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BY
MARCXUS WILLSON,
ZUTI.'OU OF PRIMARY HISTOKY ; HISTORY OF THE
UNITED STATES ; AMERICAN HISTORY ; AND
OUTUKES OF GENERAL HISTOKY.
^\ ^X-4F "^'^PE'^ ^ BROTHERS,
£a^vJP franklin square.
NEW Y O B K .
1 8C 3.
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 schoor.
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*. y
But Love is subtle*, and doth proof derive
From her own life' that Hope is yet alive* ;
And bending o'er', with soul-transfusing 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*.
COLESIDOE.
/- I'r.
rflM
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tho year one thoosand eight hundred and
Bixty-one, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New Yoric
GIFT
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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
them 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 7-eading-lessons 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. 154); Leigh Hunt's "Chorus of Flowers" (p.
157) ; Mrs. Southey's "Night-blooming Cereus," or "Unpretending Worth"
(p. 159) ; Dickens's " Ivy Green" (p. 163) ; Emerson's " Rhodora" (p. 171) ;
Mary Howitt'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 Searweed" (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 appropriately 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 of these departments of knowledge has a literature of its
own ; each has its peculiar words, and its forms of expression, as well as its
principles, with which not only every scholar, but every general reader
377
IV PREFACE.
should be familiar, but none of which would be presented in a miscellaneous
reading-book that should omit all notice of the 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 great 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
Austances, be stimulated to seek a farther acquaintance with them, and that
2he 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 surjiassing any thing of the kind ever before published in this country ;
but while their beauty — for which we are indebted to the jjcncil of a Par-
sons — will be acknowledged by all, it is their vtiliti/, 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 illustration of an object
often give a more correct idea of it than pages of description, but so maps
it upon the memory that, by the most interesting of all associations, the
very description itself is indelibly pictured there. The admirable system
of ^* object teaching," whose principles should be carried throughout the
entire educational course of eveiy 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
of 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.
N«w YoM, M»7 15th, 18flt
CONTENTS.
[Explanatory. — Tliose lessons designated by italicfi, or the authors of -which, in whol«
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 orcoiMiiled from various sources.]
PART I.
ELOCUTIONARY. Page
I. Inflections ; Elementary Rules 11
II. Higher Principles of Elocution IS
Lesson FIRST MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
I. Green River Bnjant. 43
II. The best Kind of Revenga Chambees. 44
III. A viodest Wit Anonymous. 40
IV. The Eloquence of Action Webster. 47
V. Use plain Language La Beoyere. 48
VI. The Three Black Crows Buront. 48
VII. What is a Gentleman ? G. W. Doane. 49
VIII. What is Time f Marsden. 50
PART II.
HERPETOLOGY, or THE NATURAL HISTORY OF REPTILES.
I. Introductory View Adapted. 51
II. A Letter about the Chelonians, or Turtles Adapted. 64
III. A second Letter about Turtles Adapted, 57
IV. A Letter about the Saurians Goodeicii ; Adapted. 61
V. T'he Crocodile and the Ichneumon Mrs. J. L. Graf/. 67
Vr. A Letter about the Ophidians Virijil; Southey; Adapted. 68
VII. A Letter about the Amphibians Adapted. 72
SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
I. To a Girl in her Thirteenth Year Sidney Walker. 75
II. The Love of Country Grimkb. 76
III. A noble Revenge Thomas pe Quincey. 77
IV. HanUeVft Soliloquy Shakspmre. 78
V. The Folly of Castle-building Addison. 79
VI. The Stranger and his Friend Montqomery. 80
VII. Scene between Brutus and Cassius Slvakspeare. 82
PART III.
SECOND DIVISION OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH.
I. The Window of the Soul Adapted. 83
Our Sight the most delightful of all our Senses Addison. 84
II. The Livin'j Temple Oliver Wendell Nobnef). 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
VL Variou.^ Phenomena of the Nervou3'Sy:?tem Adapted. 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 nevered Nerves 101
VII. Intemperance the Prime Minister of Death Anonymous. 102
VIII. Look iwt upon the Wine N. p. Willis. 103
IX. The Water-drinker E. Johnson. 104
X. How the Mind speaks through the Nerves and Mu^^cles Adapted. 105
XI. The Language of the Countenance Tasao ; Shakspeare; Spenser; Adapted. 107
XII. Uses of Anatomy and Physiology to the Painter Sir Charles Bell. Ill
XIII. Marvels of Human Caloric Eclectic Review. 112
XIV. Lines on a Skeleton London Morning Chronicle. 116
XV. Education of the Muscles of Expression Adapted. 117
Expresfdon of the Countenance after Death Byron. 119
XVL Disorders of the Nervous System: Visions, Apparitions, and Dreams.. Adapted. 119
Yl CONTENTS.
Lewon P*R«
XVII. A Dream, and its Explanation Dbapeb. 1j3
XVIII. The Health of the Brain Adapted. 125
XIX. The FooVs Covij^laint Anommujuii. 12T
XX. Rules for Mental Exercise • Adapted. 128
XXI. Advice to a hard Student Charles Mackay. 129
XXII. Neglect of Health Samuel Johnson. 130
The Joys of Health Gay; Thonuon. 131
THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISM)N.
L The Village School of Olden Time Goldsmith. 132
n. The Righteous never Forsaken New York Speotatok. 133
III. The FavMi) Meeting Charles Sprague. IS.'S
IV, Tact and Talent London Atlab. 136
V. Rain upon the Roof A nonynums. 133
VI. Good Advice Anonymous. 139
VII. True Knowledge Bisuop Mant. 139
PART IV.
SECOND DIVISION OF BOTANY.
L The Study of Botany Crabbe. Adapted. 140
n. Clasaification of Plants Milton, Adapted. 141
m. Natural Method of Classiiication Adapted. 143
The Floral Kingdom Thomson. 145
May Flowers Barrington. 146
FIRST DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM : EXOGENS.
IV. The Rose Family Cowley ; Carey, and others. Adapted. 147
To the Rose Mrs. Uemans. 14T
The Feast of Roses Moore. 149
The Moss Rose From the German. 160
V. Our Common Fruits Thomson; Moore; Virgil; Wordsworth. Adapted. 151
To the A Imond Blossom Edwin A mold. 153
VI. Camellia, Mallow, and Citron Families Goethe. Adapted. 154
I'o the Camellia W. Roscoe. 155
VIL Chorus of Flowers Leigh Hunt. 157
VIII. The Cactus Family Adapted. 15S
Cactus Blossom Mrs. Sigoumey. 15S
Night- Blooming Cereus A nonymous. 159
Unpretending Worth Mrs. SouUiey. 159
IX, Leguminousand 'Umbelliferous Plants.. <SA«i/er/; Daruyin; Prior. Adapted. 161
The Ivy Green Charles Dickens. 163
X. The Composite^ or Sunflower Family Moore; Campbell. Adapted. 164
The Marigold A nonynious. 165
The Daisy Wordsworth ; John Mason Good. 166
The Thistle-flower Twamley. 167
XI. Jessamine, Honeysuckle, and Heath Families, ..Seott; Landon. Adapted. 163
The Jasmine Coirper; Moore. 163
The Rhodoi-a R W. Emerson. 171
The Psycliology of Flowers Hunt's Poetry of Science. 171
XII. Labiate and Trumpet-flower Families Adapted. 173
XIII. Forest Trees Washington Ibvino. 173
XIV, The Oak Family Adapted. 174
Selections from Coitv^r; Seott; Southey; Morris; Longfellow; Shak-
spenrc; Campbell^ and others.
XV. The Oak and the Nobleman Washington Ibvtng. 178
XVI. The Elm, Willow, and Birch Families Adapted, 178
Selections from //omer; Ovid; Cowper; N. S.Dodge; Byron; Scott.
Jliawnthd's Came LonrifeUotP. 183
XVIL TheConc-beariug, or Pine Family. Fi»v7i7;irood;/*ierponf; Bi/roTi. Adapted. 182
XVIIL To a Pine-tree Jam^s Russell Lowell. 185
SECOND DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM : ENDOGENS.
XIX. The Iris, Lily, and Palm Families Twamley; Thomson; Montgomtnj.
.Vdaptcd. 186
XX. Sedges and Grasses Adapted. 190
The Voico of the Grass Sarah Roberts. 192
The Harvest Moon Henry Kirke White. 194
Com-fu'lds Marii llmritt. l'.»4
XXI. Of the Hidden Uses of Plants M. F. Tripper. 196
CONTENTS. VU
Lesson THIRD DIVISION: CRYPTOGAMOUS PLANTS. Page
XXII. Ferns, Liverworts, and Mosses (Acrogens) W. Scott. Adapted. 196
XXIII. The Mosses (Acrogens) Akenside ; Thomson. Adapted. 199
The Lovely Moas Miss M. A. Browne. 199
The Moss in the Desert Mungo Paek. 200
XXrV. The Fcrnand the Moss Eliza Cook. 201
XXV, Lichens (Thallogens) Campbell ; Darwin ; Mary Hovritt. Adapted. 202
XXVI. Fungi, or Funamis Plants (Thallogens) Adapted. 20G
XXVII. Algae, or Sea-\^ds (ThaUogens) Clmrlotte Smith. Adapted. 209
The Uriftimj Sea-weed Longfellow. 210
The Sea-wort M. F. Tujjper. 211
The Sea-weed .-: C.G. Fenner. 211
XXVin. Domestic Flower Culture Chambebs' Miscellany. 213
FOURTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
I. Eva Eulwer Lytton. 215
n. Gil Bias and the Archbishop Le Sage. 216
m. The Bells Edgar A. Poe. 219
IV. Speaking and Doing Eulleid. 221
V. Resistance to British Oppression Patrick Henry. 222
VL The American Indiana Speague. 222
PART V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OR THE NATURAL HISTORY OF FISHES.
I. Nature of the Study Spenser ; Milton. Adapted. 223
n. The Physiology of Fishes (Agassiz's Arrangement) Adapted. 225
FIRST CLASS: SPINE-RAYED BONY FISHES.
UL The Perch Familj'- Ausonius; Jtivenal ; Horace. Adapted. 228
IV. Other Families of the Spine- rayed Fishes. .English Magazine ; De. Ham-
ilton ; So2)hocles ; 02ypian Adapted. 233
V. The Spine-rayed Fishes — continued. .Oi>>i>ian; Captain Ricuaeds; Mont-
gomery; SwAiNsoN Adapted. 23T
SECOND CLASS: SOFT-RAYED BONY FISHES.
VI. Soft-rayed Bony Fishes with Abdominal Ventral Fins : Carp, Pike, and Cat-
fish Families. .iV/oore; Wordsworth; Montgomery .i&ndiothevii. Adapted. 242
VIL To the Flying-fish Moore. 24T
Vin. Fishes with Abdominal Ventral Fins (continued) : Salmon, and Trout, and
Herring, and Pilchard Families Adapted. 248
XX. The Sub-brachial soft-rayed Bony Fishes Adapted. 251
1. The Cod Family. A Charade on Cod Adapted. 252
2. Family of the Flat-fish ..Yareell; Swainson; Juvenal. Adapted. 252
8. The Salt-water Suckers Adapted. 254
X. The Apodal Soft-rayed Bony Fishes Yaeeell, Adapted. 256
XI. Fishes with Tufted Gills Adapted. 253
Fishes with Soldered Jaws Adapted. 258
THIRD class: CARTILAGINOUS FISHES.
XTI. The Shark Family L. E. Maclean ; Cuviee; Scoeesby. Adapted. 260
Xni. Sturgeon, Chimsera, Ray, and Lamprey Families Adapted. 264
Concluding Remarks 26T
XIV. The Aquaria, or Drawing-room Fish-ponds Adapted. 263
FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
L The Glonj of the Imaqhiation Wordsicorth. 273
II. Shylock : a Scene of Contending Passions Shakspeaee. 273
m. Shylock and the Merchant : the Trial Scene Shakspeare. 274
IV. Character of Portia, as displayed in the Trial Scene Mrs. Jajweson. 278
V. The, Philosophers Scales Jane Taylor. 280
PAKT VI.
CIVIL ARCHITECTURE.
I. Grecian and Roman Architecture Adapted. 283
TI. Athenian Architecture during the Age of Pericles Bulwer. 285
in. Ruins of the Coliseum at Rome Adapted. 287
PMins of the Coliseum B7jro7i. 287
rv, Gothic Architecture Adapted. 287
via CONTENTS.
Castles and Abb^yf of Feudal Times, Warton; Wm. Eeattie ; W. Scott. 'ZST
V. Of the UHefnl in Arcliitecture A.J. Downing. 203
VL Of ICxprertsion in Civil or Public .Architecture Literary Would. 295
YII. Of Kxpressionin Domestic Architecture A. J. Downing. 2%
VIII. The Poetry of Cottage Architecture Loudon's .Magazine. 29S
IX. The ShephercCa Cottag" Charlotte SmUlt. 300
X. Of TruthfiilneBS in Architecture A. J. Downing. 302
XL Monuments of the liuiial-ground .^ J. A. Picton. 303
XII. The Architecture of Nature W Adapted. 305
God's First Temples Jinjant. 306
2^he Parthenon of Athena 3[r8.Hemans. 3U8
SIXTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
I. Indian Summer 3/r«. Sigourruy. 309
11. Forgiveness of Injuries Blair. 310
IIL Pasxing Atoay Pierpont. 311
IV. The Dream of the Two Itoads.-. Jkan Paul Ricutee. 312
V. Thanatnpsis ; or, Reflections on Death Bryant. 314
VL Tlie Village Blacksmith Longfellow. 315
PART YII.
SECOND DIVISION OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY^.
L The Library : Introductory Adapted. MT
II. Hydrostatics, or Liquids in a State of Rest Adapted. 319
HI. Hydrostatics (continued) Adapted. 3-23
IV. Floating Bodies ; Specific Gravity .Adapted. 3*27
Arcliime'des and the Crown Rohekt C. Wintiibop. 330
V. Hydraulics : the Excursion Adapted. 331
Song oftlie Brook Tennyson. 331
The Bucket Woodicorlh. 334
The Cataract of Lodore Smitheii. 33T
VI. Pneumatics : Galileo and Torricelli Adapted. 340
Practical Value of the Barometer Dr. Arnott. 343
\TL Atmospheric Machiues ' Dancin ; Adapted. 347
The Lost Kite A nonyiuous, 351
A Riddle Anonymous. 352
Vin. The Steam-engine Adapted. 353
The Steam-engine Saxe ; Lord Jeffrey ; Dr. Aesott. 356
2'he Song of Steam G. W. Culler. 366
SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
I. niessings on Children W. G. Simw^. 357
11. The .'Saracen Brothers New Monthhj Magazine. 350
III. Our Country and our Home James Montgomery. 363
IV. The Gipsy FortAine-teller Anomimoti^. 363
V. Success alone seen L. E. Maclean, 364
PART VIII.
FIRST DIVISION OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
1. General Description Adapted. 365
II. Continfuts and Islands Adapted. 367
HI. Coral I.-lands and Reefs Percival; Adapted. 369
IV. The Coral [nsect Mrs. Sigonniey. 371
V. Mountains HowiTT ; GuYOT ; Hitjiboldt; Adapted. .^72
Mmmtain Scenery Brxiant. 372
Thir Alps Willis Gayloni aark. 376
VI. Table-lands, Plains, and Valleys Adapted. 376
VII. The Pniiries th-m>.t. :;79
VIII. Caves and (;rottoes of the Old World.... Goldsmith; If. ico^f; ' "
IX. (.Javes in the United States
X. The Mammoth ( 'ane George 1>. i
XI. Avalanches and Glaciers
llyvin before Sunrise in the Valley of Chamouni '
XH. The Cottage nf the Ilifls ; A>: >
XIII. Volcanora and Earthquakes Db. HiTonoooK ; '
Dest'iu'tion of .sVv/?/,r hi 17S3 Ar^ 2
XIV. The Ocean : its Moral Grandeur \ . -
The Ocean Bryan W. Ptoclor. 31)4
CONTENTS. IX
Lesson Page
XV, The Ocean : its Physical Aspects John Wilson; Adapted. 395
XVI. Ship among the Icebergs Anonijmous. 396
XVII. The Depths of Ocean Deummond. 396
The Ocean Depths Percival. 397
XVIIL The Ocean Waves Adapted. 39T
''^Roll 071, thou deep and dark Uue ocean" Byron. 397
To a dying Wave Anonymous. 398
XIX, Tides and Cu|?:ents Mes. Someeville; Lieut. Mattby; Adapted, 399
XX, Lakes Adapted. 401
To Seneca Lake Percival. 402
XXL Springs and Rivers Adapted. 402
XXIL Cataracts Adapted. 404
The Falls of Niagara Geeenwood ; HowisoN. 405
XXIIL A Vision's Spell ; Magara Anoiiymous. 407
EIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
I. The Wayside Spring T'toman Buchanan Read. 408
II, The Headstone John Wilson ((Jiieistopher Noeth). 409
III. 1, The Seasons of Life ; Southey. 2. Small Things. 3. How we nhould live.
4. To my Son 413
IV. The Stream of Life Hebee, 414
PART IX.
FIRST DIVISION OF CHEMISTRY.
I, Introductory View Adapted. 416
II. First Principles : Lltimate Atoms .. Kennedy ; Shakspeare; Hunt. Adapted. 416
III. 7'he Man and the A torn Charles Mackay. 418
IV. Chemical Agents : Heat — Light Adapted. 419
To the Sunbeam Mrs. Hemans. 421
Dream of Darkness Byron. 421
V. Chemical Agents (continued) : Electricity Adapted. 422
VL The Electric Telegraph Adapted. 424
The EJechie Telegraph Anonymous. 424
VIL Chemical Affinities Adapted. 425
VIII. Leading Cliaracteristics 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, Silver, Iron, .fiwrns,* Zfomer; Cw«er. Adapted. 430
''Gold! Gold! Gold!" Hood. 430
The Silver Bird's-nest H. F. Gould. 431
XL Acid.", Alkalies, and Salts Adapted. 433
iJasy Lesson in Chemistry Anonymous. 434
XII. The Chemi-stry 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 Robebt Hunt. 444
NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
L Elegy written in a Country Church-yard (with 32 Illustrations) . Tliomas Gray. 445
IL The Razor-seller John Wolcott {Peter Pindar). 456
PART X.
FIRST DIVISION OF GEOLOGY.
I. Introductory : The Creation Adapted. 457
II. Raphael's A ccount of the Creation Milton. 458
ni. Character of the Geological History of the Earth Lyell; Shakspeare.
Adapted. 459
IV. The Primary Period of the Earth's History Hugh Millee. Adapted. 463
The Scenery of the Primary Period Thomas Aird. 463
V. The Transition Period , Adapted, 404
Geological History of the Nautilus Mrs. flowitt. 465
VI, The Secondary Period Db. Buokland; Hugh Millee. Adapted. 406
VII. The Tertiary Period Horace Smith. Adapted. 469
Song of the Dinotherium Anow.mow. 471
VIIT. The Modern Geological Period Adapted. 472
IX. Retrospective View of Geology Mantell. 478
X. A Vi^it to the (Jountry of the Iguanodon , Mantell. 474
X f. The Vision of Mo?e3 Hugh Millee. 476
XII. Geological Agencies now in operation , Adapted. 479
A 2
CONTENTS.
Mon Pag*
XIII. Coral Islands MonUjomenj. 481
XIV. Geological Monuments Sib Hcmpiiret Davy. 482
XV. Mineralogy, the Alphabet of Geology. Simple Minerals Adapted. 483
XVI. Compound Minerals Adapted. 486
Geological Cookery A nonymous. 486
XVII. Brief Extracts Herscdel ; Paekbibon ; Mantelu 4S7
XVIII. Concluding Kemarks From Mantell's Wonders of Geology. 488
TENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
I. The Raven Edgar A. Poe. 489
II. The Dignity of Work Tuouas Caeltle. 492
IIL The Duty of Labor Dewey. 492
IV. Work Away Anomjniotis. 493
V. Never Despair Anonymous. 495
VL God is Every where Anonymous. 495
Paternal Affection Walter Scott. 496
PART XI.
■- ANCIENT HISTORY PRIOR TO THE CHRISTIAN ERA-
I. Earl^ Grecian History Adapted. 497
II. Grecian Mythology Wordsworth. 493
III. The Persian Wars : Battle of Thermopylae Adapted. 499
IV. Address of Leonidas to the Spartans Richard Glover. 501
V. The Spartans nobly kept their Oath Geo. W. Donne. 501
VI. The Glory of their Fall Byron. 502
VII. Battle of i?al'amis, and Flight of Xerxes Adapted. 5( i2
Description of the Battle of Sal' amis jEschjjlus. 602
The Flight of Xerxes Mrs. Jeicsbitni. 504
VIH. Battle of Platse'a ; End of the Persian Wars Bulweb. 506
IX. The Era of Grecian Eloquence and Literature Adapted. 508
The Political Demagogue Aristophanes. 509
X. The Olympian Games : Chariot -race., and Death of Orcites Sophocles. 510
XI. The latter Days of Grecian History Adapted. 511
XII. Early Roman History Adapted. 512
XIII. The Story of Iloratius Macaulay. 613
XIV. Patrician and Plebeian Contests Adapted. 516
XV. The Ston/ of Virginia Macaulay. 51T
XVI. The Carthaginian Wars Adapted. 520
XVII. Regultis before the Senate Dale. 521
XVin. The Downfall of Carthage Adapted. 522
XIX. Address of Hannibal to his Army 623
XX. Continuation of Roman History Adapted. 524
MarivH seated on the Ruins of Carthage Mrs. Child. 524
XXI. Roman Gladiatorial Combats Adapted. 525
T/ie Dying Gladiator Byron. 526
XXIL The Revolt of Spartacus Adapted. 526
Speech of Spartacus to the Gladiators E. Kki.loog. 627
XXIH. The Conspiracy of Catiline Adapted. 628
Banishment of CcitiHne CroU). 528
XXIV. Wars of Crcsar and Pompey : Death of Cato Adapted. 631
CaMs Bolilo({wi Addison. 631
XXV. The Death of Ctpsar Adapted. 532
Brutus a7ul Mark Antony on the Death of Ccesar Shaksjieare. 533
XXVL End of the Roman Republic Adapted. 637
Historic Associations Dr. Johnson. 638
Explanation of the CnARAOTERs used in Co.nnection with the Botanical Descrip-
TiONB. — In the botanical descriptions, the botanical name of the plant is first given in
italics; then follow the common name, Linnscan class, LinnaBin order, native color of bios-
som (or of plant when it has no blossom), ordinary height or length of plants and native
country, r. designates red, pk. J)JH^•, w. ichite., or. orange, pu. purple, y. yellow, cr. cream,
8. or sc. scarlet, p. or gr. gree7i, br. brown, li. lilac, loin, lemoji; ap. means apetnlous^ or
flowerless. The months am designated as foUowi, beginning with January : J., F., M., A.,
My.,Jn.,Jl.,Au., S., ()„N., D.
Pr* For the ^^Pronouncing Key^ and '•'' Alphal>etical 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 Header of this
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 generally 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 inffect-
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 accented
syllable; and in the example, "Did he resemble his yather'," or his
7«other^ ?" 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 ",/atherV' 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 emphatical word usually bears the same rhetorical relation to the
clause in which it is placed as the accented syllable does 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, in the following examples.
Did he show ccrmpasmon for me' ?
To what place shall I betake myseir ?
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 the 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:
Ist. When the entire rising or downward slide, or much the greater part
of it, occurs on an emphatic word, 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 reader. Part I.
tinned to the end of a clause, so that the greatest rise or fall is at the end,
the mark should be placed at the end, as in the following :
Charity envieth not^ ; charity vmmteih not itself ; ia not puflfed up\
In this example the 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 "e?jvieth," 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 all\
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
inflection is required in the former case. For the ynark to be a correct gmde^
it must be placed at the end of the clause in both cases.
ELEMENTARY RULES.
'•'• Speak clearlji^ if you gpeak at all ;
Carve every word before you let it fall ;
Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star,
Try over hard to roll the l'.riti:^h K ;
Do put your accents in the proper ppot ;
Don't— let me beg you— don't way "■ How?" for " What?"
And when you ntick on conversation'H burs.
Don't strew the patlxway with thoee dreadful Mrs." — O. W. Holmes.
Rule I. — Direct questions, or those that can be answered by yes or no,
generally require the rising inflection, and their answers the falling.
ExAMPEBS.— 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' ? Yes^ I did'. — Are you going to
town to-day' ? No\ I shall go to-morrow\
MODinCATIOXS 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 11., p. 33, of frecond Reader.
Note II. — Direct questions, when they have the nature of an appeal, or
are spoken in an exclamatory manner, take ihe falling inflection. In these
cases the voice often falls below the general pitch, contrary to the general
rule for the falling inflection.
Examples.— ia not that a beautiful sight^?— FtK you persist in doing it' ?— J« it right' ?
— /«itjU3t'?
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 npenk to him to-day' ? If the question i? not understood, it Is re-
peated with the falling inflection, thus : Will you speak to Idra to-day'?— Are you going
to Salem' ? I said. Are you going to Salem' ?
Rule TI. — The pause of siutfiension, denoting that the sense is unfinished,
Part I. ELOCUTIONAKY. 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.
ExASiPLES.— John', James', and William', come he^— The great', the good', the hon-
ored', the noble,' the wealthy, alike pass away.
Friends', Komans', 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', telP,
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 require the falling inflection, and their answers the
same.
Examples. — When did you see him^ ? Yesterday \—WTien will he come again^ ? To-
morrow\
^Vho say the people that I am^ ? They answering, said, John the Baptist^ ; hut 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, ^'Whaf 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. — He that saw me' saw you also^ and he who aided me once' will aid me
again. ■*
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth\ And the earth was without
form, and vc' J' ; and darkness was on the face of the deep^ : and the spirit of God moved
upon the face of the waters, ■*
Note. — But when strong emphasis, with the falling inflection, comes near
the close of a sentence, the voice ofteu- takes the rising inflection at the
close.
Examples.— If William does not come, I think JohrC' will be here'. — If he should come,
wJiat^ would you do' ?
•Cassixjs. What night is this ?
Casca. a very pleading night to honest^ men'.
Proceed\ I am attentive'.
This is the course rather of our enemies, than of friends'' of our coimtry's liberty.'
If the witness does not believe in God, or a future state, you can not siuear^ 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 in 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 the 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 beadee. Pakt I.
Did he travel for health', or for pleasure^ ?
Did he resemble his father', or his motiier' ?
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, "Hfe must have traveled for health, or'' pleas-
ure'."
Examples.— He must either work''^ or^ study', — He must be a mechanic, or^ a lawyer',
— He must get iiis 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 a/ier 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 nothlng\
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 hear him', I saw him\ — I said he was a good soldier \ not^ a good
citizen'. — He will not come to-day', but to-mon'ow\ — He did not call me', but you\ — He
means dutifuP, not undutiful'. — I come to bury Caesar^, not to praise 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 \
Comparition 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 beliold we live' ; as chsistened', and
not killed' ; as sorrowful', yet always rejoicing' ; as poor', yet malung many rich' ; aa
having nothing', yet possessing all things'.
When our vices leave tw', we flatter ourselves we leave them\
The prodigal robs his heir'^ the miser robs himself ^
Note I, — Negative sentences which imply a continuance of thought, al-
though they may not be opposed to afiirmation, frequently close with the
rising inflection ; as,
True politeness is not a mere compliance with arbitrary custom'.
Do not suppose that 1 would deceive you'.
These thiug^ do not make your government'.
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, ^^^rmative 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 forBaken\
Rule VII, — For the sake of variety and harmony, the last pause hut c je
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 features*.
Note. — The foregoing rule is sometimes departed from in the case of an
emphatic succession of particulars, for which, see Rule VIII.
Pakt I. 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 pause of sus-
pension, in which the mind anticipates a continuation of the sentence.
EuLE VIII. — 1st. A Commencing 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 heart3\ our guilty pasf5ions\ our violent prejudices\ and
misplaced desires', are the instruments of the trouble which we endure. ■
2d. A Concluding Series.
When the series ends the sentence, or forms complete sense, every par-
ticular in the series, except the last but one, should have the falling inflec-
tion ; and, indeed, all should have it, if the closing member of the series is
of suflBcient length to admit a pause with the rising inflection, before the end.
Example. — Charity suffereth long', and is kind^ ; charity envieth not^ ; charity vaunt-
eth not itself^; is not puffed up*; doth not behave itself unseemly''; seeketh not her
own\' is not easily provoked' ; thinketh no et'iT.
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 Csee Rule 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 dead
are raised* ; and to the poor', the gospel is preached\
In this example all the particulars have the falling inflection.
The first line in Mark Antony's harangue is read differently by equally
good readers ; but the difference arises wholly from their different appre-
ciation of the spirit and intention of the speaker. Thus :
Friends', Romans', countrymen', lend me your ears* 1
Friends', Romans', countrymen^, lend me your ears^ ?
If Antony designed to characterize "countrymen" 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' 1 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 after storm rises dark o'er the way' ;
I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin' ;
Temptation without, and corruption within' ; —
la JQUT father' well', the old man' of whom ye spake' f Is he' yet alive' ?
10 willson's fifth reader. Pabt 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 falling in-
flection.
Examples. — What a piece of work is man^ ! How noble in reason' I how infinite in
facilities* ! in action', how like an angeP ! in apprehension', how like a GodM
My lords, I am amazed' ; yes, my lords, I am amazed^ at hia Grace's Bi)eech.
Woe unto you l^hari^^ees' I Woe unto you Scribes^ !
You blocks', you stones^you worse than senseless things' !
Go to the ant^, tliou sluggard'; consider her ways, and be wise\
JesuB saith unto her, Mary'. She turned herself, and said unto him, Rahboni^.
I tell you, though 7/ott\ though all the w(yi-ld\ though an angel from /teocen' should de-
clare the truth of it, I could not believe it.
I dare"" accusation. I tie///' the honorable gentleman.
I'd rather be a dog\ and bay the mooii^ than such a Roman'.
Cas.' O ye gods'' ! ye gods'' ! must I endure all this' ?
Buu. All this? ay\and more''.
Note. — When exclamatory sentences become questions they require the
rising inflection.
Examples. — What are yon aajing' \— Where are you going'!
They planted by your care' ! No' I your oppressions planted them in America'.
THE CIRCUMITLEX OK WAVE.
Rule XL — H3T50thetical 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 circumflex or wave^ 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 sensible /)ro^racrio« of sound on the syllable thus inflected. It is
marked thus: ("") as, "I may possibly go to-morrow, though I can not go
to-day." " I did it myself, sir. Surprising'! lotididitl"
Examples.— If the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner
appear ?
I grant you I was d?)wn, and out of breath ; and so was he.
And but for these vile gTms, he would himself' have been a soldier'.
QuEKN. Hamlet', you have your father much offended.
Hamlet. Madam', ylhi have my father much offended.
SiivLOCK. If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my rn^Snge.
Hath a dl'>g money' ? Is it possible a ciir can lend two thousand ducats' ?
They tell iis to be moderate; but tMy^ tMy are to revel in profusion.
Yf>u pretend to reason' ? You 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 implies that I gave more or less than that
sum ; but the falling inflection on the same word implies that I gave noth-
ing at nil.
"Humo snid he would go twenty miles to hear "Whltefield preach,"
(hero the circumflex implies the contrast), " but he would take no pains to
hear an ordinary' j)rcncher.''
'■'■ A man who is in the daily uoe of ardent spirits, if he does not become a drfinknrd', is
in danger of losing his health and character,"
Part I. ELOCUTIONARY. 1 7
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 bStter','' it denotes only a partial
and perhaps doubtful amendment, and implies, " But he is still dangerous-
ly sick."
THE MONOTONE.
Rule XII. — The monotone, which is a succession of words on the same
key or pitch, and is not properly 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. ^W 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 ia the Lord of
hosts. The whole efirth is full of his gli'ry.
Bljsging, honor, glory, and power be unto him that sltteth on the throne, and to the
Lamb forever and over.
In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men, f^'ar cfimo
upon me, and trJmbling which made all my bones to shuke. Then a spirit p.ssed before
my face ; the hfiir of my flCsh stood up. It stood still, but I could not disc.rn the form
thereof: an Image was before my eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice, saying,
Shidl mortal man be more just than God ? Shall a mun be more piire than his Maker ?
EMPHASIS.
Emphasis 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 prolonged loudness to a word, but generally the various inflections
are connected with it. Thus it not only gives additional ^brce to language,
but the sense often depends upon it.
Examples. — I did not say he struck me'; I said he struck JoJm\
I did not .say ho stntck me ; I said he pushed me.
I did not say hS struck me ; I .=aid Jo/vi did.
I did not sdy he struck me ; but I wrote it.
1 did n6t say he struck me ; but John said he did.
He that can not bear a jest, should never make^ one.
It is not so easy to h'^ide one's faults as to meiui them.
Cassius. I may do that I shall be sorry f r.
Beutus. You liave^ done that you shduld be sorry for.
(The varied eiFects of emphatic stress and emphatic inflection are so fully
shown in the Reading Lessons of all the Readers as to need no further il-
lustration.)
18 VVILLSON'S fifth reader. 1'abt 1
II. HIGHER PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION.
A SERIES OF CONVERSATIONS,
IN WmOH BOME OF THB HIGHEB PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION AEB DEVZLOFED.
FIRST EVENING.
Analtsib. — Modifications of general rules, owing to the great variety of emotions, paa-
Bions, and feelings, whicli language is designed to express. Direct questions whose an.
Bwers take the rising inflection. Examples. 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. ^Vhy
printed language is a very imperfect representation of spoken language. Importance of
the inflections in obscure passages.
Bernardo. Weir, Crito', 1 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, by 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. Look at the examples 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 the 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 plain and direct answer is contained in the reply.
Crito. I was puzzled, a few days ago, to find a ride for the inflection
which I heard given, in a jiolitical debate, to several answers to direct ques-
tions. The following are the examples:
Mr. A. Did not you vote for Harrison' ?
Mr. IL To be sure I did' ; but has that any thing to do with the question'?
Mr. A. Cortninly it has'. Does it not show that you belong to the llopublican party' ?
Mr. li. Not at all, sir'. I belonged to the Whig party then\ and I advocate the same
principles noio\ Can you say oa much — that you bavo not changed both party and prin-
ciples too' ?
Mr. A. Most assOircdly 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. Yon are correct. The answers are given with a feeling, and
in a tone of self-assurance, that may be considei'ed as approaching to
Part I. ELOCUTIONAKY. 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 efl*ect of the assumed indifterence, or pretended careless
absent-mindedness of lago, in giving to several of his answers the rising in-
flection :
logo. My noble lord'—
Othello. What dost thou say',i lago' ?
lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, know' of your love'?
Oih. He did', from first to lasf : wliy dost thou ask"?
lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought' :2
No further harm'.
0th. Wliy of thy thought\ lago'?
lago. I did not think he had been acquainted^ with it.
0th. Oh' ye3\ and went between us very oft.
lago. Indeed'?
oih. IndeedM ay, indeedM3 Discern' st thou aught in that'?
Is he not honest' ?
lago. Honest', my lord' ?
OtK Ay, honest\
lago. My lord, for aught I know'.
0th. What dost thou thmk^ ?
lago. Think', my 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 Rule 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, must 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 we read this language of another, we must fully enter into his feel-
ings if we would as truthfully express all that he intended. You see\
therefore, Crito', that in order to read Shakspeare weU\ 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 s.ay, 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, parrot-like, to
1 For the rising inflection to " say" see Note to Rule III.
« Note 1 to Rule I. 3 Surprise : Rule X.
20 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part I.
*'
utter words without meaning. But such a person could never be sure of
reading a new piece, or even a single sentence, correctly. The chief rea-
son why so many are poor readers is, either they do not fully understand
what they read, or they do not fully enter into its spirit while reading. You
may lay this down as a principle : that no one can be a correct reader with-
out a correct a/>preciatio7i of what he reads.
Crito. Then I should suppose 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 the 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 gai-den. 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 question 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 under it, is to
lead you to notice iv}iat it is that causes the falling inflection to be given to
the question in this particular 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 be-
cause William's question had in it "the nature of an appeal," that it takes
the falling inflection, in opposition 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 would not have shown it. You can try it, and you
will nt once see the diflerence.
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 jileasantly', or fretfully' ?*
Bernardo. We do not always know, unless the mark of inflection is given
as a guide. In spoken language, the inflections in such cases are always
correctly used, even by children ; and they arc always correctly understood
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 Shakspearc, throughout all
his plays, had marked the inflections as he wished the passages spoken, he
would have made all his characters so well understood tliat the critics
would have been saved a groat amount of controversy. Our printed lan-
guage is, at the best, a very imperfect representation of spoken language.
» Pee I^ile V., also Kule III., for the downward slide here, as the queation dues not ad-
mit a categorical auswer, yed or no.
Pakt I. ELOCUTIONAKY. 21
To be any thing like perfect, it must represent not only the icords general-
ly, but .gjl 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 meaning 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 injleciions at least were inserted in all cases where their
omission, as in the example of William's answer, renders the sense obscure.
No valid objection could be made to so small, and, at the same time, so ijse-
ful an innovation as this. More than this would, perhaps, be undesirable.
SECOND EVENING.
Analysis. — The paitpe of suspension, with the rising or the falling slide. A prolonged
horizontal suspension of the voice. Rhetorical pauses, as distingiiirihed from grammatical
or sentential pauses. The rhetorical pause proi)er : when used, and its effect. Exam-
ples : Patrick Henry's speech — the Eaii of Chatham — Dr. Nott — Pope. Other cases of
pause where none is allowed in the grammatical construction. The rhetorical pause used
in cases of contrast. Example from (Jicero — from Dr. Blair. A contrast in sentiment
requires contrast in voice. Prolonged utterance of words in certain cases. Proper man-
agement of the 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 of suspension takes the rising inflection, and in others the
falling. It has occurrect 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 I'eading or speaking?
— a kind of prolonged //on;jow<a/ 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.
Crito. Are not all the pauses — such as the comma, colon, semicolon, and
the marks of interrogation and exclamation, rhetorical 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 heavy, monoto-
nous style of reading into which most persons fall, and Avhich it is so diffi-
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 character of this rhetorical 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 proper is used, first, where there is an
abrupt suspension of the line of thought, for the purpose of giving place to
some new suggestion ; atid, secondly, it is used either before or after some-
thing very striking or significant is uttered. In the latter case, the eiFect
is, by holding the hearer momentarily in suspense, suddenly to arrest his at-
22 W1LLS0N*S FIFTH READER. Part I.
tention, for the purpose of directing it with greater force to the emphatic
word or clause.
Crito. I think, from your description, it is this pause which I have heard
appropriately used in the concluding sentence of Patrick Henry's famous
speech :
I know not what course others may takc\ but as for me," give me liberty," or give me"
death' !
Bernardo. This is coiTect. Here this pause is used three times, but with
the greatest force before the closing emphatic word — ^^ death.'" Another
fine exjimple of it is found in the Earl of Chatham's speech on the repeal
of the Stamp Act. He is reported to have spoken as follows, alluding to
the ministry who had been opposed to the repeal :
Some of them have done me the honor to ask my poor opinidl before they would en-
gage to repeal the act. Tliey 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. I'ardon me, gentlemen, confidence is a plant of slow 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 Rev. 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 the
name of God I would ask — whether at the siglit 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 ecan^ :
The proper study of mankind ia 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" place the bliss In action, some~ 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 same 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
wliich the orator is s])enking of Pompey. In order to show the contrasted
parts distinctly, it is desirable to make a longer pause between them than
if there were no opposition in the sense. Thus :
He waged more wart'' than others had resd^ ; conquered more provinces'" than others
Part I. ELOCUTIONAKY. 23
had governed^ ; and had been trained up from his youth to the art of war^ ; not by the
precepts of others'," but by hisown commands^ ; not by miscarriages in the field', "but by
victories \' not by campaigns'," but by triumphs^
Here a pause of some length is required after ivars, 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 Avorldly happiness which God perceives to be no more than disguised mis-
ery'; as there are worldly honors which in his estimation are reproach', so there is a
woi'ldly wisdom which in his sight is foolishness. Of this worldly wisdom the characters
are given in the Scriptures, and placed in contrast with tliose 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 otlier of mercy and of good fruits.
Here the first two clauses should be pronounced in a somewhat elevated
tone of voice ; then, after a somewhat protracted pause at reproach, 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 tne 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 contrast in voiced
Crito. Very nearly allied to the kind of pause 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 especially in the following beautiful extract from Pope, where the poet
is speaking of the soul of God as seen throughout all nature.
Warmj" in the sun, refreshes" inthe 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
possible 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 appear to have the rising. The questions completed in these examples. The rising
inflection at the close of sentences : explained on tlie principle of the ordinary pause of
suspension. The pause of suspension in inverted sentences. The rising inflection in
cases of gentle entreaty or expostulation. Negation and affirmation. On what the in-
flections 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 bring
them forward, we will consider them this evening; for there are some new
principles to which I wish to call your attention in our subsequent conver-
sations.
Crito. I shall be very glad, indeed, to have a few difficulties removed,
24 WILLSON'S FIPTH KEADER. Part I.
if it can be done. To begin, then : I have found several examples of in-
direct questions which I can not reconcile with Rule Third. Thus, in the
following :
Question. Will he go'?
Ans. I think it doubtfur.
Question. Why not' ?
The last question here is indirect ; that is, it can not be answered by yes
or no, and yet it is evident to me that it takes the rising inflection. 'I'do
not see that cither the Rule', or the Note\ provides for a case of this kind.
Can you explain it' ?
Bernardo. I think you yourself will discover, by a little reflection, that
the example does not, in reality, violate the Rule. You will observe that
the answer, "Why not'?" is not a completed sentence. AVhat would the
answer be if completed^ ?
Crito. Indeed, I did not think of that ; but I can explain it now. The
complete answer is, " Why will he not' go7" which has the falling inflection.
Bernardo. Yes, you have given the correct explanation — partially so,
at least. In nearly all cases the falling inflection ber/lns at a point higher
than the key-note ; and in this case it strikes the word "not" on a high
key, preparatory to its downward slide. As soon as the voice strikes it,
however, it begins to fall ; and, if I were to be critically correct, I should
perhaps say this ver}' word *' not" is pronounced with the falling inflection.
I admit that it appears to have the rising slide. In the word " doiibtfur,"
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.
Crito. 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 :
IIow, then, shall they call on him in whom they have not believed' ? and how ehall they
believe in him of whom they have not heard' ? and how shall they hear without a preach-
er' ? and how shall they preach except they be sent' ?
Now, although these questions inai/ be read with the falling slide, yet it
seems very evident that they may also be read with the rising, with equal
propriety.
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 the closing words at a high
pitch, and then immediately falling. The word "preacher" is pronounced,
in the example given, in a manner very diflerent from what it is in the fol-
lowing example, '* 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
iha precise meariinq, or the force of the expression, can not be the same in both
cases ; and this brings us back to one of the principles which we establish-
ed in our first evening's conversation — that, "if two persons have the same
understanding of a passage, both ought to read it in the same manner.''
Crito. But I do not see that this principle furnishes any reason for a de-
Fart I. ELOCUTIONARY. 25
parture from the Eule, that an indirect question requires the falling inflec-
tion. Are not the examples which I gave indirect questions' ?
Bernardo. 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 change 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 heard' of him^ ? and how shall they hear
without a preacher' he sent to them^ ? and how shall they preach except they be sent' for
that purpose^ ?
Crito. The words "believe," "heard," "preacher," and "sent," which
ended the several questions in the first form of expression, you^ 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
gi'eatest 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 f7enfm% 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
different readings are given to a passage, and both are considered correct,
they always arise from somewhat different 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 Agrippa unto Festus', This man might have been set at liberty^ if he had
not appealed unto Cas -ai-'.
2. Jngi-atitude is, therefore, a species of injustice\ said Socrates. I should think so\
answered Leander'.
3. Whence arises the misery of this 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 bodie3\ or to the unequal distribution of the gifts of fortune\ It is owing to our cor-
rupt hearts\ our sinful natureH\
4. If we have no regard for religion in youth^., we ought to have' some regard for it in
a(]e,>.
5. If we have no regard for our oion character\ we ought to have some regard for the
character of others.'
1 Here the rising slide is given to the closing word, in accordance with the Note to Pule
IV. wSo, also, if Crito had said, " Von'' have made emphatic' ; but P did not'." Proba-
. bly the true principle which controls the inflection here is that embraced in Rule IX.
B
26 WILLSON'sS fifth liiSADFR. Pakt I.
Bernardo. For a solution of these difficulties, I must refer you, in the first
place, to what is said of the pause of stispension under Rule Second,
Crito. 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 explanatory of Rule Second : Sentences which are inverted
inform^ often bring the pause of suspension, and consequently 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 Festua, If this man had not appealed unto Csesar' he might
have been set at liberty\
2. Ingratitude is tlierefore a species of injustice^ said Socrates. Leander answered', I
should think 8o\
3. Whence arises the misery of this present world^ ? It is not owing to our cloudy at-
mosphere', our changing seasons', our inclement skiea' ; but it is owing 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
under the Note to Rule VI. I will give you one or two examples, quit(r
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 ciist it
to dngs'. 7. But she said, Truth', Lord' : yet the dwjs^ eat of the crumbs which fall from
their 77ia8to-'s table'.— Matt., xv., 26-27.
If you will examine closely you will find that several of the examples given,
especially those numbered 1, 3, 4, 5, G, 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 i:*
more science and true philosophy in the art of reading than is usually con-
ceded.
Bernardo. You will find this philosophy more and more apparent tho
farther you proceed. The inflections which we give to speech deix'nd wholly
upon the sentiments which we wish to express. Being designed as the ex-
ponents of thought, they are not arbitrary 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 natural signs,
and are therefore the same in all languages. But I have not time to dwell
upon this subject hero, 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 j)rinciplos that are somewhat in
advance of the Elementary Rales that wc have thus far been considering.
Pabt I. ELOCUTIONARY. 27
FOUKTH EVENING.
Analysis.— The "Elements of Elocution" treat chiefly of the pronunciation of toordfi
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. Examples.
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 E1--
ocution" treat almost wholly of tvords, separately considered, rather than of
sentences and entire discourses. Are there no principles of Elocution which
apply especially to the different /orms of expression', and different 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 different sentiments, emotions, and passions. Thus, in reading,
sometimes a high pitch of voice, and sometimes a low 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 principles
that we require to guide us. Moreover, we are already acquainted with
these general principles, for we make use of them daily in our ofdinary con-
versation ; and what we especially need is to notice how we naturally ex-
press our own sentiments, and then to apply the principle when we 7^ead the
similar sentiments of others. Thus — for a simple illustration — in briefly
describing two persons or objects by contrast or contraries (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 un^er Rule VI. : "Homer"
was the greater genius' — Virgil" the better artist^" You will also observe
that "rhetorical pause of suspension" after the words Honier and Virgil,
to which we have before alluded.
Ci'ito. It occurs to me that a fine example for the exemplification of this
principle is furnished by Addison, in a number of the Sjiectator, 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 veri/ slight rising inflection at its close. It is an
extract worthy of being remembered', also', for the moral which it con-
veys. •
28 willson's fifth reader. Pakt I.
DISCRETION AND CUNNING.
At the pame time that I think dii?cretion' the most u?eful talent that a man can be master
of, 1 look upon canning to he tlie accomplishment of little, mean, nngenerous mind«. Dis-
cretion' points out the noblest endr! to us, and purfiue.-* the mont proper and laudable meth-
ods of obtaining^ them : cunning' has only private Belfish aims, and sticks at nothing that
may make them succeed. Discretion'" has large and extended view8\ and, like a well-form-
ed eye, commands a whole horizon' : cunning' L? a kind of short-sightedness^ that dL-^covers
the minutest objects that are near at hand, hut is not able to discern things at a distance.
Discretion', the more it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the person who poe-
sesses it : cunning", when it is once detected, loses its fcjrce, 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 : Ciinning'" is a kind of instinct\ that only looks out after our immediate interest and
welfare. Discretion'" is only found in men of strong sem^e and good understanding : cun-
ning'" is often td be met mth in brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the few&st
removes from tliem : in short', cunning' is only the mimic of discretion, and may pass
upon weak men, in the same manner that vivacity is often mistaken fur wit', and gravity
for wisdom.
Bernardo. The extract which you have given furnishes a fine illustration
of the principle refen*ed 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 observe 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 Murajna, makes use of this figure when he says.
Join issue with me upon the crimes themselves. "VVliat is your charge^ Cato'? What is
to be tried' ? What do you offer evidence of ? Do yoxi impeach corruption' ? — I do iwt
defend it. Do you blame me for defending, by my pleading, what I punished by law'? —
lan-voer^ that I punished corruption^, and not innocence' : as to corruption, 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, louder, and more energetic tone than the question part, but with in-
creasing force, to the last Antony.
As trees and plants necessarily arise from seeds, so are you, AnHony, the seed of this
most calamitous war. You mourn, O Romans ! that three of your armies have been
slaughtered' ; theij were slaughtered by AnHony: you lament the loss of your mo't illus-
trious citizens'; they were torn from you by An^tony: the authority of this order is deep-
ly wounded' ; it ix wounded by An'^tony: in short, all the calamities we have ever sinci;
beheld (and what calamities have we not' beheld' 5*), if we reason rightly, have been eJitire-
ly owing to .\n'tony. Ab Helen was of Troy, ho 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 rqntition 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 this
house. A motion' founded injustice', supported by precedent', and warranted by neces-
sity'.
Bernardo. I will add to your illustration by quoting a passage from Cic-
I It Ib laid down by Dr. Porter as a rule, that ** Emphatic repetition reqaireB thb falling
elide." He gives as example :
" Yr.u wrong me every way, you trrong'' me Brutus."
T I'egard this, however, merely as a case of ordinary emphasis, ha\ing the usual falling
inflection. Certainly the e-xamj^les ot r«petition given above do not take the falling in
flection.
Part I. ELOCUTIONARY. 29
ero's oration against Antony, in which the word laws receives increasing
force upon every repetition, which gives it a climax of importance :
And shall we think of ratifying the acts of Csesar, j-et abolish his laws' ? Those laws
which he himself, in our 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.
What is there in these days that you have not attempted^ ? What have you not proj-
faned^ ? What name shall I give to this assembly^ ? Shall I call you soldiers' ? You
who have besieged with your arms, and surrounded with a trench, the son of your emper-
or' ? Shall I call you citizens' ? Ydu" who have so shamefully trampled upon the au-
thority of the senate'? Y6U who have violated the 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 coviparison
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 description 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 iield of death survey' d,
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid ;
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
ISo 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 ;
^ I And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform,
i^Rides on the whirbvind, and directs the storm. — Addison.
You perceive how much 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 expresses 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 description of the sports of the fallen angels affords a good opportuni-
ty of exemplifying the rule :
Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal
With rapid wheels, or fronted brigades form,"
30 WILLSON's fifth R^DEK. J'aktI.
TAb when, to warn proud cities, war appears
« "Waged in tlie troubled sky, and armies rush
< To battle in the clouds, before each van
^ Prick forth the aery kniglitn ; — with feats of ami3
l^From either end of heaven the welkin burns.
Otliers with vast Typhoean rage more fell,
Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air
In whirlwind ; hell scarce holds the wild uproar,
TAs when Alcides, from Qichalia crown'd
eJ I With conquest, felt th' envenom'd rol)e; and tore,
^ ■( Through pain, up by the roots Thessalian pines,
•5 And Lichas from the top of CEta threw
L Into th' Euboic sea Milton,
Bernardo. Something allied to the principle involved in reading the sim-
ile, is that which requires that sublime, gi-and, 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 witli
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 uniform 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 2vhole must fall\
Let earth unbalanced from lier orbit fly,
Planets and suns run lawless through the sky'j
Let ruling angels ftom 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^ 1 — for whom' ? for thee' ?
Vile worm' ! — oh 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.
Analysis 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 (Jansius, in which he repeats the supplicating words of C89->ar.
The principle that should govern the reading of it. Hotspur's description of a conceited
fop. The swain in (iray's Kle^ry. The '•'■ Last words of Mannion." tieneral principles.
The reading of dialogue, where the personification is complete. Gray's poem, "The
Hard." The personification of I'ride, in Pope's llssay on Man.
Bernardo. Weir, Crito', what topic or topics have you to suggest for our
consideration this evening' ?
Crito. I have been tliinking upon the subject of public speaking, and
also about readinrf in public the speeches of others,
Bernardo. A very important subject ; or, rather, tiro important siibjccts,
as they are not one and the same thing. Do they suggest any difficulties
to you' ?
Crito. I have seen it laid down as a rule that in speaXing the speech of
another, we should give it all the force and energy that would become the
character whose words are assumed. This appears reasonable, because we
assume to personate another — to put ourselves in his place. But I would
like to know if we ought to read the s]KH>ch of another just as we should
prono\ince it from the rostrum. In other words, if wc rexul a sjieech
Tart 1. ELOCUTIONARY. 31
merely for the information of our hearers, should we do it oratorical-
Bernardo. 1 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 oivn 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 unde
the paroxysms of a fever. Cassius says.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And, when the fit was on him', 1 did mark
How he did shake^ : 'tis' true\ this god' did 8hake\
Hia coward lips did from their color fly\
And that same eye', whose hend doth awe the world',
Didlose his lustre^ : I did hear hira groan^^
Ay, and that tongue of his', that bade the Romans
Mark him', and write his speeches in their books',
Alas !~ it cried', '•'• Give rue xoine drink\ Titinius'"
As a sick* girl Suakspeaee.
Must these words of Ca?sar, "Give me some drink\ TitiniusV't be pro-
nounced in exact imitation of the small, feeble voice of a sick person' — just
as Caesar spoke them' ?
Bernardo. By no means, because Cassius did not pronounce them so ; for,
with only a partial imitation of the feeble voice of Cajsar, Cassius united a
tone of scorn and contempt, which we should preserve 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 loading speaker) had merely mimicked Cajsar, without
uniting scorn and contempt with the mimicry, he would have lowered him-
self to the character of a buffoon, and would thus have made himself ap-
])ear ridiculous. Much more ridiculous should we appear if, in reading
this passage, we should become the mere mimic, and that at third hand too.
In 8hakspeare's Heniy 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 rejyeated 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 (Jrito's intention was? All those who re-
gard it as a repeated question will evidently rend it in one way, and all those who regard
it as merely explanatory will read another way. This well illustrates tlie principle laid
down, that different readinffH of a passnge arise from different interpretations of it.
t Kven here the degree of force must be lean than when these words are supposed to be
• poken by Cassius.
32 willson's fifth reader. Takt 1.
fop whom he describes, carrying out the leading passion instead of the
secondary. If in reading any piece we so far forget the 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, wlien the fif?ht was done,
When I wad dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breatliless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress' d,
Fre.-<h as a bridegi-oom ; and hirt chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stiibble-field at harvest-home:
He was perfumed like a milliner ;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb lie held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took't away again ;
Who, therewith angry, wlien it next came there.
Took it in enuflf: 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
lietwixt the wind and hia nobility.
With many a holiday and lady terms
lie question' d me; among the rest demanded
My4>ri8oners, in your majesty's behalf.
1 then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold.
To be so iwster'd by a popinjay.
Out of my gi-ief and my impatience,
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what;
He should, or he should not ; for he made me mad\
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman.
Of guns, and drums, and wounds (Clod save the mark!).
And telling me the sovereign' st thing on eailh
Was spcnuaceti 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,
Wliich many a g<x»d tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a 8oldier\
This bold unjointed chat of his, my lord',
1 answer'd indirectly, as I said ;
And I beseech you, let not this report
("ome current for an accusation.
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.— Shakspearb.
Orito. I perceive that the rule which you have laid down will also apply
tx) what is supposed to have been said by the hoary-headed swain in Gray's
Elegy in a Country Church-yard.
For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead.
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate.
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, •
Some kindred spirit should inquire thy fate'.
Haply some hoary -headed swain may say,
" Oft have we seen him, at tlie peep of dawn,
Bnishiug with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet tiie sun upon the upland lawn.
"There, at the f(K>t of yonder nculding beech.
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
Ilia listless length nt noontide would ho stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by," etc — Oray,
Bernardo. Yon are correct. It would be verv ridiculous, in n'-ndiii}; 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 thundering swelled the gale.
And — Stanley ! was the cry.
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 1 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 bo
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, which should be read or spoken with all the vehemence which
may be supposed to have characterized the language of the bard himself.
" Ruin seize thee, ruthless king !
Confusion on thy banners wait !
Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing.
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, or hauberk'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 tearn !"'
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Kdward scatter'd wild dir^may,
B 2
34 willson's fifth EEADEK. 1»art I.
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome inarch his long array. — Gray.
Here the personification is complete, and the language of the bard is
strictly dramatic. I will give you one example more. The personification
of ]jride, 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 whiit end the heavenly bodies shine',
Earth for whose use' : l*ride' answers', '■'•'Tisfor mine\
For me kind Nature wakes her genial power,
Suckles each herb, and spjeads out eveiy flower ;
Annual for me the grape, the rose, renew
The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew' :
For ine the mine a thousand treasures brings^
For vie health gushes from a thousand 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 Oratoky, which I trust you will have opportunity to attend to hereafter.*
SIXTH EVENING.
Anat,tbib. — Directions for the cultivation of the voice. Flexibility. Power of voice.
The natural pitch of the voice. The middle tone. Practical directions for strengthening
this middle tone. Macbeth's address toBanquo's ghost. Exercises for strengthening the
low or bass tones. Lady Macbeth's reproach of hor 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
souml. To preserve the melody of verse and avoid monotony. Lamentation of Orphe-
us. Darius. Itcpetition 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
granted 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 rcc{\\\i^\iCi flexibility ; but something more is required to give it
poiver. That requires a difi^erent kind of practice — a ])hysical training of
tlio voice, which should be under the guidance of pliysiological principles.
Crito. But may not jtidicious exercises be appropriately given for strength-
ening the voice, even without a knowledge of the principles to which you re-
fer'?
liernardo. There may, indeed, and to some of them I pnrjwse now to
call your attention. Yon are perhaps aware that everj' one has a certain
natural ])itcli of voice, in which he is most ca.sy to himself, and most agreea-
ble to others. This is the pitch in which wo converse ; and this must be
the bnsis of ever}' improvement we acquire from art and exercise. If we
would increase our />0M'er 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 Ouatouv Is set apart as one of the divisions of the Seventh, or Acap
dcinical 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 addre^ssed
to jjersons near us,
Avaimt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth hide thee !
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ;
Tlioii 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 1 lyrcan tiger ;
Take any shape but thut\ and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble.
Hence, horrible shadow !
Unreal mock'ry, hence ! — Macbeth, Act III., Scene 4.
Onto. 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 hatrod, 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
tlie 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 be found a good exercise for
this purpose :
O proper stuff' !
T/iZ-i^ is the proper painting^ of your fears :
This is the air-drawn dagger^ which j'ou said
Led you to Duucan\ Oh, these flaws and starts
(Impostors to true fear) would well become
A womarCs story at a winter's fire.
Authorized by her grandam\ Shame itself !
Why do you make such faces^ ? When all's done',
You look but on a stooP. — Macbeth, Act III., Scene 2.
Or where Lady Constance, in King John", reproaches the Duke of Austria
with want of courage and spirit :
Austria. Lady Constjince', peaco'.
Constance. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war.
O Austria ! thou dost shame .
That bloody spoil. Thou slave ! thou wretch I thou coward !
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 artper/7<r'd too,
And pooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou\
A ram|)ing/oo/\* to brag\ and ?t;imp\ and swear^
36 willson's fifth BEADER. PaBX I.
Upon my party^ ! Thou cold-blooded slavey
Ilaat thou not spoke like thunder on my eide' ?
Been Hworn my soldier' ? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength' ?
a. And dost thou now fall over to my foes' 'i
6. Thou wear a noil's hide I Doflf it for shame,
c. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.
King John, Act m., Scene 1.
Onto. 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 pi'oceed, although iha pitch should be the same
throughout the series. In the closing sentence, however, the voice should
fall to a slow but forcible monotone.
What was the part of a faithful citizen^ ? of a prudent, an active, and honest minister^ ?
Was he not to secure Euboea, as our defense against all attacks by sea' ? Was he not to
make Rceotia 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 com, that this trade might be pi'otected through all its progress up to our own harbor' ?
Was he not to cover those districts which we commanded by reasonable detachments' ? to
exert himself in the assembly for this purpose', while 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 those in which our country was defective' ? — And
all this you gained by my counsels and my administration.
Cnto. 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
observance of certain pauses of melody, the sense and the sound may some-
times fail to hannonize.
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 pronimciation 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 preserve the melody of the verse, while
the monotony is broken by a judicious var}'ing of the inflections. The first
example, which is from Virgil, is the plaintive lamentation of Orpheus for
his beloved Eurydicc :
Thee', his lov'd wife', along the lonely shores;
Tlieo', his lov'd^ wife', his mournful song deplores ;
Theo', when the rising morning gives tlio light ;
Tliee', when the world was overspread with night. — Viroii-
The next is from Dryden, who thus paints the sad reverse of fortune suf-
fered by Darius :
Dfterted at his gi*eate^t need
By those his former bounty fed',
llo Phose a mournful muse,"
Soft pity to infuse^ :
lie sung Dariu8\ great and good\
By too severe a fate,
Fallen', fallen, fallen^ fallen'
o. These queetions gradually increase in elevation of tone and intensity.
h. Here the voire suddenly falU, and taken a tone of the niost bitter irony.
e. Spoken witli tlio bitterest sccim.
Part 1. ELOCUTIONARY. 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 jjvord or phrase.
Happy', happy," happy^ pair' L^
None but the brave\
None^ but the brave.
None buP 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
ray 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 carcass as fast as you can,
Eattle his bones over the stones ;
He's only a pauper ivhom nobody owns.
"SVhat a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and dinl
The whip how it cracks, and the wheels how they spin 1
How the dirt right and lef! o'er the hedges is hurled !
The pauper at length makes a noise in the Avorld !
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 thata 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 Noel.
C/ito. The reading of this last line leads me to ask if the intonation 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. Part I.
circumflex that terminates with the rising slide. Thus, in the example
there given — "Is your father well', the old man' of whom ye spake'? Is
he' yet alive' f' — 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 ev^ of narrative into
which tender emotion enters. Thus, if the following, wliich 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 elms, that yew-tree's Bhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." — Gray.
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 ia this all your store' ? and a sMre of this dcTyou offer to diie you knlho not' ?
Then never saw I clulritrj before^"
I have one more remark to make on this subject of expression. Yon
have doubtless noticed that in very effective reading or speaking, into which
emotion enters, a kind of tremor of the voice may often be obserA'ed. 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 Danicr !
O wise young judge', how I do honor' thee!"
but still better in Gratiano's exultation at the discomfiture of the Jew :
'' O upright judge I — mark Jew ; — O learned judge 1"
and of the latter we have a good example in Shylock's grief, which shows
itself in the tremulous tones of a broken-hearted 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, without 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,
I The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine."— Hallfxjk.
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 tronibling 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.
Part I. ELOCUTIOXARY. 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 n
Kiiort turn on the stage of this world, he is to sink into oblivion, and to lose his conscious-
ness forever'?!
How can he exalt his thoughts to any thing great 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
b. Where amid the dark clouds of pagan philosophy, can he show us so clear a prospect
of a future state\ the immortality of the soul\ the resuiTection of the dead\ and the gen-
eral judgment', » as in St. Paul'* First Epistle to the Corinthians^?
Can he show us, any where, amid the dark clouds of pagan philosophy, so clear a pros-
))ect of a future state', the immortality of the soul', the re.-;urrection of the dead', and the
general judgment', as in St. I'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
liun^?5
a. To advise the ignorant\8 relieve the needy,^8 comfort the afflicted', are duties that
fall in our way alma<t every day of our lives.
a. The miser is more industrious than the saint. The pains of getting\8 the fear of
losing^s and the inability of enjojing his wealth', have been the mark of satire in all
ages.
a. The descriptive part of this allegoiy is likewise very strong, and full of sublime
ideas. The figure of l)eath\8 the regal crown upon his head\« his menace to Satan \8
his advancing to the combat', 8 the outcry at his birth', are circumstances too notable to
be passed over in silence, and extremely suitable to this king of terroi-s. — Adpison's de-
scription of Milton's Figure of Death.
h. Life consists not of a series of illustrious actions' or elegant enjoyments^ ;5 the great-
er part of our time pa.-^ses in compliance with necessities\ in the performance of daily du-
ties', in the 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 natui'e which
the other would cast a veil' over ; laughs at vices which the other eitlier 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 establisli his character of a wit — Sj)ecta-
tor., No. 169.
Wlien 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 I'gypt's god' :
Tlien shall man's pride and dviUness comprehend
d. His actions', passions', being's' use and end' :
d. Why doing', suffering', check'd', impell'd^ — and why
This hour a slave', tlie next a deity'.
As no faculty of the mind Is capable of more improvement than the memory',2 so none
is in more danger of decay by disuse'.
Is the goodness' or ivisdom'* of the Divine Being more manifest in this his proceed-
ings' ?3
Is the power' or greatness' of the Divine Being manifest in this his pix)ceedings' ?
(Rule v.. Note II.)
Whither sliall I turn' ?3 Wretch that I am' !2 to what place shall I betake^ myself ?3
Shall I go to the Capitol' ?i Alas ! it is overflowed with my brother's blood'. Or shall I
a. a. a. These are exampless of commencing series.
b. This contains an example of a concludimj series, in which all the particulars, except
the lixt but ow^ 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 pau?e with the rising inflec-
tion before the eid.
d. d. Examples of the concluding peries. Observe in this extract numerous examples
of the pau-ie of .<uspen-ion, i.i which the voice preserver a monotone.
.40 WILLSOn's fifth reader. Part 1
retire to my house^ l^a Yet there I behold my mother plunged in misery, weeping and
de.-*pairlng\
Virtue is of intrinsic value and good desert, and of indispensable obligation; not the
creature of will', but necesHary and immutable^ ;6 not local or temporary', but of equal ex-
tent and antiquity with the divine mind* ;« not a mode of gcnsation', but everlasting
truth^ ;6 not dependent on power', but the guide of all powers Virtue is the foundation
of honor and edteem\ and the source of all beauty', order', and happiness' in nature\
Though gentle', yet not duir :
Strong', without rage^ ; without o'erflowiug', f uir. 6— Denuam.
But, waiving all other circumstances, let ua balance the real situation of the opposing
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' ;« resolution', rage' ; dignity', defilement^ ; regularity', riot\6
On one side are ranged equity', temperance', courage', prudence', and every virtue^ ;
on the other', iniquity\ luxury\ cowardice', rashness', with every vice\ I^astly', the
strug^'le lies between wealth' and M'ant' ; 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 struggle as this',** even though the zeal of men
were wanting', must not the immortal gods give such shining virtues the superiority over
so great and such complicated vices' ?i Certainly', i — Cicero's Oration against Catiline.
b. Vice is a monster of so frightful mi«?i\
As to be hated' needs but to be seen^ ;
6. Yet seen too off, 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 Tweerl' :
No creature owns it in the first degree,
But thinks his neighbor further gone than he.
E'en those who dwell beneath its very zone',
Or never feel the I'age', or never own^ :
What happier natives shrink at with affright',
The hard inhabitant contends is right\ — Pope.
d. Shall burning Etna," if a sage requires,"
Forget to thunder, and recall her fires' ?
On air or sea new niotions be impress' d,"
O blameless Bethel, to relieve thy breast' ?
When tliis loose mountain trembles from on high,"
Shall gravitation cesise, while you go by' ?
Or some old temple, m-dding to its fall,"
For Chartres' head reserve tlie hanging wall' f — 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 you said sii, then I said so : "
and they shook hands', and were sworn brothers'* — Suakspeabk.
This thy vaunt :
" Give death his due\ the icretched', and the old} ;
" Let him not violate kind nature* x laws',
" But own man born to livc'^ as well as die'."
Wretched and old thou fi'^veat him' ; young and gay
Ho takes'' ; and plunder is 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' ? What did you desiro', what wish^
for ? I press the youth too much ; ho seems disturbed. Let mo return to mysclt I too
bore arms on the samu side\ — CioEua
What is time} f
T asked a spirit lost^ ! but on the shriek
That pierced my soul' ! I shudder while I speak —
a. The application of the Fifth l?ule here will be very apparent if the preceding sen-
tence C-*^ Alas !" etc.) be stricken out.
6. b. The word vuni^ lioing cnipliatic, must have the falling inflection : so also oft.
c. This line well illuntrales tlio beauty of the rule relating to a coneludirvt (uries.
d. The pause of suspension in this extract denotes a sameness of voice, or monotone,
wherever it is used.
e. The falling inflection throughout this exampli' is nearly allli^d fo iho cWrumtifx-
p^RX I. ELOCUTIONARY. 41
a. It cried, " A particle^— a speck^—s. mite^
Of endless years', duration infinite!"— IVIahsden.
The cloud-capp'd toAvers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
b. Yea, all lohich it inherit\ shall dissolve;
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a rack behind.— Shakspeake.
Parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
"With a new color, as it gasps away, _
c. The last still loveliest, till— 'ft's gone and all is gray.
(I 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. — Milton.
e. O my soul's joy M
If after every tempest come stich calms'.
May the winds blow till they have Avaken'd death' I
€. Ojoy'*! thou welcome stranger M twice three years
I have not felt thy vital beam^ ; but now
It warms my veins', and plays about my heart^ :
A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground,
And I could mount —
/. I am not mad^ — I would to heaven I were^ I
For then 'tis like I ahould forget myself :
Oh if I could, what ginef should I forget I
g. That strain again^ ! it had a dying falP !
Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets.
Stealing and giving odor.
The beauty of a plain', the greatness of a mountain', the ornaments of a building', the
expression of a picture', the composition of a discourse', the conduct of a third 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 otu-
companions regard as having no peculiar relation to either' of us.'>
TO-MORROW.
To-moiTow didst thou say' ?
- Methought I heard Horatio say to-morrow' ;
i. Go to\ I will not hear' of it ; to-morrow' !
'Tis a sharper, Avho 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.
b. This also requires a gradually risiug 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, but very forcible.
g. Here is an example of pleasing melancholy, which adopts a slow pronunciation, and
a soft, low tone. The last three lines should be spoken in a monotone.
These examples show that in exclamatory sentences the tone of the passion should reg-
ulate the tone of the voice.
h. The reader would also do well to consider the particulars in this series as emphatic,
and read the whole as a concluding seties.
i. i. Where exclamatory sentences luive the character of direct questions, they receive
the rising inflection. Rule X., Note.
42 WILLS0N*8 FIFTH READER. Part I.
It ia a period nowhere to be found
In all the hoary n-gistera of Time\
Unless perchance in the fooVti calendar.
Wisdom disclainiti tlie word, nor Jiolds society
With those who own* it. No\ ray Horatio',
'Tia Fancifs cliild\ and Folly is its father* ;
Wrought of such «tuflf as dreams^ are, and as baseless
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 tlien 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 hoCir^.
Where are* they ? With the years beyond the flood.
It is 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 what*? A fathomless abyss!
A dread eternity* ! how surely mine I
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour' ? — ^Youno.
a. There are tears* for his love'; joy* for his fortune'; honor^ for his valor'; and deatjj'
for his ambition*.
a. There -ve tears for his love* ; joy" for his fortune* ; honor" for his valor* ; and deaW
for his ambition*.
b. 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'.
b. Where are you going* ?
Where are you going* ? eaid John'.
c. For Heaven's* sake, Hubert', let me not be bound' !
Nay', hear^ me, Hubert' ! drive these men aicay\
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb'' ;
I will not sti7-\ nor wiiwe\ nor speak a word*,
Nor look\ upon the irons angrily';
Thrust but these men aicmj', and I'll forgive'^ you,
W/iatever torment you do put me to'.
Shylock. He hath disgraced'^ me, and hindered me of half a million^ ; laughed at my
losses*, viocked at my gains*, scortied my nation*, thicarted my bargains*, cooled my
friends*, heated mine enemies* ; and what's his reason^ t I am a Jew^ ! Hath not a Jew
dyea't hath not a Jew hdiuU\ drgans\ dhnhmons\ sitise«\ affMiotut', pdssumg' T fed
with the same food', hurt with the same ioeapon8\ subject to the same diseases', heated
by the same nifiaris', wanned and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian
is' ? if you prick'' us, do we not bl(<ed' T if you tickle^ us, do we not U\ugh' t if you poison"
us, do we not d)e' f and if you ivrung^ us, shall we not revenge' ? if we are like you in the
rent', we will resemble you in tlmt. If a Jew'' wrong a Chr'iiitian', what is his /lumility^ T
revenge"^ ; if a C/iriatian^ wrong a Jew', what should his siiferance^ be by tUiristian er-
amj)le> f why, revenge\ Tlie 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 first rendering supposes that the words were spoken with
little or no depth of feeling; the second gives to them a considerable degree of int<>nsp
feeling and emphatic solcninity. Tiiose who agree as to the meaning will read the pas-
sage alib'. It is not, therefore, the j)rinci>iles of (locution that are at fault 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.)
b. b. Not only has a direct question the rising slide, hut a succeeding dependent circum-
stance takes the rising slide also. A dependent circumstance following an indirect ques-
tion also takes the rising slide. The principle in Inith cases will bo made appnrsnt, as
already explained, Iby restoring the natural order of the sentences. Thus :
John said', do you think he will come to-day' ?
John said', wliere are you going*?
For the Inflection after ''said," see Rule II.
c. Thii is spoken tlirougliout in the tone of plaintive enti*eaty
FIEST MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
LESSON I. — GREEN EIVER.
1. When breezes are soft and skies are fair,
I steal an hour from study and care,
And hie me away to the woodland scene, -»
Where wanders the stream with waters of green,
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink
Had given their stain to the wave they drink ;
And they, whose meadows it murmurs tln-ough,
Have named the stream from its own fair hue.
44 willson's fifth reader.
2. How pure its waters ! its shallows are bright
With colored pebbles and sparkles of light,
And clear the depths where its eddies play,
And dimples deepen and whirl away.
Oh, loveliest there the spring days come,
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, fiiir 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 da}',
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. — Bbtant.
LESSON II. — THE BEST KIND OF REVENGE.
1. Some years ago, a warehouseman in IManchester, En-
gland, published a scurrilous^ ])amphlet, in which he endeav-
ored to hold up the house of Grant Brothers to ridicule.
William Grant remarked ujion the occurrence that the man
would live to repent what he had done; and this was con-
veyed by some tale-bearer to the libelcr,^ 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.
FIRST MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 45
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 wropged.
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 against 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 were 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, you know us now. How do you get
on? What are you going to do?". The poor man stated
that he had friends who could assist him when his cei^ificate
was obtained. " But how are you ofi" 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 will
not do ; your family must not sufiTer. Be kind enough to take
this ten-pound note to your wife from me. ^ There, there, my
46
dear fellow ! Nay, don't cry ; it will be all well with you
yet. Keep up your spirits, set to work like a man, and you
will raise your head among us yet." The overpovv^ered man
endeavored in vain to express his thanks : the swelling in his
throat forbade words. He put his handkerchief to his face,
and went out of the door crying like a child. — Chambers.
1 Sgub'-bil-ous, groasly abusive. l^ A€-okpt'-ance, in commerce, is the accep'-
a LT'-BBL-EB, one who, in a written article, ing or signing of a bill or order, bo as to
wantonly injures the reputation of another. | bind the acceptor to make payment
3 Cekd'-it-ob, one to whom another is in- 6 In-d6b8e', to write one's name on the baclc
debted. of a note, etc. , so as to become liable to pay
♦ Bank'-eupt, one who can not pay hia debts, it.
Dbaw'-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 have 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, witli 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 secretary.*
4. "Young man','' he said, "by what art\ cruft\ or trade',
Did your good father' gain a livelihood ?" —
"He was a saddler\ sir," Modestus said,
"And in his time was reckon'd g6od."
6. " A saddler\ oh' ! and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew' !*
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler, sir, of you' ?"
6. Each parasite,* then, as in duty bound.
The joke applauded, and the laugh went roun 1.
At length Modestus, bowing low,
Said (craving pardon if too free he made),
" Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
Yoiir^ father's trade !"
7. ^^ My father's tTa.dc' I by heaven, that's too bad !
My father'^ trade' ? Why, blockhead, arc you mad 'f
FIRST MISCELLANEOUS 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 ofyou^?'^ — Anon.
t Stt-pek-otl'-i-ous, lofty with pride.
2 Na'-bob, a man of great wealth.
3 Pa' -TfiON, a guardian or protector.
4 Se€'-eb-ta-ey, one employed to write let-
ters ; a chief clerk.
5 Skw, pronounced so.
6 Pae'-a-site, 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 stake and strong passions
excited, nothing is valuable in speech 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 far. 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\
AiFected 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 Webster.
48 willson's fifth reader.
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 comphment me', say, " I think you look
Aveir." " 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 speak like the rest of the world' ?
2. I will 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 super-
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 Bruykke.
LESSON VI. — ^THE three black crows.
[It must be rempmbored that where the circumflex Is used (" ") in the rcadituj lesmiut^
it does not designate the character of the vowel sound, but the nature of the injicction.]
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\"
Replied his friend. *' No'? I'm suqnised' at that ;
Where / come from', it is the common chat :
But you shall hear^ : an odd aflair indeed* 1
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 alley Jcnows'^
Taking a puke', has thrown up three black crous.'
FIEST MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 49
2. ''Impossible^ !" " 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.
*' Sir', 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. Eesolved 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 regard 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'?"
" Crow — 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 crow.^^ — Byrom.
LESSON VII. — WHAT IS A GENTLEMAN?
1. A GENTLEMAN is just a gentle-jn^oi ; 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 knighthood — as when, 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 keadee.
his mortal thirst in favor of a dying soldier. St. Paul de-
scribed a gentleman when he exhorted the Philippian Chris-
tians : " 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 yni.— 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 welU"
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 I"
2. I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide
Of life had left his veins : " Time !" he replied,
'TvelostWt! ah! the treasure M" 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 shriek
That pierced my soul' ! 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 fiur of living well',
The path of glory', or the path of hell'."
4. I asked old Father Time himself, at last,
But in a moment he flew swiftly past ;
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.
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 !"
Marsden.
Tiara 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', opportunity with it', and repentance behind' it : he that has made
it his friend', 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.
Part n.
HiSBPETOLOGY, OE EEPTILES.
51
PAET 11.
TfflRD DIVISION OF ZOOLOGY;
EMBRACING
HERPETOLOGY,
OR THE NATURAL HISTORY OF REPTILES.
[For the 1st and 2d Divisions of Zoology, see Third and Fourth Readers.]
Representatives of the foub okpebs of the Keptile Race. — The Lizard ; the Fresh-
water Terrapin, or Turtle ; the Adder; and a South American Frog, with " homed eyelids."
LESSON" I. — INTEODUCTORY VIEW.
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 warm-blooded 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 l3ecause a spinal column, more or less apparent,^ is
found in all of them, and their natural temperature,^ although
52 WILLSON's Flli^'ll HEADER. PaeT II.
their blood is red, is but little, if at all, above that of the at-
mosphere or water in which they dwell. To our touch they
appear decidedly cold. In this and a few succeeding lessons
we are to treat of Herpetology^ 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 every 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 subHme
truths of Unity of Plan, which are as perfect and apparent
in the character of a loathsome reptile 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 the 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-
blance to the corresponding bones of mammalia and birds.
Throughout all the divisions of animal Ufe 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 perfect 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 to the body. The veins and arteries of reptiles,
therefore, are not 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
respiration — to the amount of oxygen or fuel consumed —
reptiles are comparatively cold-blooded. Their lungs are
small ; their circulation is slow ; and as they consume loss air
than the mammalia, they are capable of living for a longer
time without it.
6. In all cold-blooded animals, the vital principle is much
Part II. herpetology, OR reptiles. 53
stronger than in those whose blood is warm. Their heart
pulsates, in some cases, for many hours after it has been re-
moved from the body ; the tortoise will continue to live, and
exhibit 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 cii'culation,
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 dormant^^ state. Almost all reptiles are carniv-
orous.^^ They produce their young from eggs, which they
generally deposit 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
following 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 Amphibians^ which embrace the frogs, toads, salaman-
ders, and sirens — animals which undergo a wonderful trans-
formation^2 ^^ ^ 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 great whole
of this most interesting portion of God's creation can not be
understood without a knowledge of the parts of which it is
composed. We may well apply to this subject Pope's cele-
brated lines —
" From Nature's chnin, whatever link you strike,
Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike."
1 Vee'-te-beate, an animal having a spine
with joints.
2 Ap-pae'-ent, easily seen ; obvious.
3 Tem'-per-a-tCbe, state of a body with re-
gard to heat or cold.
* In-veb'-ti-gate, examine into.
5 STBi5€T'-f be, form, make, construction.
6 Am-ph!b'-i-ans, see page 72.
■J ^d'.ei-€le, one of the cavities of the heart " €Xb-niv'-o-kous, feeding on floeh.
1'2 Trans-fobm-a'tion, change of form.
which receives the blood from the lungs or
veins. See Fourth Header, p. 49.
8 Ven'-tbi-€le, a cavity of the heart which
propels the blood to the lungs or arteries.
See Fourth Reader, p. 4Si.
9 Or-tCse', dull; not having acute sensi-
bility.
10 Doe'-mant, sleeping; not active.
54 WILLSON's fifth EKADEE. Part II.
LESSON II. — A LETTEE ABOUT THE CHELONIANS.*
" What do you think of turtles^ ?" Such was the question
asked me by a young friend and former pupil of mine, then
on a visit with me to our great metropolis,^ as, stepping out
of a dining-saloon in Broadway, we stopped a moment to look
at three enormous living sea-turtles that had just been depos-
ited on the sidewalk from a dray-cart, with their backs down-
ward to prevent them from running away. After some com-
ments upon turtle-soup and aldermanic dinners, my young
friend remarked that he knew very little about 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 parted ; and now I pro-
ceed to make good my promise.
Dellwild, May 15th, 18—.
1. My young Fkiend, — I begin this letter by recalling
to your remembrance the substance of the remark which you
made at our parting, " that turtles are peculiarly adapted 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 lieights far from the
dwellings of man; gaudy sun-birds and delicate humming-
birds
" gleam between
The 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 crenel 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 approp'iate inhabitants.
2. But perhaps it may serve to give these lowly creatures
Pakt II. HERPETOLOGY, 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
o^ another volume with exquisite^ drawings of these animals.
Do you think it was time wasted on his part ? or that the
cause of science w^ll 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 written 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 we have al-
luded, he had his garden 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, alid sent them
to him. Thus Agassiz tells us that a gentleman of Natchez,
Mississippi, not satisfied with collecting, extensively, the tur-
tles in the neighborhood of his residence, undertook a journey
pf many hundred miles for the special purpose of securing all
tlie 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 rae 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 you of another advantage which will be
5G willson's fifth JREADEB. Pakt II.
the natural result of a more extended acquaintance with this
subject. The feelings of disgust with which, doubtless, the
sight of most reptiles now fills you, will give way to some de-
gree of satisfaction at least, if not of pleasure, by reason of the
interest which a knowledge of their structure, character, and
habits will excite in you. If we could look upon all God's
creatures with pleasure, 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 out-
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, whicj^
have so grown together as to leave only a
Upper shell of Tortoise. ^^^^ line-mark to show where they are
united. Thus the sjjinal column and the ribs grow 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 the 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 i^col-
lect that the upper shell is called the carapace^^ and the lower
one the plastron.
Fart II.
HEEPETOLOGY, OR REPTILES.
51
8. The Chelonian order of reptiles (for it is well to know
the terms which scientific men use) — the Chelonians, I say,
may be conveniently divided into the three following fami-
lies : land 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 one class, and
the marine turtles in the other. I shall not have room in this
letter to describe any of these classes or families, but in my
next I will give you some account of a few of the most im-
portant or most noted species.
» €HE-L5'-Ni-AN,fromthe Greek c^l-o-nc, a; 5 Ag-as-stz i/tg' -d-se^ or a-f](W-»iz).
tortoise. ^ Fo'-li-o, a book formed by once doubling
' Me-teop'-o-lis, chief city (New York). | each sheet of paper.
3 H-^r'-mo-ny, just adaptation of parts to ' ex'-qui-site, choice; exceedingly beauti-
each other. [torj'.! ful.
♦ Nat'-C-kal-ist, one versed in natural his-.s C.?e-a-paoe'.
LESSON III.
A SECOND LETTER ABOUT TURTLES.
3
Scale of Inches.
Land, Marsh, and River Tortoises.— 1. Salt-water Terrapin, Emys palUHtn& 2.
Blanding's Tortoise, Cistuda Blandingii, 3. Spotted Tortoise, Emrjs guttata. 4. Fresh-
water, or Wood Terrapin, Emya inneiilpta. 5. Alligator Tortoise, or Snapping Turtle,
Emysaura serjjenlina. 6. Common Mud-Turtle, or Musk Tortoise, Sternotherus odora-
ttis. 1. Matamata Tortciee, ChHiis matamata. 8. Common Box -Tortoise, Cistuda Caro-
lina. (No3. 2 and 8 are Land Tortoises,)
Dellwild, May 24th, 18—.
1. My YOUNG Friend, — ^I proceed now to fulfill the prom-
ise which I made in my last letter. Among the land tor-
C2
;)^ WILLSONS FIFTH BEADEK. Fakt II.
toises, which vary from a few inches to three or four feet
in length, the best known to us is the little 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 London, 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 snap 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
tlesh 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 fishermen generally cut off its head as soon
as thev have causjlit it.
Past II.
HEEPETOLOGY, OR KEPTILES.
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 shuffle 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
remain until their captors, having secured in the same man-
ner as many as they require, carry them off to their ships.
Scale of Inches.
Mabine akd RiVEE Turtles. — 1, Hawk's-bill Turtle, Chelonia imbricata. 2. Logger-
head Turtle, Chelonia carctta. 3. Green Turtle, Chelonia mydas. 5. Leathery Turtle,
Sphargis coriacm. 4. & 6. Upper and under sides of the Chelonura Temninekiif a " Snap-
ping Turtle" of the Mississippi.
5. Another species of sea-turtle, called the hawk's-bill, which
60
willson's fifth reader.
Pabt II.
receives its popular name from the curved and pointed form
of the upper jaw, furnishes the valuable 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, and of receiving any shape 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 loggerhead, which
sometimes weighs 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 w^ritten, and from
the drawings which I have given you, do you see any thing
decidedly disagreeable or offensive 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 importance, and many
mteresting accounts of their liabits from the pages of Audu-
bon, Darwin, and others, and I regret that 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 tliat
all the turtles, even those that live in the sea, can breathe only
when they are out of the water, and that, like whales, por-
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^ uj)on the herbage. Like herds of bison, they probably
have their ranges — their paths over the hills, and through the
valleys of the sea, from one pasture-ground to another. Who
shall doubt that their life beneath the waters is a ha]>py one?
> GxL-A-rA'-r.OB, the '' Inlands of tortoises,'
are west of South America,
8 PXl'-a-ta-blk, ngrce«blo tothotaBtc.
' Pr'-i-rrRR, one who Indulfres* in the Inxu-
rioH of the t«l)U'.
♦ I'N-vlci.'-ors, covers ; incKwea.
> BBOWt'-LMu, feeding on branches.
Part U.
HEKPETOLOGY, OK REPTILES.
61
LESSON lY.— tA letter about the saurians.^
1 ^_^ 2
«S'ea/e vj IncAtt.
Lizard Division of the Saueians. — 1. Brazilian, or Variegated Lizard, Teius teguexin.
2. Sand-Lizard, Lact^-ta agilis. 3. New York Striped Lizard, or Blue-tailed Skink, Sci-
unis fasciatuft. 4. The Common Gecko, Gecko verus. 6. Tlie Iguana, Iguana tubcrcn-
lata. 6. Mitred Basiliak, Ecudlicus viitratus. 7. Brown Swift, or Pine Lizard, Tropi-
dolepis undulattts. 8. The Chameleon, Chameleon vulgaris.
Dellwild, June 2d, 18—.
1. My young Friend, — The interest with which you pro-
fess to have read my letters descriptive of the Chelonian or-
der of reptiles induces me to comply with your request that
I should give you ^ome 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 are the connecting link between reptiles and fishes.
As I purpose to treat these three orders within the limits of
at most three letters, my description must be very brief in-
deed.
2. We will take the Saurian reptiles, or lizards proper, to
begin with. Very off'ensive-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 WILLSON's fifth READEE. Part II.
might induce you to look upon them with a greater degree
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 thesov are harmless little creatures, only six or eight inches
in length. You may have been told that they are poisonous,
a charge which I scornfully repel. It is merely a vulgar error,
and is not true of any of the lizard race. The hotter chmates
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 writer 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* —
perhaps beneath the very flowers that you are 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 proper, leaving the
crocodiles for another drawing. The little New York lizards,
and the sand-lizard of England, are so sniall as scarcely to at-
tract our notice. The Brazilian, or variegated lizard, is quite
a different animal, sometimes measuring five or six feet in
length. It runs with great swiftness, and strikes such violent
blows with 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
Paet II. HEEPETOLOGY, OK KEPTILES. 63
you that, in countries where it abounds, its flesh is regarded
as a great delicacy ! But it is an animal of 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
have all read of in that story of the " two travelers of conceit-
ed cast," who,
"As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And, on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talked of thL*?, and then of that.
Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter,
Of the chavieleon^s form and nature."
You know how violent a dispute 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 white !
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 — walks with the greatest circumspection® — 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 willson's fifth reader. PaetII.
alty; and the ai
9r
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, wliich is notcd chicfly for being the only liv-
Draco mbriatus. Jug 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 with 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 with a cen-
tiped,^ or some other vermin, in their 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 thus been rendered by Jerome :
" The gecko takcth hold with her hands,
Aud dwcUcth in king'd 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 observe, 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 countrios; and, although thev breathe
Part II.
HEKPETOLOGY, OR REPTILES.
65
ScaU of Feet.
Crocodile Division ojvthe Saubians. — 1. li^aissif pi AlWgntor^ Alligator Mi ssissip-
piensis. 2. Gavial of the Ganges, Gavialis Gangetica. 3. The Cayman, Caiman palpe-
brosus. 4. Egyptian Crocodile, Crocodilus vulgaris.
by means of lungs, they are capable of remaining under 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, whiclr
is composed of numerous 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 upper jaw only is mova-
ble. The following, descriptive of some of the habits of the
crocodile, will be read with interest :
11. ' ' The female digs a cavity in the earth, in which she places her eggs
in a circular form, 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, the eggs
are about ten 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 revisit 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 anxiety that several of the young are generally crushed
under her unwieldy body. Having withdrawn them from their nest, the
mother leads them straightway to the neighboring water ; but now her 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 perpetually seeks their
destruction ; and the watch of the female over her young is protracted for
three months from their first appearance." — Goodrich.
66
willson's fifth beadeb.
Pabt II.
13. The Mississippi alligators, which grow to the length
of fourteen or fifteen feet, are the most tierce 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 two 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
upon 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, when 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 river, is not dangerous
to man or the larger quadrupeds, although it is true that the
dying Hindoos exposed upon its banks, and the dead body
committed to its waters are its frequent prey.
15. There is a small animal in Egypt, called the ichneumon,
which bears some resemblance to the weasel tribe, and which
feeds upon 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 newly 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
when it has grown to great proportion^. The moral at the
close of the poem "may well be commended to the young.
J Sau'-bi-an, from the Grofk Hnuro.<>, a liz-
ard ; an animal of the lizard kind.
3 Com-pla'-<!F,n-cy, plcftHure; BiitiHfaciion.
3 I*kFv'-u-i>Tof-, an opinion fonned without
due examination.
* Ad'-e-quatk, correct ; adeqvate ideas are
Buch as exactly represent tnoir object.
• CO'-zi-LY, snugly ; comfortably.
« Cin-rcM-spicc'-TioN, caution.
^ Vis'-oiD, sticky like plue.
8 CKN'-Ti-rRn, an insect having a hundred
feet ; or one that hits mami feet.
9 Pbo-tC'-hkr-ancf, a bunch or knob.
>o Al-i.T'-ante, relationship.
n Kx-rt,0'-«iON, a thrusting out; hatching.
»a Nas'-oent, young ; beginning to grow.
Part II. heepetology, oe eeptiles. 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 green,
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 serving them right,
4. Grown proud of his prowess, puffed 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.*
5. 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 ! such 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 arc, 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 beader.
»ART IL
While the crocodile lies in an egg of small size,
To cnish him at once you should never despise.
9. " You see me before you a poor feeble creature;
Yet I cope* with this monster, for such is my nature ;
And while you have met here in grand consultation,
This one crocodile to expel from 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,
I think there should be a brief moral appended ;
Beware how you let evil habits grow up ;
While feeble and young, you to crush them may hope,
But let them remain till strength they attain,
You may find your best eflforts to conquer them vain.
Mrs. J. L. Gray.
1 SceO'-ple, to doubt; to hesitate. * Be-gutle', deceive ; impore upon.
2 A-dOee', to worship as divine. s €on-vknk', assemble.
3 Vo'-TA-iuEs, those devoted to him ; his wor- 6 cOpe, oppose with success,
sbipers.
LESSON VI. — ^A LETTER ABOUT THE OPHIDIANS.
Scalt of J-ttt.
TnE OpinDiANS, or SraPKNTB.— 1. The Cobra-de-C'apel'lo, or Hooded Serpent of India,
Najn tHpxuiianH. 2. The Saia Ilnjc of Africa. 3. The Kuttleeuake of America, Crotalu*
dutismia. 4. European Black N ijJer, Peliaa bertcs.
Part II. heepetology, or keptiles. 69
Dellwild, June 28th, 18—.
1. My young Feiend, — ^I am gratified to learn from you,
in response to my last letter, that the brief description which
I have given of the Sam-ian 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 sj^ace 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 snaJce^
almost makes some people shudder ; and I am not surprised
that you should ask, " What caii^ 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 with graceful evolutions,^ yet the ser-
pent was cursed "above every beast of the field ;" and man,
as if remembering this curse and the lamentable event which
caused it, turns from the reptile with disgust and horror, or
seeks to effect 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 mythology 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 the 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 Eules III. and IV.
70 willson's fifth eeadee. Fabt n.
6. 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 JEsculapius, the father of medicine ; entwined around the
wand^ 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 Apollo. 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,"9 which represents the Apollonian priest, 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. " Then (dj-eadful to behold !) from sea we spied
Two serpents, rank'd abreast, the seas d.ivide,
And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.
Their flaming crests above the waves they show,
Their bodies seem to burn the seas below ;
Their speckled tails they lash to urge their course.
And on tlie sounding shore the flying billows force.
And now tho strand, and now the phiin, they held.
Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fiU'd;
Their nimble tongues they brandlsh'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 grind.
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.
Tlie priest tlms doubly choked — their crests divide,
And tow'ring o'er his head in triumph ride.
With both liis hands he labors at the knots ;
liis holy fillpts'o the blue venom' > blots:
His roaring fills the flitting air around.
Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound.
He breaks liia 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.
Part II. herpetology, OR reptiles. 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 suffered
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 effects. 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 Hoamen at the sight
Shouted; and they who held the priest, appaU'd,
Relax' d their hold. On came the mighty snake.
And twined in many a wreath round Neolin,
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." — Southey.
13. 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 species
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, ^^ ^^(j 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 Vipeeink 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 Pythons^ and the ma-
rine serpents. A few ©f the Colubriue serpents are believed to be venomous.
72
willson's fifth beadee.
Part II.
their natural enemies, and of the 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, which may
be regarded as authentic, I will send for your perusal, and
pass on in my next letter to a brief notice of the amphibians,
the last of the four orders of the reptile race.
1 De-void', destitute of.
2 MtM'-BERS, limbs of animal bodiea.
3 Kv-o-Lu'-TiON8, motioDs.
* £m'-blem, that which represents one thing
to the eye and another to the understand-
ing.
6 Myth-o-lSg'-ic-al, pertaining to the fa-
bles of the heathen gods.
6 Sym'-bol, an emblem or sign of somRthing.
' al'-le-go-by, a story in which the literal
meaning is not the direct or simple one.
8 Wand, a staff or rod of authority.
9 La-oc'-o-on.
10 FTl'-let, a head-band.
11 Ven'-om.
12 Sa-van'-na, an open meadow or plain.
LESSON yil. — A LETTER ABOUT THE AMPHIBIANS.
TuE AMPHiniANS, OR Batbachianb— 1. The Proteus, or "Pig Water I.isard," Mem-
branchus lateralis (common in the waters of We''tern New York). 2. European Kdlble
Frog, Rana eaculenta. 3. (Imnnion American Frog, liana (tihHttica. 4. Surinam Trnad,
Pijia Amrricana. ^. Southern Squirrel TretvToad, //.v^a .S7ifirf?/<i. 6. Crimson-spotted
Triton, Kvct, or Salamander, Triton millepv nctaUts. 7. Common Europoau Water Newt,
IViton cristattis. 8. Mexican Siren, or Axolot.
Dellwild, July 19th, 18~.
1. My yottng Frtenp, — In beginning this promised letter,!
must premise that the amj)]ubians, called also, by some writers,
hatrdchians (from a Greek word meaning a frog) ^ have been
Pakt II. HEEPETOLOGY, OR EEPTILES. 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
w«^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 tadpole or pol-
liioog^ hatched from an Qgg in a pond or in some marshy place.
In its fish-like state it continues for several weeks, breathes
by means of gills, and feeds upon the vegetable food oFfish-
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, are essentially land
animals. Some of the green frogs, which inhabit clear run-
ning streams, are extensively eaten in France, a^nd considered
a great delicacy.
4. The toads, although a harmless and inoifensive 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 prejudices 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
u
WILLSOii a FIFTU KEADEli.
Pakt II.
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^he
authority of Shakspeare, and the day-dreams of the old natu-
ralists."
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
was 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 was 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 w^arty glands, from which
it emits, in time of danger, a milky fluid. Thus a very small
fire might be extinguished by it.
6. The sirens, which are found only in North America, are
the most singular of all the reptiles, as th6y have permanent
branchial organs, which project from 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 two 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 invadfed Mexico that he is said to have subsist-
ed his army upon it.
1. 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 ajipre-
ciate the great whole of animated nature, the little time which
both of us have given to this subject will not have been spent
in vain. Had you passed this subject by, it would not only
liave 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 Tbans-fok-ma'-tion, a mct-a-murph'-o- ' VEN'-OM-ors, Rpltefnl, poisonona.
pif, a change of form. ♦ Ma-Uq'-nas-cv, extreme malice or hos-
2 liRvNrH'-i-AX, pertaining to the /Ara»c/«ce, tillty.
or jfillti.
SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIYISIOK
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 WILL&OX'S FIFTH KEADEK.
And thou slialt be more deeply fair,
More precious to the heart,
But never canst thou be again
That lovely thing thou aH!
3. And youth shall pass, with all the brood
Of fancy-fed affection ;
And^'gricf 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 the 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 Walkeb.
LESSON" 11. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY.
We can not honor onr country with too deep a reverence ;
we can not love her with an aftection too pure and fervent ;
we can not serve her with an energy of purpose or a faithful-
ness of zeal too steadfast and ardent. And what is our coun-
try ? It is not the JBJdst^ with her hillif and her valleys, with
her countless sails, and the rocky ramparts of her sh6res. It
is not the North, with her thousand villages and her harvest-
^ome, with her frontiers of the lake and the ocean. It is not
the West, with her forest-sea and her inland isles, with her
luxuriant expanses, clothed in the verdant corn ; with her
beautiful Ohio, and her verdant Missouri. Nor is it yet the
Soitth, opulent in the mimic snow of the cotton, in the rich
plantations of the rustling cane, an^ in the golden robes of the
rice-field. What are these but the sister families of one
greater, better, holilr family, our country?. — Grimke.
SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 77
LESSON in. — -^ NOBLE SEVENGE.
1. A YOUNG officer had so far forgotten himself, in a mo-
ment of irritation, as to strike a private 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 which, 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
hopeless 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 which had been
made captive is ransomed with blood. Crimsoned^with glo-
rious gore, the wreck of the conquering party is reneved, 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 fi'om
the ranks. That perplexes you not ; mySery you see none
in that. For distinctions of order perish, ranks are confound-
78 WILLSON'S FIFTU HEADER.
ed ; " high and low" are words without a meaning, and to
wreck goes every notion or feehng 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 face to face — the soldier that was struck, the officer that
struck liim. 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 w^hom 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 answ^er — 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."
Thomas de Qdincey.
LESSON IV. — hamlet's soliloquy.
[llnmlet contemplates suicide to end his troubles, but is deterred by "the dread of
something after death."]
To be', or not^ to be ? That is the question' :
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to sufter'
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune',
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, ky opposing', end' them ? To die' ; to sleep' ;~
No more ; and, by a sleep', to say we end
The heart-ache', andjhe thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to ; 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die' ;~ to sleep' ;~
T^leep' ! perchance to dream :~ Ay', there's the nib';
Fot in that sleep of death what drCams may come',
When we have shuffled off 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 desj)iscd love', the law's delay',
The insolonoijof oflico.', and the sjmrns
That patient merit of tlie unworthy takes',
When he himself might his quietus make
SECOND MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 79
With a bare bodkin* ? Who would fardels bear,
To gi'oan 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 air ;
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. — Shakspeake.
LESSON V. THE FOLLY OF CASTLE-BUILDING.
1. Alnas'chae, says the fable, was a yery 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 hundred
dmchmas in Persian money. Alnaschar, in order to make the
best of it, laid it out in glasses, bottles, and the finest earthen-
ware. These he piled up in a large open basket, and, having
made choice of a very little shop, placed the basket at his
feet, and leaned his back upon the wall, in expectation 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 course 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
often 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, but still continue my trafiic, 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 wlllson's fifth keadejb.
formation which I have received of the beauty, wit, discretion,
and other high quaUties which his daughter possesses. I
will let liim know, at the same time, that it is my intention to
make him a present of a tliousand pieces of gol#on our mar-
riage night. As soon as I have married the Grand Vizier's
daughter, I will make my father-in-law a visit with a grand
train and equipage ; and when I am placed at his 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. Her women will rep-
resent to me that she is inconsolable by reason of my unkind-
ness, and Iteg me with tears to caress her, and let her sit down
by me ; but I shall still remain inexorable, and will 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 ware, 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. — Addison.
LESSON VI. THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
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 lovo, I knew not why.
SECOlS^D MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 81
2. Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered— not a word he spake —
Just perishing 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.
8. I spied him where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock ; his strength was gone ;
The heedless water nwcked his thirst ;
He heard it, saw it hurrying on —
I ran, and raised the sufferer up ;
Twice fi-om 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 my 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 the 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 \\eak, 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—
*'0f me thou hast not been ashamed;
These deeds shall thy memorial be ;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me." — Montgomery.
D2
LESSON Vll. — SCENE BETWEEN BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
Cos. 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' ^Qmhla. Must / budge' ?
Must / observe you' ? mtret 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.
Cos- Is it come to this' ?
Bru. You say you are a belter^ 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 Cajsar lived, he ^urst not thus have moved me.
Bru. •Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him.
Cas. I durst not' ?
Bru. 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 sorry^ for.
Brti. You have'' done that you shduld 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 >vring
From tlie 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 Caius Cassius so' ?
When Marcus Brutus* grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends',
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dasli' hira to pieces !
SnAKSPEARB.
2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH.
83
PAET III.
SECOND DIVISION OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY
AND HEALTH.
(This subject is continued from tlie Fourth Reader.)
Fig.l.
BIDE VIEW OP A VERTICAL SECTION OP THE EYE.
The eyelids are here closed : a,
upper eyelid ; &, lower eyelid ; i,
transparent cornea, immediately
beneath the eyelid; r, anterior
chamber of the aqueous humor ;
cr, 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 crystalline
humor or lens ; s, s, the vitreous
humor ; e, e, between these pass-
} es the optic nei'\'e ; 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 i8.?,j,
the choroid coat, of a dark color,
and filled with minute branches
of blood-vessels. Adjoining this
ia. /i, /?, the sclerotic coat, or white
of the eye, into wliich 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 \^ 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 eeadek. Pabt III.
opening in its centre, called the pupil. Imniediately back of
the pupil is the crystalline^ lens, composed of numerous lay-
ers or coatings, which 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 filling a large part of the cavity of the eye,
is the vitreous^ or glassy humor, and spread over this is the
thin and delicate membrane of the retina^^ which is the expan-
sion of the optic nerve.
4. It is on the retina, where it Qoncfentrates at the back part
of the ball to form the optic nerve, that the images of objects
at which the eye looks, whether near or distant, are beautiful-
ly pictured or daguerreotyped. We can not look without
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 apparatus — 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 spiritual part, the manner in which the pictures on the
retina are made known to the mind or soul within, through
the medium of the optic nerve. The former is a mechanical
wonder, of which we comprehend sufficient to excite our un-
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 sip;lit is the most perfect and most delightful of all our senses.
It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses witli 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 stiaitcned and confined
in its operations with regard to tlie 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 diffusive kind of touch, that spread^ 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."
1 Lu'-BEi-€A-TED, made smooth or slipperyis €ey8'-tal-ltne, clear ; resembling crystal,
by moisture. [* Ret'-i-na, plural ret'-i-nce.
a Hc'-MOB, (jiu'-mor^ or hu'-mor). \
LESSON II. ^THE LIVING TEMPLE.l
Oliver Wkndell Holmes.
1. 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^ !
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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 eeadee. Pakt m.
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 circling round,
Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear
With music it is heaven to hear.
C. ThdYi 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 w^orld 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 wearj'ing 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 warms.
And mould it into heavenly forms !
[A full explanation of the foregoing exquisitely beautiful verses would lead to a gen-
eral review of the entire subject of Physiology. Every pupil should give as much expla-
nation, at Icawt, as is contained in the following notes.]
1 The human frame.
2 The air-cells of the lung^.
3 The blood, by being purified in the lungs, is changed from a dark purple to a light
crimson hue. See Fourth Header, p. 4S.
* " Kbbing current" — the expired air. A great portion of the decayed and worn-out
particles of the body are thrown out from the lungs in the form of carbonic acid and va-
por. See Fourth Header, p. 50.
6 The heart. See Fourtli Reader, p. 51.
6 u Woven net" — the net-work of veins and capillaries. See Fourth Reader, p. 51
and 60.
7 The blood supplies new material to all parts of the body, and bears back to the lungs
the decaying and worn-out particles.
8 The warm blood is often spoken of as the flame of life.
9 Tendons, cords, and sinews knit the '' marbles," or bony frame-work strongly to-
gether, as with thonqi*.
10 The frame-work of the body is linked to the " guiding reins," or the mind, by those
" tremblitig chainn," the nerve tubes, or nerve fibres. See page 90.
11 All the tisfues of the body are formed primarily of celU<. (^lls, opening, form rings;
and the.^c riuf^s unite, in certain cases, to form nerve fibres. Hence these nerve fibres may
well be described as " myriad rings in trembling chains."
12 The '' threaded zone," or hollow of each nej-ve fibre, contains a fluid substance like
that found in the brain itself.
13 The " seeming white" light is made up of the seven primarjj colors, rerf, orange, yel-
lotP, nreeyi, hliie, imh'ijo, and violet.
1* The balls of the eye, through whose humors the rays of light pass to the retina.
15 The air, whoso vibrations in the chambers of the car give the sensation which wo
call soxuid.
2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN- PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 87
'8 " Cloven sphere" — the two hemispheres of the braiu ; the seat of "•all thought." See
p. SO.
1'' That receives impressions through the "nerves of feeling," or sensory nerves. See
p. 91.
18 That sends forth its commands through the motor nerves. See p. 90.
i9 The nerve-cells, forming the gray sub.stance of the brain. See p. 92.
20 " Glassy threads" — the nerve threads or nerve fibres.
LESSO^N" III. — THE bkain: the nerves of voluntary
MOTION AND THE NERVES OF FEELING.
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 j^re-
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 processes 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 present 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 with, 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 FIFTH EEADEB.
pabt m.
high above every other in the body as to be the direct agent
on which all the functions of Hfe depend, and which, in our
mortal state, is the immediate minister and messenger of the
mind, and of the principle 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 ganglia. 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 roughened 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 ceTebellutn^ or little brain ; and connected with
and proceeding from both is the spinal cord, or spinal mtir-
row, which extends downward through the spinal column or
Fig,
TJITEE SURFACE
TUE BEAIN.
if that instminent becomes
Fig. 2. Tliis engraving represents the
appearance of the upper surface of the
brain, after its covering, the skull, has
been removed. The figures 1, 1, show
the anterior or front lobes, 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 ; 6, 6, to the poste-
rior; 7, 7, to the rudimentary; 8, 8, to the
frontal convolutions ; and 9, 9, to the oc-
cipital. Not only is the brain a double
organ, sending fortli its nerves by pairs,
but the same symujotric«l doublenoss is
continued througliout the wliole nervous
sy.-item. It ir< believed thiit each l»alf of
Mie brain can act seiiarately, but that
botli can best act simiiltaneously.
" While It is true that any unusual and
healthy development of bruin is attend-
ed with correspondingly incn'ased men-
tal powers, yet in thi- - • •a* over-
look the merely inffi re of
the organ, Thougli - in it
may produce a muiiiu . .i y, tbat
inferiority is by no means to be referred
to the intellectual principle itself. The
mode of action being by an instrument,
imperfect the action becomes imperfect too." — Drapeb.
The subject of Mental Philosophy will bo taken up in tho Sixth Reader.
2d DlV. 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 fubes, al-
though sometimes too small to be distinctly seen by the mi-
croscope, 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 which 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.
BASK OF THE BKAIN.
Fig. 3 represents the base of the brain
as seen from below, together with some
of the double sets of nerves branching
from it. Here the figures 1, 1, repre-
sent the anterior or front lobes, and 3,
3, the lobes of the cerebellum^ which
lies at the base of the back part of the
skull. From 4 to 18 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 tlie pair of optic nerves,
or nerves of sight; while 25 and 28
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
nerves of hearing. The douhlcness of
the nerves is here well illustrated ; and
this is the characteristic of the wliole
nervous system, the cranial and spinal
nerves coming forth Ini paira 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's fifth EEADER. 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., what 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 when 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 /ie«f7-quarters.
V. 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 press 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 motion^ for their
only office is to convey commands outward from the brain.
Another set of nerves is needed, and such has been provided
in the nerves offeeli7ig. 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 b^n. 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 ofl?*,
EXTERNAL SIDB VIKW OP THE BRAIN.
Fig. 4. Fig. 4 represents an external
pide view of tlie ripht half of the
brain. At 1 ir» seen the medulla
oblongata, or beginning of the
spinal marrow ; at 3, a sido view
of the crrrbcllttm^nr little brain.
Tlie chief office of the cerebellum
is believed to be that of combining,
regulating, and directing all the
muscular movements. From ex-
periment.-< on auimali*, it is found
that when it is cut it gives ri?e
to neither motion nor ."ensation,
but wheu it U remcr\-ed in Klices
the animal gradually lose? all
power of rernd'itinp iti^ motions.
The weight of the'cerelH'Uum is
about one eighth of that of the
cerebrum. The avenige weight
of the entire bniin in man is about
fifty ouncfs ; in female:" 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 finget up to the
brain.
8. The following fact illustrates the use 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 pain, 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 thes'e messages, through the nerves of feel-
ing, to the brain, ^d 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, which 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 m structure and in com-
position ; but as the offices which they perform are entirely
Fig. 5.
INTERNAL BIDE VFEW OP THE BBAIN.
Sa 3A SO
Fig. 5 represents an internal
Bide view of the right half of the
brain — the brain being cut or
split downward 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'vitce^ or '•'• tree of life,"
of the cerebellum ; 20 points to
the origin of one of the nerves that
move the eyes ; and 21 to the or-
igin of the optic nerve, whicli is
seen proceeding toward the eye ;
26 points to what here appears
as a crescent-shaped white sub-
stance, called the corpus callosum.
It appears to be the peculiar office
of the cerebellum to direct, com-
bine, and control muscular mo-
tions; and those animals which
have it the most fully developed
excel in their powers of motion,
and are 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 something about them which we do not yet
understand. Nor can we understand hoic the mind receives
impressions through one set, and sends out messages and
causes motion through another, for this would be to under-
stand hoio mind acts upon matter, and how 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. But 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 composed 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.
1 Ceb'-e-bbum.
2 Cke-e-bFx'-lum.
Fig. 6. At A is repr&'ented a collection of nerve-cellii,
nerve fibres, and blood-vessels from the human brain,
greatly magnified. This is from tliat part of the brain
called the optic thalamus. At a is shown one of these
nerve-cells still more highly magnified. The branching
tube ill A ia a blood-vessel showing the circular blood-cells
floating in it. (See Fourth Header, p. 32.) At B, U are
ropre.iented some of the nerve-cells found in the pray suo-
stance of the brain. These cells, which have a nucleus, or
centml particle, are originally globular, but many often
assume various shapes, and often .shoot out in branches.
While the nervous ///))•(« conduct external impressions to
the brain, and transmit nervous influences from it, the
ncrve-<^^/?s are supj)osed to be the various centres which
receive the impressions and originate the nei-vous influ-
ences, under the directing jiower of the mental principle.
A collection or bundle of tiiese cells is called a reside,
which may be regarded as a temporary magazine of nerv-
ous power, with its many coll-like divisions, each of which
has some particular duty to perform. Thns 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 occasioa demands, io four or five direc-
tions.
2cl DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HJiA.LTk. 93
LESSON" lY. — 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-
tary 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 wonderful provision the heart 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 off 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 from the
spinal marrow arc sent off in pairs through the two furrows
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 which their fibres branch off
to the several places of their destination.
• Whether these nerves are continuous all the way from the brain, as was formerly sup-
posed, or not, is now doubted. If not, impressions must bo transmitted from the brain
first to the cellular 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 riFTn keadek.
Pakt lu.
^•^•* 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 jjosterior root only
nerves of sensation, and that the former, therefore,
carry impressions or commands from the spinal
marrow, and the latter bring impressions to it.f
But what is peculiar to some of these nerves is,
that when they run to the heart, lungs, etc., they
act independently of the brain. Thus, -when the
right ventricle of the heart is filled with the dark
impure venous blood, the nerves of sensation which
run to the heart convey a notice of the fact to the
gray substance of the sj^inal 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 heart 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 cellular
substance of the spinal marrow, 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 watch Ave use a certain
amount of /orce, and this force we transmit to the main-
spring, where it remains coiled up, to be given off 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
* Tliia irt a side view of the left side of tho Hpinnl cord.
t Fig. 7 hIiows a portion of the spinal cord Burronnded hy its onvelopea, and showing
tho origin of the anterior and posterior roots. Thus, at 1, 1 are shown the posterior roots
of the Bpinal nerves, and 2, 2, tlie anterior roots of the fame nerves; nt 3, 4, and below
theui, tlie anterior and posterior roots are rut. In the upper vwrtion of tlie cnjrravinR the
h1»o:i11i or eaveloi)e of tlie spituil cord is preserveil ; and at (> are i^liown the two roots
united, and i)ri)jectinR from tho sheath ; at 7 is shown" a vertical seel ion of the two ro-its
cut close to tho sheath, aud showing the vertical line which divides one root from tha
other.
2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 95
has been exhausted. It has been left to us to avail ourselves
of the proper means of continuuag for a while a supply of tliis
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 presence 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 effort 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 unnoticed by the mind
to other centres of -nervous power and influence. It has been
seen, also, that there are, corresponding to these, two diflTerent
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 different nerves for diff*erent kinds of sensa-
tion. The nerves iK feeling are spread all over and through-
out the body ; but, in addition to these, there are nerves of
hearing^ seei?ig, smelling, and tasting, each entirely different
in its functions from all the others.
^ V. Thus the nerves of 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 BEADEB. Part hi.
vey no impression of hearing, 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 different one from that by which irritation
on the same membrane is felt. The snuff-taker 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 we have found one set of nerves — the nerves
of feeling^ as they are called, whose oflice is to convey to the
mind impressions of ordinary sensation from the surrounding
world ; and a still different set, called nerves of motion^ to
convey 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 difterent from the former, running
to and from the involuntary muscles, and 'regulating their mo-
tions. And we have also found still different nerves, some-
times called nerves of special sense, conveying to the mind
those impressions which give us a knowledge of the objects
of taste and of sounds, of shades and colors, and of odors.
Some mysterious power presides over all of them, and keeps
them in harmonious action, until accident, or disease, or age
seriously mars the beautiful mechanism, and then we die.
No, not we! It is only the body — the machine that is
broken or that is worn out, while we, the spirit-mind, shall
exist forever.
LESSON V. — SPIBIT, THE MOTIVE POWEB OF THE BODY.
1. A machine is a combination of parts composed of mate-
rial substances, solid or fluid, or both, as tlie case may be ; it
possesses not its own principle of motioi:yj it can not urge its
own levers,^ or stretch its own cords, or turn its own wheels,
or put its own fluids into circulation. The efiicient cause of
its motion, which is altogether distinct from the machine it-
self, is called the prime mover.
2. The point on which 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 with it; and that its existence
or non-existence is not decided by the existence or non-exist-
ence of the machine.
2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 91
3. The macbine 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 fire, 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
m9ver, 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 principle of
heat which gives it motion.
6. Neither 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 anaF-
ogy* 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
living soul." — ^Laedner.
8. " Is, then, the being who such rule maintains
Naught but a bunch of fibres, bones, and veins' ?
98
willson's fifth eeadeb.
Part III.
Is all that acts, contrives, obeys, commands,
Naught 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 warm with energy of nobler fire.
And teach mankind to pant for loftier joys.
Where death invades not, nor disease annoys ;
But transports i)ure, immortal, unconfined.
Fill all the vast capacity of mind."
1 Lk'-veb, or Lev'-ee. See Fourth Reader,
p. 312.
' Skep'-ti€-al, doubting.
3 Ma-te'-bi-al-I8t, one who denies any spir-
itual existence apart from matter.
* A-nal'-o-6y, remote likeness or similarity
between difEereut objects.
5 HS'-Porn'-K-sis, a suppoeition.
6 Oh-gan'-ic. Onjanic bodies are such as
possess organs, on the action of which de-
pend their growth and perfection.
7 In-ebt', without power to move.
LES. VI. — VAEioirs phenomena of the neevous system.
(Adapted from Hooker and other writers.)
I. WHAT IS NECESSARY TO SENSATION Aim VOLUNTARY
MOTION.
1. TrfE 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 wHch the nerve is thus expanded
is seriously injured, the nerve will not receive the impression.
If the eye be so injured in 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,3 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 effusion^ of blood by the rupture*
of an artery, as sometimes occurs in apoplexy, there can be
no sensation. Excitement of mind, too, sometimes prevents
2d DiV. OF. . . 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 wound 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 pain is acting all the
time upon 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 with 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 suffering, 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 over
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 affected. Thus, if the nerve of
expression covering the left side of the face be paralyzed, the
left eye can not be closed by any effort, 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 unaffected. This nerve has been called the respi-
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 expressed, 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 v. eep-
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 expression, or
the facial respiratory nerve, is paralyzed, all the motions of
the face connected with the respiration are absent. Though
100 willson's fifth eeader. PaetIIL
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 will be perfectly quiescent.^** So,
too, those movements of the nostrils which are sometimes used
in expression can not be performed. 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 power 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
arm.
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.^^ B^t 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 oif 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
young 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 PHYSIOLOGY 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 we '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 with 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 with every part of the body, making
the heart to be so easily afiected 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
which it supplies with branches and the brain is cut ofi*.
But the two cut ends of the trunk can grow together, 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
without 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
which go to a finger.
2. The difficulty of accurate union would seem to us to be
still farther increased by the fact that, in the same bundle of
nerve fibres, the difierent 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 nerve 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 whatever position it may be placed, apparently
102 willson's fifth reader. Part ni.
seeking out and uniting with its severed part, so that event-
ually the communication of impressions 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 do\^n so as to be made to grow on to 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 Tkxt'-ures, different parts or layera, each
likened to a ^oeb that is woven.
2 Mtj'-roi's Mkm'-branb, a thin and slimy
flexil,l(i akin.
3 TO'-MOK, a swelling.
♦ EF-Pu'-iBiON, a pouring out from the proper
Kf pt'-Cre, a breaking.
Ili^B'-o-isM, the spirit and conduct of
hero; fortitude.
"> PAE'-A-LfzEB, affected with the palsy; be-
numbed.
8 Mab'-ti-cate, chew ; grind with the teeth.
9 Res-pi-ba'-tion, the act of breathing.
1" QuT-Es'-cENT, in a state of repoi»e.
11 ex-'qui-site, peculiarly delicate; keenly
felt. [feeling.
12 Sen-si-bTtZ-i-ty, acuteness or delicacy of
13 ab'-soe8s, a swelling containing a whitish
matter called pus.
LES. Vn. INTEMPERANCE, THE PREVIE MINISTER OF DEATH.
1. Death, the king of terrors, was determined to choose a
prime minister ;^ 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 ,5 when
immediately entered a lady, witfe 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 office ?" 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 chief officer in civil
affairs,
s Cocbt'-ieb, an attendant who flatters to
please.
3 GtHast'-ly, death-like ; very pale ; hideous,
* Pke-fer'ked, put forward ; urged.
5 Rev'-el-ey, carousing with noisy merri-
ment.
6 Bac'-cha-nals, those who indulge in
drunken 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 spelP 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.
» Beak'-eb, a drinking-cup or glass. p Sltjo'-gish, having little motion.
» Spell, a charm consisting of words of hid- * BeIm'-minq, full to the very brim.
den power. I
104
WILLSON'S FIFTH BEADKK.
Part III.
LESSON IX. — THE WATEB-DEINKEE.
1. Oh, water for me! bright water for me,
And wine for the tremulous debauchee.*
Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the brain,
And maketh the faint one strong again ;
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea.
All freshness, like infant purity ;
Oh, water, 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 crystaP 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 !
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, water, 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.
6. 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 Dnn-Arr-onEB' (dcl-o-ahec')^ a profligate ; a
drunkard,
a CRYs'-TAr,, horo used for water^ which is
clear aa cr>'stal.
' Mat'-fn, morning song. ^
♦ I*fip'-riK8, opium, obtained from the j^p-
py. lulls Jo slnep.
* LIvr'-lonq, long in paasing.
2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 105
LESSON" X. — HOW THE MIND SPEAKS THROUGH THE
NEEVES AND MUSCLES.
(Adapted chiefly from Sir Cliarles Bell.)
*' There's a language that's vnute, there's a silence that speaks;
There is something that can not be told ;
There are words 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 play of the muscles,"
forms the greater portion of the language of daily life.
2. Thoughts and feelings are expressed only by muscular
motion as controlled by the nerves. Even the voice in speak-
ing,, and the hand in writing, merely translate the language
of the muscles into conventionaP feigns; 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 w^e 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 physiognomv.^
E 2
1 0(3 WILLSON's fifth reader. Fart HI.
4. The heart and the lungs 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, will ex-
press themselves by outward signs, distinct from those which
the mind directly controls. We can readily conceive why a
man, under the influence of terror, stands with eyes intently
lixed 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 liim. 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 shpulders 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 sufiers. Clarence says to his
murderer,
" IIow deadly dost thon spcak^ 1
Your eyea do miinace me : why look you pale^ ?"
6. Thus the frame of the body, though 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 sufiers, the brcatliing should be
agitated, for then the ordinary involuntary motions of the res-
piratory organs are interfered with by a more potent^ nerv-
ous influence than ordinary; we see why the muscles of the
throat should be aftectcd 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. OP
HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH.
107
even the loalJc 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 €!on-vkn'-tion-al, agreed upon, or arising 3 Po'-tent, powerful.
out of custom. I* Par'-a-l\'zed, benumbed; incapable of mo-
2 Phys-i-6g'-no-mt, the science of discerning tion.
the character from the face. |
LESSON XI. — THE LANGUAGE OF THE COUNTENANCE.
( Continued^
(Adapted chiefly from Sir Charles Bell.)
Fig. 8.
THE FACIAIi NEETE.
Fig. 8 shows the Facial Nei*ve —
the nerve of expression of the coun-
tenance. All tiie 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 ner\'e 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 the
wonderful versatility of this natural
language amtie 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
pairs 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 nei-ves; yet one of a
pair — as one eye, 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 EEADEE.
Part in.
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 which is known and read of all man-
kiiid!
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 ; when 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^re 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 with 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-
L- piration is slow, with a melancholy
3 ^^iS^iilEji^l^ note. In weeping, the same mus-
cles are affected as in laughter ; but
they act difterently, and the expres-
sion is as much opposed to that of
laughter as the nature of the emotion which produces it.
4. In unrestrained rage, which is a brutal passion, the
I'ig. lU. — (Jryiug.
2d DiV. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH.
109
Fig. 11.— Rage.
by the violence of passion.
5.
whole frame trembles, the fea-
tures are unsteady, 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 knit^ and raised
in furrows, the nostrils are in-
flated to the utmost, the lips
are swollen, the corners of the
mouth open, and the teeth are
so firmly closed that words
escape with diflSculty. Tasso,
in describing the rage of Ar-
gantes, dwells with great effect
upon this "strangling of speech"
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 doors
Of heaven, to rouse from its reluctant rest
The thunder growling as the tempest pours ;
For every word, which he with pain express'd,
Escaped in tones aa gruff from his infurmte breast. —Canto yi 88.
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-
wrinkling 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 hoUowness and convulsive motion of the cheeks, and a
cadaverous* aspect, caused by the receding of the blood.
7. 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 eeader.
Part in.
Canst thou quake and cliange thy color', •
Murther tliy breath in middle of a word',
And then again begin', and stop again',
As if thou waat distraught^ and mad with terror' ? — Richard III.
But when terror is mixed with astonishment, the fugitive^
and unnerved steps of mere terror are changed for the root-
ed and motionless figure of a creature appalled and stupefied.
Spenser characterizes well this kind of terror :
lie answer'd naught at all ; but, adding new-
Fear to his first amazement, staring wide
With stony eyes, and heartless hollow hue,
Astonish' d stood, as one that had espy'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 j"^
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 ofiered; 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 perpendicular 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 eyebrows looking still axkanco ;
And ever as Dissemblance laughed on him,
lie lower' d on her with dangerous eye glance,
Showing his nature in his coiuitenance:
His rolling eyes did never rest in iilaco.
But walked each where, for fear of hid mischance,^'
Holding a lattice still before his face,
Through which he still did peep as forward he did pace.— R UL, c. 13.
10. It is an important truth tliat 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 appropriate out-
ward characters ?
1 Ram-i-pi-€a'-tions, branchings,
2 Liv'-ID, black and blue.
3 Knit, contracted.
* €a-dav'-eb-ocs, like a dead body; pale.
* Dis-teaught' (dis-trmvt')^ mstracted.
6 FtJ'-Gi-TivE, inclined to flee away.
7 TIsT'-y, petulant ; fretful.
8 €on-teiMn'ed. regarded with contempt.
9 Teans- VERSE , running crosswise.
^0 Ob-liq'-ui-ty (ob-lik'-we-ty)^ a deviation
from a right line.
^ 1 GeTm, adapted to create terror ; ill-look-
ing.
'2 Mis-chanoe', ill fortune.
LESSON Xn. USES OF ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY
TO THE PAINTER.
1. As anatomy makes us acquainted with that structure by
which 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 escape him' did he
not know their sources\ It is this reducing of things to their
principles which elevates his art into a connection with phi-
losophy', and which gives it the character of a liberaP 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 emotion\ 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-LtJ'-oi-DA-TED, made plain. I the liberal arts— anch as painting, music,
a Ev-A-NES'-CENT, fleeting; quickly passing etc.
away. * DE-LrN-B-X'-TiONS, drawings of the outlines
' Ltb'-er-AT^ embracing elegant culture, as| of a thing.
112 willson's fifth EEADEK. Pabt III.
LESSON Xni. — MARVELS OP HUMAN CALORIC.
Eclectic Review.
[In the Fourth Reader, page 64, the principle of animal heat was explained as
caused by the union of the oxygen of tiie 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 ti-ssuca of
the body, is dislodged, particle by particle, whenever we move a muscle, be it of the heart,
lungs, or limbs, and whenever we tliink or feel ; and it is then tliat 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
some 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 proposition we
are about to advance. Nevertheless, we persist. Fearless of
the consequences, utterly unawed 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 egg, 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 express 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 imion 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 shai>e 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
work — 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.
7. 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 away 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
oflTer 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 which hybernate,^ like the
bear, jerboa, marn:iot, 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^o himself appear-
ing to be anxious to defraud the perfumers of the unguent^^
which is so precious in their eyes.
114 willson's fifth beader. Past in.
9. But perhaps the most striking feature in this warmth-
producing apparatus within us is the self-regulating power
which it possesses. The tires 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-
perature by a passionate use of the poker, with an occasional
growl respecting the excessive cold.
10. Were such irregularities to prevail unchecked in our
fleshy stoves, we should sufier 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 workings 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 round 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 keep 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 adopted. When a substance grows too hot, the sim-
plest method of bringing it into a cooler frame is tg sprinkle
it with water. This is precisely what occurs in our human
frames. For no sooner does our 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
working, 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 view, could any project appear more ho])eless than one for
burning fuel in a soft, delicate fabric like tlie human body — a
fabric composed for the most part of mere fluids — a fabric
2d Div. OP . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 115
which might be easily scorched by excess of heat or damaged
by excess of cold? Does not it seem strange that a stove
should 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, stiU it pours out its mysteri-
ous supplies with unabated profusion. 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 shriveled 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 warmth ? 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, until 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, undying summer within us ?
7 Es-ciTEws', shuns, or avoids.
8 Hy'-bkb-nate, pass the winter in seclu-
sion.
9 Leth'-ar-6y, morbid drowsiness.
Bbu'-in, a name given to a bear.
tJN '-GHENT, ointment.
i Dain'-ty, delicate ; affectedly nice.
2 Io-nTte', to kindle.
3 RaSu'-ee, a thin slice.
* HXtiNon, the hip. [rics of the table.
^ kp'-i-€Cre, one who indulges in the luxu-
6 iN-TtJ'-i-TivE-LY, perceived directly by the
mind, without reasoning. I" StO'-keb, one who attends to the fire.
116 WILLS on's fifth readek. PabtIII.
LESSON XIY. — LINES ON A SKELETON.
[About forty years ago the London Morning 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 pL»ein, in a fair clerkly hand, was found near a skeleton of remarkable beau-
ty of form and color, in the Museum of the Koyal College of Surgeons, Lincoln's Inn, Lon-
don, and that the curator of tlie museum had sent them to Mr. Terry, editor and proprie-
tor of the Morning Chronicle.2
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' I
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.
6. 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. OP . . . HUMAK PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 117
LES. XV. — EDUCATION OF THE MUSCLES OF EXPEESSION.
(Adapted chiefly from Hooker.)
1. As the muscles of the face are the instruments of the
mind 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 ;^ 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 uncouth 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 witty only by the help 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 difference in skill in the use of these mus-
cles as in the use of those of the hand. For higher exam-
ples of this skill 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 capacity 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
unless the onind itself he 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 from the countenance
if they do not emanate^ from the moving spirit within. They
are often awkwardly counterfeited, the one by the bustling
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 will those
evil and malignant passions, which are of a decidedly marked
118 willson's fifth EEADER. Pakt III.
expression, leave their permanent traces in the countenance,
but coarse feelings and brutal instincts write their images
there also, and nothing but a thorough change of character
can possibly efface 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 i^lace of stolid^
indifference, and refined sentiment that of brutal passion.
Sometimes a few weeks sufiice to change the whole character
of the expression in the faces of the young. The dull eye
becomes bright, not from any change in the eye itself, but
froni 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 very soon they begin to contract, 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 intelHgence 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 dissolved
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
ilesh ; and it is not effaced'' till the last vestige^ of life is gone,
2d DiV. OP . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 119
and the laws of dead matter take possession of the body.
This state of countenance is thus beautifully alluded to by
Byron :
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 last 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, changeless brow,
Where cold obstruction's apathy
Appalls the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon —
Yes, but for these, and these alone.
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour.
He still might doubt the tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed.
The first, last look by death revealed I
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 ;
Ikit beauty with that fearful bloom.
That hue which haunts it to tlie tomb,
Expression' s last receding ray,
A gilded halo hovering round decay.
The 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
1 FCnc'-tions, actions or offices.
2 Un-€6cth', awkward ; ungraceful.
3 Km'-a-nate, flow or proceed from.
4 JjIn'-e-a-ments, outlines ; features.
5 StCl'-id, stupid.
6 Tab'-ek-na-€le, a temporary habitation.
7 1'>-faced', removed ; rubbed out.
8 Ves'-tigb, the remains ; the trace.
LES. XVI. DISOEDEES OF THE NEEYOUS SYSTEM.
VISIONS, APPAEITIONS, 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
nerves of sensation. How 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
combinations, 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 iuvestigation.
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 fifth eeadee. Pabt 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,
sfbell, sight, and hearing convey to the brain, leave upon that
organ, or stored up in its sensorium or seat of j^ower, impres-
sions which can be fully ei-adicated^ 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 some per-
manent change in its structure, and that one impression nev-
er completely effaces 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
Avafer be thrown off, though now upon the polished surface
the most critical inspection can discover no trace of any form,
yet, if we breathe upon it, a spectraP figure of the wafer comes
mto 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 months, 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 fiiding spectre of the key on
the paper will be seen ; and if the paper be put away where
nothing can disturb it, and so kept for many months, if it 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 paper, the spectres of many
different objects which may have been in succession laid orig-
inally thereupon will, on warming, emerge in their proper 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
2dDlV. 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 efibrt. 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 we 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 aflected by disease, former impressions often
become mingled with the present, and the complicated scenes
of a passing drama are displayed. Thus, in the dehrium tre-
mens, which follows a cessation from the customary use of al-
cohol, phantoms appear moving around among real objects.
" The form 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
sufferer sees with dismay a nioping raven on some of the more
distant articles of furniture. Or, out of an indistinct cloud,
faces, sometimes of surprising 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 previous occu-
pations, travel, mental habits, or reading of the sick man.
F
122 willson's fifth eeadeb. Pakt 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 pomp ; friezes^
of never-ending stories,^'* that to my feelings were as sad and
solemn as if they were stories drawn from times before CEdi-
pus or Priam, before Tyre, before Memphis ; and, at the same
time, a corresponding change took place in my d'reams ; 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,
which 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 present realities, and sometimes the two causes imite 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 which 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 sur-
vived all changes of creed and superstitions, 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 'P 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 preserved the fashions of
the present ? Science is a great dispeller of superstitious fan-
cies.
1 In-vol'-ttn-ta-ey, independent of the will
2 E-ead'-i-ca-ted, rooted out ; destroyed.
3 Spe€'-teal, having an indistinct or ghostly
appearance.
* De-tE'-ei-o-eIte, impair; injure.
6 In-oe-gan'- i€, without the organs or instru
ments of life.
6 Gang'-li-a, nerve bundles,
^ Op'-Tie Nekve, the nerve of vision, run
ning from' the eye to the brain.
8 €oN-T6trB, outline of a thing.
9 Feieze, in architecture^ a part of the en
tablature. See p. 2S2.
10 Sto'-biej, loft?, 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 imnge
of external objects. See p. 83.
12 As-cet'-i€, one who practices undue rigor
or self-denial in religious thing.?.
13 To'-GA, a kind of gown.
1* Mau-pee-tjjis' iMo-per-Uvi% a celebnited
French acjidemician — born in 16i 8— died
in 1759. For a long time he was president
of the Itoyal Academy of Sciences at Ber-
lin.
LESSON XYII. — A DEEAM, AND ITS EXPLANATION.
Draper.
1. XoT 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
7'epeated ; and although there is nothing strange in this, bur
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 principles, we
are indebted to the work of Dr. Draper.
2. "When I was five or six years old," says tlie naiTator, "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 subsequently, 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 pictxxre 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 the Southern States.
It so fell out that one July afternoon I had to take a long and wearisome
ride on horseback. It was Sunday, and extremely hot ; the path was soli-
12-1: willson's fifth reader. Part III.
tury, 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 ray eye across it, there stood a jjine-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 aftenvard 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, mthout respect to
difference of scenery, or climate, or age. A good clerg}Tnan of my ac-
quaintance took the opportunity 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 course 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 tnith gleamed in u])on
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 probable
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 an4 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 th(? glimpse of the water, with the readiness of those who arc falling asleep
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 tliis physician teaches us how
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 us, and take a position among existing re-
2d UlV. 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 doubt ; 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 present themselves with at least equal force.
1 Stj-per-nat'-G-eal, above or beyond the ^ Pro-je€t'-ed, thruBt forvvard.
laws of nature; miraculous. 6 E-mke'-gence, a coming forth.
2 Prone, bending downward. | ^ Dor'-mant, sleeping.
3 Mi'-A$M, noxious vapors or effluvia. ; 8 La'-tent, not visible ; concealed.
* Pbo-vo'-ca-tive, that which excites ori
leads to.
LESSON XVni. — 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 ; and it 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
120 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 eitbrts. 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 botli 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, who, 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, which not only
deprives them of much enjoyment, but subjects them to suf-
fering both of body and mind from the slightest causes.
6. 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, Mho, having
devoted his life to the toils of business, and having acquired
a competency,^ gives up all his business 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, weariness 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.
2d DiV.OP . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 127
6. But l^e 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
him 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 opposition 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 will ensue, threatening apoplexy ; or the brain may be
overstrained, the same as an arm, and the consequence be
permanent mental debility.
1 €oN-GE8'-TiON, too great an accumulation] ducing loss of sense and voluntary mo-
of blood. tion.
2 Ap'-o-plex-y, a disorder of the brain pro- 3 C6m'-pe-ten-ct, a sufficiency of property.
K A-nal'-o-gou8, 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 MoiJth— 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 reader. Part III.
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 efforts to guide you aright."
C. The Foot, in reply, 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 ; hut 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 ])hysical, intellectual, and moral faculties should receive, daily,
their approj)riatc share of culture, tliat i\\\ may grow in harmony together.
Just in pro])ortion as mind is cultivated in some one direction only, the re-
sult is that species of monomania which we see in 7«r7j of one idea ; and when
the i)hysical alone is cultivated, we have the mere bully or bravado.
11. When the f)rain is overcharged with blood, as often occurs from too
2d Dir. OF. . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. ] 29
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.
12. Exercise is as natural 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
physiological as well as a moral truth, that "Idleness is the parent of vice ;"
and it is no less the teaching of physiology than of experience, that, if we
will not educate the ignorant, we may expect to support them as paupers or
criminals. •
LESSON XXI. ADVICE TO A HARD STUDENT.
" Seek variety iu recreation and study."
1. Still vary thy incessant task.
Nor plod each weary day.
As if thy life were thing of earth —
A servant 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.
3. 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 beat.
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'.
.*>. Let love of books', and love of fields',
And love of men combine
F2
130 willson's fifth reader. PartIIT.
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 lyre
Give forth its music due. — Cuables Mackay.
^ Aiy-TKB'-NATBr or al'-teb-nate, to cx-js Heabth (htirth). This is the approved
change; perform by turns. pronunciation, although the writer, above,
2 RI'-j-LB, seize and bear away. | makes it riiyme with mirth.
LESSON XXn. — 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
happiness of life, of heightening the gifts of fortmie, 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
without 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 whatever
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 power 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 Drv. OF . . . HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY AND HEALTH. 131
4. Health is equally neglected, and with equal impropriety,
by the votaries of business and the followers of pleasure. Some
men ruin the fabric pf 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 enjoyedl •
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.— Gat.
6. Ah I what avail the largest gifts of Heaven,
When 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.
Behold the wretch who slugs his life aways,
Soon swallowed in disease's sad abyss,
^While 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, with 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 t©
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.
THIED MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
LESSON I. — THE VILLAGE SCHOOL OF OLDEX TIME.
[The reading of this inimitftWo piece of description, in which the most delicate satire U
conveyed under tlie ^uise of profound admiration, requires, especially iu the third verse,
the ironical tone of mock laudation and respect.]
1. Beside yon straRglin^; fence tliat skirts the way
With l)lossom'd furze' nnj)rofitahly gay —
There', in his noisy mansion', skill'd to rule',
The village master taught his little schooP. •
2. A man severe he was\ and stern to viow^ ;
I knew him wcfilpbnd every truant kne^^'':
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 fault\
3. The village all declared how much he knew ;
'Twas certain^ he could write', and cipher^ too ;
Lands he could measure^ terms^ 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 stiir ;
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.
Goldsmith.
Ftthze, a beautiful evergreen shrub, with 3 Pee-sagb', foreshow ; predict.
biilliant yellow flowers, abundant on the * Gauge (^cij)-, to measure the contents of
English commons. cask, barrel, or other vessel.
Tebmb, probably here refemng to the terms
or tivma when the courts were to be held.
LESSON n. THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER 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
whom to apply, in all the wide, unfriendly world 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-winter, 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 smoked 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
whose promise is to the widow and to the orphan can not for-
134
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 him ; and in latter time, by the hand of death, she
had been deprived of the companion and staff 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 had 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 suffer with fortitude the winter
of want ; his aftections are not wounded, his heart not wrung.
The most desolate in populous 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 was 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 imcalled
across her mind :
"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace ;
Behind a frowning I'rovidenco
lie 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
indifferent 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 under 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 proffered to the stranger. " We shall
not be forsaken," said she, " or suffer deeper for an act of
charity."
5. The traveler drew 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 sow, 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 Israel ;
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 i&ore
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. — New YorJc Spectator,
LESSON" HI. THE FAMILY MEETING.
[The reading of tliis 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 all" 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 nof 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' :
136 willson's fifth reader.
Some', like a night-flash, pass'd away\
And some' sank lingering day by day' ;
The quiet grave-yard' — some' lie there' —
And cruel Ocean has his^ share :
We're not'' all here.
3. We are' all here !
Even Mey\ 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 tfach 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' !
Charles Spraguk.
LESSON IV. TACT AND TALENT.
[This Le-8on furnishes fine examples of contrasted or antithetic clauae?, for the reading
of which see Kule VT., and also what is caid on the t»ame subject on page 'il. It alao fur-
nishes several fine examples of conclxiding series^ etc See page 15.]
1. Talent' is something', but tact^ is 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 cye\ the quick ear\ the judging taste\
the keen smell', and the lively touch^ ; it is the interpreter of
all riddlcs\ 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 ifito^ the
world ; it is useful in society^ for it shows him liis way
througW the world.
2. Talent' is power\ tact^ is skilP ; talent' is weight\ tacC
is momentum^ ; taloit' knows ichaC to do, tacC knows fioro''
to do it ; talent' makes a man respectable\ tact^ will make
THIED MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. ISV
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 arces. There is no want of dramatic talent\ there is
no want of dramatic tact^ ; but they are seldom together^ : so
we have successful pieces which are not respectable', and re-
spectable pieces which are not successful\
3. Take them to the bar, 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. Talent' 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 wind that
blows\ Take them into the church. Talent' has ahvays
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
honor /rom^ the profession.
4. Take them to court. Talent' feels its weighty 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 slip-
ping into place with a sweet silence and glibness of move-
ment," as a billiard ball insinuates itself into the pocket. It
seems to know every thing', without learning any^ thing. It
has served an invisible and extemporary apprenticeship^ ; it
wants no drilling^ ; it never ranks in the awkward squad^ ; it
has no left hand', no-deaf ear', no blind side\ It puts on no
looks of wondrous wisdom\ it has no air of profundity^ but
plays with the details of place as dexterously as a well-taught
hand flourishes over the keys of the piano-forte. It has all
the air of commonplace,' and all, the force and power of gen-
ius. — Ijondon Atlas.
138 willson's fifth readeb.
LESSON" V. — RATNT UPON THE EOOF.
[The following beautiful lines require great tenderness and delicacy of expression in the
reading, to be in harmony with the tender and subdued feeling which the scene reiresent-
ed is BO well calculated to pro<luce.J
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 their 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 suiTey 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 murmur
Of the soft rain on the roof.
5. There is naught in art's bravuros^
That can work with such a spell.
In the spirit's pure, deep fountains.
Whence the holy passions swell,
As that melody of nnture\
That subdued, subduing strain\
Which is played upon the shingles'
By the patter of the rain\
Anoni/mous.
> Bba-vC'-ra, a spirited, brilliant pong or air, for the diaplay of execution.
THIRD MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 139
LESSOlSr VI.— GOOD ADVICE^
1. A CERTAIN khan of Tartary, traveling with his nobles,
was met by a dervis, 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 which thou
hast not well considered the endP The courtiers, hearing this
plain sentence, smiled, and said, with a sneer, " 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. iNTot 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 which thou hast not loell 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" Vll. TRUE KNOWLEDGE.
What is true knowledge' ? 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 Mant,
140
willson's fifth keadkk.
'akt IV
PART IV.
SECOND DIVISION OF BOTANY.
[This subject is continued from the Foiuth Reader ]
LESSON I. — THE STUDY OF BOTANY.
Lo ! when the buds expand, the leaves are green,
Then the first opening of the flower is seen ;
Then come the humid breath and rosy emile,
That with their sweets the willing sense beguile ;
But as we look, and love, and taste, and praise.
And the fruit groM^Blhe charming flower decay
Till all is gathered^Ko the wintry blast
Mourns o'er the place of love and pleasure past.-
-Cbabbr.
2. The changes described by the poet are indeed full of in-
terest and beauty, from the time when " 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 woods — 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 stnicturo that tell of its Divine Creator.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 141
3. Notliing, perhaps, astonishes an individual move, when
commencing the search for and study of our uncultivated
plants, than to find, even in the most commonplace walk, what
an immense variety of different kinds — species, as they are
called botanically — 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 afibrd innocent and happy thoughts,
than the study of flowers generally ; and though 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 the poorest little one ,
That wanders 'neath the vault of heaven."
' €oN-8EEv'-A-TO-ET, a gTeen-housc for exotic (foreign) plants.
LESSON II. CLASSIFICATION OF PLANTS.
" Tlie Almighty Maker ha?, throughout,
Discriminated each from each, by strokes
And touches of his hand, Avith so 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 EEADEE. Pakt 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-bird, flitting from flower to flower, seems to
resemble the butterfly of variegated wing ; but the naturalist
considers the humming-bird more like an elephant than a
butterfly. He will call the bird and elephant 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 with 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 writers 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 growth, or medicinal properties. Two
hundred years ago the poet Cowley published an arrangement
of plants founded on their size and appearance. Herbs, flow-
ers, and trees were his divisions ; which Hugh Millfer. has said
was like Buffon's division of animals into wild and tame,
5. Many methods of classification have been proposed with-
in the last two centuries, but they have gradually given place
to the artificial system of Linnaeus, and the natural method
of Jussieu. The former divided the vegetable world into
twxnty-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 7:)^s^^7s. A synopsis of the twenty-one classes in
which American botanists have arranged plants on the Lin-
na^an method, is here given.* As the " Natural 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,
Tlmt never will in other olimato kfow,
My earliest viHitation, niul my Inst
At eveu, which I bred up with tender baud
• SVNOreiB OF THE ARTIFIOIAL OB LINNAAN 8Y8TKM.
Ah the 11th, 18th, nnd 23d claspcs of T-innaMis coniprife but few penera found in tho
United StateH, and thoce variable in their characters, moat American botaniot^ have dis-
tributed them among the other classes, an arrangement which wc have adopted in this
synopsis, and In our referenoes to the Linnean pyMtem. See next page.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY.
143
From the first opening bud, and gave ye names I
Who no\\^ shall rear ye to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ?"
LESSOR m. — NATURAL METHOD OF CLASSinCATION.
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. — Tuppee.
1. The primary and most obvious division of the vegetable
kingdom is into two great series or classes, flowering* and
First Class, Monandeia, has one
stamen.
Examples : ginger, arrow-root,
samphire, starwort, etc.
Second Class, Diandria, has two
stamens.
Ex. : lilac, jessamine, sage, ca-
talpa, fringe-tree, rosemaiy, etc.
Third Class, TRiANDEiA,ha3 three
stamens.
Ex. : gladiolus, iris, crocus, mil-
let, chess, wheat, etc.
Fourth Class, Tetrandeia, has
four stamens.
Ex. : holly, partridge-berry,
Venus' -pride, teasel, madder, etc.
Fifth Class, Pentandeia, h&sfive
stamens.
Ex. : potato, mullein, flax, vio-
let, four-o'clock, comfrey, etc.
Sixth Class, Hexanbria, has six
stamens.
Ex. : lily, hyacinth, jonquil,
snow-drop, spider-wort, etc.
Seventh Class, Heptandeia, has
seven stamens.
Ex. : chick-wintergreen, horse-
chestnut, little buckeye, etc.
Eighth Class, Octanueia, has
eight stamens.
Ex. : cranberry, nasturtion,
buckwheat, fuchsia, maple, etc.
Ninth Class, Enneandeia, has
nine stamens.
Ex. : sassafras, rhubarb, spice-
bush, erigonum, etc.
Tenth Class, Decandeia, has ten
stamens.
Ex. : trailing arbutus, whortle-
berry, pink, cassia, Venus' fly-
trap, etc.
Eleventh Class, Tcosandria, has
over ten stamens, on the calyx.
Ex. : rose, cherry, myrtle, rasp-
berry, plum, peach, etc.
11th order has 12 styles, and the 12th more
founded upon the covering or the nakedness
iti«8 in the fiorets. *
Twelfth Class, Polyandeia, has
over ten stamens, on the recep-
tacle.
Ex. : poppy, peony, pond-lily,
bloodroot, orange, etc.
Thirteenth Class, Didynamia,
has four stamens, two longer
than the others.
Ex. : lavender, hyssop, balm,
mint, foxglove, etc.
Fourteenth Class, Teteadyna-
MiA, has six stamens, four long-
er than the others.
Ex. : cabbage, mustard, etc.
Fifteenth class, Monadelphia,
stamens united in one tube.
Ex. : hollyhock, mallows, cot-
ton, geranium, cranebill, etc.
Sixteenth Class, Diadelphia,
stamens united in tivo sets.
Ex. : pea, bean, vetch, locust,
indigo, clover, lupine, etc.
Seventeenth Class, Syngenesia,
anthers united, flowers com-
pound.
Ex. : daisy, dandelion, aster,
lettuce, tan.sy, sunflower, etc.
Eighteenth Class, Gynandeia,
stamens on the pistil.
Ex.: ladies' -slipper, snakeroot,
orchis, milk-weed, arethusa, Qif..
Nineteenth Class, Monceoia, sta-
mens and pistils in different
flowers on the same plant.
Ex. : Indian corn, nettles, etc.
Twentieth Class, Dkecia, sta-
mens and pistils on different
plants.
Ex. : willow, poplar, ash, hop,
hemp, yew, etc.
Twenty-first Class, Ceyptoga-
mia, flowerless plants.
Ex. : ferns, mosses, lichens,
mushrooms, puff-balls, sea- weed,
etc.
The OEDERS of the first ten, and 15th, ICth,
18 th, 19th, and 20th classes are determined
by the number of styles (or stigmas when
the styles are wanting) in each flower. The
than 12. The orders in the 13th class are
of the seeds; and in the 17th upon peculiar-
" (Jailed by botanists Phenog'amotis plants.
144 WILLSON's fifth EEADEE. Part IV.
FLOWEELESs*' plants. Next is a subdivision of the former into
the exogenous^'' 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 Reader.
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 hi
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,
differ from all the rest in having their seeds naked. Thus Na-
ture has formed two great divisions of the exogenous plants;
and w^e may designate them as those which have covered seeds *
and those which have naked seeds}
3. The endogenous plants, which are only about one fifth
as numerous as the exogenous, are also divided into two class-
es, those which are ^vithout glumes or husks surrounding the
flower,^ and those which have them.'' Lilies, 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 thalloge^is^
which grow 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.
6. 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 170 orders, which are composed of gcncrjl
or families, as in the artificial system. The orders are found-
f* Called by botnnlRtfl Crjfj>tofi'avimtH plants.
•■ Kx-«3'/-EN-ouB ; •' En-i)5g'-bn-oitb, Hec Fourth Readpr, p. V.G. « Called Aivjiotperms.
f C&WedGymnonjtcrniR. « (Hlled Arf'nmhcecu^. '•< 'ailed ff/itwuKJrotfcj.
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 cruciferous}'
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
with both systems, as explained in the excellent text-books
of Gray, Wood, Darby, and Mrs. Lincoln.
7. We have spoken of a natural 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 invent^ 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 in 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 yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron brown;
And lavish stock, that scents the garden round ;
From the soft wing of vernal^ breezes sheds
Anemonies ;6 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 difi"u8ed
To family, as flies the father-dust,^
The varied colors run ; and while they lyreak
On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks,
With secret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No 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
Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissusio fair,
The Compos'itos, or sunflower tribe.
Legumino'sce^ having papilionaceous, or butterfly-shaped flowers.
Cruci'/erce., or cross-bearing ; also called cruci/ers.
G
146
WILLSON'S FIFTH EEADEE.
Pabt IY
10.
Ab o'er the fabled fountain hanging still ;
Nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks;
Nor, Bhower'd from every bush, the damafk rose;
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,
With hues on hues expression can not paint—
The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom,
rifeil, Source of Being ! Universal Soul
Of heaven and earth ! Essential Presence, hnil !
To Thee I bend the knee ; to Thee my thoughts,
Continual, climb ; who, with a master-hand.
Hast the great whole into perfection touch" d.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapped in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew ;
By Thee disposed into congenial soils,
Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swelbt
The juicy tide ; a twining mass of tubes.
At Thy command the vernal sun awakes
The torpid sap, detruded^ to the root
By wint'ry winds ; that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
All this innumerous-colored scene of things.— Thomson.
' A«'-BO-GENS, see p. 196.
2 Thal'-lo-gen8, see p. 202.
3 Li'-€HENf, see p. 202.
♦ €btp-tQg'-a-mou8, see p. 196.
* Veb'-nal, pertaining to the spring.
• A-nem'-o-ne, the wind-flower.
' Au-Bie'-iJ-LA, a beautiful species of prim-
rose.
8 Ra.-nuw'-€U-lus, the crowfoot.
9 " FATnEB-DTJST," the pollen of plants.
See Fourth Reader, p. 223.
10 Nae-cis'-sus. According to Grecian fable,
2^'arcissiis was a beautiful youth, who, see-
ing his image reflected in a fountain, and
becoming enamored of it, pined away till
he was changed into the flower which bears
his name.
u De-teC'-»ed, 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 blossoming
In joyous troops revealed ;
They lift their dewy 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 every fragrant bush
All full of toiling bees ;
From the green marge of lake and stream,
Fresh vale and mountain sod,
They look in gentle glory forth.
The pure sweet flowers of God. — Lyons.
I'll teach thee miracles ! Walk on this heath,
And say to the neglected flower, ' ' Lot)k up,
And be thou beautiful !" if thou hast faith
It will obey thy word. — BARRixaTOir.
2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTANY.
U7
FIEST DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KING-
DOM. EXOGENS.
[The four most important physiological peculiarities of this great natural division are,
1st. The plants are Exogenous^ or outward growers. (See Fourth Eeader, p. 176.) 2d.
The leaves are net-veined. 3d. The flowers are mostly quinary or quaternary — that is,
they have five or four sepals, petals, and stamens, or some power of those numbers — rare-
ly ternary. 4th. The embryo has tico cotyledons ; that is, the plants are dicotyledonous.
Other peculiarities will be noticed under the different families which compose the divi-
Bion.]
LESSON" IV. THE ROSE FAMILY.
[Exogenous' or Dicotyledonous ;2 Angiosperms;3 Pohipetaloup.*']
i. Jio'sa gaVlica^ French rose, xi. 12, pk., 3 f., Jn.-Jl., France. 2. Eo'sa damaace'na.
Pamask rose, xi. 12, r., 3 f., Jn.-Jl. , Levant. 8. Ro'sa musco'sa, Moss roFC, xi. 12,
Jn.-Jl., S. Europe. 4. jRo'sa cinnamo'nea^ Cinnamon rose, xi. 12, pk., 6 f , My., Europe
5. Fraga'ria grandiflo'ra., Wild-pine strawberry, xi. 12, w., 1 f., Ap.-My., S. Am. 6
Jiu'biis occidenta'lis^ Am. raspberry, xi. 12, w., 5f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 7. Spirce'a ml
ci/o'lia, Willow-leaved spiraea, or Queen of the Meadow, xi. 5, w., 3 f., Jn.-Au., N. Am.
8. Spirce'a ulmifo'lia^ Elm-leaved spiraea, xi. 5, w., 3 f , Jn.-Jl., S. Europe. 9. Spirce'a
iomento'say Hard-hack spiraea, xi. 5, r., 3 f., Au,-S., N. Am.
For explamition of the characters used in connection with the botanical descriptions^
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
2. Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by
A thousand images of Love and Grier,
Dreams, fiU'd with tokens of mortality^
Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief.
148 willson's fifth READEK. Part IV.
8. Not snch thy epells o'er those that hail'd thee first
In the clear light of Eden's'' golden day' ;
There thy rich leaves to crimson glory burst,
Link'd with no dim remembrance of decay.
4. Rose' ! for the banquet gathered, and the bier;
Rose' I colored now by human liope or pain ;
Surely where death is not — nor change, nor fear,
Yet may we meet thee, Joy's own Flower, again ! — Mbs. Heuanb.
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 spiraeas 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 wild 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 plants which have been changed
in the same manner — have to be propagated 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 which doth in it live.
The cankers blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the ro9e8\
Hang on such thorn8\ and play as wantonly
When Hummer's breath their masked buds disclosM.
But, for their virtue', they have naught but show^ ;
They live unmoved', and unrespected fade* —
Die to themselves* : sweet rosea' 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. OP . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 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 Roses, which lasts the
whole time they are in blossom.
10. A happier smile illumes each brow,
With 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.— Moobe.
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. The wild rose, one species of which is the wild brier, or
eglantine, has been made the emblem of "Nature's sweet sim-
pUcity" 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 woodbine or honeysuckle.
"The wild rose scents the summer air,
And woodbines weave in bowers.
To glad the swain sojourning there,
And maidens gathering flowers."
13. The standards of the houses of York and Lancaster had
for emblems the wild rose ; the white rose being used to dis-
tinguish the partisans of the former, and the red those of the
latter.
"Thou once wast doomed.
Where civil discord braved the field.
To grace the 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
WILLSON'S FIFTH READER.
Pakt IV.
Some\ as they went', the blue-eyed violets strew' ;
Borne, Bpotlesa lilius in loo.se order threw\
Some did the way with full-blown rones epread',
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 the first rose's hue,
Which, at God's word, in beauteous Eden grew;
Queen of the flowers that made that garden gay.
The morning blushes of the spring's new day. — (Jowley.
15. The origin of the red color of the rose has been fanci-
fully accounted for in various ways. By the Greeks, the rose
was 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 white rone, being shed,
Made it forever after ?-ed."
Its beautiful tint is poetically traced to another source by a
modern poet :
As erst in Eden's blissful bowers.
Young Eve surveyed her countless flowers',
An opening rose of purest voMU '^
She mai'k'd with eye that beara'd deliglit';
Its leaves' she kissed', and straight it drew
From beauty's lip the vermeil** hue — J. Cabey.
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 them
a luxuriant appearance not easily de-
scribed. The origin of this mossy vest
has been thus explained by a German
writer.
The angel of the flowers one day
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay —
That spirit, to whose charge is given
To bathe young buds in dew from heaven.
Awakening from his slight repose.
The angel whispered to the rose,
•' O fondest object of my care.
Still fairest found where all is fair,
For the sweet shade thou hast given me,
Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee."
Then said the rose, with deepened glow,
" On me another grace bestow."
The angel paused in silent thought —
What 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',
Could there a flower that rose exceed' l*
Moss Rose.
1 Ex-Su'-K-NOU8, outward gi-owers. See
Fourth Reader, p, 17C.
3 DI-co-tyl-k'-don-ol's, having two cotyle-
dons. See Fourth Reader, note, p. 193.
3 AN'-tii-o-srEEMB, plants which have their
seeds covered. [petals.
* roL-Y-PET'-Ai.-Ou8, plants having many!
* At-TiiKN'-ATE, rising liighcr on opposite
sides alternately, and following in regular
order. •
• €ank'-er, a name given to the dog rose.
' Biio-guET' ('ioo-A<?'), a bunch of flowers.
8 Ver'-meil <^for vc-nnxliorOy a red color.
2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY.
151
LESSON V. — OTJR COMMON PRUITS.
[Exogenous or Dicotyledonous ; Angiospenns; Polypetalous.]
1. Aniyg'dalus incn'ria^ AVoolly almond, xi. 1, r., 2 f., M.-A., Caucasus. 2. Amyg'dalus
commu'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. Pru'nus Arvieni'aca, Common apri-
cot, xi. 1, w., 15 f., F.-M., Levant. 6. Cratce'fius ni'gra. Black hawthorn, xi. 5, w., 20 f.,
A.-My., Hungary. 7. Cratce'gus puncta'ta^ Common thorn-tree, xi. 5, w., 15 f.. My,, N.
Am. 8. Cratce'gua 2i!F^fo'l^a, Pearl-leafed thorn, xi. 3, w., 15 f., Jn., N. Am. 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 ; the Romans had twenty-
152
willson's fefth eeadee.
paet rv.
two varieties of it ; and , poets, in all ages, have sung its
praises.
The fragrant stores, the wide projected heaps
Of apples, which the lusty-handed year,
Innumeroua, o'er the blushing orchard shakes;
A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen.
Dwells ill their gelid i pores; and, active, points
The piercing cider for the thirsty tongue.
TnoMSOjf.
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 aU the rose 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 composition mixed."
4. The quince, plum, and apricot
we must pass cursoi ily by, merely re-
marking of the apricot that it is a
fruit intermediate in character be-
tween the plum and the peach. The
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 peach 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 their profusion and
beauty, have been made 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 \"
6. Nor is the emblem without its peculiar appropriateness ;
for so far back as we can trace the liistory of this tree, its
early and fragrant blossoms, appearing before the leaves, were
regarded as the promise of a fruitful season. Virgil gave
expression to the popular belief in the following lines :
•' Mark well the flowering almond in the wood' ;
It odorous blooms the bearing branches load',
The glebe' will answer to the sylvan' reign' ;
Great heats^ will follow', and large crope of grain' ;
2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 153
But, if a wood of leaves o'ershade the tree',
Such, and so barren, will the harvest be^ ;
In vain the hind* shall vex the threshing-floor',
For 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 :
Blossom of the almond trees,
April's gift to April's 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 the May ;
Coming when no flow' rets would,
Save thy lowly sisterhood.
Early violets, blue and white.
Dying for their love of light.
7« Almond blossom, 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 bough is seen ;
Ah 1 when winter winds are swinging
All thy red bells into ringing,
With a bee in every bell,
Almond bloom', we greet thee well\ — Edwin Abnold.
8. The mountain ash, a small but beautiful and popular tree,
also belonging to the pear and apple family, 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 berries that outshine
Springs richest blossoms, yields a splendid show
Amid the leafy woods ; and ye have seen,
By a brook side or solitary tarn,^
How she her station doth adorn ; the pool
Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks
Are brighten' d round her ! — Words wokth.
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, which, 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.
1 6el'-ii>, cold ; very cold. 1* Hind, the servant or domestic of a hus'
2 Glebe, the soil ; the turf. bandman or farmer ; a rustic.
3 Stl'-van, pertaining to the forest. 1* Takn, a mountain lake.
G 2
154
willson's fifth eeadee.
Fabt IV.
LES. VI. — CAMELLIA, MALLOW, AND CITRON FAMILIES.
[ExoQKNOTTS or Dicotyledonous; Angiosperms; Pohjpetalouji.']
1. CavieVlia japon' ica^ Japan rose, xv. 12 (a tree in Japan), w. and or., Mv.-,J1., Japan.
2. Gossyp'ium herba'ceum^ Common cotton, xv. 12, y., 4 f., Jl., E. Indies. 3. Gosgiip'ium
narbaden'se^ Barbadoes cotton, xv. 12, y., 5 f., S., W. Indies. 4. AUhe'a ro'setL, Common
hollyhock, xv. 12, r. and w., 8 f., Jl.-S., China. 6. Mal'va moscka'ta^ Muak-mallow, xv.
12, pk., 2 f, Jl.-Au., Britain. 6. Ilibia'cua milita'ris^ Louisiana hibiscus, xv. 12, pu., 3
f, Au.-S., Ix)ui8iana. 7. Cit'rus tnilga'ris^ Seville orange, xii. 1, w., 15 f., My.-Jl., "\V.
Asia. 8. Cit'ruH limo'num^ Lemon, xiL 1, w., 15 f., My.-Jl., \V, Asia. 9. CU'nu Umef'
ta^ Lime, xii. 1, w., 8 f., My.-JL, W. Asia.
1. The large, beautiful, and rose-shaped flower called Ja-
ponica, the loblolly hay of Southern swamps, and the tea-plant
of China belong to the Camellia family.
" The chaste camellia's pure and spotless bloom.
That boastd 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 white 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^ ?
Ib there some living spirit shrined in thee' 7
2d DlV. OF , . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 155
That, as thou bloom' st within thy humble bower,
Endows thee with some strange mysterious power,
Waking high thoughts' ? As there perchance might be
Some angel-form of truth and purity,
Whose hallowed presence shared my lonely hour' ?
Ye3\ 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 adorn' d, hy elegance refined,
That o'er my heart thus holds its silent sway. — W. RoscOB.
3. The famous tea-plant of China, a drawing 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
first brought to Europe in the seven-
teenth century by a Russian nobleman ;
and now, out of China, the annual con-
sumption of this one plant, 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 amount exported from
their country ! The different kinds and
Green Tea (,Thea 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,
who sell small cups — without sugar or milk, as it is univers-
ally taken in the East — at a trifling price. A tea-drinking in
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 boihng water poured on them. It would be highly
indecorous to spill a drop out of the cups during the bowings
which precede the drinking; and to prevent 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
sentiment, the remaining three lines being merely a repetition of the sentiment previously
expressed. If we had given only the last six lines, beginning with " Lovely flower'," the
riidng inflection would have been required y-t "■display."
156 WILLSON's fifth EEADEB. Part IV.
6. Tea is served very hot ; but it is a flagrant breach of eti-
quette in any one to notice this unpleasant fact. Should the
weather be very warm, when the cups are emptied the master
of the 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 by 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.
7. 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 chittcr 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 Mallow 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," avowedly 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 falling of the
flower a kind of pod or boll is developed.
Cotton Plant.— 1. The ri- which, in process of ripeninff, bursts and
pened boll. '2. Flower in ,. , ' A i "f fi t,* u •
the morning. 3. Flower at dlScloSCS the SUOW-whltC COttOU, whlch IS
evening. ^^g hairy covering of the seeds.
9. The cUron 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-
2d DiV.OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTAISTY. 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'
deUcious 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 the land, where groves of citron flower' ?
And golden orange, darkling leaves embower' ?
Where gentle breezes fan the azure skies,
The myrtle still, and high the laurel rise' ?
Know'st thou it well, that land, beloved friend'?
Thither with thee, oh, thither would I wend. — Goethe.
LESSON YII. — CHOEus of flowees.
1. We are the sweet flowers\
Bom 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^ ;
Fruits 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 devotioxir
4. Who shall say that flowers
Dress not heaven's own bowers' ?
Who its love, without us, can fancy — or sweet floor'?
168
WILLSON's FIFl'H liEADEK.
Part IV.
Who shall even dare
To say we sprang not there —
And came not down, that Love might bring one piece of heaven the
Oh ! pray 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.
["RxooENOtTS or DiooTTLEDONOus ; Angiospcrms ; Poli/petalous.']
'm^^^4,
1. Cac'tus hexacio'nus^ Four-angled cactus, xi. 1, w.,a6 f., Jl.-Au., S. Am. 2. C. speci-
osis'siimis^ Beautiful cactus, xL 1, cr., 3 f., Jl., S. Am. 3. C. flaffdli/or'viis^ Creeping or
Fnake cactus, xi. 1, pk., 6 f., M.-Jn., Peru. 4. C. opuntin^ Prickly-pear cactus, xi. 1, y ,
2 f., Jl.-Au., Mexico. 5. C. curaasa'vicus^ Pin-pillow cactu-s xi. 1, y., 6 f., Jn.-Jl., S. Am.
6. C. pcreH'kiOy Gooseberry cactus, xi. 1, w., 5 f, O.-N., W. Indies. 7. C. phj/llanthoi'des^
Winged cactus, xi. 1, pk., 2 f,, Jn., W. Indies. 8. Echinocae'tus mammillarioi' des^ Melon
cactu.^, xi. 1, 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, those tissued Btamcns laid
Upon thy crimson lip' ?
lionc, o'er thy lenfloss stem.
Thou bidd'st the queenly rose, with all her buds,
Do homage\ and the green-house peerage bow
Their rainbow coronets."'— Mrs. iSiaocRNBr.
2. Thus beautifully writes an American
poetess of a beautiful flower of the rough
^^acritns'fl'oweJ-'^f uieVpl cactus family. And this family is exclu-
per Mifwonri 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 the world. The name by which the kinds of cactus
common in the Northern and Middle States are known, is
prickly pear. The 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 niglit-hlooming 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 garishs light —
Beauteous flower', lift thy head' !
Bise upon the brow of night^ 1
Haste, thy transient lustre shed^ I
6. Night has dropp'd her dusky veil —
All vain thoughts be distant far,
While, with silent awe, we hail
Flora's radiant evening star.
6. See to life her beauties start^ ;
Hail ! thou glorious, matchless flower^ 1
Much thou sayest to the heart
In this solemn, fleeting hour.
7. Ere we have our homage 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',
Bears 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 cereus^ already described, a few of them leafy,
some of them creeping plants, and most of them remarkable
for their beauty and fi-agrance, 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, with its narrow, pale leaves.
And its tall, thin, delicate stem,
Thinly studded with flowers— yes, with flowers — there they are ;
Don't you see, at each joint there's a little brown star' ?
But, in truth, there's no beauty in them'.
160 willson's fefth header. Part IV.
11. So you ask why I keep it — the little mean thing' ?
Why I stick it up here, just in sight' ?
'Tia a fancy^ of mine. A strange fancy, you gay.
No accounting for tastes — in this instance you may,
For the flower. But I'll tell you to-night.
12. Some six hours hence, when the lady moon
Looks down on that bastioned wall,
When the twinkling stars glance silently
On the rippling surface of the sea,
And heavy the night dews fall—
15. Then meet me again in this casement niche,
On this spot — nay, do not say no,
Nor question me wherefore ; perhaps with me
To look out on the night, and the bright broad sea,
And to hear its majestic flow.
• • « « « , •
14. Well, we're met here again, and the moonlight sleeps
On the sea and the bastioned wall ;
And the flowers there below— how the night wind brings
Their delicious breath on its dewy wing^ ;
But there's one, say you, sweeter than all.
16. What is it' ? the myrtle or jessamine' ?*
Or their sovereign lady, the 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
r That exhaleth that perfume rare^ ?
^ Look about, up and down, but take care, or you'll break
With your elbow that poor little thing that's so weak.
Why, 'tis that smells so sweet, I declare^ !
IT. Ah ha ! is it tMt' T Have you found out now
Why I cherish that odd little fright' ?
All is not gold that glittere, you know.
And it is not all worth makes the greatest show.
In the glare of the strongest light'.
18. There are human flowers, full many, I trow,*
As unlovely as that by your side.
That a common 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 ppnt
lYom the midday sun's broad glare.
Where domestic peace broods with dove-like wing.
And try if the homely, despised thing
May not yield sweet fragrance there.
20. Or wait till the days of trial come,
Tlie dark days of trouble and woe,
, WTien they shrink and shut up, late so bright in the sun ;
Then turn to tlic 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 sweet things and rare, weeds that prove precious flowers,
Little dreamt of by you or by me.— Mrs. Soctiiey.
1 C8b'-o-nkt, a little crown. |3 Oae'-ibii, gaudy ; splendid.
2 Ce'-beCs (s«?'-rwjje), in two syllables. |* TrOw, suppose or think.
• Equivalent to, " Do you ask, ' What is it' ? the myrtle or Je.<«amine' T " etc., similar
to the questions in the eleventh verse ; and therefore they take the rising inflection.
2d Div. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY.
161
LESSON" IX. — ^LEGUMINOUS AND UMBELLIFEROUS PLANTS.
[Exogenous or Dicotyledon ottb; Angiosperms; Polypetalous.'}
UmbelliferouB Family.
Leguminous Family.
1. Lupi'nns peren'nis^ Wild lupine, xvi. 10, b., 18 in., My.-JL, N. Am. 2. Erythri'na
herba'cea^ Herbaceous corol-tree, xvi. 10, s., 3 f., Jn.-S., Carolina. 3. Rohin'ia pseic'do
aca'cia^ Locust-tree, xvi. 10, pu., 40 f. , My.-Jn., N. Am. 4. Mimo'sa sensiti'va, Sensitive
plant,xv.l0,pk.,18 in., A.-S., Brazil. 5. Hcematox'ylon Campechia'nrirn, Logwood, x.
1, y., 20 f., J.-Jl., S. Am. 6. Indigo'/era stric'ta^ Upiight indigo, xvi. 10, pu., 3 f., Jl.-
Au., C. Good Hope. 7. Dau'cus caro'ta, Wild carrot (also cultivated), v. 2, w., 3 f., Jn.-
Jl., Europe. 8. Si'um latifo'lium, Water parsnip, v. 2, w., 3 f., Jl.-Au., N. Am. 9. Co'-
niwm macula' ttim^ Poison hemlock, v. 2, w., 4 f., Jn.-Jl., Europe. 10. A'pium grave</-
Uns, Garden celery, v. 2, w., 4 f., Jn.-Au., Europe.
1. The leguminous^ or pod-bearing
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
1. Legum ■ of pea, open. 2 and couutrics. Many of the Valuable gums
8. Papilionaceous corollas, and balsams* of commcrce, medicines,*
162 willson's fifth reader. Fart 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 appear 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 ;
while 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
plants.
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 sjiread 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 imimosa stand?,
From each rude touch withdraws her timid hands ;
Oft, as light clouds o'erpaps the summer's glade,
Alarm'd phe trembles at the nioming shade,
And feels, alive through all her tender form.
The whisper'd murmurs of the gathering storm ;
Shuts her sweet eyelids to approaching night.
And hails, with freshen'd charms, the rosy light.— Dabwin.
The cause of the peculiar motions of these plants has been a
subject of much investigation, but the question still continues
to be asked, without any very satisfactory answer.
Whence does it happen that the plant wljich well
We name the sensitivCy should move and feel' ?
Whenc ■ know her leaves to answer her command.
And with quick horror fly the approaching hand' ? — Priob.
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 H8 gum Arabic, produced by the acacia Arabica ; gum lac ; gum Senegal ; gum
tragnca^nth ; gum kino; balsams of copalva and Peru ; and a hedysarura which produces
vmwn.
^ The senna df commerce ; licorice ; cowitclj, which consista of the Btinglng hairs of
the pods of a plant ; etc.
* Brazil wood ; logwood ; red sandal-wood ; indigo, etc.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 163
native ditches they are often suspicious, and perhaps 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 parsnip is nearly al-
lied to the poisonous cicuta; and while 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 asafoetida.
5. Only slightly divergent from the umbelliferous plants,
and by many botanists included among them, are the ivy-
loorts, at the head of which stands the common ivy :
" The unqraleful ivy, 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 mSy 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 forth in the following song to The Ivy Geeen.
7. Oh 1 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 crumbled, the stones decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim ;
And the 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 he stealeth on, though he wears no Avings,
And a stanch old heart has he!
How closely he twineth, 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 he joyously twines and hugs around
The rich 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 scuttered 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 where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green. — Ciiaeles Dickens.
1 Le-qu'-mi-nou8 plants are such as have for 3 Um-uel-lif'-er ous plants are such as have
their seed vessel a legume of two halves, the mode of inflorescence, or flowering, call-
such as the pods of peas, beans, etc. ed an timbel, like the carrot.
a Pa-pil-i-o-na'-oe-oub, resembling the but-
terfly. I
164
willson's fifth reader.
Pakt IV.
LES. X. — THE COMPOSITE, OR SUNFLOWER FAMILY.
[Exogenous or DiooTYLEDONOus; Angiosperms; Sfonojyetahus.y
1. Cni'cua altis'fsimus^ Tall thistle, xvii. 1., pu., G f., Aii.-S., N. Am. 2. Cni'ctis arven'-
«i«, Canada thistle, xviL 1, pu., 2 f., Jl., N. Am. 3. Helian'lhus multijlo'rus^ Many-flowered
sunflower, xvii. 3, y., 6 f, Au.-O., N. Am. 4. Chrysnn'themum Sinen'se^ Chinese chry-
Banthemuni, xvii. 2 (all colors but blue), 3 f., O.-N., China. 5. Lactu'ca sagitta'ta. Arrow-
leaved Lettuce, xvii. 1, y., 2 f., Jl.-Au., Hungary. 6. Giiapha'lium stce'chas, Kuropean
shrubby everlasting, xvii. 2, y., 2 f., Jn.-O., i'.urope. 7. As'ter Chiwn'sia^ China-ai"ter,
xvii. 2, various colors, 2 f., Jl.-S., China. 8. DaJi'Uafntslra'nea, Wild dahlia, xvii. 2,
various colors, 6 f., S.-N., Mexico. 9. Tage'tespat'ula^ French marigold, xviL, 2, y., 2 f. ,
Jh-O., Mexico.
1. The ^^ Sunflower'^ family is the name used by that distin-
guished American botanist, Professor Gray, as a popular term
for the great division of plants having 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 a]l of them are easily distinguished by hav-
ing their single or monopetalous^ flowers (called^//ord^A'),tS'hich
are always flve-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 prna-
ments of every autumnal garden. It
would require a volume to point out
the beauties of the various tribes of
aster, sunflower, coreopsis, marigold,
daisy, chrysanthemum, and kindred
species, 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. ^^^^^ 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 his, Jloral 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 opening and the closing of the day," inasmuch
as
''With Sol's expanding beam her flowers unclose,
And rising Hesper^ 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 weeps,
And shrouds her sweetness up, and keeps
Sad vigils, lilce a cloistered nun.
Till his reviving ray appeal's,
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 displays
Her open breast when Pl)oebus3 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 mourns,
Bedew' d as 'twere with tears, till he returns';
And how she veils her flowers when he is gone,
As if she scorned to be look'd upon
By an inferior eye' ; or did contemn
To wait upon a meaner light than him' :
5. When this I meditate, methinks the flowf rs
Have spirits far more generous than ourn,
166
WILLSON'S FIFTH READER.
Part IV.
And give ua fair examples to despise
The Hervile fawnings and idolatrierf
Wherewitli we court the^e earthly things below
Which merit not the service we bestow':
But oh, my God ! though gi-oveling I appear
Upon the ground, and have a rooting here
Which hales* me downward, yet in my desire
To that which is above me I as-pire,
And all my best affections I profess
To Him that is the Sun of Righteousness."
6. The daisy ^ too, whose English name is de-
rived from a Saxon word meaning day'^s eye,
closes its petals at night and in rainy weather.
When, smitten by the morning ray,
I see thee rise, alert and gay,
Then, cheerful flower' ! my spirits play
With kindred gladness':
And when, at dark, by dews oppressed,
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 wonderful structure " 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 daisy, fresh from winter's sleep,
Tells of his hand in lines as clear.
For who but he who arched the skies,
And pours the day-spring's living flood.
Wondrous alike in all he tries,
Could rear the daisy's purple 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 ;
And fling it, unrestrained and free,
^ O'er hill, and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where'er he walks, may see
At every step the stamp of God — -John 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, ^'-None
shall annoy me xoith impunity^'* has also been adopted as the
national badge. Tradition gives the following account of its
origin :
13. " At the time of the invasion of Scotland by the Danes,
Bel'lis peren'nis,
English Daisy,
xvii. 2, w. and v.,
3 in., M. -A., Bri-
tain.
a
la
11.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR 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 with a
terrible slaughter. The thistle was immediately adopted as
the insignia of Scotland."
14. Triumphant be the thistle still unfurled,
Dear symbol wild' ! on freedom's hills it grows,
Where Fingal stemmed the tyrants of the world,
And Roman eagles found unconquer'd foes. — Campbell.
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 :
16. As Cupid was flying about one day,
With the flowers and zephyrs in wanton play,
He 'spied in the air.
Floating here and there,
A winged seed of the thistle flower,
And merrily chased it from bower to bower.
17. And young Love cried to his playmates, " See,
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 warm 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. — Twamley.
20. In all ages of the world history and fable have attach-
ed to flowers particular associations, and made them emblem-
atical of the afiections 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 dwelling-place !"
1 Mon-o-pet'-al-O08 plants are those whose 1 3 Pnos'-nus (fe'-bus), the sun.
flowers have but one petal or flower leaf. * Hales, drags.
8 Hbs'-pbb, Venus, or the evening star. |^ Mis'-an-thbopb, a hater of mankind.
168
willson's fifth eeadeb.
Part IV.
LES. XI. — jessamine/ honeysuckle, and heath families.
[Exogenous or Dioottledonous ; Angiogpermfl ; 3fonopetalous.i
Honeysuckle Family. Je.ssamine Family.
1. Jasnii'num sanibac^ Single Arabian jasmine, ii. 1, w., 6 f., J.-D., E. Indies. 2. J,
trifolia'tuvi^ Double Tuscan jasmine, ii. 1, w., 6 f., J.-D., E. Indies. 3. J. frti'ticans.
Common yellow jasmine, ii, 1, y., 3 f., A.-O., S. Europe. 4. J. revolu'tum. Curl-flowered
jasmine, ii. 1, y., 12 f. , M.-O., E. Indies. 5. Lonice'ra sevipervi'revs. Trumpet honey-
suckle, V. 1, r. and y., 15 f,, My.-Au., N. Am. 6. L. pericly'menurn. Woodbine, v. 1, 20 f.,
My.-Jl., Britain. 7. L. fla'va^ Yellow honeysuckle, v. 1, y., 10 f., My.-Jn., Carolina. 8.
L. ru'bra^ Italian iioneysuckle, v. 1, r., 10 f., My.-JL, Italy.
1. Anp luxuriant above all,
The jnsmine^'^ throwing wide her elegant sweets.
The deep dark green of wha«o unvarniyh'd leaf
Maki>s more conspicuous, and illumine.s more
The bright profusion of her scatter' d stai-s.— Cowpeb.
2. About one hundred species of ornamental shrubs, with
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 n»ade them for ages the favorites of poets
and of the people. The very name comes from a Greek word
which means 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 lines :
2d DiV. pF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OK BOTANY. 169
3. " 'Twas midnight ; through the lattice, ■wreathed
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 twining evergreen plant, improperly called jessamine,
grows abundantly in the Southern States south of Richmond,
Virginia, spreading over the hedges, and, in still more south-
ern latitudes, hanging in graceful festoons from the tallest
trees. It is said that children are frequently poisoned by
chewing its pretty yellow flowers. This is the gelsemium^
and has five stamens, by which it may be known from the
true jessamine, which has only two.
5. ThQ honeysuckle or woodbifie family ernhrsLces 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. *' See the honeysuckle twine
Round the casement : 'tis a shrine
Where the heart doth incense give,
And the pure aflfections 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 efforts were unavailing, it soon
recoiled, and with graceful negligence adorned its friendly
supporter with 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 ihe Guelder-rose.'^
8. What is known as the swamp honeysuckle in the United
States is a species of azalea, which belongs to the numerous
and eminently beautiful family of the Heaths. The low
shrubby heaths, which form one division of this family, are
alike the glory of Southern Africa, and of Scottish plains and
hill-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
170 willson's fifth EEADEE. Paet IV.
[Heath Family. — Exogknous or DiooomEDONors; AngiospemoB; MonopetaUms.'i
1. Eri'ca tet'ralix. Cross-leaved heath, viii. 1, pk., 1 f., Jn.-Au., Scotland. 2. Eri'ca
cilia'ris. Ciliated heath, viii. 1, pu., 1 f., J1.-S., Portugal. 3. Eri'ca cnien'fa^ liloody-
flowered heath, viii. 1, dark red, 2 f., My.-S., S. Africa. 4 Eri'ca fascicula'ri% Cluster-
flowered heath, viii. 1, pu., 18 in., F.-Jn., S. Africa. 6. Eri'ca ar' dens. Glowing heath,
viii. 1, so., 2 f., A.-Jn., S. Africa. 6. Vaccin'ttim remio'swm^ Black whortleberry, x. 1,
gr., r., and y., 4 f., My.^Jn., N. Am. 7. Oaulthe'ria procum'bens^ Spicy wintergreen, x.
1, w,, 6 in., Jl.-S., N. Am. 8. Aza'lea ntiMfto'ra,, Swamp honeysuckle, v. 1, pk., 4 f.,
My.-Jn., N. Am. 9. Kal'mia latifo'lia. Broad-leaved laurel, x. 1, w. and r., 8 f., My.-JL,
N. Am. 10. Kal'mia angustifo'lia^ 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 fouHli 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
followins: lines under the name of rhodora :
• The Rhododendron maximum, or Amer-
ican Rose Bay-tree (x. 1, 20 f., rose-colored
flowert'), 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 Inland to Florida, pouomlly 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 Kalm.ia», sometimes called Laurcln in
America, arc not the true Laurels. The
Kal'viia latifo'lia^ or t^alico bu.-'h, which is
found on barren bills from the CaroHnas to
New York, is an elegant shrub, but of nox-
ious qualities — poisonous to cattle and sheep.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 171
9. " In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook ;
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black waters with their beauty gay ;
Here might the redbu-d come his plumes to cool.
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
10. Rhodora' ! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the 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
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 poorer 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 L^le, our desert home ;
Before the heath had lost the dew.
This morn a couch was pull'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 heath 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
Wag there of mountain heather spread.
Where oft a hundred guests had lain.
And dream'd their forest sports again."
1 Written both Jas'-mInk and Je.s'-sa-mTne;|2 Whor'-tle-beb-ey (htvur'-tl-Mr-e).
chiefly the former in poetry. P Ee'-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 mild 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 above him, drew the strong inspiration
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 aesthetics^ 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.
1 PsT-<;not,'-o-GT, the doctrine of the mindl^ ^s-thet'-icb, the science which treats of
or eoul, as distinct from the body. the beautiful ; the philosophy of the fine
' V5'-LAMT, " flying ;" active ; airy. I arts.
172
willson's fifth beadejk.
Pakt IV.
LES. XII. LABIATE AND TRUMPET-FLOWER FAMILIES.
[KxoGENOus or DicoTTi.EDONOus ; Angiosperms; Moiwjyetalous.y
Trumpet-flower Family. Labiate Family.
1. Eccremocar'pics longiflo'rus. Long-flowered eccremocarpus, xiii. 2, or., G f., Jl.-Au.,
Peru. 2. Chelo'ne centranthifo'lia^ (jalifomia trumpet-flower, xiii. 2, sc, 7 f., Jl.-Au.,
Cal. 3. Bigno'nia grandiflo'ra^ Large bignonia, xiii. 2, or., 30-100 f. (cultivated), Jl.-Au.,
4. Biqno'nia echina'ta^ xiii. 2, pk., 30 f., Guiana. 5. Catal'pa cordifo'licu, Common
catalpa, ii. 1, w. and y., 20 f., Jn.-Au., N. Am. 6. Sal' via fuV pens. Scarlet salvia, ii. 1,
8C., 6 f., Au.-O., Mexico. T. Lavan'dula stce'chas^ French lavender, xiii. 1, Ii., IS in. My.-
Jl., S. Europe. 8. Maru'biuni vtilga're^ Common horeliound, xiii. 1, w., 2 f., Jn.-S., N. .\m.
9, Thy'muH aerpyl'lum^VfWA thyme, xiii. 1, pu., 3 in., Jn.-Au., Kurope. 10. Thy'mus
miXga'ria^ Garden thyme, xiii. 1, pu., 12 in., My.-Au., cultivated, .
1. The plants of the Labiate family, which number nearly
twenty-four hundred species, are easily distinguished by the
labiate or lip-like form of their mono-
petalous^ corollas. Natives, chiefly,
of temperate regions, they are found
ill abundance in hot, dry, exposed sit-
uations, in meadows, groves, and by
the wayside, and but seldom in marsh-
es. They are, for the most part, fra-
grant and aromatic;^ some, as the
sage, hyssop, thyme,^ and savory, are
^. , . . valuable as kitchen herbs, for sauces,
1, a trumpet-flower, /jM77io'7iJrtri- , ^ . i j tV
f/M'cen*. 2,8iabiateflower,aar- and flavoring cooked dishes; some,
"den uage. ]j]^p \\yQ miots, lavcnders, and rosema-
2dDlV. OF. . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTAN^Y. 173
ry, are employed by perfumers ; others, like the exotic sal-
vias, are admired and extensively 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 strengthening 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, which, from
their large size, gay colors, and great abundance, are often
among the most striking objects in a tropical forest.
' Mon-o-pet'-al-ous, having a corolla of a|2 Ae-o-mat'-ic, spicy ; strong-scented,
single pgtaL |3 Thyme (.pronounced time).
LESS0:N' Xni.— forest trees.
1. I AM fond of listening to the conversation of English gen-
tlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and
discrimination, and with what strong, unafiected 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 which were celelarated 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.
174
willson's fipth reader.
Past 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 plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this.
He can not expect to sit in its shade nor enjoy its shelter ;
but he exults in the idea that the acorn which he has 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. Irving.
1 Des-cant', discourse upon ; make a varie-|3 Am-a-tbCb', an unprofessional cultivator
ty of remarks. | of a study or art
LESSON XIV.— THE OAK FAMILY.
[ExOGENOirs or DiooTTLEDOniorB ; Angiosperms; Apetalmts.^^
1. Qun-'cus phel'los. Willow oak, xix. 12, (ap), CO f, My.-Jn., N. Am. 2. Q. vi'reiu.
Live oak, xix, 13, (ap), 40 f., My., 8. Q. ivibrica'ta, Shinple oak, xix. 12, (np.), 40
f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 4. Q. bi'colnr. White swamp oak, xix, 12, (ap.), 60 f., My., N. Am.
5. Q. nl'ha, White oak, xix. 12, (ap.), 80 f., My., N. Am. 6. Q. ru'bra^ Ked oak, xix. 12,
(ap.), 70 f., My., N, Am. 7. Casta'tiea ven'M. Common chestnut, xix. 13, p., 60 f., My.-
Jii., N. Am. 8. On'tri/a vnlija'ris^ Hop honibeam, xix. 12., (ap.), 30 f , My.-,Tn,, Italy.
(The American hornbeam has an acute bud, and more pointed leaves.) 9. Fa'gusft'^iTii.
gin'ea, Ked beech, xix. 12, (ap.), 50 f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 10. I'la'tanus occidtfnio'Ws, but-
lon-wood, eycjunore, or plano-troe, xix. 13, (ap.), 70 f., A.-My., N. Am.
2d DiV. OF . .VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTANY. 1*75
1. The monarch oah^ the patriarch of the trees,
Shoots slowly up, and spreads by slo\r degrees ;
Three centuries he grows, and three he stays
Supreme in state, and in three more decays. — Deyden.
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 Airhich 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, hornbeam 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
Lycseus, 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 Drayton,
The person who received it was entitled to wear it at all pub-
lic spectacles, and to sit next to the senators ; and when 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 iis poem to the Yardley Oak, thus alludes to the
Druidical worship :
"It seems idolatry with some excuse\
When our forefather Druids in their oaka
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 fruit proscribed', as to a refuge fled\"
6. The white oak, red oak, and live oak are the most im-
portant 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 FLb'Tli ilKADEK. PakT IV,
north as Old Point Comfort, 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 which 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 flourish' d for many an age,
And many a tempest wreak' d on it its rage ;
But When its strong branches were bent with the blast,
It struck its roots deeper, and flourish'd more fast.— Southet.
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 bough,
~> Didst quail far more at evening's breath
Than at the tempest now'.
Strange scenes have pasa'd, long ages roll'tl
Since first upon thy stem,
Then weak as osier twig, Spring 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 wintry winds
Sweep by in awful mirth,
For well thou know' at 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 grace to bloom^ !
And that the storm whicli 8catt«reth
Each earth-bom hope abroad',
Might anchor those of holier birth
More firmly on my God I"
10. Oaks live to a great age. The famous Charter Oak of
Hartford, Connecticut, which fell 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 I
Cut not its earth-bound ties ;
Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies 1"
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 well they did " let
the old oak stand," for it afterward became the faithful guard-
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTANY. 177
ian of the chartered rights of the infant colony ; and so high-
ly was 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 aflfections of our
people by a popular poem beginning,
Under a spreadiug chestnut-tree.
The village smithy stands,
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands ;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron hands Longfellow.
This tree is not, however, the same as the well-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, fagus^ 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 were
so firmly persuaded that this tree was never struck by light-
ning, that, on the 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 well 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 opening
of his first Eclogue :
*' In beechen shades, you, 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 I these trees shall be my books.
And in their barks my thoughts 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 :'
" Thrice twenty summers I have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my nestling bower
First spent its sweet and sportive houi-,
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture paid,
H2
178 willson's fifth eeadee. Pabt IV.
And on my trunk's survi^ong frame
Carved many a long-forgotteu name.
Oh, by the vowa of gentle sound
First breathed upon this sacred giound,
By all that Love hath whisper' d here.
Or beauty heard with ravish'd ear-
As Love's own altar, honor me,
Spare, woodman, spare the bcechen-tree /"
» A-l5i'-AL-OUB plants are those whose flowers have no petals, or corolla.
LESSON XV. — THE OAK AND THE NOBLEMAN.
And, on the ru^ed mountain brow exposed,
Bearing the blast alone, the ancient oak
Stood, lifting his mighty arm, and etill,
To courage in distress, exhorted loud. — Pollob:.
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 range 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 the
impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and
glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman
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 the scorching rays of arbitrary power.
He who is this is an ornament and a blessing to his native
land. He 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 oppressive hand of power,
who would murmur at his fate ? "Why cumbereth he the
GROUND ?" — Washington Irving.
LESSON XVI. — THE ELM, WILLOW, AND BIRCH FAMILIES.
1. The numerous species of trees of the Elm, Willow, and
Birch families, as well as those of the Oak, Cliestnut, Beech,
and many others of our large forest trees, are classed by most
botanists as apetalous^ because, while they have all the essen-
tial organs which constitute a flower, such as stamens, pistils,
and seed>sressels, 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 elins, of which sixty species have been described by
botanists, are believed by many to have originated from only
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTANY.
[Exogenous or DicoTTLEDONOirs ; Angiosperms; Apetalous.']
179
1. Ui'mus campes'tris^ English elm, now abundant in thia countiy, 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'hra. Green osier, xx. 2, (ap.), 8 f., A.-My., England. 4. Sa'lix
rosmarinifo'lia, Rosemary willow, xx. 2, (ap.), 3 f., A.-My., N. Am. 5. Pop'ulus al'ba,
AbCle tree, xx. 8, (ap.), 40 f., M.-A. (introduced). 6. Pop'ulus ni'gra, Black poplar, xx.
8, (ap.), 30 f., M.-A., Britain. 7. Pop'ulus monilif'era, Canadian poplar, xx. 8, (ap.),
70 f.. My., N. Am. 8. Pop'ulus trem'ula^ Aspen, xx. 8, (ap.), 50 f., A.-Jn., Britain. 9.
Be'tula al'ba. Common birch, xix. 12, (ap.), 40 f., A.-Jn., Britain. 10. Be'tula len'ta^
Mountain mahogany, black birch, or sweet birch, xix. 12, (ap.), 50 f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 11.
Sa'lix Babylon'ica, Weeping willow, xx. 2, (ap.), 40 f., My., Levant.
two distinct kincis, 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
will be early, an(i 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 elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honor grow."
4. So. generally, among the Romans, was the elm used as
180 willson's fifth beadeb. PaktIV.
a prop to the vine, that the one was considered by the poets
inseparable from the other.
" If that fair elm," he cried, "alone Bhould Btand,
Ko gmpes would glow with gold, and tempt the hapd ;
Or if that vine without her elm Hhould grow,
'T would creep, a poor neglected shrub, below." — Ovid.
And finally, the poet Cowper, 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,
where a lowly cot, " perched upon the green hill-top," is
" Environ' d with a ring of branching elms
That overhang the thatch."
5. The elm is the favorite shade-tree in the villages of New
England. In the centre of the public square, in the beautiful
village of Pittsfield, in Massachusetts, 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 1
Our last lone forest tree,
Whose limbs outstand the lightning's brand,
For a brave old elm is he !
For fifteen score of full-told years
He has borne his leafy prime,
Yet he holds them well, and lives to tell
His tale of the olden time !
Then hail to the elm ! the green-topp'd elm I
And long may his branches wave,
For a relic is he, the gnarl'd old tree.
Of the times of the good and brave.— N. S. Dodge.
7. The willow and poplar, which are examples of the Wil-
low family^ 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 BOTANY. 181
" The watery willow'' s spray, emboss'd
With oval knots of silken down ;
Which 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, Halix Bahy-
lonica^ from Linnaeus, 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 tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me.— Bteon,
9. The poplar is a member of the Willow family. Like the
willow it is easily propagated, growing readily where a green
twig is thrust into moist earth. A tree called the tuhp pop-
lar, or tulip-tree, common in this country, does not belong to
this family. Popular tradition states that the cross was made
from the aspen 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' f
Why 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',
Tliou tremblest stilP, broad aspen-tree'.
And never tranquil seem'st to be\"
11. The family oi 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 which 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 I come to the woodlands, 'tis joy to behold
The ne w- 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 em' raid and gold.
182 willson's fifth keadek. Part IV.
13. But, though beautiful each, sure the fairest of all
Is yon birch^ that is waving so gi-aceful and tall :
How tender, yet bright, is the tint that is flung
O'er its delicate spray, 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 '-'- hirch-tree!'' 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 I
Of your yellow bark, O birch-tree 1
Growing by the rushing river.
Tall and stately in the valley 1
I a light canoe will build me,
That shall float upon the river
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily.
Lay aside your cloak, ( ) birch-tree I
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper ;
For the summer time is coming.
And the sun is warm in heaven.
And you need no white-.^kin wrapper.'
15. Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the 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 I'
And the tree, with all its branches,
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, Avith a sigh of patience,
' Take my cloak, () Hiawatha !'
With his knife the tree he girdled;
Just beneath its lowest brandies,
Just above the roots he cut it.
Till the sap came oozing outward;
Down tlie trunk, from top to bottom,
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder;
With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken."
LES. XVII. THE CONE-BEARING, OR PINE FAMILY.
1. In the cone-bearing, or Pine family, exogenous plants
assume a new character, in having their seeds uncovered.
Like the elm, willow, and birch, their flowers have no corol-
la : in some species the pistillate and stamiuatc flowers are on
the same plant, and in others on difierent plants, while in oth-
er particulars their inflorescence is often irregular, and seem-
ingly imperfect. Yet hero we find some of the noblest spec-
imens of the vegetable kingdom ; and no other family is of
more importance to mankind than this, whether wo view it
with reference to its timber or its secretions.
2. Many of the trees of this family are gigantic in siz(\ rap-
DiV. OP . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY.
[Exogenous or Dtcotoledonotjs ; GymnoKperms;! Aprtalous.j
183
1. Pi'nus Carmden' tds^ Hemlock or Hemlock spruce, xix. 15, (ap.), 50 f., My., N. Am.
2. Pi'nus stro'biis. White or Weymouth pine, xix. 15, (ap.), 50-100 f., My., N. Am. 3.
JPi'nus pi'nea. Stone pine, xix. 15, (ap.), 40 f., My., Italy. 4. Pi'nus or A'hies commu'-
nw. Common fir or Norway spruce, xix. 15, (ap.), 100 f., A., N. Europe. 5. Pi'nus or
A'bies rubra^ Red spruce, xix. 15, (ap.), 50 f., A., N. Am. 6. La'rix ce'dnis^ Cedar of
Lebanon,xix.l5,(ap.),60f., A., W.Asia. T. Cupre'susthyoi'des.,'Wh\te cedar or cypress,
xix. 15, (ap.), 20 f.. A., N. Am. 8. Thu'ja occidenta'lis^ American arbor-vitae, xix. 15,
(ap.), 25 f.. A., N. Am. 9. Junip'erus Virginia'na, Red cedar, xx. 15, (ap.), 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 Northwest America are stupen-
dous trees, attaining a height of two hundred and fifty feet.
Those products called naval stores, such as tar, turpentine,
pitch, together 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 g()ds ; the wood of the arar-tree of Barbary
is considered by th*e Turks indestructible, and on this account
they use it for the ceilings and floors of their mosques ; and
184 willson's fifth eeader. Pabt I v.
the gates of Constantinople, famous ^ having stood from the
time of Constantino to that 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 Lib'anus, whose forests seem
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 lawn-trees, the
larch, the spruce, the firs, the cypress,
are unequaled ; and the hemlock-
spruce and arbor vitaB are great fa-
vorites for hedges. Well-grown belts
of evergreens, which ^„,„.^ ^'d„ta '
'' in conic forms arise, Black Larch, or
And with a pointed spear divide tlie skies," American Tam-
afford a fine protection for gardens in ^^'^^
exposed situations, and are often planted, in the
Northern States, for that purpose. The fact that a
plaintive sound, solemn and sad, is produced by the
passage of the wind through the leaves of the pine, is
notorious to all observers. Virgil alludes to this music
in his eighth Eclogue :
" Begin with me, my pipe, MsBnalian strains,
Delightful Msenalus, mid echoing groves
And vocal pities.''''
5. The poet Hood has, with characteristic humor, described
a group of pines, with interlacing branches, writhing in the
storm like Laocoon^ in the folds of the serpents, and weeping
gummy tears.
" The pines— tliope old gigantic pines,
That writhe— recalling soon %
The fiimous human group that writhed
With snakes in wild festoon —
In ramouB^ wrestlings interlaced,
A forest I^ocoon' —
Like Titans of primcvnl girth
By tortures overc<.>uu>,
Tlit'ir brown ouormouf limbs they twine.
Bedewed with tears of gum."
6. Of the associations connected with this fomily, 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 siU-nro reposen
Beneath the dark fhadw of cypress ant^cw;
Let spring deck the spot witli her earllost roses.
And heaven wasli tluir leaves with its holiest dew. — Ptertokt.
2d DiV. OP . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTANY. 1 85
Dark tree ! still sad -when othei*a' grief is flea,
The only constant mourner of the dead. — Bteon.
1 6ym'-no-spekm8 are plants that have na-| here departs from the classical pronuncia-
ked seeds, such as the pines. tion, which is Li-oe'-o-oN. See p. 70 and 72.
2 La-o-€oon'. It will be seen that the poet]' Ra'-moub, branched; full of branches.
LESSON XYIII.— TO A PINE-TEEE.
1 . Far up on Katahdin thou towerest,
Purple-blue with the distance, and vast ;
Like a cloud o'er the lowlands thou lowerest,
That hangs poised on a lull in the blast,
To its fall leaning awful.
2. Spite of winter thou keeps'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 precipices.
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,"
says Loudon, " may, without
hesitation, be pronounced the
first in the world, though it has
not been known in Europe
above two centuries, and has
only been cultivated about a
century as a fruit plant in Brit-
ain." First discovered in Bra-
zil, it passed thence to the East
Indies, where it has long been
successfully cultivated. Many
varieties of the pine-apple have
been produced by cultivation. In the West Indies and South America, one
species is used for fencing pasture-lands on account of its prickly leaves.
186
WiLLiSON S FIFTLl UKADER.
I'ART IV.
SECOND DIVISION OF THE VEGETABLE KING-
DOM. ENDOGENS.
[The four most important physiological peculiarities of this great natural division are,
1st. The structure is endogenous (for which see Fourth Reader, p. 187). 2d. The leaves
are straight or parallel-veined. 3d. The flowers are teniarji ; that is, have three sepals,
petals, and stamens, or some power of that number. 4th. The embryo ha.- but oue coti)-
ledon ; that is, the plants are monocotyli,' donous. Other peculiarities will be noticed un-
der the dififerent families which compose the division.]
LESSON XIX. THE IKIS, LILT, AND PALM PAMILLES.
[Endogenous or Monoootyledonous ; Aglumacecua.'y
Lily Family.
Iris Family.
1. I'ris versi'color, Blue flag, iii. 1, b., 2 f., My.-Jn., N. Am. 2. Pris te'nax, California
iris, iii. 1, pu., 18 in., A. -My., California. 3. I'ris sambuci'na. Flower-de-luce, ill 1, b.,
3 f , Jn., S. Europe. 4 Tiqri'dia j)avo'nia^ Tiger flower, xv. 3, o. and r., 2 f., JL-S., Mex-
ico. 5. Cro'cus ver'nut). Spring crocus, iii. 1, y., 6 in., M., Kng. 6. Cro'cus nati'vus,, Au-
tumn crocus, iii. 1, y., 10 in., S., Eng. T. Lil'iuvi Jajion'icum^ Japan lily, vi. 1. , w., 2 f ,
Jl.-Au., China. 8. Lil'ium rhilndeVjMctlm^ IJed lily, vi. 1, r. and y., 5 f., Jl.-Aug., N.
Am. 9. Lil'ium Canadcn'se, Nodding lily, vi. 1, r. and y., 4 f., Jl.-Au., N. Am. 10. 7'tt'-
lijiU sylves'tria., Wild tulip, vi. 1, y., 18 in., A.-My., Eng. 11. Fritilla'ria imperia'Us^
Crown imperial, vi. 1, r. and y.,4 f., My., Persia.
1 . Conspicuous among the Endogenous plants, -vvhich con-
stitute the second great division of the vegetable kingdom,
are the Iris, Lily, and Palm families, the palm being taken as
typical of the endogenous structure. Endogens probably
contain more plants contributing to the food of man, and few-
er poisonous species in proportion to their whole numbw.
2d DiV. OF, . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 187
than Exogens ; as the grasses, which include all the cereals,
are found here, to which may be added the numerous palms
yielding fruit, wine, 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 l7'is family. The name itself implies that the
flowers are rainbow-colored. Among the Greeks, Iris was
the winged messenger of the gods, and is thus alluded to by
Yirgil;
"Iris, on saffron wings array' d with dew
Of various colors, through the sunbeams flew."
According to Plutarch, the word tris signified, in the ancient
Egyptian language, " the eye of heaven," and was appropri-
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 rainbow festival,
A sapphire-colored blossom 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 Ieis from that hour.— Twamley.
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-
parel.
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 they blush^ 1 how bright they glow^ !
What regal vestments can with them compare^ ?
What king so shining', or what queen so fair^ ? — Thomson.
6. Among the flowers of the Lily family, the crown imperial,
or fritillaria, is noted for its drooping but brilliant tulip-
188 willson's Fiifrru reader. Part IV,
shaped corollas, which have the appearance of so many gay
bells, or crowns. Its' golden stigma is very appropriately
described as
" The dazzling gem
That beams in fritillaria'B 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 immense 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 grace,
Nor nature take a line away.
Yet, rich as morn, of many a hue,
When flus<hing cloudrt through darkness strike,
The tulip's pJlals shine like dew.
All beautiful, but none alike."
8. Highest in the division of Endogens stands the Palm
family, embracing the stately palm-trees of the tropics, and
the palmettos of the Southern States. " The race of plants
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 upon 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
spatlie or flower-stem of the date palm contains about twelve
thousand flowers, and another species has been computed to
have six 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 Hmnboldt. " 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, OP . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OB BOTANY. 1 89
[Palm Family.— ENi>OGENOtrs or Monocottledonous ; Aglumaceous.y
1. Cor'ypha umbraculif'era^ Great fan palm, or Tallipot palm, vi. 1, y., 100 f., Jl., E.
Indies. (The topmost leaves form immense fans, twenty feet long and fifteen wide.) 2.
Sa'gus rum'phii, Rumphius's sago palm, xix. 6, g., 50 f., Jl.-Au., E. Indies. 3. Co'cus
nuci/'era, Cocoanut palm, xix. 6, g., Jl.-Au., 50 f, E. Indies. 4. Phoe'nix dactiVfera^
Date palm, xx. 3, w. and g., 50 f., W. Asia. 5. FAa'is Guineen'sis^ Guinea oil palm, xx.
6, w. and g., 30 f., Guinea. 6. Chamce'rops hys'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 part 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, with 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 with
cocoanut oil, and, when sick, gets his medicine from the tree
190
WILLSON'S FIFTH EEADEB.
PahtIV.
SO useful to him in health. 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 reHgious 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 inapplicable. 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 affections.
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 1776, was
constructed of palmetto logs,
and that, owing to the soft
nature of the wood, the balls
of the enemy had but little-
effect to injure it. The palmetto has been appropriately
placed on the coat of arms of South Carolina.
1 A-QLTT-MA^-OKons plants are such as have not the glumes or husks which characterize the
gruiuH and grasses.
Carolina Palmetto.
LESSON XX. — SEajGKS and grasses.
1. Sedges are grass-like herbs, growing in tufts, and never
acquiring a shrubby condition. So nearly do they resemble
grasses in appearance, that the one may bo 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 DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY.
[Endogenous or Monooottuedonous ; Glumaceous.y
191
1. 6'c/iCP'nMS imici07ia'his. Clustered bog-rush, iii. 1, (ap.), 1 f., A.-My., S. Europe.
Scir'pus lacus'tris^ Tall club-nish, Iii. 1, (ap), 6 f., Jl.-Au., Britain. 3. Scir'pus triqtie'-
ter^ Triangular club-rush, iii. 1, (ap,), 3 f., Au., Eng. 4. Cype'rus vege'tus^ Smooth marsh-
sedge, iii. 1, (ap.), 18 in.. My. -An., N. Am. 5. Phle'um pratcn'se, Timothy grass, with
portions of tlie flower magnified, iii. 2, (ap.), 2 f,, Jl., N. Am. 6. Trictts'jiis quinque'fida,
English red-top, iii. 2, (ap.), 2 f., Jn.-Jl., N. Am. 7. Po'a aquat'ica^ Water meadow-grass,
iii. 2, (ap.), 6 f., Jl., N. Am. and Britain. 8. Agros'tis vulga'ris^ American red-top, with the
flower magnified, iii. 2, (ap.), 18 in., Jn., N. Am. 9. Bri'za me'dia^ Common quaking-
"". 2, (ap.), 18 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 worM, 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 diflerent 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 corn, 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 injurious to
man. All 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 fifth EEADEB. Part IV.
that they " come creeping, creeping every where," as is pretti-
ly told in
THE VOICE OF THE GRASS.
8. Here I come creeping, creeping every where :
You can not see me coming,
Nor hear my low, sweet humming ;
For in the starry night.
And the glad morning light,
I come quietly creeping every where.
4. Here I come creeping, creeping every wher^ ;
More welcome than the flowers
In summer's pleasant hours;
The gentle cow is glad,
And the merry bird not sad,
To see me creeping every where.
5. Here I come creeping, creeping every where ;
When you're number'd with the dead
In your still and narrow bed.
In the happy spring I'll come
And deck your silent home —
Creeping silently, creeping every where.
6. Here I come creeping, creeping every where ;
My humble song of praise
Most joyfully I raise
To Him at whose command
I beautify the land,
Creeping, silently creeping every where. — Sabah Robebts.
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 ! What 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 which there are reckoned
three hundred varieties, is supposed to have been, aace, 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 — sown
in autumn and harvested the following summer — yet winter-
wheat sown in spring will ripen the same year, though the
produce of succeeding generations of spring-sown wheat is
found to ripen better ; white, red, and beardless wheat change
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY.
[Cbeeaia — Eni>ogbnou8 or Monoootylkdonous ; Glumaceotis.y
193
1. Trit'icum hyber'num. Winter wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 4 f., Jn.-JL, unknown. 2, Trit'-
icum compos'itum^ Egyptian wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 3i f., Jn.-Jl., Egypt. 3. Trit'icum spe'lta.
Spelter wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 3t f., Jn.-Jl., Egypt. 4. Seca'le cerea'le^ Common rye, iii. 2,
(ap.), 4 f., Jn.-Jl., Crimea. 5. Sac'charum oflicina'rum, Sugar-cane, iii. 2, (ap.), 12 f.,
Au., India. 6. Ave'nm fa'tua^ Wild oat, iii. 2, (ap.), 4 f., Au., Britain. 7. Hor'deum vul-
fia're^ Spring barley, iii. 2, (ap.), 3 f., Jl., Sicily. 8. Mil'iuvi effu'sum^ Common millet,
iii, 2, (ap.), 4 f., Jn.-Jl., Britain. 9. Trit'icum Polon'icum^ Polish wheat, iii. 2, (ap.), 4f.,
Jn.-Jl., Egypt.
and run into each other on different soils and in different cli-
mates ; and even the Egyptian wheat is known to change to
the single-spiked common plant.
9. The American reader will recollect that in Europe wheat
is called corn, a term which we apply only to maize or Indian
corn. The latter was found cultivated for food by the In-
dians of both North 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 which grow at the top of the
stalk, while the pistillate, hidden among the lower leaves, arc
194 willson's fifth EEADEIJ. Pakt 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 which poetry has striven to en-
shrine in our affections the valuable cereals we cultivate.
The ancients, in their mythology, placed agriculture above all
other pursuits, and called Cekes, 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 popular 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 nigh,
Fanning soft the sun-tanned wheat,
llipened by the summer's heat ;
Picturing all the rustic's joy
When 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.— Henbt Eibks Whitb.
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, When 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, What joy in dreamy ease to lie
Amid a field new shorn.
And see all round, on sunlit slopes,
The piled-up stacks of com ;
And send the fancy wandering o'er
All pleasant harvest-fipUls of yore.
IR, % I feel the day— 1 see the field.
The quivering of the leaves,
And good old Jacob and hif< house
Binding the yellow sheaves ;
And at this very hour I seem
To be with Joseph in his dream.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 195
16. I see the fields of Bethlehem,
% And reapers many a one,
Bending unto their sickle's stroke —
And Boaz looking on ;
And Ruth, 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 Savior takes his way
'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.
18. Oh golden fields of bending com,
How beautiful they seem !
The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheavee.
To me are like a dream.
The sunshine and the very air
Seem of old time, and take me there. — Maet Howitt.
1 Glu-ma'-ceous plants are those which have glumes, like the husk or chaflf of the grains
and grasses.
LESSON XXI. — OF THE HIDDEN USES OF PLANTS.
There be in plants
Influences yet unthought, and virtues, and many inventions,
And uses above and around, which man hath 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 luxury :
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 the
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 servcth 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. Tupper.
There is perhaps no pursuit which leads the mind more directly to an ap-
preciation of that wisdom and goodness which pervade 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 every step, and compel us to observe and learn,
even when often the least disposed to inquiry or reflection. — Chambers.
196
willson's fifth eeadeb.
Pakt IV.
THIED DIVISION. CRYPTOGAMOUS PLANTS.
[€ryp-tng'-a-mou8, or Flowerless Plants, are divided into two classes, Ac'-ro-gens and
Thai' -lo-gens ; the leading physiological peculiarities of wliich are,
lat. The stem of an Acrogens grows from the end, but does not increase in diameter.
Acrogens have breathing pores, or stomata, in their skin or covering ; their leaves and
stem are distinctly separated ; they produce no flowers, but multiply l)y reproductive sphe-
roids or spores, somewhat analogous to seeds, but whose nature is not wM known.
2d, Thallogen8 are mere masses of cells; they have no stomata 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. PoUfpo'dium vulga're^ Common poIyp'ody,or Wall fern, xxi. 1, brown, 1 f , My.-O.
2. Struthiop'teria Pennsj/lva'nicn, Ostrich feni, xxi. 1, br.,2f., Au. 3. Pte'ris atropur-
pu'rea^ Rock brake, xxi. 1, br., 10 in., Au.-S. 4. Aspid'inm Theliip'teris^ T^dy fern, xiL
1, 1 f., br., Jl.-Au. 6. Marchan'tia poliimor'pha^ Variable liverwort, xxi. 6, dark green, 2
in., moist rocks, winter. 6. Autho'ceros puneta'ta^ Dotted liverwort, xxi. C, ppring, dark
preen, 1^ in., damp places. 7. Spfiag'nuni ohtusifo'lium., Peat mos.", xxi. 6, y. and g.,
bogs, 7 in. 8. O/rtnnos'lomum viridi'a'simum. Green moss, xxi. 5, bright green, trees and
rocks, 1 in. 9. Orivi'mia apocar'pa^ Alpine moss, xxi. 5, dark olive, U in., dense tufts
on rocks and trees. 10. Ortho'trichiim cris'pum^ Crisp nios.s xxi. 5, bright green, 1 in.,
trees. 11. Grim'mia pulvina'ta^ Cushion moss, xxi. 5, bright groen, \ in., house-tops.
12. Jkirtra'mia Uallpria'na^ Mountain moss, xxi. ft, bright green, 6 in., mountains, 13.
Hyp'numimura'le^ Wall moss, xxi. 5, light green, IJ in., walls and stones.
1. We come now to a very sinf]^nlar division of the vege-
table world, embracing a vast multitude of plants whfch 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 innuinorablo small germs called spores.
2d DiV. OF . . 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
oii\iQ fronds or leafy portions of the mature plant.
" 'Tis there the fern displays its fluted wreath,
Beaded beneath with drops of richest brown."
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 :
" Where the copsewood is the greenest,
Where the fountain glistens 8heenest,2
Where the morning 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 budding,
With each stem and leaf wrapped small.
Coiled up within 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?
6. Oh, then most gracefully they wave
In the forest like a sea,
And dear as they are beautiful
Are these /em 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."
1. Scarcely any flowering plants have been greater favorites
198 WILLSON's fifth header. Paet IV.
with all classes of persons than ferns ; nor is this to be won-
dered at when we consider both their intrinsic beauty, and
their association with all that is wild and romantic in scenery,
where mountain and valley, rocks and shaded fountains, 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 oifem. 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 hill," we see heath,.broom,
and bracken forming the ambuscade.
8. "• Instant, through copse 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 dart.
And every tuft of broom 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;
)'2ach warrior vanished where he stood.
In broom or bracken^ heath or wood ;
It seemed as if their mother 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 tmAfern were waving wide;
The sun's last glance was glinted^ back
From spear and glaive,* from targe^ and jack,*
The next, all unreflected, slione
On bracken green and cold gray stone."
1 0. There is an interesting family of plants, called Liver-
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 tlieir summit flower-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
animalcula}.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. X99
11. But mosses are perhaps the most interesting of this first
division of the Cryptogamia ; and to them we proceed in the
next Lesson.
Im-pal'-pa-ble, that can not be felt; not
2 Sheen'-e8t, brightest (obsolete).
3 Glint'-ed, glanced ; reflected.
* Glaive, a broadsword.
5 Taege, a tiir'-get or shield.
6 Jack, a coat of mail.
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.]
1. The lovely moss ! on the lowly cot
It lies like an emerald crown,
And the summer shower pierceth it not,
As it comes rushing down ;
And I love its freshened brilliancy,
When the last rain hath pattered,
And the sparkling drops on its surfiice lie,
like stars from the pure sky scattered.
2. 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.
3. But oh 1 I love the bright moss most
When I see it thickly spread
On the sculptured stone, that fain would boast
Of its forg:otten dead.
For I think if that lowly thing can efface
The fame that earth hath given,
Who is there that would ever chase
Glory, save that of Heaven ?— Miss M. A Bbowne.
4. Mosses are interesting little evergreens, with 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 " jnossy fountains,"
especially, that we have been taught to associate ideas of
" cool refreshment," and the quiet of nature in repose.
While we view,
Amid the noontide walk, a limpid rill
Gush through the trickling herbage^ to the thirst
Of summer jielding the delicious draught
Of cool refreshment, o'er the mosmj bank
Shines not the surface clearer ? and the waves
With sweeter music murmur as tliev flow? — AKENsmE.
200 willson's fifth reader. PabtIV.
6. Mosses are found in the hottest as well as the coldest
climates, growing alike amid torrid sands and arctic snows ;
and when a coral island springs up above the crested wave,
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 was 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.
V. 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 way I turned, nothing appear-
ed but danger and difficulty. I found myself in the midst of
a vast wilderness, in the depth of the rainy season — naked
and alone — surrounded by savage animals, and by men still
more savage. I was 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 suflerings. 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 Avas
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 suftering
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 Imnger 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 and 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 she 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 wisdom
of -God in creating different species of plants, as well as in
permitting the various degrees of what men call prosperity
to different 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 the cool dews of night on the 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 the moss they grew wiser 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 :
I 2
202
willson's fifth readek.
Part IV.
For the fern threw her shadow the green moss upon,
Where the dew ever sparkled undried by the sun ;
When the graceful fern trembled before the keen blast,
The moss guarded her roots till the storm-wind had passed ;
So no longer the wind parched 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 grew before,
And they both deck the woodland, and mountain, and moor.
Eliza Cook.
LESSOTsT XXY. — lichens, (thallogens.)
1. Cetiunu/'ce »yvo/-ti.s'«i, Ventriciwc lichen, xxi. 8, woods, 2 in. 2. Ccriomy'ce aelicx'tn.
Delicate liclien, mealy patch, xxi. 8, on rotten rails, \ in. (a. enlarged). 'S. Cenomv'cr
ranrjiferi'ivi^ Reindeer lichen, xxi. 8, woods?, 2 in. 4. Licide'a lii'rida, l.urid lichen, xxi.
8, rocky highlands*, 3 in. {b. enlarged). 5. Cali'cium chrv/soceph'nbnn, ^'ellow-head lichen,
xxi. 8, lem. col., 3 in. (c. enlarged). 6. Lccano'ra oculn'ta, Mottled lichen, xxi. 8, rocku
and earth, w., 2 in. (tf. enlarged). 7. Cnli'cium capitella'lum^ Sulphur lichen, xxL 8, gr.
and y,, i in., sandy soil (b. enlarged). 8. Jiocel'la tincto'ria. Dyer's lichen (yields a fine
purple color), xxi. 8, y. and br., li in. 9. Cetra'ria Islan'dica^ Iceland moea (uaed in med-
icine), xxi. 8, ol. br., 2 in.
1. At the head of the second division of the cr}^t<)gamia
are the Ijiche?is,^ a race of tiny^ plants, very common, and yet
but little known to the world, though possessed of a beauty
by no means inferior to that of gorgeous flowers or lofty trees.
Man i.sbut too apt to admire the boundless wealth and beauty
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 20;i
of our great mother, Nature, only where gigantic proportions
arrest his attention, or when the storm of enraged elements
makes him aware of his own insignificance.
2. Surely his head was not set on high that he might de-
spise low things ! But, to see the beauties with which every
comer 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 flower by the wayside as it looks
up to us and to heaven, and to question every stone, every
pebble. If we thus look uj^on the tiny lichens around us, we
may here also soon learn that, even in the smallest propor-
tions,
" Not a beauty blows,
And not an opening blossom breathes in vain."
3. Lichens, of which more than tw^o 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, which 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 with
crimson shields.
4. Perhaps the most beautiful of all, as well as the most
common, are the wall lichens, 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 be.
But 'tis good enough for thee."
And, in reality, there are but few
surfaces long exposed to winr]
204 willson's fifth reader. Part IV.
and weather which are not soon protected by the warm
cover of these lichens. Our roofs and our fences, the trunk
of a tree, and the rock in the moors, the earth-capped dike,
and the sterile sea-bank — in fact, all places but sparingly sup-
plied with moisture, but freely exposed to air and light, are
clad in ever-varying colors by these beautiful children of Na-
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 thdse 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 with Stoic pa-
tience, by their miserable appearance, the pity of passing
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, and 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 expand 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 plant at a height of more than eighteen thousand feet,
" the last child of the vegetable kingdom at that unsurpassed
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 Moimt Blanc.
Rocks Hublime
To human art a sportive semblnnce bore,
And yellow liehena covered all the clime,
Like moonlit buttlemonts, and towera decayed by time.— Caupbeu..
7. Another writer has beautifully described these hardy
plants as crowning the heights of Snowdon, above the region
of clouds and stonns.
Where frowning Snowdon bends his dizzy brow
O'er Conway, listeninp to the siirge below,
Hetiring Lichen climbs the topmost stone.
And drinks the aerial solitude alone :
Briglit shine tlie stars, unnumbered, d'gr her Jieatf.,
And the cold n)Oonbeam gilds her flinty bod ;
2d DiV. OP . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 205
While round the rifted rocks hoarse whirlwinds breathe.
And dark with thunder sail the clouds beneath. — Dakwin.
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 affections ; humbler animals subsist upon
these plants ; and the well-known reindeer moss sustains for
months the life of a whole race of noble animals, without
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 ours,
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 great Creative mind',
Thou for frozen lands wast meant\
Ere the winter's frost was sent^ ;
And in love He sent thee farth
To thy home, the frozen north.
Where he bdde the rocks produce
Bitter lichens for thy use.— M.ab.y 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 LT'-€HEN (usually pronounced ll'-kSn). I* Dhouqht {droiot)^ the same meaning ps
2 TI'-NY or Tin'-y. drouth.
3 Laz-a-bO'-ni, a class of beggars and idlers. |
206
willson's fifth eeadeb.
Pabt IV.
LES. XXVI. — FUNGI, OR PUNGOUS PLANTS. (tHALLOGENS.)
1. Aga'ricUH jyro'cerus^ Giant ag'aric, xxi. '.), w. and br., <> in . t. Aga'ricus
pru'nulus^ French mushroom, xxi. 9, white, 1^ in., Avoodt*. 3. Agu'ricn^ biilbo'sri&i Rad-
ish-scented mushroom, xxi. 9, br., 4 in., among grass. 4. Aga'ricufi squarro'stis^ Squar-
rose ag'aric, xxi. 9, rusty-iron color, 2 in., roots of trees. 5. Aga'ricus fiav'idus^ Yellow
ag'aric (eatable), xxi. 9, pale yellow, 2 in., trunks of trees. 6. Aga'ricits te'ner. Brittle
gal'era, xxi. 9, y. and br., 4 in., graspy places. 7. Aga'ricus cainpes'tris^ Common mush-
room, xxi. 9, whitish, pink below, 3 in., cultivated in gardens. 8. Polupo'rti/i ginante'u^^
Beech-tree toadstool, xxi. 9, pale brown, 20 in., on beech-trees. 9. Tii'ber ciba'rittm^ Com-
mon truffle, xxi. 9, brown, \\ in., under ground. 10. Phal'hm cmii'nns, Scentless morel,
xxi. 9, pk , 4 in. 11. Asco'phora muce'do^ a common mould, xxi. 9, i in.
1. Under the name Fangi^ botanists comprehend not only
the various races of mushrooms, toad-stools, and similar pro-
ductions, but a large 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 up and develop with remarkable ra-
pidity ; and it has been said that fungous* vegetation lias been
found on iron which 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 rrorms or seeds of parasitic fungi as to
2d DiV. OF . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR 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
resemble thin smoke, as in the powder of puff-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 holeti^
exhibit, when broken, a remarkable change of color, the white
or yellowish tint becoming instantly of a vivid blue. Some
are nearly fluid, while 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 the*m,
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 growing under them.
5. Unlike other plants, y^«/^(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 Carohna, where it is known as
Indian bread or Indian loaf, but more generally by the name
of Tuckahoe. Tuckahoe, when fresh, has an acrid taste, but
becomes edible^ when dry. Tinder or spunk is a kind of
mushroom of the genus Agaric.'^ Various kinds of fungi,
besides our common puff-ball, have been used to stop bleed-
ing, and also for many medicinal purposes. The poet Delllle
has told us in verse of
" Tlie potent agaric^* to wounds applied,
^ That stops the gushing of the sanguine tide ;
' Whose spongy substance to its bosom takes
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 READER.
Part 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 drinks. 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 effects 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 {fiing'-
gu8).
a Pae-a-8Tt'-i€-al, pertaining to a plant
that grows and lives on another.
3 ftn'-i-BLE, eatable ; good for food.
* Ag'-a-bic, a genua of fungi.
LESSON XXVII. ALG^, OR SEA-WEEDS. (tHALLOGENS.)
1. Fu'euaim'tam, orvesiculo'euB, Bladdery fncus, xxi. 7, ol. gr., 'J4 f., floating masses,
ocean, 3. Fu'cus cnnalicula'tus^ Channeled fiicus, xxi. 7, y. and ol., 6 f., ocean. (The
ashes of the fucus produce the kdp or potash of commerco.) U. Sporoch'nm imhincitla'-
tUK, xxi. 7, It. gr., 6 f . : a portion ningnified. 4. Chon'dria pinnitiji'da, lVi)per dulse
(this is eaten in Scotland), xxi. 7, purplish, 6 f. 5. Lamitm'ria coculen'ta, Soa tangle
(eatable), xxi. 7, br., 60 f. 6. C<n\fer'va ijlomera'ta, (Clustered confors-a, xxi. 7, ht. gr.,
1 f. : a fliament magnified. 7. Clndonte'phuA ttponeiio'siis, Spongy conferva, xxi. 7, gr.,
3 f. : a portion mngnlfted. 8. A hmnid'ium diaph'dnum (a fleshy mass), xxi. 7, y., 6 f. 9;
J'lrhmd'la artictila'ta^ Floating film : magnified. The »mall stars show the nnt nrnl size : gr.
2d DiV. OP . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY. 209
How various the shades of marine vegetation,
Thrown here the rough flints and sea-pebbles among !
The feathered conferva of deepest carnation,
The dark purple sloke, and the olive sea-thong. — Chaelotte Smith.
1. Under the division of Algoe,^ or Sea-weeds, botanists
have included 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 floating on the surface of water, to vast
submarine forests of the most luxuriant vegetation. In their
lowest forms some of these cellular plants 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 reach.
3. But go to the N6rth 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 supported by the water ;
and in the neighborhood of the Orkneys it forms meadows
through which a boat forces its way with difliculty. But
even this is nothing as compared with the prodigious extent
of another thread-like species,'^ 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 open 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 the
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 waves. 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 :
6. When descends on the AUantic
The gigantic
Storm-wind of the equinox,
Landward in his wi'ath he scourges
The toiling surges,
Laden with sea-weed from the rocks ;
7. From Bermuda's reefs; from edgea
Of Hunken ledges
Of some far off, bright Azore ;
From Bahama, and the dashing,
Silver-flashing
Surges of San Salvador ;
8. Ever drifting, drifting, drifting.
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main,
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches
Of sandy beaches.
All have found repose again.
9. So when storms of wild emotion
Strike the ocean
Of the poet's soul, ere long,
From each cave and rocky faatnees.
In its vastness.
Floats some fragment of a song ;
10. Ever drifting, drifting, drifting,
On the aliifting
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 plants the Algie 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 classc.
2d DiV. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, OR BOTANY.
211
along the shores of the North of Europe, while others are
reckoDed 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 csiWed fiicus,^ or sea-wort.
12. The sea-wort floating on the waves, or rolled up high alohg 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 ashes enriching many proud.
And herein, as thou walkest by the sea, shall weeds be a type and an earnest
Of the stored and uncounted riches lying hid in all creatures of God.
Maetin Faequhab Tupper.
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 New 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 Nahant, near Boston.
14- A weary weed, tossed to and fro,
Drearily drenched in the ocean brine.
Soaring high and sinking low,
Lashed along without will of mine ;
Sport of the spoom^ of the surging sea.
Flung on the foam afar and near,
Mark my manifold mystery.
Growth and gi'ace in their place appear.
15. I bear round berries, gray and red.
Rootless 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 wild waves' rude uproar.
Gracefully grow I night and day.
C. G. Fenneb.
1 Al'-ga, a sea-weed ; plural AV -gee.
2 Mu'-€Ou8, slimy ; viscous.
3 The Chorda filum.
* The Macrocystis pyrifera.
5 This is the Fucus natans.
6 Spoom, foam ; probably from spume.
212
willson's fifth reader.
Part IV.
1. Cy'eas revolu'ta^ a Cycad, a plant intermediate in form between palms and ferns : it
is cultivated in the E. Indies for its fruit, and also for the sago which is obtained from the
pith. 2. Aphelan'dra crista' ta^ an Acanthad. 3. JEch'inea ful'fjens^ a plant of the samo
family as the Tine-apple. 4. Littce'a geminiflo'ra^ or liiionapar'tea jun'cea^ an Amaryl-
lid. 5. Loa'sa pentUtnd'ica^ a handsome annual, with yellow flowers.
1. By domestic flower-culture we mean the endeavor to
grow rare and ornamental 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 sufiicient 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 proprietor 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 pursuits 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 Diy. OF . . VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, UK BOTAISY. 213
in which plants appear, their adaptations to certain situations,
the pecuUar 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 differs so widely from that of another, that his
own district would furnish him with a mere fraction of the
numerous vegetable families. Knowledge, however, has over-
come this difficulty ; 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 temperature 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 fhe 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 occupy hours of listlessness or Jieisure.^
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 walls 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, however humble. The little stand
of flowers in the window-recess, with their green leaves and
brilliant blossoms, adds a charm and freshness to the place ;
and we will answer for it, that wherever these are, the furni-
ture, though mean, will be clean and neatly arranged.
214
WILLSON S FIFTH KEADEB.
Pakt 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 off 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 flowers 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.
7. 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 atmosphere, 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 amo,unt of oxygen absorbed by
the former is by no means equal to ttiat 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, and that the fluid
which they so abundantly exhale is pure water. If this be the
case, growing plants can not, under any con i^ition, impair the
purity of XhQ atmosphere, but rather the reverse, unless the
odor which they emit be too powerful to be agreeable.
Chambers' Miscellany.
1 A-MiN'-i-TY, pleasantness.
2 En-nu'i' (fin-ioe\ French), languor arising
from lack of occupation.
3 Lbi»'-ubb (le'-zhur\ freedom from occupa-
tion.
♦ Trkt.'-libkd, fumisheil with .. trelllB or
wooden frame.
* San'-i-ta-ry, pertaining to or designed to
secure health.
• See Lesson XHI., p. 112 ; also Fourth Reader, pp. SO, 5^-4.
»• See p. 269; also Fourth Reader, p. 311.
FOUETH MISCELLAISTEOUS DIYISIOK
LESSON I.— EVA.
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.
Reflecting heaven, away !
216 willson's fifth readek.
3. A sweeter bloom to Eva's youth
Rejoicing Nature gave ;
And heaven was mirrored in her truth
More clear than on the wave.
4. Oft to that lone, sequester'd place
My boyish steps would roam ;
There was a look in Eva's face
That seem'd a smile of home.
5. And oft I paused to hear at noon
A voice that s'ang for glee ;
Or mark the white 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 sweet the jasmine's buds of snow ; —
But 'neath the yew-tree's shade,
Where silver-clear the waters flow,
Her holy dust is laid. — Bulweb Lytton.
LESSON II. GIL BLAS AND THE ARCHBISHOP, OR THE DAN-
GER OF GIVING ADVICE.
Archbishop. What is your business with me\ my friend' ?
Gil Blas.^ I am the young man who was recommended to
you by your nephew, Don Fernando.
Arch. Oh ! you are the person of whom he sjDoke 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 ray
nephew for sending me so clever a young fellow. So good
a copyist must be also a grammarian. Tell me, did you find
nothing in the sermon you transcribed for me which 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 compositions
would 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.
Gil 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.
FOUETH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 211
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,^ in regard to your advancement
in life. I will take care of that. I have an affection for you,
and, to prove it, I will 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 who do not know when 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 exact of your zeal, which 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. B. 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 aw^re 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 symptom 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 whisper of a falling-off in my discourses —
an intimation that I ought to stop preaching — I should hold
you responsible, and considei* myself exempted from all care
K
218 WILLSOn's riPTH BEADEK.
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 j^ressing 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 me
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. Gil Bias, that discourse, then, is not to your
taste ?
Gil B. I did not say that, sir. I found it excellent — only
a little 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 supj^osing 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 ! You are yet too raw
rOUBTH 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 frotn Le Sage.
1 Gil BLX8(Fre?ic^), pronounced ZhilBlas, ^ Ae-is-tae'-€hus, a celebrated critic of an-
the g being sounded like z in azure. The tiquity, whose criticisms were so severe that
concluding s is sounded. his name has become proverbial.
LESSOI^ HI.— THE bells.
[This is a difficult piece, which professional elocutionists delight to read. The voice
should aim to imitate the tones of the different bells, and at the same time to call forth
the feelings which the diflferent occasions of their use suggest.]
1. Hear the sledges with the bells ^ —
a. Silver' bells^ —
What a world of merriment their melody foretells^ 1
How they tinkle, tinkle, .tinkle,-
• In the icy air of night^ !
While the stars that oversi^rinkle
All the heavens', seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight^ ;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic^ rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation^ that so musically^ wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells —
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
2. Hear the mellow wedding-bells,
6. Golden bells !
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells !
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring ont 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^ I
How it swells^ !
How it dwells"
On the Future^ ! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
a. Pronounced in a soft and silvei'y tone. The remainder of the verse should be read
in a sprightly manner— approaching a sing-song tone.
h. Prolonged, smooth, and flowing. 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 FlJbTH KEADEK.
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells —
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells I
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 tojpeak.
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 outpour
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 danger 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 i
4. Hear the tolling of the bells —
b. Iron bells !
What a world of solemn thought their monody* compeb !
In the silence of the night.
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone !
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan."
And the peo]ile — ah, the people —
They that dwell u]) in the steeple,
ff. Harsh and loud— the voice alternately sinking and swelling tliroughout the
aH " the danger einks and BwelU," and to accord with " the unpror of thp hollc."
h. Deep, Blow, and Bolemn.
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^ —
They are neither man nor woman —
They are neither brute por human —
They are Ghouls^ :*
And their king it is_who tolls ;
a. And he rolls," rolls," rolls," rolls,"
A psean^ 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 pgean 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 tdlling of the bells.
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells,
e. To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. — Edgar A. Poe.
1 Ru'-Ki€, Gothic in character ; rude. ^ Guoul, a fabled demon that feeds on hu-
2 Tin-tin-nab-u-la'-tion, a tinkling, as of man flesh,
little bells. ^ P^/-an, (pe'-an)^ a joyous or triumphal
■■* EC'-piio-NY, musical sweetness of sound. song.
4 M6n'-o-dy, a poem or song sung by one
person to express his griet
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. — Bulleid.
a. a. Heavy and prolonged monotone.
6. A degree of unearthly wildness is here expressed, indicative of the exultation of the
"Ghouls !" c. c. The words throbbing and sobbing are emphatic
d. d. Rolling and tolling require prolonged emphasis.
e. The voice should be much prolonged on moaning and groaning — the sound harmon-
izing with the sense.
222 willson's fifth keadek.
LESSON V. — RESISTANCE TO BEITISn OPPRESSION.
The battle, 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 war is actually begun ! The next
gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the
clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already 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 Henry.
LESSON VI. THE AMERICAN INDIANS.
As a race, 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 which 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 uuliappy fate as a
people. — Sprague.
Times of general calamity and confusion have ever been
productive of the greatest minds. The ]>urcst ore is pro-
duced from the hottest furnace, and the brightest thunder-
bolt is elicited from the darkest storm.— Lacon.
Part V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OK FISHES.
223
PAET V.
FOURTH DIVISION OF ZOOLOGY ;»
EMBRACING
ICHTHYOLOaY,^
OR THE NATURAL HISTORY OF FISHES.
1. Butterfly Fish, Blennius oceJlaris, 6 inclies. 2. Gattoruginous Blenny, Blemnius
gattorugine^ 8 inches. Both are salt-water fish. See p. 240.
LESSON" I. — NATURE OF THE STUDY.
1. On, Avhat an endleps work have I in hand\
To count the sea's abundant progeny^ !3
Whose fruitful seed* far passeth those on land,
And also those which fill the azure sky !
'Tia easier far to tell^ the stars on high\
Although they endless scem^ in estimation',
Than to recount the sea's posterity^;
So fertile be the floods in generation\6
So vast their numbers', and so numberless their nation. — Spknser.
2. The sounds and seas', each creek and bay',
With fry7 innumerable swarm\ and shoals''
Of fish that with their fins, and shining scales.
Glide under the gi'een wave, in sculls^ that oft
Bank 10 the mid sea. Part single,' or with mate'.
Graze the sea-weed their pasture\ and through groves
Of coral stray^ ; or, spoiting with quick glance.
Show to the sun their waved coats dropt^ with gold Milton.
3. Fishes form the last of the four divisions of the vertc-
brated animals. As inhabitants of a medium so widely differ-
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 auhnals which, as sharing with us the
vitaU^ influence of the atmosphere, and being inhabitants of
the soil on which we ourselves rest, we meet with at every
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 walks ; the^ 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. K we follow
them to their native haunts, ^^ it is too frequently in the same
spirit that we 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
torturing them.
5. But are fishes, constituting, as they do, the principal in-
habitants of by far 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 with 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 tliis department
of Natural History may seem to be when viewed from a
distance, it offers 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 tail to find, throughout its wide
domains, nunK3rous illustrations of the wisdom, goodness, and
power of the Creator. Nature is ever eloquent :
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR PISHES. 226
'■'■ Heaven, earth, and sea
Hymn forth the praises of the Deity."
1 Zo-ol'-o-gy, see Third Reader, p. 240.
2 l€H-THY-6i.'-o-GT (Greek ichthus^ a fish,
and logos, discourse.)
3 Pb6g'-e-ny, inhabitants; descendants.
* Seed, offspring; progeny.
s Tell, count.
6 6en-ek-a'-tion, production of inhabitants.
7 Fey, a crowd of small fish.
8 Shoal, a multitude.
9 SexiLL, a shoal or multitude of fish. (.Vo
longer itsed.)
10 Banic, to cause a mound or bank by their
numbers.
11 DuopT, sprinkled or variegated.
12 Teb-ees'-tri-al, belonging to the land.
13 Vi'-TAL, life-sustaining.
1* Do-ME8'-Ti-€A-TED, kept in a tame state.
15 Haunts, retreats ; places of resort.
LESSON" II. THE PHYSIOLOGY^ OF FISHES.
1. " OuB plenteous streams a various race supply :
The bright-eyed 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 term fish we are to understand 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
K2
226 willson's fifth reader. Pabt V.
gills, which are placed on each side of the forward part of
the body, answer the place of lungs. Here are spread out
innumerable blood-vessels, which receive the blood from the
heart ; and as the water which the fislf 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 Avithout
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.
1, 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 important 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. Tlie fishes hav-
ing bony skeletons are then subdivided into the two classes,
the Spine-rayed and the Soft-rayed — the former liaving some
of their fins furnished with simple bony rays, like spines ; and
the latter having the fin rays soft and flexible. Fislies may
therefore be grouped in three great classes: 1st, the Spine-
rayed Bony Fishes ; 2(1, the Soft-rayed Bony Fishes : and, 3d,
Part V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES.
227
the Cartilaginous FishesflpThe latter have the skeleton com-
posed of gristle or cartilage instead of bone.*
1 Phts-i-ol'-o-gy, the science which treats! 3 Tem'-pee-a-tuke, degree of wannth.
of the functions of the different parts or or- * ox'-y-gen. See p. 269; and Fourth Eead-
gans of animals or plants, er, p. 53.
2 t;HAB-AC-TEB-Is'-Ti€8, peculiar qualities. |5 €ol-lapse', fall together; close.
• In treating of fishes we have chiefly followed the arrangement of Cuvier, because 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 exist in the course of geologic history, will doubtless
eventually be adopted in most scientific ti-eatise?, and thus some knowledge of both sys-
tems will be desirable. Agassiz arranges fishes, in accordance with the 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 sharks.,
and the tubercles of the mys. Fossils abundant, but existing species few.
2d. Ganoids — embracing all, whether cartilaginous or not, that are covered by a nearly
continuous annor 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. Ctenoids — fishes whose scales consist of plates having their posterior edges pecti-
nated or comb-like, such as perches. This is a very 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, fir^t appearing near the close of the transition period (see Geology, p.
464), were all Placoids. Next iu order were the Ganoids., which first appear in the lower
strata of the secondary period (see Geology, p. 466). These two latter orders comprised, for
untold agei?, so far as is yet known, all the fish that existed. In the latter part of the sec-
ondary period (see p. 468) the Ctenoids and Cycloids were ushered in.
^fOorsal
Tiie Common Pike-Perch, Ludoperca Americana.
In describing a fish, the size, form, and color are given— the number, character, and po-
Rition of the fins — and frequently the shape and character of the scales, the character of
the gills, and the number of the gill-openings.
The most important and easily recognized of these features are the fins ; and in describ-
ing them the names are given, and the number rf spitw^ or rays in each. In the above
fish — the (Jommon Pike-Perch of th'^ Grpat 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 17 ; P. 15 ; V, 1, 5 ;
the letters denoting the names of the fins, and the figures the number of spine?. There
being, in. the above fish, two divisions of the dorsal fin, it is designated as D, 14—1, 22 ;
showing that the first dors.al has 14 rays, all spinous ; 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. pectoi'al fin, 15 soft rays ; V, the ventral fin, with one spinous ray,
and 5 that are soft.
228
willson's fifth reader.
Part V.
FIEST CLASS OF FISHES.
SPINE-RAYED BONY FISHES. {Acantliopterygii.y
iieate of Ine/iet.
The Pekoh Familt.— 1. American Yellow Perch, Perca Jlavesceiis. 2. Striped Soa-bfts^,
Labrax lineatus. 3. Dlack Bass, or Black Perch of Lnke Huron, lltiro nnjricaiis. 4. Growl-
er, or White Salmon of Virj^iiiia, Oi^stes salmoides. 5, Black Sea-haae^Ceiitropistt's nigri-
cans. 6. Mcditen-anean Apogon, Ajwgon trirnaculatiis. 7. Two-banded Diploprion, Di-
ploprion M/neiatum. 8. One-npotted Mcsoprion, Mrsojyrion uniiiotatus. 9. Kiiby-col-
ored Etelis, Ktelis carhuncuhis. 10. Armed EnoplossuR, Enoplosstta armaiu^. 11. I.et-
tered Serranns, Serranua scriboL. 12. Spined Scrranus, Serranits anihiaa. 13. Ked Sur-
iiiuUct, Mullus harlxttus.
LESSON" III. — THE PERCH FAMILY. (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 different families, some of them embracing
several hundred species each, have been included 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-oAN-Tnop-TKB-Y6'-Ti,from two Greek words, amnthofi, a thorn, &ni ptmtfrion^H lit-
tle wlnp: or fin, nieaniiiR thorny or fipine-rniicd. The fishes of this order are distinguish-
ed by having the anterior portion of the dorsal, or of the first dorsal where there aro two,
f upported by spinous rays consisting of single bony pieces. SpiIl'>n^; mv-; nn. ■.<]<,^ tnmirl
iu the anal, and at least one in the ventral fliis.
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 muse, in her award of fame,
Illustrious Perch^nnoticei pass thy claim ;
Prince of the prid^ cohort, bred in lakes
To feast our boards, what sapid i boneless flakes
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 fibre firm and flavor sweet. — Ausoniits.
3. In the Perch family are included no less than five difier-
ent kinds of perch found in our waters, the pike-perch, numer-
ous species of bass, the growler, or white salmon of Virginia,
and many other species, exhibiting 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 obser^^^ by
Izaak Walton, that "if there be twenty or forty in a hol^^ey
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 their sight."
5. The incident related concerning the perch is one among
many facts that might be given, showing how erroneous 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 sufler 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 sufl*ering that would
otherwise be endured throughout all animated nature.
230 vvillson's fifth reader. Part v.
6. 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 ti|e mere traces of their del-
icate markings.
1. 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 Avith long and sharp spines, the third one
of which is much the longest. From the supposed 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 f^oni 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
companion.
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
beei^steemed by the Roman epicures^ above every other ar-
ticwPf food ; and the larger ones, weighing five or six pounds,
were obtained only at prodigious prices. Juvenal says :
'' Six scanty pounds tho mullet weighed ;
Six thousand sastercesa tlie wi?c man paid !"
Seneca mentions 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 tliree hundred dollars of our money.
10. While 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,
PaktV. 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 profesH^ ?
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 put an end to the admired spectacle.
They put these devoted fish into crystal vessels filled with
water, over a slow fire, upon their tables, and complacently
regarded the lingering suflTerings of their victims as the in-
creasing heat gradually prepared them for their pampered^ ap-
petites.
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 clay;
-each pang imbued
With a new color, as it gasp i away.
The last still loveliest, till— 'tis gone, and all is gray."
Striped Red Mullet, Mullus surmuletus.
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.
' Sap'-id, well-tasted ; savory ; palatable.
2 Ep'-i-ct'EK, one who indulges in the luxu-
ries of the table.
3 Ses'-teeoe, a Roman coin,about four cents.
4 Pam'-peeed, fed to the full ; glutted.
5 €Ap'-iL-i.A-Ky, a small blood-vessel; .ser
Fourth Reader, p. 59, 60.
232
willson's fifth reader.
Party
LES. IV, — OTHER FAMILIES OF THE SPINE-RATED FISHES.
Hcale of Jnchea.
1. Mailed Gurnard, Peristedwn vialarniat. 2. Big Porgee, Paqrus arg^irops. 3. Band-
ed Ephippu8, or Three-tailed Porgee, Ephijypus faher. 4. The Sheepshead (famed for Us
exquisite flesh), Sm-gus ovis. 5. Streaked or I{ock Gurnard, Trigla lincata. 6. Axil-
lary Sea Bream, Pagellua acame. 7, Bearded Umbrina, ITmbrinn vulgaris. (The Um-
biina is given as the representative of the family of the Mnigres, which includes our Weak-
fi.-^h, Corvinas, the Chub, King-fish, and the Drum^ the latter noted for the loud drum-
ming noise which it makes, and the cause of which is still a mystery. ) 8. Common Mack-
erel, Scomber scomber.
1 . Of the remaining numerous families of the spine-rayed
division of fishes, most of which 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,
which have received their com-
mon name from the growling or
grunting noise which they make
when sporting in the water, or
when recently taken from it.
1. Ten- (pr Nin.-) Hpined StickUbick, The Sticlvlcbacks a divisiOU of
Oasferosteuspungitnfi. 2. rour-npUicd .i cn»^-»n -ToiyiJU' on, i-inmnrl fmnt
n.,o.spinuioam. 3. short-spiued s.. (?. ^'^G samc Limii}, SO namefi 11 om
brachycentrm. * the Bpiucs which ami 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-ponds ; 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 exploring 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 fury 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 bf 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 pi'ofusely lavished
* The fifteen-spined stickleback, a salt-wa-
ter fi~h, often called the sea-adder, sometimes
attains a length of six or seven inches. This
fish 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. Other instances of this
_.. . J I,,.. 1 , , , ^ J nest-building propensity are found in some
Fifteen-spmed Stickleback, nest and eggs, fresl^water fishes of Demerara, which not only
construct nests of grafts, but which also burrow ll the banks of streams.
234 willson's fifth reader. Part 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 depth 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.
rostris. 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 out of their
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 tlie climbing
perch, which has been Jcnown 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 sufficient
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 exteusive range.
Amid great diversities of size and form, extending from the
little mackerel to the monster sword-fisli, the numerous mem-
bers of this fiimily possess certain cliaractcrs, such as very
minute scales, and gill-covers without spines or notches, which
give to the whole a family ipsemblance 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, p. 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 swarm 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, where 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 supplied 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 thing
that approaches it. More than two thousand years ago the
poet Sophocles thus alluded to it :
" What Fury, say, artificers of ill,
Armed thee, O Xiphias,^ with thy pointed bill?'
• See engraving, pagf; 237.
t See the representation of thia fish (Xiphiaa gladius), page 237.
2.36 willson's fifth readeb. Pabt V.
The sword-fish is reported to have violent contests with the
whale, of which the following, quoted from a reliable work, is
a striking example :
13. "One morning, as stated by the captain of an English vessel, during
a calm, when near the Western Isles of Scotland, all hands were called up
at 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 sight 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, from 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 oflf 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 skiffs, 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 harjDOoners. We give the poet's narration,
without, however, vouching for its truth.
IT. " To fishy forms th' artistic builders lend
Mimetic* fins, and wooden sword protend.^
With secrft joy each xiphias views hla friends.
And kindly instincts aid man's treacherous ends.
Anon the crafty boatmen, closing round,
The trident '' hurl, and dv.nl the deadly wound.
» The goaded" fi.-<h, experience bought too late,
Kscapes, but oft still battles hard witlj fate ;
Unvanquish'd, summons to his instant aid
The oft-tried prowesss of his timsty blade ;
Pakt 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 doughtyio weapon yields,
And crimsons with his blood the briny fields."
6 Pro-tend', stretch forth,
^ TeT'-dent, a spear with three prongn.
8 Goad'-ed, pricked with the goad or spear.
9 Pbow'-ess, bravery ; skillful valor.
10 Dough'-ty idow'-ty)^ brave ; illustrious.
1 i'-Eie, a plant of that name. See p. 187.
2 ^E-Tir'-i-CEK, a -skillful workman.
3 Xiph'-i-A8, the Latin name of the sword-
* RlN'-eoE, inveterate enmity. [fish.
3 Mi-MBT'-ii!, imitative.
LESSON V. — THE SPINE-BAYED FISHES CONTINUED.
4
Scale of Feet
1. Common Sword-fish, XipMas gladius. 2. Indian Sword-fish, Histiophorus Indiciis.
3. Common Tunny, Thynnis vulgaris. 4. Dolphin of the ancients, Coryphcena hippu-
ris. 5. Scabbard-fish, Lejndopus argyreus. 6. Wolf-fish (a fighting character, belonging to
the family of the Gobies), AnarrJdchus lupus. 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 ofiice.
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 header. Paut 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-fieh, NaucrcUea duetw.
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, however, 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, eveiy motion guides;
With grateful joy the willing whales attend.
Observe 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."
Wlien, and on what grounds, the misunderstanding of the pi-
lot with his "fat friend" took place, 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 Richards, of the "Royal Navy, durinp his station in the Med-
iterranean, saw on a fine day a bhic shark, which followed the ship. After
a time a shark-hook, baited witli pork, was flunj» 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 taff-
raiP of the ship to run his snout against the side of tiie shark's head to turn
it away.
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 239
6. " After this had continued for a time, the shark swam off in the
wake^ of the vessel, liis dorsal fin being long distinctly visible above the wa-
ter. When he had gone, however, a considerable distance, he suddenly
turned 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 gf 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 niches in length, also
belongs to the Mackerel family,
although differing 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 from the
mouth of a fish of this species
that the apostle obtained the
coin to pay the tribute-money.
The Dory, Deusfaber. 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 eli>
ment, and a whale making his appearance near by, is thus
beautifully described by the poet Montgomery :
9. " Next on the surge,
A shoal of dolphins, tumbling in wild glee,
Glowed with such orient* tnits, they might have beea
The rainbow's offspring, when it met the ocean.
While yet in ecstasy I hung o'er these,
With every motion poiiring out fresh beauties,
As though tlie 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 engraving
at the head of this lesson, only one specimen, the scabbard-
240 willson's fifth eeadee. Pakt v.
fish. Concerning this family we quote from an eminent En-
ghsh naturalist, Mr. Swainson, the following remarks :
11. "This family contains the most singular and extraordinary fishes
in creation. The form of the body, when compared 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 popular name of ribhon-fish, lath, 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 Oppian :
*♦ The mullet, 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 Lophidse. 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 up the sand or mud by means of its ventral and
pectoral fins ; hidden by the obscurity thus produced, it ele-
vates its feelers, moves them in various directions by way of
attracting as a bait, and then by a rapid movement seizes the
fish which approach to examine them.
Pakt V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OB FISHES.
241
Scale of Inchet.
1. Blue-striped Wrasse, Labrus mixtus. 2. Trumpet-fish, Sea-snipe, or Bellows-fish,
Centriscus scolopax. 3. American Tautog, Tautoga Aviencana.
15. The family of the Wrasses, or Rock-fish, includes our
common bergalls, the New York tautog or common black-
fish, 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 yellow 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 rainbow-fish, and sable wrasse resort."
16. The last family that 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
value.
2 Tinr'-BAiL, the uppermost rail of a ship's
ntpm
3 Wake, track of a vessel in the water.
* o'-Ei-ENT (Eastern), bright ; shining.
5 Seine (seen;, a large net for taking fish.
'' LCr'-ing, enticing.
242
willson's fifth reader.
Pakt v.
SECOND CLASS OF FISHES.
SOFT-RAYED BONY FISHES. {Malacopterygii.)*
[Carp, Pike, Cat-fi^h, Salmon and Trout, and Herring and Pilchard Families.]
Scale of Inchet -^
The Cabp Family.— 1. Golden Carp, or Gold-fish, Ci/jynmis auratuff. 2. The Roach,
Leuciscxis rutilus. 3. The Loach, or Beardie, Cobitis barbafvla. 4. The Tench, 7'inea
vnlqaris. 5. The Barbel, Barhui mdrjarin. 6. New York Sliiner, Ciijyrinvs crysoleticas.
7. Common Carp, Cyprinus carpis. 8. Common New York Sucker, Catostomue communU.
LESSON VI. SOFT-EAYED BONY FISHES WITH ABDOMINAL
VENTRAL FINS.
1. The carps may be placed at the head of the sofl-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, the 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
• Mal-a-oop-tkh-yiV-ii, from two Greek words, nnalakos^ " Poft," and ptcrvgioix^ a little
wing or ''^ fin"— meaning tho (! fi«h which are soft-finned or Rofl-raitad. The fin rnvK io
these fish arc compofod of bony piccea united by means of nirdliifjr^ which renders the fln-
rays much more flexible than ia feen in the long single spines of "the cla.*^ fir,-*t described.
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OK 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 water, 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 Avater, brilliant as the 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 breast
^ Is your transparent cell,
Where fear is but a transient guest,
Nor sullen humors^ dwell ;
Where, sensitive of eveiy ray
That smites this tiny* sea,
Your scaly panopliess repay
The loan with usury."
4. The Chinese ladies pay great attention to the rearing of
these fish, having the richest glass vessels prepared 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 powder,
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 :
6. " 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 marr'd*,
Or their quick sense our sweetest music jarr'd^ ;
And whither could 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 READER. Part V.
more than half the length of the back ; others have dorsal fins
of five or six rays only ; and still greater variations sometimes
are seen in other fins. These changes are supposed to have
been produced 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 tbe
pike, the tyrant of the streams, is said never to prey upon the
tench, which is supposed to exert his healing powers 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 diseaae,
He courts the ealutaiy fish for ease ; ^
Close to liis i^cales the kind physician 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 advantage of
the coloring matter thus afiforded 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 the 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 which have been applied to the pike, such as the " fresh-
water shark," and the " tyrant of fresh waters," express its
well-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.
1 0. The pike is believed to be 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 tlian the
common pike. The former is a very active and playful fish :
Part V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES.
245
Scale of Jnchea.
The Pike Family.— 1. Saury Pike, Scomber-esox saurus. 2. Common Pike, Esox lu-
citis. 3. Common Gar-fish, Belone vulgaris. 4. Guiana Gar-fish, BeUme Quianensis. 5.
Common Flying-fish, Exoeilus volitans.
it swims near the surface ; and its vivacity is such that it will
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 which was said to be
employed successfully at Naples :
*' Burnish' d with blue, and bright as damask steel.
Behold the belone,^ with pointed bill
All fringed with teeth : no gi-eedier fish than they
E'er broke in serrieds 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 fish pursue :
The gristle chai-ms, 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 pectoral
fins, which are sufiiciently 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.
246
will^on's fifth reader.
Part V.
Their most usual height of flight above the surface of the
water is only two or three feet ; but the larger si^ecies some-
times spring fifteen or twenty feet, and it is not unfrequent
for whole shoals of them to fall on board of ships that navi-
gate the seas of warm 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 look'd,
A joyous creature vaulted throtif^h the air —
The aspiring fish that fain would be a bird,
On long, light wings, that flung a diamond-shower
Of dew-drops round it-* evanescent'^ 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 gulls or the albatross which
are constantly on the alert to seize it, or it is forced down
again into the mouths of other enemies who keep pace below
with its aerial excursion. Yet the flying-fishes themselves
ScaU of Inckti.
Tira Cat-fish Family— 1. Brown Cat-dBh, Pimelodua ptiUus. 2. Common Cat-fieh,
or Homed Pout, Piynclodua rntiis.
Tlie Cat-fish family embraces the numerous fresh-water fish which are known in this
country by the common names of cat-fish, horned pouts, and bull-heads. They mostly
Inhabit muddy streams and lakes, are destitute of scales, sluggish iu their movements,
and, like the famous fishing-frog or angler, to which they boar some resemblance, depend
more upon stratnginn than swiftness to seize their prey. The different specie* vary in
length from three or four inches to four feet; and some are said to have b.-rn raiight in
the Ohio and Mississippi rivers measuring eight (N>t in length.
Part V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES.
247
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 deep prey upon each other.
1 €ae-nTv'-o-eou8, feeding on flesh.
2 in'-got, an unwrouglit bar of gold.
3 HO '-MOR, fancy; caprice.
4 Ti'-NY or Tin'-y, very gmall ; little.
5 Pan'-o-ply, defensive armor.
6 DtJB'-ANCE, imprisonment.
7 PTo'-MENT, a puint.
8 Bel'-o-ne, Latin name for this fish,
9 Skk'-kied isSr'-rid)^ close ; crowded,
to Su'G-cumb', yield ; submit to.
ti Mo-not'-o-ny, uniformity ; want of va-
riety.
12 Ev-a-nes'-oent, fleeting ; quickly pass-
ing away.
LESSON VII. — TO THE FLYING-EISH.
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 souV, that rests not, pent
Within this world's gross 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^ !— Moore.
248
WLLLSON'S FIFl'H READEli.
Part V,
LESSON Yin. — SOFT-EATED BONY FISHES, WITH ABDOMIN-
AL VENTRAL FINS — Continued.
[Salmon and Trout, and Herring and Pilchard Families.]
8eaU of Inehe*.
Salmon and Tbout Family — 1. White-fish of the Lakes, Coregronws albus. 2. Com-
mon Sea Salmon, Salmo salar. 3. New York Brook Trout, Salmo /ontinaMs. 4. Trout-
let. 5, Great Lake Trout of Europe, Salmo fcrox,
1. Our remaining notices of this order of the bony fishes
embrace the Salmon 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 history of many of them
is chiefly curious ; while with the angler many of the species
are preferred to every other kind of fish as objects on which
to exercise his skill.
2. The common sea salmon, which is the largest species of
the family, is both a salt-water and a fresh-water fish. They
invariably breed in fresh water, while they find their most nu-
tritious food, and other conditions most favorable to their
growth and general health, in salt water. They 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, we
would be inclined to pronounce insurmountable. 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 gravelly 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, thej'^
commence their progress down the river for the purpose of
regaining the ocean, where they are speedily 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 the 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 moors,
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 smelts 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 large quantities along our At-
lantic coast from New Jersey to Labrador, and are often sold by measure.
L2
^50 willson's fifth beader. Part 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 of Inekit.
IIrrbtno and Pilohaed Family. — 1. The Mossbonker, or Hard-head, ^/osa menhaden
(very abundant on the shores of Long Island and Mass. It is seldom eaten), 2. The
Pilchard, Clupea pilchxtrdus. 3. The Anchovy, Engraulia engrasicolu8. 4. American
Shad, Alosa prcestaMlli. 5. The Herring, Clupea 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 water of the northern temperate regions, and
only seek the shores and shallow portions of the ocean for the
purpose of depositing 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 Norfolk ; at New York, early in April ; and on the
coasts of New Enjjland still later. These fish ascend the Hud-
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 251
son one hundred and fifty m.iles to deposit their spawn, and
descend in the latter part of May, when they are called hack
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 Avas 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.
1 Mi-GEl'-TiON, removal. | 2 Beack'-isu, saltish.
LES. IX. — SOPT-EAYED BONY FISHES, WITH THE VENTRAL
FINS BENEATH THE PECTORALS: Called Suh-hracMals.
[The families of the Cod, Flat-fish, and Salt-water Suckers.]
1
iSeo/« of Inches,
Tira Cod Family. — 1. Three-bearded Reckling, or Fea-loche, Motella McirraM. 2.
The Torsk, Brosmius milgaris. 3. The Haddock, Morrhuu cer/lefinun. 4 Coal-fish, Mer-
lavgus carhonarius. 5. The Ling, Lota molva. 6. Five-bearded Rockling, Motella quin-
quedrrata. 7. The Whiting, Merlangris vulgaris. 8. Great Forked Hake, Phycis furca-
tus. 9. Common Cod, Morrhua vulgaris.
The second division of the soft-raved bonv fishes consists
252 WILLSON's PIEXH reader. Part V.
of the Cod family, the family of the Flat-fish, and the two
families of the salt-water Suckers.
1. THE COD FAMILY. (GacUdCB.)
1. At the head of the Cod family is the common cod, which
is the largest, best known, 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 Newfoundland, reaching six hundred miles in length, seem
to be literally covered with 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
hundred 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 oflF my head, and singular I act ;
Cut off niy tail, and plural I appear;
Cut off my tail and head — oh ! wondrous fact,
Although my middle's left, there's nothing here.
What is my head cut off ? a sounding sea.
What is my tail cut off ? a flowing river.
Far in the oce^u depths I fearless play ;
Giver of sweetest sounds, yet mute forever.
2. FAiknLY OF THE FLAT-FiSTi. (PleiironccticlcB.)
" Flat-fish, with eyes distorted, square, ovoid, rhomboid, long,
Some cased in mail, some slippi'ry-bnck'd, the feeble and the strong."
•In one of Mr. Yarrell's volumes we find the following de-
scription of the flat-fish, the prominent species of which we
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 ])lnced on the same side, one higher than tlio
other, frequently not in the same vertical line, and often unequal in size ;
the position of the mouth ; the inequnlity of tho two sides of tlif liond. rm.l
Part V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES.
253
Scale of Inches.
Flat-pish Family.— 1. The Turbot, Rhombus maxirmis. 2. Oblong Flounder, Platesm
oblonga. 3. The Plaice, Platessa vulgaris (similar in form to the Rusty Dab of oui* coaats).
4. The Halibut, Hippoglossus vulgaris. 5. Common Sole, Solea vulgaris.
the frequent want of unifonnity in those fins that are in pairs, the pectoral
and ventral fins of the under or white 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 different 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 they 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, where, 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 which they may either endeavor to find suitable food r^v
avoid dangerous enemies. Having little or no means of defense, had their
color been placed only above the lateral line on each side, in whatever po-
sition they moved their piebald^ appearance would have rendered them con-
spicuous objects to all their enemies.
4. "iJSVhen 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, changing their position from horizontal to vertical : if
the observer happens to be opposite 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, we 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.
6. "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."
V. 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 Uriited 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 :
** \o vossel he finds to hold Rtich a fish,
And the senate's convoked to decree a new dish."
f nA-n\T)E' ((tha-rkde')^ a word whose syl-
lables or letters arc described, first sepa-
rately and then together, so as to form a
kind of riddle.
2 GBO-TKsqrE', ludicrons ; odd.
3 A-n6m'-a-ly, irregularity.
* At'-tri-hute, inherent quality ; property.
* PTk'-u.\lu, of various colors.
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, whicli are very
much dilated beneath, are united around a circular disk,
wliich acts as a sucker. By means of this instrument these
fishes arc able to attach themselves to any firm bodies in a
Part V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES.
255
Palt-watee Suckers.— 1. White-tailed Remora, or Shark Sucker, Echeneis alUcauda.
2. The Common Kemora, or Sucking-fish, Echeneis rentora. 3. Cornish Sucker, Lepa-
dogastes cornubierusis. 4. Lump Sucker, Cyclopterus lumpvs.
strong current of water, and thus to obtain food in places
where most other fish would be swept away. The 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 family
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 w^e 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 have 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 Anton y'| ship in the
256
willson's fifth header.
Pakt v.
naval engagement between him and Augustus Caesar, and
caused the defeat of the former ; and that the Emperor Ca-
lig'ula once sufiered a similar accident, which was the cause
of his downfall ! If naturalists could be thus easily imposed
upon 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 sucking-fish beneath, with secret chains,
Clung to the keel, the swiftest ship detains.
The seamen run confused, no labor spared.
Let fly the sheets, and hoist the topmast yard.
The master bids them give her all the sails
To court the winds and catch the coming gales.
But thougli the canvas bellies 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 tlie plain,
And infant waves scarce wrinkle on the main."
LESSON X. — SOFT-EAYED BONY FISHES, DESTITUTE OF
VENTRAL FINS : Called Ajyodals.
iieal* v/ tncku.
Tnw Ebl Family.— 1. I'-lcctric Gymnotus, Otjninotna drctricus. 2. Conger Eel, Con-
ger vulgaris. 3. The Muraena, Murcena hcleiui. 4. American fc^aud-lauuce, ^ )Hi}io(/;/te«
Americanus. 6. Shai-p-nosed Eel, Anguila acutirosMs.
1. The tl^ird division of tlie soft-rayed bony fishes is com-
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR 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 exists 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 are 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 murcena^ 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 was 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 gym-
no' tiis^ or electrical eel of South America. It is sometimes
five or six feet in length ; it has no tail fin, and the scales are
imperceptible to the naked eye. By its ele(;tric 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
WILLSON'S FIFTH READER.
Fart V.
LES. XI. — SOFT-RATED BONY FISHES WITH TUFTED GILLS I
Lophohranchii. soft-kayed bony fishes avith solder-
ed jaws: Flectognathii.
Scale of Jnehea.
1. Hudson River Sea-horse, Hipjwcamjms Iludsonius. 2. Indian File-fish, Baliates
praslinoides. 3. Homed Ostracioii, O^tracion cornutus. 4. Great Pipe-fiph, Syffnathus
acus. 5. ^'qiiorial Tipe-fir-h, or Needle-fish, ^ccs^ro cpgnora. 6. Pennant's Globe-fish,
Tctrodon Pennantii. 7. Short Sun-fish, or Head-fish, Orthagoriscus viola. 8. Oblong
Sun-fish, Orthagoriacus oblong^is. 9. European File-fish, Baliates 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 pipe
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 carried 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
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OB 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
quadrupeds. {See Third Reader^ p. 236.)
3. A very singular species of the pipe fishes is the hippo-
campus, or, as it is frequently called in this country, the Hud-
son 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 when 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 upside 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 off 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
remaining. 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.
1 Pee-hkn'-sTle, grasping; adapted to seize, 12 In-fla'-ted, puffed up, or swollea by air.
as the tail of a monkey. j
260
WILLSON S FIFTH READER.
i'ABT V.
THIED CLASS OF FISHES.
CAETILAGINOUS FISHES. iChondropterygii.)
[Shark, Sturgeon, Chimsera, Ray, and Lamprey Familiee.]
Hcale oj' I'eet.
Thb Shark Family. — 1. Spinous Shark, EcJdnochimis spinosus. 2. Greenland Shark,
Scymivus borealis. 3. Basking Shark, Selachus rtiaximiis. 4. White Shark, Charchariaa
milgaria. 6. Fox Shark, or Thresher, Alopias milpes. 6. Cirrated Saw-fish, Pn^is cirra-
tis. 7. Hammer-headed Sliark, Zygcena malleus.
LESSON XII. — THE SHARK FAMILY. (PLACOIDS.)
1. No life is in the air, but in the waters
Are creatures huge, and terrible, and strong ;
The sword-fish and the shark pursue their slaughters,
War univei'sal reigns these depths along.
Like some new island on the ocean springing.
Floats on the surfiice some gigantic wkalc,
From its vast head a silver fountain flinging.
Bright as the fountain in a fairy tale. — L. E. Maclean.
2. Although the cartilaginous^ division is of very limited
extent, compared with cither 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.
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 261
3. The sharks, which are the most coDspicuous and the most
perfectly organized of the cartilaginous division, are among
lishes what the carnivorous^ animals are among quadrupeds,
and the eagles, hawks, and owls among birds. Like these
their representatives, they are proverbially^ the tigers and
panthers of the ocean ; and they frequently carry upon them,
as it were, 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 sufficient 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 w^ell-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 tropics, bathing in the
sea becomes a hazardous, and often dangerous undertaking.
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 warts 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 Avith 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 covering that places the sharks in Agassiz's
division of Placoid fishes.
262
willson's fifth reader.
Part V.
ticale of Feet.
The Suabks, continued.—!. Large-spotted Dog-fish, Scxjllhim cntulus. 2. Tope, or Pen-
ny-dog, Galeus vulgaris. 3. Blue Shark (the most common shark on our coasts), Carcha-
rias glaucus. 4. Porbeagle, Lamna cornubica. 5. Small-spotted Dog-fish, Scyllium ca-
nicula. 6. Picked (or Piked) Dog-fish, Acanthias vulgaris. 7. Smooth Hound, JfusfcltM
Icevis.
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 ammal Rcquin, 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 twallow, entire, the despair-
ing sailor, we must admit the projiriety 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, OK FISHES. 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
fish, swimming near the surface, with its upper jaw projected
out of the water, 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 sj^lash 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 a while 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 that 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 curiotis 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 drawing Avhich 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 with numerous sharp
spines similar to teeth.
1 €AB-Tr-Ll«;'-iN-oiT8, having the qualities|3 Proveeb'-i-al-ly, speaking in the form
of cartilage or giistle. of a proverb or by-word.
2 €ab-niv'-o-rou8, feeding on flesh. |* Rav'-en-ous, hungry for prey; voracious.
264
willson's fifth eeadeb.
Pakt v.
LESSON" XIII. — CARTILAGINOUS FISHES CONTINUED.
[Sturgeon, Chimsera, Ray, and Lamprey Families.]
Scale of Feet.
Stdbqeon and CniM.«EA Families. — 1. Common Sturgeon of the Atlantic, Acipenser
sturio. 2. Northern Chimsera, Cliimcera monstroaa. 8. American Lake Stui-geon, Aei-
penser rubicundus.
1. Of the Sturgeon family, the best known ,are the common
sturgeon of the Atlantic, usually found in rivers which flow
into the sea, and the fresh-water sturgeon found in the 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 chimaeras, 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 fishes. Most of them have
the pectoral fins so largely developed that they extend en-
tirely around the head and body, to which they 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 upper surface ;
Part V.
ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES.
265
Cicale of I'tuC.
The Rat Family.— 1. Common Toi-pedo, Torpedo vulffan's. 2. Many-.«pined Trygon,
Trygon histrix. 3. Thornback Ray, Raia clavata. 4. Angel-fish, or Monk-fish, Aquatina
angelus. 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
with a hard bony weapon in the shape of a long-headed lance.
It is supposed that this weapon falls off 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 use 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
M
266 willson's fifth reader. Pakt v.
^ Hamilton Smith relates that he
jl^^^^^^^ once witnessed the destruction of
ii^^^^^^g ^ soldier by one of these immense
^^^^^^^K rays, off the island of Trinidad. It
^^^^^^^^m appears that the soldier wished to
^I^^^^^^P desert, and, being a good swim-
^^^^^[^ mer, he had jumped into the sea
^1^^^^ from the vessel, w'hich then lay at
^"^^N^ anchor near the entrance of the
Horned Ray, Sea Devil, or Ocean Vam- harbor. The circumstaUCC OCCUr-
pire, cephaioptera vampirus. red soon after daylight, and the
man, being alarmed by the call of a sailor up aloft, endeavor-
ed to return to the ship ; but the monster tish 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 waiter, 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 presence of hundreds of spectators." If this be
a true fish story, even the Atlantic cable may have been toiii
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 benumb the arm of a person
touching it ; and this 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 which 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 0/ Inches.
The Lampret Family.— 1. Glutinous Hag, or Myxine, Gastrobranchus coecus. 2. The
Pride, or Mud Lamprey, Ammocoetes branchialis. 3. Common Lamprey, Pteromyzon
viarinus. 4. Tlie 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 great 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 which we shall
find reftewed evidence of that wisdom which has peopled
every part 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, im-
til Ave 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-
ward — through angelic hosts, until it takes hold of the throne
of the Eternal.
268
WILLSOX S FIFTH BEADEE.
Pakt V.
LES. XIV. — THE AQUARIA, OR DRAWING-ROOM FISH-PONDS,
1. Decidedly the prettiest drawing-room ornament that
has been invented of late years is the Aquarium^ 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 suftered 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 poor little creatures died a thousand deaths
— endured such agony as we should feel if we were jjlunged
to the bottom of a river, and held there till we were senseless,
every morning before breakfast.
3. It was found a difticult matter to rear, in this way, the
hardy gold-fish, wh;le almost every other description offish
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 fatal to the tender creatures
that were compelled to submit to our handling.
4. At length, however — and it was only a few years ago —
the principle Avas discovered that, in water 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 of animal life — pure air.
5. Starting with this principle, about the year 1850, a Mr.
Warrington, 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, had 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. Part V.
the evil. The experimentalist hastened ti) a pond in the vi-
cinity, and explored its bottom with care. He 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.
7. 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 w^as begun, to test the relative capacity of the various
known kinds of marine plants, fish, and marine creatures of
the lowest orders, for living in the limited area of a liouse-
tank. Those experiments 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 co])ied. 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, imless 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
Part V. ICHTHYOLOGY, OR FISHES. 271
must plant your marine vegetation before you people your
miniature ocean. Having therefore poured in your water,
Avhich 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 supplied with
some portion of its maternal mould or rock.
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 up into joints, and dissolving into six or
eight perfect creatures of their own species. Mollusks^ and
crustaceans^^ must be added, to act the part of scavengers
and street inspectors. Among the moUusks al-e 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-fish, 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 would 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 aflbrd amusement and instruction to all.
1 Con-ven'-tion-al, customary. | ^ RSl'-licked, moved about in a frolicsomn
2 Tu-reen', a vessel for holding soup. i manner.
MoL-LusKs', animals whose bodies ai'e soft
and not jointed, bu^ which generally have
a hard or shelly covering. (See Seventh
Reader.)
La'-tent, not visible ; hidden.
Selv'-EN-GEES, street-cleaners,
Sr'-PHON, see page 347.
8 a'-ek-ate, to purify by admitting the air.
9 Zo'-o-PHYTE, an animal plant, like the
sponge and coral.
10 Cru8-ta'-ce-an (-s/iran), animals like 1o1>-
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 shines 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 appeased* :
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 jjatience and sublime content.
3. Imagination — not permitted here
To waste her powers, as in the worldling's mind,
On fickle j)leasuros, 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/
4. 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 \— Wordsworth.
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 rich and
covetous Jew, had eloped with Lorenzo and gone to Genoa,
taking with her 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
rejieatedly assuaged and changed to the highest exultation,
as Tubal mentions the misfortunes which had befallen 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.
Shylock. 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 : two thousand ducats in that ; and other precious,
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
cofiin ! No news of them' ? — Why, so ; — and I know not what's spent in
the search. Why thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so much', 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.*
Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I heard in Genoa —
Shy. What, what, what' ? ill luck, ill luck' "i^
Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.
Shy. I thank God, I thank God ! — Is it true' ? is it true' ?^
" Thia is spoken in a tone of sobbing grief.
■» Spoken rapidly. Shvlock catches, with eager joy, at the news of Antonio's ill Inck.
^[ 2
274
Ttib. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.
Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal : — Good news, good news ; ha ! ha ! —
Where ? in Genoa' ?''
Tub. 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 again.
Fourscore ducats at a sitting^ ! fourscore ducats* !*^
Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors 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.*"
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 for a
wilderness* of monkeys.
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. SHYLOCK AND THE MERCHANT I 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 pound of fleshy to be cut off
nearest his heart. Owing to losses, Antonio was unable to
pay on the day appointed ; and although afterward his friends
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 mournfully and slowly, but emphatically : the downward inflection.
FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 275
Duke. Give me your hand\ Came j'ou from old Bellario'?
Portia. I did, my lord.
Duke. You are welcome^ : take your place.
Are you acquainted with the difference
That holds this present question in the court' ?
Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause.
Which is the merchant^ here, and which the Jew^ ?
Duke. Antonio and old Shylock', both stand fortli'.
Por. Is your name Shylock' ?
Shylock. 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.
Shi/. 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 slibws the force of temporal power,
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 course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation*: we dojomy* 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 law^,
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 devil of his will.
276 willson's fifth reader.
Por. It must not be* ; there's no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established* ;
'Twill be recorded for a precedent* ;
And many an error, by the same example,
Will rush into the state : it can not be.
Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! Yea, a Daniel !
O wise young judge, how do I honor thee !
Por, I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor ; here it is.
Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee.
Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven :
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul' ?
No\ not for Venice*.
Por. 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'ciful;
Take thiice" thy money ; bid me tear^ the bond.
Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor.
It doth appear, you are a worthy^ judge;
You 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 my band".
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 purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty.
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
Shy. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright 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 death.
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 prepared.
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 his wealth^ ;
To view, with hollow eye and wrinkled brow,
An age of poverty^ ; from which lingering penance
Of such misery doth she cut me oif.
Commend me to your honorable wife^ :
Tell her the process of Antonio's end^ ;
Say, how I loved^ you ; speak me fair in death ;
And, when the tale is told', bid her be judge,
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
liepent 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.
Shj. 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.
Poi-. 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 1
Shy. Is that the law ?
Por. Thyself shall see the act :
For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou 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 upright judge ! a learned judge !
Por. Therefore prepare 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 I
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.
278 WILLSON S FIFTU KEADEIi.
Por. Why doth the Jew pause' ? take thy forfeiture.
Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go.
Bas. I have it ready for thee ; here it is.
Por. He hath refused it in the open court;
He shall have merely justice, and his bond.
Gra. A Daniel, still say I ! a second Daniel !
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
Shy. Shall I not 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
Comes 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 indirectly, 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 difference of our spirit,
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.
For half thy wefalth, it is Antonio's ;
The other half comes to the general state.
LES. IV. — THE CHARACTER OF PORTIA, AS DISPLAYED IN
THE TRIAL SCENE.
1. All the finest points of Portia's character are brought
to bear in the trial scene which we have just read. There she
shines forth all her divine self. Her intellectual powers, her
liigh honorable principles, lier 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 MISCELLANEOUS 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 the discharge
of his just debt, though paid out of her own wealth ten times
over. She must be understood, from the beginning to the
end, as examining with intense anxiety the effect of her words
on the mind and countenance of the Jew ; as watching for
that relenting spirit which she hopes to awaken either by rea-
son or persuasion.
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 dew 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 bond."
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 !
Shylock. Is it so nominated in the bond' ?
Portia. It is not so expressed— but what of that^ ?
'Twere good you do so much, for charity^.'"
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's fifth reader.
" Commend me to your honorable wife^ !
Say how I loved^ you, speak me fair in death," etc. —
are well calculated to swell that emotion which, through the
whole scene, must have been laboring supj^ressed 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 which inter-
fere with the judicial solemnity she had at first afiected, par-
ticularly in the speech,
*■' Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more.
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more,
Or less, than a just pound — be it but so much
As makes it light or heavy in the substance',
< )r the division of the twenj;ieth part
Of one poor scruple^ ; nay, if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair\
Thou diesV^ and all thy goods arc confiscate."
But she afterward recovers her propriety, and triumphs with
a cooler scorn and a more self-possessed exultation.
7. 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 j^ursue in our
fancy the under-current of feeling working 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. — ^TiiE PHiLOSOPnER's scales.
1. 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.
2. Perhaps it was only by patience and care,
At last, that he brought 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 produced the philosopher's scales.
FIFTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 281
3. "What were they^ ?" you ask ; you shall presently see :
These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea ;
Oh no ; for sucli properties wondrous had they,
That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could weigh ;
Together with ai'ticles small or immense,
From mountains or planets to atoms of sense.
4. Naught was there so bulky but there it would lay,
And naught so ethereal but thei'e 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 weighf,
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 well-esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud.
Next loaded one scale ; while the other was pressed
By those mites the poor widow dropped into the chesf ;
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,
And down, down the farthing-worth came with a bounce. •
8. By further experiments (no matter how^.
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 lawyers, 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 sens? ;
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.
With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight.
When the former sprang up with so strong a rebufl'.
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 Taylor.
282
WILLSON'S FIFTH READER.
Part VI.
Part VI. CIVIL akchitecture. 283
PAET VL
CIYIL AECHITECTUEE.
LESSON" I. — GRECIAN AND ROMAN ARCHITECTURE.
1. Architecture is the art of contriving and constructing
buildings ; and, when the term is used without a quahfying
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^ whose
names characterize the several modes in which these people
constructed the fagades,^ 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, jis 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. TheTb/izc, the second of the Grecian orders, not only has
a base, and a capital and entablature difiering 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 Gormthian, 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. Part VI.
order is attributable to Callimachus,^ an Athenian sculptor of
the age of Pericles, who is said to have had the idea of its
capital suggested to him by observing acanthus leaves grow-
ing around 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 basket.
6. The Corinthian order was 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, which they ornamented to profusion, and
named the Co')nposite. Its chief distinguishing feature is the
capital, which has four volutes, presenting the same face in
four directions. (Seep. 282.)
7. But to one important feature in architecture the Romans
appear to have indubitable claim, and tliat is the arch. It is
generally believed that the ancient Egyptians, Persians, and
Hindoos were entirely ignorant of its construction ; and it
seems probable that the Greeks knew nothing of it previous
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 Ave now characterize any architecture as
decidedly JRoman^ reference is had to that feature which is
denoted by the perfected arch, 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 used 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
spires 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 p. 289.)
1 Fa-oXde' (fa-sdde'). I ♦ FbiEze (freez).
2 Kn-TAH'-I-A-TCEK I * CAL-IJM'-A-rntJS.
' XEru'-T-T«\VK. I
Part YI.
CIVIL AECHITECTUKE.
285
LESSON" II. — ATHENIAN ARCHITECTURE pURING THE AGE
OF PERICLES.
BULWER.
[The " Age of Pericles" embraced the latter half of the fifth century before Christ, when
Pericles, at the head of Athenian affair,-*, raised Athens to the summit of her renown. It
was during this period tJfet most of those famous structures which crowned the Athenian
Acropolis, or surrounded its base, were either built or adorned by the direction of Pericles,
uiider the superintendence of the sculptor Phidias^ '1 he 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 ]
Modern Athens.— The above 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 imadorned, 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-
cence of her public edifices now made a dazzling contrast.
The Acropolis, that towered above the homes and thorough-
286 wlllson's fifth eeader. Pabt VI.
fares of men — a spot too sacred for human habitation — be-
came, to use a proverbial phrase, " a city of the gods." The
citizen was every where to be reminded of the majesty of the
State — his patriotism was to be increased by the pride 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 the seas ; then
rose the master-pieces of Phidias,^ of Canicrates,^ 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 — unmutilated 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 Pentelicus"^ 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 friezes''
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 a gaudy 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 Avere 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 Avas 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
Part VI.
CIVIL ARCHITECTURE.
2sr
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 Phid'-i-a8 was a celebrated sculptor of Ath-
ens, whom Pericles appointed superintend-
ent of all the public works, both of archi-
tecture and statuary.
2 Cal-li€'-ra-te5s, in conjunction with Icti-
nus, built the Parthenon at Athens.
3 Mn£s'-T-€les, a celebrated architect, born
a slave in the house of Pericles.
* Pen-tel'-i-€tj8, a mountain of Attica, con-
taining quarries of beautiful marble.
* Pa'-bos, an island in the Grecian Archi-
pelago, famous for the " Parian marble"
which the Greeks used for statuary.
6 Ped'-i-jiekt, an ornament that crowns the
front of buildings, and serves as a decora-
tion over gates, windows, etc.
7 Frieze {freez), that part of the en-t.?b'-
la-tCke between the ARCii'-i-TRivB and
cok'-nice (knr'-ms). See p. '282.
9 Ir-ref'-ba-qa-ble, that can not be refuted;
indisputable.
LESSON III. — RUINS OF THE COLISe'uM at ROME.
Abchks on arches ! as 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 illumj
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 fifth reader. Part VI.
And shadows forth its glory. There is given
Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent,
A Bpirit's feeling ; and where he hath leant
His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power
And magic in the ruin'd battlement,
For which the palace of the pres^ent hour
Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. — Bteon.
2. Ill the 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. Tlie space 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 Coliseum gladiators, martyrs,
slaves, and wild beasts combated during the Roman festivals;
and here the bloo,d 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 pre-
sents its original height ; the uppermost gallery has disappear-
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 different saints, are erected on
the dens once occupied by wild beasts.
4. Byron has described, 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 on the side which is in
best preservation, it is glorious."
1 P?-i.A8'-TKU8 are square columns, usually set within wall", and pr. ;ortinr- "^nlv r.n.> nimr-
ter of their diameter.
Pakt VI.
CIVIL AKCHITECTUKi:.
289
GOTHIC AECHITECTUKE.
LES. TV. — CASTLES AND ABBEYS OF FEUDAL TIMES.
12 3
1. Double semicircular Saxon-Nonuan arch, from window of St. Alban's Abbey, A.D.
1100. 2. Double lancet-pointed arch, from window of Salisbury Cathedral, A.D. 1260. 3.
Window of Exeter Cathedral, compound ogee arch, with compound-curve tracery, A.D.
1400. The figures 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, show the gradual advance from the simple to the more
elaborate forms exhibited in the spires of Gothic edifices.
1. Enraptiteed 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 ;
Where superstition, with capricious hand.
In many a maze the wreathed window plann'd,
Witli hues 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 knightly play.
That deck'd heroic Albion's* elder day;
To mark tlic mouldering halls of barons bold,
And the rough castles, cast in giant mould ;
With Gothic manners Gothic arts explore.
And muse on the magnificence t)f yore. — Wabton.
3. The castles and abbeys of feudal times, which were c^iief-
ly of Gothic architecture, with either rounded or pointed arch-
es, pointed spires, and massive walls, enter so much into the
290 willson's fifth kjader. Pabt VI.
modern hi&tory and literature of Europe, that every student
must have connected with them, through his varied reading,
associations of lively interest. It is true that their graver
history — in the times " when might made right" — when tur-
bulence and faction were in the ascendant — presents frequent
scenes of tyranny and injustice; but with these, as a glad re-
lief, are associated a thousand pleasing and faithful pictures
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
Mere 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 deserted sanctuary,
with emotions which we can hardly define : in the one our patriotism gath-
ers strength and decision ; in the other, that piety, of which it is the out-
ward evidence, sheds a warmer ijifluence on the heart. We traverse the
apartments that once contained the noble founders of our national free-
dom, the venerable and, intrepid champions of our faith, the revered
fathers of our literature, witli a feeling which amounts to almost devotion.
We turn aside to tlie mouldering gates of our ancestors as a pilgrim turns
to some favorite shrino ; 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 affections.
6. "The mutilated altars of our religion, the crumbling sepulchres of
our forefathers, are pi-egnant with an intciest 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 up. The vaulted gateway,
the rudely sculptured shield, thc-lieavy portcullis,* and massive towers, all
contrast forcibly with 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 tho gat%> of Jerusalem, and earned those
Part 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." — Wilj^iam Beattie, M.D.
9. Gothic arcliitecture 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.
With massive arches, broad and round,
That rose alternate, vow 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 spires.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 primitive
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 shrined saint sustain,
Nor tower nor airy pinnets crown;
But broadly sweeps the Norman arch
Where once in brighteu'd shadow shone
King OffaS on his pilgrim-march.
And proudly points the moulder'd stone
Of the high vaulted porch beneath.
Where Norman beauty hangs a wreath
Of simple elegance and grace :
Where slender columns guard the space
On every side, iij clustered row,
The triple arch through arch disclose.
And lightly o'er the vaulting throw
The thwart-rib and the fretted rose."
12. The greaf 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 his queen
The portals guard and grace are seen.
This western front shows various style.
Less ancient than the central pile.
292
willson's fifth beadek.
Pabt VI.
It uecms some shade of parted yeara
Left watching o'er the mouldering dead,
Who here for pious Henry hlod,
And here, beneath the wide-stretch* d ground
Of nave, 10 of choir, ' i of chapeLi round,
Forever—ever rent the head." 12
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 difterent
periods — exliibiting a gradual progress from the broad and
plain semicircular Saxon-Norman style to the pomted and
()geei3 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 description of Melrose Abbey :
14. " The moon on the east oriel 1* shone
Throngli slender shafts of nhapely stone
By foliaf?c(l trac .ry combined ;
Thou wouMst have thouirht some fairy's hand
'Twixt poplar.-* straight the osier wand
In many a freakish knot had twined ;
Then framed a spell when the work was done,
And tum'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.
1%.
When yonder broken arch was whole,
*Twas there was dealt the weekly dole; is
And where yon mouldering columns nod.
The abbey sent the hymn to God.
So fleets the world's uncertain span ;
Nor zeal for (Jod, nor love to man.
Gives mortal monimienta a date
Beyond the power of time and fate.
The towers nuist share the builder's doom;
Ruin is thelr«, and his a tomb:
But IxJtter Ixxm tieuigiiant heaven
To faith and charity has given,
And bids the Christian hope sublimo
Transcend the bounds of fate and time.— Poott.
» "Ki.f'-in, pertaining to olves or fairies,
3 €i.K\v, thread used in the embroidery.
3 Fank, a temi)le ; a church.
* Al'-bi-on, here used for Kngland.
5 JoCsT (jiiMt)^ a tilt ; a tournament.
P0bt-€ui/-i.i8, a frame armed with iron
over a gateway, to be let down for de-
fense.
■^ FA'-T.i-X-TKP, In the form of leavoj?.
'^ I'Tn-kkt, for pinnacle.
•' The Saxon OfTa, king of thh Mercians, the
Kuiipo-^ed founder of the Abbey of St. Al-
ban's, lived near the close of the eighth
century.
10 Navk, the middle of a church.
>i t'uoiR (kwlrtX the part of a church ap-
propriated to the singer.j. In most modem
churrhi»j< the singers are pUicu<i in certain
seats in the galleries.
la The bones of the British marlyr, St. Al-
banus, are said to have been deposited in
a gorgeous shrine within the walls of the
abbi'y.
>3 ()-<";kk', a moulding somewhat like the let-
ter S.
'♦ < )'-Ki-Ki., a l>ay-window, or curved window
projecting outward.
'* Dole, a gift ; a pittance.
Part VI.
CIVIL ARCHITECrrUBE.
293
LESSON V. — OP THE USEFUL IN ARCHITECTURE.
A. J. Downing.
1. The senses make the lirst 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 huild 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 ho
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 appears sufiicient;
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 PIFl'H EEADEB. Part VI.
t
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 perhaps 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 man'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 differ, but only in degree.
It is still what will best serve the body — what will best shel-
ter, lodge, feed, and warm us — which demands the whole at-
tention of the mere builder of houses.
V. 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 IN CIVIL OR PUBLIC ARCHI-
TECTURE.
1. Passing beyond the merely useful in building, whicli
is limited by man's necessities, the chief beauty 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
which he inhabits.
Part VI. CIVIL AKCHITECTURE. 295
2. In the forms of the Gothic cathedral are embodied the
worshiping principle 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 within the pyramidal form, which is that of flame
or fire, symbohcal of loue ; in the pointed character of all the
openings, which, as expressive 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
proper that it should be the style for all ecclesiastical and oth-
er purposes having reference to religious life.
3. But other forms of architecture are equally expressive.
In Roman art Ave see the ideal of the 8tate as fully manifest-
ed as is, in Gothic, the ideal of the Church. Its type-form,
based on the simple arch^ 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-
liouses, 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 public, 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 READEK.
Pakt VL
LESSON VII. — OF EXPRESSION IK DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE.
A. J. DOWNINO.
A suburban villa redidence.
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 intelligence, his feelings, and his enjoyments.
2. If we pass an ill-proportioned dwelling, inr which the
walls and roof are built only to defend the inmates against
cold and heat, the windows intended for nothing but to ad-
mit the light and exclude the air, the chimneys constructed
only to carry off the smoke, the impression which that house
makes upon us at a glance is that of mere utility.
3. If, on the other hand, the building is well pro])ortioned ;
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 lias various
marked features, indicating intelligent and cultivated lite in
its inliabitants ; if it i)lainly shows, by its various apartments,
that it is intended not only for the physical wants of man, but
for his moral, social, and intellectual existence ; if hospitality
Part VI. CIVIL AKCHITECTURE. 297
smiles in ample parlors ; if home virtues dwell in cozy fireside
family rooms ; if 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, will
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 proprie-
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 conspicuous part is kept 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.
7. The difiTerent 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, through 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.
Fart VI.
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 poem 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 who 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
i-hythm 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.
' Vk-ban'-da, an open portico.
2 Bal'-co-ny, a gallery on the outside of a
3 Xb-cade', a continuous arcli or series of
arches.
* Ga'-ble, the triangular or sloping end of a
house, called the gable-end.
* MTn'-a-ket, a slonder lofty turret on
mosques, with a balcony from which the
people are called to prayer.
LESSON VIII. THE rOETRY OF COTTAGE ARCHITECTURE.
Adajited from Loudon's Magazine.
"L The cottage homes of Englund !
liy thousands on her pltiint>,
They arc! smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet fanoa.
Through glowing orchnids forth they peep,
lirtch from its nook of leaves,
And fc!irU»s8 there the lowly sleep,
Ah the bird beneath their eaves, — Hrmaks.
2. Of all embellishments by whicli the efforts of man can
enhance the beauty of natural scenery, those are the most
effective which can give animation to the scene, while the
spirit which they bestow is in unison with its general charac-
ter. It is generally desirable to indicate the presence of ani-
Part VI. i;iViL ARCHITECTUBE. 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 exj)ressive 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 un-
suited to the scenery Avhich it inhabits, and of a mind which,
when it sought retirement, was unacquainted with its own
ruling feelings, and which consequently excites no sympathy
in ours; but if we 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-
belKshments 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
window, 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 cortsidered as enhancing the effect of
800 willson's fifth eeadeb. Pakt VI.
the cottage by increasing its usefulness, and making it con-
tribute to the comfort of more beings than one. The white-
wash is stainless, and its rough 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, is thrown
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 unspoiled by town sophistications, is a very
perfect thing in its way. The ideas it awakens are agreeable,
and the architecture is all that we w^ant 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
1. Where woods of ash, and beech,
And partial copses fringe the preen hill foot,
The upland shepherd rears his modest home ;
There wanders 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 garden — 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.
2. With fond regret I recollect, e'en now.
In spring and summer what deliglit I felt
Among these cottage gardens, and how much
Such artless nosegays, knotted v,'}^h a rush
By village housewife or her ruddy maid.
Part VI.
CIVIL ARCHITECTURE.
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 tumps, ^ with bright gi'een 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.
1 Freak'ed, variegated, [for rabbits, etc. [
a War'-uen ouor'-rcn), an inclosed placej
3 Tump, a little hillock.
* A-nem'-o-ne, the wind flower.
302
WILLSON S FIFTH EEADEK.
Fart VI.
LES. X. — OP TRUTHFULNESS IN AECHITECTURE.
A. J. Downing.
A picturesque elevated country house,
1. If all persons builcling in the country knew how much
the pleasure we derive from rural architecture is enhanced by
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 frankne.«;s, 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 j)urpose.
3. The principle which the reason would lay down for the
government of the architect in constructing buildings for do-
mestic as well as ])ublic life, is the simple and obvious one,
that both in material and character they should appear to bo
Part VI. CIVIL AECHITECTUEE. 303
what they are. To build a house of wood so exactly in imi-
tation of stone as to lead the spectator to suppose it stone, is
a paltry artifice, at variance with all truthfulness. When we
employ 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 ambitions
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.
^ Vil'-la, an elegant country seat, or farm, with a mansion and out-houses.
LESSON" XI. BUKIAL OF THE DEAD — MO^TUMENTS OF THE
BURIAL-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 different 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 risinj? pyramid the plain.
A hundred feet in length, a hundred wide,
The growing structure spreads on every side.
High on the top the manly corse they lay,
304 willson's fifth reader. Part VI.
And well-fpcl sheep and sjible oxen Rlay:
Achill(« cover'd with their fat the dead,
And the piled victims round tlie 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-ss. Ah 1 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 minty damps and ropy slime,
Lets fall a supcrnumemry honor,
And only serves to make thy night more irksome."
6. But are these the feelings with which we should look
upon the grave ? To use the words of an elegant modern writer
— 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 that 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 far-fetched conceits or tortured
allegories ; they should be equally remote, in expression, from
fanatical gloom and conceited afiectation.
7. There are many of our country church-yards, seated deep
in the recesses of venerable woods, and shut out, as it w^ere,
from the every-day world, which might furnish us models for
imitation, as far as calm serenity and quiet beauty go ; w^here
the "rugged elms" and "yew-tree's sliade," 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 :
PakT VI. CIVIL AKCHITECTUEE. 305
*' There is a calm for those that weep,
A rest for we;iry pilgrims found ;
They softly lie and sweetly 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 North American Review 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-exulting 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 ai'ches are crowded with the forms of prophets, and martyrs, and beati-
fied spirits, and seem to resound with tte 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 AKCHITECTUEE OP NATURE.
Within the sunlit forest,
Our roof the bright 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 {houghts, 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 FlfTH READER. Part 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 learn'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 oflFer'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 hapjjy 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. They 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 lust they stood,
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dj^rk,
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 sliinc, nor envious eyes
Part VI. CIVIL AKCHITECTUEE. 80 ,
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 seera
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 seem'd
Less aged than the hoai*y 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
Retire, 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, sot on fire
308
willson's fifth reader.
Part VI.
The heavens with fulling thunderbolts, or fill,
With all the waters of tlie firmament.
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods,
And drowns the villages ; when, at Thy call,
Uprises the great deep, 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 !
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 confonn the order of our lives. — Bryant.
THE PARTHENON OF ATHENS.
Fair Parthenon ! yet still must Fancy weep
For thee, thou work of nobler spirits flown.
Bright, as of old, the sunbeams o'er thee sleep
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 hnllow'd stone, from rapine's fury borne,
Shall wake bright dreams of thee in ages yet unborn.
Hemans.
Front Elevation of tho rftfthcnon, aa restored. See also p. 285
SIXTH MISCELLANEOUS DIYISIOK
'^^^..i.^
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 glcam'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 colors wrote their own decay,
And leaves fell eddying on the shai-pen'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 winter^ : 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 reader.
Slept 'neath one curtain\ as if both were merged'
In the same clement'. 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 Mee,
Our brother hunter', but to us replete
With musing thoughts in melancholy train.
Our joi/s, alas' ! too oft were woe to thee' ;
Yet ah ! poor Indian', whom we fain would drive
Both from our hearts, and from thy father's lands',
The perfect year doth bear thee on its crown\
And when we would forget', repeat thy name\ — Mks. 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 repose, would be strangers to
human life.
2. Injuries retaliated according to the exorbitant measure
Avhich 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 suffer from injustice, he is always in haz-
ard of suffering 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 liis 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 universe 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 MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 311
5. His Son, when he appeared in our nature, exhibited, both
in his Ufe and his death, the most iUustrious example of for-
giveness which the world ever beheld. If we look into the
history of mankind, 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 suffers 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 with anger, looks
down on their unworthy conduct. It has been truly said that
the greatest man on earth can no sooner commit an injury,
than a good man can make himself greater by forgiving it.
Blaie.
LESSON" III. PASSING AWAY.
John Piekpont.
1. Was it the chime of a tiny hell,
That came so sweet to my dreaming 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 ciitch the music that comes from 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 keader.
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 houi-s.
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 happiest day',
In the same sweet voice 1 heard her say,
*' Passing away* ! passing away* !"
4. While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, 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,
Kock'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' ^vas 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* I passing away* !" •
LESSON IV. — THE DREAisr of the two roads.
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
Hlies, 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 DIVISION. 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
with 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. These 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, faUing on his ear, recalled his parents' early love for
him, their erring son ; the lessons they had taught him ; the
prayers they had offered up on his behalf. Overwhelmed with
shame and grief, he dared no longer look toward that heaven
where his father dwelt ; his darkened eyes dropped tears, and
with one despairing effort he cried aloud, " Come back, my
early days ! come back !"
v. 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, where sunny 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 dark mountain, you will cry bit-
terly, but cry in vain : " O youth, return ! Oh give me back
my early days !" — From Jean Paul Richtek.
O
314
LESSON v.— THANATPPSIS.
Thanatopsis is a compound Greek word meaning a View of Death; or it may be
translated '■^ lieflections on Death."
[The air of pennive contemplation that pei-vados this piece required the inflectione, in
the reading of it, to be rilight and gentle, and the tone throughout to be one of tender ead-
net)8 and Christian 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 gladncss\ 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 stem 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 still 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 j)ale form was laid with many teal's.
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 eloments\
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 ouk
Shall send his roots abroad', and \ncvcc thy mould'.
4. "Yet not to thy eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor could'st thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt He down
With patriarchs of the infant workP, with kings\
The jiowerfid of the carth\ the wise', the good\
Fair forms', and hoary scei*s of ages past\
All in one mighty 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 thou' 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 laugh
When thou art gone' ; the solemn brood of care
Plod on' ; and each one, as before', will chase
His favorite 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 oif ',
Shall, one by one', be gather'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 readeb.
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
2. His hair is crisp, and black, 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 measur'd beat and slowj
^ 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.
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
5. He goes, on Sunday, to the church,
And sits among his boys ;
Hq hears the parson pray and preach.
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
6. 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 NATL'KAL PHILOSOPHY.
317
PART VII.
SECOND DIVISION OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
[This subject is continued from the Fourth Reader.]
'fe^ LESSON I. — THE LIBRARY
INTRODUCTORY.
1. "Welcome to the hills and dales of Glenwild," said Mr.
Maynard, as he met for the hrst time, after a short vacation,
the Volunteer Philosophy Class, comi3osed of Masters George,
John, and Frank, and Misses Ida and Ella. " Welcome to the
pleasant shade of Ihe 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 whippletree in such a way that a weak horse could
plow with a strong and able one without 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 phil-
osophical experiments had 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.
6. 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^ waves, and winds — 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.
1. "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-
haps all — may exist in all three of these forms, under 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 motio7i ; the former of which is treated under the
head of statics, and the latter under that of drjnamics. The
Lessons on l*hilosophy in the Fourth Reader were on the
statics and dynamics of solids ; and our present course will
treat of the corresponding laws o{ liquids and gases?'*
• 9. *'I would like to ask," said Frank, "if the allotment of
the empire of the world, in ancient mythology, to the three
brothers, Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, had any reference to
2d DiV. or NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 319
the three forms of matter of which the world is com-
posed."
" It is not improbable," replied Mr. Maynard, " that tTiis
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 V was 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 times."
11. "I think," said Frank, "that they call rich men solid
men in our day, which is most appropriate, as Pluto was 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.
1 ZeCs, the Greek nftme for Jupiter, pronounced in one syllable, as zus.
LES. II. — hydrostatics, or liquids in a state of rest.
1. Mr. 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 t^xva fluid.
2. Ida. I looked in Webster's Dictionary for a definition,
and found it to be " any substance whose parts easily move
and change their relative position without separation, and
which yields to the slightest pressure."
3. John. Is not every thing ^^«/r? that is not solid?
320 willson's Kirru reader. Part VII.
Mr. M. Yes, evefiy thing is either solid ov fluid. Water
and air are hoih 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 sub-
stance; a substance whose parts change their relative posi-
tion on the slightest pressure, and which flows on an inclined
plane." I can not understand from this the difference be-
tween Q. fluid and a liquid.
5. Mr. M. 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 repulsive 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 predominates, the matter is a gas. In the last-named
case the particles tend apart, so that some external force is
required to keep them 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. JoJm. 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 confonns to the shape of the
earth, which has a convex surface. This deviation from a
plane, or a straight line, is found to be eight inches in one
mile. Do you know what it would be for two miles ?
7. Frank. I suppose it must be sixteen inches, and so on
for any distance.
John. There must be some mistake
here; fori 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
'''SonW'«;:y;^;v??romure- thousand mlles, the straight line would
Btraight lino A R vary froiH tlic 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 square 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 process I
gave you. Will John show how to do it ?
11. Johti. 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.
Mr. M. As you may have occasion to put such calculations
into practice, I would request you to notice that the difference
betioeen 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 Avorkmen who constructed it.
Mr. 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
pipe between them ?
John. I have often seen such a result. Is not that the prin-
ciple on which Avater 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 source, 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 which 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.
02
322 WFLLSON S FIFI'H READER. Part VII.
14. George. Are not these called Artesian wells? 1 have
read of several recently bored in the Sahara Desert.
Mr. M. The inhabitants of the oases where these wells
have been bored were wild 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
^ B desert believed that the French, who bored the
mfiji^H M wells, had wrought a miracle. To them it was
■■I dr a miracle ; but to us, only water rising to its
^^H/ level, as we see every day in a tea-kettle.
IHHr 16. Ida. I have just read a verse from Eliza
I'ig. 2. Cook's poems which I will repeat :
'' Traverse the desert, and then ye can tell
What treasures exist in the cold deep well ;
Sink in despair on the red parched earth,
And then yc may reckon what water i.-< worth."
17. Mr. M. It is thought that these wells will woi*k 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 in those sandy deserts. Artesian wells
have been bored in Charleston, S. C, St. Louis, Mo., Colum-
bus, O., La Fayette, Ind., Louisville, Ky., and many other
places in this country. Li 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 well.
Fig. 3, the theory of Artet*ian welLa.
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 DiV. or NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
323
ill the valley through which the water rises with great force
as soon as the boring enters the fissure bet^ween 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 difierently-shaped
vessels which have free
Fig. 4, water findinjr its level in ditiei-ently-shaped Communication bj a tubc
vessels that communicate with eacli other. of \)clQ bottom
Mr. M. In our next lesson I hope to finish what we shall
have to say on Hydrostatics.
1 STAT'-irs,from the Greek.stof/t'? (o-TaT^Kfi), 2 II^-beo-stat'-k^s, from the Greek huclfir
"rest," or "stand still :" the science which j ('vStop), "water," &nA.statike: the science
treats of the forces which keep bodies at\ which treats of the properties and pressure
rent^ or in equilibriimi. \ of jbiids at rest.
LESSO]!!^ III. — HTDROSTATics — Continued.
1. "I WILL introduce the subject for this lesson," said Mr.
/p=::^ M., "by showing you one of the ways in
Li \\ which an ignorant contriver tried to obtain a
%^ \ constant flow of water — a kind of perpetual
j^^^^^ w^ motion — by means of a vessel like this.
^^^^^^L I " He reasoned thus : A pound of water in A
^^^^^^m I must more than balance an ounce in ^, and
^^^^^r J must therefore be constantly pushing the
^^ ^f ounce forward into A again, thus causing a
^^^^ constant flow of water in continuous current.
Fig. 5, an ounce of wa- What think VOU of his SUCCGSS ?"
ter balances apound. ^ ^^^^^ f ^^^.^^ ^^ fouud the
water to rise no higher in J3 than in A.
Mr. M. You think correctly. " You must see
that as the downward pressure in J^ is equal to
that in A^ 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, hoAV-
ever great. I think I see how it is, as the tube
may be very small, and the vessel with which it ^^^'- ^^^nnceTthe
communicates very large, and the water will whoiemassinfe.
324 willson's fifth reader. Part VII.
stand at the same level in both. Fig. 6 therefore seems to
ilhistrate the same princii^le as Fig. 5 — the water in the pipe
a balancing the whole mass in ^.
3. Ida. I now understand what has always been a mystery
to me : I mean the experiment with the hydrostatic bellows,
w^here a boy can raise himself, as shown in the figure in this
book, by standing on a bellows, and pouring water into the
small tube which is connected with it.
Mr, M. 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 httle more than
a pound and a quarter, will support a column
_ of water in the bellows of two square feet in
Fig. 7, the Jiydro- iii'oa and three feet in height, or a weight of
static Bellows, about three hundred and seventy-four pounds.
5. 3Ir. M. 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 fifly 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 twenty-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
bellows !
7. Il'ank. 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 to7is f
2d Div. OF ..... . NATUBAL 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.
Mr. M. There is, indeed, no limit to the power of such a
machine, except 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. Stephenson 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 cylinders so
thick?
Mr. M. Thick as they were, one of them suddenly burst,
throwing off a piece of iron weighing a ton and a half.
Ida. I do not wonder this is reckoned one of the most
powerful existing machines, and that when Mr. Brunei had to
launch the Great Eastern, weighing twelve thousand tons, he
resorted to the hydraulic press.
1 1 . Mr. M. Mr. Brunei used a large number of these power-
ful presses ; and so great was the pressure put upon them that
the water was forced through the pores of the thick iron cyl-
inders, and stood like dew on the outside.
George. And I recollect that some of the men standing
near said those presses had to work so hard that it made
them siceat.
12. John. As the power of this hydraulic press is so tre-
mendous, why is it not used to propel machinery ?
Mr. M. I think you yourself could answer that question if
you would refer to the principle illustrated in the Lessons on
Mechanical Powers in the Fourth Reader. You there learn-
ed that, in all machinery, " what is gained in power is lost in
velocity?'' If a pressure of one pound exerted on a piston
placed in the small tube, in Fig. V, should press the piston
down one foot, and exert a pressure 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
piston to the extent of one foot would result in an upward
movement of the top board of the bellows of only the thou-
sandth part of a foot !
326
willson's fifth eeader.
Part VI L
Ella. TTow beautifully this illustrates the law of compensa-
tion which 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 pounds. But
if the base be enlarged, so that the water shall then cover an
area often square feet, what will the pressure be on the entire
base ?
15. George. I think I can tell, for the />r^^^c^p?6 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 pounds, 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 would require a very strong material to
* The hydraulic press, as used for practical
pui-pwes (as for pressing bales of cotton, etc. ),
i.-< iUustrated in the acconiimnyiiig fiirurp.
It is connected with a forciiiji-pump, which
raises the water from the renoi-voir II, and
then forces it through the Xwho K into the
large cylinder H. Hero the water acts tc
raise the largo piston P. If the area of tlie
hafc of the small picton ir< a square inch In
diameter, and the area of the hase of the large
piston P is one thou-and sqnan' inrhc!', then
a downward pre^pure of one pound on the
one will exert an upward pres.-urc of ono
thousand poimds on the otlior. Ihit it must
bo recollected that the nmall piston must
move downward through the space of a tho^^-
»ai\d inches, while the large piston rises only
om inch. V.y means of this macliine cotton
is ])ressed into lialcs, ships are raised for re-
i'ig. 8, tlie llyilraulic I'refs. pairs, chain-cables niT le.-'ted.etc , etc
Fig. 9.
2d DiV. OF . , . ' , NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 327
withstand the pressure. But you can see that a ijery 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 mountains, 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 ?
Mr. M. It was. In mountainous regions this principle is
sometimes exhibited on a grand scale, and
whole villages have been buried by these
hidden powers of nature. This diagram will
illustrate the principle.
18. Ella. But the channel which leads to
the basin of water in the mountain is not
vertical. Does this make any difference ?
Fig.iu. j^j^^ j£ ^Yjjg^j tijjg jg tijg 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, however, I will state the rule (the principle of which
you have already discovered) for the pressure of fluids. It
is this :
Multiply the area of the hase^ in feet., by the perpendicular
depth of the loater., and this product by the loeight of « cubic
foot oficater: or the numbers may be inches throughout.*
LESSON lY. 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 corresponduig interest in the theory oi t\\eiv flotation.'''*
Frank. I hope I have not shown any want of interest in
A^^ ,c-'^^fc.icr~i?l o 2. * The accompanying diagram well '
rr^^fiF^WJrair— ^ — T illustrates the principle of hydrostatic
MBlltl c f mDlP e|I^ pressure. Here are five vessels, differ-
"-MJjIMbita V"£\';vin?e%'f1i:TateV" ^^TS.
Fig. 11, the pressure is as the lieight multiplied by i,ottom of each is found by multiply-
the base. jng ^1,^ vertical height by the extent
of surface of its base, thereby indicating different amounts of pres.-^ure.
The weight of a cubic inch of water, of the common temperature of 62 degrees, is a por-
tion of a pound expressed by the decimal 0.036005. The pressure of a column of water
one foot high, having a square inch for its base, will b3 twelve times thi.s, or, 0.4328 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 b3 62.3232 lbs.
328 WILLSON*S FIFTH READER. Part VII.
previous lessons ; but I confess that this is to me an enter-
taining subject.
2. Mr. M, Ever since Jason^ built the Argo, the theory of
floating bodies has been a most entertaining and important
study. The poet Horace said that mortal's heart was cased
"In oak or brass, with tiiple 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 hope 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^ li lighter than water, and ainJc if heav-
ier.
Mr. M. That is very true ; but it is necessary to under-
stand that a floating body displaces a quantity of w^ater equiv-
alent in weight to the body itself, as may be proved by ex-
periment. Let the vessel A be filled with
w^ater 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
B out, which will loeif/h the same as the ball.
_ _ If an iron ball had been used, the water
Fig. 1?, the principle of Overflowing would have been equal in bulk
specific gravity. tO the ball.
5. Joh7i. 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.
£Jlla. 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 specific
gravity. Can either of you give a concise definition of spe-
cific gravity ?
7. John. I have learned from the book on Natural Philoso-
phy which I have been studying, that the specific gravity of
2d DiV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
329
ti body is its weight, compared with the weight of an equal
bulk of pure water — water being taken as a standard.
Mr. M. Can you tell me, then, how the specific 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 water, the quotient will be the
specific gravity of the body. Thus, if a solid weigh twenty
pounds in the air and eighteen pounds in water, 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 sis 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 ?
I Y 10. John. Now I have the cup I will
carefully weigh it. It weighs five and a
half ounces in the air. I M'ill now sus-
pend it by a thread in water, and find
how much less it will 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 Boiid. jg jq 4*7^ wMch shows it to bc made of
standard silver.
Ida. I am glad my suspicions were unfounded;
and now I recollect they were first suggested by one
of the disappointed competitors.
11. 3Ir. J^ It is a pity we have no way to remove
your new suspicions of the motive of your rival. I
have here a chain, bought for gold, which by chem-
ical tests shows copper in its composition. It weighs
two ounces, or forty pennyweights, in air, and thirty-
seven pennyweights in water, from which I find the
copper to be about three eighths of the whole weight.
F'^- 14, the There is a very convenient instrument, called the hy-
eter/^™' drometcr,* for finding the specific gravity of liquids.
• The hydrometer, figure 14, consists of a hollow ball, B, with a long, slender, gradu-
ated stem, A D ; and the ball is so loaded by a weight, C, that the stem will stand upright
in water. The lighter the fluid, the greater the depth to which the hydrometer will sink.
.330 WILLSOn's fifth reader. Part VII.
Who can give me an account of the manner in which 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 the workman to whom
it had been intrusted had at last brought back a crown of corresponding
weight. But a suspicion arose that it had been alloyed with silver, and
Archimedes was aj)i)lied 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 water, 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 T' "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-
umi)hant 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 ' liureka. Eureka,' should thus have become the ])roverbial 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 supposed to have
led the old philosopher not merely into this ecstatical exhibitiim 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."
1 5. " That account," said Mr. 31.^ " which I perceive you have
taken from a lecture of the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop on
The scalo should Ikj so grndimted that when the hydromotor Is immprsed in ptire water at
the standard tempornturp, It may sink U^ the point which is marked 1. Then, when the
hydrometer is immersed in any other liijnid, the fi^'ure on the scale to which it sinks will
show the specific gravity of that liqnid. When the quantity of li jnid is too miall to fl'>«t
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."
1 Ja'-80n, the hero of the famous A rgonaiitic Expedition^ as fabled in Grecian history,
sailed in the ship Argo to Colchir^, in Asia Minor, for the purpose of recovering a
'"'' fjolden fleece'^ deposited there.
LESS OX V. — HYDRAULICS THE EXCUBSION.
SONG OF THE BROOK.
1. I COME from haunts of coot^ and hem ;2
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 chatter over stony 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 our lesson so
inviting," said Mr. Maynard, " I propose a walk by ' The 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 icater 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. JElla. 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 j^rs^.
" IIow beautiful the water is I
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 delight.
And every heart is gladder mad?
Where water greets the sight."
8. Mr. M. I am glad you will all enjoy this topic, and that
332 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part VII.
the girls 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" water 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 meads, in shade and sun,
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep.
Like human life, to endless sleep."
T think we will continue along " The River" as far as Rocky
Glen, where is a fine well of water, with an old-fashioned
sweep ; and then, if the girls are not too much fatigued, we
will follow the glen, and .go up 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 faf as that and back again.
Mr. 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 air ?
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.
Mr. 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 tliree miles an hour.
George. Would it not be the same in small streams ?
11. Mr.M. By no means. The friction of tlie 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.
Frank. 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 ?
1 2. Mr. M. It is. I have here an instrument called a stream-
measurer. It consists of a vertical tube with a trumpet-
2d DiV. OF NATUKAI. PHILOSOPHY.
333
shaped extremity, bent at a right angle. When
plunged 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 difference 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 piece near the
middle goes down stream.
Ida. Before I came to Glenwild I lived in sight
of a navigable river, and I used to wonder why
Figure 15, «ie ^^ boats, in descending, kept near the middle, and
stream-mea- thosc asccuding wcut 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 from the same cause.
John. I think I see why wide rivers are higher in the mid-
dle than near th'e banks. The water, running more swiftly,
tends to draw along that on each side of it, which it can not
do without lo\\*ering the surface on each side.
15. Mt. M. You must not confound
the velocity at the surface of a river, 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 a piiit will be dis-
charged from an orifice of the same size
at D.
16. Franh. As water will run into a
Ffg. 16, the velocity of spout- Submerged empty vessel with the same
mg 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
willson's fifth reader.
Pajit VII.
Fig. 17, a Hindoo Picotab.
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 picotah. Here
is a picture of it, which 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 like
this, called a sweep, or a well-sweep.
Ida. Yes ; and there is one yon-
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.
THE BUCKET.
19. How dear to this heart are ths-pconei? of my childhood,
When fond recollection precents them to view !
The orchard, the meadow, the deei)-tangled wild wood.
And every loved .-put which my infancy knew ;
The wi<^e-Rp^cadiIl^,' pond, and the mill which stood by it.
The hridjje, and the rock where the catanict fell ;
The cot of my father, the dair>--house nij,'h it.
And e'en the rude »)ucket which hnnj? in the well!
The old ojiken bucket, the iron-lK)nnd bucket,
The mof<8-covered bucket, which hun>? in the well.
20. That moHR-covered ve»«('l I hail aw a treacure ;
For often, at noon, when returned from the lield,
I found it the source of an ex(lui^'ite pleasure,
The purest and eweotest that nature can yield.
TIow ai'dont I eelzed it, with hands that were glowing.
And quick to the white-pobbled bottom it fell;
l-ig. 1-
2d DiV. Oi" NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
335
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose 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 !
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with 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 overflowings
of the Nile. It consists of a hollow screw-thread wound
round an axis, and is turned by hand or by machinery. The
water continually rises through the spire, and is discharged
from the top.*
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 pumps, 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 ball 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 D, and in a second to*" ; and in six
revolutions it will roll from the upper end
of the screw. If a quantity of water were
contained in the lowest spiral, it would be
earned up in the same manner as the
ball. Two of these screws may be
made to work simultaneously, and
to better advantage, round
the same axis.
336
willson's fifth eeadek.
Part VII.
an undershot wheel, placed in the current. The force of the
current turns the wheel, which moves the machinery connect-
ed with it. V
23. John. There is an old wheel o'f 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, turns it. •
Frank. There is also a water-wheel, called the hreoM-wheel^
which receives the water against the side of it instead of the
top or the bottom. In this case the water acts partly by its
momentum and partly by its weight.
24. 3fr. M. Of these wheels the overshot is the most
powerful ; but both that and the breast-wheel require a con-
siderable fall of water, while the undershot wheel, which is
the least powerful, requires merely a strong current.
Ida. I have seen the experiments with what is called
" Barker's mill," which is moved by the pressure of a column
of water.*
25. JElla. 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-ioJieel.
How swiftly it spins round !
JElla. 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 what i^ called " Rarker'-s mill," the
machinery is moved by hydrostatic pre.-'sure. It con.<iistri of a hol-
low clyindrical pipe, A H, of considerable height, terminating above
in a funnel-shaped cavity, resting below on a pointed steel pivot,
and communiciiting below with a cross tube, or arms, E F, closed at
the extremities, but having openings on the opposite sides, near
each end of ti||c cross tulw. A pipe, <;, alx)ve, regulates the supply
of water, and keeps the vertical pipe full.
If the openings at K and F be 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 \yc proportioned to the height of the pipe 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 revolvi? in the direction of the greater i)ressure.
The movement of Barker's mill was long attributed, but errone-
ously, to the reaction of the Jets (pressing upon the elastic air) against
the extremities of the cross tubes. On the principle of hvdrostatic
pressure, as hero illustrated, the turbine wheel has lately been in-
vented. It is the most powerful and economical of all water-en-
gines. 8p« Fig. 21, next pnge.
2dDlV.OF NATURAL 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 put 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 run-
ning, and jumping, and dancing, and leaping down in almost
every imaginable variety of fof m and motion." Thereupon
Frank, being invited to recite the poem, gave the following :
THE CASCADES OF EOCKY 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 cm-ves, the latter encompassed
by the moving wheel A B, in the form of a rim.
Through N passes a shaft, by which motion is im-
parted to machinery. From the tall central cylin-
der the water passes, under great pressure, into the
curved compartments 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.
When a column of water 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, Maes.
338
WILLSON'S FIFTH BEADEK.
Pabt 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 them 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 flurry,
Helter-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
ITicn 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,
i'Mdying and whisking,
learning and twisting,
Spouting and frisking .
Around and aroimd.
With endless rebound ;
Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in ;
Confounding, astounding.
2d UlV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
339
Dizzying and deafening the
ear with its sound :
Collecting, projecting,
Receding and speeding.
And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting.
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing.
And dripping and skipping.
And hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining.
And rattling and battling.
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring.
And waving and raving.
And tossing and crossing,
And foaming and roaming,
And dinning and spinning,
^ And guggling and straggling,
"And heaving and cleaving.
And moaning and groaning ;
And 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 falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling.
And sounding and bounding and rounding ;
And grumbling and rumbhng and tumbling,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
I'll Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
III j And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
mi And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing ;
i|j And so never ending, but always descending,
,i i Sounds and motions forever are blending,
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar —
And this way the water comes down at Lodore.
After the recital of this very 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 FIFl'H EEADEE. PabT VII.
return homeward, both pleased and profited by their day's
excursion.
1 €ooT, a lobe-footed water-fowl. 1 3 BTcK'-EB,to move unsteadily; toplayback-
' UssM, contracted from henm. ward and forward.
I* Thoep, 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 course.
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 perpianent-
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. Frank. I think it was their immediate tendency to ex-
pand when at liberty to do so.
Mr. M. You will see by some experiments with the air-
patnp 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 water-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 air,
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
ng. 23, atmospheric press- ^^^w rcmovc 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 weight 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 NATUKAL 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. 31. To understand all about the weight and elas-
ticity of air is to understand pneumatics. 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 we
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.
Y. Ella. But how did the philosophers 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 way 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 pump, 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.
Pabt VIL
11. Frank. " It is supposed that Galileo suggested to his pupil Torricelli
that the weight of the air on the water surrounding the pump might press
the water up into the pump when the pressure within the pump was re-
moved. Galileo died soon after, and the next year, 1643, Torricelli de-
termined to find out all about it. He thought that if the weight of the air
was the 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 2^ feet high would bal-
ance a column of water 13i 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 cup 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 area, 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 instnmient called the barom-
eter was invented — an instrument to show
the pressure of the atmosphere at diflferent
times and in different places."
Fig. 23, Torricelli' s experiment
13. JElla. It would be very easy to try the experiment of
Torricelli.
Mr. 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. M. 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. OP NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 348
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 tlie lake below,
Weigh the long column of the incumbent skies,
And with the changeful moment fall and rise."
15. Mr. M. 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 soutliern latitude. The sun had just set with placid ap-
pearance after a beautiful day, and the usual mirth of the evening 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."
17. 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 " draion into the mouth^'' 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.
;H4 willson's fifth reader. • 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 weight
of bodies ?
Mr. M. 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. M. 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-pump, the feathers will be found to weigh
the most.
21. Ida. I understand the principle now. I perceive, 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
would weigh something in a vacuum.
Mr. M. 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.
Ella. How high have persons ascended in balloons ?
22. Mr. M. 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 tlie same proportions of oxy-
gen and hydrogen gases as air near the surfiice 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 Solfcrino.
2dDlV. 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.
Mr. 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 ciystal 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 ?
Mr. 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 oi water up two miles
in a balloon, it will come down ice.
Frank. Is it possible that water 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
atmosphere less dense.
26. Ella. I should think that cold would make the air
more dense, and that heat would expand it.
Mr. M. 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 ttfth eeadee. Pabt Vn.
such cities as Quito, and others situated on high mountains, to
cook their food by boihng, as water boils at a lower tempera-
ture as the 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. He could not boil potatoes soft in water of that tem-
perature. But why could he not make the water hotter by
more fire ?
28. Mr. 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 sufier in this way, 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. 34^
LESSO^N" 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 different character. You have seen
that even the process of S7noking a cigar is on the principle
of atmospheric pressure. Can you think of any other illus-
tration of this principle ?
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. Ella. 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, however, 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. 31. This is the siphon. It is first filled, and
^OTA one end is immersed in the liquid to be discharged.
■H \ It is always necessary that the end from which
^^ \ the liquid runs should be lower than the surface
j^^ of the liquid in the vessel. Can either of you ex-
Fig. 24, the plain the action of the siphon ?
Siphon. 4, John. The liquid in the long column will run
out by the force of gravity, and a vacuum would be formed
in the tube, did not the pressure of the atmosphere 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 water 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
^Y^'c^°*^*" the siphon acted at all, the water would run into
^ ^ ^'^' the ship instead of out of it.
348
willson's fifth reader.
pabt vn.
Fig. 26, Siphon
Fountain.
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.
6. Mr. M. I wish now to show you
one of the effects of running water. I
will take the long open tube B c, to
which the branch a is attached, and
hold it upright, with the pipe a reach-
ing to the bottom of the open jar, which
is filled with water. I now pour 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 poured in at the top.
Who can explain it ?
7. John. I suppose the column 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 emptying 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 water and the elasticity of air. The
one I have here is mainly constructed of glass,
Fig.28,Hiero'8 Foun- ^^ enable you to see its mode of action. You
' tain. can examine its principle at your leisure.*
• "Hiero's fountain" explained. Water is jwurcd into the glass vessel B until it is
nearly full, while the glaHs 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
2d DiV. OP NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
349
George. Will not the explanation of the common pump
belong to this lesson ?
9. Mr. M. 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 difierent kinds of pumps, one of which is
the forcing-pump, which illustrates the principle of the fire-
engine.*
Frank. Darwin very prettily explains the action of the
common pump in the following lines :
" Thus does the sliding piston bear
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 air
that was in C passes into B. When C thus becomes filled with water and B with air, the
fountain must stop.
Fig. 29.
Fig. 30.
The common pump, represented by
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
the well. The barrel, C B, is a perfect
cylindrical cavity, in which the piston
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 E, are represented. On one
side is the spout F. At the top of the
suction-pipe at H there is a valve, &,
opening upward, and also one at a.
When the pistofl is raised from the bot-
tom of the barrel, a vacuum is pro-
duced in the barrel, the valve h opeuR,
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 >he water rushes up
through the valve a, and after a few
movements the water is poured out at
the spout F.
In tjhe 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 barrel, B C During the
downward movement of the piston the valve b shuts, and the water passes by a channel
around w, through the lateral pipe M O M N into the air-ckamber^ K K. The entrance
to this air-chamber is closed by a valve at a, and from the chamber proceeds a tube, H 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 6 H, and thereby the water
is thrown out in a continuous jet, S.
350
willson's fifth eeadee.
paet vn.
10. Mr. M. Do you know of any instrument besides the
forcing-pump and the fire-engine that acts upon the principle
of condensed air ?
John. I have seen an air-gun charged with air instead of
powder.
Mr. M. 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
y ball A, which is
attached to the
gun. A bullet is
Fig. 31, the Air-gun. then put into 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
V the force of gunpowder.
George. Can another bullet be thrown out without refill-
ing the ball ?
W.^Mr. 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 water would spout up to a considerable
height. Was not this owing to condensed air press-
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. 82, Bottle the surfaco of the water?
Fountain. ElUi. Is uot the kite an atmospheric machine ?
12. Mr. M. Yes; and althougli it is 2. playing 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.*
• Fip. 33. The kite here appears in the
act of risiug from the ground. A a the
wind, coming from the direction of W,
fulls uiwn tJie oblique surface of the kite,
it is resolved into two forces, one parallel
to that surface (B Ot, and the other per-
pendicular to it (V 0>, of which the latter
only will produce any effect, carrying the
kite along the line O A. But the kite is
also pulled in the direction S T. It is therefore under the influence of the two forces O A
2d DiV. OP NATUEAL PHILOSOPHY. 351
Ida. And so the kite slid down the plane 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 very poetical, you
may repeat the piece, if you please. n
THE LOST KITE.
13. My kite ! my kite ! I've lost my kite !
Oh ! when I saw the steady flight
With which she gained her lofty height,
How could I know that letting go *
That naughty string would bring so low
My pretty, buoyant, darling kite,
To pass forever out of sight ?
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 so soft and bright,
To see how noble, high, and proud
She'd look while riding on a cloud 1
15. As near her shining mark she drew,
I clapped my hands ; the line slipped through
My silly fingers ; and she flew
Away ! away ! in airy play.
Eight over where the water lay I
She veered and fluttered, swung, and gave
A plunge, then vanished 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 !
17. " Be this," the mother said, and smiled,
" A lesson to thee, simple child !
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 1
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 tliy kite,
I hold my jewel, new and bright.
Lest he should stray without a guide,
To drown my hopes in sorrow's tide I"
19. Mr.M. 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 la
thus virtually pulled up the inclined plane O B.
;?52 willson's fifth reader. PabtVII.
pneumatics, I desire to read you a riddle, hoping each of you
will be CEdipus enough to guess the answer.
A RIDDLE.
20. " Mortal', wouldst thou knov ray name',
Scan the powers I proudly claim\
O'er this globe's capacious round
With foiry sprightliness I bound ^ ;
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 deatli\
When confined, or swiftly driven
By angry spirits in the heaven',
My wrath in thunders I make known\
^ And Discord claims me as her own\
r 'Tis love of freedom makes me wild —
When uncontroll'd, my nature's mild;
And oft the nymph', in dewy grot'.
Seeks solace from my plaintive note' ;
O'er lovers' graves I waft a sigh.
And breathe the sound of sympathy.
21. 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 shell,
Who fill with notes the listening deir ;
And, when the Avar-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',
lie yokes me like the neighing steed\
And, by my quick but easy motion',
He traverses the stormy 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 weight'<, that ne'er could fly^ ;
Their humming-tops would soundless spin,
Unless I breathed a spell within^ :
The modest maid, without my i)ower.
Would wither like lier kindred flower\
Unless my cup of sweets she sips'.
Where are the rubies of lier lips^ ?
Unless my glowing nnigo slie seeks'.
Where are the roses of her cheeks^ ?
What art again can strew her tre-sses
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 n^voal
The charms you modestly coTicear.
l^evonge the deed\ Announce my \nnie\
For now you know the powers 1 ciaim\"
23. " It must be a?V," exclaimed the whole class with one
2d DiV. OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 853
voice. " But what is meant by the allusion to the funeral of
the ' hero of the Nile V " said Ida.
Mr. M. I quote an extract from the description of the cere-
monies of Nelson's interment in 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-ENGINE.
1. " YoiT 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 pressure is increased.
2. Mr. M. 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. Mr. M. 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 sh^uld not like to have one of those dangerous ket-
tles in our kitchen, for fear it would burst.
Mr. M. It has an orifice closed with a plug, which is held
down by a weight until a certain pressure is exerted by the
steam,* when 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 ?
Mr. M. It is ; and safety valves are used in all boilers where
the steam is liable to be very much compressed.
354
willson's fifth reader.
Part VII.
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 boihng-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-pressure 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 presses the piston upward by
reason of its elastic force ; but on dipping the
Fig. 34. |3^||J jjj^Q (jqJ^ water, the steam condenses, and
produces a partial vacuum, and the piston is then driven dowDr
ward by the pressure 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, tlie cTjlinder,
<J, the piston-rod, I J, tlie con-
denser^ L, and tlie air-pump, M.
B is the atcam-pipe^ branching
into two arms, conimnnicating
respectively with the top and bot-
tom of the cylinder, and K is the
eduction-pipi', formed of the two
branches which proceed from the
top and bottom of the cylinder,
and communicating with the cyl-
inder and the condenser. N is a
cistern, or well of cold water, in
which the condenser is immersed.
Each branch of pipe has its own
valve, as F, G, 1^, l^, which may
be opened or closed as the occa-
sion requires. Suppose, first, that
all the valves are open, whil •
Bteam 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 he filled with steam. This proc
ess is called blowing through ; it is heard when a steam-boat Is about set-
ting oft. Next, the valves F and Q are closed, O and P remaining open. The jteam now
pressing the cylinder forces it down, and the instatit when it begins to descend the stop-
cock O is opened, admitting cold water, which meets the steam as it rushes from the cyl-
inder, and effectually condenses it, leaving no force below the piston to oppose its desci>ut.
Lastly, G and P being closed, V and Q are opened, the steam flows in below the piston,
and ;;ii8he9 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
Mr. M. Can George now tell in what respect the high-
pressure steam-eSigine differs 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 escape into a fountain of
cold water, which condenses it.
7. Mr. M. I have here a very interesting description of the
steam-engine, and of its wonderful power and multiplied uses,
by IJr. 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 tell
how much 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 wrong 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^
maybe seen dragging after it on a ?•a^7-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. Frank. Dr. Arnott speaks of a steam pony which is
used on a rail-vo^. This must be the very pony which gave
the poet Saxe such a pleasant " ride on the rail,"
" Singing througli the forests,
Rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges;
Whizzing through the mountains.
Buzzing o'er the vale,
Bless me ! this is pleasant,
Riding on the rail!"
11. Mr. M. It would have been fortunate if poets had writ-
ten more on scientific and philosophical subjects, as the Ian-
356 WILLSON'S FIFTH READER. 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-engme,
which I will read to you.
12. The Steam-engine. — "It has become a thing stupendous alike for
its force' and its flexibility' ; for the prodigious power which it can exert',
and the ease, precision, and ductility with which it can be varied, distrib-
uted, and applied\ 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', anc^impel
loaded vessels against the fury of the winds and waves'.
But I perceive, George, 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. Cutler.
13. Harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,
For I scorn tiic power of your puny handa
As the tempest scorns a chain.
How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight
For many a countless hour,
9k the childish boast of human might.
And the pride of human pov/^er.
14 Ha ! ha ! ha ! they found me at last.
They invited me fortli at length.
And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast,
And laughed in my iron strength.
Oh then ye saw a wondrous change
On earth and ocean wide,
Where now my fieiy armies range,
Nor wait for wind nor tide.
IR Hurra ! huiTa ! the watei-s o'er
Tlie mountain' s steep decline ;
Time, npace, 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 queenly west.
And the orient floods divine.
16. I blow the bellows, I forge the steel.
In all the shopa of trade ; ^
I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel ^
Where my arms of strength are made ;
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint,
I carry, I spin, I weave ;
And all my doings I put in print
On every Saturday eve.
17, Pve no muscle to weary, no breast to decay,
No bones to be laid on the shelf;
And 8(X)n I Intend j-ou may go and play,
Wliile 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 scorna a chaia.
SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
LESSON I. BLESSINGS ON CHILDREN.
1. 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 eeadee.
In the daylight, in the starlight, still with thought that freely flies,
Prompt and joyous, with no ques'tion of the beauty in the skies;
Genial fancies winning raptures, as the bee 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 pleasures 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,
Woos 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 pleasure 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 off" 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 I
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 beauty, kindling once in either f|ice !
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 profoundest, 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 be.
What trim fancies bring them flowers ; what rare spirits w^lk 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 !
Ah ! the wisdom of such fancies, and the truth in ever}' dream,
That to faith confiding offers, 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. Sums
SEVENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 359
LESSON" II. — THE SAEACEN BBOTHEES.
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 Maleh 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 !
\_Aloud.] 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 1
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 Malek 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 rbadbr.
No, nor imprinted on that specious brow ;
But on this breaking heart the name is stamped,
Forever stamjjed, with that of Malek Adhel I
Thinkest thou I'm softened ? By Mohammed ! these hands
Shall crush these aching eyeballs ere a tear
Fall from them 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 Adhel. Go on ! go on !
'Tis but a little time to hear thee, Saladin ; v
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 !
Malek Adhel. 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 i)rayer : Oh, lengthen not this scene,
To which the agonies of death were pleasing I
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 1 What ho ! who waits there?
lEnter 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
Ills brother when he errs, expects obedience —
Silent obedience — from his followers. [^Exit Attendant."]
Malek Adhel. Now, Saladin,
The word is given ; 1 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 ?
Saladjh. 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 aiuay.'] 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 did not ask for life. I only wished
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave.
No, emperor, the loss of Cassarea
Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost
Q
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. [Going.}
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 veiy guards rebel.
Nor think I, in this city's spacious round,
Can e'er be found a hand to do the office.
Malek Adhel. Oh faithful friends ! [To Attendant.} ThmtshaW.
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!
Oil brother ! from tliis very hour a new,
A glorious life commences ! I am all thine I
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 ! — Nen- ^fnnthh| Maf/.
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, and 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 /awe/— 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 eeadee.
4. " Neither silver, gold, nor copper
Shall you get this time from me ;
Where's the husband, tall and proper,
That you told me I should see^ ?"
6. *' 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 io 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 ^he day is — Monday next." " No\
Gipsy', it was — Monday last !"
LESSON V. — SUCCESS alone seen.
Few know of life's beginnings — men behold
The goal achieved — the warrior, when his sword
Flashes red triumph in the noonday sun ;
The poet, when his lyre 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 miserable hours
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 arc life's early steps ; and, but that youth
Is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope.
Men would behold its threshold, and despair.
L/KTiTiA E. Maclean (Landon)-
1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 365
PART VIII.
FIRST DIVISION OP PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
[This subject is continued in the Sixth Keader.]
4'-
LESSON I. — GENERAL DESCEIP-
i TION.
1. Geography is a description of the earth. The numer-
ous subjects embraced in a complete description of our planet
are usually arranged under the three great divisions, Mathe-
matical^ Physical^ and Political Geography.
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 atniosphere,
with their attendant phenomena, are also embraced in the de-
partment 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 WILLSOn's fifth reader. Part 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
world 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 Ilemisphero. Land Hemisphere.
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 witliin 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 Mercator's 2yroJection. This nicthod, which is uni-
versally adopted for nautical charts, and has many advant-
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 867
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 be termed
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 dilFer 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 arfe 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, is drawn on the plan of Mercator's
projectiov.
368 willson's fifth reader. Part VIII.
4. Each continent has an island or group of islands a little
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.
6. It has been observed, as another peculiarity of the struc-
ture of peninsulas, that they generally terminate abruptly in
bluffs, 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 waters of
the sea. It seems to close itself against every influence from
without."
7. Though the countless islands scattered over the globe
appear so various in size, form, and character, they have been
grouped into two distinct classes, called continental and ^)e-
lagic. Continental islands occur along the margin of con-
tinents, which they resemble in geological situation, and are
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. YancDuvrrV TsLuid, on the western coast of Amer-
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
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, far 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 Island, as seen from
a distance.
LESSOK III.— CORAL ISLANDS AND REEFS.
1. Deep in thawave ia a coral grove,
Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove,
Where the fca-flower 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 brine.— Peeoival.
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
Q2
370 willson's fifth reader. PabtVIII.
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
An atoll of the Pacific Ocean, covered wiili vegetation.
out 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 Austrar
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
Miinmired above the sleeping wave:
And through the waters clear and calm
Ixjoked down into the coral cave.
Whose echoes never had been st irred
By breath of man or song of bird."
6. 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
IstDlV. OF PHYSICAL 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 offices which they
hold, the duties which they fulfill in the great order of na-
ture.
LESSON IV. THE CORAL INSECT.*
[The representations here given are the united stony cells or habitations of the coral-
building zoophytes, each species having its own peculiar structure. Every minute por-
tion of this calcareous or lime rock is more or le^^s surrounded by a soft animal substance
(the zoophyte), capable of expanding itself, but otherwise fixed to its habitation ; yet, wlien
alarmed, it has the power of contracting itf=elf almost entirely into the cells and hollows
of the hard coral. These soft pai'ts become, when taken from the sea, nothing more in
appearance tlian 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]
Common coeal-building Zoophytes.— 1. Meandrina labirrintMca. 2. Astrea dipsacea.
B. Madrepora muricata. 4. Pontes clamria. 5. Caryophyllia fastigiata. 6. Oculina
hirtella.
1 . Toil on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train,
Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ;
Toil on— for the wisdom of man ye mock,
With 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 ^vreaths 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 insect^ a terra
quite improper, but one that is still retained in popular use.
8V2
WILLSON'S FIFTH READER.
Part VIII.
The tnrf looks green where the breakers rolled ;
O'er the whirlpool ripens the nnd 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 up ;
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
Tlie 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 eye;
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.
Mb8. SiGOURNEl.
LESSON v.— MOUNTAINS.
Coluouiar. SerraUd. Peaked.
FORMS OF MOITNTAINB.
Volcanle.
DooM^liaptd.
Tnor, who woald>t pee the lovely and the wild
Alingled in harmony, on Nature's face,
Aiceqd our r<x;ky monntRin«. T,et thy foot
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 373
Fail not with weariness ; for on their tops
The beauty and the majesty of earth,
Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget
The steep and toilsome way. There, as thou stand's*,
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 tliy vision. Thou shalt 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. — Beyakt.
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. Plow 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, how 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 lialls^ I
the dark Alpine forests^ ; the savage rocks and precipices^ ;
the fearful and unfathomable chasms filled with the sound of
ever-precipitating waters^ ; the cloud, the silence, the ava-
lanche, the 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 READEE. Part VIII.
mon boundaries of nations. Frequently the language spoken
by the 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 presence of the regal sun."
6. 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-winds
from bearing the vapors 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 cpasts, 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 slopes 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 west. 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, which is 17,860 feet
in height, is the highest point in North America.
8. The Alj)s, famous m 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 avsccnt to which is rendered exceedingly dif-
ficult by the surrounding walls of ice, fearful precipices, and
the everlasting snows by whioh it is covered ; yot it« sum-
IStDlV. OF PHYSICAL 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 Gatlord Clakk.
9. Proud monuments of God ! sublime ye stand
Among the wonders of his mighty hand :
With summits soaring in the upper sky,
Wliere 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 conquerors, on high ye rear
The regal ensign and the glittering spear :
Round icy spires the mists, in wreaths unrolled,
Float ever near, in pui-ple or in gold ;
And voiceful torrents, sternly roUingHhere,
Fill with wild music the unpillared air :
What garden, or what hall on earth beneath.
Thrills to such tones as o'er the mountains breathe ?
IL 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 glorj' of the sinking sun;
There, sprinkling lustre o'er the cataract's shade.
The chastened ^on her glittering rainbow made ;
And, blent witBlJlctured 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 murmurs. 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 tlie 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 Avould 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 VIII.
tiire ; and of all mountains, those of the torrid zone are the
best adapted for this purpose. The celebrated traveler and
naturalist, Humboldt, has the following remarks on this sub-
ject:
16. "Among the colossal mountains of Quito and Peru, farrowed by
deep ravines, man is enabled to contemplate alike all the 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 sj)ecies of
musacea; ; while above these forms of tropical 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 j|p,nged the one above the other, stage by stage,
like the vegetable zones, whose succession they limit; and there' the ob-
server 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 obsenant.
eye of the philosopher, and how Mpch a knowledge of the
laws of nature is calculated to contribute to our intellectual
pleasures.
LESSON VI. — TABLE-LANDS, PLAINS, AN^D VALLEYS.
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 what geographers term
table-lands or plateaus^ and lotcla?ids or plai?is.
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
difference of 350 feet vertically is equal to a difference 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. In tro])ical regions the elevated table-
lands have frequently a rich soil and the most genial cUmate,
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, which is from five
thousand to fifteen thousand feet high. Bounded and inter-
IstDlV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 377
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 recij^ients 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 plains, 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 pampas, or level plains of the
La Plata. In tlie 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 Mountains, 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 accomjDanying chart of a large portion 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
3V8
willson's fifth beadeb.
Part VIII.
relative height as compared with the scale on which the map
itself is drawn, showing that the loftiest mountains are quite
insignificant when we compare them with the size of the great
globe itself.
7. Portions of the great !N"orth American plain, in the val-
leys of the Missouri and Mississippi, and also in Texas, are
called prairies^ a word signifying meadows. These natural
1st DiV. OP PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
379
meadow-lands, covered chiefly with grass, and presenting, in
the summer season, the grandest display of floral vegetation
w^hich the sun looks down upon, are grouped in three divis-
ions, as bushy prairies, icet 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."
LESSO]^ VII.— THE PEAIEIES.
These are the gardens of the desert, these
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,
For which the speech of England has no name —
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 gi*oves.
And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor
For this magnificent temple of the sky —
With flowers whose glory and whose multitude
380 willson's fifth beadee. Paht VIII.
Rival the constellations ! The preat heavens
Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love —
A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue,
Than that which bends above the eastern hills.
As o'er the verdant waste I glide my steed.
Among the high, rank grass that sweeps his sides,
The lioUow beating of his footstep seems
A sacrilegious sound. I think of those
Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here —
The dead of other days ? — and did the dust
Of these fair solitudes once stir with life
And bum 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 symmetry', and rearing on its rock
The glitteiing Parthenon. These ample fields
Nourished tlieir harvests ; here their herds were fed,
When haply by their stalls the bison lowed,
And bowed liis maned shoulder to the yoke.
All day tliis desert murmured with their toils.
Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked and wooed
In a forgotten language, and old tunes.
From instniments of unremembered form,
Gave the soft winds a voice. — Bktakt.
LESSON VIII. CAVES AND GROTTOES OF THE OLD WORLD.
1. Natural caves, which are hollow places under ground,
generally witti openings on the surface, form a division of
physical geography interesting alike to the man of science
and the mere wonder-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,* lias, in
the course of ages, formed subterranean passages, often of
great extent and wonderful beauty. 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 effect 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
• Tho water carrioa with it carbonic add fcas, by which limestone ia rendered soliible.
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGEAPHY.
381
the Greeks, and consulted by the monarchs of the ancient
world, Avere deliv©red 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 Thunderer,"
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 world, the most
famous is that called "The Grotto of Antiparos,"^ 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 the whole place com-
pletely illuminated, never could the eye be presented with a more glitter-
382
willson's fifth ekadeb.
pabt vin.
ing or a more magnificent scene. The whole roof hung with 8oli4 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, and upon the firing of a gun, the noise and reverberations were al-
most deafening."
6. But perhaps the most remarkable of all t];ie cavern-like
formations in Europe is that
of Fingal's Cave, in Staffa, 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,
and bounded on each 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 :
" Wlien, as to Rhame tlie temples decked
By fkill of earthly architect,
Nature herself, it seemed, would rai-«o
A minst«r5 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."
ill Staffa.
1 An-tTp'-a-uo8, now An-tu''-a-bo,
3 Sta-i,a<''-tTtk, n pondoiit cone of carbonate
of lime in the funn of an iciclo.
^ Ba-s^lt'-i€ ; basalt is a grayish black stoae
of igneous origin, oft«n in a columnr.r
form.
* Pkno'-knt, hanging.
» Min'-btkr, a cathedral churcli.
IstDlV. 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 remarkable 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 aflbrds a convenient means of penp-
Hall of statuary, in Weyer's Cave, Virginia.
384 willson's fiftu eeadek. 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 are 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 j^hysiological 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 gulfs, 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-l ag'-tTte, layers or de- 1 ing from the floor, the latter hanging from
posits of carbonate of lime, tho former ri8-| 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 fainter, like the dying roll'
Of thunders in tho distance — Stygian^' pools,
Whose agitated waves give back a sound
Hollow and dismal, like the stUlcu roar
1st DiV. OP PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 385
In the volcano's depths — these, these have left
Their spell upon me, and their memories
Have passed into ray spirit, 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 footprints marked
This subterranean desert. Centuries,
Like shadows, came and passed, and not a sound
Was 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 !
6. Beautiful
Are all the thousand snow-white gems that lie
In these mysterious chambers, gleaming out
R
386 WILLSON*S FIFTH BEADEK. Pabt VIII.
Amid the melancholy gloom ; and wild
These rocky hills, and cliffs, and j,'ulfs; but far
More beautiful and wild the things that greet
The wanderer in our world of light — the stars
Floating on high, like islands of the bless' d —
The autumn sunsets, glowing like the gate
Of far-off Paradise — 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 birds, 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 pure 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.
1 Fekt'-tep, formed into raised work. * Mas'-to-don, an animal much like the ele-
» Styg'-i-an, dark; pertaining to the river pliant, now extinct. See p. 469.
Styx, a fabulous river vf the lower world, = Be-lka'-«ueeei), studded with ; surround-
which was to be crossed in passing to the ed by, as by an army that Mfitaucrs a city.
regions of the dead. s (juKg'.iJ.mj,^ the plural of cherub. Her<^
3 €dR'-si-DOBs, gallery-like passages. meaning the atam. 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
Llieir positions, roll or slide down to lower levels.
Hark ! the rushing snow 1
The sun-awakened avalanche ! whose mass,
Thrice ."ifted by the storm, had gathered there
Flake after flake ; in heaven-defying minds
As thought by thouglit is piled, till some great truth
Is lof)Seiied, and tlie nations echo round,
Shaken to their roots, aa do the mountains now. — Sukllet.
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 const^it 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 ])arts of the mountains which are above the
line of congelation are covered with perpetual sno>v, yet this
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGBAPHY.
387
snow, 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 the glacier ice does not
resemble that found in 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 ^r j^i&tA%4^ ::^=^
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 crystallizalions.
Au Alpine Glacier.
308 willson's fifth beadeb. Pabt Vni.
whose brilliant azure tints are reflected on the foaming
streams and torrents which generally issue from 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 BEFOKE SUNRISE IN THE VALLEY OF CHAMOUNI.
T. a. " Ye ice falls* ! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines nlope amain —
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge' :
a. Motionless torrents^ I silent cataracts^ !
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon^ ? Who biide the etin
Clothe you with rainbows^ ? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet^ ?
God'' I let the torrent.", like a shout of nations,
6. Answer I and let the ice plains echo God^ 1
God^ I sing, ye meadow streams', with gladsome voice^ I
Ye pine groves', with your soft and soul-like sounds^ I
And they, t(X),' have a voice\ yon plles'of 8now\
6. And in their perilous fall shall thunder God^ 1"
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, who 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 w^hich has
filtered into it and penetrated its cavities ; while M. R. Mal-
let is inclined to attribute it to the hydrostatic pressure of
the water jrhich 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 from 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,
find in all mountain regions where man plants his dwelling.
It is but a few years since that an entire family of nine per-
ff, n. The direct address, when ercJamatortf^ takes the falling inflection.
b, b. Good examples of the rhetorical panse of enfpenslon. See pagfe 92.
IstDlV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGKAPHY. 389
sons, residing in a cottage at the celebrated " Notch," a nar-
row defile of the White Mountains of New Hampshire, was
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 HILLS.
1. How sweetly 'neatli 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 suiFerers' 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,
TTie 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 tihe torrent's path,
Too pure, too sacred for its wrath,
390 willson's fifth EEADER. Part Vin.
Lay one, whose arms still closely pressed
An iTi/'ant to her frozen breast.
The kiss, upon its pale cheek sealed,
A mother's quenchless love revealed.
4. Sire, mother, offspring — all were there,
Not one had 'scaped the conqueror's snare.
Not one was left to weep alone ;
The ^^ dwellers of the hilV were gone!
The wild bird, soaring far on high,
Beheld them with averted eye ;
The forest prowler, 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 slept so peacefully,
That the lone pilgrim, passing 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 they 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 tliy walk they faintly play —
They tremble — gleam — then flit away;
They fade — they vanish down the dell :
Lone "cottage of the hills" — ^farewell! — AnonymouM.
LESSON" XIIT. — VOLCANOES and earthquakes.
1. Openings in the crust of the
earth, usually through mountains,
from which issue smoke, flame, or
erases so illuminated 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 fractures
Volcano of vesnvJua. and suddcn hcavini^s and sinkings
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 391
in the elastic crust of the globe, caused by the pressure of the
liquid fire, vapor, and gases in its interior. Volcanoes are the
chimneys of these internal fires, 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 whole interior is a ball of liquid fir^ sev-
enty-six hundred miles in diameter, inclosed in a thin coating
of solid matter, men of science are not agreed.
3. Some portions 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 part
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 perpetual 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 Stabise 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. " Imagine," says Dr. Hitchcock, " the inhabitants of that great city,
crowded with strangers on a festival occasion, suddenly arrested 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
liouses, or the earth opening and swallowing them up. Such was the scene
which that city presented in the year 526 ; 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
392 WILLSON'S FIFTH READER. Part VIII.
17 after Christ, no less than thirteen cities of Asia Minor were in like man-
ner overwhelmed in a single night.
6. "Think of the terrible destruction that came upon Lisbon in 1756.
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 heap 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 opened beneath them, and
the wharf, the vessels, and the crowd went down into its bosom ; the gulf
closed, the sea rolled over the spot, and no vestige of wharf, vessels, or man
ever floated to the surface."
v.* 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
m width, was 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 tliousand 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 INIediterranean,
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
Avho had thought to find safety in the barrenness of the sands.
This catastrophe is vividly 2)ortrayed 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 I
How tenantle-ifl tlio halls
IStDlV. 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 despot,* midst his menial band,
Bent down his kingly brow —
Ay, prince and peasant knelt in prayer,
For grief had made them equal there.
13. 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 reerd--its shiver'd brow
Went down among the waves below.
18. 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 cry,
Blent as the waters hurried by.
16. 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.
16. 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. — Anonymous.
LESSON XIV. — THE ocean: its mobal gkandeuk.
"The sea! the sea! the open sea I
The blue, the fresh, the ever free !
Without 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 hia vassals.
112
394 willson's fifth reader. Part 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.
8. Oh thou vast ocean ! ever sounding sea !
Thou symbol of a drear immensity !
Thou tiling that winde^t round the solid world
Like u huge animal, which, doAvnward hurled
From the black clouds, Uch weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone 1
Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep
la 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 tempest-waken air ;
But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range
At will, and wound its bosom as tliey go :
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow ;
But in their stated rounds the seasons come,
And pass like visions to their viewless home,
And come again, and vanish : the young Spring
Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming ;
And Winter always winds his sullen honi.
When the wild Autumn, with a look forlorn,
Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies
Weep, and flowers sicken, when the Summer flics.
& Thou only, terrible ocean, hast a ixiwer,
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour,
Wlien thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty fhrouds
Thy broad green fureliead. 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 !
fi. Thou trackless and immeastirable main 1
On thee no record ever lived again
To meet the hand that writ it : line nor lead
Hath ever fathomed thy profoundost dcops,
Where Imply the huge monster swells and sleeps,
King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said.
Can move the mighty ocean into storm —
Oh, wonderful thou art, great clement,
And fearful in thy spUtmy humors Iwnt,
And lovely In roposo ; thy sumuu^r form
Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves
Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
I love to wander on thy jiebbled beach.
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour,
y\nd hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach —
" i:t<TnUy, Kt^rnlty, and Power,"— Bryan W. Pbootob.
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. » 395
LESSON XY. — THE oceajt: 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 receiving 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
different 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 snow
and ice in the polar regions, and the volumes of fresh water
poured in by rivers, the degree of saltness diminishes toward
the poles, and also near the shores. The temperature of the
ocean, though varying in different 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 following lines :
4. It is the midnight hour — the heauteous sea,
Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven discloses,
While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee,
Far down within the wateiy sky reposes.
As if the ocean's heart were stirr'd
With inward life, a sound is heard,
Like that of dreamer munrtiuring in his sleep ;
'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air
That lies like a gannent floating fair
Above the h^ippy deep. — John Wilson.
396 willson's fifth reader. Pabi VIII.
LESSON XVI. — SHIP AMONG THE ICEBERGS.
1. A FEARLESS shape of brave device,
Our vessel drives through mist and rain
Between the floating 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 our 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 OP OCEAN.
Drummond.
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. Sliells of every form and hue glide
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. S9l
slowly along 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 limber
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 ;
Fi'om coral rocks the sea-plants lift
Their boughs, where the 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 aii\
8. There, with itj 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 through 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 fonns
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made tUe top of the 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
Tlu'ough the bending twigs of the coral grove. — Peecival.
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 XYin.— ocEAi^^ waves.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll !
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control
Stops with the shore ; upon the watei*y 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, uncoffined, 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 the freshening sea
Made them a teiTor, 'twas a pleasing fear.
For I was, as it were, a child of thee.
And tnisted to thy billows far and near.
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. — Btbon.
398 willson's fifth reader. Part VIII.
3. The three great movements of the ocean are waves,
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 unequal heating of the waters.
4. There is a kind of wave or undulation called a ground
swell, 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 waves which were
twenty feet high as being three to7is to each square foot
against perpendicular masonry. Waves vary in magnitude,
from a mere ripple to enormous billows, 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 upon 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-houses 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.
^. But when an ocean wave has exhausted its force, and
breaks in a gentle ripj)le on the shore, nothing can be more
peacefully beautiful, and no music falls with sweeter cadence
on the ear. IIow different the picture from Byron, which
we have placed at the head of this lesson, from the one with
which we close I
TO A DYING WAVE.
8. LiHt ! thou child nf wind and sea,
Tell mo of the fiir-off deep,
WJicre the teiiii'iwtN wind is free,
And tho WHtt-rn never Hlcfp 1
Thou perchnuce the utorm ha-t aided,
In its wurk of stem dcnpnir,
Or perchancp thy hand liath hraided,
In deep caves, the nienuiiid'H hair.
9. Wave 1 now on the pohlen Bands,
Silent as thou art, and broken,
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 399
Bear'sfc 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,
Which, when tempests swept along,
And the mighty wiads 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 Hying?
11. Hast thou seen the hallowed rock
Wliere the pride of kings reposes,
Crowned with many a misty lock.
Wreathed with sapphire green and roses?
Or with joyous playful leap,
Hast thou been a tribute flinging.
Up that bold and jutty steep,
Pearls upon the south wind stringing?
12. Faded wave! ajoytothee.
Now thy flight and toil are over 1
Oh may my departure be
Calm as thine, thou ocean rover I
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 1 — Anonymous.
LESSOlliJ' XIX. TIDES AND CURBENTS.
1. The alternate elevation and depression of the waters of
the ocean twice every twenty-four hours, Avas formerly con-
sidered one of the greatest mysteries of nature. The 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 will 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 immense periods
of time for their accomplishment. The tidal wave extends to
the very bottom of the ocean, and moves with great velocity.
3. " Currents of various extent, magnitude, and velocity," says Mrs.
Somerville, " disturb the tranquillity of the ocean ; some of them depend
upon circumstances permanent as the globe itself, others on ever-varying
causes. Constant currents are produced by the combined action of the ro-
tation of the earth, the heat of the sun, and the trade- winds ; periodical
currents are occasioned by tides, monsoons, and other long-continued
400 WILLSON's fifth reader. Part VIII.
winds ; temporary currents arise from the tides, melting ice, and from every
pale of some duration. A perpetual circulation is kept up in the waters of
tlie main by these vast marine streams ; they are sometimes superficial 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 rapidly, 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 westward 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 which 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 waters 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 around 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 same 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 dej)end uj^on them. So much does this circu-
lation of the ocean resemble the circulation of fluids in the
human system, that our distinguished countryman, Captain
Maury, who has so successfully studied and described them,
has been appropriately called the " Harvey of the seas."
1st Div. OF PHYSICAL GE0GRA1»HY. 401
LESSON" XX.— LAKES.
1. The depressions on the surface of the earth, caused by-
earthquakes, volcanoes, or other means, are frequently filled
with water, and constitute what are termed lakes. Kivers
meeting with obstructions of hills and rocky ridges often
form a lake, or chains of lakes, which serve the purposes of
navigation, and give variety 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-four
feet. The Great Salt Lake, situated in the elevated table-
land east of the Rocky Mountains, is about forty-two hund-
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 sea-
402
WILLSON S FIFTH KEADEE.
Part 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 painted the witching
channs of hundreds of our small interior lakes :
TO SENECA LAKE.
4. "On thy fair bosom, Hilver lake,
The wild swan spreads his snowy sail,
And round his breast the ripples break.
As down he bears before the gale.
5. On thy fair bosom, waveless stream,
The dipping paddle echoes far,
And flashes in the moonliglit gleam,
And bright reflecta tlie polar star.
6. The waves along thy pebbly shore,
As blows the north wind, heave their foam.
And curl around the dashing oar.
As late the boatman hies him home.
7. How sweet, at set of sun, to view
Thy golden miiTor spreading wide.
And see tlie 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 liighest noon.
Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow.
9. On thy fair bosom, silver lake.
Oh ! I could ever sweep tlie oar.
When early birds at morning wake,
And evening tells us toil is o'er."
LESSON XXI. SPRINGS AND RIVERS.
S^ 1. In addition to the common springs,
with whose origin every one is familiar,
mineral springs of great variety abound
in difierent countries, the waters of some
of which merely present a sparkling ap-
pearance, owing to the presence of car-
bonic acid gas, while others are various-
ly impregnated with mineral substances,
the chief of which arc iron, sulphur, and
salt.
2. Besides these, Iceland presents us
:i remarkable group of hot springs, call-
chI geysers^ which burst forth with sub-
t orranean noises, and frequently at reg-
ular intervals, throwing up water and
steam, sometimes to the height of one
or two hundred feet. The supposed
cause of this peculiar action is the heat-
ing of some internal fountain of water
Oreat (^eyeer of Iceland.
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
403
by volcanic agency, until a sufficient quantity of steam is
formed forcibly to expel the wa-
ter through a
channel which
has its opening
In the spring.
.. _ An illustration
i§ of an intermit-
Section of a Geyser.
ti7ig sprmg is
also given, for
the action of
which it is suf-
ficient to refer
tothejDrinciple
of the siphon.* intermitting Spring.
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 either
on navigable rivers or bays.
4. Rivers are associated with the earliest efforts of man-
kind to emerge from a state of barbarism ; but they are no
less serviceabfe 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. Nor is this 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 apd 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.
• Sec p. 347. Intermitting springs fiometiraes flow only dnring the dry season. The
cut above will explain this. Suppose the internal fountain to be empty. When tlve earth
has become fully saturated with water during the wet season, the water begins to pene-
trate to the fountain, which gets filled as high as the upper bend of the siphon about the
time when the dry season commences, and it is just then that the siphon ber/rns 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-
ably will not be until near the end of the wet season.
404
WILT^ON'S FIFTH EEADEE.
Part VIII.
6. The direction and extent of slopes of land give rise to
a classification of rivers called river systems^ which can be
studied at length in works on physical geography.
LESSON XXII.— CATARACTS.
*i The Falls op Niagaba, as viewed from the
Canada side. [On the right of the picture are
seen the Horseshoe Falls, on the Canada side of
the stream; beyond, and teparated from the
former by Goat Island, are the Falls on the Amer-
ican side. The view down the stream has been
abridged in order to bring in the Suspension Bridge, which
is seen in the diptance. The effect of every such picture
is grciitly increased by looking at it through a tube, wluch
shall sliut 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 heiglit — so high that, from the resistance of the air, the wa-
ter reaches tlie 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, tlie most noted are those
of the Montmorency, near Quebec, which descend two hund-
red and fortv feet in an unbroken sheet : the Great and the
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGEAPHY. 405
Little Falls of the Potomac, in Maryland ; the Falls of the
Missouri ; the Rapids of the St. Lawrence, five hundred 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-
ara. 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 rushing wa-
ters, felt by all who acknowledge any sympathy with nature. The mount-
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 haimts the memoiy of
the 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 scener}% 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 surprise, 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 America, five hundred miles from the Atlantic coast,
travelers from all civilized parts of the world have encountered all the difii-
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 pro-
claimed one of the wonders of the world. It is alone in its kind. Though
a waterfall, it is not to be compared with other waterfalls. In its majesty,
its supremacy, and its influence on the soul of man, its brotherhood is with
the living ocean and the eternal hills." — Greenwood.
6. From the vicinity of the famed 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 see
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 the 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 subsiding at the same time, permitted the
spray to ascend perpendicularly. A host of pyramidal clouds rose majes-
406 willson's fifth eeadeb. Pakt Vin.
tically, one after another, from the abyss at the bottom of the fall ; and
each, when it had ascended a little above the edge of the cataract, dis-
])layed a beautiful rainbow, which in a few moments was graduaUy transfer-
red into the bosom of the clouds that immediately succeeded.
9. "The 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 overarcfi
and irradiate the spot 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 gulf below the cataract presents a verj' 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
supposed, 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, which
can not easily be described." — Howison.
12. By descending a circular 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 suftbcate
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 un-
controllable terror.
13. Most descriptions of the falls are those of persons who
have viewed them only in fine weather, wlien the contrast 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 writer 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 may give its expression
1st DiV. OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 407
a language, did DOt heed them at all ! the rapids poured on
with 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 — niagaea.
1 . I STOOD within a vision's spell ;
I saw, I heard. The liquid thunder
Went pouring to its foaming hell,
And it fell,
Ever, ever fell
Into the invisible abyss 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 forever — 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 appalling.
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.
6. And in that vision, as it passed,
Was gathered terror, 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.— ^non.
EIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS DIYISIOK
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 tlio violet,
The ])ious hand of spring has here
Upon thy ahar set.
3. And not alone to thee is given
Tho homage of the pilgrim's knee —
EIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION. 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 dweller by the dusty way.
Thou saint within a mossy shrine,
The tribute of a heart to-day
Weary and worn is thine ! — Read.
LESSON II. THE HEADSTONE.
1. The coffin was let down to the bottom of the grave, the
planks were removed from the heaped-up brink, the first rat-
tling clods had struck their knell, the quick shoveling was
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 was scarcely
distinguishable from those that were grown over by the un-
disturbed grass and daisies of a luxuriant spring. The burial
was soon over ; and the party, with one consenting motion,
having uncovered their heads in decent reverence of the place
and occasion, were beginning to separate, and about to leave
the church-yard.
2. Here some acquaintances from distant parts of the par-
ish, who had not had opportunity of addressing each other in
the house that had belonged to the deceased, nor in the course
of the few hundred yards that the little procession had to
move over from his bed to his grave, were shaking hands
quietly but cheerfully, and inquiring after the welfare of each
other's families. There a small knot of neighbors were speak-
ing, without exaggeration, of the respectable character which
the deceased had borne, and mentioning to one another little
S
410
incidents of his life, some of them so remote as to be known
only to the gray-headed persons of the group ; while a few
yards farther removed from the spot were standing together
parties who discussed ordinary concerns, altogether uncon-
nected with 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,
with 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 within a few days past, during the
necessary preparations for the old man's funeral.
4. No deep and deadly quarrel was betw^een 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
but fatally infected their hearts, till at last they, who in youth
had been seldom separate and truly attached, now met at
market, and, miserable to say, at church, with dark and avert-
ed faces, like different clansmen during a feud.
6. 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 cofiin. And doubtless their hearts were so
softened. But pride, though it can not prevent the holy ai-
fcctions of nature from being felt, may prevent them from
EIGHTH MISCELLANEOUS 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 unconfessed 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 were 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 ?"
Y. 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 affection 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 left the
church-yard, now came forward and asked the elder brother
why he spake not regarding this matter. He saw that there
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 thing it is,
And how becoming well,
Together such as brethren are,
In unity to dwell !"
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 appeal-
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 fervently 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,
whose 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 who bare you?
"When the palsy struck him for the last time, you were both
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 nibre. 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 hiclden ; 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 from the church-yard arm in arm, with the minister, to
the manse. On the following Sabbath they were seen sitting
with their families in the same pew, and it was observed that
they read together off 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 jDlate 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 (Christopher North).
LESSON III.
I. THE SEASONS- OF LIFE.
The days of infancy are all a dream,
How fair, but oh ! how short they seem —
'Tis Life's sweet opening Spring.
The days of youth adv,ance ;
The bounding limb, the ardent glance,
The kindling soul they bring —
It is Life's burning Summer time.
Manhood — matured with wisdom's fruit,
Keward 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. — Southet.
11. SMALL THINGS.
A sense of an earnest will
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 eeadek.
III. HOW WE SHOULD LIVE.
So should we live, that every hour
May die as dies the natural flower,
A self-revolving thing of power.
That every thought and every deed
May hold within itself the seed
Of future good and future need :
Esteeming sorrow, 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 Grod, and know no other fear."
LESSON IV. THE STREAM OF LIFE.
1. Life bears us 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 oifer themselves to our
young hands ; we are happy in hope, 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.
Wo 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 home,
till the roar of the ocean is in our ears, and the tossing of its
waves is beneath our feet, and the land lessens from our eyes,
and the floods arc 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. — Hkber.
1st DiV. OF CHEMISTRY. 416
PART IX.
FIEST DIYISIOlSr OF CHEMISTRY.
[This subject is continued in the Sixth Reader.]
LESSON I. — INTEODUCTORY VIEW.
1. There are three great divisions of the science of na-
ture, and these are embraced in the 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 Philosophy, taking natural
objects as thus classified, treats of their general and perma-
nent properties, of the laws which govern them, and the re-
ciprocal action which, without chaiige 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, such 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 countless variety of forms and
properties of matter which nature presents to us as things es-
sentially different, only about sixty elementary substances
are known to exist, and that it is merely by their different
combinations that they are made to present to our senses
these infinite diversities.
3. Proceeding a little farther, our wonder increases on
learning that nearly all the objects 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 wholly of oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon ; and ani-
416 willson's fifth READEK. Part IX.
mal substances are formed chiefly of these three elements,
with the 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 compressed 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 different 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 ore and the
making of bread, to the manufacture of gunpowder and elec-
tric telegraphing, that is not more or less dependent upon
this branch of chemistry.
5. In what is called Organic Chemistry we 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, we are enabled so to avail ourselves of the
laws of vegetable grmvth 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.
LESSON II. — FIRST principles: ultimate atoms.
1. When a stick of wood is burned for fuel, it is destroyed
as a stick ofwood^ but not one of the 2Mrticles, or, more prop-
erly, atoms^ which composed it, has been a7i7iihilated. In the
ashos of the wood, and in the atmosphere in which it was
IstDlV. OP CHEMISTRY. 417
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 wood apparently destroyed may appear the
next year in some stick of sugar-candy, and again, ages
hence, may constitute a little but important part of some vo-
tive monument of marble. Such changes are not only possi-
ble, but probable. ^
2. When by the wind the ti'ee is shaken,
There's not a bough or leaf can fall,
But of its falling heed is taken
By One that sees and governs all.
8. The tree may fall and be forgotten,
And buried 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 loholly 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
has 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,
la but exhaled to fall anew
In summer's thunder-shower;
Perchance to shine within tlie 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 the animal con-
sumes the plant and returns to the earth, again to enter into
new combinations. jSha/cspeare says,
" Imperious Caesar, 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 expel the winter's flaw 1"
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 valley." — Hunt.
c> 2
418 willson's fifth EEADEB. Part IX.
10. We live in a world of change. The growth and com-
position of organic matter, the rusting of metals, the crum-
bling of rocks, and the combustion of fuel, afford 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 the present time, we have
no reason for believing that the minutest atom has been de-
stroyed. Let not man, t^en, contemn the atom which he
could not create, and which he has not the power to destroy.
LESSON III. — THE MAN AND 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.
6. " 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 ;
C. " But I shall hold existence
To earth's remotest time,
And fill in space my destined place,
Though humble, yet sublime.
7. "Ere yet offending Adam •
Fell from his pure estate.
Or tended flowers in Eden's bowers,
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 1
9. "Couldst thou destroy my being'.
Thy hand might reach the spheres^
And bid the sun no longer run
His course among his peers.
IstDlV. OF CHEMISTRY. 419
10. " Be liumble\ brother atom' ;
Whate'er thy mortal growth
Or mine may be, humility
Alone becomes us both." — C. Mackat.
LES. IV. — CHEMICAL AGENTS I HEAT LIGHT ELECTRICITY.
1. The number of substances not known to be compounds
is upward of sixty ; the names of which, the symbols by which
they are designated in chemical books, and their combining
proportions, are given in a note at the bottom of page 426.
Nearly 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 1iea% lights 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
heat. 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 with more oxygen
and become red lead., a substance used in painting. The
manufacture of this important article of commerce 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 buildincrs shows that heat facilitates the com-
420 willson's fifth header. FaBX IX.
bination of iron and ogygen. It is frequently the case that
one degree of heat 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 separate, in a greater or less de-
gree, the particles or atoms of which a body is composed,
and thus to enlarge its bulk so long as the force of heat is ex-
erted. Advantage is taken of this expansive property in liq-
uids in the construction of thermometers.
5. Light is another important chemical agent often associ-
ated with heat. But they may be separated from each other;
and it can be proved that there is no correspondence between
intense light and ardent heat. Milton says, addressing Light :
'' Before the sun,
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep.
Won from the void and formless 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, light 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 greaf
depths, where the action of light is but feeble.
7. 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, which is called hydrochloric acid.
9. Not only is light an indispensable agent in the growth
of vegetables, but it is necessary to the proper development
of animal life. How sensitive are our bodies to its influences !
How our feelings sympathize with every change of the sky !
When the sun shines, the blood flows freely, and our spirits
nre liHit and bnovant. Professor Johnston has said, in his
1st Div.OF CHEMISTEY. 421
" Chemistry of Common Life," that " the energy is great-
er, and the body is actually stronger in a bright than in a
cloudy day." There is science as well as poetry in the fol-
lowiDg 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.
18. 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.
18. 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 flama
14. I looked on the peasant's lowly cot —
Something of sadness had wrapped the spot ;
But the gleam of thee on its casement fell,
And it laughed into beauty at that bright spell.
16. 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 on 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.
IT. And thou turn'st not from the humblest grave,
"Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave ;
Thou scatterest its gloom like the gleams of rest.
Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.
18L Sunbeam of summer ! oh, what is like thee ?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea 1
One thing is like thee, to mortals given—
The Faith, touching ftll things with hues of heaven Mrs. Hemans.
19. In striking contrast with the cheering and enlivening
influences of the glorious sun is the scene presented by the
dissolution and gloom described in Byron's Dream of Dark-
ness^ in which " the bright 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 clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still.
And nothing stirred within their silent depths ;
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped.
They slept on the abyss without a surge —
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,
And the clouds perished; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them — she was the universe."
422 willson's fifth reader. Pabt IX.
LESSON V. — CHEMICAL AGENTS CONTINTJED.
ELECTRICITY.
1. When certain substances, such as glass, amber, and
sealing-wax, are rubbed with 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, unfelt, 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
forming 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 " philosopher'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 can tell 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 tlie aid
of a powerful electrical machine we may collect a sufficient
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 two elements, oxygen and hydro-
gen ; and again, if these two constituents be collected and
mixed in a suitable glass vessel, and a spark of electricity be
passed through them, they Avill combine toith explosive force^
and form the original quantity of water.
6. Yet most frequently electrical j)]ienomena arc silent op-
1st DiV. OF CHEMISTRY. 423
erations, 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 lightnings rage;"
but the great work of electricity is performed in
"The stilly hour, when stonns are gone,
When warring winds have died away.
And clouds, beneath the dancing ray,
Melt off and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquillity."
It is chiefly in the form of what is called galvanism that the
quiet but mighty operations of this |fewer 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 wire 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 are known to be in constant ac-
tion beneath the surface of the earth, and even far down
among the rocky strata ; and it is probably 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 with heat 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, how-
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 they roam.
By indicating still the pathway home ;
Through nature, quicken' d by the solar beam,
Invests each atom with a force supreme,
Dii-ects the cavern' d ciystal in its birth.
And frames the mightiest mountains of the earth,
Each leaf and flower by its strong law restrains,
And man, the monarch, binds in iron chains."
424 WILLSON's fifth reader. Paut 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 telegraph. An extensive series of the
simple galvanic batteries before described may be made to
produce effects so po^swerful, 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 this to work a needle which prints marks upon 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 Avire can direct the mo-
tions of the needle at the other, and thus thought may be
transmitted with lightning speed wherever the "wonder-
working wire" can be extended. The transmission of thought
in this way is indeed swifter than lights 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 !
8. Hark ! the warning needles click.
Hither — thither -clear and quick.
He who guides their npeaking play
Stands a thousand miles away I
* Here we feel the electric thrill
Guided by his simple will ;
Here the instant message read,
Brought with more than lightning speed.
Sing^ho will of Orphean lyre.
Ours the wonder-working wire!
4 I>et 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 blood,
Now of fire, and now of flood.
Sing who will of Orphean lyre,
Ours the wonder-working wire I
R Think the thought, and speak the word,
It ii caught ax soon as heard.
1st DlV. OF CHEMISTRY. 425
Bome o'er mountains, lakes, and seas,
To the far antip'odes ;
Boston speaks at twelve o'clock,
Natchez reads ere noon the shock :
Seems it not a feat sublime ?
Intellect baa conquered time !
Sing_\vho will of Orphean lyre,
Ours the wonder-working wire !
flL Marvel ! triumph of our day,
Flash all ignorance away !
Flash sincerity of speech —
Noblest aims to all who teach ;
Flash till power shall learn the right.
Flash till leasou conquer might ;
Flash resolve to every mind —
Manhood flash to all mankind !
Sing who will of Orphean lyre,
Ours the wonder-working vrire I— 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 union
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 perhaps a single exception. In
forming water, just eight parts of oxygen by weight unite
with 07ie part of hydrogen, and in no other proportions will
they form water. Yet eight additional parts 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 with car-
bon in the proportion of eight parts of oxygen to six of car-
bon. We have thus given the most simple combining pro-
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 from these
proportions, or multiples of these. Thus the combining pro-
portions of oxygen are always 8, 16, 24, 32, 40, or some high-
er multiple of 8 ; and the combining proportions of carbon are
6, 12, 1 8, 24, 30, or some higher multiple of 6. A similar prin-
426
willson's fifth reader.
Part EX.
ciple is found to apply to ail other elementary substances,
each having its combining proportion, or chemical equiva-
lent^ from which, or some multiple of which, it never varies.*
4. As we can form no conception 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 proportions of the elements — and some-
times a mere difference in the arrangement — may constitute
very different things. An instance of this is seen in the com-
position of vinegar^ sugar ^ alcohol^ and starchy neither one of
which contains any element not in the others.
LESSON VIII. — LEADING CHARACTERISTICS OF THE FOUR
PRINCIPAL elements: OXYGEN — HYDROGEN — CARBON —
NITROGEN.
FouB elements in one firm band
Give form to life, build sea and land.— Schilleb.
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
Bynibola by which they are designated in chemical books, and the eijuivalcnts, or parts &y
iveifiht^ 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 witli
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-metnllic
KltMiionta.
Oxygen
Hydrogen
Nitrogen
Carbon
Sulphur.
rhosphoruB
Chlorine
Bromine
Iodine
Fluorine
Horon
Silicon
St'lrnium
MoUIIic Rlements.
Aluminium
Antimony
Arsenic
J'.uriiim
Hif^nuith
Ciulmium
Equiv
8.00
1.00
14.00
6.00
16. (X)
31.00
35.50
80.00
127.00
10.00
10.00
21.00
40.00
18.7r
122.0(t
75.00
08.50
214.00
56.00
Metallic Elements.
Calcium
Cerium
Chromium
Cobalt
Columbium
Clopper
Didi/mium
Erbium
(ihtdnuvn.
Gold
Iridium
Iron
Lanthanum.....
l^ad
Lithiuvi ,
Magnesiara .. ..,
Miinganose
Mercury ,
Moliihdt'num . . .
Nickel
Siobiuvi
Equiv. || Metallic Element*.
20.00 LVonwH
47.mV
26.70;
20.60
68.801
31.70
48.00
4.70:
Osmittm ,
Palladium ,
Platinum ,
Pota-ssium ,
Rhodium
Ruthenium .....
Silver ,
Sodium ;
197.00! Strontium
m.W}TcUuri%tm
2S.m\rerhium
47.0ol7'/ionMm
103.50 Tin
7.00 Titanium
12 50 Tungsten
27.50 I'ranium
100.00; Pa mi(f mm ,
4S.00i r«num ;..
29.50 ;Zinc
\\Zirconiuvi
Sym.
EquiT.
No.
OS.
99.60
Pd.
53.80
Pt
98.70
K.
89.20
Rh.
52.20
Ru.
52.20
Ag.
108.00
Na.
23.00
Sr.
43.75
Te.
M.0O
Tb.
Th.
59.60
Sn.
59.00
TL
26.00
w.
92.00
IT.
60.00
V.
68.60
Y.
Zn.
89.75
Zr.
22.40
1st DiV. OF CHEMISTRY. 427
air, forming the compound, carbonic acid. When wood is
burned, the process and result are the same, with 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 with 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.* Although
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 much 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 with 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 who escape the fire are liable
to be suffocated by the carbonic acid which it produces.
5. The danger ivovo. fire-damp^ however, has been in great
part removed by the miners' " safety lamp," invented by Sir
Humphrey Davy. ^Jle found that the flame of a lamp would
•not ignite bodies through a fine wire gauze ; and by inclos-
ing the miners' lamp within this cheap material, he was 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 hydrogen for the purpose of fusing metals,
melting glass, etc. , ia called the oxyhydrogcn blowpipe.
428 willson's fifth keadek. 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,
Which Davy delicately draws
Around explosive, dangerous fire."
6. As intense heat 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.
1. Carbon, found in a solid state in charcoal and 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 important part.
8. As carbonic acid, which is poisonous to animals when
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
explained ; and so well do the operations by which 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 the lungs without injury, considerable
quantities of it may be swallowed with impunity ; for it is
this same gas which gives their 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 rarbomc ncjrf, and the effects of breathing it, eta, read pages 54,
66, and 5C of Fourth Render ; Its absorption, ns food, by vegetables, see p. 208 Fourth
Reader ; and for the general principles by which nature harmonizes its production and
consumption, see the lesson on '^ The Aquaria," p. '268 of this Reader.
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. Nitrogen 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 compounds. In the decay of animal and vege-
table matter it escapes into the air in the form of ammoyiia^
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 AETS.
SULPHUR AND CHLORINE.
1. As we 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 bleaching, 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 replenished.
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 where turnips, cabbages, or mustard will
grow to maturity, as is shown by its presence in the seeds
430 willson's fifth header. Pabt 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.
6. Chlorine is the name of another very important element,
which, like sulphur, is extensively used for bleaching pur-
poses, and also for the 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 well 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 eflectual antidote for this poison, if taken in season.
6. Chlorine enters into the composition of many vegetable
products ; and experiments 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 elements
of common table-salt were to be suspended for a moment,
the very contents of the salt-cellar might prove fatal to the in-
mates of a closed room in which such separation of elements
should occur.
LES. X. — THE PRINCIPAL 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 tho merchant plows tho main,
The farmer plows the manor. — Burns.
%. Gold ! gold I p.ld !
I{ri};ht and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, prraveu, hanmiorcd, and rolled,
Heavy to ^t't, and liu;ht to hold,
Hoarded, bartered, lMiiij;;ht, and sold,
Stolen, Ivirrowed, H(iU!indered, doled,
Spurned by the young, but hupged by the old
To tho very verge of the church-yard mould;
I*ride of many a crime untold;
Gold I gold! gold I gold!
Good or bad u thourfand-fold.
IstDlv. OF CHEMISTRY. 431
How widely its uses vary :
To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless ;
Now stamped with the image of the good Queen Bess,
And now of "■Bloody Mary." — Hood.
3. The most interesting chemical property of gold is its
want of affinity for oxygen ; hence gold will not rust, nor suf-
fer corrosion by contact with any of the common acids ; and
when 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, Hke ice it has been liquefied in the laboratory of the
chemist, and even converted into gold steam; yet its proper-
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 of hrass^ although Homer has told us that
*' Jove, of sober judgment so bereft
Infatuate Glaucua', that with Tideus' son
He bartered gold' for brass^— a hundred beeves
In value', for the value small of nine\"
Yet in point of lightness, and in power 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
-Bird^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 rover 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 peck'd and twirl'd ;
Then bore it to her bough,
432 willson's fifth beadkr. Pakt IX.
Where on a flowery twig 'twas curl'd,
The bird can show you how ;
But when enoiijjh of that bright etuff
Tlie cunning builder bore
Her house to make, she would not take,
Nor did she covet more,
f. And when the little artisan,
While neither pride nor guilt
Had enterM in her pretty plan,
Her resting-place had built,
' With here and there a plume to spare
About her own light fonn.
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 they knew they peep' d and grexB
Within a silver nest ?" — 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, iro7i. "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," he 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 fierce red light of his furnace bright*
The strokes of his hammer rung ;
And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers.
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang, '■ Hurrah for my Imndiwork I
_ Hurrah for the spear and the sword !
Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well*
For he shall be king and lord !' " — 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 color-
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 supplied.
Til) the humblest work of art has shown
Like the mlt-t by rainbows dyed. — Cutter.
I^Vlst
1st DiV. OF CHEMISTKY. 433
14. Iron is found in the blood, where it performs impor-
tant offices, conveying the oxygen of the air we breathe /rom
the lungs to our very fingers' 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 couch, all wan and weak,
And the lustre returns to his sunken eyes,
And the bloom to his pallid cheek. — Cutteb.
15. Iron is the only metal that combines witli carbon,
forming steel when the proportion of carbon is small, and
black-lead or plumbago when the proportion is veiy 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 thouglits inditing ;
Iron stoves for cooking victuals.
Iron ovens, pots, and kettles ;
Iron horses draw our loads.
Iron rails compose our roads ;
Iron anchors hold in sands.
Iron bolts, and rods, and bands ;
Iron houses, iron walls.
Iron cannon, iron balls ;
Iron axes, knives, and chains,
Iron augers, saws, and planes ;
Iron globules in our blood,
Iron particles in food ;
Iron lightning-rods on spires,
Iron telegraphic wires ;
Iron hammers, nails, and screws —
Iron every thing we use."
LESSON" XI. ACIDS, ALKALIES, AND SALTS.
1. In 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 fifth eeadeb. Pakt IX.
term, therefore, though in ordinary language limited to com-
mon salt, is applied in chemistry to all combinations of acids
with alkalies.
2. That 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 CHEmSTRY.
3. " Some water and oil
One day had a broil,
As down in a glaas they were dropping,
And would not unite.
But continued to fight,
Without any prospect of stopping.
Some pearlasli o'erheard—
As quick aa a word.
He jumped in the midst of the clashing;
When all three agreed,
And united with speed,
And soa2) was created for washing."
4. The commonness of an article is apt to induce us to
overlook its importance ; a truth which is perhaps 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
civilization." According to Pliny, the invention of soap must
be ascribed to the Gauls, by whom, 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 "Hmpid streams;" but we have
reason to suspect, from the known absence of soap on that
occasion, that the picture of their " snowy lustre" is over-
drawn.
Thev peek the cisterns whore Phccacian 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, the royal robes they lave.
And plunge the vestures in the cleansing wave :
The vestures cleansed oVrspread the shelly sand,
Their snowy lustre whitens all the strand.
Vopr'B Odyasey, L. vi.
1st Div. OF CHEMISTEY. 435
LESSON" XII. — THE CHEMISTEY 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 affectionate 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! what? you sir," said Mr. Bagges, facetiously ad-
dressing himself to his eldest nephew, 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 with
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 off 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 what 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
farthing rush-light."
436 willson's fifth BEADEK. Paut IX.
" A wax candle will be nicer and cleaner, uncle, and answer
the same purpose. Tiiere's one on the inantel-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, " we 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, imcle ?"
" Why — why, the flame draws 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 S2:)onge sucks up water, or a bit
of lump sugar the little drop of tea or coflee 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
wax 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 candle, 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 lie remembers, doesn't he ?" observed 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 fi*om the draught, you would see it is
IstDlV.OF CHEMISTRY. 437
round — round sideways, and running np 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 vapor or gas from the candle will mix with the air there ;
and if you set fire to the mixture of gas from the candle and
air in the bottle, it would go ofi" with 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 candle is a little shining case, with gas in
the inside of it and air on the outside, so that the case of
flame is between the air and the gas. The gas keeps going
into the flame to burn, and when the candle burns properly
none of the gas ever passes out through the flame, and none of
the air ever gets in through the flame 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. Now
I'll rub off" 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 tlmt can
get to it."
438 willson's 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
dnst are bits of charcoal, or carbon, as chemists call it. They
are burned the moment they are made, and the place they
are made in is in the case of flame itself, ^vhere 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 Mr. Bagges ; " solid stuff 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 with 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
brightness directly."
" I wonder," observed Uncle Bagges, " what has made you
such a bright youth."
"Taking after uncle, perhaps," retorted his nephew.
" Don't put my candle and me out. Well, carbon or char-
foal is what causes the brightness of all lamps, and candles,
and other common liglits, 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," observed Mr. Bagges.
"But what becomes of the candle," pursued Harry, "as it
burns away ? where does it go ?"
"Nowhere," said his mnnimn, "T should ihiiik. It burns
1st 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, I would rather be excused."
" Not close enough down to burn you, uncle ; higher np.
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, l3ut 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, uncle. Water is one of
the things which 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 Harry. " 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 oi;dinary 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
up directly, and is consumed before you can say Jack Robin-
son. Charcoal burns away in it as fast, with beautiful bi-ight
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 be !" exclaimed Tom.
" Now we see, uncle," 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 I" 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, woul<l
consume and burn, increasing the combustion.' "
1st DiV. OF . . CHEMISTRY. 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 I 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.
" I^early. I only want to tell uncle that the burning of a
candle is almost exactly like our breathing. Breathing is
consuming oxygen, only not so fast as burning. In breathing,
we throw out water in vaj)or 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 squires
are dips and rush-lights, eh ? Any more to tell us about the
candle?"
" I could tell you a great deal more about oxygen, and 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, I 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 what," added
Mr. Bagges, " I am very glad to find you so fond of study
and science ; and you deserve to be encouraged ; and so I'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 WILLSON's fifth EEADEK. Pakt IX.
LESSON" Xni. — THE roETTc realities of nature.
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 which 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 wide re-
gions of unmeasured space upon 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 within 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 ofHces, and moulding for man the beautiful or the sub-
lime, are but the weak creations of a finite mind, although
they have for us a charm which all men unconsciously obey,
even when they refuse to confess it. They are like the re-
sult of the labors of the statuary, who, in his high dreams of
love and sublimated beauty, creates from the marble rock a
figure of the most exquisite moulding which mimics life. It
charms us for a season ; we gaze and gaze again, and its first
charms vanish ; it is ever and ever still the same dead heap
of chiseled stone. It has not the power of presenting to our
wearying eyes the change which life alone enables matter to
give ; and, while we admit the excellence of the artist, we
cease to feel at his work.
4. The mysteries of flowers 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
which 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
istand to the animal world, "stenlinor and ijivincr odors" in
1st DlV. OF CHEMISTRY. 443
the marvelous interchange of carbonic acid and ammonia for
the soul-inspiring oxygen — all speaking of the powers of some
unseen, indwelling principle, directed by a supreme ruler —
the philosopher finds 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 teloscopic
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,^ awakened by
the sun of truth, newly risen from* the night of ignorance.
5. Poetical creations are pleasing, but they never affect the
mind in the "way in w^hich 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 w^hom
"The primrose on the river's brink
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.''''
But it was something more. He perhaps attended not to the
eloquent teaching of its pure 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 quaff 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 tlie lovely primrose.
7. 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 w^onderful 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 BEADEE. Paht IX.
exalted nature still, to which these powers are 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
Mature, and in this, consists its poetry.
8. How weak are the creations of romance when viewed
besid<? the discoveries of science. One affords 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,
fui-nishes 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.
1 Mem'-non. The famous vocal statue of I a ipufiical string; an historical fact, but
Alemnon, in I'gypt, was said to utter, when the cause of which remains a mystery,
itwasstruckhy the first beams of the risinp 2 In'-ter-sti-ces, spaces between the parts
sun, a sound like the snapping asunder of j which compose a body.
LESSON" XIY. THE EXTENT OF CHEMICAL ACTIOU-.
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 which are, as yet, shrouded in the
mystery of our ignorance. The formation of minerals "vvithin
the clefts of the rocks, the germination of seeds, the growth
of the plant, the developments 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 peld 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 doony nro equally the result of its power.
NINTH MISCELLAJSTEOUS DIVISION.
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTEY CHUJRCH-YARD. THOS. GEAY.
[" Gray's Elegy" i3 generally conceded to be one of the most finished poems ever writ-
ten. It supposes the poet to be musing in a country church-yard at the close of a tran-
(luil summer's day, when the scene calls up a train of reflections upon the character and
occupations of the " rude forefathers of the peaceful 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 history ; and
this is followed, in the last three verses, by his own epitaph. The artist has pictured ev-
ery scene described, as it la supposed to have arisen in the mind of the poet.]
1 . The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ;
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ;
The plowman homeward plods his weary 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,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight.
And drowsy tinklinccs lull the distant 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 solitary reign.
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 iiiconse-breathing mom,
Tlie swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
Tlie cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from tlioir lowlv bed.
NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
447
C. 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.
7 Oft did the hai-vest to their sickle yield ;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ;
How jocund did they drive their team a-field !
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke !
8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
448
WILLSON'S FIFTH EEADEE.
0. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await, alike, th' inevitable hour —
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
10 Nor yon, ye proud ! impute to these the fault.
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise ;
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
1 1 . Can storied urn, or animated bust.
Back to its mansion call the lleeting breath ?
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust ?
Or Flattorv soothe tlio dull, cold car of Death ?
NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
449
12.
Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid
Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire ;
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
13.
Rut Knowledge, to their eyes, her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll :
Chill Penury 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 desert air.
460
WILLSON'S FIFTH READER.
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.
10. 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 historv in a nation's eves,
1 7. Their lot forbad : nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ;
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne.
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
NIXTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
451
18. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide
To quench the bhishes of ingenuous shame ;
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride,
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
10. 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 these bones 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
WILLSON'S FIFTH EEADEK.
21. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
The place of fame and elegy su|)p]y ;
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
22. For who, to dumb Forgetfulncss a jHcy,
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned ;
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?
23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies ;
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;
E'en from the tomb tlic voice of Nature cries ;
E'rn in our ashes live their wonted iircs.
NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
i63
24. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonor'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ;
If 'chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred s])irit shall inquire thy fate ;
25.
26.
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.
454
willson's fifth eeadee.
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 'custom'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 wo saw him borne.
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'"
NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.
455
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 sincere ;
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 disclose.
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose).
The bosom of his Fatlicr and his God.
456
THE RAZOR-SELLER.
The following Is a fine reading exercise, and pains Hhould be taken to give it the same
degree of naturalness 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 be 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."
6. Hodge sought the fellow — found him — and begun :
"P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue', to you \is Jun\
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 I tell you, you're a knave\
To cry up razors that can't shave'. ^^
C. ** Friend," quoth the razor-man, " I'm not a knave :
As for the y-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' 1" quoth the fellow, with a smile— "to sell\"
John Wolcott (Pkter Pindah;.
1st Div. or GilOLOGY. 457
PART X.
FIEST DIVISION OP GEOLOGY.
[This subject is continued in the Sixth Reader.]
The '■'• Medals of Creation."
lieliold ! a new kind of medals, much more important and incomparably more ancient
than those of the Greeks and the Romans. — Knorr's Monuments.
LESSON I. INTRODUCTORY.
1. It is from the "Medals of Creation" — the fossil remains
of plants and animals scattered throughout the rocky strata
of the globe — that we 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 electrotypes of nature — faithful records, which
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 filled
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. This is the geological theory of the
gradual calling of order out of chaos, after the great work 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, does not at all conflict with the
scriptural account of the creation. The scriptural account,
U
458 WILLSOn's fifth BEADER. Part X.
{IS paraplirased by a modern commentator, would read thus :
"In the heginning God created the heavens and the earth.
And the earth was desolate. Afterward^ the Spirit of God
moved upon the face of the waters;" thus allowing the pos-
sibility of even millions of years between the first act of crea-
tive power and the six days' work of arranging the universe.
4. Different 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 the 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
grandest oratorio.
LESSON II. — Raphael's account of the creation.
Milton.
1. Heaven opened wide
Her ever-during gates — harmonious 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, ])eace !'*
Said then the omnific Word ; "your discord end !"
Nor stayed, but, on the wings of cherubim
Uplifted, in paternal glor}' rode
Far into chaos, and the world unborn ;
For chaos heard his voice : him all his train
Followed in bright procession, 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
Round through the vast profundity obscure,
1st DiV. OF GEOLOGY. 459
And said, **Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,
This be thy just circumference, oil 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 through 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 unsung
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, hymning, praised
God and his woi-ks : Creator him they sung,
Both when first evening was, and when first mom.
LESSON III. CHARACTER OF THE GEOLOGICAL HISTORY Ot
THE EARTH.
1. Geology is the science which treats of the materials
that compose the earth, and of the organic remains which
they contain. According to Sir Charles Lyell, " Geology is
the science which investigates the successive changes 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 oniy thousands, but perhaps
millions of years — long before the creation of man. It ap-
pears that, during this time, the earth underwent many
460 WILLSON S FlJj^ril IIKADEK. pART 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 diiferent
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 unstratified masses, w^hich
show from their position, and the crystalline arrangement of
their parts, the action of heat, and an origin earlier in point
of time. AH 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 bo 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 creatines that ceased to exist before the
creation of the human race, can, with a high degree of prob-
abilitv, be ascertained."
1st Div. OF GEOLOGY. 461
5. Sometimes organic remains, such as bones, are found but
partially decayed, and sometimes impregnated with mineral
matter ; sometimes, through 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 the rock had become harden-
ed, the animal or plant had decayed and escaped through the
pores of the stone, so as to leave nothing but a perfect mould;
while 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 him 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 which, 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 and
in mines, hundreds of miles from the sea, are the remains 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 exhumed 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 him to ascer-
tain whether the organic remains which he finds in the rocks
belonged to extinct species, or are identical with those now
livings 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 word which means " the science of an-
cient beins^s or creatures."
462
willson's fifth reader.
FabtX.
THE DIFFERENT PERIODS OF THE EARTH'S HISTORY.
a rt, Granite veins ; b b^ metalliferous veins ; c c, dike of serpentine;
e e, 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, ynih the several classes of stralified formations resting upon
the unstratiiied granite rocks, the latter being represented hi re as tbroirn np through
the superincumbent mass by volcanic agency. By this tilting up of the stratifietl rocks
in numerous localities, so tiiat the edges of even the lowermost of the strata niay be seen,
both the relative position and the thickness of all the strata Iiave been very acenratelj
ascertained.
LESSOX IV. THE PRIMARY PERIOD.
"• Oh, who can strive
To comprehend the viist, the awful truth
Of the eternity that hath gone by,
And not recoil from the dit^mnyiug sense
Of human impotence 1 The life of man
Is summed in birthdays and in sepulchres,
But the eternal God had no beginning."
1. The geological history of our globe, as gathered from
its Btrnctiire, begins far back — myriads of years beyond our
powers of computation, but even then far removeil from " the
beginning" — in some imknown 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 imstratified rocks, of which the enduring granite, the low-
1st DiV. OF GEOLOGY. 463
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 which form the grand 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
hivStory, 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 picture :
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 than the waves themselves, that heave
and tremble under the impulsions of the igneous agencies ;
roaring geysers, that ever and anon throw up 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 walla of shadows round might dusky mountains seem,
But never holy light hath touched an outline with its gleam ;
'Tis but the eye's bewildered sense that fain would rest on foi-m.
And make night's thick blind presence to created shapes conform.
No stone is moved on mountain here by creeping creature crossed,
No loiiely hai-per comes to harp upon this fiery coast :
Here all is solemn idleness ; no music here, no jars,
Wiiere silence guards the coast ere thrill her everlasting bars;
No sun here sliines on wanton isles; but o'er the burning sheet
A rim of restless halo shakes, which marks the internal heat ;
As in the days of beauteous earth we see, with dazzled sight.
The red and setting sun o'ei-flow witli rings of welling light.— Thomas Aibd.
• Granite is composed chiefly of mica, quartz, and feldspar ; but in some granite rocks
talc and hornblende take the place of mica, and then tlie rock is called syenite. Porphifrif
is only another modification of granite. t See cut at the head of this lesson.
464
willson's fifth reader.
I'akt X,
LESSON" V. — THE TRANsrnox period.
Geologicai, Remains of Animals of the Tbansition Period.
1, 6, and 8 are Coral Zoophytes of the Lower Sihirian. 2, 10, and 12 are Ijower Silurian
Trilobites, from one to three inches in length. 3, 4, and 5 are the earliest Mollusca or Shell-
fish. 7, a Silurian Crinoidea — an animal having a radiated lily-sliaped disk supported on
a jointed stem. 9, a Placoid Fish of the Upper Silurian. 13 and 1.5 nre Ammonites ; and
14, u section of No, 13, showing the interior chambers. 10, a Star-fish. 17, one of the
earliest Polypes, or plant-like Zoophytes.
1. In entering upon the second age of the worid's history,
which is called the transition 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
slow wearing away of the mountains of the primary rocks by
the action of water.
2. In this transition period, of incalculable vastness, we
discern, in a few scattered fossils, the first faint traces of the
beginnings of vegetable and animal life. In the lower, or
Cambrian j^ortion, a few sea-weeds have left their imprints in
the rocks ; and a few shells and corals, and a few trilobites
— most singular species 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 GEOLOGY. 405
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 Ammonites, which are among the earliest
traces of the animal kingdom, appear in this early period ;
and it is a cmious fact, that while all other families 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 in
our seas at the present day. Among these is the JVautihcs,
whose geological history has been written in the following-
appropriate lines :
4. Thou didBt laugh ftt sun and breeze
In the new created seas ;
Thou wast vrith the reptile broods
In the old sea solitudes,
Sailing in the new-made light
With the curled-up ammonite.
Thou surviv'di-t the awful shock
Which turned the ocean bed to rock,
And changed its myriad living swarms
To the marble's veined forms,
6. 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 stii-,
Thou, most ancient marint r.
In that pearly boat of thine,
SaiPdst upon the troubled brine. — ISIrs. Howitt.
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 m 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 new
and distinct creations ; and upward, from life's beginnings,
through all its ascending stages, we constantly meet with
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, while 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
46G
WILLSONS FIFTH RKADER.
Part X.
LESSON VI. — THE SECONDARY PERIOD.
CrEOLOGIOAL liKMAtNS OF ANIMALS OF THE MIDDLE SE<!0>DAUY Pf:IUOU.
1, 3, and 4, remaina of curious Fish, from fix to ten inches in lengtli. 6, a flanoid Fish.
2 and 8, fassil Corals. 5 and T, Trilobites, five or six inches in length. 9, the Plesiosaunui, ■
a lizard-like marine reptile, from ten to fifteen feet in length. 10, the Ichthyof^anrus, or
fish-lizard, a kind of reptile whale, from twenty to thirty feet in length. [Tlie relative pro-
portions could not be preserved in the drawing.]
1. In ascending from the Transition to the Secondary pe-
riod, after passing the Devonian, which in North America
exhibits no less than eleven distinct eras, we arrive at the
Carboniferous system of rocks, which is so called from being
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, flimg
• This seems to have been eflfected by exposure to heat and moisture, 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, but bitumen, amber, mineral
oils, and even the diamond, were probably produced under various modifications of these
circun^tances.
1st DiV. OF GEOLOGY. 46 T
in wild, irregular profusion over every portion of its surface.
The effect is heightened by the contrast of the coal-black
color of these vegetables with the light groundwork of the
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 unknown 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 forth
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. Such are the grand natural her-
baria Avherein these most ancient remains of the vegetable
kingdom are preserved in a state of integrity little short of
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 three hundred species,
but all different from any of the present age, although allied
to existing types by common 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 pines of former ages. The internal heat of the earth
has distilled it; and, after being buried for thousands of years,
it is now discovered, to supply the wants of man. Remains
of corals, shell-fish, a few insects, among which are several 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 Carboniferous
rocks. Here, also, are the last of the trilobites, which appear
to have become extinct after the coal formations.
5. Ascending 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 Red Sand-
stone, the Oolitic, and the Cretaceous. The first of these is
comparatively scanty in organic remains ; but in the other
two, fossils are exceedingly abundant. Our existing islands
and continents are principally composed of the spoils of this
468 willson's fifth reader. Part X.
period, whose history opens to iis the fathomless depths of
ancient seas, and vast marshes, with the remains of myriads
of beings which hved and died in their waters.
6. The ocean then swarmed with sponges and other zoo-
phytes, sea-weeds, and corals, and Crustaceans ; even oysters
were abundant, but different from existing species ; remains
of a shark-like fish 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 spiders,
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.
Geoloqical Remains op Animals of the Uppkb Sbcosdary Pehiod,
1, a Criuoitlea. These are sparingly found in this period. 2, 6, and 9 arc remains of
Echinites, or Sea-urchins. 3, 8, and 12 are Crctaccaii shells. Thv' fi4i here represented
are from one to three feet in lengtJi. 5 is the Pterodactyl^ or flyinp reptile, having the
head and neck of a bird, the jaws and teeth of a crocodile, the wing-! of a but, and the
body and tail of a mammal. It is believed that the spread of its wing-i was not less than
twenty-five feet. 13 is the restored figure of the Lnimmdot}^ jis drawn by Martin, and
found in MaiiteH's fJeology. In making a complete drawing of such an animal from its
fossil remains, much of its extemal appearance nni.«t 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 teeth, and the 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 Af/e of Reptiles are the numerous species
of monster Saurians, bearing such uncouth nnnios as the ich-
thyosau'rus, plcsiosau'rus, megalosau'rus, and the iguan'odon,
with 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 DlV. OF GEOLOGY.
469
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 TEKTIAPwY PERIOD.
Seah nf Feet.
Geological Remains of Animals of the Tebtiaey Period.
[The scale of feet is applicable to all but the shells.']
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, fossil Shells of the Tertiary period— very numerous. 9, the Dino-
therium, an animal not less than fifteen feet in height, with immense tusks curving down-
ward, and the proboscis of an elephant 10, skeleton of a Mastodon, weighing 2000 pounds,
found at Newburgh, X. Y., in 1845. 11, skeleton of a Megatherium; thigh-bone eleven
inches in diameter, and claw-armed toes more than two feet in length. 12, 13, 14, and 15
are a group of extinct Pachydermata, which bear an affinity to the Tapir, Rhinoceros,
and Hippopotamus. The largest, the Palceotherium magnum, 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 vast and indefinite extent, but constituting a series
470 willson's fifth reader. Part X.
of formations which link together the present and the past.
We have evidences of numerous changes in the 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 dawn 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 miocene^ 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 period, imbedded in vast layers of Hmestone
rocks, the fossils 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 of trees perforated by the horer^ together with the fos-
sils of birds related to existing species. But what especially
characterize the older Tertiary deposits are the numerous fos-
sil remains of a class of pachydermata, of species now un-
known, but bearing an aifinity to the tapir, the rhinoceros,
and the hippopotamus. Such are the numerous species of
the palceotherium and the atioplotherium^ some of which are
represented 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
walrus. He seems to have formed a connecting Unk between
* It may be rpgarded as a sinpnlar coincidence that the capitals of Great Britain and
France are located on Btrata of the same peologlcal epocli in tlie Tertiary period. Both
Parirt and London are pituated im a vast alternation of marine and fre.<li-water beds, lying
in basins of the chalk formation, the npptrmoat of the Secondary period. The annexed
cut illui^trates the geological formation of the two cities. These ancient basins or gulfs
London. Pnris.
were evidently open to the sea on one side, while on the other they were supplied by riv-
ers cliarped witl> the spoils of the country tlirough which they flowed, and carrying down
the remains of animals and plants, with land and river shells. Changes in the relative
level of the land and sea took jjlaco, and, lastly, the country was elevated to its present
altitude above the sea. — Mantki.i,.
1st DiV. OF GEOLOGY. 471
the pachydermata, his 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 laud by his huge tusks. His singu-
lar appearance has inspired some one to write the following:
SONG OF THE DINOTHERIUM.
4. *' My thirst I slake in the cooling lake,
Where I swim among the fishes,
And should hunger gnaw my vacant matr,
A dinner meets my wishes :
For bulbous roots or tender shoots
I dig or crop at pleasure,
And having dined, if to sleep inclined,
I lay me down at leisure.
As a ship will ride in the rushing tide
If lier anchors meet the sand.
So when I sleep in the river deep,
My tusks are in the land."
5. In the lower division of the Tertiary the hee first makes
its appearance, the fossil remains of one having been found
sealed up in a piece of amber — " an embalmed corpse in a
crystal coffin," as Hugh Miller beautifully 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, have been found
the skeletons of immense numbers of hygenas, 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 other
creatures of the same class, and, even in high northern lati
tndes, the remains of species of elephants now unknown.
Yes ! where the huntsman winds his matin hoi'n,
And the couch'd hare beneath the covert trembles ;
Wliere shepherds tend their flocks, and grows the corn ;
Where Fashion on our gay parade assembles,
Wild horses, deer, and elephants have strayed,
Treading beneath their feet old Ocean's races.— Horace Smith.
472 willson's fifth reader. Paht X.
LESSON" VIII. — THE MODERN GEOLOGICAL PERIOD.
1. The raodern 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 w^as one
of floods of vast extent, the climate of northern countries
Avas 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 period. 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 max and his works
liave thus far been found. " Geology, scarce less certainly than
Revelation itself, testifies that the last-born of creation was
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 heavenly harmony —
This universal frame Ix'gan ;
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
which make up the geological history of our planet. We have
seen land and water succeeding each other on our globe in
1st Div. 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 millions that were born
Of her unnumbered, unremembered tribes,"
and each tribe and race has been adapted to the circumstances
in which it was placed, thereby affording 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 TiiY creation, finished^ yet renewed
Forever."
LESSO^N" 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 the gran-
ite, like a pall thrown over the relics of a former world, con-
ceals forever the earliest scenes of the earth's physical dramn.
Mantell.
474 willson's fiftu heaukh. pakt X.
LES. X. — A VISIT TO THE COUNTEY OF THE IGUANODON.
1. A VIVID idea of the "Age of Reptiles," and also of the
subsequent changes in the earth's geological history, 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 created 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 wa-
ters teemed with fishes, shells, and Crustacea.
3. " And after the lapse of many ages I again visited the
earth ; and the . country, with its innumerable dragon-foryns,
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 laud had again appeared,
and it was covered with groves and forests ; but these were
wholly different in character from 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 hippo])otanius, tapir, and
rhinoceros ; and I heard the roar of the lion and the tiger,
and the yell of the liyena and tlie bear.f
* This reprcFenta tho chalk formation, embracing the uppermost strata of the Creta-
ceous system — the highest in tlie Secondary period. The chalk strat-a were evidently de-
posited in an ocoan tliat muft have covered, for many apes, the gr«>uter part of what is
now central and southern Europe.
t This repreHonts the uppermost fomuitions of the Tertiary period— the pliocene.
1st DiV. OF GEOLOGY. 475
5. " And another epoch passed away, and I came again to
the scene of my former contemplations, and all the mighty
forms which I had left had disappeared ; the face of the coun-
try no longer presented the same aspect ; it was broken into
islands, and the bottom of the sea had become dry land, and
what before was dry land had sunk beneath the 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 upon 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 cliffs 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 were
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 earlier periods of the Alluvium — what Hugh Miller calls the
^^ stove age;" in which are found, in the British Isles, remains of man, with weapons and
utensils of stone.
t This represents a period subsequent to the Eoman invasion, when the inhabitants of
Britain had utensils and weapons formed of iron. Before the Conquest the fishing town
of Brighton was on a terrace of beacli and sand (which the ocean had abandone*]) on the
Sussex coast ; and the church of St. Nicholas stood inland on a neighboring cliff, whicli
showed tlie mark of the waves at its ba^e.
t This represents the present era. The old fishing-town of Brighton is now covered by
the seji, which has resumed its ancient position at the base of the cliffs ; and a great city
(London) has grown up a little farther inland — the metropolis of a mighty empire.
470 WILLSON'b fifth KEADEK. Paht 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
a connected series of so many proj^hetic visions — a kind of
diorama 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 which 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 gi'eat 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 diffused 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
upon 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 supposed 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 ])oint of view occupied
by the prophet, only the slow roll of its waves can l>e 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.
6. " 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 u]ipor region, where the previously invisible vapor of the tepid
1st DlV. OF GEOLOGY. 477
sea has thickened in the cold, do the clouds appear. But there, in the
higher strata of the atmosphere, they lie, thick and manifold, an upper sea
of great waves, separated from those beneath by the transparent 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 optical 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 with 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 unbroken 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 inconspic-
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 quiet 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 fern-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 hitherto enveloped the earth had
then disappeared, and the sun, moon, and stars may be sup-
posed to have first become visible to the prophet.
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 from
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 appears full-
orbed in the east — to the human eye the second great luminary of the heav-
ens — and climbs slowly to the zenith as night advances, shedding its mild
radiance on land and sea."
478 willson's fifth eeadek. PartX.
11. The vision of the "fifth day" may be siipposed to open
upon the 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, recd-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 g, 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 upon the lakes,
.or scream discordant in hovering flocks, thick as insects in the calm of u
summer evening, over the naiTower seas, or brighten with the sunlit gleam
of their wings the thick woods.
12. "And ocean has its monsters: great Hanninim' 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 masgivc scales haunt the rivers, or
scour the flat, 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 preservation 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 day has closed ; and morn-
ing breaks on the sixth and last day of creation. Cattle and beasts of the
fields graze on the ])lains ; the thick-skinned rhinoceros wallows in the
marshes ; the squat hippopotamus rustles among the reeds, or j)lunges 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
resi)onsible 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 jjrospect, 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 vision of old to
' The plipphprd who first taught the cho?cn need
In the l)egitining how the heavena and earth
Kosc out of chaoe,'
IstDlV. OF GEOLOGY. 479
and, rightly understood, I know not a single scientific truth that militates
against even the minutest or least prominent of its details. "
LESSOIN" 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-
j)ests, is gradually but constantly acting on the hardest rocks,
causing them to crumble and become soluble, and thus jDre-
paring them, as soil, to enter into the minute rootlets of plants
and nourish their growth. Thus hills and mountains are
wearing down by atmospheric agencies, and the rain, the riv-
ers, and the floods, are bearing the particles which compose
them to the ocean. One of the first lessons which geology
teaches is, that lofty mountains,
" Whose tops appear to shroud
Their granite peaks deep in tlie vapory cloud.
Worn by the tempests, wasted by the rains,
Sink slowly 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 Kile, 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 the 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
sufticient 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 up " ocean's
plains," or perhaps to form new lands on distant shores.
4. The 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 modifying
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 and rock-bound coast"
480 willson's fifth eeader. Part X.
of the ocean every where feels the abrading power of the
waves, as is shown by such projections as the " Pulpit Rock"
at Nahaut, and others equally picturesque along our whole
Atlantic coast.
5. The sands and pebbles that are now so abundant in sand
and gravel beds, were 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 — ^buffeted 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.
6. " A wondrous traveler was of yore
The rounded pebble-stone
As he rolled along from shore to shoie.
In rivers now unknown.
7. Where ancient forests grew and waved,
Where ancient streams did flow,
That little pebble journeyed on,
In the l-iver's bed below.
ii. 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 17th 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 bear
IstDlV.OP GEOLOGY. 481
away with them immense rocks and masses of earth, which
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 are much less important
than those occasioned by what are apparently the most in-
significant of animals — the little coral polypes, shell-fish, 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 tripol%
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 tomb,"
is the scientific assertion of Shakspeare; and even the con-
templative Young inquires,
" Wliere is the dust that has not been alive?"
13. The coral-building animals have been partially described
in the division on Physical Geography ; but we 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 we have noticed, the
result will be a new continent there.
LESSON^ XIII. COEAL ISLANDS.
[See Illustration, 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, ephemeral their lives,
X
482 WILLSON's FtbTH BEADEE. 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 sharp,
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.
Reflecting in a ring its cliffs and caverns,
With heaven itself seen in a lake below.
3. 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.
MONTGOMEBT.
LESSON XIV. GEOLOGICAL MONUMENTS.
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 temples of Psestum, 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 much 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 ;
the bottom of the ocean become a fertile soil ; w^iole races
of animals extinct, and the bones and exuviic^ of one class
covered with the remains of another ; and upon the graves
1st Div. OP GEOLOGY. 483
of past generations — the marble or rocky tombs, as it were,
of a former animated world — new generations rising, and or-
der and harmony established, and a system of life and beauty
produced out of chaos and death, proving the infinite power,
wisdom, and goodness of the Geeat Cause of all things. —
Sir H. Davy.
1 Ex-u'-vi-^ (egz-yu'-ve-e)^ whatever is,put off, or shed and left, by animals or by plants ;
the cast skin,eheUs, etc., of animals.
LESSON" XY. — mineralogy: the alphabet of geology.
SIMPLE MINERALS.
1. In tfte 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
b^ considered minerals, but water also must be included in
the list. If the earth were sufiiciently heated, the rocks them-
selves would melt and flow like water, as we see in the case
of melted lava ; and, if the earth were sufficiently cold, we
should rarely see water, except 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 which they are composed, and it describes
their properties. Hence minerals are the very alphabet of
geology; and mineralogy is only a branch of that science
whose grand historical outlines we have just been considering.
3. Of what, then, are the materials of the earth composed?
It would seem, at first view, that they must be almost infinite
in number and variety ; 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 different kinds of rock and earth, and clayey and marly
soils, is composed of only a few primary ingredients, although
they are combined in a great variety of forms and propor-
tions.
4. Mineralogy, no less than geology, is full of wonders ;
one of the greatest of which is that the life-sustaining oxygen
which we breathe so freely in pure air enters so largely into
the composition of rocks and earths as to constitute owe Aa//*
of the solid materials of our globe ! This is the first, sim-
484 wlllson's fifth reader. Pakt X.
pie, but all-important lesson in mineralogy. A second lesson
teaches us that, out of nearly sixty pure mineral {Substances
which are known, six of them, although seldom obtained in
a separate state, are found so largely combined with 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 silico7i, calcium, alumi-
num, m.agnesium,, potassium, and sodium. Thus sil^on 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
oxyd 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 rocJc,
which is also an ingredient of our best soils. Similar combi-
nations of the other mineral bases with 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 rocks, 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, arc
quartz, feldspar, limestone, hornblende, mica, talc, and serpen-
tine ; and these are distinguished and described by their col-
or, and their several degrees of lustre, transparency, specific
gravity, hardness, fracture, tenacity, taste when soluble, and
odor when rubbed.
7. Of these minerals, quartz, which enters largelyfltato the
compound minerals or rocks, constitutes by itself nearly one
half of the crust of the earth. Pure quartz, which is crystal-
lized silica, scratches glass with facility, and is next to the dia-
mond in hardness. Flint and rock-crystal are well known
forms of this mineral, but it occurs in numerQus 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 car-
nelians. The sand which is used in making mortar and glass
1st Div. OP GEOLOGY. 485
is mostly^^artz ; and in what is called silex this mineral forms
the hara^^nty covering of the grasses.
8. Feldspar, or fieldspar, which contains a large proportion
of alumina, the basis of clay, composes about one tenth 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 impure 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 part 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 stove windows.
12. Talc 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," rocJc-salt, and coal,
complete the list of minerals which form any considerable
portion of the earth's crust.
LESSON XYI. — COMPOUND minerals.
1. Granite, which forms so large a proportion of the pri-
mary rocks, is a crystalline aggregate of quartz, feldspar, 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 underpinning of the other rocks,
and it is also found as high as the summit of Mount Blanc.
2. Granite is abundant in New England. The most cele-
brated quarries are at Quincy, Mass. The Quincy granite,
however, is not properly a granite, but a syenite, in whicli
486 willson's fifth reader. PabtX.
hornblende takes the place of mica. Bunker Hill ]^<munient,
the Astor House in New York City, and the dry;|^cks 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 j)orphyry^
which is of a reddish color, and contains crystals of feldspar.
Another compound rock is Q2iX}iQ^ jpudding-stone. It is a con-
glomerate 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 which 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,
Tiien 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 tlie state-room you dine,
Then sprinkle with topaz, or else tourmaline.
Y. To make Porphyry.
' Let silex and argil be well kneaded doviTi,
Then color at pleasure, red, gray, green, or brown ;
When the paste is all ready, stick in here and there
Small crystals of feldspar, 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 qunntum of ])ebbles — clicrt, jasper, or Hint.
1st Div. OP GEOLOGY. 487
9. ~ To make Amygdaloid.
Take a mountain of trap, somewhat softish and green,
In which bladder-shaped holes may be every where seen ;
Choose a part where these holes are decidedly void all,
Pour 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 Bbb€'-oia (pronounced Brek'-sha). 2 Beec'-cia-ted (pronounced BreTc'-sh6-dt-ed).
LESSON XVII.— BRIEF EXTEACTS.
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. W. Herschjj^.
2. "Every rock in the desert, every boulder on the pRo,
every pebble by the brook side, every grain of sand on the
sea-shore, is replete with lessons of wisdom to the mind that
is fitted to receive and comprehend their sublime import."
3. "The very ground on which we tread, and the mount-
ains which surround us, may be regarded as vast tumuli, in
which the organic remains of a former world are enshrined."
— Parkinson.
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
comprehension ; 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 Almighty 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. PautX.
LESSON XVIIL—CONCLUDING eemarks.
[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 application 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 which I
feel in my own, or have illuminated the mental vision with
that intellectual lig\it 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.
AJ( although my humble name may be soon forgotten, and
all record of my labors be effaced, 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 8o inform
The mind that is within ns — so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tonpnlc?,
Rasli judgments, nor the 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 faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings !— Woiipswoktu.
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 secret gift of i»m\ or eye,
In every spot lieneAth the smiling sun,"
Sees whore the ttjningn o/ liiniKj waters lie ! — IIrsianr.
TENTH MISCELLANEOUS DIYISION.
LESSON" I.— THE EAVEN.
Edgar A. Poe.
1. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
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 lof=t Lcnore —
X2
490
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 implore ;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door —
Darkness there and nothing more.
5. Deep into that darkness peering, l^B^ stood there wondering, fearing.
Doubting, dreaming dreams no momrever dared to dream before ;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!" —
Merely this and nothing more.
6. Back into the chamber turning, 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 crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
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."
lO. 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," saidi, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
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, tlngainly, 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
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore !
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore !"
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."
15. "Prophet !" said I, "thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! —
AVhether 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 A^enn,
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 —
" 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 FIFlil llEADElt.
LESSON II. — THE DIGNITY OF WOEK.
1. TuERE is a perennial nobleness, and even sacredn§8S, in
work. Were he never so benighted, forgetful of his high
calling, there is always hope 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, mar-
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 7iot 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 son, or
UPON it!" Thou, too, shalt return Aome, 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.
TuoMAs Carlyle.
LESSON in. — the duty op labor.
1. Labor is man's great function. The earth 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 bright machinery, and abroad
in the silent fields, beneath the roofing sky, man was made
to be ever working, 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. Not only can he gain no lofty improvement without this,
but without it he can gain no tolerable happiness. So that
he who gives himself up to utter indolence finds it too hard
for him, and is obliged in self-defense, unless he be an idiot,
to do something. The 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 wretched 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 weary, 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 difierence 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 nothing. — Dbwey.
LESSON IV.— WORK AWAY.
1. Work away!
For the master's eye is on us,
Never off us, still upon us,
Night and day.
Work away !
Keep the busy fingers plying,
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 glowing ;
Keep the red ore hissing, flowing
494 willson's fifth reader.
Swift within the ready mould ;
See 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 off 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 I
6. Work away !
For the Father's eye is on us.
Never off 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 divide 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 fingers 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 ma|^^^umed morn
From gloom is
From out the sullen depth of ebon Night
The stars shed light ;
Grems 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 year's fresh store ;
Just sequences of clashing tones afford
The full accord ;
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 \Yith 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 I show me where is He,
The high and holy One,
To whom thou bend'st the knee.
And pray'st', "Thy will be doneM"
I hear^ thy song of praise',
And lo! Txoforin' is near:
Thine eyes I see thee raise'.
But where doth God appear^ ?
Oh ! teach me who is^ God, and where his glories shine\
That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine.
496 WILLSON'S FIFTH EEADEE.
2. " Gaze on that arch above' ;
The glittering vault admire'.
Who taught those orbs to move' ?
Who lit their ceaseless fire' ?
Who guides the moon to run
In silence through the skies' ?
Who bids that dawning sun
In strength and beauty rise' ?
There view immensity' ! behold ! my God is there :
The sun', the moon', the stars', his majesty declare'.
3. " See where the mountains' rise ;
Where thundering torrents' foam ;
Where, veil'd in towering skies',
The eagle^ makes his home ;
Where savage nature dwells,
My God is pr^ent too' ;
Through al^Hh^dest dells.
His footstejI^Hfcrsue :
He rear'd those giant cli^^^upplies 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-monsttrs hide :
His power is sovereign there.
To raise', to quell' the storm ;
The depths his bounty share.
Where sport the scaly swarm :
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 m prayer' ;
Nor ask for other sign
That God is every where :
The viewless Spirit' ! He — immortiil', holy', blest' :
Oh ! worship him in faith', and find eternal rest' !" — Anonymous.
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 lini])id and so meek
It would not stain nn angel's check,
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head. — Scott.
Pabt XI.
ANCIENT HISTOBY.
497
PAET XL
HISTOEICAL. ANCIENT HISTOEY PEIOE TO
THE CHRISTIAK EEA.
■ LESSON I. — EAELY GRECIAN 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-
braced in the history of the Jews, and in Grecian and Roman
history. To the Bible, chiefly, we are to look for the details
of the former. Grecian history follows next in the order of
time, beginning 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 conquest of Greece
by the Romans in the year 146 B.C. Aft^r 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 human 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, which
may bQ 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 early 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 with the char-
acter of surrounding objects, and ascribed its appropriate
deity to every manifestation of power in the itfkle universe.
Thus they had nymphs of the forests, rivers^Radows, and
fountains, and gods and goddesses almost innumerable, some
terrestrial, others celestial, according to the places over which
they were 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.
In that fair clime, the lonely hcrclsmaTi, stretched
On the soft grass through lialf a summer's day,
With music lulled his indolent repose ;
And in some fit of weariness, if he,
When his own hreath was silent, chanced to hear
A distant strain, far sweeter than the soimds
Part XI. AisrciEJST HiSTOBY. 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, f with 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. J 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 twigs by hoary age,
From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth
In the low vale, or on steep mountain side ;
And sometimes intermixed with stirring horns
Of the live deer, or goat's depending beard —
These were the lurking satyrs,^ a "wild brood
Of gamesome deities ; or Pan himself,
The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring God.** — Wordsworth.
LESSON 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 the sun, the god of prophecy, archery, and music, represented as a
youth in the perfection of manly strength and beauty. He bears a lyre in his hand, some-
times a bow, and a golden lute, with a golden quiver of arrows at his back.
t Diana^ the exact counte:^art 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 Maiads 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.
11 The ZephyrH were the genial west winds. They were brothers of the stars, and seldom
visited the earth except during the shades of everting.
IT The Satyrs were represented like men, but with feet and legs of goats, short horns on
the head, and the whole body covered with thick hair.
** The horned and goat-footed Pan was the god of shepherds, and lord of the woods
and mountains. What are called panic terrors were ascribed to Pan ; as loud noises,
whose causes could not easily be traced, were oftenest heard in mountainous regions, which
were his favorite haunts.
500 willson's fifth reader. PabtXI.
which embraces an account of the institutions of Lycurgus,
the Messenian wars, and tlie legislation of Solon, we come
down to what is called the " authentic i:)criod," which begins
with the causes that led to the first Persian war.
2. Dari'us, king of Persia, exasperated against Athens on
account of the assistance which 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 war, 490 B.C., his array, numbering a hund-
red thousand men, was defeated with 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 world has ever seen, and
whose numbers have been estimated at more than two mill-
ions of fighting men. This immense host, proceeding by the
way of Thessaly, had arrived without opposition at the nar-
row defile of Thermopylae, between the mountains and the
sea, where the Spartan Leonidas was posted with three hund-
red of his countrymen and some Thespian allies, in all less
than a thousand men.
4. The Spartans were forbidden by their laws ever to flee
from an enemy ; they had taken an oath never to desert their
standards ; and Leonidas and his countrymen, and their few
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 were thinned by
the storm of arrows, and by the living mass that was hurled
upon them, they fought with the valor of desperation until
every one of their number had fallen.* A monument was
afterward erected on the spot, bearing the following inscrip-
tion : " Go, stranger, and tell at Lacedaemon that we died
here in obedience to her laws."
• The story that Leonidas made a night attack, and ponetoited nearly to the royal tent,
aa described by Croly in his well-known poem beginning,
'' It was the wild midnight ; a stonn vrna on the sky,"
Is a mere fiction, opposed to well-known history. For this reason wc have not introduced
it in our selections. The attack was commenced in the forenoon, and by the I^ersiane.
Historical fictions may be introduced without any iuiiJiopricty where they fill up with
probable events the gaps in history, but. not where they are in opposiHon to history. Of
the former character are modt of the historical sccned in Sliakspcarc
Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 501
LESSON IV. — ADDRESS OF LEONIDAS TO THE SPAETANS.
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 labor through the^rduous 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. Glover.
LESSON" V. — THE SPAETANS NOBLT KEPT THEIR 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 !
2. And ch ! that oath was nobly kept.
From morn to setting sun
J^d. desperation urge the 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 focman's fetters spurn ;
602 willson's fifth beadek. Part XI.
And firmly was the fight maintained,
And amply was the triumph gained ;
They fought, fair Liberty, for thee ;
They fell — to die is to be fbee ! — 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 migbtiest river,
RoU'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. — Btkon.
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 whole fleet to block up that of the Greeks in the narrow
strait of Sal'amis. Proceeding thither with his army also,
he drew up his countless 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 hastil^ed across the
Hellespont, and retired into his own dominSis, leaving his
general Mardonius, at the head of three hundred thousand
men, to complete, if possible, the conquest of Greece.
I. DESCRIPTION OF THE BATTLE OF SALAMIS.
From ^SCHTLUS.
1. The Persian chief.
Little dreaming of the wiles of Greece
And gods averse, to all the naval leaders
Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 603
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. Sooi} 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 sfeers 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 :
3. At once from every Greek, with glad acclaim,
Burst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes
The echo of the island rocks returned.
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 paean ended) with impetuous force
Dash'd the surrounding surges, instant all
Rush'd on in view ; in orderly an-ay
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 impell'd.
6. 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. The deep array
Of Persia at the first sustain'd the 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 keadek. PabtXI.
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.
6. 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 every 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.
1. 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 mon-ow'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 tliat host,
The thunder of their feet !
lie heard the imperial echoes ring —
He heard, and felt himself a king.
8. 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 —
Ahme, and in despair !
But wave and wind swept ruthless on.
For they wore monarchs there ;
Pabt XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 605
And Xerxes, in a single bark,
Where late his thousand ships were dark.
Must all their fury dare.
What a revenge — a trophy, this —
For thee, immortal Sal'amis ! — Mrs. Jewsbukt.
LESSON Vni. BATTLE OF PLATJe'a, 479 B.C. : END OF
THE PERSIAN WARS.
Bulwer's Athens.
•
1. After the defeat of the Persians in the naval battle of.
Sal'amis, their army, which remained in Greece under the com-
mand of Mardonius, experienced a final overthrow in the bat-
tle of Platse'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 Bulwer :
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, pressed
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 with
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 poured 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 discipline
— 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 by, supplicated
506 willson's fifth eeader. Pabt XI.
the goddess that if the fates 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 througli
the army, and, to use the poetical comparison of Plutarch, the
SpartUn 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 intersected 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 pikes of Sparta — their courage without skill — their
numbers without discipline ; still they fought gallantly, even
when on the ground seizing the pikes with their naked hands,
and with the wonderful agility which still characterizes the
Oriental swordsmen, springing to their feet and regaining
their arms when seemingly overcome, wresting away their
enemies' shields, and grappling with them desperately 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 liis deatji was the general signal of defeat and flight.
Encumbered by their long robes, and pressed by the relent-
less contjuerors, the Persians fled in disorder toward their
camp, which was secured by wooden intrenchments, by gates,
and towers, and walls. Here, fortifying themselves as they
best might, they contended witli advantage against the Lace-
daemonians, who were ill skilled in assault and sie^o.
Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 507
V. " Meanwhile the Athenians obtained the victory on the
plains over the Greeks of Mardonius, 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-
uous temper ; and the men who had ' run to the charge' at
Marathon were not to be baffled by the desperate remnant
of their ancient foe. They scaled the walls — they eifected 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, falling, as they fled, with a prodigious
slaughter, so that out of that mighjl^ armament scarce three
thousand effected 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 with gold and silver ; and vessels
of the same metals were seen scattered about for ordinary
use, and piled up in wagons." " 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 tlie barbarian who, with 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 was once more comparatively at
rest, the continent of Greece rose visibly and majestically
above the rest of the civilized earth. Then began what has
been called the "Age of Pericles," the era of Athenian great-
ness, which has been briefly described in a previous article,*
but to which we 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. "Nowhere 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 immortal in genius.
• See the Part on Architecture, page 285.
508 WILLSOn's fifth BEADJSK. Part 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 : poetry, philosophy, archi-
tecture, sculpture, tragedy, comedy, geometry, physics, histo-
ry, politics, almost date their origin from Athenian genius ;
and the monuments of art with which they have overspread
the world still form the standard of taste in every civilized
nation on earth."
LESSON" IX. THE ERA OP GRECIAN ELOQUENCE AND LIT-
ERATURE.
1. The golden* age ofii&recian 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, ^s'chines,
and Demos'thenes. Among historians whose works are still
venerated may be mentioned, as most conspicuous, the names
of Herod'otus, 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 lights which they
kindled.
2. The Greeks were exceedingly fond of the 'drama, which
we may now look back upon as one of the best expositors
of the Athenian mind in the departments of politics, religion,
and philosophy. In the tim5 of Pericles a large number of
dramas was presented on the Athenian stage every year ;
the whole population of Athens flocked to the theatres to wit-
ness them; and when we reflect that these representations
embraced not only, as at first, 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
• jEB'chylua fought in thn hattlo of Marathon, and also in that of Sal'amis. From one
of his tragedies, entitled '' Tiw / Vwnns," we have given an extract deacriptive of the na-
val battle of Sal'arais. See pnge 602.
Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 509
the Grecian drama in attacking, under the veil of satire, ex-
isting institutions, politicians, philosophers, poets, and even
private citizens by name, some idea may be formed from the
following extract from '-''The Knights''' of Aristoph'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 lower
orders and railing at the higher, that he stood in the situa-
tion of head of a party.
THE POLITICAL DEMAGOGUE.
Scene : the public market-place of Athens.
Chorus.
Close around him, and confound him, the confounder 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, Kobber^ ! 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 upon 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 threepenny provision I've maintained and cherished long,
Come to my aid ! I'm here waylaid — assassinated and betrayed.
Chorus.
Rightly served^ ! 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, plump, and rich ;
Pinching, fingering, and pulling — tempering, selecting, culling,
With a nice survey discerning which are green and which are turning,
Which are ripe for accusation, foi'feiture, and confiscation.
Him, besides, the wealthy man, retired upon an easy rent,
Hating and avoiding party, noble-minded, indolent,
Fearful of oflicial snares, intrigues, and intricate affairs ;
Him you mark ; you fix and hook him, while he's gaping unawares ;
At a fling, at once you bring him hither from the Chersonese,
Down you castiiim, roast and baste him, and devour him at your ease.
Cleon.
Yes^ ! assault\ insult\ abuse^ me ! this is the return I find
For the noble testimony, the memorial I designed :
Meaning to propose 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^ !
510 willson's fifth reader. Part 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.
Cleon.
Save me, neighbors^ ! Oh the monsters^ ! Oh my side, my back, my breast' !
Chorus.
What ! you're forced to call for help' ? you brutal, overpowering pest' !
\_Cleon is pelted off the stage, purstied by the Chorus.
Aristoph' anes : translated by Mr. Frere.
LESSON X. THE OLYiyiPIAN 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 had gained five victories on the first day, and
on the second he starts with nine competitors in the chariot-race : an Achaean, a Spartan,
two Libyans, an -(Etolian, a Magnesian, an Oilman, an Athenian, and a Bceotian. The
great art of the charioteer consisted in turning as close as possible to the goals, but with-
out running against them or against the other chariots.]
THE CHARIOT-RACE, WITH THE DEATH OF ORESTES.
1. They took their stand where the appointed judges
Had cast their lots and ranged the rival cars.
Rang out the brazen trump I 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. • Ores'tes still.
Aye, ' as he swept around the perilous pillar
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 <Eenian's fierce and headlong steeds
Broke from the bit, and, as the seventh time now
The course was circled, on the Libyan car
Dashed their wild fronts : then order changed to ruin :
Car dashed on car : the wide Crissaian plain
Was, sea-like, strewn with wrecks: the Athenian saw,
Slackened his speed, and, wheeling round the marge,
Unscathed and skillful, in the midmost space.
Left the wild tumult of that tossing storm.
8. Behind, Orestes, hitherto the last.
Had kept back liis coAsers for the close ;
Now one sole rival left — on, on lie flew.
And the sharp sound of the impelling scourge
Rang in the keen ears of the flying steeds.
Fart XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 611
He nears — he reaches — they are side by side ;
Now one — now th' other — by a length the victor.
The courses all are past — the wheels erect —
All safe — when, as the hurrying 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 a), always ; ever. [Used in this sense only in poetry.]
LESSON XI. — TPIE LATTER 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 Chserone'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 " Philippic^'^ which have immortalized 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 was 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 reader. Pabt XI.
era. This point is the proper termination of Grecian history ;
for, " as rivers flow into the sea, so does the history of all the
nations known to have existed previously in the.regions round
the Mediterranean, terminate in the history of Rome."
3. With the loss of her liberties the glory of Greece passed
away. Her population had been gradually diminishing since
the period of the Persian w^s ; and from the epoch of the
Roman conquest the spirit of the nation sunk into despond-
ency, and the energies of the people gradually wasted, until,
at the time of the Christian era, Greece existed only in the
remembrance of the past. Then, many of her cities were
desolate, or had sunk to insignificant villages, while Athens
alone maintained her renown for philosophy and the arts, and
became the instructor of her conquerors ; large tracts of land,
once devoted to tillage, Avere either barren, or had been con-
verted into j^astures for sheep and vast herds of cattle ; while
the rapacity of Roman governors had inflicted upon the sparse
population impoverishment and ruin.
LESSON 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 the year V53 B.C., down to
the banishment of the Tarquins and the abolition of royalty,
510 B.C. — and even perhaps 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, which 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 prejudices 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 neigliboring 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. The
PabtXI. ancient history. 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
tl\ere recorded.
LESSON" XIII. THE STORY O^ HORATTUS.
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 cometh soon or late.
„ And how can man die better
Than 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 wejH 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 props that supported the
bridge.
4. Meanwhile the Tuscan army.
Right glorious to behold.
Came flashing back the noonday light.
Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee.
As that great host, with measured tread.
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
• Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head.
Where stood the dauntless three.
Y2
514 WILLSOn's fifth reader. Part XL
6. The three stood calm and silent,
And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose :
And forth 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 laughter 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."
6. 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
Which 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 Horatius,
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.
i). 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 oul
Behind the Tusonn's hoad.
Part XI. . ANCIENT 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 bgnk 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 cun-ent,
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 j
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
13. " Curse on him !" quoth false Sextus,
* ' Will not the villain drown ?
But for this stay, ere close of day
We should have sacked the town !"
"Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Porsenna,
"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 dry earth he stands ;
Now round him throng the fathers,
To press his gory 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 :
516 willson's fifth readee. Paet XI.
15. When the good man mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume ;
When the good wife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom;
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old. — Macaulat.
LESSON XIV. — PATEICIAN AND PLEBEIAN CONTESTS.
1. During 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
surrounduig 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 efiected, and magistrates,
called tribunes, were allowed to be chosen by the people to
watch 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, ruled in the most tyran-
nical manner, and oppressed the plebeians worse 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 Virginius ; but, finding lier 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 Avas 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 tlie court and the assembled people. The people arose
in their might ; the power of the " wicked ten" was over-
thrown ; and Appius, having been impeached, died in prison,
probably by his own hand.
Part XI. ancient history. 517
4. About eighty years after the death of Virginia, the ple-
beians succeeded, after a struggle of five years against every
species of fraud and violence (especially on the part of Clau-
dius Crassus, grandson of the infamous Appius Claudius), in
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
public market-place, and announces that he has a new song
that will cut the Claudian family to the heart. He takes his
stand on the spot 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 STORY OF VIRGINIA.
1. Ye good men of the commons, with loving hearts and time,
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, mider the noonday sun,
In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done.
Old men still creep among us who 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 Avas 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 wished the commons ill.
Nor lacks he fit attendance ; for close behind his heels,
With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client Marcus steals,
His loins girt up to run with speed, be the errand what it may,
'And the smile flickering on his cheek, for aught his lord may say.
Where'er ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd ;
Where'er ye fling the can-ion, the raven's croak is loud ;
Where'er down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy pike ye see ;
And wheresoe'er 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 through 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 them-
518 willson's fifth reader. 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 possession of the maiden, when her father, who 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. Straightway 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 !
6. Oh ! how I loved my darling ! Though stem I sometimes he,
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 wliich thoii knovvest not, which thou shalt never know.
Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one mora 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 ns twftin ;
Part XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 519
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 upon 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 around the dead body ; and when
Claudms attempted to disperse them, a furious onset was
made upon the lictors, who were driven back severely wound-
ed, and with garments torn in shii^ds. 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 sturd;^ lictors put their necks beneath the curule chair ;
And fourscore clients on the left, and fourscore on the right,
An-ayed themselves with swords and staves, and loins girt up for fight.
But though without or staif or sword, so furious was the throng.
That scarce the train with might and ma^n 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.
Macaulay.
520 willson's fifth READEB. Part XI.
LESSON XVI. — THE CAETHAGINIAN WAES.
1. After the Romans had reduced all ftaly to their do-
minion, about 2V0 years before the Christian era, they began
to extend their influence abroad, when an interference with
the afiairs of Sicily brought on a war with Carthage, at that
time a powerful republic on the northern African coast, su-
perior in strength and resources to the Roman. The Cartha-
ginians Avere 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 Spain, and also in Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, Malta, and
other islands of the Mediterranean.
2. In the year 263 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 Iiis leng captivity, he would urge the sen-
ate to accept the proflered 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 return
if peace were not concluded, he voluntarily went back, in spite
of the prayers and entreaties of his friends, to meet the fate
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 describe d in the following lesson.
• The term Punic means simply " Carthaglnifin." The three famoua Carthaginian
wars are usually called, in Roman history, " The I'unic Wars."
Part XI. ANCIENT HISTOEY. 521
LESSON Xyil. — EEGULUS 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 Rome !
2. Accursed moment^ ! when I woke
From faintness all but death,
And felt the coward conqueror's yoke
Like venomed serpents wreath
Round every limb : if lip 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 chain the mindy
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 yet 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.
6. They bade me to my country bear
The offers these have borne ;
They would have trained my lips to swear,
Which 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 Carthage first.
6. They sue for peace ; I bid you spurn
The gilded bait they bear ;
I bid you still, with aspect stem,
VFar— ceaseless war — declare.
522 willson's fifth reader. Pakt XI.
Fools as they were, could not mine eye,
Through their dissembled calmness, spy
The struggles 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 empire o'er the wave
Is yours ; she knows it well, and you
Shall know, and make her feel 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 know her fleets are far and few,
Her bands, a mercenary crew ;
And Kome, 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 ;
TJiy 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.
LESSON XYIII. — THE DOWNFALL OF CARTHAGE.
1. The first Punic war ended disastrously to Carthage in
the year 240 B.C. ^Twenty-two years later commenced the
second Punic war, m which the Roman republic was at one
time brought to the brink of ruin by the superior military
skill of the Carthaginian Hannibal, who 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. 623
of the famous Archime'des.^ The youthful Scipio, who re-
ceived the title of Africanus, also carried the war into Africa ;
Hannibal, recalled from Italy to protect Carthage, was 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 was a favorite topic of debate in the Ro-
man senate ; and it is said that, of the many speeches which
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^njustly provoked by the Ro-
mans, Carthage was destroyeJ| 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 Ae-chi-me'-des. See account of, p. 324.
LESSON XIX. ADDEESS OP HANNIBAL TO HIS AKMY 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 war. Grief, injuries, indignities, fire
your minds, and spur you forward to revenge. First, they
demanded me — that I, your general, should be .delivered #p
to them ; next, of all you who had fought at the siege of
Saguntum ; and we were to be put to death by the extremest
tortures. Proud and cruel nation! every thing must be
yours, and at your disposal. You are to prescribe to us with
whom we shall make war, with whom we shall make peace.
You are to set us bounds ; to shut us up within hills and
rivers ; but you — you are not to observe the limits which
yourselves have fixed ! " Pass not the Iberus." What next ?
" Touch not the Saguntines ; Saguntum is upon the Iberus ;
move not a step toward that city." Is it a small matter, then,
that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily
524 willson's fifth reader. Pakt XI.
and Sardinia? you would have Spain too. Well, we shall
yield Spain, and then — you will pass into Africa. Will pass,
did I say ? this very year they ordered one of their consuls
into Africa, the other into Spain. No, soldiers ; there is noth-
ing left to us but what we 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. — CONTINni^ION OF ROMAN HISTORX.
1. A SHORT 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 him 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 rnins 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.
MARIUS SEATED ON THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE.
3. Pillars are fallen at thy feet,
Fanes quiver in the air ;
A prostrate city is thy seat,
And thou alone art there.
4. No change conies o'er thy noble brow.
Though ruin is around theo ;
Thine eyebeam burns as proudly now.
As when the laurel crowned thee.
Pakt XI. ANCLBNT HISTORY. 526
5. It can not bend thy loftf 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 hopes in the human heart
May be to ruin hurled,
Like mouldering monuments of art
Heaped on a sleeping world :
9. ' Yet th^e is something will not die,
Where life hath once been fair ;
Some towering thoughts still rear on high ;
Some Roman lingers there! — Mrs. Child.
LESSON" XXI. ROMAN GLADIATORIAL COMBATS.
1. Gladiatorial combats among the Romans were origi-
nally exhibited at the graves of deceased persons. They thus
formed a kind of funeral sacrifice, the shades of the dead be-
ing supposed to be propitiated with blood ; but in process of
time the magistrates and wealthy citizens gave shows of gladi-
ators to entertain the people. The gladiators were composed
mostly of captives and slaves, or of condemned malefactors.
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 were 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 thunder-shower ; and now
' The arena swims around him — he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
526
Pakt XI.
3. He heard it, but he heeded not : his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away :
He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube hiy.
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother ; he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday :
All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire.
And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire.
LESSON XXII. — THE REVOLT OF SPARTACUS, 72 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 oth%r 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 proBtorian and two consular armies were completely de-
feated by them. The war lasted more than two years, and
at one time Rome itself w^as in danger ; but the rebels, divi-
ded among themselves, were finally overcome, and nearly ex-
terminated by the Pra3tor Crassus, the growing rival of Pom-
pey. The circumstances of the revolt of Spartacus have been
thus described :
3. "It liad been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus,
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
lieard save the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its story
to the smooth pebbles of the beach ; and then all was still as
the breast when the spirit has departed. In the deep recesses
of the amphitheatre a band of gladiators were assemSled,
Part XI. ancient history. 521
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 forth
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 we 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 what 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
off* my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, ^d 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 my friend. He knew me,
smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; the same 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 praetor that the
dead man had been my friend, generous and brave, and I beg-
ged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral
528
Part XI.
pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay, upon my knees, amid the
dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while
all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins
they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming
it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn
pale and tremble at sight of that ^^ece of bleeding clay!
And the praetor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly
said, " Let the carrion rot ; there are no noble men but Ro-
mans !" And so, ioilow-gladiators^ must 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 !
Y. " ' 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 pat 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 fast 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
men^ follow me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountaui
passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old
Therraopylaaif' 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.
LESSON XXIII. — THE CONSPIRACY OF CATILINE.
Scarcely had the revolt of Spartacus been quelled, when
the Roman republic was brought to the brink of destruction
by a conspiracy headed by the infamous Catiline, a monster
PaktXI. ancient history. 529
of wickedness, who had *acted a- distinguished part in the
bloody scenes of Scylla's tyranny. At this time Caesar 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,
while the only two eminent Romans who boldly determined
to uphold 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 fceen 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 conspirators 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 right ! — 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 \s false. I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer : let my actions speak.
dc. (Interrupting.) 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 oflSces to every slave ; [Looking around.
Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb ;
z
530 willson's fifth keadee. PaktXI.
And, having wound their loathsome track tft the top
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome,
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,
fn which your properties are made
Your murderer's hire.
[^A cry without, '•'■ More prisoners T^ Enter an officer ivith letters for Cic-
ero, who, 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 o;i 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. (Rising haughtily.) Come, consecrated lietors, 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,
[ The 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' !" Who says 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 scoffi'' 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 Scrgius Catiline, by the decree of the senate,
you are declared an enemy and alien to the state, and banished from the
territory of the commonwealth." [ Jjovjim; to the lic.tors.
Lietors, drive the traitor from the temple.
Cat. *' Traitor !" I go— but I return. This trial I
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 yotir hearths, my lonls !
For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods.
Part XL ANCIENT HISTORY. 531
Shapes hot from Tartarus ! all shames and crimes —
"Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. — Ckolt.
LESSON XXIV. — WARS of c^sar 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 Caesar and Pompey, and the
vast Roman world was divided into two hostile camps. In
a great battle, which was fought on the plains of Pharsalia,
in Thessaly, Caesar was victorious, and Pompey, fleeing to
Egypt, was slain by order of the Egyptian king Ptolemy,
who hoped thereby to secure the favor of Caesar.
2. After the fall of Pompey, Caesar passed into Africa,
where was a large party 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 SOLIl^QUY.
[Thia should be read or spoken deliberately, and the countenance and voice should in-
dicate that the mind is employed in solemn contemplation.]
3. It must be so. Plato', thou reasonest weir !
Else whence this pleasing hope\ this fond desire\
This longing after immortality^ ?
Or whence this secret dread and inward horror
Of falling into naught^ ? Why shrinks the 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 ni(! :
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us
532 willson's fifth reader. PaktXL
(And that there 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 swprd.
6. Thus I am doubly arm'd. My death 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 C^SAB.
1. After Caesar had finished the war in Africa, the Roman
senate created him dictator for ten years ; he was appointed
censor of the public morals, and his statue was placed oppo-
site that of Jupiter in the Capitol, and on it was inscribed
" To Ca3sar, 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 prjetprs Cassius and Brutus, formed a conspir-
acy to take his life, and ^ped on the day of the meeting of
the senate for the execution of their plot. As soon as Ca3sar
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 following
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.
B7-U. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.
Cassius, go you into the other street,
And part the numbers.
Those that will hear me speak', let them stay here^ ;
Those that will follow Cassius', go with him^ ;
And public reasons shall be rendered
Of Caesar's death.
1st Cit. I will hear Brutus speak.
2c? Cit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their reasons
When severally we hear them rendered.
\_Exit Cassius, with some of 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 Caesar's', to him I say that Brutus's love to Caesar was
no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against
Caesar', this is my answer^ — Not that I loved Csesar less', but that I loved
Rome more\ Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves', than
that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen' ? As Csesar 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 offended. Who is here so vile that will not
love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. 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 Cap-
itol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offenses
enforced, for which he suffered death.
Enter Antony and others, with Ccesar^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 !
1st Cit. Bring him with triumph home to his house. ,
2d Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors.
3c? Cit. Let him be Caesar.
4fA Cit. Caesar's better parts
Shall now be. crowned in Brutus.
1st Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors.
Bru. My countrvmen —
Z*
534 WILLSON's fifth reader. PaktXI.
2d Cit. Peace 1 silence ! Brutus speaks.
1st Cit. Peace, hoi
Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone.
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony :
Do grace to Caesar'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.
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit.
1st Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony.
3c/ 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 ?
Zd Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake,
He finds himself beholden to us all.
Uh Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.
1st 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 btiry'' Caesar, 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 Caesar 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^ ;*
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 falling Inflection In frequently given to "honorable," and the rising to " man:"
hut Antony would hardly have ventured upon irony so open, while his auditors were m
little prepared for it. The rising circumflex nhould bo distinctly given to the word " hon-
orable."
Paet 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 Caesar,
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,
Caesar has had great wrong.
3o? Cit. Has he, masters ?
I fear there will a worse come in his place.
Aith Cit. Marked ye his words ? He would not take the crown ; there-
fore 'tis certain he was not ambitious.
1st Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it.
2d Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weeping.
Sd Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.
4ith Cit. Now mark him ; he begins again to speak.
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Csesar 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 Csesar ;
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 Caesar'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.
4:th Cit. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony.
Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Cesar'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 !
4tth Cit. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony ;
You shall read us the will — Caesar'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.
636 willson's fifth reader. Paet XI.
4:th Cit. They were traitors^ Honorable men' !
at. The will ! the testament !
2d Cit. They were villains, murderers. The will — read the will I
Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will ?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave?
Cit. Come down.
2d Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the pulpit.
3d Cit. You shall have leave.
4:th Cit. A ring; stand round.
1st Cit. Stand from the hearse, 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 Caesar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked or no ;
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel :
Judge, oh you gods, how dearly Caesar 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 Pompe^s statue.
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen I
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!
2c? Cit. Oh noble Cffisar !
3d Cit. Oh woeful day !
4/A Cit. Oh traitors, villains ! t
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, countrymen.
1st Cit. Peace, there 1 hear the noble Antony.
2d Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with liim.
PabT XI. ANCIENT HISTORY. 687
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 they 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 j
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 Ceesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me ; but, were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cagsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
LESSON XXVI. — END OP 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 with drawn weapons and flaming torches, de-
nouncing vengeance against the conspirators. Brutus and
Cassius, and their adherents, fleeing to Greece, and thus 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 Csesar,
and civil war for a time raged in Italy.
2. At length Antony and Octavius, having agreed to settle
their difierences, 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 Csesar ;
He only, in a general honest thought,
538 willson's fifth EEADEB. Pakt XT.
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, 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, Octavius returned to Italy
at the head of his legions, and Antony remained master of
the eastern provinces. While Antony was 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, neglectful 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, w^ho were glad to seek refuge
from anarchy and civil war in a military despotism, 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 republic ends. The senate then confer-
red upon Octavius the title of Augustus, or " the Divine."
After a brief period of wars in some of the distant provinces,
peace was established throughout the vast domains of the
empire. It was at this auspicious period that Jesus Christ,
the promised Messiah, was born, and thus literally was his
advent the herald of " peace on earth and good-will toward
HISTORIC ASSOCIATIONS.
Whatever withdraws . us from the power of our senses,
whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predomi-
nate over 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, over
any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or
virtue. That man is little to be envied whose patriotism
would not gain force upon the plains of Marathon, or whose
piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of lona. —
Dr. Johnson.
KEY
TO THE SOUNDS OF THE LETTERS, AS DESIGNATED IN TflE SCHOOL AND
FAMILY READERS.
The system of pronunciation here adopted is that of Noah Webster, as
contained in the later and improved editions of hi^ Dictionary ; and the
indicative marks used are the same as those found in Webster's late "Pro-
nouncing and Defining Dictionary," edited by Prof Goodrich.
Ja, long^ as in fame, aim, day, break, cake, make; heard also in saU, veil, gauge, inveigh.
A, short, as in fat, at, carry, tariff; heard also in plaid, bade, raillery, etc.
X, Italian^ as in fiir, father, biilm, piith ; heard also in heart, hearth, aunt, haunch.
A, as in care, air, share, pair, bear, fair, parent ; heard also in where, heir.
A, as in last, aek, grass, dance, bninch, staff, graft, pass, chance, chant.
■A, sound of broad a, as in all, call, talk, haul, swarm, awe; heard also in naught, taught.
iA., short sound of broad a, as in what, wash. This coincides with the o in not.
E, long, as in me, mCte, scheme ; heard also in beard, field, leisure, brief, seize, key.
£, short, as in met, merry ; heard also in feather, heifer, leopard, any, friend, guess.
£, like & in cure ; as in there, their, heir, where, ere, e'er, whene'er, etc.
E, short e before r, as in tenn, verge, verdure, prefer, earth.
E, like long a, as in prey, they, survey.
J, 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, microscope. '
X, short, as in pin, fin, pit ; heard also in sieve, since, been (bin), etc.
1, short, verging toward m, as in bird, firm, virgin, dirt.
O, long, as in note, oh, no, dome; heard also in course, yeoman, roll, port, door, etc.
6, short, as in not, bond ; heard also in coral, Corinth. It coincides with the a in what.
<5, like short «, as in d6ve, love, son, done, worm;, heard also in d6es (duz), none (nun).
6, like long oo, as in prove, d(3, move, tomb, lose, who, to.
^, like short oo., as in wolf, Wolsey. This sound coincides with that of u in bull.
OO (short oo\ as in foot, book, wool, wood.
u, long, as in mute, dfity, cube, unite, has the sound of yu, slightly approaching yoo when
it begins a syllable ; but in other cases it is difficult to distinguish the sound of the y.
u, short, as in but, tub, sun ; heard also in does (duz), blood (blud), etc.
C, long, nearly approaching oo when preceded by r, as rule, rude, riby.
U, like 00 (short oo), as in full, bull, pull, push, put (not put).
E (italic) marks a letter as silent, as fallen, token.
CONSONANTS.
C c soft (unmarked), like s sharp, as in cede, mercy.
€ « Jtard, like k, as in call, carry.
CH ch (unmarked), like tsh, as in child, choose,
cH ch soft, like sh, as in machine, chaise.
■CH €h hard, like k, as in chorus, epoch.
G g hard (unmarked), as in go, gallant.
6 g soft, like j, as in gentle, aged.
8 8 sharp (unmarked), as in same, gas.
ffi s soft, like z, as in has, amuse.
TH th sluxip (unmarked), as in thing, path.
TH th flat or vocal, as in thine, their.
N° like ng, as in lounger, con'gress.
PH like / (unmarked), as in phaeton, sylph.
QU like kw (immarked), as In queen, inquiry.
Wn like hio (unmarked), as in when, while.
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF WRITERS
FBOM WHOM SELECTIONS ABE TAKEN, OB QUOTATIONS MADE, IN TIIE FIFTH BEADEB.
Addiaon, Joseph, 28, 29, 39,
79, 84, 631.
^schylus, 502,
Aird, Thomas, 463.
Akenside, 199.
Anonymous (the principal
only), 46, 102, 12T, 138, 150,
165, 176, 243, 245, 252, 250,
304, 351, 352, 303, 389, 392,
396, 398, 407, 414, 424, 433,
434, 471, 430, 486, 494, 495.
Aristophanes, 509.
Arnold, Edwin, 153.
Arnott, Dr., 343, 355.
Ausonins, 229.
Barrington, 146.
Beattie, William, 290.
Bell, Sir Chns., 105, 107, 111.
Blair, 23, 310.
Brande, 388.
Browne, Miss M. A., 199.
Bryant, 43, 306, 314, 372, 379,
Buckland, Dr., 466.
Bulleid, 221.
Bulwer (Sir Edward Bulwer
Lytton), 215, 285, 505.
Bums, U., 430.
Byrom, 48,
Byron, G. G., 119, 181, 185,
287, 307, 421, 502, 5'25.
Campbell, T., 167, 177, 204.
Carey, J., 150.
Carlyle, Thomas, 492.
Chambers, Kobt., 44, 195, 214.
Chatham, Earl of, 22.
Childs, Mrs., 524.
Cicero, M. T., 22, 28, 29, 40.
Clark, Willis Gaylord, 375.
Coleridge, Hartley, 2, 388.
Cook, Eliza, 201, 322.
Cooper, Sir Astley, 127.
Cowley, 150.
Cowper, 168, 175, 180.
Crabbe, 140.
Croly, George, 529.
Cutler, G.W., 356, 432.
Cuvier, 262,
Dale, 521.
Darwin,162, 204,343, 345,349.
Davy, Sir H., 482.
De Kav, 260.
Delille,"207,
Demosthenes, 36.
Denham, 40,
De Quinrey, Thomas, 78, 132,
Dewey, 492,
Dickens, Charics, 163, 4^5.
Doane, George W., 49, 501,
Dodge, N. S„ 180.
Downing, A. J., 293, 296, 302.
Draper, John W,, 120, 123,
Drayton, 175.
Drummond, 396.
Dryden, John, 36, 176,
Eclectic Review, 112.
IClliott, 305,
l^Uis, 257.
ICmerson, Ralph W., 305.
Fenner, G. <.;., 211.
Gay, John, 131.
Gcrmanicus, 29.
Glover, Richard, 501.
Goethe, 157.
Goldsmith, Oliver, 132, 381.
Good, John Mason, 166.
Goodiich, 65.
|Gould, II. F.,431.
I Gray, Mrs. J. L., 67.
Gray, Thomas, 32, 33, 88, 445,
Greenwood, 405.
Grimke, 76.
Guyot, 374, 377.
Halleck, Fitz Greene, 38.
Hamilton, Dr., 233.
Harvey, 100,
Heber, Bishop, 414.
Hemans, Mrs,, 147, 298, 308
421, 488,
Henry, Patrick, 222.
Herschel, Sir J. F, W„ 487,
Hitchco«k, Dr. , 391,
Holmes, Oliver W., 12, 85.
Homer, 179, 303, 431.
Hood, Thomas, 184, 430.
Hooker, Worthington, 98,117.
Horace, 231, 328,
Howison, 406.
Howitt, Mary, 194, 205, 465,
Howitt, William, 372.
Humboldt, 188, 376.
Hunt, Leigh, 157.
Hunt, R., 171, 417, 442, 444.
Irving, Washington, 173, 178.
Jameson, Mrs., 278.
JeflFrey, Francis, H.56,
Jewsbury, Mrs,, 504,
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 39, 130.
Johnson, E., 104.
Johnston, Prof., 420, 427.
Juvenal, 230, 254.
Kellogg, l!l, 527.
Kennedy, 417.
Landon, Miss (L. E. Maclean),
169, 260, 304.
La Bruycre, 48.
Lacon, 222.
Lardner, D., 96.
Le Sage, 216.
Lindley, 188.
Linna;us, 142,
Literary Wortd, 295.
London Atlas, 136.
London Morning Chron., 116,
Longfellow, 177, 182, 210, 315.
Loudon's Magazine, 298.
Lowell, James KuBsell, 185,
Lyell, 387.
Lyons, 146.
-Macaulay, T. B., 513, 617,
Mackay, Chas,, 129, 418, 432,
Mant, Richard, 139.
Mantell, 1 )r. ,473, 474,487, 488.
Marsdcu, 40, 50
Maiiry, Lieut., 209.
Millor, IL, 463, 469, 471, 476.
Milton, 29,41,142,223,420, ir>8.
Muntgoirtery,80, ISS, 239, 246,
863, 481.
Moore, Thomas, 149, 152, 166,
169, 243, 247.
Morris, (r. 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, 24L
Ovid, 180.
Park, Mungo, 200.
Parkinson, 487.
Percival, J. G., 369, 397, 402.
Picton, J. A., 303.
Pierpont, John, 184, 311,
Poe, Edgar A,, 219, 489.
PoUok, 178.
Pope, Alexander, 22, 23, 30,
84,40,53,434,
Prentice, George D., 384
Prior, 162.
Proctor, Bryan W,, 394.
Read, T, Buchanan, 408.
Richards, Capt., 238.
Richter, Jean Panl, 312.
Roberts, Sarah, 192.
Roscoe, W,, 154.
Saxe, J, G., 355,
ScliUler, 426.
Scoresby, 263.
Scott, Sir Walter, 33, 171, 176,
198, 291, 292, 382, 496,
Shakspearc, 19, 31, 3'2, 35, 38,
40, 41, 42, 78, 82, 110, 177,
197, 273, 274, 417, 461, 533.
Shelley, 162, 386.
Sigoumey, Mrs., 158, 809,371.
Simms, W. G., 357.
Smith, Charlotte, 209, 300.
Smith, Horace, 471.
Somerville, Mrs., 399.
Sophocles, 235, 610.
Southey, Mr.-«,, 159.
Southey, R., 71, 176, 837, 413.
Spenser, 110, 223.
Sprague, Charles, 135, 222.
Swainson, 52, 240, 254.
Tasso, 109.
Taylor, Jane, 281.
Tennyson, 331,
Thomson, Ja6., 131, 145, 152,
187, 2(tl.
Tapper, .M. F., 143, 195, 21 i.
Twamloy, Mrs., 167, 187.
Virgil, 36, 70, 152,177,184,187.
'Walker, .^idney, 76,
I Walton, Izaak, 229,
Warton, 289.
Webster, Daniel, 47.
While, Henry Kirke, 194
IWillis, N. P., 103.
|WiI.-*on,John,.395,409.
Winthrop, Robert C, 320.
l^Voodworth, Samuel, 334
IWolcott, John, 456.
Wordsworth, William, INJ,
166, 243, 27'?, 48^ 498.
,Varrell,2r)2,257.
1 Young, Edward, 40, 42.
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