CHAPTER II

.

_WHAT MAY BE SEEN UPON THE EARTH._

"I care not, Fortune, what you me deny; You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living streams at eve."

[Illustration]

Of all the strata composing our planetary mass, the most important, so far as man is concerned, is, at the same time, the most superficial; for it is here that all the phenomena of life transpire. Our vegetable earth is the great laboratory in which are prepared all the solid, liquid, and gaseous aliments necessary for the nourishment of animal life. It is on the surface of the globe that men play their various parts. And why? Can it be for no other purpose than to modify, in some degree, its aspect, that they occupy the terrestrial surface? One would be tempted to think so on consulting what these majestic _bimanes_ pompously designate their "Universal History." Regions formerly blooming with fertility,--gay with gardens, and orchards, and meadows,--musical with brooks, and glorious with harvest,--are now uncultivated and barren. Monuments which seemed adapted to defy the winds and the rains, and the corroding touch of the years, lie shattered in ruins; and with them the once populous cities and the once mighty empires of which they were the pride. The jackal howls among the broken columns of Tadmor; the sand-drifts have accumulated above the splendour of Memphis and Thebes. With their stones other monuments are raised, other cities are embellished, and other empires, which, in their turn, undergo the same unalterable fate: a perpetual relation of human forms, in every respect comparable with that which transpires in the bosom of the prolific earth, our common mother and nurse.

But why do men wander so far from the straight way? Why do they their best to ensure each other's unhappiness? They seem, alas! ignorant of the tendency of their actions, while attaching themselves to things transitory, and despising things imperishable. These, indeed, they would utterly ignore; they would live, like the brutes, unconscious of their destiny, if, at the bottom of their indestructible conscience, there did not prevail a glimmer of light, though more or less eclipsed, if they did not all feel themselves attracted, if they did not all irresistibly gravitate, some more quickly, others more slowly, towards the sun of eternal truth and justice. Instead of moving with sidelong sinuous pace, instead of taking ninety-nine steps backward for every one hundred taken in advance, they would all march onward in the way of progress; were it not that they pass their time in clipping their own wings; were it not that, to bend their heads the better--_Veluti pecora ventri obedientia_--they check the aspiring flight of that thought which would soar beyond the present; in a word, were it not that they lay a sacrilegious hand--unfortunate wretches!--on that which God Himself has respected in His creature--Liberty! The doubt which perplexes us as to the great problem of our destiny,--the doubt which allows so much latitude to the workings of our conscience,--does it not indicate the path we ought to follow? Should not men regard their freedom with peculiar reverence, when the Divinity they invoke has mercifully refrained from fettering it? Creatures of a day, who live as if you would never die! the contradictions and the miseries of which you so incessantly complain, are your own work. Help, help yourselves, by the development of your faculties, by the cultivation of your heart and mind, for herein you shall see the law and the prophets. Barren lip-service is nothing better than blasphemy!

* * * * *

But let us return to the ground which we tread, and where our life-companions are the animals and the plants.

* * * * *

The uppermost stratum of our globe undergoes the direct action of the light and heat of the all-vivifying "orb of day." This action, very unequal in its effects, and most important to understand, has scarcely been touched as yet by scientific research. Our geologists, having been more busily engaged with the inside than the outside of the earth, have broached certain plausible theories--for the most part of a very dubious character--respecting the central fire, Plutonism and Neptunism, the stratification of the planets, the formation of mountains, valleys, and basins. Our mineralogists, thinking far less of the chemical molecular constitution of the different formations than of their crystalline constitution, have minutely studied the physical qualities and geometrical forms of the integral parts of the rocks; but neither have condescended to direct their inquiries to the layer of soil trodden underneath their feet. Yet this very layer of arable earth, to which all bodies must return after death what they have taken from it during life,--this much despised _humus_, furnishes all our agricultural products, the very foundation and support of our material existence.

To touch industrial occupations--to meddle with trade, commerce, or agriculture--is unworthy of Science! Such is the silly cry of the many distinguished savants who pride themselves on what they call their "freedom from selfish considerations."

Be it so; but then you ought surely to be consistent, and never regard science as a profession or a bread-winner.

ON THE CHEMICAL ACTION OF LIGHT.

It is no easy study to investigate the modifications and chemical effects which the terrestrial surface is capable of receiving or undergoing, either from the direct rays of the sun, or from diffused light. It requires new methods of inquiry,--methods frequently of extreme delicacy, as the labours of Bunsen and Roscoe, of Kirchhofer and Tyndall, have abundantly demonstrated. Let us here confine ourselves to establishing the fact that the chemical action of light varies according to the geological constitution of the soil,--according to the diurnal and annual obliquity of the solar rays,--according to the hours of the day,--according to the latitudes and seasons. The maximum of effects is manifested about the times of the solstices.

For the better co-ordination of these phenomena, might we not, as has been done in regard to the distribution of heat over the terrestrial surface,[78] link together by lines the points of equality? We should thus create an aggregate of _iso-photo-chemical_ lines,--diurnal, mensual, and annual,--of incontestible utility for the progress of general physics and meteorology, which are still in their infancy.

But to realise this magnificent programme, the union and agreement is necessary of scientific men in every region of the globe; an ideal, therefore, as yet, is very far from being attained.

THE ACTION OF HEAT.

The earth is subject to the influence of two different sources of heat. One, like the arterial blood, strikes from the centre to the circumference: this internal heat it is which has been stored up since the unknown epoch when our globe was nothing more than an incandescent nucleus, surrounded by condensable vapours. The other, like the venous blood, flows from the circumference towards the centre: this is the solar heat which the earth continues to receive through its crust.

The first of these sources lies beyond the domain of experiment. It has been the object of numerous hypotheses and diverse speculations, with which we shall not here concern ourselves. The second source is alone accessible to our investigations, and yet the network of _isothermal lines_ is scarcely defined.

Since the year 1817, when Alexander von Humboldt conceived the felicitous idea of representing by lines the same mean temperatures enjoyed, in a given space of time, by the different regions of the globe, researches of this nature have very considerably multiplied. But these researches--do not forget--refer rather to the temperature of the atmosphere than to the heating of the inferior stratum of that gaseous ocean whose bed or foundation is the terrestrial crust. And it is the penetration of the latter by the sun's calorific rays which we would especially desire to understand. Here, then, a sufficient margin is left for our curiosity.

"If the king, my father, does not rest from his conquests," cried Alexander of Macedon, while still a child, "he will leave me nothing to do when I shall have reached manhood." To such a complaint, be you sure, dear reader, that the conquests made by science will never give rise. Every step in advance is but a step into the infinite: what we have done only shows us the boundless extent of what we have to do.

It is this reflection which must always teach humility to the scientific student, even while he rejoices in the achievements of human patience and genius. He will not despair for he knows that great victories have been won: he will not grow arrogant, for he knows that he is still on the threshold of eternal truth. As Sir J. Herschel has justly said:--"He who has seen obscurities, which appeared impenetrable, in physical and mathematical science, suddenly dispelled, and the most barren and unpromising fields of inquiry converted, as if by inspiration, into rich and inexhaustible springs of knowledge and power, on a simple change of our point of view, or by merely bringing them to bear on some principle which it never occurred before to try, will surely be the very last to acquiesce in any dispiriting prospects of either the present or the future destinies of mankind; while, on the other hand, the boundless views of intellectual and moral, as well as material relations, which open to him on all hands in the course of these pursuits,--the knowledge of the trivial place he occupies in the scale of creation, and the sense continually pressed upon him of his own weakness and incapacity to suspend or modify the slightest movement of the vast machinery he sees in action around him, must effectually convince him that humility of pretension, no less than confidence of hope, is what best becomes his character."[79]

The temperature of the terrestrial surface perpetually varies under the influence of local as well as general causes. Had this fact been known to the philosophers of antiquity, they would have taken advantage of it to liken the earth to an animal whose skin is more or less sensible of heat, not only according to the difference of the seasons, but according to the different hours of the day.

The diurnal thermometrical variations are those which penetrate the least profoundly into the interior of the soil. At a depth of about five feet they cease to be perceptible. The maxima and minima of the year, however, can be detected at a sufficiently considerable depth. The limit descends as low as 80 to 100 feet. Below 100 feet, the terrestrial stratum is found invariable,--that is, inaccessible to the thermometrical changes of the atmosphere. It is remarkable that the temperature of this stratum differs but little from the mean annual temperature of the air, which, in the latitude of London, is 49°.

* * * * *

The maxima and minima of the yearly heat are propagated very slowly in the earth, and their difference gradually becomes less and less. Thermometers buried 26 feet deep in the ground, mark, in our latitudes, the maximum of temperature only on the 10th of December, and the minimum on the 15th of June. But there are certain elements which we must take into account. Thus, the depth of the invariable thermometrical curve depends both on the latitude of the place, on the conductibility of the strata, and the difference between the highest and lowest temperature of the year. The less this difference, the more nearly does the invariable stratum approach the surface. Here we have the reason why, in the intertropical torrid zone, where the temperature scarcely varies above two or three degrees in the whole year, the invariable curve is not found more than forty centimetres beneath the surface.

* * * * *

In the temperate zone, lying between the torrid and the frigid zones, the same phenomena assume, apparently, a more complex character; the isogeothermal lines inflect as diversely as the isothermal, and the former are far from running parallel with the latter. And this is easily understood, even without any experiment, for there is no relation between the ever-varied composition of the terrestrial strata, and the much more uniform composition of the atmosphere.

In the frigid zone, the soil remains constantly frozen for an insignificant depth, whatever may be the temperature of the encircling atmosphere. In some regions a stratum of ice and snow eternally reposes on the surface of the soil.

Unfortunately the observations, which require to be undertaken on an uniform plan and under well-weighed conditions, at various points over the whole globe, are as yet far too few to assist us in defining any general currents of heat or cold, whether variable or constant, as prevailing in the lower strata of the gaseous ocean of our planet.

ARABLE LAND.

A more useful picture than that of the isogeothermal lines would be one of all the arable land covering the continents of the Old World and the New,--indicating the composition of this nutritive earth, the nature of the soil on which it reposes, as well as the various kinds of cultivation appropriate in different climates. Here is a work to be achieved,--a work which would benefit the whole human race,--a work differing vastly from the conquests and achievements of too many of those "heroes" the world delights to honour.

"Peace hath her victories More renowned than war."

In this immense task, of which, as yet, not even the outlines have been sketched, particular attention would require to be paid to the _subsoil_; for upon this the success of all cultivation literally depends.

[Illustration: FIG. 69.--_a_, Humus, or stratum of arable earth,--the horizontal line shows the depth reached by the labourer; _b_, subsoil; _c_, subsoil; _d_, arable earth; _e_, humus in an inclined stratum; _f_, humus mixed with subsoil.]

Arable land is the most superficial stratum of the cultivable terrestrial crust; it is this which the plough turns up and subdues; it is this which, properly manured, and enriched by the decomposition of organic matter, furnishes to vegetables their principal nourishment. As it varies in thickness, it necessarily presents one or other of the following circumstances:--1st, The labourer, penetrating the entire stratum of arable earth (Fig. 69, _a_), will strike down to the subsoil (Fig. 69, _b_); or, 2d, he will not traverse the entire stratum (Fig. 69, _c_); or, 3d, after having traversed the entire depth of the humus, he will reach a portion of the subsoil (Fig. 69, _d_); or, 4th, after having gone through both humus and subsoil, he will discover another layer of arable earth, which may be either pure humus, in a thick inclined stratum (Fig. 69, _e_), or humus mixed with the débris of the subsoil.

As for the subsoil, it may, by its composition, completely modify, stimulate, or delay the action of the vegetable mould, however rich this may be in assimilating principles. Thus, where the subsoil is argillaceous, the pluvial waters are arrested by it as by a bed of impervious cement, and render the ground too damp and cold to yield abundant harvests. In such a case subsoil-drainage is the best remedy. But if the earth be porous, the moisture gradually percolates through its various layers, fertilising and warming, communicating to the plants the needful humidity, and assisting in the production of that most glorious of all the scenes of cultivated nature--a corn-field thickly ripe with golden grain. In the poet's "Palace of Art" no finer picture can be seen than this:

"The reapers at their sultry toil. In front they bind the sheaves. Behind Are realms of upland, prodigal in oil, And hoary to the wind."

Oh! a sight to thank God for, and rejoice in, is the field all aglow with the splendour of the harvest!

[Illustration: FIG. 70.--"Behind are realms of upland."]

Without having recourse to chemical analysis, which is within the reach of a very limited number of persons, _clayey_ soils may be distinguished by the vegetable species that most commonly flourish in them: as--

I. _Plants belonging to clayey soils._--The Queen of the Meadows, _Spiræa ulmaria_ (order _Rosaceæ_). Wild Angelica, _Angelica sylvestris_. Common Sorrel, _Rumex acetosa_ (order _Polygonaceæ_), and various kinds of Ranunculaceæ, as _Ranunculus lingua_, _Ranunculus flamma_, and _Ranunculus sceleratus_.

II. _Plants belonging to sandy soils._--Horny Lotus, _Lotus corniculatus_ (order _Rhamnaceæ_). Little Harebell, _Campanula rotundifolia_ (order _Campanulaceæ_). Eyebright, _Euphrasia officinalis_ (order _Scrophulariaceæ_). _Anthoxanthum odoratum._

III. _Plants belonging to argilo-calcareous soils._--Coltsfoot, _Tussilago farfara_ (order _Compositæ_). Wild Mustard, _Sinapis arvensis_ (order _Cruciferæ_). Buckwheat, _Polygonum aviculare_ (order _Polygonaceæ_).

IV. _Plants belonging to a sandy and calcareous soil._--Broom, _Genista scoparia_ (order _Leguminosæ_). Centaury, _Centaurea nigra_ (order _Gentianaceæ_). _Galium verum_ (order _Rubiaceæ_). The Jacobea, _Seneecio Jacobæa_.

V. _Plants belonging to alluvial and marshy soils._--Reed, _Arundo phragmites_, _Poa aquatica_, _Poa fluitans_. Rush, _Juncus conglomeratus_ (order _Juncaceæ_).

After these different soils have been brought under cultivation, the characteristic species, which we have just enumerated, disappear, and are replaced by other plants, which grow, to all appearance, spontaneously, under the name of _weeds_; but, in reality, spring from germs or seeds too frequently mixed up with the different manures, or spread abroad by the agency of birds or the wind.

In reference to this latter consideration, the diffusion of plants, we shall transcribe an interesting passage from Balfour's excellent "Manual of Botany."

"Some plants," he remarks, "are disseminated generally over the globe, while others are confined within narrow limits. Some of the common weeds in Britain, such as chickweed, shepherd's purse, and groundsel, are found at the southern extremity of South America. _Laura minor_ and _trisulca_, _Convolvulus sepium_, _Phragmites communis_, _Cedium Mariscus_, _Scirpus lacustris_, _Juncus effusus_, and _Solanum nigrum_, are said to be common to Great Britain and New Holland. _Nasturtium officinale_, and _Samolus Valerandi_ are very extensively diffused, and they may be reckoned true cosmopolites. They are both natives of Europe, and they occur, the former near Rio Janeiro, the latter at St Vincent. _The lower the degree of development, the greater seems to be the range._ Some cryptogamic plants, as _Lecanora subfusca_, are found all over the globe.

"Man has been instrumental in widely distributing culinary vegetables, such as the potato, and the cereal grains, as well as many other plants useful for food and manufacture. Corn plants, such as barley, oats, rye, wheat, spelt, rice, maize, and millet, are so generally cultivated over the globe, that almost all trace is lost of their native country. They can arrive at perfection in a great variety of circumstances, and they have thus probably a wider geographical range than any other kind of plants.

"As regards these plants, the globe may be divided into _five_ grand regions--the region of _rice_, which may be said to support the greatest number of the human race; the region of _maize_; of _wheat_; of _rye_; and lastly, of _barley_ and _oats_. The first three are the most extensive, and maize has the greatest range of temperature.

[Illustration: FIG. 71.--The Rye District.]

"The grains extending farthest north in Europe are barley and oats. Rye is the next, and is the prevailing grain in Sweden and Norway, and all the lands bordering on the Baltic, the North of Germany, and part of Siberia. Wheat follows rye; it is cultivated in the middle and South of France, England, part of Scotland, part of Germany, Hungary, Crimea, and the Caucasus. We next come to a district where wheat still abounds, but no longer exclusively furnishes bread,--rice and maize becoming frequent. To this zone belong Portugal, Spain, part of France, Italy, and Greece, Persia, Northern India, Arabia, Egypt, the Canary Islands, &c. Wheat can be reared wherever the mean temperature of the whole year is not under 37° or 39° F., and the mean summer heat, for a period of at least three or four months, is above 55°. It succeeds best on the limits of the sub-tropical region. In the Scandinavian peninsula, the cultivation of barley extends to 70° N. latitude, rye to 67°, and oats to 65°. The cultivation of rice prevails in Eastern and Southern Asia, and it is a common article of subsistence in various countries bordering on the Mediterranean. Maize succeeds best in the hottest and dampest parts of tropical climates. It may be reared as far as 40° N. and S. latitude on the American continent, on the western side; while in Europe it can grow even to 50° or 52° of latitude. It is now cultivated in all regions in the tropical and temperate zones which are colonised by Europeans. Millet of different kinds is met with in the hottest parts of Africa, in the South of Europe, in Asia Minor, and in the East Indies."[80]

Professor Houston furnishes the following table in illustration of the distribution of _wheat_ and _barley_. It also shows the mean temperature which they require:--

BARLEY.

Winter Summer Annual Mean. Mean. Mean. N. Lat. 62-1/2° Faroe, 39° 51° 45° 70 Lapland, 22 46 33 67·30' Russia, 9 46 32 57·30' Siberia, 0 60 32

WHEAT.

Winter Summer Annual Mean. Mean. Mean.

Lat. 58° Scotland, 36° 57° 64° Norway, 23 59 39 Sweden, 23 59 39 Russia, 15 60 37 30° Cairo, 57 88 72 Macao, 64 82 73 Rio Janeiro, 68 78 74 Havannah, 71 82 77 Bourbon, 71 80 77

"Winds, water, and animals, are also instrumental in disseminating plants. Many seeds, with winged and feathery appendages, are easily wafted about; others are carried by rivers and streams, and some can be transported by the ocean currents to a great distance, with their generating powers unimpaired."

MUSHROOMS OR AGARICS (_Order_ FUNGI).

Every year--principally in autumn--we are startled by hearing or reading of cases of poisoning by mushrooms. Erudite connoisseurs, however, who have profited by Dr Badham's book on "Esculent Fungi," do not suffer themselves to be intimidated by these sad narratives, though, unfortunately, they are frequently too well founded; because they know how to distinguish the good from the ill, the true from the false, the edible from the poisonous mushroom. But this security ought not to embolden the inexperienced amateur in risking his life for the sake of a delicacy. It is true, nevertheless, that we frequently see men's lives exposed for something less.

"Look, what a splendid mushroom I have discovered!" a lady said to me, the other day; a lady who knew something of flowers, but nothing of _cryptogams_. "Take care!" I replied, taking from her hand the supposed prize; "this is the false mushroom; and would suffice, if served up at your table, to poison yourself and all your guests."

I ought here to observe that my friend had narrowly escaped death two years before, through regaling herself with a dish of mushrooms of very dubious character. Among the symptoms which she experienced, and which she described with medical exactness, she particularly dwelt upon the cold sweats, accompanied by a sentiment of undefinable terror, which is nothing else than the dread of death: it was the special symptom of poisoning with an unwholesome fungus.

Let us endeavour to make ourselves better acquainted with this formidable enemy of epicures. You will have no difficulty in finding it in any warm, close season, but especially in spring and autumn. The toadstool thrives indifferently in the shade of all the forest trees, but seems to prefer the oak and birch to the pine and fir. A patch of soft greensward, at the foot of an old oak, and in the neighbourhood of a "brawling stream" or "tranquil pool," will generally be covered with fungi of this description. The numerous synonyms attaching to it show how greatly it has exercised the _classifying spirit_ of our naturalists. Some call it _Agaricus muscarius_, as if we should say "kill-fly mushroom;" others, changing only the specific designation, designate it _Agaricus pseudo-aurantiacus_,--which signifies, literally, "false orange," in allusion to the beautiful yellow colour of the _true_ aurantiacus. What is certain is, that our mushroom, which can kill men as well as flies, belongs to the genus _Agaric_, so numerous in species that it can be formed into a family, that of the _Agariceæ_. The Agarics, of which the esculent mushroom (_Agaricus edulis_) represents the type, are easily recognised by their more or less fleshy _pileus_, or cap, garnished underneath with _lamellæ_, or gills, which radiate from the centre to the circumference, when the pedicel is in the centre.

[Illustration: FIG. 72.--"At the foot of an old oak."]

But some cryptogamists are unwilling to recognise the _orange mushrooms_ (_les oronges_), whether true or false, as Agarics. They place them in a separate genus, the genus _Amanita_, though without informing us where they found the name. Meanwhile, they justify the formation of the new genus by the presence of the white swelling, the _volva_, or wrapper, of the _mycelium_, or spawn, which entirely covers both the true and the false mushroom on its emergence from the earth. Each, then, is an _Amanita_. But now remark their specific difference. The true mushroom, as it develops, ruptures its ovoid wrapper, or volva, leaving the remains entirely at the base of the pedicel; while, in the false mushroom, the débris of the volva are formed, not only at the base of the pedicel, as in the real Agaric, but even upon the red surface of the pileus itself: these are the white irregular warts characteristic of the Amanita, but wholly wanting in the Agaricus. Thus, there are two Amanitas: the _Amanita muscaria_, or "fly agaric," and the _Amanita aurantiaca_, or, as the English botanists call it, _Agaricus Cæsareus_, the imperial mushroom.

This fanciful "study" in nomenclature has the advantage of initiating us into the most essential distinctive characters of the two species in question. However, a few additional details are necessary to complete our history.

THE FLY AGARIC, OR AMANITA MUSCARIA.

The species seems to have been expressly created to teach our gourmands the necessity of vigilance; that before enjoying a dainty they must first learn to distinguish, under penalty of death, the poisonous fungus from that which safely and pleasantly tickles the palate. The warning is useful, moreover, as showing that even sensualists are not wholly exempt from the law of work.

The _Amanita_, like most falsehoods, is pleasant to the sight. Its round pileus, of a beautiful orange-red colour, spotted with white warts, and lined with white gills, seems to invite your attention. (Fig. 73.) Strike it down with your stick; the lamellæ or gills underneath resemble the white leaves of a book. Its graceful stalk, ornamented on the upper part by a well-designed necklet, is bulbous in its lower portion; its flesh is dazzlingly white; in short, its entire appearance is attractive. Yet it is a traitor! You little know the depth of its wickedness. Mix a few shreds of its white flesh with a little milk; every fly which drinks of the mixture will, in a few seconds, fall dead, their swollen abdomen bearing testimony to the effect of the poison. And in many districts of Germany, particularly in Thuringia, the peasants make use of it to rid themselves of the swarms of flies which, towards the close of summer, infest their habitations. It is thus that man may frequently turn to his advantage those objects of nature which, at the first glance, appear injurious rather than useful.

[Illustration: FIG. 73.--The _Amanita Muscaria_.]

Various experiments have been essayed to test the intoxicating influence of our _Amanita_. Bulliard, author of the "Histoire des Champignons de France," made two cats partake of it. Six hours afterwards, these animals, who are so tenacious of life, were dead.

Haller, in his "Histoire des Plantes Vénéneuses de la Suisse," says that "the _Agaricus muscarius_ (_Amanita muscaria_) cannot be eaten with impunity, six Lithuanians having died of it; and in Kamtschatka it has been known to excite deadly attacks of delirium, accompanied by so deep a despondency, that those who have eaten of it would fain fling themselves into the fire, or fall upon their knives or daggers." This, however, we take to be an exaggeration. The truth is, that in Kamtschatka it is used to produce intoxication; and such is its strength, it imparts an intoxicating property to the urine of those who swallow it. When the fungus itself is not at hand, the would-be drunkard frequently resorts to this nauseous potion.

The flesh of the _Amanita_ is not yellow. Yet Vicat speaks of poisonings produced by the _Yellow Amanita_. "I had much difficulty," says this physician, "in saving two families of Lausanne, poisoned through eating a very small quantity of mushrooms, which the father in the one case, and the mother in the other, had mistaken for _Agarici Cæsarei_, though they were both esteemed great connoisseurs, and especially in this species; nor had they been once deceived for upwards of thirty years, until they indulged themselves in this delicious but deceitful dish."

These poisonings could have been occasioned only by the _Amanita_. Some varieties exist, in which the under surface of the pileus is yellow, but the flesh is white. To one of these varieties Vicat's anecdote probably refers.

Thus, the _Amanita formosa_ of Persoon has pedicel, pileus, and warts of the pileus, of a citron yellow. It is but a variety of the _Amanita muscaria_.

The _Amanita umbrina_ of the same botanist (the _Agaricus pantherinus_ of De Candolle) has an olive-coloured pileus; its surface, like that of _Amanita muscaria_, is covered with white scales.

The _Amanita solitarius_ is distinguished by the size of its umbilical cap,--sometimes depressed in the centre,--which is furnished with a great number of white or pale brown scales; when fully developed, it measures from thirty to forty centimetres in diameter. The pedicel is bulbous, with a membranous ring, white as snow, clasped around it; at the base it is clothed in pellicles, the remains of its scaly volva. The flesh is firm, thick, and white. You rarely meet with more than two or three individuals in the same locality; hence its name of _solitarius_. Bulliard speaks of the flesh as good to eat, when cooked on a gridiron, and seasoned with fresh butter, salt, and pepper. It is possible. But as it is so easily confused with the poisonous species, the author of the "Histoire des Champignons" would have done better to prohibit its consumption, whether eatable or not.

We may now turn to the method adopted by Dr Vicat to save the lives of the two families at Lausanne, who, as we have seen, were poisoned by partaking of the _Amanita_:--

* * * * *

I dissolved, he says, six grains of tartar emetic in a litre of water, and from time to time administered a spoonful to my patients; moreover, I made them swallow floods of warm water, sweetened with a little honey,--that is, a large tea-spoonful of honey to a cupful of water.

I had much difficulty to get one of the sufferers, who was sixty years old, to swallow the first few spoonfuls. He was plunged into a lethargic insensibility differing in no respect from complete apoplexy; his teeth were closely set. Those whom I had ordered to administer the mixture had given it up, after several useless attempts; and in all probability the old man would have sunk, had I not had the patience to hold, for some hours, against his teeth the back of the blade of a small silver knife, so as to profit by the few moments when the teeth were a little less firmly clenched. I used some force to make the blade act as a wedge, and after a while opened up a passage to the handle, which, serving as a lever, forced the jaws sufficiently apart to admit the introduction of a spoonful of the emetic. It was not, however, until fully two hours had passed that the patient, having undoubtedly swallowed the necessary dose, began to vomit, with strenuous efforts and frightful cries. This was at midnight. Four in the morning arrived before, after numerous alternations of vomiting and profound lethargy, he began to speak, and then like a man in delirium. After the first vomit, which was inconsiderable, the convulsions of his whole body were so very violent as to require four men to hold him, while I continued to make use of my knife as at first. Nor did I desist until I was satisfied that his stomach had been sufficiently cleansed. After this, I applied two strong blisters to the back of his legs. As these acted, the purging subsided, and at the end of twenty-four hours it had passed away entirely, the invalid finding himself as well as could be expected after sustaining so severe a shock. The other patients, who were not in so much danger, experienced twitchings and tremblings in the face, which quite disfigured them; the brain seemed a blank; though awake, they felt as in a dream, and their visions were most frightful.

It is evident, from these particulars, that mushroom-poisoning specially affects the encephalic nervous system, and that the best remedies are emetics and antispasmodics. In our present ignorance of what are the poisonous principles in the _Amanita_, we can adopt no other method than a chemical neutralisation.

AGARICUS CÆSAREUS, OR IMPERIAL MUSHROOM.

In this mushroom, for which, as we have seen, the _Amanita_ is too frequently mistaken, the inside as well as the outside is yellow; the upper surface of the pileus, which is equally free from scales and warts, is, however, of a reddish yellow, like that of an orange (whence the popular French name, _la vrai oronge_); all the other parts are of a beautiful citron hue. This agaric exhales an agreeable odour, combined apparently of the scent of the vanilla and the truffle. It decomposes rapidly, and when in a state of advanced putridity, the fragrance I speak of is succeeded by--well, by a fearful stench! When young, and still completely covered with its wrapper or _volva_ (this, in the _Amanita_, is imperfect), it is very like a hen's egg which has been partly buried in the ground so as to expose only the larger end. It seems partial to solitude; more than four or five are seldom found in the same locality. Moreover, in autumn it affects the same habitats as the _Amanita_,--which is unfortunate.

It would seem that our imperial mushroom was specially appreciated by the ancients, and it is said that Nero pronounced it a dish fit for the gods. In this circumstance originated the scientific name which has now become popular, and which was first applied to it by the cryptogamist Fries, _Agaricus Cæsareus_.

[Illustration: FIG. 74.--The Imperial Mushroom.]

* * * * *

The _Boletus_ of Pliny appears to have been our Agaricus, and not one of our _Boleti_, which are easily recognised by the numerous tubercular projections covering the under part of the pileus. In proof of this I would point out that the Roman naturalist, after speaking of the _Boleti_ as genuine delicacies, immediately inveighs against them as dangerously poisonous. He relates that it was with one of these, or rather with one of the false mushrooms so easily mistaken for the true, that Agrippina poisoned the Emperor Claudius, to secure the imperial crown for her son Nero.[81]

The virtues of the mushrooms have been sung by Juvenal and Martial. The latter accurately distinguishes the true from the false, when reproaching Cæcilianus with his gluttony.

"Ah, you are used to devour your _Boleti_ alone, in the face of your invited guests; eat then, the _Boletus_ which Claudius ate!"

"Dic mihi, quis furor est? Turba spectante vocata, Solus boletos, Cæciliane, voras. Quid dignum tanto tibi ventri, gulaque precabor? Boletum, qualem Claudius edit, edas."[82]

The best known and most valuable species of Agarici may be briefly enumerated:--

_Agaricus campestris_, or _Common Mushroom_, found in nearly all temperate regions: pileus convex, and white, with a tinge of brown; thick set on the under side with dark brown gills; stem firm and fleshy, and surrounded by a white membranous ring.

_Agaricus Cæsareus_, or _Imperial Mushroom_, the _Kaiserling_ of the Germans, already described.

_Agaricus deliciosus_, or _Orange-milked Agaric_, found in coverts of fir and juniper; pileus viscid, orange, and upwards of four inches broad; gills and juice of a fine orange colour.

_Agaricus procerus_, or _Parasol Mushroom_, found in the shade of trees, on meadows with a sandy soil; stem from eight to twelve inches high, with a thick spongy ring; pileus bell-shaped, and covered with brown scales.

_Agaricus Virgineus_, or _White Field Agaric_, found in rich moist pastures; pileus whitish, and convex; gills of a light chocolate shade; stem nearly two inches broad.

_Agaricus eburneus_, or _Ivory Mushroom_, found in beech woods; grayish-yellow pileus; broad gills; stem long and scaly.

_Agaricus Georgii_, _St George's Agaric_, or _Whitecaps_, found in moist pastures, and in the shelter of old barns, farmhouses, and churches; flesh yellow; gills yellowish-white; pileus twelve to eighteen inches broad; the least valuable of British species of agaric, but useful in ketchup-making.

_Agaricus oreades_, _Fairy-ring Mushroom_, or _Scotch bonnets_, found in meadows, where it grows in circles known as "fairy rings;" pileus seldom exceeds an inch in diameter; stem solid, tough, and fibrous, with a boss or _umbo_ in the centre, of a light brown colour; the flesh white, and of a pleasant odour.

_Agaricus odorus_, _Anise Mushroom_, or _Sweet-scented Agaric_; pileus slightly convex, about three inches broad, and with pale gills; the scent like that of anise; stem strong, fleshy, but not very tall.

_Agaricus formosus_, or _Smoky Mushroom_; so called from the colour of the upper surface of the pileus; the stalk and gills of a pale yellow; grows in fir woods.

_Agaricus primulus_, or _Mousseron_, grows in woods and pastures, where the soil is sandy; pileus convex, yellow, about three or four inches in diameter; gills change from white to flesh colour.

_How many Vegetable Species exist over the whole surface of the Globe?_

I will not do my readers the injustice to suppose that they are unacquainted with the writings of our greatest English poetess, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. They will not fail to have been attracted by the prodigal genius, the superabundant power, the exquisite imagery, the profound spirit of tenderness, the high, pure thoughts, which render almost every page such delightful reading. Successful as she was, however, in giving expression to the most subtle emotions and the intensest feeling, I think she was even happier in her descriptions of scenery. These are invariably aglow with life and colour, and have all the fidelity of Creswick with the imaginative insight of Turner. Turning over her "Aurora Leigh," the other day, I lighted on the following beautiful picture:--

"I flattered all the beauteous country round, As poets use--the skies, the clouds, the fields, The happy violets, hiding from the roads The primroses run down to, carrying gold-- The tangled hedgerows, where the rows push out Their tolerant horns and patient churning mouths 'Twixt dripping ash-boughs--hedgerows all alive With birds, and gnats, and large white butterflies, Which look as if the May-flower had caught life And palpitated forth upon the wind: Hills, vales, woods, netted in a silver mist; Farms, granges, doubled up among the hills, And cattle grazing in the watered vales, And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods, And cottage gardens smelling everywhere, Confused with smell of orchards."

[Illustration: FIG. 75.--"And cattle grazing in the watered vales."]

As I read this fine passage, the thought occurred to me, how many thousands there are who, in such a scene as it so vividly depicts, would see no beauty whatever, whose heart would not respond to it, whose sympathies would not be aroused by all its variety of outline and all its rich magnificence of colour! Yet not in so wide a landscape alone, but in the smallest nook,--in the little clump of elms by the side of the stream, in yonder grassy knoll rising straight up from the old churchyard, in the quiet angle of the green pasture-meadows,--there is a whole world of wonder and beauty for him who has eyes to see and a heart to feel! Look at the flowery bank which runs along the side of an English lane. Is it not crowded with objects of the rarest and purest interest? Count the many varieties of grasses which clothe it so abundantly, count the many species of flowers and herbs which adorn it with a grace beyond all human skill, and acknowledge that in itself it might supply the inquirer with matter for years of study and meditation.

Pursuing this train of thought, I was led to think of the number of genera and species into which the plant world is divided,--a remarkable proof, not only of the power and wisdom, but of the goodness of the Creator, of His desire to furnish man with inexhaustible sources of pleasure and entertainment; and finally, to put to myself the question, How many vegetable species exist over the whole surface of the globe? If this corner of a leafy English lane is so rich in variety, what must be the case with "the wide, wide world?"

I was now brought to see that a question so difficult could, like so many others, be usefully approached only by its _inferior limit_; in other words, that in the actual condition of botanical science, we can but affirm the number which certainly _exceeds_ the sum of the vegetable species scattered over the surface of our earth. To determine this total with mathematical accuracy, we should need to have explored the terrestrial crust, liquid and solid, land and water, from the bed of ocean to the line of perpetual snow, and from the equator to the poles. And as yet we are very far from having obtained so complete a possession of the planet which has been assigned as a dwelling-place to our poor humanity,--alas, more presumptuous than powerful!

* * * * *

The number of plants mentioned by Theophrastus, Dioscorides, and Pliny, whom we take to be the representatives of ancient botany, does not exceed five hundred species. How very few, compared with the presumable total! The Middle Ages added scarcely anything to the botanical researches of antiquity. It is only since the discovery of America that we have seen the domain of Flora extending itself in unexpected proportions. But we must come down to the epoch of Linnæus (the middle of the eighteenth century) before we can obtain an accurate list of species, scientifically classified. Murray's edition of the "_Specilegium_" of Linnæus contains two thousand and forty-two species, including the Cryptogams. Wildmore, in another edition of the same great work, raised the total to twenty thousand. And this was the point at which our botanists had arrived when the nineteenth century opened.

But it was not long before they perceived that all these estimates, large as they seemed, fell immeasurably short of the reality. In attempting to distribute the different species among the then known regions of the globe, Alexander von Humboldt arrived at a total of forty-four thousand species, Phanerogams and Cryptogams included. De Candolle extended the estimate to upwards of fifty-six thousand.

Let us divide, in fancy, the earth into two parts,--one which has been visited by travellers, and one which still remains to be explored. Can you determine which would present the larger area? The latter.

Thus we possess but a very imperfect knowledge of the luxuriant, the glowing vegetation of the tropical and sub-tropical regions of the New World, in spite of the labours of Bates, Agassiz, Wallace, and others. To the north of the equator, we know very little of the flora of Yucatan, Guatemala, Nicaragua, the isthmus of Panama, the Chaco of Antioquius, the province of Los Pastos. We are not much better acquainted with the vegetation of the countries south of the equator. What do we know of the manifold species flourishing in Paraguay, in the province of the Missions, in the immense wooded region between the Ucayali, the Rio de la Madeira, and the Tocantin, three affluents of the mighty river Amazon? We know scarcely anything.

Our ignorance increases if from America we pass to Africa. Nearly the whole interior of this continent, from 15° N. latitude to 20° S. latitude, is, botanically speaking, a blank to us. The same is the case with the greater portion of Central Asia. The floras of the south and south-east of Arabia are still sealed letters,--treasuries to which we have not found the key. As much may be said of the floras of the countries situated between the Thian-Schan, the Kuenlung, and the Himalaya, as well as of the floras of western China, and most of the trans-Gangetic countries. We know still less of the vegetation of the interior of Madagascar, Borneo, New Guinea, and the greater part of Australia. To conclude: we are probably not acquainted with more than one-fifth of the vegetable species which cover the surface of our globe.

There are regions, moreover, which we imagine will always lie outside of our sphere of investigation; such, for instance, are the Polar regions, properly so called. Undoubtedly, it is open to us to conjecture that the Poles--those two extremities of our axis of planetary rotation--are not the home of any form of life. But this is only a conjecture; we are even without an analogy for it; since we have found, as shown in an earlier chapter of the present volume, living beings, plants, and animals, among the snows of our loftiest mountains. Moreover, might not the auroras, whose maximum of intensity occurs exactly at the poles, render life possible in regions where we at present suppose it to be _im_possible? Conjecture for conjecture,--acknowledge that we here touch in both cases upon an element completely beyond our human power.

* * * * *

These, then, are the reasons why, at present, we can only venture upon defining the _lower_ limit, the _restricted_ number, above which we are unable to fix the total of vegetable species living on the surface of our planet.

The method to be adopted has been indicated by Alexander von Humboldt in his "Ansichten der Natur" ("Pictures of Nature"). His method consists in the comparison of the vegetable families whose numerical relations are _known_, with the number of species contained in our herbariums, or cultivated in our botanical gardens.

But here, at the outset, a difficulty confronts us. Does any relation exist between the classification of plants by natural families and by their geographical distribution?

To group plants according to their analogies of structure, we study them from an abstract point of view, and without any regard to the medium in which they flourish. The question grows complicated if we also take into consideration their characteristic conditions and their distribution over the terrestrial surface. Families are then split asunder, and the importance of our scientific classifications disappears.

The gathering together of a small number of species, represented by innumerable individuals, confined within the same area, may suffice to communicate to a landscape its characteristic physiognomy: as, for example, is the case with the Asiatic steppes, the _landes_ of Brittany, the moors of Scotland, the palm-groves and the clumps of Cactaceæ of tropical America. By the side of species which impress us by their _mass_--that is, by the frequent reproduction of the same individuals at an infinitesimal distance from one another--are placed those much more numerous species which are everywhere very thinly sown.

But do the plants themselves follow, from the equator to the poles, the same law of _decrease_ as obtains from the base to the summit of the loftiest equatorial mountains?

Under identical isothermal lines, is the ratio of families known and identified to the probable aggregate of Phanerogams the same, in the temperate zone, on either side of the equator?

What are the vegetable families which preponderate at the two extremes, represented by the torrid and the frigid zones?

Under the same geographical latitude, or between the same isothermal lines, are the Synantheræ, the Gramineæ, the Leguminosæ, the Labiatæ, the Cruciferæ, the Umbelliferæ, more numerous in the Old than in the New World?

What families, either through their mass of individuals or their number of species, take precedence of the other Phanerogams?

How many species of one and the same family belong to any particular country?

What groups or families are characteristic of each zone?

Is the present classification of genera and species in all respects what could be desired?

* * * * *

These are questions that require to be considered, and to some of them we shall presently attempt replies.

Herbariums, though their classification is too frequently imperfect, may furnish us with data of great utility. The great herbarium of Benjamin Delessert was estimated, after his death, to contain 86,000 species,--a total not widely differing from that which Lindley, in 1835, estimated as the probable aggregate of the vegetable species of the world.

Great in importance are botanic gardens. Loudon, in his _Hortus Britannicus_ (ed. 1832), places at 22,660 the number of Phanerogams cultivated in the gardens of the Bristol amateur botanists. With this number we must not confound the living species exhibited, in other counties, in gardens designed for the instruction of students, nor the grand total reared for a similar purpose at Kew. Kunth's enumeration, in 1861, of the plants at the Botanic Gardens at Berlin, one of the richest in Europe, amounted to upwards of 14,000 species, including 375 heaths. Among the Phanerogams were 1600 Synantheræ, 1150 Leguminosæ, 428 Labiatæ, 370 Umbelliferæ, 460 Orchidaceæ, 60 Palmaceæ, 600 Gramineæ and Cyperaceæ, &c. By comparing these data with the number of species described in the works of De Candolle, Walpers, Bentham, Lindley, Kunth, and others, we find that in the Berlin gardens are cultivated only one-seventh of the known species of the Synantheræ, one-eighth of the Leguminosæ, one-ninth of the Gramineæ, and about one-fiftieth of the smaller families, such as the Labiatæ and Umbelliferæ.

* * * * *

Now, if we admit that, on the one hand, the number of phanerogamous species cultivated in all the great gardens of Europe is about 30,000, and, on the other, that the cultivated Phanerogams form about one-eighth part of the species described in books and preserved in herbariums, we obtain a total of 24,000 species.

But the Cryptogams, or Agams, such as heaths, mosses, lichens, mushrooms, fungi, mould, and the like, of which our knowledge, as yet, is very imperfect, are probably much more numerous in species than the Phanerogams; for these vegetables, mostly microscopical, develop themselves wherever life can manifest itself--on the barren and denuded rocks, as well as in the air and in the depths of the ocean. If we suppose that they exceed only by 2000 the estimated number of Phanerogams, we shall obtain a total of just half-a-million!

Such, in our opinion, is the number which approximatively represents the lower limit of the aggregate of vegetable species (phanerogamous and cryptogamous) inhabiting our planet. The innumerable individuals of this half-million of species are born, and live, and reproduce their kind, and die, like the twelve hundred millions of individuals of our solitary human species. The former, it is true, remain fixed to the soil which has witnessed their birth, while the latter wander, more or less freely over the terrestrial surface. Do not animals enjoy the same privilege of locomotion? Undoubtedly. But men boast of the reason and the conscience with which they are endowed. Agreed. But with the exception of a small number--the infinite minority of progress--to what advantage have men employed the reason and the conscience of which they boast?

* * * * *

But this is a digression. We proceed to place before the reader a few final data in illustration of the subject we have been considering--the number of existing vegetable species.

The following is an estimate of the known species of plants on the globe at different dates:--

Phanerogams. Cryptogams. Total. According to Linnæus, 1753, 5,323 615 5,938 Pusoon, 1807, 19,949 6,000 25,949 Stendel, 1824, 39,684 10,765 50,649 Stendel, 1841, 78,000 13,000 91,000 Stendel, 1844, 80,000 15,000 95,000

The advance made of late years in the knowledge of existing species will be apparent from a consideration of Lindley's estimate in 1846:--

Genera. Species. Thallogens, 939 8,394 Acrogens, 310 4,086 Rhizogens, 21 53 Endogens, 1,420 13,684 Dictyogens, 17 268 Gymnogens, 37 210 Exogens, 6,191 16,225 ------ ------- Total, 8,935 92,920

According to Hinds, the following families are almost entirely restricted to particular divisions of the globe:--

_To Europe_--Globulariaceæ, Ceratophyllaceæ.

_To Asia_--Dipterocarpaceæ, Aquilariaceæ, Camelliaceæ, Moringaceæ, Stilaginaceæ.

_To Africa_--Bruniaceæ, Brexiaceæ, Belvisiaceæ, Penæaceæ.

_To North America_--Sarraceniaceæ.

_To South America_--Rhizobolaceæ, Gillesiaceæ, Calyceraceæ, Vochysiaceæ, Simarubaceæ, Monimiaceæ, Humiriaceæ, Papayaceæ, Gesneraceæ, Lacistemaceæ.

_To Australasia_--Goodeniaceæ, Epacridaceæ, Stackhousiaceæ, Brunoniaceæ, Tremandraceæ.

[A group of plants occurring only in one of the six great divisions of the world is called _monomic_, (from μονος _one_, and νομὸς, a _region_).

A group common to two divisions is _dinomic_; to three, _trinomic_; to four, _quatrinomic_; to all the divisions, _polynomic_.]

NATURAL FAMILIES PREDOMINANT IN THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE.

Aceraceæ, Alismaceæ, Amentaceæ, Artocarpeæ (_fam._ Articaceæ), Aurantiaceæ, Berberaceæ, Boraginaceæ, Campanulaceæ, Caprifoliaceæ, Caryophyllaceæ, Cistaceæ, Coniferæ, Cruciferæ, Dipsacaceæ, Elæagnaceæ, Fumariaceæ, Grossulariaceæ, Hamamelidaceæ, Hippocastaneæ (_fam._ Sapindaceæ), Hypericaceæ, Magnoliaceæ, Onagraceæ, Orobanchaceæ, Papaveraceæ, Ranunculaceæ, Residaceæ, Rosaceæ, Rutaceæ, Saxifragaceæ, Umbelliferæ, Vacciniaceæ.

NATURAL FAMILIES PREDOMINANT IN THE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE.

Amaryllidaceæ, Atherospermaceæ, Cactaceæ, Capparidaceæ, Crassulaceæ, Dilleniaceæ, Diosmeæ (_fam._ Rutaceæ), Geraniaceæ, Hæmodoraceæ, Heliotropeæ (_fam._ Ehretiaceæ), Iridaceæ, Malpighiaceæ, Melastomaceæ, Mesembryaceæ, Myoporineæ (_fam._ Verbenaceæ), Myrtaceæ, Oxalidaceæ, Pittosporaceæ, Polygalaceæ, Proteaceæ, Restiaceæ, Scævoleæ (_fam._ Goodeniaceæ), Spigeleæ (_fam._ Loganiaceæ), Stylidiaceæ.

THE HARVEST BUG.

"I very much wish," said my friend T. to me one day, "to buy a small estate in the vicinity of ---- Forest. If there should be one to sell, pray let me know of it."

It was not long before an opportunity arose for my friend to satisfy his desire. But after I had made him acquainted with it, he declared himself no longer willing to purchase a property in a district where, as he had learned, one was devoured by _red beasts_ all through the finest months of the year. What a frightful neighbourhood to live in, where you were forbidden to walk in your garden under pain of catching an itch in your legs!

Unquestionably, it is only too true that the cultivated ground, whether on the northern or the southern slope of the forest, is infested, from the beginning of summer to the beginning of winter, by Lilliputian horrors, like so many tiny red points, which cling obstinately to the skin, and there deposit, under the epidermis, their microscopic brood. Once planted there, the _rougets_, as the French call them, or _harvest bugs_, as we English call them, effect considerable mischief; and if, to relieve one's self, one indulges in "a scratch," the cutaneous surface is quickly covered by small blisters, which on a cursory examination might be taken for a skin affection not generally named in polite hearing.

But one does not perceive the galleries excavated by these annoying insects, positive tunnels or covered ways, through which they proceed to pour forth elsewhere the superfluity of their numerous progeny. Less prolific than the _Acari_, which create upon the skin immense patches of irritation, the harvest bugs confine themselves to a few circumscribed localities: their favourite choice being the legs, the arms, and the corners of the eyes, especially among young children. They are not above domestic animals; cats and dogs frequently suffer from them,--not, indeed, over the whole surface of the body, for they are not so wandering as the _Acari_,--but particularly inside the shell of the ear.

At the first glance you would scarcely believe that those red points, apparently immovable, could be living beings,--could be animals belonging to an order of some importance.

* * * * *

Let us attempt to isolate one of the animalcules with the point of a pin: it is not an easy thing to do, because they usually adhere to the epidermis in clusters of three or four individuals. There, now we have succeeded, and here is one before us: it is only the fifth of a millimètre in diameter, which is, for most people, the very last limit of the visual function (see the small white line in Fig. 76, _a_). And, in truth, it _would_ be imperceptible to the eye but for its bright red colour. To study it carefully, of course, you must make use of a very strong lens, or, rather, of a microscope. (See Fig. 76, _b_.)

[Illustration: FIG. 76.--_a Leptus Autumnalis_ (nat. size). _b_ Ditto (mag.).]

To this tiny animal has been given the name of _Leptus autumnalis_; the first, on account of its extreme delicacy; the second, because it is visible up to the end of autumn.

When examined through a microscope, it produces on the spectator the impression of a spider; but, like all other insects, it has only six legs.

Our naturalists, however, have found some difficulty in classifying it; and by way of cutting the Gordian knot of their embarrassments, some have placed it in a separate family of _Microphthiræ_ (literally "little lice"), which is made to include all Arachnidæ with six legs. Others, who regard the wheat worm as an insect, rank it among the parasitical Apteræ.

In effect, it has all the characters of the parasitical insect--its protracted head, distinct from the rest of its body, is sometimes thrust forward in quest of its food, sometimes drawn back or concealed, to protect it from danger. Intended to suck rather than to knead or bruise, it has a sucker, but no mandibles. The head is without antennæ, and its palpi are very short, barely visible, and of a conical form. The body is ovular and very soft (whence the Grecian name _leptus_, λεπτός, signifying "soft"). The anterior part, corresponding to the thorax, is broader than it is long, and is marked underneath, on each side of the central line, by a black point: these two points, symmetrically placed, appear to represent the eyes.

The posterior portion, corresponding to the abdomen, is longer than it is broad, and covered with hairs. Each leg consists of six joints, easily distinguished by the hairs inserted at each articulation; and each terminates in a couple of strong crooked _claws_, which enable the animal to obtain a firm hold on the skin.

* * * * *

Thus, then, to judge from the aggregate of its characters, the harvest bug, _Leptus autumnalis_, belongs to the class Arachnidæ, while the number of its feet places it in the class Insects. But this is a detail which causes little annoyance to a person being devoured by the "red beasts," and only anxious to rid himself of them.

But if such be his desire, let me tell him that the best remedies are bathing the afflicted part with lotions of vinegar, or rubbing it with sulphur ointment.

I have been asked whether certain tiny parasites, such as the _Ocypete rubra_,--which is also red, and has six feet like the _Leptus autumnalis_, but which, instead of attacking man and his domestic companions, attaches itself to flies,--I have been asked whether these insectiform Arachnidæ may not be species of larva not yet arrived at their matured condition.

For my part, I must acknowledge that, whether the _Ocypete rubra_ is or is not the transitory state of a more perfect animal, I do not know. But I am sure that the _Leptus autumnalis_ lives and dies on the skin where it has selected its dwelling-place,--a _living_ dwelling-place.

* * * * *

It is impossible to be too circumspect in the determination of certain genera and species, whose different phases of existence are little known, and which seem, so far as their characteristics are concerned, to participate of several orders or classes of articulated animals. The errors which have been committed in this respect ought at least to teach us caution.

Thus, the red, oval, six-legged animalcules, whose mobile heads are furnished with a proboscis shaped like an angular beak, and whose two palpi are large and semi-transparent,--the singular animalcules which, in June or July, are hatched in the spongy stems of certain aquatic vegetables,--notably the _Potamogeton natans_,--have been described[83] as forming a peculiar genus of Arachnidæ, the genus _Achlysia_; and this genus, created by Audouin, was ranked along with the _Leptus_ and _Ocypete_ in the family of Microphthiræ. Yet nothing is less exact. These Achlysia are simply the larvæ of a kind of _Hydrachna_ or water-acarus. To be convinced of this, you have but to watch their development. At first very small and pear-shaped, these larvæ, deprived, like all larvæ, of the reproductive organs, rapidly increase in size. At the end of a few weeks you will see them adhering to a leaf of potamogeton; they thrust their proboscis into the stem, and cling to it with their palpi. Little by little, the legs, the proboscis, and the palpi, are drawn back towards the body, abandoning the skin which has hitherto formed for each of these organs a kind of horny sheath. From the larva state, the animal passes into that of the nymph. But this nymph continues to feed and enlarge; proboscis, legs, and palpi grow thinner and harder; claws, ciliæ, and hairs are developed; and, finally, through a fissure in the skin emerges the perfect animal, red as wine, with eight feet, and about two millimetres in length. This animal, placed in the family of the _Hydrachnellæ_, has been described by De Geer under the name of _Acarus aquaticus globosus_, and by Dugès under that of _Hydrachna globosa_, on account of its globular form.

THE CHEESE MITE.

From the crust of a dry old cheese,--such a kind of cheese as a _bon-vivant_ likes with a glass of "good old ale,"--a very fine powder often crumbles off, like the dust made by wood-eating worms.

Examine this powder with your lens, or if you have good eyes, you may make use of _them_. You will quickly detect something moving in it, and by degrees you will see that this movement pervades the whole mass; that there is a general stir and commotion in all directions.

But you find it impossible to distinguish clearly the form of the animals which are thus agitated. You are certain, however, that they are not maggots, for _they_ affect moist cheeses; besides, they are visible enough to everybody, and at need can make themselves _felt_ upon your hands, and even upon your face, for they have a faculty of launching themselves to a distance by a little manœuvre familiar enough to serpents: bringing the head round towards the tail, they curve themselves like the spring of a watch, then abruptly uncoiling themselves with the help of some solid _appui_, they fling forth into the air, and are thus launched to very considerable distances. It is a curious species of locomotion, not unworthy the attention of the mechanician.

To clear up the mystery of a movement whose cause is not apparent at the first glance, let us sprinkle with this impalpable débris,--with this kind of sawdust, or _cheese_-dust,--a little strip of glass, and place it beneath the focus of a microscope.

Ah! you exclaim, what a frightful creature! These long sharp ciliæ seem to be so many lancets covering the whole body, and especially the legs; its head, like that of the harvest-bug, protrudes and recedes under a transparent carapace; thus communicating to the animal something of the aspect of a turtle. In all other respects its form exactly resembles the harvest-bug; only its body is more elongated towards the anterior extremity than that of the latter. While the harvest-bug makes us think of a spider, the body of the Acarus has a greater likeness to an insect's. (Fig. 77.) Yet the Acarus has eight legs, like a spider, and the harvest-bug six, like an insect. Attempt, then, to establish your absolute rules!

[Illustration: FIG. 77.--The _Acarus domesticus_.]

Let us continue our observation of this cheese-worm. The well-defined thorax forms nearly one-third of the fore-part of the body, which is of a shining whitish-red or reddish-white. The proboscis, shaped like a conical tube, is armed with two projecting mandibles, which, like true pincers, can be brought close together, or moved wide apart, thrust forward singly or simultaneously. Our animal, which a small lens makes very distinct, has been more than once confounded with the _Sarcoptes scabiei_.

Let us resume. Our cheese-dust, which to all appearance walks alone, encloses legions of mites; the old you may detect by their eight feet, the young by having six. The germs, or eggs, whence they spring, are found mixed among the excrements of the living, and the débris of the dead.

It is in this way that a crust of cheese offers us a true, a vivid image of the terrestrial crust. So may we learn to compare small things with great.

HOW MANY ANIMAL SPECIES ARE THERE DISTRIBUTED OVER THE SURFACE OF THE GLOBE?

In the present condition of scientific knowledge, no satisfactory answer can be given to this important and most interesting question.

The truth is, that what we may call Geographical Zoology is as yet in its very infancy. The few works which have been published on the subject have been published within the last eighty or ninety years; and they embrace only the vertebrate animals, notably the mammals, birds, and reptiles, or amphibia. We shall attempt to place before the reader an outline of the results that have so far been obtained.

* * * * *

Of all the Vertebrata, we are best acquainted with the mammals. And yet our zoologists differ very widely in respect to the number of their species, though the calculations have been made at very short intervals. For instance, in 1829, Minding computed that the globe contained 1230 species of mammals. In 1832, Charles Bonaparte reduced the total to 1149. Oken estimates it at 1500; and this last figure would seem to be the most probable.

Nothing is more curious than the distribution of these 1500 species of mammals, according to the different regions and climates of the globe.

Man, according to the best-considered data of science, forms a single family, a single genus, a single species. He alone possesses the power of adapting himself to every climate, and of taking possession of countries the most widely opposite in character. We find him among the snows of the North Pole; we find him under the blazing sun of the Tropics. We find him in the palm-fringed islands of Southern Seas, and in the barren burning waste of the inhospitable Sahara. Considered as an animal who feeds and reproduces himself, he forms alone the order of _Bimana_; so named in opposition to the _Quadrumana_, or apes, who make use of their fore-feet as we do of our two hands. Deprive man of his progressive and transmissible intellect--of those mysterious powers which we call the mind and the soul--and he would become at once the most useless and the most wretched member of the animal world.

The warm regions of the old and new continents are the true home and haunt of the apes. They are not sufficiently developed to be able to frequent the temperate or frigid zone. In our European menageries the specimens nearly all die of consumption. The Quadrumana form about one-fourteenth of the whole number of species of Mammalia.

The _Carnivora_, characterised by the development of their canine teeth, are spread over the whole globe. They are found in greater numbers in the torrid, however, than in the frigid zone. Their species compose at least one-third of the Mammalia.

The _Rodentia_, characterised by the development of the incisors, are wanting in Polynesia, and are rare in Australia. They are found in their maximum number in the torrid zone. Like the Carnivora, they form about one-third of the Mammalia.

The _Ruminantia_, remarkable for the development of their digestive apparatus, are distributed into 165 species, representing something less than one-ninth of the Mammalia. Africa, of all the continents, is richest in the Ruminants.

The _Marsupialia_, so strangely distinguished by the membranous pouch in which they enclose their young, belong to America, and especially Australia. At present about 123 species are known, or a little more than one-thirteenth of the Mammalia.

The _Edentata_, so named on account of their incomplete dentition, inhabit the tropical regions of the Old and New World. They are distributed into 32 species, 19 of which belong to America. The Edentata, therefore, do not form more than one-fiftieth of the Mammalia.

The _Pachydermata_, which owe their name to the thickness of their skin or hide, almost exclusively belong to the Old World. None are found in Australia. The number of their species is 38, of which 5 only belong to Southern and Central America. The Pachyderms form, therefore, nearly one-thirty-seventh of the Mammalia.

The _Cetaceæ_,--which the naturalists of antiquity ranked among the fishes, though the females bear their young alive, and are furnished with a mammary apparatus,--chiefly frequent the Northern waters, but some of their species are found in the South Pacific. They represent, it may be assumed, about a one-hundredth part of the Mammalia.

The _Birds_, by their feather-clad bodies, and by the transformation of their two fore-limbs into wings, form the best-characterised class in the whole animal kingdom. But naturalists can no more agree as to the number of their species than as to the number of species composing the Mammalia. Some, taking as a foundation the rich ornithological collection in the Berlin Museum, allow for 6000 species being distributed over the surface of the globe; others, like Lessen, increase the total to 6266; while Dr Gray, no mean authority, raises it to at least 8000.

The majority of the _Raptores_, or birds of prey (vulture, falcon, eagle), as well as nearly all the _Waders_ (stork, crane, heron), and _Palmipedes_ (duck, goose, water-hen), are cosmopolitan birds. The other orders, such as the _Scansores_ (parrot, parroquet, magpie), the _Passeres_ (comprising nearly all the singing birds), and the _Gallinaceæ_ (pheasant, pintado), prefer, as a general rule, the warm temperate regions. They are not found in the extreme north, nor in the equatorial climes, except in limited numbers.

SUMMARY OF THE MAMMALIA.

_Assumed total, 1600 species._

Bimana form 1 species. Quadrumana " 105 (?) " Carnivora " 510 (?) " Rodentia " 508 (?) " Ruminantia " 165 " Marsupialia " 123 " Edentata " 152 " Pachydermata " 38 " Cetaceæ " 18 (?) " ---- 1600

[Of course, the foregoing is but an approximative estimate, but it will provide the reader with a tolerably accurate notion of the proportion borne by the different classes of Mammalia.]

* * * * *

About 5000 species of birds have been classified. By Cuvier's system they are divided into six orders:--

1. _Raptores_, or birds of prey.

2. _Passerine birds_, now generally called _Insessores_, or Perching-birds.

3. _Scansores_, or Climbing, frequently called _Zygodactyli_ or _Zygodactylous_ birds.

4. _Gallinaceæ_, now more frequently known as _Rasores_.

5. _Grallatores_, Waders, or Stilt birds.

6. _Palmipedes_, or Web-footed birds, now more generally recognised as _Natatores_, or Swimmers.

It has been proposed to separate the _Brevipennes_, or short-winged birds, from the Grallatores, and erect them into a separate order.

* * * * *

The _Reptiles_, of which the majority possess the faculty of living upon land and in water,--whence their name of Amphibia,--never pass beyond the limits of warm and temperate climates: their blood, which has the same temperature as the medium wherein they live--whence their name of "cold-blooded animals"--does not circulate where the mean annual temperature descends below freezing-point. Yet frogs and salamanders have been met with in Greenland, and on the banks of the Mackenzie River, in North America, under 67° latitude.

* * * * *

Linnæus was not acquainted with more than 215 species of _Amphibia_, divided into four orders:--the Chelonians, or tortoises; the Saurians (as the lizard and crocodile); the Ophidians (serpents); and the Batrachians (frogs). In 1789, Lacépède raised the total to 303; in 1820, Merrem estimated it at 677. At present, the number of species of Reptilia classified and described amounts to 2000, and the four orders into which they are distributed are--

1. _Ophidia_, or Serpents. 2. _Sauria_, or Lizards. 3. _Loricata_, or Crocodiles. 4. _Chelonia_, or Tortoises.

According to Sching, there are 7 tortoises, 33 serpents, and 35 lizards.

* * * * *

_Fishes_ are the least known of those superior animals whose skeleton and vertebral column are situated in the interior of the body, and which are thence named _Vertebrata_. The richest collections, such as those of the British Museum, and those of the Museum of Natural History in Paris, which contain about 3000 species, do not represent probably more than a fourth of the existing total, including fresh-water and salt-water fish. How many rivers and streams in both hemispheres still remain to be explored! How far we are from a knowledge of the fishes which people the different strata of the great ocean.

Agassiz divides this great class of vertebrated animals into the four orders of _Cycloid, Ctenoid, Placoid, and Ganoid_, according to the character of their scales. Cuvier, into _Osseous_ fishes (with true bones), and _Cartilaginous_; subdividing the former into _Acanthopterygii_ and _Malacopterygii_.

* * * * *

The difficulty of the problem we are here considering increases when we come to the inferior animals. Who would pretend to determine the number of species of _Mollusca_ which inhabit the earth, the fresh waters and the salt? This much is certain, that it cannot be less than that of the Vertebrates.

* * * * *

In the vast aggregate of the _Articulata_, the inquirer finds himself utterly astray and bewildered. This great division is not divided into those which have, and those which have not, articulated members.

The first subdivision includes _Insects_, _Arachnida_, _Crustacea_, and _Myriapoda_; the second, _Annelida_ and _Entozoa_.

Some naturalists, be it said, rank the _Cirrhopoda_ as intermediate between the two; others place them among the Mollusca. Others, again, include the _Rotifera_ in the second subdivision.

We shall in this place confine our remarks to the _Insects_. According to the most distinguished entomologists, the average number of species at present, described or not described, and preserved in entomological collections, is between 150,000 and 170,000.

This estimate is obviously below the truth. Take only the Coleoptera, which forms but one, though, it is true, the most numerous order of insects. Thirty years ago the most complete collections contained about 7000 species. In 1850, the museum at Berlin, according to Alexander von Humboldt, contained nearly 32,000. We would here call the reader's attention to the just remarks of the author of the "Natural History of the Coleoptera," an entomologist of great authority, whom a long residence in America had peculiarly qualified to pronounce an opinion on the subject before us:--

"If we remember," says the Count de Castelnau, "that there are immense regions in Asia and the two Americas of which we do not possess a single coleoptera; if we reflect that the interior of the vast continent of New Holland is, from this standpoint, entirely unknown, and that most of the archipelagoes of the great ocean have never been entomologically explored, we may conclude, without any fear of mistake, that the number of existing coleopteras exceeds _one hundred thousand_. However frightful this number may appear, it will seem less so if we examine only the species discovered in the neighbourhood of Paris, within a radius of twelve to fifteen leagues; and we do not hesitate to say, that in a few years the Parisian fauna alone will present material for a considerable work, which shall not treat of less than 3000 to 4000 species of Coleoptera."[84]

* * * * *

If we admit that the other orders of insects, the Lepidoptera, the Hemiptera, the Hymenoptera, the Neuroptera, the Orthoptera, the Diptera, the Strepsiptera, comprise, taken altogether, at least the same number of species as the Coleoptera alone, we shall gain, for the class of insects, a total of 200,000. And we shall certainly keep within the truth if we assign the same number of species to the Annelida, the Crustacea, the Arachnida, the Myriapoda, and the Monomorpha, to which, with some modification, we may apply the remarks already called forth by the Coleoptera.

Let us recapitulate. The four classes of _Vertebrate Animals_ include approximatively:--

1,600 species Mammals. 5,000 " Birds. 2,000 " Reptiles. 12,000 " Fishes. ------ 20,600

If we add to these 20,600 species of Vertebrate Animals, 200,000 species of Articulata, and 22,000 Mollusca (a minimum), we shall have a total of 242,600.

But to complete the grand whole of beings "who grow, and live, and feel" (the definition of animals laid down by Linnæus), we must add the Intestinal Worms, the Echinodermata, the Acalephæ (or Sea-nettles), and the Polypes. The history of these singular creatures, which apparently form the transition between the animal and vegetable kingdom, and have thence been designated _Zoophytes_, leaves much, very much, to be desired before it will be possible to indicate, even approximatively, the number of their species.

* * * * *

And, finally, what shall we say of the Infusoria? These microscopic forms of life seem, by their extreme multiplicity, to animate all nature. It is in studying these that the inquirer needs to be constantly on his guard, that he may not mistake transitory conditions--or larvæ--for actual species, and it behoves him to understand thoroughly the difficult delimitation of specific characters. It would be far easier to ascertain the exact number of human beings who at present people the terrestrial surface, than to fix the total of the species of Infusoria now in existence; assuredly it exceeds 250,000. What an infinite variety of design is here! What a picture it presents of the inexhaustibility of the Creative Mind!

* * * * *

Add, then,--let us say, in conclusion,--to this last great total the aggregate of the Vertebrates, the Articulates, and the Molluscs, and for our grand whole we have a minimum of _half a million_ of ANIMAL SPECIES! This is the very figure, observe, at which we arrived as representing the lowest limit of the totality of VEGETABLE SPECIES, living and moving, flourishing, and dying, and reproducing, on the surface of the globe.

We leave the reader to meditate--as meditate he surely must--on the sublime thoughts, the overpowering ideas of Power and Wisdom which these considerations suggest.

WHAT IS CHLOROPHYLL?

We are drawing towards the close of autumn; we shall soon be in sight of the "melancholy days of the year;" when, for a while, the "voice of the turtle" will cease in the leafless groves, and the banks and braes will be sadly bare of their floral garniture. As yet, however, the trees retain their glorious vesture, though streaked and varied with the gorgeous colours of decay; and in the sheltered corners of the woods, on the sunny southern slope of the grassy hill, and beneath the covert of the still fragrant hedgerow, many a blossom appeals to our souls with its promptings of sweet images and tender fancies. The arum still raises its clusters of deep-scarlet berries, and spreads its spotted leaf--

"Armed with keen tortures for the unwary tongue;"

the blue-bells hang their delicate cups among the thick herbage; and the wild marigold contrasts its yellow splendour with all this crimson and azure magnificence. The daisy, too, has not forsaken us--sweet shield of silver, embossed with gold!--but brightens still the pleasant meadow and the sloping bank.

[Illustration: FIG. 78.--"As yet, the trees retain their glorious vesture."]

"The rose has but a summer reign, The daisy never dies;"

and though it first makes its appearance in the merry spring-time, and is truly a child of the early year, it lingers on to become a precious ornament of our scanty autumn wreaths. Sweet flower of song!--dearer to the poet than even lily or violet!--who does not remember, and remembering feel, all the pathos of the dying exclamation of poor Keats,--"I feel the daisies already growing over me!" They heighten the commonest and cheer the saddest corners of the earth, and are ever ready, in their simple loveliness, to awaken thoughts of grateful tenderness and love--

"So glad am I when in the daisy's presence, That I am fain to do it reverence."

To what do the leaves, now changing their hues so rapidly, and varying through all the tints of purple, brown, and yellow,--to what do they owe their normal colour, the fresh, vivid, beautiful green?

To a substance called _chlorophyll_--(χλωρὸς, green, and φυλλον, a leaf).

Well, what _is_ chlorophyll?

The colouring matter of plants, which, accompanied by grains of starch, floats like very minute seeds in the fluid of their cells. In some respects it is analogous to wax; it will not dissolve in water, but is easily affected by ether or alcohol.

Chlorophyll is dependent upon the action of light, if not for its formation, at all events for its development. Keep a plant in a dark room or cellar, and it will become blanched and sickly; the colouring matter dries up, and the white, wan tissue of the leaf is all that survives. The more a plant is exposed to the light, the deeper will be its green. In a shrubbery you may notice that the brown leaves of any particular ever-green or bush, if so situated as to lose the direct action of the sun's rays, will soon change colour. Instead of their natural brightness of tint, they assume a sickly greenish-yellow hue, and are said to be suffering from _chlorosis_. The formation of the chlorophyll is obstructed, or takes place too slowly. Of course, this peculiar condition will frequently arise from bad soil, or a long continuance of damp weather; but it is also the result of a want of light.

It should be observed that young leaves are always of a lighter green than old; simply because the latter have been exposed for a longer time to the light. And so the leaf goes on deepening and deepening in colour, until the sad days of autumn come, and the green gives way to yellow and brown and red, owing to the influence of the changing season on the chlorophyll of the plant.

In reference to this interesting subject,--which deserves to be more closely investigated,--we may place before the reader the results of certain recent experiments.[85]

MM. Prillieux, Brongniart, and Roze (_Comptes Rendus_, Jan. 3 and 17) have made some important observations on the apparently spontaneous movements of the grains of chlorophyll within the leaves of plants. These had been observed by Böhm to congregate under the direct action of the sun; Famitzin, confirmed by Borodine, had also recorded very marked movements in the leaves of a moss under the influence of light. This class of plants offer great facilities for these observations, inasmuch as the movements can be observed in them under the microscope without dissection. M. Prillieux kept a moss in the dark for several days, when the cells presented the appearance of a green network, between the meshes of which was a clear transparent ground. All the grains of chlorophyll were applied to the walls which separate the cells from one another; there were none on the upper or under walls which form the surfaces of the leaf. Under the influence of light the grains change their position from the lateral to the superficial walls; under favourable circumstances this change takes place in about a quarter of an hour. On attaining their new position, the grains do not remain absolutely immovable, but continually approach and separate from one another. If again darkened, they leave their new position and return to the lateral walls. Artificial light produces the same effect as daylight. M. Brongniart further observed that this movement of the chlorophyll, under the influence of light, does not consist in the change of position of isolated grains, but of masses of network, each containing a certain number of grains. In addition, M. E. Roze states that, besides the grains of chlorophyll which coat the walls of the cell, each cell is lined with a transparent mucous plasma formed of very fine threads, the extremities of which unite together the grains of chlorophyll. This protoplasm exhibits, under a high magnifying power, a very slow motion, and carries the grains of chlorophyll along with it. M. Roze believes, therefore, that the motion is a plasmic one, the protoplasm being the vital and animating part of the cell.

CARNATIONS AND PINKS.

Among the latest flowers of the autumnal garden are those old favourites, the "July-flowers," or _Carnations_, which, because they were "fair and sweet and medicinal," Jeremy Taylor preferred to "the prettiest tulips, that are good for nothing." I remember a time when they were among the best-prized ornaments of our parterres, and very delicious it was to inhale the balmy breath that rose into the warm air of an autumn evening from rich masses of carnations and pinks. The carnations were also called--_sub consule Planco_--in the merry days when I haunted the green lanes of a pretty Devonshire village, carnations, and clove July-flowers or gilliflowers; and an ancient name for the pink was that of sops-in-wine, because they were infused in the wine-cups of our much-drinking ancestors. So Drayton says:--

"Bring hither the pink and purple columbine, With gilliflowers; Bring coronations, and sops-in-wine, Worn of paramours."

The same poet alludes to them under their more modern appellations:--

"The brave carnation, then, of sweet and sovereign power (So of his colour called, although a July flower), With the other of his kind, the speckled and the pale;-- Then the odoriferous pink, that sends forth such a gale Of sweetness, yet in scents as various as in sorts."

The scientific name of this beautiful family of plants, whose rich dyes are not less conspicuous than their Sabæan odours, is _Dianthus_, or "Flower of God." They form a genus of the natural order Carophyllaceæ; the calyx is tubular, and five-toothed; there are five petals, which at the throat of the corolla are lightened (as it were) into a linear "claw." The stamens are double the number of the petals; the capsule is of a cylindrical outline, and one-celled.

[Illustration: FIG. 79.--"When I haunted the green lanes of a Devonshire village."]

I am quite prepared to agree with a sympathetic writer on flowers that, during summer, and far into the autumn months, the greatest beauty of our gardens is the varied tribe of Carnations, while their exquisite, subtle, yet potent aroma is not to be excelled, I think, or, at all events, is not far surpassed, in strength and sweetness, by the much-lauded rose. A carnation seems, to my humble taste, the very embodiment, as it were, of the favourite qualities so insisted upon by Mr Matthew Arnold, "sweetness and light." And even in winter, when its radiant petals have disappeared, there is something graceful to the eye in the long slender leaves of the pink, covered with their sea-green powdery bloom.

The two species commonly grown in gardens are, the garden pink (_Dianthus hortensis_) and the carnation proper (_Dianthus caryophyllus_); both of which are generally referred to one original, the castle-pink, July-flower, or clove-gilliflower. The carnation, as a garden flower, was originally brought into England from Germany, where it has always been a favourite object of cultivation.

There are several hundred varieties of it, which are arranged into three principal divisions: _flakes_, which are diversified by broad stripes of two colours only; _bizarres_, which are of several colours, and very irregularly streaked; and _picotees_ (from _piquetté_, spotted), whose flowers are besprinkled with different colours, and their petals fringed or serrated.

In England, the _native_ species of pink are five in number, but they are mostly rare, or, when abundant, are found in very limited habitats.

The commonest kind is the little _Deptford Pink_ (_Dianthus Armeria_), which sometimes grows in thick clusters among the meadow grass. In shape, its blossom resembles that of the garden pink; in size, it is about equal to that of the sweet william; and its flowers grow in a very similar manner. It is a scentless pink, however, with serrated or notched petals, and its rose-coloured petals curiously besprinkled with tiny spots of white.

A very pretty species is the _Maiden Pink_ (_Dianthus deltoides_), which some botanists think to have been the original of our garden favourite; and a kind deserving notice for its large and fragrant flowers is the _Dianthus superbus_.

The maiden pink, I should add, has delicate rose-coloured blossoms, daintily touched with silver, and a white eye encircled by a deep purple ring. It is not unworthy of its fanciful and highly suggestive name.

A rare British variety is the _Clustered Pink_, or _Childing Pink_ (_Dianthus prolifer_), which produces its flowers in plentiful clusters, but is only allowed a season's sunshine.

The _India_ or _China Pink_ (_Dianthus chinensis_) is a native of Eastern Asia, but has now become a frequent denizen in our English gardens.

One wild species, the _Mountain Pink_ (_Dianthus cœsius_), it has never been my fortune to gather in its native home. It is described as a large handsome flower, and it loves to breathe the "difficult air" of the lofty mountain-top. "Never," we are told, "is it found in plain or valley; but it is one of those blossoms whose beauty gladdens the mountaineer, or bids the traveller wonder that so lovely a flower should be blushing on the lone summit, scarcely accessible to his footstep; or cheering a rock, where only the yellow lichen, or the verdant or gray moss, reminds him of vegetation. Such a sight might bid one think of the old motto, which accompanied a wild flower, 'I trust only in Heaven.' How beautiful is it in its loneliness! Scarce an eye meets it but that of the towering bird, as he dashes through the air above it, yet is it as full of lustre as the flowers we daily see and admire. Surely it should arrest the eye and the thoughts of the traveller as certainly as would a monument of human skill on such a spot. Like a lone ruin, it is a page of story, telling not only of the past, but the present, and reminding us of a Being who has reared it there, where it stands a memento of power and goodness."

"Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

--WORDSWORTH.

Of greater interest, however, because a native species, and more easily attained, is the _Castle Pink_, to which brief reference has already been made. Its perfume is like that of precious spices, and after a shower of rain, the air, for some distance, is actually interpenetrated with it. As its name indicates, it loves to grow upon the shattered walls of

"Chiefless castles breathing stern farewells;"

and it may be found, unless swept away by barbarous "improvements," adorning the gray old masonry of Sandown Castle, and on ruins in the neighbourhood of Norwich. On the walls of Rochester's stately keep it grows at a height which defies the spoiler's hand; and on the time-worn ruins of an ancient minster, it shines, in the summer-noon, "with a flush of flowers." It blossoms in July, and there are not, it is said, more than half-a-dozen spots in England where it may be found wild.

[Illustration: FIG. 80.--"On the time-worn ruins of an ancient minster."]

* * * * *

To this dainty and beautiful tribe belongs that common but handsome and most fragrant flower, the _Bearded Pink_ or _Sweet William_ (_Dianthus barbatus_),--a native of central Europe and southern France, with long lanceolate leaves, bearded petals, ornamental bracts, and dense clusters or tufts of crimson or rose-coloured blossoms. It has long been a favourite with the cottager, for it is so hardy that it will grow in any soil, and will flourish even in the odd corner known as the "children's garden." Its popular name, "long, long ago," was "London tuftes;" and it owes its specific appellation of _barbatus_, or "bearded," to the nature of its calyx. That quaintest of quaint old botanists, delightful Gerarde, lavishes encomiums upon its beauty, and pronounces it meet "to deck up the bosoms of the beautiful, and garlands and crowns for pleasure." I suspect that now-a-days it seldom figures in a posy.

* * * * *

To the same order as the Dianthi--that is, to the _Caryophyllaceæ_--belong many wild flowers of lowly growth but abounding interest; as, for example, the corn-cockle, whose lilac-coloured petals, soaring conspicuously among the tall waving corn, have procured for it the right royal appellation of _Agrostemma_, or "the crown of the field." So, too, the numerous species of campion and catchfly (_Silene_), with their singular expanded calices; and those handsome flowers, the white and rosy lychnises, which love to air their charms by the side of running waters. The cottony down upon these plants was wont to be much used for the wicks of lamps.

* * * * *

Then, too, the whole tribe of chickweeds are included in the Caryophyllaceæ. They are spring flowers, with pearly white blossoms, five-petalled, like a five-rayed star, and long slender drooping leaves. Their resemblance to a star has suggested their scientific name, _Stellaria_; and they are truly the "stars of the earth," glistering among the thick herbage with a modest beauty. The _Stellaria media_ supplies our song-birds with an abundant and a wholesome provision.

A handsome wild plant of this order is the Soapwort (_Saponaria officinalis_). It is common in Kent, and some of the neighbouring shires, but in many parts of England is never seen. Its full cluster of rose-hued blossoms is rather larger, and more loosely set together, than those of the sweet william; which, however, it much resembles in its leaves, these being opposite to each other, and nearly sheathing or surrounding the stalk at their bases.

"The juice of the soapwort," says Miss Pratt, "is one of those vegetable substances which, by making a lather with water, will cleanse linen, and remove grease as effectually as soap. It grows more generally in the neighbourhood of villages than in any other situation, as if providence had placed it there especially for the service of the cottager; yet it is very little used, either from ignorance of its properties, or because it would require some cultivation to render it sufficiently plentiful for household purposes. It needs the addition of ashes to make it a good soap for washing linen; but it is of much service to the shepherds on the Alps, who wash their flocks, previously to shearing them, with soapsuds made by boiling this plant in water. The large fruit of the horse-chestnut has similar cleansing properties, and may be used by cutting it into small pieces, or scraping it into water. It has even been suggested that if the nuts were reduced to powder, and made into balls, with some unctuous substance, they would answer all the purposes of our manufactured soap; and yet numbers of poor people see these nuts lying decaying in their neighbourhood, and have no idea of making them of any service."

On the Continent, however, the peasantry are wiser, and not only provide themselves with chestnuts for soap, but gather the beech-leaves to stuff their mattresses.

Returning to the Caryophyllaceæ, we may add that some of the plants of this order have poisonous qualities, which are due to the principle called _saponine_ existing in many of the species of Saponaria, Silene, Lychnis, and Dianthus.

According to Lindley, the order includes no less than 53 genera, and 1055 species. They inhabit chiefly temperate and cold regions, and are ranked in three sub-orders,--Alsineæ, Sileneæ, and Mollugineæ.

THE EGLANTINE AND THE CONVOLVULUS.

What plant do our poets mean by the eglantine? What by the woodbine? Are they one and the same, or are they different?

We cannot answer those questions until we have referred to three or four passages in which they are introduced. And, first, let us take an example from Spenser:--

"And over him, art striving to compare With nature, did an arbour green dispread, Framèd of wanton ivy, flowering fair, Through which the fragrant eglantine did spread His pricking arms, entrailed with roses red, Which dainty odours round about them threw, And all within with flowers was garnishèd, That when wild Zephyrus amongst them blew, Did breathe out bounteous smells, and painted colours shew."

And now from Milton:--

"Through the sweetbriar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine."

The following is from Sir Walter Scott:--

"On the hill Let the white heath-bell flourish still, Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, But freely let the woodbine twine, And leave untrimmed the eglantine."

From Burns:--

"The woodbine I will pu' when the evening star is near, And the diamond draps of dew shall be her een sae clear."

From Michael Drayton:--

"The azured harebell next with them they neatly mixt: T' allay whose luscious smell they woodbine placed betwixt ... The columbine amongst they sparingly do set, And now and then among, of eglantine a spray."

And lastly, from Shakespeare:--

"And leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweetened not thy breath."

There is evidently some confusion here, and the eglantine of one poet is not the eglantine of another. Sir Walter Scott, we take it, is thinking of the wild clematis or virgin's bower, when he wishes the eglantine to remain untrimmed. And Milton undoubtedly refers to the honeysuckle, which, twisting round the framework of a cottage-porch, tempts the neighbouring bees to rifle its calyxes of their honeyed sweets. But the _true_ eglantine of our earlier poets seems to have been the prickly sweetbriar, formerly called _Rosa eglantina_; now known as _Rosa rubiginosa_. No plant is of greater value for a garden hedge, owing to the delicious fragrance exhaled not only by its flowers but by its leaves.

On the other hand, the "lush woodbine," which so often finds honourable mention in our poets, is none other than the honeysuckle, the "twisted eglantine" of Milton. Its botanical name is _Caprifolium_.

The eglantine and the woodbine, therefore, though occasionally confounded by careless writers, are two entirely distinct plants; the former being the sweetbriar of modern gardens, and the latter the honeysuckle.

[Illustration: FIG. 81.--"Our leafy hedgerows."]

It has been justly said by a writer (whom we have already quoted), that of all the flowers which, towards the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, adorn our pastoral scenery, "filling the air with fragrance, and the earth with beauty," none are more generally attractive than the wild climbing plants of our leafy hedgerows. By interlacing their delicate boughs, covered with foliage and flowers,--or with berries bright and sparkling,--or, as in the wild clematis, crowned with the lightest, feathery seeds,--they wind about the trees and bushes in festoons and wreaths of the utmost elegance,--and contribute in no slight degree to the aspect of richness and beauty which the landscape exhibits at this time of the year. As their stems are so slender and delicate that they would be crushed by the burthen of their flowery clusters and numerous leaves, or rent and uprooted by the wind, unless they found support from other plants, we see them hanging by their tendrils, or by their pliant arms, about the trunks of aged trees,--the ancestral elms, or "those green-robed senators of mighty woods, tall oaks,"--like a frail maiden to the sturdy arm of some strong-shouldered brother, or, it may be, of some one "nearer and dearer still."

In reference to those climbing plants, one curious circumstance deserves to be noted.

Some of them follow the sun's apparent course, that is, from east to west,--and always twine around the stem which supports them in the direction of left to right. Such is the case with the common black briony, so common in our woods and groves.

Others invariably twine _contrary_ to the sun, or from right to left; as is the case with the convolvulus, or large white bindweed.

This singular tendency, be it observed, is always constant in each individual of the species, and if you endeavour to train one of these plants in a different direction, you will infallibly kill it.

The convolvulus will not grow from left to right, and the black briony will not grow from right to left. _Crede experto._

The convolvulus, or white bindweed (_Convolvulus sepium_, or _Calystegia sepium_), is one of the most elegant, though one of the commonest climbing plants which festoon our willows, or creep over our grassy banks, or wind in and about our hedges. Its large white bells, which the country people unpoetically call "old men's nightcaps," are remarkable for their purity of hue and exquisite beauty of outline; and the leaves, which are heart-shaped, equally claim our admiration. Like the pink field-convolvulus (_Convolvulus arvensis_), or the rosy-hued seaside bindweed (_Calystegia soldanella_), it is very tenacious of life, and if it once secures a footing, is eradicated with difficulty. Hence it is dearer to the poet and artist than to the farmer and gardener, each of whom pursues it with a determined hostility.

The Convolvulaceæ form a distinct family or order, containing forty-five genera, and upwards of seven hundred species. They are found in temperate and tropical countries; and include the dodder, sweet potato, scammony, spomœa, and the jalap plant.

METAMORPHOSIS.--A PHYSICO-PHILOSOPHICAL MEDITATION.[86]

If we are to understand by the term _metamorphosis_ simply "a change," it is evident that everybody undergoes metamorphosis, is changed or transformed; nothing _is_, all _becomes_.

The water which flows on for ever, but never twice washes the same pebbly bed, will afford us an apt image of this perpetual "to become."

But even the said pebbly bed, like the hardest rock, like the seemingly everlasting granite, must and does change. The compact, chrystalline, azoic rock, without a trace of life in its dense mass, would eventually decompose if constantly assailed and affected by the moving waves of that gaseous ocean whose bed is formed by the terrestrial crust. If the rock is found covered by more or less stratified layers, its presence in the bosom of the earth will attest to passing generations the primordial incandescence of our planet at some epoch when life as yet was _not_,--when the liquid element, hurled far away into space under the form of vapour, exhibited the aspect of a "bearded meteor," or a comet, with blazing nucleus and incandescent tail. Many the changes which since that distant epoch have taken place upon the earth, and many more must occur before our planet ceases to contribute its strain to the grand harmony of the spheres. Our world will _end_ as surely as it once had a beginning: its duration, though it be computed by hundreds of thousands of years, is nothing, will be nothing, compared with that of the revolution of yonder sun, circling, with its wondrous train of planets, around some mysterious centre as yet unknown. And in this period, hitherto incalculable, what chances of perturbation will necessarily arise?

Let us suppose that the centre around which oscillates, on the one part, the moon while drawing near and receding from the earth; on the other, the earth while drawing near and receding from the sun: let us suppose that these centres oscillate in the same manner around other centres as yet undetermined,--and this hypothesis is very rational, since it is based on the principle that everything moves or changes,--it may happen that in these periodical oscillations, one or more of the circulating masses will eventually fall into their focus of attraction, or will start so widely astray that the wheelwork of our world, the various parts of our planetary system, will separate,--not to be annihilated, for nothing in the universe can be _annihilated_,--but to be metamorphosed, and group themselves elsewhere in a different order.[87]

It is thus that in chemistry, which I would call the _astronomy of atoms_, it is shown that bodies are only so far decomposed as to admit of their recombination in new forms; the end of one is the beginning of another.

Now, that which is true of the systems of the elementary bodies composing terrestrial matter, is, in all probability, true also--why should it not be?--of the systems of the celestial bodies.

Differences of magnitude, of space, and of time, which overwhelm our feeble imaginations, vanish before the unity of plan of the Creator's thought. A crystalline molecule, which will not affect the finest balance, is a world, with an equator and poles of its own, and its central atom round which atomic satellites gravitate. Whether these atoms are infinitely small or infinitely great, whether the time of their revolutions is measured by thousandths of a second or by myriads of years, is of little importance so far as their gravitation (_ponderation_, or _poising_) is concerned. For this ponderation is absolutely identical, whether we call it _affinity_,--when speaking of the atomic movements of chemically decomposable matter; or _gravitation_ or _attraction_, when referring to those atoms of the great whole which we call stars, and whose metamorphic scale is far beyond the range of beings planted on the surface of one of the stellar atoms. However profound may be the researches of our astronomers, they will never attain to a knowledge of the metamorphoses of worlds. The spectacle of celestial spheres rising anew from their ashes, like "the Arabian bird" of fable, will be as impossible for them as the knowledge of the decompositions and recompositions of our material bodies would be for chemists, planted on the surface of an atom of carbon. How, from such a standpoint, could they contemplate the manifold forms of matter, and embrace at a glance all its changes?... Well, we are relatively as powerless as these imaginary denizens of an atom of matter, rooted as we are to the crust of a planet,--a molecule suspended in the eternal ocean.

What shall we now say of the forms and movements of _living matter_?

In the first place, that they are infinitely more varied and more changeful than those of inanimate nature. Next, that the difference between their metamorphoses is very wide. The eye can follow the transformations of a rock exposed to the decomposing action of the agents which surround us on every side. This action is calculable, and the elements which it has dissociated may be determined and weighed. The effects of the force, called either affinity or attraction, which maintains these elements united, are not beyond the range of our observation; tables of affinity, and of atomic weights, have been constructed, which enable the chemist to dominate over matter, just as the astronomer embraces the stars, the atoms of the world, by the law of universal gravitation.

But no sooner is matter interpenetrated by that mysterious force which we call life, than our most potent means of investigation suddenly cease to be efficient. Undoubtedly, you may analyse the seed before you sow it, and thus may ascertain that it consists of _carbon_, _hydrogen_, _oxygen_, and _azote_. But with the same elements attempt to recompose your seed, using exactly the same proportions as those you discovered in it; and if you think that your synthesis has been successful, ensure that your grain, once confided to the earth, shall become a focus of divers movements, giving birth below to the ramifications of the root, terminated by the spongioles,--above, to the ramifications of the stem, garnished with leaves, flowers, and fruits; finally, ensure that this aggregate of organs, multiplying millions of times the weight and volume of the seed, shall always and exactly reproduce the same type or the same species.

If, with your apparatus,--if, with the means at the disposal of humanity,--you should succeed in achieving all these marvels of nature; then perhaps you might settle the great problem of what life is,--whether an independent force, or a simple modification of an universal force, of which heat, light, electricity, and magnetism, will be but different modes of manifestation.

And yet, even in such a case, you must not boast too loudly of your power; for you will find it necessary to turn and return the term you have arrived at, in every direction; nor will it furnish you with the relation or the cause of the formidable progression whose _alpha_ and _omega_, whose beginning and end, escape us so absolutely.

Whence, in all its interminable metamorphoses, whence comes life? Whither goes it? Were our world to perish, its ruins would not cease, in their apparently disordered movements, to obey the law of universal gravitation: they would so group themselves as to form other worlds, resembling the system of which they were anteriorly the framework. But this force in no wise tells you why, when, and how life will make its appearance on these spheroids of revolution, which, in their state of ponderation, are attracted in the direct ratio of their masses and in the inverse ratio of the square of their distances.

* * * * *

This is not all. Man justly plumes himself on having arrived, by a process of experiment, at the following irrefragable axiom: that "the matter which serves for the movements of life renews itself, while the mould or form remains." You may even affirm, without appearing too adventurous, that the innumerable whirling globules which enter into the composition of the human blood are so many microscopical individuals, each with its own proper life,--infinitesimal forms which are born, and move to and fro, and disappear, and are renewed, without the individual--whose aggregate they perform--having any consciousness of all this activity.

Thus it is that the collective integral being which we call humanity, lives and is developed through the removal of the individuals composing it,--ephemeral creatures, each of whom thinks himself a god!

Must we stop there? That would be to declare humanity the last term of a progression whose commencement and end, according to our own acknowledgment, completely escape us: it would be at once a contradiction and a flagrant violation of the great law of infinite continuity which reigns everywhere.

* * * * *

To suppose that beyond humanity there is only nothingness, would be to enunciate an hypothesis as puerile as that which pretended the earth was not only the centre of our system, but the sole inhabited or inhabitable point in the immensity of space, and that the stars of the firmament were created for the service and pleasure of mortals. Suppose that this absurd belief were true; of what use, I ask you, would be all our agitations, all our flutterings, all our conceptions, all our conquests, all our glories, all our memories, when the end of the world would sweep away and annihilate our race? It was well worth the trouble, truly, of being born, of living, and of suffering, to terminate, after all, in so inglorious a fashion!... Adhere to your hypothesis, materialist, if you have the courage; surely, no man of sense can accept it!

* * * * *

Let us now resume the thread of our meditations.

The end of our system has come at last: the sun, the planets, and their satellites form but one chaotic igneous mass,--a brilliant fugitive luminary, new-born to the inhabitants of worlds which have escaped intact.

The dust of our extinguished world will not be scattered hap-hazard; the molecules of matter, indissolubly linked together by universal gravitation, will so arrange themselves as to constitute a new, and perhaps a more perfect world. But in the constitution of this new world, balanced like the old, our human bones, our ashes united with those of our ancestors, may have, as far as they are matter, their due share. As for the Thought which makes the true power of humanity, which gives to man all his value,--Thought, perfectible and transmissible,--it will contribute nothing, because it is absolutely imponderable and impassible. Will it then be lost for ever?

If the world is to last for ever, you may justly regard as immortal the indefinite transmission of Thought, and the perpetuity of the memory of certain great men. But will all this avail, if the world must perish?

The world will never end, you say; it is eternal.

But how do you know this? If it has had a beginning, as geology and astronomy prove,[90] it will also have an end. This end, however, will not be an annihilation; it will simply be, as we have already pointed out, a transformation of matter. As for the problems, whether nature itself was created, and whether it is eternal, let us leave them to the discussion of heated theoricians, who are too blind to perceive that some questions it is wisest neither to affirm nor deny, but _to know how to ignore_.

* * * * *

The error, then, which we have been considering, destroys itself through its consequences. Let us admit, in effect, that our world--such as it is, just as it is--will last for ever. In that case what becomes of the power and travail of humanity? All they have accomplished are some slight changes of the terrestrial crust, barely sufficient, here and there, to modify the influences of climate. A limited number of men labour, it is true, for the progress and full development of transmissible thought. But even supposing that, in the course of centuries, humanity succeeds in comprehending, it can only _grow_ through the development of the faculties of all its members, and the due balance of all the social forces by means of liberty. Supposing that reason, united to science and conscience, should finally combine in one family the various tribes and peoples scattered over the earth's broad surface; do you indulge yourself in the hope of crossing the limits of the human organization, and establishing the royalty of man "through the interpretation and imitation of Nature?"

Do you cherish the idea of penetrating, through the perfect union of all your intellectual forces, the mysteries of creation?

No; you would never dare to form such a hope, to nourish such an idea, at least unless you felt that the earth (which you must first demonstrate) comprehends in itself the whole universe, that the humanity swarming on its surface is eternal, that every other creature is absolutely subordinate to it: in a word, that Man is all!

But we know how limited is human power. We are not masters even of the mechanism of the body; the movements of organic life are independent of our will; we can neither command the stomach, the lungs, nor the heart: that marvellous process of absorption and elimination, that perpetual movement hither or thither which constitutes the essence of the assimilative function, goes on in us--as in all living beings, animal or vegetable--completely outside our sphere of activity. Then, without quitting our planet, how numerous are the movements which still escape the human will!

* * * * *

It is quite different when we lift up our eyes to examine the face of heaven. We have no grasp whatever of the incommensurable spiraloids of innumerable worlds to which our own belongs; we have no means of communicating with the inhabitants of other planets; we cannot establish any interchange of thought with the _men_ (if there be any) of Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn,--who form, perhaps, like the _men_ of the earth, the most elevated circle of material life, varying under an infinity of forms upon each of their floating domiciles.... I see you smiling, reader, because you do not believe that these _other earths_--satellites of the sun, like our own--are inhabited by beings analagous to our human race. You are at liberty not to believe it. But then, to be in agreement with yourselves, you ought to declare in favour of the Science of the Past, though demonstrated to be false, against the Science of the Present. Will you do so? Certainly not. But then, of two things, one: either you will be obliged to make the earth an unique exception, a kind of monstrosity in the midst of the other mechanism of the universe, which will be to throw yourself back upon the erroneous science of the ancients; or you must perforce admit that the earth is not specially privileged, and that the other planets, its companions, have also their human inhabitants.

* * * * *

Is this all? Alas, all this is nothing! The other worlds whose suns appear to us under the form of scintillating points or stars, will, undoubtedly, in like manner, possess their systems of planets and satellites. Why should they divaricate from the general plan of the universe? Now, multiply the number of the stars--who has counted them?--with the probable number of their planets, and you will gain, if this be permitted you, the number of _humanities_ who people yonder star-sown space. And it is not only with _these_ we must be able to correspond, but with the humanities of all the nebulæ of all the firmaments--for remember our starry heaven itself is but a nebula--that we must establish an interchange of ideas, if you would have your power, and civilisation, and intellectual royalty, something more than a mere optical illusion of your pride.

* * * * *

You do not cease to proclaim as an axiom that "there are no abrupt intervals in Nature;" that Nature never ventures upon sudden leaps or bounds ("in natura non datur saltus"), and yet you would make an exception for the world of thought--a world which no more lies outside the laws of nature than does the physical world. The former ought even to secure our preference; it is there only that we are free, that we can become true creators, by creating for ourselves our own happiness; that we can grow great before our own eyes, by following, not the tyrannous will of the _brute_, but the tender voice of the _angel_; by listening to conscience--that pure and infallible counsellor--conscience, the foundation of all justice, the latent force of generations passing away and coming, the universal gravitation of our species as of all the ultra-terrestrial humanities.

* * * * *

But how can the humanities, with which we suppose the universe to be peopled,--how can they communicate with one another?

The law of attraction comprehends not only the celestial bodies, but also their intervals, the intersidereal spaces. Do these spaces present a void to the thinking beings who probably people the stars?

Everything, force and matter, testifies to an entire unity of plan or thought, and the mind which is powerful enough to rise above all the attractions and influences of the body, the mind which, by its continuous labour, alone renders life and man of any importance, the mind once detached from the animal nature which it drags behind it like a prisoner to the chariot of his conqueror, shall it be inferior to inert matter? shall it be less than a ship without its compass? Continuous here, shall that continuity be elsewhere broken up? Surely this is impossible.

* * * * *

But how are we to recognise this continuity of essence in a spirit which, like man's, appears unavoidably fixed, like a parasite, to the surface of a planet?

Here lies the whole difficulty of the question; a question all the more perplexing because, in the search after scientific truth, the mind walks surely and steadily, except when resting upon the senses,--which are the backbone, so to speak, of the experimental method.

Answers, indeed, are not wanting, for each religion has its own. Every creed attempts to solve the problem. But then, faith is required to accept the answer or solution, and alas! faith is not implanted in every soul. It is useless, therefore, to wish that it might be the gift of those who, to the authority of tradition and long-established dogmas, prefer the liberty of discussion and the axioms of science. Are our bigots actually aware of what they do when they seek to compel into their circle of belief those minds which tend to escape from it at a tangent? We assert that in so doing they are guilty of an act of iniquity, of a veritable blasphemy.

* * * * *

Some explanation is necessary here. You believe, we hope, in the majesty, power, wisdom, and mercy of God, in the revelations He has vouchsafed to man, in the immortality of the soul. These are great problems, however; the greatest problems a mortal can venture to discuss. Already I see the bigot frowning; he professes to be shocked by the word "problem," he would fain substitute for it that of "certainty" or "truth." Well, through faith we accept them as truths; but, metaphysically speaking, they may be regarded as problems which the All-wise has submitted to man's earnest consideration. In fact, the God in whom you and we believe, in whom you and we put all our trust, has surrounded them with something of uncertainty, has invested them with so much of doubtfulness as may test our faith.

Yes, in doing so, He has had a purpose to fulfil. Let us think of a geometrician--and an ancient writer said that God, by creating the world, created geometry--for the sake of exercising the minds of his pupils, his children, giving them a problem to be solved.

If at the same time, he placed before them the solution, he would assuredly fail in his object. No means would remain of distinguishing the capable from the incapable, the studious from the indifferent, the idler from the worker, if they all found the question answered beforehand!

True, if the problem is too difficult, if the solution lies beyond the faculties of those whom he wishes to test and put to the proof, the master will not fail to furnish them with all the elements necessary for their guidance, whether they consider it from without, or whether they consider it with the help of their own inner consciousness.

But science and conscience stand in need of an equally difficult task; the first, that it may learn to observe clearly, the latter that it may learn to act purely. And it is here, above all, that the two-fold nature of man becomes a perplexity and a stumbling-block. On the one hand, man creates theories, in order to disembarrass himself of the science which calls for the exercise of powerful and laborious observation; on the other, he creates dogmas, which he hopes may lull to sleep that ever active, ever restless conscience, which demands fertile and beneficial actions, and rejects barren or deceitful phrases.

It is true that to many minds the discussion of the questions at which we have hinted seems a sorry work, because the time given for their discussion is necessarily so limited. What is life? they say. What can be effected in so short an interval? What can man hope to accomplish in the few short years that intervene between manhood, when the mind is mature, and old age, when the intellect grows enfeebled? These are the men who echo the old poet's mournful cry:--[91]

"A good that never satisfies the mind, A beauty fading like the April flowers, A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined, A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, An honour that more fickle is than wind, A glory at opinion's frown that lowers, A treasury which bankrupt Time devours, A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind, A vain delight our equals to command, A style of greatness in effect a dream, A swelling thought of holding sea and land, A servile lot, decked with a pompous name; Are the strange ends we toil for here below, Till wisest death make us our urns know."

But the poet, while taking this despondent view of life, forgets--not only that it is an opportunity, but--that it is the first stage of an eternal existence, and that the progress begun now shall be continued hereafter, when the mind, freed from its material clogs, shall enter upon the full fruition of its wondrous powers. And however brief it may be, is it not better it should be devoted to noble work than to ignoble idleness? Is it not better to use it as a time of preparation than to waste it in empty pleasures? To the despairing wail of the poet just quoted we would oppose, as far worthier of a gallant spirit, Ben Jonson's admirable conclusions:--

"It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make men better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see, And in short measure life may perfect be."

This is the true philosophy; to make our life as perfect as our faculties will permit, and to look upon it as the introduction to a grander life, where the problems here discussed shall find a satisfactory solution.

"Oh for the time when in our seraph wings We veil our brows before the Eternal Throne-- The day when, drinking knowledge at its springs, We know as we are known."

Let us beware, however, when we devote our life to the pursuit of wisdom, that we do not make a false start. Do not let us diverge into the narrow way of bigotry and dogma. It is the property of exclusive and intolerant error to dominate and to reign alone. For this reason we systematically refuse and reject all control; and it is thus men have been fatally led to lay a rash hand upon intellectual liberty,--liberty, which the All-wise Himself has refrained from touching! Such is the early taint of our race, the moral situation of humanity.

But retribution has followed close upon this violation of all that is most sacred in our human world. The schools of philosophy, and the infallible creeds, founded upon authority to the exclusion of all mental and spiritual freedom, have never ceased to be at war with one another, and instead of labouring for that union which is strength,--that union so necessary to the happiness and advancement of humanity,--they have everywhere sown irreconcilable antipathies and bloody discords. Such is the religion of those who, under a pretence of worshipping God, worship only themselves! History affords us abundant illustrations of this melancholy truth.

Finally, let us return to our metamorphosis. The butterfly, which the Greeks designated by the same word as the soul, ψυχή, springs, like every living creature, from an egg. But see what a transformation this egg undergoes! It becomes a caterpillar--a transitory form of animal life, remarkable for its voracity; this caterpillar is in its turn transformed; it grows into a chrysalis,--a temporary tomb, and whence issues the winged insect, alone adapted to the discharge of all the functions of a perfect animal. Gluttonous and greedy of enjoyment, the caterpillar lived for itself. So the caterpillar has no sex; while the butterfly hovers from flower to flower, has to seek therein its own nourishment, there to find the companion with whom its being is to be united.

* * * * *

This metamorphosis impresses the observer; principally because its periods are so distinct, and are so plainly marked by stages, which have all the appearance of veritable species. But he would greatly err if he thought it confined to a certain class of insects. All insects,--nay, more, all animals, including man himself,--undergo certain transformations in the course of their lives. Metamorphosis plays an important part in the unity of the general scheme of Creative Thought. If it is not always recognised, the reason is, that its phases are not boldly marked, that the periods blend into one another, that the various stages are effaced in the continuousness of the transformation.

* * * * *

But let not this continuity prevent the observer from detecting or discerning _in that which is, that which is to come_. In the caterpillar he must learn to see the chrysalis; in the chrysalis he must be ready to recognise the future butterfly. And in all these changes the thoughtful mind may acknowledge a significant emblem of that immortality of the soul, that final transformation of humanity, which the Word of God has promised to us:--

"Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of light; And, where the fields of Paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectars from their cups of gold. There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy! Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept. And such is man; soon from his cell of clay To burst a seraph in the blaze of day."[92]

To assure ourselves by observation that, in living matter, there are organs irrevocably destined to decay or disappear, while others incline and grow towards perfection, is certainly one of the noblest studies imaginable. If philosophers, instead of employing their time in profitless speculations, devoted themselves to the examination of the great Book of Nature, God's second revelation, they would long ago have discovered what they are still seeking.

And we should now know how to distinguish, in man as in the insect, the rudimentary condition of his future life; and the belief in the immortality of the soul would not only be the creed of the Christian, but a scientific truth.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 78: Reference is here invited to Humboldt's _thermal_ and _isothermal_ lines. See Dr A. K. Johnston's "Physical Atlas," and Humboldt's "Kosmos."]

[Footnote 79: Sir J. Herschel, "Preliminary Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy."]

[Footnote 80: Professor Balfour's "Manual of Botany," pp. 566-568.]

[Footnote 81: Pliny, "Hist. Nat.," xxii. 46.]

[Footnote 82: Martial, "Epigram.," i. 21.]

[Footnote 83: "Annales des Sciences Naturelles," i. 18.]

[Footnote 84: Count de Castelnau, "Histoire Naturelle des Coléoptères," i. 7.]

[Footnote 85: As recorded, in a condensed form, in _The Academy_ (Feb. 12, 1870), pp. 131, 132.]

[Footnote 86: This section is translated from M. Hoefer, without addition or alteration.]

[Footnote 87: From these slow movements, which have been designated the "secular inequalities," we might with some probability infer the end of the world, which even Newton regarded as certain,--at least, unless "the Great Architect at times retouched His work." The inequalities or secular variations affect the elements of the orbits, such as the inclination of the plane of the orbit,--the semi-major axis of the ellipse, or the mean distance of the planet from the sun,--the eccentricity of the ellipse, or the relation between the distance which separates the forces from the centre and the semi-major axis assumed to be unity,--and the movements of the perihelions and the nodes. These elements change with extreme slowness. Thus, the inclination of Jupiter diminishes by 8" in a century; and that of Saturn increases by 9"; but the very ecliptic varies,--it diminishes 33" in a century.

The variations of the eccentricities are scarcely computable by centuries; their effect is, that the ellipses insensibly approach or recede from a circular form.

It is demonstrated by mathematical analysis that these variations are periodical, and confined within narrow limits, in such wise that "the planetary system can oscillate only round a certain mean, from which it never departs except by a very small quantity." But may not this very mean, which we have taken to be constant, oscillate round a more distant and still more constant mean?

Observation had long ago detected a continual acceleration in the movement of Jupiter, and a not less certain diminution in the movement of Saturn. Now, to say of a star that its velocity augments, is to declare that it draws nearer its centre of movement. To say that its velocity decreases, is to affirm that it is retiring from that centre.

It would seem, therefore, that Jupiter,[88] the greatest of our planets, is destined to be swallowed up, or absorbed, in the incandescent mass of the Sun, while Saturn,[89] with its belt and eight satellites, will gradually wander further and further into the mysterious infinity of space. It is true enough that these catastrophes are very distant,--distant to a period of time which the human imagination cannot even grasp,--and the "common herd" will certainly feel no anxious apprehension about an event which will not take place until myriads of years have elapsed.

Yet, in the last century, the question excited the curiosity of certain scientific societies, and they directed the attention of the geometers to these formidable perturbations. Euler and Lagrange spent their keen intellects upon them to no profit. Laplace discovered that between the mean velocities of Jupiter and Saturn the ratios are simple, and capable of calculation; five times the velocity of Saturn perceptibly equals ten times the velocity of Jupiter. These terms, which, in the regularly-decreasing and indefinite series, might have been neglected, have acquired a value which was worthy of being taken into consideration. From thence result, in the movements of the two planets, those perturbations whose complete development necessitates a period of upwards of nine hundred years.... This will be, then, another periodic inequality.

But, independently of the centres, which we suppose to be in themselves variable, may there not exist, in the space traversed by our planet, some cause of perturbation? Is our system so isolated in the universe that it neither receives nor loses aught of that which constitutes its force and matter? Is there no solidarity between its different worlds? And if this solidarity exists, is not their transformation a necessity?]

[Footnote 88: The equatorial diameter of Jupiter in English miles is 56,065; its density is ·24 of the Earth's; its distance from the sun, 494,270,000 miles; inclination of its orbit to the ecliptic, 1° 18' 51".]

[Footnote 89: The equatorial diameter of Saturn in English miles is 79,147; its density, ·12, the Earth = 1; its distance from the sun, 906,200,000 miles; and the inclination of its orbit to the ecliptic, 2° 29' 36".]

[Footnote 90: Our author, it must be understood, is considering these questions apart from the Scriptural standpoint.]

[Footnote 91: William Drummond.]

[Footnote 92: Samuel Rogers.]

APPENDIX.

APPENDIX.

THE SOLAR ECLIPSE OF 1870.

The total Solar Eclipse, which is to render famous the month of December in the present year--famous, that is, in astronomical annals--deserves, we think, some special notice in our pages. In 1860, the _Himalaya_ was fitted out by Government for the use of the _savants_ desirous of observing the Solar Eclipse visible that year in Spain, and the results of the expedition were so important as fully to warrant the liberality of the Government. The eclipse of the present year will also be visible in Spain, but the path of the sun's shadow will pass as far north as Cape Spartel, and, crossing Algeria, will go northwards, _via_ Sicily, and in the direction of Constantinople. The totality of the eclipse will not last so long as that of the Indian eclipse in 1868. The sun will be hidden from sight for no longer period than about two minutes twelve seconds, and whatever observations our astronomers are anxious to make must be made in that brief interval. It may not unreasonably be suggested that, in so short a time, no data can be ascertained worth the cost and trouble the proposed expedition will necessitate; but the reader requires to be informed that the most valuable acquisitions lately won in the region of solar physics have been the result of observations which may almost be described as momentary.

What, then, is the important point on which our astronomers hope to gain information from a close examination of the approaching eclipse?

This question has been ably answered by a well-informed writer in the _Daily News_. The great problem to be solved is that of the strange appearance of the solar corona; of that glory of light which rings round the great luminary when totally eclipsed, to it, as some astronomers assert, a purely optical phenomenon, or, as others more reasonably declare, "one of the most imposing of all the features of the solar system." It is true that the former opinion is held by such men as Faye, Lockyer, and Professor Airy; but if it be founded on fact, the phenomenon loses all its importance, and nearly all its interest. If the other opinion prove correct, and the corona is discovered to be in reality an appendage of the orb of day, then the mind must at once acknowledge its unsurpassed splendour, its magnificent proportions. As its glow and ethereal radiancy often extends several degrees from the eclipsed sun, its diameter cannot be less than 2,800,000 miles.

Assume, then, that it is shaped like a globe, that it is the globular envelope (so to speak) of the sun, and we may conclude that its outer boundary would at most enclose a volume twenty-seven times as large as the sun's, or, in other words, _twenty-seven million times_ larger than our terrestrial world.

It is in reference to this magnificent phenomenon that we hope to obtain some satisfactory information in December 1870. The results ascertained from the eclipse of 1868 proved to be almost directly contradictory to those obtained last year in the United States, and the problem now is, to discover _why_ these results were contradictory.

In the meantime,--observes the writer already quoted,--some astronomers say that the observations already made suffice to show the real nature of the solar corona. "It has frequently happened that, with the means of solving a problem ready at their hands, astronomers have been content rather to wait till new observations removed their doubts, than to undertake the work of carefully analysing the facts already discovered. It is urged that the atmospheric explanation (Faye's and Lockyer's) is opposed by simple optical considerations; that the blackness of the moon's disc, in the very heart of the corona, affords the most unmistakable evidence that the moon lies nearer to us than the corona." The solar glare which, according to Faye's theory, illuminates our atmosphere, ought, according to this view--and ordinary reasoners will think this argument irrefragable--to cover the lunar disc as well as the surrounding heavens.

It is also argued, very forcibly, that the active atmosphere above the horizon of the observer is partially obscured during total eclipse, while all that part lying in the direction in which the corona is seen is wholly shielded from the direct rays of the sun, and cannot, therefore, furnish the "atmospheric glare" on which M. Faye relies.

M. Faye's theory is powerfully combated in a paper read by Mr Proctor before the Royal Astronomical Society, and a summary of which appeared in "Nature."[93]

He remarked that if we in reality possess sufficient evidence to determine whether the corona is or is not a solar appendage, it would be unfortunate for, and in some sense a discredit to science, if the precious seconds available for observers in December next were wasted upon observations directed to such a point determinable beforehand.

He proceeded to express his belief that the corona was no terrestrial phenomenon, arguing that the very blackness of the moon as compared with the corona (to which we have already referred), shows that the coronal splendour is _behind_ the moon. In fact, the moon is projected on the corona as on a background; whereas, if the light be due to atmospheric glare, the corona ought to be a foreground.

This argument, however, may fail on the ground of its very simplicity. Mr Proctor, therefore, proceeded to inquire whether air which lies between the observer and the corona is really illuminated. He pointed out that all round the sun, for many degrees, perfect darkness should prevail if the illumination of the atmosphere by direct solar light were in question. As to the atmospheric glare caused by the coloured flames and prominences of the sun's disc, it must be comparatively small, bearing no higher proportion to the actual light of the atmosphere than ordinary atmospheric glare bears to actual sunlight,--a very small proportion indeed.

But a fatal objection to the theory that the corona is due either to the glare from the prominences or to light reflected from the surrounding air, consisted in the fact that the so-called glare ought to cover the moon's disc.

Mr Proctor next referred to a number of observations in support of the view that the coronal light is not terrestrial; such as the appearance of glare during partial eclipses, the glare always trenching on the lunar disc; the relatively greater darkness of the central part of the lunar disc in annular eclipses; the visibility of that part of the lunar disc which lies beyond the sun in partial eclipses, the limb being seen dark on the background of the sky; and the visibility of the corona in partial eclipses;--were its most distinctive peculiarities, having been recognised when the sun's face is not wholly covered.

What, then, _is_ the actual nature of the corona?

May it not consist of the denser parts of meteoric systems travelling round the sun?

Leverrier has shown, and Mr Buxendell has helped to show, that the motion of Mercury's perihelion indicates the presence of a ring of bodies in the vicinity of the sun; but we have good reason for believing that for each meteor system our earth encounters, there must be millions on millions whose perihelia lie within the earth's orbit. Since the earth meets with fifty-six such systems, it will be seen how enormous probably is the total number.

Is, then, the corona simply the projection of these systems, illuminated as they must be by an intensity of solar light exceeding many hundred-fold that which illumines our summer days, nay, in certain places, were raised by his heat to a state of incandescence?

* * * * *

Such are some of the questions which, it is hoped, the eclipse of December 1870 will help to solve; and we think our readers will admit that their importance justifies us in looking forward to the approaching phenomenon with anxious curiosity. The bounds of human knowledge are gradually enlarging; and as they enlarge, they do but more vividly illustrate the infinite wisdom and perfectness of the scheme of creation.

COLOURED STARS.

Before bringing these pages to a close, and appending to our description of Everyday Objects (everyday, but not commonplace) the word "Finis," we wish to direct the reader's attention to the subject of coloured stars; not because these beautiful spheres can be fairly classed under our general title, but because they serve to show the peculiar attractiveness and novelty of scientific inquiry, and the wonderful results that spring from the persevering study of God's universe.

To the eye of the ordinary observer, one star seems much like another; these "lamps of night" differ, indeed, in brilliancy, in their distance from the earth, in their relative magnitudes; but to all appearance they exhibit a complete identity in physical constitution, and their white light has furnished poetry with one of its commonest images.

But the astronomer, armed with his wonder-revealing glass, has discovered that innumerable stars are exquisitely coloured; that some are blue, and others green, and others red. If on a clear night you examine Perseus with your telescope, you will find that the star Eta is of a glowing red. In the system of Ophiuchus you will encounter a blue star; in that of Draco, a deep red star; Taurus has a large red and a small bluish star; and in Argo, a blue sun is attended by a dark-red satellite.

The stars occur in double, triple, or multiple groups or clusters; and the systems so constituted differ from what we presumptuously call _the_ Solar System in their colouring; and in this variety or diversity, yet another variety is visible. The binary coloured systems are not all composed of blue and red suns. In that of Gamma Andromedæ the great central orb is of an orange hue, the moon revolving round it green as emerald. What results from the marriage of these two colours--from this union of orange and emerald? Do we not see in it, says a French astronomer,[94] a combination, if the phrase is allowable, full of youth (_assortiment plein de jeunesse_)--a grand, a magnificent orange-coloured sun in the midst of the firmament--next to it, a resplendent emerald, which interweaves with the gold its greenish gleams?

The following lively picture is borrowed from the graphic pages of M. Flammarion.

There is more variety, he says, in the innumerable star-systems which crowd the fields of space, than in all the changes which the most skilful opticians can project on the screen of a magic lantern. Some of the planetary universes lighted up by two suns display the entire gamut of colours above blue, but are without the sparkling tints of gold and purple which contribute so greatly to the luminosity of our world.

In this category may be placed certain systems situated in the constellations of Andromedæ, the Serpent, Ophiuchus, and Coma Berenices.

Others are illuminated by red suns, as, for example, a double star in Leo.

Others, again, are wholly dominated by blue and yellow, or, at least, are kindled by a blue sun and a yellow sun, which afford but a limited series of the tints or shades comprised in the combinations of these primitive colours; such are the systems of Ceta, Eridanus (where one is straw-coloured, the other blue), Cameleopardalis, Orion, Rhinoceros, Gemini, Boötes (where the greater one is yellow, and the lesser a greenish blue), and Cygnus (where the smaller is "blue as a sapphire"). On the other hand, combinations of red and green may be found in Cassiopeia, Coma Berenices, and Hercules.

* * * * *

There are other stellar systems which, according to Flammarion, more nearly approximate to our own, in the sense that one of the suns illuminating them has, like ours, a white light,--the source of all colours,--while its neighbouring luminary casts a permanent reflection upon everything. Such, for instance, are the worlds revolving round the great sun of Alpha, in Aries; this great sun is white, but a smaller sun is constantly visible in the sky, whose azure reflections cover as with "a diaphanous veil" the various objects exposed to its rays. Number 26 in Ceta presents the same conditions, which are those, too, of a great number of the most brilliant stars. In the case of the worlds gravitating round the principal world of these binary systems, the originative white lustre would appear to create the infinite varieties noticeable upon the earth, with the distinction, of course, that an azure gleam constantly issues from the other sun; but for the planets gravitating round the latter, the predominant colouring will be blue, tempered by the action of the remoter white sun.

And just as white suns have blue suns for their companions, so have red suns yellow, or _vice versâ_. What a strange and curious radiance--like that of "a dome of many-coloured glass"--must be shed upon a planet by its red and green or yellow and blue suns! What striking contrasts, what fairylike changes, must be produced by a red day and a green day succeeding alternately to a white day, or a day of darkness! Why do not our poets take up such a theme as this? Can they find aught more remarkable or more eëry in the dreams of their imagination?

Supposing that these wonderful spheres are surrounded, like Jupiter or Saturn, by a ring of satellites, what can be their aspect when lit up by several suns, each sun a source of different-coloured light?

This one, we may imagine, will be divided into hemispheres, red and blue, that will suspend in the firmament a crescent of gold; another will seem to drop from the azure circle like a gorgeous cluster of emerald fruit. Ruby moons, opaline moons, moons of jasper and amethyst,--all shining with a mystic and indescribable radiance,--surely the heavens are decked with jewels like an Eastern queen!

[Illustration: FIG. 82.--"Bright with the beauty of the silver moon."]

Our poets may chant the praises of our modest, simple nights, of our calm, hushed heavens, bright only with the beauty of the silver moon, which pours its pale lustre with a winning charm on town and tree, on wood and lake. They may sing, as Barry Cornwall sings--

"Now to thy silent presence, night! Is this my first song offer'd: oh! to thee That lookest with thy thousand eyes of light-- To thee and thy starry nobility That float with a delicious murmuring-- Though unheard here--about thy forehead blue; And as they ride along in order due, Circling the round globe in their wandering. To thee their ancient queen and mother sing.... Not dull and cold and dark art thou: Who that beholds thy clearer brow, Endiademed with gentlest streaks Of fleecy-silver'd cloud, adorning Thee, fair as when the young sun wakes.... But must feel thy powers."

In some such ecstatic strains as this we may laud our moonlit nights, acknowledging in our heart of hearts the power of their silent, subtle loveliness; but how shall we compare them with nights made wonderful by a blending of golden and emerald fires? by the shifting coruscations of stars of many colours?

But here we must conclude a dissertation which threatens to become a rhapsody. It is difficult, however, to treat of such a theme, and to follow up all its strange and startling suggestions, in sober prose.

THE ALPINE FLORA.

The Alpine Flora, of which in a preceding section we have given a very imperfect sketch, has been examined with loving minuteness by Messrs Elijah Walton and T. G. Bonney; and other united results of pen and pencil have been placed before the public in a handsome volume entitled "Flowers from the Upper Alps, with Glimpses of their Homes." A somewhat similar subject has been treated with much delicacy of feeling and fervour of description by the Rev. Hugh Macmillan, in his "Holidays in High Lands."

Among the Alpine plants sketched and described by Messrs Walton and Bonney are the beautiful _Lychnis_, a close relative of our corn-cockle and garden pink, and so called, says Gerard, the quaint old botanist, because it is a "light-giving flower." He also met with immense breadths of violet _pansies_,--"that's for thoughts," says Ophelia,--covering the sloping pasture-grounds of the Col d'Autune, and blending with rose and star gentians, soldanellas, primulas, and anemones. The pink blossoms and bare stem of the _house leek_ is found "among the blocks tumbled down from the ice-streams, and its sparkling clusters seem to glow with a richer hue on the stony ruin which has shattered the pine, and crushed the life even out of the rhododendron."

In the Glarus Alps the odorous crimson tufts of the _Kammblume_ are discovered in a profusion which rejoices and astonishes the traveller. The yellow-blossomed _ragwort_ spreads its stem over the rugged mountain-sides in every Alpine district. But next in fame and beauty to the gentians,--which is, _par excellence_, the mountain-flower,--must be placed the _edelwein_, celebrated by Kobele and other famous poets, and growing in almost every part of the Alps from Dauphiné to the Dolomites.

For further details respecting a most interesting branch of botany, we refer the reader to the two works already named, and he will find that the barrenest, stoniest slope of the Alpine rocks, the bleak recesses where the ice river has its origin, and the rugged ledge where the pitiless winds seem to expend their wildest fury, have their objects of grace and beauty,--their gentle and ever-welcome evidence of the Divine love, the Divine wisdom, and the Divine power, as exercised for the delight of man in the remotest wildernesses of the earth. The love of God is everywhere.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 93: "Nature," vol. i. p. 543.]

[Footnote 94: Flammarion, "Les Merveilles Celestes," pp. 160, 161.]

INDEX.

"Academy," the, quoted, 369-371.

Achtysia, the genus, characteristics of, 353.

_Aeshna grandis_, described, 178; _forcipata_, 178, 179.

_Agaricus Cæsareus_, the, description of, 333, 334.

Agarics, varieties of, characterised, 335, 336.

Agarions, the, general characteristics of their form, 79.

_Agarion virgo_, the, described, 179.

Alps, the, an excursion among, 256-260.

Alpine snail, the, remarkable transparency of, 71.

_Amanita muscaria_, the, described, 328-330; its poisonous properties, 331-333.

_Amanita solitarius_, the, description of, 331.

Amphibia, the, number of species of, 361, 362.

Anaximander, the author of the "Uranometria," his enumeration of the stars, 25.

Ancients, the, their notion of the earth's shape, 104-107.

Anemones, the, blossoming time of, 157, 158; their sensitiveness to atmospheric changes, 158; varieties of, 159; references to, by Drayton, 159-161.

Animal life, distribution of, 357, 366.

Antipodes, the, existence of, believed in by the ancients, 107; proved by Columbus, 108, 109.

Arabs of the desert, the, their nomenclature for the stars, 22, 23.

Aratus, the author of "Phenomena," quoted, 22.

Arctic vole, the, discovery of, by M. Hugi, 50, 51; described by its discoverer, 51; examined and named by M. Martins, 51, 52.

Arcturus, the star, its colour, 23.

Argesilaus, the author of the "Uranometria," his enumeration of the stars, 25.

Aristotle, the Greek philosopher, his theory of the globe's sphericity, 106; on the mole's want of sight, 267.

Articulata, the, number of the species of, 362, 363.

Arum, the, described, 161, 162; its root, 163; its alimentary properties, 163; its various species, 164, 165.

Asterisms, origin of, 14.

Atmosphere, the, illumination of, 313.

Autumn, aspect of nature in, 366, 367.

Bailey, P. J., the poet, quoted, 3.

Balfour, Professor J. H., quoted, 208; on the diffusion of plants, 321-324.

Bearded pink. _See_ SWEET WILLIAM.

Birds, number of the species of, 359, 360.

Black Hellebore, the, described, 168.

Boehm, M. Joseph, his theory of the rise of sap, 136, 137.

Boletus, the, of the Romans, 334.

Boraginaceæ, the, characteristics of, 239-241.

Bosc, the French naturalist, his reference to the alimentary properties of the Arum, 163; his career sketched, 163.

Boyle, Robert, on the contemplation of the universe, 101, 102.

Bradley, the astronomer, his discovery of the nutation of the earth, 12.

Browning, Mrs E. B., her poetry characterised, 337; her "Aurora Leigh" quoted, 337, 338.

Bug, the harvest, description of, 349-352.

Burton, of the "Anatomy of Melancholy," quoted, 240.

Buttercup, the, its bulbous roots, 166; its stimulating properties, 167.

Byron, Lord, the poet, quoted, 101.

Cæsalpin, the botanist, on the _Solanum nigrum_, 86.

Callisto, the legend of, 9.

Calypso, the island of, referred to, 19.

Calyx, the, of flowers, parts of, 211.

Campbell, Thomas, the poet, quoted, 236, 237.

Candolle, De, his opinions on the nature of red snow, 41, 42.

Cardinal points of the compass, how to ascertain our position in reference to the, 7, 8; process of determination of the, 17-19.

Carew, Thomas, the poet, quoted, 100.

Carnations, characterised by Jeremy Taylor and Drayton, 371; described, 372; varieties of, 373.

Carnivora, the, distribution of, 358.

Cassini, Jacques, his theory of the earth's form, 111, 112.

Castle pink, the, described, 375, 376.

Castelnau, the Count of, quoted, 363, 364.

Cereals, the, range of, 323, 324.

Cetacea, the, distribution of, 358; described, 208-215; curious forms of, 220-223.

Chaldeans, the, their conception of the earth's shape, 105.

Chamois, the, described, 56, 57.

Chaucer, the poet, his description of the daisy quoted, 138, 140.

Cheese mite, the, where found, 354; its ugly form, 355, 356.

Chomel, the botanist, on the medical properties of the daisy, 146, 147.

Chlorophyll, experiments in, 368, 369.

_Chrysomela salicinia_, the, described, 72.

Clare, John, the Northamptonshire poet, on the dragon-fly, 175.

Clematis, the, described, 168; celebrated by Keats, 168.

Columbus, Christopher, his demonstration of the existence of the Antipodes, 108, 109.

Compass, the, points of, 7.

Constellations, table of the number of stars in the northern, southern, and zodiacal, 27, 28.

_Convallaria majalis._ _See_ LILY OF THE VALLEY.

Convolvulus, the, described, 383, 384.

Copernicus, the astronomer, his theory of the earth's rotundity, 110; antiquity of his so-called theory, 118, 119.

Cornwall, Barry, the poet, quoted, 229.

Corolla, the, of flowers, 214, 215, 223; varieties of, 225-229.

Crabbe, George, the poet, quotation from, 288.

_Cynodon dactylon_, the, described, 91-93.

Daisy, the, described by Chaucer, 138, 140; by Cowper, 139; by James Montgomery and William Browne, 140; its vegetation, 140, 141; described, 142-145; referred to by the ancients, 145; and by the botanists of the Middle Ages, 146; characterised by Wepfer, Tournefort, and Garidel, 147; its medical properties, 146, 147; George Withers' tribute to, 148; celebrated by Wordsworth, 149, 150; by Shakespeare and Milton, 151, 152.

Darwin, Erasmus, the poet, on the pimpernel, 261.

David's Chariot, position of, 8, 9.

Day and night, varying length of, 198, 199.

Delphos, the "navel of the world," 107.

Democritus, the philosopher, on the Milky Way, 25.

Dent de Jaman, the, described, 257.

Desor, M., the Swiss naturalist, his discovery of the snow-flea, 72, 73.

_Desoria saltans_, the, described, 73; _glacialis_, description of, 74.

Dial, floral, referred to and exemplified, 217, 218.

Diodorus, the historian, quoted, 93, 94.

Dioscorides, the author of "Materia Medica," his reference to Mercury's plant, 81; on the _Agrostis_, 95.

Diurnal movement of the stars, origin of its discovery, 16.

Dobell, Sydney, the poet, quoted, 129, 131.

Dogma, folly of, 292.

Dog Mercury, the, its power of propagation, 77, 78; described by Mr Sowerby, 78; how distinguished from weeds, 79; its diœcious character, 80; mentioned by Pliny the naturalist, 80, 81; and by Dioscorides, 81; its disappearance before the power of snow, 81.

Dog-star, the. _See_ SIRIUS.

Dog's-tooth grass, the, characteristics of, features of, described, 91-93; its emollient properties, 96.

Draco, the constellation of, known to the ancients, 22.

Dragon-fly, the, described by the poets, 174, 175; its destructive properties, 175; the female, 182, 183; its metamorphosis, 183-187.

Drayton, Michael, the poet, his description of a spring-time posy, 159-161; on carnations, 371.

Drummond, William, the poet, quoted, 399, 400.

Dutrochet, the philosopher, his theory of the rise of sap, 136.

Eagle, the, its affection for the mountains, 57; its flight described, 58-62; its nest, 62; the various species of, 62, 63.

Earth, the, shape of, as conceived by Homer and Hesiod, 103, 104; by Seneca, 104; by the Chaldeans, Anaximander, Anaximenes, and Zenophanes, 105; by Plato, 105, 106; by Eudoxes and Aristotle, 106; by the Greeks and Hebrews, 107; a problem, 398, 399.

Earwig, the, form of, described, 278-280.

Edelwein, the, in the Alps, description of, 418.

Flammarion, M., on coloured stars, 414, 415.

_Flos Adonis_, the, legend connected with, 169.

Forficulæ, the, group of, characteristics of, 286.

Forget-me-not, the, celebrated by Campbell the poet, 236, 237; described by Miss Pratt, 238; analysis of its form, 238, 239; legends connected with, 239, 240.

Friendship, the test of, 141.

Frigid zones, the, position of, 45, 46; the lizards of, described, 70, 71.

Galileo, his discoveries in gravitation, 110, 111.

Ganges, the banks of, described, 248.

Garidel, the botanist, on the medical properties of the daisy, 147.

Garden-lily, the, described, 248.

Garden-nightshade, the, its extreme fertility, 82; description of, 83; by Tournefort, 84, 85, 89; its various forms, 85; its medical properties, 85-87.

Genesis, the book of, quoted, 191.

_Gentiana lutea_, the, its medical properties, 254.

_Gentiana campestris_, described, 256, 257.

Gentianaceæ, the family of, its characteristics described, 252-255; a Lilliputian specimen of, 255.

Gentians, the, of the Alps, description of, 10.

Gerard, the botanist, quoted, 418.

Gesner, Conrad, the botanist, on the tulip, 154.

Goethe, J. Wolfgang, the poet, quoted, 191.

Gold-crowned wren, the, description of, 64; its partiality to the society of other birds, 64, 65; its gymnastic accomplishments, 65; its cosmopolitan character, 65, 66; its smallness of size, 66.

Graetz's balls, origin of, stated, 55, 56.

Gramineæ, the, general characteristics of, 88-90; how described by the naturalists of the Middle Ages, 95, 96.

Gramen, the, Pliny the historian on, 94, 95.

Grasshopper, the, described by Leigh Hunt, 274.

Great Bear, the, origin of the story of, 9, 10; Homer's reference to, 10.

Grew, the botanist, his theory of the rise of sap, 124; on the calyx of flowers, 211.

Hay, aromatic, an instance of, 258.

Heat, the action of, described, 313-317.

Heavens, the, movement in, 115, 116.

Hebrews, the, their conception of the earth's supports in space, 107.

Hedgerows, the, wild climbing plants of, 382, 383.

Hepatica, the, described, 168, 169.

Herbs, the food of the primitive Egyptians, 93, 94.

Hipparchus, the astronomer, his discovery of the precession of the equinoxes, 116; his astronomical researches, 291, 292.

Homer, the poet, his reference to the Great Bear, 10, 19; and to Orion, 15; his scientific knowledge, 19; his conception of the earth's shape, 103, 104; quoted, 210.

Honeycomb, the, of the bee, described, 85.

Honeysuckle, the, celebrated by Scott, Burns, and Drayton, 380.

Hood, Thomas, the poet, quoted, 190.

Horace, the poet, quoted, 103.

House leek, the, in the Alps, described, 418.

Houston, Professor, his table of the distribution of wheat and barley, 324, 325.

Howitt, Mary, the poetess, on the dragon-fly, 175.

Hugi, M., the Swiss naturalist, his discovery of the Arctic vole, 49-51.

Humanity, the future of, 393.

Human power, limitation of, 394.

Hunt, Leigh, his poem on the grasshopper, quoted, 274.

Huygens, the savant, his researches into the laws of gravitation, 111.

Immortality, an emblem of, in the metamorphosis of the caterpillar, 402, 403.

Infusoria, the, number of, 365.

Inglis, Henry, the traveller, quoted, 142.

Insects, the various orders of, enumerated, 280; the number of species of, 363, 364.

Jonson, Ben, the dramatist, quoted, 207, 248, 400.

Kane, Dr Elisha, the American explorer, his Arctic experiences, 39.

Keats, the poet, quoted, 29, 168, 190, 244, 298.

Kepler, the astronomer, his adoption of the theory of the earth's rotundity, 110.

Lactantius, on the non-existence of the Antipodes, 108.

La Hire, the French botanist, his theory of the rise of sap, 134.

Landscape, a wintry, described, 5.

Leaf-wasp, the, its mode of depositing its larvæ, 71, 72.

Le Monnier, the French astronomer, on the theory of the nutation of the earth, 123.

Lesser celandine, the, celebrated by Wordsworth, 166; described, 166.

_Libellula cancellata_, described, 177.

_Libellula grandis_, described, 178.

Libellulæ, the family of, its characteristics, 174-183. _See_ DRAGON-FLY.

Libellulites, the family of, its general characteristics, 179, 180.

Liberty, a plea for intellectual, 407.

Life, origin of, speculated upon, 390, 391.

Light, the nature of, 192, 193; physiological facts concerning, 194-196; the theory of, 197, 198; chemical action of, 312, 313.

Liliaceæ, the family of, its characteristics, 249, 250.

Lily of the field, the, of the Gospels, described, 242, 243.

Lily of the valley, the, described by Shakespeare, 242; its native countries, 242.

Little Bear, the, position of, 11, 12; distinct from the Great Bear, 12; first recognised by the Phœnicians, 20.

Little Vulcan, the, butterfly, described by Agassiz, 71.

Longfellow, the poet, his description of Orion, 13; quoted, 128, 129.

Lychnis, the, described, 418.

Macgillivray, the naturalist, quoted, 59, 60.

Macmillan, Rev. Hugh, quoted, 42-44.

Malpighi, the botanist, his theory of the rise of sap, 135.

Mammalia, the, summarised, 360.

Manilius, the poet, his references to the Great Bear, quoted, 20, 21.

Mant, Bishop, quoted, 63, 64.

Mariotte, the botanist, his theory of the rise of sap, 135.

Marmot, the, described, 53; its habits, 53, 54; the various species of, 55.

Mars, the planet, referred to, 301, 302.

Marsupialia, the, distribution of, 358.

Martins, M., the naturalist, his examination and description of the Arctic vole, 51, 52.

Marvell, Andrew, the poet, quoted, 217.

Matter, forms of living, 388, 389.

_Mercurialis annua._ _See_ DOG MERCURY.

Metamorphosis, the function of, in nature, 401, 402.

Milton, his allusion to the daisy, quoted, 151, 152.

Mole, the, peculiar movements of, 265, 266; described, 267; Aristotle and Pliny on its want of sight, 267; its hands and fingers, 268; its favourite haunts, 269; marvellous properties ascribed to, 270, 271.

Mole-cricket, the, its form and habits described, 273-278.

Mollusca, the, number of species of, 362.

Moon, influence of, on the weather, 30, 31.

Moore, Thomas, the poet, his characterisation of the dragon-fly, 174; his allusion to the water-lily of the East, 246.

Mountain pink, the, described, 374, 375.

Mushroom, the, how to be distinguished, 327, 328; some varieties of, described, 329-337.

Mutability, the lesson of, 316.

_Myosotis palustris._ _See_ FORGET-ME-NOT.

Nature, beauty and suggestiveness of, 339; our imperfect knowledge of, 341, 342; the infinite diversity of, 365.

_Nebria escheri_ described, 72; _chevrierii_, 72.

Newman, Mr, author of "History of British Insects," quoted, 285.

Newton, Sir Isaac, his theories as to the form of the earth, 111, 112.

_Nuphar lutea_, the, described, 245.

Nutation of the earth, the, explained, 120, 121, 123; its discovery, 121, 122.

Observer, the, of nature, 4, 5.

_Œnothera biennis_, described, 216, 218, 219.

Orion, the occultation of, its position in the heavens, 14; its place in the old mythology, 15.

Pachydermata, the, distribution of, 359.

Parry, Captain, on the nature of red snow, 41.

Perianth, the, of flowers, 208.

Perrault, the botanist, his theory of the rise of sap, 135.

Petals, the, of flowers, described, 109, 224-227.

Phœnicians, the, their knowledge of the Great and Little Bears, 20, 21.

_Physalis alkekengi_, described, 222.

Pilgran, the meteorologist, his researches into the nature of climate, 31.

Pimpernel, the, all about, 260-264.

Pinks, the various kinds of, described, 374.

Planets, the, whether inhabited, 395.

Plants, discovery of the sex of, 207; appropriate to certain soils, 320, 321; diffusion of, 321-325; classification of, 343-345.

Plato, the philosopher, his notion of the form of the globe, 105, 106.

Pliny, the naturalist, on numbering the stars, 25; his reference to red snow, 39; and to the mercurialis, 80, 81; on the gramen, 94, 95; his reference to the daisy, 146; on the mole, 270, 271.

Plutarch, the historian, on the probability of the existence of the antipodes, 108.

_Podura plumbea_, the, described, 74, 75.

Polar Star, the, its position in the heavens, 18.

Poles, day at the, 200, 201.

_Polygala vulgaris_, the, described, 213.

Pointers, constellation of the, referred to, 22.

Pratt, Miss, on the forget-me-not, 238.

Proctor, R. A., on solar phenomena, 410, 411.

_Protococcus nivalis_, the plant described, 42-44.

Prunella, the, or "self-heal," described, 230-233.

Ptolemæus, his enumeration of the constellations, 24; his acquaintance with the so-called Copernican theory, 119; astronomical theories of, 297, 298.

Pythagoras, the philosopher, his familiarity with the so-called Copernican theory, 119.

Quadrumana, the, distribution of, 357, 358.

Ramond, the naturalist, his researches in the natural history of red snow, 40, 41.

Ranunculaceæ, the, general characteristics of, 166-169.

Ray, the botanist, on the daisy, 146.

Red-billed crow, the, its appearance described, 68, 69; its habits, 69; the history of one which had been tamed, 69, 70.

Red snow, known to Pliny, the naturalist, 39; first described scientifically by De Saussure, 39, 40; discovered by Ramond in the Pyrenees, 40; by Captain Ross in Baffin's Bay, 41; described by Sir John Ross, 41; a fungus (?) 41.

Reptiles, the, distribution of, 361.

Rhizomes, or trailing roots, referred to, 88, 89.

Rhodius, Apollonius, the poet, quoted, 20.

Rodentia, the, distribution of, 358.

Rogers, the poet, quoted, 403.

Ruminantia, the, how distributed, 358.

Salamanca, the council of, referred to, 108.

Sap, the circulation of, 132; its ascent and descent, 133; theories concerning the rise of, 134-137.

Saussure, Benedict de, the naturalist, his observations on red snow, 39, 40.

Science, unselfishness of, 76; the peculiar characteristics of, 133.

Scutellariæ, the, characteristics of, indicated, 235, 236.

Seasons, the, changes of, 204, 205.

Seneca, the philosopher, his conception of the earth's support in space, 104.

Shakespeare, his allusions to the daisy, quoted, 150, 151; the lily described by, 242.

Shelley, the poet, quoted, 152.

Sirius, the star, its colour, 26; deleterious influence ascribed to, by the Greeks, 23, 24.

Snow, the, preservation of the germ of life in seeds and roots, 32; its composition, 32, 33; the reason of its preservative qualities, 34; in the form of crystals, 34; a reflector of light, 37; its utility to the agriculturist, 37; in the polar regions, 38, 39; red snow, _which see_.

Snow-bunting, the, description of, 66, 67; its favourite localities, 67, 68.

Snow, perpetual, the line of, where situated, 47; its variations, 48.

Snow-flea, the, its discovery narrated, 72, 73; its generic characters, 74.

Soapwort, the, described, 378; its juice, 378, 379.

Soil, effect of temperature upon, 317; cultivation of, 318-320; plants appropriate to different kinds of, 320, 321.

_Solanum nigrum_, the, described, 82-85.

Solar corona, the, nature of, 409-412.

Solar eclipse of 1870, the, considered, 407-412.

Solstices, the summer and winter, 45.

Somerville, Mrs, quoted, 289.

Sowerby, Mr, on the _Mercurialis annua_, 78.

Species, number of vegetable, 339, 340, 347, 348; number of animal, 356.

Spencer, Edmund, the poet, quoted, 2.

Spring, the awakening of, described, 127-131.

_Staphylium olens_, described, 271-273.

Stars, the, their infinite number, 4; their diurnal movement, 15-17; coloured, 412-417.

Stellaria, the, characteristics of, enumerated, 378.

Strickland, Miss, on the legend of the forget-me-not, 240.

Struve, Otto, his computation of the number of the stars, 25, 26.

Sun, the, movements of, in the heavens, 292-296; length of its radius, 296, 297.

Sweetbriar, the, celebrated by Spenser, Milton, Scott, and Drayton, 380; by Shakespeare, 381.

Taylor, Jeremy, on carnations, 371.

Telescopes, importance of their invention to science, 26.

Temperate zones, the, reference to, 45.

Temperature, effect of, on soil, 317.

Tennyson, Alfred, the poet, quoted, 6, 7, 57, 183, 247, 319.

Theophrastus, an ancient writer, on the _Agrostis_, 95.

Thomson, James, the poet, quoted, 32, 100.

Thought, freedom of, asserted, 311; indestructibility of, 392.

Toaldo, the Italian meteorologist, his researches into the phenomena of climate, 31.

Tournefort, the naturalist, his description of the _Solanum nigrum_, 84, 85, 87; quoted, 96, 234; on the medical properties of the daisy, 147.

Tragus, the botanist, his account of the _Solanum nigrum_, 86.

_Triticum repens_, the, described, 93.

Tschudi, M., the naturalist, his description of a red-billed crow, quoted, 69, 70.

Tulip, the, described, 152, 153; its introduction into Europe, 153; its cultivation, 154, 155.

Twilight, phenomena of, 205.

Vertebrata, the, orders of, 362.

Vole, the Arctic. _See_ ARCTIC VOLE.

Voltaire, François Arouet, his popularisation of the Newtonian philosophy, 113.

Walton, Isaak, his eulogium on the strawberry, 244.

Water, the crystallisation of, instanced and described, 36, 37.

Water-lily, the, described by Keats and Mrs Hemans, 244; by Wordsworth, 245; analysis of its form, 245; of the East, described, 246.

Water-ranunculus, the, description of, 167.

Winters, instances of some severe, 29, 30.

Winter-time, appropriate for the observation of celestial phenomena, 3; the passing away of, and merging into spring, 96, 97.

Withering, the botanist, on the _Solanum nigrum_, 86.

Wither, George, the poet, his tribute to the daisy, quoted, 148.

Wood-louse, the, its characteristics enumerated, 169-172; another species of, 173.

Wordsworth, William, the poet, his celebration of the daisy, quoted, 149, 150; his poem on the lesser celandine, 166; his reference to the lily of the valley, 245; quoted, 375.

Wren, the, described by Bishop Mant, 63, 64; its habits stated, 64.

Yellow water-lily, the, description of, 245.

Zodiac, the, constellations of, 114, 115.

_Zootoca pyrrhogastra_, the, described, 70.

THE END.

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=7. The Roseville Family. A Historical Tale of the Eighteenth Century. By Mrs. A. S. ORR=, Author of 'Mountain Patriots,' etc.

=8. Leah. A Tale of Ancient Palestine. Illustrative of the Story of Naaman the Syrian. By Mrs. A. S. ORR.=

=9. Champions of the Reformation: The Stories of their Lives. By JANET GORDON.=

=10. The History of Two Wanderers; or, Cast Adrift.=

=11. Beattie's Poetical Works.=

=12. The Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver Goldsmith.=

=13. Edgar Allan Poe's Poetical Works.=

=14. The Miner's Son, and Margaret Vernon. By M. M. POLLARD=, Author of 'The Minister's Daughter,' etc. etc.

=15. How Frank began to Climb the Ladder, and the Friends who lent him a hand. By CHARLES BRUCE=, Author of 'Lame Felix,' etc.

=16. Conrad and Columbine. A Fairy Tale. By James MASON.=

=17. Aunt Ann's Stories. Edited by Louisa Loughborough.=

=18. The Snow-Sweepers' Party, and the Tale of Old Tubbins. By R. ST. JOHN CORBET=, Author of 'Mince Pie Island,' etc. etc.

=19. The Story of Elise Marcel.= A Tale for Girls.

NIMMO'S

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_Foolscap 8vo, Illustrated, elegantly bound in cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt back and side, gilt edges, price 2s. each._

=1. The Far North: Explorations In the Arctic Regions. By ELISHA KENT KANE, M.D.=

=2. Great Men of European History. From the Beginning of the Christian Era till the Present Time. By DAVID PRYDE, M.A.=

=3. The Young Men of the Bible. A Series of Papers, Biographical and Suggestive. By Rev. JOSEPH A. COLLIER.=

=4. The Blade and the Ear: A Book for Young Men.=

=5. Monarchs of Ocean: Columbus and Cook.=

=6. Life's Crosses, and How to Meet them. By T. S. Arthur.=

=7. A Father's Legacy to his Daughters, etc. A Book for Young Women. By Dr. GREGORY.=

=8. Mountain Patriots. A Tale of the Reformation in Savoy. By Mrs. A. S. ORR.=

=9. Labours of Love: A Tale for the Young. By Winifred Taylor.=

=10. Mossdale: A Tale for the Young. By Anna M. De Iongh.=

=11. The Standard-Bearer. A Tale of the Times of Constantine the Great. By ELLEN PALMER.=

=12. Jacqueline. A Story of the Reformation in Holland. By Mrs. HARDY (JANET GORDON).=

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=2. Picture Lessons by the Divine Teacher; or, Illustrations of the Parables of our Lord. By PETER GRANT, D.D.=

=3. Nonna: A Story of the Days of Julian the Apostate. By Ellen PALMER.=

=4. Philip Walton; or, Light at Last. By the Author of 'Meta Frantz,'= etc.

=5. The Minister's Daughter, and Old Anthony's Will. Tales for the Young. By M. M. POLLARD=, Author of 'The Miner's Son,' etc. etc.

=6. The Two Sisters. By M. M. Pollard.=

=7. A Needle and Thread: A Tale for Girls. By Emma J. Barnes=, Author of 'Faithful and True, or the Mother's Legacy.'

=8. Taken Up: A Tale for Boys and Girls. By A. Whymper.=

=9. An Earl's Daughter. By M. M. Pollard.=

=10. Life at Hartwell; or, Frank and his Friends. By Katharine E. MAY=, Author of 'Alfred and his Mother,' etc. etc.

=11. Stories Told in a Fisherman's Cottage. By Ellen Palmer=, Author of 'Nonna,' 'The Standard-Bearer,' etc. etc.

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=3. The Best Things. By Rev. Richard Newton.=

=4. The Story of John Heywood: A Tale of the Time of Harry VIII. By CHARLES BRUCE-, Author of 'How Frank began to Climb,' etc.

=5. Lessons from Rose Hill; and Little Nannette.=

=6. Great and Good Women: Biographies for Girls. By LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.=

=7. At Home and Abroad; or, Uncle William's Adventures.=

=8. Alfred and his Mother; or, Seeking the Kingdom. By KATHARINE E. MAY.=

=9. Asriel; or, The Crystal Cup. By Mrs. Henderson.=

=10. The Kind Governess; or, How to make Home Happy.=

=11. Percy and Ida. By Katharine E. May.=

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=3. Christmas at the Beacon. By Ellen Palmer.=

=4. The Sea and the Savages: A Story of Adventure.= By HAROLD LINCOLN.

=5. The Swedish Singer; or, The Story of Vanda Rosendahl.= By Mrs. W. G. HALL.

=6. My Beautiful Home; or, Lily's Search.= By Chas. Bruce.

=7. The Story of a Moss Rose; or, Ruth and the Orphan Family.= By CHARLES BRUCE.

=8. Summer Holidays at Silversea.= By E. Rosalie Salmon.

=9. Fred Graham's Resolve.= By the Author of 'Mat and Sofie.'

=10. Wilton School; or, Harry Campbell's Revenge. A Tale.= By F. E. WEATHERLY.

=11. Grace Harvey and her Cousins.=

=12. Blind Mercy; and other Tales.= By Gertrude Crockford.

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=1. The Vicar of Wakefield.= Poems and Essays. By OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

=2. Æsop's Fables,= With Instructive Applications. By Dr. CROXALL.

=3. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress.=

=4. The Young Man-of-War's-Man: A Boy's Voyage round the World. By CHARLES NORDHOFF.=

=5. The Treasury of Anecdote: Moral and Religious.=

=6. The Boy's Own Workshop;= or, The Young Carpenters. By JACOB ABBOTT.

=7. The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.=

=8. The History of Sandford and Merton. A Moral and Instructive Lesson for Young Persons.=

=9. Evenings at Home; or, The Juvenile Budget Opened.= Consisting of a variety of Miscellaneous Pieces for the Instruction and Amusement of Young Persons. By Dr. AIKIN and Mrs. BARBAULD.

=10. Unexpected Pleasures; or, Left alone in the Holidays.= By Mrs. GEORGE CUPPLES, Author of 'Norrie Seton,' etc.

=11. The Beauties of Shakespeare. With a General Index by the Rev. WILLIAM DODD, LL.D.=

=12. Gems from 'The Spectator.'= A Selection from the most admired Writings of Addison and Steele.

=13. Burns' Poetical Works. With a Complete Glossary.=

=14. The Sketch Book.= By Washington IRVING.

*** The above Series of elegant and useful books is specially prepared for the entertainment and instruction of young persons.

Nimmo's Popular Religious Gift Books.

18mo, finely printed on toned paper, handsomely bound in cloth extra, price 1s. each.

=1. Across the River: Twelve Views of Heaven. By Norman MACLEOD,= D.D.; R. W. HAMILTON, D.D.; ROBERT S. CANDLISH, D.D.; JAMES HAMILTON, D.D.; etc. etc.

=2. Emblems of Jesus; or, Illustrations of Emmanuel's Character= and Work.

=3. Life Thoughts of Eminent Christians.=

=4. Comfort for the Desponding; or, Words to Soothe and Cheer= Troubled Hearts.

=5. The Chastening of Love: Words of Consolation for the= Christian Mourner. By JOSEPH PARKER, D.D., Manchester.

=6. The Cedar Christian, and other Practical Papers. By the Rev.= THEODORE L. CUYLER.

=7. Consolation for Christian Mothers Bereaved of Little= Children. By A FRIEND OF MOURNERS.

=8. The Orphan; or, Words of Comfort for the Fatherless and= Motherless.

=9. Gladdening Streams; or, The Waters of the Sanctuary. A Book= for Fragments of Time on each Lord's Day of the Year.

=10. Spirit of the Old Divines.=

=11. Choice Gleanings from Sacred Writers.=

=12. Direction in Prayer; or, The Lord's Prayer Illustrated in a= Series of Expositions. By PETER GRANT, D.D.

=13. Scripture Imagery. By Peter Grant, D.D., Author of 'Emblems= of Jesus,' etc,.

NIMMO'S ONE SHILLING ILLUSTRATED JUVENILE BOOKS.

Foolscap 8vo, Coloured Frontispieces, handsomely bound in cloth, Illuminated, price 1s. each.

=1. Four Little People and their Friends.=

=2. Elizabeth;= or, The Exiles of Siberia. A Tale from the French of Madame COTTIN.

=3. Paul and Virginia.= From the French of BERNARDIN SAINT-PIERRE.

=4. Little Threads: Tangle Thread, Golden= Thread, and Silver Thread.

=5. Benjamin Franklin, the Printer Boy.=

=6. Barton Todd, and The Young Lawyer.=

=7. The Perils of Greatness: The Story of Alexander Menzikoff.=

=8. Little Crowns, and How to Win them. By= Rev. JOSEPH A. COLLIER.

=9. Great Riches: Nelly Rivers' Story. By Aunt FANNY.=

=10. The Right Way, and The Contrast.=

=11. The Daisy's First Winter.= And other Stories. By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

=12. The Man of the Mountain.= And other Stories.

=13. Better than Rubies. Stories for the Young,= Illustrative of Familiar Proverbs. With 62 Illustrations.

=14. Experience Teaches. And other Stories for the Young,= Illustrative of Familiar Proverbs. With 39 Illustrations.

=15. The Happy Recovery. And other Stories for the Young.= With 26 Illustrations.

=16. Gratitude and Probity. And other Stories for the Young.= With 21 Illustrations.

=17. The Two Brothers. And other Stories for the Young.= With 13 Illustrations.

=18. The Young Orator. And other Stories for the Young.= With 9 Illustrations.

=19. Simple Stories to Amuse and Instruct Young Readers.= With Illustrations.

=20. The Three Friends. And other Stories for the Young.= With Illustrations.

=21. Sybil's Sacrifice. And other Stories for the Young.= With 12 Illustrations.

=22. The Old Shepherd. And other Stories for the Young.= With Illustrations.

=23. The Young Officer. And other Stories for the Young.= With Illustrations.

=24. The False Heir. And other Stories for the Young.= With Illustrations.

=25. The Old Farmhouse; or, Alice Morton's Home.= And other Stories. By M. M. POLLARD.

=26. Twyford Hall; or, Rosa's Christmas Dinner,= and what she did with it. By CHARLES BRUCE.

=27. The Discontented Weathercock. And other Stories= for Children. By M. JONES.

=28. Out at Sea, and other Stories. By Two Authors.=

=29. The Story of Waterloo; or, The Fall of NAPOLEON.=

=30. Sister Jane's Little Stories. Edited by Louisa= LOUGHBOROUGH.

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_In demy 18mo, with Illustrations, elegantly bound in cloth._

This Series of Books will be found unequalled for genuine interest and value, and it is believed they will be eagerly welcomed by thoughtful children of both sexes. Parents may rest assured that each Volume teaches some noble lesson, or enforces some valuable truth.

1. In the Brave Days of Old; or, The Story of the Spanish Armada. For Boys and Girls.

2. The Lost Ruby. By the Author of 'The Basket of Flowers,' etc.

3. Leslie Ross; or, Fond of a Lark. By Charles Bruce.

4. My First and Last Voyage. By Benjamin Clarke.

5. Little Katie: A Fairy Story. By Charles Bruce.

6. Being Afraid. And other Stories for the Young. By CHARLES STUART.

7. The Toll-Keepers. And other Stories for the Young. By BENJAMIN CLARKE.

8. Dick Barford: A Boy who would go down Hill. By CHARLES BRUCE.

9. Joan of Arc; or, The Story of a Noble Life. Written for Girls.

10. Helen Siddal: A Story for Children. By Ellen Palmer.

11. Mat and Sofie: A Story for Boys and Girls.

12. Peace and War. By the Author of 'The Basket of Flowers,' etc.

13. Perilous Adventures of a French Soldier in Algeria.

14. The Magic Glass; or, The Secret of Happiness.

15. Hawks' Dene: A Tale for Children. By Katharine E. MAY.

16. Little Maggie. And other Stories. By the Author of 'The Joy of Well-Doing,' etc. etc.

17. The Brother's Legacy; or, Better than Gold. By M. M. POLLARD.

18. The Little Sisters; or, Jealousy. And other Stories for the Young. By the Author of 'Little Tales for Tiny Tots,' etc.

19. Kate's New Home. By Cecil Scott, Author of 'Chryssie Lyle,' etc.

_NEW WORKS._

NEW EDITION OF THE EDINA BURNS.

In crown 4to, price 12s. 6d., elegantly bound in cloth, extra gilt and gilt edges, also in Turkey morocco antique, very handsome, 42s., the popular Drawing-room Edition of the

=Poems and Songs by Robert Burns. With Illustrations= by R. HERDMAN, WALLER H. PATON, SAM. BOUGH, GOURLAY STEELL, D. O. HILL, J. M'WHIRTER, and other eminent Scottish Artists.

_Fourth Edition. Eleventh Thousand._

In demy 8vo, cloth elegant, richly gilt, price 7s. 6d., or in Turkey morocco antique, 21s.,

=Things a Lady would Like to Know, concerning= Domestic Management and Expenditure, arranged for Daily Reference. By HENRY SOUTHGATE, Author of 'Many Thoughts of Many Minds,' 'Noble Thoughts in Noble Language,' 'Gone Before,' 'The Bridal Bouquet,' etc. etc.

_Tenth Thousand._

In crown 8vo, beautifully bound in cloth extra, full of Engravings and Coloured Pictures, price 3s. 6d., or gilt edges price 4s.,

=Three Hundred Bible Stories and Three Hundred= Bible Pictures. A Pictorial Sunday Book for the Young.

_The Excelsior Edition of Shakespeare's Complete Works._

In large demy 8vo, with Steel Portrait and Vignette, handsomely bound, price 5s.,

=Shakespeare's Complete Works. With a Biographical= Sketch by MARY COWDEN CLARKE, a Copious Glossary, and numerous Illustrations.

_The Excelsior Edition of Whiston's Josephus._

In large demy 8vo, with Steel Portrait and Vignette, handsomely bound, price 5s.,

=The Whole Works of Flavius Josephus, the Jewish= Historian. With Life, Portrait, Notes, Index, etc.

THE WAVERLEY NOVELS.

ENTIRELY NEW EDITION.

_Crown 8vo, with Frontispiece and Vignette, in elegant wrapper printed in colours, price 1s. each. Also, in Twenty-six volumes, cloth extra, full gilt back, price 2s. per volume; and in Thirteen double volumes, roxburgh style, gilt top, price 3s. 6d. per volume._

Edited by the Rev. P. HATELY WADDELL, LL.D. With Notes, Biographical and Critical, and a Glossary of Scotch Words and Foreign Phrases for each Novel.

1. =Waverley; or, ''Tis Sixty Years Since.'= 2. =Guy Mannering; or, The Astrologer.= 3. =The Antiquary.= 4. =Rob Roy.= 5. =Old Mortality.= 6. =The Black Dwarf, and A Legend of Montrose.= 7. =The Bride of Lammermoor.= 8. =The Heart of Mid-Lothian.= 9. =Ivanhoe: A Romance.= 10. =The Monastery.= 11. =The Abbot: A Sequel.= 12. =Kenilworth.= 13. =The Pirate.= 14. =The Fortunes of Nigel.= 15. =Peveril of the Peak.= 16. =Quentin Durward.= 17. =St. Ronan's Well.= 18. =Redgauntlet.= 19. =The Betrothed.= 20. =The Talisman: A Tale of the Crusaders.= 21. =Woodstock; or, The Cavalier.= 22. =The Fair Maid of Perth; or, St. Valentine's Day.= 23. =Anne of Geierstein; or, The Maiden of the Mist.= 24. =Count Robert of Paris.= 25. =The Surgeon's Daughter, and Castle Dangerous.= 26. =The Highland Widow, and my Aunt Margaret's Mirror.=

With an interesting summarised account of the Scott Centenary.

The above may also be had in substantial half-calf bindings.

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Just ready, in crown 8vo, with Steel Frontispiece and Vignette, handsomely bound, cloth extra, price 5s. each; also in full gilt side, back, and edges, price 6s. each.

_Seventh Thousand._

=The English Circumnavigators: The most remarkable= Voyages round the World by English Sailors. (Drake, Dampier, Anson, and Cook's Voyages.) With a Preliminary Sketch of their Lives and Discoveries. Edited, with Notes, Maps, etc., by DAVID LAING PURVES and R. COCHRANE.

=The Book of Adventure and Peril. A Record of= Heroism and Endurance on Sea and Land. Compiled and Edited by CHARLES BRUCE, Editor of 'Sea Songs and Ballads,' 'The Birthday Book of Proverbs,' etc.

=The Great Triumphs of Great Men. Edited by= JAMES MASON. Illustrated.

=Great Historical Mutinies, comprising the Story= of the Mutiny of the 'Bounty,' the Mutiny at Spithead and the Nore, the Mutinies of the Highland Regiments, and the Indian Mutiny, etc. Edited by DAVID HERBERT, M.A.

=Famous Historical Scenes from Three Centuries.= Pictures of celebrated events from the Reformation to the end of the French Revolution. Selected from the works of Standard Authors by A. R. HOPE MONCRIEFF.

=The English Explorers; comprising details of the= more famous Travels by Mandeville, Bruce, Park, and Livingstone. With Map of Africa and Chapter on Arctic Exploration.

=The Book for Every Day; containing an Inexhaustible= Store of Amusing and Instructive Articles. Edited by JAMES MASON.

=The Book of Noble Englishwomen: Lives made= Illustrious by Heroism, Goodness, and Great Attainments. Edited by CHARLES BRUCE.

=A Hundred Wonders of the World in Nature and= Art, described according to the latest Authorities, and profusely Illustrated. Edited by JOHN SMALL, M.A.

_Other Popular and Standard Volumes in preparation._

* * * * *

+----------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber notes: | | | | The equals sign is used to surround =bold text=; | | underscores to surround _italic text_. | | | | Corrected various punctuation. | | P.24. 'Ptolemoeus' changed to 'Ptolemæus'. | | P.187. T (large down tack) mathematical symbol. | | P.187. Heiroglyphics "The Ankh" symbol. | | P.252. 'Fig. 57.' changed to 'fig. 56.'. | | P.254. 'Fig. 35.' changed to 'fig. 58.'. | | P.389. 'ramificacations' changed to 'ramifications'. | | P.390. 'disorderd' changed to 'disordered'. | | P.427. 'Withers' changed to 'Wither'. | | Index: Voltaire, '713' is p.113, changed. | | There are difference customs between titles | | Mr (British) and Mr. (American) and the corresponding | | Mrs (British) and Mrs. (American) found in this books, | | so the only title with a period is found in the adds | | for consistency, as in the book. | | | +----------------------------------------------------------+

End of Project Gutenberg's Everyday Objects, by W. H. Davenport Adams