Chapter C: C. M

The name grape is from the French _grappe_, a bunch of grapes; from the same root as _gripe_ or _grab_, to grasp. It is one of the most valuable fruits, not only because of its use in the manufacture of wine, and is the source also from which brandy, vinegar, and tartaric acid are obtained, but because, both in a fresh and dried state, it forms not a mere article of luxury, but a great part of the food of the inhabitants of some countries.

The cultivation of the vine was introduced into England by the Romans, and of late years its cultivation has much increased in gardens, on the walls of suburban villas and of cottages, but chiefly for the sake of the fresh fruit, although wine is also made in small quantities for domestic use.

The first attempt at the culture of the vine in the United States for wine-making was in Florida in 1564; and another was made by the British colonist in 1620. In Delaware wine was made from native grapes as early as 1648. In 1683 William Penn engaged in the cultivation of the vine near Philadelphia, but with only partial success. In 1825 the Catawba vine, a native of North Carolina, came into prominence; and it was afterward cultivated extensively near Cincinnati by Nicholas Longworth, who has been called the father of this culture in the United States. In 1858 the entire production of Catawba wine in Ohio amounted to 400,000 gallons. In the states east of the Rocky mountains the greatest extent of territory in vineyards occurs in Ohio, New York, Missouri, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Iowa, and Kansas, but at present they exist in nearly every state in the Union. Of all of the states, however, California is the most important for vine-growing. The vineyards were first cultivated there during the middle of the last century, the first grape planted being the Los Angeles, which was the only one grown till 1820.

The cultivation of the vine varies much in different countries. In the vineries of Britain the vines are carefully trained in various ways so as most completely to cover the walls and trellises and to turn the whole available space to the utmost account. The luxuriant growth of the plant renders the frequent application of the pruning-knife necessary during the summer. The bunches of grapes are generally thinned out with great care, in order that finer fruit may be produced. By such means, and the aid of artificial heat, grapes are produced equal to those of the most favored climates, and the vine attains to a large size and a great age. The famous vine at Hampton Court has a stem more than a foot in circumference, one branch measuring one hundred and fourteen feet in length, and has produced in one season two thousand two hundred bunches of grapes, weighing on an average one pound each, or in all about a ton.

* * * * *

About 250 years ago Dr. Power attributed the fly's locomotive power to "a furry kind of substance like little sponges with which she hath lined the soles of her feet, which substance is also repleated with a whitish viscous liquor, which she can at pleasure squeeze out, and so sodder and be-glue herself to the place she walks on, which otherwise her gravity would hinder, especially when she walks in those inverted positions." Scientific men refused to believe this explanation, and taught that the bottom of a fly's foot resembled the leather sucker used by boys to lift stones, and that this formation enabled it to move back downwards. However it has been proved that Dr. Power was right in every point but the sticky nature of the liquid that exudes from the fly's foot. This substance is not sticky, and the attachment which it causes is brought about by capillary attraction.

PROSE POEMS OF IVAN TURGENIEF.

I dreamed that I stepped into a vast, subterranean, highly arched hall. A brilliant light illuminated it. In the middle of this hall was seated the majestic figure of a woman, clothed in a green robe that fell in many folds around her. Her head rested upon her hand; she seemed to be sunk in deep meditation. Instantly I comprehended that this woman must be nature herself, and a sudden feeling of respectful terror stole into my awed soul. I approached the woman, and, saluting her with reverence, said:

"O mother of us all, on what dost thou meditate? Thinkest thou, perchance, on the future fate of humanity, or of the path along which mankind must journey in order to attain the highest possible perfection--the highest happiness?"

The woman slowly turned her dark, threatening eyes upon me. Her lips moved and, in a tremendous, metallic voice she replied:

"I was pondering how to bestow greater strength upon the muscles of the flea's legs, so that it may more rapidly escape from its enemies. The balance between attack and flight is deranged; it must be readjusted."

"What!" I answered, "is that thy only meditation? Are not we, mankind, thy best-loved and most precious children?"

The woman slightly bent her brows and replied: "All living creatures are my children; I cherish all equally, and annihilate all without distinction."

"But Virtue, Reason, Justice!" I faltered.

"Those are human words," replied the brazen voice. "I know neither good nor evil. Reason to me is no law. And what is justice? I gave thee life; I take it from thee and give it unto others; worms and men are all the same to me.... And thou must maintain thyself meanwhile, and leave me in peace."

I would have replied, but the earth quaked and trembled, and I awoke.

I was returning from hunting, and walking along an avenue of the garden, my dog running in front of me.

Suddenly he took shorter steps, and began to steal along as though tracking game.

I looked along the avenue, and saw a young sparrow, with yellow about its beak and down on its head. It had fallen out of the nest (the wind was violently shaking the birch trees in the avenue) and sat unable to move, helplessly flapping its half-grown wings.

My dog was slowly approaching it, when, suddenly darting from a tree close by, an old dark-throated sparrow fell like a stone right before his nose, and all ruffled up, terrified, with despairing and pitiful chirps, it flung itself twice towards the open jaws of shining teeth. It sprang to save; it cast itself before its nestling, but all its tiny body was shaking with terror; its note was harsh and strange. Swooning with fear, it offered itself up!

What a huge monster must the dog have seemed to it! And yet it could not stay on its high branch out of danger.... A force stronger than its will flung it down.

My Tresor stood still, drew back.... Clearly he, too, recognized this force.

I hastened to call off the disconcerted dog, and went away full of reverence.

Yes; do not laugh. I felt reverence for that tiny heroic bird for its impulse of love.

Love, I thought, is stronger than death or the fear of death. Only by it, by love, life holds together and advances.

THE BLUEBIRD.

Soft warbling note
From azure throat,
Float on the gentle air of spring;
To my quick ear
It doth appear
The sweetest of the birds that sing.

--_C. C. M._

A bit of heaven itself.--_Spofford._

The bluebird carries the sky on his back.--_Thoreau._

Winged lute that we call a bluebird.--_Rexford._

The bluebird is the color-bearer of the spring brigade.--_Wright._

A wise bluebird
Puts in his little heavenly word.

--_Lanier._

The bluebird, shifting his light load of song
From post to post along the cheerless fence.

--_Lowell._

It is his gentle, high-bred manner and not his azure coat which makes the bluebird.--_Torrey._

How can we fail to regard its azure except as a fragment from the blue of the summer noonday arch?--_Silloway._

The bluebird always bears the national colors--red, white, and blue--and in its habits is a model of civilized bird-life.--_Dr. Cooper._

At the first flash of vernal sun among the bare boughs of his old home he hies northward to greet it with his song, and seems, unlike the oriole, to help nature make the spring.--_Baskett._

As he sits on a branch lifting his wings there is an elusive charm about his sad, quivering _tru-al-ly_, _tru-al-ly_. Ignoring our presence, he seems preoccupied with unfathomable thoughts of field and sky.--_Merriam._

And yonder bluebird, with the earth tinge on his breast and the sky tinge on his back, did he come down out of heaven on that bright March morning when he told us so softly and plaintively that if we pleased, spring had come?--_Burroughs._

He is "true blue," which is as rare a color among birds as it is among flowers. He is the banner-bearer of bird-land also, and loyally floats the tricolor from our trees and telegraph wires; for, besides being blue, is he not also red and white?--_Coues._

THE FIRST BLUEBIRD.

Jest rain and snow! and rain again!
And dribble! drip! and blow!
Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then
Some more rain and snow!

This morning I was 'most afeared
To wake up--when, I jing!
I seen the sun shine out and heerd
The first bluebird of spring!

Mother she'd raised the winder some;
And in acrost the orchard come,
Soft as an angel's wing,
A breezy, treesy, beesy hum,
Too sweet fer anything!

The winter's shroud was rent apart--
The sun burst forth in glee--
And when _that bluebird_ sung, my heart
Hopped out o' bed with me!

--_Riley._

THE KIT FOX.