FOOTNOTE:

FOOTNOTE:[36]Translated from Alexandre Dumas, a noted French novelist (1802-1870).

[36]Translated from Alexandre Dumas, a noted French novelist (1802-1870).

Expression: In what does the humor of this selection consist? Read aloud and with expression the passages which appeal to you as the most enjoyable. Do you agree with all the statements made by the author? Read these with which you disagree, and then give reasons for your disagreement.

"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop;The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop;The customers, waiting their turns, were all readingTheDaily, theHerald, thePost, little heedingThe young man who blurted out such a blunt question;Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;And the barber kept on shaving."Don't you see, Mister Brown,"Cried the youth, with a frown,"How wrong the whole thing is,How preposterous each wing is,How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is—In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis?I make no apology;I've learned owl-eology,I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,And cannot be blinded to any deflectionsArising from unskillful fingers that failTo stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.Mister Brown! Mister Brown!Do take that bird down,Or you'll soon be the laughingstock all over town!"And the barber kept on shaving.

"Don't you see, Mister Brown,"Cried the youth, with a frown,"How wrong the whole thing is,How preposterous each wing is,How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is—In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis?I make no apology;I've learned owl-eology,I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,And cannot be blinded to any deflectionsArising from unskillful fingers that failTo stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.Mister Brown! Mister Brown!Do take that bird down,Or you'll soon be the laughingstock all over town!"And the barber kept on shaving.

The Owl Critic.The Owl Critic.

"I'vestudiedowls,And other night fowls,And I tell youWhat I know to be true:An owl cannot roostWith his limbs so unloosed;No owl in this worldEver had his claws curled,Ever had his legs slanted,Ever had his bill canted,Ever had his neck screwedInto that attitude.He can'tdoit, because'Tis against all bird laws.Anatomy teaches,Ornithology preaches,An owl has a toeThatcan'tturn out so!I've made the white owl my study for years,And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!Mister Brown, I'm amazedYou should be so gone crazedAs to put up a birdIn that posture absurd!Tolookat that owl really brings on a dizziness;The man who stuffedhimdon't half know his business!"And the barber kept on shaving."Examine those eyes.I'm filled with surpriseTaxidermists should passOff on you such poor glass;So unnatural they seemThey'd make Audubon scream,And John Burroughs laughTo encounter such chaff.Do take that bird down:Have him stuffed again, Brown!"And the barber kept on shaving."With some sawdust and barkI could stuff in the darkAn owl better than that.I could make an old hatLook more like an owl than that horrid fowlStuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.In fact, abouthimthere's not one natural feather."Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,And then fairly hooted, as if he should say,"Your learning's at faultthistime, anyway;Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!"And the barber kept on shaving.

"Examine those eyes.I'm filled with surpriseTaxidermists should passOff on you such poor glass;So unnatural they seemThey'd make Audubon scream,And John Burroughs laughTo encounter such chaff.Do take that bird down:Have him stuffed again, Brown!"And the barber kept on shaving.

"With some sawdust and barkI could stuff in the darkAn owl better than that.I could make an old hatLook more like an owl than that horrid fowlStuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.In fact, abouthimthere's not one natural feather."Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,And then fairly hooted, as if he should say,"Your learning's at faultthistime, anyway;Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!"And the barber kept on shaving.

FOOTNOTE:[37]By James T. Fields, an American publisher and author (1817-1881).

[37]By James T. Fields, an American publisher and author (1817-1881).

Bah! That's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. What were you to do? Why, let him go home in the rain, to be sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him that could spoil. Take cold? Indeed! He doesn't look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd better have taken cold than taken our umbrella. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say,DO YOU HEAR THE RAIN?

Pooh! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle. Don't insult me. He return the umbrella? Anybody would think you were born yesterday. As if anybody ever did return an umbrella!

I should like to know how the children are to go to school to-morrow. They shan't go through such weather, I'm determined. No! they shall stay at home and never learn anything—the blessed creatures—sooner than go and get wet. And when they grow up, I wonder whom they'll have to thank for knowing nothing—who, indeed, but their father?

But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh, yes! I know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow—you knew that—and you did it on purpose. Don't tell me; you hate to have me to go there, and take every mean advantage to hinder me. But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle. No, sir; if it comes down in bucketfuls I'll go all the more.

No! and I won't have a cab! Where do you think the money's to come from? You've got nice, high notions at that club of yours. A cab, indeed! Cost me sixteen pence at least—sixteen pence?—two-and-eight-pence, for there's back again! Cabs, indeed! I should like to know who is to pay for them! I can't pay for them, and I'm sure you can't if you go on as you do; throwing away your property and beggaring your children, buying umbrellas.

Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say,DO YOU HEAR IT? But I don't care—I'll go to mother's to-morrow, I will; and what's more, I'll walk every step of the way; and you know that will give me my death. Don't call me a foolish woman; it's you that's the foolish man. You know I can't wear clogs; and with no umbrella, the wet's sure to give me a cold—it always does. But what do you care for that? Nothing at all. I may be laid up for what you care, as I dare say I shall—and a pretty doctor's bill there'll be. I hope there will! It will teach you to lend your umbrella again. I shouldn't wonder if I caught my death; and that's what you lent your umbrella for. Of course!

Nice clothes I shall get, too, traipsing through weather like this. My gown and bonnet will be spoiled quite. Needn't I wear them, then? Indeed, Mr. Caudle, I shall wear them. No, sir; I'm not going out a dowdy to please you or anybody else. Gracious knows, it isn't often I step over the threshold; indeed, I might as well be a slave at once—better, I should say. But when I go out, Mr. Caudle, I choose to go as a lady.

Ugh! I look forward with dread for to-morrow. How I'm to go to mother's I'm sure I can't tell. But, if I die, I'll go. No, sir; I won'tborrowan umbrella.

No; and you shan'tbuyone. Mr. Caudle, if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it into the street. Ha! it was only last week I had a new nozzle put to that umbrella. I'm sure if I'd known as much as I do now, it might have gone without one, for all of me.

The children, too, dear things, they'll be sopping wet; for they shan't stay at home; they shan't lose their learning; it's all their father will leave them, I'm sure. But they shall go to school. Don't tell me I said they shouldn't; you are so aggravating, Caudle, you'd spoil the temper of an angel; they shall go to school; mark that! And if they get their deaths of cold, it's not my fault. I didn't lend the umbrella.

FOOTNOTE:[38]By Douglas William Jerrold, an English humorous writer (1803-1857).

[38]By Douglas William Jerrold, an English humorous writer (1803-1857).

Note: Which of the various specimens of humor here presented do you enjoy most? Give reasons.

'Twas on a Mayday of the far old year,Seventeen hundred eighty, that there fellOver the bloom and sweet life of the spring,Over the fresh earth and the heaven of noon,A horror of great darkness, like the nightIn day of which the Norland sagas tell,—The Twilight of the Gods....Birds ceased to sing, and all the barnyard fowlsRoosted; the cattle at the pasture barsLowed, and looked homeward; bats on leathern wingsFlitted abroad; the sounds of labor died;Men prayed, and women wept; all ears grew sharpTo hear the doom blast of the trumpet shatterThe black sky, that the dreadful face of ChristMight look from the rent clouds, not as he lookedA loving guest at Bethany, but sternAs Justice and inexorable Law.Meanwhile in the old statehouse, dim as ghosts,Sat the lawgivers of Connecticut,Trembling beneath their legislative robes."It is the Lord's Great Day! Let us adjourn,"Some said; and then as if with one accordAll eyes were turned to Abraham Davenport.

The Dark Day In Connecticut.The Dark Day In Connecticut.

He rose, slow cleaving with his steady voiceThe intolerable hush. "This well may beThe Day of Judgment which the world awaits;But be it so or not, I only knowMy present duty, and my Lord's commandTo occupy till he come. So at the postWhere he hath set me in his providence,I choose, for one, to meet him face to face,—No faithless servant frightened from my task,But ready when the Lord of the harvest calls;And therefore, with all reverence, I would say,Let God do his work, we will see to ours.—Bring in the candles!" And they brought them in.Then, by the flaring lights the Speaker read,Albeit with husky voice and shaking hands,An act to amend an act to regulateThe shad and alewive fisheries. WhereuponWisely and well spake Abraham Davenport,Straight to the question, with no figures of speechSave the ten Arab signs, yet not withoutThe shrewd, dry humor natural to the man—His awestruck colleagues listening all the while,Between the pauses of his argument,To hear the thunder of the wrath of GodBreak from the hollow trumpet of the cloud.And there he stands in memory to this day,Erect, self-poised, a rugged face, half seenAgainst the background of unnatural dark,A witness to the ages as they pass,That simple duty hath no place for fear.

FOOTNOTE:[39]From "Abraham Davenport," by John Greenleaf Whittier.

[39]From "Abraham Davenport," by John Greenleaf Whittier.

Barcelona, 1493.

To Lord Raphael Sanchez:—

Knowing that it will afford you pleasure to learn that I have brought my undertaking to a successful termination, I have decided upon writing you this letter to acquaint you with all the events which have occurred in my voyage, and the discoveries which have resulted from it.

Thirty-three days after my departure from Cadiz I reached the Indian sea, where I discovered many islands, thickly peopled, of which I took possession without resistance in the name of our most illustrious monarchs, by public proclamation and with unfurled banners. To the first of these islands, which is called by the Indians Guanahani, I gave the name of the blessed Saviour, relying upon whose protection I had reached this as well as the other islands.

As soon as we arrived at that, which as I have said was named Juana, I proceeded along its coast a short distance westward, and found it to be so large and apparently without termination, that I could not suppose it to be an island, but the continental province of Cathay.

In the meantime I had learned from some Indians whom I had seized, that the country was certainly an island; and therefore I sailed toward the east, coasting to the distance of three hundred and twenty-two miles, which brought us to the extremity of it; from this point I saw lying eastwards another island, fifty-four miles distant from Juana, to which I gave the name Española.

All these islands are very beautiful, and distinguished by a diversity of scenery; they are filled with a great variety of trees of immense height, and which I believe to retain their foliage in all seasons; for when I saw them they were as verdant and luxurious as they usually are in Spain in the month of May,—some of them were blossoming, some bearing fruit, and all flourishing in the greatest perfection, according to their respective stages of growth, and the nature and quality of each; yet the islands are not so thickly wooded as to be impassable. The nightingale and various birds were singing in countless numbers, and that in November, the month in which I arrived there.

The inhabitants are very simple and honest, and exceedingly liberal with all they have; none of them refusing anything he may possess when he is asked for it, but on the contrary inviting us to ask them. They exhibit great love toward all others in preference to themselves: they also give objects of great value for trifles, and content themselves with very little or nothing in return.

I, however, forbade that these trifles and articles of no value (such as pieces of dishes, plates, and glass, keys, and leather straps) should be given to them, although, if they could obtain them, they imagined themselves to be possessed of the most beautiful trinkets in the world.

It even happened that a sailor received for a leather strap as much gold as was worth three golden nobles, and for things of more trifling value offered by our men, the Indian would give whatever the seller required.

On my arrival I had taken some Indians by force from the first island that I came to, in order that they might learn our language. These men are still traveling with me, and although they have been with us now a long time, they continue to entertain the idea that I have descended from heaven; and on our arrival at any new place they published this, crying out immediately with a loud voice to the other Indians, "Come, come and look upon beings of a celestial race": upon which both men and women, children and adults, young men and old, when they got rid of the fear they at first entertained, would come out in throngs, crowding the roads to see us, some bringing food, others drink, with astonishing affection and kindness.

Although all I have related may appear to be wonderful and unheard of, yet the results of my voyage would have been more astonishing if I had had at my disposal such ships as I required. But these great and marvelous results are not to be attributed to any merit of mine, but to the holy Christian faith, and to the piety and religion of our Sovereigns; for that which the unaided intellect of man could not compass, the spirit of God has granted to human exertions, for God is wont to hear the prayers of his servants who love his precepts even to the performance of apparent impossibilities.

Thus it has happened to me in the present instance, who have accomplished a task to which the powers of mortal men had never hitherto attained; for if there have been those who have anywhere written or spoken of these islands, they have done so with doubts and conjectures, and no one has ever asserted that he has seen them, on which account their writings have been looked upon as little else than fables.

Therefore let the king and queen, our princes and their most happy kingdoms, and all the other provinces of Christendom, render thanks to our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who has granted us so great a victory and such prosperity.

Christopher Columbus.

Expression: In connection with this letter, read again the story of the discovery as narrated by Washington Irving, page43. In what respect do the two accounts differ?

Dear Friend,—

Although I received no letter from you by this ship, yet forasmuch as I know you expect the performance of my promise, which was to write to you truly and faithfully of all things, I have therefore, at this time, sent unto you accordingly, referring you for further satisfaction to our more large relations.

You shall understand that in this little time that a few of us have been here, we have built seven dwelling houses and four for the use of the plantation, and have made preparation for divers others.

We set the last spring some twenty acres of Indian corn, and sowed some six acres of barley and pease; and according to the manner of the Indians, we manured our ground with herrings, or rather shads, which we have in great abundance, and take with great ease at our doors.

Our corn did prove well; and God be praised, we had a good increase of Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our pease not worth the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown. They came up very well, and blossomed; but the sun parched them in the blossom.

Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might, after a special manner, rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors. They four, in one day, killed as much fowl as with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming among us, and among the rest their greatest king, Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted; and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation, and bestowed upon our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God we are so far from want, that we often wish you partakers of our plenty....

We have often found the Indians very faithful in their covenant of peace with us, very loving, and ready to pleasure us. We often go to them, and they come to us.... Yea, it hath pleased God so to possess the Indians with a fear of us and love to us, that not only the greatest king amongst them, called Massasoit, but also all the princes and peoples round about us, have either made suit to us, or been glad of any occasion to make peace with us; so that seven of them at once have sent their messengers to us to that end.... They are a people without any religion or knowledge of any God, yet very trusty, quick of apprehension, ripe-witted, just....

Now, because I expect you coming unto us, with other of our friends, I thought good to advertise you of a few things needful. Be careful to have a very good bread room to put your biscuits in. Let not your meat be dry-salted; none can better do it than the sailors. Let your meal be so hard trod in your cask that you shall need an adz or hatchet to work it out with. Trust not too much on us for corn at this time, for we shall have little enough till harvest.

Build your cabins as open as you can, and bring good store of clothes and bedding with you. Bring every man a musket or fowling piece. Let your piece be long in the barrel, and fear not the weight of it, for most of our shooting is from stands.

I forbear further to write for the present, hoping to see you by the next return. So I take my leave, commending you to the Lord for a safe conduct unto us, resting in him,

Your loving friend,

Edward Winslow.

Plymouth in New England,this 11th of December, 1621.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,Who never to himself hath said,This is my own, my native land!Whose heart hath ne'er within him burnedAs home his footsteps he hath turned,From wandering on a foreign strand?If such there breathe, go, mark him well.For him no minstrel raptures swell;High though his titles, proud his name,Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;Despite those titles, power, and pelf,The wretch concentered all in self,Living, shall forfeit fair renown,And, doubly dying, shall go downTo the vile dust, from whence he sprung,Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.O Caledonia! stern and wild,Meet nurse for a poetic child!Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,Land of the mountain and the flood,Land of my sires! what mortal handCan e'er untie the filial band,That knits me to thy rugged strand?

O Caledonia! stern and wild,Meet nurse for a poetic child!Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,Land of the mountain and the flood,Land of my sires! what mortal handCan e'er untie the filial band,That knits me to thy rugged strand?

There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle,'Twas St. Patrick himself, sure, that set it;And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile,And with dew from his eye often wet it.It thrives through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,And its name is the dear little shamrock of Ireland—The sweet little shamrock, the dear little shamrock,The sweet little, green little shamrock of Ireland.This dear little plant still grows in our land,Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin,Whose smiles can bewitch, whose eyes can command,In what climate they chance to appear in;For they shine through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,Just like their own dear little shamrock of Ireland—The sweet little shamrock, the dear little shamrock,The sweet little, green little shamrock of Ireland.This dear little plant that springs from our soil,When its three little leaves are extended,Betokens that each for the other should toil,And ourselves by ourselves be befriended,—And still through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,From one root should branch like the shamrock of Ireland—The sweet little shamrock, the dear little shamrock,The sweet little, green little shamrock of Ireland!

This dear little plant still grows in our land,Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin,Whose smiles can bewitch, whose eyes can command,In what climate they chance to appear in;For they shine through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,Just like their own dear little shamrock of Ireland—The sweet little shamrock, the dear little shamrock,The sweet little, green little shamrock of Ireland.

This dear little plant that springs from our soil,When its three little leaves are extended,Betokens that each for the other should toil,And ourselves by ourselves be befriended,—And still through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,From one root should branch like the shamrock of Ireland—The sweet little shamrock, the dear little shamrock,The sweet little, green little shamrock of Ireland!

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,Chasing the wild deer and following the roe—My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,The birthplace of valor, the country of worth;Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,The hills of the Highlands forever I love.Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,Chasing the wild deer and following the roe—My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,Chasing the wild deer and following the roe—My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,The birthplace of valor, the country of worth;Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,The hills of the Highlands forever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,Chasing the wild deer and following the roe—My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Where is the true man's fatherland?Is it where he by chance is born?Doth not the yearning spirit scornIn such scant borders to be spanned?Oh, yes! his fatherland must beAs the blue heaven wide and free!Is it alone where freedom is,Where God is God, and man is man?Doth he not claim a broader spanFor the soul's love of home than this?Oh, yes! his fatherland must beAs the blue heaven wide and free!Where'er a human heart doth wearJoy's myrtle wreath or sorrow's gyves,Where'er a human spirit strivesAfter a life more true and fair,There is the true man's birthplace grand,His is a world-wide fatherland!Where'er a single slave doth pine,Where'er one man may help another,—Thank God for such a birthright, brother,—That spot of earth is thine and mine!There is the true man's birthplace grand,His is a world-wide fatherland!

Is it alone where freedom is,Where God is God, and man is man?Doth he not claim a broader spanFor the soul's love of home than this?Oh, yes! his fatherland must beAs the blue heaven wide and free!

Where'er a human heart doth wearJoy's myrtle wreath or sorrow's gyves,Where'er a human spirit strivesAfter a life more true and fair,There is the true man's birthplace grand,His is a world-wide fatherland!

Where'er a single slave doth pine,Where'er one man may help another,—Thank God for such a birthright, brother,—That spot of earth is thine and mine!There is the true man's birthplace grand,His is a world-wide fatherland!

But where to find that happiest spot below,Who can direct when all pretend to know?The shuddering tenant of the frigid zoneBoldly proclaims that happiest spot his own—Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,And his long nights of revelry and ease;The naked negro, panting at the line,Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,His first, best country, ever is at home.And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,And estimate the blessings which they share,Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom findAn equal portion dealt to all mankind;As different good, by art or nature given,To different nations makes their blessing even.

FOOTNOTES:[40]From the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," by Sir Walter Scott.[41]By Andrew Cherry, an Irish poet (1762-1812).[42]By Robert Burns, a famous Scottish poet (1759-1796).[43]By James Russell Lowell.[44]By Oliver Goldsmith.

[40]From the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," by Sir Walter Scott.

[41]By Andrew Cherry, an Irish poet (1762-1812).

[42]By Robert Burns, a famous Scottish poet (1759-1796).

[43]By James Russell Lowell.

[44]By Oliver Goldsmith.

Expression: Read all of these poems silently with a view towards sympathizing with the feelings which they express. Now read each one separately, and compare them, one with another. What is the leading sentiment inculcated by each? Which poem appeals the most strongly to your own emotions?Word Study:Caledonia,shamrock,brake,Erin,gyves,yearning,frigid,tepid,patriot.

Word Study:Caledonia,shamrock,brake,Erin,gyves,yearning,frigid,tepid,patriot.

Come with me, in fancy, back to those early ages of the world, thousands, yes millions, of years ago. Stand with me on some low ancient hill, which overlooks the flat and swampy lands that are to become the American continent.

Few heights are yet in sight. The future Rocky Mountains lie still beneath the surface of the sea. The Alleghanies are not yet heaved up above the level surface of the ground, for over them are spread the boggy lands and thick forests of future coal fields. The Mississippi River is not yet in existence, or if in existence, is but an unimportant little stream.

Below us, as we stand, we can see a broad and sluggish body of water, in places widening into shallow lakes. On either side of this stream, vast forests extend in every direction as far as the horizon, bounded on one side by the distant ocean, clothing each hilly rise, and sending islets of matted trees and shrubs floating down the waters.

Strange forests these are to us. No oaks, no elms, no beeches, no birches, no palms, nor many colored wild flowers are there. The deciduous plants so common in our modern forests are nowhere found; but enormous club mosses are seen, as well as splendid pines and an abundance of ancient trees with waving, frondlike leaves. Here also are graceful tree ferns and countless ferns of lower growth filling up all gaps.

No wild quadrupeds are yet in existence, and the silent forests are enlivened only by the stirring of the breeze among the trees or the occasional hum of monstrous insects. But upon the margin of yonder stream a huge four-footed creature creeps slowly along. He looks much like a gigantic salamander, and his broad, soft feet make deep impressions in the yielding mud.

No sunshine but only a gleam of light can creep through the misty atmosphere. The earth seems clothed in a garment of clouds, and the air is positively reeking with damp warmth, like the air of a hothouse. This explains the luxuriant growth of foliage.

Could we thus stand upon the hilltops and keep watch through the long coal building ages, we should see generation after generation of forest trees and underwoods living, withering, dying, falling to earth. Slowly a layer of dead and decaying vegetation thus collects, over which the forest flourishes still—tree for tree, and shrub for shrub, springing up in the place of each one that dies.

Then, after a very long time, through the working of mighty underground forces, the broad lands sink a little way—perhaps only a few feet—and the ocean tide rushes in, overwhelming the forests, trees and plants and living creatures, in one dire desolation.—No, not dire, for the ruin is not objectless or needless. It is all a part of the wonderful preparation for the life of man on earth.

Under the waves lie the overwhelmed forests—prostrate trunks and broken stumps in countless numbers overspreading the gathered vegetable remains of centuries before. Upon these the sea builds a protective covering of sand or mud, more or less thick. Here sea creatures come to live, fishes swim hungrily to and fro, and shellfishes die in the mud which, by and by, is to become firm rock with stony animal remains embedded in it.

After a while the land rises again to its former position. There are bare, sandy flats as before, but they do not remain bare. Lichens and hardier plants find a home. The light spores of the ancient forest trees take root and grow, and luxuriant forests, like those of old, spring again into being. Upon river and lake bottoms, and over the low damp lands, rich layers of decaying vegetation again collect. Then once more the land sinks and the ocean tide pours in; and another sandy or muddy stratum is built up on the overflowed lands. Thus the second layer of forest growth is buried like the first, and both lie quietly through the long ages following, hidden from sight, slowly changing in their substance from wood to shining coal.

Thus time after time, the land rose and sank, rose and sank, again and again. Not the whole continent is believed to have risen or sunk at the same time; but here at one period, there at another period, the movements probably went on.

The greater part of the vegetable mass decayed slowly; but when the final ruin of the forest came, whole trunks were snapped off close to the roots and flung down. These are now found in numbers on the tops of the coal layers, the barks being flattened and changed to shining black coal.

How wonderful the tale of those ancient days told to us by these buried forests!

FOOTNOTE:[45]By Agnes Giberne, an English writer on scientific subjects.

[45]By Agnes Giberne, an English writer on scientific subjects.

I am going to say a few words about the moon; but there are many matters relating to her of great interest which I must leave untouched, for the simple reason that there is not room to speak of them in a single paper.

Thus the moon's changes of shape from the horned moon to the half, and thence to the full moon, with the following changes from full to half, and so to the horned form again, are well worth studying; but I should want all the space I am going to occupy, merely to explain properly those changes alone.

So a study of the way in which the moon rules the tides would, I am sure, interest every thoughtful reader; but there is not room for it here.

Let us now turn to consider the moon; not as the light which makes our nights beautiful, nor as the body which governs the mighty ocean in its tidal sway, but as another world,—the companion planet of the earth.

It has always been a matter not only of the deepest curiosity, but of the greatest scientific import, whether other planets, and particularly our own satellite, are inhabited or exhibit any traces whatever of animal or vegetable life.

One or two astronomers have claimed the discovery of vegetation on the moon's surface by reason of the periodic appearance of a greenish tint; but as the power of the telescope can bring the moon to within only about a hundred and twenty miles of us, these alleged appearances cannot be satisfactorily verified.

The moon is a globe, two thousand one hundred and sixty-five miles in diameter; very much less, therefore, than our earth, which has a diameter of about seven thousand nine hundred and twenty miles.

Thus the moon's surface is less than one thirteenth of the earth's. Instead of two hundred millions of square miles as the earth has, the moon has only about fourteen millions of square miles, or about the same surface as North and South America together, without the great American Islands of the Arctic regions.

The volume of the earth exceeds that of the moon more than forty-nine times. But the moon's substance is somewhat lighter. Thus the mass, or quantity of matter in the moon, instead of being a forty-ninth part of the earth's, is about an eighty-first part.

This small companion world travels like our own earth around the sun, at a distance of ninety-three millions of miles. The path of the moon around the sun is, in fact, so nearly the same as that of the earth that it would be almost impossible to distinguish one from the other, if they were both drawn on a sheet of paper a foot or so in diameter.

You may perhaps be surprised to find me thus saying that the moon travels round the sun, when you have been accustomed to hear that the moon travels round the earth. In reality, however, it is round the sun the moon travels, though certainly the moon and the earth circle around each other.

The distance of the moon from the earth is not always the same; but the average, or mean distance, amounts to about two hundred and thirty-eight thousand eight hundred and twenty-eight miles. This is the distance between the centers of the two globes. With this distance separating them, the companion worlds—the earth and the moon—circle round each other, as they both travel round the central sun.

But now you will be curious to learn whether our companion planet, the moon, really presents the appearance of a world, when studied with a powerful telescope.

If we judged the moon in this way, we should say that she is not only not inhabited by living creatures, but that she could not possibly be inhabited. What is it that makes our earth a fit abode for us who live upon it? Her surface is divided into land and water. We live on the land; but without the water we should perish.

Were there no water, there would be no clouds, no rain, no snow, no rivers, brooks, or other streams. Without these, there could be no vegetable life; and without vegetable life, there could be no animal life, even if animals themselves could live without water.

Yet again, the earth's globe is enwrapped in an atmosphere,—the air we breathe. Without this air, neither animals nor vegetables could live. I might go further and show other features of the earth, which we are at present justified in regarding as essential to the mere existence, and still more to the comfort, of creatures living upon the earth.

Now, before the telescope was invented, many astronomers believed that there was water on the moon, and probably air also. But as soon as Galileo examined the moon with his largest telescope (and a very weak telescope it was), he found that whatever the dark parts of the moon may be, they certainly are not seas.

More and more powerful telescopes have since been turned on the moon. It has been shown that there are not only no seas, but no rivers, pools, lakes, or other water surfaces. No clouds are ever seen to gather over any part of the moon's surface. In fact, nothing has ever yet been seen on the moon which suggests in the slightest degree the existence of water on her surface, or even that water could at present possibly exist; and, of course, without water it is safe to infer there could be neither vegetable nor animal existence.

It would seem, then, that apart from the absence of air on the moon, there is such an entire absence of water that no creatures now living on the earth could possibly exist upon the moon. Certainly man could not exist there, nor could animals belonging to any except the lowest orders of animal life.

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