Chapter XIII: Part II: Tutor—George—Harry (1)

_Tutor._ Well—have you forgotten what I told you about metals the other day?

_George._ O no!

_Harry._ I am sure I have not.

_Tut._ What metals were they that we talked about?

_Geo._ Gold, silver, and quicksilver.

_Tut._ Suppose, then, we go on to the rest?

_Geo._ Pray, do.

_Har._ Yes, by all means.

_Tut._ Very well. You know _copper_, I don’t doubt?

_Geo._ O yes!

_Tut._ What colour do you call it?

_Geo._ I think it is a sort of reddish brown.

_Tut._ True. Sometimes, however, it is of a bright red, like sealing-wax. It is not a very heavy metal, being not quite nine times the weight of water. It is very ductile, bearing to be rolled or hammered out to a very thin plate, and also to be drawn out to a fine wire.

_Har._ I remember seeing a penny that had been rolled out to a long riband.

_Geo._ Yes, and I have seen half a dozen men at a time with great hammers beating out a piece of copper at the brazier’s.

_Tut._ Copper requires a very considerable heat to melt it: and by long exposure to the fire, it may be burnt or calcined; for, like all we are now to speak of, it is an _imperfect_ metal.

_Har._ And it rusts very easily, does it not?

_Tut._ It does; for all acids dissolve or corrode it, so do salts of every kind: whence even air and common water in a short time act upon it, for they are never free from somewhat of a saline nature.

_Geo._ Is not verdigris the rust of copper?

_Tut._ It is; a rust produced by the acid of grapes. But every rust of copper is of a blue or green colour, as well as verdigris.

_Har._ And are they all poison, too?

_Tut._ They are all so in some degree, producing violent sickness and pain in the bowels. They are all, too, extremely nauseous to the taste, and the metal itself when heated, tastes and smells very disagreeably.

_Har._ Why is it used, then, so much in cooking, brewing, and the like?

_Tut._ Because it is a very convenient metal for making vessels, especially large ones, as it is easily worked, and is sufficiently strong, though hammered thin, and bears the fire well. And if vessels of it are kept quite clean, and the liquor not suffered to stand long in them when cold there is no danger in their use. But copper vessels for cooking are generally lined on the inside with tin.

_Geo._ What else is copper used for?

_Tut._ A variety of things. Sheets of copper are sometimes used to cover buildings; and of late a great quantity is consumed in sheathing ships, that is, in covering all the part under water; the purpose of which is, to protect the timber from the worms, and also to make the ship sail faster, by means of the smoothness and therefore less obstruction which the copper offers to the water, as the ship is forced through it by the action of the wind on the sails.

_Har._ Money is made of copper, too.

_Tut._ It is; for it takes an impression in coining very well, and its value is a proper proportion below silver, for a price for the cheapest commodities. In some poor countries they have little other than copper coin. Another great use of copper is as an ingredient in mixed metals, such as bell-metal, cannon-metal, and particularly brass.

_Har._ But brass is yellow.

_Tut._ True; it is converted to that colour by means of another metallic substance, named _zinc_ or _spelter_, the natural colour of which is white. A kind of brown stone called _calamine_ is an ore of zinc. By filling a pot with layers of powdered calamine and charcoal placed alternately with copper, and applying a pretty strong heat, the zinc is driven in vapour out of the calamine, and penetrates the copper, changing it into brass.

_Geo._ What is the use of turning copper into brass?

_Tut._ It gains a fine gold-like colour, and becomes harder, more easy to melt, and less liable to rust. Hence it is preferred for a variety of utensils, ornamental and useful. Brass does not bear hammering well, but is generally cast into the shape wanted, and then turned in a lathe and polished. Well—these are the principal things I have to say about copper.

_Har._ But where does it come from?

_Tut._ Copper is found in many countries. The Isle of Great Britain yields abundance, especially in Wales and Cornwall. In Anglesey is a whole hill called Paris Mountain, consisting of copper-ore, from which immense quantities are dug every year. Now for _iron_.

_Har._ Ay! that is the most useful of all the metals.

_Tut._ I think it is; and it is likewise the most common, for there are few countries in the world possessing hills and rocks, where it is not met with, more or less. Iron is the hardest of metals, the most elastic or springy, very tenacious or difficult to break, the most difficultly fusible, and one of the lightest, being only seven or eight times as heavy as water.

_Geo._ You say it is difficult to break; but I snapped the blade of a penknife the other day by only bending it a little; and my mother is continually breaking her needles.

_Tut._ Properly objected; but the qualities of iron differ extremely according to the method of preparing it. There are forged iron, cast iron, and steel, which are very different from each other. Iron, when first melted from its ore, has little malleability, and the vessels and other implements that are made of it in that state, by casting into moulds, are easily broken. It acquires toughness and malleability by _forging_, which is done by beating it when red-hot with heavy hammers, till it becomes ductile and flexible. Steel, again, is made by heating small bars of iron with charcoal, bone, and horn shavings, or other inflammable matters, by which it acquires a finer grain and more compact texture, and becomes harder, and more elastic. Steel may be rendered either very flexible or brittle, by different manners of _tempering_, which is performed by heating and then quenching it in water.

_Geo._ All cutting instruments are made of steel, are they not?

_Tut._ Yes; and the very fine-edged ones are generally tempered brittle, as razors, penknives, and surgeons’ instruments; but sword-blades are made flexible, and the best of them will bend double without breaking or becoming crooked. The steel of which springs are made has the highest possible degree of elasticity given it. A watch-spring is one of the most perfect examples of this kind. Steel for ornaments is made extremely hard and close-grained, so as to bear an exquisite polish. Common hammered iron is chiefly used for works of strength, as horseshoes, bars, bolts, and the like. It will bend but not straighten itself again, as you may see in the kitchen poker. Cast iron is used for pots and caldrons, cannons, cannon-balls, grates, pillars, and many other purposes in which hardness without flexibility is wanted.

_Geo._ What a vast variety of uses this metal is put to!

_Tut._ Yes; I know not when I should have done, if I were tell you of all.

_Har._ Then I think it is really more valuable than gold, though it is so much cheaper.

_Tut._ That was the opinion of the wise Solon, when he observed to the rich king Crœsus, who was showing him his treasures, “He who possesses more iron will soon be master of all this gold.”

_Har._ I suppose he meant weapons and armour?

_Tut._ He did; but there are many nobler uses for these metals; and few circumstances denote the progress of the arts in a country more than having attained the full use of iron, without which scarcely any manufacture or machinery can be brought to perfection. From the difficulty of melting it out of the ore, many nations have been longer in discovering it than some of the other metals. The Greeks, in Homer’s time, seem to have employed copper or brass for their weapons much more than iron; and the Mexicans and Peruvians, who possessed gold and silver, were unacquainted with iron, when the Spaniards invaded them.

_Geo._ Iron is very subject to rust, however.

_Tut._ It is so, and that is one of its worst properties. Every liquor, and even a moist air corrode it. But the rust of iron is not pernicious: on the contrary, it is a very useful medicine.

_Geo._ I have heard of steel drops and steel filings given for medicine.

_Tut._ Yes; iron is given in a variety of forms, and the property of them all is to strengthen the constitution. Many springs are made medicinal by the iron that they dissolve in the bowels of the earth. These are called _chalybeate_ waters, and they may be known by their inky taste, and the rust-coloured sediment they leave in their course.

_Har._ May we drink such water if we meet with it?

_Tut._ Yes; it will do you no harm, at least. There is one other property of iron, well worth knowing, and that is, that it is the only thing attracted by the magnet or loadstone.

_Geo._ I had a magnet once that would take up needles and keys; but it seemed a bar of iron itself.

_Tut._ True. The real loadstone, which is a particular ore of iron, can communicate its virtue to a piece of iron by rubbing it; nay, a bar of iron itself, in length of time, by being placed in a particular position, will acquire the same property.

_Geo._ Is all the iron used in England produced there?

_Tut._ By no means. Their extensive manufactures require a great importation of iron. Much is brought from Norway, Russia, and Sweden; and the Swedish is reckoned particularly excellent. Well, now to another metal. I dare say you can tell me a good deal about _lead_?

_Har._ I know several things about it. It is very heavy and soft, and easily melted.

_Tut._ True; these are some of its distinguishing properties. Its weight is between eleven and twelve times that of water. Its colour is a dull bluish white; and from this livid hue, as well as its being totally void of spring or elasticity, it has acquired a sort of character, of dulness and sluggishness. Thus we say of a stupid man, that he has a _leaden_ disposition.

_Geo._ Lead is very malleable, I think?

_Tut._ Yes; it may be beaten out into a pretty thin leaf, but it will not bear drawing into fine wire. It is not only very fusible, but very readily oxidized by heat, changing into a powder, or a scaly matter, which may be made to take all colours by the fire, from yellow to deep red. You have seen red lead?

_Geo._ Yes.

_Tut._ That is oxide of lead exposed for a considerable time to a strong flame. Lead may even be changed into glass by a moderate heat; and there is a good deal of it in our finest glass.

_Geo._ What is white lead?

_Tut._ It is lead corroded by the steam of vinegar. Lead in various forms is much used by painters. Its oxides dissolve in oil, and are employed for the purpose of thickening paint and making it dry. All lead paints, however, are unwholesome as long as they continue to smell, and the fumes of lead, when melted, are likewise pernicious. This is the cause why painters and plumbers are so subject to various diseases, particularly violent colics and palsies. The white-lead manufacture is so hurtful to the health, that the workmen, in a very short time, are apt to lose the use of their limbs, and be otherwise severely indisposed.

_Geo._ I wonder, then, that anybody will work in it.

_Tut._ Ignorance and high wages are sufficient to induce them. But it is to be lamented that in a great many manufactures the health and lives of individuals are sacrificed to the convenience and profit of the community. Lead, too, when dissolved, as it may be in all sour liquors, is a slow poison, and the more dangerous, as it gives no disagreeable taste. A salt of lead made with vinegar, is so sweet, as to be called the sugar of lead. It has been too common to put this or some other preparation of lead into sour wines, in order to cure them; and much mischief has been done by this practice.

_Geo._ If lead is poisonous, is it not wrong to make water-pipes and cisterns of it?

_Tut._ This has been objected to; but it does not appear that water can dissolve any of the lead. Nor does it readily rust in the air, and hence it is much used to cover buildings with, as well as to line spouts and water-courses. For these purposes the lead is cast into sheets, which are easily cut and hammered into any shape.

_Har._ Bullets and shot, too, are made of lead.

_Tut._ They are; and in this way they are ten times more destructive than as a poison.

_Geo._ I think lead seems to be more used than any metal except iron.

_Tut._ It is; and the plenty of it in our country is a great benefit to us, both for domestic use, and as an article that brings in much profit by exportation.

_Geo._ Where are our principal lead mines?

_Tut._ They are much scattered about. The west of England produces some, in Cornwall, Devonshire, and Somersetshire. Wales affords a large quantity. Derbyshire has long been noted for its lead mines, and so have Northumberland and Durham. And there are considerable ones in the southern part of Scotland. Now do you recollect another metal to be spoken about?

_Geo._ Tin.

_Tut._ True. Tin resembles lead in colour, but has a more silvery whiteness. It is soft and flexible, like lead, but is distinguished by the crackling noise it makes on being bent. It melts as easily as lead, and also is readily oxidized by keeping it in the fire. It is the lightest of the metals, being only seven times as heavy as water. It may be beaten into a thin leaf, but not drawn out to wire.

_Geo._ Is tin of much use?

_Tut._ It is not often used by itself, but very frequently in conjunction with other metals. As tin is little liable to rust, or to be corroded by common liquors, it is employed for a lining or coating of vessels made of copper or iron. The saucepans and kettles in the kitchen, you know, are all tinned.

_Geo._ Yes; how is it done?

_Tut._ By melting the tin, and spreading it upon the surface of the copper, which is first heated, in order to make the tin adhere.

_Geo._ But what are the vessels made at the tinman’s? Are they not all tin?

_Tut._ No. _Tinned_ ware, as it is properly called, is made of thin iron plates, coated over with tin by dipping them into a vessel full of melted tin. These plates are afterward cut and bent to proper shapes, and the joinings are soldered together with a mixture of tin and other metals. Another similar use of tin is in what is called the silvering of pins.

_Geo._ What—is not that real silvering?

_Tut._ No. The pins which are made of brass wire, after being pointed and headed, are boiled in hot water, in which grain-tin is put along with tartar, which is a crust that collects on the inside of wine casks. The tartar dissolves some of the tin, and makes it adhere to the surface of the pins, and thus thousands are covered in an instant.

_Har._ That is as clever as what you told us of the gilding of buttons!

_Tut._ It is. Another purpose for which great quantities of tin used to be employed was the making of pewter. The best pewter consists chiefly of tin, with a small mixture of other metals to harden it; and the London pewter was brought to such perfection as to look almost as well as silver.

_Geo._ I can just remember a long row of pewter plates at my grandmother’s.

_Tut._ You may. In her time all the plates and dishes for the table were made of pewter, and a handsome range of pewter shelves was thought a capital ornament for a kitchen. At present, this trade is almost come to nothing, through the use of earthenware and china; and pewter is employed for little but the worms of stills, and barbers’ basins, and porter-pots. But a good deal is still exported. Tin is likewise an ingredient in other mixed metals for various purposes, but, on the whole, less of it is used than of the other common metals.

_Geo._ Is not England more famous for tin than any other country? I have read of the Phoenicians trading here for it in very early times.

_Tut._ They did; and tin is still a very valuable article of export from England. Much of it is sent as far as China. The tin mines are chiefly in Cornwall, England, and I believe they are the most productive of any in Europe. Very fine tin is also got in the peninsula of Malacca in the East Indies. Well—we have now gone through the metals.

_Geo._ But you said nothing about a kind of metal called zinc.

_Tut._ That is one of another class of mineral substances called _semi-metals_. These resemble metals in every quality but ductility, of which they are almost wholly destitute, and for want of it they can seldom be used in the arts, except when joined with metals.

_Geo._ Are there many of them?

_Tut._ Yes, several; but we will not talk of them till I have taken some opportunity of showing them to you, for probably you may never have seen any of them. Now try to repeat the names of all the metals to me in the order of their weight.

_Har._ There is first _gold_.

_Geo._ Then _quicksilver_, _lead_, _silver_.

_Har._ _Copper_, _iron_, _tin_.

_Tut._ Very right. Now I must tell you of an old fancy that chymists have had of christening these metals by the names of the heavenly bodies. They have called gold _Sol_, or the sun.

_Geo._ That is suitable enough to its colour and brightness.

_Har._ Then silver should be the moon, for I have heard moonlight called of a silvery hue.

_Tut._ True; and they have named it so. It is _Luna_. Quicksilver is _Mercury_, so named probably from its great propensity to dance and jump about, for _Mercury_, you know, was very nimble.

_Geo._ Yes—he had wings to his heels.

_Tut._ Copper is _Venus_.

_Geo._ _Venus!_ surely it is scarcely beautiful enough for that.

_Tut._ But they had disposed of the most beautiful ones before. Iron is Mars.

_Har._ That is right enough, because swords are made of iron.

_Tut._ True. Then tin is _Jupiter_, and lead _Saturn_. I suppose only to make out the number. Yet the dulness of lead might be thought to agree with that planet which is most remote from the sun. These names, childish as they may seem, are worth remembering, since chymists and physicians still apply them to many preparations of the various metals. You will, probably, often hear of _martial_, _lunar_, _mercurial_, and _saturnine_; and you may now know what they mean.

_Geo._ I think the knowledge of metals seems more useful than all you have told us about plants.

_Tut._ I don’t know that. Many nations make no use at all of metals, but there are none which do not owe a great part of their subsistence to vegetables. However, without inquiring what parts of natural knowledge are _most_ useful, you may be assured of this, that all are useful in some degree or other; and there are few things that give one man greater superiority over another, than the extent and accuracy of his knowledge in these particulars. One person passes all his life upon the earth, a stranger to it; while another finds himself at home everywhere.

EYES AND NO EYES; OR, THE ART OF SEEING.

“Well, Robert, where have you been walking this afternoon?” said Mr. Andrews to one of his pupils, at the close of a holyday.

_Robert._ I have been, sir, to Broom-heath, and so round by the windmill upon Camp-mount, and home through the meadows by the river-side.

_Mr. Andrews._ Well, that’s a pleasant round.

_Rob._ I thought it very dull, sir; I scarcely met with a single person. I had rather by half have gone along the turnpike-road.

_Mr. An._ Why, if seeing men and horses is your object, you would, indeed, be better entertained on the high-road. But did you see William?

_Rob._ We set out together, but he lagged behind in the lane, so I walked on and left him.

_Mr. An._ That was a pity. He would have been company for you.

_Rob._ O, he is so tedious, always stopping to look at this thing and that! I had rather walk alone. I dare say he is not got home yet.

_Mr. An._ Here he comes. Well, William, where have you been?

_William._ O, sir, the pleasantest walk! I went all over Broom-heath, and so up to the mill at the top of the hill, and then down among the green meadows by the side of the river.

_Mr. An._ Why, that is just the round Robert has been taking, and he complains of its dulness, and prefers the high-road!

_Will._ I wonder at that. I am sure I hardly took a step that did not delight me, and I have brought my handkerchief full of curiosities home.

_Mr. An._ Suppose, then, you give us some account of what amused you so much. I fancy it will be as new to Robert as to me.

_Will._ I will, sir. The lane leading to the heath, you know, is close and sandy, so I did not mind it much, but made the best of my way. However, I spied a curious thing enough in the hedge. It was an old crab-tree, out of which grew a great bunch of something green, quite different from the tree itself. Here is a branch of it.

_Mr. An._ Ah! this is mistletoe, a plant of great fame for the use made of it by the Druids of old, in their religious rites and incantations. It bears a very slimy white berry, of which bird-lime may be made, whence its Latin name of _Viscus_. It is one of those plants which do not grow in the ground by a root of their own, but fix themselves upon other plants; whence they have been humorously styled _parasitical_, as being hangers-on, or dependants. It was the mistletoe of the oak that the Druids particularly honoured.

_Will._ A little farther on I saw a green woodpecker fly to a tree, and run up the trunk like a cat.

_Mr. An._ That was to seek for insects in the bark, on which they live. They bore holes with their strong bills for that purpose, and do much damage to the trees by it.

_Will._ What beautiful birds they are!

_Mr. An._ Yes; they have been called, from their colour and size, the English parrot.

_Will._ When I got upon the open heath, how charming it was! The air seemed so fresh, and the prospect on every side so free and unbounded! Then it was all covered with gay flowers, many of which I had never observed before. There were, at least, three kinds of heath, (I have got them in my handkerchief here,) and gorse, and broom, and bellflower, and many others of all colours, that I will beg you presently to tell me the names of.

_Mr. An._ That I will readily.

_Will._ I saw, too, several birds that were new to me. There was a pretty grayish one, of the size of a lark, that was hopping about some great stones; and when he flew he showed a great deal of white above his tail.

_Mr. An._ That was a wheat-ear. They are reckoned very delicious birds to eat, and frequent the open downs in Sussex, and some other counties, in great numbers.

_Will._ There was a flock of lapwings, upon a marshy part of the heath, that amused me much. As I came near them, some of them kept flying round and round just over my head, and crying _pewit_ so distinctly, one might almost fancy they spoke. I thought I should have caught one of them, for he flew as if one of his wings was broken, and often tumbled close to the ground; but as I came near, he always made a shift to get away.

_Mr. An._ Ha, ha! you were finely taken in then! This was all an artifice of the bird to entice you away from its nest; for they build upon the bare ground, and their nests would easily be observed, did they not draw off the attention of intruders by their loud cries and counterfeit lameness.

_Will._ I wish I had known that, for he led me a long chase often over shoes in water. However, it was the cause of my falling in with an old man and a boy who were cutting and piling up turf for fuel, and I had a good deal of talk with them about the manner of preparing the turf, and the price it sells at. They gave me, too, a creature I never saw before—a young viper, which they had just killed, together with its dam. I have seen several common snakes, but this is thicker in proportion, and of a darker colour than they are.

_Mr. An._ True. Vipers frequent those turfy, boggy grounds pretty much, and I have known several turf-cutters bitten by them.

_Will._ They are very venomous, are they not?

_Mr. An._ Enough so to make their wounds painful and dangerous, though they seldom prove fatal.

_Will._ Well—I then took my course up to the windmill on the mount. I climbed up the steps of the mill, in order to get a better view of the country round. What an extensive prospect! I counted fifteen church-steeples; and I saw several gentlemen’s houses peeping out from the midst of green woods and plantations; and I could trace the windings of the river all along the low grounds, till it was lost behind a ridge of hills. But I’ll tell you what I mean to do, sir, if you will give me leave.

_Mr. An._ What is that?

_Will._ I will go again, and take with me Cary’s county-map, by which I shall probably be able to make out most of the places.

_Mr. An._ You shall have it, and I will go with you and take my pocket spying-glass.

_Will._ I shall be very glad of that. Well, a thought struck me, that as the hill is called Camp-mount, there might probably be some remains of ditches and mounds with which I have read that camps were surrounded. And I really believe I discovered something of that sort running round one side of the mount.

_Mr. An._ Very likely you might. I know antiquaries have described such remains as existing there, which some suppose to be Roman, others Danish; we will examine them farther, when we go.

_Will._ From the hill I went straight down to the meadows below, and walked on the side of a brook that runs into the river. It was all bordered with reeds and flags and tall towering plants, quite different from those I had seen on the heath. As I was getting down the bank to reach one of them, I heard something plunge into the water near me. It was a large water-rat, and I saw it swim over to the other side, and go into its hole. There were a great many large dragon-flies all about the stream; I caught one of the finest, and have got him here in a leaf. But how I longed to catch a bird that I saw hovering over the water, and every now and then darting down into it! It was all over a mixture of the most beautiful green and blue with some orange colour. It was somewhat less than a thrush, and had a large head and bill, and a short tail.

_Mr. An._ I can tell you what that bird was—a kingfisher; the celebrated halcyon of the ancients, about which so many tales are told. It lives on fish, which it catches in the manner you saw. It builds in holes in the banks, and is a shy retired bird, never to be seen far from the stream where it inhabits.

_Will._ I must try to get another sight of him, for I never saw a bird that pleased me so much. Well—I followed this little brook till it entered the river, and then took the path that runs along the bank. On the opposite side I observed several little birds running along the shore, and making a piping noise. They were brown and white, and about as big as a snipe.

_Mr. An._ I suppose they were sand-pipers, one of the numerous family of birds that get their living by wading among the shallows, and picking up worms and insects.

_Will._ There were a great many swallows, too, sporting upon the surface of the water, that entertained me with their motions. Sometimes they dashed into the stream; sometimes they pursued one another so quick, that the eye could scarcely follow them. In one place, where a high, steep sandbank rose directly above the river, I observed many of them go in and out of holes with which the bank was bored full.

_Mr. An._ Those were sand-martens, the smallest of our species of swallows. They are of a mouse-colour above, and white beneath. They make their nests and bring up their young in these holes, which run a great depth, and, by their situation, are secure from all plunderers.

_Will._ A little farther I saw a man in a boat who was catching eels in an odd way. He had a long pole with broad iron prongs at the end, just like Neptune’s trident, only there were five instead of three. This he pushed straight down among the mud in the deepest parts of the river, and fetched up the eels sticking between the prongs.

_Mr. An._ I have seen this method. It is called spearing of eels.

_Will._ While I was looking at him, a heron came flying over my head, with his large flagging wings. He lit at the next turn of the river, and I crept softly behind the bank to watch his motions. He had waded into the water as far as his long legs would carry him, and was standing with his neck drawn in, looking intently on the stream. Presently, he darted his long bill as quick as lightning into the water, and drew out a fish, which he swallowed. I saw him catch another in the same manner. He then took alarm at some noise I made, and flew away slowly to a wood at some distance, where he settled.

_Mr. An._ Probably his nest was there, for herons build upon the loftiest trees they can find, and sometimes in society together, like rooks. Formerly, when these birds were valued for the amusement of hawking, many gentlemen had their _heronries_, and a few are still remaining.

_Will._ I think they are the largest wild birds we have.

_Mr. An._ They are of a great length and spread of wing, but their bodies are comparatively small.

_Will._ I then turned homeward across the meadows, where I stopped a while to look at a large flock of starlings which kept flying about at no great distance. I could not tell at first what to make of them; for they rose all together from the ground as thick as a swarm of bees, and formed themselves into a kind of black cloud, hovering over the field. After having a short round they settled again, and presently rose again in the same manner. I dare say there were hundreds of them.

_Mr. An._ Perhaps so, for in the fenny countries their flocks are so numerous as to break down whole acres of reeds by settling on them. This disposition of starlings to fly in close swarms was remarked even by Homer, who compares the foe flying from one of his heroes, to a _cloud_ of stares retiring dismayed at the approach of the hawk.

_Will._ After I had left the meadows, I crossed the cornfields in the way to our house, and passed by a deep marl-pit. Looking into it, I saw in one of the sides a cluster of what I took to be shells; and upon going down, I picked up a clod of marl, which was quite full of them; but how sea-shells could get there I cannot imagine.

_Mr. An._ I do not wonder at your surprise, since many philosophers have been much perplexed to account for the same appearance. It is not uncommon to find great quantities of shells and relics of marine animals even in the bowels of high mountains, very remote from the sea. They are certainly proofs that the earth was once in a very different state from what it is at present; but in what manner, and how long ago these changes took place, can only be guessed at.

_Will._ I got to the high field next our house just as the sun was setting, and I stood looking at it till it was quite lost. What a glorious sight! The clouds were tinged purple, and crimson, and yellow, of all shades and hues, and the clear sky varied from blue to a fine green at the horizon. But how large the sun appears just as it sets! I think it seems twice as big as when it is overhead.

_Mr. An._ It does so; and you may probably have observed the same apparent enlargement of the moon at its rising.

_Will._ I have; but pray, what is the reason of this?

_Mr. An._ It is an optical deception, depending upon principles which I cannot well explain to you till you know more of that branch of science. But what a number of new ideas this afternoon’s walk has afforded you! I do not wonder that you found it amusing: it has been very instructive, too. Did _you_ see nothing of all these sights, Robert?

_Rob._ I saw some of them, but I did not take particular notice of them.

_Mr. An._ Why not?

_Rob._ I don’t know. I did not care about them, and I made the best of my way home.

_Mr. An._ That would have been right if you had been sent with a message; but as you only walked for amusement, it would have been wiser to have sought out as many sources of it as possible. But so it is—one man walks through the world with his eyes open, and another with them shut; and upon this difference depends all the superiority of knowledge the one acquires above the other. I have known sailors who had been in all the quarters of the world, and could tell you nothing but the signs of the tippling-houses they frequented in different ports, and the price and quality of the liquor. On the other hand, a Franklin could not cross the channel without making some observations useful to mankind. While many a vacant, thoughtless youth is whirled throughout Europe without gaining a single idea worth crossing a street for, the observing eye and inquiring mind find matter of improvement and delight in every ramble in town or country. Do _you_, then, William, continue to make use of your eyes: and _you_, Robert, learn that eyes were given you to use.

Umbelliferous Plants, p. 252.

EVENING XXI.
]

WHY THE EARTH MOVES ROUND THE SUN.

_Papa_—_Lucy_.

_Papa._ You remember, Lucy, that I explained to you some time ago what was the cause that things fell to the ground.

_Lucy._ O yes; it was because the ground drew them to it.

_Pa._ True. That is a consequence of the universal law in nature, that bodies attract each other in proportion to their bulk. So a very small thing in the neighbourhood of a very large one, always tends to go to it, if not prevented by some or other power. Well—you know I told you that the sun was a ball a vast many times bigger than the ball we inhabit, called the earth; upon which you properly asked, how then it happened that the earth did not fall into the sun.

_Lu._ And why does it not?

_Pa._ That I am going to explain to you. You have seen your brother whirl round an ivory ball tied to the end of a string, which he held in his hand.

_Lu._ Yes; and I have done it myself, too.

_Pa._ Well, then—you felt that the ball was continually pulling, as if it tried to make its escape?

_Lu._ Yes; and one my brother was swinging _did_ make its escape, and flew through the sash.

_Pa._ It did so. That was a lesson, in the _centrifugal_ motion, or that power by which a body thus whirled, continually endeavours to fly off from the centre round which it moves. This is owing to the force or impulse you give it at setting out, as if you were going to throw it away from you. The string by which you hold it, on the contrary, is the power which keeps the ball toward the centre, called the _centripetal_ power. Thus you see there are two powers acting upon the ball at the same time, one to make it fly off, the other to hold it in; and the consequence is, that it moves directly according to neither, but between both; that is, round and round. This it continues to do while you swing it properly; but if the string breaks or slips off, away flies the ball; on the other hand, if you cease to give it the whirling force, it falls toward your hand.

_Lu._ I understand all this.

_Pa._ I will give you another instance of this double force acting at the same time. Do not you remember seeing some curious feats of horsemanship?

_Lu._ Yes.

_Pa._ One of them was, that a man standing with one leg upon the saddle, and riding full speed, threw up balls into the air, and catched them as they fell.

_Lu._ I remember it very well.

_Pa._ Perhaps you would have expected these balls to have fallen behind him, as he was going at such a rate?

_Lu._ So I did.

_Pa._ But you saw that they fell into his hand as directly as if he had been standing quite still. That was because at the instant he threw them up, they received the motion of the horse straight forward as well as the upright motion that he gave them, so that they made a slanting line through the air, and came down in the same place they would have reached if he had held them in his hand all the while.

_Lu._ That is very curious, indeed!

_Pa._ In the same manner you may have observed, in riding in a carriage, that if you throw anything out of the window, it falls directly opposite, just as if the carriage was standing still, and is not left behind you.

_Lu._ I will try that the next time I ride in one.

_Pa._ You are then to imagine the sun to be a mighty mass of matter, many thousand times bigger than our earth, placed in the centre, quiet and unmoved. You are to conceive our earth, as soon as created, launched with vast force in a straight line, as if it were a bowl on a green. It would have flown off in this line for ever, through the boundless regions of space, had it not at the same instant received a pull from the sun by its attraction. By the wonderful skill of the Creator, these two forces were made exactly to counterbalance each other; so that just as much as the earth, from the original motion given to it, tends to fly forward, just so much the sun draws it to the centre; and the consequence is, that it takes a course between the two, which is a circle round and round the sun.

_Lu._ But if the earth was set a rolling like a bowl upon a green, I should think it would stop of itself, as the bowl does.

_Pa._ The bowl stops because it is continually rubbing against the ground, which checks its motion, but the ball of the earth moves in empty space, where there is nothing to stop it.

_Lu._ But if I throw a ball through the air, it will not go on for ever, but it will come down to the ground.

_Pa._ That is because the force with which you can throw it is much less than the force by which it is drawn to the earth. But there is another reason, too, which is the resistance of the air. This space all round us and over us is not empty space; it is quite full of a thin transparent fluid called air.

_Lu._ Is it?

_Pa._ Yes. If you move your hand quickly through it, you will find something resisting you, though in a slight degree. And the wind, you well know, is capable of pressing against anything with almost irresistible force; and yet wind is nothing but a quantity of air put into violent motion. Everything, then, that moves through the air is continually obliged to push some of this fluid out of the way, by which means it is constantly losing part of its motion.

_Lu._ Then the earth would do the same?

_Pa._ No; for it moves in _empty space_.

_Lu._ What, does it not move through the air?

_Pa._ The earth does not move _through_ the air, but carries the air along with it. All the air is contained in what is called the _atmosphere_, which you may compare to a kind of mist or fog clinging all round to the ball of the earth, and reaching a certain distance above it, which has been calculated at above forty-five miles.

_Lu._ That is above the clouds, then.

_Pa._ Yes: all the clouds are within the atmosphere, for they are supported by the air. Well—this atmosphere rolls about along with the earth, as if it were a part of it, and moves with it through the sky, which is a vast field of empty space. In this immense space are all the stars and planets, which have also their several motions. There is nothing to stop them, and therefore they continually go on, by means of the force that the Creator has originally impressed upon them.

_Lu._ Do not some of the stars move round the sun, as well as our earth?

_Pa._ Yes; those that are called _planets_. These are all subject to the same laws of motion with our earth. They are attracted by the sun as their centre, and form, along with the earth, that assemblage of worlds, which is called the _solar system_.

_Lu._ Is the moon one of them?

_Pa._ The moon is called a _secondary_ planet, because its immediate connexion is with our earth, round which it rolls, as we do round the sun. It, however, accompanies our earth on its journey round the sun. But I will tell you more about its motion, and about the other planets and stars another time. It is enough at present, if you thoroughly understand what I have been describing.

_Lu._ I think I do.

THE UMBELLIFEROUS PLANTS.

_Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_.

_Harry._ What plant is that man gathering under the hedge?

_George._ I don’t know; but the boys call the stalks _hexes_, and blow through them.

_Har._ I have seen them; but I want to know the plant.

_Geo._ Will you please to tell us, sir, what it is?

_Tutor._ It is hemlock.

_Geo._ Hemlock is poison is it not?

_Tut._ Yes, in some degree; and it is also a medicine; that man is gathering it for the apothecaries.

_Har._ I should like to know it.

_Tut._ Well then—go and bring one.

[Harry _fetches it_.

_Geo._ I think I have seen a great many of this sort.

_Tut._ Perhaps you may; but there are many other kinds of plants extremely like it. It is one of a large family called the _umbelliferous_, which contains both food, physic, and poison. It will be worth while for you to know something about them, so let us examine this hemlock closely. You see this tall hollow stalk, which divides into several branches, from each of which spring spokes or _rundles_, as they are called, of flower-stalks. You see they are like rays from a circle, or the spokes of a wheel.

_Har._ Or like the sticks of an umbrella.

_Tut._ True; and they are called _umbels_, which has the same derivation. If you pursue one of these rundles or umbels, you will find that each stick or spoke terminates in another set of smaller stalks, each of which bears a single small flower.

_Geo._ They are small ones, indeed!

_Tut._ But if you look sharply, I dare say your eyes are good enough to distinguish that they are divided into five leaves, and furnished with five chives and two pistils in the middle.

_Har._ I can see them.

_Geo._ And so can I.

_Tut._ The pistils are succeeded by a sort of fruit, which is a twin-seed joined in the middle, as you may see in this rundle that is past flowering. Here I divide one of them into two.

_Geo._ Would each of these grow?

_Tut._ Yes. Well, this is the structure of the flowering part of the umbelliferous tribe. Now for the leaf. Pluck one.

_Har._ Is this one leaf, or many?

_Tut._ It is properly one, but it is cut and divided into many portions. From this mid-rib spring smaller leaves set opposite each other; and from the rib of each of these proceed others, which themselves are also divided. These are called doubly or trebly pinnated leaves; and most of the umbelliferous plants, but not all, have leaves of this kind.

_Har._ It is like a parsley-leaf.

_Tut._ True—and parsley is one of the same tribe, and hemlock and others are sometimes mistaken for it.

_Geo._ How curiously the stalk of this hemlock is spotted!

_Tut._ Yes. That is one of the marks by which it is known. It is also distinguished by its peculiar smell, and by other circumstances which you can only understand when you have compared a number of the tribe. I will now tell you about some others, the names of which you are probably acquainted with. In the first place, there are carrots and parsnips.

_Har._ Carrots and parsnips!—they are not poisons, I am sure.

_Geo._ I remember, now, that carrots have such a leaf as this.

_Tut._ They have. It is the _roots_ of these, you know, that are eaten. But we eat the _leaves_ of parsley and fennel, which are of the same class. Celery is another, the _stalks_ of which are chiefly used, made white by trenching up the earth about them. The stalks of angelica are used differently.

_Har._ I know how—candied.

_Tut._ Yes. Then there are many of which the _seeds_ are used. There is caraway.

_Har._ What, the seeds that are put into cakes and comfits?

_Tut._ Yes. They are warm and pungent to the taste; and so are the seeds of many others of the umbelliferous plants, as coriander, fennel, wild carrot, angelica, anise, cummin, and dill. All these are employed in food or medicine, and are good in warming or strengthening the stomach.

_Har._ Those are pleasant medicines enough.

_Tut._ They are; but you will not say the same of some others of the class, which are noted medicines too; such as the plant yielding asafœtida, and several more, from which what are called the fetid gums are produced.

_Geo._ Asafœtida!—that’s nasty stuff, I know; does it grow here?

_Tut._ No; and most of the sweet seeds I before mentioned come from abroad too. Now I will tell you of some of the poisons.

_Har._ Hemlock is one that we know already.

_Tut._ Yes. Then there is another kind that grows in the water, and is more poisonous, called water-hemlock. Another is a large plant growing in ditches, with leaves extremely like celery, called hemlock-dropwort. Another, common in drier situations, and distinguished by leaves less divided than most of the class, is cow-parsnip, or madnep. Of some of these the leaves, of others the root, is most poisonous. Their effects are to make the head giddy, bring on stupidity or delirium, and cause violent sickness. The Athenians used to put criminals to death by making them drink the juice of a kind of hemlock growing in that country, as you may read in the life of that excellent philosopher, Socrates, who was killed in that manner.

_Har._ What was he killed for?

_Tut._ Because he was wiser and better than his fellow-citizens. Among us it is only by accident that mischief is done by these plants. I remember a melancholy instance of a poor boy, who, in rambling about the fields with his little brothers and sisters, chanced to meet with a root of hemlock-dropwort. It looked so white and nice, that he was tempted to eat a good deal of it. The other children also ate some, but not so much. When they got home they were all taken very ill. The eldest boy, who had eaten most, died in great agony. The others recovered, after suffering a great deal.

_Geo._ Is there any way of preventing their bad effects?

_Tut._ The best way is to clear the stomach as soon as possible by a strong vomit and large draughts of warm water. After that, vinegar is useful in removing the disorder of the head.

_Har._ But are the roots sweet and pleasant, that people should be tempted to eat them?

_Tut._ Several of them are. There is a small plant of the tribe, the root of which is much sought after by boys, who dig for it with their knives It is round, and called earth-nut, or pig-nut.

_Geo._ But that’s not poison, I suppose?

_Tut._ No; but it is not very wholesome. I believe, however, that the roots of the most poisonous become innocent by boiling. I have heard that boiled hemlock roots are as good as carrots.

_Geo._ I think I should not like to eat them, however. But pray, why should there be any poisons at all?

_Tut._ What we call poisons, are only hurtful to particular animals. They are the proper food of others, and no doubt do more good than hurt in the creation. Most of the things that are poisonous to us in large quantities, are useful medicines in small ones; and we have reason bestowed upon _us_, to guard us against mischief. Other animals, in general, refuse by instinct what would prove hurtful to them. You see beneath yonder hedge a great crop of tall flourishing plants with white flowers. They are of the umbelliferous family, and are called wild cicely, or cow-weed. The latter name is given them, because the cows will not touch them, though the pasture be ever so bare.

_Har._ Would they poison them?

_Tut._ Perhaps they would: at least they are not proper food for them. We will go and examine them, and I will show you how they differ from hemlock, for which they are sometimes mistaken.

_Geo._ I should like to get some of these plants, and dry them.

_Tut._ You shall, and write down the names of them all, and learn to know the innocent from the hurtful.

_Geo._ That will be very useful.

_Tut._ It will. Remember now the general character of the umbelliferous plants. The flower-stalks are divided into spokes or umbels, which are again divided into others, each of them terminated by a small, five-leaved flower, having five chives and two pistils, succeeded by a twin-seed. Their leaves are generally finely divided. You will soon know them, after having examined two or three of the tribe. Remember, too, that they are a _suspicious race_, and not to be made free with till you are well acquainted with them.

HUMBLE LIFE; OR, THE COTTAGERS.

(_Mr. Everard and Charles, walking in the fields._)

_Mr. Everard._ Well, Charles, you seem to be in deep meditation. Pray, what are you thinking about?

_Charles._ I was thinking, sir, how happy it is for us that we are not in the place of that poor weaver whose cottage we just passed by.

_Mr. Ev._ It is very right to be sensible of all the advantages that Providence has bestowed upon us in this world, and I commend you for reflecting on them with gratitude. But what particular circumstance of comparison between our condition and his struck you most just now?