, we repeat, these bodies of ours are stoves — fireplaces — furnaces, if these terms can be applied to any apparatus for the e.xpress production of caloric. And is not heat produced in the human body by the union of oxy- gen with carbon, just the same as by the burning of wood in an open fireplace ? and does not this union take place in the capillaries of the blood-vessels ? 3. But, granting that our bodies are veritable stoves, the reader will desire to know where we procure our fuel. For- tunately, our coal and fire-wood are stored up in a very inter- esting form. They are laid before us in the shape of bread and butter, puddings and pies ; rashers^ of bacon for the la- borer, and haunches'* of venison or turtle-soup for the epi- cure.^ Instead of being brought up in scuttles, they are pre- sented in tureens, dishes, or tumblers, or all of them, in pleas- ant succession. 4. In fact, whenever you send a person an invitation to din- ner, you virtually request the honor of his company to take fuel; and when you see him enthusiastically employed on your dainties, you know that he is literally " shoveling" fuel into his corporeal stove. The ultimate form in which this fuel is burnt in the capillaries is that of carbon, with a little hydrogen and sulphur ; but we swallow it in the shape of fat, 2d Div. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 113 starch, sugar, alcohol, and other less inflammatory compounds. By far the most heating of these substances is fat ; ten pounds of this material, imported into your stove, will do as much woi'k — that is, will produce as much warmth as twenty-five pounds of starch, twenty-five of sugar, or even twenty-six of spirits. 5. And a pleasant thing it is to observe how sagaciously the instinct of man has fastened upon the articles which will best supply him with the species of fuel he requires. The Esquimaux is extremely partial to oily fare. He does not know why. He never heard of the doctrine of animal heat. But he feels intuitively^ that bear's grease and blubber are the things for him. Condemn him to live on potatoes or Indian corn, and the poor fellow would resent the cruelty as much as an alderman of the old school if sentenced to subsist on water-gruel alone. 6. And the savage would be perfectly right. Exposed as he is to the fierce cold of a northern sky, every object around him plundering him of his caloric incessantly, what he needs is plenty of oily food, because from this he can produce the greatest quantity of heat. On the other hand, the native of the tropics, equally ignorant of animal chemistry, eschews^ the fiery diet which his climate renders inappropriate, and keeps himself cool on rice, or dates, or watery fruits. 1. Hence we see the reason why a very stout man, if de- prived of food, can keep up his corporeal fires for a longer time than a slender one. Human fat is fuel laid awav for use. It constitutes a hoard of combustible material upon which the owner may draw whenever his ordinary supplies are in- tercepted. Let all plump persons therefore rejoice. We offer them our hearty, perhaps somewhat envious congratu- lations. They, at any rate, are prepared to stand a long siege from cold. 8. For the same reason, animals whicli hybernate,^ like the bear, jerboa, marmot, dormouse, bat, and others, generally grow plump before they retire into winter-quarters. Upon their capital of fat they subsist during their lethargy,^ the respiration being lessened, the pulse reduced to a few beats per minute, and the temperature perhaps nearly to the freez- ing point. But, when the season of torpor terminates, they issue from their caves and burrows meagre and ravenous, having burnt up their stock of fuel, Bruin'° himself appear- ing to be anxious to defraud the perfumers of the unguent^^ which is so precious in their eyes. 114 willson's fifth READEE. Pakt III. 9. But perhaps the most striking feature in this warmth- producing apparatus within us is the self-regulating power which it possesses. The hrcs on our domestic hearths decline at one moment and augment at another. Sometimes the mis- tress of the house threatens to faint on account of excessive heat ; sometimes the master endeavors to improve the tem- jjerature by a ])assionate iise of the poker, Avith an occasional growl respecting the excessive cold. 10. Were such irregularities to prevail unchecked in our fleshy stoves, we 8hould sufl'er considerable annoyance. After a meal of very inflammatory materials, or an hour spent in extraordinary exertion, the gush of caloric might throw the system into a state of high fever. How is this prevented ? In some of our artificial stoves, little doors or slides are em- ployed to control the admission of air ; in furnaces connected with steam-engines, we may have dampers which will accom- plish the same purpose by the ingenious Avorkings of the ma- chine itself. 11. But neither doors nor dampers, pokers nor stokers,^^ can be employed in the bodily apparatus. If, on the one hand, our human fires should begin to flag from undue ex- penditure of heat, the appetite speaks out sharply, and com- pels the owner to look i-ound for fuel. Hunger rings the bell, and orders up coals in the shape of savory meats. Or, should the summons be neglected, the garnered fat, as we have seen, is thrown into the grate to kee]) the furnace in play. 12. If, on the other hand, the heat of the body should be- come unreasonably intense, a very cunning process of reduc- tion is adojited. When a substance grows too hot, the sim- plest method of bringing it into a cooler frame is to sjirinkle it with water. This is precisely what occurs in our human frames. For no sooner does oi;r internal heat rise above its standard height than the perspiration tubes, with their six or seven millions of openings, indignant at the event, begin to pour out their fluid, so as to bathe the surface of the whole body. Whenever, therefore, a man becomes overheated by Avorking, running, rowing, fighting, making furious speeches, or other violent exertions, he invariably resorts to this method of quenching the heat by " pouring on water." 13. What shall we say, then, good reader? Speaking seri- ously, and looking at the question from a mere human point of A'iew, could any project appear more hopeless than one for burning fuel in a soft, delicate labric like the human body — a fabric composed for the most part of mere fluids — a fabric 2d Div. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 115 which might be easily scorched by excess of hent or damaged by excess of cold? Does it not seem strange that a stove shoidd have flesh for its walls, veins for its flues, and skin for its covering ? Yet here is an apparatus which, as if by magic, produces a steady stream of heat — not trickling penuriously from its fountains, but flowing on day and night, winter and summer, without a moment's cessation, from January to De- cember. 14. Carry this splendid machine to the coldest regions on the globe, set it up where the frosts are so crushing that na- ture seems to be trampled dead, still it pours out its mysteri- ous supplies with unabated jDrofusion. It is an apparatus, too, which does its work unwatched, and, in a great measure, unaided. The very fuel, which is thrown into it in random heaps, is internally sifted and sorted, so that the true combus- tible elements are conveyed to their place and applied to their duty with unerring precision. 15. No hand is needed to trim its fires, to temper its glow, to remove its ashes. Smoke there is none, spark there is none, flame there is none. All is so delicately managed that the fairest skin is neither shi"iveled nor blackened by the burning within. Is this apparatus placed in circumstances which rob it too fast of its caloric? Then the appetite becomes clamor- ous for food, and, in satisfying its demands, the fleshy stove is silently replenished. Or, are we placed in peril from super- abundant Avarmth ? Then the tiny flood-gates of perspiration are flung open, and the surface is laid under water until the fires within are reduced to their wonted level. 16. Assailed on the one hand by heat, the body resists the attack, if resistance be possible, imtil the store of moisture is dissipated ; assailed on the other by cold, it keeps the enemy at bay until the hoarded stock of fuel is expended. Thus protected, thus provisioned, let us ask whether these human hearths are not entitled to rank among the standing marvels of creation ? for is it not startling to find that, let the climate be mild or rigorous, let the wind blow from the sultry desert, or come loaded with polar sleet, let the fluctuations of tem- perature be as violent as they may without us, there shall still be a calm, unchanging, undving summer within us ? > DIin'-ty, delicate ; affectedly nice. ^ Ig-nTte', to kindle. 3 I;ash'-er, a thin slice. * Haunch, the hip. [ries of the table. * It'-i-cCke, one who indulges in the luxu-'" Bru'-in, a name given to a bear. ' In-tC'-i-tTve-ly, perceived, directly by the," Cn'-guen't, ointment. mind, without reasoning. 1^^ StO'-kee, one who attends to the fire, ' Es-crrEws', shuns, or avoids. 8 IIv'-BEE-NATE, pass the winter in seclu- s'on. 9 Lf:TH'-AE-(iT, morbid drowsiness. 116 WILLSON's fifth KEADEK. Part III. LESSON XIV. — LINES ON A SKELETON. [About forty years ago the London Morniruj Chronicle published a poem entitled " Lines on a Skeleton," which excited much attention. Every effort, even to the offering a re- ward of fifty guineas, was vainly made to discover the author. All that ever transpired was that the p lem, in a fair clerkly hand, was found near a skeleton of remarkable bfau- ty of form and color, in the Museum of tlie Koyal College of Surgeons, Lincoln's Inn, Lon- don, and that the curator of tlie museum had sent them to Mr. Perry, editor and proprie- tor of the Morning Chronicle.'^ 1 . Behold this ruin^ ! 'Twas a skull, Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was Life's retreat\ This space was Thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot\ What dreams of pleasure long forgot. Nor Hope, nor Love, nor Joy, nor Fear', Have left one trace of record here. 2. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye^ ; But, start not at the dismal void — If social Love that eye employed' ; If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed'. That eye shall be forever bright When stars and suns are sunk in night. 3. Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. If Falsehood's honey it disdained. And where it could not praise, was chained' ; If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke. Yet gentle Concord never broke' ! This silent tongue shall plead for thee When Time unveils Eternity. 4. Say', did these fingers delve the mine' ? Or with its envied rubies shine' ? To hew the rock, or wear the gem. Can little now avail to them. But if the page of Truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought', These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on Wealth or Fame. 5. Avails it whether bare or shod. These feet the paths of duty trod' ? — If from the bowers of Ease they fled, To seek Affliction's humble shed. If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spumed. And home to Virtue's cot returned'. These feet with angel's wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky. 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 1 1 ' LES. XV. — EDUCATION OP THE MUSCLES OF EXPEESSION. (Adapted chiefly from Hooker.) 1. As the muscles of the face are the instruments of the mhicl in the expression of thought, feehngs, and emotions, it is highly important that they should be well trained to per- form with ease and grace their appropriate functions ;i for the highest degree of beauty, which is the beauty of expres- sion, depends much more upon the attitudes and movements of the face than upon the shape of the features. We often see a face that is beautiful in repose become ugly the mo- ment it is in action, because the movements of the muscles are so luicouth f and, on the other hand, we often see faces which are very irregular in the shape of the features, display great beauty when in action, owing to the easy and graceful movements of the muscles of expression. Addison has justly said, " No woman can be handsome by the force of features alone, any more than she can be Avitty only by the helj? of speech." 2. Children not unfrequently form awkward habits in the use of the muscles of the face, which finally become perma- nent ; and a little observation will convince us that there is nearly as much difterence in skill in the use of these mus- cles as in the use of those of the hand. For higher exam- ples of this skUl we need not go to the accomplished ora- tor or actor ; we shall find them exhibited, in the ordinary intercourse of life, in those who have great cai^acity of expres- sion, together with a mind uncommonly refined and suscepti- ble. In them every shade of thought and feeling is clearly and beautifully traced in the countenance. While this is the result of education of the muscles of expression, an education of which the individual is for the most part unconscious, no direct attempt in the training of these muscles will succeed imless the mind itself be of the right character. 3. Awkwardness of expression, arising from habit, may be counteracted by judicious physical training, but intelligence and kindness can not be made to beam fi'om the countenance if they do not emanate^ from the moving spirit within. They are often awkwai'dly coxmterfeited, the one by the busthng air assumed by the face of the shallow pretender, and the other by the smirk of him who smiles only to get favor or profit from others. On the other hand, not only Avill those evil and malignant passions, which are of a decidedly marked 118 willson's fifth readee. Part in. expression, leave their permanent traces in the countenance, but course feelings and brutal instincts Avrite their images there also, and nothing but a thorough change of character can possibly effiice them. We must therefore begin with the mind and the heart if we would educate the countenance to the higher expressions of beauty. 4. Some of the most striking exemplifications of the influ- ence of the mind and heart upon the expressions of the coun- tenance are to be seen in those institutions where juvenile outcasts from society are redeemed from their degradation by the hand of benevolence. The progress of the mental and moral cultivation may often be traced, from week to week, and sometimes from day to day, in the changing lineaments* of the face, as lively intelligence takes the place of stolid^ indifterence, and refined sentiment that of brutal passion. S.ometimes a few weeks suflice to change the whole character of the expression in the faces of the yoinig. The dull eye becomes bright, not from any change in the eye itself, but from the intelligence and sentiment that now play upon the muscles in its neighborhood. But where passions have been making their impress on the countenance during a long course of years, so that the features become fixed in the prevailing expression, the traces are not so easily removed. 5. The habitual expression of the countenance, depending as it does upon the habitual condition of the muscles, is seen after death. In the state of relaxation which immediately occurs at death, the face is very inexpressive, because its mus- cles are, together with those of the whole body, so entirely relaxed. But A'ery soon they begin to conti'act, and, as they assume that degree of contraction to which they were habit- uated during life, they give to the countenance its habitual expression. 6. It is when this has taken place — when the muscles, re- covering from the relaxation of the death-hour, resume their accustomed attitude, as we may express it, that the counte- nance of our friend appears so natural to us, and we are held, as if by a charm, gazing upon the intelUgence and affection beaming there amid the awful stillness of death, till it seems as if those lips must have language. And this expression is retained through all the period of rigidity, till it is dissoh-ed by the relaxation which succeeds this state and ushers in the process of decay. It is thus that the soul, as it takes its flight, leaves its impress upon the noblest part of its tabernacle^' of flesh ; and it is not efiiiced'' till the last vestige^ of life is gone, 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 119 9,nd the laws of dead matter take possession of the body. This state of countenauce is thus beautifully alluded to by Byrou : T. He who hath bent him o'er the dead, Ere the first day of death has fled, The first dark day of nothingness. The hist of danger and distress (Before decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers), And mark'd the mild angelic air. The rapture of repose that's there. The fix'd yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek. And — but for that sad, shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now. And but for that chill, cliangeless brow, AVhere cold obstruction's apathy Appalls the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doonf he dreads, yet dwells upon — Yes, but for these, and these alone. Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still •ight douljt the tyrant's power; So fair, so calm, so softly sealed. The first, last look by death revealed ! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. This is the loveliness in death That parts not quite with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom. That hue which haunts it to the tomb. Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, Tlie farewell beam of feeling pass'd away! Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth. Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth! 1 FfNc'-TiONs, actions or offices. \^ St6l'-id, stupid. 2 Ux-couTn', awkward ; ungraceful. j^ Tab'-er-na-cle, a temporary habitation. 3 rai'-A-XATE, flow or proceed from. j" Ef-f.^ced', removed; rubbed out. t LiK '-E-A-JLE>TS, outlines ; features. ,8 Ves'-tiue, the remains ; the trace. LES. XVI. DISOEDEES OF THE KEETOUS SYSTEM. VISIONS, APPARITIONS, AND DREAMS, AS VIEWED IN CONNECTION WITH PHYSIOLOGY. 1. It has already been stated that a knowledge of external things is conveyed to the brain through the medium of the neiwes of sensation. IToio the items of knowledge thus ob- tained are stored up in the brain, and how the mind is able to recall them in some subsequent period, and form of them new combmations, has usually been thought to belong especially to the department of mental philosophy to consider : but even here it will be found that anatomy and physiology furnish the safest guides to investigation. 2. The involuntary^ action of the muscles of the heart and lungs is accounted for on the supposition that, at the origin of the nerves which control them, an amount of directing nerv- 120 willson's rrPTH reader. pakt III, ous force is stored up sufficient to continue the motion, with- out mental control, until the supply is exhausted. It is also believed that the sensations Avhich the nerves of taste, touch, smell, sight, and hearing convey to the brain, leave upon that organ, or stored up in its sensorium or seat of power, impres- sions which can be fully eradicated'^ only by death ; and that these impressions, which may be regarded as images of the outward world, the mind makes use of in memory, in imagin- ation, in visions, in fancied apparitions, and in dreams, often forming new and strange combinations very different from the original impressions. 3. Some physiologists believe that every impression made upon the material substance of the brain produces som-e per- manent change in its structure, and that 'one impression nev- er completely effiices another ; that the mind can, as it were, see all of them, and that what the mind*or soul thus learns, death itself can not destroy. Even certain physical phenome- na, explained by Dr. Draper, give countenance to the theory of permanent impressions upon the material substance of the brain. He says, " If on a cold, polished piece of metal, any object, as a wafer, is laid, and the metal then be breathed upon, and, when the moisture has had time to disappear, the wafer be thrown off, though now upon the polished surface the most critical inspection can discover no trace of any form, yet, if we breathe ujjon it, a spectraP figure of the wafer comes into view, and this may be done again and again. 4. " Nay, even more^ ; if the polished metal be carefully put aside where nothing can deteriorate* its surface,, and be so kept for many mouths, on breathing again upon it the shad- owy form emerges ; or, if a sheet of paper on which a key or other object is laid be carried for a few moments into the sun- shine, and then instantaneously viewed in the dark, the key being simultaneously removed, a fading spectre of the key on the paper w^ill be seen ; and if the paper be put away where nothing can disturb it, and so kept for many mouths, if if then be carried into a dark place and laid on a piece of hot metal, the spectre of the key will come forth. In the case of bodies more highly phosphorescent than paj^er, the spectres of many different objects which may have been in succession laid orig- inally thereupon will, on warming, emerge in their jDroper or- der. 5. " I introduce these illustrations," says Dr. Draper, " for the purpose of showing how trivial are the impressions which may be thus registered and preserved. Indeed, I believe that 3d Div. OF. . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 121 a shadow never falls upon a wall without leaving thereupon its permanent trace — a trace which might be made visible by resorting to proper processes. But if on such inorganic^ sur- faces impressions may in this way be preserved, how much more likely is it that the same thing occurs in the purposely constituted ganglia^ of the brain !" But, whether the impres- sions of sense be permanently fixed in the material substance of the brain or not, there is no reason for supposing that any perceptions which the mind has once taken notice of can ever be lost ; and if at any time memory fails to recall them, it is because the brain, and not the mind itself, has become im- paired. 6. While, in the exercise of ordinary memory, perceptions and trains of thought are recalled in their real character and natural order, it is not so in what are called visions, fancied apparitions, and in dreams. The most common visions — un- real objects which we fancy — are doubtless the remains of impressions which have been made on the optic'' nerve, and which are recalled by a strong mental eifort. Others arise from disease of the nerve, often producing, by the impressions conveyed from the diseased nerve to the brain, grotesque im- ages among the real objects at which Ave are looking. Some unusual pressure of blood upon this nerve will often produce apparent flashes of light, or objects apparently floating in the air. These appearances are indications of disease in the nerve. 7. When, in addition to the optic''^ nerve, portions of the brain become afixjcted by disease, former impressions often become mingled with the present, and the complicated scenes of a passing drama are displayed. Thus, in the delirium tre- mens, which follows a cessation from the customary use of al- cohol, phantoms appear moving around among real objects. " The fonn of a cloud no bigger than the hand may perhaps first be seen floating over the carpet ; but this, as the eye fol- lows it, takes on a sharp contour^ and definite shape, and the suflerer sees with dismay a moping raven on some of the more distant articles of furniture. Or, out of an indistinct cloud, faces, sometimes of sui'prising loveliness, but more frequently of hideous aspects, emerge, one face succeeding as another dies away. The mind, ever ready to practice imposture upon it- self, will at last accompany the illusion with grotesque or even dreadful inventions." 8. The illusions to which one is subject under such derange- ments of the brain take a character from the jirevious occu- pations, travel, mental habits, or reading of the sick man. F 122 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Part III. Former trains of thought, and former scenes, although often confusedly mingled, assume, to the individual himself, all the vividness of existing realities. " I saw," says De Quincey in his Confessions of an Opium Eater, " as I lay awake in bed, vast processions, that passed along in mournful pomi^ ; friezes'^ of never-ending stories,^" that to my feelings were as sad and solemn as if they were stories drawn from times before Oedi- pus or Priam, before Tyre, before Memphis ; and, at the same time, a corresponding change took place in my dreams ; a the- atre seemed suddenly opened and lighted up within my brain, which presented nightly spectacles of more than earthly splen- dor." 9. What are called " apparitions," or spectral appearances, physiology explains upon satisfactory scientific principles. They arise sometimes from a disturbance of the retina" alone, wdiich gives a false interpretation of present impressions, some- times from the vivid recalling of old images which have been stored up in the brain, but which the mind then looks upon as i^resent realities, and sometimes the two causes unite to produce the effect. Upon these principles, the mind, in appa- ritions, could never see any thing absolutely 7ieio to it. And such are the facts. Thus the Greeks and the Romans were just as liable to disorders of the nervous system as we are; but to them supernatural appearances came under the myth- ological forms of their heathen divinities. The ascetics^^ of the Middle Ages saw phantoms of the Virgin and the saints, for these were the objects Avhich their minds most dwelt upon ; and at a later period, in Northern Europe, fairies, brownies, and Robin Goodfellows were the phantoms most frequently seen. In the Middle Ages, spectres of African negroes were common enough; but at that period no man had ever wit- nessed one of an American Indian, yet these, in their turn, prevailed after the voyage of Columbus. They were no strangers to our early colonial settlers. 10. One class of apparitions — those of the dead — has sm*- vived all changes of creed and superstitious, as we might reasonably suppose would be the case. But even here, as the phenomena consist merely of the emergence of old images, and new combinations of them, nothing absolutely new was ever seen in them. The Roman saw the shade of his friend clothed in the well-known toga -.^^ the European sees his in the modern garb ; and the spirit of Maupertuis,^* which stood by the bay-window of the library at Berlin, had on knee-breeches, silk stockings, and shoes with large silver buckles. If these 2d Div. OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 123 apparitions existed elsewhere than in a diseased brain, is it not singular that, amid the awful solemnities of the other world, they should so faithfully have j^reserved the fashions of the present ? Science is a great dispeller of superstitious fan- cies. 1 In-vol'-un-ta-ey, independent of the will. - E-ead'-i-€a-tei>, rooted out; destroyed. 3 Sp£€'-teal, having an indistinct or ghostly appearance. * De-te'-ki-o-eate, impair; injure. * In-ok-gan'- i€, without the organs or instru- ments of life. 6 Gang'-li-a, nerve bundles. ' Op'-ti€ Neeve, the nerve of vision, run- ning from' the eye to tlie brain. 8 €on-t6uh, outline of a thing. ' Fbieze, in architecture, a part of the en- tablature. See p. 2S2. 10 StS'-efes, lofts, or sets of rooms rising one above another. 11 Ret'-i-na, the net-like membrane at the back of the eye which receives the image of external objects. See p. S3. 12 As-cet'-ic, one who practices undue rigor or self-denial in religious things. 13 TO'-ga, a kind of gown. 1* Mau-pee-tuis' (Mo-pcr-'u'i')^ a celebrated French academician — bom in 1698 — died in 1759. For a long time he was president of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Ber- lin. LESSON XVII. A DREAM, AND ITS EXPLANATION. Drapkr. 1. Not only may old impressions and ideas be so vividly recalled as to be presented to the mind with all the force of existing realities, but in this manner dreams are sometimes repeated ; and although there is nothing strange in this, but what we should suppose would happen frequently, yet the ignorant often regard such phenomena as something border- ing on the supernatural.^ For the following account, given by a physician, of one of the most marvelous dreams of this character, and its explanation on physiological princii^les, we are indebted to the work of Dr. Draper. 2. "When I was five or six years old, "says the narrator, "I dreamed that I was passing by a large pond of water in a solitary place. On the opposite side of it stood a great tree, that looked as if it had been struck by lightning ; .and in the pond, at another part, an old fallen trunk, on one of the prone- limbs of which was a turtle sunning himself. On a sudden a wind arose, which forced me into the pond ; and in my dying struggles to extricate myself from its green and slimy waters I awoke, trembling with terror. 3. "About eight years subseqnenth', while recovering from a nearly fatal attack of scarlet fever, this dream presented itself to me again, identical in all its parts. Even up to this time I do not think I had ever seen a living tortoise or turtle, but I indistinctly remembered there was a picture of one in the first spelling-book that had been given me. Perhaps, on account of my critical condition, this second dream impressed me more dreadfully than the first. 4. " A dozen years more elapsed. I had become a physician, and was now actively pursuing my professional duties in one of tlie Southern States. It so fell out that one July afternoon I had to take a long and wearisome lidc on horseback. It was Rundav, and extremely hot ; the path was soli- 124 willson's fifth keader, Part III. tary, and not a house for miles. The forest had that intense silence which is so characteristic of this part of the day ; all the wild animals and birds seemed to have gone to their retreats, to be rid of the heat of the sun. Sud- denly, at one point of the road, I came upon a great stagnant water-pool, and, casting my eye across it, there stood a pine-tree blasted by lightning, and on a log that was nearly even with the surface a turtle was basking in the sun. The dream of my infancy was upon me ; the bridle fell from my hands ; and an unutterable fear overshadowed me as I slunk away from the accursed place. 5. "Though business occasionally afterward would have drawn me that way, I could not summon the resolution to go, and actually have taken roundabout paths. It seemed to me profoundly amazing that the dream which I had twenty years before should now be realized, without respect to difference of scenery, or climate, or age. A good clergyman of my ac- quaintance took the oj)portunity of improving the circumstance to my spir- itual advantage ; and in his kind enthusiasm, for he knew that I had, more than once, been brought to the point of death by such fevers, interpreted my dream that I should die of marsh miasm. ^ 6. "Most persons have doubtless observed that they suddenly encounter circumstances or events of a trivial nature in their coiirse of life, of which they have an indistinct recollection that they have dreamed before. It seem- ed for a long time to me that this was a case of that kind, and that it might be set down among the mysterious and unaccountable. How wonderful it is that we so often fail to see the simple explanation of things, when that explanation is actually intruding itself before us. 7. "And so in this case; it was long before the truth gleamed in upon me, before my reasoning powers shook off the delusive impressions of my senses. But it occurred at last, for I said to myself, 'Is it more j^robable that such a mystery is true', or that I have dreamed for the third time that which I had already dreamed of twice before' ? Have I really seen the blasted tree and the sunning turtle'? Are a weary ride of fifty miles, the noontide heat, the silence that could almost be felt, no provocatives* of a dream' ? I have ridden, under such circumstances, many a mile, fast asleep, and have awoke and known it — and so I resolved that if ever cir- cumstances carried me to those parts again, I would satisfy myself as to the matter. 8. "Accordingly, when, after a few years, an incident led me to travel there, I revisited the well-remembered scene. There still was the stagnant pool, but the blasted pine-tree was gone ; and, after I had pushed my horse through the marshy thicket as far as I could urge him, and then dismounted and pursued a close investigation on foot in every direction round the spot, I was clearly convinced that no pine-tree had ever grown there ; not a stump, nor any token of its remains, could be seen : and so now I have concluded that, at the glimpse of the water, with the readiness of those who are falling asleej) I had adopted an external fact into a dream ; that it had aroused the trains of thought which, in former years, had occupied me ; and that, in fine, the mystery was all a delusion, and that I had been frightened with less than a shadow." 9. The instructive story of this physician teaches us hoAV readily, and yet how impressively, the remains of old ideas may be recalled ; how they may, as it were, be projected^ into the space beyond ns, and take a position among existing re- 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 125 alities. That such images arise from a physical impression which has formerly been made in the registering ganglia of the brain, it is impossible to (tbubt ; and it is philosophical to suppose that, for their emergence^ from their dormant'' state, it is only necessary that there should be a dulling or blunting of the sensations which we are in the act of receiving from external sources, so that these latent^ relics, laid up in the brain, may pi-esent themselves with at least equal force. 1 Su-PER-NAT'-f-EAL, ftbove Or bcyond the ^ Pbo-je€t'-ed, thrust forward, laws of nature ; miraculous. , 6 E-mer'-gejstce, a coming forth. 2 PrOxe, bending; downward. h D5e'-mant, sleeping. ^ Mr'-ASM, noxious vapors or effluvia. [s La '-tent, not visible; concealed. * Pro-vo'-€a-tivk, that which excites or leads to. I LESSON XVIII. THE HEALTH OF THE BRAIN. 1. Although the brain is the seat of thought, of feeling, and of consciousness, it is nevertheless a part of the animal system. Do not make a mistake in supposing that the brain is the mind itself. It is merely the organ of the mind — the medium through which the mind acts. In like manner, speech is not thought itself; it is merely an instrument by which thought is conveyed from one mind to another. 2. The brain is subject to the same general laws of health as the other bodily organs ; and, like them, it is liable to dis- ease. It is nourished by the blood ; it is strengthened by men- tal exercise ; it is injured by over-exertion ; audit is enfeebled by disease. When the mind thinks intently, an increased quantity of blood is sent to the brain to supply the waste of material occasioned by exercise of that organ. The brain is then enlarged in bulk; and hence we see the danger of too long continued intense application, which often results in con- gestion^ of the brain, apoplexy,^ and death. So, also, if the brain be highly excited by the excessive use of stimulants, a rush of blood to the brain will be the consequence, and the mind will be disturbed ; and if, on the other hand, the mind be suddenly roused by violent passions, the vessels of the brain will instantly be excited to increased action, redness will suf- fuse the face, and the disturbance will be the same as if pro- duced by a physical cause. 3. Although the weight of the brain is only about one for- tieth of the weight of the body, yet ordinarily about one sixth of all the blood is sent to this organ. If more than the usual quantity be sent there, as will happen in cases of intense and 12(3 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Part III. long-continued mental exertion, it will circulate but feebly in other parts, and hence the feet will become cold, the stomach will act slowly, and active muscular exercise can not be taken with profit ; and when, on the other hand, other parts of the body require a bountiful supply of blood, as is the case when the stomach is engaged in the process of digestion, and when the muscles generally are called into vigorous action, the brain will be incapable of its greatest efforts. Hence severe mental application should never be attempted just before or after a hearty meal, nor during any active muscular exertion. 4. Keeping in view that the brain is a bodily organ, and that thought is its proper stimulus to exertion — that, like an arm in a sling, it dwindles by disuse, and becomes slow and feeble in its movements, we shall not be surprised to find that inactivity of intellect is a frequent predisposing cause of every form of nervous disease. We witness the truth of this in the well-known fact that solitary confinement is so severe a pun- ishment, even to the strongest minds, as often to produce per- manent derangement of intellect, and even confirmed idiocy ; and it is a lower degree of the same cause which renders con- tinuous seclusion from society so injurious to both mental and bodily soundness. We also see the effects of want of mental occupation in the numerous victims to nervous disease among females of the middle and higher ranks, Avho, having no calls to exertion in gaining the means of subsistence, and no objects of interest on which to exercise their mental faculties, sink into a state of mental sloth and nervousness, AAhich not only deprives them of much enjoyment, but subjects them to suf- fering both of body and mind from the slightest causes. 5. An additional illustration, and a very common one, of the bad effects of want of mental occupation, is often presented in the case of a man of mature age and active habits, who, having devoted his life to the toils of business, and having acquired a competency,^ gives up all his biisiness relations, and retires to the country to seek repose and enjoyment. Suppose such a person to have no moral, religious, or philosophical pursuits to occupy his attention and keep up the active exercise of his brain ; this organ will lose its health from inaction, and the inevitable result will be, Aveariness of life, despondency, mel- ancholy, or some other form of nervous disease. Long con- finement to an unvarying round of employment, which affords neither scope nor stimulus for one half of the faculties, must also be prejudicial to the health and vigor of the nervous sys- tem. 2dDlV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 127 6. But the evils arising from excessive or ill-timed exercise of the brain are also numerous, and equally in accordance with the ordinary laws of physiology. When we use the eye too long, or in too bright a light, it becomes bloodshot ; and if we continue to look intently, the irritation at length becomes permanent, and disease, followed by weakness of sight, or even blindness, may ensue. Phenomena precisely analogous* occur when, from intense mental excitement, the brain is kept long in excessive activity. We learn this from occasional cases in which, from some external injury, the brain has been so exposed that its action has been seen. 7. Sir Astley Cooper had a young gentleman brought to hira who had lost a portion of his skull just above the eye- brow. " On examining the head," says Sir Astley, " I dis- tinctly saw the pulsation of the brain was regular and slow ; but at this time he was agitated by some oiDposition to his wishes, and directly the blood was sent with increased force to the brain, and the pulsation became frequent and violent.'* Who does not know that when one is moderately flushed and heated in debate his mind works more freely and power- fully than at any other time^ ? And why^ ? Because then his brain has a healthy activity, occasioned by an abundant supply of its natural stimulus. But let the excitement run too high, and too much blood be sent to the brain, and giddi- ness Avill ensue, threatening apoplexy ; or the brain may be overstrained, the same as an arm, and the consequence be permanent mental debility. ' €on-gSs'-tion, too great an accumulationl ducing loss of sense and voluntary mo- of blood. tion. * AP'-o-PLEx-Y, a disorder of the brain pro- ^ £'om'-pe-ten-cy, a sufficiency of property. I* A-nal'-o-gous, like ; similar. LESSON XIX. — THE foot's complaint. 1. "It's really too bad," cried the Foot in a fever, "That I am thus walking and walking forever: My mates are to honor and indolence thrust, While here I am doomed to the mud and the dust. 2. "There's the Mouth— he's the fellow for all the nice things, And the Ear only wakes when the dinner-bell rings ; The Hand with his rings decks his fingers so white ; And as to the Eye — he sees every fine sight." 3. " Stay, stay," said the Mouth ; " don't you know, my dear brother, We all were intended to help one another' ? And surely you can't be thought useless and mean, On whom all the rest so entirely must lean'. 128 willson's fifth keadeu. 1'art ill 4. " Consider', my friend', we are laboring too', And toiling— ^nay, don't interrupt me — for you' ; Indeed, were it not for the Hand, Mouth, and Eye, Of course, you know well, you would falter and die. 5. "I eat, but 'tis only that you may be strong ; The Hand works for you', friend', all the day long' ; And the Eye — he declares he shall soon lose his sight, So great are his cfibrts to guide you aright." C. The Foot, in rejjly, could find nothing to say, For he felt he had talked in a culpable way, And owned the reproof was both wise and well-meant — For, wherever we are, we should there be content. Anonymous. LESSON XX. RULES FOR MENTAL EXERCISE. 1. At any time of life excessive and long-continued mental exertion is hurtful, but especially in infancy and early youth, when the structure of the brain is still immature and delicate. 2. While the healthy and backward boy may, without danger, be stimu- lated to mental exertion, the delicate and precocious child needs constant mental restraint, and much out-door exercise. 3. Cheerful feelings, as they exert an enlivening influence over the whole system, conduce greatly to a healthy activity of the brain, and increase its power for exertion. 4. The growing child requires more sleep than the adult ; and the close student more than the idler. In proportion as mental excitement is opposed to sleep, it exhausts the body. 5. The length of time the brain may be safely used is modified by many circumstances, such as those of age, mental habits, health of the brain, and health of the system. If the brain has long been habituated to profound study, it will not be so soon fatigued as when its habits have been indolent. 6. The brain finds relief from exhaustion in frequent change of studies and occupation. The early part of the day, when the exhausted energies of body and mind have been restored by repose, is the best time for study. 7. As quiet of the brain is essential to quiet sleep', active study should cease some time before retiring to rest. 8. We should not enter upon continued mental exertion', or arouse deep feeling, immediately before or after violent muscular exercise. 9. Moderate mental exertion is more necessary in old age than in mature years. In middle life, while the body is gaining strength, the exhaustion of the brain from overexcitement may be repaired ; but no such result fol- lows overexertion in the decline of life. The current history of the day furnishes numerous sad examples of premature death from overtasked brains at an advanced period of life. 10. The physical, intellectual, and moral faculties should receive, daily, their appropriate share of culture, that all may grow in harmony together. Just in proportion as mind is cultivated in some one direction only, the re- sult is that species of monomania which we see in men of one idea ; and when the physical alone is cultivated, we have the mere bully or bravado. 11. When the brain is overcharged with blood, as often occurs from too 2d DiV. OF. . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 129 great mental exertion, or from disease or accident, the most ready and safe means of relief is to make warm applications to the feet and hands, which will tend to draw the blood from the brain to the extremities. 1 2. Exercise is as natin-al to the mind as to the body ; hence all healthy children delight in constant mental occupation ; and if they can not obtain it in judicious mental culture and honest employment, they will be apt to .seek it in the haunts of dissipation, and perhaps in those of crime. It is a lihyxiological as well as a moral truth, that "Idleness is the parent of vice ;" and it is no less the teaching of j)hysiology than of experience, that, if we will not educate tlie ignorant, we may expect to support tliem as paupers or criminals. LESSON XXI. — ADVICE TO a hard student. " 8eok variety in recreation and study." 1 . Still vary thy incessant task, Nor plod each weary day. As if thy life were thing of earth — A seiwant to its clay. Alternate* with thy honest work Some contemplations high' : Though toil be just', though gold' be good\ Look upward' to the sky'. 2. Take pleasure for thy limbs at morn' ; At noontide wield the pen' ; Converse to-night with moon and stars' ; To-morrow' talk with men.' Cull garlands in the fields and bowers. Or toy with running brooks ; Then rifle- in thy chamber lone The honey of thy books. V,. If in the wrestlings of the mind A gladiator strong', Give scope and freedom to thy thought — But strive not over long. Climb to the mountain-top serene, And let life's surges heat, With all their whirl of striving men, Far, far beneath thy feet. 4. But stay not ever on the height. Mid intellectual snow ; Come down betimes to tread the grass, And roam where waters flow ; Come down betimes to rub thy hands At the domestic hearth' ;^ Come down to share the warmth of love', And join the children's mirth'. .5. Let love of books', and love of fields'. And love of men combine F 2 130 WILLSON .S FIFTH KKADKl:. I'artHI. To feed in turns thy mental life, And fan its flame divine' ; Let outer frame, and inner soul', Maintain a balance true\ Till every string on Being's Ijtc Give forth its music due. — Charles Mackat. 1 Ai^tkb'-nate, or al'-tee-nate, to ex-j^ Hearth (hdrth). This is the approved change; perform by turns. pronunciation, although the writer, above, 2 Ri'-FLE, seize and bear away. I makes it rhyme with mirth. LESSON XXII. — NEGLECT OF HEALTH. Samuel Johnson. 1. There is among the fragments of the Greek poets a short hymn to Health, in which her power of exalting the liappiness of life, of heightening the gifts of fortune, and add- ing enjoyment to possession, is inculcated with so much force and beauty that no one, who has ever languished under the discomforts and infirmities of a lingering disease, can read it withotit feeling the images dance in his heart, and adding, from his own experience, new vigor to the wish, and from his own imagination new colors to the picture. The particular occasion of this little composition is not known, but it is prob- able that the author had been sick, and in the first raptures of returning vigor addressed Health in the following manner : 2. " Health, most venerable of the powers of heaven ! with thee may the remaining part of my life be passed, nor do thou refuse to bless me with thy residence. For whatever there is of beauty or of pleasure in wealth, in descendants, or in sovereign command, the highest summit of human enjoyment, or in those objects of human desire which we endeavor to chase into the toils of love ; whatever delight, or whateA-er solace is granted by these celestials, to soften our fatigues, in thy presence, thou parent of happiness, all those joys spread out, and flourish ; in thy presence blooms the spring of pleas- ure, and without thee no man is happy." 3. Such is the poAver of health, that without its co-opera- tion every other comfort is torpid and lifeless, as the powers of vegetation without the sun. And yet this bliss is often thrown away in thoughtless negligence, or in foolish experi- ments on our own strength ; we let it perish without remem- bering its value, or waste it to show how much we have to spare; it is sometimes given up to the management of levity and chance, and sometimes sold for the applause of jollity and debauchery. 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH, 131 4. Health is equally neglected, and witli equal impropriety, by the votaries of business and the followers of pleasure. Some men ruin the fabric of their bodies by incessant revels, and others by intemperate studies ; some batter it by excess, and others sap it by inactivity. Yet it requires no great ability to prove that he loses pleasure who loses health ; and that health is certainly of more value than money, because it is by health that money is procured, and by health alone that money is enjoyed. 5. Nor love, nor honor, wealth, nor power, Can give the heart a cheerful hour When health is lost. Be timely wise; With health all taste of pleasure flies. — Gay. 6. Ah ! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven, AVhen drooping health and spirits go amiss? How tasteless then whatever can be given 1 Health is the vital principle of bliss, And exercise of health. In proof of this, llehold the wretch who slugs his life away. Soon swallowed in disease's sad abyss, AVliile he whom toil has braced, or manly play. Has light as air each limb, each thought as clear as day. 7. Oh, who can speak the vigorous joy of health — Unclogged the body, unobscured the mind' ? The morning rises gay, ivith pleasing stealth, The temperate evening falls serene and kind. In health the wiser brutes true gladness find. See ! how the younglings frisk along the meads, As May comes on and wakes the balmy wind ; Rampant with life, their joy all joy exceeds : Yet what but high-strung health this dancing pleasure breeds. — Thomson. 8. Health is indeed so necessary to all the duties, as well as pleasures of life, that the crime of squandering it is equal to the folly ; and he that for a short gratification brings weak- ness and diseases upon himself, and for the pleasure of a few years passed in the tumults of diversion and clamors of mer- riment condemns the maturer and more experienced part of his life to the chamber and couch, may be justly reproached, not only as a spendthrift of his own happiness, but as a rob- ber of the public — as a wretch that has voluntarily disqualified himself for the business of his station, and refused that part which Providence assigns him in the general task of human nature. THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION, LESSON I. THE TILLAGE SCHOOL OF OLDEN TIME. [The reading of this inimitable piece of description, in which the most delicate satire is conveyed under the guise of profound admiration, requires, especially in the third verse, the ironical tone of mock laudation and respect.] 1. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom'd furze' unprofitably gay — There', in his noisy mansion', skill'd to rule', The village master taught his little schoor. 2. A man severe he was\ and stern to view' : I knew him well, and every truant know : THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 133 Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face* ; Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he' : Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd' : Yet he was kind', or if severe in aught'. The love he bore to learning was in faults 3. The village all declared how much he knew ; 'Twas certain' he could write', and cipher' too ; Lands he could measure', tervis^ and tides presage' ;^ And e'en the story ran that he could gauge\* In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, For e'en though vanquished he could argue still' ; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around — And still they gazed', and still the wonder grew'. That one small head could carry all he knew. GoLDSMirn. Ftteze, a beautiful evergreen shrub, with:^ Pre-baoe', foreshow ; predict. brilliant yellow flower?, abundant on the English commons. Teems, probably here referring to the terms or tiriies when the courts were to be held. * Gavc.'e.jjmj), to measure the contents of a cask, barrel, or other vessel. LESSON II. THE EIGHTEOUS NEYER FORSAKEN. 1, It was Saturday night, and the widow of the Pine Cot- tage sat by her blazing fagots, with her five tattered children at her side, endeavoring, by listening to the artlessness of their prattle, to dissipate the heavy gloom that pressed upon her mind. For a year, her own feeble hands had provided for her helpless family, for she had no supporter, no friend to Avhom to apply, in all the wide, unfriendly woi'ld around. That mysterious Providence, the wisdom of whose ways is above human comprehension, had visited her with wasting sickness, and her little means had become exhausted. It was now, too, mid-Avinter, and the snow lay heavy and deep through all the surrounding forests, while storms still seemed gather- ing in the heavens, and the driving wind roared amid the bounding pines, and rocked her puny mansion. 2. The last herring stnoked upon the coals before her ; it was the only article of food she possessed, and no wonder her forlorn, desolate state brought up in her lone bosom all the anxieties of a mother, when she looked upon her children ; and no wonder, forlorn as she was, if she suffered the heart- swellings of despair to rise, even though she knew that He who.se promise is to the widow and to the orphan can not for- 134 willson's fifth reader. get his word. Providence had many years before taken from her her eldest son, who went from his forest home to try his fortune on the high seas, since which she had heard no note or tidings of liim ; and in latter time, by the hand of death, she had been deprived of the comjianion and stafl' of her earthly pilgrimage in the person of her husband. Yet to this hour she had been upborne ; she had not only been able to provide for her little flock, but hr.d never lost an opportunity of min- istering to the wants of the miserable and destitute. 3. The indolent may well bear with poverty while the abil- ity to gain sustenance remains. The individual who has but his own wants to supply may sufier with fortitude the winter of want ; his aftections are not Avounded, his heart not wrung. The most desolate in pop^'lous cities may hope, for charity has not quite closed her hand and heart, and shut her eyes on mis- ery. . But the industrious mother of helpless and depending children, far from the reach of human charity, has none of these to console her. And such a one w\as the widow of the Pine Cottage ; but as she bent over the fire, and took up the last scanty remnant of food to spread before her children, her spirits seemed to brighten up, as by some sudden and myste- rious impulse, and Cowper's beautiful lines came uncalled across her mind : "Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trOst him for liis grace ; Beliind a fro^ynin<; Providence He hides a smiling face." 4. The smoked herring was scarcely laid upon the table when a gentle rap at the door, and loud barking of a dog, at- tracted the attention of the family. The children flew to open it, and a weary traveler, in tattered garments, and apparently indifierent health, entered and begged a lodging and a mouth- ful of food ; said he, " it is now twenty-four hours since I have tasted bread." The widow's heart bled anew as imder a fresh complication of distresses ; for her sympathies lingered not round her fireside. She hesitated not, even now ;* rest, and share of all she had, she profiered to the stranger. " "We shall not be forsaken," said she, " or sufier deeper for an act of charity." 5. The traveler di'ew near the board ; but when he saw the scanty fare, he raised his eyes toward Heaven with astonish- ment, "And is this all your store?" said he ; " and a share of this do you offer to one you know not ? then never saw I charity before ! But, madam," said he, continuing, " do you not wrong your children by giving a part of your last mouth- THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 135 ful to a Stranger ?" " Ah !" said the poor widow, and the tear- drops gushed into her eyes as she said it, " I have a hoy^ a darling son, somewhere on the face of the wide world, unless Heaven has taken him away, and I only act toward you as I would that others should act toward him\ God, who sent manna from heaven, can provide for us as he did for Isi'ael ; and how should I this night offend Him, if my son should be a wanderer, destitute as you, and he should have provided for him a home, even poor as this, were I to turn you unrelieved away." 6, The widow ended, and the stranger, springing from his seat, clasped her in his arms : " God indeed has provided your son a home, and has given him wealth to reward the good- ness of his benefactress — my mother^ ! oh, my mother^ !" 7. It was her long-lost son, returned to her bosom from the Indies. He had chosen that disguise that he might the more completely surprise his family ; and never was surprise more perfect, or followed by a sweeter cup of joy. That humble residence in the forest was exchanged for one comfortable, and indeed beautiful, in the valley ; and the' widow lived long with her dutiful son, in the enjoyment of worldly plenty, and in the delightful employments of virtue ; and at this day the passer-by is pointed to the willow that spreads its branches above her grave. — Jsfeio York Spectator. LESSON in. THE FAMILY MEETING. [The reading of this piece requires a slow delivery, with much pathetic tenderness] 1 . We are all" here^ ! Father', mother', sister', brother,^ All who hold each other dear. Each chair is fiU'd' : we're alF at home' : To-night, let no cold stranger come" : It is not often* thus' around Our old familiar hearth we're found' : Bless then the meeting and the spot' ; For once', be every care forgot' ; Let gentle Peace assert her power, And kind Affection rule the hour' ; We're all — all here, 2. We're not'' all here ! Some are away' — the dead ones dear, Who throng'd with us this ancient hearth, And gave the hour to guiltless mirth. Fate, with a stem relentless hand, Look'd in and thinn'd our little band' : 13G WILLSON « FIFTH RKADER. Some', like a night-flash, pass'd away', And some' sank lingering day by day* ; The quiet gi-ave-yard' — some' lie there' — And cruel Ocean lias Jiia^ share : We're not all here. 3. We are' all here ! Even thei/\ the dead' — though dead', so dear, Fond Memory, to her duty true, Brings back their' faded forms to view. How life-like through the mist of years. Each well-remember'd face appears' ! We see them as in times long past. From each to each kind looks are cast ; We hear their words', their smiles' behold, They're round us', as they were of old' — We are' all here ! 4. We are all here' ! Father', mother', sister', brother', You that I love with love so dear'. This may not long of us be said ; Soon must we join the gather'd dead. And by the hearth we now sit round, Some other circle will be found. Oh ! then, that wisdom may we know, Which yields a life of peace below : So, in the world to follow this, May each repeat, in words of bliss. We're all' — all' — here' I Charles Sprague. LESSON lY. TACT AND TALENT. [This Lesson furnishes fine examples of contrasted or antithetic clauses, for the reading of which see Rule VI., and al-o what is said on the same subject on page 2T. It also fur- nishes several fine examples of concluding Geries, etc. See page 15.] 1. Talent' is something', but tociMs every^ thing. Talent' is serious\ sober\ grave', and respectable^ : tact' is all that\ and more too\ It is not a sixth sense', but it is the life of all the five\ It is the open eye\ the quick ear\ the judging taste\ the keen smell', and the lively touch^ ; it is the interpreter of all riddles\ the surmounter of all difficulties', the remover of all obstacles\ It is useful in all places', and at all times' ; it is useful in solitude\ for it shows a man his way i?}to^ the world ; it is useful in society\ for it shows him his way through'' the world. 2. Talent' is power\ tact^ is skilP ; talent' is weight\ tact is momentum' ; talent' knows xohat"^ to do, taci' knows hoys' to do it ; talent' makes a man respectable', tact' will make THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 137 him respected^ ; talent' is wealth^ tact^ is ready money/ For all the practical purposes of life', tact carries it against talent, ten to one. Take them to the theatre\ and put them against each other on the stage\ and talent' shall produce you a trag- edy that will scarcely live long enough to be condemned^ "while tact^ keeps the house in a roar, night after night, with its suc- cessful farces. There is no Avant of dramatic talent\ there is no want of dramatic tact^ ; but they are seldom together^ : so we have successful pieces which are not resj)ectable', and re- spectable pieces which are not successfuP. 3. Take them to the bai", and let them shake their learned curls at each other in legal rivalry ; talent' sees its way clear- ly, but tact^ is first at its journey's end. Talent' has many a compliment from the bench, but tact^ touches fees from attor- neys and clients. Talent' speaks learnedly and logically, tact^ triumphantly. Talgnt' makes the world wonder that it gets on no faster, tact^ excites astonishment that it gets on so fast. And the secret is, that it has no weight^ to carry ; it makes no false steps^ ; it hits the right nail on the head^ ; it loses no time^ ; it takes all hints^ ; and by keeping its eye on the weathercock', is ready to take advantage of every Avind that blows\ Take them into the church. Talent' has always something worth hearing\ tact^ is sure of abundance^ of hear- ers ; talent' may obtain a living, tact' will make one ; talent' gets a good name, tact^ a great one ; talent' convinces^ tact^ converts^ ; talent' is an honor to" the profession, tact^ gains honov froni' the profession. 4. Take them to court. Talent' feels its Aveight\ tact^ finds its way' ; talent' commands', tact' is obeyed' ; talent' is hon- ored with approbation', and tact' is blessed by preferment'. Place them. in the senate. Talent' has the ear of the house\ but tact' wins' its heart', and has' its votes' ; talent' is fit for employment', but tact' is fitted for' it. It has a knack of slijD- ping into place Avith a SAveet silence and glibness of move- ment," as a billiard ball insinuates itself into the pocket. It seems to knoAV every thing', Avithout learning any' thing. It has served an invisible and extemporary apprenticeship' ; it Avants no drilling' ; it never ranks in the aAvkward squad' ; it has no left hand', no deaf ear', no blind side'. It puts on no looks of Avondrous Avisdom', it has no air of profundity', but plays with the details of place as dexterously as a Avell-taught hand flourishes OA^er the keys of the piano-forte. It has all the air of commonplace,' and all the force and poAver of gen- ius, — London Atlas. 138 WILLSON's fifth READElt LESSON V. — KAIN- UPON THE ROOF. [The following beautiful lines require great tendernePH and delicacy of expression in the I'eading, to be in harmony with the tender and subdued feeling which tlie scene represent- ed is so well calculated to produce.] 1. When the humid storm-clouds gather Over all the starry spheres', And the melancholy darkness Gently weeps in rainy tears', 'Tis a joy to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed\ And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain over head. 2. Every tinkle on the shingles' Has an echo in the heart', And a thousand lively fancies' Into busy being start' ; And a thousand recollections Weave tlieir bright hues into woof, As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. 3. There, in fancy, comes my mother, As she used to, years agone, To survey the infant sleepers. Ere she left them till the dawn. I can see her bending o'er me. As I listen to the strain Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. 4. Then my little seraph sister', With her wings and waving hair'. And her bright-eyed cherub brother', A serene, angelic pair', Glide around my wakeful pillow. With their praise or mild reproof, As I listen to the miu-mur Of the soft rain on the roof. 6. There is naught in art's bravuras* That can work with such a spell, In the spirit's pure, deep fountains. Whence the holy passions swell, As that melody of nature', That subdued, subduing strain'. Which is played upon the shingles' By the patter of the rain'. Anonymous. ! BrX-vu'-ra, a spirited, brilliant song or air, for the display of execution. THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 139 LESSON VI.— GOOD ADVICE. 1. A CERTAIN khan of Tartary, traveling -witli his nobles, was met by a de'rvis, who cried, with a loud voice, " Whoever will give me a hundred pieces of gold, I will give him a piece of advice." The khan ordered the sum to be given to him, upon which the dervis said, " Begin nothing of lohich thotc hast not xoell considered the endP The courtiers, hearing this plain sentence, smiled, and said, with a sneei', " The dervis is well paid for his maxim." But the khan was so well pleased with the answer, that he ordered it to be written in golden letters in several parts of his palace, and engraved on all his plate. 2. Not long after, the khan's surgeon was bribed to kill him with a poisoned lancet, at the time he bled him. One day, when the khan's arm was bound, and the fatal lancet in the hand of the surgeon, the latter read on the basin, '•'•Begin nothing of lohich thou hast not icell considered the end?"* He immediately started, and let the lancet fall out of his hand. The khan, observing his confusion, inquired the reason ; the surgeon fell prostrate, confessed the whole affair, and was par- doned ; but the conspirators were put to death. The khan, turning to his courtiers, who had heard the advice with dis- dain, told them that the counsel could not be too highly val- ued which had saved a khan's life. LESSON Vn. TRUE KNOWLEDGE. "What is true huoivledge' ? Is it with keen eye Of lucre's sons to thread the mazy way' ? Is it of civic rights, and royal sway, And wealth political, the depths to try' ? Is it to delve the earth, or soar the sky' ; To mix, and analyze, and mete, and weigh Her elements, and all her powers descry' ? These things', who will may know^ them, if to know' Breed not vain-glory' : but o'er all to scan God, in his works and word shown forth below — Creation's wonders, and Redemption's plan, Whence came we, what to do, and whither go — This is true^ knowledge, and the "whole of man." Bishop Makt. 140 "SVILl^SON .S FIFTH KKADKU. I'AKT rv. PART IV. SECOND DIVISION OF BOTANY. [This subject is continued from the Fourth Reader.] LESSON I. TUE STUDY OF BOTANY. 1. Lo ! when the buds expand, the leaves are green, Then the first opening of the flower is seen ; Then come tlie liumid breath and rosy smile, That with their sweets the willing sense beguile ; But a^! we look, and love, and ta-te, and praise. And the fruit grows, the charming flower decays; Till all is gathered, and the wintry blast Mourns o'er the place of love and pleasure past. — C'eaebe. 2. The changes desci-ibed by the poet are indeed full of in- terest and beauty, from the time ^'hen " the buds expand," and " the leaves are green," till the once bright foliage falls brown and withered before " the wintry blast." There are few, perhaps, who are totally insensible to these changes in their general manifestations ; but few, too few, have their minds awakened to the succession of beautiful and varied forms which year by year adorn our fields and Avoods — nay, even our hedges and ditches ; too few of those who have am- ple opportunity and leisure know, even by sight, much less by name, our commonest wild flowers; and yet there is not one of these, from the humblest weed that grows, that will not yield abundant scope for study — that does not exhibit perfec- tion and beauty of structure that tell of its Divine Creator. 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 141 3. Nothing, perhaps, astonishes an individual more, when commencing the search for and study of our uncultivated plants, than to find, even in the most commonplace Avalk, what an immense variety of different kinds — species, as they are called botauically — he has, day by day, trodden under foot, without an idea of their existence. Interest succeeds aston- ishment ; he finds a new source of pleasure opened to him, and one which gives not only pure and healthy thoughts to the mind, but health to the body, by affording inducements to exercise, and adding to the latter that excitement which gives it a tenfold value, 4. Few pursuits in which the mind can engage are purer, or have more tendency to afford innocent and happy thoughts, than the study of flowers generally ; and thougli it may be some advantage to possess gardens and conservatories^ well stocked with the gorgeous natives of other climates, the mere contemplation of these can never bring half the pleasurable excitement which the search after the wild plants of our own country affords to the zealous collector and student. The former are the privileges of the rich, the latter are open to the poorest in the land — " A blessing given E'en to tlie poorest little one That wanders 'neath the vault of heaven." ' CoN-sEEv'-A-TO-EY, a green-house for exotic (foreign) plants. LESSON II. CLASSIFICATIOX OF PLANTS. "• Tlie Almighty Maker ha?, throughout, Discriminated each from each, by strokes And touches of his hand, with fo much art Diversified, that two were never found Twins at all points." 1. Classification in botany is the process by which plants are distributed into divisions, classes, genera or families, spe- cies, and varieties. Dictionaries are so arranged that a per- son can easily find any word in the language ; and in a man- ner somewhat similar he can find a description of any known plant in a botanical dictionary ov flora. The number of dif- ferent kinds or species of plants is about one hundred thou- sand, and it is a very important matter to arrange them in the most convenient manner for reference. 2. It will occur to the reader that plants should be classi- fied by their resemblances; and it may seem to be an easy task thus to arrange them ; but those who have attempted it have 142 willson's fifth keadek. Paut IV. encountered many difficulties. Plants that at first sight ap- pear very much alike will often be found to differ widely ; and those which seem unlike will have many things that agree. 3. A humming-bii'd, flitting from flower to flower, seems to resemble the butterfly of variegated "vving ; but the naturalist considers the humming-bird more like an elephant than a butterfly. He will call the bird and elej^hant vertebrate ani- mals, and will show a striking resemblance between the skel- eton of the tiny wing of the one and the huge leg of the other. 4. As a scientific arrangement of plants requires an intimate acquaintance Avith the form, structure, and properties of a hundred thousand species, we can well understand why a cor- rect classification was impossible in the infancy of the science. Some early w riters attempted to arrange plants according to the alphabetical order of their names ; others took for their guide the structure of their roots ; another class only regarded the form of the leaves ; while others considered the time of flowering, the place of groAvth, or medicinal properties. Two hundred years ago the poet Cowdey published an arrangement of plants founded on their size and appearance. Herbs, flow- ers, and trees were his divisions ; which Hugh Miller has said was like Bufibn's division of animals into vnld and tame. 5. Many methods of classification have been proj^osed with- in the last two centuries, but they have gradually given place to the artificial system of Liunteus, and the natural method of Jussieu. The former divided the vegetable world into twenty-four classes, by characteristics depending on the num- ber, position, length, or union of the stamens; and these class- es he then subdivided into orders, founded mostly on pecul- iarities of the 2^istils. A synopsis of the txcenty-one classes in which American botanists have arranged plants on the Lin- naean method, is here given.* As the "Xatural Method," however, is the one now most approved by botanists, we have adopted that arrangement in our treatment of the subject. 6. The naming and classifying of plants was the delightful task of Eve in Paradise, according to Milton, who represents her as saying, "O, flowers. That never will in other climate grow, My earliest visitation, and my last At even, which I bred up witli tender hand • STN0P8I8 OF THE ASTIFICIAL OB LINX.t:AN SYSTEM. As the 11th, 18th, and 23d classes of Linnteus comprise but few genera found in tho United States, and those variable in their characters, most American botanists have dis- tributed them among the other classes, an arrangement which we have adopted in this tynops is, and in our references to the Linnsean system. See next page. 2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTANY. 143 From the first opening bud, and gave ye names ! Who now shall rear ye to the suu, or rank Yoiir tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ?" LESSON III. — NATURAL METHOD OF CLASSIFICATION. It is pleasant to note all plants, from the rush to the spreading cedar, From the giant king of palms to the lichen that staineth its stem. — Titppee. 1. The primary aud most obvious division of the vegetable kingdom is into two gi'eat series or classes^ flowering* and First Class, Monandeia, has one stamen. Examples : ginger, aiTow-root, samphire, starwort, etc. Second Class, Diandbia, has two stamens. Ex. : lilac, jessamine, sage, ca- talpa, fringe-tree, rosemaiy, ete. Twelfth Class, Poltanuria, has over ten stamens, on the recep- tacle. Ex. : poppy, peony, pond-lily, bloodroot, orange, etc. Thirteenth Class, Didtnamia, has fuur stamens, two longer than the others. Ex. : lavender, hyssop, balm, Third Clas3,TEiANT>BiA,ha3 fAreelmint, foxglove, etc. stamens. Ex. : gladiolus, iris, crocus, mil-' let, chess, wheat, etc. Fourth Class, Tetbandbia, has forir stamens. Ex. •. holly, partridge-berry. Fourteenth Class, Teteai>vna- MiA, h -.s six stamens, four long- er than the others. Ex. : cabbage, mustard, etc. Fifteenth class, Monadelphia, stamens united in one tube. Ex. : liollyhock, mallows, cot- Venus' -pride, teasel,madder, etc. ton, geranium, cranebill, etc. Fifth Class, Pentandrla, has Jive stamens. Ex. : potato, mullein, flax, vio- let, four-o'clock, comfrey, etc. Sixth Class, Hexandkia, has six stamens. Ex. : lily, hyacinth, jonquil, snow-di'op, spider-wort, etc. Seventh Class, Heptandbia, has seven stamens. Ex. : chick-mntergreen, horse- chestnut, little buckeye, etc. Eighth Class, Octandkia, has eight stamens. Ex. : cranbeiTy, nasturtion, buckwheat, fuchsia, maple, etc. Ninth Class, Enneandeia, has 7iine stamens. Ex. : sassafras, rhubarb, spice- bush, erigonum, etc. Tenth Class, Decandbia, has ten stamens. Ex. : trailing arbutus, whortle- berry, pink, cassia, Venus' fly- trap, etc. Eleventh Class, Icosandria, has over ten stamens, on the calyx. Ex.: rose, cheriy, myrtle, rasp- berry, plum, peach, etc. Sixteenth Class, Diadelphia, stamens united in tiro sets. Ex. : pea, bean, vetch, locust, indigo, clover, lupine, etc. Seventeenth Class, Syngenebia, anthers united, flowers com- pound. Ex. : daisy, dandelion, aster, lettuce, tansy, sunflower, etc. Eighteenth Class, Gynandkia, stamens on the pistil. Ex.: ladies'-slipper,snakeroot, orchis, m;'.k-weed, arethusa, etc. Nineteenth Class, Moncecia, sta- mens and pistils in different flowers on the same plant. Ex. : Indian corn, nettles, etc. Twentieth Class, Dkkcia, sta- mens and pistils on different plants. Ex. : willow, poplar, ash, hop, hemp, yew, etc. Twenty-first Class, Crtptoga- MiA, flowerless plants. Ex. : ferns, mosses, lichens, mushrooms, puff-balls, sea-weed, etc. The Oedees of the first 12 classes are de- termined by the number of sli/les (or stig- ' mas when the styles are wanting) : of the l."th class bv the covering or nakedness of the seeds : of the 14th by the shape of the pods : of the l'5th, lOth, 18th, 10th, and '20th, by the number or union of the stamens : of the ITth by peculiarities in the compound florets. a. Called by botanists Phcnog'amotis plants. 144 WILLSON's fifth EEADJEK. pAKf IV. FLOWERLESs*" plants. Next is a subdivision of the former into the exogenoxts^^ or outside growers, and the endogenous^^ or inside growers, whose leading characteristics of seed, stem, and leaf have already been noticed in the article on Botany, in the Fourth lieader. 2. A very large proportion of the exogenous plants have their seeds covered in various ways, some being inclosed in little boxes or chests, called pericarps and capsules, some in pods, and others in the centre of the fruit, as in apples, peach- es, and pears. A^few of the exogenous plants, however, of which the pines, the firs, and the yews are the representatives, diifer from all the rest in having their seeds naked. Thus Na- ture has formed two great divisions of the exogenous plants; and Ave may designate them as those which have covered seeds^ and those which have naked seeds} 3. The endogenous plants, Avhich are only about one fifth as numerous as the exogenous, are also divided into two class- es, those which are without glumes or husks surrounding the flower,^ and those which have them.'' LiUes, tulips, jonquils, and hyacinths are examples of the former, and the grasses and various kinds of grain of the latter. In this latter division are comprised about one twelfth part of the described species of flowering plants, and yet these species embrace at least nine tenths of the number of individuals composing the vegetable world ; nor is their number surprising when we consider that the grasses are the chief source of that verdure which covers the earth of northern countries with a gay carpet of green during the months of summer. 4. The flowerless plants, which are remarkable for the ex- treme simplicity of their structure, having no wood, properly so called, but consisting of mere masses of cells, are divided into the acrogens,^ or summit-growers, and the thallogens,^ which groAV into a mere flat or round expansion. In the former are included all such plants as ferns, scouring rushes, liverworts, and mosses ; and in the latter the lichens,^ fungus plants, sea-weeds, and mushrooms. 5. Thus, in the three great divisions of the vegetable world — the exogenous, the endogenous, and the cryptogamous* or flowerless plants — there are six natural classes. These are divided into about IVO orders, which are composed of genera or families, as in the artificial system. The orders are found- ' Called by botanists Cryptocj' amour, plants. "= Kx-6(;'-EN-ou6 ; '' EN-Doo'-EM-ors, see Fourth Reader, p. 176. ' QaWeA A^vjiospemw. ' Called Giimno.'i2>erins. ^ Called Aglumacecus. '" Called Ghimaceotts. 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 145 ed on the most manifest characteristics of the plant, below the distinctions of classes. Thus compound flowers make an order called the composite ;^ the numerous pod-bearing plants are arranged in the leguminous^ order ; and flowers in the form of a cross indicate the order cross-shaped, or crucijeroits.^ 6. It requires much more knowledge of botany to examine a plant and find a description of it by the natural than by the artificial method ; but as it is applicable in many instances when the latter is inadequate, the reader who designs to pur- sue the delightful study of plants further than the design of this series of Readers permits, should make himself familiar Avith both systems, as explained in the excellent text-books of Gray, Wood, Darby, and Mrs. Lincoln. 7. We have spoken of a 7iatural classification • but that which has thus far been developed by the labors of botanists has still much of the artificial. Finite knowledge can not grasp the infinite. " There is a systematic arrangement in nature which science did not hivetit, but gradually discovered. The terms in which this arrangement is expresed are the transla- tion, into human language, of the thoughts of the Creator." This is the comprehensive view of scientific classification held by the most scientific men of the day. The Author of nature is the author of the natural system of classification. 8. Most exalted, then, is the study of the laws and arrange- ment of the vegetable world. Why seek trifling sources of enjoyment. When at hand, Along these blushing borders bright with dew, And ill yon mingled wilderness of flowers, Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace ? She sends the snow-drop, and the crocus first ; Then daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes ; Then j-ellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron brown; And la\-i5h stock, that scents the garden round ; From the soft wing of vernal^ breezes sheds Anemonies \^ auriculas,'' enrich'd With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves ; And full ranunculus,8 of glowing red. 9. Then comes the tulip-race, where beauty plays Her idle freaks : from family diffused To family, as flies the father-dust, ' The varied colors run ; and while they break On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks, With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. Kg gradual bloom is wanting ; from the bud. First-born of spring, to summer's musky tribes ; Nor hyacinths of purest virgin white, Low-bent, and blushing inward ; nor jonquils t Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissus'" fair. ' The Ccrmpos'itep, or sunflower tribe, > Legtimino'stB, having papilionaceous, or butterfly-shaped flowers. * Cruci'/ercB^ or croes-beanng ; also called cruoi/er*. 14C WILL80N S FEFTn READER. Pakt IV. 10. As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still ; Nor brcrad carnations, nor gay-i-potted pinks: Nor. phowcr'd from every bush, the damafk ro c; Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, With hues on hues txprc-eion can not pa'.nt — The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. Hail, Hource of Being ! Universal Soul Of heaven and earth ! Essential Preseti'c, hail I To Thee I bend the knee ; to Thee my thoughts, Continual, climb ; who, with a master-hnnd, Hast the great whole into perfection touch' d. By Thee the various vegetative tribes, ^Vrapped in a filmy net, and clad with leave , Draw the live ether, and inibbe the deiv ; By Thee disposed into congenial soils-. Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells The juicy tide ; a twining mass of tubes. At Thy command the vernal sun awakes The torpid sap, detruded'i to the ro t By wint'ry winds ; that now in fluent dance, And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads All this iunumerou.s-colorcd scene of things. — Thomson. ' Ae'-EO-GENS, fee p. 196. 2 Thal'-lo-gejis. see p. 202. 3 Li'-€nENJs see p. 2U2. * <:EYP-TOG'-A-MorB, see p. 196. * Ver'-nal, pertaining to the spring. 6 A-nem'-o-ne, the wind-flower. ■" Au-Ei€'-v-LA, a beautiful species of prim- rose. 8 KA-KTiN'-cu-Lrs, the crowfoot. ' " F.vTHEE-ncBT," the pollen of plants. See Fourth Header, p 223. '" N'AE-cis'-srs. According to Grecian fable, JV'rtJci.ssit.'.- was a beautiful youth, who, see- ing his imnge reflected in a fountain, and becoming enamored of it, pined away till he was changed into the flower wh ch bears his name. 11 De-teu'-ded, driven or thru t down. MAY FLOWERS. " Blessed be God for flowers; For the bright, gentle, holy thoughts that breathe From out their odorous beauty like a wreath Of sunshine on life's "hours." The welcome flowers are blossomingc In joyous troops revealed ; They lift their de^^7 buds and bells In garden, mead, and field. They lurk in every sunless path Where forest children tread, They dot like stars the sacred turf Which lies above the dead. They sport with every playful wind That stirs the blooming trees, And laugh on even;- fragrant bush All full of toiling bees ; From the green marge of lake and stream, Fresh vale and mountain sod, They look in gentle ploiy forth, The pure sweet flowers of God. — Lyons. I'll teach thee miracles ! Walk on this heath, And say to the neglected flower, ' ' Look up. And be thou beautiful !" if thou hast faith It will obcv thv v.'ord. — 'BAnRiNX.TO.N'. >d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PUYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 147 FIRST DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KING- DOM. EXOGENS. [The four most important physiological peculiarities of this great natural division are, 1st. 'I'he plants are iJxogcnous, or outward growers. (See Fourth Reader, p. 176.) 2(1. The leaves are net-veined. 3d. The flowei's are mostly qKinarij or quaternurij — that is, they have five or four sepals, petals, and stamens, or forae power of those numbers — rare- ly ternary. 4th. The embryo has f'co cotyledons ; that is, the plants are d^coi(/;crfo7IOM^•. Other peculiarities will be noticed under the different families which compose the divi- sion.] LESSON IV. THE ROSE FAMILY. n^xOGENOus' or Dicotyledonous ;2 Angiosperms;^ PohjpetalouxA'i 1. Ro'sa gal'Uca^ French rose, xi. 12, pk., 3 f , Jn.-Jl., France. 2. Ko'sa damasre'na. Damask rose, xi. 12, r., 3 f., Jn.-Jl., Levant. 3. llo'aa mvsco'sa, Moss rose, xi. 1'2, r., Jn'.-Jl., S. Furope. 4. lio's'-i riiuiamo'iiea., Cinnamon rose, xi. 12, pk., 6 f , My., Europe. 5. Fraga'ria grand! flo'ra., Wild-pine strawberry, xi. 12, w., 1 f , Ap.-My., S. Am. 6. Jbi'bu's orcidenta'h% Am. ra-pberry, xi. 12, w.,'5f , My.-Jn., N. Am. 7. Spirce'a sat- ci/o'lin, Willow-leaved spirsea, or Queen of the Meadow, xi. 6, w., 3 f., Jn.-Au., N. Am. 8. Sjnxx'a tihnifo'lia. Elm-leaved spira>a, xi. 5, w., 3 f, Jn.-Jl, S. Europe. 9. Spirce'a tomento'stu Hard-hack spiraea, xi. 5, r., 3 f , Au.-S., N. Am. Ji'or explanation of the characters used in connection xoith the botanical description^^ see close of the Table of Contents. 1. How much of memory dwells amid thy bloom\ Rose' ! ever wearing beauty for thy dower' ! The Bridal day —the Festival— the Tomb— Thou hast thy part in each, thou stateliest flower' I Therefore with thy soft breath come floatiug by A thousand imager of Love and Grief \ Dreams, fiU'd with tokens of mortality', Deep thoughts cf all things beautiful and brief. 148 WILLSON S FIFTH KEADER. Paiit IV, 8. Not such thy spells o'er those that hail'd thee fir^t In the clear light of Eden's'' gulden day' ; There thy rich leaves to crimson gluiy burft, Link'd with no dim rcinombrance of decay. 4. Rose' ! for the banquet gathered, and the bier; Kose' ! colored now by human linpcor pain ; Surely where death i^ not — nor change, nor fear, Vet may we meet thee, Joy's own riower, again I — Mes. Hemanb. 5. At the head of the exogenous, or outward growing plants, having covered seeds, and many petals or flower leaves, may be placed the Rose family, which is conspicuous for the beauty of some of its members, and the utility of others. It not only includes the rose proper, but the beauti- ful spirjeas of our lawns and gardens ; the hawthorn, which is employed in hedges ; the strawberry, the raspberry, and the blackberry ; and also such fruits as the apple, pear, quince, almond, peach, plum, and cherry. 6. The leaves of all plants in the rose family are alternate,^ and the flowers, in their wild state, are regular, with five pet- als, as may still be seen in the Avild brier, which is one of our wild roses. The hundred-leaf roses, cabbage roses, and all roses with more than five petals, have probably had their sta- mens changed to petals by cultivation. The artificial or culti- vated roses — as likewise all jjlants which have been changed in the same manner — have to be projDagated from cuttings, roots, or buds, as they do not produce perfect seeds. 7. In some parts of India roses are extensively cultivated for the manufacture of rose-water, and the ottar or oil of roses, the former being used chiefly by the natives at their festivals and weddings, when it is distributed largely to the guests as they arrive, and sprinkled with profusion in the apartments. On the banks of the Ganges roses are cultivated in fields of hundreds of acres; and it is said their delightful odor can be scented at a distance of seven miles. The pure ottar of roses, so delicious for its fragrance, is not unfrequently sold for twenty or thirty dollars an ounce. 8. " The rose looks fair\ but fairer we it deem For that sweet odor wliich doth in it live. The canker^ blooms have full as deep a dye As tlie perfumed tincture of tlie roses\ Hang on .=uch thorns', and play as wantonly When summer's breath tlieir masked buds discloses. But, for their virtue', they liave naught but show' ; They live unmoved', and unrespected fade' — Die to themselves' : sweet roses' do not so' ; Of their sweet deaths' are sweetest odors made." 9. Persia has been styled, pre-eminently, the "Land of Roses ;" for not only are the gardens, even of the common people, full of these flowers, but, in the flowering season, their 2d DiV. OF . . VEGKTABLK PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTAXY. 149 rooms are constantly ornamented with them, and mattresses are made of their leaves for men of rank to recline upon. A festival, also, is held, called the Feast of Koses, which lasts the whole time they are in blossom. 10. A liappier smile illumes each brow, Witli quicker spread each heart uncloses, And all is ecstasy — for now The valley holds its Feast of Roses ; That joyous time, when pleasures pour Profusely round, and in their shower Hearts open, like the season's rose. The floweret of a hundred leaves, Expanding when the dew-fall flows, And every leaf its balm receives. — JIooeb. 11. "Poetry is lavish of roses. It heaps them into beds, weaves them into crowns and garlands, twines them into ar- bors, forges them into chains, adorns with them the goblet used in the festivals of Bacchus, plants them in the bosom of beauty — nay, not only delights to bring in the rose itself upon every occasion, but seizes each particular beauty it possesses as an object of comparison with the loveliest works of nature." "As soft as a rose-leaf," as " sweet as a rose," " rosy clouds," "rosy cheeks," " rosy lips," "rosy blushes," "rosy dawns," etc., are expressions so familiar that they have almost become the language of daily life. 12. Tlie wild rose, one species of which is the wild brier, or eglantine, has been made the emblem of "Nature's sweet sim- plicity" in all ages. It forms one of the principal flowers in the rustic's bouquet.'' It is not loved for its fair, delicate blos- soms only; but its fragrant leaves, which perfume the breeze of dewy morn, and the soft breath of eve, entitle it to its fre- quent association with the Avoodbine or lioneysuckle. "The wild rose scents the summer air, And woodbines weave in bowers. To glad the swain sojonrninj; there, And maidens gathering flowers." 13. The standards of the houses of York and Lancaster had for emblems tlie wild rose ; the white rose being used to dis- tinguish the partisans of tlie former, and the red those of the latter. "Thnu once wast doomed, AAliere civil discord braved the field. To grace tlie banner and the shield." 14. It is said that the angels possess a more beautiful kind of rose than those we have on earth ; and the poet Cowley, in one of his poems, represents David as seeing, in a vision, a number of angels pass by, with gilded baskets in their hands, from which they scattered flowers : 150 AviLLsoN s yiF'j'ii kkadp;r. 1'akt IV. Some', as they went', the bliie-oyed violets etrew' ; Some, ?potlcs3 lilif.-i in loose order threw', Somu did the way with full-blown ro.-es spread', Their smell divine', and color strangely red" : Not such as our dull (gardens proudly wear. Whom weathers taint, and winds' rude kisses tear. Such, I believe, was tlie first rose's hue, Wliich, at God's word, in beauteous Kden grew; Queen of the flowers that made that garden gay. The morning bluslies of the spring's new day. — Cowlf.v. 15. The origin of the red color of the rose has been fanci- fully accounted for in various ways. By the Greeks, the rose Avas consecrated to Venus, the goddess of Beauty ; and ancient fable attributes its red color to a drop of blood from the thorn- pierced foot of the goddess, " Which, o'er the xvMte roue being shed. Made it forever after jed." Its beautiful tint is poetically traced to another source by a modern poet : As erst in Eden's blissful bowers. Young Kve suri-eyed hi r countless flowers', An (.pening ;o.se of purest u-ldle She mavk'd with eye that beam'd delight'; Its leaves' she kissed', and straight it drew From beauty's lip the vermeil'' hue. — J. Caeey. 16. Perhaps no one of the roses is more prized for its beau- ty than the elegant moss rose. The flowers are deeply color- ed, and the rich mossiness which surrounds them gives thera a luxuriant appearance not easily de- scribed. The origin of this mossy A'est lias been thus explained by a German writer. The an.^el of the flowers one day Ueiieath a rose-tree sleeping lay — That spirit, to whose chnrtre is given To bathe young buds in dew from heaven. Awakening from his slight repose. The angel whispered to the rose, " O fondest oliject of my care. Still fairest found where alt is fair. For the sweet shade thou hast given me, Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee." Then said the rose, with deepened glow, " I In me another giace bestow." The angel paused in silent thought — "V\'hat grace was there the flower had not ? 'Twas but a moment — o'er the rose A veil of moss the angel throws — And, robed in Nature's simplest weed', Mo=s Ro=e Could there a fljwer that rose exceed' ? 1 Ex-oiV-E-xous, outward growers. Fourth Reader, p. ITG. See'5 Al-tten'-ate, rising h'gher on opposite sides alternately, and following in regular Di-co-ttl-k'-don-ous, having two cotyle- order, dons. See Fourth Reader, note, p. 103. |' C^nk'-ee, a name given to the dog rose. ' An'-gi-o-spke.ms, plants which have their, '^ Bou-qcet' ('o'/-t<('i, a bunch of flowers, seeds covered. [petals. 8 Veb'-meii, (for vemiilion), a red color. * I'OL-Y-pfx'-AL-ors, plants having many. 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOI-OGY, OK BOTANY. 151 LESSON V. — OUR coM]MON fruits. [KxoGENOcs or Dicotyledonous; Angiosperms; Polypetalous.] 1. Aiinjg'dalUi rnca'iia. Woolly almond, xi. 1, r., 2 f., M.-A., Caucasus. 2. A'lniig'dalun coninm'nis, Sweet almond, xi. 1, r., 15 f., M.-A., Barbary. 3. Pru'nus cer'asus. Com- mon cherry, xi. 1, w., 20 f., A.-My., England. 5. Pm'niis Armeni'ara., Common apri- cot, xi. 1, Av., 15 f., F.-M., Levant. 6. Cratce'Tr. 153 But, if a wood of leaves o'ershade the tree', Such, and so barren, will the ha^ve^t be" ; In vain the hind'* shall vex tlie threshinj;-floor', Tor empty straw and chaff shall be thy store." 6. The following tribute from an English poet to the al- mond blossom is beautiful and appropriate : Blo?som of the almond trees, Aprirs gift to Aprirs bees, Birthday ornament of spring, Flora's fairest daughterling ; Coming when no flow'rets dare Trust the cruel outer air ; When the royal kingcup bold Dares not don his coat of gold; And the sturdy blackthorn spray Keeps his silver for tlie May ; Coming when no flow'rets would. Save thy lowly sisterhood, I'arly violets, blue and white. Dying for their love of light. T. Almond.blossora, sent to teach us That the spring-days soon will reach us, Lest, with longing over-tried. We die as the violets died — Blossom, clouding all the tree With thy crimson broidery. Long before a leaf of green On the bravest bougli is seen ; Ah ! when winter winds are swinging jMI thy red bells into ringing. With a bee in every bell, Almond bloom', we greet thee ■welP.— Edwin Aknold. 8. The mountain ash, a small but beautiful and popular tree, also belonging to the pear and apple fomily, and found wild in mountain woods in our Northern and Middle States, is often cultivated for its ornamental clusters of scarlet berries. Tlie mountain ash, Deck'd with autumnal benies that outshine Springs richest blossoms, yields a splendid show Amid the leafy woods : and ye have seen, Ky a brook side or solitary tarn,^ How she her station doth adorn ; the pool Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks Are brigliten'd round h.r ! — Wokdswoetu. 9. But while the Rose family comprehends all the most im- portant of the fruits of the temperate regions, and is distin- guished above all others for its floral charms, its medicinal properties are quite noted also. Thus the well-known Prussic acid, Avhich, although a powerful poison, is also the basis of laurel water, exists in abundance in the leaves and kernels of the plums, cherries, and almonds ; and many of the plants of this family yield a gum which is nearly allied to gum Arabic. ' 6el'-id, cold ; very cold. 1* Hind, the servant or domestic of a hua ' Glebe, the soil ; the turf. bandman or farmer ; a rustic. 5 Sti.'-van, pertaining to the forest. '* Tabn, a mountain lake. G 2 154 WILLSON S FIFTH EEADER. pAiiT IV. LES. VI. — CAMELLIA, MALLOW, AND CITRON FAMILIES. [ i^xoGENOus or DiooTrLKDONOTJs ; Angiospenns; Poltjpctahtis.'i 1. Camel'lia j 'pon'ica^ Japan rose, xv. 1'2 (a tree in Japan), w. and or., My.-Jl., Japan. 2. Gosin/p'ium heiba'ceum. Common cotton, xv. 12, y.,4f , Jl., E. Indies. 3. Gris-vip'ixim Harbaden' ^e^ Bai-badoes cotton, xv. 1'2, y., 5 f., S. , W. Indies. 4. Althe'a ro'^ea. r'ommon hollyhock, xv. 12, r. and w., 8 f., Jl -S., China. 5 Mal'vn vw.vely flower'," the rising inflection would have been required at "di-play." 150 WILLSON' S yiiTU KKAi>KK. PakT IV. 6. Tea is served very hot ; but it is a flagrant breach of eti- quette in any one to notice this unpleasant fact. Sliould tlie weather be very warm, when tlie cups are emptied the master of tlie house says, " I invite you to take up your fans." But should any unlucky guest have forgotten his fan, the rest of the company do not permit themselves the liberty of using theirs, for fear of hurting his feelings. Finally, after innumer- able tedious acts of politeness, in which each individual aims to produce the impression that, in his own opinion, his insig- nificant person is by no means worthy the exalted honor of drinking with the illustrious company among whom he is in- finitely surprised to be received, the signal for leave-taking is given oy the highest in rank rising and saying to the host, " I have been troublesome to you a very long time" — which is probably the only true word spoken during the entertain- ment. V. We might speak of American tea-parties also, but they are too well-known and appreciated to need description here ; for even the poetic muse has been evoked, on more occasions than one, to give them notoriety. " How they sit and chitter chatter\ O'er a cup of scalding water', of this one's dress or carriage^ Of that one's death or marriage'." 8. In the Malloio family, which contains a great variety of some of the finest flowers in nature, are found the various spe- cies of the altheas or hollyhocks, and the hibiscus, together with that famous plant, ''King Cotton," avoAvedly the most valu- able of all the vegetable products which man converts into materials for clothing. The common cotton plant grows from three to five feet in height, with five- lobed, blue-veined, dark green leaves. The flower is of a pale yellow, changing to a pink color, purple spotted at the bottom, with five petals. On the fiilling of the flower a kind of pod or boll is developed, Cotton Plant.— 1. The ri- "syhich, in proccss of riueninc:, bursts and pened boll. 2. Flower in ,. , ' A i -f E. i • i • the morning. 3. Flower at dlSCloSCS the SnOW-whlte COttOU, whlch IS evening. ^]^g hairy covering of the seeds. 9. The citron family embraces a number of species of hand- some evergreen shrubs or small trees, mostly natives of the East Indies, and cultivated only in warm regions. They have odoriferous flowers, and bear some of the most brilliant, fra- I'd DiV. OF .. VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTAM Y. 157 grant, and delicious fruits, among which may be enumerated the orange, shaddock, citron, lemon, and lime. As with ap- ples, many varieties of each have been produced by cultiva- tion. The golden apples of the heathens, and the forbidden fruit of the Jews, are supposed to belong to this family. The orange blossom, distinguished no less for its beauty than its delicious fragrance, has very appropriately been made the em- blem of purity and loveliness. The land where the citron and orange grow is proverbially the land of balmy fragrance, of gentle breezes, and azure skies. Know'st thou Uieland, where groves of citron flower' 7 And goklen orange, darkling leaves embower' ? Where gentle breezes fan the azure skies, The myrfle still, and high the laurel rir^e' ? Know'st thou it well, that land, beloved friend'? Thither with thee, oh, thither would I wend. — Goethe. LESSON VII. — CHOEus of flowers. 1 . We are the sweet flowers\ Born of sunny showers'; (Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith) ; Utterance, mute and bright, Of some unknown delight, We fill the air with pleasure' by our simple breath' : All who see us' love' us — We befit all places' ; Unto sorrow we give smiles' — and, unto graces, races^ 2. Think of all our treasures'. Matchless works and pleasures'. Every one a marvel, more than thought can say' ; Then think in what bright showers We thicken fields and bowers'. And with what heaps of sweetness half stifle wanton May' ; Think of the mossy forests By the bee-birds haunted'. And all those Amazonian plains, lone lying as enchanted. 3. Trees themselves are ours' ; Fi-uits are born of flowers ;' Beech', and roughest nut', were blossoms' in the spring' ; The lusty bee knows well The news, and comes pell-mell, And dances in the gloomy thicks with darksome antheming : Beneath the very burden Of planet-pressing ocean We wash our smiling cheeks in peace — a thought for meek devotion 4. Who shall say that flowers Dress not heaven's own bowers' ? Who its love, without us, can fancy— or sweet floor'? ]58 M'lLLSOK S FlFJll HKXVEli. Part IV. Who shall even dare To say we sprang not there — And came not down, that Love mif^ht bring one piece of heaven the Oh ! jiray believe that angels [more' ? From those blue dominions Brought us in their white laps down, 'twixt their golden pinions. Leigh Hunt. LESSON VIII. THE CACTUS FAMILY. [KxoGENOtrs or DiooTTLEDONOus ; Angiosperms ; Polypetaloun.} 1. Cac'Cus hexago'tuis, Four-angled cactus, xi. 1, w.,35 f., Jl -Au., S. Am. 2. V. spec^- osis'shaus, Beautiful cactus, xl. 1, cr., 3 f., Jl., S. Am. 3. C. fiagilbfor'mis^ Creeping or .^nake cactus, xi. 1, pk , 6 f., M.-Jn., Peru. 4. C. opitntia. Prickly-pear cactu.=, xi. 1, y., 2 f., Jl.-Au , Mexico. 5. C. cuiassa'vicu.% Pin-pillow cactus, xi. 1, v., 6 f., Jn..^Jl., S. Am. 6. C. pn-es'kia. Gooseberry cactus, xi. 1, w., 5 f , O.-N'., W. Indies. 7. C. phi/llanthoi'des. Winged cactus, xi 1, pk , 2 f., Jn., W. Indies. 8. Ecliinocac'tus mammillarioi' des., Melon cactus, xi I, y and r , 6 in, Jl.-Au., Chili. 1. Who hung thy beauty on such rugged stalk\ Thou glorious flower' ? Who poured the richest hues. In varying radiance, o'er thy ample brow. And, like a mesh, tliose tissued stamens laid Upon th) crimson lip" ? Lone, o'er thy leafless stem, Thou bidd'st the queenly rose, with all her budis, Do homage", and the green-house peerage bow Their rainbow coronets"' — Mbs. Sigouenet. MamTtiilla'ria ccespito'si, a Cactus flower of the Up- per Missouri. 2. Thus beautifully writes an Ameiiean poetess of a beautiful flower of the rough cactus family. And this family is exclu- sively American, not one of its eight hund- 2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 159 red species having ever been found, as native, in any other part of th.e Avorld. Tlie name by wliich the kinds of cactus common in the Northern and Middle States are known, is jyrickljj pear. Tlie absence of leaves in most of the species, and the presence of very showy flowers, render this family re- markable. The plants consist chiefly of a fleshy stem, some- times globular or egg-shaped, sometimes cylindrical, triangu- lar, and even flat, but always armed with prickles. 3. The cactus is found abundantly in Mexico, and is paint- ed on the flag of the Mexicans, and stamped on their money ; Of its many species, the night-blooming cereus^ is perhaps the most remarkable, not so much on account of its large white flower, although that is sometimes nearly a foot in diameter, as for the season of its unfolding its beauties, the short time which it takes to expand, and the rapidity with which it de- cays. It begins to open late in the evening, flourishes for an hour or two, then begins to droop, and before morning is completely dead. 4. "Now departs day's garish^ light — Beauteouii flower', lift thy head^ I Rise upon the brow of night" I Haste, thy transient lustre shed' ! 5. yight has dropp'd her dusky veil — All vain thoughts be distant far, While, with silent awe, we hail Flora's radiant evening star. G. See to life her beauties start' ; Hail ! thou glorious, matchless flower' ! Much thou sayest to the heart In this solemn, fleeting hour. 1. Ere we have our homnge paid'. Thou wilt bow thy head and die' ; Thus our sweetest pleasures fade'. Thus our brightest blessings fly'. 8. Sorrow's rugged stem, like thine', IJears a flower thus purely bright' ; Thus, when sunny hours decline. Friendship sheds her cheering light." 9. Other species of the cactus, more delicate in structure than the famous cereiis^ already described, a few of them leafy, some of them creeping plants, and most of them remarkable for their beauty and fragrance, also bloom in the night sea- son ; and it is one of these which has been made the medium, by a gifted writer, of conveying the following beautiful moral : UNPRETENDING WORTH. 10. Come, look at this plant, ^-ith its narrow, pale leaves. And its tall, thin, delicate stem. Thinly studded with flowers— yes, with flowers— there they arc ; Don't you see, at each joint there's a little brown star' ? But, in truth, there's no beauty in them'. lOu willson's fifth KEADER. Paet IV. 11. So you ask why I keep it — the little mean thing' ? Wliy I stick it up here, ju.- the little despised one, And see if 'twill serve you so. 21. And judge not again, at a single glance, Nor pass sentence hastily. There are many good things in this world of ours. Many sveet things and rare, weeds that prove precious flowcK, Little dreamt of by you or by me. — Mks. Socthet. 1 CSe'-O-net, a little crown. p G>r'-ish, gaudy ; splendid. s Ce'-keis (<(•'->!?,';?), in two syllables. |* Trow, yuppo.=e or think. • Equivalent to, " Do you ask, ' WTiat is it' ? the myrtle or jessamine' ?' " etc., similar to the questions in the eleventh verse ; and therefore they take the rising inflection. 2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 161 LESSON IX. — LEGUMINOUS AND UMBELLIFEROUS PLANTS. [Exogenous or Dicotyledonoub; Angios perms ; Poli/iietakiitf:.} L'mbellifcroua Family. Leguminous Family. 1. Lupi'mis peren'nis, Wild lupine, xvi. 10, b., 18 in., My.^JI., N. Am. 2. Eryihri'na herba'cea. Herbaceous corol-ti'ee, xvi. 10, s., 3 f., Jn.-S., ('arolina. 3. Rnhiii'iapucn'do aci'cia^ Locust-tree, .cvi. 10, pu., 40 f , My.-Jii., N. Am. 4. Minio'm seiisiti'ra. Sensitive plant, xv.l0,pk.,18 in., A.-S., Brazil. 5. Hcematox' ;ilon Cmnpcchia'mivi, Logwood, x. 1, y., 2i) f., J. Jl., S. Am. 6. Indigo'fcra ■■itric'ra^ Upright indigo, xvi. 10, pu., 3 f., Jl.- Au., C Good Hnpe. 7. Dmi'cus caro'ta, Wild carrot (.also cultivated), v. 2, w., 3 f., Jii.- JI., Europe. 8. Si'nm latifo'lium. Water parsnip, v. 2, w., 3 f., Jl.-.Au., N. Am. 9. Co'- iiium macula'him^ Poison hemlock, v. '?, w., 4 f., Jn.-Jl., Europe. 10. A'lnum graveo'- levji. Garden celery, v. 2, w., 4 f., Jn.-Au., Europe. 1. The leguminous' or pod-hcaring plants comprise a large family, highly useful to mankind, and some of whose species are familiar to all. They are characterized either by a papiliona- ceous^ corolla or a leguminous fruit. The pea, the bean, locust, clover, and lupine are familiar examples in northern regions ; and the acacias, mimosas, log- wood, rosewood, sandal -wood, corol- trees, and indigo plants, in tropical L Legum.ofpea,open. 2 and countrics. Many of the valuable gums 3. Papilionaceous corollas, aud balsams" of commcrce, medicines,'* 162 willbon's Finn header. Pakt IV. and coloring materials" are obtained from this numerous family. 2. As objects of ornament, many of these plants are possess- ed of unrivaled beauty, and are favorites in our green-houses ; but it is in tropical countries that they ajjpear in their great- est splendor. There, flowers of the corol-tree, of the deepest crimson, fill the forests, and climbing plants of every hue hang in festoons from branch to branch ; the acacias, with their trembling airy foliage, and often truly golden flowers, cast a charm over even the most sterile regions of the tropics ; Avhile the pastures and meadows of the same latitudes are enameled with the flowers of myriads of hedysarums, and ani- mated by the wonderful motion of the mimosas, or sensitive I^lants. 3. Who has not read Shelley's beautiful little poem, begin- ning, " A sensitive plant in a garden grew. And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it spread its fanlike leaves to the light, And closed them beneath the kisses of night." The sensitive plants, often cultivated in gardens as objects of curiosity, shrink from the touch, and make a variety of move- ments under the varying influences of shade and sunlight, like beings endowed with rational life. Weak with nice sense, the chaste vnmosa stand?. From each rude touch withdraws her timid hands ; Oft, aa light clouds o'erpass the summer's glade, Alarm'd the trembles at the morning shade, And feels, alive through all her tender form. The whisper'd mummrs of the gathering storm ; Shuts her sweet eyelids to apprMaching night, And hails, with freshen'd charms, the rosy light. — Daewin. The cause of the peculiar motions of these plants has been a subject of much investigation, but the question still continues to be asked, Avithout any very satisfactory answer, Whence does it happen that the plant which well We name the sensitive, should move and feel' ? ■WHienc? know her leaves to answer her command, And with quick hoiTor fly the approaching hand' ? — Pkioe. 4. The umbelliferous^ plants, also a large family, mostly natives of temperate regions, and distinguished for their um- bel or umbrella-shaped flowers, like those of the carrot, pre- sent some very strange contrasts of character. While in their " Such as gum Arabic, produced by the acacia Arabica ; gum lac : gum Senegal ; gum tragacanth ; gum kino; balsams of copaiva and Peru ; and a hedysarum which produces ■).a»na. ^ The senna r f commerce ; licorice ; cowitch, which consists of the stinging hairs of the pods of a plant ; etc. "■ Brazil wood ; logwood ; red sandal-wood ; indigo, etc. 2d DiV OP . . VKGETABLK PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 163 native ditches they are often suspicious, and perh,aps poison- ous weeds, under the influence of cultivation many of them lay aside their venom, and become wholesome food for man. Thus a coarse bitter wild weed becomes by cultivation the sweet and crisp garden celery ; the garden jaarsnip is nearly al- lied to the poisonous cicuta; and Avhile the seeds of the garden fennel are a pleasant spice, the juice from the roots of another species of the same plant produces the loathsome asafa?tida. 5. Only slightly divergent from the umbelliferous plants, and by many botanists included among them, are the ivy- icoi'ts, at the head of which stands the common ivy : " The unaraleful h-y, seen to grow- Round the tall oak, that six-score years has stood, And proudly shoot a leaf or two Above its kind supporter's utmost bough, And glory there to stand, the loftiest of the wood." 6. But, however ungrateful it may be, the ivy is a valuable ornamental evergreen for covering naked buildings, trees, and ruins, to which it attaches itself by short fibres. The ancients held ivy in great esteem ; and Bacchus, the god of wine, is represented as crowned with it to prevent intoxication. The modern associations connected with this plant are very hap- pily set foi'th in the following song to The Ivy Gkee:n^. T. Oh! a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old ! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The walls must be ci-umbled, the stones decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim ; And tlie mould'ring dust that years have made Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. 8. Fast lie stealeth on, tliough he wears eo wings, And a stanch old heart has lie ! How closfly he twinetli, how tight he clings To his friend, the huge oak tree ! And slyly he traileth along the ground, And his leaves he gently waves. And lie joyously twines and hugs around The ricli mould of dead men's graves. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. 9. Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed, And nations scattered been ; But the stout old ivy shall never fade From its hale and hearty green. The brave old plant in its lonely days Shall fatten upon the past ; For the stateliest building man can raise Is the ivy's food at last. Creeping wliere no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. — Cii.\kle8 Pickens. « LE-Gu'-Mi-uons plants are such as have for,^ Um-bel-lif'-er ocs plants are such as have their seed vessel a ler/ume of two halves, the mode of inflorescence, or flowering, call- such as the pods of peas, beans, etc. ed un umbel, like the carrot. 2 Pa-pil-I-o-na'-ce-ocs, resembling tlie but-' terfly. 1 104 wii.lson's fifth reader. Takt IV. LES. X. — THE COMPOSITE, OR SUNFLOWER FAMILY. [KXOQENOUS or D100TVLEDONOU8 : ADgiosperms ; Jlhnopetalus.y 1. Cni'cus altis'.'simu'!^ Tall thistle, xvii. 1., pn., 6 f., Au.-S., >?. Am. 2. Cni'ni.t arvn'- S'.s-, Canada tliistle, xvii. 1, ihi.,'3 f.,Jl., \. Am. 3. Ih'liti n' / lais nniU ijlo' j iis^yinJiy-fiovreTed Fiintlower, xvii. 3, y., 6 f , Au.-O., N. Am. 4 Chriisan'tliemiim Siiien'se^ Vhinese chry- Kantliemuni, xvii. 2 (all color.s but blue), 3 f. , O.-N., China. 5. Lartu'ca .la'jitta'ta, Arrow- lea%-e(l Lettuce, x%-ii 1, y., 2 f.,.n.-Au., Hungary. 6. Gtiapha'liiim .itee'chcix, I uropean shrubby everlasting, xvii. 2, y , 2 f, Jn.-O., lOurope. 7. A.s'ter Cliincn'six, China-a.^ter, xvii 2, various color.=, 2 f., .II.-S!, China. 8. Dah'lia fniiit7-a'7i'^a,'\Vi\] dahlia, xvii. 2, various colors, 6 f., S.-N., Mexico. 9. Tage'LesimVula^ French marigold, xvii., 2, y., 2 f., Jl.-O., Mexico. 1. The '•'■ Siinfloicer'''' family is the name used by that distin- guished American botanist. Professor Gray, as a popular term for the great division of plants liaving composite or compound flowers. It is the largest family of plants, embracing nearly ten thousand species, or about one tenth of all the species of the vegetable kingdom. They are either herbaceous or shrub- by plants in northern regions, but many of them become trees in the tropics ; and all of them are easily distinguished by hav- ing their single or monopetalous' flowers (called^/?o?Vr^s), which are always live-lobed, and have five stamens each, crowded into a head at the top of a flower-stalk, as in the daisy, dan- delion, sunflower, and thistle. 2, These composite plants are, without exception, of easy 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 165 cultivation ; and as most of them flow- er in autumn, they are the chief orna- ments of every autuumal garden. It would require a volume to point out the beauties of the various tribes of aster, sunflower, coreopsis, marigold, daisy, chrysanthemum, and kindred si^ecies, not to mention the almost in- numerable and brilliant varieties of the dahlia. As to the medicinal qual- ities of the plants of this family, it is sufficient to state that they consist, almost without exception, of a bitter principle and an oily secretion ; and Cultivated Dahlia. ^^ ^j^^ former, at least, we have abund- ant evidence in such species as wormwood, chamomile, dan- delion, and tansy. 3. The dandelion was one of the flowers introduced by Lin- naeus into \\\s floral clock, or dial of flowers, on account of the regularity of the opening and closing of its petals. It was deemed by him "Flora's best time-piece, seeming of herself to know the oj^ening and the closing of the day," inasmuch as "With Sors expanding beam her flowers unclose, And rising llesper^ lights them to repose ;"' and Moore has very prettily expressed the same idea in the following lines : " She, enamored of the sun, At his departure hangs her head and •weep?, And shrouds her sweetness up, and keeps Sad vigils, like a cloistered nun, Till liis reviving ray appears. Waking her beauty as he dries her tears." 4. The marigold not only marked one of the hours in the floral clock, but she is said also, like the sunflower itself, to turn on her slender stem toward the sun, and thus follow him in his daily walk. "When, with a serious musing, I behold The grateful and obsequious marigold, How duly, eveiy morning, she displaj's Her open breast when Plioebus^ spreads his rays' ; How she observes him in his daily walk. Still bending tow'rd him her small slender stalk'; How, when he down declines, she droops and mouma, Btdew'd as 'twere with teai^, till he returns'; And how she veils her flowers wlien he is gone, As If she scornel to be look'd upon By an inferior ey;?' ; or did contemn To wait upon a meaner light than him' : 5. When this I meditate, methinks the flowi rs Have Bpirits far more generous than ours, 166 willson's fifth ijeader. Pakt IV. Bel'lis jjcrcii nia^ English Daisy, xvii. 2, w. audi-., 3 in., M.-A., Bri- tain. And give us fair examples to deBpise The fevvile fawning.-i and idolatries Wherewith we court tlie-e earthly thinga below' Wliich merit not the service we bestow': But oh, my God ! though gMveling I ajipenr Upon the ground, and have a routing here Which hales'* me downward, yet in my desire To that which is above me 1 aspire, And nil my best affections I profess To Him that is the Sun of Righteousness." 6. The daisy ^ too, whose EngHsh name is de- rived from a Saxon word meaning day''s eye, closes its petals at night and in rainy weather. AVhen, smitten by the morning ray, I see thee rise, alert and gay. Then, cheerful flower' ! my spirits play With kindred gladness": And wlien, at dark, by dews oppress'd. Thou sink'st', the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness" Woedswoeth. 7. The daisy has been universally admired as an emblem of modest innocence ; but, lowly and modest though it be, it has enough of mystery in its Avonderful structui'e " to confound the atheist's sophistries," and prove the being of a God. Not worlds on worlds in phalanx deep, Need we to prove that God is here ; The dais;/, fresh from winter's slei p, Tells of his hand in lines as clear. For who but he wlio arclied the skies, And pours the day-spring's living flood, Wondrous alike in all he tries, Could rear the daisy's pui-ple bud ; Mould its green cup, its wiry stem. Its fringed border nicely spin. And cut the gold-embossed gem That, set in silver, gleams within; 11. And fling it, unrestrained and free. O'er hill, and dale, and desert sod, That man, where'er he walks, may see At evei'y step the stamp of God.^Jon.v Mason Good. 12. The thistle, another of the sunflower tribe, though a prickly and not very graceful weed, has given its name to a Scotch order of knighthood. It might be said the Scotch or- der, as it also bears the name of St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland. The golden collar of the order, interlaced with flowers of the thistle, and bearing the motto, in Latin, '■'■yone shall ayxnoy me \cith impunity,'''' has also been adopted as the national badge. Tradition gives the following account of its origin : in. " At the time of the invasion of Scotland bv the Danes, la 2d Div. OF. .VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, 014 BOTANY. 167 it was deemed unwarlike to attack an enemy in the night ; but on one occasion the invaders resolved to avail themselves of this stratagem ; and, in order to prevent their tramp from being heard, they marched barefooted. They had thus near- ed the Scottish force unobserved, when a Dane unfortunately stepped with his naked foot upon a superb thistle^ and in- stinctively uttering a cry of pain, discovered the assault to the Scots, who ran to their arms, and defeated the foe Avith a terrible slaughter. The thistle was immediately adopted as the insignia of Scotland." 14. Triumphant be the thhtle still iinfurled, Dear symbol wild' ! on freedom's hills it grows, Where Fingal stemmtd the tyrants of the world, And Roman eagles found unconquer'd foes. — (Jampbpxl. 15. But the downy seed of the thistle flower, so light as to be borne about on the wings of every wanton zephyr, may also, it seems, be connected with less lofty associations, for it has been made the emblem of fickleness itself, as the follow- ing fable will show : 15. As Cupid was flying about one day. With the flowers and zephyre in wanton play, He 'spied in the air, Floating here and tliere, A winged seed of the thistle flower. And merrily chased it from bower to bower. IT. . And young Love cried to his plajTnates, '• Sec, I've found the true emblem flower for me, For I am as light In my wavering flight As this feathery star of soft thistle-down. Which by each of you zephyrs about is blown. 18. " See how from a rose's soft Tvarm blush It flies, to be caught in a bramble bush ; And as oft do I, In my wand'rings, hie From beauty to those who have none, I trow ; Reckless as thistle-down, on I go." 19. So the sly little god still flits away 'Mid earth's loveliest flow'rets, day by day; And oh ! maidens fair, Never weep, nor care When his light wings waft him beyond your power, Think — 'tis only the down of the thistle flower. — Twamlet. 20. In all ages of the world history and fable have attach- ed to flowers particular associations, and made them emblem- atical of the affections of the heart and qualities of the intel- lect. In the symbolical language of flowers, the thistle, re- garded as a misanthrope,^ bears the very appropriate motto, " Oh that the desert were my dwelhng-place !" 1 Mon-o-pet'-al-ous plants are those whosel^ PncE'-BUS (/r'-f)W«\ the sun. flowers have but one petal or flower leaf. I* Hales, drugs. 2 Heb'-per, Venus, or the evening star. ' MTs'-an-thbOpe, a hater of mankind. WILL80N S FIFTH EEADEK. Paet IV. LES. XI. — JESSAMINE,^ HONEYSUCKLE, AND HEATH FAMILIES. [Exogenous or Diootyleuonous ; Angiosperms ; Monopftaloux.'] Honeysuckle Family. Jeisumine family. 1. Jasmi'iium sambac^ Single Arabian jasmine, ii. 1, w., 6 f., J D., E. Indies. 2. J. trifoHa'twn, Double Tuscan jasmine, ii. 1, w., 6 f , J.-D., E. Indies. 3. J. fnt'ticang. Common yellow jasmine, ii. 1, y., 3 f., A.-(>., S. Europe. 4. J. revolu'tum. Curl-flowered jasmine, ii. 1, y., 12 f, M -O., E. Indies. 5. Lonice'ra sempervi'retJf, Tnmipet honey- suckle, V. 1, r. and y., 15 f., My.-.\u., N. Am. 6. L. pericly'weiiuw., AVoodbine, v. t, 20 f., My.-Jl., Britain. 7. L. fia'ra. Yellow honeysuckle, v. 1, y., 10 f., My.-Jn., Carolina. 8. L. ru'ira, Italian honeysuckle, v. 1, r., 10 f., My.-JL, Italy. 1. Ani> luxuriant above all, The j'T.WM*/!c,i tlu'owing wide her elegant sweets. The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more The bright profusion of her scatter' d stars. — Cowper. 2. About one hundred species of ornamental shrubs, witli exquisitely fragrant flowers, belong to the jessamine family. Originally tropical plants, they are now extensively cultivated in our gardens and green-houses. Fragrance^ their predom- inant property, has made them for ages the favorites of poets and of the people. The very name comes from a Greek Avord which vciQ^w^ perfume. The white jessamine especially, from which a costly oil is extracted, is very fragrant at night. Some of the species open only during the night, and fade at sunrise ; and it is to these that Moore alludes in the follow- ing line.-^ : 2(1 Div. OF , . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 169 3. " 'Twas midnight ; through the lattice, \rreathed With woodbine, many a perfume breathed From plants that wake when others sleep ; From timid jasmine buds that keep Their odor to themselves all day; But, when the sunlight dies away, Let the delicious secret out To every breeze that roams about." 4. A twilling evergreen plant, improperly called jessamine, grows abundantly in the Southern States south of Richmond, Virginia, spreading over the hedges, and, in still more aoutli- ern latitudes, hanging iu graceful festoons from the tallest trees. It is said that children are frequently poisoned by chewing its pretty yellow flowers. This is the gelsemiurn, and has live stamens, by which it may be known from the true jessamine, which has only two. 5. The ho)2er/sicckle or looodhine family embraces over two hundred species of mostly twining plants, valuable in the flower garden, shrubbery, and against walls and over arbors. The honeysuckle, " which is fair as fragrant," is so much cul- tivated that it has almost become a domestic in every house- hold. 6. " Pee the honeysuckle twine Round the casement : 'tis a shrine Where tlie heart doth incense give, And the pure affections live. Blessed shrine ! dear, blissful home ! Source whence happiness doth come ! Round the cheerful hearth we meet All things beauteous— all things sweet." 7. It was said, in an ancient fable, that this feeble plant, rapidly shooting into the air, aimed to overtop the oak, the king of the forest ; but, as if its eftbrts were unavailing, it soon recoiled, and Avith graceful negligence adorned its friendly supporter Avith elegant festoons and perfumed garlands. In this same family are included the elder, snowberry, and snow- ball — the latter being known by some as the Guelder-rose. Thus that popular writer, Miss Landon, alludes to its blos- soms as "• The balls that hang like drifted snow Upon the tiudder-i osc.'" 8. What is known as the sioamj? honeijsucJde in the United States is a species of azalea, Avhich belongs to the numerous and eminently beautiful family of the Heaths. The low shrubby heaths, which form one division of this flmiily, are alike the glory of Southern Africa, and of Scottish plains and liill-sides ; and their culture and propagation are now consider- ed, in England, one of the most delicate and delightful branch- es of the art of gardening. In a second division of the heath IVO WILLSOn's fifth reader. Part IV. [IIeath Family. — Exogenous or Diocotyledonous; Angio?pnrms; Monopetaloris.'] 1. Eri'ca fct'ralix, Cross-leaved heath, viii. 1, pk., T. f., Jn.-Au., Scotland. 2. Kn'ca cilia'ris. Ciliated heath, viii. 1, pu., 1 f., Jl.-S., Portugal. 3. Eri'ca cnten'la, Bloody- flowered heath, viii. 1, dark red, 2 f., My.-S., S. Africa. 4. Eri'ca fascicxda'rirt. Cluster- flowered heath, viii. 1, pu., IS in., F.-Jn., S. Africa. 5. Eri'ca ar'dciu, Glowing heath, viii. 1, sc, 2 f. , A.-Jn., S. Africa. 6. Vaeciii'iwni rcsino'siim. Black whortleberry, x. 1, gr., r., and y., 4 f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 7. Gaultlie'ria promvi'bens. Spicy wintergreen, x. 1, w., 6 in., Jl.-S., N. Am. 8. Aza'lea nudifto'ra. Swamp honeysuckle, v. 1, pk., 4 f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 9. Kal'mia latifo'lfa. Broad-leaved laurel, x. 1, w. and r., S f., Jly.-Jl., N." Am. 10. Kal'mia angustifo'Ua^ Sheep laurel, x. 1, r., 5 f., My.-Jl., N. Am. family we find the lowly trailing arbutus and wintergreen ; a third division is famous for the plants which produce our cranberries and whortleberries f while a fourth embraces those native kalmias and rhododendrons* of American forests, which have latterly become the pride of European gardens. It is a species of the rhododendron which Emerson describes in the following lines under the name of rhodora : * The Rhododendron 7najd mum, or .Amer- ican Kose Bay-tree (x. 1, 20 f., rose-colored flowers), is an evergreen tree^ although it re- news its leaves once in two or three years. It flowers from May to August, and is found from Long Island to Florida, generally on the borders of rivers or creeks ; and on the sides of mountain torrents in Virginia it is so abundant as to form impenetrable thickets. The Kabniaf:, sometimes called LauieUin Americi, are not the true Laurels. The Kal')nia lati/o'Ua^ or Calico bu.-h, which is found on barren hills from the C.-irolinas to New York, is an elegant shrub, but of nox- ious qualities — poiaonous to cattle and : hecp. 2(1 DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PUYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY, I7l 9. " In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh rhodura in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook. To please the desert and the 8lui,'gi.sli brook ; The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black waters with their beauty gay; Here might the i-edbird come his plumes to cool. And court the flower that cheapens his array. 10. Rhodora' ! if the i-ages ask thee why This charm is wasted on tlie marsh and sky', Dear, tell them that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why thou wert there, oh rival of the rose' ! I never thought to ask, I never knew ; But in my simple ignorance suppose The self-same Power that brought me there', brought you''." 11. In Scotland the ])Oorer people cover their cabins with heath, and the hardy Highlanders often make their beds of it ; hence frequent allusions to these facts occur in Scottish poetry. In Scott's Lady of the Lake, Ellen, the maid of the Highlands, thus addresses the errant^ Fitz James : " Nor think you unexpected come To yon lone isle, our desert home ; Before the hCath had lost the dew. This morn a couch was puU'd for you ;" and when the stranger was hospitably introduced to her fa- ther's hall, it was through the porch to which " Wither'd luafh and rushes dry Supplied a russet canopy ;" and further, the poet, still drawing a faithful picture of High- land life, tells us that, after every courteous rite had been paid, " The stranger's bed Was there of mountain heather si)read. Where oft a hundred guests had lain. And dream' d their forest sports again." 1 Written both Jas'-.mTnb and Jes'-ba-mine; (2 Wiioe'-tle-hf.r-kt (hiviir'-tl-her-e). chiefly the former in poetry. p ile'-kant, wandering ; roving. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF FLOWERS. The psychology' of flowers has found many students, than whom not one read them more deeply than that mikl spirit (Shelley) who sang of the sensitive plant, and in wondrous music foreshadowed his own misdirected genius and his melancholy fate. That martyr to sensibility, Keats, who longed to feel the flowers growing ahovc him, drew the strong insjiiration of his volant^ muse from those delicate creations which exhibit the passage of inorganic matter into life ; and other poets will have their sensibilities awakened by the ajsthetics^ of flowers, and find a mirror of truth in the crys- tal dew-drop which clings so lovingly to the purple violet. — Hunt's Poetry of Science. ' PsY-cnijL'-o-OY, the doctrine of the mindl' yT^s-TniiT'-icfl, the science which treats of or Boul, as distinct from the body. the beautiful ; the philosophy of the fine 2 VO'-LANT, " flying ;" active ; airy. | arts. 172 WILLSON's FIFTU EEADEB. Paiit IV. LES. XII. — LABIATE AND TRUMPET-FLOWER FAMILIES. [ICxoGENOus or DicoTTT.EDONors; Angioapernis; Monopelalotis.y Trumpet-flower Family. Labiate Family 1. Eccreviocar'puslo7igiflo'rus,'Loni:;-{[owQTei cccremocarpus, xiii. 2, or., 6 f., Jl.-Au., Peru. 2. Chelo'iie eentranthi/o'lia, California trumpet-flower, xiii. 2, sc, 7 f., Jl.-Au., Cal. 3. Bigno'nia grandiflo'ra. Large bignonia, xiii. '.', or., 30-100 f. (cultivated), Jl.-Au., . 4. Jliqno'nia cchinn'ta, xiii. 2, pk., 80 f, Guiana. 5. Catal'2)a cordifo'Ua^ Common eatalpa, ii. 1, w. and y., 20 f., Jn.-.\u., N. Am. 6. Sal'via fuVaens, Scarlet salvia, ii. 1, fc. , 5 f., Au.-O., Mexico. 7. Lavan'ihUa stoe'chrtx, French lavender, xiii. 1, Ii., 18 in. My.- Jl., S. Europe. 8. Maru'bium vulga'rc^ Common horehound, xiii. 1, w., 2 f., Jn.-S., N. Am. 9. Thy'vixts scri};il'lu III ^ Wild thyme, xiii. 1, pu., 3 in., Jn.-.\u., Europe. 10. Thij'mua vulga'ris^ Garden tliyme, xiii. 1, pu., 12 in., My.-Au., cultivated, . 1. The plants of the Labiate family, -vvliich number nearly twenty-four hundred species, are easily distinguished by the lahiate or lip-like form of their mono- petalous^ corollas. Natives, chiefly, of temperate regions, they are found in abundance in hot, dry, exposed sit- uations, in meadows, groA'es, and by the Avayside, and but seldom in marsh- es. They are, for the most part, fra- grant and aromatic ;- some, as the sage, hyssop, thyme,-^ and savorj', are . . valuable as kitchen herbs, for sauces, 1, a trumpet-flower, C)(;»io'?i!a)'i- -, ., . i i t i ..:fi./cen.s. 2,aiabiatcflower,Gar- and tlavoring cooked dishes ; some, dcu sage. jj]-g ^q miuts, lavcuders, and rosema- 2d DiT. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTAXY. 1 73 ry, are employed by perfumers ; others, like the exotic sal- vias, are admired and extensiA'ely cultivated for their beauty. 2. Many of the plants of this family were formerly deemed valuable as medicines, and frequent allusions to their medic- inal virtues are made by the poets. Thus rosemary was for- merly recommended for diseases of the nervous system, for the removal of headaches, and also for strenijthening the mem- ory. Hence the allusion of Shakspeare, " There's rosemary : that's for remembrance." With the Greeks, the plant thyme was the emblem of activity, doubtless because its honeyed fragrance made it a favorite with all the cheerful, busy little tenants of the air, who are continually on the wing around it, making the most of the brief time allotted to their ephemer- al existence. 3. The Trumpet-flower family, which consists of trees, shrubs, or occasionally herbs, often twining or climbing, most abounds in tropical regions ; but native species are found in our country as far northward as Pennsylvania ; and others, like the catalpa-tree, and the bignonias, are cultivated still far- ther north. The various species are most celebrated for the great beauty of their trumpet-shaped flowers, wliich, from their large size, gay colors, and great abundance, are often among the most striking objects in a tropical forest. 1 JfON-o-PET'-AL-ocs, having a corolla of a|2 Ae-o-mat'-k', spicy ; strong-scented. flingle petal. p TnvsiE {pronounced time). LESSON XIII. FOllEST TREES. 1. I AM fotid of listening to the conversation of English gen- tlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and discrimination, and with what strong, unaftected interest, they Avill discuss topics which, in other countries, are abandoned to mere woodmen or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble earl descant^ on park and forest scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his estate with as much pride and technic- al precision as though he had been discussing the merits of statues in his collection. I found that he had gone consider- able distances to examine trees whicli were celebrated among rural amateurs ;- for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established points of excellence, and that there are some in England which enjoy very extensive celebrity from being per- fect in their kind. 2. There is something nobly simple and pure in such a taste. 1V4 WILLSON S FIFTH BEADEK, Pakt IV. It argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature to have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of rural econo- my. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and free-born, and aspir- ing men. He who plants an oak looks forward to future ages, and i)lants for joosterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. lie can not expect to sit in its shade nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the idea that the acorn which he lias buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefiting mankind long after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields. — W. Ijiving. 1 De8-€ant', discourse upon; make a varie- 2 Am-a-teCr', an unprofessional cultivator ty of remarks. | of a study or art. LESSON XIV.— THE OAK FAMILY. [Exogenous or Dicotyledonous ; Angiosperms; Apiialonf:.']^ 1. QKfr'cvR ;)/)eP;os, Willow oak, xlx. 12, (ap ), 60 f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 2. Q. vi'rcnn. Live oak, xix. 12, (!»p ), 40 f., My., . . 3 Q. imhrica'la, Shingle oak, xix. 12, (ap.), 40 f, My.-Jn., X. Am. 4. Q. hi'co'lm; White swamp oak, xix. 12, (ap.), 60 f., Mv., N. Am. 5. Q. al'ba. White o.ik, xix. 12, (ap.), SO f., >Iy., N. Am. 6. Q. m'bra, Red oak, xix. 12, (ap.), TO f., Jly., N. Am. 7. CaKtd'nfa t^rs'c 1. Common chestnut, xix. 12, <:., CO f., My.- Jn., N. Am. 8. Ox'Irija milm'riK, Hop hornbeam, xix. 12., (ap.), 30 f , My.-,Jn., Italy. (The Amerio.in hornbeam has an acute bud, and more pointed leaver.) 9. Fa'inis/ei-rv- flin'i'n, Red beech, xix. 12, (ap.), 50 f., My.-.In.. X. Am. 10. I'tn'taniM occidenta'liK, but- ton-wood, sycamore, or plane-tree, xix. 12, (ip), TO f., A. -My., N. Am. 2d DiV. OF . .VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTAISTY. 175 1. The monarch oaJ:, the patriarch of the tree^, Shoots slowly up, and spread:? by slow degrees ; Three centuries he grows, and three he stays Supreme in state, and in thi-ee more decays. — Detden. 2. " The oak, for grandeur, strength, and noble size, Excels all trees that in the forest grow : From acorn small, that trunk, those branches rise, To which such signal benefits we owe. Behold what shelter in its ample shade. From noontide sun, or from the drenching rain ; And of its timber stanch, vast ships are made. To sweep rich cargoes o'er the watery main." 3. The illustrious Oak family includes not only the trees usually called oak, but also the chestnut, beech, hoi'nbeam or iron-wood, and hazel or filbert. It embraces two hundred and sixty-five species, mostly forest trees of great size. Ac- cording to ancient legends, the fruit of the oak served as nour- ishment for the early race of mankind. This tree was said to have shaded the cradle of Jupiter after his birth on Mount Lycffius, in Arcadia, and, after that, to have been consecrated to him. 4. Among the Romans, the highest reward was the civic crown, made of oak leaves, given to him who had saved the life of a citizen in battle. Most worthy of the oaken wreath The ancients him esteemed Who in a battle had from death Some man of worth redeemed Deatton. The person who received it was entitled to wear it at all pub- lic spectacles, and to sit next to the senators ; and Avhen he entered crowned with oak leaves, the audience rose up as a mark of respect. 5. By the early inhabitants of Britain, also, the oak was held in .great-veneration, and it was within its consecrated groves that "The Druid, erst his solemn rites performed. And taught to distant realms his sacred lore." Cowper, in his poem to the Yardley Oak, thus alludes to the i)ruidical worship : '■'■ It seems idolatry with some excuse\ WTien our forefatlier Druids in their oaks Imagined sanctity'. The conscience, yet Unpurified by an authentic act Of amnesty', the meed of blood divine'. Loved not the light\ but, gloomy, into gloom of thickest shades', like Adam after taste Of fniit proscribed', as to a refuge fled'." 6. The white oak, red oak, and live oak are the most im- poi'tant species, the timber of the latter being the best for ship-building. The live oak grows in the Southern States, within twenty miles of the sea-coast, and may be seen as far 176 willson's fifth reader. Part IV. north as Old Point Conifovt, in Virginia. Other species, as water, black, willow, and shingle oaks, abound in various sec- tions of the country. It is a common sentiment that the more the oak is rocked by winds, the more firmly knit are its branch- es, and that the storm Avhich scatters its leaves only causes its roots to strike the deeper into the earth. The graceful foliage storms may reave, The noble stem they can not grieve. — Scott. It grew and it flunri-h'd for many an age, And many a temiic.-^t ttrciik'd on it its rage ; But when its stronij; liraiiohea were bent with the blast, It struck its roots deeper, and flourisb'd more fast. — Soctiiey. In the following lines an anonymous writer has given to the subject a moral application. 7. " Proud monarch of the forest' ! That once, a sapling hough, Didst quail far more at evening's breath Than at the tempest now', Strange scenes hnw pa?s'd, long ages roll'd Since first upon thy stem, Then weak as o.aier twig, t^pring set Her leafy diadem\ 8. To thee but little recks it What seasons come or go* ; Thou lov'st to breathe the gale of spring And bask in summer's glow* ; But more to feel the wintiy winds Swe«!p by in awful mirth, For well thou know'st each blast will fix Thy roots more deep in earth. 9. Would that to me life's changes Did thus with blessings come* ! That mercies might, like gales of spring. Cause some new gi-ace to bloom* ! And that the st .rm which scattereth Each earth-born hope abroad'. Might anchor those of holier birth More firmly on my God !" 10. Oaks live to a great age. The famous Charter Oak of Hartford, Connecticut, whicliVell August 21st, 1856, must have been a goodly tree when William the Conqueror was plant- ing the new forest in England. When the first settlers of the state were clearing the forests, the Indians begged that it might be spared. How appropriate to their entreaties seem the words of Morris : " Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! Cut not its earth-bound ties ; Oh, spare that ajred oak. Now towering to the skies I" 11. "It has been the guide of our ancestors for centuries," said they, " as to the time of planting our corn. When the leaves are the size of a mouse's ears, then is the time to put the seed into the ground." And it was Avell they did "let the old oak stand," for it afterward became the fiiithful guard- 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. IV? ian of the chartered rights of the infant colony ; and so high- ly Avas it venerated, that, at sunset on the day of its fall, the . bells of the city were tolled, and a band of music played fu- neral dirges over its fallen ruins. 12. The chestnut, also one of the Oak family, is, like the oak, remarkable for its long life and great size, but is best known for its excellent fruit. As a noble shade-tree it is unsurpass- ed, and as such has been immortalized in the affections of our people by a popular poem beginning, Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands, The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny aims Arc strong as iron bands Longfellow. This tree is not, however, the same as the Avell-known orna- mental lawn-tree, the horse-chestnut, which belongs to another family. 13. The beech — " the spreading beech-tree" — also a mem- ber of the Oak family, is a tree of firm and hard wood, which is much used for making carpenters' tools. The botanical name of the tree, fagits, is supposed to be derived from a Greek word signifying to eat, indicating that its fruit served as food for man in ancient times. Our American Indians Avere so firmly j^ersuaded that this tree Avas never struck by light- ning, that, on tlie approach of a thunder-storm, they took ref- uge under its thick foliage with a full assurance of safety. 14. The bark of the beech is smooth, and of a silvery hue, and very Avell adapted to rude carving ; and doubtless this is the chief reason of the poetic celebrity which this tree has at- tained. Virgil has given it immortal bloom in the oi^euing of his first Eclogue : " In bcechen shades, ynu, Tityrus, stretched along, Tune to your slender reed the sylvan song ;" and Shakspeare thus notices it in his comedy of " As You Like It :" " Oh Rosalind ! these trees shall be my b^oks, And in their barks my thonghts I'll character, That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where." 15. The poet Campbell has appropriated a distinct poem to " The Beech-tree's Petition" — the last few lines of which will close our notice of this tree of poetic celebrity : " Tlirice twenty summers I have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my nestling bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, ^ Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture paid, II 2 178 willson's fifth EEADEE, Part IV. And on my trunk's curviving frame Carvf d many a limg-forgotteu name. Oh, by tho vowrt of gentle i^ound Fir.-'t Ijrcathed upon thi.-' cacred ground, liy nil lint l.ove hath whisper'd here, Or heauiy heard with ravish'd ear — As Love's own altar, honor me, Spare, woodman, spare the biecheii-tree !" 1 A-pEt'-al-Oub plants are those who'-e flowers have no petal.-", or corolla. LESSON" XV. — THE OAK AND THE NOBLEMAN. And, on the rugged mountain brow exposed, ISearing the blast alone, the ancient oak Stood, lifting his mighty arm, and still, To courage in dislreas, exhorted loud. — roi.LOK. There is an affinity between all natures, animate and inani- mate. The oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems to me to take its rano-e with the lion and the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and intellectual man. With its lofty pillar rising straight and direct toward heaven, bearing up its leafy honors from tlie impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of what a trice nohleman should be : a refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppress- ed, a defense for the defenseless; warding oif from the pelt- ings of the storm, or tlie scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is this is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. lie who is otherwise abuses his eminent advantages — abuses the grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the o])pressive hand of power, who Avould murmur at his fate ? "Why cumbereth he the GROUND ?" — Washington Ikying. LESSON XVI. THE ELM, WILLOW, AND EIKCH FAiflLIES. 1. The numerous species of trees of the Elm, Willow, and Birch families, as well as those of the Oak, Chestnut, Beech, and many others of our large forest trees, are classed by most botanists as apetalous, because, Avhile they have all the essen- tial organs which (Constitute a flower, such as stamens, pistils, and seed vessels, they are destitute of petals, or corolla. Many of them have a colored calyx, but in some even the calyx it- self is wanting. 2. The elms, of which sixty species have been described by botanists, are believed bv many to have originated from onlv 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 179 [Exogenous or Dicotyledonous ; Angiosperms ; Avetnlotts.'] 1. Ul'nms cnnijies'tris, English elm, now abundant in this country, v. 2, (ap.), 80 f., A. -My., Britain. 2. Sa'lix trian'dra. Long-leaved willow, xx. 2, (ap.), 30 f., My.-Au., Britain. 3. Sa'lix ru'bra, Green o?ier, xx. 2, (ap.), 8 f., A. -My., England. 4. Sa'lix rosmarini/o'lia, Rosemary willow, xx. 2, (ap.), 3 f., A. -My., N. Am. 5. Po]}'uhi.i al'ba, AbCle tree, xx. S, (ap.), 40 f, M.-A. (introduced). G. Pop'rihis ni't/ra, Black poplar, xx. 8, (ap.l, 30 f., M.-A., Britain. 7. Pop'tilus nionilif'era, Canadian poplar, xx. 8, (ap.), 70 f., My., N. Am. 8. Pop'nlua trem'ula. Aspen, xx. 8, (ap.), 50 f., A.-Jn., Britain. 9. Jie'fiila al'ba. Common birch, xix. 12, (.ap.), 40 f., A.-Jn., Britain. 10. IJe'lula leii'tit. Mountain mahogany, black birch, or sweet birch, xix. 12, (ap ), ."JO f., My.-Jn., X. Am. 11. Sa'lix liabylon'ica, Weeping willow, xx. 2, (ap.), 40 f., My., Levant. two distinct kinds, the lowland and the mount- ain elm. Certain it is that the elm, like the apple, has a remarkable tendency to produce new varieties from the seed ; and if a bed be sown with the seeds, some of the plants will have large leaves, and some small ones ; some Avill be early, and others late ; and some will have smooth bark, and others rough. 3. The ancient poets frequently mention the elm. The Greeks and Romans consider- Eim in blossom. ed all as funeral trees which produced no fruit fit for the use of man. Homer alludes to this when he tells us, in the Iliad, that Achilles raised a monument to the father of Andromache in a grove of elms: ''Jove's sylvan daughters bade their I'Unn bestow A barren shade, and in his honor grow." 4. So generally, among the Romans, was the elm used as 180 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part IV. a prop to the vine, that the one -was considered by the poets inseparable from the otlier. " If that fiiir elm," he cried, " alone should stand, No Kiiipert would glow with t;z>cA-f morning, Saying, with a sigh of patience, ' Take my cloak, O Hiawatha !' With his knife the tree he girdled; Just beneath its lowest branches, Just above the roots he cut it. Till the sap came oozing outward; Down the trunk, from top to bottom, Phecr he cleft the bark asunder; ■\\'ith a wooden wedge he raised it. Stripped it from the trunk unbroken." LES. XVII. THE COXE-BEARING, OR PIXE FAMILY. 1. Ix the cone-bearing, or Pine family, exogenous plants assume a new character, in having their seeds uncovered. Like the elm, Avillow, and birch, their flowers have no corol- la: in some species the pistillate and staminate flowers are on the same plant, and in others on difterent plants, while in oth- er iiarticulars their inflorescence is often irregular, and seem- ingly imperfect. Yet here we find some of tlie noblest spec- imens of the vegetable kingdom ; and no other family is of more importance to mankind than this, whether we view it with reference to its timber or its secretions. 2. Many of the trees of this family are gigantic in size, rap- 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 1 83 [FxonKNorK or PTroTTT.rDONOrs ; Gymno'^pemi'' ; ' Jp^fnlmm.j 1. Pi'nns Canadeii'M.% Hemlock or Hemlock spruce, xix. ].">, ijipj, r> i f., My., N. Am. 2. Pi'nus stro'bus, AVhite or Weymouth pine, xix. 15, (ap.), 50-100 f., My., N. Am. 3. Pi'nusin'iwa, Stone pine, xix. 15, (ap.), 40 f., My., Italy. 4. Pi'nus or A'bies commu'- nis. Common fir or Norway spruce, xix. 15, (ap.), 100 f., A., N. Europe. 5. Pi'nus or A'bies ruJira, Ked spruce, xix. 15, (ap.), 50 f., A., N. Am. 6. La'rix ce'drus. Cedar of Lebanon, xix. 15, (ap.),CO f., A.,W. Asia. 7. Ciipre'xtisthyoi'des,'S\hi\e cedar or cypress, xix. 15, (ap.), 20 f., A., N. Am. 8. Thu'ja occidenta' lis, American arbor-vita;, xix. 15, (ap.), 25 f. A., X. Am. 9. Junip'iinis \'irninin'na. Red cedar, xx. 15, 'ap.l, 30 f., My.- Jn., N. Am. 10. Tax'us bacca'ta, Common yew, xx. 15, (ap.), 20 f., A., Britain. id in growth, noble in aspect, robust in constitution ; and they form a considerable proportion of woods or plantations in cul- tivated countries, and of forests where nature remains, in tem- perate countries, in a savage state. Their timber, in commerce, is known under the names of deal, fir, pine, and cedar ; and is principally the wood of the spruce, the larch, the Scotch fir, the white or Weymouth pine of Vermont, and the Virginian cedar. Some of the pines of Xorthwest America are stupen- dous trees, attaining a height of two hundred and fifty feet. Those products called naval stores, such as tar, turpentine, pitch, togetlier with numerous resins and balsams, are obtain- ed from the Pine family. 3. The cone-bearing trees are not only of great value in ship-building, but in all structures in which durability is de- sired. From the wood of the juniper the Greeks carved the images of their gods ; the wood of the arar-tree of Barbary is considered by the Turks indestructible, and on this account they use it for the ceilings and floors of their mosques ; and 184 -witj.son's fifttT reader. Part IV. the gates of Constantinople, famous for having stood from the time of Constantino to tliat of Pope Eugene IV., a period of eleven hundred years, were of cypress. The cedar of Leba- non is, perhaps, the most celebrated tree of the whole family, yet it is now scarce on Mount LibTmus, whose forests seenr; never to have recovered from the havoc made by Solomon's four score thousand hewers. The seeds of the stone pine, which are as sweet as almonds, are eaten throughout Italy. 4. As ornamental lown-trees, the ^\i/a/m^^|^ are unequaled ; and the hemlock- "^T^ "^^^^^^^Ui/ spruce and arbor vita3 are great fa- v^ - , ^^slllS^^fc- vorites for hedges. Well-grown belts ' ^" ^'' '^.^^^^V'^, of evergreens, which ^„,„.^ pewduia^ ' '-^li^ " in cnnic forms arise, Black Larch, or ^^^gW^^ And with a pointed spear divide the slcies," American Tarn- ^^Sf^^^ afford a fine protection for gardens in '"'"^'^' ^^pf^^ exposed situations, and are often planted, in the ^^^ Northern States, for that purpose. The fact that a, '^^p plaintive sound, solemn and sad, is produced by the ^m passage of the wind through the leaves of the pine, is ^^ notorious to all observers. Virgil alludes to this music ^^ in his eighth Eclogue : "ip "Regrin with me, mj- pipe, MKnalian strain?, Delightful Msenalus, mid echoing groves And vocal pines." 5. The poet Hood has, with characteristic humor, described a group of pines, Avith interlacing branches, writhing in the storm like Laocoon^ iu the folds of the serpents, and weeping gummy tears. "The pines — tha=e old gigantic pines. That writhe — recalling soon The famous human gi'oup that writhes With snakes in wild festoon — . In ramous^ wrestlings interlaced, A forest Laocoon' — Like Titans of primeval girth r.y tortures overcome, Their hrown enormous limbs they twine, Bedewed with tears of gum." 6. Of the associations connected with this family, it may be remarked that the cypress especially, on account of the gloomy hue of its leaves, was esteemed by the ancients a suit- able ornament of their burial-places, and that it is often al- luded to in poetry as the emblem of mourning. Peace to the dust that in silence reposes Beneath the dark shade-* of cypres-s and yew; Let spring deck the spot with her earliest roses. And heaven wash their leaves with its holiest dew. — PrEcroxr. 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 185 Dark tree ! still ?ad when othere' grief is fled, The only constant mourner of the dead. — Bteom. 1 uym'-no-8perms are plants that have na-| here departs from the classical pronuncia- ked seeds, such as the pines. tion, wMch is LX-oc'-o-on. See p. 70 and 72. 2 L.\-o-cooN'. It will be seen that the poetp Ra'-mous, branched; full of branches. LESSON XVIII.— TO A PINE-TREE. 1. Far np on Katahdin thou towerest, Puqolc-blue with the distance, and vast ; Like a cloud o'er tlie lowlands thou lowerest, That hangs poised on a lull in the blast, To its fall leaning awful. 2. Spite of winter thou kee]is't thy green glory, Lusty father of Titans past number ! The snow-flakes alone make thee hoary, Nestling close to thy branches in slumber. And thee mantling with silence. 3. Thou alone know'st the splendor of winter, 'Mid thy snow-silver'd, hushed precij)ices, Hearing crags of green ice groan and splinter, And then plunge down the muffled abysses In the quiet of midnight. 4. Thou alone know'st the glory of summer. Gazing down on thy broad seas of forest — On thy subjects, that send a proud murmur Up to thee, to their sachem, who towerest From thy bleak throne to heaven. James Russell Lowell. THE PINE- APPLE. [Endogenous : see next page.] Brome'lia ana'nas, the Pine- apple, vi. 1, pu., 4 f., J.-D., S. America. "This fruit," s.ays Loudon, " may, without hesitation, be pronounced the first in the world, though it has not been known in Eurojje above two centuries, and has only been cultivated about a century as a fruit plant in P.rit- ain." First discovered in Bra- zil, it passed thence to the East Indies, wlicre ir li.-is long been successfully cultivated. jMany varieties of tlie pine-a]i])le have been produced by cultivation. In the West Indies and South America, one species is used for fencing pasture-lands on account of its ])rick]y leaves. IbG willson's fiftu keadee. Takt IV. SECOND DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KING- DOM. ENDOGENS. [The four most important pliysiological peculiarities ot tliis great natural division are, let. The structure is endogenous (for which see Fourth Header, p. 187). 2d. The leaves are straight or parallel-veined. 3d. The flowers are tenumi ; that is, have three sepals, petals, and stamens, or some power of that number. 4th. The embryo has but one lnrtin>, Ked lily, vi. 1, r. and y., 5 f., Jl.-Aiig., N. Am. 0. Lil'ium CaHflffcn's*?, Nodding lily, vi. 1, r. and y., 4 f., Jl.-Au., N. Am. 10. jf'tt'- lipa ,'Y. [EuBOGENors or MoNOoOTYLEDONOTJs ; dlumaceotis.y 191 1. bciia:' iius mucrotui' ius. Clustered bog-rusli, iii. 1, (ap.), 1 f., A. -My., f>. turope. ^. Scir'ptts lacus'tris. Tall club-rush, iii. 1, (ap ), C f., Jl.-Au., Britain. 3. Scir'pvA trique'- ter. Triangular club-rush, iii. 1, (ap.), 3 f., Au., Eng. 4. Ctipe'rus vege'tus^ Smooth marsh- sedfce, iii. 1, (ap.), IS in., My.-Au., N. Am. 5. Phle'ian i>raten's€, Timothy grass, with portion.s of the flower magnified, iii. 2, (ap.), 2 f., Jl., N. Am. 6. Tricus'jris qmnque'Jida, English red-top, iii. 2, (ap.), 2 f., Jn.-,J1., N. Am. 7. Po'aaquat'ica, Water meadow-grass, iii. 2, (ap.), 6 f., Jl., N. Am. and Britain. S. Agros'tis ni'ga'ris, American red-top, with the flower magnified, iii. 2, (ap.), IS in., Jn., N. Am. 9. Bri'za vie'dia. Common quaking- grass, iiL 2, (ap.), IS in., Jn., Britain. into a perfect sheath. The plants of this family are of little value as nutriment to man or beast ; but they are found in all parts of the "world, in marshes, ditches, running streams, in meadows and on heaths, in groves and forests, on the flowing sands of the sea-shore, on the tops of mountains, from the arc- tic to the antarctic circle, wherever flowering vegetation can exist. 2. That the Grasses occupy a very difierent position in the vegetable kingdom will at once be apparent when we remark that in this family are found such plants as rye, oats, barley, maize or Indian coi'n, rice, sugar-cane, bamboo, and reeds, as well as the ordinary grasses. Of about four thousand spe- cies, of which this numerous and valuable family consists, only a single one, the poisonous darnel, is known to be injiu'ious to man. AU the grasses are provided with true flowers, that is, with stamens and pistils, but there is little trace of the calyx and corolla. The general appearance of the common grass- es is so well-known that we need not describe it; nor need we speak of their wide distribution, for every body knows 192 WILLSOn's FIFl'U KEAUJiK. Taut IV. that tliey " come creeping, creci:>ing every Avhcre," as is pretti- ly told in THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. 3. Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; You can not see ine coming, Nor luar my low, sweet liuuiming ; i'or in the staiTy night, And tlic glad morning light, I come rry bird not sad, To see me creeping every where. 5. Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; When you're numbcr'd irith the dead In your still and narrow bed, In the happy spring I'll come And deck yuur silent home — Creeping siUutly, creeping every where. G. Here I come creeping, creeping every w here ; My humble .song of praise Most joyfully I raise To Him at whose command I beautify the land, Creeping, silently creeping every where. — Saeaii Hoeeets. 7. Of the immense value of the cereals to mankind we need not attempt to form an estimate ; for how could human life, in one half of the globe, be sustained without them ? And as to the grasses proper, they are the principal food of the most valuable of the domestic animals. In the United States alone, the value of agricultural products belonging to this great family is estimated at not less than seven hundred millions of dollars annually ! And what an amount of labor is bestow- ed upon their cultivation! T\"hat "variety and extent of inter- ests are dependent upon the seasonable rain, and the dew, and the sunshine, which our heavenly Father sends to bring them to perfection ! And what anxieties are felt about those scourges from insects, and storms, and blight, and mildew, that occasionally injure, and threaten to destroy them ! 8. Wheat, " golden wheat," of Avhicli there are reckoned three hundred varieties, is supposed to have been, once, an unprofitable grass growing wild on the shores of the Mediter- ranean, and to have become, by cultivation, the most valuable of all vegetable products. It is now difficult to tell what are mere varieties and what are distinct species ; certain it is, that though it thrives best when treated as a biennial — soAvn in autumn and harvested the following summer — yet winter- wheat sown in spring will ripen the same year, though the ]:)roduce of succeeding generations of spring-sown wheat is found to ripen better ; white, red, and beardless wheat change 2d Drv, OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. [Cereals. — Endogenous or SIonocotyledonous ; Glumaceous.]^ 193 1. TriVicum hyher'niiw^ AVinter wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 4 f., Jn.-Jl., unknown. 2. Tril'- icum compos'itum^ Egyptian wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 3^^ f., Jn.-Jl., Egypt. 3. Trit'icuni spe'lfa. Spelter wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 3i f., Jn.-Jl., Egypt. 4. Seca'le ecrea'le. Common rye, iii. 2, (ap.), 4 f., Jn.-Jl., Crimea. 5. Sac'charum offichm'riim. Sugar-cane, iii. 2, (ap.), 12 f., Au., India. 6. Ave'nafa'ttia, Wild oat, iii. 2, (ap.), 4 f., Au., Uritain. 7. Hor'deuin rul- rra're. Spring barley, iii. 2, (ap.), 8 f., Jl., Sicily. 8. Mil'iuvi ef^i'sum^Commo'a millet, iii. 2, (ap.), 4 f., Jn.-JI., Britain. 9. Tnt'icum Polon'icum, Poikh wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 4f., Jn.-Jl., Egypt. and run into each other on different soils and in diiFerent ch- mates ; and even the Egyptian wheat is known to change to the single-spiked common plant, 9. The American reader will recollect that in Eurojje wheat is called corn, a term which we apply only to maize or Indian coi-n. The latter was found cultivated for food by the In- dians of both Xorth and South America on the first discov- ery of the continent, and from this circumstance it derived its popular name. It is still found growing, in a wild state, in the humid forests of Paraguay, where, instead of having each grain naked as is always the case after long cultivation, each is completely covered with glumes or husks. The varieties produced by cultivation are numerous. 10. Indian corn furnishes a fine example of those plants which have staminate flowers on one part of the plant and pistillate on another. Thus the staminate flowers of the corn are those loose yellow branches wdiich grow at the top of the . stalk, while the pistillate, hidden among the lower leaves, are 194 willson's fifth reader. Part IV. only discovered by their long shining styles which hang from the ears in tufts like silken tassels. One peculiarity noticed in nearly all the members of the Grass family is the exceeding hardness of the outer covering of their stems, which is caused by a thin coating of flinty or silicious matter. The sharp edge of a blade of grass has often cut the flesh of curious or careless boys in the experiment of drawing it through their fingers. 11. Numerous and abundant, throughout all literature, are the tributes of praise with Avhich poetry has striven to en- shrine in our atiections the valuable cereals we cultivate. The ancients, in their mythology, placed agriculture above all other pursuits, and called Ceres, who was the fabled goddess of grain and harvests, the Great Goddess, and the Mighty Mother. Songs and festivals celebrated her benevolent gifts to man ; and when we come down to later ages, we find that songs to the "Harvest Moon," and songs of "Harvest Home," have ever been the most popv;lar of national melodies. 12. Pleasing 'tis, O harvest-moon! Now the night is at her noon, 'Neath thy sway to musing lie. While around the zephyrs sigh. Fanning soft the sun-tanned wheat, Ripened by the summer's heat ; Picturing all the rustic's joy AVhen boundless plenty greets his eye, And thinking soon, O harvest-moon! How many a gladsome eye will roam Along the road, To see the load. The last dear load of harvest-home. — Henky Kieke Whtts. As a suitable closing of this lesson we must extend it still farther, and give place to the following, which is both appro- priate to the subject, and to be admired for the associations which it recalls. CORN-FIELDS. (Com is a term applied in Europe to all the cereals.) 13. Wlien on the breath of autumn-breeze, From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating like an idle thought The fair white thistle-down, Oh then what joy to walk at will Upon the golden harvest hill ! 14 WTiat joy in dreamy ease to lie Amid a field new shorn. And see all round, on sunlit slopes, The piled-up stacks of corn ; And send the fancy wandering o'er All pleasant harvest-fields of yore. 15. 1 feel the Ca.y — I see the field, The quivering of the leaves. And good old Jacob and his house Binding the yellow sheaves ; .\nd at this very hour I seem To be with Joseph in hia dream. 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OP. BOTANY. 1 95 16. I see the fields of Bethlehem, And reapers many a one, Bending unto their sickle's stroke — And Ijoaz looking on ; And Kutli, the Moabite so fair, Among the gleaners stooping there. 17. The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, The fields of Galilee, That eighteen hundred years ago Were full of corn, I see ; And the dear Sayior takes his way 'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day. 18. Oh golden fields of bending com, How beautiful they seem I The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, To me are like a dream. The sunshine and the very air Seem of old tune, and take me there. — Hart Howitt. > Guj-ma'-ceotjs plants are those which have glumes, like the husk or chaff of the grains and grasses. LESSON XXI. — OP THE HIDDEN USES OF PLANTS. There be in plants Influences yet iinthought, and virtues, and many inventions, And uses above and around, which man hatli not yet regarded. Not long, to charm away disease, hath the crocus yielded up its bulb, Nor the willow lent its bark, nor the nightshade its vanquished poison; Not long hath the twisted leaf, the fragrant gift of China, Nor that nutritious root, the boon of far Peru, Nor the many-colored dahlia, nor the gorgeous flaunting cactus, Nor the multitude of fruits and flowers ministered to life and luxurj' : Even so, there be virtues yet unknown in the wasted foliage of the elm, In the sun-dried harebell of the downs, and the hyacinth drinking in tha meadow. In the sycamore's winged fruit, and the facet-cut cones of the cedar ; And the pansy and bright geranium live not alone for beauty, Nor the waxen flower of the arbute, though it dieth in a day, Nor the sculptured crest of the fir, unseen but by the stars ; And the meanest weed of the garden serveth unto many uses, The salt tamarisk, and juicy flag, the freckled orchis, and the daisy. The world may laugh at famine when forest trees yield bread, When acorns give out fragrant drink, and the sap of the linden is as fatness: For every green herb, from the lotus to the darnel, Is rich with delicate aids to help incurious man. — M. F. Tuppee. There is perhaps no pursuit which leads the mind more directly to an ap- preciation of that wisdom and goodness which pen^ade creation, than the study of the vegetable kingdom, in which infinite variety, beauty, and ele- gance, singularity of structure, the nicest adaptations, and the most pre- eminent utility, meet us at eveiy step, and compel us to observe and leani, even when often the least disposed to inquiry or reflection. — Cuambers, 196 WILLSON S FIFTU HEADER. Part IV. THIRD DIVISIOK CRYPTOGAMOUS PLANTS. [€!ryp-t"g'-a-mous, or Flowevlcss Plants, are divided into two classes, Ac'-ro-gens and Tlial'-lo-gens; the leading physiological peculiarities of which are, Ist. The stem of an Acrogens grows from the end, but does not increase in diameter. Acrogens have breathing pores, or .stuviata^ in their skin or covering ; their leaves and stem are distinctly separated ; they produce no flowers, but multiply by reproductive sphe- roids or spore?, somewliat analogous to seeds, but whose nature is not well known. 2d. Thallojcns are mere masses of cells ," they have no sUmiaia or breathing pores, foliage, or flowers ; and they multiply by the spontaneous formation in their interior, or upon their surface, of reproductive spheroids called spores.] LES. XXII. FERNS, LIVERWORTS, AND MOSSES. (aCROGENS.) 1. Polppo'diwn rulga're.^ Common polyp'ody, or Wall fern, xxi. 1, brown, 1 f , My.-O. 2. Striithw].ytei~is Penns'ilva'mca, Ostrich fern, xxi. 1, br.,2 f., Au. 3. Pte'ris atropur- pic'rea. Hock brake, xxi. 1, br., 10 in., Au.-S. 4. Ai>pid'ium Thebip'teris, Lady fern, xxi. 1, 1 f, br., Jl.-Au. 5. Marchan'tia polymor'pha. Variable liverwort, xxi. 6, dark green, 2 in., moist rocks, winter. 6. Autho'ceros jnincta'ta^ Dotted liverwort, xxi. 6, spring, dark green, 1 J in., damp places. 7. S2^Jiag'num obtusifo'lium, Peat moss, xxi. 5, y. and g., bogs, 7 in. 8. Oiminos'tomuni riridis'simtnn, Green moss, xxi. 5, bright gi'een, trees and rocks, 1 in. 9. Griin'mm apncar'pa, Alpine moss, xxi. 5, dark olive, li in.,den.=e tufts on rocks and trees. 10. Ortho'trichwn cris'pum. Crisp moss, xxi. 5, bright green, 1 in., trees. 11. G-rini'mia pnhiim'ta, Cushion moss, xxi. 5, bright green, i in., house-tops. 12. Bartra'viia HaVcria'na^ Mountain moss, xxi. 5, bright green, 6 in., mountains. 13. Hyp'nwn inura'lc, Wall moss, xxL 5, light gr€en, li in., walls and stones. 1. We come now to a very singular division of the vege- table world, embracing a vast multitude of plants which dif- fer from those before described in having no flowers for the production of seed and fruit. They indeed bear no true seeds, but are propagated by innumerable siiiall germs called sjwreSj 2d DiV. OP . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 197 ready to grow where they find a proper home, which is some- times a piece of bread, or cheese, or decaying wood. Among these plants the highest in order are the ferns, which are more hke flowering plants than any other family of the cryp- togamia ; yet even in them no true flower is ever seen ; and what are sometimes called their seeds, and which are so mi- nute as to present to the eye only an impalpable^ powder, are found gathered in brown spots or lines on the under surface of the /ronds or leafy portions of the mature plant. "'Tia there the fem displays its fluted wreath, Beaded beneath with drops of richest bivwn." 2. Ferns thrive best in damp places, though they sometimes grow in pastures and on dry hill-sides. Thus it has been said of one of the beautiful plants of this family : " Whei'e the cop^ewood is the greenest, Where the fountain glistens sheenest,^ Where the moraing dew lies longest, There the Lady Fern grows strongest." The ferns growing in the Great Dismal Swamp of Virginia are more than four feet in height; and in tropical countries the tree fern rises to the height of thirty or forty feet. One of the most interesting peculiarities of ferns is the spiral man- ner in which the leaflets are coiled up before their first ap- pearance, each one being rolled in toward the rib that sup- ports it — a peculiarity which has been very prettily noticed in the following lines : 3. " Have ye ever watched it hudding. With each stem and leaf wrapped small, Coiled up witliin each other Like a round and hairy ball ? 4. Have ye watched that ball unfolding Each closely nestling curl, And its fair and feathery leaflets Their spreading forms unfurl ? 5. Oh, then most gracefully they ware In the forest like a sea, And dear as they are beautiful Are these fern leaves to me." 6. It having been ascertained that ferns were propagated by seeds, although the flower, if there were any, was too mi- nute to be detected even by the most powerful microscope, there was a mystery thrown over the plant, which naturally gave rise to many poetic fancies, one of which was the power of rendering invisible the person who was so fortunate as to possess the seed ; and to this fancied property we find an al- lusion in Shakspeare : "We have the receipt of fern-seed ; we walk invisible." 7. Scax'cely any flowering plants have been greater favorites 198 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Part IV. with all classes of persons than ferns ; nor is this to be won- dered at when ^vo consider both their intrinsic beauty, and their association Avitli all that is wild and romantic in scenery, Avhere mountain and valley, rocks and shaded Ibuntains, com- bine their fascinating influence upon the imagination. Their embellishment of rugged and wild mountain scenery has been embalmed in the poetry of Scott. He sometimes prefers the Caledonian name of brake or bracken to that of fern. In pic- turing to the eye the sudden rise and disappearance of the soldiers of Roderick Dhu, when he gave the signal " whistle shrill, and was answered from the liill," we see heath, broom, and bracken forming the ambuscade. 8. " Instant, through cr^pse and heath, arose Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows ; On right, on left, above, below. Sprung up, at once, the lurking foe ; From shingles gray their lances start, The bracken bush sends forth the dait. And every tuft of hromn gives life To plaided warrior armed for strife, As if the yawning hill to heaven A subterranean host had given." 9. And when, after a suitable pause, the chieftain " Waved his hand, Down sunk the disappearing band; Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or brcuki'n, heath or wood ; It seemed as if their motlier earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth. The wind's last breath had tossed in air Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair — The next but swept a lone hill-side, Where heath and fern were waving wide; The sun's last glance was glinted^ back From spear and glaive,* from target and jack,^ The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green and cold graj' stone." 10. There is an interesting family of plants, called Xiver- worts, belonging to the same class as the ferns, and in many respects resembling the mosses. Their leafy expansions are soft and green ; they are usually found growing on moist sur- faces, often where there is little or no soil, and are very com- mon in the chinks between paving-stones in unfrequented places, and on the surface of the earth contained in garden- pots, as also upon walls which from any cause are kept con- stantly damp. Besides the seeds which grow on the leaf, as in ferns, some of the liverworts have little stalks growing from them, and bearing on their summit flowei"-like appendages which contain minute bodies that seem to have the power of spontaneously detaching themselves from their birthplace. When thrown into the water they move about rapidly like animalculae. 2d Div. OF .. VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 199 11. But mosses are perhaps the most interesting of this first division of the Cryj)togamia ; and to them we proceed in the next Lesson. 1 Im-pal'-pa-ble, that can not be felt; not * Glatve, a broadsword, coarse. |* Taege, a tar'-get or shield. 2 Sheen'-e8t, brightest (obsolete). U Jack, a coat of mail. 3 Glint'-ed, glanced ; reflected. | LESSON" XXIII. — THE MOSSES, (acrogens.) [Note. — The following lines apply, perhaps, more appropriately to the Lichens than to the Mosses. (See Lesson XXV.) But lichens are in common language called mosses.J 1. The lovely moss ! on the lowly cot It lies like an emerald croira, And the summer shower pierceth it not. As it comes rushing down ; And I love its freshened brilliancy, When the last raiu hath pattered, And the sparkling drops on its surface lie. Like stars from the pure sky scattered. 8. And I love, I love to see it much, When on the ruin gray. That crumbles with Time's heavy touch. It spreads its mantle gay ; While the cold ivy only gives. As it shivereth, thoughts of fear. The closely clinging moss still lives, Like a friend, forever near. S, But oh ! I love the bright moss moat When I see it thickly spread On the sculptured stone, that fain would boast Of its forgotten dead. For I think if that lowly thing can efiface The fame that earth hath given. Who is there that would ever chase Glory, save that of Heaven ? — Miss M A Beowke. 4. Mosses are interesting little evergreens, Avith distinct leaves, and frequently a distinct stem. They do not, like ferns, bear their fructification upon the leaves, but in a little case or urn that is borne on a long distinct stalk. The pulpy matter that is contained in this case becomes dry in ripening, and when arrived at maturity it flies ofi'in the form of an ex- tremely subtile powder, which serves for the propagation of the plant. 5. Mosses are fond of moisture, shade, and retirement ; en- livening the dark recesses of solitude by the vivid green of their diminutive foliage ; and it is with " mossy fountains," especially, that Ave have been taught to associate ideas of " cool refreshment," and the quiet of nature in repose. AATiile we view. Amid the noontide walk, a limpid rill Gush through the trickling herljage, to the thirst Of summer yielding the delicious draught Of cool refre.-'hment, o'er the vio.':.'^/ bank Shines not the surface clearer? and the waves With sweeter music murmur as they flow ?— AKEXsrDE. 200 WILLSON.S FIFTH BEADEB. Pakt IV. 6. Mosses are found in the hottest as well as the coldest climates, growiniif alike amid torrid sands and arctic snows ; and when a coral island springs up above the crested Avave, the green moss first crowns its barren summit, and prepares the living rock for the growth of higher forms of vegetation. It was by the contemplation of a delicate moss plant that the heart of Mungo Park, the African traveler, was revived, when the difficulties by which he M'as surrounded had almost extinguished hope within him. The passage has been often quoted, but, it may be hoped, never without its use, and it does not seem superfluous to introduce it here. 7. This enterprising traveler, during one of his journeys into the interior of Africa, was cruelly stripped and robbed of all that he possessed by banditti. " In this forlorn and almost helpless condition," he says, " when the robbers had left me, I sat for some time looking around me with amaze- ment and terror. Whichever Avay I turned, nothing appear- ed but danger and difficulty. I found myself in the midst of a vast wilderness, iu the depth of the rainy season — naked and alone — surrounded by savage animals, and b}^ men still more savage. I Avas five hundred miles from any European settlement. All these circumstances crowded at once upon my recollection, and I confess that my spirits began to fail me. I considered my fate as certain, and that I had no alter- native but to lie down and perish. 8. " The influence of religion, however, aided and support- ed me. I reflected that no human prudence or foresight could possibly have averted my present suflierings. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, yet I was still under the protect- ing eye of that Providence who has condescended to call him- self the stranger's friend. At this moment, painful as my re- flections were, the extraordinary beauty of a small moss ir- resistibly caught my eye ; and though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not con- template the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and fruit without admiration. Can that Being (thought I) who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small import- ance, look with unconcern upon the situation and suffering of creatures formed after his own image ? Surely not. Re- flections like these would not allow me to despair. I started up, and, disregarding both hunger and fatigue, traveled for- ward, assured that relief was at hand ; and I was not disap- pointed." 2d DiV, OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 201 9. A distinguished French writer, Rousseau, was particu- larly fond of mosses. He would often say that they gave an air of youth and freshness to our fields, adorning nature when flowers had vanished. The moss is a useful plant also. The Laplanders protect their humble dwellings with moss, and line the cradles of their little ones with it. May not this ex- plain why a tuft of moss is an emblem of maternal love? Little birds also select the delicate moss for their nests, and squirrels convey it to their winter abodes. 10. " Within a thick aud spreading hawthorn bush, That overhangs a molehill large and round, I heard, from morn to morn, a merry thrush Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound With joy ; and, often an intruding guest, I watched her secret toils from day to day- How true i^he warped the moss to form a nest, And modeled it within with wood and clay." 11. And now, having described the ferns and the mosses, and illustrated them with drawings, we will conclude the first division of the Flowerless Plants with the following beauti- ful lines by Eliza Cook, which show very forcibly the Avisdom of God in creating diflerent species of plants, as well as in permitting the various degrees of what men call prosperity to dilFerent classes in society. LESSON XXIV. THE FEKN AND THE MOSS. 1. There was a fern on the mountain, and moss on the moor; And the ferns 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 turn ; And tlie 'cool dews of night on tlie mountain fern fell, And they glistened 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. 2. But the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed high, And the ferns they were broken, and withered, 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 withered and black where they flourished before. 3. Then the fern and tlie moss they grew wiccr in grief. And each turned to the other for rest and relief; And they planned that wherever the fern-roots should grow, There surely the moss should be sparkling below. 4. And the keen blasts blew bleakly, the sun waxed fierce ; But no wind and no sun to their cool roots could pierce ; 12 202 willson's fifth readeu. Fart IV. For the fern threw her shadow the green moss upon, Where tlie clew ever sparkled undried by the sun ; When the; {,'raeefiil fern trembled beftjre the keen blast, The moss guarded her roots till the storm-wind had passed ; So no longer the wind jjarched the roots of the one, And the other was safe from the rays of the sun. And thus, and forever, where'er the ferns grow. There surely the mosses lie sparkling below ; And thus they both flourish, where naught gi-ew before. And they both deck the woodland, and mountain, and moor. Eliza Cook. LESSON" XXV. — LICHENS, (thallogens.) 1. Veiijiiiii re n; o;v(s'»(, \ uiiiric i.-u, lich..ij, xxi. S, woods, i' iu. '2. Criwnii/ce (uUc I'ta, Dclicats lichen, mealy patch, xxi. S, on rotten rails', i in. (a. enlarged). 3. Cenonvi'ce raiufiferi'nn. Reindeer lichen, xxi. S, wnods, 2 in. 4. Licide'n bi'riiia. Lurid lichen, xxi. 8, rocky highlands, 3 in. (b- enlarged). 5. Oili'chtm chritanceph'ahim., Vellow-head lichen, xxi. S, lem. col., 3 in. (c. enlarged). 6. Lectno'ra ocula'ta. Mottled lichen, xxi. 8, rocks and earth, w., 2 in. ((/. enlarged). 7. C'di'cinm capitelki'tum. Sulphur lichen, xxi. S, gr. and y., | in., sandy soil (e.. enlarged). 8. Ilocel'la tinnlo'ria. Dyer's lichen (yields a fine purple color), xxi. 8, y. andbr., IJ- in. 9. Cetra'ria Inlan'dica^ Iceland moss (used in med- icine), xxi. 8, ol. br., 2 in. 1. At the head of the second division of the ciyptogamia are the Xiichens^^ a race of tiny^ j^lants, very common, and yet but Uttle known to the work!, though possessed of a beauty by no means inferior to that of gorgeous flowers or lofty trees. Man is but too apt to admire the boundless wealth and beauty 2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 203 of our great mother, Nature, only where gigantic proportions arrest his attention, or when the storm of enraged elements makeshim aware of his own insignilicance. 2. Surely his head was not set on high that he might de- spise low things ! But, te see the beauties with which every corner and crevice is decked, to read the lessons conveyed in Nature's subtlest works, something more than the eye is re- quired. We must be willing and able to listen to every beetle's lowly hum, to greet every iiower by the wayside as it looks up to us and to heaven, and to question every stone, every pebble. If we thus look upon the tiny lichens around us, we may here also soon learn that, even in the smallest propor- tions, , "• Xot a beauty blows, And not an opening blossom breathes in. vain." 3. Lichens, of which more than two thousand species have been described by botanists, assume a great variety of forms, and vary from a mere speck and shriveled leaf to a branching leafless plant a foot or more in height. In their most com- mon forms, in which they are generally known as rock moss or tree moss, they are fleshy or leather-like substances growing on rocks, trees, and old buildings, forming broad patches of various colors, some being of a bluish gray, and others of the richest golden yellow ; some spread upon the ground — and these have usually a much larger growth ; some, again, hang from the branches of venerable trees, Avhich they clothe with a shaggy beard of gray ; and others shoot up from the barren heath, gray and deformed, but eventually fashioning them- selves into tiny goblets, the borders of which are studded witli crimson shields. 4. Perhaps the most beautiful of all, as well as the most common, are the wall Uchens, some of which spread out like wrinkled leaflets, while other va- rieties assume a beautiful circu- lar form, resembling in outline and shape the fairest rose ; and of these it has been said, with quaint but truthful words, "Careless of thy neighborhood. Thou dost show thy pleasant face On the moor and in the wood. In the lane — there is no place, Howsoever mean it he. But "tis good enouiih for thee." And, in reaUty, there are but few surfaces long exposed to wind ■*?^ 204 WILLSON 85 FIFTH READEK. Fakt IV. and weather wliicli are not soon protected by the warni cover of these Hchens. Our roofs aud our fences, the trunk of a tree, and tlie rock in the moors, the earth-capped dike, and the sterile sea-bank — in fact, all places but sparingly sup- plied with moisture, yet freely exposed to air and light, are clad in ever-vai"ying colors by these beautiful children of Xa- ture. The far-famed Cathedral of Munster may be truly said to be gilded by these tiny lichens. 5. Hardy plants and long-lived are they. Many of them love to live upon a soil little adapted to retain moisture ; and of these it has been said that, " Like the lazaroni^ of Naples, they will not work even to live. Carelessly and listlessly they lie in the bright sunshine, and implore Avith Stoic pa- tience, by their miserable appearance, the pity of jjassing clouds. In these times of want and drought* they shrink and shrivel until nothing seems farther from them than life. Pale and rigid, they are the very images of deso- lation, aud crumble under the hand into impalpable -dust. Yet no sooner has an early dew or a soft rain — nay, even a faint mist — merely touched their unsightly forms, than they begin drinking in moisture with amusing avidity, and, lo and behold, ere many minutes are passed, they exjiand and in- crease, until, as if touched by a magic wand, they have recov- ered their fresh, joyful color and youthful vigor." 6. In extent of geographical distribution they exceed even the mosses ; and they are met with, in one place or other, from the equator to the poles, and from the sea-shore to the summits of lofty mountains. Humboldt discovered a species of this i^lant at a height of more than eighteen thousand feet, " the last child of the vegetable kingdom at that imsurpassed elevation, close to the top of Chimborazo ;" and large num- bers of small but vigorous lichens are known to spread over the Alps, even close to the eternal snows of Mount Blanc. Eoeks sublime To human art a sportive semblance bore, And yellow lichens covered all the clime, Like moonlit battlements, and towers decayed by time. — Cajipbeli.. 7. Another writer has beautifully described these hardy plants as crowning the heights of Snowdon, above the region of clouds and storms. WHiere frowning Snowdon bends his dizzy brow O'er Ctinway, listening to the surge below, Pietiriug Liclien climbs the topmost stone, And drinks the aerial sohtude alone : Bright shine the stars, unnumbered, o'er her head. And the cold moonbeam gihls her flinty bed ; 2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 205 While round the rifted rocks hoarse whirlwinds breathe, And dark with thunder sail the clouds beneath. — Daewin. 8. But lichens are far from being idle intruders upon the domains of solitude, or mere ornaments woven into the bright carpet that covers our earth. From them many articles of food, even for man, and bright dyes, are obtained : the Iceland moss, a species of lichen, is now much used in medicine, espe- cially in pulmonary afiections ; humbler animals subsist upon these plants; and the well-known reindeer moss sustains for months the life of a whole race of noble animals, Avithout whom a large portion of our globe would be but a desert, un- fit for the abode of man. This may here be referred to as one of the many examples that might be cited of that beau- tiful adaptation which prevails throughout all animated na- ture. 9. Reindeer' ! not in fields like our?, Full of grass and bright with flowers, Hast thou dwelling' ; nor dost thou Feed upon the orange-bough\ When thou wast at first designed By the gi-eat Creative mind', Thou for frozen lands wast meant\ Ere the winter's frost was sent' ; And in love He sent thee forth To thy home, the frozen north, Where he bddc the rocks prochtce Bitter iichens/or thy use. — Maet Howitt. 10. All lichens are amply endowed with starch; and with this not only most of the cells are filled, but even the walls themselves are mainly composed of it. A leathern-like lichen grows largely in the limestone mountains of Northern Asia, and serves, in times of famine at least, as food for the roving Tartars. In the polar regions of Europe similar lichens are carefully soaked and boiled down to free them of their orig- inal bitterness, and then cooked with milk, or baked into bread. Scanty lichens of this kind, which had to be dug out from under sheltering loads of snow, were, not for days, but for whole months, the sole food of the unfortunate navigator Franklin and his companions. 1 LI'-cHEN (usually pronounced ll'-kin). I* Deought (drowt)^ the same meaning as 2 Ti'-NY or TTn'-y. drouth. 3 Laz-a-eo'-ni, a class of beggars and idlers. | 206 willson's fifth reader. Paet IV. LES. XXVI. — FUXGI, OR FUNGOUS PLANTS. (xnAIXOOENS.) 1. Aga'ricui pro'ceriis^ Giant ag'aric, xxi. 9, w. and br., in., gardens. 2. Atia'riciis pru'nulufi, French mushroom, xxi. 9, white, 1^ in., wood?. 3. Aaa'rictis bulbo'sKS^ Rad- th-scented mushroom, xxi. 9, br., 4 in., among gras.^. 4. Aga'ricus squarro' siig, Squar- rose ng'aric, xxi. 9, rusty-iron color, 2 in., I'onts of trees. 5. Aga'ricitsflav'idrix, Yellow ag'aric (eatable), xxi. 9, pale yellow, 2 in., trunks of trees. 6. Aga'ricus te'ner. Brittle galera, xxi. 9, y. and br., 4 in., grassy places. 7. Aga'ricus cavipe.f'tris. Common mush- room, xxi. 9, whitish, pink below, 3 in , cultivated in gardens. S. PoUipo'nis ginante'w. Beech-tree toadstool, xxi. 9, pale brown, 20 in., on beech-trees. 9. Tu'ber ciba'rium. Com- mon truffle, xxi. 9, brown, Ij in., under ground. 10. Phal'lu't cani'mtf:. Scentless morel, xxi. 9, pk , 4 in. 11. Asco'phora vmce'do, a common mould, xxi. 9, i in. 1. Under the name ^*/;?^^'^ botanists comprehend not only the various races of mushrooms, toad-stools, and similar pro- ductions, but a larire number of microscopic plants forming the appearances called mouldiness, mildew, smut, rust on the straw of grains, dry rot in wood, and blight in corn. Many of them are mischievous parasitical^ plants, found wherever there is decaying vegetation ; and they sometimes grow upon animals, and even upon the hand and in the lungs of man. 2. They often spring np and develop with remarkable ra- pidity ; and it has been said that fungous' vegetation has been found on iron wliich but a few hours before had been red hot in the forge. Their mode of fructification is doubtless simi- lar to that already described for ferns and other cryptogamia, except that the whole plant is a mass of reproductive matter; and so minute are the germs or seeds of ]iarasitic fungi as to 2d DiV. OF . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 207 defy the power of the microscope ; and hence it is thought that they circulate in the sap of vegetables and in the blood of animals. When dried masses of them are set free they resenrble thin smoke, as in the powder of jDuif-balls ; and so light are they that it is difficult to conceive a place from which they can be excluded. 3. The variety of forms and tints of this curious family of plants is most numerous. Some of them, called the boleti^ exhibit, when broken, a remarkable change of color, the white or yellowish tint becoming instantly of a vivid blue. Some are nearly fluid, Avhilc others are like paper, leather, or cork. There is a kind which vegetates in dark mines far from the light of day, and which is remarkable for its phosphorescent properties. In the coal-mines near Dresden these plants are described as giving those places the air of an enchanted castle: the roof, walls, and pillars are entirely covered with them, and their beautiful light is almost dazzling to the eye. 4. In size, too, the fungi vary from minute specks to masses several feet in circumference. The most wonderful thing about mushrooms is the rapidity of their growth and of their propagation. Puff-balls have grown six inches in diameter in a single night. Notwithstanding the soft and cellular structure of the plant, they have grown in glass vessels until they have broken them ; and even heavy stones have been raised by numerous fungi gi-owing under them. 5. Unlike other plants, /«»<7^ absorb oxygen from the air, and exhale carbonic acid. Many mushrooms are very poison- ous, while others are esteemed valuable as articles of food. A curious fungous plant, called the truffle^ grows entirely un- der ground. It is highly esteemed in Europe as an article of food, but it has never been successfully cultivated. It grows in Virginia and North Carolina, where it is known as Indian bread or Indian loaf, but moi'e generally by the name of Tuckahoe. Tuckahoe, when fresh, has an acrid taste, but becomes edible-^ when dry. Tinder or sjnmk is a kind of mushroom of the genus Af/aric* Various kinds of fungi, besides our common puff-ball, have been used to stop bleed- ing, and also for many medicinal purposes. The poet DellUe has told us in verse of "The potent ariaric.,* to wounds applied, That stops the gushing of the sanguine tide; Wliose spongy substance to its hosora talte?; The crackling spark, as from the flint it breaks." 6. A fungus of remarkable intoxicating properties, similar in appearance to our mushroom, grows in Siberia. After eat- 208 willson's fifth readek. i'ART IV. ing freely of it, cheerfulness is first produced, then the face becomes flushed, and giddiness and drunkenness follow in the same way as from the use of alcoholic di'inks. In some it provokes to unusual activity, and stimulates to bodily exer- tion. When taken in large doses it produces violent spasms. So very exciting to the nervous system in many individuals is this fungus, that the eftects are often very ludicrous. A talkative person can not keep silence, and one fond of music is perpetually singing ; and if a person under its influence wishes to step over a straw, he will make a jump sufficient to clear the trunk of a tree. " O that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains." 1 Fun'-gT, the plural of Fun'-gus (fung'-\^ fti>'-i-BLE, eatable ; good for food. gus). I* ag'-a-ei€, a genui of fungi. 2 Par-a-sTt'-ic-al, pertaining to a plant that gro\ys and lives on another. | LESSOlSr XXVII. — ALG^, OR SEA-WEEDS. (tHALLOGEXS.) 1. Fu'cus na'tans, or vcsiculo'sus. Bladdery fucns, xxi. 7, ol. gr., •24 f., floating masses, ocean. 2. Fu'cus canalicula'lu.% Channeled fucus, xxi. 7, y. and ol., ("> f., ocean. (The ashes of the fucus produce the kelp or potash of commerce.) 3. Sporoch'nus pcduncula'- tun, xxi. 7, It. gr., 6 f . : a portion magnified. 4. Chon'dria pinn tiri'da. Pepper dulse (this is eaten in Scotland), xxi. 7, purplish, C f. 5. Lamina' ria e.^culen'ta. Sea tangle (eatable), xxi. 7, br., GO f. 6. Confer'va nlomcra'ta. Clustered confers-a, xxi. 7, bt. gr., 1 f. : a filament mascnified. 7. Cladoftte'phm spongio'sns. Spongy conferva, xxi. 7, gr., 3 f. : a portion magnified. 8. A Icvonid'hnn diaph'nnum (a fleshy mass), xxi. 7, y., 6 f. 9. .Br/jmci7frorfi'cuto7o, Floating film: m.ngnified. The small Wnrs show the natural size: gr. 2d DlV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTAi^Y. 209 How various the shades of marine vegetation, Thrown here the rough flints and sea-pehbles among ! The feathered conferva of deepest carnation, The dark purple sloke, and the olive sea-thong. — Chaelotte Smith. 1. Under the divisiou of Al[/ce,^ or Sea-weeds, botanists have inchided a great number of flowerless plants, inhabiting both salt and fresh water, but chiefly the former. Though simple in structure, and but little known to the world gener- ally, they number several thousand species, and embrace a great variety in size, form, and extent of development, from mere microscopic cells floatmg on the surface of water, to vast submarine forests of the most luxuriant vegetation. In their, lowest forms some of these cellular 2:»lants approach so nearly the boundary between vegetable and animal life, that it is im- possible to tell where the one ends and the other begins. 2. Most persons have doubtless noticed a green mucous^ substance that collects on the surface of stones constantly moistened by water. This constitutes some of the lowest forms of algal vegetation, consisting of little more than mi- nute vegetable cells. Such sometimes spread over the ocean for miles in extent, giving to it their own peculiar color. The Red Sea has derived its name from a minute fungous plant which sometimes covers its waters, as with a thin layer of fine red dust, as far as the eye can reacb. 3. But go to the Xorth Sea, and a great advance in this kind of vegetable structure may be found. There may be seen a thread-like species^ of sea-weed, thirty or forty feet in length, not larger than a pipe-stem, attached at one end to the bottom or shore, and the rest supjDorted by the water ; and in the neighborhood of the Orkneys it forms meadows through which a boat forces its way with difiiculty. But even this is nothing as compared with the prodigious extent of another thread-like sj^ecies,* which is reported to be more than a thousand feet in length ; while still another kind, in tropical seas, attains a length of twenty-five or thirty feet, with a trunk thicker than a man's arm. 4. Although most sea-weeds attach themselves to rocks or other solid masses, frequenting the shores or shallows rather than the oj^en sea, there are some exceptions, among which one of the most remarkable is the Sargasso or Gulf Weed, which floats on the surface of the ocean. " Midway in (he Atlantic Ocean," says Commander Maury, " is the Sargasso Sea, covering an area equal in extent to the Mississippi Valley, and so thickly matted over with Gulf weed that the speed of vessels passing through it is much retarded. "When the 210 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part IV. 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, Columbus first found this weedy sea in his voyage of dis- covery ; and it has remained to this day, moving up and down, and changing its position according to the seasons, the storms, and the winds," 5. But, in addition to this " weedy sea," the ocean every where bears on its bosom sea-weeds torn from the rocks by the ever " toiling surges," and driven hither and thither by the winds and Avaves, Yet even these, although among the lowest forms of vegetable life, have not been found an unfit- ting theme for the poet, as the following lines will show : C. When descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the equinox. Landward in his wrath he scourge? The toiling surges, Laden with sea-weed from the rocks ; 7. From Bermuda's reefs; from edges Of sunken ledges Of some far off, bright Azore ; From Bahama, and the dashing, Silver-flashing Surges of San Salvador ; Si Ever drifting, drifting, drifting, On the shifting Currents of the restless main, Till in sheltered cove', and reachea Of sandy beaches. All have found repose again. 9. So when storms of ^vild emotion Strike the ocean Of the poet's soul, ere long. From each cave and rocky fastness, In its vastness. Floats some fragment of a song ; 10. Ever drifting, drifting, drifting, On the shifting Currents of the restless heart, Till at length, in books recorded, • They, like hoarded Household words, no more depart. ^Longfellow. 11. Of all tribes of j)lants the Algae are commonly reputed the least useful. Yet neither in regard to the general econo- my of nature, nor as to the wants of man, are they to be so considered. They supply food to a large number of marine animals, which browse upon them as those inhabiting the land do upon its most luxuriant pastures. Cattle have been very profitably fed on some species abundant on northern coasts, and have even become so fond of this diet as greedily to seek for it. Many kinds furnish a wholesome and palatable food for man, and are used for this purpose by the poorer classes 2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTAXY. 211 along tlie shores of the Xorth of Europe, while others are reckoned a luxury by the rich. The ashes of sea-weeds have been in great demand for the soda they contain, which is used in the manufacture of hard soap. Iodine, so useful as a medi- cine, being the only known cure for scrofula, and indispensa- ble in taking daguerreotype or photographic pictures, is found in the kind called fucus^^ or sea-ioort. 12. The sea-wort floating on the waves, or rolled up high along the shore, Ye counted useless and vile, heaping on it names of contempt : Yet hath it gloriously triumphed, and man been humbled in his ignorance. For health is in the freshness of its savor, and it cumbereth the beach with wealth ; Comforting the tossings of pain with its violet-tinctured essence. And by its humbler aslies enriching many proud. And herein, as thou walkest by tlie se.T, sliall weeds be a type and an earnest Of the stored and uncounted riches lying hid in all creatures of God. Maetin Fakqchar Tdtpeb. 13. Algae are mostly of an olive-green, gray, or red color; and their little capsules or air-chambers often have the ap- pearance of berries. Corals are sometimes found attached to them. It is an easy task for those who live near the sea- shore, especially in the Xew England States, to make beauti- ful collections of these " flowers of the ocean." Although they at first appear like little uninviting bits of red scum, they may often be spread out, by floating them in a basin of water, so as to show the expansion of the plant. A piece of paper may then be inserted under them, and when the plants have been carefully lifted up by it, dried, and pressed, they will present something like the annexed representation. These are accurate copies, of full size, of specimens of a beautiful red color, which were obtained at Xahant, near Boston. 14- A wearj' weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily drenched in the ocean brine. Soaring higli and sinking low, Lashed along witliout will of mine ; Sport of the spoom'J of the surging sea. Flung on the foam afar and near, Mark my manifold mystery. Growth and grace in their place apperir. 15. I bear round berries, gray and red, Ilootless and rover though I be, My spangled leaves, when nicely spread, Arboresce as a trunkless tree; Corals curious coat me o'er. White and hard in apt array ; Mid the ^vild waves' rude uproar. Gracefully grow I night and day. C. G. Fenneb. ' Ai,'-GA, a sea-weed ; plural Al'-gce. 2 Mij'-eons, slimy ; viacoua. » The Chorda fiXum. I* The Macroqistis piirifera. p This is the Fucu.iiM'ans. js Spoom, foam ; probably from spume. 212 wtllson's fifth reader. Pakt IV. '\m' I. 1. Cri'cns rerohi'ta, a Cycad, a plant intermediate in foiin between palms and ferns : it is cultivated in the E. Indies for its fruit, and also for the migo which is obtained from the pith. 2. Aphelan'dra crisUi'tc, an Acanthad. 3. Jlch'mea ful'oeiis, a plant of the same fimily as the Pine-apple. 4. Littce'a gentiniflo'ra, or Btionapar'tea jun'cea, an Amaryl- lid. 5. Loa'm ixntlatid'ica^ a handsome annual, with yellow flowers. 1. By domestic flower-culture we meau the endeavor to grow rare and ornauaeutal varieties of flowering and other plants in every available situation connected with our dwell- ings. Be it window-recess, balcony, staircase, porch, or tiny front plot, it matters not, provided there be sufficient expo- sure to light and sunshine. Some such place is at the disposal of almost every one who enjoys the shelter of a roof, whether he is an inhabitant of the open country or the crowded city, the tenant of a single apartment, or the propiuetor of a lordly mansion. The culture thus alluded to forms one of the most delightful recreations in which the enlightened mind can en- gage; it is innocent and cheerful; can be cheaply obtained; and, like other rational pastimes, may lead to jjursuits of a more profitable nature. 2. The beauty and variety of flowers, the fragrance and freshness which we are insensibly led to associate with them, have long been themes for the poet and naturalist, but really not more so than the subject deserves. The endless forms 2d Div. OF. . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 213 in which plants appear, their adaptations to certain situations, the pecuhar properties -which many species possess, though all grow on the same soil, the wonderful metamorphoses which they undergo from seed to plant, and from plant and flower to seed again, not to speak of the amenity^ and beauty with which they invest the landscape, or of the utility they confer as articles of food, medicine, and clothing, are all sub- jects of never-failing interest to a reflective mind. 3. But every one has not the opportunity of enjoying this contemplation in the field ; and even if he had, the produce of one climate difters so widely from that of another, that his own district would furnish him with a mere fi-action of the numerous vegetable families. Knowledge, however, has over- come this difliciflty ; for, by the aid of the sheltered garden, the conservatory, and hot-house, the genera of any country can be brought within the compass of a few superficial acres. What can be thus accomplished by the scientific gardener may be imitated on a small scale by domestic culture, and with comparatively less expense, as our apartments yield that shelter and temjDerature which it costs the gardener so much to obtain. 4. The individual therefore who can rear in his window-re- cess, in his lobby, or around his porch, the shrubs and flowers of other lands, has always a subject of contemplation before him ; something to engage the attention, and to preserve the mind from the listlessness of ennui, ^ or from positively perni- cious pursuits. Any member of a family who has a little stand of plants to water, to clean, and prune, has always a pleasant daily recreation before him ; his love and care increase with these objects; the simple duty becomes necessary to his ex- istence, and he has what so many are miserable for the want of, something to occuj^y hours of listlessness or leisure.^ 5. Again, plants are objects of beauty and ornament. Why is yonder lowly cottage more lovely and inviting than the large farm-house on the other side of the river ? Simply be- cause its Avails are trellised* with the rose and honeysuckle, and its porch with the clambering hop, whose dark green con- trasts so finely with the whitewashed front ; while the latter is as cold and uninviting as bare stone walls can make it. So it is with any apartment, hoAvever humble. The little stand of floAvcrs in the windoAV-recess, with their green leaA'cs and brilliant blossoms, adds a charm and freshness to the place ; and we will ansAver for it, that AvhercA'er these are, the furni- ture, though mean, Avill be clean and neatly arranged. 214 WILLSOn's fifth readek. Part IV, 6. The individual who prides himself on the favorite plants that blossom on his window-sill, will see that that window be in such order as shall show them oft" to advantage ; and the taste that leads to the establishment of neatness in one corner, will not be long in spreading to the most secret nook of the apartment. Moreover, the individual who cherishes his little array of llowers in his window will often repair to the hills and river sides in search of new favorites; he will insensibly acquire a love for nature, and find his enjoyment in studying her mysteries and admiring her beauties, whether in garden, field, or forest, instead of spending his time in the haunts of idleness and dissipation. v. The in-door cultivation of plants is also intimately con- nected with the sanitary^ condition of our dwellings. The oxygen of the atmosphere is indispensable to the respiration of animals ; it purifies their blood, and affords them internal heat; and, united with certain elements, it is expired in the form of carbonic acid gas, a compound of oxygen and carbon." This gas, which is deleterious to animal life, constitutes the main nourishment of plants, which absorb it, appropriate its carbon, and restore its oxygen to the atmosi^here, again to be breathed in purity by men and animals."* 8. It is true that pure air is necessary alike to the life of plants and animals ; but the amount of oxygen absorbed by the former is by no means equal to that which they restore ; and thus, through their agency, the atmosphere is kept in healthy equilibrium. It was long thought that plants absorb- ed carbonic acid during the day only, and under the influence of light, and that it was given off" by them during the night season, thus vitiating the air in apartments in which they were kept ; but this is now believed to be an error. It is confi- dently asserted that carbonic acid is never disengaged by them during the healthy condition of the leaf, andtliat the fluid which they so abundantly exhale is^:)?;?-e icater. If this be the case, growing plants can not, under any condition, impair the purity of the atmosphere, but rather the reverse, unless the odor which they emit be too powerful to be agreeable. Chambees' Miscellany. I A-men'-i-ty, plpasantness. |* Trf,i.'-ltsfd, furnished with a trellis or 3 En-nui' ((m-u'c', French), languor arisingi wooden frame. from lack of occupation. |5 S.\n'-i-ta-ev, pertaining to or designed to ^ Leis'-uee (Ze'-z/mr), freedom from occupa- secure health. tioD. I • See Lesson XIII., p. 112 ; also Fourth Reader, pp. 50, 53-4. •• See p. 269 ; also Fourth Reader, p. 211. FOUETH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. ^^-^ '^;?. LESSON I.— EYA. 1. A COTTAGE in a peaceful vale ; A jasmine round the door; A hill to shelter from the gale ; A silver brook before. 2. Oh, sweet the jasmine's buds of snow, In mornings soft with May; Oh, silver-clear the waves that flow, Reilecting heaven, away ! 216 M'illson's fifth readkk. 3. A sweeter bloom to Eva's youth Rejoicing Nature gave ; And heaven was mirrored in her tnith More clear than on the wave. 4. Oft to that lone, sequester'd place My boyish steps would roam ; There was a look in P2va's face That seem'd a smile of home. 6. And oft I paused to hear at noon A voice that sang for glee ; Or mark the whit? neck glancing down, The book upon the knee. 6. Years pass : the same" the peaceful vale, The jasmine round the door," The hill still shelters from the gale, The brook still glides before : 7. Still sw^eet the jasmine's buds of snow ; — But 'neatli the yew-tree's shade. Where silver-clear the waters flow. Her holy dust is laid. — Bulwer Lttton. LESSON II. GIL BLAS AND THE ARCHBISHOP, OR THE DAK- • GER OF GIVING ADVICE. Archbishop. What is your business with me\my friend'? GilBlas.^ I am the young man who was recommended to you by your nephew, Don Fernando. Arch. Oh ! you are the person of whom he spoke so hand- somely. I retain you in my service ; I regard you as an acquisition. Your education, it would seem, has not been neglected ; you know enough of Greek and Latin for my pur- pose, and your handwriting suits me. I am obliged to my nephew for sending me so clever a young fellow. So good a copyist must be also a gi*ammarian. Tell me, did you find nothing in the sermon you transcribed for me Avhich shocked your taste? no little negligence of style, or impropriety of diction ? Gil B. Oh, sir! I am not qualified to play the critic; and if I were, I am persuaded that your grace's comi^ositions Avotild defy censure. Arch. Ahem ! well, I do flatter myself that not many flaws could be picked in them. But, my young friend, tell me what passages struck you most forcibly. GU B. If, where all was excellent, any passages more par- ticularly moved me, they were those personifying hope, and describing the good man's death. " FOURTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 217 Arch. You show an accurate taste and delicate apprecia- tion. I see your judgment may be relied upon. Give your- self no inquietude, Gil Blas,i in regard to your advancement in life. I will take care of that. I have an affection for you, and, to prove it, I Avill now make you my confidant. Yes, my young friend, I will make you the depositary of my most se- cret thoughts. Listen to what I have to say. I am fond of preaching, and my sermons are not without effect upon my hearers. The conversions of which I am the humble instru- ment ought to content me. But — shall I confess my weak- ness? — my reputation as a finished orator is what gratifies me most. My productions are celebrated as at once vigorous and elegant. But I would, of all things, avoid the mistake of those authors M'ho do not know wdien to stop — I would pro- duce nothing beneath my reputation ; I would retire season- ably, ere that is impaired. And so, my dear Gil Bias, one thing I ^xact of your zeal, Avhicli is, that when you shall find that my pen begins to flag and to give signs of old age in the owner, you shall not hesitate to apprise me of the fact. Do not be afraid that I shall take it unkindly. I can not trust my own judgment on this point ; self-love may mislead me. A disinterested understanding is what I require for my guidance. I make choice of yours, and mean to abide by your decision. Gil. JB. Thank Heaven, sir, the period is likely to be far distant when any such hint shall be needed. Besides, a gen- ius like yours will wear better than that of an inferior man ; or, to speak more justly, your faculties are above the encroach- ments of age. Instead of being weakened, they promise to be invigorated by time. Arch. No flattery, my friend. I am well aware that I am liable to give way at any time, all at once. At my age, cer- tain infirmities of the flesh are unavoidable, and they must needs affect the mental powers. I repeat it, Gil Bias, so soon as you shall perceive the slightest symj^tom of deterioration in my writings, give me fair warning. Do not shrink from being perfectly candid and sincere, for I shall receive such a monition as a token of your regard for me. Gil B. In good faith, sir, I shall endeavor to merit your confidence. Arch. Nay, your interests are bound up with your obedi- ence in this respect ; for if, unfortunately for you, I should hear in the city a Avhisper of a falling-off in my discourses — an intimation that I ought to stop preaching — I should hold vou responsible, and consider myself exempted from all care K' 218 willson's fifth keadee. for your fortunes. Such will be the result of your false dis- cretion. Gil B. Indeed, sir, I shall be vigilant to observe your wish- es, and to detect any blemish in your writings. Arch. And now tell me, Gil Bias, what does the world say of my last discourse ? Think you it gave general satisfaction ? Gil B. Since you exact it of me in -so pressing a manner to be frank — Arch. Frank ? Oh, certainly, by all means ; speak out, my young friend. Gil B. Your grace's sermons never fail to be admired ; but— Arch. But — Well ? Do not be afraid to let me know all. Gil B. If I may venture the observation, it seemed to mo that your last discourse did not have that effect upon your audience which your former efforts have had. Perhaps your grace's recent illness — Arch. What, what ! Has it encountered, then, some Aris- tarchus ?2 Gil B. No sir, no. Such productions as yours are beyond criticism. Every body was charmed with it ; but — since you have demanded it of me to be frank and sincere — I take the liberty to remark that your last discourse did not seem to me altogether equal to your preceding. It lacked the strength — the — Do you not agree with me, sir ? Arch. Mr. t, a poem or song sung by one person to express his grief. | LESSON IV. SPEAKING AND DOING. Speech without action is a moral dearth. And to advance the world is little worth : Let us think much, say little, and much do, If to ourselves and God we will be true ; And ask within. What have I done of that I have to do ? Is conscience silent — say' ? Oh ! let my deeds be many and my words be few. — Bclleid. a. a. Heavy and prolonged monotone. b. A defrree of unearthly wildness is here expressed, indicative of the exultation of the "Ghouls!" c. c. The words throbbing and sobbing arc emphatic d. i1. RoUing and tolling require prolonged emphasis. c. The voice should be much prolonged on vwaning and ffroaning — ths sound harmon- izing with the sense. 222 WILLSON S FIFTH READKR. LESSON V. RESISTANCE TO BRITISH OPPRESSION. The wRtle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the active, the vigilant, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston, The war is inevitable, and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry Peace ! peace ! but there is no peace. The w\ar is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north Avill bring to our ears the clash of resoimding arms ! Our brethren are ali'eady in the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it. Heaven ! I know not what course others may take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me"" death ! Patrick Henrt. LESSON VI. THE AMERICAN INDIANS. As a I'ace, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying away to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide w^iich is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, will ponder on the structure of their disturbed remains, and wonder to what manner of person they belonged. They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let these be faithful to their rude vir- tues as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people. — Sprague. Times of general calamity and confusion have ever been productive of "the greatest minds. The purest ore is pro- duced from the hottest furnace, and the brightest thunder- bolt is elicited from the darkest storm, — Lacon. Pabt V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 223 PART V. FOURTH DIVISION OF ZOOLOGY ;i ESIBRACINO ICHTHY0L00Y,2 OK THE NATUEAL HISTORY OF FISHES. 1. Butterfly Fish, Blennius ocellaris, 6 inches. 2. Gattoruginous Blenny, Elennius gattorugine, 8 inches. Both are salt-water fish. See p. 240. LESSON I. NATURE OF THE STUDY. 1. Oh, what an endless work have I in hand\ To count tlie sea's ahundant progeny^ 13 Whose fruitful seed* far paaseth those on land, And also those which fill the azure sky ! 'Tis easier far to tell^ the stars on high\ Although they endless seem^ in es'timation', Than to recount tlie sea's posterity \' So fertUe he the floods in generation's So vast their numbers', and so numherless their nation. — Spenses. "2. The sounds an^I seas', each creek and bay'. With fry' innumeraljle swarm\ and shoals^ Of fish that with tlieir fins, and shining scales, Glide under the gi-een wave, in sculls^ that oft Bankio the mid sea. Part single,' or with mate', Graze the Poa-weed their pasture' and tlirougli groves Of c'iral stray^; or, .sporting with quick glance, Show to the sun their waved coats dropt" witli gold — Miltox. 3. Fishes form the last of the four divisions of the verte- brated animals. As inhabitants of a medium so widely diifer- ent from that in which terrestrial^^ creatures exist, and, in 224 willson's fifth reader. Part v. general, rapidly perishing when withdrawn from their native element, they are much less frequently the objects of our ob- servation than those animals which, as sharing with us the vitaP^ influence of the atmosphere, and being inhabitants of the soil on which we ourselves rest, we meet with at eveiy turn, and with the forms and habits of which we become, al- most unconsciously, more or less familiar. 4. Fishes are rarely domesticated^* in our houses ; we do not meet with them in our Avalks ; they are never presented to us in our menageries ; nay, we seldom find preparations of them even in our museums : we see them, for the most part, only in our markets or on our tables, and know them chiefly but as administering to our palates. If we follow them to their native haunts,^^ it is too frequently in the same spirit that M'e pursue the fluttering bird with our gun, or the panting hare with our hounds — in pursuit of a barbarous sport, and with no other end in view than the gratification of vanity in the contemplation of our dexterity in hooking and tortui'ing them. 5. But are fishes, constituting, as they do, the principal in- habitants of by fir the largest portion of our globe, worthy of no greater attention than this ? Is their structure less won- derful, or are their habits less interesting, than those of the animals with which we are for the most part better acquaint- ed ? On the contrary, is it not reasonable to suppose that the investigation of the structure, and functions, and habits of animals so peculiarly circumstanced, will open to us sources of admiration and delight as extensive as they are novel; and, by furnishing us with so many new associations, render us still better informed vriih respect to animals concerning which we may flatter ourselves we have little or nothing to learn' ? 6. Fishes may justly be considered to hold an important place in the mighty scale of creation, as furnishing food for man ; and, viewed in this light alone, the subject is one of great importance, from the economical and commercial rela- tions which grow out of it. We venture, moreover, to assure the student that, however devoid of interest this department of Natural History may seem to be when viewed from a distance, it ofiers to him a far greater variety of diversified forms of life than birds and quadrupeds united ; and we also assure him that he will not fail to find, throughout its wide domains, numerous illustrations of the wisdom, goodness, and power of the Creator. Nature is ever eloquent : Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 225 " Heaven, earth, and sea Hymn forth the praises of the Deity." I Zo-Sl'-o-gy, see Third Reader, p. 240. ' Scttll, a shoal or multitude of fish. (Xo IfH-THY-oL'-o-GY (Grreek ichthus^ a fish, and luijos, discourse ) 3 Pr6iV-e-ny, inliabitants ; descendants. * Seed, offspring; progeny. * Tell, count. 6 gen-eb-a'-tiov, production of inhabitants ' Key, a crowd of small fish. lonijer used) 10 Bank, to cause a mound or hank by their numbers. 11 Dkopt, sprinkled or variegated. 12 Tee-kes'-tri-al, belonging to the land. 13 Vi'-xal, life-sustaining. * Do-jiKS'-Ti-CA-TED, kept in a tame state. B Shoal, a multitude. |i5 Haunts, retreats ; places of resort LESSOX II. THE PHYSIOLOGY^ OF FISHES. L " OuK plenteous streams a various race stipply : The bright-ej'ed perch, with fins of varied dye; The silver eel, in shining volumes rolled ; The yellow carp, in scales bedropt with gold ; Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains ; And pikes, the tyrants of the watery plains." 2. The natural history of fishes treats of their structure and form, their habits and uses, and their classification. By the terra fish we are to luiderstand an animal that has a spinal column or back-bone, and that lives in the water ; that has a naked body, or a body covered with plates or scales ; that moves commonly by means of fins ; that breathes by means of gills instead of lungs ; that has a single instead of a double heart; and that has cold instead of warm blood. 3. If these are the characteristics^ of fishes, we see the reason why such animals as whales, dolphins, porpoises, seals, and some others, although they live in the water, are not fishes ; for all of them breathe by lungs ; they have a double heart like that found in man and all the mammalia ; and they are warm-blooded. They are therefore included among the mammalia, and have already been described by us in the first great division of Natural History. 4. The blood of fishes generally assumes the temperature^ of the element in which they live. The red blood disks are sometimes circular and sometimes oval ; but they are larger than those of the mammalia and birds, and smaller than those of reptiles. But the cold blood of fishes circulates through their bodies, and performs the same office as the warm blood in man — that of building up and repairing the body, and re- moving its waste and worn-out particles. 5. Fishes, the same as warm-blooded animals, need to have their blood purified by the oxygen* of the air ; and they are so formed as to be able to obtain from the air which is in the water a quantity of oxygen sufficient for this purpose. Their K 2 226 WILLSON'S l-'IFXH READEK. Part v. gills, which are placed on each side of tlie forward part of the body, answer the place of lungs. Here are spread out innumerable blood-vessels, Avhich receive the blood from the heart ; and as the water which the fish takes in at the mouth is driven through the gills, the oxygen which it contains passes into the blood, and thus accomplishes the object for which all animals breathe. 6. If by any means the gill-covers, or openings, are kept closed for a short time, the fish will die for want of air to purify the blood, the same as man dies when the air is ex- cluded from his lungs. A fish will die very quickly in the water when its mouth is kept open by a hook, for it can not then cause the water to circulate through the gills ; the gill- covers then close, and the air is prevented from reaching the blood. The angler often avails himself of a knowledge of this principle to suffocate or droion a strong fish. When a fish is taken out of the water, it opens and shuts its mouth and raises the gill-covers alternately ; but as the arches which support the gills collapse,^ and it can not raise them without the aid of water, the situation of the fish is similar to that of an air-breathing animal inclosed in a vacuum, and death by suffocation is the consequence. *?. The importance of fishes, as a source of national wealth, renders their geographical distribution a matter of interest and importance; and this seems to be determined by laws quite similar to those which regulate the distribution of land animals. Climate evidently exerts an imjDortant influence in regulating the distinctions of form and color between fishes of tropical and those of temperate regions : some species are found only in deep water, and others in shallows ; some in fresh, and others in salt water ; while, even in the sea, extens- ive reefs, and even great depths, so effectually divide even kindred species, that the fishes of the coast of the Atlantic States are for the most part distinct from those on the Euro- pean side of the Atlantic. 8. In the classification of fishes two great divisions are made, the entire class being divided into the two great groups, the Bony and the Cartilaginous. The fishes hav- ing bony skeletons are then subdivided into the two classes, the Spme-rayed and the Soft-rayed — the former having some of their fins furnished with simple bony rays, like spines ; and the latter having the fin rays soft and flexible. Fishes may therefore b6 grouped in three great classes: 1st, the Spine- rayed Bony Fishes ; 2d, the Soft-rayed Bony Fishes ; and, 3d, Pakt V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OK FISHES. 227 the Cartilaginous Fishes. The latter have the skeleton com- posed of gristle or cartilage instead of bone.* 1 Phts-i-Sl'-o-gt, the science which treats ^ TiM'-PEB-A-TfBE, degree of warmth. of the functions of the different parts or or-!* ox'-T-GBN. Seep. 269; and Fourth Read - gans of animals or plants. er, p. 53. 2 €HAE-A€-TEE-is'-Ti€8, peculiar qualities, p €k)L-LiP8E', fall together; close. * In treating of fishes we have chiefly followed the arrangement of Cuvier, hecause most works on Ichthyology accessible to students adopt this system, and it is one that is easily understood. The new classification of Agassiz, however, as it better accords with the or- der of succession which is found to ejost in tlie course of geologic history, will doubtless €ventu;illy be adopted in most scientific treatise?, and thus some knowledge of both sys- tems will be desirable. Agassiz arranges fijhes, in accordance with ihe peculiar structure of the scales^ in the following four orders, a system which is applicable to the fossil as well as the living forms. 1st. Placoids — embracing those which, to a cartilaginous skeleton, unite a skin that is covered irregularly with enameled plates or scales, often elevated in the middle, and some- times with a strong projecting point or spine, as the shagreen on the skin of the s/wi?'is, and the tubercles of the 7-ays. Fossils abundant, but existing species few. 2d. Ganoids — embracing all, whether cartilagiuous or not, that are covered by a nearly continuous aimor of angular scales of enameled bone, or bony plates that fit to each other as the slates on a roof. Examples — sturgeons and gar fish. In a past geological era the ganoids existed in vast numbers, but they have almost entirely disappeared from creation. 3d. Ctexoids — fishes whose scales consist of plates having their posterior edges pecti- nated or comb-like, such as perches. This is a veiy large division of existing species. 4th. Cycloids — fishes whose scales are entire, and of circular form, as in the salmon, trout, shiners. Also a very large division. The Ctenoids and Cycloids comprise nearly nine tenths of all existing species. The earliest fossil fish, first appearing near the close of the transition period (see Geology, p. 464), were all Placoids. Next in order were the Gmxoids^ which first appear in the lower strata of the secondary period (see Geology, p. 466). These two latter orders comprised, for untold ages, so far as is yet known, all the fi-h that existed. In the latter part of the sec- ondary period (see p. 46S) the Ctenoids and Cycloids were ushered in. The Common PLke-Perch, Lucioperca Americana. _ In describing a fish, the size, form, and color are given — the number, character, and po- sition ot the fins — and frequently the shape and character of the scales, the character ot the gills, and the number of the gill-openings. The most important and easily recognized of these features are the/H,s; and in describ ing them the narnc^ are given, and the number of sphvs or ratjs in each. In the above fish — the Common Pike-Perch of the Great Lakes and Western waters (often, but improp- erly, called the Pike, or Pickerel)— the fins are briefly described as follows : D. 14—1, 22 ; A. 1, 11 ; C. IT ; P. 15 ; V. 1, 5 ; the letters denoting the names of the fins, and the figures the number of spines. There being, in the above fi-h, two dirisioiis of the dorsal fin, it is designated as D. 14 — 1, 22 ; showing that the first dorsal has 14 rays, all s2}inoti$ ; in the second dorsal 1 spinous, and 22 that are soft ; A. the anal fin, with 1 spinous ray, and 11 that are soft ; C. the tail or caudal fin, 17 rays ; P. pectoral fin, 15 soft rays ; V. the ventral fin, with one spinous ray, • and 5 that are soft. 228 willson's Fjnu reader. Pakt V. FIRST CLASS OF FISHES. SPINE-RAYED BONY FISHES. (Acanthopterypii.)* iScule oj Inchii. The Pekch Family 1. American Yellow Perch, Perca flavexeens. 2. Striped Spa-bass, Labrnx lineaHis. 3. Black Bass, or Black Perch of LakeHuron, Huro ni. fresh-«ater fishes of Demerara, which not only construct nests of grass, but which also burrow in the banks of streams. 234 willson's fifth reader. Pakt v. these splendid ornaments. The purple of the iris,' the richness of the rose, the azure blue of the sky, the darkest velvet black, and many other hues, are seen commingled with metallic lustre over the pearly surface of this resplendent group, which, habitually frequenting the rocky shores at no great dejjth of water, are seen to sport in the sunbeams, as if to exhibit to "advantage their gorgeous dress. 6. " Several of the genera," farther remarks this writer, " are moreover distinguished by an extraordinary hab- it of shooting their prey by projecting a liquid stream from their mouths. Thus the genus Chelmon contains a species six or eight inches in length, which, when it perceives a fly, or other winged insect, hovering near it, or set- tled on a twig, propels against it, with considerable force, a drop of liquid from its mouth, so as to drive it into Long-beaked Chelmon, Chelmon longi- the water. roKtris. 7. "In attacking an insect at rest, it usually approaches cautiously, and very deliberately takes its aim. It is said to be an amusement with the Chinese in Java to keep this fish in con- finement in a large vessel of water, that they may witness its dexterity. They fasten a fly, or other insect, to the side of the vessel, when the chelmon aims at it with such precision that it rarely misses its mark. The archer, again, belonging to another genus of this family, shoots his watery deluge to the height of three or four feet, and strikes almost without fail the insect at which it aims." 8. Although most fish soon die when taken oiit of then* native element, yet some species are known to make their way over land from one piece of water to another; and, stranger still, there is one kind, a native of India, about the size and figure of a perch, and usually called the climbing perch, which has been known to climb bushes of considerable height. This it does by the aid of its long ventral fins, which it uses as feet. These fish are enabled to retain suflicient moisture to keep their gills moist and open for a considerable time ; and it is well known that it is not the abundance of air, but the want of it, which kills fish when taken out of the water. 9. The Mackerel family, the most numerous of the bony fishes after the perches, includes more than three hundred species, mostly marine fish, crowding the surface of the ocean, especially in warm latitudes, and having an extensive range. Amid great diversities of size and form, extending from the little mackerel to the monster sword-fish, the numerous mem- bers of this fiimily possess certain characters, siach as very minute scales, and gill-covers without spines or notches, which give to the whole a family resemblance that is not easily mis- Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 235 taken. The common mackerel is not only beautiful in form, but also, when seen in its native element, brilliant in coloring. (See cut, Fig. 8, i^. 232.) 10. This family is one of the most useful to man, many of the species constituting excellent food, their size being con- siderable, and their reproduction enormous ; and as they are brought periodically, by a wise provision of the Creator, from the depths of the ocean to shallow waters to deposit their eggs or spawn, they become the objects of highly valuable and inexhaustible fisheries. If the mackerel were dispersed over the immense surface of the deep, no effective fishery could be carried on ; but, approaching the shore as they do from all directions, and roving along the coasts in immense shoals, millions are caught, which yet form a small portion compared with the myriads which escape. 11. The common tunny,* a large fish of the Mackerel family, often measuring ten or twelve feet in length, and sometimes weighing over a thousand pounds, is occasionally brought into the New York markets ; but in the Mediterra- nean Sea the smaller species of this fish swajm at certain sea- sons of the year, and are taken in immense numbers. A fa- vorite time for catching them seems to have been at the full of the moon, when, allured by the silvery light, they glide in great bands over the surface of the water. An ancient Greek poet thus alludes to their capture at this season : " The nets have been thrown, and on careless fin The moonlit tunnies will soon rush in." The striped tunny, a smaller fish, is well known in Southern seas, Avhere in great troops it pursues the flying-fish over the vast waters, as herds of wolves do the bison on our Western prairies. 12. The sword-fish, f another member of the great Mackerel family, usually measuring from eight or ten to eighteen feet in length, is. an occasional frequenter of our waters. In 1840 the New York markets were abundantly sxipplied with this fish, whose flesh is preferred to halibut or sturgeon, which in flavor it somewhat resembles. The most striking feature in this fish is its long, sword-like muzzle, with finely-toothed edges, a powerful instrument which threatens every tiling that approaches it. More than two thousand years ago the poet Sophocles thus alluded to it: " What Fury, say, artificer^ of ill, Armed thee, O Xiphias,^ with thy pointed bill?" * See engraving, page 237. t See the representation of this fish (Xiphias s;ladiu?), page 237. 23G WILLSOn's fifth READER. Part V. The sword-fish is reported to have violent contests with the whale, of wiiich the following, quoted from a reliable work, is a striking example : 13. "One morning, as stated by the captain of an English vessel, durinp; a calm, when near tlie Western Isles of Scotland, all hands were called up lit three in the morning to witness a battle between several fish called thrash- ers, or fox-sharks, and some sword-fish on the one side, and an enormous whale on the other. It was in the middle of summer, and the weather be- ing clear, and the fish close to the vessel, we had a fine opportunity of wit- nessing the contest. 14. "As soon as the whale's back appeared above the surface, the thrash- ers, springing several yards into the air, descended with great violence upon the object of their rancor,* and inflicted upon him the most severe slaps with their tails, the sounds of which resembled the reports of muskets fired at a distance. The sword-fish, in their turn, attacked the distressed whale, stab- bing from beneath, so that the water to a great distance around was dyed with blood. In this manner they continued tormenting and wounding him for many hours, until we lost siglit of him ; and I have no doubt that in the end they completed his destruction." 15. It is probably by mistaking a vessel for one of these great monsters of the deep that the sword-fish has been known to try his strength against a gallant ship. Those on board have sometimes,^rom the violence of the shock, found it dif- ficult to believe that they had not struck some hidden rock, such being the weight and power of the fish ; and specimens of ships' timbers penetrated by the sword of the fish, which is sometimes broken oif and left in the wood, are not uncom- mon. The poet Oppian describes this fish as attacking even rocks themselves : " struck by the blade, the sounding stone gives way, And shatter'd rocks their secret veins display." 16. As the weapon of the sword-fish is very destructive to nets, the harpoon has always been a favorite method for cap- turing large specimens. Oppian further relates that the sail- ors of the Tyrrhine Sea constructed, with this view, certain light skiffi^, built to resemble the sword-fish, which the latter, mistaking for so many new acquaintances of their own spe- cies, approach in foolish confidence, and thus are easily de- stroyed by the harpooners. We give the poet's narration, withovtt, however, vouching for its truth. 17. " To fishy forms th' arti-^tic builders lend Mimetic^ fins, and wooden sword protend. ^ With secret joy each xiphias views his friends. And kindly instincts aid man's treacherous ends. Anon the cr.ifiy boatmen, clo^^ing rotuid. The trident'' hurl, and deal the deadly wound. The goaded^ fi#h, experience bmight toi late, Escapes, bi;t oft still battles hard with fate ; Unvanquish'd, summons to his instant aid The oft-tried prowess' of his trusty blade ; Pajrt V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OK FISHES, 237 Selects some boat, and runs his powerful sword Full many an inch within the fatal board : There holds no more, the doughty"' weapon yields, And crimsons with his blood the briny fields." 1 i'-Ri8, a plant of that name. See p. 187. 1 ^ Peo-tend', stretch forth. 2 ab-tif'-i-cer, a skillful workman. 1 ' TbT'-dent, a spear with three prongs. 3 Xipn'-i-A8, the Latin name of the sword-] ^ Goad'-ed, pricked with the goad or spear. 4 Kan '-COK, inveterate enmity. [fish.' ' Peow'-ess, bravery ; skillful valor. 5 Mi-MET'-i€, imitative. jio Dough'-ty (doi«'-^2/), brave ; illustrious. LESSON V, — THE SPINE-KAYED FISHES CONTINUED, Scale of Feet 1. Common Sword-fish, Xiphias gJaditis. 2. Indian Sword-fish, Histiophorus Indicus. 3. Common Tunny, Thynnis vulgaris. 4. Dolphin of the ancients, Corpphcpna hippu- ris. 5. r^cabbard-fish, Lepidopus argyreiis. 6. Wolf-fish (a fighting character, belonging to the family of the Gobies), Anarrhichus lujius. 7. Fishing Frog, Lophius piscatorius. 1. The several species of the Pilot-fish, of which so many curious stories have been told, also belong to the Mackerel family. The ancient naturalists asserted that the common pi- lot-fish, which is a pretty little fish about a foot in length, joins company with the tempest-toss'd bark of the anxious mariner, indicates to him his nearest course to land, and leaves him as soon as it has fulfilled this kind office, 2, Others, with much reason, deny this assertion, and allege that the pilot, like the shark, follows vessels for the purpose of obtaining a share of the garbage^ which may be thrown 238 WILLSON S FIFTH EEADEK. Part V. overboard. Certain, however, it is, that their perseverance in this respect is very singular, as is narrated in the case of an English vessel which was accompanied by two pilot-fish dur- ing its entire voyage of eighty days from Alexandria, in the Mediterranean, to Plymouth. The Pilot-fish, Naucrates ductor. 3. It is a current opinion among sailors that this fish acts a pilot's part to the shark, and accompanies and befriends it as opportunity offers ; and certainly there is a great amount of evidence which goes to show that there is something very much like a confiding familiarity between these two compan- ions of the weary mariner. Numerous well-authenticated cases like that which we quote from Cuvier, respecting the habits of this fish, might be given. 4. With the ancients, howeter, as described by their poets, this little fish was the faithful companion of the whale instead of the shark ; and Oppian thus alludes to the services which these pigmy pilots render to their unwieldy associates : " Bold in the front the little pilot glides. Averts each danger, evei-y motion guides; With grateful joy the willing whales attend, ObseiTe the leader, and revere the friend. Where'er the little guardian leads the way, • The bulky tyrants doubt not to obey, Implicit trust repose in him alone. And hear and see with senses not their own." When, and on what grounds, the misunderstanding of the pi- lot with his "fat friend" took j^lace, history fails to inform us ; but that he is now the ally of the dreaded shark, whom he escorts in safety through every sea, is matter of general noto- riety and almost daily observation. The following is the ex- tract from Cuvier : 5. " Captain Eichards, of the Eoyal Navy, during his station in the Med- iterranean, saw on a fine day a blue shark, which followed the ship. After a time a shark-liook, baited with pork, was flung out. The shark, attended by four pilot-fish, repeatedly approached the bait : and every time he did so, one of the pilots, which preceded him, was distinctly seen from the tafi"- rail= of the ship to run his snout against the side of the shark's head to tiun it away. Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OE FISHES. 239 6. "After this had continued fox* a time, the shark swam off in the wake^ of the vessel, his dorsal fin being long distinctly visible above the wa- ter. When he had gone, however, a considerable distance, he suddenly tui'ned round, darted toward the vessel, and before the pilot-fish could over- take him and interpose, snapped at the bait, and was taken. In hoisting him on board, one of the pilot-fish was observed to cling to his side until he was half above water, when it fell off. All the pilots then swam about for a while, as if in search of their friend, with every apparent mark of anx- iety, and then darted suddenly into the depths of the sea." 7. The dory, or John Dory, a fish of grotesque figure and uncommon colors, from twelve to eighteen mches in length, also belongs to the Mackerel family, glthough diflfering much in form from its kindred. In many towns on the Mediterranean it is called " St. Peter's fish," it be- ing alleged that it was fi-om the mouth of a fish of this species that the apostle obtained the coin to pay the tribute-money. The Doiy, Deus/aber. and that the imprint of his two fingers marks the species to the present day. 8. The fish generally known as the " dolphin of the sail- ors," and celebrated by the poets for its resplendent hues, " changing as it dies," also belongs to the famous Mackerel family. It is an active, voracious animal, greedily pursuing the flying-fish, which constitute its favorite food. When in eager pursuit of its prey, the undulations of its large dorsal fin reflect its varied markings of silvery blue and golden yel- low with unwonted brilliancy. A scene at sea, in which a shoal of these fish are observed sporting in their native ele- ment, and a whale making his appearance near by, is thus beautifully described by the poet Montgomery : 0. " Next on the surge, A shoal of dolphins, tumbling in wild glee, Glowed with such orient* tints, they might have been The rainbow's offspring, when it met the ocean. While yet in ecstasy I hung o'er these. With every motion pouring out fresh beauties. As though the conscious colors came and went At pleasure, glorying in their subtle changes- Enormous o'er the flood, Leviathan Looked forth, and from his roaring nostrils sent Two fountains to the sky, then plunged amain , In headlong pastime through the closing gulf." 10. Of the family of the ribbon-shaped fish, which contains about thirty known species, we have given, in the engraA'ing at the head of this lesson, only one specimen, the scabbard- 240 WILLSON's fifth EEADEE. Part V. « fish. Concerning this family we quote from an eminent En- glish naturalist, Mr. Swainson, tlie following remarks : 11. "This family contains the most singular and extraordinary fishes in creation. The form of the body, when comj^arcd to fishes better known, is much like that of an eel, the length being in the same proportion to the breadth ; but then it is generally so much compressed that these creatures have acquired the pojnilar name of ribhon-fish, lat/i, or deal-fish. The body, indeed, is often not thicker, except in its middle, than a sword ; and as it is of the richest silver in brightness, and of great length, the undulating mo- tion of these fishes in the sea must be resplendent and beautiful beyond measure. But these wonders of the mighty deep are almost hidden from the eye of man. These meteoric fishes appear to live in the greatest depths ; and it is only at long intervals, and after a succession of tempests, that a solitary individual is cast upon the shore with its delicate body torn and mutilated on the rocks." 12. Of the family of the Mullets, which differ from the Sur- mullets already described, and of the family of the Blennies or Gobies, which are mostly small fish, we have many species on our coasts. Two of the blennies are pictured on page 223. Nature has endowed the mullets with a power which often aids their escape from the nets of the fisherman, and which is thus alluded to by the poet O^jpian : " The inullet, when encircling seines^ inclose. The fatal threads and treacherous bosom knows. Instant he rallies all his vigorous powers, And faithful aid of every name implores ; O'er battlement of cork up-darting flies, And finds from air th' escape which sea denies." "When one takes the leap, the others, like sheep, follow instant- ly in succession. 13. The most grotesque-looking fishes of all that belong to the spine-rayed division are those which are embraced in the family of the Lophidre. Here is found the famous fishing-frog, or angler, whose boldness and voracity, and peculiar modes of taking its prey, to say nothing of its uncouth form, have rendered it perhaps more celebrated than any other fish of equal size. 14. The angler is said to fish both with the net and with the line, luring^ its victims to destruction by means of the long thread-like streamers or feelers which issue from the top of its enormous head, and capturing them in the great sacs con- nected with its mouth and gills. The following is said to be the mode of procedure. The angler, lying close to the bot- tom, stirs np the sand or mud by means of its ventral and pectoral Ans ; hidden by the obscurity tlws produced, it ele- vates its feelers, moves thera in various directions by way of attracting as a bait, and then by a rapid movement seizes the fish which approach to examine thera. Pakt V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 241 Scale of Jnc/tiS. 1. Blue-striped Wrasse, Lahnix mixtua. 2. Trumpet-fch, Sea-snipe, or Bellons-fish, Cetiti~UiCus scolopax. 3. American Tautog, Tautoga Americaiui. 15. The family of the Wrasses, or Rock-fish, includes our common bergalls, the New York tautog or common black- tish, and those fancy-colored species known as " old wives of the sea." Of the latter there are several varieties, such as the red old wife, the blue old wife, and the yelloio old wife, which are so named in accordance with their prevailing col- ors. The thick pouting lips of the fish of this family are their most striking characteristic. The Wrasses were known to the poet Oppian, who describes the beds of sea-weed as their favorite places of resort : " And there thick beds of mossy verdure grow — Sea-grass, and spreading wrack are seen : below. Gay I'ainbow-fish, and sable wrasse resort." 16. The last fiimily tlmt we have to notice in the spine- rayed division is that of the Trumpet fishes, which are distin- guished by their long tubular beak, through which it is be- lieved they draw their food as water is drawn up the pipe of a syringe. The above drawing of this singular fish will give ' a better idea of it than any detailed description. 1 Gaeb'-age, waste meat; any thing of no value. 2 Taff'-kaii , the uppermost rail of a ship's "tpi-n. L 3 AVake, track of a ve.=spl in the water. * o'-Et-ENT (Fastern), bright; shining. 5 Seine (seewA a large net for taking fi,=h. « Lf b' INO, snticinp. 242 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Part V. SECOND CLASS OF FISHES. SOFT-EAYED BONY FISHES. {Malacopterygii.)* [f'.arp, Vil-i', C :ii -fish, Salmon and Trout, and Herring and Pilchard Farailie,-'..] Scale of Inches The Caep Family. — 1. Golden Carp, or Gold-fish, Cijprinus auratw. 2. Tlie Roach, Leuciscus rutihis. 3. The Loach, or Beardie, Cobitis harhalnla. 4. The Tench, Tinea vulgaris. 5. The Barbel, Barbus vtdgaris. 6. New York Shiner, Cijprinus er>/soleucas, 7. Common Carp, Cyimnus carpis. 8. Common New York Sucker, CatostovMS covimiinis. LESSON VI. SOFT-RAYED BONY FISHES WITH ABDOilll^^AL VENTRAL FINS. 1. The carps may be placed at the head of the soft -rayed division. They are the least carnivorous^ of all fishes, and embrace, besides the common carp and its kindred, the sev- eral species of the barbel, the gudgeon, the tench, the roach, the dace and shiners, the minnows, 4lie loach, and the Amer- ican suckers. They are the most abundant fish in the fresh- water streams of Europe and America. 2. The common carp, which has been called the water-fox on account of his cunning, is a European fish, which has been naturalized in American waters. Another species, originally * MAi.-A-oop-TEE-Yii'-ii,.from two Greek words, malako-'^, " soft," and pti'r>igica harengus. 1. The Herring and Pilchard family embraces several vari- eties of the herring, the pilchard, the common shad, and the anchovy of the Mediterranean. The common herring of the Atlantic, so well known as an article of food, is taken in vast quantities in drift nets, in the meshes of which it becomes en- tangled in attempting to pass through them. Formerly the herring were supposed to descend in a mighty army, early in the season, from the Arctic Seas, and then to divide and spread over the English coasts ; but it is now believed that they -win- ter in the deep Avater of the northern tempef ate regions, and only seek the shores and shallow portions of the ocean for the pui*pose of deiDOsiting their spawn. 8. The common American shad, which differs only in tri- fling particulars from what is known as the allice shad of Eu- rope, is a beautiful and valuable fish, from one to two feet in length. It enters our rivers from the sea early in the season to deposit its spawn, and, unlike most of the family to which it belongs, comes from the southern instead of the northern seas. In the rivers of Georgia and the Carolinas it usually makes its appearance in January or February ; in March it arrives at Noi'folk ; at New York, early in April ; and on the coasts of New England still later. These fish ascend the Hud- Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 251 son one hundred and fifty miles to deposit their spawn, and descend in the latter part of May, when they are called back shad, and are then lean, and scarcely fit to be eaten. They were formerly taken in immense quantities, but their numbers are gradually diminishing. 9. The anchovy, which is a small fish from four to five inch- es in length, chiefly distinguished from the herrings by hav- ing the head pointed, the upper jaw the longest, and the mouth deeply divided, is abundant in the Mediterranean, and was well known to the Greeks and Romans, by whom the liquor prepared from it was held in high estimation.' It is pickled in large quantities for exportation, and the well-known ancho- vy sauce, used for seasoning, is prepared from it. I Mi-gea'-tion, removal. | 2 Bback'-ish, saltish. LES. IX. SOFT-RAYED BONY FISHES, "WITH THE VENTRAL FINS BENEATH THE PECTORALS: Called Suh-bracMals. [The families of the Cod, Flat-fish, and Salt-water Sucker^:.] 1 Scale of Inches, The Cod Familt. — 1. Three-hearded Ruckling, or Sea-loche, Motella tricirrata. 1. Tlie Torsk, Bros^nius inilgaris. 3. The Haddock, Morrhua cealcfinus. 4. Coal-fish, Mcr- langtis carbonari 11s. 5. The Ling, Lota niolva. 6. Five-bearded Reckling, Motella quin- qtiecirrata. T. The Whiting, Mcrlangus vulgaris. 8. Great Forked Hake, Phyds furca- tus. 9. Common Cod, Morrhua vulgaris. The second division of the soft-rayed bony fishes consists L'52 WII-LSON S FIFaH KEAUEK. Part V. «)f the Cod family, the family of the Flat-fish, and the two I'amilies of the salt-water {Suckers. 1. THE COD FAMILY. {GacUcIce.) 1. At the head of the Cod family is the common cod, which is the largest, best knoAvn, and most valuable member of it. It is found universally in European Seas, from the coast of Spain to Iceland ; and on the eastern American coast, and among its numerous islands, northward from the latitude of New York, it is even still more abundant. The Grand Banks of Xewfoundland, reaching six hundred miles in length, seem to be literally covered Avith cod-fish, which are taken in vast quantities during the fishing season, which opens at the be- ginning of June, and lasts till about the middle of October. The cod are taken in deep water by hooks, usually baited with pork, sea-fowl, or shell-fish ; and from two hundred to five laundred are often caught by one man in a single day. Not- withstanding the vast quantities taken — estimated at forty millions of fish annually — their numbers do not seem to di- minish. 2. The haddock and the whiting, both fish of the Cod fami- ly, are almost as generally known as the common cod, and in Europe are considered nearly equal to the cod in value, but are not so highly esteemed in this country. The coal-fish, the ling, the rocklings, the torsk, and the great forked hake, are additional members of the same family, which we have repre- sented in the engraving. A CHARADE' ON— Cot/. Cut off my head, and singular I act ; Cut off my tail, and plural I appear ; Cut off my tail and head — oh ! wondrou? fact. Although my middle's left, there's nothing here. What is my head cut off? a sounding ?ea. What is my tail cut off? a flowing river. Far in the ocean depths I fearless play ; Giver of sweetest sounds, yet mute forever. 2. FAmLY OF THE FLAT-FISH. {Pleio'onectidce.) " Flat-fish, with eyes distorted, square, ovoid, rhomboid, long, Some cased in mail, some slippery -baclc'd, the feeble and the strong.'i In one of Mr. Yarrell's volumes we find the following de- scription of the fiat-fish, the prominent species of which Ave have exhibited in the annexed engraving: 1 . " The character and appearance of the various species of flat-fish are so peculiar as to claim particular notice. The want of symmetry in the form of the head ; both eyes jilaced on the same side, one higher than the other, frequently not in the same vertical line, and often unequal in size ; , the position of the month ; the inequality of the two sides of the head, and Fart V ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 253 J Inches Flat-pish Famii.t.— 1. The Turbot, Rhomhua maximus. 2. Oblong Flounder, Plate-isa ohlfinga. 3. The Plaice, Platessa viUfiaris (similar in foi-m to the livsty Dab of our coasts). 4. Tlie Halibut, Htj^poglossxis vulgaris. 5. Common Sole, Solea vulgaris. the frequent want of uniformity in those fins that are in pairs, the pectoral and ventral fins of the under or Avhite side being in some species smaller than those of the upper ; and the whole of the color of the fish confined to one side, while the other side remains perfectly white, produce a grotesque^ appearance; yet a little consideration will prove that these various and seemingly obvious anomalies^ are perfectly in harmony with that station in nature which an animal bearing these attributes^ is appointed to fill. 2. "As birds are seen to occupy very different stations, some obtaining their food on the ground, others on trees, and not a few at various degrees of elevation in the air, so are fishes destined to reside in diff'crent situations in the water : the flat-fishes and the various species of skate are, by their depressed form of body, admirably adapted to inhabit the lowest position, and where tliey occupy least space, among their kindred fishes. 3. "Preferring sandy or muddy shores, and unprovided with swimming bladders, their place is close to the ground, wliere, hiding their bodies hori- zontally in the loose soil at the bottom, with the head only slightly elevated, an eye on the under side of the head would be useless ; but both eyes placed on the upper surface affords them an extensive range of view in those vari- ous directions in wliich they may cither endeavor to find suitable food or avoid dangerous enemies. Having little or no moans of defense, had their color been placed only above the lateral line on each side, in whatever po- sition they moved their piebakP appearance would have rendered them con- spicuous objects to all their enemies. 4. "When near the ground they swim slowly, maintaining their horizon- tal position ; and the smaller pectoral and ventral fins on the under side are advantageous where there is so much less room for their action, than with 254 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part v. the larger fins that are above. When suddenly disturbed they sometimes make a rapid shoot, changinj^ their position from horizontal to vertical: if the observer happens to be ojiposite the white side, they may be seen to pass with the rapidity and flash of a meteor ; but they soon sink down, resuming their previous motionless horizontal position, and are then distinguished with difficulty, owing to their great similarity in color to the surface on which they rest." From another writer, Mr. Swainson, Ave quote the following remarks : 5. "The resemblance between the colors of the flat-fish, in general, and those of the ground they repose upon, is so admirably ordered as to claim both attention and admiration. The upper surface, or that which is exposed to view and to the action of the light, is invariably of some shade of earth- en brown or of grayish sand-color : this is broken by dots and blotches, ei- ther light or dark, blackish or reddish, but always so disposed as perfectly to resemble those under shades, as they may be called, which are caused by the inequalities of the ground and the presence of particles of different tints that may be upon it. G. "Thus, whether we contemplate the God of nature in his most sub- lime productions, or in those provisions which he makes for the well-being of his most irrational creatures, the same principle of design — the same ab- solute perfection in execution — is equally conspicuous. This exquisite fin- ish is bestowed upon millions which the eye of man "hath not seen ;" "nor hath it entered into his heart to conceive" the faculties and the instincts they possess, still less to form ideas on all the reasons of their creation. Such knowledge, indeed, we can not attain to in this stage of our existence, but the good shall most assuredly enjoy it in the next." 7. The European turbot, so well known, and so celebrated as an article of luxury, is considered the best of the flat-fishes. It has never been found on the coasts of the United States, although the spotted turbot, or New York plaice, much re- sembles it. The turbot is supposed to. have been the rhom- bus of the Romans, of which a specimen of enormous size is said to have been taken in the reign of Domitian, who called a meeting of the senate to decide upon the best mode of bring- ing it to the table ! Juvenal says : . " No vessel ne finds to hold such a fish, And the senate's convoked to decree a new dish." - Geo-tesqui:', ludicrous ; odd. 3 A-nom'-a-ly, irregularity. * At'-tri-bute, inherent quality ; property. 5 Pie'-b.^ld, of various colors. ^ cnA-EADE' (,s7m-j'«(fe'), a word whose syl- lables or letters are described, first sepa- rately and then together, so as to form a kind of riddle. 3. THE SALT-WATER SUCKERS. 1, Of the fish known as the salt-water Suckers, there are two families. In the first the ventral fins, which are very much dilated beneath, are united around a circular disk, which acts as a sucker. By means of this instrument these fishes are able to attach themselves to anv firm bodies in a Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 255 ^cuie of luc/tt 8ALT-WATER S0CKEES. — 1. ^^"Tiite-t>iled Remora, or Sliavk Sucker, Echeneis albicauda. 2. The Common Eemora, or Sueking-fisli, Echeneis remora. 3. Comish Sucker, Lepa- dogastes comubiensis. 4. Lump Sucker, Cyclopteriis lunipus. strong current of water, and thus to obtain food in places where most other fish would be swept away. Ihe small Cornish sucker, found on the European coasts, and the com- mon lump sucker, a beautifully colored fish found throughout all the Northern Seas, are the best known. Pennant relates that upon throwing a lump sucker into a pail of water, it ad- hered so firmly to the bottom that, upon taking hold of the fish by the tail, he lifted the whole vessel, although it held several gallons. 2. The few fishes which compose the second family of the Suckers are natives of Southern Seas, although a few species are occasional visitors of our American coasts. In this famiiy the adhesive disk is placed on the crown of the head, in the form of a large oval shield, as may be seen in the famous re- mora of the Mediterranean, and the shark sucker, drawings of which we have given. The shark sucker is often found adhering to the shark, and is frequently met with in the vi- cinity of New York. The common rem'ora was familiar to the Greeks and Romans, from whom we liave received many fabulous accounts of its extraordinary powers in attach- ing itself to the sides of ships, and arresting their course. 3. Even the naturalist Pliny asserts that it was this little fish which stayed the progress of Mark Antony's ship in the 25U WILL80N S FIFTH KEADKR. Part V. naval engagement between him and Augustus Caesar, and caused the defeat of tlie foi'mer ; and that the Emperor Ca- lig'ula once suffered a simihir accident, which was the cause of his downfall ! If naturalists could be thus easily imposed u])on with respect to the marvelous powers of the remora, it is not surprising that this wonderful fish should have formed a theme for the wonder-loving poet : "The sticking-fish beneath, with secret chains, Clung to the keel, the swiftest ship detains. Tlie eeanien run ci infused, no lal)or spared. Let fly the slieets, and lioist the topmast yard. The master bids them give lier all the sails To court the winds and catch the coming gales. I3ut though the canvas liellies to the blast, And boisterous winds bear down the cracking mast. The bark stands firmly rooted on the sea, ^ And will, unmoved, nor winds nor waves obey; Still, as when calms have flatted all the plain. And infant waves scarce wrinkle on the main." LESSON X. SOFT-RAYED BO]S.Y FISHES, DESTITUTE OF VENTKAL FINS : called Ajyodals. The Eei. Family. — 1. Klectric Gymnotus, Gymnotus electricns. 2. Conger Eel, Con- ger vulgaris. 3. The Murtena, ^[ll)■cena hclena. .4. American Sand-launce, J.?/mioi/i/tes Americanus. 5. Sharp-nosed Eel, Amjxiila acutirostris. 1. The third division of the soft-rayed bony fishes is com- Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OB FISHES. 257 posed wholly of the Eel family. Yarrell, in his valuable work, thus speaks of this family of fishes : "The form of the eel, resembling that of the serpent, has long excited a prejudice against it, which exi^ in some countries even to the present time ; and its similarity to snakes has even been repeated by those who, from the advantages of education, and their acquirements in natural his- tory, might have been supposed capable of drawing more accurate conclu- sions. There is but little similarity in the snake and the eel, except in the external form of the body : the important internal organs of the two ani- mals, and the character of the skeleton, are most decidedly different. 2. "Eels are, in reality, a valuable description of fish : their flesh is ex- cellent food ; they are very numerous, very prolific, and ai'e found in almost every part of the world. The various species are hardy, tenacious of life, and very easily preserved." Ellis, in his Polynesian Researches, says : "In Otaheite, eels are great favorites, and are tamed and fed until they attain an enormous size. These pets are kept in large holes, two or three feet deep, partially filled with water. On the sides of these pits they generally remained, excepting when called by the person who fed them. I have been several times with the young chief when he has sat down by the hole, and, by giving a shrill sort of whistle, has brought out an enormous eel, which has moved about the surface of the water, and eaten with confidence out of its master's hand." 3. Some few eels are confined to fresh waters, and some wholly to the sea ; but most of the species reside in the brack- ish water at the mouths of rivers. The murcpjia, an eel of the Mediterranean, was so highly prized by the Romans that they kept it in a tame state, and carefully fattened it for the table. Its colors and markings are extremely beautiful. 4. Plutarch tells us that Lucius Crassus brought up these fish almost by hand, and that they acknowledged his presence by springing out of the water whenever he came near: he was wont to deck them with rings and other ornaments ; and another writer says that their loss w^as a greater grief to him than the death of his three children! In short, Cicero tells us that " many of the great men of Rome vied with each other in this extravagant fish passion, and deemed no moment of their lives more happy than when these creatures came to eat out of their hands." 5. But the most remarkable of the Eel family is the c/]/7n- no'tus^ or electrical eel of South America. It is sometimes five or six feet in length ; it has no tail fin, and tlie scales are imperceptible to the naked eye. By its electric shocks it knocks down men and horses, and can be obtained only after its electric power has been expended by successive shocks. The Indians of Guiana, in South America, drive wild horses into the muddy ponds in which these eels abound, and thus are enabled to secure both horses and eels ! 258 AVILLSON S FIFTH READER. 1'art V. LES. XI, — SOFT-EATED BONY FISHES WITH TUFTED GILLS : Lophohrancliii. soft-rayed ♦ony fishes with solder- ed JAWS : Plectognathii. Hcale <'f Inche). 1. Hudson River Sea-horse, nippocam2nis Ihidsonius. 2. Indian File-fish, Balisfes j)raslinnid('s. 3. Homed Ostracion, OMracion cornutus. 4. Great Pipe-fi?h, Spnnatlnis acufi. 5. jEqnorial l^ipc-fish, or Needle-fish, ylces! (-s/ican), animals like lob- sters, crabs, etc. (See Seventh Reader.) FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIYISIOK LESSON I. THE GLORY OF THE IMAGINATION. 1. The shepherd-lad, that in the sunshine carves, On the green turf, a dial — to divide The silent hours' ; and who to that report Can portion out his pleasures, and adapt. Throughout a long and lonely summer's day, His round of pastoral duties', is not left With less intelligence for moral things Of gravest import. Early he perceives Within himself a measure and a rule. Which to the sun of truth he can apply\ That sliincs for him', and shines for all mankind.* 2. Experience daily fixing his regards On Nature's wants, he knows how few* they are'. And where they lie\ how answer'd' and appea.sed' : This knowledge ample recompense affords For manifold privations' ; he refers His notions to this standard' ; on this rock Rests his desires' ; and hence, in after life'. Soul-strengthening patience and sublime content. 3. Imagination — not permitted here To waste her powers, as in the worldling's mind, On fickle pleasures, and superfluous cares, FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 273 And trivial ostentation' — is left free And puissant to range the solemn walks Of time and nature", girded by a zone That, while it binds', invigorates and supports.* Acknowledge, then, that whether by the side Of his poor hut', or on the mountain-top', Or in the cultur'd field', a man so bred (Take from him what you will upon the score Of ignorance or illusion) lives and breathes For noble purposes of mind' : his heart Beats to th' heroic song of ancient days' ; His eye distinguishes', his soul creates'. — Woedswoeth. LES. II. — SHYLOCK : A SCENE OF CONTENDING PASSIONS. 1. The following is taken from Shakspeare's play of the Merchant of Venice. The daughter of Shylock, a ricli and covetous Jew, had eloped with Lorenzo and gone to Genoa, taking with Iter some of her father's costly jewels ; and Tubal, the agent of the Jew, has just returned from a fruitless search after the runaways. The absence of his daughter distresses the Jew, but the loss of his jewels still more^ yet his grief is repeatedly assuaged and changed to the highest exultation, as Tubal mentions the misfortunes which had befolleu the merchant Antonio, to whom "the Jew had lent money on a bond, and to whom he owes a mortal grudge. The contending passions of the Jew are admirably portray- ed here, and the same should be truthfully expressed in the reading. Shylocl: How now\ Tubal', what news from Genoa' ? Hast thou found my daughter' ? Tubal. I often came where I did hear of her, but can not find her. Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond gone, cost me two thou- sand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I never felt it till now : twq thousand ducats in that ; and other ])recious, precious jewels. — I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jew- els in her ear ! Would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin ! No news of them'? — Why, so; — and I know not wliat's sjicnt in the search. Wiiy thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so mucli', and so much to find the thief ; and no satisfaction', no revenge'; nor no ill luck stirring but what lights o' my' shoulders; no sighs' but o' my' breathing; no tears' but o' my' shedding.' Ttib. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I heard in Genoa — S/n/. What, what, what' ? ill luck, ill luck' ?'' Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. Shy. I thank God, l" thank God ! — Is it true'? is it true' ?'' » This is spoken in a tone of sobbing grief. ■^ Spoken rapidly. Shylock catches, with eager joy, at the news of Antonio's ill Inck. M 2 274 Willson's fifth reader. Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal: — Good news, good news; ha! ha! — Wlifre? in Genoa'?'' Tab. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats. Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger' in me ; — I shall never see my gold agaiij. Fourscore ducats at a sitting* ! fourscore ducats' !'^ Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditoi's in my company to Venice, that swear he can not choose but break. Shy. I am very glad of it ; I'll plague him ; I'll torture him ; I am glad of it.b Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey. Shy' Out upon her! Thou torturest me. Tubal : it was my turquoise; I had it of Leah, when I was a bachelor. I would not have given it fur a wilderness' of nionkej's. Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for, were he out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our synagogue, Tubal. LES. III. SHTLOCK AND THE MERCHANT : THE TRIAL SCENE. 1. The following is partially explained in the preceding les- son. The merchant Antonio had borrowed from Shylock, for his friend Bassanio, the sum of three thousand ducats ; and Shylock had caused to be inserted in the bond the condition that, if Antonio should fail to make payment on a certain day, the merchant should forfeit a 2>ound of flesh, to be cut off nearest his heart. Owing to losses, Antonio was unable to pay on the day appointed ; and although afterward his fiiends offered to make double, treble, or quadruple payment to the Jew, the latter claimed, as he had a right to by the strict "law of Venice," exact fulfillment of the bond. 2. In the following scene the parties appear in court before the Duke of Venice ; and Portia, the wife of Bassanio, a lady of high mental powers and great goodness, the heiress of a princely name and countless wealth, but here so disguised, as a learned doctor and judge from Padua, as to be unrecognized even by her own husband, is introduced, to counsel with the duke in the administration of justice. Although the Jew is here placed in a very odious light, it ought not to be regarded as any imputation upon the sect to which he belongs. •= Very moiimfully and slowly, hut emphatically : the downward inflection. FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 275 Duke. Give me your hand\ Came you from old Bellario' ? Portia. I did, my lord. Duke. You are welcome' : take your place. Are you acquainted with the difterence That holds this present question in the court' ? Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause. Whiuh is the merchant' here, and which the Jew' ? Duke. Antonio and old Shylock', both stand forth'. Por. Is your name Shylock' ? Shi/lock. Shylock is my name. Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law Can not impugn you as you do proceed. You stand within his danger', do you not' ? (To Antonio.) Antonio. Ay, so he says. Por. Do you confess the bond' ? Ant. I do. Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion must I' ?■ tell' me that'. Por. The quality of mercy is not strained' ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath' ; it is twice' blessed ; It blesseth him that gives', and him that takes'. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest'. It becomes The throned monarch better than his crown' : His sceptre shows the force of temporal powS", The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings' : But mercy is above this sceptred sway' ; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings' ; It is an attribute to God himself ; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore', Jew', Though justice be thy plea, consider this — That, in the coui'se of justice, none of us Should see salvation' : we do /jmj/' for mercy ; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds' of mercy. I have spoke thus much To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. Shy. My deeds upon my head' ! I crave the /oiw', The penalty and forfeit of my bond}. Por. Is he not able to discharge the money' ? Bassanio. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; Yea, twice" the sum ; if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority : To do a great right, do a little wrong, And curb this cruel devU of his will. 216 willson's fifth rkadeu. Por. It must not be' ; there's no power in Venice Can iilter a dcc-rco cstablislu'ir ; "rwill be recorded for a precedent' ; And many an error, by the same example, Will rush into the state : it can not be. JS/ii/. A Daniel come to judgment ! Yea, a Daniel! O wise young judge, how do I lionor thee ! for. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. S/ii/. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor ; here it is. I'or. Shylock, there's thrice thy money oftcrcd thee. S/iy. An oatli, an oath, 1 have an oath in heaven : Sliall I lay jjcijury upon my soul' ? !No\ not for Venice'. J^or. Why, this bond is forfeit ; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut oft" Nearest the merchant's heart. Be mer'cJful ; Take thrice' thy money ; bid me tcar^ the bond. Shij. When it is paid according to the tenor. It doth appear, you are a worthy^ judge; y-ou know the law^ ; your exposition Hath been most sound. I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me. I stay here on ifly bond\ Ant. Most heartily do I beseech the court To give the judgment. Por. Why, then, thus it is : You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Shy. O noble judge' ! O excellent young man' ! Por. For the intent and purjiose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty. Which here ai>pearcth due upon the bond. S/ii/. 'Tis very true: O wise and ujiright judge! How much more elder art thou than thy looks! Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. Shy. Ay, his breast ; So says the bond — doth it not, noble judge' ? — Nearest his heart ; those are the very words. Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh The flesh ? Shy. I have them ready. Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to dcatli. Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? Por. It is not so expressed ; but what of that? 'Twere good you do so much for charity. Shy. I can not find it ; 'tis not in the bond. Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say? Ant. But little; I am armed, and well jircpared. Give me your hand', Bassanio'! fare you well".' Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 277 For herein fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom : it is still her use, To let the wretched man outlive liis wealth' ; To view, with hollow eye and wrinkled brow, An afj;e of poverty' ; from which lingering penance Of such misery doth she cut me oft". Commend me to your honorable wife' : Tell her the process of Antonio's end' ; Say, how I loved' you ; sjieak me fair in death ; And, when the tale is told', bid her be judge, Whether Bassanio had not once a love. Kepent not you that you shall lose your friend' ; And he repents not that he pays your debt' ; For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough', I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ; The court awards it', and the law doth give' it. Shy. Most rightful judge ! Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast ; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned judge ! A sentence ! come, prepare. 4^ Por. Tarry a little — there is something else — This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; The words expressly are, a pound of flesh. Take then thy bond ; take thou thy pound of flesh ; But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice. Gratiano. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ! — O learned judge t Shy. Is that the law ? Por. Thyself shall see the act : For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thon desirest. Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ! — a learned judge ! Shy. I take this offer, then : pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. Bas. Here is the money. Por. Soft; The Jew shall have all justice — soft ! — no haste — He shall have nothing but the penalty. Gra. O Jew ! an upriglit judge ! a learned judge ! I^r. Therefore pi-epare thee to cut off" the flesh. Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, But a just pound of flesh. If thou takest more, Or less than just a pound — be it but so much As makes it light or heavy in the substance'. Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple' — nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair' — Thou diest', and all thy goods are confiscate. Gra. A second Daniel — a Daniel, Jew ! Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 278 willson's fifth kkadek. Por. Why doth the Jew pause' ? take thy forfeiture. Shy. Give me my princijjal, and let me go. Bas. 1 liavc it ready for thee ; here it is. Por. He hath refused it in the ojien court; He shall have merely justice, and his bond. (ira. A Daniel, still say I ! a second Daniel ! I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I nut have barely my principal' ? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why, then the devil give him good of it ! I'll stay no longer question. Por. Tarry, Jew ; The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, If it be proved against an alien, That, by direct or indirect attempts, He seek the life of any citizen. The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half Oifcies to the privy coffer of the state ; And the offender's life lies in the mercy Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. In which predicament, I say, thou standest ; For it appears, by manifest proceeding. That indii'ectly, and directly too. Thou hast contrived against the very life Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurred The danger formerly by me rehearsed. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. Gra. Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hang thyself; And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; Therefore thou must be hanged at the state's charge. Duke. That thou shalt see the dilference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; The other half comes to the general state. LES. IV. THE CHARACTER OF PORTIA, AS DISPLAYED IX THE TRIAL SCENE. 1 . All the finest points of Portia's character are brought to bear in the trial scene which Ave have just read. There she shines forth all her divine self. Her intellectual powers, her high honorable principles, her best feelings as a woman, are all displayed. She maintains at first a calm self-command, as one sure of carrying her point in the end ; yet the painful, heart-thrilling uncertainty in which she keeps the whole court, FIFTH illSCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 279 until suspense verges upon agony, is not for effect merely ; it is necessary and inevitable. 2. She has two objects in view : to deliver her husband's friend, and to maintain her husband's honor by tlie discharge of his just debt, though jjaid out of her own wealth ten times over. She must be understood, from the beginning to the end, as examining Avith intense anxiety the effect of her words on the mind and countenance of the Jew ; as watching for that relenting spirit which she ho^DCS to awaken either by rea- son or jDcrsuasion. 3. She begins by an appeal to his mercy, in that matchless piece of eloquence which, with an irresistible and solemn pathos, falls upon the heart like " gentle dew from heaven :" but in vain ; for that blessed de# drops not more fruitless •and unfelt on the parched sand of the desert than do these heavenly words upon the ear of Shylock. She next attacks his avarice : " Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee !" Then she appeals, in the same breath, both to his avarice and his pity : " Be mer^ciful ! Take thrice'^ thy money. Bid me tear^ the hond." 4. All that she says afterward — her strong expressions, which are calculated to strike a shuddering horror through the nerves — the reflections she interposes — her delays and circumlocution, to give time for any latent feeling of com- miseration to display itself — all, all are premeditated, and tend in the same manner to the object she has in view. Thus: " You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Therefore lay bare your bosom !" These two speeches, though apparently addressed to Antonio, are spoken at Shylock, and are evidently intended to pene- trate his bosom. In the same spirit she asks for the balance to weigh the pound of flesh, and entreats of Shylock to have a surgeon ready : " Have by some surgeon\ Shylock', on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed^ to death ! Sfujlock. Is it so nominated in the bond' ?~ Portia. It is not so expressed — but what of that' ? 'Twere good you do so much, for chai'ity'." 5. So unwilling is her sanguine and generous spirit to re- sign all hope, or to believe that humanity is absolutely ex- tinct in the bosom of the Jew, that she calls on Antonio, as a last resource, to speak for himself His gentle, yet manly resignation — the deep pathos of his farewell, and the affec- tionate allusion to herself in his last address to Bassanio — 280 WILLSON 8 FIFTH READER. " Commend me to your honorable wife" ! Say how I loved' you, speak me fall- in death," etc. — arc well calculated to swell that emotion wliicli, thronc^h the wliole scene, must have been laboring sup^jrcssed within her heart. 6, At length the crisis arrives, for patience and womanhood can endure no longer ; and when Shylock, carrying his savage bent " to the last hour of act," springs on his victim — " A sen; tence! come, prepare!" then the smothered scorn, indigna- tion, and disgust burst forth with an impetuosity Avhich inter- fere with the judicial solemnity she Had at first affected, par- ticularly in the speech, " Therefore prepare thee to cut off the fle.sh. Slied thou no blood ; nor cut thou les:*, nor more. But just a pound |iilesh : if thou tak'st more. Or less, than a just pound — be it but so much As makes it light or lieavy in the substance', Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scrapie* ; nay," if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair', Thou diest\ and all thy goods are cotifiscate." But she afterward recovers her propriety, and triumphs with a cooler scorn and a more self-possessed exultation. V. It is clear that, to feel the full force and dramatic beauty of this marvelous scene, we must go along with Portia as well as with Shylock ; we must understand her concealed purpose, keep in mind her noble motives, and pursue in our fancy the under-current of feeling Avorking in her mind throughout. The terror and the power of Shylock's charac- ter — his deadly and inexorable malice — would be too oppress- ive, the pain and pity too intolerable, and the horror of the possible issue too overwhelming, but for the intellectual re- lief afforded by this double source of interest and contem- plation. — Mrs. Jameson. LESSON" V. — THE philosopher's scales. A MONK, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er, In the depth of his cell with his stone-covered floor. Resigning to thought his chimerical brain. Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain ; But whether by magic's or alchemy's powers We know not ; indeed, 'tis no business of ours. Perhaps it was only by patience and care. At last, that he brouglit his invention to bear: In youth 'twas projected, but years stole away, And ere 'twas complete he was wrinkled and gray ; But success is secure unless energy fails; And. at length, he jn-oduced the philosopher's scales. FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISIOX. 281 3. " "What were they^ ?" you ask ; yon shall presently see : These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea ; Oh no; for such properties wondrous had they, That qualities, Jee(in(/s, and thoughts they could weigh; Together with articles small or immense. From mountains or planets to atoms of sense. 4. Naught was there so bulky hut there it would lay, And naught so ethereal but there it would stay, And naught so reluctant but in it must go — All which some examples more clearly will show. 5. The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire, Which retained all the wit that had ever been there ; As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf, Containing the prayer of the penitent thief; When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell. That it bounced like a ball on the roof of the cell. 6. One time he put in Alexander the Great, With the garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight, And, though clad in armor from sandals to crown, The hero rose up, and the garment went down. 7. A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed By a v.-ell-esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud, Next loaded one scale ; while the other was pressed By those mites the poor widow dropped into the chest ; Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce. And down, down the farthing-worth came with a bounce. 8. By further experiments (no matter howj, He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plow ; A sword with gilt trapping rose up in the scale, Though balanced by only a tenpenny nail ; A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear. Weighed less than a widow's uncrystallized tear. 9. A lord and a lady went up at full sail. When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale ; Ten doctors, ten lavs'yers, two courtiers, one earl. Ten counselors' wigs, full of powder and curl. All heaped in one balance and swinging from thence. Weighed less than a few grains of candor and sense ; A first water diamond, with brilliants begirt. Than one good potato just washed from the dirt ; Yet not mountains of silver and gold could suffice One pearl to outweigh — 'twas the pearl of great price. 10. Last of all, the whole world was bowled in at the grate, Witli the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight. When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff, That it made a vast rent and escaped at the roof! When balanced in air, it ascended on high. And sailed up aloft, a balloon in the sky ; While the scale with the soul in 't so mightily fell. That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell. — Jane Tatlok. 282 WILL80N S FIFTH READER. Pabt VI. Part VI. CIVIL AKCHITECTUKE. 28^ PART VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTUEE. LESSON I. — GRECIAN AND ROMAN ARCHITECTURE. 1. Architecture is the art of contriving and constructing buildings ; and, Avhen tlie term is used Avithout a qualifying adjective, the designing and building of civil and religious edifices, such as palaces, mansions, theatres, churches, courts, bridges, etc., is intended ; and it is called civil, to distinguish it from naval and military architecture. 2. The architecture of the Greeks, and of their successors the Romans, is generally divided into certain orders, Avhose names characterize the several modes in which these people constructed the facjades,^ or fronts of their temples. Thus the Greeks had three prominent orders or styles of architecture, the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian ; each of which, as may be seen on the opposite page, may be represented by a single column, together with the base or platform on which it rests, and the roof-like covering which it aids in supporting. 3. Certain definite proportions, supposed to combine the highest degree of grace and beauty, were assigned to each. The crowning superstructure of an order is called the entab- lature,2 and is divided into architrave,^ frieze,* and cornice (see opposite page). The Doric order, as used by the Greeks, and as seen in its best specimen, the famous Parthenon, or Temple of Minerva, at Athens, was without a base ; yet the Romans not only gave it a base, but, changing some of its features, they constructed from it another order, called the Tuscan. 4. The Ionic, the second of the Grecian orders, not only has a base, and a capital and entablature diftering from the Doric, but the shaft of its column is lighter and more graceful in its proportions. The volutes, or curves of its capital, introduce a new element of beauty. Their design is said by some to have been suggested by the curls of hair on each side of the human face, and by others to have been taken from the curl- ing of the bark of a rude upright post, caused by a crushing weight laid upon it. 5. The third Grecian order is the ornate CorintMan, which is conspicuous for the beauty of its capital, and the exceeding grace and symmetry of all its parts. The invention of this 284 willson's fifth reader. Paut VI. order is attributable to Callimachus,^ an Athenian sculptor of the aii^e of Pericles, who is said to have had the idea of its cai)ital suggested to him by observing acanthus leaves grow- ing arovuid a basket which had been placed, with some favor- ite trinkets, upon the grave of a young Corinthian lady — the tops of the leaves, and the stalks which arose among them, having been turned down and formed into slender volutes by a square tile which covered the Ijasket. 6. The Corinthian order Avas the one most extensively em- ployed by the Romans in their public buildings; but they loaded every member with ornaments unknown to the invent- ors. They also combined the Ionic and the Corinthian, and formed a fifth order, Avhich they ornamented to pi-ofusion, and named the Gomposite. Its chief distinguishing feature is the capital, which has four volutes, presenting the same face in four directions. (See p. 282.) 7. But to one important feature in architecture the Romans appear to have indubitable claim, and that is the arch. It is generally believed that the ancient Egyptians, Persians, and Hindoos were entirely ignor.ant of its construction ; and it seems probable that the Greeks knew nothing of it jDrevious to the Roman conquest — certain it is. they knew not its ad- vantages in architecture. The Romans made great use of it in their temples, in their famous aqueducts, and their triumph- al arches ; and when we now characterize any architecture as decidedly Roman., reference is had to that feature which is denoted by the perfectetffarch, or dome. 8. What is known as Gothic architecture sprung up in the Gothic nations of Europe when Christianity was introduced among them, and was generally i;scd in church edifices dur- ing the Middle Ages. ' Based upon the Roman style, it adopt- ed the rounded or semicircular arch as its distinguishing fea- ture, and was at first exceedingly clumsy in form ; but as a taste for the fine arts began to show itself, architecture as- sumed a difterent and novel aspect ; the plain rounded arch gave place to a more pointed form and quaint mouldings ; tall s^iires crowned the structure ; windows of stained glass shed gorgeous lights over the profuse decorations of the interior ; and the Gothic or Christian style was at length perfected, as scientific in its principles as it was grand and imposing in ap- pearance. (See J). 289.) 1 Fa-oade' (fa-sdde'). I * Frteze (freez). 2 En-tab'-la-tCee. = Cal-i,!m'-a-€hu8. j. ' abch'-i-trave. Paet VI. CIVIL AECHITECTUKE. 285 LESSON II. — ATHENIAN ARCHITECTURE DURING THE AGE OF PERICLES. BULAVER. [The " Age of Pericles" embraced the latter half of the fifth century before Clirist, when , Pericles, at ihe head of Athenian affair.^, raised Athens to the summit of her renown. It was during this period that mo-st of those famous structures ivhich crowned the Atlicnian Acropulis, or surrounded its base, were either built or adorned by the direction of Tericles, under the superintendence of the sculptor Phidias. The most famous of all these was the Parthenon, which crowned the summit of the Acropolis, and whose ruins are seen in the annexed engraving. The following extract from Bulwer's Athens will convey to the reader a vivid idea of the unrivaled grace and elegance of the Athenian edifices of the time of Pericles. See Historical Part, p. 507.3 Modern Athens. — The ab'ivf is a south view of Athens in its present state, from the left bank of the Ilissus, showing the" Athenian Acropolis in the distance, surmounted by the ruins of the Parthenon in the centre. See also p. 308. 1. Then rapidly progressed those glorious fabrics which seemed, as Plutarch gracefully expresses it, endowed with the bloom of a perennial youth. Still the houses of private citizens remained simple and unadorned, still the streets were narrow and irregular ; and even centuries after, a stranger en- tering Athens would not at first have recognized the claims of the mistress of Grecian art. But to the homeliness of her common thoroughfares and private mansions, the magnifi- cencQ^of her public edifices now made a dazzling contrast. The Acropolis, that towered above the homes and thorough- 286 willson's fifth EEADEE. Paut VI. fares of men — a spot too sacred for human habitation — be- came, to use a proverbial plirase, " a city of the gods," The citizen was every wliere to be reminded of the majesty of the State — his patriotism Avas to be increased by tlie jtride in her beauty — his taste to be elevated by the spectacle of her splen- dor. 2. Thus flocked to Athens all who, throughout Greece, were eminent in art. Sculptors and architects vied with each other in adorning the young empress of tlie seas; then rose the master-pieces of Piiidias,' of CaUicrates,^ of Mnesi- cles,3 which, either in their broken remains or in the feeble copies of imitators less inspired, still command so intense a wonder, and furnish models so immortal. And if, so to speak, their bones and relics excite our awe and envy, as tes- tifying of a lovelier and grander race, which the deluge of time has swept away, what, in that day, must have been their brilliant effect — unmntilated in their fair proportions — fresh in all their lineaments and hues ? For their beauty was not limited to the symmetry of arch and column, nor their mate- rials confined to the marbles of Pentclicus^ and Paros.^ Even the exterior of the temples glowed with the richest harmony of colors, and was decorated with the purest gold ; an atmos- phere peculiarly favorable both to the display -and the pres- ervation of art, permitted to external pediments^ and fi'iezes'' all the minuteness of ornament, all the brilliancy of colors, such as in the interior of Italian churches may yet be seen ; vitiated, in the last, by '-i-AS was a celebrated Fculptor of Ath- 1 pelago, famous for the "Parian marble" ens, whom Pericles appointed superintend-j which the Greeks used for statuary, ent of all the public works, both of archi-^^ Ped'-i-ment, an ornament that crowns the lecture and statuary, 2 Cal-lio'-ba-tE.*, in conjunction with Icti- nus, built the Parthenon at Athens. 3 Mxiis'-T-CLE?, a celebrated architect, born a slave in tlie house of Pericles. front of buildings, and serves as a decora- tion over gates, windows, etc. "! FbiEze {fiecz), that part of the en-tab'- la-tCee between the XEtii'-T-TRivE and €on'-NicE (.kor'-nis). See p. -82. * Pen-tel'-i-€U8, a mountain of Attica, con- 8 Ir-rEf'-ea-ga-ble, that can not be refuted; taining quarries of beautiful marble. indisputable. * Pi'-EOS, an island in the Grecian Archi-| LESSON III. — RUINS OF THE COLISe'uM AT HOME. AncriES on arches ! tis it were that Rome, Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands ; the moonbeams shine As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here, to illume This long explored but still exhaustless mine Of contemplation : and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, 288 WILLSON S riFTII EEADEK. Pakt VI. And shadows forth its glory. There u given Unto the things of earth, which Time liath bent, A spirit'^ ftoling; and where lie Imtli leant J lis hand, but broke his scythe, there ia a power And magic in the ruin'd battlement, I'or which tlie palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. — Bteon. 2. In tlie open space between the Esquiline and Palatine Hills are to be seen the ruins of the Colise'um, or Flavian Am- phitheatre, as they are represented in the engraving at the head of this lesson. This gigantic edifice, the boast of Rome and of the world, which was begun by Vespasian and com- pleted by Titus, is in form an ellipse, and covers an area of about five and a half acres. The external elevation consisted of four stories — each of the three lower stories having eighty arches supported by half columns, Doric in the first range, Ionic in the second, and Corinthian in the third. The wall of the fourth story was faced with Corinthian pilasters,^ and lighted by forty rectangular windows. The sj^ace surround- ing the central arena within the walls was occupied with slop- ing galleries, rising one above another, resting on a huge mass of arches, and ascending toward the summit of the external wall. One hundred and sixty staircases led to the galleries, and an immense movable awning covered the whole. 3. Within the area of the Coliseinn gladiators, martyrs, slaves, and wild beasts combated during the Roman festivals ; and here the blood of both men and animals flowed in tor- rents to furnish amusement to the degenerate Romans. This famous structure is now partially in ruins : scarcely a half jjre- sents its original height ; the upj^ermost gallery has disapj^ear- ed ; the second range is much broken ; but the lowest is near- ly perfect. From its enormous mass " walls, palaces, half cit- ies have been reared ;" but Benedict XIV. put a stop to its destruction by consecrating the whole to the martyrs whose blood had been spilled there. In the middle of the once bloody arena stands a crucifix, and around this, at equal distances, fourteen altars, consecrated to diflferent saints, are erected ou the dens once occupied by wild beasts. 4. Byron has desci'ibed, in appropriate lines, "the Coliseum at midnight;" and an American writer has given a much-ad- mired sketch of the same "by moonlight." The latter says, "It is the monarch, the majesty of all ruins; there is nothing like it. Though a mournful and desolate spectacle as seen from within — without, and especially ou the side which is in best preservation, it is glorious." I PT-LA8'-TEK8 are square columns, usually set within \ralls, and projecting only one quar- ter of their diameter. Pakt VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTURE. 289 GOTHIC AECHITECTURE. LES. IV. — CASTLES AND ABBEYS OE FEUDAL TIMES. 12 3 1. Double semicircular Saxon-Xorraan arch, from window of St. Alban's Abbey, A.D. 1100. 2. Double lancet-pointed arch, from window of Salisbury Cathedral, A.D. 12G0. 3. Window of Exeter Cathedral, compound ogee arch, with compound-ciu-ve tracery, A.D. 1400. The figures 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 0, show the gradual advance from the simple to the more elaborate forms exhibited in the spires of Gothic edifices. 1. Enraptdket) have I loved to roam, A lingering votary, 'neath vaulted dome. Where the tall shafts, that mount in massy pride. Their mingling branches shoot from side to side; Where elfin' sculptors, with fantastic clew,2 O'er the long roof their wild embroideiy drew ; Wliere superstition, with capricious Jiand, In many a maze tlie wreathed window plann'd. With lines romantic tinged the gorgeous pane, To fill with holy light the wondrous fane. 3 2. Long have I loved to catch the simple chime Of minstrel harps, and spell the fabling rhyme ; To view the festive rites, the linightly play, That deck'd heroic Albion's* elder day; To mark the mouldering halls of barons bold. And the rough castles, cast in giant mould ; With Gotliic manners Gothic arts explore. And muse on the magnificence of yore. — Waeton. 3. The castles and abbeys of feudal times, which were chief- ly of Gothic architecture, with either rounded or pointed arch- es, pointed spires, and massive walls, enter so much into the N 290 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part VI. modern history and literature of Europe, that every student must have connected Avith them, through his varied reading, associations of Uvely interest. It is true that their graver history — in the times " Avhen might made riglit" — when tur- bulence and faction were in the ascendant — presents frequent scenes of tyranny and injustice ; but Avith these, as a glad re- lief, are associated a thousand pleasing and faithful i^ictures of social life. 4. It was in the Gothic palaces, castles, abbeys, halls, and manor-houses of England especially, our mother country, that both religious festivals and feats of chivalry were celebrated in all their splendor. It was there that the noble host col- lected around him his friends and retainers ; that the walls were hung with banners ; that steel-clad warders paced the battlements ; that the sound of the horn summoned the guests from the " joust"^ or the chase ; and that the " wandering harper" sang those romantic and heroic ballads at which the young caught fire, and the old threw aside the weight of years. An English writer, who has prepared a richly-illus- trated work on " The Castles and Abbeys of England," thus speaks of these " fixed landmarks in England's history :" 5. "We linger in the feudal court, and muse in the desei-ted sanctuarj-, with emotions which we can liardly define : in the one our patriotism gath- ers strengtli and decision ; in the otlier, that piety, of which it is the out- ward evidence, sheds a warmer influence on the heart. We traverse the apartments that once contained thg noble founders of our national free- dom, the venerable and intrepid champions of our faith, the revered fathers of our literature, with a feeling which amoimts to almost devotion. We turn aside to the mouldering gates of our ancestors as a pilgrim turns to some favorite shrine ; to those ruins which were the cradles of liberty, the residence of men illustrious for their deeds, the strong-hold and sanctu- ary of their domestic virtues and aftections. 6. "The mutilated altars of our religion, the crumbling sepulchres of our forefathers, are pregnant with an interest which no other source can af- ford. In these venerable remains, the visible stamp of sanctity still clings to the threshold ; we tread the ground with a soft, silent step, overawed by the solemnity of the scene ; we feel that — although the sacred fire is extin- guished on the altar, the hallelujahs hushed in the choir, the priest and penitent gone forever — we feel that the presence of a divinity still hallows the spot ; that the wings of the presiding cherubim are still extended over the altar. 7. "But, turning from the cloistered abbey to the castellated fortress of antiquity, a new train of associations springs iip. The vaulted gateway, the rudely sculptured shield, the heavy portcullis,' and massive towers, all contrast forcibly vdih the scenes we have just left, but present to the mind's eye a no less faithful picture of feudal times. It was from these towers that the flower of English chivalry went forth under the banner of the Cross — carried the terror of their arms to the gates of Jerusalem, and earned those Pakt VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTURE. 291 glorious ' badges' which are now the proud distinction of their respective houses. 8. "In a survey of these primitive strong-holds, these rude citadels of our national faith and honor, every feature is invested with traditionary in- terest. They are intimately associated with our native literature, civil and sacred ; with history, poetry, painting, and the drama ; with local tradition, and legendary and antiquarian lore." — William Beattie, M.D. 9. Gothic architecture in England has passed through sev- eral gradations or stages, which very truly mark the success- ive historical eras. Thus, in the Abbey of St. Alban's may still be seen remains of the ancient Saxon, with its ponderous columns and broad semicircular arches. In Saxon strength that abbey frown'd, AVith massive arches, broad and round, That rose alternate, row on row, On ponderous columns short and low. — Scott. 10. Yet in this very same structure the Norman style — which gives to the arch its first slight tendency toward a pointed appearance, introducing a rudely foliated^ capital and a moulded base, and clustered and lighter columns, but still rejecting the pointed sj^ires of the later Gothic — is introduced upon a Saxon basis, new and lighter arches having been thrown in, and the massive clustered pillars having been evi- dently chiseled, at vast labor and expense, out of the original Saxon, thus ingrafting the new style upon the j^rimitive stock. Thus the old Saxon abbey becomes a fine specimen of the more modern Norman-Gothic. 11. " Bold is the abbey's front, and plain ; The walls no shrindd saint sustain, Nor tower nor aiiy pinnet^ crown; But broadly sweeps the Norman arch Where once in brighten'd shadow shone King Uffa' on his pilgrim-march. And proudly points the moulder'd stone of the high vaulted porch beneath. Where Morman beauty hangs a wreath Of simple elegance and grace : Where slender columns guard the space On every side, in cluster'd I'ow, The triple arch through arch disclose, And lightly o'er the vaulting throw The thwart-rib and the fretted rose." 12. The great western entrance of this celebreted abbey, which consists of a projecting porch elaborately ornamented, niched, and pillared, and subdivided into numerous compart- ments, shows a varied mingling of the styles of different ages. " Beside this porch, on either hand, Giant buttresses darkly stand. And still their silent vanguard hold For bleeding knights laid here of old; And Mercian Offa and liia queen The portals guard and grace are seen. This western front shows various style, Less ancient than the central pile. 292 willson's fifth readee. Paet VI. It seemri some shade of parted years I^fift watching o'er the mouldering dead. Who liere for pious Henry bled, And liere, beneath the wide-stretch' d ground Of nave,'" of choir, 11 of chapels round, Forever — ever rest the head."'^ 13. In the engraving at the head of this lesson are repre- sented the different eras of Gothic architecture in England, by references to the windows of Gothic edifices of different periods — exhibiting a gradual progress from the broad and plain semicircular Saxon-Norman style to the pointed and ogee^^ arches, compound curves, and beautiful flowing tracery of later times. It is to this latter style of tracery that Scott so beautifully refers, in his descrij^tion of Melrose Abbey : 14 "Tlie moon on the east orieU* shone Tlirough slender shafts of shapely stone By foliaged tracry combined ; Tliou wouidst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplar.^ straight the osier wand In many a freakish knot had tM"ined ; Then framed a spell when the work was done, And tiirn'd the willow wreaths to stone." 15. It is pleasant to linger over these monumental relics, with which is associated so much of the history, literature, and religion of modern times. But, while they speak of the past, they also convey, in their broken arches and mouldering columns, the same lesson that is taught by older ruins of a pagan age — that this is a " fleeting world," and that the proud- est monuments which man can raise are doomed to crumble beneath the touch of time. 16. AVhen yonder brokpn arch was whole, 'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole;i5 And where yon mouldering columns nod, The abbey sent the hymn to God. So fleets the world's uncertain span; Nor zeal for God, nor love to man. Gives mortal monuments a date Beyond the power of time and fate. The towers must share tlie builder's doom ; Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : But better boon benignant heaven To faith and charity has given, And bids the Christian hope sublime Transcend the bounds of fate and time.— Scott. 1 ELP'-rN, pertaining to elves or fairies. 2 Clew, thread used In" the embroidery. 3 Fane, a temple ; a church. * Al'-bi-on, here used for England. 5 Joist ( jm.sO, a tilt ; a tournament. 10 Nave, the middle of a church. 11 Choir {kuure), the part of a church ap- propriated to the singers. In most modem churches the singei-s are placed in certain seats in the galleries. 6 roET-eTTL'-Lis, a frame armed with iron i= The bones of the British martyr, St. Al over a gateway, to be let down for de fense. ■' Fo'-LT-.I-TEB, in the form of leaves. 8 Pin-net, for pinnacle. ' The Saxon Offa, king of the Mercians, the banus, are said to have been deposited in a gorgeous shrine within the walls of the abbey. '3 O-gee', a moulding somewhat like the let- ter S. supposed founder of the Abbey of St. Al- i* O'-ri-el, a bay-window, or curved window ban's, lived near the close of the eighth projecting outward. century. I's dole, a gift; a pittance. Part VI. CIVIL AUCHITECTURE. 293 LESSON V. — OP THE USEFUL IN ARCHITECTURE. A. J. DowNiNfi. 1. The senses make the first demand in almost every path in human life. The necessity of shelter from the cold and heat, from sun and shower, leads man at first to build a hab- itation. 2. "What this habitation shall be depends partly on the habits of the man, partly on the climate in which he lives. If he is a shepherd, and leads a wandering life, he pitches a tent. If he is a hunter, he builds a rude hut of logs or skins. If he is a tiller of the soil, he constructs a dwelling of timber or stones, or lodges in the caverns of the rocky hill sides. 3. As a mere animal, man's first necessity is to provide a shelter ; and, as he is not governed by the constructive in- stinct of other animals, the clumsiest form which secures him against the inclemency of the seasons often aj^pears suflicient ; there is scarcely any design apparent in its arrangement, and the smallest amount of convenience is found in its interior. This is the first primitive or savage idea of building. 4. Let us look a step higher in the scale of improvement. On the eastern borders of Europe is a tribe or nation called the Croats, who may be said to be only upon the verge of civilization. They lead a rude forest and agricultural life. 294 willson's fifth reader. Pabt VI. They know.nothing of the refinements of the rest of Europe. They live in coarse, yet strong and warm houses. But their apartments are as rude as their manners, and their cattle fre- quently share the same rooms with themselves. 5. Our third example may be found in many portions of the United States, and especially on our Western frontiers. It is nothing less common than a plain rectangular house, built of logs, or of timber from the forest saw-mill, with a roof to cover it, windows to light it, and doors to enter it. The heat is j^erhaps kept out by shutters, and the cold by fires burnt in chimneys. It is well and strongly built ; it af- fords perfect protection to the physical nature of man ; and it serves, so far as a house can serve, all the most imperative wants of the body. It is a warm, comfortable, convenient dwelling. 6. It is easy to see that in all these grades of mgn's life, and the dwellings which typify them, only one idea has as yet manifested itself in his architecture — that of utility. In the savage, the half civilized, and the civilized states, the idea of the useful and the convenient difier, but only in degree. It is still what will best serve the body — M'hat will best shel- ter, lodge, feed, and warm us — which demands the whole at- tention of the mere builder of houses. 7. It would be as false to call only this architecture as to call the gamut music, or to consider rhymes poetry ; and yet it is the frame-work or skeleton on which architecture grows and wakens into life ; without which, indeed, it can no more rise to the dignity of a fine art than perfect language can exist without sounds. LESSON VI. OF EXPRESSION IX CITIL OR PUBLIC ARCHI- TECTURE. 1. Passik'G beyond the merely useful in building, which is limited by man's necessities, the chief hecmty of architec- ture, considered as one of the fine arts, is to be found in the expression of elevated and refined ideas of man's life. The first and most powerful expressions of this art are those of man's public life or of his religious and intellectual nature, as seen in the temple, the church, the capitol, or the gallery of art. Its secondary expression is confined to the manifesta- tion of his social and moral feelings, as shown in the dwellings Avhich he inhabits. Tart VI. CIVIL ABCHITECTURE. 295 2. In the*fofiiIs of the Gothic cathedral are embodied the worshiping princijjle in man — the loving reverence for that which is highest and holiest, and the sentiment of Christian brotherhood. These harmonies are expressed in the princi- pal lines, which are all vertical — that is, aspiring — tending upward ; in the circumstance that the whole mass falls un- der or withm the 2:>yrainidal form, which is that of flame or fire, symbolical of love ; in the pointed character of all the openings, which, as exj^ressive of firmness of base, denotes embracingness of tendency and upward ascension as its ulti- mate aim, and in the clustering and grouping of its multiple parts. Gothic architecture being thus representative rather of the unity of love than of the diversities of faith, it seems i:>roper that it should be the style for aU ecclesiastical and oth- er purposes having reference to religious life. 3. But other forms of architecture are equally expressive. In Roman art we see the ideal of the State as fully manifest- ed as is, in Gothic, the ideal of the Church. Its type-form, based on the simple arc\ is the dome — the encircling, over- spreading dome, whose centre is within itself, and which is the binding together of all for the perfection and protection of the whole. Hence the propriety of using this style in state- houses, Capitols, Parliament-houses, town-halls, where this idea is to be expressed. 4. Again : we have, in the Greek temple, as it is found in the several Grecian orders, still another architectural type. As these orders have their individual expressions, as shown in the simple and manly Doric, the chaste Ionic, and the or- nate Corinthian, they furnish the most suitable varieties of a harmoniously elegant style that can be conceived for simple halls, for courts of justice, for schools, and for piiblic, orator- ical, lecture, and philosophical rooms. Hence buildings which have but one object, and which require one expression of that object, can not be built in a style better adapted to convey the single idea of their use than in the Grecian temple form. Here every thing falls under the horizontal line — the level line of rationality ; it is all logical, orderly, syllogistically per- fect, as the wisdom of the schools. — Literary World. 296 WILLSON S FIFTH KBADER. Part VI. LESSON VII. — OF EXPEESSION IN DOMESTIC ARCHITECTTJEE. A. J. DOWNINO. •V jiibuiban Mlla le-idcuce. 1. In domestic architecture, though the range of expression may at first seem limited, it is not so in fact ; for, when com- plete, it ought to be significant of the whole private life of man — his intelHgence, his feelings, and his enjoyments. 2. If we pass an ill-proportioned dwelling, in which the walls and roof are built only to defend the inmates against cold and heat, the windows intended for nothing but to ad- rait the light and exclude the air, the chimnej'S constructed only to carry ofi"the smoke, the impression which that house makes upon us at a glance is that of mere iitility. 3. If, on the other hand, the building is well proportioned ; if there is a pleasing symmetry in its outward form ; and, should it be large, if it display variety, harmony, and unity, we feel that it possesses much absolute beauty — the beauty of a fine form. 4. If, in addition to this, we observe that it has various marked features, indicating intelligent and cultivated life in its inhabitants ; if it plainly shows, by its various apartments, that it is intended not only for the physical wants of man, but for his moral, social, and hitellectual existence ; if hospitality Part VI. CIVIL AKOHITECTUBE, 297 smiles in ample parlors ; if home virtues dwell in cozy fireside family rooms ; ii' the love of the beautiful is seen in picture or statue galleries, intellectuality in well-stocked libraries, and even a dignified love of leisure and repose in cool and spacious verandas^ we feel, at a glance, that here we have reached the highest beauty of which domestic architecture is capable — that of individual expression. 5. Hence every thing in architecture that can suggest or be made a symbol of social or domestic virtues, adds to its beauty and exalts its character. Every material object that becomes the type of the spiritual, moral, or intellectual nature of man, becomes at once beautiful, because it is suggestive of the beautiful in human nature. 6. We are bound to add here that, in all arts, other thoughts may be expressed besides those of beauty. Vices may be expressed in architecture as well as virtues ; the worst part of our natures as well as the best. A house built only with a view to animal wants, eating and drinking, wUl express sensuality instead of hospitality. A residence marked by gaudy and garish apartments, intended only to dazzle and impress others with the wealth or importance of the proj^rie- tor, will express pride and vanity instead of a real love of what is beautiful for its own sake ; and a dwelling in which a large and consjiicuous part is kejDt for show, to delude others into the belief of dignity or grace on our part, while our act- ual life is one in mean apartments, expresses any thing but honest sincerity of character. 1. The difierent styles of domestic architecture, as the Ro- man, the Italian, the Swiss, the Venetian, the rural Gothic, are nothing more than expressions of national character, which have, througli long use, become permanent. Thus the gay and sunny temperament of the south of Europe is well ex- pressed in the light balconies,^ the grouped windows, the open arcades,^ and the statue and vase bordered terraces of the Ve- netian and Italian villas ; the homely, yet strong and quaint character of the Swiss in their broad-roofed, half rude, and cu- riously constructed cottages ; the domestic virtues, the love of home, rural beauty and seclusion, can not possibly be better expressed than in the English cottage, with its many upward- pointing gables,* its intricate tracery, its spacious bay-win- dows, and its walls covered with vines and flowering shrubs. 8. So far as an admiration of foreign style in architecture arises from the mere love of novelty, it is poor and contempt- ible ; so far as it arises from an admiration of truthful beauty N2 298 willson's fifth reader. Paki VJ of form or expression, it is noble and praiseworthy. A villa in the style of a Persian palace, with its Oriental domes and minarets,^ equally unmeaning and unsuited to our life or cli- mate, is an example of the former ; as an English cottage, with its beautiful home expression, and its thorough comfort and utility, evinced in steep roofs to shed the snow, and varied form to accommodate modern habits, is of the latter. 9. Domestic architecture should be less severe — less rigid- ly scientific — than in public buildings ; and it should exhibit more of the freedom and play of feeling of every-day life. A man may, in public halls, recite a j^oem in blank verse, or de- liver a studied oration with the utmost propriety ; but he would be justly the object of ridicule if at the fireside he talk- ed about the weather, his family, or his friend in the same strain. 10. What familiar conversation, however tasteful and well- bred, is to public declamation, domestic is to civil or ecclesi- astical architecture ; and we have no more patience with those architects Avho give us copies of the Temple of Theseus, with its high, severe colonnades, for dwellings, than with a friend who should describe his wife and children to us in the lofty rhythm of Ossian. For this reason the Italian, Venetian, Swiss, rural Gothic, and our bracketed style, which are all modified and subdued forms of the Gothic and Greek styles, are the variations of those types most suitable for domestic architect- ure. • Ve-ean'-da, an open portico. * Bal'-€0-nt, a gallery on the outside of a house. 3 Xe-«ade', a continuous arch or series of arches. * Ga'-ble, the triangular or sloping end of a hou.-e, called the gahle-end. JIiN-A-KET, a slender lofty turret on mosques, with a balcony from which the people are called to prayer. LESSON Ylll. THE rOETRT OF COTTAGE ARCHITECTURE. Adapted from LouDO>''s Magazine. L The cottage homes of England ! By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet fanes. Through glo^nng orchards furth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves. And fearless there the lowly sleep. As the bird beneath their eaves. — Hemaks. 2. Of all embellishments by which the efibrts of man can enhance the beauty of natural scenery, those are the most efiective which can give animation to the scene, while the spirit Avhich they bestow is in unison with its general charac- ter. It is generally desirable to indicate the presence of ani- Pabt VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTURE. 299 A neat cottage residence. mated existence in a scene of natural beauty, but only of such existence as shall be imbued with the spirit, and partake of the essence of the beauty, which without it would be dead. If our object, therefore, is to embellish a scene, the character of which is peaceful and unpretending, we must not erect a building which shall be expressive of the abode of wealth or pride. 3. However beautiful or imposing in itself, such an object immediately indicates the presence of a kind of existence \in- suited to the,scenery which it inhabits, and of a mind Avhich, when it sought retirement, was unacquainted with its own ruling feelings, and which consequently excites no sympathy in ours; but if Ave erect a dwelling which may appear adapt- ed to the wants, and sufficient for the comfort of a gentle heart and lowly mind, we have attained our object; we have bestowed animation, and we have not disturbed repose. 4. It is for this reason that the cottage is one of the em- bellishments of natural scenery which deserves attentive con- sideration. It is beautiful always and every where ; and whether looking out of the woody dingle with its eyelike windoAV, and sending up the motion of azure smoke between the silver trunks of aged trees, or grouped among the bright corn-fields of the fruitful plain, or forming gray clusters along the slope of the mountain side, the cottage always gives the idea of a thing to be beloved — a quiet, life-giving voice, that is as peaceful as silence itself. 5. The principal thing worthy of observation in a finished cottage is its all-pervading neatness, and the expression of tranquil repose. The swallow or the martin is permitted to attach his humble domicile, in undisturbed security, to the eaves ; but he may be considered as enhancing the efi^ect of 300 WILL80NS FIFTH READER. Paki VI. the cottage by inCTcasing its usefulness, and making it con- tribute to the comfort of more beings than one. The white- wasli is stainless, and its rongh surface catches a side light as brightly as a front one; the luxuriant rose is trained grace- fully over the window ; and the gleaming lattice, divided, not into heavy squares, but into small-pointed diamonds, isthrown half open, as is just discovered among the green leaves of the sweet brier, to admit the breeze, that, as it passes over the flowers, becomes full of their fragrance. 6. The bright wooden porch breaks the flat of the cottage face by its projection, and branches of the wandering honey- suckle spread over its low hatch. A few square feet of gar- den, and a latched wicket, inviting the weary and dusty pe- destrian to lean upon it for an instant, and request a drink of water or milk, complete a picture which, if it be far enough from the city to be vmspoiled by town sophistications, is a very perfect thing in its way. Tlie ideas it awakens are agreeable, and the architecture is all that we want in such a situation. It is pretty and appropriate ; and, if it boasted of any other perfection, it would be at the expense of its propriety. LESSON IX. — THE shepherd's cottage. Where woods of ash, and beech, And partial copses fringe the green hill foot. The upland shepherd rears his modest home; There wandei's by a little nameless stream That from the hill wells forth, bright now and clear, Or after rain with chalky mixture gray, But still refreshing in its shallow course The cottage gai"den — most for use designed, Yet not of beauty destitute. The vine Mantles the little casement ; yet the brier Drops fragrant dew among the July flowers ; And pansies ray'd, and freak'd' and mottled pinks, Grow among balm, and rosemary, and rue ; There honeysuckles flaunt, and roses blow Almost uncultured : some with dark green leaves Contrast their flowers of pure unsullied white ; Others like velvet robes of regal state Of richest crimson ; while, in thorny moss Enshrined and cradled, the most lovely wear The hues of youthful beauty's glowing cheek. With fond regret I recollect, e'en now, In spring and summer what delight I felt Among these cottage gardens, and how much Such artless nosegays, knotted with a rush By village housewife or her ruddy maid, Part VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTUEE. 301 Were welcome to me ; soon and simply pleased, An early worshiper at Nature's shrine, I loved her rudest scenes — warrens,^ and heaths. And yellow commons, and birch-shaded hollows. And hedgerows, bordering unfrequented lanes Bower'd with wild roses, and the clasping woodbine. Where purple tassels of the tangling vetch With bittersweet and bryony inweave. And the dew fills the silver bindweed's cups : 3. I loved to trace the brooks whose humid banks Nourish the harebell, and the freckled pagil ; And stroll among o'ershadowing woods of beech. Sending in summer from the heats of noon A whispering shade ; while haply there reclines Some pensive lover of uncultur'd flowers, Who from the tnmps,^ with bright green mosses clad, Plucks the wood sorrel with its light thin leaves, Heart-shaped, and triply-folded, and its root Creeping like beaded coral ; or who there Gathers, the copse's pride, anemones,* With rays like golden studs on ivory laid Most delicate ; but touch'd with purple clouds, Fit crown for April's fair but changeful brow. Charlotte Smith. * Feeak'ed, variegated, [for rabbits, etc. I 2 War'-een (,iv6r'-ren), an inclosed place| ^ TiKV, a little hillock. •< A-nem'-o-nk, the wind flower. .•{02 WIL1>S0N S FIFfH BEADKK. Pahi VJ. LES. X. — OF TRUTHFULNESS IN ARCHITECTURE. A. J. Downing. A picturesque elevated couutry house. 1. If all persons building in the country knew how much the pleasure we derive from rural architecture is enhanced b}' truthfulness, we should be spared the pain of seeing so many miserable failures in country houses of small dimensions. A cottage — by which we mean a house of small size — will nev- er succeed in an attempt to impose itself upon us as a villa. Nay, by any such attempt on the part of the builder, the cot- tage will lose its own peculiar charm, which is as great, in its way, as that of the villa.^ 2. This throwing away the peculiar beauty and simplicity of a cottage, in endeavoring to imitate the richness and vari- ety of a villa, is as false in taste as for a person of simple char- acter to lay aside his simplicity and frankness, to assume the cultivation and polish of a man of the world. The basis for enduring beauty is truthfulness, no less in houses than in mor- als ; and cottages, farm-houses, and villas, which aim to be only the best and most agreeable cottages, farm-houses, and villas, will be infinitely more acceptable to the senses, feelings, and understanding than those which endeavor to assume a grandeur foreign to their nature and purjiose. 3. The principle which the reason would lay down for the government of the architect in constructing buildings for do- mestic as well as public life, is the simple and obvious one, that both in material and character they should appear to be Part VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTUKE. 303 what they are. To build a house of wood so exactly in imi- tatiou of stone as to lead the spectator to suppose it stone, is a paltry artifice, at variance with all truthfulness. When we emi^loy stone as a building material, let it be clearly express- ed ; when we employ wood, there should be no less frankness in avowing the material. There is more merit in so using wood as to give to it the utmost expression of which the sub- stance is capable, than in endeavoring to make it look like some other material. 4. A glaring want of truthfulness is sometimes seen in the attempt of ignorant builders to express a style of architect- ure which demands massiveness, weight, and solidity, in a material that possesses none of these qualities. Such is the imitation of Gothic castles, with towers and battlements built of wood. Nothing can well be more paltry and contempti- ble. The sugar castles -of confectioners and pastry-cooks are far more admirable as works of art. If a man is ambitious of attracting attention by his house, and can only afford wood, let him, if he can content himself with nothing appropriate, build a gigantic wigwam of logs and bark, or even a shingle palace, but not attempt mock battlements of pine boards, and strong towers of thin plank. The imposition attempted is more than even the most uneducated person of native sense can possibly bear. 1 Vil'-la, an elegant country seat, or farm, with a mansion and out-houses. LESSON XI. BUBIAI. OF THE DEAD MONUMENTS OF THE BUKIAL-GROUND. J. A. PiCTON. 1. Various modes have prevailed, in different ages and countries, for the disposal of the remains of the dead, accord- ing to the diflerent ideas entertained of the relation between the soul and the body, and the peculiar notions of a future state of existence. Among the Greeks, the custom of burn- ing the dead was nearly, if not quite, universal. The ashes were collected with pious care into an urn, which was depos- ited in a tomb, sometimes a family vault, with a monument erected over it to the memory of the deceased. Every clas- sical reader will remember the description of the funeral pile of Patroclus, in the twenty-third book of the Iliad : 2. " Those deputed to inter the slain Heap with a rising pyramid the plain. A hundred feet in length, a hundred wide. The growing structure spreads on every side. High on the top the m.mly corse they lay. :JU4 wlllson's fifi'h readkh. Paki Vi. And well-fed sheep and sable oxen slay : Achilles cover'd with their fat the dead, And the piled victims round the body spread." 3. Whatever may be our views of death and a future state, our feelings and sensations on the subject are influenced to a very considerable extent by association ; and, unfortunately, the associations which we connect with the final resting-place of the departed have too generally been of the most gloomy, and sometimes of the most terrific description : 4. "The grave! dread thing, Men shiver when thou'rt named : Nature, appall'd, Shakes off her wonted firmne^^s. Ah ! how dark The long extended realms and rueful wastes. Where naught but silence reigns, and night, dark night ! The sickly taper. By glimmering through thy low -brow' d murky vaults, Furr'd round with misty damps and rojjy slime, Lets full a supernumerary horror. And only Eer\-es to make thy night more irksome." 5. But are these the feelings with which we should look upon the grave ? To use the words of an elegant modern wi-iter — Washington Irving — "Why should we thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary terrors, and to spread horrors around the tomb of those we love '? The grave should be surround- ed by every thing thj^t might inspire tenderness and venera- tion for the dead, or that might win the living to virtue. It is the place, not of disgust and dismay, but of sorrow and meditation." 6. Death and the grave are solemn and awful realities; they speak with a powerful and intelligible voice to the heart of every spectator, as being the common lot of all, the gate of access to another state of existence through which all must pass. Our cemeteries, then, should bear a solemn and sooth- ing character ; they should have nothing in them savoring of fashionable prettiness, nor any fiir-fetched conceits or tortured allegories ; they should be equally remote, in expression, from fanatical gloom and conceited aftectation. v. There are many of our country church-yards, seated deep in the recesses of venerable woods, and shut out, as it were, from the every-day Avorld, which might furnish us models for imitation, as far as calm serenity and quiet beauty go ; where the "rugged elms" and "yew-tree's shade," coupled with the " ivy-mantled tower," with which they are connected, give an air of time-honored sanctity to the scene ; where no sound reaches the ear but the low murmur of the wind through the summer leaves, or the sighing of the storm through the win- try branches, realizing, if any situation could do so, the de- scription of the poet : Part VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTURE. 305 " There is a calm for those that weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; They softly lie and sweetlj' sleep Low in the ground." 8. Of the architectural adaptation of monumental struc- tures to the solemnities and consolations of Christian burial, a "writer in the JSforth Atnerican Meview makes the following excellent observations : " There is certainly no place, not even the church itself, where it is more desirable that our religion should be present to the mind than the cemetery, which must be regarded either as the end of all things, the last, melancholy, hopeless resort of perishing humanity, the sad and fearful portion of man. which is to involve body and soul alike in endless night ; or, on the other hand, as the gateway of a glorious immortality, the passage to a brighter world, whose splendors beam even upon the dark chambers of the tomb. 9. "It is from the very brink of the grave, where rest in eternal sleep the mortal remains of those whom we have best loved, that Christianity speaks to us in its most triumphant soul-exidting words of victory over death, and of a life to come. Surely, then, all that man places over the tomb should, in a measure, speak the same language. The monuments of the burial- ground should remind us that this is not our final abode ; they should, as far as possible, recall to us the consolations and promises of our religion. 10. "But there is a style of architecture which belongs peculiarly to Christianity, and owes its existence even to this religion ; whose very orna- ments remind one of the joys of a life beyond the grave ; whose lofty vaults and arches are crowded with the forms of prophets, and martyrs, and beati- fied spirits, and seem to resound with the choral hymns of angels and arch- angels. But peculiarly are its power and sublimity displayed in the monu- ments it rears over the tomb. The elevated form on which reposes the statue of the mailed knight, or the holy woman, composed into the stately rest of the grave, yet the hands folded over the breast, as if commending the spirit to God who gave it ; the canopy which overhangs it ; the solemn vault which rises above ; the gorgeous windows, through which is poured a flood of golden light upon the abode of the dead — these are the character- istics of the architecture of Christianity, the sublime, the glorious Gothic." LESSON XII. THE ARCHITECTURE OF NATURE. Within the sunlit forest, Our roof the brighi blue sky, Where fountains flow, and wild flowers blow. We lift our hearts on high. — Elliott. 1. Having dwelt at some length on the fading monuments of man's power, pride, ambition, and glory, and of his daily life, his religious faith, and his burial, it may be well, in clos- ing, to direct our thoughts, in reverent contemplation, to that higher order of architecture every where seen in Nature's works, and full of expression of the power, wisdom, and good- ness of the Great Architect. 2. "We might speak of the mountains which He has set up 306 willson's fib th keadeu. Pakt VI. as pillars, and of the overhanging dome which seems to rest on their summits ; but in vain we should attempt to describe the vast creations of His handiwork which adorn this mag- nificent outer temple. Within its walls, however, are sanctu- aries, which no " frail hands have made," and where no traces of" man's pomp or pride" are to be seen, but where the hum- ble worshiper, in all the simplicity of childlike faith, may hold communion with his Maker. These are " the groves" — " God's first temples" — whose " venerable columns" " thy hand, our Father, reared." GOD'S FIEST TEMPLES. 3. The groves were God's first temples. Ere man leam'd To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems — in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down And offer'd to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences That, from the stilly twilight of the place. And from the gray old trunks that, high in heaven, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath, that sway'd at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bow'd His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah! why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. Offer one hymn ; thrice happy if it find Acceptance in his ear. 4. Father, Thy hand Hath rear'd these venerable columns : Thou Didst weave this verdant roof Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose All these fair ranks of trees. The}- in Thy sun Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches ; till at last they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold Communion with his Maker. 6. Here are seen No traces of man's pomp or pride ; no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Pakt VI. CIVIL ARCHITECTUEE. 807 Encounter ; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of Thy fair works. But Thou art here ; Thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. 6. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades. Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak — By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated — not a prince, In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe. 7. My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on In silence round me — the perpetual work Of Thy creation, finish'd, yet renew'd Forever. Written on Thy works, I read The lesson of Thy own eternity. Lo ! all grow old and die ; but see, again. How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth — In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly than their ancestors Moulder beneath them. 8. There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seeni'd Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them ; and there have been holy men Who deem'd it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Eetire, and, in Thy presence, reassure My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies. The passions, at Thy plainer footsteps, shrink, And tremble, and are still. 9. O God ! when Thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 308 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Pakt VI. The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament. The swift, dark whirlwind, that iijjroots the woods, And drowns the villaf,'es ; when, at Thy call, Uprises the great deeji, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities ; who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of Thy power. His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by I Oh ! from these sterner aspects of Thy face Spare me and mine ; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchain'd elements, to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades. Thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of Thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. — Betant. THE PARTHENON OF ATHENS. Pair Parthenon .' yet still must Fancy weep For thee, thou work of nobler spirits flown. Bright, as of old, the sunbeams o'er thee slec]) In all their beauty still — and thine is gone ! Empires have sunk since thou wast first revered. And varying rites have sanctified thy shrine. Mourn, graceful ruin ! on thy sacred hill. Thy gods, thy rites, a kindred fate have shared : Yet art thou honor'd in each fragment still That wasting years and barbarous hands have spared ; Each hallow'd stone, from rapine's fury borne. Shall wake bright dreams of thee in ages yet unborn. Hemaxs. 1- i\int Klevation of the Parthenon, as restored. See also p. 285. SIXTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. LESSON I. INDIAN SUMMER. 1. When was the red man's summer^ ? When the rose Hung its first banner out'? When the gray rock, Or the brown heath, the radiant kalmia clothed'? Or when the loiterer by the reedy brooks Started to see the proud lobelia glow Like living flame' ? When through the forest gleam'd The rhododendron' ? or the fragrant breath Of the magnolia swept deliciously O'er the half laden nerve' ? 2. No\ When the groves In fleeting coloi's wrote their own decay, And leaves fell eddying on the sharpen'd blast That sang their dirge' ; when o'er their rustling bed The red deer sprang\ or fled the shrill-voiced quail, Heavy of wing and fearfuP ; when, with heart Foreboding or depress'd', the white man mark'd The signs of coming winJer' : then began The Indian's joyous season. Then the haze. Soft and illusive as a fairy dream', Lapp'd all the landscape in its silvery fold. 3. The quiet rivers that were wont to hide 'Neath shelving banks', beheld their course betray'd By the white mist that o'er their foreheads crept\ While wrapp'd in morning dreams', the sea and sky 310 WILLSON S FIFTH READEB. Slept 'neath one curtain*, as if both were merged' In the same element'. Slowly the sun, And all reluctantly, the spell dissolved', And then it took upon its parting wing A rainbow glory. 4. Gorgeous was the time, Yet brief as gorgeous. Beautiful to thee, Otir brother hunter', but to xis replete With musing thoughts in melancholy train. Our joys, alas' ! too oft were wuc to thee' ; Yet ah! poor Indian', whom we fain would drive Both from our hearts, and from tliy father's lands'. The perfect year doth bear thee on its crown', And when we would forget', repeat thy name'. — Mrs. Sigournet. LESSON" II. FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. 1. The most plain and natural sentiments of equity concur with divine authority to enforce the duty of forgiveness. Let him who has never, in his life, done wrong, be allowed the priv- ilege of remaining inexorable. But let such as are conscious of frailties and crimes consider forgiveness as a debt which they owe to others. Common failings are the strongest lesson of mutual forbearance. Were the virtues unknown among men, order and comfort, peace and rej^ose, would be strangers to human life. 2. Injuries retaliated according to the exorbitant measure which passion prescribes would excite resentment in return. The injured person would become the injurer ; and thus wrongs, retaliations, and fresh injuries would circulate in end- less succession, till the world was rendered a field of blood. 3. Of all the passions which invade the human breast, re- venge is the most direful. When allowed to reign with full dominion, it is more than sufficient to poison the few pleas- ures which remain to man in his present state. How much soever a person may suflfer from injustice, he is always in haz- ard of sufl:ering more from the prosecution of revenge. The violence of an enemy can not inflict what is equal to the tor- ment he creates to himself by means of the fierce and despe- rate passions which he allows to rage in his soul. 4. Those evil spirits that inhabit the regions of misery are represented as delighting in revenge and cruelty. But all that is great and good in the itniverse is on the side of clemency and mercy. The almighty Ruler of the world, though for ages offended by the unrighteousness and insulted by the impiety of men, is " long-suffering and slow to anger." SIXTH MISCEMiANEOUS DIVISION. 311 5. His Son, when he appeared in our nature, exhibited, botK in his Ufe and his death, the most iUustrious example of forx giveness which the world ever beheld. If we look into the history of mankmd, we shall find that, in every age, they who have been respected as worthy, or admired as great, have been distinguished for this virtue. 6. Revenge dwells in little minds. A noble and magnan- imous spirit is always superior to it. It sufiers not, from the injuries of men, those severe shocks which others feel. Col- lected within itself, it stands unmoved by their impotent as- saults ; and with generous pity, rather than Avith anger, looks down on their unworthy conduct. It has been truly said that the greatest man on earth can no sooner commit an iujuiy, than a good man can make himself greater by forgiving it. Blaib. LESSON III. PASSING AW AY. John Pieepont. 1. Was it the chime of a tmy bell, That came so sweet to my di-eaming ear, Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell, That he winds on the beach, so mellow and clear, When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep. She dispensing her silvery light, And he his notes as silvery quite, While the boatman listens and ships his oar, To catch the music that comes fi'om the shore'? Hark^ ! the notes, on my ear that play, Are set to words' : as they float, they say, " Passing away* ! passing away' !" 2. But no' ; it was not a fairy's shell, Blown on the beach so mellow and clear' ; Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell. Striking the hour, that fill'd my ear, As I lay in my dream' ; yet was it a chime That told of the flow' of the stream of time'. For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung, And a plump little girl, for a pendulum, swung (As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring, That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing) ; And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, And, as she enjoyed it, she seem'd to say, "Passing away' ! passing away' !" 3. Oh, how bright were the wheels that told Of the lapse of time as they moved round slow ! 312 willson's fifth kkadee. And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold, Seemed to point to the girl below. And, lo !~ she had changed^ ; in a few short hours, Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers. That she held in her outstretch'd hands, and flung This way and that, as she, dancing, swung. In the fullness of grace and womanly pride, That told me she soon was to be a bride ; Yet then\ when expecting her hapjjiest day', In the same sweet voice 1 heard her say, " Passing away^ ! passing away' !" 4. While T gazed at that fair one's check, a shade Of thought, or care, stole softly over. Like that by a cloud on a summer's day made. Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush Had something lost of its brilliant blush ; And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels. That marched so calmly round above her. Was a little dimmed, as when evening steals Upon noon's hot face : yet one couldn't but love her. For she look'd like a mother whose first babe lay, Rock'd on her breast, as she swung all day ; And she seem'd in the same silver tone to say, " Passing away' ! passing away' !" 5, While yet I looked', what a change there came' ! Her eye was quench'd', and her cheek was wan' : Stooping and staffed' was her wither'd frame', Yet just as busily swung she on' ; The garland beneath her had fallen to dust' ; The wheels above her were eaten with rust' ; The hands that over the dial swept'. Grew crooked and tarnish'd, but on they kept' ; And still there came that silver tone, From the shriveled lips of the toothless crone — Let me never forget to my dying day The tone or the burden of her lay — "Passing away' ! passing away' I" LESSON IV. — THE DREAM OF THE TWO EOADS. 1. It was New- Year's night ; and Von Arden, having fallen into an unquiet slumber, dreamed that he was an aged man standing at a window. He raised his mournful eyes toward the deep blue sky, where the stars were floating, like white lilies, on the surface of a clear calm lake. Then he cast them on the earth, where few more hopeless beings than himself now moved toward their certain goal — the tomb. 2. Already, as it seemed to him, he had passed sixty of the stages which lead to it, and he had brought from his journey SIXTH MISCELLANEOUS UIVISIOJ!^. 313 nothing but errors and remorse. His health was destroyed, his mind vacant, his heart sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort. 3. The days of his youth rose up in a vision before him, and he recalled the solemn moment when his father had placed him at the entrance of two roads — one leading into a peace- ful, sunny land, covered with a fertile harvest, and resounding Avith soft sweet songs ; the other leading the wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, where poison flowed instead of water, and where serpents hissed and crawled. 4. He looked toward the sky, and cried out in his agony : " O days of my youth, return ! O my father, place me once more at the entrance to life, that I may choose the better way !" But the days of his youth and his father had both passed away. 5. He saw wandering lights floating away over dark marshes, and then disappear. Tliese were the days of his wasted life. He saw a star fall from heaven, and vanish in darkness. This was an emblem of himself; and the sharp ar- rows of unavailing remorse struck home to his heart. Then he remembered his early companions, who entered on life with him, but who, having trod the paths of virtue and of la- bor were now honored and happy on this New-Year's night. 6. The clock, in the high church tower, struck, and the sound, falling on his ear, recalled his jDarents' early love for him, their erring son ; the lessons they had taught him ; the prayers they had oftered up on his behalf. Overwhelmed with shame and grief, he dared no longer look toward that heaven Avhere his father dwelt ; his darkened eyes dropped tears, and with one despairing effort he cried aloud, " Come back, my early days ! come back !" 7. And his youth did return ; for all this was but a dream which visited his slumbers on New-Year's night. He was still young; his faults alone were real. He thanked God fer- vently that time was still his own ; that he had not yet enter- ed the deep, dark cavern, but that he was free to tread the road leading to the peaceful land, wher^ sxmny harvests wave. 8. Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubting which path to choose, remember that, when years are passed, and your feet stumble on the dnrk mountain, you will cry bit- terly, but cry in vain : " O youth, return ! Oh give me back my early days !" — Prom Jean Paul Richtee. O 314 willson's fifth keadee. LESSON v.— TIIANATOPSIS. TiiANATOpsis is a compound Greek word meaning a View of Death; or it may be translated " Keflcctions on Death." [The air of pensive contemplation that pei-vadeB this piece requires the inflections, in the reading of it, to bo sliglit and gentle, and the tone throughout to be one of tender ead- neas and Cliriatian resignation.] 1. To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various* language ; for his gayer' hours' She has a voice of gladness', and a smile And eloquence of beauty\ and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness' ere he is aware'. 2. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit', and sad images Of the stern agony', and shroud', and pall', And breathless darkness', and the narrow house', Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart', Go forth unto the open sky, and list To Nature's' teaching, while from all around', Earth and her waters', and the depths of air', Comes a stiU voice — 3. " Yet a few days, and thee. The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course' ; nor yet, in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many tears. Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements^ To be a brother to th' insensible rock And to the sluggish clod', which the rude swain Turns with his share', and treads' upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad', and pierce thy mould'. 4. "Yet not to thy eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor could'st thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world', with kings\ The powerful of the earth', the wise', the good'. Fair forms', and hoary seers of ages past', All in one miglity sepulchre'. 5. "The hills. Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun' ; the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between' ; The venerable woods' ; rivers that move SIXTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 315 In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green^ ; and, pour'd round all', Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun', The planets', all the infinite host of heaven', Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. 6. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning', and the Barcan desert pierce'. Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon', and hears no sound Save his own dashings' — yet the dead are there' ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began', have laid them down In their last sleep' : the dead reign there alone. 7. So shalt tliou'' rest ; and what if thou shalt fall Unnoticed by the living', and no friend Take note of thy departure' ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugli ^Vhen thou art gone' ; the solemn brood of care Plod on' ; and each one, as befoi'e', will chase His fixvorite phantom' ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glides away', the sons of men'. The youth in life's green spring', and he who goes In the full strength of years', matron and maid', The bow'd with age', the infant in the smiles And beauty of its innocent age cut off'. Shall, one by one', be gathcr'd to thy side', By those who, in their turn', shall follow them'. 8. So live that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade', where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death'. Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged' to his dungeon' ; but, sustain'd and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him', and lies down to pleasant dreams'. — Bryant. LESSON VI. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. Longfellow. 1. Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands. The smith, a mighty man is he. With large and sinewy hands ; 316 willson's fifth reader. And the muscles of his brawny arms Ave strong as iron bands. 2. His hair is cris]), and bhick, and long; His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat ; He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. 3. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge With raeasur'd beat and slow. Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. 4. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge, Aud hear the bellows roar. And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff" from a threshing-floor. 6. He goes, on Sunday, to the church, And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson ))ray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. C. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. 7. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begun, Each evening sees it close, Something attempted, something done, Has earn'd a -night's repose. 8. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus, at the flaming forge of life. Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus, on its sounding anvil, shaped Each burning deed and thought. 2d Div. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 31' PART VII. SECOND DIVISION OF NATUEAL PHILOSOPHY. [Tliis subject is continupcl fr >m the Fourth Iteader.] LESSON I. — THE library: INTRODUCTORY. 1. "Welcome to the hills and dales of Glen wild," said Mr. Maynard, as he met for the first time, after a short vacation, the Volunteer Philosophy Class, composed of Masters George, John, and Frank, and Misses Ida and Ella. " Welcome to the pleasant shade of the spreading oak, to the lawn, the grove, the meadow, ' The River ;' but especially to the library and recitation-room, endeared by the memories of the past, and where we hope to talk over the remaining topics of philoso- phy. But tell me first how you have spent the vacation." 2. After a short pause, John, Avho was the eldest of the class, replied that he had passed the brief month about his father's mill, where he had felt the advantage of the scientific knowledge he had gained, and his need of more. 3. George had contrived a new arrangement of levers to remove stumps of trees from his father's farm, and had also 318 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part VII. made a wliippletrce in sncli a way that a weak horse could plow with a strong and able one Avithout having to pull more than one third as much as the other. 4. Frank had passed his vacation in the city, but not un- mindful of the lessons he had learned at Glenwild. His ]jhil- osophical experiments liad been principally confined to row- ing and sailing ; and the best possible rig for his boat was the subject to which his thoughts had been chiefly directed. 5. Ida and Ella had accompanied Mr. Maynard and his fam- ily in their vacation tour to Niagara, the Lakes, the White Mountains, and the sea-side. They had seen many practical illustrations of those laws of philosophy which they had al- ready learned ; and while they were not less delighted and enraptured with the sublime and picturesque objects of their visit than the most poetical tourists, they still had many ques- tions to ask about rainbows^ clouds^ vmves, and toinds — phe- nomena which Mr. M. promised to explain more fully on their return to Glenwild. 6. Mr. Maynard told them that he well remembered his promise, and that the remaining departments of Natural Phi- losophy related to water, winds, clouds, rainbows, thunder and lightning, and other similar phenomena. It would not, how- ever, be possible to give them all the instruction they would need on so many and important subjects in the time devoted to philosophy ; but he had made arrangements to explain many things about them in a course of lessons on Physical Geography. 7. "We have to study matter," remarked Mr. Maynard, " in its three forms or conditions. All material substances are either solids, liquids, or gases. Many substances — per- liaps all — may exist in all three of these forms, imder proper conditions of temperature and pressure ; as steam, which may be condensed into water or frozen into ice. Even metals may be melted, and then converted into vapor. 8. " There are two conditions or aspects in which all these forms of matter should be considered, viz., in a state of rest and in motion ; the former of which is treated under the head oi statics, ■im^ the latter under that of dynamics. The Lessons on Philosophy in the Fourth Reader were on the statics and dynamics of solids / and our present course will treat of the corresponding laws of liquids and gases.''"' 9. "I woiild like to ask," said Frank, "if the allotment of the empire of the Avorld, in ancient mythology, to the three brothers, Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, had any reference to 2dDlV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 319 the three forms of matter of which the world is com- posed." " It is not improbable," replied Mr. Maynard, " that this distribution of authority by the ancients was their mysterious way of exhibiting the truth which seems so plain to us. Ju- piter and his wife Juno had special direction of atmospherical phenomena, such as thunder and lightning, wind, clouds, snow, and rainbows. Homer says the portion which fell to Jupiter was the ' extensive heaven in air and clouds.' " 10. "I recollect reading," said Frank, "that Jupiter was also called Zeus,^ and that in old times the expression, ' What is Zeus doing ?' Avas equivalent to ' What kind of weather is it?'" " I would also remind you," continued Mr. Maynard, " that Neptune was the god of water in general, but especially of the sea, rivers, and fountains. Pluto's abode was in the solid earth ; and his name, which in Greek means riches or wealth, indicates his supremacy over the solid forms of matter. Thus we see that Frank's question was quite appropriate ; and the three forms of matter were evidently represented in this mys- tical manner by the wisest men of former fimes." 11. "I think," said Frank, "that they call rich men solid men in our day, which is most appropriate, as Pluto AA^as the same as wealth, and had charge of the solid part of matter." " I do not think the solid men will thank you for your ety- mological discovery," said Ida. " It is certainly more fanci- ful than philosophical," said Mr. Maynard, who then proceed- ed to assign the subject of Hydrostatics for the next lesson. I Zeus, the Greek name for Jupiter, pronounced in one syllable, as zus. LES. II. — HYDROSTATICS, OE LIQUIDS IN A STATE OF REST. 1 . 3fr. M. As, in our lesson on the statics^ of solids, the knowledge of a few principles and definitions enabled you to solve many problems of apparent difficulty, so in the statics of liquids, or hydrostatics,''' you may expect to do the same by the same means. The first thing necessary is a definition of the term, fluid. 2. Ida. I looked in Webster's Dictionary for a definition, and found it to be " any sxibstance whose parts easily move and change their relative position without separation, and Avhich yields to the slightest pressitre." 3. John. Is not every thing ^^wiV? that is not solid? 320 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Pakt VII. Mr. M. Yes, every thing is either solid ox fluid. Water and air are both fluids, but they are not both liquids. Will George define the term liquid ^ 4. George. I took pains to look in Webster's Dictionary also for the term. I found it to be " a fluid or flowing sul> stance ; a substance whose parts change their relative posi- tion on the slightest pressure, and which floAvs on an inclined plane." I can not understand from this the diflerence be- tween a, fluid and a liquid. 5. 3Ir. 31. All liquids are fluids, but all fluids are not liq- uids. Those fluids which tend to expand when at liberty, as air and gases, retain their name, and are properly called flu- ids ; but such as do not so expand are commonly called liq- uids, as water, oil, and mercury. Many phenomena show that both attractive and reptdsive forces exist between the parti- cles which compose the mass of a body. When the attract- ive force is predominant, the body is a solid. When the two forces balance, the body is a liquid ; and when the repulsive force pi'edominates, the matter is a gas. In the last-named case the particles tend apart, so that some external force is required to keep fhem together. It is very important to keep these distinctions in mind, if you would understand the ap- pearances you will be called upon to explain. Will John now inform us what is the most noticeable property of water aft- er its fluidity ? 6. John. I think every person must have observed the lev- el surface of water when it is at rest. I have often heard peo- ple talk of a water-level. Mr. M. The earth, you know, is spherical, or nearly so ; and as three fourths of its surface are covered with water, it is evident that the water-level conforms to the shape of the earth, which has a convex surface. This dcTiation from a plane, or a straight line, is found to be eight inches in one mile. Do you know what it would be for tAvo miles ? 7. JF)'ank. I suj^pose it must be sixteen inches, and so on for any distance. John. There must be some mistake here ; for I once stood on the ice, and with a good spyglass I could see an object at the very water's edge, and only three miles distant. 8. Ella. If Frank is correct, in four ^^lon'oflhJlulvffromthe thoug^nd milcs, the Straight line would straight line A B. Vary from the earth's curvature only four 2d DiV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 321 thousand times eight inches, or about half a mile ; -when it is plain that the variation must be as much as the earth's radius, or four thousand miles instead of half a mile ! a wonderful dif- ference. Mr. M. I think Frank must see that he is mistaken. 9. Frank. I am very sure it was so stated in the Philoso- phy I studied, but I see it can not be right. Mr. M. The distance the straight line varies from the curve may be found, /br short distances., by multiplying the square of the distance in miles by eight inches. Now can Frank tell the deviation for two miles ? 10. Frank. The squai'e of two is four; and four, multiplied by eight, gives thirty-two inches, which must be the deviation for two miles. Mr. M. You have now given a correct reply. If John had been six feet in height, he could have seen just three miles on the ice of a lake, as you will see by reversing the jDrocess I gave you. Will John show how to do it ? 11. John. Six feet are seventy-two inches, which, divided by eight, gives nine for a quotient, and the square root of nine is three, which is miles. 3Ir. M. As you may have occasion to put such calculations into practice, I would request you to notice that the dijference between the true and apparent level varies as the square of the distance for any distance that can occur in leveling. 12. Ida. I think the engineers of the Erie Canal must have had occasion to put that rule into practice when they gave the levels to the workmen who constructed it. 3Ir. M. I am glad so important a matter can be so interest- ing to you. Are you aware that water will rise to the same level when in different vessels which have a communicating l^ipe between them ? John. I have often seen such a result. Is not that the prin- ciple on which water is distributed in cities ? 13. Mr.M. In most of our large cities, water is conveyed into the upper stories of houses by this very principle. Wa- ter will rise to the level of its sovirce, whether the pipes are of cast iron or porous strata of the earth. In this way water is obtained in many places by boring wells two thousand feet or more in depth. The water wliich fell as rain on some dis- tant mountain, and which was slowly making its subterrane- an way hundreds of feet below the surface, rises where an opening is made to supply the necessities of man on the otherwise arid plain. O 2 322 WILLSON S FIFTH RKADEE. Tart VII. 14, George. Arc not these called Artesian wells? I have read of several recently Lored in the Sahara Desert. 3Ir. M. The inhabitants of the oases where these wells have been bored were Avild with delight and wonder as they saw the water rush forth from the dry sands; and they have given them such names as " the well of bliss," " the well of gratitude," etc. 15. John. I do not wonder the wandering tribes of the desert believed that the French, who bored the wells, had wrought a miracle. To them it was a miracle ; but to ns, only water rising to its level, as we see every day in a tea-kettle. 16. Ida. I have just read a verse from Eliza Cook's poems which I Avill repeat : " Traverse the desert, and then ye can tell What treasures exi.-^t iu tin; cold deep well ; Sink in despair on the red parched earth, And then ye may reckon what water is worth." 17. Mr. M. It is thought that these wells will work a great social revolution in those regions. The various tribes, instead of wandering, like their ancestors, from one place to another, will settle around these fertilizing springs, and begin to cul- tivate the earth even iu those sandy deserts. Artesian wells have been bored in Charleston, S. C, St. Louis, Mo,, Colum- bus, O., La Fayette, Ind., Louisville, Ivy., and many other places in this country. In Alabama they are of incalculable value, and are very numerous on plantations and in villages. 18. The annexed cut of a vertical section of the earth's crust shows the principle of the Artesian Avell. i ig 3, the theory of Artesian wells. The stratum A, and the one below it, are impervious to water, but between them is a fissure or seam along which the water penetrates from the lake on the hills. Wells are bored 2d DiT. OF NATURAL PniLOSOPHY. 323 in the valley through which the water rises with great force as soon as the boring enters the fissure between the strata. The water may be carried up in pipes to the very level of the lake. 19. John. Really these wonderful wells show, on a large scale, the experi- ment of water finding its level in difterently-shaped vessels which have free rig. 4, water finding its level in differently-shaped COmmimication by a tube vessels that communicate with each other. c^X tllC bottOm. Mr. M. In our next lesson I hope to finish what we shall have to say on Hydrostatics. 1 ST.\T'-ic8,from the Greek sta??te((rTaTiK)i),|2 HJ-nno-STAT'-irs, from the Greek hudfrr "• rest," or " stand still :" the science which (" v6up), " water," and xtatike : the science treats of the forces which keep bodies at\ which treats of the properties and pressure rest^ or in equilibrium. \ oi fluids at rcKt. LESSON III. — HYDROSTATICS — Continued. "I WILL introduce the subject for this lesson," said Mr. M.., "by showing you one of the ways in which an ignorant contriver tried to obtain a constant flow of w^ater — a kind of perpetual motion — by means of a vessel like this. "He reasoned thus : A pound of water in A must more than balance an ounce in J5, and must therefore be constantly pushing the ounce forward into A again, thus causing a constant flow of Avater in continuous current. Fig. 5, an ounce of wa- What think yOU of llis SUCCCSS ?" ter balances a pound. ^^ ^^^^_ j thiukhe fouud the water to rise no higher in H than in A. Mr. M. You think correctly. You must see that as the downward pressure in B is equal to that in ^, the pressure of water is by no means as the mass, but as the vertical height of the fluid. George. I have been reading about this hy- drostatic paradox — how any quantity of water, however small, may balance any quantity, how- ever great. I think I see how it is, as the tube may be very small, and the vessel with which it communicates very large, and the water will Fi-.C,tho water in O balances tha wliolo ma.'?8 in h. 324 WILLSON S FIFTH EEADER. Part VII. stand at the same level in Loth. Fig. 6 therefore seems to illustrate the same principle as Fig. 5 — the water in the pipe a balancing the whole mass in b. 3. Ida. I now nnderstand what lias always teen a mystery to me : I mean the exjjeriment with the hydrostatic bellows, where a boy can raise himself, as sliown in the figure in this book, by standing on a bellows, and pouring water into the small tube which is connected with it. Mr. 31. What is the statement in the case there given ? 4. Ida. It is stated that the water in the small pipe, or tube, having a vertical height of three feet, and a surface area of one inch, will balance a column in the bellows, with which it is connected, of the same height, and of any area, however great. In the case here represented, as the bellows has an area of two feet, the wa- ter in the small pipe, weighing a little more than a pound and a quarter, will support a column of water in the bellows of two square feet in Fig. T. the Hydro- ^^^^ and three feet in height, or a weight of static Bellows, about three hundred and seventy-four pounds. 5. J/r. 31. Very well. Now let me ask George a question. If a tightly-fitting piston should be inserted in the top of the small pipe, and a man weighing one hundred and fifty times as much as the water in the pipe should get on the top of the piston, what additional amount of upward pressure do you suppose he would thereby exert on the top board of the bel- lows ? 6. George. Evidently, from the principle stated, he would exert an additional pressure of one hundred and fifty times three hundred and seventy-four pounds, which would be equal to fifty-six thousand and one hundred pounds, or a little more than txoenty-eight tons! This certainly beats the power of the levers which I planned for pulling up stumps ! Ida. And it is stated that if the area of the bellows were ten times greater, or the force applied to the piston ten times greater, a weight ten times heavier would be raised on the belloAvs ! V. Dxmk. I do not see any limit to the power of a machine constructed on this principle ; for if the area of the top of the bellows were one thousand feet instead of two feet, the pow- er of this same machine, with the weight of the man on the piston, would be equal to a pressure of more than fourteen thousand tons ! 2d Div. OF NATUKAL PHILOSOPHY. 325 8. George. Yes ; and if the small tube were no bigger than a pipe-stem, the bellows would sustain just as great a weight. j\Ir. 31. There is, indeed, no limit to the power of such a machine, excej)t the strength of the material of which it is made. John. "Was the press used by Mr. Stephenson in raising the tubes of the Britannia Bridge, which weighed fifteen hundred tons each, constructed on this principle ? 9. Mr. M. Yes. Mr. Steplienson had presses made which weighed forty tons each. The cast-iron of the cylinders was eleven inches thick ; and it was estimated that if one of these presses were used as a forcing-pump, it would be capable of throwing water, in a vacuum, five and a half miles high. 10. Frank. Was it necessary to make the cyhnders so thick ? Mr. M. Thick as they were, one of them suddenly burst, throwing oif a piece of iron weighing a ton and a lialf. Ida. I do not wonder this is reckoned one of the most powerful existing machines, and that when Mr. Brunei had to iauncli the Great Eastern, weighing twelve thousand tons, he resorted to the hydraulic press. 11. Mr. M. Mr. Brunei used a large number of these power- ful presses ; and so great was the pressure put u])on them that the water was forced through the pores of the thick iron cyl- inders, and stood like de^v on the outside. George. And I recollect that some of the men standing near said those presses had to w^ork so hard that it made them sioeat. 12. John. As the power of this hydraulic press is so tre- mendous, why is it not used to propel machinery ? 3Ir. M. I think you yourself could answer that question if you w^ould refer to the principle illustrated in the Lessons on Mechanical Powers in the Fourth Reader. You there learn- ed that, in all machineiy, " what is gained in j^o^oer is lost in velocity.'''' If a pressure of one pound exerted on a piston placed in the small tube, in Fig. 7, should press the piston down one foot, and exert a pressui'e of a thousand pounds on the top board of the bellows, hoio much would it raise the board ? 13. John. I understand now the application of the princi- ple ; for it is very evident that a downward movement of the jiiston to the extent of one foot would result in an upward movement of the top board of the bellows of only the thou- sandth 2'>art of a foot ! 326 WILLSON .S FIFTH READER. Taut VII. Ella. How beautifully this illustrates the law of compensa- tion Avhich is said to pervade all nature !* 14. John. Does it not appear, from the principles already- illustrated, that the pressure of a column of water is propor- tionate to its height and base? Mr. M. Yes ; its vertical height. If we fill with water a small vertical tube, twenty-four feet in height, and having the horizontal area of its orifice equal to one square inch, it is very plain that the water will press upon the base or bottom with its own weight, which is a little more than ten poimds. But if the base be enlarged, so that the water shall then cover an area often square feet, what will the jjressure be on the entire base? 15. George. I think I can tell, for the principle has already been explained. "We shall get the entire pressure by multiplying the entire area of the base — that is, its whole number of square inches — by the pressure on one square inch. John. I have made the calculation ; and I find the pressure on the entire base would be fourteen thou- sand and four hundred i^ouuds, or more than seven tons! Ella. I see, by the diagram, Fig. 9, that all the wa- ter in the vessel need not weigh more than twelve pounds ; how then is it possible that it can press on the bottom of the vessel with a force of more than seven tons? 16. Mr.M. And yet, strange as it may appear, such is the fact ; the pressure of the water in the vessel is the same in all directions, upward as well as downward ; it is the same on every square inch ; and if the vessel could not yield any without breaking, it Avould require a very strong material to * The Iiydraulic press, as used for practical pui-poses (as for pressing bales of cotton, etc. ), is illustrated in tlie accompanying fimire. It is connected with a forcing-pump, which raises the water from the re.«ei-voir H, and then forces it through the tube K into the larffe cylinder B. Here the water acts to raise tlie large piston I'. If the area of the base of the small piston is a square inch in diameter, and the area of the base of thf large piston P is one thou^and square inches, then a downward pressure of one pound on the one will exert an upward pressure of one thousand pounds on the other. But it must be recollected that the small piston must move downward through the space of a thou- sand inches, while the larse piston rises only one inch. By means of this machine cotton is pressed into bales, ships are raised for re- Fig. 8, the Hydraulic Press. pairs, chain-cables are tested, etc., etc. Fig. 9. 2d Div. OP NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 327 withstand the pressure. But you can see that a very little yielding of the top or bottom of the vessel would lower the water in the tube so as greatly to relieve the pressure. Yet if the vessel should yield, by continuing to pour water into the tube, a very strong vessel might thus be broken. 17. George. I now recollect seeing statements of the burst- ing of hills, and even of moixntains, by the force of the water which had accumulated within them. Was this on the prin- ciple of the hydrostatic pressure which we have been con- sidering ? 3I)\ 31. It was. In mountainous regions this principle is sometimes exhibited on a grand scale, and wliole villages have been buried by these hidden powers of nature. This diagram will illustrate the principle. 18. ^lla. But the channel which leads to the basin of water in the mountain is not vertical. Does this make any difference ? 3Ir. 31. When this is the case, the press- ure is estimated by the vertical distance from the level at the top to the basin. But I see our time is exhausted. In con- clusion, howevei*, I will state the rule (the principle of which you have already discovered) for the pressure of fluids. It is this : 3fulti2)ly the ctrea of the base., in feet, by the perpendicular depth of the icater., and this product by the loeight of a cubic foot of water : or the numbers may be inches throughout.* fig. IIJ. LESSON IV. — FLOATING BODIES — SPECIFIC GRAVITY. 1. "As Master Frank was so much interested in boats dur- ing his vacation," said Mr. Maynard, " I suppose he will feel a corresponding interest in the theory of \X\q\x flotation^ Fi'ank. I liope I have not shown any want of interest in * The accompanying^ diagram well illustrates the principle of hydrostatic pressure. Here are five ves.sels, differ- ing in shape, but equal in capacity. The pressure of the water upun the Fig. 11, the pressure is as tin- hciglit rnultiplird by bottom of each is found by multiply- the basi'. j^^g jj^^ vertical height by \M.i extent of surface of its base, thereby indicating different amounts of pressure. The weight of a cubic inch of water, of the common temperature of ('i2 decrees, is a por- tion of a pound expressed by the decimal 0.0360C5. Tlie pressure of a column of water one foot high, having a square inch for its base, will bu twelve times this, or, n.43'2S lb. The pressure, therefore, produced upon a square foot by a column one foot high, will be found by multiplying this last number by 144, and will be 62.3232 lbs. 328 WILLSON's fifth EEADER. Part VII. previous lessons ; but I coufess that this is to me an enter- taining subject. 2. 3Ir. M. Ever since Jason' built the Argo, the theory of floating bodies lias been a most entertaining and important study. The j)oet Horace said that mortal's heart was cased "In oak or brass, with triple fold, Who first to the wild ocean's rage Launched the frail bark." 3. Ida. Frank must have been very brave to have dared the raging waves of the harbor in his " frail bark." I confess I never get into a small boat without fear, but I hoj^e to learn something in this lesson that will give me more confidence when on the water. 4. Mr. M. Have you thought of the conditions under which a body will float or sink ? Frank. It will^oa^ if lighter than water, and sinTc if heav- ier. Mr. M. That is very true ; but it is necessary to iinder- stand that a floating body displaces a quantity of Avater equiv- alent in weight to the body itself, as may be proved by ex- periment. Let the vessel A be filled with water till it runs out of the spout ; if you then place on the surface of the water a wooden ball, a quantity of water will flow out, which will v-eigh the same as the ball. _ If an iron ball had been used, the water "i", tiiTprincipie of Overflowing would have been equal in bulk specific gravity. tO the ball. 5. John. Would not that be a convenient way to measure the solidity of an irregular body, as a fragment of stone? George. It would be an excellent way to detect a counter- feit gold coin. Ulla. I would like to find a method of detecting spurious gold money. Do explain it. 6. George. Counterfeit gold coins are either too large or too light. If too light, the common balance will show it ; but if too large, the quantity of water displaced will be more than if genuine. This can be carefully measured in a small glass. Mr. M. This brings us directly to the subject of sjtecijic gravity. Can either of you give a concise definition of spe- cific gravity ? 7. John. I have learned from the book on Xatural Philoso- phy which I have been studying, that the specific gravity of 2d DiV. OP NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 329 a body is its weight, compared with the weight of an equal bulk of pure water — water beiug taken as a standard. Mr. M. Can you tell me, then, how the specitic gravity of a solid heavier than water is ascertained ? 8. George. Weigh it first in air, and then in water. Divide the weight in air by the loss in w^ater, the quotient will be the specific gravity of the body. Thus, if a solid weigh twenty jDounds in the air and eighteen pounds in Avater, its specific gravity is ten / that is, it is ten times heavier than water. Ida. Is it of much use to find the specific gravity of bodies ? 9. Mr. M. I will give you an example of its use, and let you judge for yourself of its importance. I have heard you ex- press a doubt as to the value of the silver cup you obtained as a prize at the Union Seminary. As it becomes tarnished so eas- ily, you fear it is not real silver. If it is alloyed, it will proba- bly be lighter than standard silver, which has a specific grav- ity of 10.47 ; that is, silver is nearly ten and a half times heav- ier than water. Can either of you find the specific gravity of the cup which Ida has gone to bring for examination ? 10. John. Now I have the cup I will carefully weigh it. It weighs five and a half ounces in the air. I will now sus- pend it by a thread in water, and find how much less it Avill weigh. It has lost ten and a half pennyweights. I find, by dividing the weight in air by the loss in Fig. 13, to find the specific Water, that the specific gravity of the cup gravity of a soud. -g jQ^y, wliich shoAvs it to be made of 1^-^ standard silver. Ida. I am glad my suspicions Avere unfounded ; and now I recollect they Avere first suggested by one of the disappointed competitors. 11. Mr. M. It is a pity Ave have no AA^ay to remove your new suspicions of the motive of your rival. I haA^e here a chain, bought for gold, which by chem- ical tests shows copper in its composition. It Aveighs tAvo ounces, or forty pennyweights, in air, and thirty- seven pennyAA^eights in water, from Avhich I find the copper to be about three eighths of the Avhole Aveight. Fig. 14, the There is a A-ery convenient instrument, called the hy- "^"""" drometer,* for finding the specific gravity of liquids. Hydrom- eter. * The hydrometer, figure 14, consists of a hollow ball, B, with a loiif:, slender, gradu- ated stem, A D ; and the ball is so loaded by a weight, C, that the stem will st.and upriglit in water. The lighter the fluid, the greater the depth to which the hydrometer will sink. 330 willson's fifth reader. Taht VII. Wlio can give me an account of tlie manner in whicli the prin- ciple of specific gravity was first discovered ? 12. Ida. I have purposely brought a book containing an account of the discovery, which, with your permission, I will read. The article is entitled ARCHIMEDES AND THE CROWN. "King Hiero of Syracuse, or his son Gelon, it seems, had given out a certain amount of gold to be made into a crown, and tlie workman to whom it had been intrusted had at hist brought back a crown of corresponding weight. But a suspicion arose that it had been alloyed with silver, and Archimedes was applied to by the king either to disprove or to verify the allegation. The great problem, of course, was to ascertain the precise bulk of the crown in its existing form ; for, gold being so much heavier than silver, it is obvious that if the weight had been in any degree made up by the substitution of silver, the bulk would be proportionately increased. Now it happened that Archimedes went to take a bath while this problem was exercising his mind, and, on approaching the bath-tub, he found it full to the very brim. It instantly occurred to him that a quantity of water of the same bulk with his own body must be displaced before his body could be im- mersed. 13. " Accordingly, he plunged in ; and while the process of displacement was going on, and the water was running out, the idea suggested itself to him that, by putting a lump of gold of the exact weight of the crown into a vessel full of watei', and then measuring the water which was displaced by it, and by afterward putting the crown itself into the same vessel after it had again been filled, and then measuring the water which this, too, should have displaced, the difference in their respective bulks, however minute, would be at once detected, and the fraud exposed. ' As soon as he had hit upon this method of detection,' we are told, 'he did not wait a moment, but jumped joyfully out of the bath, and, running toward his own house, called out with a loud voice that he had found what he had sought. For, as he ran, he called out in Greek, '■'■Eureka, Eureka!" "I have found it, I have found it." ' 14. "No wonder that this veteran geometer, rushing through the thronged and splendid streets of Syracuse, and making the welkin ring with his tri- umphant shouts — no wonder that he should have rendered the phrase, if not the guise, in which he announced his success, familiar to all the world, and that ' Eureka, Eureka,' should thus have become the proverbial ejacu- lation of successful invention and discovery in all ages and in all languages, from that day to this ! The solution of this problem is sujiposcd to have led the old philosopher not merely into this ecstatical exhibition of himself, but into that line of hydrostatical investigation and experiment which after- ward secured him such lasting renown. And thus the accidents of a de- fective crown and an overflowing bath-tub gave occasion to some of the most remarkable demonstrations of ancient science." 15. "That account," said il/r. J/., " m' hich Iperceive you have taken from a lecture of the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop on The scale should be so graduated that when the hydrometer is immersed in pure water at the standard temperat\ire, it may sink to the point which is marked 1. Then, when the hydrometer is immersed in any other liquid, the figure on the scale to which it sinks will show the specific gravity of that liquid. When the quantity of liquid is too stnall to float the hydrometer, other methods are used. 2d DiV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.^ 331 Archimedes and Franklin, is indeed a history of one of the most important events in the records of science. In that same lecture is a very interesting account of the visit of the Roman orator Cicero to the grave of the philosopher." I Ja'-son, the hero of the famous Argonautic Expedition, as fabled in Grecian history, sailed in the ship Argo to Colchis, in Asia Minor, for tlie purpose of recovering a ^'•golden fleece'" deposited there. LESSON V. HYDRAULICS THE EXCURSION. SONG OF THE BROOK. 1. I COME from haunts of coot' and hem ;• I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker^ down a valley. 2. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges ; By twenty thorps,* a little town, And half a hundred bridges ; 3. I cliatter over etnny ways In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. 4. And out again I curve and flow. To join the brimming river ; For men may come, and men may go. But I go on forever. — ■Tennyson* 5. "The day is so pleasant, and the subject of om* lesson so inviting," said Mr. Maynard, " I propose a walk by ' Tlie Riv- er,' where we can better witness some experiments appropri- ate to our studies. You know that, in plain English, the les- son to-day is about vjater in motion.^^ 6. " I shall be delighted," said Ida, as they were crossing the lawn, " to study this lesson in the pleasant valley ; for I had feared it would be all about mills and resistances of flu- ids — important enough for millwrights and engineers, but of little interest to Ella and myself. Now I shall ramble where 'Joy smiles in the fountain, health flows in the rills, And the ribbons of silver unwind from the hills.' " 7. ^lla. I really fear that Ida and I will learn but little philosophy in this lovely valley, " where streamlets flow and wild flowers blow." Ida, let us study the poetry of the sub- ject ^rs^. " How beautiful the water is ! To me 'tis wondrous fair — No spot can ever lonely be If water sparkle there ; It hath a thousand tongues of mirth, Of grandeur, or dcliglit, And every heart is gladder made . Where water greets the sight." 8. Mr. 31. I am glad you will all enjoy this topic, and that 332 WILLSOn's fifth BEADEE. Part VII. the givls can talk about " ribbons of silver," while the boys are discussing the merits of undershot and overshot wheels ; but I shall be disappointed if you do not find that the very poetry of" Avater in motion" is full of philosophy, and that the philosophy is very poetical. You can all moralize on the sub- ject, also, as you see " The rivers, how they run Through woods and moadi?, in shade and sun, ' — Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, Wave succeeding wave, tliey go A various journey to the deep, Like human life, to endless sleep." I think we will continue along " The Rivei*" as far as Rocky Glen, where is a fine well of water, Mnth an old-fashioned sweep ; and then, if the girls ai'e not too much fatigued, we will follow the glen, and go iip to the Cascades^ where, as George will recollect, are the remains of an old mill. 9. George. I have been there frequently, and a wild but beautiful spot it is, too. Ida. I have heard so much about the Cascades, I know I shall be delighted to see them. I am sure Ella and I can eas- ily walk as far as that and back again. 3fr. M. As we shall have this running stream constantly "babbling" to us, with its "thousand tongues of mirth," as Ella said, let me ask how it is that it has this speaking power^ ? John. By its motion, I suppose. 10. Mr. M. Then tell me, if you please, what makes the wa- ter move at alf '? John. The bed of the river is an inclined plane, and the par- ticles of water roll down by the force of gravity, just as a marble from a desk. 3Ir. M. Very well ; this force of gravity is such that, in large rivers, a fall of three inches in a mile is said to give a velocity of three miles an hour. George. Would it not be the same in small streams? 11. Mr.M. By no means. The friction of the water against the banks and bottom tends to retard the motion. In pipes the friction is so great that, in a tube one inch in diameter and two hundred feet long, only one fourth as much water will be discharged as would escape from a simple aperture of the same size. Franh. I see the river is much wider in some places than in others. Is not the current the most rapid in the narrow- est parts ? 12. 3Ir.3I. It is. I haA'c here an instrument called a stream- measurer. It consists of a vertical tube with a trumpet- 2d DiV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 333 shaped extremity, bent at a right angle. When phinged in motionless water the level in the tube corresponds with that outside, but the impulse of a stream causes the water to rise in the tube until its vertical pressure counterpoises the force. Let us try it first in the wide, and then in the narrow places. You see quite a dilierence in the velocity. 13. George. I have just thrown some pieces of bark, one near the middle, and the other near the shore. See how much faster the j)iece near the middle goes down stream. Ida. Before I came to Glen wild I lived in sight 5 J of a navigable river, and I used to wonder why Figure 15 the the boats, in descending, kept near the middle, and stream-mea- tliose ascending went nearer the shore. I under- stand it now. Boats going down had more assist- ance from the current, and those coming up had less resist- ance. 14. Mr. M. There is also a greater velocity at the surface than near the bottom fi-om the same cause. John. I think I see why wide rivers are higher in the mid- dle than near the banks. The water, running more swiftly, tends to draw along that on each side of it, which it can not do without lowering the surface on each side. 15. Mr. M. You must not confound the velocity at the surfice of a I'iver, and at different depths, with that of water running from apertures in a reservoir. If in this vessel, Fig. 16, orifices be made at different depths, the velocities of dis- charge will be as the square roots of the depths. That is, if D is one foot below the surface, and A four feet, a quart will run from A, while only % pint will be dis- charged from an orifice of the same size atD. 16. Franh. As water will run into a Fig. 16, the velocity of ppout- Submerged empty vessel Avith the same ing water. velocity that it will flow from a full one, I can see why a leak in a ship near the keel is so dangerous. Mr. M. We have been talking about water in motion ; let us now talk about hydraulic machinery. First, can each of you describe some method you have seen, or heard of, for raising water from wells ? 334 "VVILLSON 8 FIFTH READER. Part VII. 17. Ida. I have read, in an old book, of a curious method of rais- ing water in Ilindostan. It is call- ed by the Hindoos a^v^coiaA. Here is a picture of it, wliich I think suf- ficiently describes itself, except that another person must stand by the well to empty the bucket. Ella. We often see in the coun- try a contrivance something Hke this, called a sweep, or a xoell-sweep. Ida. Yes ; and there is one yon- Fig. 17, u Jiiudou i icuiah. der, just at the foot of the hill, where the stream that comes down from the glen enters our "River." John. And many a draught of the purest water I have taken from the " old oaken bucket" that hangs there. 18. Frank. That old-fashioned sweep always reminds me of the first home that I knew, before I went to the city to reside, and of Wood worth's beautiful little poem, " The Bucket." How many times I have repeated that poem to my- self when thinking of my early home. Mr. 31. Perhaps Master Frank will entertain us with a recitation of the piece, while Master George helps us to a practical illus- tration from the " moss-covered bucket" itself. 18, the e\cui^i n pdrty at the . well. 20. THE BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood. And every loved ?pnt which my infancy kmw ; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it. The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well ! The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; For often, at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; 2d DiT, OF NATUKAL PHILOSOPHY. 335 Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it ro^e from the well ; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. 21. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips ! Kot a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled ivith the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well ; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in the well. Mr. M. Both the poem and the illustration are excellent. All of you have doubtless seen both the common windlass and the chain-pump used for drawing water from wells and cisterns. But do you recollect, George, of a very ancient and singular invention for elevating water called the Screw of Archimedes ? George. Very well indeed. It is said to have been used by the Egyptians in draining their land from the oveailo wings of the Nile. It consists of a hollow screw-thread wound round an axis, and is turned by hand or by machinery. The Avater continually rises through the spire, and is discharged from the toj).* 22. Mr. M. These are but a few of the methods which the ingenuity of man has devised for elevating water. I am glad you omitted all the usual kinds of pmnps, as they belong to a future lesson. Can you give me, Frank, a description of any kind of water-wheel for propelling machinery ? Frank. I have seen a mill driven by a large wheel called * Fig. 19, the screw of Archimedes. To explain the mode of opera- tion of this screw, suppose a small baU to be dropped into the mouth, A ; it will roll down the tube until it arrives at the lowest point, B. If the screw be now revolved, the point B will as- cend, C will come down lower than B, and the ball will consequently roll to 0. In one entire revolution it will roll to I), and in a second to F ; and in si-x revolutions it will roll from the upper end of the screw. If a quantity of water were contained in the lowest spiral, it would 1 carried up in the same manner as ball. Two of these screws may be made to work simultaneously, and to better advantage, round the same asis. 336 willson's fifth keader. Pakt VII. an undershot wheel, placed in the current. The force of the current turns the wheel, whicli moves the machinery connect- ed witli it. 23. John. There is an old wheel of this kind at the foot of the cascade which we are just coming to, and that will give us a practical illustration. George. Where the streams are small, rapid, and have suf- ficient fall, I have frequently seen mills driven by what is called an overshot wheel. The water falls upon the wheel, and by its weight, principally, tui'ns it. Frank. There is also a water-wheel, called the hreast-ioheel., which receives the water against the side of it instead of the top or the bottom. In this case the water acts jjartly by its momentum and partly by its weight. 24. 3rr. 31. Of these wheels the overshot is the most powerful ; but both that and the breast-wheel require a con- siderable fill of water, while the undershot wheel, which is the least powerful, requires merely a strong current. Ida. I have seen the experiments with Avhat is called " Barker's mill," which is moved by the pressure of a column of watei'.* 25. Ella. Here is the cascade itself; and there, at the foot of it, is the old wheel which John spoke of! I understand now what an undershot wheel is. Ida. And don't you see — where the water tumbles over that ledge — another little wheel? That is a breast-icheel. How swiftly it spins round ! Ella. And there is still another and larger wheel lower down ! That is an overshot wheel. It does seem as though some one has had all these wheels put up for the purpose of illustrating this lesson in hydraulics ! * Fig. 20, Barker's mill. In whit is called " Barker's mill," the machinery is moved by hydrostatic prefigure. It consi-t- of a hol- low clyindiical pipe, A I?, of conj-idcrable height, terminating above in a funnel-shaped cavity, resting below on a pointed steel pivot, and communicating below with a cross tube, or arms, K K, closed at the extremities, but having openings on the opposite sides, near each end of the cross tube. A pipe, (r, above, regulates the supply of water, and keeps the vertical pipe full If the openings at K and F bi' closed, it is evident that the hydro- static pressure in the cross tube will be the same on all parts of its surface, and will be proportio'ed to the height of the i>ipe A B ; but let the water flow at the orifices, and there will be more pressure on one side of the cross tube than on the other, and the machine will revolve in the direction of the greater presstu'e. The movement of Uarkcr's mill was long attributed, but eiTone- ously, to th(»?viTrf)')» of the jets (pressing upon the elastic airl against the extremities of the cross tubes. On the prinei|)le of liydrostatic pressure, as here illustrated, the turbine \, Torricelli de- termined to find out all ahout it. He thought that if the weight of the air was tlie cause, he could try the experiment of sustaining, by the pressure of the atmosphere, a column of water 33 feet high in a tube closed at the up- per end. This would have been a difficult experiment to perform ; but, fortunately, he knew that the specific gravity of quicksilver was 13^ times that of water. Of course a column of quicksilver 2h feet high would bal- ance a column of water 13^ times as high, or about 33 feet. 12. "Torricelli took a glass tube more than 2\ feet long, and filled it with quick- silver, and, after closing the upper end, in- verted it, placing the end below the sur- face of quicksilver in a cu]) before remov- ing his thumb. As he expected, the quick- silver did not all run down into the cup, but stood at the height of 30 inches in the tube. Evidently the pressure of the at- mosphere upon the quicksilver in the cup sustained the column in the tube ; and as the tube was one inch in ai-ea, and the column of quicksilver weighed 15 pounds, not only was the pressure of the atmos- phere on a square inch of surface ascer- tained, but the instrument called the barom- eter was invented — an instrument to show the pressure of the atmosphere at different Fig. 23, Torricelli's experiment. times and in different places." 13. Ella. It would be very easy to try the experiment of Torricelli. 3Ir. M. Will George tell me, now, how the altitude of the atmosphere is found by this instrument, the barometer ? George. By carrying a barometer up a high mountain, and noticing how much the mercury falls — that is, how much the pressure diminishes for every hundred or five hundred feet we ascend, we can easily calculate at what height there will be no pressure, and consequently no atmosphere, which is at a height of about forty-five miles. 14. Mr. 31. That is correct. The pressure diminishes in a geometrical ratio as we ascend. Thus, at about four miles above the earth the air is only half as dense as at the sur- face ; at eight miles, one fourth; and at twelve miles, one eighth, etc. But of what practical use is the barometer? Ida. After once knowing how the barometer stands at difierent heights from the sea, it enables us to measure the height of mountains. 2d Div. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 343 Frank. And also to foretell storms ; for, as the air is usu- ally lighter before a storm, this lightness is indicated by the falling of the quicksilver. I was reading this morning, in " Darwin's Botanic Garden," "How up exhausted tubes bright currents flow Of liquid amber from the lake below, Weigh the long column of the incumbent skies, And with the changeful moment fall and rise." 15. Mr. 31. Dr. Arnott relates a striking instance, which occurred to himself, of the great practical value of the barom- eter. I will read his account : "We were in a southern latitude. The sun had just set with placid ap- pearance after a beautiful day, and the usual mirth of the evenin, and the other per- pendicular to it (Y O), of which the latter onlv will produce any effect, carrying the kite along the line o' A. But the kite ia also pulled in the direction S T. It Is therefore under the influence of the two forces O A 2d DlV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 351 Ida. And so the kite slid doicn the jylane when the boy clapped his hands and let the string slip through his silly fingers ! Frank. This reminds me of a very pretty piece of poetry about " the lost kite." Mr. M. I am glad to find you so imbued with the poetry of science ; and as this lesson has not been veiy jDoetical, you may repeat the piece, if you please. THE LOST KITE. 13. My kite ! my kite ! I've lost my kite ! Oh! when I saw the.steady flight With which slie gained her lofty height, How could I know that letting go That naughty string would bring 80 low My pretty, buoyant, darling kite, To pass forever out of slight? 14. A purple cloud was sailing by, With silver fringes o'er the sky; And then I thought, it seemed so nigh, I'd make my kite go up and light Upon its edge r^o soft and bright, To see how noble, high, and proud She'd look while riding on a cloud I 16. As near her shining mark she drew, I clapped my hands ; the line slipped through My silly fingere ; and she flew Away! away! in airy play. Right over where the water lay ! She veered and fluttered, swung, and gave A plunge, then vanislied in the wave ! 16. I never more shall want to look On that false cloud or babbling brook ; Nor e'er to feel the breeze that took My dearest joy, to thus destroy The pastime of your happy boy. My kite ! my kite ! how sad to think She flew so high, so soon to sink ! IT. " Be this," the mother said, and smiled, " A lesson to thee, simple child 1 And when, by fancies vain and wild As that which cost the kite that's lost. Thy busy brain again is crossed. Of shining vapor then beware. Nor trust thy joys to fickle air ! 18. " I have a darling treasure, too, That sometimes would, by slipping through My guardian hands, the way pursue From which, more tight than thou thy kite, I hold my jewel, new and bright. Lest he should stray without a guide. To drown my hopes in sorrow's tide !" 19. Mr. 31. There are many natural phenomena dependent on the atmosphere which we shall learn in the department of Physical Geography. But, before we conclude this lesson .on and S T ; and since these are in the direction of the two sides of a parallelogram, it will not obey either, but ascend through O B, its diagonal. (See Fourth Reader, p. 298.) It id thus virtually pulled up the inclined plane O 13. 352 willson's fifth EEADEU. Pakt VII. pneumatics, I desire to read you a riddle, hoping each of you will be Q^^dipus enough to guess the answer. A RIDDLE. 20. " Mortal', wouldst thou know my name', Scan the powers I proudly claim'. O'er this globe's capacious round With fairy sprightliness I hound' ; O'er sea and land my power extends, To every herb my care descends. Did I withhold my vital breath'. Nature's forms would sink in death\ When confined, or swiftly driven By angry spirits in the heaven', My ^-rath in thunders I make known', And Discord claims me as her own'. 'Tis love of freedom makes me wild — When nncontroll'd, my nature's mild; And oft the njTnjih', in dewy grot', Seeks solace from my plaintive note' ; O'er lovers' graves I waft a sigh. And breathe the sound of sympathy. 2L And know, ye sons of Albion's isle', That when the Hero of the Nile," Midst crowds with mournful pomp array'd. In the cold lap of Earth was laid', I sympathized with Britain's tear, And waved the banner o'er his bier\ 'Tis I who from the trembling lyre Breathe tones of love and soft desire^ ; 'Tis I, the spirit of the sliell, Who fill with notes the listening dell' ; And, when the war-trump sounds alarm', 'Tis I who summon men to arm'. Made captive by the arts of man'. My various services began' ; To grind his corn', to drain his lands\ I soon was tasked', to spare his hands*. Should he to foreign climes proceed', He yokes me like the neighing steed', And, by my quick but easy motion', He traverses the stoiTny ocean'. 22. His children, too, my presence court', To give them toys', and make them sport* : Without my aid, their kites would lie As useless weights, that ne'er could fly*; Their humming-tops would soundless spin, Unless I breathed a spell within' : The modest maid, without my power. Would wither like her kindred flower*. Unless my cup of sweets she s^ps', Where are the rubies of her lips' ? Unless my glowing rouge she seeks'. Where are the roses of her cheeks' ? What art again can strew her tresses With half the grace my skill possesses'? Ev'n goddesses are represented In draperies which I invented. Sometimes', 'tis true', I am so frail As ruffian -like to raise your veil', And thus to curious man reveal The charms you modestly conceal'. Eevenge the deed'. Announce my \ame'. For now you know the powers I claim'." 23. "It must be «?>," exclaimed the whole class with one 2d Biv. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 353 voice. " But what is meant by the allusion to the funeral of the 'hero of the Nile?'" said Ida. 3Ir. 31. I quote an extract from the description of the cere- monies of Nelson's interment m St. Paul's : " Never shall I forget the thrilling effect which was produced on the assem- bled multitude by the solemn movement of the banners in the dome as the bier slowly advanced along the aisle in the Ca- thedral ; a movement which was accidentally occasioned by a current of air from the western entrance, although, to the eye of fancy, it seemed as if some attendant spirit had direct- ed the colors, under which the hero had bled and conquered, to offer this supernatural testimony of respect and sorrow." LESSON VIII. — THE STEAM-ENGIISTE. 1. "Tou recollect," said Mr. Maynard, "that it was stated in a former lesson that water does not require to be so hot to boil when the pressure of the atmosphere is partially re- moved, as it does when it is subject to that pressure." John. I recollect it, and I would ask if it does not require a higher temperature when the pi'essure is increased. 2. Mr. 31. Under ordinary circumstances of the pressure of one atmosphere, of 15 pounds on the square inch, water boils at the temperature of 212°; but increase the pressure to 45 pounds on each square inch, or three atmospheres, and it will not boil below 275°. Frank. There is a kind of kettle, made very strong, with an air-tight cover which is fastened down, and as the steam which first rises presses down by its elasticity, the water be- comes hot enough to cook bones. 3. 3Ir. 31. That is called Papin's Digester, and in it the water really never boils, but it becomes sufficiently hot to cause the separation of the gelatinous matter from bones. As this is used for soup, I suppose you call it cooking bones. Ella. I should not like to have one of those dangerous ket- tles in our kitchen, for fear it would burst. 3Ir. 31. It has an orifice closed with a plug, which is held down by a weight until a certain pressure is exerted by the steam, Avhen it rises up and lets the steam escape. It then falls back again until the pressure becomes sufficient to raise it. 4. Ida. Is that what is called the safety valve ? 3Ir. 31. It is ; and safety valves are used in all boilers where the steam is liable to be very much compressed. 354 WILLSON .S FIFTH KEADEE, Part VII. Fig. 3i George. In preparing for this lesson, I learned that one cubic inch of water will form about a cubic foot of steam, which will be condensed into a cubic inch of water again when cooled below the boiling-point. 5. Mr. M. You have learned in that fact the great princi- ple on which the steam-engine acts. The in- strument represented in the figure gives a clear idea of the elementary parts of what is called the low-jyressure steam-engine.* It consists of a cylindrical glass tube, B, terminating in a bulb, A. In the tube a piston moves up and down, air-tight, and a little water having been placed in the bulb, it is brought to the boiling- point by the application of a lamp. As the steam forms, it j^resses the piston upward by reason of its elastic force ; but on dipping the bulb into cold water, the steam condenses, and produces a partial vacuum, and the piston is then driven down ward by the pi'essure of the external air. 6. John. And if the rod attached to the piston were made to turn a crank, or work a lever, it would very well illustrate the working of a steam-engine. * Low-pressure Engine,Fig. 35. The chief parts of this engine are the boiler. A, the cylinder, C, the piston-rod, I J, the con- densi'r, L, and the air-pump, M. B is the steam-pix>e, brandling into two arms, communicating respectively with the top and bot- tom of the cylinder, and K is the ediiction-pipe, formed of the two branches which proceed from the top and bottom of the cylinder, and communicating with the cyl- inder and the condenser. >,' i.s a cistn-n, or well of cold water, in which the condenser is immersed. Each branch of pipe has its own valve, as F, G, 1', Q, which may be opened or closed as the occa- sion requires. Suppose, first, that all the valves are open, while steam is issuing freely from the boiler. It is easy to see that the steam would circulate freely throughout all parts of the machine, expelling the air, which would escape through the valve in the piston of the air-pump, and thus the interior spaces would all be filled with steam. This proc- ess is called blowing through ; it is heard when a steam-boat is about set- ting ofif. Next, the valves F and Q are closed, G and P remaining open. The steam now pressing the cylinder forces it down, and the instant when it begins to descend the stop- cock O is opened, admitting cold water, which meets the steam irs it rushes from the cyl- inder, and effectually condenses it, leaving no force below the piston to oppose its descent. Lastly, G and V being closed, F and Q are opened, the steam flows in below the piston, and rushes from above it into the condenser, by which means the piston is forced up again with the same power as that with which it descended. Meanwhile the air-pump is play- ing, and removing the water and air from the condenser. 2d Div. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 355 3Ir. 31. Can George now tell in what respect the high- pressure steam-engine diflers from the low-pressure ? George. In the high-pressure engine, the steam, being ad- mitted lirst on one side of the piston and then on the other, is pushed out against the atmosphere ; but in the low-press- ure, a partial vacuum is produced alternately on each side of the piston by allowing the steam to escajDe into a fountain of cold water, which condenses it. 7. 3fr. 31. I have here a very interesting description of the steam-engine, and of its wonderful power and multiplied uses, by Dr. Arnott, and I will read the closing part of it to you. In the view here taken of it, you see the steam-engine is not only a wonderful instrument in itself, but one of the most ef- fective instruments of human progress and civilization ever invented. 8. "It regulates with perfect accuracy and uniformity the number of its strokes in a given time, counting or recording them, moreover, to tel] how mucli work it has done, as a clock records the beats of its pendulum ; it regulates the quantity of steam admitted to work, the briskness of the fire, the supply of water to the boiler, the supply of coals to the fire ; it opens and shuts its valves with absolute precision as to time and manner ; it oils its joints ; it takes out any air which may accidentally enter into parts which should be vacuous ; and when any thing goes wi-ong which it can not of itself rectify, it warns its attendants by ringing a bell. 9. "Yet with all these talents and qualities, and even when exerting the power of six hundred horses, it is obedient to the hand of a child. Its ali- ment is coal, wood, charcoal, or other combustibles ; it consumes none while idle ; it never tires, and wants no sleep ; it is not subject to malady when originally well made, and only refuses to work when worn out with age ; it is equally active in all climates, and will do work of any kind ; it is a water-pumper, a miner, a sailor, a cotton-spinner, a weaver, a blacksmith, a miller, etc., etc. ; and a small engine, in the character of a steam pony, may be seen dragging after it on a ra//-road a hundred tons of merchandise, or a regiment of soldiers, with greater speed than that of our fleetest coach- es. It is the king of machines, and a permanent realization of the genii of Eastern fable, whose supernatural powers were occasionally at the com- mand of man." 10, FranJc. Dr. Arnott speaks of a steam 2^ony which is used on a 7'a^7-road, This must be the very pony which gave the poet Saxe such a pleasant " ride on the rail," " Singing through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbhng over bridges ; Whizzing through the mountains. Buzzing o'er the vale, Bless me ! this is pleai^ant, Riding on the raill" 11. 3Ir. 31. It would have been fortunate if poets had writ- ten more on scientific and philosophical subjects, as the Ian- 356 willson's fifth eeadeb. Part VII. guage of poetry is so well calculated to impress truths on the mind. In addition to the extract from Dr. Arnott, I have one from Lord Jeffrey on the same subject, the steam-engine, which I will read to you. 12. The Steani-engine. — "It has become a thing stupendous alike for its force' and its flexibility' ; for the prodigious power which it can exert', and the case, precision, and ductility with which it can be varied, distrib- uted, and a])plied\ The trunk of an elephant, that can pick up a pin' or rend an oak\ is as nothing to it. It can engrave a seal', and crush masses of obdurate metal before it',- draw out, without breaking, a thread as fine as gossamer', and lift up a ship of war like a bauble in the air\ It can embroider muslin' and forge anchors' ; cut steel into ribbons', and impel loaded vessels against the fury of the winds and waves'. But I perceive, Gjcorge, that you also have something which you wish to read. If it has any connection with this subject, we will hear it if you please, and let it conclude this lesson. George. It is a few verses from a little poem entitled THE SONG OF STEAM, by G. W. Cdtler. 13. Harness me do^yn with your iron bandf, Be sure of your curb and rein, For I scorn the power of your puny hands As the tempest scorns a chain. How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight For many a countless hour, At the childish boast of human might, And the pride of human power. 14. Ha ! ha ! ha ! they found me at last, They invited me forth at length, And 1 rushed to my throne with a thimder-blast, And laughed in my iron strength. Oh then ye saw a wondrous change On earth and ocean wide. Where now my fiery armies range, Nor wait for wind nor tide. 15. Hurra ! hurra ! the waters o'er The mountain' s steep decline ; Time, space, have yielded to my power, The world! the world is mine! The rivers the sun hath earliest bless'd, And those where his beams decline. The giant streams of the riueenly west, And the orient floods divine. 16. I blow the bellows, I forge tlie steel, In all the .■^liops of trade ; I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel Where my arms of strength are made ; I manage the furnace, the mill, tlie mint, I carry, I spin, I weave ; And all my doings I put in print On every Saturday eve. IT. Tve no muscle to weaiy, no breast to decay, No bones to be laid on the shelf; And soon I intend you may go and play, 'S\niile I manage this world myself. But, harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein. For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, As the tempest scorns a chain. SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. LESSON I. BLESSINGS ON CHILDREN. , Blessings on the blessing children, sweetest gifts of Heaven to earth, Filling all the heart with gladness, filling all the house with mirth ; Bringing with them native sweetness, pictures of the primal bloom Which the bliss forever gladdens, of the region whence they come ; Bringing with them joyous impulse of a state withouten care, And a buoyant faith in being, which makes all in nature fair ; Not a doubt to dim the distance, not a grief to vex the nigh, And a hope that in existence finds each hour a luxury ; Going singing, bounding, brightening — never fearing as they go, That the innocent shall tremble, and the loving find a foe ; 358 WILLSON S FIFTH KEADER. In the daylight, in the starliglit, still with thought that freely flies, Prompt and joyous, with no question of the beauty in the skies; Genial fancies winning rajjtures, as the hue still sucks her store, All the present still a garden glean'd a thousand times before ; All the future but a region where the happy serving thought. Still depicts a thousand blessings, by the winge'd hunter caught ; Life a chase where blushing jjleasures only seem to strive in flight, Lingering to be caught, and yielding gladly to the proud delight ; As the maiden, through the alleys, looking backward as she flies, Woes the fond pursuer onward, with the love-light in her eyes. 2. Oh ! the happy life in children, still restoring joy to ours. Making for the forest music, planting for the wayside flowers ; Back recalling all the sweetness, in a jileasure pure as rare, Back the past of hope and rapture bringing to the heart of care. How, as swell the happy voices, bursting through the shady grove, Memories take the place of sorrows, time restores the sway to love ! We are in the shouting comrades, shaking ofi"the load of years, Thought forgetting, strifes and trials, doubts, and agonies, and tears; We are in the bounding urchin, as o'er hill and plain he darts. Share the struggle and the triumph, gladdening in his heart of hearts; What an image of the vigor and the glorious grace we knew, When to eager youth from boyhood at a single bound we grew ! Even such our slender beauty, such upon our cheek the glow, In our eyes the life of gladness — of our blood the overflow, Bless the mother of the urchin ! in his form we see her truth : He is now the very picture of the memories in our youth ; Never can we doubt the forehead, nor the sunny flowing hair. Nor the smiling in the dimple speaking chin and cheek so fair: Bless the mother of the young one ! he hath blended in his grace, '' All the hope, and joy, and beautj', kindling once in either face ! 3. Oh ! the happy faith of children, that is glad in all it sees, And with never need of thinking, pierces still its mysteries ; In simplicity profoimdest, in their soul abundance bless'd, Wise in value of the sportive, and in restlessness at rest ; Lacking every creed, yet having faith so large in all they see, That to know is still to gladden, and 'tis rapture but to he. What trim fiincies bring them flowers ; what rare spirits walk their wood. What a wondrous world the moonlight harbors of the gay and good ! Unto them the very tempest walks in glories grateful still, And the lightning gleams, a seraph, to persuade them to the hill : 'Tis a sweet and loving spirit, that throughout the midnight rains. Broods beside the shutter'd windows, and with gentle love complains , And how wooing, how exalting, with the richness of her dyes. Spans the painter of the rainbow, her bright arch along the skies, With a dream like Jacob's ladder, showing to the fancy's sight. How 'twere easy for the sad one to escape to worlds of light I Ah ! the wisdom of such fancies, and the truth in every dream, That to faith confiding off"evs, cheering every gloom, a gleam ! Happy hearts, still cherish fondly each delusion of your youth, Joy is born of well believing, and the fiction wraps the truth. W. G. Sunis. SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 359 LESSOjS" n. — THE SARACEN BROTHEKS. SALADIN MALEK ADHEL — ATTENDANT. Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your highness. Saladin . Whence comes he ? Attendant. That I know not. Enveloped with a vestment of strange form, His countenance is hidden ; but his step, His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised, Proclaim — if that I dare pronounce it — Saladin. Whom? Attendant. Thy royal brother ! Saladin. Bring him instantly. \^Exit Attendant. '\ Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks To dissipate my anger. He shall die ! \^Enter Attendant and MaleJc Adhel.'] Leave us together. [Exit Attendant.'} [^Aside.} I should know that form. Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul. Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty ! [yl/o?id.] Well stranger, speak ; but first unveil thyself, For Saladin must view the form that fronts him. Malek Adhel. Behold it, then ! Saladin. I see a traitor's visage. Malek Adhel. A brother's ! Saladin. No ! Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. Malek Adhel. Oh, patience. Heaven! Had any tongue but thine Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another. Saladin. And why not now? Can this heart be more pierced By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds ? Oh, thou hast made a desert of this bosom ! For open candor, planted sly disguise ; For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow Of generous friendship, tenderness, and love, Forever banished ! Whither can I turn, When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith, By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me ? Who, who can stand, when jNIalek Adhel falls? Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love : The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world, In which all find some heart to rest upon. Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void — His brother has betrayed him ! Malek Adhel. Thou art softened ; I am thy brother, then ; but late thou saidst — My tongue can never utter the base title ! Saladin. Was it traitor? True! Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes ! Villain? 'Tisjust; the title is appropriate ! Dissembler ? 'Tis not written in thy face ; 360 willson's fifth rtcadeb. No, nor imprinted on that specious brow ; But on this brealvinj; heart the name is stamped, Forever stani]K'd, witli that of Malelc Adhell Tliinkest thou I'm softened ? By Mohammed! these hands Shall crush these aching eyeballs ere a tear Fall from tliem at thy fate ! Oh monster, monster! The brute that tears the infant from its nurse Is excellent to thee ; for in his form The impulse of his nature may be read ; But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble, Oh, what a wretch art thou ! Oh, can a term In all the various tongues of man be found To match thy infamy? Malek Ad'hel. Go on ! go on ! 'Tis but a little time to hear thee, Saladin ; And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove Its penitence, at least. Saladin. That were an end Too noble for a traitor! The bowstring is A more appropriate finish ! Thou shalt die ! Makk Ad/iel. And death were welcome at another's mandate! What, what have I to live for ? Be it so, If that, in all thy armies, can be found An executing hand. Saladin. Oh, doubt it not ! They're eager for the office. Perfidy, So black as thine, effaces from their minds All memory of thy former excellence. Malek Adhel. Defer not, then, their wishes. Saladin, If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight, This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, accede -^ To my last prayer : Oh, lengthen not this scene, To which the agonies of death were pleasing ! Let me die speedily ! Saladin. This very hour ! [Aside.'] For oh! the more I look upon that face. The more I hear the accents of that voice, The monarch softens, and the judge is lost In all the brother's weakness ; yet such guilt — Such vile ingratitude — it calls for vengeance ; And vengeance it shall have ! What ho ! who waits there ? [^Enter Attendant.'] Attendant. Did your highness call ? Saladin. Assemble quickly My forces in the court. Tell them they come To view the death of yonder bosom traitor. And bid them mark, that he who will not spare His brother when he errs, expects obedience — Silent obedience — from his followers. \_Kvit Attendant.] Malek Adhel. Now, Saladin, The word is given ; I have nothing more To fear from thee, my brother. I am not About to crave a miserable life. Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem. SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 361 Life were a burden to me. Think not, either, The justness of thy sentence I would question. But one request now trembles on my tongue — One wish still clinging round the heart, which soon Not even that shall torture — will it, then, Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter. Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect, That when thy voice had doomed a brother's death, The last request which e'er was his to utter Thy harshness made him carry to the grave ? Saladiri. Speak, then ; but ask thyself if thou hast reason To look for much indulgence here. Malek Adhel. I have not ; Yet will I ask for it. We part forever ; This is our last farewell ; the king is satisfied ; The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence. None sees, none hears, save that Omniscient Power, Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon Two brothers part like such. When, in the face Of forces once my own, I'm led to death, Then be thine eye unmoistened ; let thy voice Then speak my doom untrembling ; then, ^ Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse. But now I ask — nay, turn not, Saladin — I ask one single pressure of thy hand ; From that stern eye one solitary tear — Oh, torturing recollection ! — one kind word From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindness. Still silent ? Brother ! friend ! beloved companion Of all my youthful sports ! — are they forgotten ? — Strike me with deafness, make me blind, O Heaven ! Let me not see this unforgiving man Smile at my agonies ! nor hear that voice Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word, One little word, whose cherished memory Would soothe the struggles of departing life ! Yet, yet thou wilt ! Oh, turn thee, Saladin ! Look on my face — thou canst not spurn me then ; Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel For the last time, and call him — Saladin. [Seizing his hand.'\ Brother! brother! Malek Adhel. [Breaking away.'] Now call thy followers; Death has not now A single pang in store. Proceed ! I'm ready. Saladin. Oh, art thou ready to forgive, my brother ? To pardon him who found one single error, One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng Of glorious qualities — Malek Adhel. Oh, stay thee, Saladin I I did not ask for life. I only wished To carry thy forgiveness to the grave. No, emperor, the loss of Csesarea Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel. Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost Q 362 willson's fifth reader. What cost them many a weary hour to gain, Should expiate his offenses with his life. Lo ! even now they crowd to view my death, Thy just impartiality. I go ! Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf To thy proud wreath of glory. [Goin/j.] Saladin. Thou shalt not. \_Enter Attendant.] Attendant. My lord, the troops assembled by your order Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death Not one of them but vows he will not suffer. The mutes have fled ; the very guards rebel. Nor think I, in this city's spacious round, Can e'er be found a hand to do the ofBce. Malek Adhel. Oh faithful friends ! ^To Attendant.] Thine shall. Attendant. Mine? Never! The other first shall lop it from the body. Saladin. They teach the emperor his duty well. Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too, That ere their opposition reached our ears, Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel. Attendant. Oh joyful news ! I haste to gladden many a gallant heart, And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek, Unused to such a visitor. [Exit.] Saladin. These men, the meanest in society, The outcasts of the earth — by war, by nature, Hardened, and rendered callous — these who claim No kindred with thee — who have never heard The accents of affection from thy lips — Oh, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance. Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives, To save thee from destruction. While I, I, who can not, in all my memory. Call back one danger which thou hast not shared, One day of grief, one night of revelry. Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter — I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field. When death seemed certain, only uttered — "Brother!" And seen that form, like lightning, rush between Saladin and his foes, and that brave breast Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow Intended for my own — I could forget That 'twas to thee I owed the very breath Which sentenced thee to perish ! Oh, 'tis shameful ! Thou canst not pardon me ! Malek Adhel. By these tears I can ! Oh brother ! from this very hour a new, A glorious life commences ! I am all thine ! Again the day of gladness or of anguish Shall Malek Adhel share ; and oft again May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. Henceforth, Saladin, My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever ! — New Monthly Marj. SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 363 LESSON III.— OUR COUNTRY AND OUR HOME. There is a land, of every land the pride ; Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night ; A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth. Time-tutored age, ancf love-exalted youth. The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so beautiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; In every clime, the magnet of his soul. Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace. The heritage of Nature's noblest race. There is a spot of earth supremely bless'd, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride. While in his softened looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend. Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife. Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land — that spot of earth be found'? Art thou a man' ? — a patriot' ? — look around ; Oh ! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam. That land thy country, and that spot thy home. James Montgomery. LESSON IV. THE GIPSY FORTUNE-TELLER. 1. " Hark, my maiden, and I'll tell you. By the power of my art. All the things that e'er befell you, And the secret of your heart. 2. " How that you love some one — don't you' ? Love him better than you say ; Won't you hear, my maiden, won't you'? What's to be your wedding-day' ?" 3. " Ah, you cheat, with words of honey. You tell stories, that you know ! Where's the husband for my money That I gave you long ago' ? 364 willson's fifth keadee. 4. " Neither silver, Rold, nor copper Shall you get this time from me ; Where's the husband, tall and proper, That you told me I should see" ?" 5. " Coming still, my maiden, coming. With two eyes as black as sloes ; Marching soldierly, and humming Gallant love-songs as he goes." 6. " Get along, you stupid gipsy ! I won't have your barrack-beau ; Strutting up to me half tipsy. Saucy — with his chin up — so !" 7. " Come, I'll tell you the first letter Of your handsome sailor s name — " " I know every one, that's better. Thank you, gipsy, all the same." 8. " Ha ! my maiden, runs your text so' ? Now I see the die is cast ; And the day is — Monday next." "No\ Gipsy', it was — Monday last !" LESSOX V. — SUCCESS aloxe seen. Few know of life's beginnings — men behold The goal achieved — the warrior, when his sw'ord Flashes red ti'iumph in the noonday sun ; The poet, when his Ijtc hangs on the palm ; The statesman, when the crowd proclaim his voice, And mould opinion on his gifted tongue : They count not life's first steps, and never think Upon the many niiserable houi'S When hope deferred was sickness to the heart. They reckon not the battle and the march, The long privations of a wasted youth ; They never see the banner till unfurl'd. What are to them the solitary nights Pass'd pale and anxious by the sickly lamp, Till the young poet wins the world at last To listen to the music long his own ? The crowd attend the statesman's fiery mind That makes their destiny ; but they do not trace Its struggle, or its long expectancy. Hard are life's early steps ; and, but that youth Is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope, Men would behold its threshold, and despair. Ljetitia E. Maclean (Laxdom). 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 365 PART VIII. FIRST DIVISION OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY, [This subject is continued in the Sixth Reader.] LESSON I. — GENERAL DEoCKIl-''" " "''• TIOI!f. 1. Geography is a descriiDtion of the earth. The numer- ous subjects embraced in a complete description of our planet are usually arranged imder the three great divisions, Mathe- matical^ Physical, and Political Geograjihy. Mathematical Geography has for its object the determina- tion of the form and dimensions of the earth, its relations with the celestial bodies, the relative positions of places on its surface, and the representation of the whole or a part of the surface on maps or globes. 2. Physical Geography is a description of the principal features of the earth's surface, as consisting of land and wa- ter, the extent, position, and form of continents and islands, the elevation and direction of mountain ranges, the phenom- ena of volcanoes and earthquakes, the conformation of plains and valleys, and the soil, climate, and productions of different regions. The currents of the ocean and of the atmosphere, with their attendant phenomena, are also embraced in the de- I^artment of Physical Geography. 3. Political Geography considers the earth as the abode of man, and describes the various nations in their local rela- tions. This division of the science is what is usually studied in schools as Geography. 366 AVILLSOX S FIFTH KEADEK. Pakt VIII. As the form of the earth is spherical, it is impossible to represent any considerable portion of its surface on a plane without making some parts appear larger than they are, rela- tively to others. In maps commonly used in schools, the Avorld is represented in two circles, called the eastern and western hemispheres. 4. The surface of the globe comprises nearly two hundred million square miles, of which only about one fourth part is land, and considerably more than half of this is in the eastern hemisphere. The accompanying chart shows about three times as much land north of the equator as south of it ; and it will also be observed that nearly one half of all the land is in the northern temperate zone. Water Uciui.^phcre. Land U^mispliere. 5. If we draw a map with London for the centre of the circle or horizon, which is nearly that of the land hemisphere above represented, we shall include more land than if any other city were taken as a centre, and consequently in the opposite hemisphere there will be more water. In other words, there is more land within 6000 miles of London than within that distance of any other city on the globe. It is often said that certain cities have an extensive " back coun- try" on which they depend for support, and it is an interest- ing fact that London, the commercial metropolis of the world, has a greater " back country," within the distance of one fourth the earth's circumference, than any other city on the globe. 6. Tliere is a method of representing the earth's surface called JSIercator'' s projectioji. This method, which is uni- versally adopted for nautical charts, and has many advant- 1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 367 ages for physical maps, has the meridian lines straight, equi- distant, and parallel. The parallels of latitude are also straight lines perpendicular to the meridians ; but their dis- tances increase from the equator in such proportions as al- ways to show the true bearings of places from one another.* 7. In using Mercator's chart, it must be remembered that it does not truly represent the figure, or relative magnitude of countries, especially those far from the equator. In this kind of chart the surface of the earth is represented as if it were the convex surface of a cylinder, spread out on a level or plain, and the western continent is often shown on the right side of the map. LESSON" II. CONTINENTS AND ISLANDS. 1. There are three great masses of land on the earth's sur- face, which, as they are surrounded by water, might betermed islands, but two of these are commonly called continents. These three great divisions are the Old continent, embracing Europe, Asia, and Africa ; the New continent, including North and South America ; and the island of Australia. 2. The two continents differ remarkably in their general features. In the Eastern continent the general direction of the land and of the great chain of mountains is from east to west, nearly parallel with the equator. In the Western con- tinent the direction of the land is from north to south, or perpendicular to the equator. The Western continent is not quite half as large as the Eastern, but it has about five times the area of Australia. 3. Another notable feature of the land is, that all the great peninsulas are nearly triangular in shape, and are pointed toward the south. Such is the case with Africa, South Amer- ica, Arabia, Hindostan, Corea, Kamtschatka, California, Green- land, and Florida ; a circumstance which the celebrated geol- olgist. Dr. Buckland, has attributed to the wearing away of the land by the waters of the ocean, which he supposes to have been projected northward from the southern hemisphere with great force by some sudden convulsion of the globe. The only exceptions to this generalization are Yucatan and Jutland, which are alluvial formations, and owe their struc- ture to influences which have not operated in shaping the great continental masses. * The physical chart of North America, on page 378, i8 drawn on the plan of Mercator's projection. 36a WILL80N8 FIFTH READER. PAitiVlII. 4. Each continent has an island or group of islands a Utile east of its southern extremity; thus South America has its Falkland Islands, and Africa its Madagascar. So also Cey- lon is similarly situated in respect to Hindostan ; Iceland to Greenland ; the Bahamas to Florida ; and Tasmania and New Zealand to Australia. 5. It has been observed, as another peculiarity of the struc- ture of peninsulas, that they generally terminate abruptly in bluifs, promontories, or mountains. Thus, at the southern extremity of Africa, the Cape of Good Hope stands out as a rocky barrier, where, in some great convulsion of the globe, the waters of the ocean were stayed ; the high, black, and precipitous promontory of Cape Horn is the visible termina- tion of the Andes; and the extremity of the Ghauts Mount- ains, in Hindostan, is Cape Comorin. There is also a strik- ing analogy between the unbroken coast-line of South Amer- ica and Africa, while North America resembles Europe in its coast indentations of bays and gulfs. 6. It is important that a commercial city should have am- ple wharf-room, which is usually increased artificially, as far as possible, in the construction of slips, piers, and wharves. A similar advantage is presented in the indentation of a coast by seas, gulfs, and bays. In this respect Europe is most for- tunate, having one mile of sea-coast for every 156 square miles of surface, while less favored Africa has the same coast-line for every 623 square miles of territory. Next to Europe, North America has the greatest proportionate extent of coast, being one mile for every 350 square miles of surface, " Africa," says Prof. Guyot, " is nearly ellipsoidal, and concen- trated upon itself. It thrusts into the ocean no important peninsula, nor any where lets into its bosom the Avaters of the sea. It seems to close itself against every influence from without." 1. Though the coimtless islands scattered over the globe appear so various in size, form, and character, they have been grouped into two distinct classes, called co7itmental and 2^&- lagic. Continental islands occur along the margin of con- tinents, which they resemble in geological situation, and arc usually long in proportion to their breadth. They seem to have been formed at the same time as the continents, and possibly were once joined to the main land, having been sepa- rated by the action of the sea. It may be that the positions of continental islands mark the former boundaries of the con- tinents. Vancouver's Island, on the western coast of Amer- 1st DlV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGKAPHY, 369 ica, and the islands from Chiloe to Cape Horn, also the West Indies, England and Scotland, Corsica and Sardinia, and Mad- agascar, are good examples of continental islands. 8. Pelagic islands are mostly volcanic or coral formations -which have risen from the bed of the ocean, fixr from land, and independent of the continents. In form they are gener- ally round, and are mostly found in groups. Single pelagic islands, like St. Helena, are rare. Although they sometimes rise thousands of feet above the sea, they are probably the tops ,=-^ of mountains whose bases are far down in the fathom- less retreats of the ocean. 9. In July, 1831, a new vol- canic island appeared near Sicily, in the Mediterranean Sea, caused by the bursting forth of a volcano. An isl- and was formed there with a crater in its centre. This was called Graham Island; and although it rose from a part of the sea where the water was 100 fathoms deep, and continued to grow till it was three miles in circumfer- ence and above 200 feet high, it afterward gradually dimin- ished in size, and finally, after a few weeks, disappeared beneath the waves. Formation of Graham Ireland, as seen from a distance. LESSON III. — COEAL ISLANDS AND KEEF3. 1. Deep in the wave is a coral grove, Wliere the purple mullet and gold-fish rove, VSTiere the ?ea-fiower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy Ijrine. — Peecival. 2. The "great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts," contains countless multitudes of living beings scarcely larger than a pin's head, which are constantly engaged in taking from the sea-water the lime it holds in solution, and, in the form of " coral groves," building up islands and reefs, some of which are a thousand miles in extent. Prof. Dana calculates that there are in the Q 2 370 \VILLSO:s's FIFTH HEADER. Part VIII. South Sea nearly 300 coral islands, the work of these "jelly- like specks." 3. There are four different kinds of coral formations in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, called lagoon islands or atolls^ encircling reefs^ barrier reefs^ and coral fringes. They are nearly all confined to tropical regions ; the atolls to the Pa- cific and Indian Oceans alone. Atolls, of which the annexed Au atoll of the Facifio ocean, covered with vegetaiiou. cut is a fair representation, consist of a circular ring of coral surrounding a shallow lake or lagoon of water. Encircling reefs surround mountainous islands at some distance from the shore. Barrier reefs are similar, but differ in their position in respect to the land. The largest barrier reef is the Austra- lian, which extends more than 1000 miles. 4. On these bare reefs of coral the storms and waves of the ocean gradually deposit mud, sand, and sea-weed, until at length a kind of soil is formed. Seeds from the neighboring or distant lands are driven to the desolate isle, and, finding a soil suited to them, germinate and grow, until finally the ocean rock is covered with verdure. The mariner has visited the " sea-snatched isle," and "Wandered where the dreamy palm Murmured above the sleeping wave : And through the waters clear and calm Looked down into the coral cave. Whose echoes never had been stirred By breath of man or song of bird." 5. The whole of the Pacific Ocean is crowded with islands of the same architecture, the produce of the same insignificant architects. An animal barely possessing life, scarcely appear- ing to possess volition, tied down to its narrow cell, ephem- eral in existence, is daily, hourly creating the habitations of 1st DiV. OF PHTSICAIi GEOGRAPHY. 371 men, of animals, of plants. In the vast Pacific it is founding a new continent ; it is constructing a new world. This proc- ess is equally visible in the Red Sea, which is daily becom- ing less and less navigable, in consequence of the growth of its coral rocks ; and the day is to come when perhaps one plain will unite the opposed shores of Egypt and Arabia. 6. These are among the wonders of His mighty hand : such are among the means which He uses to forward His ends of benevolence. Yet man, vain man, pretends to look down on the myriads of beings equally insignificant in appearance, be- cause he has not yet discovered the great ofiices which they hold, the duties which they fulfill in the great order of na- ture. LESSON IV. THE COKAL INSECT.* [The representations here given are the united stony cells or habitations of the coral- buildinij zoophytes, each species having its own peculiar structure. Every minute por- tion of this calcareous or lime rock is more or less surrounded by a soft animal substance (the zoophyte), capable of expanding itself, but otherwise fixed to its habitation ; yet, when alarmed, it has the power of contracting itself almost entirely into the cells and hollows of the hard coral. These soft parts become, when taken from the sea, nothing more in appearance than a brown slime spread over the stony nucleus. Yet these jelly-like ani- mals are the builders of the coral reefs. See Seventh Reader for a description of this class of animals] < 'OMMON r<)EAL-i,ijiM)iNG ZooPiHTLS. -1. Miand)iim labiirinthica. 2. Astrea dijjsacea. 3. Mfif(rfpora vnmeata. A. Pontes clavaua. 5. Carijrqihyllia fastigiala. 6. Oculina hirtella. 1. Toil on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train, Who bnild in the tossing and treacherous main ; Toil on— for the wisdom of man ye mock, With your sand-based structures and domes of rock ; Your columns the fathomless fountains lave, And your arches spring up to the crested wave ; Ye're a puny race thus to boldly rear A fabric so vast in a realm so drear. 2. Ye bind the deep with your secret zone, The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone ; Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring, Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king ; • The little coral-building animal, or polyp, was long ago called the coral infect, a term quite improper, but one that U still retained in popular use. S72 WIIiLSON 8 FIFTH KBADKK. i-AKT YllL The turf looks green where the breakers rolled ; O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold ; The sea-snatched isle is the home of men, And mountains exult where the wave hath been. 3. But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark The wrecking reef for the gallant bark? There are snares enough on the tented field, 'Mid the blossomed sweets that the valleys yield ; There are serpents to coil ere the flowers are uj. ; There's a poison-drop in man's purest cup ; There are foes that watch for his cradle breath, And why need ye sow the floods with death ? 4. With mouldering bones the deeps are white. From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright ; The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold, And the gods of ocean have frowned to see The mariner's bed in their halls of glee ; Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread The boundless sea for the thronging dead? 5. Ye build — ye build — but ye 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 «ye ; As the kings of the cloud-crowned pyramid, Their noteless bones in oblivion hid. Ye slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main, While the wonder and pride of your works remain. Mrs. SlGOtTRNET. LESSON v.— MOUNTAINS. Tnor, who would'st see the lovely and the wild Mingled in harmony, on Nature's face, Ascend onr rocky mountains. Let thy foot 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 37a Fail not with weariness ; for on their topa The beauty and the majesty of earth, Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget The steep and toilsome way. There, as thou stand'st, The haunts of men below thee, and above, The mountain summits, thy expanding heart Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world To which thou art translated, and partake The enlargement of thy vision. Thou slialt look "Upon the green and rolling forest tops, And down into the secrets of the glens And streams, that, with their bordering thickets, strive To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze at once. Here on white villages, and tilth, and herds, And swarming roads ; and there, on solitudes That only hear the torrent, and the wind. And eagle's shriek. — Bbyakt. 2. " There is a charm," says Howitt, " connected with mountains, so powerful that the merest mention of them, the merest sketch of their magnificent features, kindles the im- agination, and carries the spirit at once into the bosom of their enchanted regions. How the mind is filled with their vast solitude^ ! how the inward eye is fixed on their silent, their sublime, their everlasting peaks^ ! How our heart bounds to the music of their solitary cries, to the tinkle of their gushing rills, to the sound of their cataracts! 3. " When we let loose the imagination, and give it free charter to range through the glorious ridges of continental mountains, through Alps, Apennines, or Andes, hoAV is it pos- sessed and absorbed by all the awful magnificence of their scenery and character^ ! by the sky-ward and inaccessible pinnacles, the " Palaces where nature thrones Sublimity in icy haUs^ ! the dark Alpine forests^ ; the savage i-ocks and precipices^ ; the fearful and unfathomable chasms filled with the sound of ever-precipitating waters^ ; the cloud, the silence, the ava- lanche, tlie cavernous gloom, the terrible visitations of heav- en's concentrated lightning, darkness, and thunder^ ; or the sweeter features of living, rushing streams, spicy odors of flower and shrub, fresh spirit-elating breezes sounding through the dark pine grove^ ; the ever-varying lights and shadows, and aerial hues^ ; the wide prospects\ and, above all, the sim- ple inhabitants^ !" 4. But beyond their moral grandeur and their charms of scenery, mountains subserve some very important purposes in the great economy of nature. Their influence upon the tem- perature and fertility of vast regions, and upon the formation and direction of clouds and air-currents, will be noticed in the lessons on the atmosphere. They are also the most com- 374 willson's fifth reader. Taut VIII. mon boundaries of nations. Frequently the language spoken by tlie dwellers on one side of a mountain is unintelligible to the inhabitants of the other slope. And not only the lan- guage, but the moral, social, and political condition of man is influenced by the bold and picturesque scenery of mountain peaks, " That wear their caps of snow In very i)re8once of the regal sun." » 5. Mountains on land, like mountains in the sea whose tops we call islands when they appear above the water, are sel- dom found detached or insulated. Sometimes, though rare- ly, they exist in aggregated groups, extending from a com- mon centre and not externally connected ; but most com- monly they are in ranges or mountain chains, traversing extensive regions. 6. The great mountain ranges generally follow the direc- tion of the continents, and it is to this circumstance that all large countries owe their peculiarities of climate and produc- tions. "Suppose," said Guyot, "the Andes, transferred to the eastern coast of South America, hindered the trade-Avinds from bearing the vajDors of the ocean into the interior of the continent, the plains of the Amazon and of Paraguay would be nothing but a desert." 7. When mountain chains occur near coasts, it has been observed that their slope is steeper toward the ocean than toward the interior. It has also been remarked that the mountains of the Eastern continent have their long sloj^es to- ward the north, and the steep or short slopes toward the south. In the Western continent the long slopes are toward the east, and the short slopes toward the Avest. The highest peak in the world, as far as ascertained, is Mount Everest, one of the Himalayas, which is 29,000 feet in altitude. Chim- borazo, the most elevated point ever reached by man, is 19,700 feet in height. Mount St.Elias, w^hich is 17,860 feet in height, is the highest point in North America. 8. The Alps, famous in the records of military achieve- ments as having been crossed by the armies of Hannibal and Napoleon, and pre-eminent for the picturesque grandeur of their scenery, are the most celebrated of all mountain eleva- tions, and the highest in Europe. Mount Blanc, the loftiest peak, is an enormous mass of granite, reaching the height of 15,750 feet, the ascent to w^iich is rendered exceedingly dif- ficult by the surrounding walls of ice, fearful precipices, and the everlasting snows by which it is covered ; yet its sum- 1st DiV. OF PHYSICAI( GEOGRAPHY. . 375 mit has often been reached by adventurous tourists and men of science. The thoughts very naturally suggested to a con- templative mind by a view of these " proud monuments of God" are very happily expressed in the following lines : THE ALPS.— Willis Gatloed Clakk. 9. Proud monuments of God ! sublime ye stand Among the wonders of his mighty hand : With summits soaring in the upper sky, Where the broad day looks down with burning eye; Where gorgeous clouds in solemn pomp repose, Flinging rich shadows on eternal snows : Piles of triumphant dust, ye stand alone, And hold, in kingly state, a peerless throne ! 10. Like olden concjuerors, on high ye rear The regal ensign and the glittering spear : Round icy spires the mists, in wreaths unrolled, Float ever near, in purple or in gold ; And voiceful toiTents, sternly rolling there. Fill with wild music the unpillared air : What garden, or what hall on earth beneath. Thrills to sucli tones as o'er the mountains breathe? 11. There, through long ages past, those summits shone When morning radiance on their state was thrown ; There, when the summer day's career was done. Played the last glory of the sinking sun; There, sprinkling lustre o'er the cataract's shade. The chastened moon her glittering rainbow made; And, blent with pictured stars, her lustre lay. Where to still vales the free streams leaped away. 12. Where are the thronging hosts of other days, Whose banners floated o'er the Alpine ways; Who, through their high defiles, to battle wound, While deadly ordnance stirred the heights around? Gone ; like the dream that melts at early morn, When the lark's anthem through the sky is borne: Gone; like the wrecks that sink in ocean's spray, And chill Oblivion munnurs, Where are they ? 13. ' Yet "Alps on Alps" still rise; the lofty home Of storms and eagles, where their pinions roam ; still round their peaks the magic colors lie. Of morn and eve, imprinted on the sky ; And still, while kings and thrones shall fade and fall, And empty crowns lie dim upon the pall — Still shall their glaciers flash ; their torrents roar; Till kingdoms fail, and nations rise no more. 14. Great as the elevations of mountains seem to us, they are small compared with the globe itself. A grain of sand on a twelve-inch globe would represent a mountain relatively much higher than the loftiest of the Himalayas. And so small a portion of the globe is the sum of all the mountains, that its diameter would be but slightly increased if they were leveled to their bases, and spread over its surface. 15. Yet, comparatively slight as these elevations are, show- ing the narrow range, in point of elevation from the sea-level, to which man is confined, they furnish him by far the best op- portunities which he has for observing the phenomena of na- 376 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part Vlll. tiire ; find of nil mountains, those of tlie ton-id zone are the best adapted for this ])ur[)Ose. The celebrated traveler and naturalist, Humboldt, has the following remarks on this sub- ject: 16. "Among the colossal mountains of Quito and Peru, fuirowed by deep ravines, man is enabled to contemplate alike all tlie families of plants, and all the stars of the firmament. There, at a single glance, the eye sur- veys majestic palms, humid forests of bambusa, and the varied species of musacere ; while above these forms of trojjical vegetation appear oaks, med- lars, the sweet-brier, and umbelliferous plants, as in our European homes. There, as the traveler turns his eyes to the vault of heaven, a single glance embraces the constellation of the Southern Cross, the Magellanic clouds, and the guiding stars of the constellation of the Bear, as they circle round the arctic pole. There the depths of the earth and the vaults of heaven display all the richness of their forms and the variety of their phenomena. There the different climates are ranged the one above the other, stage by stage, like the vegetable zones, whose succession they limit ; and there the ob- sen'cr may readily trace the laws that regulate the diminution of heat, as they stand indelibly inscribed on the rocky walls and abrupt declivities of the Cordilleras." 17. Let these remarks suggest to the reader how much of interest the various aspects of nature present to the observant eye of the philosopher, and how much a knowledge of the laws of nature is calculated to contribute to our intellectual pleasures. LESSON VI. TABLE-LAJSTDS, PLAINS, AND TAXLEYS. 1. The earth's surface exhibits great variety in aspect, forming mountains, hills, table-lands, plains, and valleys. The most general of these features are wdiat geographers term table-lands ov 2ylatemis^ and lotolafids or 2)lains. 2. In considering the climate, and, consequently, the prod- ucts of a country, it is necessary to observe its altitude above the ocean level, as well as its distance from the equator. A diiFerence of 350 feet vertically is equal to a difierence of 60 miles horizontally in a direction north and south. The mean temperature of a place at an elevation of 350 feet corresponds to the mean temperature of a location 60 miles farther north and on the sea-level. Li tropical regions the elevated table- lands have frequently a rich soil and the most genial climate, affording to man a delightful and picturesque abode. 3. Unquestionably the most extensive plateau in the world is the lofty table-land of Central Asia, w^hich is from five thousand to fifteen thousand feet high. Bounded and inter- 1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGKAPHY. 877 sected by lofty mountain ranges, having the great Altaian chain on the north, and the Himalayas and Mountains of Chi- na on the south and east, it is without a single" opening to the sea, and its water system consists of lakes without outlets, the final recipients of many rivers. The largest of these in- land lakes or seas are the Caspian and the Aral, in both of which the waters are salt, though less so than those of the ocean. 4. While the Eastern continent is remarkable for its table- lands, ours is the land of jDlains, which form two thirds of the surface of the Western world. South America, with the ex- ception of the long, narrow table-land of the Andes, may be considered one vast plain, divided into three principal por- tions — the llanos, or low grassy plains of the Orinoco and its tributaries ; the selvas, or forest plains, which make the great basin of the Amazon; and the^xm?^9as, or level plains of the La Plata. In the wet season the grassy plains of South America are covered with the most luxuriant vegetation, but in the dry months they present the appearance of a wide waste of desolation. 5. North America has its plateau, which extends along the eastern side of the Rocky Moimtains, and includes the table- lands of Utah and Mexico; but the most remarkable feature in its physical conformation is its vast central plain, the lar- gest, not of America only, but of the world. It embraces the basin of the Mississippi and its tributaries, together with the basins of the St. Lawrence and the great lakes, and, stretch- ing away far to the north, it approaches the borders of the Frozen Sea. Nearly all of its northern portion, north of the fiftieth degree of latitude, is a bleak and barren waste, occu- pied by numerous lakes, and bearing a striking resemblance to northern Asia ; but its more southern portion, "the Valley of the Mississippi," not only enjoys a happy climate, but is one of the most fertile regions in the world, capable of sus- taining an immense population, and doubtless destined to be the seat of a vast empire. " Who does not see," says Guyot, "that here is the character of America — that here lies the fu- ture of the New World ; while the countries of mountains and plateaus seem destined to play only a secondary part ?" 6. The accompanying chart of a large poi'tion of North America will give a very correct idea of the physical config- uration of the country, showing the comparative elevations of its different parts above the ocean level. Yet the eleva- tions on this chart are 120 times enlarged beyond their true 378 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Paht VII r. relative height as compared witli the scale on which the map itself is dra)vn, showing that the loftiest mountains are quite insignificant when we compare them with the size of the great globe itself. v. Portions of the great North American plain, in the val- leys of the Missouri and Mississippi, and also in Texas, are called prairies^ a word signifying meadoxos. These natural IstDlV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPIIT. 379 meadow-lands, covered chiefly with grass, and presenting, in the summer season, the grandest display of floral vegetation which the sun looks down upon, are grouped in three divis- ions, as bushy prairies, ^cet or swampy prairies, and rolling prairies. It is the latter, more particularly, which are de- scribed in the following lesson as the " gardens of the desert" — "island groves hedged round with forests." LESSOX VII, THE PRAIRIES. "-■>-\N«./yii'i','jfeC These are the gardens of the desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, For which the speech of England has no nanio — The prairies. I behold them for the first. And my heart swells, while the dilated sight Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they stretch In airy undulations far away. As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell. Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, And motionless forever. Motionless ? No — they are all unchained again. The clouds Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ; Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase The sunny ridges. Breezes of the south ! "Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers, And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high. Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not — ye have played Among the palms of Mexico and vines Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks That from the fountains of Sonora glide Into the calm Pacific — have ye fanned A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ? Man hath no part in all this glorious work : The hand that built the firmament hath heaved And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes With herbage, planted them with island groves, And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor For this magnificent temple of the sky — With flowers whose glory and whose multitude 380 WILLSON 8 FIFTH READER. Takx VIII. Rival the constellations ! The preat heavens Seem to stoop down iijion tlie scene in love — A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue, Than tliat wliieh bends above the eastern hills. As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed. Among the high, ranii grass that sweeps his sides, The hollow beating of his footstep seems A sacrilegious sound. I think of tliose Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here — Tlie dead of other days? — and did the dust Of these fair solitudes once stir with life And burn with passion? Let the mighty mounds That overlook the rivers, or that rise In the dim forest, crowded with old oaks, Answer. A race that long has passed away Built them ; a disciplined and populous race Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms Of symmetiy, and rearing on its rock The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields Nourished their harvests ; here their hei'ds were fed, When haply by their stalls the bison lowed. And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke. All day this desert murmured with their toils. Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked and wooed In a forgotten language, and old tunes. From instruments of unremembered form. Gave the soft winds a voice. — Bryant. LESSON VIII. CAVES AND GROTTOES OF THE OLD WORLD. 1. Natural caves, which are hollow places under ground, generally with openings on the surface, form a division of physical geography interesting alike to the man of science and the mere Avonder-loving tourist. Nearly all the great caves in the world are in limestone rocks, and have been pro- duced by the action of water, which, running in little streams through the strata and dissolving particles of rock,* has, in the course of ages, formed subterranean passages, often of great extent and wonderful Ijeauty. Caves found in rocks of granite, lava, and porphyry, owe their origin to other causes. 2. It is not surprising that the priests of antiquity, for the purpose of producing an eiFect on the minds of the ignorant populace, localized their false divinities in caverns, which were so well calculated to awaken curiosity and excite the imagi- nation. Thus the original Delphian oracles, reverenced by • The water carriea with it carbonic acid gas, by which limeetone is rendered Boluble. 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 381 the Greeks, and consulted bj the monarchs of the ancient world, were delivered by a priestess seated at the mouth of a cave, who pretended to be inspired with a knowledge of future events. The primitive inhabitants of Northern Eu- rope selected caves as appropriate places for their barbarous rites. Among these is the cave of Thor, "The Thunderei-," in the limestone district of Derbyshire, England, described by Darwin as "The blood-smeared mansion of gigantic Thor." 3, Of the celebrated caverns of the Eastern Avorld, the most famous is that called " The Grotto of Antiparos,"i a magnifi- cent stalactite^ cavern in a little island of the same name in the Grecian Archipelago. Within its vaulted chambers are columns, some of which are twenty-five feet in length, hang- ing like icicles from the roof, while others extend from roof to floor. The following extract from the description given by Goldsmith, taken from the writings of an Italian traveler, will convey some idea of the scene presented in one of the interior chambers of this " enchanted grotto :" The Grotto of Antiparos. 4. " Our candles being now all lighted up, and tlie whole place com- pletely illuminated, never could the eye be presented with a more glitter- 382 WILLSON S FIFIH BKADER. Paet VIII. ing or a more magnificent scene. The whole roof hung with solid icicles, transparent as glass, yet solid as marble. The eye could scarcely reach the lofty and noble ceiling ; the sides were regularly formed with spars, and the whole presented the idea of a magnificent theatre illuminated with an immense profusion of lights. The floor consisted of solid marble ; and in several places magnificent columns, thrones, altars, and other objects ap- peared, as if nature had designed to mock the curiosities of art. Our voices, upon speaking or singing, were redoubled to an astonishing loud- ness, rD'-ENT, hanging. ' MTn'-steb, a cathedral church. 1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 383 LESSON" IX. — CAVES IN THE UNITED STATES. 1. Subterranean cav- erns are not uncommon in our own country, and some of them will be found to rival in beauty, and greatly to surpass in extent, those of the Old World. We have space to enumerate but few of them here, but among the more noted may be mentioned the Big Salt- petre Cave in Marion County, Missouri, which, although yet but partial- ly explored, promises to rival all others in beau- ty and extent ; Weyer's Cave, in Augusta Coun- ty, Virginia ; and the cel- ebrated Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. 2. Weyer's Cave, which is in a limestone region, has a length of sixteen hundred feet in a straight line, but the ag- gregate of its branches and windings is near three thousand. Its numerous and extensive apartments, which have received various names from their fancied resemblance to temples, pal- aces, halls, cathedrals, etc., and which abound in stalactites' of almost every possible variety of form and grouping, have been not inappropriately compared to the enchanted palaces of Eastern story. An engraving of the "Hall of Statuary," which we place at the head of this lesson, showing the stalag- mites^ rising from the floor, and the pendent stalactites^ still dripping with lime-water, illustrates the process of these cu- rious formations. 3. But the largest and most remai-kable cave in the world is the famous Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, a region of vast and still unknown extent, hidden from the light of day. It has already been explored to the distance of ten miles, and a river navigable by boats affords a convenient means of pene- Uall of Statuary, m \\ eyu'a Lave, \ iigima. 384 willson's fifth header. Pakt VIII. trating its subterranean recesses. Stalactites of immense size and fantastic forms adorn the interior, though they are less brilliant and beautiful than those of some other caverns. 4. Bats and rats arc abundant in this cave, and several spe- cies of insects are found in its dark recesses. In its waters have been found two species of fish, in color nearly white, and unknown elsewhere. One of these is the eyeless fish ; and the other, though with the appearance of eyes, is entirely blind, showing that where eyes are of no use, nature finally dispenses with them — a proceeding in perfect harmony with the physiological law that disuse of an organ gradually leads to its destruction. 5. A volume might be written descriptive of the wonders of this " Mammoth Cave" — of its mysterious chambers, its pillared domes, its echoing halls, its fathomless gvilfs, and its dark waters ; but in the brief space at our command we can not do better than submit the following from the pen of an American poet. • Sta-lag'-mTte, Sta-la€'-tite, layersorde-l ing from the floor, the latter hanging from posits of carbonate of lime, the fonner ris-| the roof. LESSON X. THE MAMMOTH CAVE. 1. All day, as day is reckoned on the earth, I've wandered in these dim and awful aisles, Shut from the blue and breezy dome of heaven ; While thoughts, wild, drear, and shadowy, have swept Across my awe-struck soul, like spectres o'er The wizard's magic glass, or thunder-clouds O'er the blue waters of the deep. And now I'll sit me down upon yon broken rock, To muse upon the strange and solemn things Of this mysterious realm. 2. All day my steps Have been amid the beautiful, the wild. The gloomy, the terrific. Crystal founts, Almost invisible in their serene And pure transparency — high pillar'd domes, With stars and flowers all fretted* like the halls Of Oriental monarchs — rivers, dark And drear, and voiceless as oblivion's stream • That flows through Death's dim vale of silence — gulfs, All fathomless, down which the loosened rock Plunges, until its far-off echoes come Fainter and fitinter, like the dying roll Of thunders in the distance — Stygian- pools, Whose agitated waves give back a sound Hollow and dismal, like the sullen roar 1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGPwVPliV, 385 In the volcano's depths — these, these have left Their spell upon nie, and then- memories Have passed into my sjjirit, and are now Blent with my being, till they seem a part Of my own immortality. 3. God's hand, At the creation, hollowed out this vast Domain of darkness, where no herb nor flower E'er sprang amid the sands ; no dews nor rains. Nor blessed sunbeams, fell with freshening power ; Nor gentle breeze its Eden-message told Amid the dreadful gloom. Six thousand years Swept o'er the earth ere human foot])rints marked This subterranean desert. Centuries, Like shadows, came and passed, and not a sound AVas in this realm, save when at intervals. In the long lapse of ages, some huge mass Of overhanging rock fell thundering down. Its echoes sounding through these corridors^ A moment, and then dying in a hush Of silence, such as brooded o'er the earth When earth was chaos. 4. The great mastodon,* The dreaded monster of the elder world, Passed o'er this mighty cavern, and his tread Bent the old forest oaks like fragile reeds. And made earth tremble. Armies in their pride. Perchance, have met above it in the shock Of war, with shout, and groan, and clarion blast, And the hoarse echoes of the thunder-gun. The storm, the whirlwind, and the hurricane Have roared above it, and the bursting cloud Sent down its red and crashing thunder-bolt. Earthquakes have trampled o'er it in their wratl^ Rocking earth's surface as the storm-wind rocks The old Atlantic ; yet no sound of these E'er came down to the everlasting depths Of these dark solitudes. 5. How oft we gaze With awe or admiration on the new And unfamiliar, but pass coldly by The lovelier and the mightier ! Wonderful Is this lone world of darkness and of gloom. But far more wonderful yon outer world. Lit by the glorious sun. These arches swell Sublime in lone and dim magnificence. But how sublimer God's blue canopy Beleaguered^ with his burning cherubim,^ Keeping their watch eternal ! G. Beautiful Are all the thousand snow-white gems that lie In these mvsterious chambere. gleaming out R 386 WLLLSOn's fifth KEADICK. Pakt VIII. Amid the melancholy gloom ; and wild These rocky hills, and cliffs, and gulfs; hut far More beautiful and wild the things that greet The wanderer in our world of light — the stars Floating on higii, like islands of the bless'd — The autumn sunsets, glowing like the gate Of far-off' I'aratlise — the gorgeous clouds. On which the glories of the earth and sky Meet and commingle — earth's unnumbered flowers All turning up their gentle eyes to heaven — The bn-ds, with bright wings glancing in the sun, Filling the air with rainbow miniatures — The green old forests, surging in the gale — The everlasting mountains, on whose peaks The setting sun burns like an altar flame — And ocean, like a ])ure heart, rendering back Heaven's perfect image, or in his wild wrath Heaving and tossing like the stormy breast Of a chained giant in his agony. — George D. Prentice. I Feet'-tep, formed into raised work. * Mas'-to-don, an animal much like tho ele- " STY(i'-i-AN, dark; pertaining to the river phant, now extinct. See p. 469. Styx, a fabuloius river nf the lower world, ^ Be-lea'-guered, studded with ; surronnd- which W.1S to be crossed in passing to the ed by, a? by an army that belenpueri< a city, regions of the dead. ' CiiFn'-C-BiM, the plural of cherub. Here ^ €oe'-ei-dOes, gallery-llke passages. meaning the stars. See Genesis, iii., 24, LESSON" XI. AVALANCHES AND GLACIERS. 1. Vast masses of snow, which accumulate on the precip- itous sides of mountains, being frequently disturbed from their positions, roll or slide down to lower levels. Hark ! the ru.?hing snow 1 The sun-awakened avalanche 1 whose mas?, Thrice sifted by the storm, had gathered there Flake after flake ; in he.iven-defying minds As thought by thought is piled, till some great truth Is loosened, and the nations echo round, Shaken to their roots, as do the mountains now. — Suellet. 2. Immense masses of earth and rock, also, loosened by the rains or by the thawing of the frosts, are precipitated down the mountain steeps, sometimes sweeping before them whole forests, and overwhelming villages in the valleys be- neath. Such rolling or sliding masses, whether of snow, or of earth and rocks, are called avalanches. Such, also, are mountain-slides, which are a constant terror to the inhabitants of the narrow Alpine valleys. 3. The name oi glaciers is given to those immense masses of ice which accumulate on the peaks and slopes, but in the greatest quantities in the upper valleys of lofty mountains. Although those parts of the mountains which are above the line of congelation are covered Avith perpetual snow, yet this 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 387 SHOW, being partially thawed during the summer months, is, on the approach of winter, converted into ice, thus constitu- ting what is called a glacier. Yet tlie glacier ice does not resemble that found iu ponds and rivers ; not being formed in layers, but consisting of small grains or crystals of con- gealed snow, it has neither the compactness, the solidity, nor the transparency of river ice. 4. The glacier ice, descending by a thousand channels along the slopes of the mountains into the valleys, accumu- lates there in vast beds or fields, presenting, where the de- scent of the valley is gradual, a very level surface, and with few crevices; but where there is a rapid or rugged declivity the surface is rent with numerous, and often deep and dan- gerous chasms, and covered with elevations of icy peaks which are sometimes one or two hundred feet high. These glaciers not unfrequently work their way gradually down into the lower valleys. 5. This is particularly the case in the valley of Chamouni, where the singular specta- cle is presented of huge ^ ^^^.i^^* pyramids of ice of a thou- sand fantastic forms in jux- taposition with the most luxuriant pastures, or tow- ering in majestic grandeur in the midst of verdant forests. " The snow-white masses," says Lyell, "are often relieved by a dark background of pines, as in the valley of Chamouni; and they are not only sur- rounded with abundance of the wild rhododendron in full bloom, but they en- croach still lower into the region of cultivation, and trespass on fields where the tobacco-plant is flour- ishing by the side of the peasant's hut." 6. The lower extremities of these glaciers are sometimes excavated by the melting of the ice into the form of immense grottoes, adorned with the finest stalactic crystallizations, Au Alpine Glacier. ;j88 WILLSON S FIFTU KEADEK. Pakt Vlll. whose brilliant azure tints are reflected on the foaming streams and torrents which generally issue Ironi these cav- erns, forming altogether so beautiful and imposing a picture as to defy the most faithful pencil to portray it accurately. These scenes are beautifully described by Coleridge in his HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALLEY OF CHAMOUNI. 7. a. "Ye ice falls'! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines ."lope amain — Torrents, raethinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge' : a. Motionless toiTcnts^ ! silent cataracts' ! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon' ? Who bride tlie sun Clothe you with rainbows' ? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet' ? God' ! let the torrents, like a ehout of nations, 6. Answer ! and let the ice plains echo" God' ! God' ! sing, ye meadow streams', with gladsome voice' ! Ye pine groves', with your soft and soul-like sounds' ! And they, too,' have a voice', yon piles' of snow', b. And in their perilous fall shall thunder' God' '." 8. It is known that the great glacier beds of Switzerland move gradually and silently down the valleys at the rate of about twenty-five feet annually — a phenomenon which has long been an interesting subject of scientific investigation. "Philosophers and naturalists," says Brande, "have attribu- ted the downward movement of a glacier to various causes ; but by far the most prevalent opinion respecting it is that of Saussure, Avho maintained it was nothing more than a slip- ping upon itself, occasioned by its own weight. On the other hand, M. Agassiz ascribes this motion to the expansion of the ice, resulting from the congelation of the water which has filtered into it and penetrated its cavities ; while M. R. Mal- let is inclined to attribute it to the hydrostatic pressure of the Avater which flows at the bottom, and makes rents in the mass." 9. The inhabitants of the plains, reposing in almost unin- terrupted security from that " war of the elements" which nature ever wages in more elevated regions, seldom realize the many dangers fi-om avalanches of snow, and ice, and rocks, and mountain torrents, to which the " dwellers of the hills" are almost constantly exposed. To their reflections we commend the following picture, which has had many a coun- terpart in the Scottish Highlands, in the upper Swiss valleys, and in all mountain regions where man plants his dwelling. It is but a few years since that an entire family of nine per- Ie on the shore, nothing can be more peacefully beautiful, and no music falls with sweeter cadence on the ear. How difterent the picture from Byron, Avhich we have placed at the head of this lesson, from the one witli wh.ich we close ! TO A DYING WAVE. 8. List ! tliou child of wind and sea, Tell me of the far-off deep, AVheve the tempest's wind is free, And the waters never sleep ! Thou perchance the storm ha.-t aided. In its work of stern despair. Or perchanc? thy hand hath braided. In deep caves, the mermaid's hair. 9. Wave ! now on the golden sands. Silent as tliou art, and broken, l8t Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. D99 Bear'st thou not from distant strands To my heart some pleasant token' ? Tales of mountains of the south, Spangles of the ore of silver, Which with playful singing mouth, Thou hast leaped on high to pilfer' ? 10. Mournful wave ! I deemed thy song Was telling of a mournful prison, Wliich, M'lien tempests swept along, And the mighty winds were risen. Foundered in the ocean's grasp, While the brave and fair were dying. Wave ! didst mark a white hand clasp In thy folds as thou wert flying? 11. Hast thou seen the hallowed rock Where the pride of kings reposes, Crowned with many a misty lock. Wreathed with sapphire groen and roses? Or with joyous playful leap, Hast tliou been a tribute flinging. Up that bold and jutty steep, Pearls upon the south wind stringing? 12. Faded wave ! a joy to thee. Now thy flight and toil are over ! Oh may my departure be Calm as thine, thou ocean rover ! When this soul's last joy or mirth On the shore of time is driven, Be its lot like thine on earth, To be lost away in heaven ! — Anonirmous. LESSON XIX. TIDES AXD CURRENTS. 1. The alternate elevation and depression of the waters of the ocean twice every twenty-four hours, was formerly con- sidered one of the greatest mysteries of nature. Tlie first man who clearly explained the cause and phenomena of tides was Sir Isaac Newton. Their true cause he demonstrated to be the attraction of the sun and moon, particularly the latter on account of her proximity to the earth. 2. The average height of the tides Avill be increased by a very small amount for ages to come, on account of the de- crease of the mean distance of the moon from the earth; but after they have reached their greatest height, a reverse move- ment will take place. Thus there are great tides of tides, or oscillations between fixed limits, requiring inmiense periods of time for their accomplishment. The tidal wave extends to the very bottom of the ocean, and moves with great A'elocity. 3. " Currents of various extent, m.apnituclc, and velocity," says ^Irs. Somerville, " disturb the tranquillity of the ocean ; some of tlicm depend upon circumstances permanent as the globe itself, others on ever-varyin}i causes. Constant currents are produced by the comiiincd action of the ro- tation of the earth, the heat of the sun, and the trade-winds ; jieriodical currents are occasioned by tides, monsoons, and other long-continued 400 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part VIII. winds ; temporar}' currents arise from the tides, melting ice, and from every gale ot some duration. A per])etual circulation is kept uj> in the waters of the main by these vast marine streams ; they arc sometimes sujjerficial and sometimes submarine, according as their density is greater or less than that of the surrounding sea." 4. The most constant and most important of all these cur- rents, and one which exerts a modifying influence on all the others, is that produced by the rotation of the earth on its axis. As the waters descend from the poles, where they have no rotatory motion, the earth's surface revolves more and more raj^idly, until, at the equator, it has acquired an easter- ly motion of a thousand miles an hour ; and as the waters do not fully partake of this motion, they are left behind, and consequently seem to flow M'estward in a vast stream nearly four thousand miles broad. This stream, being broken, and its parts changed in various directions by the islands and continents Avhich it meets in its course, gives rise to numer- ous smaller currents, which in their turn are again modified by the general westerly flow, and by winds, rivers, and melt- ing ice. 5. Among these smaller currents is the " Gulf Stream," occasioned chiefly by the constant flow of the w^aters of the tropics westward across the Atlantic Ocean. A part of this vast heated current is directed into the Gulf of Mexico ; is- suing thence, it proceeds in a northeasterly direction along the coast of the United States, and being deflected still farther eastward by the great island of Newfoundland, it crosses the Atlantic, and spreads its warm waters aroiuid the coasts of the British Isles. " It is the influence of this stream upon climates," says Lieutenant Maury, " that makes Erin the Emerald Isle, and clothes the shores of Albion with evergreen robes ; while, in the satue latitude on the other side, the shores of Labrador are fast bound in fetters of ice." Any convulsion of the globe that should open a broad channel through the isthmus of Panama would direct this stream into the Pacific, and change the British Isles into a scene of steril- ity and desolation. 6. It is very important for navigators to study the course and velocity of the ocean currents, as the length and safety of the voyage depend upon them. So much does this circu- lation of the ocean resemble the circulation of fluids in the human system, that our distinguished countryman, Ca]itain Maury, who has so successfully studied and described them, has been appropriately called the " Harvey of the seas." 1st DlV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGltAl'UV. 401 LESSON XX.— LAKES. 1. The depressions on the surface of tlie earth, caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, or other means, are frequently filled AA'ith water, and constitute what are termed lakes. Rivers meeting with obstructions of hills and rocky ridges often form a lake, or chains of lakes, which serve the jDuriJoses of navigation, and give A'ariety to the inland landscape. 2. Many lakes are fed by springs, and sometimes they are the sources of large rivers. It is estimated that more than half the fresh water on the globe is contained in the great American lakes, the largest of which is nearly as large in area as England. Lakes are most numerous in high latitudes, where there is abundant rain and but little evaporation. 3. The five great American lakes, Superior, Huron, Erie, Michigan, and Ontario, are much higher than the level of the ocean. Lake Superior has an elevation of more than six hundred feet, and Lake Ontario two hundred and thirty-lour feet. The Great Salt Lake, situated in the elevated table- land east of the Rocky Mountains, is about forty-two liimd- red feet above the level of the sea. Yet it is a curious fact that those great salt-water lakes of Asia, the Caspian Sea, Lake of Tiberias, and the Dead Sea, are each below the sear ■102 WILLSON S FIFTH IIKADER. l>AUr VIII. level, the first eighty-four feet, the second six hundred feet, and the third more than thirteen hundred feet. The poet Percival, in the following ode, has jjainted the witching <'hai'nis of hundreds of our small interior lakes: TO SENECxV LAKE. 4. " On thy fair bosom, s-ilver lake, The will! swan spreads liis snowy sail, And round his breast the ripplos break. Ah down lie bears before the gale. 5. ■ On thy fair bosom, waveless stl'cara, Tlie dipping paddle echoes far. And flashes in the moonlight gleam, And bright reflects the polar star. 6. The waves along thy pebbly shore, As blows the north wind, heave their foam, And curl arouu