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_Jack._ On the other side from our house, in the close.

_Pres._ Let us see it. Gentlemen, this is so smart a buckle, that I am sure I remember it at once, and so I dare say you all do.

_Al_l. It is Riot’s.

_Pres._ Has anybody observed Riot’s shoes to-day?

_One Boy._ Yes, he has got them tied with strings.

_Pres._ Very well, gentlemen; we have nothing more to do than to draw up an account of all the evidence we have heard, and lay it before his lordship. Jack, you may go home.

_Jack._ Pray, sir, let somebody go with me, for I am afraid of Riot, who has just been threatening me at the door.

_Pres._ Master Bold will please to go along with the boy.

The minutes of the court were then drawn up, and the President took them to the judge’s chamber. After the judge had perused them, he ordered an endictment to be drawn up against Peter Riot, “for that he meanly, clandestinely, and with malice aforethought, had broken three panes in the window of Widow Careful, with a certain instrument called a top, whereby he had committed an atrocious injury on an innocent person, and had brought a disgrace upon the society to which he belonged.” At the same time, he sent an officer to inform Master Riot that his trial would come on next morning.

Riot, who was with some of his gay companions, affected to treat the matter with great indifference, and even to make a jest of it. However, in the morning he thought it best to endeavour to make it up; and accordingly, when the court was assembled, he sent one of his friends with a shilling, saying that he would not trouble them with any further inquiries, but would pay the sum that had been issued out of the public stock. On the receipt of this message the Judge rose with much severity in his countenance; and observing, that by such a contemptuous behaviour towards the court the criminal had greatly added to his offence, he ordered two officers with their staves immediately to go and bring in Riot, and to use force if he should resist them. The culprit, thinking it best to submit, was presently led in between the two officers; when, being placed at the bar, the judge thus addressed him:—

“I am sorry, sir, that any member of this society can be so little sensible of the nature of a crime, and so little acquainted with the principles of a court of justice, as you have shown yourself to be, by the proposal you took the improper liberty of sending to us. If you meant it as a confession of your guilt, you certainly ought to have waited to receive from us the penalty we thought proper to inflict, and not to have imagined that an offer of the mere payment of damages would satisfy the claims of justice against you. If you had only broken the window by accident, and of your own accord offered restitution, nothing less than the full damages could have been accepted. But you now stand charged with having done this mischief, meanly, secretly, and maliciously, and thereby have added a great deal of criminal intention to the act. Can you then think that a court like this, designed to watch over the morals, as well as protect the properties of our community, can so slightly pass over such aggravated offences? You can claim no merit from confessing the crime, now that you know so much evidence will appear against you. And if you choose still to plead not guilty, you are at liberty to do it, and we will proceed immediately to the trial, without taking any advantage of the confession implied by your offer of payment.”

Riot stood silent for some time, and then begged to be allowed to consult with his friends what was best for him to do. This was agreed to, and he was permitted to retire, though under guard of an officer. After a short absence, he returned with more humility in his looks, and said that he pleaded guilty, and threw himself on the mercy of the court. The judge then made a speech of some length, for the purpose of convincing the prisoner as well as the bystanders of the enormity of the crime. He then pronounced the following sentence:—

“You, Peter Riot, are hereby sentenced to pay the sum of half a crown to the public treasury, as a satisfaction for the mischief you have done, and your attempt to conceal it. You are to repair to the house of Widow Careful, accompanied by such witnesses as we shall appoint, and there having first paid her the sum you owe her, you shall ask her pardon for the insult you offered her. You shall likewise, to-morrow, after school, stand up in your place, and before all the scholars ask pardon for the disgrace you have been the means of bringing upon the society; and in particular you shall apologise to Master Luckless, for the disagreeable circumstance you were the means of bringing him into. Till all this is complied with, you shall not presume to come into the play-ground, or join in any of the diversions of the school; and all persons are hereby admonished not to keep your company till this is done.”

Riot was then dismissed to his room; and in the afternoon he was taken to the widow’s, who was pleased to receive his submission graciously, and at the same time to apologise for her own improper treatment of Master Luckless, to whom she sent a present of a nice ball by way of amends.

Thus ended this important business.

[Illustration:

On Man, p. 184.

EVENING XV. ]

THE LEGUMINOUS PLANTS.

_Tutor_—_George_—_Harry._

_George._ What a delightful smell!

_Harry._ Charming! It is sweeter than Mr. Essence’s shop.

_Tutor._ Do you know whence it comes?

_Geo._ Oh—it is from the bean-field on the other side of the hedge, I suppose.

_Tut._ It is. This is the month in which beans are in blossom. See the stalks are full of their black and white flowers.

_Har._ I see peas in blossom, too, on the other side of the field.

_Geo._ You told us some time ago of grass and corn flowers, but they make a poor figure compared to these.

_Tut._ They do. The glory of a cornfield is when it is ripe; but peas and beans look very shabbily at that time. But suppose we take a closer view of these blossoms. Go you, George, and bring me a bean-plant; and you, Harry, a pea.

[_They go and bring them._

_Tut._ Now let us sit down and compare them. Do you think these flowers much alike?

_Har._ Oh no—very little.

_Geo._ Yes—a good deal!

_Tut._ A little and a good deal! How can that be? Come let us see. In the first place, they do not much resemble each other in size or colour.

_Geo._ No—but I think they do in shape.

_Tut._ True. They are both irregular flowers, and have the same distribution of parts. They are of the kind called _papilionaceous_, from _papilio_, the Latin word for a butterfly, which insect they are thought to resemble.

_Geo._ The pea does a little, but not much.

_Tut._ Some do much more than these. Well—you see first a broad leaf standing upright, but somewhat bent back; this is named the _standard_. On each side are two narrower, called the _wings_. The under side of the flower is formed of a hollow part resembling a boat: this is called a _keel_.

_Geo._ It is very like a boat indeed!

_Tut._ In some kinds, however, it is divided in the middle, and so is like a boat split in two. All these parts have claws which unite to form a tube, set in a _calyx_, or flower-cup. This tube, you observe, is longer in the bean than in the pea, and the proportions of the other parts are somewhat different; but the parts themselves are found in both.

_Har._ So they are. I think them alike now.

_Tut._ That is the consequence of examining closely. Now let us strip off all the leaves of this bean-flower but the keel. What do you think this boat contains?

_Geo._ It must be those little things you told us are in all flowers.

_Har._ The chives and pistil.

_Tut._ Right. I will draw down the keel gently, and you shall see them.

_Har._ How curious!

_Tut._ Here are a number of chives joining in their bodies, so as to make a round tube, or cylinder, through which comes out a crooked thread, which is the pistil. I will now with a pin slit this cylinder. What do you see within it?

_Geo._ Somewhat like a little pod.

_Tut._ True—and to show you that it is a pod, I will open it, and you shall see the seeds within it.

_Har._ What tiny things! Is this, then, what makes the bean-pod afterward?

_Tut._ It is. When the blossom drops, this seed-vessel grows bigger and bigger, and at length hardens as the seeds grow ripe, becomes black and shrivelled, and would burst and shed the seeds, if they were not gathered.

_Geo._ I have seen several burst pods of our sweet-peas under the wall, with nothing left in them.

_Tut._ And it is common for the field peas and beans to lose a great part of the seeds while they are getting in.

_Har._ At the bottom of this pea-stalk there are some pods set already.

_Tut._ Open one. You see that the pod is composed of two shells, and that all the seeds are fastened to one side of the pod, but alternately to each shell.

_Geo._ Is it the same in beans?

_Tut._ Yes, and in all other pods of the papilionaceous flowers. Well—this is the general structure of a very numerous and useful class of plants, called the _leguminous_ or _podded_. Of these, in this country, the greater part are herbaceous, with some shrubs. In the warm climates there are also tall trees. Many of the leguminous plants afford excellent nourishment for man and beast; and their pods have the name of _pulse_.

_Geo._ I have read of persons living on pulse, but I did not know what it meant before.

_Tut._ It is frequently mentioned as part of the diet of abstemious persons. Of this kind, we eat peas, beans, and kidney or French beans, of all which there are a variety of sorts cultivated. Other nations eat lentils and lupines, which are of this class; with several others.

_Har._ I remember our lupines in the garden have flowers of this kind, with pods growing in clusters. We only cultivate them for the colour and smell.

_Tut._ But other nations eat them. Then, all the kinds of clover, or trefoil, which are so useful in feeding cattle, belong to this tribe; as do likewise vetches, sanfoin, and lucerne, which are used for the same purpose. These principally compose what are usually, though improperly, called, in agriculture, _artificial grasses_.

_Geo._ Clover flowers are as sweet as beans; but do they bear pods?

_Tut._ Yes; very short ones, with one or two seeds in each. But there is a kind called nonsuch, with a very small yellow flower, that has a curious twisted pod like a snail-shell. Many of the leguminous plants are weak, and cannot support themselves; hence they are furnished with tendrils, by means of which they clasp neighbouring plants, and run up them. You know the garden-peas do so on the sticks which are set in the rows with them. Some kind of vetches run in this manner up the hedges, which they decorate with their long bunches of blue or purple flowers. Tares, which are some of the slenderest of the family, do much mischief among corn by twining round it and choking it.

_Har._ What are they good for, then?

_Tut._ They are weeds or noxious plants with respect to us; but doubtless they have their uses in the creation. Some of our papilionaceous plants, however, are able enough to shift for themselves; for gorse or furze is of the number.

_Geo._ What, that prickly bush all covered over with yellow flowers, that overruns our common?

_Tut._ Then there is broom, a plant as big, but without thorns, and with larger flowers. This is as frequent as furze in some places.

_Har._ I know it grows in abundance in the broom-field.

_Tut._ It does; but the naming of fields and places from it is a proof that it is not so common as the other.

_Geo._ We have some bushes of white broom in the shrubbery, and some trees of Spanish broom.

_Tut._ True. You have also a small tree which flowers early, and bears a great many pendent branches of yellow blossoms, that look peculiarly beautiful when intermixed with the purple lilacs.

_Har._ I know it—laburnum.

_Tut._ Right. This is one of our class of plants too. Then there is a large tree, with delicate little leaves, protected by long thorns, and bearing bunches of white papilionaceous flowers.

_Geo._ I know which you mean, but I cannot tell the name.

_Tut._ It is the bastard-acacia, or locust-tree, a native of America. Thus, you see, we have traced this class of plants through all sizes, from the trefoil that covers the turf, to a large tree. I should not, however, forget two others, the licorice, and the tamarind. The licorice, with the sweet root of which you are well acquainted, grows in the warmer countries, especially Spain, but is cultivated in some parts of England, especially at Pomfret, in Yorkshire. The tamarind is a large spreading tree growing in the West Indies, and valued for its shade, as well as for the cooling acid pulp of its pods, which are preserved with sugar and sent over to us.

_Har._ I know them very well.

_Tut._ Well—do you think now you shall both be able to discover a papilionaceous flower when you meet with it again?

_Geo._ I believe I shall, if they are all like these we have been examining.

_Tut._ They have all the same parts, though variously proportioned. What are these?

_Geo._ There is the standard and two wings.

_Har._ And the keel.

_Tut._ Right—the keel sometimes cleft into two, and then it is an irregular five-leaved flower. The chives are generally ten, of which one stands apart from the rest. The pistil single, and ending in a pod. Another circumstance common to most of this tribe, is, that their leaves are _winged_, or _pinnated_, that is, having leaflets set opposite each other, upon a middle rib. You see this structure in these bean-leaves. But in the clovers there are only two opposite leaflets, and one terminating; whence their name of trefoil, or three-leaf. What we call a club on cards is properly a clover-leaf, and the French call it _trefle_, which means the same.

_Geo._ I think this tribe of plants almost as useful as the grasses.

_Tut._ They perhaps come the next in utility: but their seeds, such as beans and peas, are not quite such good nourishment as corn, and bread cannot be made of them.

_Geo._ But clover is better than grass for cattle.

_Tut._ It is more fattening, and makes cows yield plenty of fine milk. Well—let us march.

ON MAN.

_Charles._ You gave me the definition of a horse some time ago—Pray, sir, how is a man defined?

_Father._ That is worth inquiring. Let us consider then. He must either stand by himself, or be ranked among the quadrupeds; for there are no other two-legged animals but birds, which he certainly does not resemble.

_Ch._ But how can he be made a quadruped?

_Fa._ By setting him to crawl on the ground, in which case he will as much resemble a baboon as a baboon set on his hind-legs does a man. In reality, there is little difference between the arms of a man and the fore-legs of a quadruped; and in all other circumstances of internal and external structure, they are evidently formed upon the same model.

_Ch._ I suppose then we must call him a digitated quadruped, that generally goes upon its hind legs.

_Fa._ A naturalist could not reckon him otherwise; and, accordingly, Linnæus has placed him in the same division with apes, macocos, and bats.

_Ch._ Apes, macocos, and bats!

_Fa._ Yes—they have all four cutting teeth in the upper jaw, and teats on the breast. How do your like your relations?

_Ch._ Not at all!

_Fa._ Then we will get rid of them by applying to the other part of human nature—the _mind_. Man is an animal possessed of _reason_, and the only one. This, therefore, is enough to define him.

_Ch._ I have often heard that man is a rational creature, and I have a notion what that means; but I should like to have an exact definition of reason.

_Fa._ Reason is the faculty by which we compare ideas, and draw conclusions. A man walking in the woods of an unknown country finds a bow. He compares it in his mind with other bows, and forms the conclusion that it must have been made by man, and that therefore the country is probably inhabited. He discovers a hut; sees in it half-burnt wood, and finds that the ashes are not quite cold. He concludes, therefore, with certainty, not only that there are inhabitants, but that they cannot be far distant. No other animal could do this.

_Ch._ But would not a dog who had been used to live with men run into such a hut and expect to find people in it?

_Fa._ He probably would—and this, I acknowledge, is very like reason; for he may be supposed to compare in his mind the hut he has lived in with that he sees, and to conclude that as there were men in the first there are in the last. But how little a way does this carry him? He finds no men there, and he is unable by any marks to form any judgment how long they have been absent, or what sort of people they were; still less does he form any plan of conduct in consequence of his discovery.

_Ch._ Then is not the difference only that man has much reason, and brutes little?

_Fa._ If we adhere to the mere words of the definition of reason, I believe this must be admitted; but in the exercise of it, the superiority of the human faculties is so great, that man is in many points absolutely distinguished from brutes. In the first place he has the _use of speech_, which no other animal has attained.

_Ch._ Cannot many animals make themselves understood by one another by their cries?

_Fa._ They can make known a few of their common wants and desires, but they cannot _discourse_, or communicate ideas stored up in the memory. It is this faculty which makes man an _improvable_ being, the wisdom and experience acquired by one individual being thus transmitted to others, and so on in an endless series of progression.

There is no reason to suppose that the dogs of the present day are more knowing than those which lived a thousand years ago; but the men of this age are much better acquainted with numberless arts and sciences than their remote ancestors; since, by the use of speech and of writing (which is speech addressed to the eye), every age adds its own discoveries to all former ones. This knowledge of the past likewise gives man a great insight into the future. Shakspeare excellently defines man by saying that he is a creature “made with large discourse, looking before and after.”

_Ch._ Animals must surely know something of the future, when they lay up a store of provisions for the winter.

_Fa._ No—it is pretty certain that this is not the case, for they will do it as much the first year of their lives as any other. Young bees turned out of their hive, as soon as they have swarmed and got a habitation, begin laying up honey, though they cannot possibly foresee the use they shall have for it. There are a vast number of actions of this kind in animals which are directed to a useful end, but an end which the animal knows nothing of. And this is what we call _instinct_, and properly distinguish from reason. Man has less of it than almost any other animal, because he wants it less. Another point of essential difference is, that man is the only animal that makes use of _instruments_ in any of his actions. He is a _tool-making_ and _machine-making_ animal. By means of this faculty alone he is every where lord of the creation, and has equally triumphed over the subtlety of the cunning, the swiftness of the fleet, and the force of the strong. He is the only animal that has found out the use of _fire_, a most important acquisition!

_Ch._ I have read of some large apes that will come and sit round a fire in the woods when men have left it, but have not the sense to keep it in, by throwing on sticks.

_Fa._ Still less then could they light a fire. In consequence of this discovery man cooks his food, which no other animal does. He alone fences against the cold by clothing as well as by fire. He alone cultivates the earth, and keeps living animals for future uses.

_Ch._ But have not there been wild men bred in the woods that could do none of these things?

_Fa._ Some instances of this kind are recorded, and they are not to be wondered at; for man was meant to be a _gregarious_ animal, or one living in society, in which alone his faculties have full scope, and especially his power of improving by the use of speech. These poor solitary creatures, brought up with the brutes, were in a state entirely unnatural to them. A solitary bee, ant, or beaver, would have none of the skill and sagacity of those animals in their proper social condition. Society sharpens all the faculties, and gives ideas and views which never could have been entertained by an individual.

_Ch._ But some men that live in society seem to be little above the brutes, at least when compared with other men. What is a Hottentot in comparison with one of us?

_Fa._ The difference, indeed, is great; but we agree in the most essential characters of _man_, and perhaps the advantage is not all on our side. The Hottentot cultivates the earth and rears cattle. He not only herds with his fellows, but he has instituted some sort of government for the protection of the weak against the strong; he has a notion of right and wrong, and is sensible of the necessity of controlling present appetites and passions for the sake of a future good. He has therefore _morals_. He is possessed of weapons, tools, clothing, and furniture of his own making. In agility of body, and the knowledge of various circumstances relative to the nature of animals, he surpasses us. His inferiority lies in those things in which many of the lowest class among us are equally inferior to the instructed.

_Ch._ But Hottentots have no notion of a God or a future state.

_Fa._ I am not certain how far that is fact: but alas! how many among us have no knowledge at all on these subjects, or only some vague notions full of absurdity and superstition! People far advanced in civilization have held the grossest errors on these subjects, which are only to be corrected by the serious application of reason, or by a direct revelation from Heaven.

_Ch._ You said man was an _improveable_ creature—but have not many nations been a long time in a savage state without improvement?

_Fa._ Man is always _capable of improvement_; but he may exist a long time, in society, without _actually improving_ beyond a certain point. There is little improvement among nations who have not the art of _writing_, for tradition is not capable of preserving very accurate or extensive knowledge; and many arts and sciences, after flourishing greatly, have been entirely lost, in countries which have been overrun by barbarous and illiterate nations. Then there is a principle which I might have mentioned as one of those that distinguish man from brutes, but it as much distinguishes some men from others. This is _curiosity_, or the love of knowledge for its own sake. Most savages have little or nothing of this; but without it we should want one of the chief inducements to exert our faculties. It is curiosity that impels us to search into the properties of every part of nature, to try all sorts of experiments, to visit distant regions, and even to examine the appearances and motions of the heavenly bodies. Every fact thus discovered leads to other facts; and there is no limit to be set to this progress. The time may come, when what we now know may seem as much ignorance to future ages as the knowledge of early times does to us.

_Ch._ What nations know the most at present?

_Fa._ The Europeans have long been distinguished for superior ardour after knowledge, and they possess beyond comparison the greatest share of it, whereby they have been enabled to command the rest of the world. The countries in which the arts and sciences most flourish at present are the northern and middle parts of Europe, and also North America, which, is inhabited by descendants of Europeans. In these countries man may be said to be _most man_; and they may apply to themselves the poet’s boast:—

“Man is the nobler growth these realms supply, And souls are ripened in our northern sky.”