Comienzo · continuación 18

_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?

_Ch._ O, almost everything! I could not bear to live in such a poor house, with a cold clay floor, and half the windows stopped with paper. Then how poorly he and his children are dressed! and I dare say they must live as poorly too.

_Mr. Ev._ These things would be grievous enough to you, I do not doubt, because you have been accustomed to a very different way of living. But if they are healthy and contented, I don’t know that we have much more to boast of. I believe the man is able to procure wholesome food for his family, and clothes and firing enough to keep them from suffering from the cold; and nature wants little more.

_Ch._ But, what a ragged, barefooted fellow the boy at the door was!

_Mr. Ev._ He was—but did you observe his ruddy cheeks, and his stout legs, and the smiling grin upon his countenance? It is my opinion he would beat you in running, though he is half the head less; and I dare say he never cried because he did not know what to do with himself, in his life.

_Ch._ But, sir, you have often told me that the mind is the noblest part of man; and these poor creatures, I am sure, can have no opportunity to improve their minds. They must be as ignorant as the brutes, almost.

_Mr. Ev._ Why so? Do you think there is no knowledge to be got but from books; or that a weaver cannot teach his children right from wrong?

_Ch._ Not if he has never learned himself.

_Mr. Ev._ True—but I hope the country we live in is not so unfriendly to a poor man, as to afford him no opportunity of learning his duty to God and his neighbour. And as to other points of knowledge, necessity and common observation will teach him a good deal. But come—let us go and pay him a visit, for I doubt you hardly think them human creatures.

[_They enter the cottage_—Jacob, _the weaver, at his loom. His wife spinning. Children of different ages._]

_Mr. Ev._ Good morning to you, friend! Don’t let us disturb you all, pray. We have just stepped in to look at your work.

_Jacob._ I have very little to show you, gentlemen; but you are welcome to look on. Perhaps the young gentleman never saw weaving before.

_Ch._ I never did, near.

_Jac._ Look here, then, master. These long threads are the warp. They are divided, you see, into two sets, and I pass my shuttle between them, which carries with it the cross threads, and that makes the weft. (_Explains the whole to him._)

_Ch._ Dear! how curious! And is all cloth made this way, papa?

_Mr. Ev._ Yes; only there are somewhat different contrivances for different kinds of work. Well, how soon do you think you could learn to weave like this honest man?

_Ch._ O—not for a great while?

_Mr. Ev._ But I suppose you could easily turn the wheel, and draw out threads like that good woman?

_Ch._ Not without some practice, I fancy. But what is that boy doing?

_Jac._ He is cutting pegs for the shoemakers, master.

_Ch._ How quick he does them!

_Jac._ It is but poor employment, but better than being idle. The first lesson I teach my children is, that their hands were made to get their bread with.

_Mr. Ev._ And a very good lesson, too.

_Ch._ What is this heap of twigs for?

_Jac._ Why, master, my biggest boy and girl have learned a little how to make basket-work, so I have got them a few osiers to employ them at leisure hours. That bird-cage is their making: and the back of that chair in which their grandmother sits.

_Ch._ Is not that cleverly done, papa?

_Mr. Ev._ It is, indeed. Here are several arts, you see, in this house, which both you and I should be much puzzled to set about. But there are some books, too, I perceive.

_Ch._ Here is a bible, and a testament, and a prayer-book, and a spelling book, and a volume of the Gardener’s Dictionary.

_Mr. Ev._ And how many of your family can read, my friend?

_Jac._ All the children but the two youngest can read a little, sir; but Meg, there, is the best scholar among us. She reads us a chapter in the Testament every morning, and very well, too, though I say it.

_Mr. Ev._ Do you hear that, Charles?

_Ch._ I do, sir. Here’s an almanac, too, against the wall; and here are my favourite ballads of the Children in the Wood, and Chevy-chase.

_Jac._ I let the children paste them up, sir, and a few more that have no harm in them. There’s Hearts of Oak, and Rule Britannia, and Robin Gray.

_Mr. Ev._ A very good choice, indeed. I see you have a pretty garden there behind the house.

_Jac._ It is only a little spot, sir; but it serves for some amusement, and use too.

_Ch._ What beautiful stocks and wall-flowers! We have none so fine in our garden.

_Jac._ Why, master, to say the truth, we are rather proud of them. I have got a way of cultivating them, that I believe few besides myself are acquainted with; and on Sundays I have plenty of visiters to come and admire them.

_Ch._ Pray, what is this bush with narrow whitish leaves and blue flowers?

_Jac._ Don’t you know? It is rosemary.

_Ch._ Is it good for anything?

_Jac._ We like the smell of it; and then the leaves, mixed with a little balm, make pleasant tea, which we sometimes drink in the afternoon.

_Ch._ Here are several more plants that I never saw before.

_Jac._ Some of them are pot-herbs, that we put into our broth or porridge; and others are physic herbs, for we cannot afford to go to a doctor for every trifling ailment.

_Ch._ But how do you learn the use of these things?

_Jac._ Why, partly, master, from an old herbal that I have got; and partly from my good mother and some old neighbours; for we poor people are obliged to help one another as well as we can. If you were curious about plants, I could go into the fields, and show you a great many that we reckon very fine for several uses, though I suppose we don’t call them by the proper names.

_Mr. Ev._ You keep your garden very neat, friend, and seem to make the most of every inch of ground.

_Jac._ Why, sir, we have hands enough, and all of us like to be doing a little in it when our in-doors work is over. I am in hopes soon to be allowed a bit of land from the waste for a potato-ground, which will be a great help to us. I shall then be able to keep a pig.

_Mr. Ev._ I suppose, notwithstanding your industry, you live rather hardly sometimes?

_Jac._ To be sure, sir, we are somewhat pinched in dear times and hard weather; but, thank God, I have constant work, and my children begin to be some help to us, so that we fare better than some of our neighbours. If I do but keep my health, I don’t fear but we shall make a shift to live.

_Mr. Ev._ Keep such a contented mind, my friend, and you will have few to envy. Good morning to you, and if any sickness or accident should befall you, remember you have a friend in your neighbour at the hall.

_Jac._ I will, sir, and thank you.

_Ch._ Good morning to you.

_Jac._ The same to you, master.

[_They leave the cottage._

_Mr. Ev._ Well, Charles, what do you think of our visit?

_Ch._ I am highly pleased with it, sir. I shall have a better opinion of a poor cottager as long as I live.

_Mr. Ev._ I am glad of it. You see when we compare ourselves with this weaver, all the advantage is not on our side. He is possessed of an art, the utility of which secures him a livelihood, whatever may be the changes of the times. All his family are brought up to industry, and show no small ingenuity in their several occupations. They are not without instruction, and especially seem to be in no want of that best of all, the knowledge of their duty. They understand something of the cultivation and uses of plants, and are capable of receiving enjoyment from the beauties of nature. They partake of the pleasures of home and neighbourhood. Above all they seem content with their lot, and free from anxious cares and repinings. I view them as truly respectable members of society, acting well the part allotted to them, and that, a part most of all necessary to the well-being of the whole. They may, from untoward accidents, be rendered objects of our compassion, but they never can of our contempt.

_Ch._ Indeed, sir, I am very far from despising them now. But would it not be possible to make them more comfortable than they are at present?

_Mr. Ev._ I think it would; and when giving a little from the superfluity of persons in our situation would add so much to the happiness of persons in theirs, I am of opinion that it is unpardonable not to do it. I intend to use my interest to get this poor man the piece of waste land he wants, and he shall have some from my share rather than go without.

_Ch._ And suppose, sir, we were to give him some good potatoes to plant it?

_Mr. Ev._ We will. Then, you know, we have a fine sow, that never fails to produce a numerous litter twice a year. Suppose we rear one of the next brood to be ready for him as soon as he has got his potato-ground into bearing?

_Ch._ O yes! that will be just the thing. But how is he to build a pigsty?

_Mr. Ev._ You may leave that to his own ingenuity! I warrant he can manage such a job as that with the help of a neighbour, at least. Well—I hope both the weaver, and you, will be the better for the acquaintance we have made to-day; and always remember, that _man, when fulfilling the duties of his station, be that station what it may, is a worthy object of respect to his fellow-men_.

[Illustration:

EVENING XXII. ]

THE BIRTHDAY GIFT.

The populous kingdom of Ava, in India beyond the Ganges, was once inherited by a minor prince, who was brought up in the luxurious indolence of an eastern palace. When he had reached the age of seventeen, which by the laws of that country, was the period of majority for the crown, all the great men of his court, and the governors of the provinces, according to established custom, laid at his feet presents consisting of the most costly products of nature and art that they had been able to procure. One offered a casket of the most precious jewels of Golconda; another a curious piece of clockwork made by a European artist; another, a piece of the richest silk from the looms of China; another, a bezoar stone said to be a sovereign antidote against all poisons and infectious diseases; another, a choice piece of the most fragrant rose-wood, in a box of ebony inlaid with pearls; another, a golden cruse full of genuine balsam of Mecca; another, a courser of the purest breed of Arabia; and another, a female slave of exquisite beauty. The whole court of the palace was overspread with rarities; and long rows of slaves were continually passing loaded with vessels and utensils of gold and silver, and other articles of high price.

At length, an aged magistrate from a distant province made his appearance. He was simply clad in a long cotton robe, and his hoary beard waved on his breast. He made his obeisance before the young monarch, and holding forth an embroidered silken bag, he thus addressed him:—

“Deign, great king, to accept the faithful homage and fervent good wishes of thy servant on this important day, and with them the small present I hold in my hand. Small, indeed, it is in show, but not so, I trust, in value. Others have offered what may decorate thy person—here is what will impart perpetual grace and lustre to thy features. Others have presented thee with rich perfumes—here is what will make thy name sweet and fragrant to the latest ages. Others have given what may afford pleasure to thine eyes—here is what will nourish a source of never-failing pleasure within thy breast. Others have furnished thee with preservatives against bodily contagion—here is what will preserve thy better parts uncontaminated. Others have heaped round thee the riches of a temporal kingdom—this will secure thee the treasures of an eternal one.”

He said, and drew from the purse a book, containing _the moral precepts of the sage Zendar_, the wisest and most virtuous man the East had ever beheld. “If,” he proceeded, “my gracious sovereign will condescend to make this his constant companion, not an hour can pass in which its perusal may not be a comfort and a blessing. In the arduous duties of thy station it will prove a faithful guide and counsellor. Amid the allurements of pleasure and the incitements of passion, it will be an incorruptible monitor, that will never suffer thee to err without warning thee of thy error. It will render thee a blessing to thy people, and blessed in thyself: for what sovereign can be the one without the other?”

He then returned the book to its place, and kneeling, gave it into the hands of the king. He received it with respect and benignity, and history affirms that the use he made of it corresponded with the wishes of the donor.

ON EARTHS AND STONES

_Tutor_—_George_—_Harry_.

_Harry._ I wonder what all this heap of stones is for?

_George._ I can tell you—it is for the lime-kiln; do n’t you see it just by?

_Har._ O yes, I do. But what is to be done to them there?

_Geo._ Why, they are to be burnt into lime; do n’t you know that?

_Har._ But what is lime, and what are its uses?

_Geo._ I can tell you one; they lay it on the fields for manure. Do n’t you remember we saw a number of little heaps of it, that we took for sheep at a distance, and wondered they did not move? However, I believe we had better ask our tutor about it. Will you please, sir, to tell us something about lime?

_Tutor._ Willingly. But suppose, as we talked about all sorts of metals some time ago, I should now give you a lecture about stones and earths of all kinds, which are equally valuable, and much more common than metals.

_Geo._ Pray, do, sir.

_Har._ I shall be very glad to hear it.

_Tut._ Well, then. In the first place, the ground we tread upon, to as great a depth as it has been dug, consists for the most part of matter of various appearance and hardness, called by the general name of _earths_. In common language, indeed, only the soft and powdery substances are so named, while the hard and solid are called _stone_ or _rock_; but chymists use the same term for all; as, in fact, earth is only crumbled stone, and stone only consolidated earth.

_Har._ What!—has the mould of my garden ever been stone?

_Tut._ The black earth or mould which covers the surface wherever plants grow, consists mostly of parts of rotted vegetables, such as stalks, leaves, and roots, mixed with sand or loose clay; but this only reaches a little way; and beneath it you always come to a bed of gravel, or clay, or stone of some kind. Now these earths and stones are distinguished into several species, but principally into three, the properties of which make them useful to man for very different purposes, and are, therefore, very well worth knowing. As you began with asking me about lime, I shall first mention that class of earths from which it is obtained. These have derived their name of _calcareous_ from this very circumstance, _calx_ being lime, in Latin; and lime is got from them all in the same way, by burning them in a strong fire. There are many kinds of calcareous earths. One of them is _marble_; you know what that is?

_Geo._ O yes! Our parlour chimney-piece and hearth are marble.

_Har._ And so are the monuments in the church.

_Tut._ True. There are various kinds of it: white, black, yellow, gray, mottled and veined with different colours; but all of them are hard and heavy stones, admitting a fine polish, on which account they are much used in ornamental works.

_Geo._ I think statues are made of it?

_Tut._ Yes; and where it is plentiful, columns, and porticoes, and sometimes whole buildings. Marble is the luxury of architecture.

_Har._ Where does marble come from?

_Tut._ From a great many countries. Great Britain produces some, but mostly of inferior kinds. What we use chiefly comes from Italy. The Greek islands yield some fine sorts. That of Paros is of ancient fame for whiteness and purity, and the finest antique statues have been made of Parian marble.

_Har._ I suppose black marble will not burn into white lime?

_Tut._ Yes, it will. A violent heat will expel most of the colouring matter of marbles, and make them white. _Chalk_ is another kind of calcareous earth. This is of a much softer consistence than marble; being easily cut with a knife, and marking things on which it is rubbed. It is found in great beds in the earth; and in some parts of England whole hills are composed of it.

_Geo._ Are chalk and whiting the same?

_Tut._ Whiting is made of the finer and purer particles of chalk washed out from the rest, and then dried in lumps. This you know is quite soft and crumbly. There are, besides, a great variety of stones in the earth harder than chalk, but softer than marble, which will burn to lime, and are therefore called _lime-stones_. These differ much in colour and other properties, and accordingly furnish lime of different qualities. Whole ridges of mountains in various parts are composed of lime-stone, and it is found plentifully in most of the hilly counties of England, to the great advantage of the inhabitants.

_Geo._ Will not oyster-shells burn into lime? I think I have heard of oyster-shell lime.

_Tut._ They will, and this is another source of calcareous earth. The shells of all animals, both land and sea, as oysters, mussels, cockles, crabs, lobsters, snails, and the like, and also egg-shells of all kinds, consist of this earth; and so does coral, which is formed by insects under the sea, and is very abundant in some countries. Vast quantities of shells are often found deep in the earth, in the midst of chalk and lime-stone beds; whence some have supposed that all calcareous earth is originally an animal production.

_Har._ But where could animals enough ever have lived to make mountains of their shells?

_Tut._ That, indeed, I cannot answer. But there are sufficient proofs that our world must long have existed in a very different state from the present. Well—but besides these purer calcareous earths, it is very frequently found mingled in different proportions with other earths. Thus _marl_, which is so much used in manuring land, and of which there are a great many kinds, consists of calcareous earth, united with clay and sand; and the more of this earth it contains, the richer manure it generally makes.

_Geo._ Is there any way of discovering it when it is mixed in this manner with other things?

_Tut._ Yes—there is an easy and sure method of discovering the smallest portion of it. All the varieties of calcareous earth that I have mentioned have the property of dissolving in acids, and effervescing with them; that is, they bubble and hiss when acids are poured upon them. You may readily try this at any time with a piece of chalk or an oyster-shell.

_Geo._ I will pour some vinegar upon an oyster-shell as soon as I get home. But now I think of it, I have often done so in eating oysters, and I never observed it to hiss or bubble.

_Tut._ Vinegar is not an acid strong enough to act upon a thing so solid as a shell. But sulphuric and muriatic acids will do it at once; and persons who examine the nature of fossils always travel with a bottle of one of these acids, by way of a test of calcareous earth. Your vinegar will answer with chalk or whiting. This property of dissolving in acids, and what is called neutralizing them, or taking away their sourness, has caused many of the calcareous earths to be used in medicine. You know that sometimes our food turns very sour upon the stomach, and occasions the pain called heart-burn, and other uneasy symptoms. In these cases it is common to give chalk or powdered shells, or other things of this kind, which afford relief, by neutralizing the acid.

_Geo._ I suppose, then, _magnesia_ is something of this sort, for I have often seen it given to my little sister, when they said her stomach was out of order?

_Tut._ It is; but though magnesia has some properties in common with calcareous earths, it possesses others that are peculiar to itself.

_Geo._ Pray, what are the other uses of these earths?

_Tut._ Such of them as are hard stone, as the marbles and many of the lime-stones, are used for the same purposes as other stones. But their great use is in the form of lime, which is a substance of many curious properties that I will now explain to you. When fresh burnt it is called _quicklime_, on account of the heat and life, as it were, which it possesses. Have you ever seen a lump put into water?

_Geo._ Yes, I have.

_Tut._ Were you not much surprised to see it swell and crack to pieces, with a hissing noise and a great smoke and heat?

_Geo._ I was, indeed. But what is the cause of this—how can cold water occasion so much heat?

_Tut._ I will tell you. The strong heat to which calcareous earth is exposed in making it lime expels all the water it contained, (for all earths, as well as almost everything else, naturally contain water,) and also a quantity of a peculiar kind of air which was united with it. If water be now added to this quicklime, it is drunk in again with such rapidity, as to crack and break the lime to pieces. At the same time a great heat is occasioned by the water combining with the lime, and this makes itself sensible by its effects, burning all the things that it touches, and turning part of the water to steam. This operation is called slacking of lime. The water in which lime is slacked dissolves a part of it, and acquires a very pungent harsh taste: this is used in medicine under the name of lime-water. If instead of soaking quicklime in water, it is exposed for sometime to the air, it attracts moisture slowly, and by degrees fails to powder, without much heat or disturbance. But whether lime be slacked in water or air, it does not at first return to the state in which it was before, since it still remains deprived of its air, and on that account is still pungent and caustic. At length, however, it recovers this also from the atmosphere, and is then mild calcareous earth as at first. Now it is upon some of these circumstances that the utility of lime depends. In the first place, its burning and corroding quality makes it useful to the tanner, in loosening all the hair from the hides, and destroying the flesh and fat that adhered to them. And so in various other trades it is used as a great cleanser and purifier.

_Har._ I have a thought come into my head. When it is laid upon the ground, I suppose its use must be to burn up the weeds?

_Tut._ True—that is part of its use.