-^-. 
 
 •-"^"^•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 Mornin<j Chronicle. 116 
 
 XV. Education of the Muscles of Expression Adapted. 117 
 
 Expression of Hie Countenance oft^r Death lii/ron. 119 
 
 XVI. Diaordera of the Nervous System: \isions, Appailtions, and Dreams. .Adapted. 119
 
 VI (.'ONTENTS. 
 
 Lmiod Pa^e 
 
 XVII. A Dream, and its ExplaDation Draper. VJ3 
 
 XVIII. The Health of the Brain Adapted. 125 
 
 XIX. The Foot's Complaint Anowivumn. 127 
 
 XX. Kules for Mental Exercise Adapted. 128 
 
 XXI. Advice to a hard ,Stt(de,)it ChurUis Mackay. 129 
 
 XXII. Neglect of Healtli Samuel .Johnson. 130 
 
 The Joys of Health Oay; Thomson. 131 
 
 THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 I. The Village School of Olden Time Goldsmith. 132 
 
 U. The Righteoug never Fonsaken New York .SPECTATf>R. 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 t<hal,speare. 533 
 
 XXVI. End of the Roman Republic Adapted. 537 
 
 Historic Association.s De. Johnson. 538 
 
 Explanation op the Chaeaoters rsED in Connection with the Botanical Descrip- 
 tions. — In the ))otanical descriptions, the botanical name of the plant is first given in 
 italics; then follow the common name, l.innfean class, Liniia?'in order, native color of blos- 
 som (or of plant when it has no blossom), ordinary height or length of plant, and native 
 country, r. designates ?•«(/, pk. pink., w. white, or. orange, pu. jnirple, y. yelloir, cr. cream, 
 s. or sc. scarlet, g. or gr. green, br. brown, li. lilac, lem. lemnn; ap. means npetnlous, or 
 flowerless. The months arc dci^ignated as follows, beginning with January : J., P., M., A., 
 My., Jn.,,Tl.,Au., S., 0.,N., D. 
 
 SS^ For the '•'•Pronouncing Key" and '■'■ Al2}habeiical List of Authors," see end of 
 the volume.
 
 PAET I. 
 ELOCUTIONARY. 
 
 I. ELEMENTS OF ELOCUTION. 
 
 INFLECTIONS. 
 
 The character of the inflections, or slides of the voice, and the marks used 
 to designate them, were briefly explained in the Second Reader of this 
 series. 
 
 Instead of placing the marks of the inflections over the accented syllables 
 of inflected words, or over the emphatic words, as most writers on Elocution 
 have done, we have generallij placed them at the end of the inflected word 
 or clause. As accent and emphasis are entirely distinct from inflection, 
 there seems to be no good reason for uniting them ; and, indeed, it often 
 happens that the accented syllable of a word is not the one which is inflect- 
 ed. Thus, in the example, "Did he answer satis/actorily'?" as usually 
 spoken, the voice does not begin to rise until it has pronounced the accentet' 
 syllable; and in the example, "Did he resemble his yather'," or hi* 
 mother'?" in which Dr. Porter, in his excellent work, places the inflection-^ 
 over the accented syllables of the inflected words, it is very certain that the 
 closing syllables have the greatest degree of inflection; and that, in the 
 word "/((llier',"' the accented syllable is not inflected at all, but is pro- 
 nounced in the same tone as the preceding part of the sentence. 
 
 As an eanphatical word usually bears the same rhetorical relation to the 
 clause in which it is placed as the accented syllable docs to the word of 
 which it forms a part, so there is no more propriety in placing the mark of 
 inflection over an emphatic word than over an accented syllable. There- 
 fore, iu the following examples. 
 
 Did he show companion for me' ? 
 To what place shall I betake myself ? 
 
 we would place the inflections at the close of the sentences. We thus avoid 
 confounding emphasis with inflection, an error which has led many learn- 
 ers astray ; and if we emphasize tlie words "compassion" and "betake," we 
 shall be sure to give them the right tone if we keep in view the inflections 
 at the close. 
 
 We would give the following rules for the position of the marks of inflec- 
 tion : 
 
 1st. When the entire rising or downward slide, or much the greater part 
 of it, occurs on an emphatic w^ord, and is not continued to the end of the 
 clause or sentence, the mark may be placed at the end of such inflected 
 word, as: 
 
 I dare'' accusation. I defy"^ the honorable gentleman. 
 
 2d. When the rising, or the downward slide, wherever it occurs, is con-
 
 12 willson's fifth EEADEK. Pakt I. 
 
 tinued to tlic end of a clause, so that the greatest rise or fall is at the end, 
 the mark sliould be jjlaced at the end, as in the following : 
 
 Charity envicth not*; charity wmntcth not itaclf ; is not puffed up\ 
 
 In this example tlie downward slide begins at en, vaun, and is, and is con- 
 tinued to the end of each member respectively, where is the greatest extent 
 of the slide. 
 
 A very satisfactory reason for placing the mark of inflection at the end 
 of "not," rather than over the accented syllable of " envieth," is, that it is 
 a guide to the correct pronunciation of the sentence in the former case, but 
 no guide at all in the latter case ; for if it be placed over " envieth," the end 
 of the sentence may, nevertheless, have the rising inflection, as in the ex- 
 ample : 
 
 Charity envieth not' ; but is kindly disposed to air. 
 
 Here envieth is pronounced the same as in the former case, and yet the 
 rising inflection is required at the end of the clause, while the downward 
 infection is required in the former case. For the mark to be a correct guide, 
 it must, be placed at the end of the clause in both cases. 
 
 ELEMENTAKY EULES. 
 
 " Sjwak cJcarUi^ if you ppeak at all ; 
 Carve every word before you let it fall ; 
 Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, 
 Try over hard to roll the Uritish 1! ; 
 Do put your accents in the proper spot ; 
 Don't— let me beg you— don't say *■' How?" for " 'VMiat?" 
 And when you stick on cnnversation's burs, 
 Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful wcs." — O. W. Holmes. 
 
 EuLE I. — Direct questions, or those that can be answered by yes or no, 
 
 genei'ally require the rising inflection, and their answers the falling. 
 
 EsAMPEEs. — Do you think he will come to-day' ? No^ ; I think he will not\ — Was that 
 Henry'? No*; it was John\ — Did you see William'? Ves^ 1 did\ — Are you going to 
 town to-day' ? No\ I shall go to-morrow\ 
 
 MODIFICATIONS OF RULE I. 
 
 Note I. — Answers that are given in a careless or indifferent manner, or 
 in a tone of slight disrespect, take the rising inflection in all cases. 
 
 Examples. — Did you see William'? I did'. — ^What did he say to you'? Not much'. 
 See, also, Lesson II., p. 39, of Second Eeader. 
 
 Note II. — Direct questions, when they have the nature of an appeal, or 
 are spoken in an exclamatory manner, take the Jailing inflection. In these 
 cases the voice often falls below the general pitch, contrary to the general 
 rule for the falling inflection. 
 
 Examples. — Is not that a beautiful sight* 1—WiU you persist in doing it' ?— 7s it right' ? 
 • — Is it just*? 
 
 Was ever woman in this humor wooed' ? 
 Was ever woman in this humor won* ? 
 
 Note III. — When a direct question is not understood, and is repeated 
 with emphasis, the repeated question takes the falling inflection. 
 
 Examples. — Will you .«peak to him to-day' ? If the question i.^ not understood, it i= re- 
 peated with the falling inflection, thus : Will you spetik to liim to-day* ? — Are you going 
 to Salem' ? I said. Are you going to Salem* ? 
 
 Eule II. — The pause of suspension, denoting that the sense is unfinished.
 
 Pakt I. ELOCUTIONAIIY. 13 
 
 such as a succession of particulars that are not emphatic, cases of direct ad- 
 dress, sentences implying condition, the case absolute, etc., generally re- 
 quires the rising inflection. 
 
 Examples.— John', James', and William', come here. — The great', the good', the hon- 
 ored', the noble,' the wealthy', alike pass away. 
 Friends', Komaus', countrymen', lend me your ears. 
 Jesus saith unto him, Simon', son of Jonas', lovest thou me' ? 
 
 Ye hills', and dales', ye rivers', woods', and plains', 
 And ye that live and move, fair creatures', teir, 
 Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus^ ; how here^ ? 
 
 Note. — For cases in which emphatic succession of particulars modifies 
 this rule, see Rule VIII. 
 
 Rule III. — Indirect questions, or those which can not be answered by 
 yes or no, generally requii-e the fulling inflection, and their answers the 
 same. 
 
 Examples. — When did you see him^? Yesterday\ — When will he come again^? To- 
 morrow\ 
 
 Who say the people that I am^ ? They answering, said, John the Bapti-st^ ; but some 
 say Elias^ ; and others say that one of the old prophets' is risen again. 
 
 Note. — But when the indirect question is one asking a repetition of what 
 was not at first understood, it takes the rising inflection. "What did he 
 say^?" is an indirect question, with the falling inflection, asking for inform- 
 ation. But if I myself heard the person speak, and did not fully under- 
 stand him, and then ask some person to repeat what he said, I give my 
 question the rising inflection, thus, '■'■What'" did he say'?" (Remark. — 
 Perhaps the true reason of the rising inflection here on the word say is 
 because it is preceded by an emphatic word (what) with the falling inflec- 
 tion. See note to Rule IV.) 
 
 Rule IV. — A completion of the sense, whether at the close or any other 
 part of the sentence, requires the falling inflection. 
 
 Examples. — lie that saw me' saw you also\ and he who aided me once' will aid me 
 again. ^ 
 
 In the beginning, Clod created the heavens and the earth\ And the earth was without 
 form, and void' ; and darkness was on the face of the deep' : and the spirit of God moved 
 up >n 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&<pairing\ 
 
 Virtue is of intrinsic value and good dcnert, and of indispenpaWe obligation ; not the 
 creature of will', but iicce-<.«ary and immutable' ;•■ not local or temp irary', but of equal ex- 
 tent and antiquity with tlie divine mind' ■/• not a mode of seuj^ation', but everlasting 
 truth' ;^ not dependent on power', but the guide of all power'. Virtue is the foundation 
 of honor and e.itcem\aud the source of all beauty', order', and happiness' in nature'. 
 Though gentle', yet not dull' : 
 Strong', without rage' ; without o'eriiowing', full'." — DEmiAM. 
 
 But, waiving all other circumstances, let us balance the real situation of the oppo.?ing 
 parties ; from that we can form a true notion how very low our enemies are reduced. 
 Here, regard to virtue' opposes insensibility to shame' ;6 purity', pollution' ; integrity', 
 injustice' ; virtue', villainy' ;6 resolution', rage' ; dignity', defilement' ; regularity', riot'.^ 
 On one side are ranged equity', temperance', courage', prudence', and every virtue^ ; 
 on the other', iniquity', luxury', cowardice', rashness', with eveiy vice'. Lastly', the 
 struggle lies between wealth' and want'; the dignity' and degeneracy^ of reason ;6 the 
 force' and the phrensy' of the soul ; between well-grounded hope' and widely-extended 
 despair'. In such a strife',^ in such a strurxgle as ttiis'," even though the zeal of men 
 were wanting', must not the immortal gods give such shining virtues the superiority over 
 80 great and such complicated vices' ?i Certainly', i — Ciceeo'b Oration against Catujwb. 
 
 b. Vice is a monster of so fricrhtful mien^^ 
 As to be hated' needs but to be seen' ; 
 
 b. Yet seen too oft', familiar with her face', 
 
 c. We first endure', then pity', then embrace\ 
 
 But where th' extreme of vice' was ne'er agreed* ; 
 Ask Where's the north, at York 'tis on the Tweed' : 
 No creature owns it in the first degi'ee. 
 But thinks his neighbor further gone than h& 
 E'en those who dwell beneath its very zone', 
 Or never /ceZ the rage', or never own' : 
 Wliat happier natives shrink at with affriglit'. 
 The hard inhabitant contends" is right'. — Pope. 
 
 d. Shall burning Etna," if a sage requii'es," 
 Forget to thunder," and recall her fires'? 
 On air or sea new mc>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<t'-Cb7', form, make, construction. 
 ' Am-phib'-i-a.n*, see page 72. 
 "> 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.<iE'-MO-NT, just adaptation of parts to ' fix'-Qui-siTE, clioice; exceedingly beauti- 
 each other. Itory. ful. 
 
 * Nat'-C-eal-ist, one versed in natural his- ^ Cae-.^-pace'. 
 
 LESSON III. A SECOXD LETTER ABOUT TURTLES. 
 
 i^cale of Incites, 
 
 Land, Maesh, anb Rivek Toetoises. — 1. Salt-water Terrapin, Etnvs jrdustris. 2. 
 Blanding's Tortoise, Ci.^tuda Ijlnndingii. 3. Spotted Tortoise, Jiiniis miUata. 4. Fresh- 
 water, or Wood Terrapin, Hinyn inscvJxitfi. 5. Alligator Tortoise, or Snapping Turtle, 
 Ewysaura f^erpeiilina. C. Common Mud-Turtle, or JIusk Tortoise, Stcrnothenis oclora- 
 tus. 1. Matamata Tortoise, Cheliix inatamata. 8. Commoa Ho-x -Tortoise, Cistuda Caro- 
 lina. (Nos. 2 and 8 are Land Tortoises.) 
 
 Delhvild, May 24tli, 18—. 
 1. IMy young Friend, — I proceed now to fulfill the prom- 
 ise which I made in my last letter. Among the land tor- 
 
 C 2
 
 58 WILL80N S FIFTH READKK, Part II. 
 
 toises, which vary from a few inches to three or four feet 
 in length, the best known to us is the Uttle box-tortoise, 
 which is found every where in this country on dry land. 
 (See No. 8.) It is a very gentle and timid 'animal, never 
 takes to the water from choice, and feeds on insects and 
 fruit. The little land tortoise of Europe is extensively used 
 in Greece for food. One kept in the garden of Lambeth 
 Palace, near Loudon, lived to the age of one hundred and 
 twenty years. Some of the largest land tortoises, often 
 weighing two or three hundred pounds, are often found on 
 the Galapagos^ Islands, where they are considered wholesome 
 and palatable^ food. They are eagerly sought for by crews 
 of vessels, as they serve for fresh meat, and can be kept for a 
 year in the hold of a ship without food or drink. In some 
 of the land tortoises, the lower shell, or plastron, is so jointed 
 that the animal, after drawing in its limbs, can shut the doors 
 of its portable house against its enemies. 
 
 2. Of the marsh and river tortoises there is a great variety, 
 differing much in size and character. Of these, a great many 
 species, some of which are commonly known as terrapins, and 
 others as mud-turtles, are found in this country. The well- 
 known and justly prized terrapin of epicures,^ which is called 
 the salt-water terrapin, because it is found exclusively in salt 
 or brackish streams near the sea-shore, is quite abundant on 
 the shores of Long Island. During the winter it buries itself 
 in the mud, from which it is taken in great numbers in early 
 spring, and is then very fat. ^ 
 
 3. Among the river tortoises is the well-known alligator 
 tortoise, or snapping turtle, which derives its name from its 
 propensity to suajj at every thing within its reach. It will 
 snap greedily at the legs of ducks in a pond, and drag them 
 under water to be devoured at leisure. In the Southern 
 United States this and other river turtles destroy great num- 
 bers of young alligators. Another large river turtle, also 
 frequently called " snapping turtle," and found abundantly 
 in the rivers which enter the Gulf of Mexico, we have repre- 
 sented in the engraving on the next page. But I must not 
 omit to mention the matamata, found in South America. It 
 is the most remarkable of the river tortoises. Look at the 
 drawing of it! What a hideous looking object! Yet its 
 flesh is much esteemed for food, and it is angled for with a 
 hook and line. It is an ugly creature to deal with, as it bites 
 sharply; and the fishei'men generally cut off its head as soon 
 as thev have caught it.
 
 FaktII. 
 
 HERPETOLOGY, OK REPTILES. 
 
 59 
 
 4. And, lastly, I must describe to you, briefly, the marine 
 tortoises, which are considered the only true turtles. You 
 will at once distinguish them from all others by the paddle- 
 like form of their feet, the toes being concealed by the skin, 
 which completely envelops*^ them. These animals, which are 
 found in all the seas of warm climates, are excellent swim- 
 mers, but on land they shutSe along in a very awkward man- 
 ner, and make only a slow progress. The best-known species 
 is the green turtle, which is often seen in the markets of New 
 York, and is well known to the epicure for its delicious steaks, 
 and the savory soup which it affords. The eggs of this, and, 
 indeed, of all sea-turtles, are also eaten, and considered a great 
 delicacy. These turtles are generally taken by watching them 
 when they visit the shore to deposit their eggs ; they are then 
 turned over on their backs, and in this helpless condition they 
 I'emain until their captors, having secured in the same man- 
 ner as many as they require, carry them off to their ships. 
 
 Mabinb ANT) RiTER TuETLES. — 1. Hawk'8-bill Turtle, CAeZon?a ?TO6«Vafa. 2. Losrger- 
 head Turtle, Chclonia carctta. 3. Green Turtle, Ch'lonia viydan. 5. Leathery Turtle, 
 Spharijis coriace-i. 4. & 6. I'pper and under sides of the Chclonura Tenininckii, a " Snap- 
 ping Turtle" of the Mississippi. jb 
 
 5. Another species of sea-turtle, called the hawk's-bill, which
 
 60 
 
 \V;LL,SOjS S FIFTH RJiADEE. 
 
 Faht IJ. 
 
 receives its popular name from the curved and pointed form 
 of the ujjper jaw, furnishes the vahiable tortoise-shell of com- 
 merce. The upper shell of this species consists of thirteen 
 plates, partly overlapping each other like the tiles of a house. 
 By means of heat these plates are capable of being firmly 
 united in any quantity, andfof receiving any shajje by being 
 pressed between metallic moulds. Those which produce the 
 finest shell are taken in the waters of the Indian Archipelago. 
 But the largest of the sea-turtles is the loggerliead, wliich 
 sometimes Aveighs eleven hundred pounds. It is found occa- 
 sionally on the shores of nearly all the Atlantic States, is a 
 strong swimmer, and is frequently seen in the midst of the 
 ocean, floating on the surface of the waters, motionless, and 
 apparently asleep, in which situation it is easily captured. 
 
 6. Thus I have given you a very brief description of the 
 turtle family, which comprises the first division or order of 
 the class of reptiles. From what I have written, and from 
 the drawings which I have given you, do you see any thing 
 decidedly disagreeable or oifensive in these animals' ? On 
 the contrary, is it not probable that you might, like an Agas- 
 siz, become much interested in studying the peculiarities- of 
 their structure, their character, and their habits' ? I might 
 give you statistics of their commercial impgitance, and many 
 interesting accounts of their habits from the pages of Audu- 
 bon, Darwin, and others, and I regret tliat I have not room 
 for them here. One thing which I had overlooked I must 
 however remind you of, and that is, you "must not forget that 
 all the turtles, even those that live in the sea, can breathe only 
 when they are out of the water, and that, like whales, poi-- 
 poises, and dolphins, they must occasionally .come to the sur- 
 face for a supply of air. Large numbers of sea-turtles may 
 sometimes be seen in the clear waters of the Indian Seas 
 feeding upon sea-weeds at the bottom, and in that situation 
 they are represented as appearing like so many cattle brows- 
 ing^ upon the herbage. Like herds of bison, they probably 
 have their ranges — their paths over the hills, and througli the 
 valleys of the sea, from one pasture-ground to another. ■ "Who 
 shall doubt that their life beneath the Avaters is a happy one? 
 
 1 Gal-a-pa'-go8, the " islands of tortoises," 
 
 are west of South America. 
 - Pal'-a-ta-p.t.e, j'g-eaiblu toth^tasto. 
 
 3 f:p'-i-€fEE, one who indulges in the luxu- 
 ries of the table, 
 ' r><-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 <J liichti. 
 
 LizAED Division of tub Saurians. — 1. Brazilian, or Variegated Lizard, Tcinft tegiiexin. 
 2. Sand-Lizard, Lacrla agilis. 3. New York Striped Lizard, or BUie-tailed f^kink, /Vc?- 
 unts fasciatus. 4. Tlie Common Gecko, Gecko vcniti. 5. The Iguana, Imiann tubfrcu- 
 lata. 6. Mitred Basilisk, BaMicuH initrntus. 1. Brown Swift, or Pine Lizard, Tropi- 
 dolepis undulatus. 8. The Chameleon, Chameleon vulgaris. 
 
 Dellwild, June 2d, 18—. 
 
 1. My toung Friend, — The interest with which you pro- 
 fess to have read my letters descriptive of the Clielonian or- 
 der of reptiles induces rae to comply with y^ur request that 
 I should give you some account of the remaining three or- 
 ders. These are, as you are already informed, the order of 
 Saurians or Lizards, in which is included the crocodiles ; the 
 order of Ophidians or Serpents ; and, lastly, the Amphibians, 
 which ai-e the connecting link between reptiles and fishes. 
 
 •As I purpose to treat these three orders within the limits of 
 at most three letters, my descri^^tion must be veiy brief in- 
 deed. 
 
 2. We will take the Saurian reptiles, or lizards proper, to 
 begin with. Very offensive-looking animals many of them 
 are, no doubt, to one not accustomed to them ; but is it not 
 probable that your feelings have been somewhat prejudiced 
 against them ? Perhaps more familiarity with these creatures
 
 62 WILL80N S FIFTH READEE. Pakt II. 
 
 might induce you to look upon them with a greater degi'ee 
 of complacency .2 Fancy yourself a resident of the torrid 
 zone, where the forests, the fields, and even the houses swarm 
 with them, and what a living torment it would be if you were 
 to be constantly annoyed by the very sight of them! If you 
 purpose a Southern residence, I advise you, for your own com- 
 fort, to overcome these prejudices.^ 
 
 3. We have very few of the lizard family in the United 
 States — only about a dozen species at most, and of these only 
 two are found in New York and the New England States, 
 and these are harmless little creatures, only six or eight inches 
 in length. You may have been told that they are jDoisonous, 
 a charge which I scornfully repel. It is merely a vulgar error, 
 and is not true of caii/ of the lizard race. The hotter climates 
 of the globe are, as I have said, the great nurseries of the Sau- 
 rians, and we of the temperate zone can form no adequate* 
 idea of the variety — no, nor of the beauty of these creatures, 
 as found in their favorite abodes. This is what a writei" says 
 of them : " In the latitudes between the tropics they every 
 where obtrude themselves upon notice ; they are in the com- 
 mon pathway, and even haunt the abodes of men ; they 
 swarm upon the trees, they lie motionless upon the surface 
 of the water, enjoying the hot rays of the sun; they cover 
 banks, and walls, and crumbling ruins, and mingle their spark- 
 ling hues with those of the blooming vegetation amid which 
 they nestle." Nice little creatures, that nestle so cozily^ — 
 jDcrhaps beneath the very flowers that you ai'e plucking ! 
 
 4. The drawing at the head of this lesson, which I have pre- 
 pared with much care, will give you a better idea than any 
 description would convey of the lizards proj^er, leaving the 
 crocodiles for ajj^other drawing. The little New York lizards, 
 and the sand-lizard of England, are so small as scarcely to at- 
 ti'act our notice. The Brazilian, or variegated lizard, is quite 
 a difterent animal, sometimes measuring five or six feet in 
 length. It runs with great swiftness, and strikes such violent 
 blows Avith its tail that dogs do not readily venture to attack 
 it. It is somewhat noted for robbing hen-roosts and stealing • 
 honey. It attacks the bee-hives with blows of its tail, running 
 away each time, after having given a stroke, to escape the 
 stings. In this way it wearies out the bees, who finally quit 
 their home, and leave the honey to their enemy. 
 
 5. Another large South American lizard is the iguana, a 
 drawing of which I have given. What would you think of 
 eating such a creature ? Do not be astonished when I tell
 
 Fart II. HERPETOLOGY, OE REPTILES. 63 
 
 you that, in countries where it abounds, its flesh is regarded 
 as a great delicacy! But it is an animal oi taste in more 
 senses than one. It is very fond of music. It passes a great 
 part of its existence in trees, and is commonly taken when 
 ' resting on a branch, by slipping a noose over its head, its cap- 
 tor whistling to it while engaged in the operation. 
 
 6. The chameleon, another member of the lizard family, we 
 I)ave all read of in that story of the " two travelers of conceit- 
 ed cast," who, 
 
 "As o'er Arabia's wUds they passed, 
 And, on their way, in friendly chat. 
 Now talked of this, and then of that, 
 ■ Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, 
 Of the chameleorCs form and nature." 
 
 You know how violent a di.spute they fell into about its col- 
 or, one declaring it to be blue, and the other green, and that 
 
 " So high, at last, the contest rose, 
 From words they almost came to blows ;" 
 
 and yet the reptile, on being produced by a third party, was 
 found to be neither green, nor blue, nor black — but Avhite ! 
 
 7. The truth about this power of the chameleon to change 
 its color is this. It is naturally of a pale gray color, from 
 which it may pass from pale green to yellow, and dingy red ; 
 and sometimes the change is continued to dusky violet, or 
 nearly black. In other respects, also, the chameleon is-a very 
 peculiar animal. It seems scarcely to possess the power of 
 motion — Avalks with the greatest circumsj^ectiou^ — and fre- 
 quently remains hours almost immovable. It can direct its 
 eyes two different ways at once — one looking backward and 
 the other forward. This animal feeds upon insects ; and it 
 may be a wonder to you how so sluggish a creature can seize 
 them. The wonder will not be lessened when you are told 
 that it seizes them with its tongue, which it darts forth in- 
 stantaneously, often more than the length of the body, and 
 that the end of the tongue is covered with a viscid'^ secretion, 
 by which the insects at which it is thrown are glued to it. 
 As this motion of the tongue is so rapid as to be scarcely vis- 
 ible, it was the popular belief of the ancients that the chame- 
 leon fed on air -alone. 
 
 8. But I must pass on to others of the lizard class. The 
 basilisk of South America, although perfectly harmless, is a 
 very hideous-looking reptile, as you may see from the picture 
 of it. This term, basilisk, was applied by the ancients to a 
 monster which existed only in their own imaginations, yet of 
 which the most detailed accounts have been transmitted to
 
 64 willsOin's kip'TH rkajjeii. Part II. 
 
 us. The name is derived from a Greek word signifying roy- 
 alty ; and the animal was represented as the king of the ser- 
 pents, with a regal crown upon its head, 
 blighting the herbage with its breath, and 
 striking dead with a glance of its eye. The 
 term has been retained, and applied to this 
 South American lizard on account of the crest 
 or projection on its head. Another harmless 
 little lizard, with a terrible name, is the fly- 
 _ ing dragon, which is found in India, and 
 
 Flying Dragon, which is uoted chicfly for being the only liv- 
 Draco vibi-iaius. jj-jg representative of the fabulous dragons 
 of olden time, so celebrated in romance and fable. 
 
 9. I will allude to one more only of the true lizards, and 
 that is the little, active, noiseless gecko, or house-lizard of In- 
 dia. The peculiar construction of its feet enables it to run up 
 smooth ^perpendicular walls Avith great facility, and even to 
 cross a ceiling with its back downward. It is partial to the 
 habitations of men, attracted by the flies which swarm there. 
 Thus Mrs. Mason, of the Baptist mission of Burmah, says of 
 these creatures : " They are every where, under the sides of 
 tables and chairs, in the closets and book-cases, and among 
 the food and clothing. They sometimes tumble from the roof 
 upon the tables, but they usually come struggling witJi a cen- 
 tiped,^ or some other vermin, in tkeir mouths." So far from 
 having any wish to destroy them, Mrs. Mason considered their 
 services invaluable for clearing the house of vermin. It is 
 supposed that this, instead of the spider, is the animal men- 
 tioned in the thirtieth chapter of Proverbs, and twenty-eighth 
 verse, which has ihws been rendered by Jerome : 
 
 " The gecko taketh hold with her liands, 
 And dwelletli in king's palaces." 
 
 10. The crocodile division of the Saurians next claims our 
 attention. The principal families are those of the alligator 
 of our Southern States, the cayman of Brazil, the common 
 crocodile of the Nile, and the gavial of the Ganges, all of 
 which are represented in the annexed engraving, which will 
 give you a better idea of their forms and relative sizes than 
 any written description could convey. In the true crocodile 
 the jaws are much more slim and 'pointed than in the alli- 
 gator; and you will obseiwe, at the end of the long snout of 
 the gavial, a large protuberance,^ in which the nostrils are 
 situated. All these animals are inhabitants of the rivers and 
 fresh waters of warm countries ; and, although they breathe
 
 Part II. 
 
 IIEEPETOLOGY, OR REPTILES. 
 
 65 
 
 Ceocodile Div.isiON OF THE Saueians. — 1. Mississippi AWgRtoT^ Alligator Missj'ssi'p- 
 piensis. 2. Gavial of the Ganges, Gavialis Gangetica. 3. The Cayman, Caiman ixilpe- 
 brosus. i. Egyptian Crocodile, Crocodilus vulgaris. 
 
 by means of lungs, they are capable of remaining xmrler wa- 
 ter an hour and a half at a time. Their near alliance^° to the 
 tortoises is seen in the upper covering of their bodies, which 
 is composed of niimerous large, square, bony plates, set in a 
 very tough leathery hide. In all of them both jaws are set 
 round with formidable teeth, but the uj)per jaw only is mova- 
 ble. The following, descriptive of some of the habits of the 
 crocodile, will be read with interest : 
 
 11. "The femnle digs a cavity in the earth, in which she places her eggs 
 in a circular foi-m, in successive layers, and with portions of earth between, 
 the whole being afterward covered up. The nest is generally placed in a 
 dry hillock, and the earth is gathered up, so that, on the average,«he eggs 
 are about tan inches below the surface. This being done, the mother aban- 
 dons them to be hatched by the heat of the sun; yet instinct prompts -her 
 frequently to rev^git the spot as the term of 'exclusion'^' approaches. She 
 then testifies uncommon agitation, roaming about the place, and uttering a 
 peculiar growling, as if to awake her hideous offspring to animation. 
 
 12. "The period of maturity being at length attained, the nascent'^ croc- 
 odiles answer to her solicitude by a kind of yelping like puppies. A hollow 
 murmur in return denotes her satisfaction, and she hastens to scrape up 
 the earth with such anxietyvthat several of the young are generally crushed 
 under her unwieldy body. Having withdrawn them /rom their nest, the 
 mother leads them straightway to the neighboring water ; but now iier ut- 
 most vigilance is required for their preservation ; for, unlike the instinct with 
 which she is animated, the male, silently approaching, will frequently de- 
 vour them before she is aware of their danger. He jierpctually seeks their 
 destruction ; and the watch of the female over her young is protracted for 
 three months from their first appearance." — Goodrich.
 
 CU WILLSON S FIFTH READER. Tart H. 
 
 13. The Mississippi alligators, which grow to the length 
 of fourteen or fifteen feet, are the most fierce and voracious 
 of the whole class ; yet on land they are timid, and usually 
 flee from the presence of man. During the heat of the day, 
 these animals, if undisturbed, lie stretched and languid on the 
 banks, or in the mud on the shores of the rivers and lagoons ; 
 but when evening comes they begin to move ; and at this 
 time, in certain seasons of the year, they commence a terrific 
 roaring, which is described as a compound of the sounds of 
 the bull and the bittern, but far louder than either. At this 
 time tAvo males will sometimes engage in fierce battle, usual- 
 ly in shallow water, and in these desperate fights, not unfre- 
 quently both are killed. When the alligator closes its jaws 
 ujjon an object, they can with difficulty be wrenched asunder, 
 even by a lever of considerable length. 
 
 14. It is known that the crocodile of the Nile, which some- 
 times grows to the length of thirty feet, was regarded as 
 sacred by the Egyptians, and that, Avhen caught young, it 
 was sometimes so trained as to march in the ranks of their 
 religious processions. The gavial of the Ganges, which equals 
 in size the Egyptian crocodile, though often represented as 
 one of the scourges of that celebrated riA^er, is not dangerous 
 to man or the lai'ger quadrupeds, although it is true that the 
 dying Hindoos exposed ujion its banks, and the dead body 
 committed to its waters are its frequent prey. 
 
 15. There is a small animal in Egypt, called the ichneimion, 
 Avhich bears some resemblance to the Aveasel tribe^ and which 
 feeds ujDon birds, reptiles, and also upon eggs. It is particu- 
 larly serviceable in restraining the multiplication of the croc- 
 odile by devouring its eggs, and also the young crocodile 
 when ifcAvly hatched. This fact in natural history has been 
 made use of in the following poem to illustrate the* principle 
 that it is much easier to remove an evil at its beginning than 
 Avhen it has groAvn to great proportions. Th^ moral at the 
 close of the poem may Avell be commended to the young. 
 
 1 Satj'-ri-an, from the Greek smirns, a \iz-\ ^ CrE-fcM-sPEe'-Tiox, caution. 
 ard : an animal of the lizard kind. | ' A'is'-oid, sticky like glue. 
 
 = Com-pla'-cen-cv, pleasure; satisfaction, l 8 Cen'-ti-pEd, an insect having a hundred 
 
 2 pKiJj'-u-nicE, an opinion formed without feet ; or one that has 7iia»ii feet, 
 due examination. I ' Pro-tC'-uer-ance, a bunch or knob. 
 
 * ad'-e-qitate, coiTect ; adeqttnfe ideas are' '" Al-lT'-ance, relationship. 
 
 such as exactly represent their object. I" Kx-ctr'-siON, a thrusting out: hatching. 
 
 * eo'-zi-LY, snugly; comfortably. |i2 Ms'-ce>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<jUa. But to explain the functions of 
 these is a more complicated matter ; and their study will be 
 found to have an intimate connection with the study of mind 
 itself, or mental philosophy.* 
 
 4. The brain is that large organized mass which, with its 
 enveloping membranes, completely fills the cavity of the skull. 
 It is divided vertically nearly into two halves by a deep fissure 
 or cleft, as is seen in the illustration, Fig. 2, given below ; 
 and its surface is singularly ronghened by elevations and de- 
 pressions, which have the appearance of folds closely crowd- 
 ed upon each other. The chief mass of the brain is called 
 the cerehrum^^ or great brain ; below, and somewhat back 
 of this, is the cerebellum,'^ or little brain ; and connected with 
 and proceeding from both is the spinal cord, or sj^inal mar- 
 row, wdiich extends downward through the spinal column or 
 
 Pig 2. ^ig- ^- Thi'^ eiigraving represents the 
 ' appearance of the upper surface fif the 
 
 UPPEE SURFACE OP THE BRAIN. ^^^^^^^ ^ft^,. jj^ covering, the skuU, ha3 
 
 been removed. The figures 1, 1, show 
 the anterior or front lube?, and 2, '2, the 
 posterior lobes ; while from 3 to 3 ex- 
 tends what is called the great median 
 fissure, which divides the brain into two 
 hemispheres, or halves. The figures 5, 
 5, point to what are called the anterior 
 parietal convolutions ; C, 6, to the poste- 
 rior; T, T, to the rudimentary; S, S, to the 
 frontal convolutions ; and 9, 9, to the oc- 
 cipital. Not only is the brain a double 
 organ, sending forth its nerves by pairs, 
 but the same symmetrical doubleness is 
 continued throughout the whole nervous 
 system. It is believed th.it each half of 
 the brain can act separately, but that 
 - both can best act simultaneously. 
 
 " While it is true that any unusual and 
 healthy development of brain is attend- 
 ed with correspondingly increased men- 
 tal powers, yet in this we must not over- 
 look tlie merely inKlrumrntal nature of 
 ^"^ the organ. Though imperfections in it 
 
 ■^ may produce a manifest inferiority, that 
 
 ■ s,, ■ , inferiority is by no means to be refeiTed 
 
 "yjg'l*-™^ to the intellectual pri iciple itself The 
 
 mode of action beiug by an instniment, 
 if that instrument becomes imperfect the action becomes imperfect too." — Dbapee. 
 
 • The subject of Slental Philosophy will be taken up in the Sixth Reader.
 
 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 
 
 89 
 
 back-bone. In the engraving at the foot of page 91 is repre- 
 sented an internal side view of the right half of the brain. 
 
 5. The brain is composed of a soft jelly-like substance, very 
 much like the marrow which is found in bones. The interior 
 portion, which is of a white color, is composed of exceedingly 
 minute tubes, which are the beginnings of the nerves. These 
 little nerve tubes are exceedingly minute ; but where they 
 start from the brain a bundle of them is generally inclosed in 
 a sheath ; then this bundle is divided and subdivided, branch- 
 ing out in smaller and smaller divisions, until each little nerve 
 tube is connected with some one muscular fibre or some one 
 sensitive point in the body. Each of these little tubes, al- 
 though sometimes too small to be distinctly seen by the mi- 
 croscojDe, is supposed to be entirely separate from its fellow 
 nerves, and unconnected with them from its beginning to its 
 termination. 
 
 6. We will now explain the uses of these little nerve tubes, 
 of which there are millions in the body, and we will do it by 
 supposing a particular case in Avhich they are used. If the 
 mind wishes to move the right hand it sends a message down- 
 ward from the brain along the course of the spinal cord in the 
 neck, and thence down along the arm through a bundle of 
 the nerves that run to the hand. If the mind wishes the 
 
 Fig. 3. 
 
 BASE OF THE liKAIN. 
 
 Fig. 3 represents the ba^e of the brain 
 as seen from beIo\r, togetlier with some 
 of the double set.s of nei-ves branching 
 from it. Here the figures 1, 1, repre- 
 sent the anterior or front lobes, and 3, 
 3, the lobes of the cerebellurn^ which 
 lies at the base of the back pai-t of the 
 skull. From 4 to IS is the line of the 
 median fissure Figure 13 points to 
 the medulla oblongata, or severed por- 
 tion of the upper part of the spinal 
 marrow; 22, to one of the olfactory- 
 nerves, or nerves of smell ; 24, to the 
 beginning of the pair of optic nerves, 
 or nerves of sigi.t; while 25 and 23 
 point to one, each, of pairs of oculo- 
 motor nerves, or nerves that direct the 
 motions of the eyes; 27 and 29 to 
 nerves that move'the muscles of the 
 face, and 30 to the auditory nerves, or 
 7/ nerves of hearing. The cUmblniess of 
 the nerves is here well illustrated ; and 
 this is tlie characteristic of the whole 
 nervous system, the cranial and spinal 
 nerves coming forth by pairx to their 
 distribution on the right and left sides 
 of the body. The object of this ar- 
 rangement is evidently to increase the 
 precision of nervous action, and to com- 
 pensate readily for any incidental de- 
 fects.
 
 90 
 
 WILLSON 8 FIFTH READER. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 whole hand to move, it sends the message through all the 
 nerves that run there, and one tells the little finger, another 
 the fore-finger, and another the thumb, etc., Avhat to do. If 
 the mind wishes the fingers to strike the keys of the piano, it 
 tells each finger, through its own nerves, what key to strike. 
 These nerves, through which the mind sends out its commands 
 to the fingers, and to every muscle in every part of the body, 
 telling each Avhen and how to act, are called motor nerves, 
 or nerves of motion. If the bundle of motor nerves running 
 to the hand should be cut in two, the hand would not move ! 
 And why^ ? Because it could receive no command from the 
 brain ; and it will not move without orders from AeacZ-quarters. 
 7. But there is another set of nerves running to the hand 
 besides the nerves of motion. What if the fore-finger had 
 been directed, in the dark, to touch a certain key of the pia- 
 no, and had chanced to ])ress upon the sharp point of a nee- 
 dle or the blade of a knife ! How could the mind be inform- 
 ed of the danger^ ? Not by the nerves of ^notion, for their 
 only ofiice is to convey commands outward from the brain. 
 Another set of nerves is needed, and such has been jDrovided 
 in the nerves of feeling. As soon as the finger presses upon 
 the needle's point, some of these numerous and minute nerves 
 of feeling are pierced, and instantaneously they convey the in- 
 telligence to the brain. As quick as thought, a command is 
 then sent down, through the nerves of motion, to withdraw 
 the finger, if possible, before any serious injury is received. 
 If the bundle of nerves of feeling running to the hand should 
 be severed, the finger might be pierced through, or cut oflF, 
 
 Fig. 4. 
 
 EXTERNAL SIDE VIEW OP THE BEAIN. 
 
 Fig. 4 represents an external 
 side view of the right half of the 
 brain. At 1 is seen the medulla 
 oblongata, or beginning of the 
 spinal marrow : at 3, a side view 
 of the cerebellum, ov little brain. 
 The chief office of the cerebellum 
 is believed to be that of combining, 
 regulating, and diiecting all the 
 muscular movements. I'rom ex- 
 periments on animal, it is found 
 that when it is cut it gives rise 
 to neither motion nor sensation, 
 but when it is removed in slices 
 the animal gradually loses all 
 power of rernd'itina its motions. 
 The weight of the cerebellum is 
 about one ei;;hth of that of the 
 cerebnim. The average weight 
 of the entire brain in man is about 
 fifty ounces ; in females about for- 
 ty-five.
 
 2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 
 
 91 
 
 and the mind have no knowledge of it ! And why^ ? Because 
 no notice of the injury could be sent from the finger up to the 
 brain. 
 
 8. The following fact illustrates the xise of the nerves of 
 feeling in preventing injury. A man who had lost all sensi- 
 bility in the right hand, on account of an injury to the bundle 
 of nerves of feeling, while the nerves of motion were still 
 perfect, lifted the cover of a pan when it was burning hot. 
 Although he could feel no j^ain, the consequence was the loss 
 of the skin of the fingers and of the palm of the hand, laying 
 bare the muscles and tendons. If the nerves of feeling had 
 not been injured, the warning of pain would have been in- 
 stantly given to the brain, and orders would have been sent 
 to the muscles to relax their grasp of the cover ; and so rapid 
 would have been these messages, through the nerves of feel- 
 ing, to the brain, and back through the nerves of motion, that 
 the cover would have been dropped soon enough to prevent 
 any great amount of injury from being done. 
 
 9. In the foregoing explanation we have a general view of 
 the functions of the nervous system, whicli consists, principal- 
 ly, of the brain and the spinal marrow, and numerous sets of 
 two kinds of nerves running from them to all parts of the 
 body. The nerves of feeling and the nerves of motion are, 
 so far as we can discover, the same in structure and in com- 
 position ; but as the offices which they jjerform are entirely 
 
 Fig. 5. Fig. 5 represents an internal 
 
 raTERNAl SIDE VIEW OP THE BEAW. f^^. ^^^^V of the light half of the 
 
 brain — the brain being cut or 
 split doiran-ard from the white 
 body in the centre. At 1 is shown 
 the half of the medulla oblonga- 
 ta ; 4 points to what is called 
 the arbor viice^ or "• tree of life," 
 of the cerebellum; 20 points to 
 the origin of one of the ner\-es that 
 move the eyes : and '21 to the or- 
 igin of the optic nerve, which is 
 peen proceeding toward the eye ; 
 ■26 points to what here appears 
 as a crescent-shaped white sub- 
 stance, called the corpus cjiUosum. 
 It appears to be the peculiar office 
 of the ccrebeUum to direct, com- 
 bine, and control mu?calar mo- 
 tions; and those animals which 
 have it the most fully developed 
 excel in their powers of motion, 
 and nre distinguished by the com- 
 plication of their movements. If 
 removed by degrees, in success- 
 ive slices, the motions of the ani- 
 mal become irregular, and, finally, It loses all power of walking or of maintaining its equi- 
 librium.
 
 92 
 
 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 different, there is somctliing about them which -wc do not yet 
 understand. Nor can we understand Jioio the mind receives 
 imiDressions through one set, and sends out messages and 
 causes motion through another, for this Avoukl be to mider- 
 stand hoto mind acts upon matter, and hoxo the spiritual is 
 connected with the material world. 
 
 10, But there is one thing more about the brain which we 
 may explain here. We have said that the central part of it 
 is of a white color, and composed of the beginnings of the 
 minute nerve tubes which we have described. Bnt all around 
 this white inner part is a thick layer of gray substance, 
 thickly lining the interior of all the convolutions or folds of 
 the brain ; and this gray substance is comjTOsed of minute 
 cells^ intermingled with which are exceedingly minute and 
 numerous blood-vessels, which supply the cells with their req- 
 uisite nourishment. This cellular substance of the brain is 
 acknowledged by physiologists to be the seat or dwelling- 
 place of the mind — of the intellect itself; and the mind — the 
 ruling power within us — is believed to act directly upon this 
 gray matter, while the white substance serves only to trans- 
 mit messages to the muscular fibres, and bring back impres- 
 sions. It is found, in examining the brains of animals, that, 
 the greater the intelligence, the more abundant is the gray 
 substance ; and in man it is especially abundant, constituting 
 much the largest proportion of the brain. 
 
 • Ceb'-e-beitm. 
 
 2 Cee-e-bel'-lum. 
 
 Fig 6. At A is represented a collection of nei-ve-cells, 
 neive fil^res, and blood-vessels from the human brain, 
 gieatly magnified. This is from that part of the brain 
 called the optic thalamus. At a is shown one of these 
 neive-cells still more highly magnified. The branching 
 tube in A is a blood-vessel showing the circular blood-cells 
 floating in it. (See Fourth Reader, p. 3'2.) At B, B are 
 represented some of the nerve-cells found in the gray sub- 
 stance of the brain. Tliese cells, which have a nucleus, or 
 central particle, are originally globular, but many often 
 <i •~ume various shapes, and often shoot out in branches. 
 1^ "V\ liile the nervous libros conduct external impressions to 
 ~ the brain, and transmit nervous influences from it, the 
 nerve-cc/7s are supposed to be the various centres which 
 receive tlie impressions and originate the nervous influ- 
 ences, under the directing power of the mental principle. 
 A collection or bundle of these cells is called a reticle, 
 which maj- be regarded as a temporary mogazine of nerv- 
 ous power, with its many cell-like divisions, each of which 
 has some particular duty to perform. 'Ihus the form of 
 the large cell at B (highly magnified) would indicate that 
 it may receive nervous influence from two directions, and 
 then transmit it, as occasion demands, in four or five direc- 
 tions.
 
 2d Div. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 93 
 
 LESSON IV. — OTHER FORMS OF NERVOUS ACTION. 
 
 1. In the preceding lesson we contemplated nervous action 
 in only two of its forms — as producing sensation and volun- 
 tai-y motion, in which the mind is the recipient in one case, 
 and the active agent in the other. But much of the muscu- 
 lar motion of the body is produced without the agency of the 
 will or mind, and sometimes even in opposition to it. It 
 would not answer to intrust the circulation of the blood, and 
 the acts of breathing and digestion, to the control of the 
 mind ; for the mind might slumber or be forgetful ; or the 
 brain, which is its organ, might be diseased, and then the 
 pulsations of the heart would stop, the lungs and the stom- 
 ach would cease their labors, and the body would die. But 
 by a most Avonderful provision the heai*t beats on, even when 
 the mind takes no notice of it ; and the stomach performs the 
 labor of digestion, and the lungs that of respiration, inde- 
 pendently of the will. By what agency, then, is it that these 
 and many other involuntary motions are produced^ ? The 
 answer to this question will open a new view of the wonders 
 of the nervous system. 
 
 2. We have stated that the spinal marrow, proceeding from 
 the brain, extends downward through the spinal column or 
 back-bone. Its substance and structure are similar to those 
 of the brain, except that the nervous tubes — the white mat- 
 ter — compose the outer portions of it, and the gray cellular 
 matter the inner parts. Along the outer portion run the two 
 kinds of nerves from the brain, those of motion and those of 
 feeling, branching oif here and there to various parts of the 
 body.* But, in addition to these nerves which it transmits 
 along its'' channel, the spinal marrow sends off nerves of its 
 own to the heart, lungs, stomach, etc., and other internal or- 
 gans. It has long been known that all the nerves fi-om the 
 spinal marrow are sent off in j^airs through the two fui'rows 
 on each side of the back-bone, and that each pair has two 
 roots, one root coming from the back portion, and the other 
 from the front. These two roots unite as soon as they have 
 fairly left the spinal cord, after Avhich their fibres branch off 
 to the several places of their destination. 
 
 * Whether these nerves are continuous all the way from the hrain, as was formerly sup- 
 posed, or not, is now doubted. If not, impressions must be transmitted from th" bi-ain 
 first to the rellular substance of the spinal marrow, and then sent forward by some nerv. 
 ous force which has been stored up in the spinal marrow for this purpose. Impression" 
 would be returned from the lower extremities to the brain in the same way.
 
 94 
 
 WILLSON S FIFTH KEADEE. 
 
 Paet III. 
 
 ^g- ^•* 3. It is one of the great discoveries of physiol- 
 
 ogy that the anterior root of each pair contains 
 only nerves of motion, and the posterior root only 
 nerves of sensation, and that the former, therefore, 
 carry impressions or commands from the sjiinal 
 marrow, and the latter bring impressions to it.f 
 But Avhat is peculiar to some of these nerves is, 
 tliat when they run to the heart, lungs, etc., they 
 act independently of the brain. Thus, Avhen the 
 right ventricle of the heart is filled with the dark 
 impure venous blood, the nerves of sensation Avhich 
 run to the heart convey a notice of the fact to the 
 gray substance of the spinal marrow ; this gray 
 substance, which seems to have a power in itself 
 independent of the brain, responds to this notice, 
 and sends back a message to the heai't by the motor nerves, 
 directing the muscles of the right ventricle to contract, and 
 force the blood into the lungs, that it may be purified there. 
 It is the same with all the other involuntary muscles — with 
 those of the lungs and the stomach ; they are put in motion 
 at the proper time, and in the right manner, through the me- 
 dium of nerves over which, ordinarily, the will has no control. 
 4. The exceeding wisdom of an arrangement by which the 
 functions of the heart and lungs are continued in unceasing 
 operation, without the necessity of mental control, is so ob- 
 vious that we need not dwell upon it. The nervous power 
 that controls them seems to be stored up in the gray cellulai; 
 substance of the spinal maiTow, just as the power that moves 
 the wheels and hands of a watch is stored up in the coil of 
 the main-spring. In winding up the Avatch we use a certain 
 amount of /brce, and this force we transmit to the main- 
 spring, where it remains coiled np, to be given ofi'as needed 
 in moving the wheels and hands of the watch. So, when this 
 infinitely more perfect machine of the muscles of involuntary 
 motion, made by the Great Architect, is kept properly wound 
 up by a due supply of appropriate nourishment and pure air, 
 and by a due observance of all the other conditions of healthy 
 action, it continues in motion until the power stored up in it 
 
 * This is a side view of the left side of tlic spinal cord. 
 
 t Fig. 7 shows a portion of the spinal cord surrounded by its envelopes, and sho^ving 
 the origin of the anterior and posterior roots. Thus, at 1, 1 are shown the posterior roots 
 of the spinal nerves, and 2, 2, the anterior roots of the same nerves ; at 3, 4, and below 
 them, the anterior and posterior roots are cut. In the upper portion of the engraving the 
 sheath or envelope of the sjiinal cord is presei-ved ; and at C are shown the two roots 
 united, and projecting from the sheath ; at 7 is shown a vertical section of the two roots 
 cut close to the sheath, and showing the vertical line which divides one root from the 
 other.
 
 2d Div. OF . . . HUMATsr PHYSIOLOGY AKD HEALTH. 95 
 
 has been exhausted. It has been left to iis to avail ourselves 
 of the proper means of continuing for a while a supply of this 
 force, although we can not originate it ; and judicious care 
 will enable us for a long time to keep the machine of life in 
 motion, although it will finally wear out. 
 
 5. We have said that ordinarily the will has no control 
 over the nerves connected with the involuntary muscles — re- 
 ceiving no sensations from them, and conveying no messages 
 to them. But Infinite Wisdom, which plans all things well, 
 has made some exceptions here. Ordinarily the action of the 
 lungs in respiration is wholly unnoticed by the mind; but 
 when there is embarrassment in the lungs, occasioned, for ex- 
 ample, by the pi'esence of some irritating substance, or by dis- 
 ease, the quiet process carried on by the agency of the spinal 
 marrow alone is not adequate to meet the exigency. The act 
 of breathing is now accompanied with positive sensations 
 which the brain takes notice of, that the individual may, if 
 possible, provide a remedy. By a mental eftbrt the will can 
 quicken the action of the lungs, if necessary. Not so, how- 
 ever, with the movements of the stomach in digestion ; no ef- 
 fort of the will can quicken or retard the action of this muscle. 
 The will can not directly influence the motions of the heart, 
 though it can do it indirectly by so directing the thoughts as 
 to awaken emotions calculated to produce this effect. 
 
 6. Thus it has been seen, in the mysteries of the nervous 
 system, that there are two kinds of nerves of common sensa- 
 tion, one conveying impressions to the brain, and the other 
 kind transmitting impressions that are xmnoticed by the mind 
 to other centres of nervous power and influence. It has been 
 seen, also, that there are, corresponding to these, two different 
 kinds of nerves of motion, one acting under mental control, 
 and the other not. Still another important principle of nerv- 
 ous influence we have to notice in this connection, and that 
 is, that there are diffiBrent nerves for different kijicls of sensa- 
 tion. The nerves oi feeling are spread all over and through- 
 out the body ; but, in addition to these, there are nerves of 
 hearing^ seeing^ smelling^ and tasting, each entirely different 
 in its functions from all the others. 
 
 7. Thus the nerves oi hearing convey to the mind impres- 
 sions that we call sound ' the optic nerve transmits impres- 
 sions of another kind, and the nerves of smelling and tasting 
 impressions of still different kinds. Each kind has its own 
 duty to perform, and it can perform no other. Thus the optic 
 nerve, which is only subject to the influence of light, can con-
 
 96 willson's fifth eeadee. PaetIII. 
 
 vey no impression of heaving, nor of smelling, nor of tasting; 
 nor can it convey any impression of pain. If the eye be in- 
 jured, a nerve of ordinary sensation is required to convey the 
 intelligence to the mind. So in the nose ; the nerve that takes 
 notice of odors is a diflerent one from that by which irritation 
 on the same membrane is felt. The snuft'-takcr smells the 
 snuff with' one nerve, and /ee/s its tingling with another. 
 
 8. Thus we have briefly explained the leading parts and 
 principles of action of the Nervous System. In one part of 
 this system Ave have found one set of nerves — the nerves 
 oi feeling^ as they are called, whose ofiice is to convey to the 
 mind impressions of ordinary sensation from the surrounding 
 world ; and a still diflerent set, called nerves of motion^ to 
 couA'ey the commands of the mind to the numerous voluntary 
 muscles. In another part of this system we have also found 
 two sets of nerves, but diflerent from the foi-mer, running 
 to and from the involuntary muscles, and regulating their mo- 
 tions. And Ave haA-e also found still diflerent nerves, some- 
 times called nerves of special sense, conveying to the mind 
 those impressions Avhich giA'e us a knowledge of the objects 
 of taste and of sounds, of shades and colors, and of odors. 
 Some mysterious poAver presides OA'er all of them, and keeps 
 them in harmonious action, until accident, or disease, or age 
 seriously mars tlie beautiful mechanism, and then we die. 
 No, not AVE ! It is only the body — the machine that is 
 broken or that is Avorn out, Avhile aa'e, the spirit-mind, shall 
 exist foreA'er, 
 
 LESSON v. SPIRIT, THE MOTITE POAA-ER OF THE BODY. 
 
 1. A machine is a combination of parts composed of mate- 
 rial substances, solid or fluid, or both, as the case may be ; it 
 possesses not its OAvn principle of motion ; it can not urge its 
 OAvn levers, ' or stretch its OAvn cords, or turn its own Avheels, 
 or put its own fluids into circulation. The eflicient cause of 
 its motion, Avhich is altogether distinct from the machine it- 
 self, is called the prime mover. 
 
 2. The point on Avhich I desire now to fix your attention is, 
 that this prime mover is altogether distinct from the machine, 
 and independent of it ; that it possesses, or at least may pos- 
 sess, no property in common Avith it ; and that its existence 
 or non-existence is not decided by the existence or non-exist- 
 ence of the machine.
 
 2d DiV. OF . . . HUilAX PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 97 
 
 3. The machine may be broken, destroyed, worn by age, or 
 otherwise disabled, and yet the prime mover may still retain 
 its original energy. Thus a steam-engine is moved by tire, a 
 mill by wind or water ; the steam-engine may be worn out, 
 and the mill be broken by accident ; and yet the fire, and the 
 wind, and the water will still preserve their powers. 
 
 4. These observations, which correctly describe a machine, 
 may with propriety be applied to the human body. This body 
 is also a combination of parts, composed of material substances, 
 solid and fluid, having certain definite forms and arrangements, 
 possessing certain capabilities of motion and force, destined 
 and admirably adapted to obey the dictation of its prime 
 mover, the living principle, the immaterial spirit. 
 
 5. So long as it pleases the Great Engineer who construct- 
 ed this body to permit its connection with that intellectual 
 spirit, so long will it obey the impulses which it receives ; nor 
 does the decay in this bodily machine infer any corresponding 
 decay of the moving spirit any more than the wear and tear 
 of a steam-engine proves the destruction of the j^rinciple of 
 heat which gives it motion. 
 
 6. Xeither are we to infer, because this bodily machine, in 
 its obedience to the vital spirit, acts mechanically, and is adapt- 
 ed to all the ordinary properties and laws of matter, that 
 therefore the spirit which moves it partakes of the nature of 
 matter, or is answerable to its laws, any more than we should 
 infer that the levers, wheels, pumps, chains, cords, and valves 
 of a steam-engine are regulated by the laws which govern 
 heat. On the contrary, I submit it to the candor of the most 
 skepticaP materialist^ whether the whole tendency of anaP- 
 ogy4 does not directly overthrow the hypoth'esis^ that the 
 principle of life is organic.^ 
 
 7. We are assured in the Scriptures that in the first instance 
 " God formed man of the dust of the ground ;" that is to say. 
 He created that curious and beautiful machine, the organized 
 human body ; but that body was still an inert'' structure, with- 
 out the principle of self-motion. A more noble work remain- 
 ed to be performed ; the immaterial spirit, the divine essence, 
 the prime mover of this machine, was to be applied ; and, ac- 
 cordingly, we learn that God " breathed into his nostrils the 
 breath of life ;" and then, and not till then, " man became a 
 livings soul." — Laed>"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'<nis ni'gra. Black hawthorn, xi. 5, w., 20 f., 
 A.-My., Hungary. 7. Cratoi'gnu puncta'ta. Common thoru-tree, xi. 5, w., 15 f.. My., N. 
 Am. 8. Cratce'gtis pifrifo'lia. Pearl-leafed thorn, xi. 3, w., 15 f., Jn., N. Ara. 9. Cydo'- 
 ■nia vulga'ris^ Common quince, xi. 5, w., 12 f., My.-Jn., Austria. 
 
 1. All the most important fruits of the temperate regions 
 of the world, such as the strawberry, raspberry, blackberry', 
 and the apple, pear, quince, cherry, plum, apricot, peach, nec- 
 tarine, and almond', have been classed by botanists in the 
 rose family^ ; for all of them, in their natural or wild state, 
 have similar characteristics by which they may be distinguish- 
 ed. They are not only exogenous', have covered seeds', and 
 are polypetalous', but their leaves are arranged in alternate 
 order around the stem, and never opposite^ ; their flowers are 
 showy', have five petals', and are inserted on the calyx\ By 
 these, and a few other more minute characteristics, these nu- 
 merous plants are arranged in one large family. 
 
 2. Of the well-known apple, the most popular of all fruits, 
 no description need be given ; but it is well to remember, as 
 an evidence of what cultivation has done, that its many hund- 
 red kinds are believed to be mere varieties of one original 
 species, known as the common crab-apple. The apple was 
 known to the ancient Greeks ; tlie Romans had twenty-
 
 152 
 
 WILL80N 8 FIFTH BEADKR, 
 
 Tabt IV. 
 
 two varieties of it ; and poets, in all ages, have sung its 
 praises. 
 
 The fragrant stores, the wide projected heaps 
 Of apple?, which the lusty-handed year, 
 Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes; 
 A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen. 
 Dwells in their gelld^ pores; and, active, points 
 The piercing cider for the thirsty tongue. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 3. The pear is a fruit-tree next in popularity and value to 
 the apple, and its wood is almost as hard as box, for which it 
 is even substituted by engravers. Its blossom, of which we 
 give a drawing, exhibits the general character of the blossoms 
 of all the I'ose family. 
 
 "■The juicy pear 
 Lies in soft profusion scattered round. 
 A various sweetness swells the gentle race, 
 By Nature's all-refining hand prepared, 
 Of tempered sun and water, earth and air, 
 In ever-changing corapontion mixed." 
 
 4. The quince, plum, and apricot 
 we must pass cursorily by, merely re- 
 marking of the apricot that it is a 
 fruit intermediate in character be- 
 tween the plum and the peach. Tho, 
 peach and nectarine were considered by the Greeks as mere- 
 ly different varieties of the almond-tree, and as having sprung 
 from it by cultivation. The fruit of the j^each has a downy 
 covering, while that of the nectarine is smooth, and both have 
 been known to grow on the same tree, and even on the same 
 branch. The leaves and blossoms of these trees can scarcely 
 be distinguished apart. The blossoms of all of them appear 
 early in spring, before the leaves ; and hence those of the al- 
 mond especially, which are noted for theh* profusion and 
 beauty, have been nlade the emblem of hope — so early do 
 they hold out the promise of abundance. Thus Moore says : 
 
 " The hope, in dreams of a happier hour, 
 That alights on misery's brow'. 
 Springs forth like the silvery almond flower, 
 That blooms on a leafless bough'." 
 
 5. Nor is the emblem without its peculiar appropriateness ; 
 for so far back as we can trace the history of this tree, its 
 early and fragrant blossoms, aj^pearing before the leaves, were 
 regarded as the promise of a fruitful season. Yirgil gave 
 expression to the popular belief in the following lines : 
 
 " Mark well the flowering abnond in the wood' ; 
 . If Oiiorouri blooms the bearing branches load', 
 The glebe^ will answer to the sylvan^ reign' ; 
 Great heats^ will follow', and large cropi of grain" ;
 
 2d DlV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTA>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.<tckn''a, Mu3lc-m!iUo\r, xv. 
 12, pk., 2 f , Jl.-.\a., Britain. 6. Hibis'cus viilitn'riK^ Louisiana hibi-^cus. xv. 12, pu., 3 
 f ,Au.-S., Louisiana. 7. Cit'rxis xmlna'ris^ Seville orange, xii. 1, w., 15 f., My.-Jl., W. 
 Asia. 8. Cit'rw! limo'num, Lemon, xii. 1, w., 15 f., My.-Jl., W. Asia. 9. Cit'rus liviet'- 
 (a. Lime, xii. 1, w., 8 f., My.-JL, W. Asia. 
 
 1. The large, beautiful, and rose-shaped flower called Ja- 
 jjonica, the lohlolly bay of Southern swamps, and the tea-plant 
 of Chhia belong to the Camellia family. 
 
 " The chaste camellia's pure and spotless bloom, 
 That boasts no fragrance, and conceals no thorn," 
 
 was brought from Japan about the year 1739, and is justly 
 esteemed one of the choicest ornaments of the green-house. 
 A great many varieties, ranging from the purest wliite through 
 delicate blush, and striped, to deep red, have been produced 
 by cultivation. The white camellia is often addressed by the 
 poets, as in the following sonnet, as an emblem of perfected 
 loveliness. 
 
 2. Say^, what impels^ me, pure and spotless flower', 
 
 To view thee with a secret sympathy' ? 
 
 Is there some living spirit shrined In tbee'? .
 
 2U DiV, OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTAXV. 155 
 
 That, as thou bloom' st within thy humble bower, 
 Endow? thee with some strange mysterious power, 
 
 AVaking high thoughts' ? As there perchance might bo 
 
 Some angel-form of truth and purity, 
 Whose liallu\v-ed presence shared my lonely hour' ? 
 
 Yes', lovely flower', 'tis not thy virgin glow, 
 
 Thy petals whiter than descending snow, 
 Nor all the charms thy velvet folds display^ ;* 
 
 'Tis the soft image of some beaming mind, 
 
 By grace adom'd, by elegance refined, 
 That o'er my heart thus holds its silent sway. — W. Rosooe. 
 
 3. The famous tea-plant of China, a dra'wing of a stalk of 
 •which is here given, of about one quarter the natural size, is 
 regarded by many botanists as merely a 
 species of the camellia, which it much 
 resembles in the form of its leaves and 
 blossoms. Some dried leaves of tea were 
 lirst brought to Europe in the seven- 
 teenth century by a Russian nobleman ; 
 and now, out of China, the annual con- 
 sumption of this one j^lant, as a bever- 
 age, is estimated at a hundred millions 
 of pounds. 
 
 4. For this amount the Chinese peo- 
 ple receive nearly thirty millions of dol- 
 lars ; and yet it is believed that they 
 themselves consume twenty times more 
 than the entire araoimt exported from 
 their country ! The difterent kinds and 
 Green Tea (Tftea viridis). quality of tea depend chiefly upon the 
 time of plucking the leaves, the mode in which they are pre- 
 pared for use, and the soil on which they grow, rather than 
 upon any specific differences in the plants themselves. 
 
 5. In China and Japan tea is sold in shops and at the street 
 corners, and borne about in kettles by itinerant merchants, 
 Avho sell small cups — without sugar or milk, as it is univers- 
 ally taken in the East — at a trifling price. A tea-drinking iii 
 a rich man's house is, however, a very ceremonious affair. No 
 tea-pots are used, but a portion of leaves is put into each 
 cup, and boiling water poured on them. It would be highly 
 indecorous to spill a drop out of the cups during the bowings 
 which precede the drinking j and to jorevent this they are 
 but half-filled. The guests drink at many sips, and it is a 
 point of politeness for all to empty their cups exactly at the 
 same time, that they may put them down at once. 
 
 * The downward inflection is appropriate here, because it is, really, the conclusion of the 
 pentiment, the remaining three lines being merely a repetition of the sentiment previously 
 expressed. If we had given only the last six liies, beginning with " Ix>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.-<t in sight'? 
 'Tis a f;incy^ nf mine. A i-trange fancy, yuii ."ay. 
 No accounting for tastes — in this instance you may, 
 
 For tlic flower. But I'll tell you to-night. 
 
 12. Some six hours hence, when the lady moon 
 
 I^oks down on that bastioncd wall, 
 When the twinkling stars glance silently 
 On the rippling surfac;' of the sea, 
 
 And heavy the night dews fall — 
 
 13. Then meet me again in this casement niche, 
 
 On this spot — nay, do not say no, 
 Nor question me wherefore ; p'rhaps with me 
 To look out on the night, and the bright broad 6ea, 
 
 And to hear its majestic flow. 
 
 14. Well, we're met here again, and the moonlight sleepa 
 
 On the sea and the bastioned wall ; 
 And the flowers there below — how the night wind brings 
 Their delicious breath on its dtwy wings ; 
 
 But there's one, say you, sweeter than all. 
 
 15. AVhat is it' ? the myrtle or jessamine' ?* 
 
 Or their sovereign lady, ths rose' ? 
 Or the heliotrope, or the virgin's bower' ? 
 What' ! neither' ? Oh, no, tis some other flower, 
 
 Far sweeter than any of those. 
 
 16. Far sweeter' ? And where think you groweth the plant 
 
 That exhaleth that perfume rare' ? 
 Look about, up and down, but take care, or you'll break 
 With your elbow that pnor little thing that's so weak. 
 
 Why, 'tis that smells so iweet, I declare' ! 
 
 IT. Ah ha ! is it that' ? Have you found out now 
 
 Why I cherish that odd littl? fright' ? 
 All is not gold that glitters, you know. 
 And it is not all worth makes the gr, atest show, 
 In the glare of the strong^-st light'. 
 
 13. There are human flower.-, full many, I trow,* 
 
 As unlovely as that by your side, 
 That a comm n observer passeth by 
 With a scornful lip and a careless eye, 
 
 In the heyday of pleasure and pride. 
 
 19. But move one of these to some quiet spot 
 
 From the midday sun's broarl glare, 
 Where domestic peace broods with dove-Uke wing. 
 And try if the homely, despised thing 
 
 May not yield sweet fragrance there. 
 
 20. Or wait till the days of trial com°. 
 
 The dark days of trouble and woe, 
 AMien ?/('■// shrink and shut up, Kit'/ so bright in the sun ; 
 Then turn t> 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;<Ail, and tempt the hand ; 
 Or if that vine wiihoiit her (;lra s^uld grow, 
 'Twould creep, a jwor neglected ^mI), below." — Ovid. 
 
 And finally, the poet Cowpcr, in the " Task," very accurately 
 sketches the varieties of form in the elm, alludes to the differ- 
 ent sites where it is found, and describes an enchanting scene, 
 Avhere a lowly cot, " perched upon the green hill-top," is 
 
 " Environ'd with a ring of branching elraa , 
 
 That overhang the thatch." 
 
 5. The elm is the favorite shade-tree in the villages of Xew 
 England. In the centre of the public square, in the beautiful 
 village of Pittsfield, in Massacluisetts, there stands alone, in 
 all its majesty, encircled by a new generation of lesser trees, 
 a venerable old elm, which measures one hundred and twenty- 
 eight feet in height, with a trunk thirteen feet and nine inch- 
 es in circumfererence at a yard from the ground, and ninety 
 feet to the lowermost limbs. Many interesting incidents in 
 the history of the country are associated with this much-re- 
 vered and ancient tenant of the soil. It was beneath its shade 
 that the Berkshire troops were marshaled previous to their 
 march to Bunker Hill ; and the first agricultural fair in Amer- 
 ica was held under its boughs. It was somewhat injured by 
 lightning in the year 1841. 
 
 6. Hail to the elm ! the brave old elm ! 
 
 Our last lone forest tree, 
 Whose limbs out-tand tlie lightning's brand, 
 
 For a brave old elm is he ! 
 For fifteen score of full-told wars 
 
 lie has borne his leafy prime. 
 Yet he holds them well, and lives to teU 
 
 His tale of the olden time! 
 Then hail to the elm ! the green-topp'd elm! 
 
 And long may his branches wave. 
 For a relic is he, the gnarrd old tree, 
 
 Of the times of the good and brave. — X. S. Dodge. 
 
 V. The willow and poplar, which are examples of the Wil- 
 low familt/, are distinguished as being the largest members 
 in a numerous class which have separate staminate and pistil- 
 late flowers on different plants. Willows generally grow on 
 the banks of streams ; and some of the smaller cultivated 
 species, called osiers, are used for hoops, basket-work, and for 
 thatching. Most of the species are easily recognized in the 
 flowering season by their long, pendulous, and frequently 
 downy spikes or clusters of flowers, called catkins. The 
 blossoms of some of the water-willows, with their little knots 
 of golden down, present a very beautiful appearance.
 
 2d DiV. OF .. VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTAXY. 181 
 
 " The wateni willow's spray, emboss'd 
 With oval knots of silken Aovra ; 
 AA'hich soon, in form of papal crown, 
 Shall decorate the russet stem 
 With many a golden diadem." 
 
 8. The weeping or Babylonian willow, so celebrated for 
 its drooping foliage, received its botanical name, Salix Bahy- 
 lonica^ from Liuna3us, in allusion to the 137th Psalm, where 
 the Jews, in their captivity, are represented as sitting down 
 by the waters of Babylon, and weeping, having hung their 
 harps upon the willows, while their oppressors required of 
 them one of the songs of Sion, 
 
 " By Babel's stream the captives sat, 
 
 And wept for Sion's hapless fate. 
 
 Useless their harps on willows hung. 
 
 While foes required a sacred song." 
 On the willow that harp is suspended, » 
 
 Oh Salem ! its sound should be free ; 
 And the hour when thy glories were ended 
 
 But left me that token of thee : 
 And ne'er shall its soft tone?: he blended 
 
 With the voice of the spuiler by me -Byron. 
 
 9. The poplar is a member of the Willow family. Like the 
 willow it is easily propagated, growing readily where a green 
 twig is tlirust into moist earth. A tree called the tulip pop- 
 lar, or tulip-tree, common in this country, does not belong to 
 tliis family. Popular tradition states that the cross was made 
 from the asjyen or poplar-tree, and that since the Passion of 
 our Savior the leaves have never known rest. The vibratory 
 motion of the leaves is indeed curious, and never fails to at- 
 tract the attention of the observer. It arises from the length 
 and slenderness of the footstalks to which they are attached. 
 
 10. " Why tremble so\ broad aspen-tree' ? 
 
 W^hy shake thy leaves ne'er ceasing' ? 
 At rest thou never seem'st to be\ 
 
 For when the air is still and clear'. 
 Or when the nipping gale, increasing. 
 
 Shakes from thy boughs soft twilight's tear', 
 Thou tremblest stiir, broad aspen-tree', 
 And never tranquil seem'st to be\" 
 
 11. The family of Birches is very small, being confined prin- 
 cipally to the cooler parts of the northern hemisphere. One 
 species, called the paper birch, furnished the Indians of Amer- 
 ica the bark of whtch they made their canoes. The elegance 
 of its appearance has given it the appellation of "Lady of the 
 "Woods," and it is very properly considered the emblem of 
 gracefulness. 
 
 12. " Oh ! come to the woodlands, 'tis joy to behold 
 
 The new-waken'd buds in our pathway unfold ; 
 
 For spring has come forth, and the bland southern breeze 
 
 Is telling the tale to the shrubs and the trees, 
 
 Which, anxious to show her 
 
 The duty they owe her, 
 Have decked themselves gayly in om'rakl and gold.
 
 182 WILLSON's fifth KEADER. Fart IV. 
 
 13. I?nt, tlioiiglv bpantifiil oiif !i, ."uro tlie fairest of all 
 
 1h yon birch, thikt i^ waving so graceful and tall : 
 How tender, yet bright, is the tint that in flung 
 O'er its delicate epray, which so lightly is hung, 
 
 That, like breeze of the mountain, 
 
 Or gush of the fountain, 
 It owns not of rest or of slumber the thrall." 
 
 14. The " Z>z>cA-<ree" is very prettily introduced in Long- 
 fellow's poem of Hiawatha, from which we make the follow- 
 ing extract: 
 
 HIAWATHA'S CANOE. 
 
 "'Give me of your bark, O birch-tree! 
 Of your yellow bark, O birch-tree ! 
 Growing by the rushing river. 
 Tall and stately in the valley 1 
 I a light canoe will bviild me, 
 That shall float upon the river 
 Like a yellow leaf in autumn, 
 Like a yellow water-lily. 
 Lay at^ide your cloak, (t birch-tree! 
 Lay a.-ide your white-skin wrapper; 
 For the summer time is coming, 
 And the sun Is warm in heaven. 
 And you need no white-ckin wrapper.' 
 
 15. Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
 
 In tlie solitary forest, 
 ■When the birds were singing gayly, 
 In the moon of leaves were singing: 
 And the sun, from sleep awaking. 
 Started up, and said, ' iJehold me 1' 
 And the tree, with all its branches, 
 Rustled in the breeze <>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/</// 
 larch, the spruce, the firs, the cypress, _^^\|^^-'>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 <oty- 
 Udon; that is, the plants areinoiiocotyWdonouK. Other peculiarities will be noticed un- 
 der the different /a?(«7*es which compose the division.] 
 
 LESSON XIX. — THE IKIS, LILT, A^TD PALM FAMILIES. 
 
 [F.NBOGENOTis or MONOroTTLEDONOuB ; Anhimacpru^.y 
 
 Lily Family. 
 
 Iris Family. 
 
 1. Tris vcrd'color. Blue flag, iii. 1, b., 2 f., Jly.-Jn., N. Am. 2. I'ris te'nax. California 
 iris, iii. 1, pu., IS in., .\.-My., California. 3. J'ri-i samlmd'na. Flower-de-luce, iiL 1, b., 
 3 f , Jn., S. Kurope. 4. Tigri'diapavo'nia., Tiger flower, xv. 3, o. and r.,2 f , Jl.-S., Slex- 
 ico. 5. Cro'cits rer'»i?(,s. Spring crocus, iii. 1, y., 6 in., M., Kng. 6. Cro'ctis sati'viu% Au- 
 tumn crocus, lit 1, y., 10 in., S., Eng. 7. Lil'iuvi Jn^joH'jVntfH, Japan lily, vi. 1., w., 2 f., 
 Jl.-Au., China. 8. Lil'ivvi Pldladel']>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 ,<i/;;cfs7W.<, Wild tulip, vi. 1, y., IS in., .\.-My., Eng. 11. Fritilla'ria imperia'liis. 
 Crown imperial, vi. 1, r. and y., 4 f., My., Pereia. 
 
 1 . Conspicuous among the Endogenous plants, wliicli con- 
 stitute the second great division of the vegetable kingdom, 
 are the Iris, Lily, and Palm fomilies, the palm bchig taken as 
 typical of the endogenous structure. Endogens jirohahly 
 contain more j^lants contributing to the food of man, and few- 
 er poisonous species in proportion to their Avholc number,
 
 2lI Div. of . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 187 
 
 than Exogens ; as the grasses, which include all the cereals, 
 are found here, to Avhich may be added the numerous palms 
 yielding fruit, Avine, sugar, sago, the pine-apple, bananas, the 
 arrow-roots, and the gingers. 
 
 2. The large and showy tiger flower, the blue flag, flower- 
 de-luce, gladiolus, and the crocus, are good examples of the 
 richly-tinted Iris family. The name itself imjilies that the 
 flowers are rainbow-colored. Among the Greeks, Iris was 
 the winged messenger of the gods, and is thus alluded to by 
 Virgil : 
 
 " Iris, on saffron ivings array'd Tvith dew 
 Of various colors, through the sunbeams flew." 
 
 According to Plutarch, the word Iris signified, in the ancient 
 Egyptian language, " the eye of heaven," and was apj^ropri- 
 ated to this flower because no other name was so expressive 
 of its serene lustre. A modern poet has attributed the nam- 
 ing of the beauty to her sister flowerets. 
 
 3 All with their pearls so fair. 
 
 The gay flowers wreathed were, 
 But, 'midst them all, 
 Crown'd at the rainhow festival, 
 A sapphire-colored hlo.-som shone 
 The loveliest there ; no other one 
 Her jewels wore 
 So gracefully. Her robe all o'er 
 Was radiant, yet deep blue, like twilight sky, 
 And softly shaded, as when clouds do lie 
 Upon the deep expanse. 'Twas strange, none knew 
 A name for this fair form, so bright and blue : 
 But sister flowerets fancifully said. 
 As they to note her beauty had been led 
 By its enhancement in the rainbow shower. 
 They e'en would call her Ikis from that hour. — Twastley. 
 
 •4. "The beautiful creations," says Lindley, "which consti- 
 tute the order of Lilies, would seem to be well known to all 
 the world, for what have been so long admired and universal- 
 ly cultivated as they ?" The lily is often alluded to as being, 
 among flowers, the emblem of majesty. In heathen mythol- 
 ogy it was a great favorite with Juno, and was consecrated 
 to her by heathen nations. The Jews imitated its form in 
 their first magnificent temple, and the Savior described it as 
 more splendid than King Solomon in his most gorgeous ap- 
 pai'el. 
 
 5. Observe the rising lily's snowy grace^; 
 
 Observe the various vegetable race' ; 
 They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow ; 
 Yet, see how warm tliey blush' ! how bright they glow' '. 
 What regal vestments can with them compare' ? 
 What king so shining', or what queen so fair' ? — Thomson. 
 
 G. Among tlie flowers of the Lily family, the crown imperial, 
 or fritillaria^ is noted for its drooping but brilliant tulip-
 
 188 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part IV. 
 
 shaped corollas, which have the appearance of so many gay 
 bells, or crowns. Its golden stigma is very appropriately 
 described as 
 
 " Tho (Inzzling gem 
 That beams in fritillaria's diadem." 
 
 The tulip, another member of the Lily family, is especially 
 noted for a sort of mania among the florists of the seven- 
 teenth century, who bought and sold single bulbs at prices 
 amounting to five hundred pounds sterling and upward — in 
 those days an innnense sum. Although the taste for tulips 
 has greatly declined since that period, the tulip is still con- 
 sidered by many as " the king of florist's flowers." How 
 highly the poet Montgomery prized it may be gathered from 
 the following lines : 
 
 7. " Not one of Flora's brilliant race 
 
 A form more perfect can display : 
 Art could not feign more simple gi"ace, 
 
 Nor nature take a line away. 
 Yet, rich as morn, of many a hue, 
 
 Wlien flurfhins clouds through darkness strike, 
 The tulip's p'tals shine like dew, 
 
 All beautiful, but none alike." 
 
 8. Highest in the division of Endogens stands the Palm 
 family, embracing the stately p.alm-trees of the tropics, and 
 the palmettos of the Southern States. "The race of jilants 
 to which the name of Palms has been assigned," says Lindley, 
 " is, no doubt, the most interesting in the vegetable kingdom, 
 if we consider the majestic aspect of their towering stems, 
 crowned by a still more gigantic foliage ; the character of 
 grandeur which they impress npon the landscape of the coun- 
 tries they inhabit ; their immense value to mankind, as afibrd- 
 ing food, and raiment, and numerous objects of economical 
 importance ; or, finally, the prodigious development of those 
 organs by which their race is to be propagated. A single 
 spathe or flower-stem of the date palm contains about twelve 
 thousand flowers, and another species has been computed to 
 have si.v; hundred thousand upon a single individual ; while 
 every bunch of the seje palm of the Orinoco bears eight thou- 
 sand fruits." 
 
 9. The variety of forms which they exhibit is briefly but 
 well described in the following language of the celebrated 
 traveler Humboldt. " While some have trunks as slender as 
 the graceful reed, or longer than the longest cable, others are 
 three and even five feet thick ; while some grow collected in 
 groups, others singly dart their slender trunks into the air ; 
 while some have a low stem, others tower to the height of 
 nearly two hundred feet ; and while one part flourishes in the
 
 2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 1 i 
 
 [Palm Family. — Endogenous or MoNocoTTLEDONons ; Aghtmaceous.'^i 
 
 1. Cor'yii/ia xntihraeriMf'era^ Great fan palm, or Tallipot palm, vi. 1, v., 100 f., Jl., IX 
 Indies. (The topmost leaves form immense fans, twenty feet long and fifteen wide.) 2. 
 Sa'gus rum'])hii, Rumpliius's sago palm, xix. 6, g., 50 f., Jl.-Aii., K. Indies. 3. Co'cits 
 nnci/'era, Cocoanut palm, xix. C, g., Jl.-Au., 50 f , E. Indies. 4. Phce'nix dactih/'crd. 
 Date palm, xx. 3, w. and g., 50 f., W. Asia. 5. Ela'is Gidneen'sis, Guinea oil palm, xx. 
 6, w. and g., 80 f., Guinea. 6. Chamce'rojJS kys'trix, Porcupine palm, xx. 2, w. and g., 
 10 f., Georgia. 
 
 low valleys of the tropics, or on the declivities of the lower 
 mountains, another j^art consists of hardy mountaineers, bor- 
 dering on the limits of perpetual snow." 
 
 10. The cocoanut palm, which grows abundantly in the 
 East Indies, supplies nearly every want of the native inhabit- 
 ants. Travelers have described the uses which the native 
 of Ceylon makes of it. He builds his house of its trunk, and 
 thatches the roof with its leaves. His children sleep in a 
 rude hammock made of the husk of the fruit; his meal of rice 
 and scraped cocoanut is boiled over a fire made of cocoanut 
 shells and husks, and is eaten from a dish of plaited green 
 leaves of the tree, Avith a spoon cut out of a cocoanut shell. 
 
 11. In his canoe, made of the trunk of the palm-tree, he car- 
 ries a torch of dried palm leaves, and fishes with a net of 
 cocoanut fibre. When thirsty he drinks the juice of the 
 cocoanut, and when hungry eats its soft kernel. He makes 
 a drink called arrack from the fermented juice, and dances 
 to the music of cocoanut castanets. He anoints himself Avith 
 cocoanut oil, and, when sick, gets his medicine from the tree
 
 190 
 
 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. 
 
 Part IV. 
 
 SO useful to liim in licaltli. Over his couch in infancy, and 
 
 over his grave, a bunch of cocoanut blossoms is hung to 
 
 charm away evil spirits. 
 
 12. Branches of palm were anciently carried in token of 
 
 victory, but more generally it was reserved for religious tri-* 
 
 umphs ; and from this, as well as from the prominent place it 
 -^ occupies in Holy Writ, we 
 
 feel the epithet of "celestial 
 palm," bestowed on it by 
 Pope, not ina2)plicable. No 
 wonder that the Arab loves 
 the palm, which he converts 
 to so many uses — of food, and 
 drink, and raiment, and shel- 
 ter — and that he places it 
 among the foremost objects 
 of his aflections. 
 
 13. The palmetto, which 
 grows in South Carolina, and 
 farther south, is the only rep- 
 resentative of the Palm fam- 
 ily north of the Gulf of Mex- 
 ico. It will be recollected that 
 the fort on Sullivan's Island, 
 so gallantly defended by Col- 
 onel Moultrie in 1V76, was 
 constructed of palmetto logs, 
 and that, owing to the soft 
 nature of the wood, the balls 
 CaroUna I'aimetto. of the eucmy had but little 
 
 effect to injure it. The palmetto has been ai^propriately 
 
 placed on the coat of arms of South Carolina. 
 
 I A-GLir-MA'-oEOus plants are such as }iave iiot the glumes or husks which characterize the 
 grains and grasses. 
 
 LESSON XX. — SEDGES AXD GRASSES. 
 
 1. Sedges are grass-like herbs, growing in tufts, and never 
 acqiiiring a shrut^by condition. So nearly do they resemble 
 grasses in appearance, that the one may be readily mistaken 
 for the other by the inexperienced ; but, unlike grasses, the 
 stems of sedges are usually angular, never hollow, and not 
 completely jointed ; and, moreover, when the leaf-stalks of 
 sedges surround the stem, they grow together by their edges
 
 2d Drv. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTA>'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 <iuictly creeping every wliere. 
 
 4. Here I come creeping, creeping every where ; 
 
 More welcome than the flowcrd 
 In snmmer's pleasant hours; 
 The gentle cow is glad. 
 And the mc>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. <Gril Bias, that discourse, then, is not to your 
 taste ? 
 
 Gil B. I did not say that, sir. I found it excellent — only 
 a Uttle inferior to your others. 
 
 Arch. So ! Now I understand. I seem to you to be on 
 the wane — eh ? Out with it ! You think it about time that 
 I should retire ? 
 
 Gil B. I should not have presumed, sir, to speak so freely, 
 but for your express commands. I have simply rendered you 
 obedience ; and I humbly trust that you will not be offended 
 at my hardihood. 
 
 Arch. Offended ! Oh ! not at all, Mr. Gil Bias. I utter no 
 reproaches. I don't take it at all ill that you should speak 
 your sentiments ; it is your sentiment only that I find ill. I 
 have been duped in supposing you to be a person of any in- 
 telligence — that is all. 
 
 Gil B. But, sir, if, in my zeal to serve you, I have erred 
 in — 
 
 Arch. Say no more — say no more ! Yoii are yet too raw
 
 FOURTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 219 
 
 to discriminate. Know that I never composed a better ser- 
 mon than that which has had the misfortune to lack your ap- 
 probation. My faculties, thank Heaven, have lost nothing of 
 their vigor. Hereafter I will make a better choice of an ad- 
 viser. Go, tell my treasurer to count you out a hundred duc- 
 ats, and may Heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, 
 Mr. Gil Bias. I wish you all manner of prosperity — with a 
 little more taste. — Dramatized from Le Sage. 
 
 1 Gn, Bl AS (.French) , pronounced ZniL Blas, 
 the (7 being sounded like z in azure. The 
 concluding s is sounded. 
 
 Ae-is-tae'-chus, a celebrated critic of an- 
 tiquity, whose criticisms were so severe that 
 his name has become proverbial. 
 
 LESSON HI.— THE BELLS. 
 
 [This is a difiScult piece, which professional elocutionists delight to read. The voice 
 should aim to imitate the tone^ of the different bells, and at the same time to call forth 
 the feelings which the different occasions of their use suggest.] 
 
 1. Heae the sledges with the bells' — 
 
 a. Silver' bells' — 
 
 What a world of merriment their melody foretells' ! 
 How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 In the icy air of night' ! 
 While the stars that oversprinkle 
 All the heavens', seem to twinkle 
 
 With a crystalline delight' ; 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 In a sort of Runic' rhjine, 
 To the tintinnabulation- that so musically wells 
 From the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
 Bells, bells, bells- 
 Prom the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 
 
 2. Hear the mellow wedding-bells, 
 
 b. Golden bells ! 
 
 What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
 Through the balmy air of night 
 How they ring out their delight ! 
 From the molten-golden notes. 
 
 And all in tune. 
 What a liquid ditty floats 
 To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
 On the moon ! 
 Oh, from out the sounding cells. 
 What a gush of euphony' voluminously wells' ! 
 How it swells' ! 
 How it dwells" 
 On the Future' ! how it tells 
 Of the rapture that impels 
 
 a. Pronounced in a soft and silvery tone. The remainder of the verse should be read 
 in a sprightly manner — approaching a sing-song tone. 
 
 h. Prolonged, smooth, and flowinpr. The verse should be read in a tone full, smooth, 
 and harmonious — dwelling, with a kind of luxuriant delight, upon the emphatic words.
 
 220 WILLSON S FIFTH EEADEK. 
 
 To the swinging and the ringing 
 
 Of the bells, bells, bells— 
 Of the bells, bulls, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 
 
 3. Hear the loud alarum bells — 
 
 a. Brazen bells ! 
 
 What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 
 In the startled ear of night 
 How they scream out their affright ! 
 Too much horrified to speak, 
 They can only shriek," shriek," 
 Out of tune, 
 In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
 In a mad expostulation with the d6af and frantic fire 
 Leaping higher, higher, higher. 
 With a desperate desire. 
 And a resolute endeavor. 
 Now — now to sit or never, 
 By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
 Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! 
 What a tale their terror tells 
 Of despair' ! 
 How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
 What a horror they out])our 
 On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
 Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
 By the twanging 
 And the clanging, 
 How the danger ebbs and flows ; 
 Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
 In the jangling 
 And the wrangling. 
 How the danget sinks and swells. 
 By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — 
 Of the bells— 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 In the clamor and the clangor of the bells .' 
 
 4. Hear the tolling of the bells — 
 
 b. Iron bells ! 
 
 What a world of solemn thought their monody* compels! 
 In the silence of the night, 
 How we shiver with afl'right 
 At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
 For every sound that floats 
 From the rust within their throats 
 
 Is a groan." 
 And the people — ah, the people — 
 They that dwell up in the steeple. 
 
 a. Harsh and loud— the voice alternately sinking and swelling throughout the verse, 
 a " the danger sinks and swells," and to accord with " the anger of the bells." 
 6. Deep, slow, and solemn.
 
 FOURTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 221 
 
 All alone," 
 « a. And who tolling," tolling," tolling," 
 
 In that muffled monotone, 
 Feel a glory in so rolling ^ 
 
 On the human heart a stone' — 9 
 
 They are neither man nor woman — 
 They are neither brute nor human — 
 
 They are Ghouls* .'' 
 And their king it is who tolls ; 
 a. And he rolls," rolls," rolls," rolls," 
 A ptean"^ from the bells' ! 
 And his merry bosom swells 
 With the paean of the bells ! 
 h. And he dances and he yells ; 
 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 ■ In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
 To the p£ean of. the bells — 
 Of the bells ; 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
 c. To the throbbing of the bells — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, 
 
 c. To the sobbing of the bells ; 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 
 As he knells, knells, knells, 
 In a happy Runic rhyme, 
 
 d. To the rolling of the bells — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells— 
 
 d. To the tolling of the bells, 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- 
 Bells, bells, bells, 
 e. To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. — Edg.\r A. Poe. 
 
 1 Rf'-Nif, Gothic in character; rude. jS Ghoul, a fabled demon that feeds on hu- 
 
 2 Tin-tin-nab-u-la'-tion, a tinkling, as of j man flesh. 
 
 little bells. |6 P^'-an, (pJ'-a?)), a joyoua or triumphal 
 
 3 EC'-PHO-NY, musical sweetness of sound. eong. 
 * Mon'-o-i>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<rrican.i. 4. Growl- 
 er, or White Salmon of Virgriiiia, Grystes salmoides. 5. Black Sea-bass, Centropisfes nir^ri- 
 cans. 6. Mediten-aneaa Apogon, Apogon tiimaculatus. 7. Two-handed Diploprion, Di- 
 ploprion bifnciatum. S. One-spotted Mesoprion, Mesoprion tminotattis. 9. Kuby-col- 
 ored Etelis, Etelis carlninculiis. 10. Armed Enoplossus, Enoplosstts orniatun. 11. Let- 
 tered SeiTanus, Sen-avvs scribou 1"2. Spined Serranus, Serranus anthias. 13. Red Sur- 
 mullet, Mullus harl)atus. 
 
 LESSO^N" III. ^THE PERCH FAMILT. (CTENOIDS.) 
 
 1. The spine-rayed bony fishes comprise more than three 
 fourths of all the various kinds that are known. From four- 
 teen to seventeen diiFerent families, some of them embracins^ 
 seA' eral hundred species each, have been iucluded in this di- 
 vision. At the head of the whole stands the Perch family, 
 the most numerous of all. Most of them are salt-water fish, 
 but about one fifth of the whole number inhabit fresh-water 
 streams, or occasionally ascend them from the sea. 
 
 • A-CAN-Tnop-Ti:R-TG'-ii,from two Greek word?, ncanthn/i, a thorn, and pterumon. a lit- 
 tle wins; or fin, meaning thorny or !<]yhh''-raiu-d. The fishes of this order are distinguish- 
 ed by having the anterior portion of the dorsal, or of the first dorsal where there are two, 
 pupported by Fnlnous rays consisting of single bony pieces. Spinous rays are also found* 
 in the anal, and at least one in thn ventral fins.
 
 Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR "FISHES. 229 
 
 2. Those which are usually known by the name of perch, 
 however, are fresh-water fish, and they have been celebrated 
 from the time of Aristotle for their beautiful forms, and the 
 excellence of their flesh as an article of food. 
 
 Nor let the inu?e, in her award of fame, 
 
 Ulustriovs Perch, unnoticed pa?s thy claim ; 
 
 Prince of the prickly cohort, bred in lakes 
 
 To feast our boards, what sapid' boneless flak« 
 
 Thy solid flesh supplies ! Though river-fed, 
 
 No daintier fish in ocean's pastures bred 
 
 Swims thy compeer ; scarce mullet may compete 
 
 With thee for tibre firm and flavor sweet. — AusoNirrs. 
 
 3. In the Perch family are included no less than five differ- 
 ent kinds of perch found in our waters, the jDike-perch, numer- 
 ous species of bass, the growler, or white salmon of Virginia, 
 and many other species, exliibiting a great variety of form and 
 coloring, found on the European and Asiatic coasts. Their 
 general character, as to form and size, will best be learned 
 from the representations given in the engraving at the head 
 of this lesson. All the fishes of this family agree in the tooth- 
 ed or comb-like edges of their scales, and in having notched 
 or spined gill-covers ; but, while some have but one dorsal fin, 
 in others there is a division, constituting two. 
 
 4. The European river perch, like our common yellow perch, 
 is exceedingly voracious. An anecdote is related of a gentle- 
 man who, in fishing, lost a perch from his line, the hook tear- 
 ing out the eye of the poor creature. He then adjusted the 
 eye on the hook and replaced the line in the water, where it 
 had hardly been a few minutes before the float was violently 
 jerked under the surface. On landing the fish, he found he 
 had captured a fine perch, which proved to be the very fish 
 which had just been mutilated, and which had actually lost 
 its life by devouring its own eye. It is quaintly observed by 
 Izaak Walton, that "if there be twenty or forty in a hole, they 
 may be at one standing all caught, one after another, they be- 
 ing, like the wicked of the world, not afraid, though their fel- 
 lows and companions perish in tlieir sight." 
 
 5. The incident related concerning the pefch is one among 
 many facts that might be given, showing how er'-oneous is the 
 idea that "the worm on which we tread feels a pang as great 
 as when a giant dies." On the contrary, the nervous organi- 
 zation of the lower orders of animals is such that they seem 
 to suffer but little, compared with what man endures, in being 
 maimed or killed. This is, assuredly, a most benevolent pro- 
 vision, greatly diminishing the amount of suffering that would 
 otherwise be endured throughout all animated nature.
 
 230 WILLSOn's fifth EEADER, Part V. 
 
 G. Of all the beautiful colored fish, several species of which 
 belong to the Perch family, it may be remarked that they can 
 never be seen in perfection except when newly taken from the 
 water. Then their beauty is fresh and delicate, but it changes 
 as soon as the fish dies ; and the keeping for a day, or preser- 
 vation in spirits, destroys all but the mere traces of their del- 
 icate markings. 
 
 V. Of the little spined serranus, which was well known to 
 the ancients, and is still very abundant in the Mediterranean, 
 very curious and remarkable stories are told ; but as they are 
 only Jish stories, we can not insist that our readers shall be- 
 lieve them. It will be observed that the forward dorsal fin 
 of this fish is armed with long and sharp spines, the third one 
 of which is much the longest. From the sujiposed resem, 
 blance of this spine to a razor, the French call this fish " The 
 Barber." 
 
 8. The long spines of the serranus are considered a very 
 formidable weapon of defense ; and by the divers for marine 
 productions the fish itself is regarded as sacred, because they 
 declare that no other fish, however large, dare approach its 
 retreats, and that there is always safety from the attacks of 
 sea-monsters wherever this little fish is found. Moreover, 
 the divers assert that whenever one of these fish is caught by 
 a hook, the rest of the shoal immediately cut the line by rush- 
 ing against it with their sharp spines, and thus relieve their 
 com^^anion. 
 
 9. In the Perch family is a small fish called the red sur- 
 mullet, which is supposed to be the fish so celebrated among 
 the Romans for the excellence of its flesh, its extreme beauty, 
 and the extravagant sums paid for it. It appears to have 
 been esteemed by the Roman epicures^ above every other ar- 
 ticle of food ; and the larger ones, weighing five or six pounds, 
 were obtained only at prodigious prices. Juvenal says : 
 
 " Six fcanty pounds the mullet weighed ; 
 Six thousand sesterces^ the w-ise man paid !" 
 
 Seneca raentions«that a surmullet of four pounds' weight was 
 presented to the Emperor Tiberius, who sent it to the market, 
 where it was purchased for five thousand sesterces ; and at a 
 later period one was sold for eight thousand sesterces, a sum 
 equal to more than three hundred dollars of our money. 
 
 10. AYhile with these Roman epicures the smaller the tur- 
 hot the greater the prize, yet they eagerly sought for the 
 largest specimens of the mullet that could be procured. Hor- 
 ace supposes this mere caprice, and asks,
 
 Paht V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 231 
 
 " Of carps and mullet why prefer the great, 
 • Though cut in pieces ere my lord can eat, 
 
 Yet for small turbot such regard profess^ ? 
 Because God made this large', the other less\" 
 
 11. It has been truly remarked that mullets stand pre-em- 
 inent in the annals of human luxury, cruelty, and folly. In 
 their feasts the Romans reveled over the dying surmullet, 
 while the bright red color of health passed through various 
 shades of purple, violet, blue, and white, as life gradually ebb- 
 ed, and convulsions jDut an end to the admired spectacle. 
 They put these devoted fish into crystal vessels filled with 
 water, over a sIoav fire, upon their tables, and complacently 
 regarded the fingering sufierings of their victims as the in- 
 creasing heat gradually jDrepared them for their pamj)ered* ap- 
 j)etites. 
 
 12. Probably the changes which the blood underwent in 
 the minute capillaries,^ as it was gradually deprived of its 
 life-preserving oxygen, produced those varied hues which the 
 poet has so well described : 
 
 " It dies like parting day ; 
 -each pang imbued 
 
 Witli a new color, as it gasps away, 
 
 The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone, and all is gray." 
 
 striped Ked Mullet, Mullus sumiuletlis. 
 
 The striped red mullet, a beautiful fish of a pale pink color, 
 but somewhat larger than the one known to the Romans, is 
 found in considerable numbers on the English coasts. The 
 mullets, like the cod and some other fish which feed in deep 
 water, are furnished with long feelers attached to the lower 
 jaw, supposed to be delicate organs of touch, by which these 
 iish are enabled to select their food on the muddy bottoms. 
 
 ' pAp'-ro, well-tasted : savory ; palatable. |^ Pam'-pebeb, fed to thefoll; glutted 
 2 Ep'-i-<-Cee, one who indulges in the luxu 
 
 ries of the table. 
 5 Ses'-teece, a Eoman coin,ahout four cents 
 
 2 Ep'-i-<-Cee, one who indulges in the luxu-, 5 Cap'-il-i.a-ry, a small blood-vessel; see 
 ries of the table. I Fourth Reader, p. 59, 60. •
 
 2.32 
 
 willson's fifth header. 
 
 Part Y. 
 
 LES. IV. OTHER FA^riLIES OP THE SPINE-RAYED FISHES. 
 
 ^caU vj Inches. 
 
 1. Mailed Gurnard, Pen'stcdlon malarmat. 2. Big Porgee, Paqrus argnrnpn. 3. Band- 
 ed Ephippiis, or Three-tailed Porgee, Ephippus /aber. 4. The Sheepahead (famed for its 
 exquisite flesli), Sargus ovis. 5. Streaked or Keck Gurnard, Trigla linratn. 6. Axil- 
 lary Sea Bream, PageUufs az-arjie. 7. Bearded Umbrina, Umhrim vrOnarit:. (The I m- 
 brina is given SlU the representative of the family of the Maifjres, which includes our Weak- 
 fish, Corvinas, the Chub, King-fish, and the Dnim^ tlie latter noted for the loud drum- 
 ming noise which it makes, and the cause of which is still a mystery.) 8. Common Mack- 
 erel, Hcomber scomber. 
 
 1. Of the remaining numerous flimilies of the spine-rayed 
 division of fishes, most of whicli are represented in the ac- 
 companying illustrations, only a very brief description can 
 here be given. 
 
 "^ 2. The Gurnards, or Mailed- 
 
 cheeks, which are abundant on 
 our northern coasts, are a nu- 
 merous family of marine fishes, 
 "uhich have received their com- 
 mon name from the growling or 
 grunting noise which they make 
 when sporting in the Avater, or 
 wlien recently taken from it. 
 1. Ten- ( or Mine ) spiued stiokkbck, Tlic Sticklebacks — a division of 
 
 Gasterosteii^2}»ngithf<. 2. Four-spined ^i comp fnmilv tin nnmprl frnm 
 
 »., G. spimUosita. 3. short-spined s.. G. ^'"6 Same lamu} , SO nameo irom 
 brMhycentrua. the spincs which arm their backs
 
 Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 233 
 
 and fins — are mostly small fishes, of from one to three inches 
 in length, and very numerous both in fresh and salt water. 
 They are exceedingly active and greedy, very destructive to 
 small fish of other species, which they devour, and therefore 
 very injurious in fish-jDonds ; and they also have furious con- 
 tests with each other. The fifteen-spined stickleback, found 
 on the English coasts, is noted for its nest-building propensi- 
 ties.* The following account of the fighting habits of the 
 sticklebacks is given by a contributor to an English maga- 
 zine : 
 
 3. " When a few are first turned into a large wooden vessel, they swim 
 about, apparently ex])loring their new habitation. Suddenly one will take 
 possession of a particular corner of the tub, or, as will sometimes happen, 
 of the bottom, and will instantly commence an attack upon his companions ; 
 and if any one of them ventures to oppose his sway, a regular and most 
 ferocious battle ensues : the two combatants swim round and round each 
 other with the greatest rapidity, biting and endeavoring to pierce each other 
 with their spines. 
 
 4. "I have witnessed a battle of this sort which lasted several minutes 
 before either would give way; and when one does submit, imagination can 
 hardly conceive the vindictive fuiy of the conqueror, who, in the most per- 
 severing and unrelenting way, chases his rival from one part of the tub to 
 another, until fairly exhausted with fatigue. They also use their spines 
 with such fatal effect, that, incredible as it may appear, I have seen one, 
 during a battle, absolutely rip his opponent quite open, so that he sank to 
 the bottom and died. I have occasionally known three or four parts of the 
 tub taken possession of by as many little tyrants, who would guard their 
 territories with the strictest vigilance ; and the slightest invasion would in- 
 variably bring on a battle." 
 
 5. The tropical species of the large family of the " Scaly 
 Fins," among which is included the New York porgee, are 
 conspicuous for the extreme splendor of their coloring, which 
 is thus spoken of by an eminent English naturalist. Dr. Ham- 
 ilton : 
 
 "If," he remarks, " the feathered tribes of the equatorial regions are be- 
 decked with the most brilliant and gorgeous hues, the neighboring oceans 
 contain myriads of the finny race which in this respect excel them. Upon 
 the group of the Chetodons, especially. Nature has most profusely lavished 
 
 * The fifteen-spined stickleback, a salt-wa- 
 ter fi-h, often called the sea-udder, sometimes 
 attains a lengtli of sLx or seven inches. This 
 fisli deposits its spawn amid the fine growing 
 sea-weed. Around the egg-, which are of the 
 size of small shot, it then gathers the branch- 
 es, which it binds together in a compact mass 
 with an exceedingly fine and tough elastic 
 thread, which seems to be formed of some al- 
 buminous secretion, dther instances of this 
 nest-building propensity are found in some 
 Fiflein-spined SUeklebr.ck, iip-t :im1 c<:->. 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>igi<m^ a little 
 wing or "fin" — meaning tho-e fish which are soft-finned or Roft-rnyed. The fin-rays in 
 the«e fish are composed of bony pieces united by means of cartilag:\ which renders the fiu- 
 vaya much more flexible than is seen in the long single spines of the class first described.
 
 Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 243 
 
 brought from a mountain lake in China, but now domesti- 
 cated in almost every country of the Old and the New World, 
 is the gold-fish — those beautiful pets and playthings which 
 have attracted so much attention and admiration on account 
 of the exceeding brilliancy of their coloring. They are usual- 
 ly kept in glass globes filled with Avater, where their golden 
 hues are reflected to the best advantage. Moore, in his Lal- 
 lah Rookh, alludes to them in the following lines : 
 
 " On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace 
 Through water, brilliant as tlie crystal vase 
 In which it undulates, small fishes shine, 
 Like golden ingots^ from a fairy mine." 
 
 3. And very beautiful is the allusion which the poet Words' 
 worth makes to the crystal vase in which they are usually 
 kept : 
 
 " Type of the sunny human bi'east 
 Is your transpai'ent cell, 
 Where fear is but a transient guest, 
 ^ Nor sullen humors^ dwell ; 
 Where, sensitive of every ray 
 That smites this tiny* sea, 
 Your scaly panoplies^ repay 
 The loan with usuiy." 
 
 4. The Chinese ladies pay great attention to the rearing of 
 these fislf, having the richest glass vessels prej^ared for them 
 in their apartments, and small ornamental ponds and basins 
 in their gardens. If they are obliged to transport them from 
 one vessel to another, they take great care not to touch them 
 with the hand, and not to remove them entirely from the wa- 
 ter. In this country they are usually fed with crumbs of 
 bread, and yolks of eggs boiled hard and reduced to j^owder, 
 and occasionally they should be supplied with a bed of moss 
 or turf A writer, in the following lines, seems to doubt the 
 justice of making them prisoners for our pleasure: 
 
 5. " I ask what warrant fix'd them (like a spell 
 
 of witchcraft, fix'd them) in the crystal cell ; 
 To wheel, with languid motion, round and round, 
 Beautiful, yet in mournful durance^ bound* ? 
 Their peace, perhaps, our slightest footstep mnrr'd\ 
 Or their quick sense our sweetest music jan'M' ; 
 And whither coiUd they dart, if seized with fear* ? 
 No sheltering stone', no tangled root was near*. 
 When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room', 
 They wore away the night in starless gloom' ; 
 And when the sun first dawned upon the streams', 
 How faint their portion of its vital beams* ! 
 Thus, and unable to complain, they fared, 
 While not one joy of ours by them was shared." 
 
 6. The golden carp, or gold-fish, vary not only in color, but 
 in the shape, size, and number of their fins also. In color they 
 exhibit almost every possible shade or combination of silver, 
 brilliant orange, and purple. Some have dorsal fins extending
 
 244 willson's fifth keader. I'akt v. 
 
 more than half the length of the back ; others liave dorsal fins 
 of five or six rays only ; and still greater variations sometimes 
 are seen in other fins. These changes are sujij^osed to have 
 been ])roduced by domestication. 
 
 7. The European tench, which is a fish from twelve to 
 eighteen inches in length, also belongs to the Carp family. It 
 loves muddy waters, is exceedingly tenacious of life, and has 
 the reputation, among fishermen, of being the physician of 
 fishes. In Germany it is called the doctor-fish. Even the 
 pike, the tyrant of the streams, is said never to prey upon the 
 tench, which is supposed to exert his healing jjowers by rub- 
 bing against the sides of the sick or wounded. Of the pike it 
 has been written : 
 
 " The tench he spares ; 
 For when by wounds distress' d, or sore disease, 
 He courts the salutary fish for ease ; 
 Close to his .-cales the kind ph_y:'ician glides, 
 And sweats the healing balsam from his sides." 
 
 8. Some of the fish of the Carp family, such as the roach, 
 dace, and shiners, have scales of a very peculiar silvery lustre, 
 whose brilliancy is owing to a silvery pigment'^ on the inner 
 surface of the scales. The French have taken adv^itage of 
 the coloring matter thus aiForded to imitate Oriental pearls, 
 and have established extensive manufactories of "patent 
 pearls," that are used for beads, necklaces, ear-drops, and 
 other ornaments. At present these artificial pearls are con- 
 fined chiefly to ornaments attached to combs, or small beads 
 arranged with flowers for head-dresses. 
 
 9. In the Pike family, the next in order to the Carps, the 
 most important are tlie common pike or pickerel, the gar-fish, 
 the saury pike, and the common flying-fish. The fishes of this 
 family are voracious ; in form they are long and slender, and 
 the single dorsal fin is usually far back on the body. The epi- 
 thets Avhich have been applied to the pike, such as the "fresh- 
 water shark," and the " tyrant of fresh waters," express its 
 Avell-marked and most striking trait. It has formidable rows 
 of teeth in both jaws ; and not only fish, but also frogs, water- 
 rats, and even water-hens and other fowl, often become its 
 prey. 
 
 10. The pike is believed tobe the only fresh-water fish which 
 is undoubtedly common to the Eastern and Western conti- 
 nents ; yet in America it is said to be confined to the eastern 
 side of the Rocky Mountains. The gar-fish or sea-pike, and 
 the saury pike, both salt-water fish, are more slender than the 
 common pike. The former is a very active and playful fish :
 
 Part V. 
 
 ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 
 
 245 
 
 The Pike Family 1. Saury Pike, Scomber-esox saurus. 2. Common Pike, Esox Iv- 
 
 cius. 3. Cfimmon Gar-fish, Ilclone nilgari^. 4. Guiana Gar-fish, Belone Guianeiisis. 5. 
 Common Flying-fish, Exocilus volitans. 
 
 it swims near the surface ; and its vivacity is such that it wil! 
 for a long time play about a floating straw, and leap over it 
 many times in succession. 
 
 11. A modern Italian poet thus writes of the gar-fish, and 
 of a curious method of capturing them Avhich was said to be 
 employed successfully at Naples : 
 
 " BtimishM with blue, and bright as damask steel. 
 Behold the brlimp,^ with pointed bill 
 All fnnsed with teeth : no greedier fish than they 
 E'er broke in sen-ied^ lines our foaming bay. 
 Soon as the practiced crew this frolic throng 
 Behold advancing rapidly along, 
 Adjusting swift a tendon to the line, 
 They throw, then drag it glistening through the brine. 
 Quickly the lure the snapping fi?h jnirsui' : 
 The gristle chaiins, but soon its charms they rue. 
 Fix'd by the teeth to that tough barbless bait. 
 The struggling suicides succumbi" to fate." 
 
 12. The flying-fish, of which there are several species, are 
 easily distinguished by the excessive size of their j^ectoral 
 fins, which are sufliciently large to support them in the air 
 for a few moments. But these fish do not in reality fly ; it 
 is only after a rapid course of swimming that they can leap 
 into the air: then they do not flap their fins, and they never 
 raise themselves above the height to which they first spring.
 
 24G 
 
 willson's fifth reader. 
 
 Paht v. 
 
 Their most usual height of flight above the surface of the 
 water is only two or three feet ; but the lai-ger species some- 
 times spriug fifteen or twenty feet, and it is not unfrequent 
 for Avhole shoals of them to fall on board of ships that navi- 
 gate the seas of Avarm climates. 
 
 13. The flying-fish are usually regarded with much interest 
 by the mariner in tropical seas, as they are sometimes the 
 only objects that for hours, and even days, break in upon the 
 monotony^^ of the scene. Their sudden darting upon the 
 sight, and as sudden departure, like flashes of momentary 
 light, are thus described by the poet Montgomery : 
 
 " Yet while I litok'rt, 
 A joyons creature vaulted through the air — 
 The aspiring fish that fain would be a bird, 
 On long, light wings, that flung a diamond-shower 
 Of dew-drop3 round ita evanescenti- form. 
 Sprang into light, and instantly descended." 
 
 14. In its own element the flying-fish is perpetually harass- 
 ed by the dorados, tunny, bonito, and other fishes of prey. 
 If it endeavors to avoid them by having recourse to the air, 
 it either meets its fate from the guUs or the albatross which 
 are constantly on the alert to seize it, or it is forced down 
 again into the mouths of other enemies Avho keep pace below 
 with its aerial excursion. Yet the flying-fishes themselves 
 
 Scale of Indus, 
 
 The Cat-fish Family. — 1. Brown Cat-fish, Pimclodus pulhts. 2. Common Cat-fish, 
 or Horned Pout, Pimclodus catus. 
 
 The Cat-fish family embraces the numerous fresh-water fish which are known in this 
 country bv the common names of cat-fish, horned pouts, and bull-heads. They mostly 
 inhabit muddy stnams and lakes, are destitute of scales, sluggish in their movements, 
 and, like the famous fishing-frog or angler, to which they bear some resemblance, depend 
 more upon stratagem than swiftness to seize their prey. The difierent species vary in 
 length from three or four inches to four feet; and some are said to have been caught in 
 the Ohio and Mississippi rivers measuring eight feet in length.-,-
 
 Part V. 
 
 ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 
 
 24V 
 
 feed on smaller fish, and these latter on those still below 
 them ; and thus, in one continued round of rapacity, the in- 
 habitants of the deej) prey upon each other. 
 
 1 Car-nTv'-o-rocs, feeding on flesh. 
 
 2 in'-got, an un\rrouglit bar of gold. 
 
 3 Hc'-MOE, fancy; caprice. 
 
 * Ti'-NY or Tin'-y, very small ; little. 
 
 * Pas'-o-plt, defensive armor. 
 « Dce'-ance, imprisonment. 
 
 ■' PTq'-ment, a paint 
 
 8 Bel'-o-ke, Latin name for this fiah. 
 
 9 Seb'-kied (ber'-rw), close ; crowded. 
 1" Su€-€fMB', yield ; submit to. 
 
 11 Mo-n6t'-o-nt, unifoi-mity ; want of va- 
 riety. 
 
 13 Ev-A-NEs'-CEST, fleeting; quickly paes- 
 ing away. 
 
 LESSOIST VII. — TO THE FLYIXG-FISH. 
 
 1 . When I have seen thy snow-white wing 
 From the blue wave at evening spring', 
 And show those scales of silvery white, 
 So gayly to the eye of light', 
 
 As if thy frame were formed to rise, 
 And live amid the glorious skies', 
 Oh, it has made me proudly feel 
 How like thy wing's impatient zeal 
 Is the pure souF, that rests not, pent 
 Within this world's gi-oss element^ 
 But takes the wing that God has given'. 
 And rises into light and heaven' ! 
 
 2. But when I see that wing so bright 
 Grow languid with a moment's flight," 
 Attempt the paths of air in vain," 
 And sink into the wave again', 
 
 Alas' ! the flattering pride is o'er' ; 
 Like thee', a while', the soul' may soar', 
 But erring man must blush to think, 
 Like thee', again', the soul' may sink' ! 
 
 3. O Virtue' ! when thy clime I seek'. 
 Let not my spirit's flight be weak' ; 
 Let me not, like this feeble thing. 
 With brine still dropping from its wing,' 
 Just sparkle in the solar glow, 
 
 And plunge again to depths below' ; 
 
 But, when I leave the grosser throng 
 
 With whom my soul hath dwelt so long', 
 
 Let me, in that aspiring day. 
 
 Cast every lingering stain away', 
 
 And, panting for thy purer air'. 
 
 Fly up' at once', and fix' me there' ! — Mooee
 
 l.'4« 
 
 wii.lson's fifth kkadek. 
 
 ]'art \ 
 
 LESSON VIII. — SOFT-RATED BONY FISHES, WITH ABDO^nN- 
 
 AL VENTRAL FINS — Continued. 
 
 [Salmon and Trout, and Herring and Pilchard Families.] 
 
 Scale of Inches 
 
 Salmon anb Teout Family. — 1. AVhite-fi?li of the Lakes, Coregomm albnK 2. Com- 
 mon Sea Salmon, Salmo salar. 3. New York Brook Trout, Salmo fontinalis. 4. Trout- 
 let. 5. Great Lake Trout of Europe, Salmo ferox. 
 
 1. Our remaining notices of this order of the bony fishes 
 embrace the Sahnon and Trout, and the Herring and Pilchard 
 families. Of all the fresh-water fishes of northern latitudes, 
 those comprising the salmon and trout family are the most 
 important in an economical point of view. To the naturalist, 
 also,' they are full of interest, as the liistory of many of them 
 is chiefly curious ; while Avith the angler many of the species 
 are preferred to every other kind of fish as objects on Avhich 
 to exercise his skill. 
 
 2. The common sea salmon, wliich is the largest species of 
 the family, is both a salt-water and a fresh-water fisli. They 
 invariably breed in fresh watei', while they find their most nu- 
 tritious food, and other conditions most favorable to their 
 growth and general health, in salt water. Tliey begin to en- 
 ter rivers in spring, and continue ascending during the sum- 
 mer, but chiefly when the rivers are swollen by rains, when
 
 Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 249 
 
 they generally advance with some rapidity, often, it is sup- 
 posed, at the rate of twenty-five miles a day, 
 
 3. So strong is the impulse that urges these fish on, that 
 they overcome obstacles which, to an animal so formed, Ave 
 should be inclined to pronounce insm'mountable. They fre- 
 quently make perpendicular leaps to the height of twelve or 
 fourteen feet, thus surmounting waterfalls and other obsta- 
 cles which the rocky bed of a river often presents to their 
 progress. By the time they reach the upper and shallow por- 
 tions of the river, these fish have assumed their most brilliant 
 hues. Selecting some gi'avelly bottom, they then deposit 
 their spawn, and cover it with a thin layer of sand. 
 
 4. With this the parental duties of the fish cease; they lose 
 their bright colors, become lean and emaciated, and, after re- 
 posing a while in the depths of some neighboring pool, they 
 commence their progress down the river for the })urpose of 
 regaining the ocean, where they are sjieedily invigorated, and 
 restored to their former condition. In England the spawn- 
 ing season is from October to the end of February ; but the 
 salmon which ascend the St. Lawrence appear in Lake Onta- 
 rio in April, and leave it in October or November. 
 
 5. The eggs or spawn of the salmon continue under the 
 sand where deposited, before hatching, in general from a hund- 
 red to a hundred and forty days. The first migration^ of the 
 young fish to the sea usually takes place late in the spring of 
 their second year. They are then called salmon-smelts,* or 
 samlets. On reaching the mouth of the river, they remain 
 for a time where the water is brackish^ by the mixture of 
 salt-water, and, thus prepared for the change, they launch out 
 into tlie sea, where they rapidly increase in size and vigor. 
 
 6. The common brook trout is so variable, both in color 
 and markings, that scarcely two individuals from separate lo- 
 calities will answer to the same description. It is said that 
 in England — and no doubt the same is true in this country — 
 in lakes and rivers fed by dark waters from boggy mooi's, 
 the tints become very deep, the back appearing almost black, 
 and the sides and belly of an intense yellow, with the spots 
 very large. The colors are believed to accommodate them- 
 selves to the tint of the water, and to the prevailing tone of 
 the bottom, whether of rock or gravel, or softer substance ; 
 but, whatever may be the cause of this singular adaptation, 
 
 • The true f.meXts are a small fish of the Salmon family, five or six inches in length, but 
 they are not the young of the salmon. They are taken in larpe quantities along our At- 
 lantic coast from New Jersev to I-abrador, and are often gold bv measure. 
 
 L 2
 
 250 
 
 willson's fifth reader. 
 
 Paet v. 
 
 there can be no doubt that it contributes to the concealment 
 and safety of the fish, just as we often observe, in land ani- 
 mals, an assimilation of color to the places they frequent. 
 
 Scale t'f liichts. 
 
 Hereixg and Pilchard Family. — 1. The Mossbonker, or Hard-head, .4 tosd menhaden 
 (rery abundant on the shores of Long Island and Mass. It is seldom eaten). 2. The 
 Pilchard, Clupca 2}ilchardus. 3. The Anchovy, Engraulis engrasicohis. 4. American 
 -Shad, Alosa prcestabilis. 5. The Herring, Clvix>ca 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<?-ffl ceqvora. 6. Pennant's Globe-fish, 
 Tetrodon Penncmtii. 7. Short Sun-fish, or Head-fish, Orthagoriscns viola. 8. Oblong 
 Snn-fish, OrtliagoHscus .oblongus. 9. European File-fish, Balistes capriscus. 
 
 1. The remaining two divisions of the soft-rayed bony 
 fishes, which are thus grouped in separate orders because 
 they have certain peculiarities in the forms of their gills and 
 the structure of their jaws, are embraced in the families of the 
 Pipe fishes, the Balloon and Globe fishes, and a few armed 
 fishes, mostly of tropical seas. In the drawing above are rej)- 
 resented several species in each of these families. The pijDC 
 fishes, which vary from five or six inches to two feet in length, 
 have a very remarkable appearance, the body being long and 
 very slender, the snout also much lengthened, and the whole 
 body covered with bony sculptured plates, like a coat of mail. 
 
 2. A remarkable peculiarity in several species of the pipe 
 fishes is the existence, in the males, of two long and soft mem- 
 branes which fold together, and form an abdominal pouch, in 
 which the eggs are cari'ied about until they are hatched, and 
 into which the young retreat in case of danger. Fishermen 
 assert that when the young are shaken out of the pouch into
 
 i»AKT V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 259 
 
 the water, over the side of the boat, they do not swim away, 
 but when the parent fish is held in the water in a favorable 
 position, the young again enter the retreat which nature has 
 provided for them. This provision for the care and safety of 
 the young is strikingly similar to what is seen in marsupial 
 qiiadrupeds. {See Third Header, -^.2^0,.) 
 
 3. A very singular species of the pipe fishes is the hippo- 
 campus, or, as it is frequently called in this country, the Hud- 
 sou River sea-horse. It is five or six inches in length, the 
 jaws are united and tubular, the shape of the head has con- 
 siderable resemblance to that of the horse, the eyes move in- 
 dependently of each other, the body is covered with bony 
 plates, and it is believed to be the only fish which has a pre- 
 hensile^ tail, showing in this latter particular an additional 
 resemblance of the pipe fishes to the marsupial quadrupeds. 
 When swimming about it maintains a vertical position ; but 
 the tail, ready to grasp whatever it meets in the water, quick- 
 ly entwines in any direction around the weeds ; and Avhen the 
 animal is thus fixed, it intently watches the surrounding ob- 
 jects, and darts at its prey with great dexterity. 
 
 4. The globe and balloon fishes, which belong to the fifth 
 division of the soft-rayed bony fishes, are little less singular 
 in appearance than those of the fourth division. The globe- 
 fishes, or puflers, possess the peculiar property of pufiing them- 
 selves up into a globular form by swallowing a quantity of 
 air. When thus inflated,- in consequence of the under parts 
 becoming lighter than the upper, the fish turns iipside down, 
 and floats about in this condition, still retaining the power of 
 directing its course. As the inflated abdomen is covered with 
 spines, this seems to be a means of warding ofi* the attack of 
 enemies. 
 
 5. The short and the oblong sun fishes appear as though 
 portions had been cut away, so as to leave little but the head 
 renjaining. Among the armed fishes of this order, the Euro- 
 pean file-fish is the best known. It is so named because it 
 has the first and strongest spine of the back studded up the 
 front with small projections. In the same family is the ba- 
 listes of the Indian Seas, which is armed near the tail with 
 three rows of crooked spines ; also the horned ostracion, a 
 strange-looking fish, which has two horns extending from the 
 head in front, and two near the ventral fins. 
 
 ' PEE-nEN'-siLE, grasping; adapted to seize, 12 In-fla'-tkd, puffed up, or swollen by air. 
 as the tail of a monkey. I
 
 2UU 
 
 willson's fifth keadek. 
 
 Takt v. 
 
 THIRD CLASS OF FISHES. 
 
 CARTILAGINOUS. FISHES. ( Chondropterygii.) 
 [Shark, Sturgnon, Cliiraaera, Ray, and Lamprey Families.] 
 
 Hcale oj Feet. 
 
 The Shark Familt. — 1. Spinous Shark, Eehinochiniis sirivoaiifi. 2. Greenland Shark, 
 Scyinnus hnrrnlU. 3. Basking Shark, Selachus ?Hnjri7?i«x. 4. ^^^lite Shark, Cliarchnrias 
 tnilgaris. 5. Fox Shark, or Thresher, A lopias vtilpes. 6. Cirrated Saw-fi.-;h, Prixti.'i cirra- 
 tis. 7. Hammer-headed Sliark, Zygcena malleus. 
 
 LESSON" XII. — THE SHAEK FAMILY. (PLACOIDS.) 
 
 1. No life is in the air, but in the waters 
 
 Are creatures husje, and terrible, and strong ; 
 The sword-fish and the shark pursue their slaughters, 
 
 War universal reigns the^e depths along. 
 Like some new island on the ocean sprinpring. 
 
 Floats on the surface some trigmtic whale. 
 From its vast head a silver fountain flinging. 
 
 Bright as the fountain in a faii-y tale. — L. E. JIaclean. , 
 
 2. Although the cartilaginous^ division is of very limited 
 extent, compared Avith either of the preceding, yet the most 
 formidable of the whole class of fishes are embraced in it. As 
 their name implies, their skeleton consists of cartilage instead 
 of bone; and it is probably owing to the comparatively soft 
 texture of the skeleton that these fish continue to grow as 
 long as they live. The consequence is that, as they mostly 
 inhabit the wide ocean, and have few enemies, they are some- 
 times met with of a size so enormous that their weight and 
 dimensions are almost incredible.
 
 Tart V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 261 
 
 3. The sharks, which are the most conspicuous and the most 
 perfectly organized of the cartilaginous division, are among 
 iishes what the carnivorous- animals are among quadrupeds, 
 and the eagles, hawks, and owls among birds. Like these 
 their representatives, they are i^roverbially^ the tigers and 
 ])anthers of the ocean ; and they frequently carry upon them, 
 as it Avere, the very spots and markings of those ferocious 
 beasts. Their forms are often gigantic, and their fierceness 
 and voracity proverbial : they are the dread and detestation 
 of mariners; and, even when dead, their aspect is sufticient to 
 excite fear. These monsters of the deep are nearly all com- 
 pletely carnivorous ; and their appetite is so voracious that 
 they indiscriminately devour whatever living being comes in 
 their way. It is a well-authenticated, fact that some of these 
 monsters, at a single bite, have cut a man in two ; and an en- 
 tire human body is said to have been found, on one occasion, 
 in the stomach of one of them. 
 
 4. Fortunately, however, very few of the sharks found in 
 our temperate latitudes grow to such a size as to awaken our 
 fears, or commit injury upon our persons ; but, as soon as we 
 enter the warmer regions, toward the tro^jics, bathing in the 
 sea becomes a hazardous, and often dangerous imdertaking. 
 In tropical climes the ocean swarms with sharks. They all 
 swim with great velocity, and often in vast multitudes, espe- 
 cially when pursuing shoals of other fish. 
 
 5. The sharks have a hard, rough, leathery skin, sometimes 
 covered with small Avarts intermingled with spines ;* but none 
 have yet been found with true scales. The skin, when dried, 
 forms an article of commerce,''and is used for polishing wood ; 
 also as a covering for boxes, watch-cases, etc., under the name 
 of shagreen. The mouth of the shark is concealed beneath 
 an extended snout; and it is owing to this position that the 
 fish is compelled to turn nearly on its back when it seizes its 
 prey. 
 
 6. Among the larger and more formidable of the sharks are 
 the white shark, the basking shark, the fox shark or thresher, 
 and the Greenland shark. The white shark is seldom seen 
 on our coasts, but is abundant in the Mediterranean, and is 
 found in great numbers in tropical climates. It is often thir- 
 ty feet in length, and swims with great swiftness. It scents 
 its prey at a great distance, and it is affirmed that it is much 
 more apt to attack a negro than a white man ; and when both 
 
 * It is the character of this warty or spiny coveiing tliat places the sharks in Agassiz's 
 division ofPlaroid fishes.
 
 262 
 
 WILL80N S FIFTH KEADEE. 
 
 Part V. 
 
 ^culeij ttU. 
 
 The Suaeks, continued. — 1. Large-spotted Dog-fish, Snjllium cnhilus. 2. Tope, or Pen- 
 ny-dog, Galeus mlgnrif!. 3. Blue Shark (the most common shark on our coasts), Carcha- 
 rias glaucus. 4. Porheagle, Lnwina cornubica. 5. Small-spotted Dog-fish, .Sci/H/mto ca- 
 nicula. 6. Picked (or Piked) Dog-fish, ^caniAjos vulgaris. 1. Smooth Hound, J/wsfeZMS 
 loevis. 
 
 are bathing together, or otherwise in its power, it generally 
 selects the former. Cuvier thus speaks of this shark : 
 
 7. "The French name this terrible animal iiejwin, or Requiem, 'the rest 
 or stillness of death,' in allusion to the deadly character of its habits ; and 
 when we consider its enormous size and powers, the strength and number 
 of its teeth, the rapidity of its movements, its frequent appearance during 
 all the turmoil and horrors of a tempest, with death and destruction appar- 
 ent in every blast and every wave, to add to the horror of the scene by the 
 phosphoric light emitted from its huge body near the surface of the troubled 
 waters, with its open mouth and throat ready to swallow, entire, the despair- 
 ing sailor, we must admit the propriety of a name expressive of the natural 
 association of ideas which connects this cruel monster of the deep with 
 death." 
 
 8. The spinous shark, equally frightful in appearance, but 
 much smaller than the white shark, is covered with spines 
 which exactly resemble the prickles from the stem of a rose- 
 bush. The basking shark, so called from its habit of remain- 
 ing occasionally at the surface of the water almost motionless, 
 as if enjoying the influence of the sun's rays, has been known 
 to measure thirty-six feet in length. This species has the 
 smallest teeth, in proportion to its size, of any of the sharks, 
 and is not a ravenous* fish. It is often so indifferent to the
 
 Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHiS. 263 
 
 approach of a boat as to suffer it even to touch its body when 
 listlessly sunning itself on the surface ; but if deeply struck 
 with a harpoon, it plunges suddenly down, and swims away 
 with such rapidity and violence as to become a difficult as 
 well as a dangerous capture. It is supposed that this huge 
 lish, swimming near the surface, with its upper jaw iDrojected 
 out of the Avater, has often been mistaken for the sea-serpent. 
 
 9. The thresher, or fox shark, which is not so uncommon on 
 our coasts, has received its name from its habit of attacking 
 other animals, or defending itself by blows of the tail. In 
 company with the sword-fish it often attacks the whale, as 
 we have before described. (See p. 236.) It has been ob- 
 served to approach a herd of dolphins sporting in security 
 on the surface, and by one splash of its formidable weapon to 
 scatter them in alarm in every direction. The Greenland 
 shark, which is found only in northern seas, and is another of 
 the foes of the whale, has thus been described by Scoresby : 
 
 10. "It bites the whale, and annoys it while living, and feeds on it when 
 dead. It scoops pieces out of its body nearly as big as a man's head ; and 
 continues scooping and gorging, lump after lump, until the whole cavity of 
 its belly is filled. It is so insensible to pain that it has been run through 
 the body with a knife, and escaped, yet after awhile it has been seen to re- 
 turn and banquet on the whale at the very spot where it had received its 
 wounds. 
 
 11. "The heart of this shark is very small; it performs six or eight pul- 
 sations in a minute, and continues its beating for some time after it is taken 
 out of the body. The body also, though separated into several parts, gives 
 evidence of life for a similar length of time. It is therefore exceedingly 
 difficult to kill this fish ; and it is actually unsafe to thrust the hand into 
 its mouth, though the head be separated from the body. Though the whale- 
 fishers frequently slip into the water where these sharks abound, it is not 
 known that they have ever been attacked by them. Indeed, the sailors im- 
 agine tliat this fish is blind, because it pays not the least attention to the 
 presence of a man ; and it is so stupid that it never draws back when a 
 blow is aimed at it with a knife or lance." 
 
 12. The most curious of all the sharks is that which is 
 popularly termed by fishermen the shovel-nose, or hammer- 
 head. It has a head three times broader than long, is from 
 four to ten feet in length, and has been several times taken in 
 New York harbor. The mouth, being on the under side, can 
 not be seen in the draAving which we have given. The saw- 
 fish, which is usually included in the Shark family, has its up- 
 per jaw prolonged into a bony snout, often five or six feet in 
 length, and having its sides covered Avith numerous sharp 
 spines similar to teeth, 
 
 ' €AB-TT-i,A(i'-iN-ou8, having the qualitie8|3 Pro-veub'-i-al-ly, speaking in the form 
 
 of cartilage o rgiiftle. of a proverb or by-word. 
 
 - C.Xr-niv'-o-eou8, feeding on flesh. |* Rav'-en-ods, hungry for prey ; voracious.
 
 2G4: 
 
 WILLSON S FIFTH KEAUEli. 
 
 Taut V. 
 
 LESSON XIII. — CARTILAGINOUS FISHES CONTINUED. 
 
 [Sturgeon, Chimffira, Kay, and Lamprey Families.] 
 
 ale of Feet. 
 
 Stubgeon and CHiMyEEA. FAMILIES. — 1. Common sturgeon of the Atlantic, Acipeniier' 
 aturio. 2. Northern Chimsera, Chimoera vionstrosa. 3. American Lake Stui'geon, Aci- 
 penser rubicundus. 
 
 1. Of the Sturgeon family, the best known are the common 
 sturgeon of the Atlantic, usually found in rivers Avhich flow 
 into the sea, and the fresh-water sturgeon found in tlie large 
 lakes of North America. The fish of this family, like the 
 sharks, are at once known by their long and angular body, 
 which is defended by rows of large bony plates of a pyram- 
 idal form, with the apex pointed. In England and France 
 the sturgeon was formerly regarded as a royal fish — that is, 
 the property of the crown. The flesh is firm and compact, 
 tasting somewhat like veal. The sturgeon seeks its food 
 chiefly at the bottom of rivers, plowing up the mud with 
 its long snout as a hog does the ground. It often does much 
 damage by getting entangled in the nets of the fishermen, but 
 is otherwise harmless. 
 
 2. The chima^ras, or sea-monsters, which are rare fish, are 
 remarkable for the singularity of their appearance, which gives 
 as much the idea of a reptile as of a fish. The rays, or skates, 
 which are still more remarkable in appearance, may be con- 
 sidered the flat fishes of the cartilaginous order. With few 
 exceptions they are wholly marine fislies. Most of them have 
 the pectoral fins so largely developed that they extend en- 
 tirely around the head and body, to which theV give a disk- 
 like form ; the tail is slender, and the dorsal fins, when pres- 
 ent, are generally remarkably small, and placed far back on 
 the body. • 
 
 3. The eyes of the rays are placed on the \ipper surface ;
 
 Part V. 
 
 ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 
 
 265 
 
 ■icale of J-tet. 
 
 The Kay Family.— 1. Common Torpedo, Torpedo vulciaris. 2. Many-spined Tiygou, 
 TYtjgon histrix. 3. Thomback Ray, Fima clavata. 4. Angel-fish, or ilonk-fish, AqucUina 
 aiigelus. 5. Eagle Ray, or Whip Ray, Myliobatis aquila. 
 
 but the mouth, nostrils, and branchial openings — the latter 
 usually five in number, and arranged like those of the sharks 
 — are on the under surface. The tail is usually covered with 
 rows of spines, and in several species is additionally armed 
 Avith a hard bony weapon in the shape of a long-headed lance. 
 It is supposed that this weapon falls ofl' at certain intervals — 
 perhaps annually, to be replaced by another. The South Sea 
 Islanders sometimes use it as a point to their arrows and 
 spears ; and the natives of Guiana are said to iise the barbs 
 of the fresh-water species of that country for the same pur- 
 pose. 
 
 4. Although most of the members of the Ray and Skate 
 family are only from one to three and four feet in length, yet 
 some species, especially those of the horned or banksian ray, 
 which are more familiarly known to sailors, as sea devils or 
 ocean vampires, attain to enormous dimensions. In the horn- 
 ed ray, the pectoral fins, instead of entirely embracing the 
 head, are each prolonged considerably in front, so as to pre- 
 sent the appearance of two horns ; and the eyes are inserted 
 on the circumference, not within it. 
 
 5. This fish, which usually lies concealed at the bottom of 
 the sea, is said to have been found of such weight that seven 
 yoke of oxen were required to draw it ashore. Voyagers re- 
 port having seen it thirty or forty feet in length. Colonel
 
 '266 WILLSON's fifth EEADEE. Part V. 
 
 hj. Hamilton Smith relates that he 
 
 il^^^^^^^^ oi^ce witnessed the destruction of 
 
 jK^^^^^^W^ ^ soldier by one of these immense 
 
 ^^^^^^^K rays, off the island of Trinidad. It 
 
 ^^^^^^^^m appears that the soldier Avished to 
 
 ^H^^^^^^H desert, and, being a good swim- 
 
 ^^^JKT mer, he had jumped into the sea 
 
 ^^fes^,^^^^ from the vessel, which then lay at 
 
 ^^"V^ anchor near the entrance of the 
 
 Homed nay, Sea Devil, or Ocean Vam- harbor. The cirCUmStanCC OCCUr- 
 
 piie, cephaiopiera vcmpirus. red soon after daylight, and the 
 man, being alarmed by the call of a sailor up aloft, encfeavor- 
 ed to return to the ship ; but the monster fish threw one of 
 his fins over him, and he was never seen more. 
 
 6. In the Natural History of the State of New York we 
 find it stated that this fish has been known " to seize the cable 
 of a small vessel at anchor, and draw the vessel several miles 
 with great velocity." The writer, Mr. De Kay, says : " An in- 
 stance of this kind was related to me by a credible witness, 
 as having occurred in the harbor of Charleston. A schooner 
 lying at anchor was suddenly seen moving across the harbor 
 with great rapidity, impelled by some unknown and myste- 
 rious power. Upon approaching the opposite shore, its course 
 was changed so suddenly as nearly to capsize the vessel, when 
 it again crossed the harbor with its former velocity, and the 
 same scene was repeated when it reached the shore. These 
 mysterious flights across the harbor were repeated several 
 times, in the jDresence of hundreds of spectators." If this be 
 a true fish story, even the Atlantic cable may have been torn 
 from its moorings by some of these monsters of the deep. 
 
 7. Among the rays are a group of fish which possess elec- 
 trical properties, and which are known as electric rays, or 
 torpedoes. Although the torpedo is less powerfully electrical 
 than the gymnotus or eel, it can beniimb the arm of a person 
 touching it ; andthis power it seems to exert at will, both as 
 a means of defense and for the purpose of securing its prey. 
 The angel-fish, or shark-ray, of Avhich we have given a draw- 
 ing, is classed by some among the sharks. It is more re- 
 markable for the singularity of its form than for its beauty. 
 
 8. There is still another family of fishes of the cartilaginous 
 division called Lampreys, resembling the eels in form. "We 
 have given drawings of several species. The sea-lamprey is 
 esteemed by many as a delicious article of food. The lam- 
 preys occupy the lowest place, not only among fishes, but
 
 Part V. 
 
 ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 
 
 267 
 
 Scale Of Inches. 
 
 The Lampbey Family. — 1. Glutinous Uag, or Myxine, GastrohrancMis cacus. 2. The 
 Pride, or Mud Lamprey, Aviviocoetes branchialis. 3. Common Lamprey, Pteromyzon 
 Tnarinus. 4. The Lancelot, Amphioxus lanceolatus. 
 
 among all vertebrated animals, showing the gradual approach- 
 es which one class of animals makes to another. Thus one 
 species, the glutinous hag, is destitute of eyes. The Lancelot, 
 which has been classed among the lampreys, is the lowest 
 link yet discovered in the scale of vertebrated life, as the 
 skeleton is only a series of sacs, and there is a total want of 
 brain, eye, and ear. 
 
 Here we close our description of the four gi-eat classes of 
 vertebrate animals — mammalia, birds, reptiles, and fishes. In 
 the sixth volume of this series we enter upon another great 
 division of zoology — the Insect World — in Avhich we shall 
 find renewed evidence of that wisdom Avhich has jDeopled 
 every pai't of our globe with life adapted to the conditions 
 for which it is destined. When we shall have arrived at those 
 lowest links in the scale of animal life which connect the ani- 
 mal and vegetable kingdoms, we shall look with renewed in- 
 terest upon the great whole of animated nature ; and as we 
 trace upward, from the dividing line, a gradual elevation, un- 
 til we arrive at the most intelligent of the brute animals, and 
 there find the chain suddenly broken, we shall more fully re- 
 alize the beauty of the Christian idea, that man belongs to an 
 entirely different and immeasurably higher order of being, al- 
 though perhaps the lowest in a series that rises upward — up- 
 w^ard — through angelic hosts, until it takes hold of the throne 
 of the Eteekal. .
 
 208 
 
 willson's fifth eeadeb. 
 
 Taut V- 
 
 LES. XIV. — THE AQUARIA, OR BRAWING-ROOM FISH-PONDS. 
 
 1. Decidedly the prettiest drawing-room ornament that 
 has been invented of late years is the Aquariion^ or orna- 
 mental fish-pond. This is usually a glass vessel, either circu- 
 lar or oblong, with a slate bottom, wooden or zinc pillars, 
 and glass sides, and containing various kinds of sea-weed, fish, 
 and marine animals of the lower organizations, all in the full 
 vigor of life. 
 
 2. It is hard to say whether the process by which the pres- 
 ent aquaria were developed, or that development itself, is the
 
 Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 269 
 
 more wonderful. Probably every body has seen gold-fish in 
 the old conventional glass tureen.^ Their life was a series of 
 spirals, and it was, a relief to beholders as well as to them- 
 selves when they expired at last. Dazzled by the glare of 
 the sunlight through the sides of their glass dwelling, the poor 
 creatures spent their whole existence in trying to find out 
 where they were and how they could get out : no moth near 
 a candle ever sufiered more agonizing perplexity than they. 
 To keep them in some appearance of health for a few weeks, 
 it was necessary to change the water frequently : every time 
 this was done the j^oor little creatures died a thousand deaths 
 — endured such agony as we should feel if we were plunged 
 to the bottom of a river, and held there till we were senseless, 
 every morning before breakfast. 
 
 3. It was found a difficult matter to rear, in this way, the 
 hardy gold-fish, while almost every other description of fish 
 would have perished in the glass tureen within a week. And 
 for this simple reason : like all living creatures, fish emit car- 
 bonic acid gas ; this, in a confined body of water, would soon 
 be in excess, the water would become poisonous, and the fish 
 would die. The only alternative — that of changing the wa- 
 ter daily — would frequently be fiatal to the tender creatures 
 that were compelled to submit to our handling. 
 
 4. At length, however — and it was only a icw years ago — 
 the principle was discovered that, in Avater as in air, the prime 
 function of plants is to evolve oxygen and to consume carbon- 
 ic acid gas ; in other words, to use for food the noxious va- 
 por emitted by animals, and to supply them, in its stead, with 
 the first necessary o*f animal life — pure air. 
 
 5. Starting with this principle, about the year 1850, a Mr. 
 Wari-ington, an Englishman, set about breeding fish and mol- 
 lusks^ in tanks, with the aid of marine plants. He succeeded 
 admirably for a few days ; but, after a time, a change came 
 o'er his little worlds. Without apparent reason the water 
 became suddenly impure, and his fish died. Here was a new 
 agency at work. With the aid of the microscope, Mr. War- 
 rington explored his tank for the poison which was evidently 
 latent* there. He soon discovered that some of his plants had 
 reached maturity, and, obedient to the law of nature, liad died 
 and decayed. The decaying matter was the poison he was 
 in search of. How was this to be counteracted ? 
 
 6. In Nature's tanks, reflected Mr. Warrington — in seas, riv- 
 ers, and ponds — plants must die and decay, yet the decay does 
 not destroy animal life. We must see how Nature obviates
 
 270 willson's fifth reader. Pabt v. 
 
 the evil. The experimentalist hastened to a pond in the vi- 
 cinity, and explored its bottom with care. lie found, as he 
 had anticipated, abundance of decayed vegetable matter ; but 
 he likewise found swarms of .water-snails doing duty as scav- 
 engers,^ and devouring the putrefying substances before they 
 had time to taint the water. Here was the secret — so beau- 
 tiful a contrivance that it is said Mr. Warrington, with the 
 emotion of a true man of science, burst into tears when it 
 flashed upon him. 
 
 1. He dried his eyes, however, quickly enough, pocketed 
 some snails, and threw a handful of them' into his little tank 
 at home. In a single day the 'water was pure and clear. 
 Fish launched into it throve and gamboled, grew and multi- 
 plied ; the plants resumed their bright colors, and the snails 
 not only rollicked^ in an abundance of decaying branches from 
 the plants, but laid a profusion of eggs, on which the fish and 
 mollusks dined sumptuously every day. 
 
 8. Thus the aquarium — the drawing-room fish-pond — be- 
 came a possibility. Mr. Warrington communicated his dis- 
 coveries to the Royal Society of London ; they were taken up 
 by half the scientific men of England, and a series of experi- 
 ments was begun, to test the relative capacity of the various 
 known kinds of marine plants, fish, and marine creatures of 
 the loAvest orders, for living in the limited area of a house- 
 tank. Those exj^eriments have been so thorough that books 
 are now published containing the most minute directions for 
 the establishment of aquaria ; and it is said that almost ev- 
 ery great drawing-room in England is provided with one or 
 more of them. 
 
 9. The most common kind of aquarium is the oblong box 
 or the circular vase, like the one represented in the engrav- 
 ing. If all the sides are of glass, that which is nearest the 
 light should be shaded with a curtain, as neither fish nor 
 plants thrive unless the sunlight reaches them from the sur- 
 face of the water. Nature must always be copied. If you 
 would have fish in your aquarium, a siphon'^ should be used 
 to change the water occasionally, and a syringe to aerate^ it 
 daily, unless a gentle stream can be made to flow in and out 
 constantly. Perfectly still water is too slow for well-bred 
 fish, although it may do for reptiles. 
 
 10. Having provided yourself with the aquarium, strew the 
 bottom with clean sand and fine pebbles to the depth of some 
 three inches ; then build your rock-work. As trees were cre- 
 ated before the creatures which bask in their shade, so you
 
 Pabt V. 
 
 ICHTHYOLOGY, OK FISHES. 
 
 271 
 
 must plant your marine vegetation before you people your 
 miniature ocean. Having therefore poured in your water, 
 which should be as fresh as possible from its source, and not 
 on any account boiled, introduce your plants, taking care that 
 each is not only perfect as to its root, but is also sujiplied with 
 some portion of its maternal mould or rpck. 
 
 11. It is believed that most marine plants, and all the sea- 
 weeds, will thrive in the salt-water aquaria. Zoophytes,^ or 
 animal plants, must find a place there ; and among these, those 
 wonderful creatures, the star-fish, which possess the power of 
 cutting themselves x\p into joints, and dissolving into six or 
 eight perfect creatures of theii* own species. MoUusks^ and 
 crustaceans^^ must be added, to act the part of scavengers 
 and street inspectors. Among the mollusks are several spe- 
 cies of whelk, which are found useful as window- washers, that 
 is, in keeping the glass sides of the tank clear and bright. 
 As to fish, we may select, from a great variety, the flounders 
 (when young), the sticklebacks, the mullets, the gobies and 
 blennies, the porgee, the pipe-iish, and many others. The 
 sticklebacks — which build nests, and behave themselves in 
 so unfishlike a manner generally — are great favorites, 
 
 12. Thus far of salt-water ponds. But aquaria may be 
 filled with fresh water, and supplied with fresh-water plants 
 and animals on precisely the same principles. Here snails 
 and muscles are a necessity, to consume the decaying vege- 
 tation ; and there is no limit to the fish which may be intro- 
 duced, among which we Avould mention gold and silver fish, 
 perch, carp, pike, trout, eels, and minnows. It is recommend- 
 ed, however, that the pike be small of his kind, or the other 
 fish will unaccountably disappear. Newts and lizards may 
 also be introduced. They are very pretty indeed, as they 
 disport themselves in a bright aquarium, or sun themselves 
 on the rocky island which you have built for their benefit. 
 Let every family which can, and every school, have its aqua- 
 rium. It will afford amusement and instruction to all. 
 
 1 Con-ven'-tion-al, customary. 
 
 2 Tu-rEen', a vessel for holding soup. 
 
 3 JIol-lCsk8', animals whose bodies are soft 
 and not jointed, hut which generally have 
 a hard or shelly covering. (See Seventh 
 Reader.) 
 
 * La'-tent, not visible ; hidden. 
 ' SCAV'-Eu-GEES, street-cleaners. 
 
 6 Eol'-licked, moved about in a frolicsome 
 
 manner. 
 ' St'-PHON, see page 347. 
 
 8 A'-EE-.lTE, to purify by admitting the air. 
 
 9 Zo'-o-PHYTE, an animal plant, like the 
 sponge and coral. 
 
 10 €rus-t.X.'-ce-a>! (-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 <paudy and barbarous taste. 
 
 3. Nor did the Athenians spare any cost upon the works 
 that were, like the tombs and tripods of their heroes, to be 
 the monuments of a nation to distant ages, and to transmit 
 the most irrefragable^ proof "that the power of ancient Greece 
 was not an idle legend." The whole democracy were ani- 
 mated with the passion of Pericles ; and when Phidias recom- 
 mended marble as a cheaper material than ivory for the great 
 statue of Minerva, it was for that reason that ivory was pre- 
 ferred by the unanimous voice of the assembly. Thus, wheth- 
 er it were extravagance or magnificence, the blame in one 
 case, the admiration in another, rests not more with the min- 
 ister than the populace. It was, indeed, the great character- 
 istic of those works that they were entirely the creation of the 
 people: without the people Pericles could not have built a 
 temple or engaged a sculptor. The miracles of that day re- 
 sulted from the enthusiasm of a population yet young — full 
 of the first ardor for the beautiful — dedicating to the state, as
 
 Pakt VI. 
 
 CIVIL AKCHITECTUEE. 
 
 287 
 
 to a mistress, the trophies honorably won or the treasures in- 
 juriously extorted — and uniting the resources of a nation with 
 the energy of an individual, because the toil, the cost, were 
 borne by those who succeeded to the enjoyment and arrogated 
 the glory. 
 
 1 Pnii>'-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 \<heel has lately been in- 
 vented. It is the most powerful and economical of all water-en- 
 gines. See Fig. 21, next page.
 
 2d Div. OF NATUKAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 337 
 
 26. All seemed to be of the same opinion ; while Mr. May- 
 nard only smiled, and said he hoped they would examine all 
 the wheels, and be able to give a full description of them at 
 another time. All were soon busy in clambering up the rocks, 
 and noticing the working of the wheels ; and after some time 
 spent in this way, all returned to the foot of the cascade, when 
 John described the new turbine wheel which his father had 
 lately had j)ut up in his mill, and which is moved by the ac- 
 tion of the pressure of a column of water.* 
 
 " This wheel," said Mr. Maynard, " can be made to utilize 
 from three fourths to four fifths of the theoretical power of the 
 water, while the undershot wheel will not often give to ma- 
 chinery more than one quarter of the water power. The 
 breast-wheel, when well constructed, will utilize a little more 
 than one half of the moving power of the water, and the over- 
 shot wheel about two thirds." 
 
 Before the little party left this pleasant spot, Frank hap- 
 pened to remark that the numerous little water-falls in this 
 cascade forcibly reminded him of Southey's poem about the 
 " Cataract of Lodore," " for the water," said he, " comes rim- 
 ning, and jumping, and dancing, and leaping down in almost 
 every imaginable variety of form and motion." Thereupon 
 Frank, being invited to recite the poem, gave the following : 
 
 THE CASCADES OF ROCKY GLEN. 
 
 [The Cataract of Lodore.] 
 "How does the water come down at Lodore?" 
 My little boy asked me thus, once on a time ; 
 And moreover he tasked me 
 To tell him in rhyme. 
 Anon at the word, 
 There first came one daughter, 
 And then came another, 
 
 • Fig. 21, the turbine wheel, consists of a fixed 
 upriglit cylinder I J, which admits the water, placed 
 upon another and larger fixed cylinder, represent- 
 ed here by the inner curves, the latter encompassed 
 by the moving wheel A B, in the form of a rim. 
 Through N passes a shaft, by wliich motion is im- 
 parted to machinery. From the tall central cylin- 
 der the water passes, under great pressure, into the 
 curved comp.artments of the larger fixed cylinder, 
 where it receives such a direction as to strike the 
 divisions of the revolving rim to the best advantage. 
 As this wheel acts upon the principle of hydrostatic 
 pressure, its power is proportionate to the height 
 of the column of water in the central cylinder I J. 
 WTieii a column of vrater can be obtained of consid- 
 erable height, the turbine wheel is an engine of 
 great power. It is extensively used in the cotton 
 factories of Lowell, Mass.
 
 338 
 
 willson's fifth reader. 
 
 Pakt VII. 
 
 To second and third the request of their brother, 
 And to hear how the water comes down at Lodore, 
 With its rush and its roar, 
 
 As many a time 
 They had seen it before. 
 
 So I told thera in rhyme, 
 For of rhymes I had store. 
 
 From its sources, which well 
 In the tarn on the fell ; 
 From its fountains 
 In the mountains; 
 Its rills and its gills ; 
 Through moss and through brake. 
 It runs and it creeps 
 For a while, till it sleeps 
 In its own little lake. 
 And thence, at departing. 
 Awakening and starting, 
 It runs through the reeds. 
 And away it proceeds. 
 Through meadow and glade, 
 In sun and in shade. 
 And through the wood-shelter. 
 
 Among crags in its flurrj-, 
 Belter-skelter, 
 
 Hurry-skurry. 
 Here it comes sparkling. 
 And there it lies darkling : 
 Now smoking and frothing, 
 In tumult and wrath in. 
 Till, in this rapid race 
 On which it is bent. 
 It reaches the place 
 Of its steep descent. 
 
 The cataract strong 
 Then plunges along. 
 Striking and raging. 
 As if a war waging 
 Its caverns and rocks among; 
 Rising and leaping, 
 Sinking and creeping, 
 Swelling and sweeping, 
 Showering and springing, 
 Flying and flinging, 
 Writhing and ringing. 
 Eddying and whisking, 
 Turning and twisting, 
 Spouting and frisking 
 Around and around, 
 With endless rebound ; . 
 Smiting and fighting, 
 A sight to delight in ; 
 Confounding, astounding.
 
 2d Biv. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 339 
 
 Dizzying and deafening the 
 
 ear with its sound : 
 Tollecting, projecting, 
 Keceding and speeding, 
 Vnd shocking and rocking, 
 Vnd darting and parting, 
 \.Tid threading and spreading, 
 Vnd whizzing and hissing, 
 Vntl dripping and skij^ping, 
 Vnd hitting and splitting, 
 Vnd shining and twining, 
 Vnd rattling and battling, 
 Vnd shaking and quaking, 
 Vnd pouring and roaring, ' 
 Vnd waving and raving. 
 And tossing and crossing, 
 And foaming and roaming, 
 And dinning and spinning, 
 And guggling and struggling, 
 And heaving and cleaving. 
 And moaning and groaning ; 
 Anil glittering and frittering. 
 And gathering and feathering, 
 And whitening and brightening, 
 And quivering and shivering. 
 And hurrying and skurrying, 
 And thundering and floundering; 
 Dividing and gliding and sliding, 
 And f.iUing and brawling and sprawling, 
 And driving and riving and striving. 
 And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, 
 And sounding and bounding and roundnig ; 
 -^-^■' And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, 
 
 Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, 
 Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, 
 And tliumping and plumping and bumping and jumping. 
 And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; 
 And so never ending, but always descending, 
 Sounds and motions forever are blending. 
 All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar — 
 Vnd till'- m\ th( v\ator comes do\\n at Lodore. 
 
 V 
 
 Alter the i coital of this \ciy eccentric poem, as Ida called 
 it, and some remarks from Mr. Maynard upon its character, 
 and the proper reading of it, the little party set out on their
 
 340 ■WILLSON's fifth EEADEB. Part VII. 
 
 return homeward, both i)leased and i:)rof5ted by their day's 
 excursion. 
 
 1 Coot, a lobe-footed water-fowl. |3 BTck'-ee, to move unsteadily ; toplayback- 
 
 2 IIken, contracted from licron. ward and forward. 
 
 I* TnoEP, a small village ; a hamlet. 
 
 LESSON VI.— PNEUMATICS. 
 
 1. " My young friends," said Mr. Maynard, as he approach- 
 ed a large table covered with numerous tubes, glasses, pumps, 
 jars, etc., " if you have carefully read the books you possess, 
 and such as I loaned you from the library, you can make 
 this one of the most delightful lessons in our whole coui'se. 
 Pneumatics^ you know, is the science of the pressure and mo- 
 tion of elastic fluids. Air and steam are good examples of 
 elastic fluids ; the former representing such as are permanent- 
 ly gaseous, and the latter such as are condensible into a liq- 
 uid state. Do you recollect what we gave in a former les- 
 son as one of the characteristics of elastic fluids ?" 
 
 2. FranJc. I think it was their immediate tendency to ex- 
 pand when at liberty to do so. 
 
 3I)\ 31. You Avill see by some experiments with the air- 
 pump that air is highly elastic. I would first state that we 
 are living in an ocean of atmosphere about fifty miles in 
 height, and quite surrounding the globe. The air-pump is 
 similar to a Avater-pump in construction, but made so accu- 
 rately as not to leak air. I will now pump some of the air 
 from this glass, which you see is open at 
 both ends ; but, in order to remove the aii', 
 or rather to obtain a vacuum inside, it will 
 be necessary to stop the air from entering 
 from the top. John, will you place your 
 hand on the top for a stopper? I will 
 Pig. 22, at^^^^^c press- "«'«' remove the air from under John's 
 ure. hand. 
 
 3. " Oh !" exclaimed John, " it sucks my hand down." 
 " "What sucks your hand down ?" said Mr. M. 
 "Really," replied John, "I think I was mistaken, for I 
 
 now understand that it is the weight of the air on my hand 
 pressing it down. I learned long ago that the Aveight of the 
 atmosphere is about fifteen pounds on a square inch, but I 
 never before had so clear an idea of it." 
 
 4. Mr. M. "Why could you not move your hand from the
 
 2d Div. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 341 
 
 glass as well after the exhaustion as before ? Was there any 
 more pressure put upon your hand by the operation ? 
 
 John. The weight was certainly no more, but the sustain- 
 ing spring or elasticity of the air was removed from below, 
 and I felt the pressure, just as a man feels the pressure of 
 debts when he has no money with which to pay them. 
 
 5. Mr.M. To understand all about the weight and elas- 
 ticity of air is to understand ^)?^eM?/^a^^cs. Have any of you 
 ascertained the entire weight of the atmosphere, which seems 
 so light ? 
 
 Ella. Somebody has calculated that the weight of the at- 
 mosphere is equal to that of a solid sphere of lead sixty miles 
 in diameter. I would much like to understand how such 
 astonishing calculations are made. 
 
 6. Ida. It is very easy indeed. We know that the press- 
 ure of air is fifteen pounds on each square inch ; and all Ave 
 have to do is to find how many square inches there are on 
 the earth's surface, and multiply by fifteen to obtain an an- 
 swer in pounds. 
 
 Ella. How do people know that the pressure is fifteen 
 pounds on a square inch ? 
 
 Ida. It is in all the Philosophies. 
 
 v. Ella. But how did the pldlosophers find it out? I 
 would also like to know how it is known to be about fifty 
 miles high. 
 
 Mr. M. I perceive that Frank has been examining that 
 matter, and that while you have been talking he has been 
 figuring. I presume he can read to us, from the book which 
 he has in his hand, an account of the Avay in which this great 
 discovery was first made. 
 
 8. Frank. "The common pump was invented by Ctesibius 224 years 
 B.C., and soon after it came into general use throughout the civilized 
 world. The philosophers of the time explained its action by saying that 
 when the piston was raised in pumping, and the air thereby removed, a 
 vacuum would be formed over the water, but that ' nature abhorred a vacu- 
 um,' and consequently filled it with water as the most convenient material. 
 
 9. "So the water kept rising at each stroke of the pump, as the air was 
 removed. Some wells were very deep, and it was found that whenever the 
 depth was over 33 feet, the pumps were unable to raise the water. Final- 
 ly, some engineers asked Galileo why the water would not rise higher than 
 33 feet. He is said to have replied that ' nature's abhorrence of a vacuum 
 ceased at the height of 33 feet.' " 
 
 10. Mr. M. Though the great Galileo did not know the 
 true theory of the common ])urap, he certainly must have 
 given such an answer rather in joke than in earnest. But 
 let us have the rest of Frank's account.
 
 342 
 
 willson's fifth reader. 
 
 Part VII. 
 
 11. Frank. " It is supposed that Galileo suggested to his pupil Torricclli 
 that the weight of tlie air on tlie water surrounding the ])ump might j)ress 
 the water up into tiio jiunip wlieu tlie pressure witiiin tiie jninij) was re- 
 moved. Galileo died soon after, and the next year, \CA?>, 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<r watch 
 was proceeding, when the captain's order came to prepare with all haste 
 for a storm. The barometer had begun to fall with appalling rapidity. 
 As yet, the old sailors had not perceived even a threatening in the sky, and 
 they were surprised at the extent and hurry of the preparations; but the 
 required measures were not complete, when a more awful hurricane burst 
 upon them than the most experienced had ever braved. Nothing could 
 withstand it : the sails, already furled and closely bound to the yards, were 
 riven away in tatters; even the bare yards and masts were in great part 
 disabled, and at one time the whole rigging had nearly fallen by the board. 
 
 16. " Such, for a few hours, was the mingled roar of the hurricane above, 
 of the waves around, and of the incessant peals of thunder, that no human 
 voice could be heard, and, amid the general consternation, even the trum- 
 pet sounded in vain. In that awful night, but for the little tube of mer- 
 cury which had given the warning, neither the extraordinary strength of 
 the noble ship, nor the skill and energies of the commander would have 
 saved one man to tell the tale. On the following morning the wind was 
 again at rest, but the ship lay upon the yet heaving waves an unsightly 
 wreck." 
 
 1 7. Ella. As the density of air diminishes so rapidly in as- 
 cending, would it not increase in the same ratio in descend- 
 ing below the surface of the earth ? 
 
 Mr. M. Certainly ; and at a depth of 58 miles the air we 
 breathe would be more dense than gold, or the heaviest known 
 substance, unless at that depth the pressure of the air should 
 be partially modified by the attraction of the earth above. 
 We should not think the saying " light as air" very appro- 
 priate under such a pressure. Who can tell me on what 
 principle smoke is " drawn into the, niouth^'' as it is said, in 
 the process of smoking a cigar ? 
 
 18. John. On the principle that a vacuum is produced in 
 the mouth by the action of the cheeks, and the smoke is 
 forced through the cigar by atmospheric pressure. 
 
 Ella. If that is so, a cigar in the smoking process must 
 have_^re at one end and a vacuum at the other. 
 
 Mr. M. Though your remark is very hard upon smokers,
 
 344 WILLSON's fifth READEE. Part VII. 
 
 it is the true philosophical explanation. Particles of snuff 
 are carried up into the nose, in opposition to gravity, by the 
 pressure of the air. 
 
 19. Ella. As the air at different heights is of different de- 
 grees of density, does it not make a difference in the Aveight 
 of bodies ? 
 
 3£r. 31. Certainly it does ; it makes a very great differ- 
 ence. The more dense the fluid in which the body is weigh- 
 ed, the less it weighs — as you have already seen that a body 
 weighs less in water than in the air (see p. 329). 
 
 George. I would like to ask Miss Ida which is the heavi- 
 est^ — a pound of feathers' or a pound of lead^ ? 
 
 Ida. They are both of the same weight, to be sure ! 
 
 20. Mr. 31. Do not be too certain of that ; for I think, after 
 a little reflection, you will change your opinion. A pound 
 of feathers, cork, or any other bulky substance which just bal- 
 ances a dense body, as lead or gold, in the air, is really heav- 
 ier than the lead or gold. If a lump of iron will balance a 
 stone when both are suspended in a tub of water, they will 
 not balance when the water is withdrawn ; but the stone, 
 which is the more bulky substance, will be found to weigh 
 the most. So, also, if a bag of feathers balance a pound of 
 lead in the air, if the scales are then placed in the exhausted 
 receiver of an air-pumj), the feathers will be found to weigh 
 the most. 
 
 21. Ida. I understand the principle now. 1 2-)erceive, also, 
 that if the bag of feathers were lighter than the atmosphere, 
 it would not weigh any thing at all in the open air, while it 
 woidd weigh something in a vacuum. 
 
 3fr. 31. The feathers, in this case, would rise as smoke 
 does, until they became of the same specific gravity as the 
 surrounding air. This is the principle on which the balloon 
 rises, as it is filled with hydrogen gas, which is only one six- 
 teenth of the weight of the atmosphere. Although hydrogen 
 gas weighs nothing in the atmosphere near the earth, yet it 
 has weight. 
 
 Mlla. How high have persons ascended in balloons ? 
 
 22. 3Ir. 31. Gay-Lussac reached a height of more than four 
 miles and a quarter, and brought down samples of air, which he 
 analyzed, and found to consist of the same proportions of oxy- 
 gen and hydrogen gases as air near the surface of the earth. 
 
 Frank. I have read that Napoleon III. sent up men in a 
 balloon to reconnoiter the position of the Austrians before 
 the battle of Solferino.
 
 2d Div. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 345 
 
 John. It must be a very rapid way of traveling " on the 
 wings of the wind;"'for on the first of July, 1859, Mr. Wise 
 and three other persons ascended from St. Louis, Mo., and 
 nineteen hours later landed in Jefferson county, N. Y., having 
 passed over a distance of 1150 miles. This was traveling 
 about a mile in a minute. 
 
 23. Ella. I noticed in some of the experiments that the out- 
 side of the glass receiver became covered with mist when the 
 air was exhausted. I suppose there must be a cause for it, 
 but I can not imagine why it should happen. 
 
 3Ir. M. By rarefaction a greater degree of cold is pro- 
 duced in the receiver, and the vapor of the surrounding air is 
 condensed thereby. The writer of the " Botanic Garden" has 
 thus described it : 
 
 "Now in brazen pumps the pistons move, 
 The membrane valve sustains the weight above ; 
 Stroke follows stroke, the gelid vapor falls, 
 And misty dewdrops dim the crystal walls ; 
 Rare and more rare expands the fluid thin, 
 And silence dwells with vacancy within." 
 
 You will understand the last reference to " silence" when you 
 study the subject of Acoustics, or Sound. 
 
 24. Ida. As high mountains, even in the torrid zone, are 
 covered with snow, is not the air much the coldest in the up- 
 per regions of the atmosphere ? 
 
 Air. M. It has been found that it is two degrees colder at 
 the dome of St. Peter's Church than on the ground ; and if 
 we were to continue to ascend, the temperature would dimin- 
 ish about one degree for every hundred yards. In latitude 
 36°, the mean height at which water congeals is only two 
 miles. 
 
 25. John. Then, if we send a bucket of water up two miles 
 in a balloon, it will come down ice. 
 
 Frank. Is it possible that Avater will always freeze, even 
 in the bright sunshine, within two or three miles of us ? 
 
 Mr. M. It is possible and probable ; for the same reason 
 that a thermometer will show a diminution of heat in an ex- 
 hausted receiver, it will indicate cold as it is carried up to an 
 atmosjDhere less dense. 
 
 26. JElla. I should think that cold would make the air 
 more dense, and that heat would expand it. 
 
 Mr. 31. That is the case with most substances ; but air has 
 a greater tendency to expand from diminished pressure than 
 to be contracted by the cold consequent on such expansion. 
 
 27. George. It must be very difficult for the inhabitants of 
 
 P2
 
 346 willson's fifth reader. Part VII. 
 
 sucli cities as Quito, and others situated on high mountains, to 
 cook their food by boihng, as water boils at a lower tempera- 
 ture as tlie pressure of air on its surface is diminished. I 
 have read that on Mt. Blanc, Saussure found the temperature 
 of boiling water to be 180°, while it was 212° at the sea level. 
 Ella, lie could not boil potatoes soft in water of that tem- 
 perature. But why could he not make the water hotter by 
 more fire ? 
 
 28. il/r. M. More fire can not raise water to a greater tem- 
 perature than 212° at the ocean level, nor more than 180° on 
 the summit of Mt. Blanc, unless it is confined as in a steam 
 boiler. 
 
 Frank. That is the way they measure the altitude of 
 mountains by boiling water. For every 520 feet in height, 
 the boiling point is lowered one degree. 
 
 Ella. I have just calculated the height of Mt. Blanc to be 
 16,640 feet, or 32 times 520. But how did Saussure 
 
 " Breathe the difficult air 
 of the iced mountain top ?" 
 
 29. Mr.M. He breathed, indeed, with difficulty; but the 
 change was so gradual that he experienced no permanent 
 injury. Persons in going up in balloons have ruptured blood- 
 vessels, and have had the blood start from their " very fin- 
 gers' ends" by the withdrawal of a portion of the atmos- 
 pheric pressure to which they had been accustomed. Yet it 
 has been noticed that the inhabitants of Quito, Mexico, and 
 other elevated places do not suflTer in this Avay, because they 
 gradually become accustomed to the rarity of the atmos- 
 phere ; and, moreover, they have larger chests than those 
 living in lowlands, because a larger bulk of air is necessary 
 to furnish the requisite amount of oxygen to sustain life. 
 
 30. George. It appears, then, that as we rise from the ocean 
 level, the air becomes so rare that we breathe it with diffi- 
 culty ; and if we should descend a few miles into the earth, 
 it would become so dense that we could not breathe it. 
 
 Mr. M. This shows -the law of adaptation ; that the Cre- 
 ator has adapted our bodies to that particular sphere of ex- 
 istence in which he designed us to move. Yet this is but 
 one example, out of thousands, of a law which pervades all 
 animated nature.
 
 2d Div. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 347 
 
 LESSON" VII. — ATMOSPHERIC MACHINES. 
 
 1. Mr.M. Both the balloon and the wind-mill are atmos- 
 pheric machines ; but I desire now to call your attention to 
 others of a somewhat diiferent character. You have seen 
 that even the process of smoking a cigar is on the principle 
 of atmospheric pressure. Can you think of any other illus- 
 tration of this jDrinciple ? 
 
 Ida. I have seen boys with straws for tubes, and their 
 cheeks for air-pumps, allowing the atmosphere to force sweet 
 cider into their mouths. 
 
 2. Ulla. I believe that somewhere in South America the 
 ladies take tea in that manner. 
 
 John. The negroes in some of the West Indies are said to 
 steal rum from full casks by filling a bottle with water, and 
 inverting it in the bung-hole of the cask, somewhat as Torri- 
 celli made his barometer. In this case, hoAvever, the water, 
 being more dense than the rum, descends, while the rum 
 rises into the bottle. 
 
 3. George. Liquids are often transferred from one cask to 
 another by means of a bent tube. 
 
 Mr. M. This is the siphon. It is first filled, and 
 one end is immersed in the liquid to be discharged. 
 It is always necessary that the end from which 
 the liquid runs should be lower than the surface 
 of the liquid in the vessel. Can either of you ex- 
 plain the action of the siphon ? 
 
 4. John. The liquid in the long column will run 
 out by the force of gravity, and a vacuum Avould be formed 
 in the tube, did not the pressure of the atmosjAere constant- 
 ly force up a corresponding quantity out of the cup to supply 
 its place. 
 
 Ida. There must be a siphon in that piece of 
 apparatus called Tantalus's cup, which will never 
 get full, although a small stream of water is pour- 
 ed in for hours. The Avater runs out through the 
 siphon as fast as it is poured in. Would not this 
 be a good way to discharge the water from a 
 leaking ship ? 
 
 5. Mr. M. The only trouble would be that, if 
 Fig. 25, Tanta- the siphon actcd at all, the water would run into 
 the ship instead of out of it. 
 
 lUS'B Cup.
 
 348 
 
 WILL80N S FIFTH READER. 
 
 Paet VII. 
 
 '^S 
 
 Fig. 2T. 
 
 I will now show you a siphon fountain in the 
 air. I have no doubt that the annexed figure 
 will sufficiently explain its action. 
 
 Frank. It is perfectly plain. The water is 
 discharged precisely as from any other siphon, 
 and the long column in the tube causes the 
 fountain by hydrostatic pressure. 
 
 C. Mr. M. I wish now to show you 
 one of the effects of running water. I 
 ^ I will take the long open tube B c, to 
 
 LJJI which the branch a is attached, and 
 
 Fig. 26, Siphon ^^^^ it upright, with the pipe a reac-h- 
 Fountain. ing to the bottom of the open jar, which 
 is filled with water. I now j^our a pitcher of water 
 into the funnel B. You see the jar is emptied ; for 
 the water, running up through a and down the pipe 
 c, is discharged with the water j^oured in at the top. 
 Who can explain it ? 
 
 7. John. I suppose the coliunn of water in c con- 
 tracts in its descent in the tube, just as a stream of molasses 
 does in air, and consequently does not entirely fill the tube. 
 The water, too, by its friction, tends to draw in the air of the 
 tube a, and the external air forces the water of the jar up 
 into the partial vacuum so formed. It is very curious, but 
 is it of any practical use ? 
 
 8. Mr. M. It has been made of great use, 
 for marshes have been drained on this prin- 
 ciple ; and in the circulating system of animals 
 there are arrangements of blood-vessels by 
 which a current of blood passing along one 
 vein may assist in emj^tying a lateral branch. 
 It is by no means necessary for the stream of 
 water to descend vertically, as it may run at 
 any angle, or even horizontally. 
 
 Ida. Does Hiero's fountain depend upon at- 
 mospheric pressure ? 
 
 Mr. M. It depends on the pressure of a col- 
 umn of Avater and the elasticity of air. The 
 one I have here is mainly constructed of glass, 
 to enable you to see its mode of action. You 
 can examine its principle at your leisure.* 
 
 Fig. 28, Hiero's Foun 
 tain. 
 
 • " Hiero's fountain" explained. Water is ponred into the glass vessel B until it is 
 nearly full, while the glass vessel C contains only air. Into the vessel A is now poured 
 a little water, which flows through the pipe F, and displaces some of the air in C by
 
 2(i DiV. OF NATUBAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 349 
 
 George. Will not the explanation of the corntnon pump 
 belong to this lesson ? 
 
 9. Mr. 31. Its principle has already been illustrated in the 
 account which was given of the discovery of the weight of the 
 atmosphere. It is evident that we have only to exhaust the 
 air in a pipe, the open end of which is placed in water, and 
 the water will be pressed up to fill the vacuum. Here are 
 illustrations of two different kinds of pumps, one of which is 
 the forcing-pump, which illustrates the princijile of the fire- 
 engine.* 
 
 Frank. Darwin very prettily explains the action of the 
 common pump in the following lines : 
 
 " Thus does the sliding piston hear 
 The viewless columns of incumbent air; 
 Press'd by the incumbent air, the floods below. 
 Through opening valves, in foaming torrents flow, 
 Foot after foot with lessened impulse move. 
 And, rising, seek the vacancy above." 
 
 forcing it up through D. There is now a pressure of air on the water in B equivalent 
 to the pressure exerted (on the principle of the hydrostatic paradox) by the column of 
 water in F, and this pressure is exerted to throw the water up through E and cause the 
 play of the fountain. Thus the contents of B are actually transferred to C, and the ah- 
 that was in C passes into B. Wlien C thus becomes filled with water and B with air, the 
 fountain must stop. 
 
 * The common pump, represented by Fig- 29, 
 
 Fig. 29, consists of three parts, the suc- 
 tion-pipe, the barrel, and the piston. 
 The suction-pipe, / e, is of sufficient 
 length to reach down to the water in 
 tlie well. The barrel, C B, is a peifect 
 cylindrical cavity, in which the pL-ton 
 G moves, air-tight, up and down by 
 the rod d. It is commonly moved by 
 a lever, but in the figure a rod and 
 handle, D !■:, are represented. On one 
 side is the spout F. At the top of the 
 suction-pipe at II there is a valve, 6, 
 opening upward, and also one at a. 
 When the piston is raised from the bot- 
 tom of the barrel, a vacuum is pro- 
 duced in the barrel, the valve b opens, 
 and if the pipe, / c, be full of water, the 
 water rushes into the barrel, being 
 pressed up by the atmosphere resting 
 on the water in the well. On depress- 
 ing the piston the wafer rushes up 
 through the valve a, and after a few 
 movements the water is poured out at 
 the spout F. 
 
 In the forcing-pump. Fig. 30, the 
 piston, (7, has no valve. On the box at 
 H is a valve, 6, opening upward, and 
 when the piston is elevated the water 
 rises into the bai-rel, B O. During the 
 downward movement of the piston the valve h shuts, and the water passea by a channel 
 around m, through the lateral pipe M O M N into the air-chamber, K K. The entrance 
 to this air-chamber is closed by a valve at a, and from the chamber proceeds a tube, 11 G, 
 open at both ends. After a few movements of the piston the lower end of this tube be- 
 comes covered with water, the air is compressed into the space G H, and thereby the water 
 ia thrown out in a continuous jet, S.
 
 350 
 
 WILLSON S FIFTH EEADER. 
 
 Part VII. 
 
 10. Mr. M. Do you know of any instrument besides the 
 forcing-pump and the lire-engine that acts upon the principle 
 of condensed air ? 
 
 John. I have seen an air-gun charged with air instead of 
 powder. 
 
 Jfr. 3L That is a good illustration of the principle that the 
 density and elasticity of air are directly as the force of com- 
 pression. Here is a drawing of the air-gun. Air is con- 
 densed into the 
 w ball A, which is 
 attached to the 
 gun. A bullet is 
 
 Fig. 31, the Air-gun. ^^g^ p^t j^tO the 
 
 barrel, and by a peculiar lock a portion of the condensed air 
 is let in behind the bullet, which is thrown out with almost 
 the force of gunj^owder. 
 
 George. Can another bullet be thrown out without refill- 
 ing the ball ? 
 
 11. 3Ir. M. Yes, a^ dozen or more ; but each one with less 
 force than the one before it, as the air in the ball gradually 
 loses its density, and consequently its elasticity. Sometimes 
 the air-chamber is in the stock of the gun, which makes it 
 more convenient. 
 
 John. I have made little fountains by inserting 
 through the cork of a bottle half filled with water 
 a common pipe-stem, and after blowing through 
 the tube the Avater Avould spout up to a considerable 
 height. Was not this owing to condensed air jiress- 
 ing on the surface of the water ? 
 
 Mr. M. It was caused by condensed air ; but 
 
 you had to be careful to let the tube reach below 
 
 Fig. 32, iiottie the surface of the water? 
 FouDtain. EUa. Is not the kite an atmospheric machine ? 
 
 12. Mr. M. Yes; and although it is d, jylaying machine, it 
 is elevated on strictly scientific principles. It is really pulled 
 up an inclined plane of air by the tension and weight of the 
 string.* 
 
 * Fig. 33. The kite here appear3 in the 
 act of rising from the ground. As the 
 wind, coming from the direction of W, 
 falls upon the oblique surface of the kite, 
 it is resolved into two forces, one parallel 
 to that surface (B 0>, 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, <ind upon the firing of a gun, the noise and reverberations were al- 
 most deafening." 
 
 5. But perhaps the most remarkable of all the cavern-like 
 
 formations in Europe is that 
 of Fingal's Cave, in StaiFa, a 
 small islet among the Heb- 
 rides. Almost all the rocks 
 of the island are basaltic^ and 
 columnar ; but here they are 
 so arranged as to present 
 the appearance of a magnifi- 
 cent work of art. An open- 
 ing from the sea, sixty -six 
 feet high and forty-two feet 
 wide, formed by perpendicu- 
 lar walls crowned by an arch, 
 leads to a natural hall more 
 than two hundred feet long. 
 Ungai's Cave, in staffa. and bounded ou cach side by 
 
 perpendicular columns of great size, beautifully jointed, and 
 arranged in varied groups. The roof is beautifully marked 
 with the ends of pendent* columns; and the whole is so well 
 calculated to suggest the idea of a vast cathedral, as to have 
 called forth the well-known lines of Sir Walter Scott on Fin- 
 gal's Cave : 
 
 " When, as to ?hame the temples decked 
 By fkill of earthly architect. 
 Nature herself, it seemed, would raise 
 A minster^ to her Maker's praise." 
 
 " The Cathedral of lona," says a late writer, " sinks into 
 insignificance before this great temple of nature, reared, as 
 if in mockery of the temples of man, by the Almighty power 
 who laid the beams of his chambers on the waters, and who 
 walketh upon the wings of the wind." 
 
 1 An-tit'-a-eos, now An-tTp'-a-ro. 
 
 2 Sta-la€'-tTte, a pendent cone of carbonate 
 of lime in the form of an icicle. 
 
 ' Ba-salt'-i€; basalt is a grayish black stone 
 
 of igneous origin, often in a columnar 
 
 form. 
 * PE>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- 
 
 <r, 1. The direct address, when exclamalory^ tnkes the falling inflection, 
 fc, h. Good examples of th ■ rhetorical psnse of suspension. See page 2i.
 
 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GKOGRAPHV. 389 
 
 sons, residing in a cottage at the celebrated " Notch," a nar- 
 row defile of the White Mountains of New Hampshire, M-as 
 destroyed by an avalanche of earth and water, not one being 
 left to relate the events of that night of terrors. What gives 
 to the event a peculiarly mournful interest, the house from 
 which they had fled, doubtless on the first alarm, was left un- 
 injured amid the surrounding desolation. 
 
 LESSON XII. THE COTTAGE OF THE HILLR. 
 
 1 . How sweetly 'neath the pale moonlight, 
 That slumbers on the ■woodland height, 
 Yon little cot appears, just seen 
 
 Amid the twining evergreen, 
 That fondly clings around its form. 
 Poor trembler, I have seen like thee, 
 Fond woman in her constancy, 
 E'en when the stormiest hour came on. 
 Cling closer to the much-loved one. 
 Nor dream, till every tie was parted, 
 That all within was hollow-hearted. 
 
 2. Yon little cot looks wondrous fair, 
 And yet no taper-light is there ! 
 Say, whither are its dwellers gone? 
 Bird of the mountain, thou alone 
 Saw by the lightning from on high, 
 The mountain-torrent rushing by ; 
 Beheld, upon its wild wave borne, 
 The tall pine from the hill- top torn. 
 Amid its roar, thine ear alone 
 
 Heard the shrill shriek — the dying groan — 
 The prayer that struggled to be free — 
 Breathed forth in life's last agony ! 
 In vain — no angel form was there — 
 The wild wave drowned the sufferers' prayer 
 As down the rocky glen they sped — 
 The mountain spirits shriek'd and fled ! 
 
 3. 'Twas morning ; and the glorious sun 
 Shone on the work which death had done — 
 On shattered cliff, and broken branch, 
 
 The ruin of the avalanche ! 
 
 And there lay one, upon whose brow 
 
 Age had not shed its wintry snow ; 
 
 The fragment in whose clenched hand told 
 
 How firm on life had been his hold, 
 
 While the curled lip, the upturned eye, 
 
 Told of a, father's agony ! 
 
 And there beside the torrent's path, 
 
 Too pure, too sacred for its wrath,
 
 aUO WILLSOn's fifth KEAUEU 1'art VIII. 
 
 Lay one, whose arms still closely prcs «d 
 
 An infant to her frozen breast. 
 
 The kiss, upon its pale cheek sealed, 
 
 A mother's qumddess loi'e revealed. • 
 
 4. Sire, mother, ofFsjjring — all were th( re. 
 Not one had 'scaped the conqueror' snare, 
 Not one was left to weep alone ; 
 
 The " dwellers of the hill" were gone ! 
 The wild bird, soaring far on high, 
 Beheld them with averted eye ; 
 The forest jirowler, as he pass'd. 
 Looked down upon the rich repast. 
 But dared not banquet. 'Twas a spell 
 Which bound them in that lonely dell ; 
 " And there they slei)t so peacefully, 
 That the lone pilgrim, jiassing by, 
 Had deemed them of a brighter sphere. 
 Condemned a while to linger here, 
 Whose pure eyes, sickening at the sight 
 Of sin and sorrow's withering blight. 
 Had sought, in tears, that silent glen, 
 And slumbered — ne'er to wake again. 
 
 5. And there the}' found them ; stranger hands 
 Bore them to where yon cottage stands. 
 And there, one summer evening's close. 
 They left them to their last repose. 
 
 Such the brief page thy story fills, 
 
 Thou lonely "cottage of the hills." 
 
 E'en while I gaze, night's gloomy shade 
 
 Is gathering, as the moonbeams fade. 
 
 Around thy walk they faintly play — 
 
 They tremble — gleam — then flit away; 
 
 They fade — they vanish down the dell : 
 
 Lone " cottage of the hills" — farewell! — Anonymous. 
 
 LESSON" XIII. — YOLCAKOES AXD EARTHQUAKES. 
 
 ^_ . T_ 1. Openings in the crust of the 
 
 earth, itsually through mountains, 
 from Avhich issue smoke, flame, or 
 gases so iUuminated as to appear 
 like flame, and streams of melted 
 rock called lava, are known by the 
 name of volcanic craters. The "burn- 
 ing mountains" themselves are usu- 
 ally called volcanoes. An earth- 
 quake, or " shaking of the earth," 
 is probably produced by fi-actures 
 
 VoiciiroofVesuviu.. and sudden hearings and sinkings
 
 IstDlv. OP PUYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 391 
 
 in the elastic crust of the globe, caused by the pressure of the 
 liquid lire, vapor, and gases in its interior. Volcanoes are the 
 chiiuneys of these internal tires, and when they get vent the 
 earthquake always ceases. 
 
 2. It appears, from numerous observations, that the inter- 
 nal heat of the earth gradually increases as we descend below 
 the surface, so that, at the depth of two hundred miles, the 
 hardest substances must be in a state of fusion ; but whether 
 our globe is encompassed by a mere stratum of melted lava 
 at that depth, or its Avhole interior is a ball of liquid fire sev- 
 enty-six hundred miles in diameter, inclosed in a thin coating 
 of solid matter, men of science are not agreed. 
 
 3. Some jDortions of the earth are much more subject to 
 volcanoes and earthquakes than others. The range of the 
 Andes, from Cape Horn to California, with a cross section 
 embracing the Caribbean Sea, and extending westward quite 
 across the Pacific Ocean, is one vast district of igneous ac- 
 tion. A great volcanic chain, beginning at the northeastern 
 extremity of Asia, follows the coast-line around Asia and Af- 
 rica, and thence up to the Canaries and the Azores, -while a 
 broad belt extends over the Mediterranean and a large i)art 
 of Central Asia. Northwardly the volcanic fires are devel- 
 oped in Iceland with tremendous force ; and the recently dis- 
 covered antarctic land is an igneous formation of the boldest 
 structure, whence a volcano in high activity rises twelve thou- 
 sand feet above the jierpetual ice of those polar deserts, and 
 within nineteen and a half degrees of the south pole. On an 
 average, twenty volcanic eruptions take place annually in dif- 
 ferent parts of the world. 
 
 4. Volumes might be filled with accounts of the destruct- 
 ive effects of earthquakes and volcanoes. Whole cities, of 
 which Herculaneum, Pompeii, and Stabite are examples, 
 have been buried beneath the burning fire of liquid mount- 
 ains. But where one city has been destroyed by lava, twen- 
 ty have been shaken down by the rocking and heaving of 
 earthquakes. Prominent on the list of the latter is the city 
 of Antioch, in Asia Minor. 
 
 5. "Imajiine," says Dr. Hitchcock, " the inhabitants of that frrcat city, 
 crowded with strangers on a festival occasion, suddenly aiTCsted on a calm 
 day by the earth heaving and rocking beneath their feet ; and in a few 
 moments two hundred and fifty thousand of them are buried by falling 
 houses, or the earth opening and swallowing them up. Sucli was tlie scene 
 which that citv presented in the year 52G ; and several times before and since 
 that period has the like calamity fallen upon it, and twenty, forty, and sixty 
 thousand of its inhabitants have been destroyed at each time. In the year
 
 .■■;92 AVILLSO^'S VIFTH READER, Pakt VIII. 
 
 1 7 after Christ, no less than thirteen cities of Asia Minor were in like man- 
 ner ovcrwliclrned in a single night. 
 
 (). "Think of the ttrrihle destruction that came upon Lisbon in 1755. 
 The sun had just dissipated the fog in a warm, calm morning, when sud- 
 denly the subterranean thundering and heaving began ; and in six minutes 
 the city was a heaj) of ruins, and sixty thousand of the inhabitants were 
 numbered among the dead. Hundreds had crowded upon a new quay sur- 
 rounded by vessels. In a moment the earth ojjened beneath them, and 
 the wharf, the vessels, and the crowd went down into its bosom ; the gulf 
 closed, tlie sea rolled over the spot, and no vestige of wharf, vessels, or man 
 ever floated to the surface." 
 
 7. One of the most singular effects produced, either by- 
 earthquakes or by the gradual pressure of the internal fires 
 and gases, is the occasional raising of the earth's crust to a 
 great extent. In South America, so late as the year 1822, 
 an area of one hundred thousand square miles was raised sev- 
 eral feet above its present level. In 1819 a strip in the delta 
 of the Indus, fifty miles in length and less than twenty feet 
 in width, Avas raised ten feet above the surrounding plain. 
 Along the eastern coast of the Bay of Bengal, all the rocks 
 and islands for a distance 'of one hundred miles have been 
 gradually rising during the last hundred years, and in the 
 central portion the elevation already attained is twenty-two 
 feet. 
 
 8. Occasionally volcanic islands suddenly appear above the 
 surface of the ocean ; and when this is the case, or when an 
 earthquake has its origin beneath the ocean's bed, an immense 
 wave is sometimes driven upon the shore, overwhelming the 
 inhabitants, and bearing their bodies to the ocean in its re- 
 treat. The earthquake which destroyed Lisbon in 1755 had 
 its origin in the bed of the Atlantic, whence the shock extend- 
 ed over an area of about seven hundred thousand square 
 miles, or a twelfth part of the circumference of the globe. 
 
 9. It was by an enormous wave, occasioned by an earth- 
 quake that had its origin in the bed of the Mediterranean, 
 that the little maritime town of Scylla, on the coast of Na- 
 ples, was destroyed in 1783. The waters passed with impetu- 
 osity over the shore of Scylla, and, in their retreat to the bos- 
 om of the deep, swept away four thousand human beings 
 who had thought to find safety in the barrenness of the sands. 
 This catastrophe is vividly portrayed in the following lines : 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF SCYLLA IN 1783. 
 
 10. Calmly the night came down 
 
 O'er Scylla' s shatter' d walls ; 
 How desolate that silent town 1 
 How tfnantle'3 the halls
 
 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 393 
 
 Where yesterday her thousands trode, 
 And princes graced their proud abode ! 
 
 11. Low, on the wet sea-sand, 
 
 Humbled in anguish now, ^ 
 
 The duspot,* midst his menial band, 
 
 Bent down his kingly brow — 
 Ay, prince and peasant knelt in prayer, 
 For grief had made them equal there. 
 
 12. Again ! — as at the morn, 
 
 The earthquake rolled its car ; 
 Lowly the castle-towers were borne, 
 
 That mock'd the storms of war. 
 The mountain reel'd — its shiver'd brow 
 Went down among the waves below. 
 
 13. Up rose the kneelers then. 
 
 As the wave's rush was heard : 
 The silence of those fated men 
 
 Was broken by no word. 
 But closer still the mother press'd 
 The infant to her faithful breast. 
 
 14. One long, wild shriek went up, 
 
 Full mighty in despair ; 
 As bow'd to drink death's bitter cup 
 
 The thousands gather'd there; 
 And man's strong wail, and woman's en". 
 Blent as the waters hurried by. 
 1.5. On swept the whelming sea ; 
 
 The mountains felt its shock, 
 As the long cry of agony 
 
 Thrill'd through their towers of rock ; 
 And echo round that fatal shore 
 The death-wail of the sufferers bore. 
 10. The morning sun shed forth 
 
 Its light upon the scene. 
 Where tower and palace strewed the earth 
 
 With wrecks of what had been ;" 
 But of the thousands who were gone, 
 No trace was left— no vestige shown Anonynioua. 
 
 LESSON XIV. — THE ocean: its moral grandeur. 
 
 " The sea ! the sea ! the open sea ! 
 The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 
 AVithout a mark, without a bound. 
 It runneth the earth's wide regions round ; 
 It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies, 
 Or like a cradled creature lies." 
 
 1. There are two widely different aspects in which the 
 ocean may be viewed. It may be regarded as an object of 
 moral grandeur — "the symbol of a drear Immensity" — a 
 Voice that sometimes " speaketh in thunders" to awe the 
 world ; a Power, terrible in its wrath, but lovely in repose ; 
 or it may be viewed as the great highway of commerce, 
 and as a vast store-house of wealth : the laws which govern 
 its tides, its waves, and its currents may be presented as ob- 
 jects of scientific regard, and the mysteries of its depths as 
 
 * The Prince of Scylla perished with his vassals. 
 
 R2
 
 394 WILLSON S FIFTU READKK. VmiT VIII. 
 
 opening some of the most interesting departments in natural 
 history. But it is only when we unite, in our contemplation, 
 these various aspects, that we begin to have any adequate 
 idea of the real interest and importance of this, the grandest 
 division of our globe. 
 
 2. The first impression made by a view of the ocean is 
 doubtless that of vastness, illimitable — inappreciable ; while 
 the thoughts which its mighty waters teach are those of 
 " Eternity, Eternity, and Power." Such thoughts are forci- 
 bly expressed in the following lines addressed to 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 S. Oh thou vaat ocean ! ever sounding sea ! 
 
 Thou symbol of a drear immensity ! 
 Thou tiling that -vvindest round the solid world 
 Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled 
 From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone, 
 Lashing and writhing till it-s strength be gone ! 
 Thy voice is Tike the tliunder, and thy sleep 
 Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 
 Thou speakest in the east and in the west 
 At once, and on thy heavily-laden breast 
 Fleets come and go, and things that have no life 
 Or motion, yet are moved and met in strife. 
 
 4. The earth hath naught of this : no chance nor change 
 Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare 
 
 Give answer to the tempast-waken air ; 
 But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range 
 At will, and wound its bosom as they go : 
 ICver the same. It hath no ebb, no flow ; 
 But In their seated rounds the seasons come. 
 And pass like visions to their viewless home. 
 And come again, and vanish : the young t-'pring 
 Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming ; 
 And Winter always wind- his sullen horn. 
 When the wild Autumn, with a look forlorn, 
 Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies 
 Weep, and flowers sicken, when the Summer flies. 
 
 5. Thou only, terrible ocean, hast a power, 
 A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour. 
 When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds, 
 A f. arful and magnificent beauty shrouds 
 
 Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven 
 Backward and forward by the shifting wind, 
 How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind. 
 And stretch thine arms, and war at once with Heaven ! 
 
 6. Thou trackless and immeasnrnble main ! 
 On thee no record ever lived again 
 
 To meet the hand that writ it : line nor lead 
 
 Hath ever fathomed thy profiundest deeps, 
 
 AVhcre hnply the huge monster swells and sleeps, 
 
 King of his wateiy limit, who, 'tis said. 
 
 Can move the mighty ocean into st^irm — 
 
 Oh, wonderful thou art, gr.'at element. 
 
 And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent, 
 
 And lovely in repose ; thy summer form 
 
 Ts beautiful, and when thy silver waves 
 
 JIake music in earth's dark and winding cave', 
 
 I love to wander on thy pebbled beach. 
 
 Marking the sunlight at the e%-ening hour. 
 
 And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach — 
 
 ^^ Eternity, Eternity, and Fewer." — Bbtan W. Pisootoe.
 
 lat Div. OF rurSICAL OEOGiiAPUY. [0)0 
 
 LESSON" XV. — THE oceak: its physical aspects. 
 
 1. The bed of the ocean, like dry land, is diversified by 
 plains and mountains, table-lands and valleys, sometimes bar- 
 ren, sometimes covered with marine vegetation, and teeming 
 with life. Its plateaus and depressions have been ascertain- 
 ed by the sounding-line, and are mapped out in profile as a 
 part of our geographical knowledge. Its average depth is be- 
 lieved to be about equal to the height of the land, the lowest 
 valleys of the ocean's bed corresponding with the summits of 
 the loftiest mountains. 
 
 2. The ocean is continually I'eceiving the spoils of the land, 
 washed down by numerous rivers, and deposited as sand and 
 mud, or held in solution in its waters. These causes tend to 
 diminish its depth and increase its superficial extent. There 
 are, however, causes in operation which counteract these 
 agencies. It is clearly shown by geologists that processes 
 of elevation and subsidence are continually taking place in 
 difierent parts of the globe. 
 
 3. The waters of the ocean contain about three and a half 
 per cent, of saline matter ; but, owing to the melting of snoAV 
 and ice in the polar regions, and the volumes of fresh water 
 poured m by rivers, the degree of saltness diminishes toward 
 the poles, and also near the shores. The temperature of the 
 ocean, though varying in difl:erent latitudes, is more uniform 
 than that of the land; its color, generally of a deep bluish- 
 green, is varied in particular localities by the myriads of ani- 
 malcules and vegetable substances which float on its surface, 
 and also, in shallow places, by the color of the bed on which 
 it rests. In some parts of the tropical seas the waters are re- 
 markably clear, like an immense vase of crystal ; and one may 
 look downward unmeasured fathoms beneath the vessel's keel, 
 but still find no boundary: the sight is lost in one uniform 
 transparent blueness. The calm "midnight ocean" of the 
 tropics has been beautifully described in the folio wmg lines: 
 
 4. It is the midnight hour — the beauteous pea, 
 
 Ciilni as the cloudless heaven, the heaven discloses, 
 AVliile many a sparkling; star, in quiet glee, 
 
 Far down within the watery sky reposes. 
 As if the ocean's heart were stirr'd 
 With inward life, a sound is heard. 
 
 Like that of dreamer mumiurinir in his sleep ; 
 'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air 
 That lies like a garment floating fvAv 
 
 Above the hippy deep. — .Toun Wilson.
 
 S9G willson's fifth EEADKK. I'aRX VIII. 
 
 LESSON XVI. — SHIP AMONG THE ICEBERGS. 
 
 1. A FEARLESS shape of brave device, 
 
 Our vessel drives througli mist and rain 
 Between tiie floatin}]; ships of ice, 
 
 Those navies of the northern main ; 
 Those arctic ventures blindly hurled, 
 
 The proofs of Nature's olden force, 
 Like fragments of a crystal world 
 
 Long shattered from its skiey course. 
 
 2. These are the hurricanes that fright 
 
 The middle sea with dream of wrecks, 
 And freeze the south winds in their flight. 
 
 And chain the Gulf Stream to their decks. 
 At every dragon prow and helm 
 
 There stands some viking as of yore, 
 Grim heroes from the boreal realm, 
 
 Where Odin rules the spectral shore. 
 
 3. Up signal there ! and let us hail 
 
 Yon looming phantom as we pass; 
 Note all her fashion, hull and sail, 
 
 Within the compass of your glass. 
 See at her mast the steadfast glow 
 
 Of that one star of Odin's throne ; 
 Up with onr flag, and let us show 
 
 The constellation on our own. 
 And speak her well; for she might say. 
 
 If from her heart the words could thaw, 
 Great news from some far frozen bay. 
 
 Or the remotest Esquimaux. 
 
 4. No answer : but the sullen flow 
 
 Of ocean heaving long and vast ; 
 An argosy of ice and snow, 
 
 The voiceless North swings proudly past. 
 
 LESSON XVII. THE DEPTHS OF OCEAN. 
 
 Deummon'd. 
 1. Nothing can be more beautiful than a view of the 
 bottom of the ocean during a cahn, even round our own 
 shores, but particularly in tropical climates, especially when 
 it consists alternately of beds of sand and masses of rock. 
 The water is frequently so clear and undisturbed that, at 
 great depths, the minutest objects are visible ; groves of 
 coral are seen expanding their variously-colored clumps, 
 some rigid and immovable, and others waving gracefully 
 their flexile branches. Shells of everv form and hue slide
 
 IstDlV. OF PIIVSICAL GEOGKAPIIV. 397 
 
 slowly nlong the stones, or cling to the coral boughs like 
 fruit ; crabs and other marine animals pursue their prey in 
 the crannies of the rocks, and sea-plants spread their Innber 
 leaves in gay and gaudy irregularity, while the most beauti- 
 ful fishes are on every side sporting around. 
 
 2. The floor is of sand, like the mountain-drift, 
 
 And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
 From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 
 
 Their houghs, where tlie tides and billows flow ; 
 The water is calm and still below, 
 
 For the winds and waves are absent there; 
 And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 
 
 In the motionless fields of the upper air. 
 
 8. There, with its waving blade of green. 
 
 The sea-flag streams through the silent water, 
 And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 
 
 To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter; 
 There, with a light and easy motion, 
 
 The fan-coral sweeps througli the clear deep sea, 
 And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 
 
 Are bending like corn on the upland lea ; 
 And life in rare and beautiful forms 
 
 Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 
 And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms 
 
 Has made the top of tlie waves his own. 
 
 4. And when the ship from his fury flies 
 
 Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
 When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 
 
 And demons are waiting the wreck on shore, 
 Then far below in the peaceful sea 
 
 The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 
 Where the waters murmur tranquilly 
 
 Through the bending twigi of the coral grove Pekciv.^l. 
 
 5. The allusion to the " peaceful sea," below the reach of 
 the storms which agitate the surface, has reference to the 
 well-known fact that the effects of the strongest gale do not 
 extend below the depth of two hundred feet : were it not so, 
 the water would be turbid, and shell-fish would be destroyed. 
 
 LESSON XYIII.— ocEA^ waves. 
 
 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 
 
 Ten thousand fleets swtep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
 
 stops with the shore; upon the watery plain 
 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. 
 
 When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknelled, uncofiincd, and unknown. 
 And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy 
 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 
 I wantoned with thy breakers— they to me 
 
 Were a delight; and if th" freshening sfea 
 Made them a terror, 'twas a plca^^ing fear, 
 
 For I was, as it were, a child of thee. 
 And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
 And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. — Rtko:*.
 
 398 WILI.SON's fifth KEAUKJi. I'AKT VIII. 
 
 3. The three great movements of tlie ocenn are v;ai)es^ 
 caused by the winds, tides^ caused by the attraction of the 
 sun and moon, and currents^ caused by the earth's rotatory 
 motion and the mieqnal lieating of the waters. 
 
 4. There is a kind of wave or undulation called a fjround 
 sv)ell^ occasioned by the long continuance of a heavy gale. 
 This undulation is rapidly transmitted through the ocean to 
 places far beyond the direct influence of the gale that caused 
 it, and often it continues to heave the smooth and glassy sur- 
 face of the sea long after the wind and surface waves have 
 subsided. 
 
 5. The force of waves in severe gales is tremendous. Mr. 
 Stephenson has estimated the force of Avaves which Avere 
 twenty feet high as being three tons to each square foot 
 against perpendicular masonry. "Waves vary in magnitude, 
 from a mere ripple to enormous billoAvs, but their height in 
 storms is from ten to twenty-two feet. From the bottom of 
 the hollow, or "trough of the sea," the height will be double 
 that of the wave, or from twenty to forty-four feet. The dis- 
 tance between one " storm wave" and another is about five 
 hundred and sixty feet, and the velocity of the waves about 
 thirty-two miles an hour. 
 
 6. There is no more magnificent sight than the roll of the 
 breakers as they dash ^x\)0\\ some rock-bound coast. The 
 "roar of the surf" after a storm is often tremendous, and 
 may be heard at the distance of many miles. The spray is 
 sometimes thrown as high as one hundred and fifty feet ; and 
 light-hoiTses more than a hundred feet in height are often lit- 
 erally buried in foam and spray, even in those ground swells 
 where .there is no wind. 
 
 v. But when an ocean wave has exhausted its force, and 
 breaks in a gentle rip]>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<f the dashing oar. 
 As late the boatman liies him home. 
 
 7. How sweet, at set of sun, to view 
 
 Thy golden miiTor spreading wide, 
 And see the mist of mantling blue 
 Float round the distant mountain's side. 
 
 8. At midnight hour, as shines the moon, 
 
 A sheet of silver spreads below. 
 And swift she cuts, at highest noon. 
 
 Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow. 
 
 9. On thy fair bosom, silver lake, 
 
 Oh ! I could ever sweep the oar. 
 
 When early birds at morning wake. 
 
 And evening tells us toil is o'er." 
 
 LESSON" XXI. — .sppaxGS axd eivers. 
 
 |7 1 . Ix addition to the common springs, 
 
 with whose origin every one is familiar, 
 mineral springs of great variety abound 
 in different countries, the waters of some 
 of which merely present a sjiarkling ap- 
 pearance, owing to the presence of car- 
 ^v bonic acid gas, while others are various- 
 ^^ ly impregnated with mineral substances, 
 tlie chief of which are iron, sul2:)hur, and 
 salt. 
 
 2. Besides these, Iceland presents us 
 a remai'kable group of hot s]irings, call- 
 ed geysers^ which burst forth with sub- 
 terranean noises, and frequently at reg- 
 ular intervals, throwing up water and 
 steam, sometimes to the lieight of one 
 or two hundred feet. The sup])0scd 
 cause of this peculiar action is the heat- 
 Great Geyser of iceiaud. ing of some hiternal fountain of water
 
 Lst Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGKAPIIV. 
 
 403 
 
 SectioQ of a Geyser. 
 
 Intermitting Spring. 
 
 by volcanic agency, nntil a sufticient quantity of steam is 
 
 formed forcibly to expel the wa- 
 ter through a 
 ,; channel "which 
 
 ^fs J jj^ V hasits opening 
 
 in the spring. 
 An illustration 
 of an intermit- 
 ting spring is 
 also given, for 
 the action of 
 which it is suf- 
 ficient to refer 
 totheprinciple 
 of the siphon.* 
 
 3. The excess of water precipitated as rain and snow, over 
 what is evaporated from the surface, runs in streams, called 
 rivers, to lakes, or to the ocean. The position of mountains 
 and elevated ridges determines the course and length of riv- 
 ers. Few physical causes have had more influence in the lo- 
 cation and fortunes of men, than rivers. Capitals of states 
 and countries are generally on rivers, and large cities cither 
 on navigable rivers or bays. 
 
 4. Rivers are associated with the earliest efibrts of man- 
 kind to emerge from a state of barbarism ; but they are no 
 less serviceable to nations which have reached the acme of 
 civilization. In the earliest ages they were regarded with 
 veneration, and became the objects of a grateful adoration, 
 surpassed only by that paid to the sun and the host of heaven. 
 
 5. Xor is tliis suprising ; for in countries where the labors 
 of the husbandman and shepherd depended, for a successful 
 issue, on the falling of periodical rains, or the melting of the 
 collected snows in a far-distant country, such rivers as the 
 Nile, the Ganges, and the Indus were the visible agents of 
 nature in bestowing on the inhabitants of their banks all the 
 blessings of a rich and spontaneous fertility ; and hence their 
 waters were held sacred, and they received, and to this day 
 retain, the adoration of the countries through which they flow. 
 
 * See p. 347. IntermiHmg springs Fomctinies flow only during tlie dm season. Tlie 
 cut above will explain this. Suppose the internal fountain to he empty. When the earth 
 has become fully saturated with water during the wet season, the water becins to pene- 
 trate to the fountain, wh ch pets filled as high as the upper bend of the siphon about the 
 time when the dry season commence?, and it is just then that the siphon heninx to empty 
 it; and it is evident that it will continue to act until the fountain is exhausted. After 
 stopping, the water can not flow again until the fountain has been again filled, which prob- 
 ablv will not be until near the end of the wet season.
 
 404 
 
 avii.t.son's fifth kkadkh. 
 
 I'akt VIII. 
 
 6. The direction and extent of slopes of land give rise to 
 a classification of rivers called river systems, Avliich can ho 
 studied at length in works on physical geography. 
 
 LESSON XXIL— CATARACTS. 
 
 1 HI- 1 ALLS OF Ni^GVi \, a \ u :vp(l from the 
 ( Cinida ^ide [On the right of the pictuip arc 
 
 seen the llor e hoe I all , on the ( imdi id of 
 the ^trpini bp\ond and cpai ittd fiom the 
 firmer bj ( lat 1 1 md areth 1 ill cntheAmer 
 icau side. Tae view down me siream iia.-* ueen 
 abridged in order to bring in the Suspension Bridge, wliich 
 i3 seen in the distance. The effect of every sucli picture 
 is greatly increased by looking at it through a tube, w hich 
 Bhall shut out the view of surrounding objects. One formed 
 ^by partially closing the hand will answer.] 
 
 1. Sometimes large rivers fall suddenly over perpendicular 
 rocks, forming cataracts, or falls. When a brook or small 
 stream presents a similar phenomenon, it is usually called a 
 cascade. 
 
 2. In mountain regions there are cascades hundreds of feet 
 in height — so high that, from the resistance of the air, the wa- 
 ter reaches the bottom as a fine spray. In southern Asia 
 are several cascades more than eight hundred feet high : the 
 Fall of Staubach, in Switzerland, described in Byron's "Man- 
 fred," has a perpendicular descent of eight hundred feet ; 
 and the Falls of the Rhine, though not so lofty as many oth- 
 ers, are highly celebrated for their beauty. 
 
 3. Among American waterfalls, the most noted are those 
 of the Montmorency, near Quebec, which descend two hund- 
 red and forty feet in an unbroken sheet : the Great and the
 
 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPUT. 405 
 
 Little Falls of the Potomac, in Maiyland ; the Falls of the 
 Missouri; the Rapids of the St.Lawrence, five hundrecl miles 
 from its source ; and, lastly, the grandest of all, and the might- 
 iest in its mass of waters, the world-renowned Falls of Niag- 
 ai'a. From a thousand descriptions of this great natural cu- 
 riosity, our space limits us to a brief selection. 
 
 4. "There is a power and beauty, we may say a divinity, in rnshinp wa- 
 ters, felt by all who acknowledge any sympathy with nature. The nunuu- 
 ain stream, leaping from rock to rock, and winding, foaming, and glancing 
 through its devious and stony channels, arrests the eye of the most careless 
 or business-bound traveler, sings to the heart, and haunts the memory of 
 tlie man of taste and imagination, and holds, as by some indefinable spell, 
 the affections of those who inhabit its borders. A waterfall of even a few 
 feet in height will enliven the dullest scenerj', and lend a charm to the love- 
 liest ; while a high and headlong cataract has always been ranked among 
 the sublimest objects to be found in the compass of the globe. 
 
 5. "It is no matter of sui-prise, therefore, that lovers of nature perform 
 journeys of homage to that sovereign of cataracts, that monarch of all pour- 
 ing floods, the Falls of Niagara. It is no matter of surprise that, although 
 situated in what might have been called a few years ago, but can not be 
 now, the wilds of North Amoi'ica, five hundred miles from the Atlantic coast, 
 travelers from all civilized parts of the world have encounterexl all tlie diflfi- 
 culties and fatigues of the path to behold this prince of waterfalls amid its 
 ancient solitudes, and that, more recently, the broad highways to its domin- 
 ions have been thronged. By universal consent, it has long ago been ])ro- 
 claimed one of the wonders of the world. It is alone in its kind. Th(jngh 
 a waterfall, it is not to be compared with other waterfalls. In its majesty, 
 its supremacy, and its influence on the sonl of man, its brotherhood is with 
 the living ocean and the eternal hills." — Greenwood. 
 
 6. From the vicinity of the ilimed Table Rock on the Can- 
 ada side, the whole scene is presented in its highest degree 
 of grandeur and beauty. On the right, and within a few feet, 
 is the edge of the grand crescent, called the British, or Horse- 
 shoe Fall, which is more than one third of a mile broad, and 
 one hundred and fifty-three feet in height. Opposite is Goat 
 Island, which divides the falls ; and lower down, to the left, 
 is the American Fall, six hundred feet in breadth, and one 
 hundred and sixty-four feet in height. From a writer who 
 first viewed the falls from the vicinity of Table Rock, we 
 take the following description : 
 
 7. "A mingled rushing and thundering filled my ears. I could sec 
 nothing, except when the wind made a chasm in the spray, and then tre- 
 mendous cataracts seemed to encompass me on every side; while below, 
 a raging and foamy gulf of undiscoverable extent lashed tlic rocks with 
 its hissing waves, and swallowed, under a horrible obscurity, the smoking 
 floods that were precipitated into its bosom. 
 
 8. " At first the sky was obscured by clouds, but, after a few minutes, the 
 sun burst forth, and the breeze subsitling at the same time, permitted the 
 spray to ascend perpendicularly. A host of pyramid.nl clouds rose mnjes-
 
 406 willson's fifth reader. Pakt VI ri. 
 
 tically, one after another, from the ab3'ss at the bottom of the fall ; and 
 each, when it had ascended a little above the edge of the cataract, dis- 
 played a beautiful rainbow, which in a few moments was gradually transfer' 
 red into the bosom of the clouds that immediately succeeded. 
 
 9. "Tlie spray of the Great Fall had extended itself through a wide 
 space directly over me, and, receiving the full influence of the sun, ex- 
 hibited a luminous and magnificent rainbow, which continued to overarch 
 and irradiate tlic sjxit on which I stood, while I enthusiastically contem- 
 plated the indescribable scene. 
 
 10. "The body of water which composes the middle part of the Great 
 Fall is so immense that it descends nearly two thirds of the space without 
 being ruffled or broken ; and the solemn calmness with which it rolls over 
 the edge of the precipice is finely contrasted with the perturbed appear- 
 ance it assumes after having reached the gulf below. But the water toward 
 each side of the fall is shattered the moment it drops over the rock, and 
 loses, as it descends, in a great measure, the character of a fluid, being 
 divided into pyramidal-shaped fragments, the bases of which are turned 
 upward. 
 
 11. "The surface of the gnlf below the cataract presents a rery singular 
 aspect, seeming, as it were, filled with an immense quantity of hoar-frost, 
 which is agitated by small and rapid undulations. The particles of water 
 are dazzlingly white, and do not apparently unite together, as might be 
 su])posed, but seem to continue for a time in a state of distinct comminu- 
 tion, and to repel each other with a thrilling and shivering motion, whicli 
 can not easily be described." — Howison. 
 
 12. By descending a circulai* staircase, seventy or eighty 
 feet in perpendicular height, a person may pass, by a narrow 
 and slippery path, behind the Great Fall on the Canada side; 
 but here he is frightfully stunned by the roar of the cataract ; 
 clouds of spray sometimes envelop, and almost suffocate 
 him, and it is only a person of the strongest nerves that can 
 proceed to the bottom of the fall ; and there, it is said, only 
 one emotion is experienced by every adventurer — that of nn- 
 controllable terror. 
 
 13. Most descriptions of the falls are those of persons who 
 have viewed them only in fine weather, Avhen the conti-ast is 
 most marked between their stern and awful grandeur, and 
 the beauty of the surrounding landscape. But it seems that 
 their grandeur is enhanced, if possible, by being viewed dur- 
 ing a thunder-storm. 
 
 14. "Presently," remarks the M'riter from whom we first 
 quoted, " a thunder-storm rose up from the west, and passed 
 directly over us ; and soon another came, still heavier than 
 the preceding. And now I was more impressed than ever 
 with the peculiar motion of the fall, not, however, because it 
 experienced a change,' but because it did not. The lightning 
 gleamed, the thunder pealed, the rain fell in torrents ; the 
 storms were grand ; but the fall, if I mny give its expression
 
 1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGEAPHY. 407 
 
 a language, did not heed them at all! the rapids poured on 
 Avith the same quiet solemnity, with the same equable intent- 
 ness, undisturbed by the lightning and rain, and listening not 
 to the loud thunder." 
 
 LESSON XXIII. — A vision's spell — Niagara. 
 
 1. I STOOD within a vision's spell ; 
 
 1 saw, I heard. The liquid thunder 
 Went pouring to its foaming hell, 
 
 And it fell, 
 
 Ever, ever fell 
 Into the invisible abj-ss that opened under. 
 
 2. I stood upon a speck of ground ; 
 
 Before me fell a stormy ocean. 
 I was like a captive bound ; 
 
 And around 
 
 A universe of sound 
 Troubled the heavens with ever-quivering motion. 
 
 3. Down, down foi'ever — down, down forever, 
 
 Something falling, falling, falling, 
 Up, up forever — up, up forever, 
 
 Resting never. 
 
 Boiling up forever. 
 Steam-clouds shot up with thunder-bursts ap])alling. 
 
 4. A tone that since the birth of man 
 
 Was never for a moment broken, 
 A word that since the world began, 
 
 And waters ran, 
 
 Hath spoken still to man — 
 Of God and of Eternity hath spoken. 
 
 5. Foam-clouds there forever rise 
 
 With a restless roar o'erboiling — 
 Rainbows stooping from the skies 
 Charm the eyes. 
 Beautiful they rise, 
 Cheering the cataracts to their mighty toiling. 
 
 S. And in that vision, as it passed, 
 
 Was gathered tei ror, beauty, power ; 
 And still, when all has fled, too fast, 
 And I at last 
 
 Dream of the dreamy past, 
 My heart is full when lingering on that hour. — Anon.
 
 EIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 LESSON I. THE WAYSIDE SPRING. 
 
 1. Fair dweller by the dusty way — 
 
 Bright saint within a mossy shrine, 
 The tribute of a heart to-day 
 Weary and worn is thine. 
 
 2. The earliest blossoms of the year, 
 
 The sweet-brier and tlie violet, 
 The pious hand of spring has here 
 Upon thy altar set. 
 
 3. And not alone to thee is given 
 
 The homage of the pilgrim's knee —
 
 iCIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS DI\'ISIUX. 409 
 
 But oft the sweetest birds of heaven 
 Glide down and sing to thee. 
 
 4. Here daily from his beechen cell 
 
 The hermit squirrel steals to drink, 
 And flocks which cluster to their bell 
 Kecline along thy brink. 
 
 5. And here the wagoner blocks his_wheels, 
 
 To quaff the cool and generous boon ; 
 Here, from the sultry harvest fields 
 The reapers rest at noon. 
 
 6. And oft the beggar, marked with tan, 
 
 In rusty garments gray with dust, 
 Here sits and dips his little can. 
 And breaks his scanty crust ; 
 
 7. And, lulled beside thy whispering stream, 
 
 Oft drops to slumber unawares, 
 And sees the angel of his dream 
 Upon celestial stairs. 
 
 8. Dear d^^eller by the dusty way. 
 
 Thou saint within a mossy shrine. 
 The tribute of a heart to-day 
 
 Weaiy and worn is thine ! — Kead. 
 
 LESSON 11. THE HEADSTOXE. 
 
 1. The coffin was let down to the bottom of the grave, the 
 j)hanks were removed from tlie heaped-up brink, the first rat- 
 tling clods had strnck their knell, the quick shoveling Avas 
 over, and the long, broad, skillfully cut pieces of turf were 
 aptly joined together, and trimly laid by the beating spade, 
 so that the newest mound in the church-yard Avas scarcely 
 distinguishable from those that Avere groAvn over by the un- 
 disturbed grass and daisies of a luxuriant spring. The burial 
 Avas soon over ; and the party, Avith one consenting motion, 
 haA'ing uncovered their heads in decent reverence of the ])lace 
 and occasion, Avere beginning to separate, and about to leave 
 the church-yard. 
 
 2. Here some acquaintances from distant parts of the jiar- 
 ish, Avho had not had opportunity of addressing each other in 
 the house that had belonged to the deceased, nor in the course 
 of the fcAV hundred yards that the little procession had to 
 move over from his bed to his grave, Avcre shaking hands 
 quietly but cheerfully, and inquiring after the Avelfare of each 
 other's f imilies. There a small knot of neighbors were sp<,'ak- 
 ing, Avithout exaggeration, of the respectable character Avhich 
 the deceased had borne, and mentioning to one another little 
 
 S
 
 410 WILL80N 8 FIFTH KEADER. 
 
 incidents of his life, some of them so remote as to he known 
 only to the gray-headed persons of the group ; while a few 
 yards farther removed from the spot Avere standing together 
 parties who discussed ordinary concerns, altogether uncon- 
 nected Av^ith the funeral, such as the state of the markets, the 
 promise of the season, or change of tenants; but still with a 
 sobriety of manner and voice that was insensibly produced 
 by the influence of the simple ceremony now closed, by the 
 quiet graves around, and the shadow of the spire and gray 
 walls of the house of God. 
 
 3. Two men yet stood together at the head of the grave, 
 wath countenances of sincere but impassioned grief They 
 were brothers, the only sons of him who had been buried. 
 And there was something in their situation that naturally 
 kept the eyes of many directed upon them for a long time, 
 and more intently than would have been the case had there 
 been nothing more observable about them than the common 
 symptoms of a common sorrow. But these two brothers, 
 who were now standing at the head of their father's grave, 
 had for some years been totally estranged from each other ; 
 and the only words that had passed between them during all 
 that time had been uttered w^ithin a few days past, during the 
 necessary preparations for the old man's funeral. 
 
 4. No deep and deadly quarrel was between these broth- 
 ers, and neither of them could distinctly tell the cause of this 
 unnatural estrangement. Perhaps dim jealousies of their fa- 
 ther's favor — selfish thoughts that will sometimes force them- 
 selves into poor men's hearts respecting temporal expecta- 
 tions — unaccommodating manners on both sides — taunting 
 words which mean little when uttered, but which rankle and 
 fester in remembrance — imagined opposition of interests that, 
 duly considered, would have been found one and the same — 
 these, and many other causes, slight when single, but strong 
 when rising up together in one baneful band, had gradually 
 bi;t fatally infected their hearts, till at last they, who in youtli 
 had been seldom separate and truly attached, now met at 
 niarket, and, miserable to say, at church, with dark and avert- 
 ed faces, like diflerent clansmen during a feud. 
 
 5. Surely, if any thing could have softened their hearts to- 
 ward each other, it must have been to stand silently, side by 
 side, while the earth, stones, and clods were falling down upon 
 their father's coflin. And doubtless their hearts were so 
 softened. But pride, though it can not prevent the holy af- 
 fections of nature from being felt, may prevent them froi i
 
 EIGHTH MISCELLAJSEOUS DIVISION. 411 
 
 being shown ; and these two brothers stood there together, 
 determined not to let each other know the mutual tenderness 
 that, in spite of them, was gushing up in their hearts, and 
 teaching them the uuconfessed folly and wickedness of their 
 causeless quarrel. 
 
 6. A headstone had been prepared, and a person came for- 
 ward to plant it. The elder brother directed him how to 
 place it — a plain stone, with a sand-glass, skull, and cross- 
 bones, chiseled not rudely, and a few words inscribed. The 
 younger brother regarded the operation with a troubled eye, 
 and said, loudly enough to be heard by several of the by-stand- 
 ers, " William, this was not kind in you ; you should have 
 told me of this. I loved my father as well as you could love 
 him. You Avere the elder, and, it may be, the favorite son ; 
 but I had a right in nature to have joined you in ordering 
 this headstone, had I not ?" 
 
 7. During these words the stone was sinking into the earth, 
 and many persons who were on their way from the grave re- 
 turned. For a while the elder brother said nothing, for he 
 had a consciousness in his heart that he ought to have con- 
 sulted his father's son in designing this last becoming mark 
 of aftection and respect to his memory ; so that the stone was 
 planted in silence, and now stood erect, decently and simply, 
 among the other unostentatious memorials of the humble 
 dead. 
 
 8. The inscription merely gave the name and age of the 
 deceased, and told that the stone had been erected " by his 
 affectionate sons." The sight of these words seemed to soften 
 the displeasure of the angry man, and he said, somewhat more 
 mildly, " Yes, we were his affectionate sons ; and, since my 
 name is on the stone, I am satisfied, brother. We have not 
 drawn together kindly of late years, and perhaps never may; 
 but I acknowledge and respect your worth ; and here, before 
 our own friends, and before the friends of our father, with 
 my foot above his head, I express my willingness to be on 
 other and better terms with you ; and if we can not com- 
 mand love in our hearts, let us, at least, brother, bar out all 
 unkindness." 
 
 9. The minister who had attended the funeral, and^ had 
 something intrusted to him to say publicly before he \ci\ the 
 church-yard, now came forward and asked the elder brother 
 why he spake not regarding this matter. He saw thattherc 
 was something of a cold and sullen pride rising up in his 
 heart, for not easily may any man hope to dismiss from the
 
 412 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. 
 
 chamber of his heart even the vilest guest, if once cherished 
 there. With a solemn and almost severe air he looked upon 
 the relenting man, and then, changing his countenance into 
 serenity, said gently, 
 
 " Behold, how good a thinp; it is, 
 
 And how becoming well, 
 
 Together such as brethren are, 
 
 lu unity to dwell 1" , 
 
 10. The time, the place, and this beautiful expression of a 
 natural sentiment, quite overcame a heart in which many 
 kind, if not warm affections dwelt ; and the man thus ap|)eal- 
 ed to bowed down his head and wept. " Give me your hand, 
 brother ;" and it was given, while a murmur of satisfaction 
 arose from all present, and all hearts felt kindlier and more 
 humanely toward each other. 
 
 11. As the brothers stood fei'vently but composedly grasp- 
 ing each other's hand, in the little hollow that lay between 
 the grave of their mother, long since dead, and of their father, 
 Avhose shroud was haply not yet still from the fall of dust to 
 dust, the minister stood beside them with a pleasant counte- 
 nance, and said, "I must fulfill the promise I made to your 
 father on his death-bed. I must read to you a few words 
 which his hand wrote at an hour when his tongue denied its 
 office. I must not say that you did your duty to your old 
 father ; for did he not often beseech you, apart from one an- 
 other, to be reconciled, for your own sakes as Christians, for 
 his sake, and for the sake of the mother Avho bare you? 
 When the palsy struck him for the last time, you were botli 
 absent ; nor was it your fault that you were not beside the 
 old man when he died. 
 
 12. "As long as sense continued with him here, did he 
 think of you two, and of you two alone. Tears were in his 
 eyes ; I saw them there, and on his cheek too, when no breath 
 came from his lips. But of this no more. He died with this 
 paper in his hand ; and he made me know that I was to read 
 it to you over his grave. I now obey him. ' My sons, if you 
 will let my bones lie quiet in the grave, near the dust of your 
 mother, depart not from my burial till, in the name of God 
 and Christ, you promise to love one another as you used to 
 do. Dear boys, receive my blessing.' " 
 
 13. Some turned their heads away to hide the tears that 
 needed not to be hidden ; and when the brothers had released 
 each other from a long and sobbing embrace, many went up 
 to them, and, in a single word or two, expressed their joy at 
 this perfect reconcilement. The brothers themselves walked
 
 EIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 413 
 
 away fi'om the churcli-yard arm in arm, -with the mmistcr, to 
 the maiise. On the fonowing Sabbath they Avere seen sitting 
 Avith their families in the same pew, and it was observed that 
 they read together oft' the same Bible when the minister gave 
 out the text, and that they sang together, taking hold of the 
 same psalm-book. The same psalm was sung (given out at 
 their own request), of which one verse had been repeated at 
 their father's grave ; a larger sum than usual was on that 
 Sabbath found in the plate for the poor, for Love and Charity 
 are sisters. And ever after, both during the peace and the 
 troubles of this life, the hearts of the brothers were as one, 
 and in nothing were they divided, 
 
 John Wilson (Ciiristophek North). 
 
 LESSON in. 
 
 I. THE SEASONS OF LIFE. 
 
 The days of infancy are all a droam, 
 How fair, but oh ! how short they seem — 
 'Tis Life's sweet opening Spring. 
 
 The days of youth advance ; 
 
 The bounding limb, the ardent glance, 
 
 The kindlinp soul they bring — 
 It is Life's burning Summer time. 
 
 Manhood— matured with wisdom's fruit, 
 Reward of learning's deep pursuit — 
 Succeeds, as Autumn follows Summer's prime. 
 
 And that, and that, alas ! goes by ; 
 And what ensues ? The languid eye, 
 The failing frame, the soul o'ercast ; 
 'Tis Winter's sickening, withering blast, 
 Life's blessed season— for it is the last.— Southey, 
 
 II. SMALL THINGS. 
 
 A sense of an earnest Mill 
 
 To help the lowly living. 
 And a terrible heart-thrill, 
 
 If you have no power of giving; 
 An arm of aid to the weak, 
 
 A friendly hand to the friendless ; 
 Kind words, so short to speak, 
 
 But whose echo is endless : 
 The world is wide- these things are small ; 
 They may be nothing— but they may be all.
 
 414 willson's fifth eeadeu. 
 
 III. HOW WE SHOULD LIVE. 
 
 So should we live, that cvciy hour 
 May die as dies the natural flower, 
 A self-revolving thing of jtower. 
 
 That every thought and every deed 
 May hold witliin itself the seed 
 Of future good and future need : 
 Esteeming soiTow, whose employ 
 Is to develop, not destroy, 
 Far better than a barren joy, 
 
 IV. TO MY SON. 
 
 My son, be this thy simple plan : 
 Serve God, and love thy brother man ; 
 Forget not, in temptation's hour. 
 That sin lends sorrow double power ; 
 Count life a stage upon thy way. 
 And follow Conscience, come what may; 
 Alike with earth and heaven sincere, 
 With hand, and brow, and bosom clear, 
 "Fear God, and know no other fear." 
 
 LESSON IV. THE STREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 1. Life bears ns on like the stream of a mighty river. Our 
 boat at first glides down the narrow channel, through the 
 playful murmuring of the little brook and the winding of its 
 grassy border. The trees shed their blossoms over our young 
 heads, the flowers on the brink seem to offer themselves to our 
 young hands ; Ave are happy in hojDe, and we grasp eagerly 
 at the beauties around us ; but the stream hurries on, and 
 still our hands are empty. 
 
 2. Our course in youth and manhood is along a wider and 
 deeper flood, amid objects more striking and magnificent. 
 We are animated by the moving picture of enjoyment and 
 industry passing before us ; we are excited by some short- 
 lived disappointment. The stream bears us on, and our joys 
 and our griefs are alike left behind us. 
 
 3. We may be shipwrecked, but we can not be delayed ; 
 whether rough or smooth, the river hastens toward its liome, 
 till the roar of the ocean is in ottr ears, and the tossing of its 
 waves is beneath our feet, and the land lessens from o«r eyes, 
 and the floods are lifted up around us, and we take our leave 
 of earth and its inhabitants, until of our farther voyage there 
 is no witness save the Infinite and Eternal. — Heber.
 
 1st DiV. OF CUEMISTEY. 415 
 
 PART IX. 
 
 FIEST DIVISION OF CHEMISTRY. 
 
 [Tliis subject Is continued in the Sixth Reader.] 
 LESSON I. — INTEODUCTOEY VIEW. 
 
 1. Theee are three great divisions of the science of na- 
 ture, and these are embraced in tlie departments of Natural 
 History, Natural Philosophy, and Chemistry. Under the 
 first are included zoology, botany, and geology, whose prov- 
 ince it is to describe and classify all material things, both 
 animate and inanimate. Natural Pliilosophy, taking natui'al 
 objects as thus classified, treats of their general and perma- 
 nent properties, of the laws which govern them, and the re- 
 ciprocal action which, vntJtout change of form or character^ 
 and generally at appreciable distances, they are capable of 
 exerting upon each other. 
 
 2. Chemistry advances farther in her investigations, and 
 with scrutinizing minuteness leads us far into the hidden 
 mysteries of nature. It treats of the intimate action of sub- 
 stances upon each other, sucli as chemical mixtures or com- 
 binations, which always result in changes of form and char- 
 acter. It presents to us, as a first lesson, the astonishing fact 
 that, notwithstanding the coimtless variety of forms and 
 "i:»roperties of matter which nature presents to us as things es- 
 sentially diiferent, only about sixty elementary substances 
 are known to exist, and that it is merely by their different 
 combinations that they are made to jiresent to our senses 
 these infinite diversities. 
 
 3. Proceeding a little farther, our wonder increases on 
 learning that nearly all the ol)jects with which we are ac- 
 quainted are, to use a common phrase, " made up" almost ex- 
 clusively of at least not more than four of these elementary 
 substances, and that these are the three gases, oxygen, hydro- 
 gen, and nitrogen, together Avith carbon. Indeed, charcoal 
 and the diamond, though totally unlike each other, are com- 
 posed of carbon alone. "Water is formed of oxygen and 
 hydrogen ; the air we breathe, and the corrosive nitric acid, 
 are alike composed of oxygen and nitrogen ; vegetable sub- 
 stances, infinite in diversity of form and properties, are form- 
 ed almost whoUy of oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon ; and ani-
 
 416 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part IX. 
 
 mal substances arc formed chiefly of these three elements, 
 with tlie addition of nitrogen. >So largely does oxygen enter 
 into combinations with other elementary substances, that one 
 half of the entire globe itself is said to be formed of this gas, 
 or, as one writer has expressed it, " of comiDressed and hard- 
 ened air." 
 
 4. How one substance can assume forms and properties so 
 different as charcoal and the diamond, or how two or more 
 substances, merely by difterent combinations of them, can 
 produce things so totally unlike as common air and nitric 
 acid, or as sugar and vinegar, we are unable to conceive ; but 
 chemistry teaches us the facts, and leaves us to ponder over 
 such mysteries in wonder and admiration. But it is not 
 merely a science that is full of wonders ; in its various de- 
 partments it is intimately 'related to all the other natural 
 sciences, and it forms the basis of all the useful arts. Thus, 
 what is termed Inorganic Chemistry treats of the laws of 
 combination by which are formed all those compound bodies 
 which are not the products of organized life. There is not a 
 single manufacture or art, from the smelting of oi-e and the 
 making of bread, to the manufacture of gunpowder and elec- 
 tric telegraphing, that is not more or less dei)endent upon 
 this branch of chemistry. 
 
 5. In what is called Organic Chemistry ^e. trace the com- 
 binations of the same elementary substances, and chiefly the 
 three gases and carbon, as modified by the principle of life ; 
 and thus animal and vegetable chemistry are recognized as 
 branches of one greater science. In Agricultural Chemistry 
 we study the applications of chemistry to agriculture ; and 
 being made acquainted with the chemical ingredients of 
 plants and soils, Ave are enabled so to avail ourselves of the 
 laws of vegetable growth as to adapt our soils to the nature 
 of the product required. Indeed, so extensive are the appli- 
 cations of chemical principles, that they enter, in some mode 
 or form, into every branch of industry, and every department 
 of civilized life. 
 
 LESSOiS II. FIRST PRIXCIPLES: ULTIMATE ATOMS. 
 
 1. Whex a stick of wood is burned for fuel, it is destroyed 
 as a stick of iGood^ but not one of the particles^ or, more prop- 
 erly, ato7ns, which composed it, has been annihilated. In the 
 ashes of the wood, and in the atmosphere in which it was
 
 IstDlV. OP CHEMISTRY. 411 
 
 consumed, every atom must still exist. Some of these atoms 
 may glisten in the morning dew, crystallize in the snow-flake, 
 or fall to the waiting fields in the grateful rain. Other atoms 
 of the stick of Avood apparently destroyed may aj)pear the 
 next year in some stick of sugar-candy, and again, ages 
 hence, may constitute a little Lut important part of some vo- 
 tive monument of marble. Such changes are not only possi- 
 ble, but probable. 
 
 2. When by the winfl the tree is shaken, 
 
 Tliere's not a bough or leaf can fall, 
 But of its falling heed is taken 
 By One that sees and governs all. 
 
 3. The tree may fall and be forgotten, 
 
 And bui led in the earth remain ; 
 Yet from its juices rank and rotten 
 Springs vegetating life again. 
 
 4 The world is with creation teeming, 
 
 And nothing ever vholly dies; 
 And things that are destroyed in seeming, 
 In other shapes and forms arise. 
 
 5. And Nature still unfolds the tissue 
 
 Of unseen works by spirit wrought; 
 And not a work but hath its issue 
 
 "With blessing or with evil fraught. — Kennedy. 
 
 6. The journey of an atom in its ceaseless round would be 
 even more wonderful than the adventures of a drop of water 
 — now in the ocean, next in the rainbow, then a part of an 
 iceberg, and again on its way to the purple cloud. The ocean 
 lias been in the clouds — perhaps many times ; and yet, in all 
 its changes, not a particle has been lost. 
 
 7. "Nothing is lost : the drop of dew 
 
 Which trembles on the leaf or flower, 
 Is but exhaled to fall anew 
 
 In summer's thunder-shower; 
 Perchance to shine within the bow 
 
 That fronts the sun at fall of day. 
 Perchance to sparkle in the flow 
 
 Of fountains far away."' 
 
 8. The plant is made of the mineral, and tlie animal con- 
 sumes the plant and returns to the earth, again to enter into 
 new combinations. iShaksjjeare says, 
 
 " Imperious Cnesar, dead, and turn'd to clay, 
 Might stop a hole, to keep the wind away ; 
 Oh that the earth, which kept the world in awe, 
 Should patch a wall to e.xpel the printer's flaw !" 
 
 9. Another has expressed the same truth in the following 
 words: "Man, moving to-day the monarch of a mighty peo- 
 ple, in a few years passes back to his primitive clod, and that 
 combination of elementary atoms which is dignified with the 
 circle of sovereignty and the robe of purple, after a period 
 may be sought for in the herbage of the fields and in the 
 humble flowers of the vallev." — Hujtt. 
 
 * S2
 
 418 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part IX. 
 
 10. We live in a Avorld of chanoje. The growth and com- 
 ])Osition of organic matter, the rusting of metals, the crum- 
 bling of rocks, and tlie combustion of fuel, aftbrd innumerable 
 illustrations of this truth. Nothing is at rest — nothing is 
 permanent ; and yet, in all the changes which matter has un- 
 dergone, from creation's dawn to tlie present time, we have 
 no reason for believing that the minutest atom has been de- 
 stroyed. Let not man, then, contemn the atom which he 
 could not create, and which he has not the power to destroy. 
 
 LESSON IIL THE MAN AXD THE ATOM. 
 
 1. " Small atom, unconsidered, 
 
 Unfelt, and scarcely seen ! 
 Thou hast no worth upon the earth — 
 So infinitely mean. 
 
 2. " Useless thou art, oh atom' ! 
 
 And, absolute in might', 
 
 If I decree thou shalt not be', 
 
 I can destroy thee quite." 
 
 3. "Ah! no; thy hand is powerless. 
 
 I hold a life too high ; 
 A strength innate, as old as fate ; 
 I change, but can not die. 
 
 4. "Destruction can not touch me; 
 
 The hand alone which wrought 
 My shape and thine — a hand divine — 
 Can hurl me into naught. 
 
 5. " Thou mayst on waters cast me, 
 
 Or loose me to the wind. 
 Or burn in fire, at thy desire. 
 So that thou canst not find ; 
 
 6. "But I shall hold existence 
 
 To earth's remotest time. 
 And fill in space my destined place, 
 Though humble, yet sublime. 
 
 7. " Ere j'et offending Adam 
 
 Fell from his pure estate, 
 Or tended flowers in Eden's bowei-s, 
 With Eve, his happy mate' ; 
 
 8. "7, even 7, existed. 
 
 And played my proper part 
 In God's great plan — oh, little man. 
 Reflect on what thou art ! 
 
 9. "Couldst thou destroy my being', 
 
 Thy hand might reach the sphci'es^, 
 And bid the sun no longer run 
 His course among his peers.
 
 IstDlV, OF CHEMISTRY. 419 
 
 10. " Be humble\ brother atom' ; 
 Whate'er thy mortal growth 
 Or mine may be, humility 
 
 Alone becomes us both." — C. 1\La.ckat. 
 
 LES. IV. CHEMICAL AGENTS : HEAT LIGHT ELECTRICITT. 
 
 1. The number of substances not known to be compounds 
 is upward of sixty ; the names of Avhich, the symbols by which 
 they are designated in chemical books, and their combiniuo; 
 proportions, are given in a note at the bottom of page 426. 
 ISTearly half of these elements, as they are called, are of rare 
 occurrence, and not more than twenty of them are of much 
 interest to any but the professed chemist. It is with these 
 elements, which make up the whole material world, that chem- 
 istry deals ; and its province is to point out and explain the 
 agencies or active forces employed in effecting changes among 
 them, the laws under which these changes are made, the prop- 
 erties of the elements and of their compounds, and, finally, 
 the applications of the science to arts, manufactures, and ag- 
 riculture. The latter division of the subject, although of ex- 
 ceeding interest and importance, must be reserved for the 
 Sixth Reader. 
 
 2. The active forces of chemistry are hecit, light, and elec- 
 tricity. By their separate or combined action the elements 
 of matter are caused to unite, and sometimes compounds are 
 decomposed into their original constituents, and new sub- 
 stances are formed. 
 
 3. Let us first glance at some of the chemical effects of 
 Jieat. The matters of every-day life will furnish us abundant 
 examples. Lead is one of the elementary substances. And 
 who has not observed that when lead is melted, a scum or 
 dross covers the surface, and that if it be kept long in a melt- 
 ed state it will disappear as metallic lead, and become dross 
 altogether ? But what has become of the lead ? The heat 
 has caused it to unite with a portion of the oxygen from the 
 air, and form this dross ; and if the heating process be con- 
 tinued long enough, the dross will unite Avith ^more oxygen 
 and become red lead, a substance used in painting. The 
 manufacture of this important articl(i of connnerce is merely 
 an application of the chemical principle here illustrated — the 
 combination of oxygen with common lead. 
 
 4. The red rust' on iron nails and bolts found among the 
 ruins of burned buildings shows that heat facilitates the com-
 
 420 WILLSON S FIFTH READER. ParT IX. 
 
 biiiatioii of iron and ogygen. It is frequently the case that 
 one degree of lieat will cause oxygen to unite with a metal, 
 while a higher degree will cause a separation. It is the tend- 
 ency of heat, moreover, to se^jarate, in a greater or less de- 
 gree, the particles or atoms of which a body is composed, 
 and thus to enlarge its hulk so long as the force of heat is ex- 
 erted. Advantage is taken of this expansive projoerty in liq- 
 uids in the construction of thermometers. 
 
 5. Light is another important chemical agent often associ- 
 ated with heat. • But they maybe separated from each other; 
 and it can be proved that there is no correspondence between 
 intense light and ardent heat. Milton says, addressing Light : 
 
 "Bcfnre the sun. 
 Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice 
 Of God, as with a mantle, didnt invest 
 The rising world of waters dark and deep. 
 Won from tlie void and foiinless infinite." 
 
 6. As the cause of color, as the medium of vision, and as 
 an agency influencing in a most striking manner all the forms 
 of organization, and even affecting the crystallization of inor- 
 ganic matter, licjlit has always presented to inquiring minds 
 a subject of the highest interest. Light paints the blush on 
 the luscious peach, and spreads the " tender green" over the 
 leaves of the forest and the grass of the meadows. The very 
 shells of the ocean are almost colorless when taken from great 
 depths, where the action of light is but feeble. 
 
 1. We see, daily, numberless instances of the chemical ef- 
 fects of -light. In the sunshine some colors fade, and others 
 become more intense. Many vegetables can be kept better 
 in places deprived of light, and certain medicines must be 
 kept in black bottles, or be otherwise protected from solar in- 
 fluence. Daguerreotypes and photographs are made by the 
 chemical action of light on certain preparations of silver, or 
 other substances very sensitive to its influences. 
 
 8. A mixture of two gaseous elements, chlorine and hydro- 
 gen, may be made in the dark, without exhibiting any tend- 
 ency to unite ; but if the bottle containing them be exposed 
 to the sunlight, a violent explosion ensues, and a compound 
 is formed, wl\ich is called hydrochloric acid. 
 
 9. Not only is light an indisi:)ensable agent in the growth 
 of vegetables, but it is^iecessary to the proper development 
 of animal life. How sensitive are our bodies to its influences I 
 How our feelings sympathize with every change of the sky ! 
 When the sun shines, the blood flows freely, and our spirits 
 are light and buoyant. Professor Johnston has said, in his
 
 1st DiV.OF CHEMISTRY. 421 
 
 " Chemistry of Common Life," that " the energy is great- 
 er, and the body is actually stronger in a Lriglit than in a 
 cloudy day." There is science as well as poetry in the fol- 
 lowing address 
 
 TO THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 10. Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall; 
 A joy thou art, and a wealth to all ! 
 
 A bearer of hope upon land and sea — 
 Sunbeam ! what gift hath the world like thee ? 
 
 11. _ Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles— 
 
 Thou hast touched with glory his thousand isles— 
 Thou hast lit up the ships and the feathery foam, 
 And gladdened the sailor like words from home. 
 
 12. To the solemn depths of the forest shades, 
 
 Thou art streaming on through their green arcades ; 
 And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow, 
 Like fire-flies glance to the pools below. 
 
 13. I looked on the mountains — a vapor lay, 
 Folding their heights in its dark array ; 
 Thou brokest forth — and the mist became 
 A crown and a mantle of living flame. 
 
 14 I looked on the peasant's lowly cot — 
 
 Something of f adness had wrapped ttie spot ; 
 But the gleam of thee on its casement fell. 
 And it laughed into beauty at that bright spell. 
 
 15. To the earth's wild places a guest thou art, 
 Flushing the waste like the rose's heart ; 
 And thou scomest not from thy pomp to shed 
 A tender light ou the ruin's head. 
 
 16. Thou tak'st through the dim church aisles thy way. 
 And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day; 
 And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old. 
 Are bathed in a flood as of burning gold. 
 
 17. And thou turn'st not from the humblest grave, 
 Where a flower to the sighing wintls may wave ; 
 Thou scatterest its gloom like the gleams of rest, 
 Thou sleepost in love on its grassy breast. 
 
 18. Sunbeam of summer ! oh, what is like thee? 
 Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea ! 
 
 One thing is like thee, to mortals given — 
 
 The Faith, touching all things with hues of heaven. — Mas. Hemans. 
 
 19. In striking contrast with the cheering and enlivening 
 influences of the glorious sun is the scene ])resented by the 
 dissolution and gloom described in Byron's X>;'eam of Dark- 
 ness^ in which " the briglit sun was extinguished." 
 
 20. " The world was void. 
 
 The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
 Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless — 
 A lump of death — a chaos of hard cl.ay. 
 The rivers, Lakes, and ocean, all stood still. 
 And nothing stirred within their silent depths; 
 Ships, sailoiless, lay rotting on the sea, 
 And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped, 
 They slept on the abyss without a suige — 
 The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave ; 
 The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; 
 The winds were withered in the stagnant air, 
 .\nd thi^ clouils perished; Darkn' ss had no need 
 Of aid from them— she was the universe."
 
 122 WILLSON's fifth KEADEIi. Pakt IX. 
 
 LESSON V. — CHEMICAL AGENTS CONTINUED. 
 ELECTRICITY. 
 
 1. When" certain substances, sucli as glass, amber, and 
 sealing-wax, are rubbed Avith dry silk or cloth, they acquire 
 a power of first attracting bits of paper and other light sub- 
 stances, and afterward of repelling them. The same power 
 manifests itself, only in a different way, in the thunder-cloud 
 when it shakes the earth with its explosions ; it resides, 
 though often silent, iinfelt, and unseen, in every particle of 
 air, in every drop of water, and in the solid earth ; directing 
 the needle to the pole, it guides the mariner in his course ; 
 and modern science has trained it to transmit intelligence, 
 literally, with " lightning speed." 
 
 2. In the great laboratory of nature this power is doubtless 
 the chief agent by which chemical changes are wrought ; and 
 in " earth's hidden chambers" it is believed to be constantly 
 in operation, separating compounds, and from their elements 
 foi'ming new combinations. Modern science has learned to 
 imitate, though on a feeble scale, some 'of its wonders ; and 
 although it has not discovered the long-sought " philosoj^her's 
 stone," which was supposed to be able to transmute the baser 
 metals into gold, it has, nevertheless, in the development 
 which it has given to the useful arts, done a better service to 
 mankind than the older alchemists ever dreamed of. 
 
 3. The question, "What is electricity?" is more easily 
 asked than answered ; but we see its effects all around us, 
 and cantell what it does. A flash of lightning is an electric- 
 al phenomenon ; and on a small scale we imitate it when, in 
 a dry, cold atmosphere, and in the dark, we produce sparks 
 of light by briskly rubbing a strip of paper with India-rub- 
 ber, glass with a dry cloth, or, in the perhaps more familiar 
 experiment, by rubbing the hair on a cat's back. By the aid 
 of a powerful electrical machine Ave may collect a sufticient 
 quantity of this " electric fluid" to kill a man by its explosion. 
 
 4. By the aid of this same " fluid" we may also decompose 
 water, resolving it into its tAVO elements, oxygen and hydro- 
 gen ; and again, if these two constituents be collected and 
 mixed in a suitable glass A'essel, and a spark of electricity be 
 passed through them, they Avill combine with explosive force^ 
 and form the original quantity of Avatcr. 
 
 5. Yet most frequently electrical phenomena are silent op-
 
 1st DiV. OF CHEMISTRY. 423 
 
 orations, caused by means that can be detected only by care- 
 ful scrutiny. A tree or dwelling may be shivered when 
 
 " From cloud to cloud the rending lightninga rage;" 
 
 but the gre^t work of electricity is performed in 
 
 ''The stilly hour, when storma are gone, 
 When warring winds have died away. 
 And cloud.s, beneath the dancing ray, 
 Melt off and leave the land and sea 
 Sleeping in bright tranquillity." 
 
 It is chiefly in the form of A^hat is called galvanism that the 
 quiet but mighty operations of this power are carried on, as 
 may be illustrated by the following experiment. 
 
 6. If we place a piece of zinc in dilute sulphuric acid, and 
 extend a metallic wire from the dissolving zinc to a similar 
 piece of copper, also immersed in the dilute acid, we form 
 what is called a simple galvanic battery^ and a faint electric 
 spark may be seen whenever the contact of the Avire with the 
 copper is broken or closed. A current of what is called gal- 
 vanic electricity^ silent and unseen, may thus be created and 
 be made to pass through the liquid ; and by it gold, silver, 
 and copper, dissolved in suitable acids, may be taken from 
 the solution and deposited in a pure state, in a thin film or 
 coating, on the surface of other metals — a process which is 
 called by different names, as galvanizing, electro-plating, and 
 electrotyping. 
 
 7. Such electrical currents arc known to be in constant ac- 
 tion beneath the surface of the earth, and even far down 
 among the rocky strata ; and it is i')robably by this quiet elec- 
 tric power, in connection with heat, that the mineral wealth 
 of the earth — its gold, its silver, its iron, its crystals, its pre- 
 cious stones, and all the infinite variety of inorganic combina- 
 tions of elementary substances — has been formed. 
 
 8. Thus electricity is found, in conjunction Avith lieat or 
 light, and sometimes with both, to be an all-pervading agent, 
 assuming various forms and modes of action; but whether it 
 is a material substance or not we can not tell. Like heat 
 and light, it is called an imponderable agent, because, liow- 
 ever much of it may be collected, it has no appreciable weight, 
 and, like them, it is known only by its effects. 
 
 9. " That power which, like a potent spirit, guides 
 
 The sea-side wanderers over distant tides, 
 Inspiring confidence where'er tliry roam, 
 By indicating still the patluvay home ; 
 Through nature, quicken'd by the solar beam, 
 Invests each atom with a force supreme, 
 Directs the cavem'd crystal in its birth. 
 And frames the mightiest mountains of the earth, 
 r.ach haf and flower by its strong law restrains. 
 And man, the monarch, binds in iron chains."
 
 424 WILLSOn's fifth KEADEU. Part IX. 
 
 LESSON VI. — THE electric telegraph. 
 
 1. The greatest of modern inventions, next to the applica- 
 tion of steam to the propulsion of machinery, is the applica- 
 tion of galvanic electricity to the transmission of thought by 
 means of the electric telegra])h. An extensive series of the 
 simple galvanic batteries before^ described may be made to 
 produce efleets so powerful, that metals which can not be 
 fused at any furnace heat are readily melted by it ; and by 
 causing the electric current to pass repeatedly around a bar 
 of iron or steel, the most powerful magnets are formed. 
 
 2. When the bar is of soft iron, it loses its magnetism as 
 soon as the electric current is stopped ; and by an ingenious 
 contrivance, an instrument has been made by which the power 
 of the soft iron magnet can be created and destroyed instan- 
 taneously any number of times in succession. Advantage is 
 taken of tliis to work a needle which prints marks ujion paper 
 at the will of the operator. These marks, which are formed 
 into an alphabet, the operator uses to spell out the words 
 which he wishes to write. As the electric current may be 
 made to pass through a wire thousands of miles in extent, 
 an operator at one extremity of the wire can direct the mo- 
 tions of the needle at the other, and thus thought may be 
 transmitted with lightning speed Avherever the " wonder- 
 working wire" can be extended. The transmission of thought 
 in this way is indeed sioifter than light, for the electric fluid 
 flashes over the wire at the amazing rate of more than two 
 hundred and eighty thousand miles in a second of time! 
 
 3. Hark I the warning needles click, 
 Hither — thither— clear and quick. 
 He wlio guides their speaking pl::y 
 Stands a thousand miles awayl 
 Here we feel the electric-thrill 
 Guided by his simple will ; 
 
 Here the instant message read, 
 
 Brought with more than lightning speed. 
 
 Sing who will of Orphean lyre, 
 Ours the wonder-working wire ! 
 
 4. Let the sky be dark or clear, 
 Comes the faithful messenger; 
 Now it tells of loss and grief, 
 Now of joy in sentence brief. 
 Now of safe or sunken ships. 
 Now the murderer outstrips. 
 Now of war and fields of bloiid, 
 Now of fire, and now of flood. 
 
 Sing who will of Orphean lyre. 
 Ours" the wonder-working wire ! 
 
 6. Think the thought, and speak the word, 
 
 It is caught as soon as heard,
 
 1st DiV. OF CIIEMISTEY. 425 
 
 Borne o'er mountains, lakes, and sea?, 
 
 To the far antip'odej ; 
 
 Boston speaks at twelve o'clock, 
 
 Natchez reads ere noon the shock : 
 
 Seems it not a feat sublime? 
 
 Intellect has conquered time I 
 
 Singwho will of Orphean lyrp, 
 Ours the wonder-working wiie! 
 & Marvel ! triumph of our day, 
 
 Flash all ignorance away! 
 
 Flash sincerity of speech — 
 
 Noblest aims to all who teach ; 
 
 l'"lash till power shall learn the right, 
 
 Flash till leason conquer miglit ; 
 
 Flash resolve to eveiy mind — 
 
 Manhood flash to all mankind ! 
 
 Sing who will of Orphean lyre. 
 
 Ours" the wonder-working wire! — Anonymous. 
 
 LESSON VII. CHEMICAL AFFINITIES. 
 
 1. Among all the wonders of the material world, there are 
 none greater than those which are exhibited in the likings, 
 or affinities, which the different elementary particles or atoms 
 show for each other. Each readily forms an intimate nnioii 
 with some, while it repels others as if disdaining any rela- 
 tionship ; and, moreover, where two kinds of matter show an 
 affinity or congeniality, they will unite in certain definite pro- 
 portions, and in no other. 
 
 2. Let us begin with that all-abundant element oxygen, 
 and exhibit some of its affinities for other elements, which 
 are so strong that it is never found by itself, unless under 
 compulsion. It is the only element which is capable of uni- 
 ting with all others, with perhajis a single exception. In 
 forming water, just eight parts of oxygen by Avcight unite 
 with one part of hydrogen, and in no other proportions will 
 they form water. Yet eight additional ]>arts of oxygen, that 
 is, sixteen parts, will unite with one of hydrogen, but the 
 compound is a bitter, disagreeable liquid. 
 
 3. Oxygen will unite with nitrogen in the proportion of 
 eight parts of oxygen to fourteen of nitrogen, and witli car- 
 bon in the proportion of eight parts of oxygen to six of car- 
 bon. We have thus given the most simple combining ])ro- 
 portionS of these four elementary substances, that of hydro- 
 gen being taken as the standard ; and it is found that, with 
 whatever elements they combine, they never vary fron\ these 
 proportions, or multiples of these. Tlius the combining ]>ro- 
 portions of oxygen are always 8, IG, 24, 32, 40, or some high- 
 er multiple of 8 ; and the combining proportions of carbon are 
 6, 12, 18, 24, 30, or some higher multiple of G. A similar prin-
 
 42G 
 
 WILLSON'S FIFTH READER. 
 
 Part EX. 
 
 ciple is found to apply to all other elementary substances, 
 each having its combining jjroportion, or chemical equiva- 
 lent^ from which, or some multiple of which, it never varies.* 
 4. As we can form no conccption-of the number of combi- 
 nations that may arise from sixty-one elements, so we can 
 form no estimate of the number of different compounds to 
 which their union may give rise; for we must remember that 
 a difference in the 2^^'02)ortions of the elements — and some- 
 times a mere diflierence in the arranr/ement — may constitute 
 very different things. An instance of this is seen in the com- 
 position of vinegar, sugar, alcohol, and starch, neither one of 
 which contains any element not in the others. 
 
 LESSON VIII. LEADING CHARACTERISTICS OF THE FOITR 
 
 PRINCIPAL elements: OXYGEN HYDROGEN CARBON 
 
 NITROGEN. 
 
 Four elements in one firm band 
 
 Give foi-m to life, build sea and land. — Schtllee. 
 
 1. The leading characteristics of oxygen are, that it is the 
 supporter of combustion — as fire will not burn without its 
 presence — and it is also the life-sustaining element in the air 
 we breathe. When a piece of charcoal, which is pure car- 
 bon, is burned in the open air, the combustion consists in the 
 union of the carbon of the charcoal with the oxygen of the 
 
 * The following table comprises a list of all the elementary substances now known, the 
 Bymbols by which they are designated in chemical books, and the equivalents, or parts by 
 ireifiht, in which they unite to form compounds. It must be remembered that the equiv- 
 alent numbers express nothing but the relative weights in which the elements unite with 
 each other. Hydrogen is here taken as the standard, to which all the others are referred. 
 The names of those which are comparatively unimportant are printed in italics. 
 
 Non-metallic 
 Elements. 
 
 Oxygen 
 
 Hydrogen .... 
 
 Tv'itrogen 
 
 Carbon 
 
 Sulphur 
 
 Phosphorus . . . 
 
 Chloi ine 
 
 Bromine 
 
 Iodine 
 
 Fluorine ! F. 
 
 Boron B. 
 
 Silicon jSi. 
 
 Selenium ISe. 
 
 Metallic Elements. 
 
 Aluminium |A1. 
 
 yVntimony i Sb. 
 
 Arsenic .Vs. 
 
 Barium . . Ba. 
 
 Bismuth Bi. 
 
 Cadmium Cd. 
 
 Equ 
 
 8.00 
 
 l.Oll 
 
 14.00 
 
 6.00 
 
 16.00 
 
 31.00 
 
 35.50 
 
 80.00 
 
 127.00 
 
 19.00 
 
 10.00 
 
 21.00 
 
 40.00 
 
 13.7.^ 
 
 122.00 
 7.5.00 
 GS..50 
 
 214.00 
 56.00 
 
 Metallic Elements. 
 
 Calcium 
 
 Cerium 
 
 Chromium 
 
 Cobalt 
 
 Cohimbiuni 
 
 Copper 
 
 Didinniuni 
 
 Erbium 
 
 Glucinum, 
 
 Gold 
 
 Iridium , 
 
 Iron 
 
 Ijanthanwn 
 
 Lead , 
 
 IjiUtiwn 
 
 Magnesium 
 
 Manganese 
 
 Mercury 
 
 Mnliibdenuni, ... 
 
 Nickel 
 
 Xiobium 
 
 Equiv.|[ Metallic Elements. ISym. 
 
 20.00 XoiitivL No. 
 
 41 .OOlOsmimn Os. 
 
 2e.'iO.\Palladium Pd. 
 
 20.50 Platinum IPt. 
 
 6S.80 Potassium 'K. 
 
 31.10' \Jiliodium |Rh. 
 
 4iS.00\Ruflieniinn Ru. 
 
 [silver 'Ag. 
 
 4.70 Sodium Xa. 
 
 197.00 Strontium Sr. 
 
 99.00 |7'e/h(?-!'M7n 'Te. 
 
 28.00 Ti'rbium Tb. 
 
 47.00 'r/ionw??! Th. 
 
 103.50 Tin Sn. 
 
 7.00 Titanium Ti. 
 
 12 ."iO Tungsten W. 
 
 27.50 Uranium U. 
 
 Ilg. jlOO.OO , Vniindium V. 
 
 Mo. 4S.00 Yttrium V. 
 
 Xi. 29.50, Zinc Zn. 
 
 .Sb. I \' Zirconium. Zr. 
 
 Sym. 
 
 Ca. 
 
 Ce. 
 
 Or. 
 
 Co. 
 
 Ta. 
 
 Cn. 
 
 D. 
 
 E. 
 
 G. 
 
 Au. 
 
 Ir. 
 
 Fe. 
 
 La. 
 
 Pb. 
 
 Li. 
 
 Mg. 
 
 Mn. 
 
 Eqni7. 
 
 99.60 
 53.30 
 
 98.70 
 39.20 
 52.20 
 52.20 
 108.00 
 23.00 
 43.75 
 64.00 
 
 59.60 
 59.00 
 25.00 
 92.00 
 60.00 
 68.60 
 
 32.'75 
 22.40
 
 1st DiV. OF CHEMISTRY. 427 
 
 air, forming the compound, carbonic acid. "When wood is 
 burned, the process and result are the same, Avith the excep- 
 tion that the wood is not wholly carbon, and the other ingre- 
 dients appear during the combustion in the form of smoke 
 and ashes. The rusting of metals is a slow combustion, term- 
 ed oxidation ; and whenever oxygen unites witli any other 
 element, some degree of heat is evolved in the process. 
 
 2. Iron and steel, and other metals, will burn with exceed- 
 ing brilliancy in oxygen gas ; and, what is more strange, the 
 most intense heat known is produced by burning oxygen and 
 hydrogen in the proportions which form water.* Althongli 
 no two things in nature are more opposite in character than 
 fire and water, yet in this burning process the water is the 
 product of the fire ! Oxygen is heavier than common air, 
 and may be poured from one vessel into another; yet it is 
 invisible, inodorous, and tasteless, and can be detected only 
 by its effects upon other bodies. 
 
 3. "As a candle burns in oxygen gas with mncli greater brilliancy and 
 rapidity than in common air, so animals breathe in it with an increase of 
 pleasure ; but it excites them, quickens their circulation, throws them into 
 a state of fever, and finally kills them by excess of excitement. They live 
 too rapidly in pure oxygen gas, and burn away in it like the fast-flaring 
 candle." — Johnston. 
 
 4. Hydrogen is the lightest and most attenuated form of 
 matter with which we are acquainted, being fourteen and a 
 half times lighter than common air ; hence it is the most suit- 
 able gas for inflating balloons. Though forming two thirds 
 of the bulk of water and one ninth of its weight, it is highly 
 inflammable when brought in contact Avith the oxygen of the 
 atmosphere. Hence, when it is found, as often happens, in 
 coal-mines, united with carbon from the coal and with oxy- 
 gen, the mixture which is known as fire-damp is highly dan- 
 gerous to life, as it is liable to violent explosions when lighted 
 by accident. Moreover, those Avho escape the fire are liable 
 to be suftbcated by the carbonic acid which it produces. 
 
 5. The danger ivom fire-damp, however, has been in great 
 part removed by the niiners' " safety lamp," invented by Sir 
 Humphrey Davy. He found that the flame of a lamp would 
 not ignite bodies through a fine wire gauze ; and by inclos- 
 ing the miners' laiup within this cheap material, he Avas en- 
 .abled both to indicate, by its waning light, the presence of a 
 gas which is fatal to life if long respired, and also to guard 
 
 • The arrangement for burning oxygen and hy.lrogcn for the purpose effusing mctala, 
 melting gla^s, etc.,i3 called the oxyhydrogen blowpipe.
 
 428 WILLSON's fifth header. Part IX. 
 
 against the dreadful effects of an explosion. Thousands may 
 attribute their safety to 
 
 " That lamp's metallic gauze, 
 That curtain of protecting wire, 
 Wliich Davy delicately draws 
 Around explosive, dangerous fire." 
 
 6. As intense licat may cause the decomposition of water, 
 and set free both the inflammable hydrogen and the oxygen 
 which it contains, so, "when water is thrown on a burning 
 building in such quantity as not to quench the fire, it may 
 add fuel to the flames. " Setting the river on fire" is by no 
 means an impossibility, although it would not prove a very 
 economical fuel. 
 
 7. Carbon, found in a solid state in charcoal ami in the dia- 
 mond, and in crystallized form in the latter, unites readily 
 with oxygen to form carbonic acid. With hydrogen it unites 
 to form a numerous class of compounds. It also forms near- 
 ly one half of the solid parts of all plants ; and hence, in the 
 economy of vegetation, it performs a most imj^ortant part. 
 
 8. As carbonic acid, which is poisonous to animals Avhen 
 breathed in quantities, is produced both by the process of 
 combustion and by the breathing of animals, the atmosphere 
 would soon become unfit for respiration unless nature had 
 provided some way for removing this deleterious compound. 
 This process is performed by growing vegetables, as already 
 exjDlained ; and so well do the operations by Avhicli this gas 
 is produced and removed harmonize, that it is never found in 
 excess in places left free to the circulation of the air.* 
 
 9. Any one who wishes to test the character of carbonic 
 acid may do so by pouring vinegar upon common soda, but 
 he must be cautious about inhaling the fumes which arise. 
 What is very singular about this gas is, that although it can 
 not be taken into tlie lungs without injury, considerable 
 quantities of it may be swallowed with impunity ; for it is 
 this same gas which gives tlieir sparkling briskness to fer- 
 mented liquors, to soda-water, and to the waters of some 
 mineral springs. 
 
 10. Nitrogen, which is known to us only in the form of a 
 gas, is destitute of either taste, smell, or color. It supports 
 neither combustion nor respiration ; a lighted taper intro- 
 duced into it is immediately extinguished, and animals placed 
 within it soon die. Yet it forms nearly four fifths, by bulk, 
 
 * For the properties of carhoinc acid, and the effects of breathing it, etc., read pages 54, 
 ."■'5, and f)6 of Fourth Reader ; its absorption, as food, by vegetables, see p. 208 Fourth 
 Keader ; and for the general principles by which nature liarmonizes its production and 
 consumption, see the le.sson on "The Aquaria," p. 26S of this Keader.
 
 1st Div. OF CHEMISTRY, 429 
 
 of the air we breathe ; and although it is not known to enter 
 into the composition of any of the great mineral masses of the 
 earth, it forms a considerable part of most animal and some 
 vegetable substances. 
 
 11. iSl itrogen is remarkable for its negative properties ; and 
 as it enters reluctantly into union with most other elementa- 
 ry substances, and is quite prone to escape from them, it forms 
 very unstable comjDounds. In the decay of animal and vege- 
 table matter it escapes into the air in the form of aminonia^ 
 a compound of hydrogen and nitrogen, which is the chief in- 
 gredient of all animal and vegetable manures. When united 
 with oxygen in certain proportions, it forms the well known 
 corrosive substance called nitric acid or aqua fortis, an article 
 of great value in the arts. 
 
 LES. IX. CHEMICAL KNOWLEDGE AND THE USEFUL ARTS. 
 
 SULPHUR AND CHLORINE. 
 
 1. As Ave have not space to treat of all the elementary sub- 
 stances and their combinations, we select here two, sulphur 
 and chlorine, for the purpose of illustrating the bearings of 
 chemical knowledge upon the arts of civilized life. 
 
 2. Why has Great Britain imported annually from the vi- 
 cinity of southern Italy the enormous quantity of 60,000 tons 
 of sulphur? Why have a million and a half dollars in gold, 
 or their equivalent, been exchanged for such a substance as 
 brimstone in a single year ? It must be because the English 
 people preferred sulphur to gold. Why such a strange pref- 
 erence the reader may reasonably inquire. 
 
 3. It was not to make gunpowder, and friction matches, as 
 might at first be supposed, but to maintain and promote civ- 
 ilization through the medium of some of the most useful arts. 
 Without sulphur the processes of bleacliing, dying, metal-re- 
 fining, soda-making, and electro-telegraphing would cease; 
 and the stock of the druggist, and of the dealer in paints, 
 could not be rejilenished. 
 
 4. Sulphur may well be called the key which opens the 
 door to chemical manufactures. In combination with oxy- 
 gen, under the name of sulphuric acid, it forms a compound 
 necessary in almost every process of manufacturing industry. 
 Although found principally in volcanic regions, sulphur is 
 present in all soils Avhere turnips, cabbages, or mustard will 
 grow to maturity, as is shown by its presence in the seeds
 
 430 willson's fiftu keadek. Part IX. 
 
 of such plants. A silver spoon used in preparations of mus- 
 tard is blackened by the contained sulphur. Sulphur is found 
 also in eggs, as is shown in the same manner. 
 
 5. Chlorine is the name of another very important element, 
 which, like sulphur, is extensively used for bleaching pur- 
 poses, and also for tlie removal of noxious effluvia. It is ob- 
 tained pure only in the form of a gas ; but with the metals 
 it forms many important combinations. The ocean is its 
 great reservoir, where it combines with sodium to form com- 
 mon salt. One atom, or proportion, of chlorine, combined 
 with one of mercury, forms calomel — a powder Avell known 
 to those who take " doctors' stuff';" and tico atoms of chlorine 
 with one of mercury make that deadly poison called corrosive 
 sublimate. It is well to remember that the white of eggs is 
 an effectual antidote for this poison, if taken in season. 
 
 6. Chlorine enters into the composition of many vegetable 
 products ; and exj^eriments have shown that the germination 
 of seeds is promoted by its presence. The most explosive 
 substance known is a compound of chlorine and nitrogen ; 
 and if the chemical affinity existing between the element" 
 of common table-salt were to be suspended for a moment, 
 the very contents of the salt-cellar might prove fotal to the in- 
 mates of a closed room in which such sej^aration of elements 
 should occur. 
 
 LES. X. TUE PEIXCIPAL METALS : GOLD SILVER IRON". 
 
 1. These are simple elementary substances, so far as is yet 
 known ; for all the efforts of chemical art have failed either 
 to decompose them, or to form them by the combination of 
 other elements. Of these, gold is deemed the most precious ; 
 as it is not only the most ductile and malleable of all the met- 
 als, but, being a very dense, fixed substance, and not liable to 
 changes by exposure to the air, it is well fitted to be used as 
 coin, and hence is in universal demand. Therefore it is that 
 
 For gold the merchant plows the main, 
 The farmer plows the manor. — Burks. 
 
 2. Gold! gold! gold! 
 
 Bright and yellow, hard and cold, 
 Molten, graven, hammered, and rolled, 
 Heavy to get, and light to hold. 
 Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, 
 Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled. 
 Spurned by the young, but husgod by the old 
 To the Teiy verge of the church-yard mould; 
 Pride of many a crime untold ; 
 Gold! gold! gold! gold! 
 Good or bad a thoUiand-fold,
 
 1st Div. OF CHEMISTRY. 431 
 
 How widely ita uses vary : 
 
 To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless ; 
 
 Now stamped with the image of the good Queen Bes3, 
 
 And now of "•Bloody Maiy." — Hoou. 
 
 3. The most interesting chemical property of gold is its 
 ■svant of affinity for oxygen ; hence gold will not rust, nor suf- 
 fer corrosion by contact with any of the common acids ; and 
 Avhen gold used for coin or for gilding tarnishes, it is because 
 it is alloyed with copper or other metal. But, although gold 
 is the heaviest and most dense of all substances except plati- 
 num, like ice it has been liquefied in the laboratory of the 
 chemist, and even converted into gold steam • yet its projjcr- 
 ties as gold have never been changed by human art. 
 
 4. Notwithstanding the great value of gold, it is not so 
 useful for many purposes as iron. Glaucus made a good bar- 
 gain when he exchanged his golden armor with Diomedes for 
 one ofbixiss, although Homer has told us that 
 
 "•Jove, of sober judgment so bereft 
 Infatuate Glaucus', that with Tideus' son 
 He bartered gold' for brass" — a Inindred beeves 
 In value', for the value small of ninc\''' 
 
 Yet in point of lightness, and in j^ower of resisting the weap- 
 ons of the enemy, the brass armor was better than the one 
 of gold. 
 
 5. Pure silver, like gold, is sometimes found in veins in 
 granite and other primary rocks, where it was doubtless de- 
 posited, ages gone by, by chemical agencies. Pure silver is 
 not acted upon by common acids ; but nitric acid dissolves 
 it, forming nitrate of silver, or lunar caustic, which has the 
 property of turning black on exposure to solar light. This 
 is the chief ingredient in indelible ink, and it is also used in 
 the preparations of the photographer. 
 
 6. Silver can be drawn into a wire much finer than the hu- 
 man hair; and it is this wire, gilded, that is manufactured 
 into what is called gold or silver lace. We certainly do not 
 know of a more appropriate use to which this lace has been 
 put than is stated in the following account of the Silver 
 J^ird^s-nest ; and we think no one will be apt to forget the 
 ductile property of silver, after associating it with so beauti- 
 ful an illustration. 
 
 7. ''A stranded soldier's epaulet 
 
 The waters cast ashore, 
 A little winged rovtr met. 
 
 And eyed it o'er and o'er. 
 The silver bright so pleased her sight, 
 
 On that lone, idle vest, 
 She knew not why she should deny 
 
 Herself a silver nest. 
 
 8. The shining wire she pcck'd and twirril; 
 
 Then bore it to her bough,
 
 432 willson's fifth reader. PabX IX. 
 
 Where on a flowery twig 'twas curl'd, 
 
 The bird can chow yoii how ; 
 But when enough of that bright stuff 
 
 The cunning builder bore 
 Her hou.-'e to make, she would not take, 
 
 Nor did she covet more. 
 
 9. And when the little artisan, 
 
 While neither pride nor guilt 
 Had entcr'd in lier pretty plan, 
 
 Her resting-place laad built, 
 With here and there a ])lume to sp-l^e 
 
 About her own light form. 
 Of these, inlaid with skill, she made 
 
 A lining soft and warm. 
 
 10. But do you think the tender brood 
 
 She fondled there, and fed. 
 Were prouder when they understood 
 
 The sheen about their bed? 
 Do you suppose they ever rose, 
 
 Of higher powers possess'd. 
 Because thnj knew theii peep'd and grew 
 
 Within a silvee nest f" — H. F. Gould. 
 
 11. And now last, though not least, we have to consider 
 some of the properties, chemical and otherwise, of that very 
 common metallic substance, iron. We hazard nothing in as- 
 serting that it is by far the most useful of the metals. The 
 smelting of the ore, and the fashioning of the metal by ham- 
 mer and fire, must have been understood at a very early day 
 in the world's history ; for we read in the fourth chapter of 
 Genesis that "Tubal Cain was an instructor of every artifi- 
 cer in brass and iron." And truly a "man of note," as well 
 as a " man of might," lie must have been, as a modern poet 
 has sung : 
 
 12. " Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, 
 
 In the days when earth was young; 
 By the fievce red light of his furaace bright, 
 
 The strokes of his hammer rung ; 
 And he lifted high his brawny baud 
 
 On the iron glowing clear. 
 Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, 
 
 As he fashioned the sword and spear. 
 And he sang, 'Hurrah for my handiwork ! 
 
 Hurrah for the spear and the sword ! 
 Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, 
 
 For he shall be king and lord 1' " — Mackay. 
 
 13. In combination with oxygen and sulphur, iron is so 
 widely diffused that few minerals can be found that do not 
 contain traces of it. Combined with oxygen, it is the col«r- 
 ing matter of our most beautiful marbles, as well as of clays 
 and soils ; and were it not for the wide dissemination of ox- 
 ides of iron, the earthy matter of the globe would be as white 
 as chalk. The artist derives some of his richest tints from 
 iron. 
 
 Ye rivaled the tints of the blushing dawn 
 
 With the hues my dust supiilied, 
 Till the humblest work of art has shown 
 
 Like the mist by rainbows dyed. — CcTTiiE.
 
 1st Div. OF CHEMISTRY. 433 
 
 14. Iron is fouud in the blood, where it performs impor- 
 tant offices, conveying the oxygen of the air we breathe from 
 the hmgs to our very iingers' ends, and bearing back from 
 the capillaries the waste carbon that requires to be thrown 
 out of the system. It is also much used in medicine ; and 
 the tonic properties of those mineral springs called chalybeate 
 are due to the presence of iron. 
 
 I come where the suffering patient lies 
 
 On his cour.h, all wan and weak, 
 And the lustre returns to his sunken eyes, 
 
 And the bloom to his pallid clieek (Jutteu. 
 
 15. Iron is the only metal that combines with carbon, 
 forming steel when the proportion of carbon is small, and 
 black-lead or plumbago when the proportion is very large. 
 Cast-iron contains earthy impurities and some carbon, which 
 must be burned out to render the iron malleable. Some of 
 the manifold uses and applications of iron or steel are enu- 
 merated in the following lines : 
 
 " Iron vessels cross the ocean, 
 Iron engines give them motion ; 
 Iron needles northward veering, 
 Iron tillers vessels steering; 
 Iron pipe our gas delivers, 
 Iron bridges span our rivers ; 
 Iron pens are used for writing, 
 Iron ink our thouglita inditing; 
 Iron stoves for cooking victuals, 
 Iron ovens, pots, and kel ties ; 
 Iron horses draw our loads. 
 Iron rails compose our roads ; 
 Iron anchors hold in sands, 
 Iron b'dts, and rods, and bands; 
 Iron houses. Iron walls, 
 Iron cannon, iron balls ; 
 Iron axes, knives, and chaias. 
 Iron augers, saws, and planes ; 
 Iron globules in our blood, 
 Iron particles in food ; 
 Iron liglitning-rods on spires, 
 Iron telegraphic wires ; 
 Iron hammers, nails, and screws — 
 Iron every thing we use." 
 
 LESSON" XI. — ACIDS, ALKALIES, AND SALTS. 
 
 1. Ix common language, an acid is any sour substance, but 
 in chemistry the term is more extended. An alkali, a term 
 originally applied to the ashes of plants, is a substance which 
 has a peculiar acrid taste, like potash or soda. The acids 
 and alkalies have a remarkable affinity for each other, uniting 
 with the greatest facility, losing thereby their distinctive 
 qualities, and by their union forming a large class of com- 
 pounds which are known in chemistry as salts. This latter 
 
 T
 
 434 willson's futh ebai>ee. Pakt ix. 
 
 terra, therefore, though in ordinary language limited to com- 
 mon salt, is applied in chemistry to all combinations of acids 
 with alkalies. 
 
 2. Tliat common article, soap, is formed by the union of an 
 alkali with the fatty acid of some oily substance ; and hence 
 soap itself may be considered one of the chemical salts. The 
 alkali most frequently used is the common ley of wood ashes, 
 which is essentially the same as pearlash or potash dissolved 
 in water. It is well known that oil and water have no dis- 
 position to unite ; but the alkali has a strong affinity for both, 
 and in uniting with them brings about a mutual combination 
 differing from either of the ingredients. The principles dis- 
 played in this process are well illustrated in the following 
 
 EASY LESSON IN CHEMISTRY. 
 
 ■ 3. " Some water and oil 
 
 One day had a broil, 
 As down in a glass they were dropping, 
 
 And would not unite. 
 
 But continued to fight, 
 Without any prospect of stopping. 
 
 Some pearlash o'erheard — 
 
 As quick as a word. 
 He jumped in the midst of the clashing; 
 
 When all tliree agreed, 
 
 And united with speed. 
 And soap was created for washing." 
 
 4. The commonness of an article is apt to induce us to 
 overlook its importance ; a truth Avhich is j^erhaps nowhere 
 more fully exemplified than in the case before us. Liebig 
 says, "The quantity of soap consumed by a nation would be 
 no inaccurate measure whereby to estimate its wealth and 
 civihzation." According to Pliny, the invention of soap must 
 be ascribed to the Gauls, by w'hom, he says, it was composed 
 of tallow and ashes, and was probably at first an accidental 
 combination. Homer had long before described the washing 
 of the royal robes in the "limpid streams;" but we have 
 reason to suspect, from the known absence of soap on that 
 occasion, that the picture of their " snowy lustre" is ove^-- 
 drawn. 
 
 They seek the cisterns where Phceacian dames 
 Wash their fair garments in the limpid streams; 
 Where, gathering into depth from falling rills, 
 The lucid wave a spacious basin fills ; 
 Then, emulous, tlie royal robes they lave. 
 And plunge the vestures in the cleansing wave : 
 The vestures cleansed o'erspread the shelly sand, 
 Their snowy lustre whitens all the strand. 
 
 Pope's Odyssey, b. vi.
 
 1st Div. OF CHEMISTRY. 435 
 
 LESSON XII. — THE CHEMISTRY OF A CANDLE. 
 
 (Adapted from Dickens's Household Words.) 
 
 The Wilkinsons were having a small party — it consisted 
 of themselves and Uncle Bagges — at which the younger mem- 
 bers of the family, home for the holidays, had been just admit- 
 ted after dinner. Uncle Bagges was a gentleman from whom 
 his aftectionate relatives cherished expectations of a testa- 
 mentary nature. Hence the greatest attention was paid by 
 them to the wishes of Mr. Bagges, as well as to every observ- 
 ation which he might be pleased to make. 
 
 "Eh! Avhat? you sir," said Mr. Bagges, facetiously ad- 
 dressing himself to his eldest nejahew, Harry — " eh ! what ? 
 I am glad to hear, sir, that you are doing well at school. 
 Now — eh ? now, are you clever enough to tell me where 
 was Moses when he put the candle out ?" 
 
 "That depends, uncle," answered the young gentleman, 
 " on whether he had lighted the candle to see with at night, 
 or by daylight to seal a letter." 
 
 " Eh ? Very good, now ! 'Pon my word, very good," ex- 
 claimed Uncle Bagges. " You must be lord chancellor, sir — 
 lord chancellor, one of these days." 
 
 "And now, uncle," asked Harry, who was a favorite "^ith 
 the old gentleman, " can you tell me what you do when you 
 put a candle out ?" 
 
 " Clap an extinguisher on it, you young rogue, to be sure." 
 
 " Oh, but I mean, you cut oif its supply of oxygen," said 
 Master Harry. 
 
 " Cut off its ox's— eh ? what ?" 
 
 " He means something he heard at the Royal Institution," 
 observed Mrs. Wilkinson. " He reads a great deal about 
 chemistry, and he attended Professor Faraday's lectures there 
 on the chemical history of a candle, and has been full of it 
 ever since." 
 
 " Now, you sir," said Uncle Bagges, " come you here to 
 me, and tell me Avhat you have to say about this chemical, eh ? 
 — or comical ; which ? — this — comical chemical history of a 
 candle." 
 
 "Harry, don't be troublesome to your uncle," said Mr. 
 Wilkinson. 
 
 " Troublesome ? Oh, not at all. I like to hear him. Let 
 him teach his old uncle the comicality and chemicality of a 
 iarthing rush-light."
 
 436 WILLSON's fifth EEADEE. Part IX. 
 
 " A wax candle will be nicer and cleaner, uncle, and answer 
 the same purpose. There's one on the mantel-shelf. Let me 
 liglit it." 
 
 " Take care you don't burn your fingers, or set any thing 
 on fire," said Mrs. Wilkinson. 
 
 " Now, uncle," commenced Harry, having drawn his chair 
 to the side of Mr. Bagges, "mc have got our candle burning. 
 What do you see ?" 
 
 " Let me put on my spectacles," answered the uncle. 
 
 "Look down on the top of the candle around the wick. 
 See, it is a little cup full of melted wax. The heat of the flame 
 has melted the wax just round the wick. The cold air keeps 
 the outside of it hard, so as to make the rim of it. The melt- 
 ed wax in the little cup goes up through the wick to be 
 burned, just as oil does in the wick of a lamp. What do you 
 think makes it go up, uncle?" 
 
 " Why — why, the flame drmcs it up, doesn't it' ?" 
 
 " Not exactly, uncle. It goes up through little tiny pas- 
 sages in the cotton wick, because very, very small channels, 
 or pipes, or pores, have the power in themselves of sucking 
 up liquids. What they do it by is called cap — something." 
 
 " Capillary attraction, Harry," suggested Mr. Wilkinson. 
 
 "Yes, that's it; just as a sponge sucks up water, or a bit 
 of lump sugar the little drop of tea or coflTee left in the bot- 
 tom of a cup. Now I'll blow the candle out ; not to be in 
 the dark, though, but to see into what it is. Look at the 
 smoke rising from the wick. I'll hold a bit of lighted paper 
 in the smoke, so as not to touch the wick. But see, for all 
 that, the candle lights again. So this shows that the melted 
 Avax sucked up through the wick is turned into vapor, and 
 the vapor burns. The heat of the burning vapor keeps on 
 melting more wax, and that is sucked up too within the flame, 
 and turned into vapor and burned, and so on till the wax is 
 all used up and the candle is gone. So the flame, uncle, you 
 see, is the last of the caudle, and the candle seems to go 
 through the flame into nothing, although it doesn't, but goes 
 into several things ; and isn't it curious, as Professor Fara- 
 day said, that the candle should look so splendid and glorious 
 in going away ?" 
 
 " How well he remembers, doesn't he ?" obseiwed Mrs. 
 Wilkinson. 
 
 " I dare say," proceeded Harry, " that the flame of the can- 
 dle looks flat to you ; but if we were to put a lamp-glass over 
 it, so as to shelter it from the di'aught, you would see it is
 
 IstDlV. OF CUEMISTKY. 437 
 
 round — round sideways, and running up to a peak. It is 
 drawn up by the hot air ; you know that hot air always rises, 
 and that is the way smoke is taken up the chimney. "What 
 should you think was in the middle of the flame ?" 
 
 " I should say fire," replied Uncle Bagges. 
 
 " Oh no. The flame is hollow. The bright flame we see 
 is something no thicker than a thin peel or skin, and it doesn't 
 touch the wick. Inside of it is the vapor I told you of just 
 now. If you put one end of a bent pipe into the middle of 
 the flame, and let the other end of the pipe dip into a bottle, 
 the vajjor or gas from the candle will mix with the air tliere ; 
 and if you set fire to the mixture of gas from the candle and 
 air in the bottle, it would go off" Avith a bang." 
 
 " I wish you'd do that, Harry," said Master Tom, the youn- 
 ger brother of the juvenile lecturer. 
 
 " I want the proper things," answered Harry. " Well, un- 
 cle, the flame of the caudle is a little s^iining case,^with gas in 
 the inside of it and air on the outside, so that the casS of 
 flame is between the air and the gas. ^The gas keeps going 
 into the flame to burn, and when the candle burns properly 
 none of the gas ever passes out through the flame, and none of 
 the air ever gets in through the flume to the gas. The great- 
 est heat of the candle is in this skin, or peel, or case of flame." 
 
 " Case of flame !" repeated Mr.. Bagges. " Live and learn. 
 I should have thought a candle-flame was as thick as my poor 
 old noddle." 
 
 " I can show you the contrary," said Harry. " I take this 
 piece of white paper, look, and hold it a second or two down 
 upon the candle-flame, keeping the flame very steady. Xow 
 I'll rub ofl'the black of the smoke, and — there — you find that 
 the paper is scorched in the shape of a ring, but inside the 
 ring it is only dirtied, and not singed at all." 
 
 " Seeing is believing," remarked the uncle. 
 
 " But," proceeded Harry, " there is more in the candle-flame 
 than the gas that comes out of the candle. You know a can- 
 dle won't burn without air. There must be always air around 
 the gas, and touching it like, to make it burn. If a candle 
 hasn't got enough air it goes out, or burns badly, so that 
 some of the vapor inside of the flame comes out through it 
 in the form of smoke, and this is the reason of a candle smok- 
 ing. So now you know why a great clumsy dip smokes 
 more than a neat wax candle : it is because the thick wick of 
 the dip makes too much fuel in proportion to the air that can 
 o-et to it."
 
 438 WILL80N 8 FIFTH READER. Pabt IX. 
 
 " Dear me ! Well, I suppose there is a reason for every- 
 thing," exclaimed the young philosopher's mamma. 
 
 "What should you say, now," continued Harry, "if I told 
 you that the smoke that comes out of a candle is the very 
 thing that makes a candle burn with a bright light ? Yes ; 
 a candle shines by consuming its own smoke. The smoke of 
 a candle is a cloud of small dust; and the little grains of the 
 dust are bits of charcoal, or carbon, as chemists call it. They 
 are burned the moment they are made, and the ])lace they 
 are made in is in the case of flame itself, where the strongest 
 heat is. The great heat separates them from the gas which 
 comes from the melted wax, and, as soon as they touch the 
 air on the outside of the thin case of flame, they burn." 
 
 " Can you tell how it is that the little bits of carbon cause 
 the brightness of the flame' ?" asked Mr. Wilkinson, 
 
 "Because they are pieces of solid matter," answered Har- 
 ry. "To make a flame shine, there must always be some 
 solid — or at least liquid — matter in it." 
 
 "Very good," said JMr. Bagges ; "solid stufl" necessary to 
 brightness." 
 
 "Some gases and other things," resumed Harry, "that 
 burn with a flame you can hardly see, burn splendidly when 
 something solid is put into them. Oxygen and hydrogen — 
 tell me if I use too hard words, uncle — oxygen and hydrogen 
 gases, if mixed together and blown through a pipe, burn with 
 plenty of heat, but Avith very little light. But if their flame 
 is blown upon a piece of quick-lime, it gets so bright as to be 
 quite dazzling. Make the smoke of oil of turpentine pass 
 through the same flame, and it gives the flame a beautiful 
 briglitness directly." 
 
 " I wonder," observed Uncle Bagges, " what has made you 
 such a bright youth." 
 
 " Taking after uncle, pei'haps," retorted his nephew. 
 " Don't put my candle and me out. Well, carbon or char- 
 coal is what causes the brightness of all lamps, and candles, 
 and other common lights, so of course there is carbon in what 
 they are all made of." 
 
 " So carbon is smoke, eh ? and light is owing to your car- 
 bon. Giving light out of smoke, eh ? as they say in the 
 classics," obsei'ved Mr. Bagges. 
 
 " But what becomes of the candle," jiursued Harry, " as it 
 burns away ? Avhere does it go?" 
 
 " Nowhere," said his mamma, " I should think. It burns 
 to nothinsf."
 
 iBt Div. OF CHEMISTRY. 439 
 
 " Oh dear, no !" said Harry ; " every thing — every body 
 goes somewhere." 
 
 " Eh ? rather an important consideration that," Mr. Bagges 
 morahzed. 
 
 " You can see it goes into smoke, which makes soot for one 
 thing," said Harry. "There are other things it goes into, 
 not to be seen by only looking, but you can get to see them 
 by taking the right means : just put your hand over the can- 
 dle, uncle." 
 
 "Thank you, young gentleman,! would rather be excused." 
 
 " Not close enough down to burn you, uncle ; higher up. 
 There ; you feel a stream of hot air, so something seems to 
 rise from the candle. Suppose you were to put a very long, 
 slender gas-burner over the flame, and let the flame burn just 
 within the end of it, as if it were a chimney, some of the hot 
 steam would go up and come out at the top, but a sort of dew 
 would be left behind in the glass chimney, if the chimney was 
 cold enough when you put it on. There are ways of collect- 
 ing this sort of dew, and when it is collected it turns out to 
 be really water. I am not joking, xmcle. "Water is one of 
 the things Avhich the candle turns into in burning — water 
 coming out of fire. In some light-houses. Professor Faraday 
 says, they burn up two gallons of oil in a night ; and if the 
 windows are cold, the steam from the oil clouds the inside of 
 the windows, and, in frosty weather, freezes into ice." 
 
 " Water out of a candle, eh ?" exclaimed Mr. Bagges. " As 
 hard to get, I should have thought, as blood out of a post. 
 Where does it come from ?" 
 
 " Part from the wax, and part from the air ; and yet not a 
 drop of it comes either from the air or the wax. What do 
 you make of that, uncle ?" 
 
 " Eh? Oh ! I'm no hand at riddles. Give it up." 
 
 " No riddle at all, uncle. That which comes from the wax 
 is a gas called hydrogen. We can obtain it from water by 
 passing the steam of boiling water through a red-hot gun- 
 barrel which contains a quantity of iron wire or turnings. 
 Part of the steam will mix with the iron turnings, and change 
 them to rust ; and the other part, which comes out of the end 
 of the barrel, will be hydrogen gas, and this part of the wa- 
 ter we can set on fire." 
 
 "Eh?" cried Mr. Bagges. "Upon my word! One of 
 these days we shall have you setting the river on fire." 
 
 " Nothing more easy," said Plarry. " When pure hydro- 
 gen burns, we get nothing but water. I should like to show
 
 440 WILLSOn's fifth reader. Part IX. 
 
 you how light this hydrogen is ; and I wish I had a small bal- 
 loon to fill with it and make go up to the ceiling, or a bag- 
 pipe full of it to blow soap-bubbles with, and show how 
 much faster they rise than common ones blown with the 
 breath." 
 
 " So do I," interposed Master Tom. 
 
 "And so," resumed Harry, "hydrogen, you know, uncle, 
 is part of water, and just one ninth part." 
 
 " As hydrogen is to water, so is a tailor to an ordinary in- 
 dividual, eh ?" Mr. Bagges remarked. 
 
 " Well, now, then, uncle, if hydrogen is the tailor's part of 
 the water, what are the other parts?" 
 
 " There must be eight of them, to be sure." 
 
 " Good again, uncle ; and these eight parts are a gas also, 
 that is called oxygen. This is a very curious gas. It won't 
 burn in air at all itself, like gas from a lamp, but it has a 
 wonderful power of making things burn that are lighted and 
 put into it. A lighted candle put into a jar of oxygen blazes 
 uj) directly, and is consumed before you can say Jack Robin- 
 son. Charcoal burns away in it as fast, Avith beautiful bright 
 sparks ; phosphorus with a light that dazzles you to look at ; 
 and a piece of iron or steel, just made red-hot at the end first, 
 is burned in oxygen quicker than a stick would be in common 
 air. The experiment of burning things in oxygen beats any 
 fire-works." 
 
 " How funny that must he !" exclaimed Tom. 
 
 " Now we see, imcle," Harry continued, " that water is hy- 
 drogen and oxygen united together ; that water is got wher- 
 ever hydrogen is burned in common air ; that a candle won't 
 burn without air ; and that, when a candle burns, there is hy- 
 drogen in it burning and forming water. Now, then, where 
 does the hydrogen of the candle get the oxygen from to turn 
 into water with it ?" 
 
 " From the air, eh ?" 
 
 "Just so. It is the oxygen in the air that makes things 
 burn ; but if the air were nothing but oxygen, a candle would 
 not last above a minute." 
 
 " What a tallow-chandler's bill we should have!" remarked 
 Mrs. Wilkinson. 
 
 " 'If a house were on fire in oxygen,' as Professor Faraday 
 said, ' every iron bar, or, rather, every pillar, every nail and 
 iron tool, and the fireplace itself; all the zinc and copper 
 roofs, and leaden coverings, and gutters, and pipes, would 
 consume and burn, increasing the combustion.' "
 
 1st DiV. OF CHEillSTRY. 441 
 
 " That would be, indeed, burning ' like a house on fire,' " 
 observed Mr. Bagges. 
 
 "But there is another gas, called nitrogen," said Harry, 
 " which is mixed with the air, and it is this which prevents 
 a candle from burning out too fast." 
 
 "Eh ?" said Mr. Bagges. " Well, I will say I do think we 
 are under considerable obligations to nitrogen." 
 
 "I have explained to you, uncle," pursued Harry, "how a 
 candle, in burning, turns into water. But it turns into some- 
 thing else besides that. The little bits of carbon that 1 told 
 you about, which are burned in the flame of a candle, and 
 which make the flame bright, mingle with the oxygen in burn- 
 ing, and form still another gas, called carbonic acid gas, which 
 is so destructive of life when we breathe it. So you see that 
 a candle-flame is vapor burning, and that the vapor, in ♦burn- 
 ing, turns into water and carbonic acid gas." 
 
 "Haven't you pretty nearly come to your candle's end'?" 
 said Mr. "Wilkinson. 
 
 " Xearly. I only want to tell uncle that the burning of a 
 candle is almost exactly like our breathing. Breathing is 
 consuming oxygen, only not so fast as burning. In bi-eathing, 
 we throw out water in vapor and carbonic acid from our 
 lungs, and take oxygen in. Oxygen is as necessary to sup- 
 port the life of the body as it is to keep up the flame of a 
 candle." 
 
 " So," said Mr. Bagges, " man is a candle, eh ? and Shak- 
 speare knew that, I suppose (as he did most things), when 
 he wrote, 
 
 ' Out, out, brief candle I' 
 
 "Well, well ; we old ones are moulds, and you young gquires 
 are dips and rush-lights, eh ? Any more to tell us about the 
 candle ?" 
 
 " I could tell you a great deal more about oxygen, and hy- 
 drogen, and carbon, and water, and breathing, that Professor 
 Faraday said, if I had time ; but you should go and hear him 
 yourself, uncle." 
 
 " Eh ? well, T think I will. Some of us seniors may learn 
 something from a juvenile lecture, at any rate, if given by a 
 Faraday. And now, my boy, I will tell you Avhal," added 
 Mr. Bagges, "I am very glad to find you so fond of study 
 and science ; and you deserve to be encouraged ; and so I'll 
 give you a — what-d'ye-call-it ? a galvanic battery on your 
 next birthday ; and so much for your teaching your old uncle 
 the chemistry of a candle." 
 
 T 2
 
 442 WLLLSON S FIFTH READER. Part IX. 
 
 LESSON" Xin. THE POETIC REALITIES OP XATURE. 
 
 From Hunt's Poetry of Science. 
 - 1. The animated marble of ancient story is far less won- 
 derful than the fact, proved by investigation, that every atom 
 of matter is interpenetrated by a principle which directs its 
 movements and orders its positions, and involved by an in- 
 fluence Avhich extends without limits to all other atoms, and 
 Avhich determines their union or otherwise. 
 
 2. We have gravitation drawing all matter to a common 
 centre, and acting from all bodies throughout the Avide re- 
 gions of unmeasured space npon all. We have cohesion 
 holding the particles of matter enchained, operating only at 
 distances too minute for the mathematician to measure ; and 
 we have chemical attraction, different from either of these, 
 working no less mysteriously Avithin absolutely insensible 
 distances, and by the exercise of its occult power giving de- 
 terminate and fixed forms to every kind of material creation. 
 
 3. The spiritual beings which the poet of untutored nature 
 gave to the forest, to the valley, and to the mountain, to the 
 lake, to the river, and to the ocean, working within their se- 
 cret offices, and moulding for man the beautiful or the sub- 
 lime, are but the Aveak creations of a finite mind, although 
 they have for ns a charm Avhich all men nnconsciously obey, 
 even Avhen they refuse to confess it. They are like the re- 
 sult of the labors of the statuary, Avho, in his high dreams of 
 love and sublimated beauty, creates from the marble rock a 
 figure of the most exquisite moulding Avhich mimics life. It 
 charms ns for a season ; we gaze and gaze again, and its first 
 charms vanish ; it is CA^er and ever still the same dead heap 
 of chiseled stone. It has not the poAver of presenting to our 
 Avearying. eyes the change Avhich life alone enaljles matter to 
 give ; and, Avhile Ave admit the excellence of the artist, Ave 
 cease to feel at his Avork. 
 
 4. The mysteries of floAvers have ever been the charm of 
 the poet's song. Imagination has invested them with a magic 
 influence, and fancy has almost regarded them as spiritual 
 things. In contemplating their surpassing loveliness, the 
 mind of every observer is improved, and the sentiments 
 Avhich they inspire, by their mere external elegance, are great 
 and good. But on examining the real mysteries of their con- 
 ditions, their physical phenomena, the relations in which they 
 stand to the animal Avorld, "stealing and giving odors" in
 
 l8t Div. OF CHEMISTRY. 443 
 
 the marvelous interchange of carbonic acid and ammonia for 
 
 the soul-inspiriug oxygen — all speaking of the powers of some 
 unseen,, indwelling principle, directed by a supreme ruler — 
 the philosopher tinds subjects for deep and soul-trying con- 
 templation. Such studies lift the mind into the truly sublime 
 of nature. The poet's dream is the dim reflection of a dis- 
 tant star ; the philosopher's revelation is a strong telescopic 
 examination of its features. One is the mere echo of the re- 
 mote whisper of Nature's voice in the dim twilight ; the other 
 is the swelling music of the harp of Memnon,i awakened by 
 the sun of truth, newly risen from the night of ignorance. 
 
 5. Poetical creations are pleasing, but they never aftect the 
 mind in the way in which the poetic realities of nature do. 
 The sylph moistening a lily is a sweet dream ; but the thoughts 
 which rise when first we learn that the broad and beautiful 
 dark green leaves of the lily, and its pure and delicate flower, 
 are the results of the alchemy which changes gross particles 
 of matter into symmetric forms, of a power which is unceas- 
 ingly at work under the guidance of light, heat, and elec- 
 trical force, are, after our incredulity has passed away — for 
 it is too wonderful for the untutored to believe at once — 
 of an exalting character. 
 
 6. The flower has grown under the imj^ulse of principles 
 ■which have been borne to it on the beam of solar light, and 
 mingled with its substance, and it has a language for all men. 
 The poet, indeed, tells us of a man to whom 
 
 "The primrose on the river's brink 
 A yellow primrose was to him, 
 And it loas nothing 'more.''' 
 
 But it was something more. He perhaps attended not to the 
 eloquent teaching of its pui'e pale leaves ; he might not have 
 been conscious of the mysterious singing of that lowly flower; 
 he might perchance have crushed it beneath his rude foot 
 rather than quaft'the draught of wisdom which it secreted in 
 its cell ; but the flower still ministered to that mere sensual- 
 ist, and in its strange tongueless manner reproved his pas- 
 sions, and kept him "a wiser and a better man" than if it had 
 pleased God to leave the world without the lovely primrose. 
 v. A stone, likewise, is merely a stone to most men. But 
 within the interstices^ of the stone, and involving it like an 
 atmosphere, are great and mighty influences — powers which 
 are fearful in their grander operations, and wonderful in their 
 gentler developments. The stone and the flower hold, lock- 
 ed up in their recesses, the three great known forces, light, 
 heat, and electricity, and, in all probability, others of a more
 
 444 WILLSON's fifth reader, Pakt IX. 
 
 exalted nature still, to which these powers arc but subordin- 
 ate agents. Such are the facts of science, which, indeed, 
 draw " sermons from stones," and find " tongues in trees." 
 Science alone can interpret the mysterious whisperings of 
 Nature, and in this consists its poetry. 
 
 8. How weak are the creations of romance when viewed 
 beside the discoveries of science. One aifords matter for 
 meditation, and gives rise to thoughts of a most ennobling 
 character ; the other excites for a moment, and leaves the 
 mind vacant or diseased. The former, like the atmosphere, 
 furnishes a constant supply of the most healthful matter ; the 
 latter gives an unnatural stimulus, which compels a renewal 
 of the same kind of excitement to maintain the continuation 
 of its pleasurable sensations. 
 
 ' Mem'-non. The famous vocal statue of I a musical string; an liistorical fact, but 
 Memnon, In Kgypt, was said to utter, when tlie cause of which remains a mystery, 
 it was struck by the first beams of the rising 2 In'-tee-stT-ces, spaces between the parts 
 sun, a sound lilio the snapping asunder of | which compose a body. 
 
 LESSON XIV. THE EXTENT OF CHEMICAL ACTION". 
 
 Robert Hunt. 
 
 1. It is evident that in all chemical phenomena we have 
 the combined exercise of the great physical forces and evi- 
 dences of some powers wdiich are, as yet, shrouded in the 
 mystery of our ignorance. The formation of minerals within 
 the clefts of the rocks, the germination of seeds, the growth 
 of the plant, the develoj^ments of its fruit and its ultimate de- 
 cay, the secret processes of animal life, assimilation, digestion, 
 and respiration, and all the changes of external form which 
 take place around us, are the result of the exercise of that 
 principle which we call chemical. 
 
 2. By chemical action plants take from the atmosphere the 
 elements of their growth ; these they yield to animals, and 
 from these they are again returned to the air. The viewless 
 atmosphere is gradually formed into an organized being, 
 which as gradually is again resolved into the thin air, and all 
 through chemical processes. The changes of the mineral 
 world are of an analogous character, but we can not trace 
 them so clearly in all their phenomena. 
 
 3. An eternal round of chemical action is displayed in na- 
 ture. Life and death are but two phases of its influences. 
 Growth and decay are equally the result of its power.
 
 NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YAKD. TUOS. GRAY. 
 
 [" Gray's Elegy" is generally conceded to be one of the most finished poems ever writ- 
 ten. It supposes the poet to be musing in a countiy church-yard at the close of a tran- 
 quil summer's day, when the scene calls up a train of reflections upon the character and 
 occupations of the "■ rude forefathers of the i)eaceful hamlet" who sleep beneath him. 
 Reflecting that they shall wake no more at morn to pursue their daily avocations, he 
 passes in review before him the industrious, contented, unambitious life they led, while 
 both their virtues and their crimes were circumscribed by the humble lot in life which 
 Providence had assigned them. The poet then fancies some one, after years had passed 
 away, inquiring into his fate, and he puts into the mouth of " some hoary -headed swain" a 
 simple relation of the little that might then be told of his, the poet's, humble hif tory ; and 
 this is followed, in the last three verses, by his own epitaph. The artist has pictured ev. 
 t-ry scene de^icribed, as it is supposed to have arisen in the mind of the poet] 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 
 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
 TTle plowman homeward plods his wear}' way, 
 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 Rave where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the di-t.int folds :
 
 446 
 
 willson's fifth reader. 
 
 3. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower. 
 Molest her ancient solitan- reip'n. 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
 
 Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowlv bed.
 
 NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 44 Y 
 
 G. For them, no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 
 
 Oft did the hai-^est to then fickle Mold; 
 
 Their furrow ott the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
 How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! 
 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdv stroke ? 
 
 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 
 Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 The short and simple annal- of the poor.
 
 448 
 
 WILLSON'S FIFTH READER. 
 
 9. The boast of heiiikliy, tlie pomp of power, 
 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er pave, 
 Await, alike, th' inevitable hour — 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 10. Nor 'SOU, \e pioud ' impute to these the fault, 
 If Memoiy o'ei then tomb no tiophies raise , 
 ^Yhere, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault. 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of ]>rnise. 
 
 ] I . Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
 Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust ? 
 
 Or Fhitterv sontho the dull, cold ear of Death ?
 
 NIVTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 449 
 
 12. Perhaiis, in this ucylccted ^-pot, is laid 
 
 Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 Oi wnked to ecstasy tlu Inni ■• hie 
 
 13. But Knowledge, to then c\c->, lui anij)lL p ig( , 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne cr uuioll ; 
 Chill Penurj' repressed their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 14. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 
 The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the doscrt air.
 
 450 
 
 willson's fifth beadek. 
 
 15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
 Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 16. Th' applause of listening senates to command; 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise ; 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their history in a nation's eyes, 
 
 17. 
 
 Their lot forbad : nor circnmscribed alone 
 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined j 
 
 Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
 
 NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 451 
 
 
 18. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide ; 
 To quench the bhishes of ingenuous shame ; 
 Or heap the shrine of Luxur}' and Pride, 
 With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 
 
 19. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
 Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 
 * Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life. 
 
 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 
 
 20. Yet e'en those hones from insult to protect, 
 Some frail memorial still, erected nigh, 
 "With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd. 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
 
 452 
 
 WHJ-SON's Fl*n'H RKADEK. 
 
 21. Their name, their years, spelt by tli' unletter'd Muse, 
 The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
 And many a holy text around she strews, 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die- 
 
 22. For who, to dumb Forgetfuliiess a prey. 
 
 This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned ; 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 ICor cast one longing, lingering look beiiind ? 
 
 23. On some fond breast the parting soul rt iic:~ ; 
 Some pious dro])S the closing eye requires ; 
 E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries ; 
 E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
 
 XIXTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 453 
 
 24. For thee, who, mindful of th' imhonor'd dead, 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
 If 'chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate ; 
 
 Haply, some hoary-lieaded 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 ujiland lawn. 
 
 26. "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.
 
 454 
 
 willson's fifth reader. 
 
 27. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn, 
 
 Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove : 
 Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 
 
 28. " One morn I miss'd him on the 'custoni'd hill, 
 Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; 
 Another came — nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 
 
 29. "The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 
 
 Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. 
 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
 
 NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 465 
 
 30. Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, 
 
 A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown , 
 
 Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
 
 And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 
 
 31. Large was his bounty, and his soul '-incere , 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
 He gave to Misery all he had — a tear; 
 
 He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 
 
 32. No farther seek his merits to di.scluse, 
 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
 (There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
 The bosom of his Father and his God.
 
 45G willson's fifth header. 
 
 THE RAZOR-SELLER. 
 
 Tlie following ia a fine rrading exercise, and pains phould be taken to give it the Bame 
 degree of naturalnes» that we should expect if the original scene had been acted before 
 our eyes. 
 
 1. A fellow in a market town, 
 
 Most musical, cried razors up and down, 
 And offered twelve for eighteen pence, 
 Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap, 
 And for the money quite a heap, 
 
 As every man would buy, with cash and sense. 
 
 2. A country bumpkin the great offer heard — 
 Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard, 
 
 That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose — 
 With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid. 
 And proudly to himself, in whispers, said, 
 
 "This rascal stole"^ the razors, I suppose'. 
 
 3. "No matter if the fellow he a knave. 
 Provided that the razors shave'; 
 
 It certainly will be a monstrous prize." 
 So home the clown, with his good fortune, went. 
 Smiling in heart and soul, content, 
 
 And quickly soap'd himself to ears and eyes. 
 
 4. Being well lathered from a dish or tub, 
 Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub, 
 
 Just like a hedger cutting furze : 
 'Twas a vile' razor! — then the rest he tried — 
 All were impostors — " Ah !" Hodge sigh'd, 
 
 "I wish my eighteen pence within my purse." 
 
 5. Hodge sought the fellow — found him — and begun : 
 "P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue', to you 't'ls/un^. 
 
 That people flay themselves out of their lives' : 
 You rascal ! for an hour have I been grubbing, 
 Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing, 
 
 With razors just like oyster' knives. 
 Sirrah' ! I tell you, you're a knave\ 
 To cry up razors that can't shave'." 
 
 6. "Friend," quoth the razor-man, " I'm not a knave: 
 
 As for the i-azors you have bought', 
 
 Upon my soul' I never thought' 
 That they would shave'." 
 " Not think they'd shave' .'" quoth Hodge, with wondering eyes, 
 
 And voice not much unlike an Indian yell ; 
 "What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries: 
 
 "Made' !" quoth the fellow, with a smile — "to sell'." 
 
 JoH>" WoLcoTT (Peter Pindab^.
 
 1st Div. Oi- GEOLOGY. 
 
 457 
 
 PAET X. 
 
 FIEST DIVISION OF GEOLOGY. 
 
 [This subject is continuerl in the Sixth Reader] 
 
 'A 
 
 ibe Medalo ot ( reitioa 
 
 Behold ! a new kind of medals, much more important and incomparably more ancient 
 than those of the Greeks and the Romans. — Knoke's Monuments. 
 
 LESSON" I. IXTKODUCTORY. 
 
 1. It is from the " Medals of Creation" — the fossil remains 
 of plants and animals scattered throughout the rocky strata 
 of the globe — that ^ve are enabled to read that "wonderful 
 portion of our earth's history which reaches back even into 
 chaos itself, myriads of ages before the creation of man. 
 These are the electrotyjyes of nature — faithful records, Avhich 
 there is no conflicting testimony to invalidate, and which no 
 criticism can gainsay. 
 
 2. It is believed by most geologists that the earth was at 
 one time a molten mass, surrounded by an atmosphere tilled 
 with dense gases and vapors ; and that, as the outer portions 
 cooled, forming the rocks and the dry land, the vapors, con- 
 densing and falling in showers, formed springs, rivers, and 
 the waters of the ocean. Tliis is the geological theory of the 
 gradual calling of order out of chaos, after the great Avork of 
 creation had been completed. 
 
 3. It is maintained that this view of the early condition of 
 our globe, and of the successive changes that subsequently 
 occurred in it during thousands and perhaps millions of years 
 prior to the creation of man, docs not at all conflict with the 
 scriptural account of the creation. The scriptural account, 
 
 V
 
 458 AVILLSON S FIFTH KEADER. Pakt X. 
 
 .IS paraplirased by a modern commentator, Avould read thus : 
 " In the beyuudng God created the heavens and the earth. 
 And the earth was desohite. Aftervmrd^ the Spirit of God 
 moved upon the face of the waters ;" thus allowing^ tlie pos- 
 sibility of even milUons of years between the first act of crea- 
 tive power and the six days' Avork of arranging tiie universe. 
 4. Diftereut opinions long prevailed among the learned 
 with regard to the nature, the extent of time, and the date 
 of the six days' work of creation, for the Bible gives us no 
 explanation on these points; but by most of the learned of 
 the present day, and by all eminent geologists, the " six days" 
 are understood to be indefinite periods of time, as it is said 
 that, with the Almighty,_" a thousand years are to be reckon- 
 ed but as one day." It seems reasonable to suppose that 
 they may have been prophetic periods looking into tlie past, 
 .and seen in vision by the inspired historian. " The Creation" 
 has been chosen as a theme for august description by the 
 poet Milton, and it likewise forms the subject of Haydn's 
 crrandest oratorio. 
 
 LESSON II. — kaphael's account of the ckeattox. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 1. Heaven opened wide 
 Her ever-dnring pates — hannonious sound — 
 On golden hinges moving, to let forth 
 
 The King of Glory, in his powerful "Word 
 
 And Spirit coming to create new worlds. 
 
 On heavenly ground they stood ; and, from the shore, 
 
 They viewed the vast, immeasurable abyss. 
 
 Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild. 
 
 Up from the bottom turned by furious winds 
 
 And surging waves, as mountains to assault 
 
 Heaven's height, and with the centre mix the pole. 
 
 2. "Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace I'' 
 Said then the omnific Word ; "your discord end !" 
 Nor stayed, but, on the wings of cherubim 
 Uplifted, in ])aternal glory rode 
 
 Far into chaos, and the world unborn ; 
 For chaos heard his voice : him all his train 
 Followed in bright jirocession, to behold 
 Creation, and the wonders of his might. 
 
 3. Then stayed the fervid wheels, and in his hand 
 He took the golden compasses, prepared 
 
 In God's eternal store, to circumscribe 
 This universe, and all created things : 
 One foot he centred, and the other turned 
 lionnd through tlie vast profundity obscure,
 
 1st Div. OF GEOLOGY. 459 
 
 And said, "Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, 
 This be thy just circumference, oh world!" 
 
 4. Thus God the heaven created, thus the earth, 
 Matter unformed and void; darkness profound 
 Covered the abyss ; but on the watery calm 
 
 • His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, 
 And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth 
 Throughout the fluid mass : 
 
 then founded, then conglobed 
 
 Like things to like, the rest to several place 
 Disparted, and between spun out the air ; 
 And earth, self-balanced, on her centre hung. 
 
 5. "Let there be light, "said God; and forthwith light 
 Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure. 
 Sprung from the deep, and, from her native east. 
 To journey tlirough the airy gloom began. 
 Sphered in a radiant cloud ; for yet the sun 
 
 Was not : she in a cloudy tabernacle 
 
 Sojourned the while. God saw the light was good, 
 
 And light from darkness, by the hemisphere, 
 
 Divided : light the day, and darkness night. 
 
 He named. 
 
 6. Thus was the first day, even and morn : 
 Nor passed uncelebrated, nor imsung 
 
 By the celestial choirs, when orient light 
 
 Exhaling first from darkness they beheld ; 
 
 Birthday of heaven and earth : with joy and shout 
 
 The hollow universal orb they filled. 
 
 And touched their golden harps, and, h\Tnning, praised 
 
 God and his works : Creator him they sung, 
 
 Both when first evening was, and when first morn. 
 
 LESSON" III. CHAEACTEK OF THE GEOLOGICAL HISTORY OT 
 
 THE EARTH. 
 
 1. Geology is the science which treats of tlie materials 
 that compose the earth, and of the organic remains whicli 
 they contain. According to Sir Charles Lyell, " Geology is 
 the science which investigates the successive clianges that 
 have taken place in the organic and inorganic kingdoms of 
 nature ; it inquires into the causes of these changes, and the 
 influences which they have exerted in modifying the surface 
 and external structure of our planet." 
 
 2. The earth has not always existed in its present condi- 
 tion, and geology gives us a view of its history during a 
 period of unknown length — not only thousands, but perliaps 
 millions of years — long befcire the creation of man. It nj)- 
 ]^ears that, during this time, the earth underwent many
 
 4 GO WILLSON S FHTTH KEADEK. Takt X. 
 
 changes ; that beds or strata of rock were formed during suc- 
 cessive ages at the bottom of the seas by the gradual wearing 
 away of rocks on land, through atmospheric agencies and the 
 action of water, and their deposition on the bed of the ocean 
 in the form of mud, and sand, and gravel ; that these strata 
 were sometimes thrown up by subterranean forces ; and that 
 hills and valleys were thus formed, and the sea and land often 
 made to change places. But what is more wonderful than 
 all this, and that which gives the study of geology peculiar 
 interest, we have abundant proof that while these operations 
 were going on, there arose a succession of plants and animals, 
 beginning with those of simplest form, often widely different 
 from any now in existence, and advancing to those of higher 
 character, until those nearest the present races appeared. 
 
 3. All this wonderful history has been learned in the fol- 
 lowing manner. From the present appearances of mountain 
 chains, and chasms, and from artificial excavations, geologists 
 have been enabled, after an almost incredible amount of labor 
 and research, directed by the light of science, to rearrange, 
 measure, and examine the different formations called strati- 
 fied rocks, which are supposed to reach, when unbroken, to 
 the depth of about ten miles below the surface ; below which, 
 and of an unknown depth, are the xinstratified masses, which 
 show from their position, and the crystalline arrangement of 
 their parts, the action of heat, and an origin earlier in point 
 of time. All but the lower or first formed class of the strati- 
 fied rocks are found to contain the remains of plants and ani- 
 mals, generally in a fossil state, nearly all of which (except 
 those in the very uppermost strata), to the number of more 
 than thirty thousand species, were different from any that 
 now exist. 
 
 4. It is surprising how much may be learned of the struct- 
 ure and habits of animals from a few fossil remains. It is 
 stated that, so .mathematically exact are the proportions be- 
 tween the different parts of an animal, "from the character of 
 a single limb, and even of a single tooth or bone, the forms and 
 proportions of the other bones, and the condition of the entire 
 animal, may be inferred. Hence, not only the frame-work of 
 the fossil skeleton of an extinct animal, but also the character 
 of the muscles by which each bone was moved, the external 
 form and figure of the body, the food, and habits, and haunts, 
 and mode of life of creatures that ceased to exist before the 
 creation of the human race, can, with a high degree of prob- 
 ability, be ascertained."
 
 1st Div. OF GEOLOGY. 46 1 
 
 5. Sometimes organic remains, siich as bones, are found but 
 jmrtially decayed, and sometimes impregnated with mineral 
 matter ; sometimes, througli chemical changes, the animal or 
 vegetable matter has entirely disappeared, and the place 
 which it occupied, in what has since become rock, has been 
 so entirely filled with mineral matter as to form a genuine 
 petrifaction ; sometimes, after tlie rock had become harden- 
 ed, the animal or jjlant had decayed and escaped through the 
 pores of the stone, so as to leave nothing but a perfect mould ^ 
 Avhile at other times the only evidence of the existence of an 
 animal is its track in the clay or sand, since hardened into 
 rock. 
 
 6. When Shakspeare made his charming Ariel sing 
 
 " Full fathom five thy father lies, 
 
 Of his bones are coral made, 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes ; 
 
 Nothing of liim that doth fade 
 But doth suffer a sea change ' 
 
 Into something rich and strange," 
 
 he little thought how correctly- he painted the chemical 
 changes by w^hich, during the ages past, decomposing animal 
 matter has stamped its myriad forms upon what are now the 
 " medals of creation." 
 
 7. The organic remains which have thus far been discover- 
 ed are more abundant than is generally supposed. Fossil 
 shells, in great quantities, have been found both on lofty 
 mountains and below the beds of rivers. On mountains anrl 
 in mines, hundreds of miles from the sea, are the remams of 
 strange-looking fish ; the skeleton of a whale has been found 
 on a mountain three thousand feet high, and the skeleton of 
 an elephant has been exhimied from the frozen sand and mud 
 on the very confines of the Frozen Sea. But, what is more 
 wonderful still, whole mountains, hundreds and even thou- 
 sands of feet high, are essentially composed of organic re- 
 mains. 
 
 8. Such is the character of the language which the geolo- 
 gist must learn before he can read the curious history of the 
 earth, and of the animal and vegetable races that have lived 
 upon it. A very accurate and extensive knowledge of zoolo- 
 gy and botany will also be required, to enable hini to ascer- 
 tain whether the organic remains which he finds in the rocks 
 belonged to extinct sj^ecies, or are identical with those now 
 living" on the globe. That part of geology which gives the 
 history of the remains of plants and animals is called Pal-e- 
 on-tol'-o-gy, a Greek w^ord which means " the science of an- 
 cient beings or creatures." v
 
 4C2 
 
 wh.lsoxn's fifth kkadku. 
 
 I'AKT X. 
 
 THE DIFFERENT PEHTODR OF TTIE EARTH'S HISTORY. 
 
 ■f^- 
 
 ©Ii®IL(0)©E(SJi23 W QMAMTc 
 
 Aflzivmm. 
 -.,... JJrifh 
 
 { Modern 
 ' T'prioc/ . 
 
 /'//orcnc. 
 
 I Tertiffry yu 
 \ Period. ^'^ 
 
 ' I liiceous. 
 //fir. I 
 
 frfr/hrons. 
 
 0/r7)oni/i'rons\ 
 
 l'';'!' Devorije/n. > 
 
 Secondary 
 
 Veriod. 
 
 'm 
 
 J,' famhrum. \ P^f^od. ^ 
 
 W. C/arS7ates. 
 J^ O/'u/rfz. 
 
 i IlicnStcctes. 
 -^ ■//ei.fs. 
 
 Primarj; 
 I Period. 
 
 :s\ I M. .. ->\v J . ^ oil v^;!a ^^^^f'''"^- ) 
 
 a b c c if dee 
 
 a a, Granite veins ; b i*, metalliferous veins ; c c, dike of serpentine ; rf, dike of porphyry ; 
 e c, lava and volcano; /, dike of trap. 
 
 The above cut, designed to give a geological view of the earth's history, represents a 
 vertical section of the earth, with the several clashes of stratified formations resting upon 
 the unstratified granite rock^, the latter being represented lure as thrown up through 
 the superincumbent mass by volcanic agency. l!y this tilting up of the stratified rocks 
 in numerous localities, so that the edges of even the lowermost of the strata may be seen, 
 both the relative position and the thickness of all the strata have been very accurately 
 ascertained. 
 
 LESSON IV. — THE TRIMAEY PEEIOD. 
 
 " On, who can strive 
 To comprehend the vast, the awful iruth 
 Of the eternity that hath gone by, 
 And nut recoil from the dismaying sense 
 «Jf human impotence ! The life of man 
 Is summed in birthdays and in sepulchns, 
 But the eternal God had no beginning." 
 
 1. The geological history of our globe, as gathered from 
 its structure, begins far back — myriads of years beyond our 
 powers of computation, but even then far removed from " the 
 beginning" — in some unknown age of sterility and desolation. 
 If plants and animals then existed, all traces of them were 
 subsequently destroyed by a period of intense heat, which 
 fused the earth's surface into a molten mass, and formed a 
 vast layer, of unknown depth, of what are called the primary 
 or unstratified rocks, of which the enduring granite, the low-
 
 1st Div. OF GEOLOGY. 4t},i 
 
 est in the series, and the great frame-work of the earth's 
 crust, is the most abundant.* 
 
 2. It is granite rock chiefly which is now seen rising to 
 the greatest heights, and stretching into those mountain 
 chains Avhich form the gi-and natural divisions of the globe. 
 In these cases the granite has been thrown up by subterra- 
 nean forces, breaking through the superincumbent strata, 
 tilting them up on their edges, and thus affording to the ge- 
 ologist the opportunity of examining them in detail. f It is 
 chiefly in veins of the primary rocks that the ores of lead, tin, 
 and the precious metals are found. The celebrated geologist 
 Hugh Miller, in speaking of this primary period of the world's 
 history, in which he supposes that the earth's crust had suf- 
 ficiently cooled down to permit the existence of a sea, with 
 waves and currents, draws the following imaginary ])icture : 
 
 3. " I dare not speak of the scenery of the period. We 
 may imagine, however, a dark atmosphere of steam and va- 
 por, which, age after age, conceals the face of the sun, and 
 through which the light of moon or star never penetrates ; 
 oceans of thermal water, heated in a thousand centres to the 
 boiling point ; low, half-molten islands, dim through the fog, 
 and scarce more fixed tlian the waves themselves, that heave 
 and tremble under the impulsions of the igneous agencies ; 
 I'oariug geysers, that ever and anon throw u}) their intermit- 
 tent jets of boiling fluid, vapor, and thick steam, from these 
 tremulous lands ; and, in the dim outskirts of the scene, the 
 red gleam of fire, shot forth from yawning cracks and deep 
 chasms, and bearing aloft fragments of molten rock and clouds 
 of ashes. But, should we continue to linger amid a scene so 
 featureless and wild, or venture adown some yawning open- 
 ing into the abyss beneath, where all is fiery and yet dark — a 
 solitary hell, without suffering or sin — we would do well to 
 commit ourselves to the guidance of a living poet, and see 
 with his eyes, and describe in his verse : 
 
 4. The awful walls of shadows round might durky mountains seem. 
 But never holy light hath touched an outline witli its gle;ini ; 
 'Tis but the eye's bewildered sense that fain would re<t on form. 
 And make night's thick blind presence to created shapes confonn. 
 No stone is moved on mountain liere by creeping creature crossed, 
 No lonely harper comes to liarp upon this fiery coast : 
 
 Here all is solemn idleness ; no music here-, no jars, 
 
 Where silence guards the coast ere thrill her everlasting bai-s ; 
 
 No sun here shines on wanton isles; but o'er the burning sihect 
 
 A rim of restless halo shakes, which marks the internal heat; 
 
 As in tlie days of beauteous earth we see, with dazzled siglit, 
 
 The red and setting sun o'eiilow with rings of welling liglit. — Thomas Airo. 
 
 * GranHf is composed chiefly of mica, quartz, and feldsjiar ; but in some granite rocks 
 talc and hornblende take the place of mica, and tlien the mck is called sienitc. f'orj'httr/ 
 is only another modification of granite. t See cut at the bead uf tbii lesion.
 
 464 
 
 willson's fifth keadjer. 
 
 I'akt X. 
 
 LESSON" V. THK TRAXSITIOX PEKTOP. 
 
 Geological Remains ov A>!L>l\ls of the Transition Peeiod. 
 
 1, 6, and S are Coral Zoophytes of the Lower SUurian. 2, 10, and 12 are Lower Silurian 
 Trilobites, from one to three inches in length. 3, 4, and 5 are the earliest Molluscs or Shell- 
 fish. 7, a Silurian Crinoidea — an animal having a radiated lily-shaped disk supported on 
 a jointed stem. 9, a Placoid Fish of the Upper t>ilurian. 13 and 15 are Ammonites ; and 
 14, :i section of No. 13, showing the interior chamber.?. 10, a Star-lisli. 17, one of the 
 earliest Polypes, or plant-like Zoophytes. 
 
 1. Iif entering npon the second age of the world's history, 
 which is called the trcmsition period, the evidences of strati- 
 fication, which began to be dimly discerned in the uppermost 
 of the primary rocks, are quite decisive, and layer follows 
 upon layer, mostly of a slaty character, until the mass accu- 
 mulates to the supposed average depth of five or six miles. 
 All of these layers appear to have been gradually deposited 
 at the bottom of the ocean during myriads of years by the 
 sloAV wearing away of the mountains of the primary rocks by 
 the action of water. 
 
 2. In this transition period, of incalculable vastnoss, we 
 discern, in a few scattered fossils, the first faint traces of the 
 beginnings of vegetable and animal life. In the lower, or 
 Cambrian portion, a few sea-weeds have left their imprints in 
 the rocks ; and a few shells and corals, and a few trilobites 
 — most singular sj^ecies of Crustaceans — have been trans- 
 formed into stone. In the upper, or Silurian portions, sea- 
 weeds are more numerous, and the fragmentary remains of a 
 few terrestrial vegetables are discernible ; but marine shells 
 and corals abound, and the trilobites receive their fullest de- 
 velopment, both in size and number. Here a few fishes first 
 appear, of the Placoid order, as perfect in their kind as those 
 of later ages, but their forms are not well known. In this 
 period, myriads of ages ago, life appeared in fashions pecul-
 
 1st Div. OF GEOLOGV. 465 
 
 iarly antique, and nearly all of its types have long since be- 
 come obsolete. 
 
 3. It is, however, interesting to notice here that shells of 
 the family called Aminonites, which are among the earliest 
 traces of the animal kingdom, appear in this early period ; 
 and it is. a curious fact, that Avhile all other famihes and orders 
 of shells of this period — and, indeed, of many subsequent eras 
 — have entirely died out, and now form vast layers of rocky 
 strata of limestone and marble, some species allied to the 
 ancient family of the Ammonites are found in every succeed- 
 ing period of geological history, and kindred species exist hi 
 our seas at the present day. Among these is the JVcmtilus, 
 whose geological history has been written in the following 
 appropriate lines : 
 
 4. Thou didst laugh at sun and breeze 
 In the new created seas ; 
 
 Thou wast with the reptile broods 
 In the old sen solitudej^, 
 Sailing in the new-made light 
 With the curled-up ammonite. 
 Thou surviv'dst the awful shock 
 Which turned the ocean bed to rock, 
 And changed its myriad liWng swarms 
 To the marble's veined forms. 
 8. Thou wast there, thy little boat, 
 
 Airy voyager, kept afloat 
 O'er the waters wild and dismal, 
 O'er the yawning gulfs abysmal ; 
 Amid wreck and overturning, 
 Rock-imbedding, heaving, burning. 
 Mid the tumult and the stir, 
 Thou, most ancient mariner, 
 In that pearly boat of tliine, 
 SaU'dst upon the troubled brine. — Mes. Howttt. 
 
 6, It should be remarked that thus far in the world's his- 
 tory no traces of any reptile, bird, or mammal have been 
 discovered, which may be considered evidence conclusive 
 that none of these animals were in existence at this epoch ; 
 but when, at length, after countless ages, fishes appeared, 
 perfect in their kind, at the same time are presented the first 
 evidences of a diminutive, yet highly organized tree vegeta- 
 tion. Vertebrated animals and land vegetation were r\cv\ 
 and distinct creations ; and upward, from life's beginnings, 
 through all its ascending stages, Ave constantly meet Avitli 
 evidences of new creations, but none whatever of any devel- 
 opment of higher grades from lower. The first fiat of crea- 
 tion doubtless insured the perfect adaptation of animals to 
 the surrounding media ; and thus, Avhile the geologist recog- 
 nizes a beginning, he sees the same evidences of Omniscience 
 in the lower Crustaceans as in the completion of the higher 
 Vertebrate form. 
 
 U2
 
 460 
 
 WILLSON's KIKlll UKAI)i:U. 
 
 Pakt X 
 
 LESSON VI. THE SKCONDAKY PERTOD. 
 
 UEOLOGICAL J;e.M VINS Ol AMMVLSOh Till MlDKI I "-K<)N[)AKY 1 EUIOD. 
 
 1, 3, and 4, remsiins of ciinoii^ I i-h, fioin '•ix to t< n inohc- in 1( ngtli. fi, a ''anfiid Fish. 
 2 and S, fossil llor.ils. 5 ..nJ 7, rnluLites, fi\e ^jT .-i\ incl.c^ in length. 0, the Plesiosaiiriis, 
 a lizard-like marine reptile, from ten to fifteen feet in length. 10, the Ichthyit^aurns, or 
 fish-lizard, a kind of reptile whale, from twenty to thirty feet in length. [The relative pro- 
 portions could not be preserved in the drawing.) 
 
 1. Ix ascending from the Transition to the Secondary pe- 
 riod, after passing the Devonian, which in Nortli America 
 exhibits no less than eleven distinct eras, ^ve arrive at the 
 Carboniferous system of rocks, which is so called from l)cing 
 the great depository of that important substance called coal. 
 A new creation is here opened to view in the luxuriant trop- 
 ical vegetation which distinguishes the Carboniferous epoch 
 of our globe. The various kinds of coal are simply vegetable 
 matter — the remains of ancient forests deposited in vast ra- 
 vines or ocean beds, and deeply buried there, and changed to 
 their present forms by chemical processes in Nature's own 
 laboratory.* The coal is often covered by layers of shale, or 
 slaty coal, which consists of masses of leaves and stems close- 
 ly pressed together, and indicating an intermediate stage in 
 the coal formation. The appearance of the roof of one of the 
 coal-mines of Bohemia having this shale or partially formed 
 coal for its covering, is thus described by Dr. Buckland : 
 
 2. "The most elaborate imitations of living foliage on the 
 painted ceilings of the Italian palaces bear no comparison 
 with the beauteous profusion of extinct vegetable forms with 
 which the galleries of these instructive coal-mines are over- 
 hung. The roof is covered as with a canopy of gorgeous 
 tapestry, enriched with festoons of most graceful foliage, flung 
 
 ' This seems to have been effected hy expo'iure to heat and moi.<tiire, probably under 
 great pressure, and in circumstances that excluded the air, and prevented the escape of 
 the more volatile principles. Not only the various coals, hut bitumen, .imbcr, mineral 
 oils, and even the diamond, were probably pro<tuced under various modincatious of these 
 circumstances.
 
 1st Div. OF GEOLOGY. 407 
 
 in wild, irregular profusion over every portion of its surface. 
 The eliect is heightened by the contrast of the coal-l)lack 
 color of these vegetables witli the light groundwork of tlie 
 rock to which they are attached. 
 
 3. "The spectator feels transported, as if by enchantment, 
 into the forests of another world ; he beholds trees of form 
 and character now imknown upon the surface of the earth, 
 presented to his senses almost in the beauty and vigor of 
 their primeval life ; their scaly stems and bending branches, 
 with their delicate apparatus of foliage, are all spread fortli 
 before him, little impaired by the lapse of indefinite ages, and 
 bearing faithful records of extinct systems of vegetation, 
 which began and terminated in times of which these relics 
 are the infallible historians. Sucli are the grand natural licr- 
 baria wdierein these most ancient remains of tlie vegetable 
 kingdom are preserved in a state of integrity little sliort oi" 
 their living perfection, under conditions of our planet which 
 exist no more." 
 
 4. It is not only known that coal is of vegetable origin, but 
 the kinds of plants which formed it have been accurately de- 
 termined, to the number of more than tliree hundred species, 
 but all different from any of the present age, although allied 
 to existing types by connnon principles of organization. Of 
 these fossil species, two thirds are related to the tree ferns 
 and the higher orders of cryptogamous plants. The conifer- 
 ous, or cone-bearing species, are also prominent ; and there 
 is little doubt that petroleum, and naphtha, and other mineral 
 oils of coal regions, are nothing more than the turpentine oil 
 of the ])ines of former ages. The internal heat of the earth 
 has distilled it; and, after being buried for thousands oi'years, 
 it is now discovered, to supply the wants of man. IJemains 
 of corals, shell-fish, a few insects, among which are sevei-al spe- 
 cies of beetle, fishes of peculiar construction, the king-crab 
 among Crustaceans, and in Pennsylvania the tracks of some 
 Batrachian reptiles, have been found in the Cai-boniferous 
 rocks. Here, also, are the last of the trilobites, which ajipear 
 to have become extinct after the coal formations. 
 
 5. AsGcnding above the Carboniferous epoch, we pass suc- 
 cessively, in this Secondary period, through three groups or 
 systems' of rocky strata, known as the Saliferous, or Ked Sand- 
 stone, the Oolitic, and the Cretaceous, The first of tliese is 
 comparatively scanty in organic remains; but in the other 
 two, fossils are exceedingly al)undant. Our existing islands 
 and continents are principally composed of the spoils of this
 
 468 
 
 WILLSON S FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 Part X. 
 
 period, whose history opens to \is the fathomless depths of 
 ancient seas, and vast marshes, with the remains of myriads 
 of beings which lived and died in their waters. 
 
 G. The ocean tlien swarmed with sponges and otlier zoo- 
 phytes, sea-weeds, and corals, and Crustaceans ; even oysters 
 were abundant, but different from existing species; remains 
 of a shark-like lisli are found here ; smaller fish were numer- 
 ous ; and in almost every fragment of some of the flint forma- 
 tions their minute scales have been detected by the aid of the 
 microscope. On the land were several species of sjtiders, 
 and insects in considerable numbers. The tracks of gigantic 
 birds have been detected — " footprints in the sands of time" 
 — in the rocks of this period ; but of the existence of any 
 mammalia, the sole indications are the jaws of some small 
 animals related to the opossum. 
 
 1 
 
 (,1, I , i lAINb Of A:^IMAL8 Or THE UpPEK bECONBAEY PEP.IOD. 
 
 1, a CrinoidCa. Thc^e are sparingly found in this period. 2, 6, and 9 are remains of 
 Echinites, or Sea-nrchins. 3, S, and 12 are Crctacean shells. Th" fi^h here represented 
 are from one to three feet in length. 5 is the PterorlaclvU or flying reptile, having the 
 head and neck of a bird, the jaws and teetli of a crocodile, the ■\Tings of a bat, and the 
 body and tail of a mammal. It is beh'eved that the spread of its wings was not less than 
 twenty-five feet. 13 is the restored figure of the Tivinnndon^ as drawn by Martin, and 
 found in ManteU's Geology. In making a complete drawing of such an animal from its 
 fossil remains, much of its external appearance must be left to the imagination. It is 
 certain, however, that tlie iguanodon was a monster reptile, thirty or forty feet in length. 
 From the form of its teetli, and tlie vegetable matter found in connection with its skele- 
 ton, it is known to have been herbivorous. 
 
 v. The remains of turtles, the earliest clear indications of 
 the reptile tribe, occur in the Saliferous period ; and above 
 them, and later in point of time, but still in this Secondary 
 era, are the remains of the crocodile. But what especially 
 mark this as the Age of ReptUes are the numeroxts species 
 of monster Saurians, bearing such uncouth names as the ich- 
 thyosau'rus, plesiosau'rus, megalosau'rus, and the iguan'odon. 
 M'ith the pterodac'tyls, or flying reptiles. In the island or 
 peninsula of Portland, England, a petrified forest has been 
 discovered in the upper formations of the Secondary period, 
 and therefore contemporary with the monster reptiles whose
 
 1st DiV OF GEOLOGY. 
 
 4U'J 
 
 names we have given. We have represented the forms and 
 dimensions of some of these monsters of a by-gone age as 
 they have been pictured and described by geologists. 
 
 8. In closing our sketch of this Secondary period, we would 
 remark, in the language of Hugh Miller, that at this period 
 in the history of our country, " at the close of the Cretaceous 
 system, there existed no species of plant or animal that exists 
 at the present time. We know that it is appointed for all 
 individuals once to die, whatever their tribe or family, be- 
 cause hitherto all individuals have died; and geology, by ex- 
 tending our experience, shows us that the same fate awaits 
 on species as on the individuals that compose them." Of the 
 several periods of existence which measure animated nature, 
 the briefest is allotted to individuals : species live longer — 
 genera longer still ; while above them are orders and classes, 
 the latter the most comprehensive of all. 
 
 LESSON VII. THE TERTIAKY PERIOD. 
 
 ijs 
 
 Scai/t of Feet. 
 GeOLOGICAI. liEMAINS OF ANIMALS OF TIIF, Tf.RTIARY PeMOD. 
 
 [The scale of feet is applicable to all but the shell a. "i 
 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, fossil Shells of the Tertiary period— veiy nuniprons. 9, the Pino- 
 therliim, an animal nnt less than fifteen fi'et in height, mth imniense tusks curving dowii- 
 ivard, and the proboscis of an elephant W, skeleton of a Mastodon, wcifrliinfc 2nnt> pounds, 
 found at Newbursh, X. Y., in IS-f). 11, skeleton of a .McKathcriiim ; tliigli-bone eleven 
 inches in diameter, and claw-armed toes more than two feet in length. 12, 13, 14, and 15 
 are a group of extinrt Pacliyderraata, which bear an aflinity to the Tapir, iniinoreros, 
 and Hippopotamus. The largest, the Palteotherium magiittm, was of the size of a horse, 
 but more thick and clumsy. ^ 
 
 1. Still ascending, in the order of time, in the geological 
 history of our globe, we next come to the Tertiary period, 
 likewise of v.ist and indefinite extent, but constituting a scries
 
 470 WILLSON'S FIFTU KEADEli. 1'akt X. 
 
 of formations wliich link together the present and the past. 
 We liavc evidencos of niuneroiis chanj^es in tlie earth's crust 
 in the beginnings of this epoch, of volcanic action of great 
 extent and frequency, and of alternations of ocean beds with 
 those of vast fresh-water lakes. The alternating strata of this 
 period have been divided into three principal groups, charac- 
 terized by the proportion of shells, allied to existing species, 
 which they contain. Thus the lowest group, the eocene^ sig- 
 nifying the dmon of the recent, contains not more than three 
 or four per cent, of fossil shells allied to those of recent spe- 
 cies ; the next, the ndocene, about twenty per cent. ; and the 
 upper, the pliocene, about eighty per cent.* 
 
 2. But besides the marine and fresh-water shells which 
 abound in this jieriod, imbedded in vast layers of limestone 
 rocks, the fpssils of crabs, lobsters, and other Crustaceans are 
 numerous; there have also been found the teeth of unknown 
 sharks, and the remains of many genera of fishes, vast quan- 
 tities of the remains of leaves, fruits, stems of plants, and 
 trunks oi \xq.q% perforated hy the borer, together with the fos- 
 t^ils of birds related to existing species. But what especially 
 characterize the older Tertiary deposits are the numerous fos- 
 sil I'emains of a class of ])achydermata, of species now un- 
 known, but bearing an affinity to the tapir, the rhinoceros, 
 and the hippopotamus. Such are the numerous species of 
 the paloiotherhmi and the anopjlotherhnn, some of which are 
 rejjresented in the engraving at the head of this lesson. 
 
 3. In the middle division of this period the seas became the 
 habitation of numbers of marine mammalia, consisting of dol- 
 phins, whales, seals, and the manatee, although none of them 
 were of the same species as those which exist at present. 
 Here, also, are found the remains of the gigantic dinotherium 
 — an animal not less than fifteen feet in height, with the pro- 
 boscis of an elephant, and tusks curved downward as in the 
 walius. He seems to have formed a connecting link betweer> 
 
 * It mny be regarded as a f-insrular coincidence that the capitals if Great Hritain and 
 France are located on strata of thy same iienlogical epoch in tlie Tertiary jieritd. Koth 
 Paris and London are situated in a vast alternation of marine and fre>h-water beds, lying 
 in basins of the chalk formation, the upp rmost of the Secondary period. The annexed 
 cut illu Irates the geological formation of the two citie.^. These ancient basins or gulfs 
 
 London. Paris. 
 
 were evidently open to the sea on one side, while on the other they were supplied by r'.v- 
 ers cliarged with the spoils of the country through which they flowed, and carrj-ing down 
 the remains of animals and plants, with land and river shell-. t;hanges in the relative 
 level of the land and sea took place, aiii\ la-tly, Ihe couniry was elevated to its pre.aent 
 altitude above the sc a. — Manti!.:
 
 1st Uiv. OF GEOLOGY. 471 
 
 the pachydermata, liis predecessors, and those later mamma- 
 lia, the Cetacea, or whales. There is little doubt that he was 
 an inhabitant of the lakes and marshes, and that he could an- 
 chor himself to the firm land by his huge tusks. His singu- 
 lar appearance has inspired some one to write the following: 
 
 SONG OF THE DINOTHERimi. 
 
 4. " My thirst I slake in the cooling lake, 
 
 Where I swim among the fislie?, 
 And should hunger gnavr my vacant m l.v, 
 
 A dinner meetd my wishe.s : 
 For bulbous r ots or tender shoots 
 
 I dig or crop at pleasurr, 
 And having dined, if to sleep inclinefl, 
 
 I lay me do^^^l at lei^^ure. 
 As a ship will ride in the rushing ti'e 
 
 If her anchors met the sand. 
 So when I sleep in tlie river deep, 
 
 My tusks are in the land." 
 
 5. In the lower division of the Tertiary the bee first makes 
 its appearance, the fossil remains of one having been found 
 sealed up in a piece of amber — "an embahned corpse in a 
 crystal coftin," as Hugh Miller be.autifully describes it. Co- 
 existent with the bee are the first of the Ophidians or serpents, 
 as shown in a monster species allied to the modern python. 
 Here also we first detect plants and trees belonging to well- 
 known existing genera and orders, but not of existing spe- 
 cies. 
 
 6. In the uppermost strata of this period are found remains 
 of the mastodon, and also of numerous species of mammalia 
 almost or nearly identical with many of the existing species. 
 Thus, in vast caves of the later Tertiary period, accidentally 
 opened in many places in Europe and Asia, Itave been found 
 the skeletons of immense numbers of hytenas, mixed with the 
 bones of the cave-tiger, the cave-bear, the mammoth, and the 
 rhinoceros. The first traces also of ruminant animals appear 
 at this time — of wild oxen, deer, camels, horses, and otlicr 
 creatures of the same class, and, even in high northern lati 
 tudes, the remains of species of elcjihants now unknown. 
 
 Yes ! where the huntsman winds his matin horn, 
 And the oouch'd hare beneath the covert trembles ; 
 
 Where shepherds tend their flocks, and grows the corn ; 
 Where Fashion on our gay parade assembles. 
 
 Wild horses, deer, and elephants have strayed, 
 Treading beneath tlieir feet old Ocean's races. —IIor.vce S.mitii.
 
 472 WILLSON S FIFTH READEK. Paex A. 
 
 LESSON VIII. — TUE MODERN GEOLOGICAL PERIOD. 
 
 1. The modern geological period embraces the two eras 
 known as the Drift and the Alluvium. The Drift strata rest 
 upon the Tertiary, and are spread over almost every part of the 
 northern regions of the globe in the form of coarse sand and 
 gravel, beds of clay, and rocks, called boulders, torn from the 
 masses to which they belonged by the force of floods and 
 glaciers ; while the Alluvium consists of the surface soil, and 
 layers of loam, sand, and fine gravel, evidently deposited by 
 rivers, or in still water. In the Drift period, which was one 
 of floods of vast extent, the climate of northern countries 
 was evidently colder than during the Tertiary, and probably 
 colder than at present. Hugh Miller describes our earth in 
 this period as " a foundering land under a severe sky, beaten 
 by tempests and lashed by tides, with glaciers half choking 
 up its cheerless valleys, and with countless icebergs brushing 
 its coasts and grating over its shallows." 
 
 2. Drift, embracing a period of repeated depressions and 
 elevations of the land, is almost destitute of organic remains 
 of animals and plants that lived during the time of its pro- 
 duction ; but it abounds in immense quantities of the bones 
 of those large mammalia which must have existed at the close 
 of the Tertiary i:)ei-iod. These remains belong principally to 
 animals related to the elephant, as the mammoth and masto- 
 don, and the various species of hippopotamus, rhinoceros, 
 horse, ox, deer, and the animals whose remains were found in 
 the caves already mentioned, and also throughout the frozen 
 regions of northern Asia. The mastodon and a few other 
 monster mammalia, now extinct, appear to have lived as late 
 as the time of the earliest of the alluvial deposits. It is in the 
 Alluvial period only that the remains of man and his works 
 have thus far been found. " Geology, scarce less certainly than 
 Revelation itself, testifies that the last-born of creation Avas 
 man, and that his appearance on earth is one of the most re- 
 cent events of which it submits the memorials to its votaries." 
 
 "From harmony — from hcfivenly harmony — 
 This univei"sal frame began ; 
 From harmony to harmony, 
 Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
 The diapa'son closing full in man." 
 
 3. We have thus hastily glanced at the succession of ages 
 Avhich make up the geological history of our planet. We have 
 seen land and water succeedinsj each other on our trlobe in
 
 IstDiv. OF GEOLOGY. 473 
 
 continual mutations; and we are thence prepared to admit 
 the possibility that 
 
 " New worlds are still emerging from the deep, 
 The old descending in their turn to rise." 
 
 But what Strikes us with the greatest force is the evidence 
 of the successive creations which have peopled our planet ; 
 we have seen race after race of beings starting into exist- 
 ence, and then disappearing ; for we know, by testimony 
 which can not be controverted, that 
 
 " The earth has gathered to her breast again, 
 And yet again, the nullions that were born 
 Of her unnumbered, unremembered tribes," 
 
 and each tribe and race lias been adapted to the circumstances 
 .in which it was placed, thereby afibrding the most evident 
 proofs of the wisdom and overruling providence of the Cre- 
 ator. Reflecting on these phenomena, the mind recalls the 
 impressive exclamation of the poet : 
 
 " My heart is awed within me when I think 
 Of the great miracle which still goes on 
 In silence round me — the perpetual work 
 Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
 Forever." 
 
 LESSON IX. EETEOSPECTIVE VIEW OF GEOLOGY. 
 
 Let us now reverse the order of viewing the geological 
 history of our globe, starting from the present, and proceed- 
 ing backward against the order of time. As the traveler who 
 ascends to the regions of eternal snow gradually loses sight 
 of the abodes of man, and of the groves and forests, till he ar- 
 rives at sterile plains, where a few stinted shrubs alone meet 
 his eye, and as he advances even these are lost, and mosses 
 and lichens remain the only vestiges of organic life, and these 
 too at length pass away, and he enters the confines of the in- 
 organic kingdom of nature — in like manner the geologist 
 who penetrates the secret recesses of the globe perceives at 
 every step of his progress the existing forms of animals and 
 vegetables gradually disappear, while the shades of other 
 creations teem around him. These, in their turn, vanish from 
 his sight ; other new and strange modifications of organic 
 structure supply their place ; these also fade away ; traces of 
 animal and vegetable life become less and less manifest, till 
 they altogether disappear; and he descends to the primary 
 rocks, where all evidence of organization is lost, and tiie gran- 
 ite, like a pall thrown over the relics of a former world, con- 
 ceals forever the earliest scenes of the earth's physical dram.i. 
 
 Mantet.l.
 
 4 74 Wll.LSON S FIFTH KKADKLi. VxiiT X. 
 
 LES. X. A VISIT TO THE COUNTRY OF THE IGUANODON. 
 
 1. A VIVID idea of the "Age of lleptiles," and also of the 
 subsequent changes in the earth's geological liistory, is given 
 by the geologist, Dr. Mantell, in the following fanciful sketch, 
 which the reader may suppose to have been written by a 
 higher intelligence, who first visited our sphere " some millions 
 of years ago," in that portion of the Secondary period denom- 
 inated the " Age of Reptiles," when the now fossil forests of 
 Portland were flourishing. The Sussex coast of England il- 
 lustrates all the geological changes here described. 
 
 2. " Countless ages ere man was ci'eated I visited these re- 
 gions of the earth, and beheld a beautiful country of vast ex- 
 tent, diversified by hill and dale, with its rivulets, streams, 
 and mighty rivers flowing through fertile plains. Groves of 
 palms and ferns, and forests of coniferous trees, clothed its 
 surface ; and I saw monsters of the reptile tribe, so huge that 
 nothing among the existing races can compare with them, 
 basking on the banks of its rivers and roaming through its 
 forests ; while in its fens and marshes were sporting thou- 
 sands of crocodiles and turtles. Winged reptiles of strange 
 forms shared with birds the dominion of the air, and the Ava- 
 ters teemed Avith fishes, shells, and Crustacea. 
 
 3. " And after the lapse of many ages I again visited the 
 earth ; and the country, with its innumerable dragon-forms, 
 and its tropical forests, all had disappeared, and an ocean had 
 usurped their place. And its waters teemed with the nauti- 
 lus and other molluscs, of races now extinct, and innumerable 
 fishes and marine reptiles.* 
 
 4. " And thousands of years rolled by, and I returned, and 
 lo ! the ocean was gone, and dry land had again appeared, 
 and it was covered with groves and forests ; but these were 
 wholly different in character fi-om those of the vanished coun- 
 try of the iguanodon. And I beheld, quietly browsing, herds 
 of deer of enormous size, and groups of elephants, mastodons, 
 and other herbivorous animals of colossal magnitude. And 
 I saw in its rivers and marshes the hippopotamus, tapir, and 
 rhinoceros ; and I heard the roar of the lion and the tiger, 
 and the yell of the hyena and the bear.f 
 
 * This represents the chrdk formation, embracing the uppermost strata of the Crrta- 
 reoiis system — the Inchest in the Secondary period. The chalk strata were eridenlly de- 
 posited in an ocean tliat must liave covered, for many ages, the greater part of wliat ij 
 now central and southern I'ui'ope. 
 
 1 Tliis reprvseuts the uppcnuost formations of the Tert'.:iry jjL'rioJ — the pliocciie.
 
 1st DiV. OF GEOLOGY. 47o 
 
 5. " And another epoch passed away, and I came again to 
 the scene of my former contemplations, and all the niifrhty 
 forms Avhich I had left had disappeared ; the face of the comi- 
 try no longer presented the same aspect ; it was broken into 
 islands, and the bottom of the sea had become dry land, and 
 Avhat before was dry land had sunk beneath Ihe waves. 
 Herds of deer were still to be seen on the plains, with swine, 
 and horses, and oxen ; and wolves in the woods and forests. 
 And I beheld human beings clad in the skins of animals, and 
 armed with clubs and spears; and they had formed them- 
 selves habitations in caves, constructed huts for shelter, in- 
 closed pastures for cattle, and were endeavoring to cultivate 
 the soil.* 
 
 6. "And a thousand years elapsed, and I revisited the 
 country, and a village had been built npon the sea-shore, and 
 its inhabitants supported themselves by fishing ; and they had 
 erected a temple on the neighboring hill, and dedicated it to 
 their patron saint. And the adjacent country was studded 
 with towns and villages; and the downs were covered with 
 flocks, and the valleys with herds, and the corn-fields and 
 pastures were in a high state of cultivation, denoting an in- 
 dustrious and peaceful community. f 
 
 7. "And, lastly, after an interval of many centuries, I ar- 
 rived once more, and the village was swept away, and its site 
 covered by the waves ; but in the valley and on the hills 
 above the clifts a beautiful city appeared, with its palaces, its 
 temples, and its thousand edifices, and its streets teeming 
 with a busy population in the highest state of civilization ; 
 the resort of the nobles of the land, the residence of the mon- 
 arch of a mighty empire. And I perceived many of its intel- 
 ligent inhabitants gathering together the vestiges of the be- 
 ings which had lived and died, and whose very forms Averc 
 now obliterated from the face of the earth, and endeavoring, 
 by these natural memorials, to trace the succession of those 
 events of which I had been the witness, and which had pre- 
 ceded the history of their race."J 
 
 • This represents the earlifr periods of the AUuviirm — wliat Hugh Miller rails llio 
 "sto»ie afje;" in which are found, in the British Lsles, remains of man, with wiapons and 
 utensils of stoni'. 
 
 t This represents a period subsequent to the Roman invasion, when the inhabitants of 
 Britain liad utensils and weapons formed of irun. Before the Conquest the fishint; town 
 of Brighton was on a terrace of beach and sand (which the ocean had abandoned on the 
 Sussex coast; and the church of St. Nicholas stood inland on a neighboring cliff, which 
 showed the mark of the wave s at its base. 
 
 t This represents the present era. The old fishing-town of l!righton is now covered by 
 the sea, which has resumed its anrirnt ])osition at the base of the clitTs ; and a great city 
 (London) has grown up a little farth;rr inland— the metropolis of a mighty empire.
 
 47G AVn.LSON S FIFTH READKK. Tart X. 
 
 LESSON XI. — THE VISION of moses. 
 
 1. Most geologists suppose that the "six days" work of 
 the creation, as described in the first chapter of Genesis, were 
 .1 connected series of so many prophetic visions — a kind of 
 tliorama which passed before the prophet Moses — unfolding 
 to him, in this inspired manner, the record of the works of 
 the Almighty. The celebrated geologist Hugh Miller — a 
 Christian and a scholar — has drawn a portraiture of this vi- 
 sion in language so beautiful that we can not forbear to in- 
 sert it here. He supposes the "first day" to represent that 
 " Primary period" ushered in by the first morn which dawn- 
 ed after a long night of chaos, and during Avhich no life ap- 
 pears upon our planet. 
 
 2. "Let us suppose that the creative vision took place far from man, in 
 an untrodden recess of the Midian desert, ere yet the vision of the burning 
 bush had been vouchsafed, and that, as in the vision of St. John in Patmos, 
 voices were mingled with scenes, and the ear as certainly addressed as the 
 eye. A 'great darkness' first falls upon the prophet, like that which in an 
 earlier age fell upon Abraham, but without the 'horror;' and, as the Di- 
 vine Spirit moves on the face of the wildly-troubled waters, like a visible 
 aurora enveloped by the pitchy cloud, the great doctrine is orally enunci- 
 ated, that 'in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.' 
 
 3. " Unreckoned ages, condensed in the vision into a few brief moments, 
 pass away; the creative voice is again heard, 'Let there be light,' and 
 straightway a gray diff'uscd light springs up in the east, and, casting its 
 sickly gleam over a cloud-limited expanse of steaming vaporous sea, jour- 
 neys through the heavens toward the west. One heavy, sunless day is 
 made the representative of myriads : the faint light waxes fainter — it sinks 
 beneath the dim, undefined horizon ; the first scene of the drama closes 
 Tipon the seer; and he sits a while on his hill-top in darkness, solitary, but 
 not sad, in what seems to be a calm and starless night." 
 
 4. The " second day" is suj^posed to open about the close 
 of the Transition period, when only a few plants and marine 
 animals had appeared, and the view of the prophet rested 
 upon a dark waste of troubled waters. 
 
 "The light again brightens: it is day; and over an expanse of ocean 
 without visible bound, the horizon has become wider and sharper of outline 
 than before. There is life in that great sea — invertebrate, mayhap also ich- 
 thyic life ; but from the comparative distance of the point of view occupied 
 by the prophet, only the slow roll of its waves can be discerned, as they rise 
 and fall in long undulations before a gentle gale ; and what most strongly 
 impresses the eye is the change which has taken place in the atmospheric 
 scenery. 
 
 5. "That lower stratum of the heavens occupied in the previous vision 
 by seething steam, or gray, smoke-like fog, is clear and transparent ; and 
 only in an upper region, where the previously invisible vapor of the tepid
 
 1st DiV. OF GEOLOGV. 477 
 
 sea has thickened iu the cold, do the clouds appear. But there, in the 
 higher strata of the atmosphere, they lie, thick and manifold, an upper sea 
 of g,reat waves, separated from those beneath by the transjiarent firmament, 
 and, like them too, impelled in rolling masses by the wind. A mighty ad- 
 vance has taken place in creation ; but its most conspicuous ojjtical sign is 
 the existence of a transparent atmosphere, of a firmament stretched out 
 over the earth, that separates the waters above from the waters below. But 
 darkness descends for the third time upon the seer, for the evening and 
 the morning have completed the second day." 
 
 6. The "third day" is supposed to have dawned upon that 
 early part of the "Secondary period" when the Carbonifer- 
 ous era had covered the earth Avith a wonderfully gigantic 
 and abundant vegetation. 
 
 7. " Yet again the light rises under a canopy of cloud ; but the scene 
 has changed, and there is no longer an imbroken expanse of sea. The ' 
 white surf breaks, at the distant horizon, on an insulated reef, formed may- 
 hap by the Silurian or old red coral zoophytes ages before, during the by- 
 gone yesterday, and beats in long lines of foam, nearer at hand, against a 
 low, winding shore, the seaward barrier of a widely-spread country. For 
 at the Divine command the land has arisen from the deep ; not incons])ic- 
 uously and in scattered islets, as at an earlier time, but in extensive, though 
 flat and marshy continents, little raised over the sea-level ; and a yet far- 
 ther fiat has covered them with the great Carboniferous flora. 
 
 8. " The scene is one of mighty forests of cone-bearing trees — of palms, 
 and tree ferns, and gigantic club mosses on the opener slopes, and of great 
 reeds clustering by the sides of cpiiet lakes and dark rolling rivers. There 
 is deep gloom in the recesses of the thicker woods, and low thick mists 
 creep along the dank marsh or sluggish stream. But there is a general 
 lightening of the sky overhead; and, as the day declines, a redder flush 
 than had hitherto lighted up the prospect falls athwart fera-covered bank 
 and long-withdrawing glade " 
 
 9. The "fourth day" is supposed to have dawned upon the 
 middle of the Secondary period — perhaps the Saliferous era — 
 and the vision, like that of the second day, pertains not to 
 the earth, but to the heavens ; as the vast mantle of cloud 
 and dense vapor that had liitherto enveloped the earth had 
 then disappeared, and the sun, moon, and stars may bo sup- 
 posed to have first become visible to the pro))hct. 
 
 10. "And while the fourth evening has fallen on the prophet, he be- 
 comes sensible, as it wears on, and the fourth dawn approaches, that yet an- 
 other change has taken place. The Creator has spoken, and the stars look 
 out from openings of deep unclouded blue; and as day rises, and the planet 
 of morning pales in the east, the broken cloudlets are transmuted O^om 
 bronze into gold, and anon the gold becomes fire, and at length the glori- 
 ous sun rises out of the sea, and enters on his course rejoicing. It is a 
 brilliant day ; the waves, of a deeper and softer hue than before, dance and 
 sparkle in the light; the earth, with little else to attract the gaze, has as- 
 sumed a garb of brighter green ; and as the sun declines amid even richer 
 glories than those which had encircled his rising, the moon ajipcars full- 
 orbed in the east— to the human eye the second great lumimiry of the heav- 
 ens — and climbs slowly to 'the zenith as night advances, shedding its mild 
 radiance on land and t^ca."
 
 478 \VlLLSO>''s FIFTH i:iCAI>KU. Part X. 
 
 11. The vision of the "fifth day" may be supposed to open 
 upon tlie latter part of the Secondary period, the " Age of 
 Reptiles." 
 
 ' ' Again the day breaks ; the prospect consists, as before, of land and 
 ocean. There are great pine woods, reed-covered swamps, wide plains, 
 winding rivers, and broad lakes ; and a bright sun shines over all. But 
 the landscape derives its interest and novelty from a feature unmarked be- 
 fore. Gigantic birds stalk along the sands, or wade far into the water in 
 quest of their ichthyic food ; while birds of lesser size float uj)on the lakes, 
 or scream discordant in hovering flocks, thick as insects in the calm of a 
 summer evening, over the narrower seas, or brighten with the sunlit gleam 
 of their wings the thick woods. 
 
 12. "And ocean has its monsters: great ^ tanninivi' tempest the deep 
 as they heave their huge bulk over the surface to inhale the life-sustaining 
 
 ■ air ; and out of their nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a ' seething pot or cal- 
 dron.' Monstrous creatures armed in massive scales haunt the rivers, or 
 scour the ilat, rank meadows ; earth, air, and water are charged with ani- 
 mal life ; and the sun sets on a busy scene, in which unerring instinct pur- 
 sues unremittingly its few simple ends, the support and prcsen-ation of the 
 individual, the propagation of the species, and the protection and mainte- 
 nance of the young." 
 
 13. The vision of the "sixth day" may be supposed to 
 open near the close of the Tertiary period, when gigantic 
 mammals possessed the earth. To the evening of this sixth 
 day, in the eras of the Drift and Alluvium, man belongs — at 
 once the last created of terrestrial creatures, and infinitely be- 
 yond comparison the most elevated in the scale ; and "with 
 man's appearance on the scene the days of creation end, and 
 the Divine Sabbath begins. 
 
 14. " Again the night descends, for the fifth dav has closed ; and morn- 
 ing breaks on the sixth and last day of creation. Cattle and beasts of the 
 fields graze on the plains ; the thick-skinned rhinoceros wallows in the 
 marshes ; the squat hippopotamus rustles among the reeds, or plunges sul- 
 lenly into the river ; great herds of elephants seek their food amid the 
 young herbage of the woods ; while animals of fiercer nature — the lion, 
 the leopard, and the bear — harbor in deep caves till the evening, or lie in 
 wait for their prey amid tangled thickets or beneath some broken bank. 
 
 15. "At length, as the day wanes and the shadows lengthen, man, the 
 responsible lord of creation, formed in God's own image, is introduced upon 
 the scene, and the work of creation ceases forever upon the earth. The 
 night falls once more upon the prospect, and there dawns yet another mor- 
 row — the morrow of God's rest — that Divine Sabbath in which there is no 
 more creative labor, and which, "blessed and sanctified" beyond all the 
 days that had gone before, has as its special object the moral elevation and 
 redemption of man. And over it no evening is represented in the record 
 as falling, for its special work is not yet complete. 
 
 IG. " Such seems to have been the sublime panorama of creation exhib- 
 ited in \-ision of old to 
 
 ' The shepherd who first t.'\U!iht the chosen .seed 
 In the beginning liow the houven.-' ^pJ earth 
 Kose cut of chaos,'
 
 1st Div. or GEOLOGY. 479 
 
 and, rightly understood, I know not a single scientific truth that militates 
 against even the minutest or least prominent of its details." 
 
 LESSON XII. GEOLOGICAL AGENCIES NOW IN OPERATION. 
 
 1. Having briefly sketched the geological changes through 
 which the crust or shell of our planet has passed during the 
 myriads of ages of its past history, it will now be interesting 
 to consider the geological agencies still in operation, which 
 are continually producing new changes. 
 
 2. The atmosphere itself, with its alternations of heat and 
 cold, dryness and moisture, wind and rain, storms and tem- 
 pests, is gradually but constantly acting on the hardest rocks, 
 causing them to crumble and become soluble, and thus ])re- 
 paring them, as soil, to enter into the minute rootlets of plants 
 and nourish their growth. Thus hills and mountains are 
 Avearing down by atmospheric agencies, and the rain, the riv- 
 ers, and the floods, are bearing the particles Avhich coni])Ose 
 them to the ocean. One of the first lessons winch geology 
 teaches is, that lofty mountains, 
 
 " Whose tops appear to shroud 
 Their granite peaks deep in the vapory rlolul, 
 Worn by tlio tempests, wasted by tlie ruins, 
 sink .'lowly down to fill wide ocean's plains. 
 The ocean's deeps new lands again display, 
 And life and beauty drink the light of day." 
 
 3. In this manner the land at the mouths of large rivers 
 sometimes rapidly encroaches upon the sea. The delta of 
 the Nile, formed of the mud, and sand, and gravel brought 
 down from the high lands and mountains of the interior, is 
 nearly as large as the state of Vermont: most of tlie lower 
 part of Louisiana is the gift of the Mississippi ; and it is stated 
 that the annual deposit made by the waters of that river is 
 sufiieient to cover a township of six miles square to the depth 
 of thirty feet. The Amazon brings down a still greater 
 amount of materials, which, instead of forming a delta, are 
 borne away by the ocean currents, serving to fill uji " ocean's 
 plains," or perhaps to form new lands on distant shores. 
 
 4. Tlie civil engineer who has seen his firm piers and walls 
 demolished by the tremendous waves of an ocean storm, can 
 well appreciate their powerful action as agents in modilying 
 the rocky and earthy structure of the globe. In the Isle of 
 Man a rock weighing two hundred pounds was lifted from its 
 place and carried inland on a high wave of the sea ; and in the 
 Hebrides a block of forty-two tons was moved several feet 
 by the force of the waves. The " stern :ukI rock-bound coast"
 
 480 willson's fifth KEADEK. Pakt X. 
 
 of the ocean every Avhere feels the abrading power of the 
 waves, as is shown by such projections as the " Pulpit Rock" 
 at Nahant, and others equally picturesque along our Avhole 
 Atlantic coast. 
 
 5. The sands and pebbles that are now so abundant in sand 
 and gravel beds, wei'e once broken from rocks, and worn into 
 their present rounded forms by constant rubbing against each 
 other in water. A history of one of these little pebbles — 
 torn from some mountain peak of ancient continent by gla- 
 cier, or avalanche, or frost, or tempest — making its way down- 
 ward by mountain currents — borne onward by some ancient 
 river to the ocean — bufteted there by the waves for ages, and 
 finally deposited in some gravel-bed, would form an inter- 
 esting picture of geological changes, which has myriads of 
 counterparts in the slow formation of sand and pebbles in 
 the rivers and oceans of the present day. 
 
 (5. " A ■wondrous traveler tvp.s of yore 
 
 The rounded pebble-stone 
 As he rolled along from shore to shore, 
 In rivers now unknoivn. 
 7. AVhere ancient forests grew and waved, ' 
 
 Where ancient streams did flow, 
 That little pebble journeyed on, 
 In the river's bed below. 
 
 U Early and late he must have gone. 
 
 No rest nor sleep had he, 
 Until he slept in his gravel-bed 
 Beneath the sounding sea." 
 
 9. The destroying effects of waves have been disastrously 
 exhibited in Holland, a country lower than the level to which 
 the bordering sea rises during high tides and storms. The 
 author of Hudibras has humorously described Holland as a 
 country " that draws fifty feet of water ;" but the inhabitants 
 contrive to keep the sea from their lands by dikes or em- 
 bankments. Sometimes the dikes are inadequate to with- 
 stand the force of the waters, and destructive inundations 
 lay waste large districts of country. On the l7th of April, 
 1446, the sea broke in at Dort, and destroyed seventy-two 
 villages and one hundred thousand people. At this time a 
 large part of the Zuyder Zee was formed. In 1530 another 
 great inundation occurred, in which four hundred thousand 
 people are said to have perished. 
 
 10. The effects of glaciers and mountain slides in changing 
 the aspects of mountain scenery have already been alluded 
 to in the division on Physical Geography. Icebergs are gla- 
 ciers formed in the higher latitudes along the coasts and in 
 bays ; and when torn from their moorings they often beai"
 
 IstDiv. OF GE^OLOGY. 481 
 
 away with them immense rocks and masses of earth, wliicli 
 they deposit in distant parts of the ocean. 
 
 11. Volcanoes and earthquakes are the most terrible in 
 their effects of all geological agencies ; but the actual geo- 
 logical changes which they produce arc much less important 
 than those occasioned by what are apparently the most in- 
 significant of animals — the little coral polypes, shell-fisli, and 
 invisible animalcules. The latter minute organisms, so small 
 that millions of them might sport freely in a drop of water, 
 are now, as in ages past, important geological agencies, float- 
 ing in the air we breathe, adding to the soil we cultivate, 
 and forming vast layers of rocky strata at the bottom of the 
 ocean. 
 
 12. The rotten-stone or polishing powder, called tri2)oli, 
 is composed of the flinty shells of animalcules; and there are 
 extensive marl-beds in our country composed of similar ma- 
 terials. Eminent geologists have expressed the belief that 
 all the lime of our marble-quarries and chalk-beds has been 
 formed of the shells of organized bodies — probably deposited 
 at the bottom of the ocean, as lime-beds are now forming 
 there. 
 
 " The earth that's Nature's mother is her tomh," 
 
 is the scientific assertion of Shakspeare; and even the con- 
 templative Young inquires, 
 
 " Wliere is the dust that lias not been alive ?" 
 
 13. The coral-building animals have been partially described 
 in the division on Physical Geography ; but Ave are now pre- 
 pared to regard them as the most important of all geological 
 agents. They are actually filling up portions of the Pacific 
 Ocean : coral islands are now numbered there by thousands, 
 and coral reefs are hundreds of miles in extent ; and if the 
 slow operations of these little animals shall continue as long 
 as some of the geological periods which Ave have noticed, the 
 result Avill be a new continent there. 
 
 LESSON XIII.— COKAL ISLANDS. 
 
 [See niustration, p. 371.] 
 
 1. I SAW the living pile ascend, 
 The mausoleum of its architects, 
 Still dying upward as their labors closed ; 
 Slime "the material, but the slime was turned 
 To adamant by their petrific touch. 
 Frail were their frames, ephemcnil tlicir lives, 
 
 X
 
 482 WILLSOn's fifth reader. Part X. 
 
 Their masonry imperishable. All 
 Life's needful functions, food, exertion, rest. 
 By wise economy of Providence, 
 Were overruled, to carry on the process 
 Which out of water brought forth solid rock. 
 
 2. Atom by atom, thus the mountain grew 
 
 A coral island, stretching east and west ; 
 
 Steep were the flanks, with precipices shai-p, 
 
 Descending to their base in ocean gloom. 
 
 Chasms few, and narrow, and irregular, 
 
 Formed harbors, safe at once and perilous — 
 
 Safe for defense, but perilous to enter. 
 
 A sea-lake shone amid the fossil isle, 
 
 Eeflecting in a ring its cliifs and caverns, 
 
 With heaven itself seen in a lake below. 
 8. Compared with this amazing edifice, 
 
 Raised by the weakest creatures in existence. 
 
 What are the works of intellectual man, 
 
 His temples, palaces, and sepulchres ? 
 
 Dust in the balance, atoms in the gale. 
 
 Compared with these achievements in the deep, 
 
 Were all the monuments of olden time. 
 
 4. Egypt's gray piles of hieroglyphic grandeur, 
 
 That have survived the language which they speak, 
 
 Preserving its dead emblems to the eye, 
 
 Yet hiding from the eye what these reveal ; 
 
 Her pyramids would be mere pinnacles, 
 
 Her giant statues, wrought from rocks of granite, 
 
 But puny ornaments for such a pile 
 
 As this stupendous mount of catacombs. 
 
 Filled with dry mummies of the builder- worms. 
 
 MOKTGOMEET. 
 
 LESSOjST XIY. GEOLOGICAL MOXUMEXTS. 
 
 If we look with wonder upon the great remains of human 
 works, such as the columns of Palmyra, broken in the midst 
 of the desert, the temjjles of Pa?stum, beautiful in the decay 
 of twenty centuries, or the mutilated fragments of Greek 
 sculpture in the Acropolis of Athens, or in our own museums, 
 as proofs of the genius of artists, and power and riches of_ 
 nations now passed away, with how miich deeper feeling of 
 admiration must we consider those grand monuments of na- 
 ture which mark the revolutions of the globe — continents 
 broken into islands ; one land produced, another destroyed ; 
 tTie bottom of the ocean become a fertile soil ; whole races 
 of animals extinct, and the bones and exuvias^ of one class 
 covered with the remains of another ; and upon the graves
 
 lit DlV. OF GEOLOGY. 483 
 
 of past generations — the mai'ble or roclc y tombs, as it were, 
 of a former animated -svorld — new generations rising, and or- 
 der and harmony established, and a system of Hfe and beauty 
 produced out of chaos and death, proving the infinite power, 
 wisdom, and goodness of the Gkeat Cause of all things. — 
 Sir H. Davy. * 
 
 1 Ex-C'-Ti-x (effz-;iu'-ve-e)^ whatever is put off, or shed and left, by animals or by plants ; 
 the c«st skin, shells, etc., of animal?. 
 
 LESSOX XV. — mixeralogy: the alphabet of geology. 
 
 SIMPLE MINERALS. 
 
 1. In the language of geology, all natural bodies that are 
 neither animal nor vegetable are called minerals. In this 
 view, not only are all kinds of clay, stones, and the metals to 
 be considei'cd minerals, but Avater also must be included in 
 the list. If the earth were sufficiently heated, the rocks them- 
 aelves would melt and flow like water, as we see in the case 
 of melted lava ; and, if the earth Avere sufficiently cold, Ave 
 should rarely see Avater, excej^t in the rock-form of crystal- 
 like masses of ice. 
 
 2. Mineralogy., therefore, whose subject is minerals, treats 
 of all the inorganic substances that are found in the earth or 
 on its surface ; it arranges and classifies them, it designates 
 the ingredients of Avhich they are composed, and it describes 
 their properties. Hence minerals are the A'cry alphabet of 
 geology; and mineralogy is only a branch of that science 
 whose grand historical outlines Ave haA^C just been considering. 
 
 3. Of what, then, are the materials of the earth composed? 
 It would seem, at first A^iew, that they must be almost infinite 
 in number and A'ariety ; that a thousand kinds of stone and 
 earth might easily be gathered, and that no limits could be 
 assigned to the extent of such a geological collection. But 
 a little examination shows that this vast multitude of seem- 
 ingly diflferent kinds of rock and earth, and clayey and marly 
 soils, is composed of only a fcAV primary ingredients, althougli 
 they are combined in a great variety of forms and propor- 
 tions. 
 
 4. Mineralogy, no less than geology, is full of Avonders ; 
 one of the greatest of aa^IucIi is that the life-sustaining oxygen 
 which Ave breathe so freely in pure air enters so largely into 
 the composition of rocks and eartlis as to constitute one half 
 of the solid materials of our globe ! This is the first, sim-
 
 484 WILLSOn's FIFTU reader. Tart X. 
 
 pie, but all-important lesson in mineralogy, A second lesson 
 teaches us tliat, out of nearly sixty })ure mineral substances 
 which are known, six of them, although sekloni obtained in 
 a separate state, are found so largely combined witli this 
 same oxygen as to form, in this compound state, nineteen 
 twentieths of all the rocks and earths which are known. 
 Thus ten twentieths of the inorganic parts of our globe are 
 composed of oxygen ; six mineral substances go to make up 
 nine twentieths more ; and the remaining one twentieth is 
 composed of other minerals. 
 
 5. The six mineral substances, or mineral bases, to which 
 we have alluded, have been named silicon., calcium, alumi- 
 mcm, magnesium, jyotassium, and sodium. Thus silicon unites 
 with oxygen in certain proportions to form the well-known 
 and abundant flinty or quartz rock. "When quartz is broken 
 down into fine grains, and consolidated or cemented with 
 o-xyd of iron, it forms sandstone rock ; and, in the form of 
 finely-powdered sand, it is an important ingredient in the soil 
 we cultivate. Calcium and oxygen form lime,' and when 
 this is united with carbonic acid, the result is limestone rocTc, 
 which is also an ingredient of our best soils. Similar combi- 
 nations of the other mineral bases Avith oxygen form alumi- 
 na, magnesia, and soda, which also enter to a considerable 
 extent into the composition of the rocky and earthy portions 
 of the globe. 
 
 6. The most abundant of the simple minerals, or rocJcs, as 
 they are generally called, which are formed chiefly by the 
 simple union of oxygen with the six mineral substances men- 
 tioned, but in some instances by additional combinations, are 
 quartz, feldspar, limestone, hornblende, mica, talc, and serpen- 
 tine ; and these are distinguished and described by their col- 
 or, and their several degi-ees of lustre, transparency, specific 
 gravity, hardness, fracture, tenacity, taste when soluble, and 
 odor Avhen rubbed. 
 
 7. Of these minerals, quartz, which enters largely into the 
 compound minerals or rocks, constitutes by itself nearly one 
 half of the crust of the earth. Pure quartz, Avhich is crystal- 
 lized silica, scratches glass with flicility, and is next to the dia- 
 mond in hardness. Flint and rock-crystal are well known 
 forms of this mineral, but it occurs in numerous other varie- 
 ties ; and when colored by iron, manganese, chrome, and oth- 
 er foreign substances, it produces many valuable gems or pre- 
 cious stones, such as opal, jasper, amethyst, agates, and cai*- 
 nelians. The sand which is used in making mortar and glass
 
 1st Div. OF GEOLOGY. 485 
 
 is mostly quartz ; and in what is called ^ilex this mineral forms 
 the hard, flinty covering of the grasses. 
 
 8. Juildsjxo', or fieldspar, which contains a large proportion 
 of alumina, the basis of clay, composes about one tentli of the 
 crust of the globe. It is of various colors, is not so hard as 
 quartz, and is less glassy in appearance. It is used extensively 
 in the manufacture of porcelain. Common clay is imjDure de- 
 composed feldspar. 
 
 9. Limestone, forming about one seventh of the crust of 
 the earth, presents numerous varieties — from the common 
 chalk, cavern stalactites, and coarse limestone rock, to the 
 beautiful crystalline spars and the finest marble. 
 
 10. Hornblende, a tough mineral, as implied in the name it 
 bears, constitutes a large j^art of the rocks of volcanic origin 
 and some of the older slate rocks. It forms about one fif- 
 teenth of the crust of the earth. One of its varieties is the 
 remarkable asbestus, whose slender fibres may be woven into 
 cloth which will be incombustible. 
 
 11. Mica, often improperly called isinglass, is a soft min- 
 eral, usually of a light green color, and is about as abundant 
 as hornblende. Thin plates of it are often used for lanterns 
 and sfove windows. 
 
 12. Tcdc resembles mica, but is softer, and may be easily 
 cut with a knife. Steatite, or soap-stone, one of its varieties, 
 is extensively used for fireplaces and stove linings. 
 
 13. Serpentine, which is of various colors, is harder than 
 limestone. Its finer varieties, which admit a high polish, are 
 an elegant substitute for marble. 
 
 14. Gypsum, or "plaster of Paris," rock-salt, and'coa/, 
 complete the list of minerals which form any considerable 
 portion of the earth's crust. 
 
 LESSON XVI. C0MP0U3S-D mtsterals. 
 
 1, Geaxite, which forms so large a proportion of the pri- 
 mary rocks, is a crystalline aggregate of quartz, feldsiiar, and 
 mica. It is a very hard and durable rock, and is much used 
 in building and for pavements. Granite seems to be the 
 general foundation-stone or underjnnning oi tha other rocks, 
 and it is also found as high as the summit of JMount Blanc. 
 
 2. Granite is abundant in New England. The most cele- 
 brated quarries are at Quincy, Mass. The Qnincy granite, 
 however, is not properly a granite, but a syenite, in which
 
 486 wilt.son's fifth reader. Part X. 
 
 hornblende takes the place of mica, Bnnker Hill Monument, 
 the Astor House in New York City, and the dry docks at 
 the Charlestown and Gosport Navy-yards, are constructed 
 of this rock. Granite is also found abundantly, and of the' 
 finest quality, in Virginia, Georgia, and other states. 
 
 3. There is an unstratified igneous rock, called porphyry^ 
 which is of a reddish color, and contains crystals of feldspar. 
 Another compound rock is called 2yuddi7}ff-sio?ie. It is a con- 
 glomer;ite of rounded pebbles cemented together by fine- 
 grained sandy paste. When cut and polished, it resembles 
 in appearance a slice of plum-pudding, and is much used for 
 ornamental purposes. 
 
 4. Amygdaloid is a rock containing almond-shaped cavi- 
 ties. These cavities have been formed by the escape of gases 
 as the rock cooled down from a melted state. The rock itself 
 is evidently a kind of solidified lava, and the cavities have 
 been subsequently filled with some mineral matter, as quartz, 
 lime, or agate. 
 
 5. breccia is composed of angular fragments which once 
 constituted other rocks. It differs from pudding-stone in 
 not having the fragments worn into the form of pebbles. 
 The Potomac marble, of Avhich fine specimens are seen*in the 
 old national Capitol at Washington, is a kind of breccia.^ 
 Brecciated^ marble from Vermont and Tennessee have been 
 extensively used in the interior of the new United States 
 Capitol. ' 
 
 The composition of these rocks has been presented in the 
 following recipes for Geological Cookery : 
 
 6. To make Granite. 
 
 Of feldspar and quartz a large quantity take, 
 Then pepper with mica, and mix up and bake. 
 This granite for common occasions is good ; 
 But on saint's days and Sundays, be it understood, 
 If with bishops and lords in the state-room you dine, 
 Then sprinkle with topaz, or else tourmaline. 
 
 7. To make Porphyry. 
 Let silex and argil be well kneaded down, 
 
 Then color at pleasure, red, gray, green, or brown ; 
 When the paste is all ready, stick in here and there 
 Small ciystals of feldspai", both oblong and square. 
 
 8. . To make Pudding-stone. 
 To vary your dishes, and shun any waste, 
 Should you have any left of the very same paste, 
 
 You may make a plum-pudding ; but, then, do not stint 
 The quantum of pebbles — chert, jasper, or flint.
 
 1st Div. OF GEOLOGY. 487 
 
 9. To make Amygdaloid. 
 
 Take a mountain of trap, somewhat softish and green, 
 In which bladder-shaped holes may be eveiT where seen ; 
 Choose a part where these holes are decidedly void all, 
 Ponr silex in these, to form agates spheroidal, 
 And the mass in a trice will be amygdaloidal. 
 
 10. To make a good Breccia. 
 
 Break your rocks in sharp fragments, preserving the angles ; 
 Of mica or quartz you may add a few spangles ; 
 Then let your white batter be well filtered through, 
 Till the parts stick as firm as if fastened by glue. 
 
 11. To make a coarser Breccia. 
 
 For a breccia more coarse you may vary your matter ; 
 Pound clay, quartz, and iron-stone, moistened with water : 
 Pour these on your fragments, and then wait a while, 
 Till the oxyd of iron is red as a tile. 
 
 1 Beec'-cia (pronounced Bi-ek'-sha'). 2 Eeec'-cia-ted (pronounced Drek'-sJie-dt-ed). 
 
 LESSON XVII. BRIEF EXTRACTS. 
 
 1. "Geology, in the magnitude and sublimity of the ob- 
 jects of which it treats, undoubtedly ranks next to astrono- 
 my in the scale of the sciences." — Sir J. F. TV. Herschel. 
 
 2. " Every rock in the desert, every boulder on the plain, 
 every pebble by the brook side, every grain of sand on the 
 sea-shore, is replete with lessons of wisciom to the mind that 
 is fitted to receive and comprehend their subUme import." 
 
 3. "The very ground on which we tread, and the mount- 
 ains which surroimd us, may be regarded as vast tumuli, in 
 which the organic remains of a former world are enshrined." 
 — Parkixson. 
 
 4. "To the natural philosopher the rocks and the mountains 
 are the grand monuments of nature, on which is inscribed 
 the history of the physical revolutions of the globe, which took 
 place in periods incalculably remote, and long antecedent to 
 the creation of the human race. They present to his mind a 
 succession of events, each so vast as to be beyond his finite 
 comj^rehension ; ages of tranquillity, with lands and seas teem- 
 ing with life and happiness, succeeded by periods in which 
 the earthquake and the volcano spread universal ruin and de- 
 struction ; and they teach him that all these awful changes 
 bear the impress of the Al:mighty hand, and were subservient 
 to the eternal purpose of rendering this planet the fit abode 
 of MAN during his mortal pilgrimage." — Mantell.
 
 488 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part X. 
 
 LESSON XVIII. — CONCLUDING REMARKS. 
 
 [From the conclusion of Mantell's Wonders of Geology.'] 
 
 1. With these remarks, I conclude this attempt to combine 
 a general view of geological phenomena with a familiar ex- 
 position of the inductions by which the leading principles of 
 the science have been established. And if I have succeeded 
 in explaining in a satisfactory manner how, by laborious and 
 patient investigation, and the successful aj^plication of other 
 branches of natural philosophy, the wonders of geology have 
 been revealed — if I have removed but from one intelligent 
 mind any prejudice against scientific inquiries which may 
 have been excited by those who have neither the relish nor 
 the capacity for philosophical pursuits — if I have been so for- 
 tunate as to kindle in the hearts of others that intense and 
 enduring love and admiration of natural knowledge Avhich I 
 feel in my own, or have illuminated the mental vision with 
 that intellectual hght which, once kindled, can never be ex- 
 tinguished, and which reveals to the soul the beauty, and 
 wisdom, and harmony of the works of the Eternal, I shall in- 
 deed rejoice, for then my exertions will not have been in vain. 
 And although my humble name may be soon forgotten, and 
 all record of my labors be eftaced, yet the influence of that 
 knowledge, however feeble it may be, which has emanated 
 from my researches, will remain forever, and, by conducting 
 to new and inexhaustible fields of inquiry, prove a never-fail- 
 ing source of the most pure and elevated gratification. 
 
 2. It is indeed the peculiar charm and privilege of natural 
 philosophy that it 
 
 Can so inform 
 The mind that is within us — so impress 
 With quietness and beiuty, and so feed 
 With lofty thoughts, tliat neither evil tongues, 
 Eash judgments, nor tlie sneers of selfish men, 
 Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 
 The dreary intercourse of common life, 
 .■ Can e'er prevail against us, or disturb 
 
 Our cheerful faitli, that all which we behold 
 Is full of blessings ! — Worpswoetii. 
 
 For to one imbued with a taste for natural science, Nature 
 unfolds "her hoarded poetry and her hidden spells;" for him 
 there is a voice in the winds and a language in the waves, 
 and he is 
 
 Even as one 
 Who, by some sroret c:ift of si.ul or eye. 
 In eveiy spot beneath the smiling sun, 
 Sees where the spi-inga qf living icaters lie .'— IIemaxs.
 
 TENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 
 
 LESSON I.— THE RAVEN. 
 
 Edgar A. Poe. 
 
 1. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak an.d weary, 
 Over many a quaint and c'urious volume of forpotten lore — 
 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tap])ing. 
 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
 
 " 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my chamber door — 
 
 Only this and nothing more. 
 
 2. Ah ! distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
 
 And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
 Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly i had sought to borrow 
 From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenorc — 
 X 2
 
 490 willson's fifth keadee. 
 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
 
 Nameless here for evermore. 
 
 3. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
 Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 
 " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — 
 Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door ; 
 
 This it is and nothing more. 
 
 4. Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
 " Sir," said I, " or madam, truly your forgiveness I imjilore; 
 But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came i-apping, 
 And so faintly you came tapi)ing, tapping at my chamber door, 
 That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door — 
 
 Darkness there and nothing more. 
 6. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ; 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
 And the only word there spoken was the whisjicred word "Lenore?" 
 This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!" — ■ 
 
 Merely this and nothing morel 
 
 6. Back into the chamber tui'ning, all my soul within me burning. 
 Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. 
 "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; 
 Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore — 
 
 Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore — 
 
 'Tis the wind and nothing more. 
 
 7. Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter. 
 In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. 
 
 Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed he ; 
 But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — 
 Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — 
 
 Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 
 
 8. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
 "Though thy ci-est be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no 
 
 ci'aven. 
 Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore — 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore I" 
 
 Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 
 9 Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
 Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 
 For we can not help agreeing that no living human being 
 Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — 
 Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
 
 With such name as "Nevermore." 
 
 ]0. But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only 
 That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
 Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered — 
 Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before— 
 On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 
 
 Then the bird said "Nevermore."
 
 TENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 491 
 
 11. Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
 
 " Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is' its only stock and stdfe, 
 Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster 
 Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore — 
 Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore 
 
 Of ' Never — nevermore.'" 
 
 12. But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 
 
 .Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door ; 
 Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
 
 Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 
 
 13. This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
 
 To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core ; 
 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er. 
 But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er 
 
 She shall press, ah ! nevermore. 
 
 14. Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
 Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
 "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath 
 
 sent thee 
 Eespite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! 
 Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore !" 
 
 Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 
 1.5. "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or de\-il ! — 
 Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
 Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
 On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — 
 Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore !" 
 
 Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." 
 
 16. "Prophet !" said I, ' ' thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
 By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — 
 Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 
 
 It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." 
 
 Quoth the raven, "Nevermore.'" 
 
 17. "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, up- 
 
 starting — 1 
 
 "Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore! 
 Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door !" 
 
 Quoth the raven, ' ' Nevermore. " 
 
 18. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. 
 And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
 
 Shall be lifted — nevermore !
 
 492 WILLSON S FItTH KKAl>EIi. 
 
 LESSON II. — THE DIGNITY OF WOEK. 
 
 1. There is a perennial nobleness, and even sacredness, in 
 work. Were lie never so benighted, forgetful of his high 
 calling, there is always hojoe in a man that actually and earn- 
 estly works ; in idleness alone is there perpetual despair. 
 Work, never so mammonish, mean, is in communication with 
 Nature ; the real desire to get work done will itself lead one 
 more and more to truth, to Nature's appointments and regu- 
 lations which are truth. 
 
 " 2. All true work is sacred : in all true work, were it but 
 true hand-labor, there is something of divineness. Labor, 
 wide as the earth, has its summit in heaven. Sweat of the 
 brow ; and up from that to sweat of the brain, sweat of the 
 heart ; which includes all Kepler calculations, Newton med- 
 itations, all sciences, all spoken epics, all acted heroism, mai'- 
 tyrdoms — up to that " agony of bloody sweat," which all 
 men have called divine ! Oh brother, if this is not " wor- 
 ship," then I say, the more pity for worship ; for this is the 
 noblest thing yet discovered under God's sky. 
 
 3. Who art thou that complainest of thy life of toil ? Com- 
 plain not. Look up, my wearied brother ; see thy fellow- 
 workmen there, in God's eternity ; surviving there, they alone 
 surviving : sacred band of the immortals, celestial body-guard 
 of the empire of mind. Even in the weak human memory 
 they survive so long, as saints, as heroes, as gods ; they alone 
 surviving: peopling, they alone, the immeasured solitudes of 
 Time ! To thee Heaven, though severe, is not unkind ; Heav- 
 en is kind — as a noble mother ; as that Spartan mother, say- 
 ing while she gave her son his shield, " With it, my sox, or 
 UPON it!" Thou, too, shalt return home, in honor to thy 
 far-distant home, in honor ; doubt it not — if in the battle thou 
 keep thy shield ! Thou, in the eternities and deepest death- 
 kingdoms, art not an alien ; thou every where art a denizen ! 
 Complain not ; the very Spartans did not complain. 
 
 Thomas Caklyle. 
 
 LESSON ni. — the duty of labor. 
 
 1. Labor is man's great function. The eai'th and the atmos- 
 phere are his laboratory. With spade and plow, with mining 
 shafts, and furnaces, and forges, with fire and steam, amid the
 
 TENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 493 
 
 noise and whirl of swift and briglit machinery, and abroad 
 in the silent fields, beneath the roofing sky, man Avas made 
 to be ever workhig, ever experimenting. And while he and 
 all his dwellings of care and toil are borne onward with the 
 circling skies, and the shows of heaven are around him, and 
 their infinite depths image and invite his thought, still in all 
 the worlds of philosophy, in the universe of intellect, man 
 must be a worker. He is nothing, he can be nothing, he can 
 achieve nothing, fulfill nothing, without working. 
 
 2. Xot only can he gain no lofty improvement without this, 
 but Avithout it he can gain no tolerable happiness. So that 
 he who gives hunself up to utter indolence finds it too hard 
 for him, and is obliged in self-defense, unless he be an idiot, 
 to do something. Tlie miserable victims of idleness and en- 
 nui, driven at last from their chosen resort, are compelled to 
 work, to do something ; yes, to employ their Avretched and 
 worthless lives in — " killing time." They must hunt down 
 the hours as their prey. Yes, time, that mere abstraction, 
 that sinks light as the air upon the eyelids of the busy and 
 the Aveary, to the idle is an enemy, clothed with gigantic 
 armor ; and they must kill it, or themselves die. They can 
 not live in mere idleness ; and all the diflTerence between them 
 and others is, that they employ their activity to no useful 
 end. They find, indeed, that the hardest work in the world 
 is to do nothino-. — Dewey. 
 
 LESSOX IV.— WOKK AWAY. 
 
 1 . Work away ! 
 
 For the master's eye is on us, 
 Never off us, still upon us. 
 
 Night and day. 
 
 Work away I 
 Keep the busy fingers plyinp, 
 Keep the ceaseless shuttles flying ; 
 See that never thread lie wrong; 
 Let not clash or clatter round us, 
 Sound of whirring wheels confound us; 
 Steady hand ! let woof be strong 
 And firm, that has to last so long ! 
 
 Work away ! 
 
 2. Keep upon the anvil ringing 
 Stroke of hammer ; on the gloom 
 Set 'twixt cradle and 'twixt tomb 
 Shower of fiery sparkles flinging ; 
 Keep the mighty furnace gluwing ; 
 Keep the red ore hissing, flowing
 
 494 WILLSON's FIFIH BKADBR. 
 
 Swift within the ready mould ; 
 Sec that each one than the old 
 Still be fitter, still be fairer 
 For the servant's use, and rarer 
 For the master to behold : 
 Work away ! 
 
 3. Work away ! 
 
 For the leader's eye is on us, ' 
 Never oft" us, still upon us. 
 
 Night and day. 
 Wide the trackless prairies round us, 
 Dark and unsunned woods surround us. 
 Deep and savage mountains bound us ; 
 
 Far away 
 Smile the soft savannas green, 
 Rivers sweep and roll between : 
 
 Work away ! 
 
 4. Bring your axes, woodmen true ; 
 Smite the forest till the blue 
 
 Of heaven's sunny eye looks through 
 Every wild and tangled glade ; 
 Jungled swamp and thicket shade 
 
 Give to-day ! 
 O'er the torrents fling your bridges, 
 Pioneers ! Upon the ridges 
 Widen, smooth the rocky stair — 
 They that follow, far behind 
 Coming after us, will find , 
 Surer, easier footing there ; 
 Heart to heart, and hand to hand, 
 From the dawn to dusk o' day, 
 
 Work away ! 
 Scouts upon the mountain's peak — 
 Ye that see the Promised Land, 
 Hearten us ! for ye can speak 
 Of the country ye have scanned, 
 
 Far away ! 
 
 5. Work away ! 
 
 For the Father's eye is on us. 
 Never oft" us, still upon us, 
 
 Night and day. 
 
 Work and pray ! 
 Pray ! and work will be completer ; 
 Work ! and prayer will be the sweeter ; 
 Love ! and prayer and work the fleeter 
 
 Will ascend upon their way. 
 Fear not lest the busy finger 
 Weave a net the soul to stay ; 
 Give her wings — she will not linger; 
 Soaring to the source of day ; 
 Cleaving clouds that still diride us 
 From the azure depths of rest, 
 She will come again I beside us,
 
 TENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 495 
 
 With the sunshine on her breast, 
 Sit, and sing to us, while quickest 
 On their task the tingers move, 
 While the outward din wars thickest, 
 Songs that she hath learned above. 
 Live in Future as in Present ; 
 Work for both while yet the day 
 Is our own ! for lord and peasant, 
 Long and bright as summer's day, 
 Cometh, yet more sure, more pleasant, 
 Cometh soon our holiday ; 
 Work away ! 
 
 LESSON V. NEVER DESPAIR. 
 
 The opal-hued and many-perfumed morn 
 
 From gloom is born ; 
 From out the sullen depth of ebon Night 
 
 The stars shed light ; 
 Gems in the rayless caverns of the earth 
 
 Have their slow birth ; 
 From wondrous alchemy of winter hours 
 
 Come summer flowers ; 
 The bitter waters of the restless main 
 
 Give gentle rain ; 
 The fading bloom and dry seed bring once more 
 
 The yeai""s fresh store ; 
 Just sequences of clashing tones afford 
 
 The full accoi'd ; 
 Through weary ages, full of strife and ruth, 
 
 Thought reaches Truth ; 
 Through efforts, long in vain, prophetic need 
 
 Begets the deed : 
 Nerve then thy soul with direst need to cope ; 
 
 Life's brightest hope 
 Lies" latent in Fate's deadliest lair — 
 
 Never despair ! — Anonymous. 
 
 LESSON" VI. GOD IS EVERY WHERE. 
 
 1. Oh ! show me where is He, 
 
 The high and holy One, 
 
 To whom thou bend'st the knee. 
 
 And pray'st', "Thy will be done'!" 
 
 I hear' thy song of praise'. 
 
 And lo ! no form'' is near : 
 
 Thine eyes I see thee raise', 
 
 But where doth God ajipear' ? 
 Oh ! teach me who is^ God, and where his glories shine'. 
 That I may kneel arid pray, and call thy Father mine.
 
 496 AVJLLSON S FIFTH KEADKK. 
 
 2. "Gaze on that arch above" ; 
 The glittering vault admire'. 
 ]\7io taught those orbs to move' ? 
 Who lit their ceaseless tire' ? 
 W/io guides the moon to run 
 
 In silence through the skies'? 
 
 W/io bids that dawning sun 
 
 In strength and beauty rise' ? 
 There view immensity' ! behold ! ray God is there : 
 The sun\ the moon', the stars', his majesty declare". 
 
 3. " See where the 7no!«toins" rise ; 
 Where thundering torrents' foam ; 
 Where, veil'd in towering skies', 
 The eagle' makes his home ; 
 Where savage nature dwells, 
 
 My God is present too' ; 
 
 Through all his wildest dells 
 
 His footsteps I pursue : 
 He rear'd those giant cliffs', sup])lies that dashing stream , 
 Provides the daily food which stills the wild bird's scream. 
 
 4. "Look on that world of waves, 
 Where finny nations glide ; 
 Within whose deep, dark caves 
 The ocean-monsters hide: 
 
 His power is sovereign tliere. 
 
 To raise',- to quell' the storm'; 
 
 The depths his bounty share, 
 
 Where sport the scaly swann : 
 Tempest and calms obey the same almighty voice 
 Which rules the earth and skies, and bids far worlds rejoice. 
 
 5. " No human thoughts can soar . 
 Beyond his boundless might; 
 He swells the thunder's roar. 
 
 He spreads the wings of night. 
 
 Oh ! praise his works divine" ! 
 
 Bow down thy soul in prayer" ; 
 
 Nor ask for other sign 
 
 That God is every where : 
 The viewless Si)irit" ! He — immortal', holy', blest" : 
 Oh! worship him in faith", and find eternal rest" I"' — Anovi/mous. 
 
 PATERNAL AFFECTION. 
 
 Some feelings are to mortals given. 
 
 With less of earth in them than heaven ; 
 
 And if there be a human tear 
 
 From passion's dross refined and clear, 
 
 A tear so limpid and so meek 
 
 It would not stain an angel's cheek, 
 
 'Tis that which pious fathers shed 
 
 Upon a duteous daughter's head. — Scott.
 
 Part XI. 
 
 ANCIENT HISTOBY. 
 
 497 
 
 PART XI 
 
 HISTOEICAL. ANCIENT HISTORY PRIOE TO 
 THE CHRISTIAN ERA. 
 
 LESSON I. EAELY GEECIAN HISTORY. 
 
 1. Nearly all that is of interest and importance to us in 
 the history of the world prior to the Christian era is em- 
 hraced in the history of the Jews, and in Grecian and Roman 
 history. To the Bilale, chiefly, we are to look for the details 
 of the former. Grecian history follows next in the order of 
 time, beginninc; far back in the gloom of antiquity, with the 
 supposed founding of Argos in the year 1856 before the 
 Christian era, and -extending down to the conqiiest of Greece 
 by the Romans in the year 146 B.C. After this latter period, 
 and during several centuries, the history of the then known 
 world is absorbed in the overshadowing of, first, the Roman 
 republic, and, afterward, of the Roman empire. 
 
 2. All that is known of Grecian history during a period of 
 more than a thousand years after the date arbitrarily assigned
 
 498 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part XI. 
 
 for the founding of Argos, rests on no better basis than the 
 songs and traditionary legends of bards and story-tellers. 
 During this long period it is impossible to distinguish names 
 and events, real and historical, from fictitious creations which 
 so confound the hunfan and the divine as to mock all attempts 
 at elucidation. We must therefore set aside as merely pleas- 
 ing fictions, to be classed with the legends of the gods, the 
 stories of Ce'crops, and Cran'aus, and Dan'aus, the account 
 of the Argonautic expedition, and the labors of Hercules ; 
 and even the beautiful story of Helen and the Trojan war, 
 " the most splendid gem in the Grecian legends," is declared 
 by the historian Grote to be " essentially a legend, and noth- 
 ing more." 
 
 3. But out of this thousand years of darkness a something 
 tangible and reliable has, nevertheless, been obtained, M'hich 
 may be dignified with the name of history — a history of what 
 the people thought, though not of what they did. From fa- 
 ble, and legend, and tradition, we learn what was the relig- 
 ious belief of the eai'ly Greeks, and this has been embodied 
 in what is called Grecian mythology. 
 
 4. The early Greeks, like all rude, uncultivated tribes, prob- 
 ably associated their earliest religious emotions Avith the char- 
 acter of surrounding objects, and ascribed its appropriate 
 deity to every manifestation of power in the visible universe. 
 Thus they had nymphs of the forests, rivers, meadows, and 
 fountains, and gods and goddesses almost innumerable, some 
 terrestrial, others celestial, according to the places over which 
 they w^ere supposed to preside, and rising in importance in 
 proportion to the power they manifested. The foundation 
 of this religion, like all others, was a belief in higher exist- 
 ences which have an influence over the destinies of mortals. 
 The process by which the beings of Grecian mythology nat- 
 urally arose out of the teeming fancies of the ardent Greek 
 mind, is beautifully described by Wordsworth in the follow- 
 ing: lines. 
 
 LESSON" II. — GRECIAN MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 1. In that fair clime, the lonely herdsman, stretched 
 On the soft grass through half a summer's day, 
 With music hilled his indolent repose ; 
 And in some fit of weariness, if he, 
 When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear 
 A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 499 
 
 Which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetch'd 
 Even from the blazing chariot of the sun 
 A beardless youth,* who touched a golden lute, 
 And filled the illumined groves with ravishment. 
 
 2. The nightly hunter, lifting a bright eye 
 
 Up toward the crescent moon, with grateful heart 
 
 Called on the lovely wanderer who bestow'd 
 
 That timely light to share his joyous sport. 
 
 And hence a beaming goddess, fwith her nymphs, 
 
 Across the lawn, and through the darksome" grove 
 
 (Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes 
 
 By echo multiplied from rock or cave), 
 
 Swept in the storm of chase, as moon and stars 
 
 Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven 
 
 When winds are blowing strong. The traveler slaked 
 
 His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thank'd 
 
 The Naiad. I Sunbeams, upon distant hills 
 
 Gliding apace, with shadows in their train, 
 
 Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed 
 
 Into fleet Oreads§ sporting visibly. 
 
 3. The Zephyrs fanning, as they passed, their wings, 
 Lacked not for love fair objects, whom they wooed 
 With gentle whisper. || Withered boughs grotesque, 
 Stripped of their leaves and t^jigs by hoarj- age. 
 From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth 
 
 In the low vale, or on steep mountain side ; 
 
 And sometimes intermixed with stirring horns 
 
 Gf the live deer, or goat's depending beard — 
 
 These were the lurking satyrs,^ a wild brood 
 
 Of gamesome deities ; or Fan himself, 
 
 The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring God.** — Wordswoeth. 
 
 LESSOX III. THE PERSIAN WARS. 
 
 1. Passing over the "fabulous period" of Grecian history, 
 "which may be supposed to end about the time of the close 
 of the supposed Trojan war, and the "uncertain period," 
 
 * This is Apollo, or thf sun, the god of prophecy, archery, and music, represented as a 
 youth in the perfection of manly strengtli and beauty. He btars a lyre in his hand, some- 
 limes a bow, and a golden lute, with a golden quiver of arrows at his back. 
 
 t Diana, the exact counterpart of her brother Apollo, was queen of the woods, and the 
 goddess of hunting. Diana is one of the names under which the moon was worshiped. 
 
 t The y'aiada are represented as young and beautiful nymphs, who presided over riv- 
 ers, brooks, springs, and fountains. 
 
 § The Oreads, nymphs of the mountains, generally attended upon Diana, and accompa- 
 nied her in hunting. 
 
 I The Zcphjtr.'i were the genial west winds. They were brothers of the stars, and seldom 
 visited the earth except during the shades of evening. 
 
 1i The Satiirx were represented like men, but with feet and legs of goats, short horns on 
 the head, and the whole body covered with thick hair. 
 
 ** Tlie horned and goat-footed Pan was the god of shepherds, and lord of the woods 
 and mountains. What are caWei ptnic terrors were ascribed to I'an; as loud noises, 
 whose cau=es could not easily be traced, were oftenest heard in mountainous regions, which 
 were his favorite haunts.
 
 500 avillson's fifth reader. Part XI. 
 
 Avliicli embraces an account of the institutions of Lycurgus, 
 the Messenian Avars, and the legislation of Solon, Ave come 
 <lown to Avh'at is called the " authentic period," Avhich begins 
 Avith the causes that led to the lirst Persian Avar. 
 
 2. Davi'us, king of Persia, exasperated against Athens on 
 account of the assistance Avhich she had given to the Greek 
 colonies of Asia Minor in their revolt against the Persian 
 power, resolved upon the conquest of all Greece ; but in the 
 third year of the Avar, 490 B.C., his army, numbering a hund- 
 red thousand men, Avas defeated Avith great slaughter by a 
 force of little more than ten thousand Greeks on the plains 
 of Marathon. 
 
 3. Ten years later, Xerxes, the son and successor of Dari'us, 
 opened the second Persian war by invading Greece in person, 
 at the head of the greatest army the Avorld has ever seen, and 
 whose numbers have been estimated at more than tAvo mill- 
 ions of fighting men. This immense host, proceeding by the 
 Avay of -Thessaly, had arrived Avithout opposition at the nar- 
 row defile of ThermopyliE, betAveen the mountains and the 
 sea, where the Spax'tau Leonidas AA'as posted Avith three hund- 
 red of his countrymen and some Thespian allies, in all less . 
 than a thousand men. 
 
 4. The Spartans were forbidden by their laAvs ever to flee 
 from an enemy ; they had taken an oath ncA'er to desert their 
 standards ; and Leonidas and his countrymen, and their fcAV 
 allies, prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Brave- 
 ly meeting the attack of the Persian host, and retreating into 
 the narrowest of the pass as their numbers Avere thinned by 
 the storm of arrows, and by the living mass that was hurled 
 upon them, they fought Avith the valor of desperation until 
 every one of their number had fallen.* A monument AA'as 
 afterward erected on the spot, bearing the following inscrip- 
 tion : " Go, stranger, and tell at Lacedtemon that Ave died 
 here in obedience to her laws." 
 
 * The story that Leonidas made a night attack, and penetrated nearly to the royal tent, 
 a3 described by Croly in his well-known poem beginning, 
 
 " It ■n-as the wild midnight ; a storm was on the sky," 
 
 is a mere fiction, opposed to well-known hi.-f ory. For thi>- reason we have not introduced 
 it in our selections. The attack was commenced in the forenoon, and by the Pereians. 
 Historical fictions may be introduced without any impropriety where they fill up with 
 in-oh'ible events the gap-> in hi-ifory, but not where they are in ii]>])oin'ion to history. Of 
 the former character are most of the historical scenes in Shakspeure.
 
 Part XI. 
 
 AJ^CIENT HISTORY. 
 
 501 
 
 LESSON IV. ADDRESS OF LEOXIDAS TO THE SPAKTAXS. 
 
 1. "Why this astonishment on every face, 
 
 Ye men of Sparta? Does the name of death 
 Create this fear and wonder? Oh my friends ! 
 Why do we hibor through the arduous paths 
 Which lead to virtue ? Fruitless were the toil, 
 Above the reach of human feet were placed 
 The distant summit, if the fear of death 
 Could intercept our passage. But in vain 
 His blackest frowns and terrors he assumes 
 To shake the firmness of the mind which knows 
 That, wanting virtue, life is pain and woe ; 
 That, wanting liberty, even virtue mourns, 
 And looks around for happiness in vain. 
 
 2. "Then speak, oh Sparta! and demand my life ; 
 My heart, exulting, answers to thy call. 
 
 And smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame 
 
 Is allowed to the many ; but to die 
 
 With equal lustre is a blessing Heaven 
 
 Selects from all the choicest boons of fate. 
 
 And with a sparing hand on few bestows." 
 
 Salvation thus to Sparta he proclaimed. 
 
 Joy, rapt a while in admiration, paused. 
 
 Suspending praise ; nor praise at last resounds 
 
 In high acclaim to rend the arch of heaven ; 
 
 A reverential murmur breathes applause.— Rich. Glovkr. 
 
 TiESSOX V. THE SPAETAXS NOBLY KEPT THEIK OATH. 
 
 1. 'TwAS an hour of fearful issues, 
 
 When the bold three hundred stood. 
 For their love of holy freedom. 
 
 By that old Thessalian flood — 
 When, lifting high each sword of flame. 
 They called on every sacred name. 
 And swore, beside those dashing waves, 
 They never, never would be slaves I 
 
 2. And oh ! ^that oath was nobly kept. 
 
 From morn to setting sun 
 Did desperation urge tlie fight 
 
 Which valor had begun ; 
 Till, torrent-like, the stream of blood 
 Ran down and mingled with the flood, 
 And all, from mountain cliff to wave, 
 ^ Was Freedom's, Valor's, Glory's grave. 
 
 3. Oh yes ! that oath was nobly kept, 
 
 Which nobly had been sworn. 
 And proudly did each gallant heart 
 The foeman's fetters spurn ;
 
 502 WILLSON's fifth EEADEB. • Part XI 
 
 And firmly was the fight maintained, 
 
 And ami)ly was the triumpli gained ; 
 
 They fought, fair Liberty, for thee; 
 
 They fell — to die is to he fkee I — Geo. W. Doane. 
 
 LESSON VI. THE GLORY OF THEIR FALL. 
 
 They fell devoted, but undying ; 
 
 The very gale their names seem'd sighing ; 
 
 The waters murmur'd of their name ; 
 
 The woods were peopled with their fame : 
 
 The silent pillar, lone and gray, 
 
 Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay : 
 
 Their spirits wrapp'd the dusky mountain, 
 
 Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain : 
 
 The meanest rill, the mightiest river, 
 
 RoH'd mingling with their fame forever. 
 
 Despite of every yoke she bears, 
 
 The land is glory's still and theirs. 
 
 'Tis still a watchword to the earth : 
 
 When man would do a deed of worth. 
 
 He points to Greece, and turns to tread, 
 
 So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head ; 
 
 He looks to her, and rushes on 
 
 Where life is lost, or freedom won. — Bykon. 
 
 LESSON VII. BATTLE OF SAl'aMIS, AND FLIGHT OF 
 
 XERXES, 480 B.C. 
 
 After the fall of Leonidas, Xerxes ravaged Attica and 
 burned Athens. He then made preparations to annihilate 
 the power of the Grecians in a naval engagement, and sent 
 his Avhole fleet to block up that of the Greeks in the narroAv 
 strait of Sal'amis. Proceeding thither with his army also, 
 he drew up his coimtless thousands on the shore, and then 
 caused a throne to be erected on one of the neighboring 
 heights, where he might witness the naval battle, in which 
 he was confident of victory; but he had the misfortune and 
 the mortification to see his magnificent navy almost utterly 
 annihilated. Terrified at the result, he hastily fled across the 
 Hellespont, and retired into his own dominions, leaving his 
 general Mardonius, at the head of three himdred thousand 
 men, to complete, if possible, the conquest of Greece. 
 
 I. DESCRIPTION OF THE BATTLE OF SALAMIS. 
 
 From tEschtlds. 
 1. The Persian chief, 
 
 Little dreaming of tlie wiles of Greece 
 And gods averse, to all the naval leaders
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 503 
 
 Gave his high charge : " Soon as yon sun shall cease 
 To dart his radiant beams, and dark'ning night 
 Ascends the temple of the sky, arrange 
 In three divisions your well-ordered ships. 
 And guard each pass, each outlet of the seas : 
 Others enring around this rocky isle 
 Of Salamis. Should Greece escape her fate, 
 And work her way by secret flight, your heads 
 Shall answer the neglect." This harsh command 
 He gave, exulting in his mind, nor knew 
 What Fate designed. With martial discipline 
 And prompt obedience, snatching a repast, 
 Each mariner fixed well his ready oar. 
 
 2. Soon as the golden sun was set, and night 
 
 Advanced, each, trained to ply the dashing oar. 
 
 Assumed his seat ; in arms each warrior stood, 
 
 Troop cheering troop through all the ships of war. 
 
 Each to the appointed station steers his course, 
 
 And through the night his naval force each chief 
 
 Fix'd to secure the passes. Night advanced, 
 
 But not by secret flight did Greece attempt 
 
 To escape. The morn, all beauteous to behold, 
 
 Drawn by white steeds, bounds o'er the enlighten'd earth : 
 
 S- At once from every Greek, with glad acclaim. 
 Burst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes 
 The echo of the island rocks i-eturned, 
 Spreading dismay through Persia's host, thus fallen 
 From their high hopes; no flight this solemn strain 
 Portended, but deliberate valor bent 
 On daring battle; while the trumpet's sound 
 Kindled the flames of war. But when their oars 
 (The pa;an ended) with impetuous force 
 Dash'd the surrounding surges, instant all 
 Rush'd on in view ; in orderly array 
 The squadron of the right first led, behind 
 Rode their whole fleet ; and now distinct was heard 
 From every part this voice of exhortation : 
 
 4. " Advance, ye sons of Greece, from thraldom save 
 Your country — save your wives, your children save, 
 The temples of your gods, the sacred tomb" 
 Where rest your honor'd ancestors ; this day 
 
 The common cause of all demands your valor." 
 Meantime from Persia's hosts the deep'ning shout 
 Answer'd their shout ; no time for cold delay ; 
 But ship 'gainst ship its brazen beak impcll'd. 
 
 5. First to the charge a Grecian galley rush'd ; 
 111 the Phoenician bore the rough attack. 
 
 Its sculptured prow all shatter'd. Each advanced, 
 Daring an opposite. Tiie deep array 
 Of Persia at the first sustain'd tlie encounter ; 
 But their throng'd numbers, in the narrow seas 
 Confined, want room for action ; and, deprived 
 Of mutual aid, beaks clash with beaks, and each
 
 604 WILLSON's fifth liEADKIi. Part XL 
 
 Breaks all the other's oars : with skill disposed, 
 The Grecian navy circled them around 
 In fierce assault; and, rushing from its height, 
 The inverted vessel sinks. 
 C. The sea no more 
 
 Wears its accustom'd aspect, with foul wrecks 
 And blood disfigured ; floating carcasses 
 Roll on the rocky shores ; the poor remains 
 Of the barbaric armament to flight 
 Ply evciT oar inglorious : "onward rush 
 The Greeks amid the ruins of the fleet, 
 As through a shoal of fish caught in the net, 
 Spreading destruction ; the wide ocean o'er 
 Waitings are heard, and loud laments, till night. 
 With darkness on her brow, brought grateful truce. 
 Should I recount each circumstance of wo, 
 Ten times on my unfinish'd tale the sun 
 Would set ; for be assured that not one day 
 Could close the ruin of so vast a host. 
 
 II. THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. 
 L I saw him on the battle-eve. 
 
 When, like a king, he bore him — 
 Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, 
 
 And prouder chiefs before him : 
 The warrior, and the warrior's deeds — 
 The morrow, and the morrow's meeds — 
 
 No daunting thoughts came o'er him ; 
 He looked around him, and his eye 
 Defiance flashed to earth and sky. 
 
 2. He looked on ocean — its broad breast 
 
 Was covered with his fleet ; 
 On earth — and saw, from east to west, 
 
 His bannered millions meet; 
 While rock, and glen, and rave, and coast, 
 Shook with the war-cry of that host, 
 
 The thunder of their feet ! 
 He heard the imjierial echoes ring — 
 He beard, and felt himself a king. 
 
 3. I saw him next alone : nor camp 
 
 Nor chief his steps attended ; 
 Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp 
 
 .With war-cries proudly blended. 
 He stood alone, whom fortune high 
 So lately seemed to deify; 
 
 He, who with heaven contended. 
 Fled like a fugitive and slave ! 
 Behind — the foe ; before — the wave. 
 
 4. He stood — fleet, army, treasure, gone- 
 
 Alone, and in despair ! 
 But wave and wind swept ruthless on, 
 For thev were monarchs there ;
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 505 
 
 And Xerxes, in a single bark, 
 
 Where late his tliousand ships were dari<, 
 
 Must all their fury dare. 
 What a revenge — a tro{)hy, this — 
 For thee, immortal Sal'amis ! — Mrs. Jewsburt. 
 
 LESSON VIII. BATTLE OF PLAT^'a, 479 B.C. : — END OF 
 
 THE PERSIAN WARS. 
 
 Bdlwer's Athens. 
 
 1. After tlie defeat of the Persians in the naval battle of 
 Sal'amis, their array, which remained in Greece under the com- 
 mand of Mardonius, experienced a final overthrow in the bat- 
 tle of Platffi'a. In this famous battle the Spartan general Pau- 
 sanias had the chief command of the Grecian forces. We 
 give the leading incidents of the battle as graphically de- 
 scribed by Buhver : 
 
 2. "As the troops of Mardonius advanced, the rest of the 
 Persian armament, deeming the task was not now to fight, 
 but to pursue, raised their standards and poured forward tu- 
 multuously, without discipline or order. Pausanias, j^ressed 
 by the Persian line, lost no time in sending to the Athen- 
 ians for succor. But when the latter were on their march 
 with the required aid, they were suddenly intercepted by the 
 Greeks in the Persian service, and cut ofl:'from the rescue of 
 the Spartans. 
 
 3. " The Spartans beheld themselves thus unsupported witli 
 considerable alarm. Committing himself to the gods, Pau- 
 sanias ordained a solemn sacrifice, his whole army awaiting 
 the result, while the shafts of the Persian bowmen ])oured on 
 them near and fast. But the entrails presented discouraging 
 omens, and the sacrifice was again renewed. Meanwhile the 
 Spartans evinced their characteristic fortitude and discipHnc 
 — not one man stirring from his ranks until the auguries 
 should assume a more favoring aspect ; all harassed, and some 
 wounded by the Persian arrows, they yet, seeking protection 
 only beneath their broad bucklers, waited with a stern pa- 
 tience the time of their leader and of Heaven. Then fell Cal- 
 lic'rates, the stateliest and strongest soldier in the whole army, 
 lamenting, not death, but that his sword was as yet undrawn 
 against the invader. 
 
 4. "And still sacrifice after sacrifice seemed to forbid the 
 battle, when Pausanias, lifting his eyes, that streamed with 
 tears, to the temple of Juno that stood hard bv, suppHcated 
 
 Y
 
 506 WILLSOn's fifth EEADEK. Pakt XI. 
 
 tlic goddess that if the fotcs forbade the Greeks to conquer, 
 they might at least fall like warriors. And while uttering 
 this prayer the tokens waited for became suddenly visible in 
 the victims, and the augurs announced the promise of coming 
 victory. Therewith the order of battle ran instantly through 
 the army, and, to use the poetical comparison of Plutarch, the 
 Spartan phalanx suddenly stood forth in its strength, like some 
 fierce animal — erecting its bristles, and preparing its venge- 
 ance for the foe. The ground, broken in many steep and pre- 
 cipitous ridges, and iutersegted by the Aso'pus, whose slug- 
 gish stream winds over a broad and rushy bed, was unfavor- 
 able to the movements of cavalry, and the Persian foot ad- 
 vanced therefore on the Greeks. 
 
 5. " Drawn up in their massive phalanx, the Lacedaemonians 
 presented an almost impenetrable body — sweeping slowly on, 
 compact and serried — while the hot and undisciplined valor 
 of the Persians, more fortunate in the skirmish than the bat- 
 tle, broke itself in a thousand waves upon that moving rock. 
 Pouring on in small numbers at a time, they fell fast round 
 the progress of the Greeks — their armor slight against the 
 strong jjikes of Sparta — their courage Avithout skill — their 
 numbers without discipline ; still they fought gallantly, even 
 when on the ground seizing the j^ikes with their naked hands, 
 and with the wonderful agility which still characterizes the 
 Oriental swordsmen, springing to their feet and regaining 
 their arras when seemingly overcome, wresting away their 
 enemies' shields, and grappling with them desjierately hand 
 to hand. 
 
 6. " Foremost of a band of a thousand chosen Persians, con- 
 spicuous by his white charger, and still more by his daring 
 valor, rode Mardonius, directing the attack — fiercer wherever 
 his armor blazed. Inspired by his presence, the Persians 
 fought worthily of their warlike fame, and, even in falling, 
 thinned the Spartan ranks. At length the rash but gallant 
 leader of the Asiatic armies received a mortal wound — his 
 skull was crushed in by a stone from the hand of a Spartan. 
 His chosen band, the boast of the army, fell fighting around 
 him, but his death was the general signal of defeat and flight. 
 Encumbered by their long robes, and pressed by the relent- 
 less conquerors, the Persians fled in disorder toward their 
 camp, which Avas secured by wooden intrenchments, by gates, 
 and tovp^rs, and Avails. Here, fortifying themselves as they 
 best might, they contended Avith advantage against the Lace- 
 daemonians, who Avere ill skilled in assault and siege.
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 507 
 
 7. " Meanwhile the Athenians obtained the victory on the 
 plains over the Greeks of Mardonins, and now joined the 
 Spartans at the camp. The Athenians are said to'have been 
 better skilled in the art of siege than the Spartans ; yet at 
 that time their experience could scarcely have been greater. 
 The Athenians were at all times, however, of a more impet- 
 nous temper; and the men who had 'rmi to the charge' at 
 Marathon were not to be baffled by the desperate remnant 
 of their ancient foe. They scaled the walls — they effected a 
 breach through which the Tegeans were the first to rush — 
 the Greeks poured fast and fierce into the camp. Appalled, 
 dismayed, stupefied by the suddenness and greatness of their 
 loss, the Persians no longer sustained their fame — they dis- 
 persed in all directions, filling, as they fled, with a prodigious 
 slaughter, so that out of that mighty armament scarce three 
 thousand cfiected an escape." 
 
 8. Another writer remarks that " the treasure found in the 
 camp of the Persians on this occasion was immense: the fur- 
 niture of the tents glittered Avitli gold and silver ; and vessels 
 of the same metals were seen scattered about for ordinary 
 nse, and piled up in Avagons." "Pausanias, when he entered 
 the tent of Mardonius, and saw the rich hangings, the soft 
 carpets, the couches and tables shining with gold and silver, 
 ordered the Persian slaves to prepare a banquet, such as they 
 were used to set out for their master. When it was spread 
 he bade his helots set by its side the simple fare of his own 
 ordinary meal, and then invited the Greek officers to mark the 
 folly of the barbarian who, Avith such instruments of luxury 
 at his command, had come to rob the Greeks of their scanty' 
 store." 
 
 9. When the deluge of the Persian wars rolled back to its 
 Eastern bed, and the world Avas once more comparatively at 
 rest, the continent of Greece rose visibly and majestically 
 aboA'e the rest of the civilized earth. Then began Avhat has 
 been called the "Age of Pericles," the era of Athenian great- 
 ness, Avhich has been briefly described in a previous article,* 
 but to Avhich Ave again refer for the purpose of giving the fol- 
 lowing beautiful extract descriptive of the glories and great- 
 ness of Athens during that period: 
 
 10. "NoAvhere else," remarks Alison, "is to be found a 
 state so small in its origin, and yet so great in its progress ; 
 so contracted in its territory, and yet so gigantic in its achieve- 
 ments ; so limited in numbers, and yet so im mortal in genius. 
 
 * See the Part on Architecture, page 2S5.
 
 508 willson's fifth KKAUKK. Pakt XI. 
 
 Its dominions on the continent of Greece did not" exceed an 
 English county ; its free inhabitants never amounted to thirty 
 thousand citizens, and yet these inconsiderable numbers have 
 filled the world with their renown : jooetry, ])hiloso])hy, archi- 
 tecture, sculpture, tragedy, comedy, geometry, physics, histo- 
 ry, politics, almost date their origin from Athenian genius ; 
 and the monuments of art with Avhich they have overspread 
 the world still form the standard of taste in every civilized 
 nation on earth." 
 
 LESSON IX. THE ERA OF GRECIAN ELOQUENCE AND LIT- 
 ERATURE. 
 
 1. The golden age of Grecian eloquence and literature is 
 embodied in a period of a hundred and thirty years, reckon- 
 ing from the time of Pericles ; and during this period Athens 
 bore the palm alone. Of the many eminent Athenian orators, 
 the most distinguished were Ly'sias, Isoc'rates, iEs'chines, 
 and Demos'thenes. Among historians whose works are still 
 venerated may be mentioned, as most conspicuous, the names 
 of Ilcrod'otns, Thucyd'ides, Xen'ophon, and Polyb'ius ; among 
 poets and dramatists, ^s'chylus,* Soph'ocles, Eurip'ides, and 
 Aristoph'anes ; and among philosophers, Soc'rates, Pla'to, and 
 Aristot'le. Volumes would be requisite to describe the char- 
 acter and works of these writers, and to convey a just idea 
 of the indebtedness of the moderns to the hghts which they 
 kindled. 
 
 2. The Greeks were exceedingly fond of the drama, which 
 we may now look back npon as one of the best expositors 
 of the Athenian mind in the departments of politics, religion, 
 and philosophy. In the time of Pericles a large number of 
 dramas was presented on the Athenian stage every year ; 
 the Avhole population of Athens flocked to the theatres to wit- 
 ness them; and when we reflect that these representations 
 embraced not only, as at fii'st, the religious notions of the 
 Greeks, but that they were finally extended to every subject 
 of political and private life, we shall be satisfied that so pow- 
 erful poetic influences were never brought to act upon any 
 other people. 
 
 3. Of the very great degree of license which was given to 
 
 * ^Tls'chylus fought in the battle of Jlarathon, and also in that of Sal'amis. From one 
 of his tragedies, entitled " The Persiaiis,^' we have given an extract descriptive of the na- 
 val battle of Sai'amis. See page 502.
 
 Pakt XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 509 
 
 the Grecian drama in attacking, under the veil of satire, ex- 
 isting institutions, poHticians, philosophers, poets, and even 
 private citizens by name, some idea may be formed from the 
 following extract from '■'■The KnigJits''' of Aristopli'anes, in 
 which a chorus of singers, coming upon the stage, thus com- 
 mences an attack upon Cleon, a corrupt political demagogue 
 who had gained such consideration by flattering the loAver 
 orders and railing at the higher, that he stood in the situa- 
 tion of head of a party. 
 
 THE POLITICAL DEMAGOGUE. 
 
 Scene : the public mai'ket-place of Athens. 
 Clioi'us. 
 Close around him, and confound him, the confoundcr of us all ; 
 Pelt him, pummel him, and maul him; rummage, ransack, overhaul him; 
 Overbear him and outbawl him ; bear him down, and bring him under- 
 Bellow like a burst of thunder, Robber' ! harpy' ! sink of plunder' ! 
 Rogue and villain' ! rogue and cheat' ! rogue and villain, I repeat' ! 
 Oftener than I can repeat it, has the rogue and villain cheated. 
 Close around him, left and right, spit upon him, spurn and smite : 
 Spit u])on him as you see ; spurn and spit at him like me. 
 But beware, or he'll evade you, for he knows the private track 
 Where Eu'crates was seen escaping with his mill-dust on his back. 
 
 Cleon. 
 Worthy veterans of the jury, you that, either right or wrong, 
 With my thi-eepenny provision I've maintained and cherished long, 
 Come to my aid ! I'm here waylaid — assassinated and betrayed. 
 
 Cliorus. 
 Rightly servedM we serve you rightly, for your hungry love of pelf; 
 For your gross and greedy rapine, gormandizing by yourself; 
 You that, ere the figs are gatliered, pilfer with a privy twitch 
 Fat delinquents and defaulters, pulpy, luscious, ])lump, and rich : 
 Pinching, fingering, and ]nilling — tempering, selecting, culling, 
 With a nice survey discerning which are green and which are turning. 
 Which are ripe for accusation, forfeiture, and confiscation. 
 
 Him, besides, the wealthy man, retired upon an easy rent. 
 Hating and avoiding party, noble-minded, indolent, 
 Fearful of official snares, intrigues, and intricate affairs ; 
 Him you mark ; you fix and hook him, while he's gajung unawares ; 
 At a fling, at once you bring him hither from the Chersonese, 
 Down you cast him, roast and baste him, and devour him at your case, 
 
 Cleon. 
 Yes' ! assault', insult', abuse' me ! this is the return I find 
 For the noble testimony, the memorial I designed : 
 Meaning to jiropose proposals for a monument of stone. 
 On the which your late achievements should be carved and neatly done 
 
 Chorus. 
 Out, away' with him ! the slave' ! the pompous, empty, fawning knave' !
 
 610 willson's fifth reader. Pakt xr. 
 
 Does he think with idle speeches to delude and cheat us all, 
 
 As he does the doting elders that attend his daily call' ? 
 
 Pelt him here, and bang him there ; and here, and there, and every where. 
 
 Clcon. 
 Save me, neighbors* ! Oh the monsters' ! Oh my side, my back, my breast' ! 
 
 Choj-us. 
 What 1 you're forced to call for heli>' ? you brutal, overpowering pest' ! 
 
 \_Ckon is jielU'd off the stage, jmrsued hy the Chorus, 
 ArisLoph' ancs : translated by Mu. Pkeke. 
 
 LESSON X.— THE olympian games. 
 
 [The Olympian Games, which were celebrated at Olympia, in Greece, every fifth year, 
 consisted of horse and foot races, leaping, throwing, wrestling, and boxing, and other ath- 
 letic exercises. The following description of a chariot-race is from one of the tragedies of 
 Sophocles, translated by Bulwer. Orestes liad gained five victories on the first day, and 
 on the second he starts witli nine competitors in the chariot-race : an Aclia;an, a Spartan, 
 two Libyans, an jEtolian, a Magnesian, an CEnian, an Athenian, and a Breotiau. The 
 great art of the charioteer consisted in turning as close as possible to the goals, but with- 
 eut running against them or against the other chariots.] 
 
 THE CIIAEIOT-EACE, WITH THE DEATH OF ORESTES. 
 
 1. TiiET took their stand where the appointed judges 
 Had cast their lots and ranged the rival cars. 
 Rang out the brazen trump ! Away they bound ! 
 Cheer the hot steeds and shake the slackened reins ; 
 As with a body, the large space is filled 
 
 With the huge clangor of the rattling cars ; 
 High whirl aloft the dust-clouds ; blent together 
 Each presses each, and the lash rings, and loud 
 Snort the wild steeds, and from their fiery breath, 
 Along their manes, and down the circling wheels, 
 Scatter the flaking foam. 
 
 2. Orcs'tes still, 
 Aye,' as he swept around the perilous jiillar 
 Last in the course, wheeled in the rushing axle. 
 The left rein curbed — that on the outer hand 
 Flung loose. So on erect the chariots rolled ! 
 Sudden the 05cnian"s fierce and headlong steeds 
 Broke from the bit, and, as the seventh time now 
 The course was circled, on tlie Libyan car 
 
 Dashed their wild fronts : then order changed to ruin : 
 
 Car dashed on car : the wide Crisstean plain 
 
 Was, sea-like, strewn with wrecks: the Athenian saw, 
 
 Slackened his speed, and, wheeling round the marge, 
 
 Unscathed and skillful, in the midmost s)iace, 
 
 Left the wild tumult of that tossing storm. 
 
 3. Behind, Orestes, hitherto the last, 
 
 Had kept back his coursers for the close; 
 Now one sole rival left — on, on he flew, 
 And the sharp sound of the impelling scourge 
 Rang in the keen ears of the flying steeds.
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 511 
 
 He nears — he reaches — they are side by side ; 
 Now one — now th' other — by a length the victor. 
 The courses all ai-e past — the wheels erect — 
 All safe — when, as the hurrjing coursers round 
 The fatal pillar dashed, the wretched boy 
 Slackened the left rein. On the column's edge 
 Crashed the frail axle — headlong from the car, 
 Caught and all mesh'd within the reins, he fell ; 
 And, masterless, the mad steeds raged along ! 
 4. Loud from that mighty multitude arose 
 
 A shriek — a shout ! But yesterday such deeds — 
 To-day such doom ! Now whirled upon the earth ; 
 Now his limbs dashed aloft, they dragged him — those 
 Wild horses — till, all gory, from the wheels 
 Released — and no man, not his nearest friends, 
 Could in that mangled corpse have traced Orestes. 
 They laid the body on the funeral pyre, 
 And while we speak, the Phocian strangers bear, 
 In a small, brazen, melancholy urn, 
 That handful of cold ashes to which all 
 The grandeur of the beautiful hath shrunk. 
 Within they bore him — in his father's land 
 To find that heritage — a tomb. 
 ' Aye (pronounced u), always ; ever. [Used in this sense only in poetry.] 
 
 LESSON XI. — THE LATTEK DAYS OF GRECIAN HISTORY. 
 
 1. About fifty years after the battle of Platae'a the Grecians 
 became involved in a series of domestic contests, called the 
 " Peloponnesian Wars," which continued, with occasional in- 
 tervals of peace, until Philip, king of Macedon, by the suc- 
 cessful battle of Chffirone'a, broke up the feeble Grecian con- 
 federacy, and soon after succeeded in inducing the conquered 
 states to elect him commander-in-chief of all the Grecian 
 forces. It was while Philip was plotting against the liber- 
 ties of Greece that his intrigues called forth from the Athen- 
 ian Demosthenes, the greatest of Grecian orators, those fa- 
 mous '•'• Phil'qypics^'' which have iiumortahzed both the orator 
 and the object of his invectives. 
 
 2. Alexander the Great, the son and successor of Philip, 
 carried out the plans of his father by a successful invasion of 
 the Persian dominions ; but on his death, in the thirty-third 
 year of his age (B.C. 324), the vast empire which he had so 
 suddenly built up Avas as suddenly broken in pieces, and the 
 Grecian states again became a prey to civil dissensions, which 
 were terminated only by the subjugation of all Greece to the 
 dominion of the Romans, in the year 146 before the Christian
 
 512 WILLSON's fifth READEK. Part XI. 
 
 era. This point is the proper termination of Grecian history ; 
 for, " as rivers flow into the sea, so does the liistory of all the 
 nations known to have existed previously in the regions round 
 tlie Mediterranean, terminate in the history of Konie," 
 
 3. With the loss of her liberties the glory of Greece passed 
 away. Pier population had been gradually diminishing since 
 the period of the Persian wars ; and from the epoch of the 
 Roman conquest the spirit of the nation sunk into despond- 
 ency, and the energies of the people gradually Avasted, until, 
 at the time of the Christian era, Greece existed only in the 
 remembrance of the past. Then, many of lier cities were 
 desolate, or had sunk to insignificant villages, Avhile Athens 
 alone maintained lier renown for pliilosophy and the arts, and 
 became the instructor of her conquerors ; large tracts of land, 
 once devoted to tillage, were either barren, or had been con- 
 verted into i:)astures for sheep and vast herds of cattle ; while 
 the rapacity of Roman governors had inflicted upon the sparse 
 population impoverishment and ruin. 
 
 LESSOiSr XII. EARLY ROMAN HISTORY. 
 
 1. The early history of Rome, as recorded by Livy and 
 other early writers, from the period of the supposed founding 
 of the city by Romulus, about tlie year 753 B.C., down to 
 the banishment of the Tarquins and the abolition of royalty, 
 510 B.C. — and even perha2:)s a century or two later — is of 
 very doubtful authenticity, and was probably compiled from 
 legendary poems that had been transmitted from generation 
 to generation, and often rehearsed, to the sound of music, at 
 the banquets of the great. 
 
 2. The historian Macaulay has aimed to reconstruct some 
 of these poetic legends, "svhich he has given to the world un- 
 der the title of "Lays of Ancient Rome," and which are sup- 
 posed to have been recited by ancient minstrels who were in 
 no wise above the passions and ])rejudices of their age and 
 country. It is stated by all the Latin historians that, a few 
 years after the expulsion of the Tarquins for their despotism 
 and crimes, the neighboring Etruscans, to which nation they 
 belonged, endeavored to restore the tyrants to power, and 
 came against Rome with an overwhelming force. The Ro- 
 mans, repulsed at first, fled across a wooden bridge over the 
 Tiber, when the Roman consul ordered the bridge to be de- 
 stroyed, to prevent the enemy from entering the city. Tlie
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTOKY. 513 
 
 continuation of the legend is supposed to have been narrated 
 by one of the Roman minstrels, as given in the following les- 
 son, at a period one hundred years later than the events 
 there recorded. 
 
 LESSON" XIII. THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 
 
 1. But the consul's brow was sad, 
 
 And the consul's speech was low, 
 And darkly looked he at the wall, 
 
 And darkly at the foe. 
 " Their van will be upon us 
 
 Before the bridge goes down ; 
 And if they once may win the bridge, 
 
 What hope to save the town ?" 
 
 2. Then out spoke brave Horatius, 
 
 The captain of the gate : 
 "To every man upon this earth 
 
 Death comcth soon or late. 
 And how can man die better 
 
 Tlian facing fearful odds 
 For the ashes of his fathers 
 
 And the temples of his gods ? 
 
 3. " Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
 
 With all the speed ye may; 
 I, with two more to help me-, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 In yon strait path a thousand 
 
 May well be stopped by three. 
 Now, who will stand on either hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with me ?" 
 
 Two brave Romans, Spurius Lartius and Herminius, re- 
 sponded to the call of their comrade ; and the three, with 
 arms in hand, sprang forward to defend the passage, while 
 others hastened to cut away the j^rops that supported the 
 bridge. 
 
 4. Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 
 
 Right glorious to beliold. 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank beliind rank, like surges briglit 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold. 
 Four hundred trumjiets sounded 
 
 A peal of warlike glee, 
 N As that great host, with measured tread, 
 
 And spears advanced, and ensigns sj>rcad. 
 Rolled slowly toward the bridge's liead. 
 
 Where stood the dauntless three. 
 Y2
 
 614 WILLSON's fifth EEADEK. Paiit XI. 
 
 5. The three stood calm and silent, 
 
 And looked upon the foes, 
 And a great shout of laughter 
 
 From all the vanguard rose : 
 And forlli three chiefs came spurring 
 
 Before that mighty mass; 
 To earth they sprang, their sWords they drew, 
 And lifted high their shields, and flew 
 
 To win the narrow pass. 
 
 But the scorn and laugliter of the Etruscans were soon 
 changed to wrath and curses, for their chiefs were quickly 
 laid low in the dust at the feet of the "dauntless three." 
 
 G. But now no sound of laughter 
 
 "Was heard among the foes. 
 A wild and wrathful clamor 
 
 From all the vanguard rose. 
 Six spears' length from the entrance 
 
 Halted that mighty mass. 
 And for a space no man came forth 
 
 To win the narrow pass. 
 
 7. But hark ! the cry is Astur : 
 
 And lo ! the ranks divide. 
 And the great Lord of Luna 
 
 Comes with his stately stride. 
 Upon his ample shoulders 
 
 Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 
 And in his hand he shakes the brand 
 
 AVhich none but he can wield. 
 
 The proud Astur advances with a smile of contempt for 
 the three Romans, and turns a look of scorn upon the flinch- 
 ing Tuscans. 
 
 8. Then, whirling up his broadsword 
 
 With both hands to the height, 
 He rushed against Iloratius, 
 
 And smote with all his might. 
 With shield and blade Horatius 
 
 Right deftly turned the blow. 
 The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh; 
 It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : 
 The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 
 
 To see the red blood flow. 
 
 9. He reeled, and on Herminius 
 
 He leaned one breathing-space ; \ 
 
 Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds. 
 
 Sprang right at Astur's face. 
 Through teeth, and skull, and helmet. 
 
 So fierce a thrust he sped. 
 The good sword stood a handbreadth out 
 
 Behind the Tuscan's head.
 
 Part XL ANCIEXT HISTORY. 515 
 
 10. And the great Lord of Luna 
 
 Fell at that deadly stroke, 
 As falls on Mount Alvernus 
 
 A thunder-smitten oak. 
 Far o'er the crashing forest 
 
 The giant arms lie spread ; 
 And the pale augurs, muttering low, 
 
 Gaze on the blasted head. 
 
 In the mean time the axes had been busily plied ; and while 
 the bridge was tottering to its fall, Lartius and Herminius re- 
 gained the opposite bank in safety. Horatius remained facing 
 the foe until the last timber had fallen, when, weighed down 
 with armor as he was, he " plunged headlong in the tide." 
 
 11. No sound of joy or sorrow 
 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, 
 With parted lips and straining eyes, 
 
 Stood gazing where he sank : 
 And when beneath the surges 
 
 They saw his crest appear, 
 All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
 And even the ranks of Tuscany 
 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 12. But fiercely ran the current, 
 
 Swollen high by months of rain : 
 And fast his blood was flowing ; 
 
 And he was sore in pain, 
 And heavy with his armor. 
 
 And spent with changing blows: ^ 
 
 Ami oft they tliought him sinking, 
 
 But still again he rose. 
 
 13. "Curse on him !" quoth fiilse Sextus, 
 
 "Will not the villain drown? 
 But for this stay, ere close of day 
 
 We should have sacked the town I'' 
 "Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Porscnna, 
 
 "And bring him safe to shore; 
 For such a gallant feat of arms 
 
 Was never seen before." 
 
 14. And now he feels the bottom ; 
 
 Now on diy earth he stands ; 
 Now round him throng the fathers. 
 
 To press his gorj- hands ; 
 And now with shouts and clapping, 
 
 And noise of weeping loud. 
 He enters through the river-gate. 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 Then follows an account of the rewards which a grateful 
 people bestowed upon the hero. The minstrel thus concludes 
 the legend :
 
 nlG WILLSONS FIFTH BEADEE. Pakt XI. 
 
 15. When the good man mends his armor, 
 
 And trims his lielmet's plume ; 
 When tlie good wife's shuttle merrily 
 
 Goes flashing through the loom; 
 With weeping and with laughter 
 
 Still is the story told, 
 How well lloratius kept the bridge 
 
 In the brave days of old. — Macaulat. 
 
 LESSON XIY. — PATRICIAN AND PLEBEIAN CONTESTS. 
 
 1. DuKiNG several hundred years after the overthrow of 
 royalty, the history of the Roman republic is filled with ac- 
 counts of the fierce civil contests which raged between the 
 patrician aristocracy and the common people or plebeians, 
 relieved by an occasional episode of a war with some of the 
 surrounding people. At first, the patricians were the wealthy 
 and ruling class ; they held all the high military commands ; 
 they made the laws ; and they reduced the plebeians to a con- 
 dition differing little from the most abject slavery. 
 
 2. At length, in the year 493 B.C., after an open rupture 
 between these two classes, and the withdrawal of the plebeians 
 from the city, a reconciliation was efi:ected, and magistrates, 
 called tribunes, were allowed to be chosen by the people to 
 Avatch over their rights, and prevent abuses of authority. 
 About forty-five years later, however, ten persons, called de- 
 cem'virs, who were appointed to compile a body of laws for 
 the commonwealth, having managed to get the powers of the 
 government into their own hands, ritled in the most tyran- 
 nical manner, and oppressed the plebeians "oorse than ever. 
 
 3. But an unexpected event — a private injury — accom- 
 plished what wrongs of a more public nature had failed to 
 efiect. The wicked Appius Claudius, a leading decemvir, had 
 formed the design of securing the person of the beautiful Vir- 
 ginia, daughter of Yirginius ; but, finding her betrothed to 
 another, in order to accomplish his purpose he procured a 
 base dependent to claim her as his slave. As had been con- 
 certed, Virginia was brought before the tribunal of Appius 
 himself, who ordered her to be surrendered to the claimant. 
 It was then that the distracted father, having no other means 
 of saving his daughter, stabbed her to the heart in the pres- 
 ence of the court and the assembled peojile. The people arose 
 in their might ; the power of the " wicked ten" was over- 
 thrown ; and Appius, having been im2)eached, died in prison, 
 probably by his own hand.
 
 Takt XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 5l7 
 
 4. About eighty years after the death of Virgmia, the ple- 
 beians succeeded, after a struggle of tive years agaiust every 
 species of fraud and violence (especially on the part of Clau- 
 dius Crassus, grandson of the infamous Appius Claudius), iu 
 obtaining a full acknowledgment of their rights, and all pos- 
 sible legal guarantees for their preservation. It is during 
 this struggle that a popular poet (as Macaulay supposes), a 
 zealous adherent of the tribunes, makes his appearance in the 
 l)ublic market-place, and announces that he has a new song 
 that will cut the Claudiau family to the heart. He takes his 
 stand on the s|3ot where, according to tradition, Virginia, 
 more than seventy years ago, was seized by the base depend- 
 ent of Appius, and thus relates the story: 
 
 LESSON XV. — THE STOEY OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 1. Ye good men of the commons, with loving hearts and true, 
 Who stand by the bold tribunes that still have stood by you, 
 Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care — 
 
 A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear. 
 
 This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine. 
 
 Of maids with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine. 
 
 Here, in this very forum, under the noonday sun, . 
 
 In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done. 
 
 Old men still creep among us wdio saw that fearful day. 
 
 Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked ten bare sway. 
 
 2. Of all the wicked ten, still the names are held accursed. 
 And of all the wicked ten, Appius Claudius was the worst. 
 He stalked along the forum like King Tarquin in his pride ; 
 Twelve axes waited on him, six marching on a side ; 
 
 The townsmen shrank to right and left, and eyed askance with fear 
 His lowering brow, his curling mouth, which always seemed to sneer-. 
 That brow of hate, that mouth of scorn, marks all the kindred still, 
 For never was there Claudius yet but wislied the commons ill. 
 Nor lacks he fit attendance ; for close behind his heels, 
 With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client I\Iarcus steals, 
 His loins girt up to run with s])ced, be the errand what it may. 
 And the smile flickering on his cheek, for aught liis lord may say. 
 Where'er ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd ; 
 Where'er ye fling the carrion, the raven's croak is loud; 
 Where'er "down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy jiike ye see ; 
 And wheresoe'ei»such lord is found, such client still will be. 
 
 3. Then follows an account of the seizing of Virginia by 
 Marcus as she was passing tlirough the market-place, of the 
 commotion among the people that was occasioned by it, and 
 of the spirited but vain appeal which the young IciHus, the 
 lover of Virginia, made to the people to rise and free tliem-
 
 518 WILLSON's fifth EKADER. Part XI. 
 
 selves from the power of their oppressors. After a mock in- 
 vestigation, held by Appius in the Roman forum, or open 
 market-place, a few days later, the tyrant was on the point of 
 taking jjossession of the maiden, when her father, wlio had in 
 the mean time come from the army to protect his child, beg- 
 ged permission to take leave of her, and speak a few words 
 to her in private. 
 
 4. Straiglitway Virginius led the maid a little space aside, 
 
 To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide, 
 Close to yon low dark archway, where, in a crimson flood. 
 Leaps down to the great sewer the gurgling stream of blood. 
 Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down : 
 Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. 
 And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, 
 And in a hoarse, changed voice, he spake, "Farewell, sweet child! 
 farewell ! 
 
 5. Olj! how I loved my darling ! Though stern I sometimes be. 
 To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who could be so to thee ? 
 And how my darling loved me ! How glad she was to hear 
 My footstep on the threshold when I came back last year ! 
 And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown, 
 
 And took my sword, and hung it up, and brought me forth my gown ! 
 
 Now, all those things are over — yes, all thy pretty ways, 
 
 Thy needle-work, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays ; 
 
 And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I return, 
 
 Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn. 
 
 6. The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls, 
 The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls, 
 Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom, 
 And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb. 
 
 The time is come. See how he points his eager hand this way ! 
 
 See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey ! 
 
 With all his wit, he little deems that, spurned, betrayed, bereft. 
 
 Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left. 
 
 He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save 
 
 Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave ; 
 
 Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow — 
 
 Foul outrage which thou knowest not, which thou shalt never know. 
 
 Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss ; 
 
 And now, my own dear little girl, there is no way but this." 
 
 With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side, 
 
 And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. 
 
 7. Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath, 
 And through the crowded forum was stillness as of death; 
 And in another moment brake forth from one and all 
 
 A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall. 
 
 Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh, 
 
 And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife on high. 
 
 "Oh, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, 
 
 By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain ;
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 5 1 9 
 
 And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, 
 Deal you by Appius Claudius, and all the Claudian line !" 
 So spake the slayer of his child, and turned, and went his way ; 
 But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body lay. 
 And writhed, and groaned a fearful groan, and then, with steadfast feet, 
 Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred Street. 
 8. Then up sprang Appius Claudius: "Stop him, alive or dead! 
 Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head!" 
 He looked upon his clients, but none would work his will; 
 He looked npon his lictors, but they trembled, and stood still. 
 And, as Virginius through the press his way in silence cleft, 
 Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. 
 And he hath passed in safety unto his woeful home. 
 And there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rome. 
 
 9. The people gathered arouud the dead body ; and when 
 Claudius attempted to disperse them, a furious onset was 
 made upon the lictors, who were driven back severely wound- 
 ed, and with garments torn in shreds. A rush was then made 
 at Appius himself; but when the people could not reach him, 
 owing to the crowd of his dependents who gathered around 
 him, they resorted to other means of assault. 
 
 10. When stones began to fly, 
 
 He shook, and crouched, and wrung his hands, and smote upon his 
 
 thigh. 
 "Kind clients, honest lictors, stand by me in this fray ! 
 !Must I be torn to pieces? Home — home the nearest way !" 
 While yet he spake, and looked around with a bewildered air. 
 Four sturdy lictors put their necks beneath the curule chair ; 
 And fourscore clients on the left, and fourscore on the right, 
 Arrayed themselves with swords and staves, and loins girt up for fight. 
 But though without or staff or sword, so furious was the throng. 
 That scarce the train with might and main could bring their lord along. 
 
 11. Twelve times the crowd made at him ; five times they seized his gown ; 
 Small chance was his to rise again, if once they got him down ; 
 
 And sharper came the pelting, and evermore the yell — 
 
 " Tribunes ! we will have tribunes !" — rose with a louder swell : 
 
 And the chair tossed as tosses a bark with tattered sail. 
 
 When raves the Adriatic beneath an eastern gale ; 
 
 When the Calabrian sea-marks are lost in clouds of spume, 
 
 And the great Thunder-Cape has donned his veil of inky gloom. 
 
 12. One stone hit Appius in the mouth, and one beneath the ear ; 
 
 And, ere he reached Mount Palatine, he swooned with pain and fear. 
 
 His cursed head, that he was wont to hold so high with pride, 
 
 Now, like a drunken man's, hung down, and swayed from side to side : 
 
 And when his stout retainers had brought him to his door, 
 
 His face and neck were all one cake of filth and clotted gore. 
 
 As Appius Claudius was that day, so may his grandson be ! 
 
 God send Rome one such other sight, and send me there to see. 
 
 Macaulav.
 
 .520 willsok's fifth KEADEE. Pakt XI. 
 
 LESSON XVI. — THE Carthaginian wars. 
 
 1. After the Romans had reduced all Italy to their do- 
 mmioii, about 270 years before tlie Christian era, they began 
 to extend their influence abroad, Avhen an interference with 
 the aifairs of Sicily brought on a war wuth Carthage, at that 
 time a powerful republic on the northern African coast, su- 
 perior in strength and resources to the Roman. The Cartha- 
 ginians were originally a Tyrian colony from Phoenicia ; and 
 not only had they, at this time, extended their dominion over 
 the surrounding African tribes, but they had foreign posses- 
 sions in Sj^ain, and also in Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, Malta, and 
 other islands of the Mediterranean. 
 
 2. In the year 2G3 before Christ the first Punic* war be- 
 gan ; and, after it had continued eight years with varied suc- 
 cess, the Romans sent the Consul Regulus, at the head of a 
 large army, to carry the war into Africa. On the passage 
 across the Mediterranean, the Carthaginian fleet, bearing not 
 less than a hundred and fifty thousand men, was met and de- 
 feated ; but in a subsequent battle on land the Romans them- 
 selves were defeated with great loss, and Regulus himself, 
 being taken prisoner, was thrown into a dungeon. Five years 
 later, however, the Carthaginians were in turn defeated in 
 Sicily, with a loss of twenty thousand men, and the capture 
 of more than a hundred of their elephants, which they had 
 trained to fight in the ranks. 
 
 3. It was then that the Carthaginians sent an embassy to 
 Rome with proposals of peace. Regulus was taken from his 
 dungeon to accompany the embassy, the Carthaginians trust- 
 ing that, weary of his long captivity, he would urge the sen- 
 ate to accept the proffered terms ; but the inflexible Roman 
 persuaded the senate to reject the proposal and continue the 
 war, assuring his countrymen that the resources of Carthage 
 were already nearly exhausted. Bound by his oath to retui-n 
 if peace Avere not concluded, he voluntarily went back, in spite 
 of the prayers and entreaties of his friends, to meet the late 
 which awaited him. It is generally stated that after his re- 
 turn to Carthage he was tortured to death by the exaspera- 
 ted Carthaginians. The circumstances of the appearance of 
 Regulus before the Roman senate, and his heroic self-sacri- 
 fice, are described in tlie following lesson. 
 
 * The term Pitnir means simply " Carthaginian." The three famous CartU.nginian 
 wara are usually called, in Roman history, " The Punic Wars."
 
 Part XI, ANCIENT HISTORY. 521 
 
 LESSON XYII. — REGULUs before the senate. 
 
 1. Urge me no more' ; your prayers are vain' ; 
 
 And even the tears ye shed' : 
 When I can lead to Rome again 
 
 The bands that once I led' ; 
 "When I can raise your legions slain 
 On swarthy Libya's fatal plain, 
 
 To vengeance from the dead', 
 Then will I seek once more a home, 
 And lift a freeman's voice in Home ! 
 
 2. Accursed moment' ! when I woke 
 
 From fTiintness all but death. 
 And felt the coward conqueror's yoke 
 
 Like venomed serpents wreath 
 Round every limb : if Up and eye 
 Betrayed no sign of agony. 
 
 Inly I cursed my breath : 
 Wherefore, of all that fought, was I 
 The only wretch that could not die'? 
 
 3. To darkness and to chains consigned, 
 
 The captive's fighting doom, 
 I recked' not; could they chaiu the mind, 
 
 Or plunge the soul in gloom' ? 
 And there they left me, dark and lone, 
 Till darkness had familiar grown; 
 
 Then from that living tomb 
 They led me forth, I thought, to die' ; 
 Oh ! in that thought was ecstasy ! 
 
 4. But no ! kind Heaven had ^-et in store 
 
 For me, a conquered slave, 
 A joy I thought to feel no more, 
 
 Or feel but in the grave. 
 They deemed, perchance, my haughtier mood 
 Was quelled by chains and solitude ; 
 
 That he who once was brave — 
 Was I not brave' ? — had now become 
 Estranged from honor, as from Rome. 
 
 5. They bade me to my country bear 
 
 The offers these have borne ; 
 They would have trained my lips to swear, 
 
 Whi^h never yet have sworn. 
 Silent their base commands I heard. 
 At length I pledged a Roman's word, 
 
 Unshrinking, to return. 
 I go, prepared to meet the worst. 
 But I shall gall proud Carthago fir,-t. 
 
 6. They sue for peace ; I bid you spurn 
 
 The gilded bait they bear; 
 I bid you still, with aspect stern, 
 Wai- — ceaseless icar — declare.
 
 522 willson's fifth KBADER. Paet XI. 
 
 Fools as they were, could not mine eye, 
 Through tliuir dissembled calmness, spy 
 
 The strufjglcs of despair' ? 
 Else had they sent this wasted frame 
 To bribe you to your country's shame' ? 
 
 7. Your land — (I must not call it mine; 
 
 No country has the slave ; 
 His father's name he must resign. 
 
 And even his father's grave — 
 But this not now) — beneath her lies 
 Proud Carthage and her destinies : 
 
 Her emjiire o'er the wave 
 Is yours ; she knows it well, and you 
 Shall know, and make heryee^ it too. 
 
 8. Ay, bend your brows, ye ministers 
 
 Of coward hearts, on me ; 
 Ye know no longer it is hers, 
 
 The empire of the sea; 
 Ye hioiv her fleets are far and few. 
 Her bands, a mercenary crew ; 
 
 And Rome, the bold and free, 
 Shall trample on her prostrate towers, 
 Despite your weak and wasted powers. 
 
 9. One path alone remains for me ; 
 
 My vows were heard on high ; 
 Thy triumphs, Rome, / shall not see, 
 
 For I return to die. 
 Then tell me not of hope or life ; 
 I have in Rome no chaste, fond wife, 
 
 No smiling progeny ; 
 One word concentres for the slave — 
 Wife, children, country, all — the grave. — Dale. 
 
 LESSOX XVIII. THE DOWNFALL OF CARTHAGE. 
 
 1. The first Punic vrar ended disastrously to Carthage in 
 the year 240 B.C. Twenty-two years later commenced the 
 second Punic war, in Avhich the Roman republic was at one 
 time brought to the brink of ruin by the superior military 
 skill of the Carthaginian Hannibal, Avho proved himself the 
 greatest general of antiquity. Carrying the war into Italy, 
 he penetrated nearly to the gates of Rome ; but his army, 
 enervated by the luxuries of the conquered cities, gradually 
 dwindled away while victory already perched upon its ban- 
 ners. 
 
 2. Ere long Sicily was conquered by the Romans, the Car- 
 thaginian city of Syracuse being taken by storm after the 
 siege had been a long time protracted by the mechanical skill
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 523 
 
 of the famous Archime'des.^ The youthful Scipio, who re- 
 ceived the title of Africanus, also carried the war uito Africa; 
 Hannibal, recalled from Italy to protect Carthage, Avas de- 
 feated ; and the second Punic war ended in the complete hu- 
 miliation of Carthage (202 B.C.). 
 
 3. But still the very existence of a rival and neighboring 
 republic was a thing which the Romans seem to have made 
 up their minds not to endure ; the expediency of a farther 
 war with Carthage Avas a favorite topic of debate in the Ro- 
 man senate ; and it is said that, of the many speeches Avhich 
 the elder Cato made on this subject, all ended with the sen- 
 tence, delenda est Carthago, " Carthage must be destroyed." 
 And in a third and final war, unjustly provoked by the Ro- 
 mans, Carthage vms destroyed ; her walls being leveled with 
 the ground, and the buildings of the city burned (146 B.C.). 
 The same year witnessed the conquest of Greece — like Car- 
 thage, the victim of Roman ambition. 
 
 1 Ar-€hi-me'-de8. See account of, p. 324. 
 
 LESSON XIX. ADDRESS OF HANNIBAL TO HIS ARMY DUR- 
 ING THE SECOND CARTHAGINIAN WAR. 
 
 On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full of 
 courage and strength. A veteran infantry ; a most gallant 
 cavalry : you, my allies, most faithful and valiant ; you, Car- 
 thaginians, whom not only your country's cause, but the just- 
 est anger impels to battle. The hope, the courage of assail- 
 ants, is always greater than of those who act upon the de- 
 fensive. With hostile banners displayed you are come down 
 upon Italy : you bring the Avar. Grief, injuries, indignities, fire 
 your minds, and spur you forAvard to revenge. Fii'st, they 
 demanded me — that I, your general, should be delivered up 
 to them ; next, of all you Avho had fought at the siege of 
 Saguntum ; and Ave Avere to be put to death by the extreraest 
 tortures. Proud and cruel nation ! every thing must be 
 yours, and at your disposal. You are to prescribe to us Avith 
 Avhom Ave shall make Avar, with Avhom Ave shall make ])cacc. 
 You are to set us bounds ; to shut us up Avithin liills and 
 rivers; but you — you are not to observe the limits Avhich 
 yourselves have fixed ! " Pass not the Iberus." What next ? 
 " Touch not the Saguntines ; Saguntum is upon the Iberus ; 
 move not a step toAvard that city.''' Is it a small matter, then, 
 that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily
 
 524 willson's fifth eeader. Paht XL 
 
 and Sardinia? yon would have Spain too. Well, we shall 
 yield S2):un, and then — you will jiass into Africa. Will pass, 
 did I say ? this very year they ordered one of their consuls 
 into Africa, the other hito Spain. No, soldiers ; there is noth- 
 ing left to us but what Ave can vindicate with our swords. 
 Come on, then. Be men. The Romans may, with more safe- 
 ty, be cowards : they have their own country behind them, 
 have places of refuge to fly to, and are secure from danger 
 in the roads thither ; but for you, there is no middle fortune 
 between death and victory. Let this be but well fixed in 
 your minds, and once again I say you are conquerors. 
 
 LESSON XX. — CONTINUATION OF EOilAN HISTORY. 
 
 1. A SHOET time after the conquest of Greece and the 
 downfall of Carthage, the animosities which had long existed 
 between the patricians and plebeians of Rome ripened into a 
 civil war, known as the "dissensions of the Gracchi" (132 
 B.C.), in which the brothers Tiberius and Caius Gracchus, 
 the noble defenders of the rights of the people, were slain. 
 In the Germanic wars which soon followed, the Consul Ma'ri- 
 us greatly distinguished himself, and saved Rome from de- 
 struction, for which the grateful people styled hiur the third 
 founder of the city. 
 
 2. But again civil war broke out at Rome, the partisans 
 of Sylla, a profligate Roman general, being arrayed against 
 those of Ma'rius. The latter, being compelled to flee, after 
 a series of romantic adventures escaped to Africa. Being 
 landed at Carthage, the Roman governor of the district sent 
 to inform him that unless he left Africa he should be treated 
 as a public enemy. " Go and tell him," replied the wanderer, 
 " that you have seen the exile Ma'rius sitting on the ruins of 
 Carthage." There is a moral sublimity connected with this 
 scene, which the pencil of the artist and the pen of the poet 
 have often been called upon to portray. 
 
 MAKIUS SEATED ON THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE. 
 
 3. Pillars are fallen at thv feet, 
 
 Fanes quiver in the air ; 
 A prostrate city is thy seat, 
 And thou alone art there. 
 
 4. No chanpe comes o'er thy noble brow, 
 
 Though ruin is around thee ; 
 Thine eyebeam burns as proudly now, 
 As when the laurel crowned thee.
 
 Part XI. ANCIEXT HISTORY. 525 
 
 6. It can not bend thy lofty soul, 
 
 Though friends and fame depart ; 
 The car of Fate may o'er thee roll, 
 Nor crush thy Roman heart. 
 
 6. And genius hath electric power, 
 
 Which earth can never tame ; 
 Bright suns may scorch, and dark clouds lower, 
 Its flash is still the same. 
 
 7. The dreams we loved in early life 
 
 May melt like mist away ; 
 High thoughts may seem, 'mid passions' strife, 
 Like Carthage in decay; 
 
 8. And proud ho]jcs in the human heart 
 
 May be to ruin hurled, 
 Like mouldering monuments of art 
 Heaped on a sleeping world : 
 
 9. Yet there is something will not die, 
 
 Where life hath once been fair ; 
 Some towering thougiits still rear on high ; 
 Some Roman lingers there ! — Mrs. Child. 
 
 LESSON XXI. — ROMAN GLADIATORIAL COMDATS. 
 
 1. Gladiatorial combats among the Romans were origi- 
 nally exhibited at the graves of deceased persons. They thus 
 formed a kind of fimeral sacrifice, the shades of the dead be- 
 ing supposed to be propitiated Avith blood ; but in process of 
 time the magistrates and wealthy citizens gave shows of gladi- 
 ators to entertain the people. The gladiators Avere composed 
 mostly of captives and slaves, or of condemned maletactors. 
 We read with horror the accounts of these barbarous and 
 brutal gladiatorial exhibitions ; and, were not the historical 
 evidence irrefutable, we could hardly believe that in the city 
 of Capua alone forty thousand gladiators Avere kept, and fed, 
 and trained, to butcher each other for the gratification of the 
 Roman people. Byron's picture of the dying gladiator is 
 inimitably touching and beautiful. 
 
 THE DYING GLADIATOR. 
 
 2. I see before me the gladiator lie. 
 
 He leans upon his hand : his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
 And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; 
 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
 Like the first of a thundcr-sluiwer ; and now 
 The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
 
 626 willson's fifth keadeb. Pabt XI. 
 
 S. He heard it, but lie heeded not : his eyes 
 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away : 
 He recked not of tlie life he lost, nor prize, 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay. 
 There were his youn^ barbarians all at play, 
 There was their Dacian mother ; he, their sire, 
 Butchered to make a Roman holiday : 
 All this rushed with his Ijlood. t-^hall he expire. 
 And unavenged? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire. 
 
 LESSON XXII. THE REVOLT OF SPARTACUS, Y2 B.C. 
 
 1. After the death of both of the partisan leaders, Marius 
 and Sylla, a powerful Marian faction still existed in the Ro- 
 man province of Spain ; and although the youthful Pompey, 
 afterward surnamed the Great, and- other noted generals, 
 were sent to suppress it, it was several years before the re- 
 bellion was quelled. It was during the continuance of this 
 war in Spain that a formidable revolt of the slaves, headed 
 by Spartacus, a celebrated gladiator of Capua, broke out in 
 Italy. 
 
 2. At first Spartacus and his companions formed a desper- 
 ate band of robbers and murderers, but their numbers eventu- 
 ally increased to a hundred and twenty thousand men; and 
 three prtetorian and two consular armies were comi:)letely de- 
 feated by them. The Avar lasted more than two years, and 
 at one time Rome itself was in danger ; but the rebels, divi- 
 ded among themselves, were finally overcome, and nearly ex- 
 terminated by the Prsetor Crassus, the growing rival of Pom- 
 pey. The circumstances of the revolt of Spartacus have been 
 thus described : 
 
 3. " It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentvilus, 
 returning with victorious eagles, had amused the populace 
 with the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto un- 
 known even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry 
 had died away ; the roar of the lion had ceased ; the last loi- 
 terer had retired from the banquet, and the lights in the pal- 
 ace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the 
 tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on the corselet 
 of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the 
 Vulturnus with a wavy, tremulous light. No sound was 
 heard save the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its story 
 to the smooth pebbles of the beach; and then all Avas still as 
 the breast Avhen the spirit has departed. In the deep recesses 
 of the amphitheatre a band of gladiators were assembled,
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 527 
 
 their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the 
 foam upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their 
 brows, when Spartacus, starting forth from amid the throng, 
 thus addressed them : 
 
 SPEECH OF SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS. 
 
 4. '"Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief 
 who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every 
 shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could fur- 
 nish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one 
 among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private 
 brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand foi'th 
 and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face 
 me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was 
 not always thus — a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more 
 savage men ! My ancestors came from old Sparta, and set- 
 tled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. 
 My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; 
 and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, 
 and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the 
 son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime, 
 
 5. " ' We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook 
 together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were 
 folded, and w^e were all seated beneath the myrtle which 
 shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of 
 Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a little 
 band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood 
 a whole army. I did not then know wliat war was; but my 
 cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped the knees of 
 that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from 
 ofi" my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me 
 go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage 
 wars. That very night the Romans landed on our coast. I 
 saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof 
 of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of my father flung amid 
 the blazing rafters of our dwelling! 
 
 6. " ' To-day I killed a man in the arena; and when I broke 
 his helmet-clasps, behold, he was ray friend. He knew me, 
 smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; the saine sweet smile upon 
 his lips that I had marked when, in adventurous boyhood, we 
 scaled the lofty cliff" to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear 
 them home in childish triumph. I told the pranor that tlie 
 dead man had been my friend, generous and brave, and I beg- 
 ged that I might bear away the body, to Inirn it on a funeral
 
 528 WILLSOn's FIFTU EEADEU. Part XI. 
 
 pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay, upon my knees, amid the 
 dust and blood of tlic arena, I begged that poor boon, while 
 all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins 
 they call Vestals, and the rabble, sliouted in derision, deeming 
 it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn 
 pale and ti'emble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! 
 And the prtetor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly 
 said, " Let the carrion rot ; there are no noble men but Ro- 
 mans !" And so, feWow-rjlacUators, nuist you, and so must I, 
 die like dogs. Oh Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender 
 nurse to me. Ay, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid 
 shepherd-lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute- 
 note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint ; taught him to drive 
 the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, 
 and warm it in the marrow of his foe; to gaze into the glar- 
 ing eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon 
 a laughing girl. And he shall pay thee back, until the yel- 
 low Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy 
 life-blood lies curdled ! 
 
 7. " ' Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are. The 
 strength of brass is in your toughened sinews ; but to-mor- 
 row some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his 
 curly locks, shall with his lily fingers jjat your red brawn, 
 and bet his ses'terces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon 
 lion roaring in his den ? 'Tis three days since he tasted 
 flesh ; but to-morrow he shall break his fost upon yours, and 
 a dainty meal for him ye will be. If ye are beasts, then stand 
 here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are 
 inen, follow me! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain 
 passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old 
 Thermopylae ! Is Sparta dead ? Is the old Grecian spirit 
 frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a be- 
 labored hound beneath his master's lash? Oh, comrades! 
 warriors ! Thracians ! if we must fight, let us fight for our- 
 selves ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppress- 
 ors ! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the 
 bright waters, in noble, honorable battle.' " — E. Kellogg. 
 
 LESSOX XXIII. THE CONSPrEACY OF CATTLrSTE. 
 
 Scarcely had the revolt of Spartacus been quelled, when 
 the Roman republic Avas brought to the brink of destruction 
 by a conspiracy headed by the infamous Catiline, a monster
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 529 
 
 of wickedness, "who had acted a distinguished part in the 
 bloody scenes of Scylla's tyranny. At this time Cresar and 
 Crassus, who, next to Pompey, were the most distinguished 
 of the Roman generals, were so engaged, in their aspirations 
 for power, in courting the favor of the people, that they not 
 only spared Catiline, but perhaps secretly encouraged him, 
 Avhile the only two eminent Romans who boldly determined 
 to u^jhold their falling country were Cato the younger and 
 the orator Cicero. Even in the very senate-house Catiline 
 boldly confronted Cicero, who there pronounced against him 
 that famous oration which caused the banishment of the trai- 
 tor and saved the city. We give the following picture of the 
 scene which is supposed to have transpired in the senate on 
 this occasion. 
 
 Cicero. Our long dispute must close. Take one proof more 
 Of this rebellion. Lucius Catiline 
 Has been commanded to attend the senate. 
 He dares not come. I now demand your votes. 
 Is he condemned to exile ? 
 
 [_Enter Catiline hastily. As he seats himself on one side, all the senators 
 go over to the other. 
 
 Cic. (^Turning to Catiline.') Here I repeat the charge, to gods and men, 
 Of treasons manifold — that, but this day, 
 He has received dispatches from the rebels ; 
 That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul 
 To seize the province ; nay, he has levied troops, 
 And raised his rebel standard ; -that, but now, 
 A meeting of conspii'ators was held 
 Under his roof, with mystic rites and oaths. 
 Pledged round the body of a murdered slave. 
 To these he has no answer. 
 
 Catiline. Conscript fathers, 
 
 I do not rise to waste the night in words : 
 Let that plebeian talk ; 'tis not my trade ; 
 But here I stand for light! — Let him show proofs ! — 
 For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 
 To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! 
 Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves ! 
 His charge is false. I dare him to his proofs. 
 You have m^ answer : let my actions speak. 
 
 Cic. (InterrvptiJig.) Deeds shall convince you. Has the traitor done ? 
 
 Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorned. 
 And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong. 
 Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword. 
 Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back. 
 Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
 The gates of honor on me, turning out 
 The Roman from his birthright, and for what' ? 
 
 To fling your offices to every slave ; \^f.ookin(] nmund. 
 
 Vipers, that creep where man disdains to rjimb : 
 
 /i
 
 530 willson's fifth eeadek. PaktXI. 
 
 And, having wound their loathsome track to the top 
 Of this huge, mouldering monument of Kome, 
 Hang hissing at the nobler men below. 
 
 Cic. This is his answer. Must I bring more proofs ? 
 Fathers, you know there lives not one of us, 
 But lives in peril of his midnight sword. 
 Lists of proscription have been handed round, 
 In which your properties are made 
 Your murderer's hire. 
 
 [A cry ivithout, " More pj-isoners T' Enter an officer with letters for Cic- 
 ero, loho, after looking at them, sends them round the senate. 
 Cic. Fathers of Rome, if men can be convinced 
 By proof as clear as daylight, here it is. 
 Look on these letters. Here's a deep-laid plot 
 To wreck the provinces ; a solemn league, 
 Made with all form and circumstance. The time 
 Is desperate — all the slaves are up — Rome shakes ! 
 The heavens alone can tell how near our graves 
 We stand even here ! The name of Catiline 
 Is foremost in the league. He was their king. 
 Tried and convicted traitor, go from Rome ! 
 
 Cat. (^Risimj haurjhtily. ) Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones. 
 
 \_To the senators. 
 Fling down your sceptres ; take the rod and axe. 
 And make the murder, as you make the law. 
 
 Cic. {To an officer.) Give up the record of his banishment. 
 
 [77ie officer gives it to the consul. 
 Cat. {With indignation.) Banished from Rome'? What's banished, but 
 set free 
 From daily contact of the things I loathe' ? 
 "Tried and convicted traitor' !" Wlio cays this' ? 
 Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head' ? 
 Banished' ? I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain. 
 I held some slack allegiance till this hour. 
 But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords. 
 I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
 Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
 I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
 To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
 But here I stand and scoff' you : here I fling 
 Hatred and full defiance in your face. 
 Your consul's merciful. For this, all thanks. 
 He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 
 
 Consul. (Reads.) " Lucius Sergius Catiline, by the decree oPthe senate, 
 you are declared an enemy and alien to the state, and banished from the 
 territory of the commonwealth." \_Tnrning to the lictors. 
 
 Lictors, drive the traitor from the temple. 
 
 Cat. "Traitor!" I go— but I return. This trial! 
 Here I devote your senate. I've had wrongs 
 To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
 And make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 
 This day's the birth of sorrows. This hour's work 
 Will breed proscriptions. Look to yom- hearths, my lords ! 
 For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods,
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 631 
 
 Shapes hot from Tavtanis ! all shames and crimes — 
 Wan Treacher}', witli his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
 Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
 Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe, 
 jMaking his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 
 Till Anarchy comes down on you like night. 
 And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. — Crolt. 
 
 LESSOX XXIV. — WARS OF c^sak and pompey — death 
 
 OF CATO. 
 
 1. Soon after the conspiracy of Catiline, which was quelled 
 after a brief struggle by the energy of Cicero, civil war broke 
 out between the adherents of Cajsar and Pompey, and the 
 vast Roman world Avas divided into two hostile camps. la 
 a great battle, which was fought on the plains of Pharsalia, 
 in Thessaly, Cajsar was victorious, and Pompey, fleeing to 
 Egypt, was slain by order of the Egyptian king Ptolemy, 
 who hoped thereby to secure the favor of Ciiesar. 
 
 2. After the fall of Pompey, Ca?sar passed into Africa, 
 where was a large jjarty still opposed to him, headed by 
 Cato, the sons of Pompey, and other generals. These he de- 
 feated in battle ; after which Cato, having advised his follow- 
 ers not to continue their resistance, committed suicide. He 
 had seen, he said, the republic passing away, and he could 
 live no longer. After having read Plato on the Immortality 
 of the Soul twice over, as if to prepare his mind for the deed 
 which he meditated, he is supposed to have indulged in the 
 following soliloquy : 
 
 CATO'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 [Tlii3 should be read or spoken deliberately, and the countenance and voice should in- 
 dicate that the mind is employed in solemn contenii>lation.] 
 
 3. It must be so. Plato', thou reasonest weir ! 
 Else whence this pleasing hope\ this fond desire*, 
 This longing after immortality' ? 
 
 ©r whence this secret dreail and inward horror 
 Of falling into naught' ? Why shrinks tlie soul 
 Back on herself, and startles at destruction' ? 
 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us : 
 'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 
 And intimates eternity to man. 
 
 4. Eternity' ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought' ! 
 Through what variety of untried being. 
 
 Through what new scenes and changes must we pass'? 
 The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me : 
 Hero will I hold. If there's a Power above us
 
 532 willson's fifth reader. I'aut XI. 
 
 (And that tliere is, all nature cries aloud 
 
 Through all her works), he must delight in virtue ; 
 
 And that which he delights in must be happy. 
 
 But when' ? or where' ? This world was made for Caesar. 
 
 I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them. 
 
 [Laying his hand on his sword. 
 
 6. Thus I am doubly arm'd. My deatli and life, 
 
 My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
 This, in a moment, brings me to my end ; 
 But this informs me I shall never die. 
 The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
 At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. 
 Unhurt amid the war of elements. 
 The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. — Addison. 
 
 LESSON XXV. THE DEATH OF CJESAE. 
 
 1. After Caesar had finished the war in Africa, the Roman 
 senate created liim dictator for ten years ; he was appointed 
 censor of the public morals, and his statue was placed oppo- 
 site that of JujDiter in the Capitol, and on it was inscribed 
 " To Cresar, the demigod." Not long afterward he was made 
 dictator for life, with the title of imperator, and all the pow- 
 ers of sovereignty were conferred upon him, although the 
 outward form of the republic was allowed to remain. 
 
 2. The people, however, soon became suspicious that he 
 courted the title of king ; and a large number of senators, 
 headed by the proetors Cassius and Brutus, formed a conspir- 
 acy to take his life, and fixed on the day of the meeting of 
 the senate for the execution of their plot. As soon as Cfesar 
 had taken his seat in the senate-house, the conspirators crowd- 
 ed around him, and as one of them, pretending to urge some 
 request, laid hold of his robe as if in the act of supplication, 
 the others, Brutus among the number, rushed upon him with 
 drawn daggers, and he fell, pierced with twenty-three wounds, 
 at the base of Pompey's statue, which was sprinkled with his 
 blood. The scenes which followed — the speech of Brutus in 
 defense of the deed, and the artful funeral oration of Antony, 
 by which the fickle populace were roused to demand venge- 
 ance upon the conspirators, are well set forth in the folloAving 
 extract from Shakspeare :
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 533 
 
 Scene : the Roman forum. 
 Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of citizens. 
 
 Cit. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 
 
 Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, 
 And part the numbers. 
 
 Those that will hear vie speak', let them stay here* ; 
 Those that will follow Cassius', go with him* ; 
 And public reasons shall be rendered 
 Of CfEsar's death. 
 
 1st Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 2d Cit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their reasons 
 When severally we hear them rendered. 
 
 \^Ji!xit Cassius, ivith some oj" the citizens. Brutus goes into the rostrum. 
 
 3d Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 
 
 Bru. Be patient till the last. 
 Romans', countrymen,' and lovers* ! hear me for my cause ; and be silent, 
 that you may hear : believe me for mine honor ; and have respect to mine 
 honor, that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your 
 senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly', 
 any dear friend of Caisar's', to him I say that Brutus's love to Ca;sar was 
 no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against 
 Cajsar', this is my answer^ — Not that I loved Civsar less', but that I loved 
 Rome more*. Had you rather Cffisar were living, and die all slaves', than 
 that Cajsar were dead, to live all freemen' ? As Cffisar loved me', I weep* 
 for him; as he was fortunate', I rejoice* at it; as he was valiant,' I honor* 
 him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew* him. There are tears' for his love*, 
 joy' for his fortune*, honor' for his valor*, and death* for his ambition. 
 Who is here so base that would be a bondman* ? If any, speak ; for him 
 have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If 
 any, speak ; for him have I oflFended. Who is here so vile that will not 
 love his country"^ If any, speak ; for him have I oiFended. I pause for a 
 reply. 
 
 Cit. None*, Brutus', none*. [^Several speaking at once. 
 
 Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than 
 you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Cajj- 
 itol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offenses 
 enforced, for which he suffered death. 
 
 Enter Antony and others, with C(Psar^s body. 
 Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony ; who, though he had no 
 hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com- 
 monwealth ; as which of you shall not ? With this I depart — that, as I 
 slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, 
 when it shall please my country to need my death. 
 
 Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! 
 
 \st Cit. Bring him with triumph home to his house. 
 
 2c? Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 3c? Cit. Let him be Caesar. 
 
 ith Cit. Ccesar's better parts 
 
 Shall now be crowned in Brutus. 
 
 \st Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors. 
 
 Bru. My countrymen —
 
 534 willson's fifth reader. Part XI. 
 
 2d CIt. Peace ! Bilence ! Brutus speaks. 
 
 \st Cit. Peace, ho! 
 
 Brn. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
 And, for my sake, stay hci'e with Antony : 
 Do prace to Cesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Caesar's glories, which Mark Antony, 
 By our permission, is allowed to make. 
 I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
 yave I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 
 
 \st Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 
 
 'Ad Cit. Let him go up into the public chair ; 
 We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 
 
 4<A Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 
 
 3d Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, 
 
 He finds himself beholden to us all. 
 
 ith Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 
 
 \st Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 3c? Cit. Nay, that's certain : 
 
 We are blessed that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 2d Cit. Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say. 
 
 Ant. You gentle Romans — 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 Ant. Friends', Romans', countrymen', lend me your ears ; 
 I come to briry'' Cffisar, not to praise him'. 
 The evil that men do lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones : 
 So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
 Hath told you Ctesar was ambitious : 
 If it were so, it were a grievous fault. 
 And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest 
 (For Brutus is an honorable man' ;* r 
 
 So are they air, all honorable men). 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 He was my friend', faithful and just' to me; 
 But Brutus' says' he was ambitious' ; 
 And Brutus is an honorable man'. 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious' ? 
 When that the poor have cried', Caesar hath wept' : 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff; 
 Yet Brutus says' he was ambitious' ; 
 And Brutus is an honorable man'. 
 You did all see that on the Lupercal 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 
 Yet Brutus says' he was ambitious' ; 
 And sure he is an honorable man\ 
 
 * The ftilling inflection Ls frequently given to " lionorable," and the rising to '•' man;" 
 but Antony would hardly have ventured upon irony so open, while his auditors were so 
 little prepared for it. The rising circumflex should be distinctly given to the word " hon- 
 orabU:"
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 535 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 You all did love him once ; not without cause ; 
 What cause withholds you, then, to mourn' for him ? 
 Oh judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me ; 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Ctesar, 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 1st Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. 
 
 2d Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
 Cossar has had great wrong. 
 
 Bd Cit. Has he, masters ? 
 
 I fear there will a worse come in his jjlace. 
 
 ith Cit. Marked ye his words ? He would not take the croyra. ; there- 
 fore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 
 
 Is; Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 2d Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 
 
 3c? Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. 
 
 ith Cit. Now mark him; he begins again to speak. 
 
 Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cffisar might 
 Have stood against the world' : now lies he there, 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 Oh masters' ! if I were disposed to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 I should do Brutus' wrong, and Cassius' wrong, 
 Who, you all know, are honorable men'. 
 I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 
 To wrong the dead', to wrong myself, and you, 
 Than I will wrong such honorable men'. 
 But here's a parchment with the seal of Casar ; 
 I found it in his closet ; 'tis his will : 
 Let but the commons hear this testament 
 (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read). 
 And they would go and kiss dead Cesar's wounds, 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
 Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 ith Cit. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Cajsar's will. 
 
 Ant. Have patience, gentle friends ; I must not read it ; 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
 And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For, if you should, oh, what would come of it ! 
 
 ith Cit. Read the will ; we tvill hear it, Antony ; 
 You shall read us the will — Ca?sar's will. 
 
 Ant. Will you be patient ? Will you stay a while ? 
 I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. 
 I fear I wrong the honorable men 
 Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar; I do fear it.
 
 536 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part XI. 
 
 4<A Cit. They were traitors^ Honorable men' ! 
 Cit. The will ! the testament ! 
 
 2d Cit. They were villains, murderers. The will — read the v.ill I 
 Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will? 
 Then make a ring about tiic corpse of Ca3.sar, 
 And let me show you him that made tiie will. 
 Shall I descend ? And will you give mc leave? 
 Cit. Come down. 
 
 2d Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the pulpit. 
 
 3d Cit. You shall have leave. 
 
 ith Cit. A ring; stand round. 
 
 1st Cit. Stand from the liearse, stand from the body. 
 
 2d Cit. Room for Antony — most noble Antony. 
 
 Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
 Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 
 
 Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent — 
 That day he overcame the Nervii. 
 Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through ; 
 See what a rent the envious Casca made ; 
 Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; 
 And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Coesar followed it, 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
 If Brutus so unkindly knocked or no; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Csesar's angel : 
 Judge, oh you gods, how dearly Cffisar loved him ! 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
 For, when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart; 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Csesar fell. 
 Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 While bloody treason flourished over us. 
 Oh, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
 Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here ; 
 Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 1st Cit. Oh piteous spectacle ! 
 
 2d Cit. Oh noble Cffisar ! 
 
 Bd Cit. Oh woeful day ! 
 
 4:th Cit. Oh traitors, villains ! 
 
 1st Cit. Oh most bloody sight ! 
 
 2d Cit. We will be revenged : revenge ; about — seek — burn, fire — kill — 
 slay ! let not a traitor live. 
 
 Ant. Stay, countiymen. 
 
 1st Cit. Peace, there ! hear the noble Antony. 
 
 2d Cit. We'll hear hun, we'll follow him, we'll die vnih him.
 
 Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 537 
 
 Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
 They that have done this deed are honorable : 
 What private griefs tliey have, alas ! I know not, 
 That made them do 't ; they are wise and honorable, 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
 But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 
 That love my friend, and that they know full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him ; 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth. 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
 I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, 
 And bid them speak for me ; but, were I Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruflSe up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Cresar, that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
 
 LESSON XXVI. END OF THE ROMAN- REPUBLIC. 
 
 1. The effect of Antony's artful oration was such as to fill 
 the multitude with indignation and rage ; and while some, 
 tearing up the benches of the senate-house, formed of them a 
 funeral pile and burned the body of Caesar, others ran through 
 the streets Avith drawn Aveapons and flaming torches, de- 
 nouncing vengeance against the conspirators. Brutus and 
 Cassius, and their adherents, fleeing to Greece, and tlnis se- 
 curing the eastern provinces, prepared to defend themselves 
 by force of arms. Antony, remaining at Rome, and aided by 
 Lep'idus, sought to place himself at the head of the state ; 
 but he found a powerful rival in the young Octavius Caesar, 
 and civil war for a time raged in Italy. 
 
 2. At length Antony and Octavius, having agreed to settle 
 their diflerences, marched with united forces against the con- 
 spirators, whose army they defeated in the battle of Philippi, 
 a small town in Thrace. Both Cassius and Brutus, giving 
 way to despair, destroyed themselves. Over the dead body, 
 Antony did justice to the character of Brutus, whom he de- 
 clared to be " the noblest Roman of them all." 
 
 " This was the noblest Roman of them all : 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 Did that they did in envy of great Ca;sar ; 
 He only, in a general honest thought.
 
 638 willson's fifth reader. Pakt XI. 
 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 His lite was genllc, and the elements 
 So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, 
 And say to all the world, This was a man .'" 
 
 3. After the battle of Philippi, Oct'avius returned to Italy 
 at the head of his legions, and Antony remained master of 
 the eastern jirovinces. While Antony Avas in Asia Minor 
 the celebrated Cleopatra came to visit him, and so captivated 
 was the Roman with the charms and beauty of the Egyptian 
 queen, that he accompanied her to Egypt, where he lived for 
 a time in indolence, dissipation, and luxury, neglectiul of the 
 calls of interest, honor, and ambition. But his shameful con- 
 duct soon brought on a war between him and Octavius, and, 
 being defeated in the naval battle of Actium, he fled again to 
 Egypt, and there put an end to his own life. 
 
 4. Soon after the death of Antony, Octavius, at the request 
 of the most eminent citizens, who were glad to seek refuge 
 from anarchy and civil war in a military despotisfii, took the 
 government into his own hands, and with this event, at the 
 beginning of the 28th year before the Christian era, the his- 
 tory of the Roman rejyublio ends. The senate then confer- 
 red upon Octavius the title of Augustus, or " the Divine." 
 After a brief period of Avars in some of the distant proAunces, 
 peace Avas established throughout the vast domains of the 
 empire. It Avas at this auspicious period that Jesus Christ, 
 the promised Messiah, was born, and thus literally Avas his 
 advent the herald of "peace on earth and good- will tOAvard 
 men." 
 
 HISTORIC ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 Whatever withdraAvs its from the jiOAver of our senses, 
 whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predomi- 
 nate OA^er the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking 
 beings. Far from me and far from my friends be such frigid 
 philosophy as may conduct us, indifferent and unmoved, OA'er 
 any ground Avhich has been dignified by wisdom, braA'erv, or 
 Aurtue. That man is little to be envied whose patriotism 
 Avould not gain force upon the plains of Marathon, or whose 
 piety Avould not groAV warmer among the ruins of lona. — 
 Dr. Johnson.
 
 KEY 
 
 TO THE SOUNDS OF THE LETTERS, AS DESIGNATED IN THE SCHOOL AND 
 FAiULY READERS. 
 
 The system of pronunciation here adopted is that of Noah "Webster, as 
 contained in the later and improved editions of his Dictionary ; and the 
 indicative marks used arc the same as those found in Webster's late "Pro- 
 nouncing and Defining Dictionary," edited by Prof. Goodrich. 
 
 A, long, as in ffime, aim, day, break, cake, make; heard also in sail, veil, gauge, inveigh. 
 A, short, as in fiit, at, carry, tririff ; heard also in plaid, bade, r.'iiUery, etc. 
 A, Italian, aa in far, father, biilm, iiiith ; heard also in heiirt, heiirth, iiunt, liiiunch. 
 A, as in care, air, share, pair, bear, fair, p;irent; heard also in where, heir. 
 A, as in last, ask, grass, dance, branch, staff, graft, pass, chance, chant. 
 ■A, sound of broad a, as in all, call, talk, haul, swann, awe ; heard also in naught, taught. 
 A, short sound of broad a, as in what, wash. Tliis coincides with the o in not. 
 E, long, as in me, mete, scheme; heard also in beard, field, leisure, brief, seize, key. 
 £, short, as in met, merry; lieard also in feather, heifer, leopard, any, friend, guess. 
 £, like d in care ; as in there, their, heir, where, ere, e'er, whene'er, etc. 
 E, short e before r, as in term, verge, verdure, prefer, earth. 
 E, like long a, as in prey, they, survey. 
 
 I, like long e, as in pique, machine, mien, marine. This is the sound of the French i. 
 i, long, as in pine, fine, isle; heard also in height, aisle, oblige, inicioscope. 
 I, short, aa in pin, fin, pit; lieard also in sieve, since, been (bin), etc. 
 1, short, verging toward u, as in bird, fimi, virgin, dirt. 
 
 O, long, aa in note, oh, no, dome; heard also in course, yeoman, roll, port, door, etc. 
 o, short, as in ntit, bond ; lieard also in ctiral, Curinth. It coincides witli the a in ivliat. 
 6, like short u, as in dove, love, son, done, worm; heard also in docs (duz), none (nun). 
 o, like long oo, as in priive, dii, miive, tiirab, lose, whii, ti). 
 
 O, like short oo, as in wolf, Wolsey. This sound coincides with that of it in bull. 
 OO (short 00), as in foot, book, wool, wood. 
 
 u, long, as in mnte, duty, cHbe, unite, has the sound of yo, slightly approaching yoo when 
 it begins a syllable ; but in other cases it is difficult to distinguisli the sound of tlie y. 
 V, short, as in but, tiib, sun ; heard also in does (duz), blood (bind), etc. 
 V, long, nearly approaching oo when preceded by r, as riMe, n'lde, ruby. 
 U, like 00 (short oo), as in fidl, bull, pull, push, put (not pfit). 
 jE (italic) marks a letter as silent, as fallen, token. 
 
 CONSONANTS. 
 
 C c soft (unmarked), like .s sliarp, as in cede, mercy. 
 
 €! € hard, like k, as in call, eaiTy. 
 
 CH ch (unmarked), like tsh, as in child, choose. 
 
 CH Oh soft, like sh, as in machine, chaise. 
 
 €H €h hard, like k, as in chorus, epoch. 
 
 G g hard (unmarked), as in go, gallant. 
 
 (i g soft, like j, as in gentle, aged. 
 
 S s sharp (unmarked), as in same, gas. 
 
 S s soft, like z, as in has, amuse. 
 
 TH th sharp (unmarked), as in thing, patlu 
 
 TH th flat or vocal, as in thine, their. 
 
 N° like ng, as in lon'gcr, con'gress. 
 
 PH like / (unmarked), as in phaeton, sylph. 
 
 QU like kic (unmarked), as in queen, in(iuiry. 
 
 WII like hw (unmarked), as in when, while.
 
 ALPHABETICAL LIST OF WRITERS 
 
 FROM WIIOM SELECTIONS ABB TAKKN, OR QUOTATIONS MADE, IN THE FIFTH EEADEB. 
 
 Addison, Joseph, 28, 29, S.^IGaj, John, 131. 
 
 79, 84, 531. Germanicufl, 20. 
 
 jEschylu.", 502. Glover, Richard, 501. 
 
 Aird, TlioiniiH, 403. Goethe, 157. 
 
 Akenside, 199. Goldsmitli, Oliver, 132, 381. 
 
 Anonymou.s (the principal Good, Jolin Mason, 106. 
 
 only), 40, 102, 127, 138, l.-iO, '(ioodrich, 65. 
 
 105, 170, 243, 245, 252, 250, JCiould, II. F., 431. 
 
 304, 351, 3.52, 303, 389, 392, Gray, Mr.s. J. L., 67. 
 
 390, 398, 407, 414, 424, 433, i Gray, Thomas, 32, 33, 38, 44.5. 
 
 434, 471, 480, 4S0, 494, 495. Greenwood, 405. 
 
 Aristophanes, 509, 
 
 Arnold, Edwin, 153. 
 
 Arnott, Dr., 343, 355. 
 
 Ausonius, 229. 
 
 Barringtori, 146. 
 
 Beattie, William, 290. 
 
 Bell, Sir Chag,, 105, 107, 111. 
 
 Blair, 23, 310. 
 
 Brande, 383. 
 
 Browne, Miss M. A., 199. 
 
 Bryant, 43, 300, 314, 372, 879. 
 
 Buckland, Dr., 400. 
 
 Bulleid, 221. 
 
 Bulwer (Sir Edward Bui war 
 
 Lytton), 215, 285, 505. 
 Burns, R., 430. 
 Byrom, 48. 
 Byron, G. G., 119, 181, 185, 
 
 287, 397, 421, 502, 525. 
 Campbell, T., 107, 177, 204. 
 Carey, J., 150. 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 492. 
 Chambers, Robt., 44, 195, 214. 
 Chatham, Earl of, 22. 
 Childs, Mr3.,524. 
 Cicero, M. T., 22, 28, 29, 40. 
 Clark, Willis Gaylord, 375. 
 Coleridge, Hartley, 2, 3SS. 
 Cook, Eliza, 201, 322. 
 Cooper, Sir Astley, 127. 
 Cowley, 150. 
 Cowper, 108, 175, 180. 
 Crabbe, 140. 
 Croly, George, 529. 
 Cutler, G.W., 356, 432. 
 Cuvier, 262. 
 Dale, 521. 
 
 Darwin,162,204,343,345,349. Le Sage, 210. 
 
 Grimke, 70 
 Guyot, 374, 377. 
 Halleck, Fitz Greene, 38. 
 Hamilton, Dr., 233. 
 Harvey, 100. 
 Heber, Bishop, 414. 
 Ileraans, Mrs., 147, 298, 308, 
 
 421, 488. 
 Henry, Patrick, 222. 
 Herschel, Sir J. F. W., 487. 
 Ilitchcosk, Dr. , ,391. 
 Holmes, Oliver W., 12, 85. 
 Homer, 179, 303, 431. 
 Hood, Thomas, 184, 430. 
 Hooker, Worthington, 98,117. 
 Horace, 231, 328. 
 Ilowison, 400. 
 
 Howitt, Mary, 194, 205, 465. 
 Howitt, William, 372. 
 Humboldt, ISS, 376. 
 Hunt, Leigh, 157. 
 Hunt, R., 171, 417, 442, 444. 
 Irving, Washington, 173, 178. 
 Jameson, Mrs., 278. 
 Jeffi'ey, Francis, .^50. 
 Jewsbury, Mrs., 504. 
 Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 39, 130. 
 Johnson, E., 104. 
 Johnston, Prof., 420, 427. 
 Juvenal, 230, 254. 
 Kellogg, E., 527. 
 Kennedy, 417. 
 Landon, Miss (L. E. Maclean), 
 
 169, 200, 304. 
 La Bruyere, 48. 
 Lacon, 222. 
 Lardner, D., 
 
 Davy, Sir H., 482, 
 
 De Kay, 206. 
 
 Dclille, 207. 
 
 Demosthenes, 30. 
 
 Denham, 40. 
 
 De Quincey, Thomas, 78, 122. 
 
 Dewey, 492. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, 103, 435. 
 
 Doane, George W., 49, 501. 
 
 Dodge, N. S., ISO. 
 
 Downing, A. J., 293, 296, 302. 
 
 Draper, John W., 120, 123. 
 
 Drayton, 175. 
 
 Drummond, 396. 
 
 Dryden, John, 30, 175. 
 
 Eclectic Review, 112. 
 
 Elliott, 305. 
 
 Ellis, 257. 
 
 Emerson, Ralph AV , 305. 
 
 Fcnuer, G. C, 211, 
 
 Lindley, 188. 
 Linnaeus, 142. 
 Literary World, 295. 
 London Atlas, 136. 
 
 Moore, Thomas, 149, 152, 1C5, 
 
 169, 2J3, 247. 
 Morris, G. P., 176. 
 New Monthly Magazine, 369. 
 New York Spectator, 133. 
 Noel, Thomas, 37. 
 North American Review, 305. 
 Nott, Rev. Dr., 22. 
 Oppian, 236, 238, 240, 241. 
 Ovid, 180. 
 Park, Mungo, 200. 
 Parkinson, 487. 
 Percival, J. G., 369, 397, 402. 
 Picton, J. A., 303. 
 Pierpont, John, 184, 311. 
 Foe, Edgar A., 219, 489. 
 Pollok, 178. 
 Pope, Alexander. 22, 23, 30, 
 
 34,40,53,434. 
 Prentice, George D. , 384. 
 Prior, 162. 
 
 Proctor, Bryan W., 394. 
 Read, T. Buchanan, 408. 
 Richards, Capt., 238. 
 Richter, Jean Paul, 3! 2. 
 Roberta, Sarah, 192. 
 Roscoe, W., 154. 
 Saxe, ,J. G.,355. 
 SchUler, 426. 
 Scoresby, 263. 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 33, 171,170, 
 
 198, 291, 292, 382. 496. 
 Shakspeare, 19, 31, 32, 3.5, 38, 
 
 40, 41, 42, 78, 82, 110, 177, 
 
 197, 273, 274, 417, 461, 533. 
 Shelley, 162, 3S6. 
 Sigournev, Mre., 1.58, 309,371. 
 Simms, W. G., ,357. 
 Smith, Charlotte, 209, 300. 
 Smith, Horace, 471. 
 Somerville, Mr.=., 399. 
 Sophocles, 235, 510. 
 Southey, Mrs., 159. 
 -outhey, R., 71, 176, 337, 413. 
 Spenser, 110, 223. 
 Sprague, Charles, 135, 222. 
 Swainson, 52, 240, 254. 
 Tasso, 109. 
 Taylor, Jane, 281. 
 Tennyson, 331. 
 Thomson, Jas., 131, 145, 152, 
 
 187, 291. 
 Tupper, M. F., 143, 19.5, 211. 
 
 London Morning Chron., 110. Twamley, Mrs., 167. 187. 
 Longfellow, 177, 182, 210, 315. ! Virgil, 36, JO, 152,177,184,187. 
 
 Loudon's Magazine, 29S. 
 
 Lowell, James Russell, 1S5. 
 
 Lyell, 387. 
 
 Lyons, 146. 
 
 M.acaulay, T. B., 513, 517 
 
 Walker, r^idnev, 75. 
 Walton, Izaak; 229. 
 Warton, 289. 
 Webster, Daniel, 47. 
 White, Henry Kirkc, 194. 
 
 Mackay, Chas., 129, 418, 432. , Willis, N. P., 103. 
 Mant, Richard, 139. i Wilson, John, 395, 409. 
 
 Mantell, Dr. ,473, 474,487, 4SS. Winthrop, Robert C, 320. 
 Marsden, 40, 50. Woodworth, Samuel, 334. 
 
 Mauiy, Lieut., 209. Wolcott, John, 456. 
 
 Miller, H., 463, 469, 471, 476. , Wordsworth, William, 153, 
 Milton, 29,41,142,223,420,453. , 160, 243, 272, 4SS, 493. 
 Montgomery, 80, 188, 239, 246,, Yarrell, 252, 257. 
 303, 481. lYoung, Edward, 40, 42.
 
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