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General Science by Bertha M. Clark



I. Value of Fire. Every day, uncontrolled fire wipes out human
lives and destroys vast amounts of property; every day, fire,
controlled and regulated in stove and furnace, cooks our food and
warms our houses. Fire melts ore and allows of the forging of iron, as
in the blacksmith's shop, and of the fashioning of innumerable objects
serviceable to man. Heated boilers change water into the steam which
drives our engines on land and sea. Heat causes rain and wind, fog and
cloud; heat enables vegetation to grow and thus indirectly provides
our food. Whether heat comes directly from the sun or from artificial
sources such as coal, wood, oil, or electricity, it is vitally
connected with our daily life, and for this reason the facts and
theories relative to it are among the most important that can be
studied. Heat, if properly regulated and controlled, would never be
injurious to man; hence in the following paragraphs heat will be
considered merely in its helpful capacity.

2. General Effect of Heat. _Expansion and Contraction_. One of the
best-known effects of heat is the change which it causes in the size
of a substance. Every housewife knows that if a kettle is filled with
cold water to begin with, there will be an overflow as soon as the
water becomes heated. Heat causes not only water, but all other
liquids, to occupy more space, or to expand, and in some cases the
expansion, or increase in size, is surprisingly large. For example, if
100 pints of ice water is heated in a kettle, the 100 pints will
steadily expand until, at the boiling point, it will occupy as much
space as 104 pints of ice water.

The expansion of water can be easily shown by heating a flask (Fig. I)
filled with water and closed by a cork through which a narrow tube
passes. As the water is heated, it expands and forces its way up the
narrow tube. If the heat is removed, the liquid cools, contracts, and
slowly falls in the tube, resuming in time its original size or
volume. A similar observation can be made with alcohol, mercury, or
any other convenient liquid.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--As the water becomes warmer it expands and
rise in the narrow tube.]

Not only liquids are affected by heat and cold, but solids also are
subject to similar changes. A metal ball which when cool will just
slip through a ring (Fig. 2) will, when heated, be too large to slip
through the ring. Telegraph and telephone wires which in winter are
stretched taut from pole to pole, sag in hot weather and are much too
long. In summer they are exposed to the fierce rays of the sun, become
strongly heated, and expand sufficiently to sag. If the wires were
stretched taut in the summer, there would not be sufficient leeway for
the contraction which accompanies cold weather, and in winter they
would snap.

[Illustration: FIG. 2--When the ball is heated, it become too large to
slip through the ring.]

Air expands greatly when heated (Fig. 3), but since air is practically
invisible, we are not ordinarily conscious of any change in it. The
expansion of air can be readily shown by putting a drop of ink in a
thin glass tube, inserting the tube in the cork of a flask, and
applying heat to the flask (Fig. 4). The ink is forced up the tube by
the expanding air. Even the warmth of the hand is generally sufficient
to cause the drop to rise steadily in the tube. The rise of the drop
of ink shows that the air in the flask occupies more space than
formerly, and since the quantity of air has not changed, each cubic
inch of space must hold less warm air than| it held of cold air; that
is, one cubic inch of warm air weighs less than one cubic inch of cold
air, or warm air is less dense than cold air. All gases, if not
confined, expand when heated and contract as they cool. Heat, in
general, causes substances to expand or become less dense.

[Illustration: FIG. 3--As the air in _A_ is heated, it expands and
escapes in the form of bubbles.]

3. Amount of Expansion and Contraction. While most substances expand
when heated and contract when cooled, they are not all affected
equally by the same changes in temperature. Alcohol expands more than
water, and water more than mercury. Steel wire which measures 1/4 mile
on a snowy day will gain 25 inches in length on a warm summer day, and
an aluminum wire under the same conditions would gain 50 inches in

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--As the air in _A_ is heated, it expands and
forces the drop of ink up the tube.]

4. Advantages and Disadvantages of Expansion and Contraction. We owe
the snug fit of metal tires and bands to the expansion and contraction
resulting from heating and cooling. The tire of a wagon wheel is made
slightly smaller than the wheel which it is to protect; it is then
put into a very hot fire and heated until it has expanded sufficiently
to slip on the wheel. As the tire cools it contracts and fits the
wheel closely.

In a railroad, spaces are usually left between consecutive rails in
order to allow for expansion during the summer.

The unsightly cracks and humps in cement floors are sometimes due to
the expansion resulting from heat (Fig. 5). Cracking from this cause
can frequently be avoided by cutting the soft cement into squares, the
spaces between them giving opportunity for expansion just as do the
spaces between the rails of railroads.

[Illustration: FIG. 5: A cement walk broken by expansion due to sun

In the construction of long wire fences provision must be made for
tightening the wire in summer, otherwise great sagging would occur.

Heat plays an important part in the splitting of rocks and in the
formation of débris. Rocks in exposed places are greatly affected by
changes in temperature, and in regions where the changes in
temperature are sudden, severe, and frequent, the rocks are not able
to withstand the strain of expansion and contraction, and as a result
crack and split. In the Sahara Desert much crumbling of the rock into
sand has been caused by the intense heat of the day followed by the
sharp frost of night. The heat of the day causes the rocks to expand,
and the cold of night causes them to contract, and these two forces
constantly at work loosen the grains of the rock and force them out of
place, thus producing crumbling.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.--Splitting and crumbling of rock caused by
alternating heat and cold.]

The surface of the rock is the most exposed part, and during the day
the surface, heated by the sun's rays, expands and becomes too large
for the interior, and crumbling and splitting result from the strain.
With the sudden fall of temperature in the late afternoon and night,
the surface of the rock becomes greatly chilled and colder than the
rock beneath; the surface rock therefore contracts and shrinks more
than the underlying rock, and again crumbling results (Fig. 6).

[Illustration: FIG. 7.--Debris formed from crumbled rock.]

On bare mountains, the heating and cooling effects of the sun are very
striking(Fig. 7); the surface of many a mountain peak is covered with
cracked rock so insecure that a touch or step will dislodge the
fragments and start them down the mountain slope. The lower levels of
mountains are frequently buried several feet under débris which has
been formed in this way from higher peaks, and which has slowly
accumulated at the lower levels.

5. Temperature. When an object feels hot to the touch, we say that
it has a high temperature; when it feels cold to the touch, that it
has a low temperature; but we are not accurate judges of heat. Ice
water seems comparatively warm after eating ice cream, and yet we know
that ice water is by no means warm. A room may seem warm to a person
who has been walking in the cold air, while it may feel decidedly cold
to some one who has come from a warmer room. If the hand is cold,
lukewarm water feels hot, but if the hand has been in very hot water
and is then transferred to lukewarm water, the latter will seem cold.
We see that the sensation or feeling of warmth is not an accurate
guide to the temperature of a substance; and yet until 1592, one
hundred years after the discovery of America, people relied solely
upon their sensations for the measurement of temperature. Very hot
substances cannot be touched without injury, and hence inconvenience
as well as the necessity for accuracy led to the invention of the
thermometer, an instrument whose operation depends upon the fact that
most substances expand when heated and contract when cooled.

[Illustration: FIG. 8.--Making a thermometer.]

6. The Thermometer. The modern thermometer consists of a glass tube
at the lower end of which is a bulb filled with mercury or colored
alcohol (Fig. 8). After the bulb has been filled with the mercury, it
is placed in a beaker of water and the water is heated by a Bunsen
burner. As the water becomes warmer and warmer the level of the
mercury in the tube steadily rises until the water boils, when the
level remains stationary (Fig. 9). A scratch is made on the tube to
indicate the point to which the mercury rises when the bulb is placed
in boiling water, and this point is marked 212°. The tube is then
removed from the boiling water, and after cooling for a few minutes,
it is placed in a vessel containing finely chopped ice (Fig. 10). The
mercury column falls rapidly, but finally remains stationary, and at
this level another scratch is made on the tube and the point is marked
32°. The space between these two points, which represent the
temperatures of boiling water and of melting ice, is divided into 180
equal parts called degrees. The thermometer in use in the United
States is marked in this way and is called the Fahrenheit thermometer
after its designer. Before the degrees are etched on the thermometer
the open end of the tube is sealed.

[Illustration: FIG. 9.--Determining one of the fixed points of a

The Centigrade thermometer, in use in foreign countries and in all
scientific work, is similar to the Fahrenheit except that the fixed
points are marked 100° and 0°, and the interval between the points is
divided into 100 equal parts instead of into 180.

_The boiling point of water is 212° F. or 100° C_.

_The melting point of ice is 32° F. or 0° C_.

Glass thermometers of the above type are the ones most generally used,
but there are many different types for special purposes.

[Illustration: FIG. 10.--Determining the lower fixed point of a

7. Some Uses of a Thermometer. One of the chief values of a
thermometer is the service it has rendered to medicine. If a
thermometer is held for a few minutes under the tongue of a normal,
healthy person, the mercury will rise to about 98.4° F. If the
temperature of the body registers several degrees above or below this
point, a physician should be consulted immediately. The temperature of
the body is a trustworthy indicator of general physical condition;
hence in all hospitals the temperature of patients is carefully taken
at stated intervals.

Commercially, temperature readings are extremely important. In sugar
refineries the temperature of the heated liquids is observed most
carefully, since a difference in temperature, however slight, affects
not only the general appearance of sugars and sirups, but the quality
as well. The many varieties of steel likewise show the influence which
heat may have on the nature of a substance. By observation and tedious
experimentation it has been found that if hardened steel is heated to
about 450° F. and quickly cooled, it gives the fine cutting edge of
razors; if it is heated to about 500° F. and then cooled, the metal is
much coarser and is suitable for shears and farm implements; while if
it is heated but 50° F. higher, that is, to 550° F., it gives the fine
elastic steel of watch springs.

[Illustration: FIG. 11.--A well-made commercial thermometer.]

A thermometer could be put to good use in every kitchen; the
inexperienced housekeeper who cannot judge of the "heat" of the oven
would be saved bad bread, etc., if the thermometer were a part of her
equipment. The thermometer can also be used in detecting adulterants.
Butter should melt at 94° F.; if it does not, you may be sure that it
is adulterated with suet or other cheap fat. Olive oil should be a
clear liquid above 75° F.; if, above this temperature, it looks
cloudy, you may be sure that it too is adulterated with fat.

8. Methods of Heating Buildings. _Open Fireplaces and Stoves._
Before the time of stoves and furnaces, man heated his modest dwelling
by open fires alone. The burning logs gave warmth to the cabin and
served as a primitive cooking agent; and the smoke which usually
accompanies burning bodies was carried away by means of the chimney.
But in an open fireplace much heat escapes with the smoke and is lost,
and only a small portion streams into the room and gives warmth.

When fuel is placed in an open fireplace (Fig. 12) and lighted, the
air immediately surrounding the fire becomes warmer and, because of
expansion, becomes lighter than the cold air above. The cold air,
being heavier, falls and forces the warmer air upward, and along with
the warm air goes the disagreeable smoke. The fall of the colder and
heavier air, and the rise of the warmer and hence lighter air, is
similar to the exchange which takes place when water is poured on oil;
the water, being heavier than oil, sinks to the bottom and forces the
oil to the surface. The warmer air which escapes up the chimney
carries with it the disagreeable smoke, and when all the smoke is got
rid of in this way, the chimney is said to draw well.

[Illustration: FIG. 12.--The open fireplace as an early method of

As the air is heated by the fire it expands, and is pushed up the
chimney by the cold air which is constantly entering through loose
windows and doors. Open fireplaces are very healthful because the air
which is driven out is impure, while the air which rushes in is fresh
and brings oxygen to the human being.

But open fireplaces, while pleasant to look at, are not efficient for
either heating or cooking. The possibilities for the latter are
especially limited, and the invention of stoves was a great advance in
efficiency, economy, and comfort. A stove is a receptacle for fire,
provided with a definite inlet for air and a definite outlet for
smoke, and able to radiate into the room most of the heat produced
from the fire which burns within. The inlet, or draft, admits enough
air to cause the fire to burn brightly or slowly as the case may be.
If we wish a hot fire, the draft is opened wide and enough air enters
to produce a strong glow. If we wish a low fire, the inlet is only
partially opened, and just enough air enters to keep the fuel

When the fire is started, the damper should be opened wide in order to
allow the escape of smoke; but after the fire is well started there is
less smoke, and the damper may be partly closed. If the damper is kept
open, coal is rapidly consumed, and the additional heat passes out
through the chimney, and is lost to use.

9. Furnaces. _Hot Air_. The labor involved in the care of numerous
stoves is considerable, and hence the advent of a central heating
stove, or furnace, was a great saving in strength and fuel. A furnace
is a stove arranged as in Figure 13. The stove _S_, like all other
stoves, has an inlet for air and an outlet _C_ for smoke; but in
addition, it has built around it a chamber in which air circulates and
is warmed. The air warmed by the stove is forced upward by cold air
which enters from outside. For example, cold air constantly entering
at _E_ drives the air heated by _S_ through pipes and ducts to the
rooms to be heated.

The metal pipes which convey the heated air from the furnace to the
ducts are sometimes covered with felt, asbestos, or other
non-conducting material in order that heat may not be lost during
transmission. The ducts which receive the heated air from the pipes
are built in the non-conducting walls of the house, and hence lose
practically no heat. The air which reaches halls and rooms is
therefore warm, in spite of its long journey from the cellar.

[Illustration: FIG. 13.--A furnace. Pipes conduct hot air to the

Not only houses are warmed by a central heating stove, but whole
communities sometimes depend upon a central heating plant. In the
latter case, pipes closely wrapped with a non-conducting material
carry steam long distances underground to heat remote buildings.
Overbrook and Radnor, Pa., are towns in which such a system is used.

10. Hot-water Heating. The heated air which rises from furnaces is
seldom hot enough to warm large buildings well; hence furnace heating
is being largely supplanted by hot-water heating.

The principle of hot-water heating is shown by the following simple
experiment. Two flasks and two tubes are arranged as in Figure 15, the
upper flask containing a colored liquid and the lower flask clear
water. If heat is applied to _B_, one can see at the end of a few
seconds the downward circulation of the colored liquid and the upward
circulation of the clear water. If we represent a boiler by _B_, a
radiator by the coiled tube, and a safety tank by _C_, we shall have a
very fair illustration of the principle of a hot-water heating system.
The hot water in the radiators cools and, in cooling, gives up its
heat to the rooms and thus warms them.

[Illustration: FIG. 14.--Hot-water heating.]

In hot-water heating systems, fresh air is not brought to the rooms,
for the radiators are closed pipes containing hot water. It is largely
for this reason that thoughtful people are careful to raise windows at
intervals. Some systems of hot-water heating secure ventilation by
confining the radiators to the basement, to which cold air from
outside is constantly admitted in such a way that it circulates over
the radiators and becomes strongly heated. This warm fresh air then
passes through ordinary flues to the rooms above.

[Illustration: FIG. 15.--The principle of hot-water heating.]

In Figure 16, a radiator is shown in a boxlike structure in the
cellar. Fresh air from outside enters a flue at the right, passes the
radiator, where it is warmed, and then makes its way to the room
through a flue at the left. The warm air which thus enters the room is
thoroughly fresh. The actual labor involved in furnace heating and in
hot-water heating is practically the same, since coal must be fed to
the fire, and ashes must be removed; but the hot-water system has the
advantage of economy and cleanliness.

[Illustration: FIG. 16.--Fresh air from outside circulates over the
radiators and then rises into the rooms to be heated.]

11. Fresh Air. Fresh air is essential to normal healthy living, and
2000 cubic feet of air per hour is desirable for each individual. If a
gentle breeze is blowing, a barely perceptible opening of a window
will give the needed amount, even if there are no additional drafts of
fresh air into the room through cracks. Most houses are so loosely
constructed that fresh air enters imperceptibly in many ways, and
whether we will or no, we receive some fresh air. The supply is,
however, never sufficient in itself and should not be depended upon
alone. At night, or at any other time when gas lights are required,
the need for ventilation increases, because every gas light in a room
uses up the same amount of air as four people.

[Illustration: FIG. 17.--The air which goes to the schoolrooms is
warmed by passage over the radiators.]

In the preceding Section, we learned that many houses heated by hot
water are supplied with fresh-air pipes which admit fresh air into
separate rooms or into suites of rooms. In some cases the amount which
enters is so great that the air in a room is changed three or four
times an hour. The constant inflow of cold air and exit of warm air
necessitates larger radiators and more hot water and hence more coal
to heat the larger quantity of water, but the additional expense is
more than compensated by the gain in health.

12. Winds and Currents. The gentlest summer breezes and the fiercest
blasts of winter are produced by the unequal heating of air. We have
seen that the air nearest to a stove or hot object becomes hotter than
the adjacent air, that it tends to expand and is replaced and pushed
upward and outward by colder, heavier air falling downward. We have
learned also that the moving liquid or gas carries with it heat which
it gradually gives out to surrounding bodies.

When a liquid or a gas moves away from a hot object, carrying heat
with it, the process is called _convection_.

Convection is responsible for winds and ocean currents, for land and
sea breezes, and other daily phenomena.

The Gulf Stream illustrates the transference of heat by convection. A
large body of water is strongly heated at the equator, and then moves
away, carrying heat with it to distant regions, such as England and

Owing to the shape of the earth and its position with respect to the
sun, different portions of the earth are unequally heated. In those
portions where the earth is greatly heated, the air likewise will be
heated; there will be a tendency for the air to rise, and for the cold
air from surrounding regions to rush in to fill its place. In this way
winds are produced. There are many circumstances which modify winds
and currents, and it is not always easy to explain their direction
and velocity, but one very definite cause is the unequal heating of
the surface of the earth.

13. Conduction. A poker used in stirring a fire becomes hot and
heats the hand grasping the poker, although only the opposite end of
the poker has actually been in the fire. Heat from the fire passed
into the poker, traveled along it, and warmed it. When heat flows in
this way from a warm part of a body to a colder part, the process is
called _conduction_. A flatiron is heated by conduction, the heat from
the warm stove passing into the cold flatiron and gradually heating

In convection, air and water circulate freely, carrying heat with
them; in conduction, heat flows from a warm region toward a cold
region, but there is no apparent motion of any kind.

Heat travels more readily through some substances than through others.
All metals conduct heat well; irons placed on the fire become heated
throughout and cannot be grasped with the bare hand; iron utensils are
frequently made with wooden handles, because wood is a poor conductor
and does not allow heat from the iron to pass through it to the hand.
For the same reason a burning match may be held without discomfort
until the flame almost reaches the hand.

Stoves and radiators are made of metal, because metals conduct heat
readily, and as fast as heat is generated within the stove by the
burning of fuel, or introduced into the radiator by the hot water, the
heat is conducted through the metal and escapes into the room.

Hot-water pipes and steam pipes are usually wrapped with a
non-conducting substance, or insulator, such as asbestos, in order
that the heat may not escape, but shall be retained within the pipes
until it reaches the radiators within the rooms.

The invention of the "Fireless Cooker" depended in part upon the
principle of non-conduction. Two vessels, one inside the other, are
separated by sawdust, asbestos, or other poor conducting material
(Fig. 18). Foods are heated in the usual way to the boiling point or
to a high temperature, and are then placed in the inner vessel. The
heat of the food cannot escape through the non-conducting material
which surrounds it, and hence remains in the food and slowly cooks it.

[Illustration: FIG. 18.--A fireless cooker.]

A very interesting experiment for the testing of the efficacy of
non-conductors may be easily performed. Place hot water in a metal
vessel, and note by means of a thermometer the _rapidity_ with which
the water cools; then place water of the same temperature in a second
metal vessel similar to the first, but surrounded by asbestos or other
non-conducting material, and note the _slowness_ with which the
temperature falls.

Chemical Change, an Effect of Heat. This effect of heat has a vital
influence on our lives, because the changes which take place when food
is cooked are due to it. The doughy mass which goes into the oven,
comes out a light spongy loaf; the small indigestible rice grain comes
out the swollen, fluffy, digestible grain. Were it not for the
chemical changes brought about by heat, many of our present foods
would be useless to man. Hundreds of common materials like glass,
rubber, iron, aluminum, etc., are manufactured by processes which
involve chemical action caused by heat.

The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci

The author's intention to publish his MSS.


How by a certain machine many may stay some time under water. And
how and wherefore I do not describe my method of remaining under
water and how long I can remain without eating. And I do not publish
nor divulge these, by reason of the evil nature of men, who would
use them for assassinations at the bottom of the sea by destroying
ships, and sinking them, together with the men in them. Nevertheless
I will impart others, which are not dangerous because the mouth of
the tube through which you breathe is above the water, supported on
air sacks or cork.

[Footnote: The leaf on which this passage is written, is headed with
the words _Casi_ 39, and most of these cases begin with the word
'_Come_', like the two here given, which are the 26th and 27th. 7.
_Sughero_. In the Codex Antlanticus 377a; 1170a there is a sketch,
drawn with the pen, representing a man with a tube in his mouth, and
at the farther end of the tube a disk. By the tube the word
'_Channa_' is written, and by the disk the word '_sughero_'.]

The preparation of the MSS. for publication.


When you put together the science of the motions of water, remember
to include under each proposition its application and use, in order
that this science may not be useless.--

[Footnote: A comparatively small portion of Leonardo's notes on
water-power was published at Bologna in 1828, under the title: "_Del
moto e misura dell'Acqua, di L. da Vinci_".]

Admonition to readers.


Let no man who is not a Mathematician read the elements of my work.

The disorder in the MSS.


Begun at Florence, in the house of Piero di Braccio Martelli, on the
22nd day of March 1508. And this is to be a collection without
order, taken from many papers which I have copied here, hoping to
arrange them later each in its place, according to the subjects of
which they may treat. But I believe that before I am at the end of
this [task] I shall have to repeat the same things several times;
for which, O reader! do not blame me, for the subjects are many and
memory cannot retain them [all] and say: 'I will not write this
because I wrote it before.' And if I wished to avoid falling into
this fault, it would be necessary in every case when I wanted to
copy [a passage] that, not to repeat myself, I should read over all
that had gone before; and all the more since the intervals are long
between one time of writing and the next.

[Footnote: 1. In the history of Florence in the early part of the
XVIth century _Piero di Braccio Martelli_ is frequently mentioned as
_Commissario della Signoria_. He was famous for his learning and at
his death left four books on Mathematics ready for the press; comp.
LITTA, _Famiglie celebri Italiane_, _Famiglia Martelli di
Firenze_.--In the Official Catalogue of MSS. in the Brit. Mus., New
Series Vol. I., where this passage is printed, _Barto_ has been
wrongly given for Braccio.

2. _addi 22 di marzo 1508_. The Christian era was computed in
Florence at that time from the Incarnation (Lady day, March 25th).
Hence this should be 1509 by our reckoning.

3. _racolto tratto di molte carte le quali io ho qui copiate_. We
must suppose that Leonardo means that he has copied out his own MSS.
and not those of others. The first thirteen leaves of the MS. in the
Brit. Mus. are a fair copy of some notes on physics.]

Suggestions for the arrangement of MSS treating of particular


Of digging a canal. Put this in the Book of useful inventions and in
proving them bring forward the propositions already proved. And this
is the proper order; since if you wished to show the usefulness of
any plan you would be obliged again to devise new machines to prove
its utility and thus would confuse the order of the forty Books and
also the order of the diagrams; that is to say you would have to mix
up practice with theory, which would produce a confused and
incoherent work.


I am not to blame for putting forward, in the course of my work on
science, any general rule derived from a previous conclusion.


The Book of the science of Mechanics must precede the Book of useful
inventions.--Have your books on anatomy bound! [Footnote: 4. The
numerous notes on anatomy written on loose leaves and now in the
Royal collection at Windsor can best be classified in four Books,
corresponding to the different character and size of the paper. When
Leonardo speaks of '_li tua libri di notomia_', he probably means
the MSS. which still exist; if this hypothesis is correct the
present condition of these leaves might seem to prove that he only
carried out his purpose with one of the Books on anatomy. A borrowed
book on Anatomy is mentioned in F.O.]


The order of your book must proceed on this plan: first simple
beams, then (those) supported from below, then suspended in part,
then wholly [suspended]. Then beams as supporting other weights
[Footnote: 4. Leonardo's notes on Mechanics are extraordinarily
numerous; but, for the reasons assigned in my introduction, they
have not been included in the present work.].

General introductions to the book on Painting (9-13).



Seeing that I can find no subject specially useful or
pleasing--since the men who have come before me have taken for their
own every useful or necessary theme--I must do like one who, being
poor, comes last to the fair, and can find no other way of providing
himself than by taking all the things already seen by other buyers,
and not taken but refused by reason of their lesser value. I, then,
will load my humble pack with this despised and rejected
merchandise, the refuse of so many buyers; and will go about to
distribute it, not indeed in great cities, but in the poorer towns,
taking such a price as the wares I offer may be worth. [Footnote: It
need hardly be pointed out that there is in this 'Proemio' a covert
irony. In the second and third prefaces, Leonardo characterises his
rivals and opponents more closely. His protest is directed against
Neo-latinism as professed by most of the humanists of his time; its
futility is now no longer questioned.]



I know that many will call this useless work [Footnote: 3. questa
essere opera inutile. By opera we must here understand libro di
pittura and particularly the treatise on Perspective.]; and they
will be those of whom Demetrius [Footnote: 4. Demetrio. "With regard
to the passage attributed to Demetrius", Dr. H. MULLER STRUBING
writes, "I know not what to make of it. It is certainly not
Demetrius Phalereus that is meant and it can hardly be Demetrius
Poliorcetes. Who then can it be--for the name is a very common one?
It may be a clerical error for Demades and the maxim is quite in the
spirit of his writings I have not however been able to find any
corresponding passage either in the 'Fragments' (C. MULLER, _Orat.
Att._, II. 441) nor in the Supplements collected by DIETZ (_Rhein.
Mus._, vol. 29, p. 108)."

The same passage occurs as a simple Memorandum in the MS. Tr. 57,
apparently as a note for this '_Proemio_' thus affording some data
as to the time where these introductions were written.] declared
that he took no more account of the wind that came out their mouth
in words, than of that they expelled from their lower parts: men who
desire nothing but material riches and are absolutely devoid of that
of wisdom, which is the food and the only true riches of the mind.
For so much more worthy as the soul is than the body, so much more
noble are the possessions of the soul than those of the body. And
often, when I see one of these men take this work in his hand, I
wonder that he does not put it to his nose, like a monkey, or ask me
if it is something good to eat.

[Footnote: In the original, the Proemio di prospettiva cioe
dell'uffitio dell'occhio (see No. 21) stands between this and the
preceding one, No. 9.]


I am fully concious that, not being a literary man, certain
presumptuous persons will think that they may reasonably blame me;
alleging that I am not a man of letters. Foolish folks! do they not
know that I might retort as Marius did to the Roman Patricians
[Footnote 21: _Come Mario disse ai patriti Romani_. "I am unable to
find the words here attributed by Leonardo to Marius, either in
Plutarch's Life of Marius or in the Apophthegmata (_Moralia_,
p.202). Nor do they occur in the writings of Valerius Maximus (who
frequently mentions Marius) nor in Velleius Paterculus (II, 11 to
43), Dio Cassius, Aulus Gellius, or Macrobius. Professor E.
MENDELSON of Dorpat, the editor of Herodian, assures me that no such
passage is the found in that author" (communication from Dr. MULLER
STRUBING). Leonardo evidently meant to allude to some well known
incident in Roman history and the mention of Marius is the result
probably of some confusion. We may perhaps read, for Marius,
Menenius Agrippa, though in that case it is true we must alter
Patriti to Plebei. The change is a serious one. but it would render
the passage perfectly clear.] by saying: That they, who deck
themselves out in the labours of others will not allow me my own.
They will say that I, having no literary skill, cannot properly
express that which I desire to treat of [Footnote 26: _le mie cose
.... che d'altra parola_. This can hardly be reconciled with Mons.
RAVAISSON'S estimate of L. da Vinci's learning. "_Leonard de Vinci
etait un admirateur et un disciple des anciens, aussi bien dans
l'art que dans la science et il tenait a passer pour tel meme aux
yeux de la posterite._" _Gaz. des Beaux arts. Oct. 1877.]; but they
do not know that my subjects are to be dealt with by experience
rather than by words [Footnote 28: See Footnote 26]; and
[experience] has been the mistress of those who wrote well. And so,
as mistress, I will cite her in all cases.


Though I may not, like them, be able to quote other authors, I shall
rely on that which is much greater and more worthy:--on experience,
the mistress of their Masters. They go about puffed up and pompous,
dressed and decorated with [the fruits], not of their own labours,
but of those of others. And they will not allow me my own. They will
scorn me as an inventor; but how much more might they--who are not
inventors but vaunters and declaimers of the works of others--be


And those men who are inventors and interpreters between Nature and
Man, as compared with boasters and declaimers of the works of
others, must be regarded and not otherwise esteemed than as the
object in front of a mirror, when compared with its image seen in
the mirror. For the first is something in itself, and the other
nothingness.--Folks little indebted to Nature, since it is only by
chance that they wear the human form and without it I might class
them with the herds of beasts.


Many will think they may reasonably blame me by alleging that my
proofs are opposed to the authority of certain men held in the
highest reverence by their inexperienced judgments; not considering
that my works are the issue of pure and simple experience, who is
the one true mistress. These rules are sufficient to enable you to
know the true from the false--and this aids men to look only for
things that are possible and with due moderation--and not to wrap
yourself in ignorance, a thing which can have no good result, so
that in despair you would give yourself up to melancholy.


Among all the studies of natural causes and reasons Light chiefly
delights the beholder; and among the great features of Mathematics
the certainty of its demonstrations is what preeminently (tends to)
elevate the mind of the investigator. Perspective, therefore, must
be preferred to all the discourses and systems of human learning. In
this branch [of science] the beam of light is explained on those
methods of demonstration which form the glory not so much of
Mathematics as of Physics and are graced with the flowers of both
[Footnote: 5. Such of Leonardo's notes on Optics or on Perspective
as bear exclusively on Mathematics or Physics could not be included
in the arrangement of the _libro di pittura_ which is here presented
to the reader. They are however but few.]. But its axioms being laid
down at great length, I shall abridge them to a conclusive brevity,
arranging them on the method both of their natural order and of
mathematical demonstration; sometimes by deduction of the effects
from the causes, and sometimes arguing the causes from the effects;
adding also to my own conclusions some which, though not included in
them, may nevertheless be inferred from them. Thus, if the Lord--who
is the light of all things--vouchsafe to enlighten me, I will treat
of Light; wherefore I will divide the present work into 3 Parts
[Footnote: 10. In the middle ages--for instance, by ROGER BACON, by
VITELLONE, with whose works Leonardo was certainly familiar, and by
all the writers of the Renaissance Perspective and Optics were not
regarded as distinct sciences. Perspective, indeed, is in its widest
application the science of seeing. Although to Leonardo the two
sciences were clearly separate, it is not so as to their names; thus
we find axioms in Optics under the heading Perspective. According to
this arrangement of the materials for the theoretical portion of the
_libro di pittura_ propositions in Perspective and in Optics stand
side by side or occur alternately. Although this particular chapter
deals only with Optics, it is not improbable that the words _partiro
la presente opera in 3 parti_ may refer to the same division into
three sections which is spoken of in chapters 14 to 17.].

The plan of the book on Painting (14--17).



There are three branches of perspective; the first deals with the
reasons of the (apparent) diminution of objects as they recede from
the eye, and is known as Diminishing Perspective.--The second
contains the way in which colours vary as they recede from the eye.
The third and last is concerned with the explanation of how the
objects [in a picture] ought to be less finished in proportion as
they are remote (and the names are as follows):

Linear Perspective. The Perspective of Colour. The Perspective of

[Footnote: 13. From the character of the handwriting I infer that
this passage was written before the year 1490.].



The divisions of Perspective are 3, as used in drawing; of these,
the first includes the diminution in size of opaque objects; the
second treats of the diminution and loss of outline in such opaque
objects; the third, of the diminution and loss of colour at long

[Footnote: The division is here the same as in the previous chapter
No. 14, and this is worthy of note when we connect it with the fact
that a space of about 20 years must have intervened between the
writing of the two passages.]



Perspective, as bearing on drawing, is divided into three principal
sections; of which the first treats of the diminution in the size of
bodies at different distances. The second part is that which treats
of the diminution in colour in these objects. The third [deals with]
the diminished distinctness of the forms and outlines displayed by
the objects at various distances.



The first thing in painting is that the objects it represents should
appear in relief, and that the grounds surrounding them at different
distances shall appear within the vertical plane of the foreground
of the picture by means of the 3 branches of Perspective, which are:
the diminution in the distinctness of the forms of the objects, the
diminution in their magnitude; and the diminution in their colour.
And of these 3 classes of Perspective the first results from [the
structure of] the eye, while the other two are caused by the
atmosphere which intervenes between the eye and the objects seen by
it. The second essential in painting is appropriate action and a due
variety in the figures, so that the men may not all look like
brothers, &c.

[Footnote: This and the two foregoing chapters must have been
written in 1513 to 1516. They undoubtedly indicate the scheme which
Leonardo wished to carry out in arranging his researches on
Perspective as applied to Painting. This is important because it is
an evidence against the supposition of H. LUDWIG and others, that
Leonardo had collected his principles of Perspective in one book so
early as before 1500; a Book which, according to the hypothesis,
must have been lost at a very early period, or destroyed possibly,
by the French (!) in 1500 (see H. LUDWIG. L. da Vinci: _Das Buch van
der Malerei_. Vienna 1882 III, 7 and 8).]

The use of the book on Painting.


These rules are of use only in correcting the figures; since every
man makes some mistakes in his first compositions and he who knows
them not, cannot amend them. But you, knowing your errors, will
correct your works and where you find mistakes amend them, and
remember never to fall into them again. But if you try to apply
these rules in composition you will never make an end, and will
produce confusion in your works.

These rules will enable you to have a free and sound judgment; since
good judgment is born of clear understanding, and a clear
understanding comes of reasons derived from sound rules, and sound
rules are the issue of sound experience--the common mother of all
the sciences and arts. Hence, bearing in mind the precepts of my
rules, you will be able, merely by your amended judgment, to
criticise and recognise every thing that is out of proportion in a
work, whether in the perspective or in the figures or any thing

Necessity of theoretical knowledge (19. 20).



Those who are in love with practice without knowledge are like the
sailor who gets into a ship without rudder or compass and who never
can be certain whether he is going. Practice must always be founded
on sound theory, and to this Perspective is the guide and the
gateway; and without this nothing can be done well in the matter of


The painter who draws merely by practice and by eye, without any
reason, is like a mirror which copies every thing placed in front of
it without being conscious of their existence.

The function of the eye (21-23).



Behold here O reader! a thing concerning which we cannot trust our
forefathers, the ancients, who tried to define what the Soul and
Life are--which are beyond proof, whereas those things, which can at
any time be clearly known and proved by experience, remained for
many ages unknown or falsely understood. The eye, whose function we
so certainly know by experience, has, down to my own time, been
defined by an infinite number of authors as one thing; but I find,
by experience, that it is quite another. [Footnote 13: Compare the
note to No. 70.]

[Footnote: In section 13 we already find it indicated that the study
of Perspective and of Optics is to be based on that of the functions
of the eye. Leonardo also refers to the science of the eye, in his
astronomical researches, for instance in MS. F 25b '_Ordine del
provare la terra essere una stella: Imprima difinisce l'occhio'_,
&c. Compare also MS. E 15b and F 60b. The principles of astronomical


Here [in the eye] forms, here colours, here the character of every
part of the universe are concentrated to a point; and that point is
so marvellous a thing ... Oh! marvellous, O stupendous Necessity--by
thy laws thou dost compel every effect to be the direct result of
its cause, by the shortest path. These [indeed] are miracles;...

In so small a space it can be reproduced and rearranged in its whole
expanse. Describe in your anatomy what proportion there is between
the diameters of all the images in the eye and the distance from
them of the crystalline lens.



Painting is concerned with all the 10 attributes of sight; which
are:--Darkness, Light, Solidity and Colour, Form and Position,
Distance and Propinquity, Motion and Rest. This little work of mine
will be a tissue [of the studies] of these attributes, reminding the
painter of the rules and methods by which he should use his art to
imitate all the works of Nature which adorn the world.



Variability of the eye.

1st. The pupil of the eye contracts, in proportion to the increase
of light which is reflected in it. 2nd. The pupil of the eye expands
in proportion to the diminution in the day light, or any other
light, that is reflected in it. 3rd. [Footnote: 8. The subject of
this third proposition we find fully discussed in MS. G. 44a.]. The
eye perceives and recognises the objects of its vision with greater
intensity in proportion as the pupil is more widely dilated; and
this can be proved by the case of nocturnal animals, such as cats,
and certain birds--as the owl and others--in which the pupil varies
in a high degree from large to small, &c., when in the dark or in
the light. 4th. The eye [out of doors] in an illuminated atmosphere
sees darkness behind the windows of houses which [nevertheless] are
light. 5th. All colours when placed in the shade appear of an equal
degree of darkness, among themselves. 6th. But all colours when
placed in a full light, never vary from their true and essential



Focus of sight.

If the eye is required to look at an object placed too near to it,
it cannot judge of it well--as happens to a man who tries to see the
tip of his nose. Hence, as a general rule, Nature teaches us that an
object can never be seen perfectly unless the space between it and
the eye is equal, at least, to the length of the face.

Differences of perception by one eye and by both eyes (26-29).



When both eyes direct the pyramid of sight to an object, that object
becomes clearly seen and comprehended by the eyes.


Objects seen by one and the same eye appear sometimes large, and
sometimes small.


The motion of a spectator who sees an object at rest often makes it
seem as though the object at rest had acquired the motion of the
moving body, while the moving person appears to be at rest.


Objects in relief, when seen from a short distance with one eye,
look like a perfect picture. If you look with the eye _a_, _b_ at
the spot _c_, this point _c_ will appear to be at _d_, _f_, and if
you look at it with the eye _g_, _h_ will appear to be at _m_. A
picture can never contain in itself both aspects.


Let the object in relief _t_ be seen by both eyes; if you will look
at the object with the right eye _m_, keeping the left eye _n_ shut,
the object will appear, or fill up the space, at _a_; and if you
shut the right eye and open the left, the object (will occupy the)
space _b_; and if you open both eyes, the object will no longer
appear at _a_ or _b_, but at _e_, _r_, _f_. Why will not a picture
seen by both eyes produce the effect of relief, as [real] relief
does when seen by both eyes; and why should a picture seen with one
eye give the same effect of relief as real relief would under the
same conditions of light and shade?

[Footnote: In the sketch, _m_ is the left eye and _n_ the right,
while the text reverses this lettering. We must therefore suppose
that the face in which the eyes _m_ and _n_ are placed is opposite
to the spectator.]


The comparative size of the image depends on the amount of light

The eye will hold and retain in itself the image of a luminous body
better than that of a shaded object. The reason is that the eye is
in itself perfectly dark and since two things that are alike cannot
be distinguished, therefore the night, and other dark objects cannot
be seen or recognised by the eye. Light is totally contrary and
gives more distinctness, and counteracts and differs from the usual
darkness of the eye, hence it leaves the impression of its image.

Dracula by Bram Stoker


Jonathan Harker's Journal

3 May. Bistritz.--Left Munich at 8:35 P.M., on 1st May, arriving at
Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was
an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse
which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through
the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had
arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible.

The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the
East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is
here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburg.
Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner,
or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which
was very good but thirsty. (Mem. get recipe for Mina.) I asked the
waiter, and he said it was called "paprika hendl," and that, as it was
a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the

I found my smattering of German very useful here, indeed, I don't know
how I should be able to get on without it.

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the
British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the
library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some
foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some importance
in dealing with a nobleman of that country.

I find that the district he named is in the extreme east of the
country, just on the borders of three states, Transylvania, Moldavia,
and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian mountains; one of the
wildest and least known portions of Europe.

I was not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality
of the Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to
compare with our own Ordnance Survey Maps; but I found that Bistritz,
the post town named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I
shall enter here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when
I talk over my travels with Mina.

In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct
nationalities: Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs,
who are the descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and
Szekelys in the East and North. I am going among the latter, who
claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for
when the Magyars conquered the country in the eleventh century they
found the Huns settled in it.

I read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the
horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of
imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (Mem.,
I must ask the Count all about them.)

I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had
all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my
window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have
been the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe,
and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the
continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping
soundly then.

I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize
flour which they said was "mamaliga", and egg-plant stuffed with
forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call "impletata". (Mem.,
get recipe for this also.)

I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before eight,
or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to the station
at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour before we
began to move.

It seems to me that the further east you go the more unpunctual are
the trains. What ought they to be in China?

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of
beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the
top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by
rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each
side of them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water,
and running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear.

At every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in
all sorts of attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home
or those I saw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets,
and round hats, and home-made trousers; but others were very

The women looked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were
very clumsy about the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some
kind or other, and most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of
something fluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of
course there were petticoats under them.

The strangest figures we saw were the Slovaks, who were more barbarian
than the rest, with their big cow-boy hats, great baggy dirty-white
trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous heavy leather belts, nearly
a foot wide, all studded over with brass nails. They wore high boots,
with their trousers tucked into them, and had long black hair and
heavy black moustaches. They are very picturesque, but do not look
prepossessing. On the stage they would be set down at once as some
old Oriental band of brigands. They are, however, I am told, very
harmless and rather wanting in natural self-assertion.

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is
a very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier--for
the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina--it has had a very stormy
existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a
series of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five
separate occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century
it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the
casualties of war proper being assisted by famine and disease.

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I
found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of
course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country.

I was evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a
cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress--white
undergarment with a long double apron, front, and back, of coloured
stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she
bowed and said, "The Herr Englishman?"

"Yes," I said, "Jonathan Harker."

She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white
shirtsleeves, who had followed her to the door.

He went, but immediately returned with a letter:

"My friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting
you. Sleep well tonight. At three tomorrow the diligence will
start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo
Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust
that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you
will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.--Your friend, Dracula."

4 May--I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count,
directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on
making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and
pretended that he could not understand my German.

This could not be true, because up to then he had understood it
perfectly; at least, he answered my questions exactly as if he did.

He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each
other in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had
been sent in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked him if
he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both
he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing
at all, simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of
starting that I had no time to ask anyone else, for it was all very
mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in
a hysterical way: "Must you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you go?" She
was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of
what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language
which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking
many questions. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I
was engaged on important business, she asked again:

"Do you know what day it is?" I answered that it was the fourth of
May. She shook her head as she said again:

"Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?"

On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:

"It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that tonight,
when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will
have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are
going to?" She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort
her, but without effect. Finally, she went down on her knees and
implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting.

It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. However,
there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere
with it.

I tried to raise her up, and said, as gravely as I could, that I
thanked her, but my duty was imperative, and that I must go.

She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck
offered it to me.

I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been
taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it
seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such
a state of mind.

She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary round
my neck and said, "For your mother's sake," and went out of the room.

I am writing up this part of the diary whilst I am waiting for the
coach, which is, of course, late; and the crucifix is still round my

Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly traditions of
this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I am not
feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual.

If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my
goodbye. Here comes the coach!

5 May. The Castle.--The gray of the morning has passed, and the sun
is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with
trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and
little are mixed.

I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally
I write till sleep comes.

There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may
fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my
dinner exactly.

I dined on what they called "robber steak"--bits of bacon, onion, and
beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks, and roasted over
the fire, in simple style of the London cat's meat!

The wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the
tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable.

I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.

When I got on the coach, the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw
him talking to the landlady.

They were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they looked
at me, and some of the people who were sitting on the bench outside
the door--came and listened, and then looked at me, most of them
pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words,
for there were many nationalities in the crowd, so I quietly got my
polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out.

I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were
"Ordog"--Satan, "Pokol"--hell, "stregoica"--witch, "vrolok" and
"vlkoslak"--both mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other
Servian for something that is either werewolf or vampire. (Mem., I
must ask the Count about these superstitions.)

When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time
swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross and
pointed two fingers towards me.

With some difficulty, I got a fellow passenger to tell me what they
meant. He would not answer at first, but on learning that I was
English, he explained that it was a charm or guard against the evil

This was not very pleasant for me, just starting for an unknown place
to meet an unknown man. But everyone seemed so kind-hearted, and so
sorrowful, and so sympathetic that I could not but be touched.

I shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn yard and
its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing themselves, as they
stood round the wide archway, with its background of rich foliage of
oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the centre of the

Then our driver, whose wide linen drawers covered the whole front of
the boxseat,--"gotza" they call them--cracked his big whip over his
four small horses, which ran abreast, and we set off on our journey.

I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the beauty of
the scene as we drove along, although had I known the language, or
rather languages, which my fellow-passengers were speaking, I might
not have been able to throw them off so easily. Before us lay a green
sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep
hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank
gable end to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of
fruit blossom--apple, plum, pear, cherry. And as we drove by I could
see the green grass under the trees spangled with the fallen petals.
In and out amongst these green hills of what they call here the
"Mittel Land" ran the road, losing itself as it swept round the grassy
curve, or was shut out by the straggling ends of pine woods, which
here and there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame. The road
was rugged, but still we seemed to fly over it with a feverish haste.
I could not understand then what the haste meant, but the driver was
evidently bent on losing no time in reaching Borgo Prund. I was told
that this road is in summertime excellent, but that it had not yet
been put in order after the winter snows. In this respect it is
different from the general run of roads in the Carpathians, for it is
an old tradition that they are not to be kept in too good order. Of
old the Hospadars would not repair them, lest the Turk should think
that they were preparing to bring in foreign troops, and so hasten the
war which was always really at loading point.

Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes
of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Right
and left of us they towered, with the afternoon sun falling full upon
them and bringing out all the glorious colours of this beautiful
range, deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and
brown where grass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of
jagged rock and pointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the
distance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed
mighty rifts in the mountains, through which, as the sun began to
sink, we saw now and again the white gleam of falling water. One of
my companions touched my arm as we swept round the base of a hill and
opened up the lofty, snow-covered peak of a mountain, which seemed, as
we wound on our serpentine way, to be right before us.

"Look! Isten szek!"--"God's seat!"--and he crossed himself reverently.

As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower
behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep round us. This
was emphasized by the fact that the snowy mountain-top still held the
sunset, and seemed to glow out with a delicate cool pink. Here and
there we passed Cszeks and slovaks, all in picturesque attire, but I
noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent. By the roadside were
many crosses, and as we swept by, my companions all crossed
themselves. Here and there was a peasant man or woman kneeling before
a shrine, who did not even turn round as we approached, but seemed in
the self-surrender of devotion to have neither eyes nor ears for the
outer world. There were many things new to me. For instance,
hay-ricks in the trees, and here and there very beautiful masses of
weeping birch, their white stems shining like silver through the
delicate green of the leaves.

Now and again we passed a leiter-wagon--the ordinary peasants's
cart--with its long, snakelike vertebra, calculated to suit the
inequalities of the road. On this were sure to be seated quite a
group of homecoming peasants, the Cszeks with their white, and the
Slovaks with their coloured sheepskins, the latter carrying
lance-fashion their long staves, with axe at end. As the evening fell
it began to get very cold, and the growing twilight seemed to merge
into one dark mistiness the gloom of the trees, oak, beech, and pine,
though in the valleys which ran deep between the spurs of the hills,
as we ascended through the Pass, the dark firs stood out here and
there against the background of late-lying snow. Sometimes, as the
road was cut through the pine woods that seemed in the darkness to be
closing down upon us, great masses of greyness which here and there
bestrewed the trees, produced a peculiarly weird and solemn effect,
which carried on the thoughts and grim fancies engendered earlier in
the evening, when the falling sunset threw into strange relief the
ghost-like clouds which amongst the Carpathians seem to wind
ceaselessly through the valleys. Sometimes the hills were so steep
that, despite our driver's haste, the horses could only go slowly. I
wished to get down and walk up them, as we do at home, but the driver
would not hear of it. "No, no," he said. "You must not walk here.
The dogs are too fierce." And then he added, with what he evidently
meant for grim pleasantry--for he looked round to catch the approving
smile of the rest--"And you may have enough of such matters before you
go to sleep." The only stop he would make was a moment's pause to
light his lamps.

When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the
passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as
though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully
with his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on
to further exertions. Then through the darkness I could see a sort of
patch of grey light ahead of us, as though there were a cleft in the
hills. The excitement of the passengers grew greater. The crazy
coach rocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat
tossed on a stormy sea. I had to hold on. The road grew more level,
and we appeared to fly along. Then the mountains seemed to come
nearer to us on each side and to frown down upon us. We were entering
on the Borgo Pass. One by one several of the passengers offered me
gifts, which they pressed upon me with an earnestness which would take
no denial. These were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each
was given in simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing,
and that same strange mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had
seen outside the hotel at Bistritz--the sign of the cross and the
guard against the evil eye. Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned
forward, and on each side the passengers, craning over the edge of the
coach, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that
something very exciting was either happening or expected, but though I
asked each passenger, no one would give me the slightest explanation.
This state of excitement kept on for some little time. And at last we
saw before us the Pass opening out on the eastern side. There were
dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive
sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had
separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous
one. I was now myself looking out for the conveyance which was to
take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the glare of
lamps through the blackness, but all was dark. The only light was the
flickering rays of our own lamps, in which the steam from our
hard-driven horses rose in a white cloud. We could see now the sandy
road lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle.
The passengers drew back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock
my own disappointment. I was already thinking what I had best do,
when the driver, looking at his watch, said to the others something
which I could hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a
tone, I thought it was "An hour less than the time." Then turning to
me, he spoke in German worse than my own.

"There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all. He
will now come on to Bukovina, and return tomorrow or the next day,
better the next day." Whilst he was speaking the horses began to
neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to hold them
up. Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a
universal crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four horses, drove
up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see
from the flash of our lamps as the rays fell on them, that the horses
were coal-black and splendid animals. They were driven by a tall man,
with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide
his face from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very bright
eyes, which seemed red in the lamplight, as he turned to us.

He said to the driver, "You are early tonight, my friend."

The man stammered in reply, "The English Herr was in a hurry."

To which the stranger replied, "That is why, I suppose, you wished him
to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend. I know too
much, and my horses are swift."

As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth,
with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of
my companions whispered to another the line from Burger's "Lenore".

"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell." ("For the dead travel fast.")

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a
gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the same time
putting out his two fingers and crossing himself. "Give me the Herr's
luggage," said the driver, and with exceeding alacrity my bags were
handed out and put in the caleche. Then I descended from the side of
the coach, as the caleche was close alongside, the driver helping me
with a hand which caught my arm in a grip of steel. His strength must
have been prodigious.

Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and we swept
into the darkness of the pass. As I looked back I saw the steam from
the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and projected
against it the figures of my late companions crossing themselves.
Then the driver cracked his whip and called to his horses, and off
they swept on their way to Bukovina. As they sank into the darkness I
felt a strange chill, and a lonely feeling come over me. But a cloak
was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across my knees, and the
driver said in excellent German--"The night is chill, mein Herr, and
my master the Count bade me take all care of you. There is a flask of
slivovitz (the plum brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you
should require it."

I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there all the
same. I felt a little strangely, and not a little frightened. I
think had there been any alternative I should have taken it, instead
of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The carriage went at a
hard pace straight along, then we made a complete turn and went along
another straight road. It seemed to me that we were simply going over
and over the same ground again, and so I took note of some salient
point, and found that this was so. I would have liked to have asked
the driver what this all meant, but I really feared to do so, for I
thought that, placed as I was, any protest would have had no effect in
case there had been an intention to delay.

By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time was passing, I
struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch. It was within a
few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose
the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent
experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road, a
long, agonized wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by
another dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind
which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which
seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination
could grasp it through the gloom of the night.

At the first howl the horses began to strain and rear, but the driver
spoke to them soothingly, and they quieted down, but shivered and
sweated as though after a runaway from sudden fright. Then, far off
in the distance, from the mountains on each side of us began a louder
and a sharper howling, that of wolves, which affected both the horses
and myself in the same way. For I was minded to jump from the caleche
and run, whilst they reared again and plunged madly, so that the
driver had to use all his great strength to keep them from bolting.
In a few minutes, however, my own ears got accustomed to the sound,
and the horses so far became quiet that the driver was able to descend
and to stand before them.

He petted and soothed them, and whispered something in their ears, as
I have heard of horse-tamers doing, and with extraordinary effect, for
under his caresses they became quite manageable again, though they
still trembled. The driver again took his seat, and shaking his
reins, started off at a great pace. This time, after going to the far
side of the Pass, he suddenly turned down a narrow roadway which ran
sharply to the right.

Soon we were hemmed in with trees, which in places arched right over
the roadway till we passed as through a tunnel. And again great
frowning rocks guarded us boldly on either side. Though we were in
shelter, we could hear the rising wind, for it moaned and whistled
through the rocks, and the branches of the trees crashed together as
we swept along. It grew colder and colder still, and fine, powdery
snow began to fall, so that soon we and all around us were covered
with a white blanket. The keen wind still carried the howling of the
dogs, though this grew fainter as we went on our way. The baying of
the wolves sounded nearer and nearer, as though they were closing
round on us from every side. I grew dreadfully afraid, and the horses
shared my fear. The driver, however, was not in the least disturbed.
He kept turning his head to left and right, but I could not see
anything through the darkness.

Suddenly, away on our left I saw a faint flickering blue flame. The
driver saw it at the same moment. He at once checked the horses, and,
jumping to the ground, disappeared into the darkness. I did not know
what to do, the less as the howling of the wolves grew closer. But
while I wondered, the driver suddenly appeared again, and without a
word took his seat, and we resumed our journey. I think I must have
fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be
repeated endlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful
nightmare. Once the flame appeared so near the road, that even in the
darkness around us I could watch the driver's motions. He went
rapidly to where the blue flame arose, it must have been very faint,
for it did not seem to illumine the place around it at all, and
gathering a few stones, formed them into some device.

Once there appeared a strange optical effect. When he stood between
me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly
flicker all the same. This startled me, but as the effect was only
momentary, I took it that my eyes deceived me straining through the
darkness. Then for a time there were no blue flames, and we sped
onwards through the gloom, with the howling of the wolves around us,
as though they were following in a moving circle.

At last there came a time when the driver went further afield than he
had yet gone, and during his absence, the horses began to tremble
worse than ever and to snort and scream with fright. I could not see
any cause for it, for the howling of the wolves had ceased altogether.
But just then the moon, sailing through the black clouds, appeared
behind the jagged crest of a beetling, pine-clad rock, and by its
light I saw around us a ring of wolves, with white teeth and lolling
red tongues, with long, sinewy limbs and shaggy hair. They were a
hundred times more terrible in the grim silence which held them than
even when they howled. For myself, I felt a sort of paralysis of
fear. It is only when a man feels himself face to face with such
horrors that he can understand their true import.

All at once the wolves began to howl as though the moonlight had had
some peculiar effect on them. The horses jumped about and reared, and
looked helplessly round with eyes that rolled in a way painful to
see. But the living ring of terror encompassed them on every side,
and they had perforce to remain within it. I called to the coachman
to come, for it seemed to me that our only chance was to try to break
out through the ring and to aid his approach, I shouted and beat the
side of the caleche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from the
side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap. How he came
there, I know not, but I heard his voice raised in a tone of imperious
command, and looking towards the sound, saw him stand in the roadway.
As he swept his long arms, as though brushing aside some impalpable
obstacle, the wolves fell back and back further still. Just then a
heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, so that we were again
in darkness.

When I could see again the driver was climbing into the caleche, and
the wolves disappeared. This was all so strange and uncanny that a
dreadful fear came upon me, and I was afraid to speak or move. The
time seemed interminable as we swept on our way, now in almost
complete darkness, for the rolling clouds obscured the moon.

We kept on ascending, with occasional periods of quick descent, but in
the main always ascending. Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact
that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the
courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came
no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line
against the sky.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain


YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly—Tom's Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece—all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round—more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back to the widow and be respectable. So I went back.

The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing commenced again. The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them,—that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.

After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then I didn't care no more about him, because I don't take no stock in dead people.

Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. But she wouldn't. She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must try to not do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good in it. And she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done it herself.

Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then the widow made her ease up. I couldn't stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety. Miss Watson would say, "Don't put your feet up there, Huckleberry;" and "Don't scrunch up like that, Huckleberry—set up straight;" and pretty soon she would say, "Don't gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry—why don't you try to behave?" Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished I was there. She got mad then, but I didn't mean no harm. All I wanted was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular. She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn't say it for the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place. Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I made up my mind I wouldn't try for it. But I never said so, because it would only make trouble, and wouldn't do no good.

Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place. She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn't think much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together.

Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table. Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so can't rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. I got so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before I could budge it was all shriveled up. I didn't need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But I hadn't no confidence. You do that when you've lost a horseshoe that you've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn't ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed a spider.

I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't know. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town go boom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and all still again—stiller than ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees—something was a stirring. I set still and listened. Directly I could just barely hear a "me-yow! me-yow!" down there. That was good! Says I, "me-yow! me-yow!" as soft as I could, and then I put out the light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. Then I slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was Tom Sawyer waiting for me.

The People's Common Sense Medical Adviser by R. V. Pierce





In this chapter we propose to consider Life in its primitive
manifestations. _Biology_ is the science of living bodies, or the
science of life. Every organ of a living body has a function to perform,
and _Physiology_ treats of these functions.

_Function_ means the peculiar action of some particular organ or part.
There can be no vital action without change, and no change without
organs. Every living thing has a structure, and _Anatomy_ treats of the
structures of organized bodies. Several chapters of this work are
devoted to _Physiological Anatomy_, which treats of the human organism
and its functions.

The beginning of life is called _generation_; its perpetuation,
_reproduction_. By the former function, individual life is insured; by
the latter, it is maintained. Since nutrition sustains life, it has been
pertinently termed _perpetual reproduction_.

LATENT LIFE is contained in a small globule, a mere atom of matter, in
the sperm-cell. This element is something which, under certain
conditions, develops into a living organism. The entire realm of nature
teems with these interesting phenomena, thus manifesting that admirable
adjustment of internal to external relations, which claims our profound
attention. We are simply humble scholars, waiting on the threshold of
nature's glorious sanctuary, to receive the interpretation of her divine

Some have conjectured that chemical and physical forces account for all
the phenomena of life, and that organization is not the result of vital
forces. Physical science cannot inform us what the beginning was, or how
vitality is the result of chemical forces; nor can it tell us what
transmutations will occur at the end of organized existence. This
mysterious life-principle eludes the grasp of the profoundest
scientists, and its presence in the world will ever continue to be an
astonishing and indubitable testimony of Divine Power.

The physical act of generation is accomplished by the union of two
cells; and as this conjugation is known to be so generally indispensable
to the organization of life, we may fairly infer that it is a universal
necessity. Investigations with the microscope have destroyed the
hypothesis of "spontaneous generation." These show us that even the
minutest living forms are derived from a parent organization.

GENERATION. So long as the vital principle remains in the sperm-cell, it
lies dormant. That part of the cell which contains this principle is
called the _spermatozoön_, which consists of a flattened body, having a
long appendage tapering to the finest point. If it be remembered that a
line is the one-twelfth part of an inch in length, some idea may be
formed of the extreme minuteness of the body of a human spermatozoön,
when we state that it is from 1/800 to 1/600 part of a line, and the
filiform tail 1/50 of a line, in length. This life-atom, which can be
discerned only with a powerful magnifying glass, is perfectly
transparent, and moves about by executing a vibratile motion with its
long appendage. Within this speck of matter are hidden the multifarious
forces which, under certain favorable conditions, result in
organization. Magnify this infinitesimal atom a thousand times, and no
congeries of formative powers is perceived wherewith to work out the
wonders of its existence. Yet it contains the principle, which is the
contribution on the part of the male toward the generation of a new

The _ovum_ or germ-cell, is the special contribution on the part of the
female for the production of another being. The human ovum, though
larger than the spermatozoön, is also extremely small, measuring not
more than from 1/20 to 1/10 of a line, or from 1/240 to 1/120 of an
inch, in diameter.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.

_A_. Human Spermatozoön magnified about 3,800 diameters.
_B_. Vertical and lateral views of spermatozoa of man.
_C, D, E, F._ Development of spermatozoa within the vesicles of evolution.
_G_. Cell of the sponge resembling a spermatozoön.
_H_. Vesicles of evolution from the seminal fluid of the dog in the parent cell
_I_. Single vesicles of different sizes.
_J_. Human spermatozoön forming in its cell.
_K_. Rupture of the cell and escape of the spermatozoön.

The sperm and the germ-cells contain the primary elements of all organic
structures, and both possess the special qualities and conditions by
which they may evolve organic beings. Every cell is composed of minute
grains, within which vital action takes place. The interior of a cell
consists of growing matter; the exterior, of matter which has assumed
its form and is less active.

When the vital principle is communicated to it, the cell undergoes a
rapid transformation. While this alteration takes place within the cell,
deteriorating changes occur in the cell-wall. Although vital operations
build up these structures, yet the animal and nervous functions are
continually disintegrating, or wasting, them.

Throughout the animal kingdom, germ-cells present the same external
aspect when carefully examined with the microscope. No difference can be
observed between the cells of the flowers of the oak and those of the
apple, but the cells of the one always produce oak trees, while those of
the other always produce apple trees. The same is true of the germs of
animals, there being not the slightest apparent difference. We are
unable to perceive how one cell should give origin to a dog, while
another exactly like it becomes a man. For aught we know, the ultimate
atoms of these cells are identical in physical character; at least we
have no means of detecting any difference.

SPECIES. The term species is generally used merely as a convenient name
to designate certain assemblages of individuals having various striking
points of resemblance. Scientific writers, as a rule, no longer hold
that what are usually called _species_ are constantly unvarying and
unchangeable quantities. Recent researches point to the conclusion that
_all species vary more or less_, and, in some instances, that the
variation is so great that the limits of general specific distinctness
are sometimes exceeded.

Our space will not permit us to do more than merely indicate the two
great fundamental ideas upon which the leading theories of the time
respecting the origin of species are based. These are usually termed the
doctrine of _Special Creation_ and the doctrine of _Evolution_.
According to the doctrine of Special Creation, it is thought that
species are practically immutable productions, each species having a
_specific centre_ where it was originally created, and from which it
spread over a certain area until its further progress was obstructed by
unfavorable conditions. The advocates of the doctrine of Evolution hold,
on the contrary, that species are not permanent and immutable, but that
they are subject to modification, and that "the existing forms of life
are descendants by true generation of pre-existing forms."[1] Most
naturalists are now inclined to admit the general truth of the theory of
evolution, but they differ widely respecting the mode in which it


The vital _principle_, represented in the _sperm_-cell by a
spermatozoön, must be imparted to a _germ_-cell in order to effect
impregnation. After touching each other, separate them immediately, and
observe the result. If, with the aid of a powerful lens, we directly
examine the spermatozoön, it will be perceived that, for a short time,
it preserves its dimensions and retains all its material aspects. But it
does not long withstand the siege of decay, and, having fulfilled its
destiny, loses its organic characteristics, and begins to shrink.

If we examine the fertilized germ, we discover unusual activity, the
result of impregnation. Organic processes succeed one another with
wonderful regularity, as if wrought out by inexplicable intelligence.
Here begin the functions which constitute human physiology.

Generation requires that a spermatozoön be brought into actual contact
with a germ that fecundation may follow. If a spermatic cell, or
spermatozoön, together with several unimpregnated ova, no matter how
near to one another, if not actually touching, be placed on the concave
surface of a watch-crystal, and covered with another crystal, keeping
them warm, and even though the vapor of the ova envelops it, no
impregnation will occur. Place the spermatozoön in contact with an ovum,
and impregnation is instantly and perfectly accomplished. Should this
vitalizing power be termed nerve-force, electricity, heat, or motion? It
is known that these forces may be metamorphosed; for instance, nervous
force may be converted into electricity, electricity into heat, and heat
into motion, thus illustrating their affiliation and capability of
transformation. But nothing is explained respecting the real nature of
the vital principle, if we assert its identity with any of these forces;
for who can reveal the true nature of any of these, or even of matter?


In several insect families, the species is not wholly represented in the
adult individuals of both sexes, or in their development, but, to
complete this series, supplementary individuals, as it were, of one or
of several preceding generations, are required. The son may not resemble
the father, but the grandfather, and in some instances, the likeness
re-appears only in latter generations. Agassiz states: "Alternate
generation was first observed among the Salpae. These are marine
mollusks, without shells, belonging to the family Tunicata. They are
distinguished by the curious peculiarity of being united together in
considerable numbers so as to form long chains, which float in the sea,
the mouth(_m_) however being free in each.

[Illustration: Fig. 2. ]

[Illustration: Fig. 3. ]

"Fig. 2. The individuals thus joined in floating colonies produce eggs;
but in each animal there is generally but one egg formed, which is
developed in the body of the parent, and from which is hatched a little

"Fig. 3, which remains solitary, and differs in many respects from the
parent. This little animal, on the other hand, does not produce eggs,
but propagates, by a kind of budding, which gives rise to chains already
seen in the body of their parent(a), and these again bring forth
solitary individuals, etc."

It therefore follows that generation in some animals require? two
different bodies with intermediate ones, by means of which and their
different modes of reproduction, a return to the original stock is

UNIVERSALITY OF ANIMALCULAR LIFE.--Living organisms are universally
diffused over every part of the globe. The gentle zephyr wafts from
flower to flower invisible, fructifying atoms, which quicken beauty and
fragrance, giving the promise of a golden fruitage, to gladden and
nourish a dependent world. Nature's own sweet cunning invests all living
things constraining into her service chemical affinities, arranging the
elements and disposing them for her own benefit, in such numberless ways
that we involuntarily exclaim,

"The course of Nature is the art of God."

The microscope reveals the fact that matter measuring only 1/120000 of
an inch diameter may be endowed with vitality, and that countless
numbers of animalcules often inhabit a single drop of stagnant water.
These monads do not vary in form, whether in motion or at rest. The life
of one, even, is an inexplicable mystery to the philosopher. Ehrenberg
writes: "Not only in the polar regions is there an uninterrupted
development of active microscopic life, where larger animals cannot
exist, but we find that those minute beings collected in the Antarctic
expedition of Captain James Ross exhibit a remarkable abundance of
unknown, and often most beautiful forms."

Even the interior of animal bodies is inhabited by animalcules. They
have been found in the blood of the frog and the salmon, and in the
optic fluid of fishes. Organic beings are found in the interior of the
earth, into which the industry of the miner has made extensive
excavations, sunk deep shafts, and thus revealed their forms; likewise,
the smallest fossil organisms form subterranean strata many fathoms
deep. Not only do lakes and inland seas abound with life, but also, from
unknown depths, in volcanic districts, arise thermal springs which
contain living insects. Were we endowed with a microscopic eye, we might
see myriads of ethereal voyagers wafted by on every breeze, as we now
behold drifting clouds of aqueous vapor. While the continents of earth
furnishes evidences of the universality of organic beings, recent
observations prove that "animal life predominates amid the eternal night
of the depths of the liquid ocean."


The ancients, rude in many of their ideas, referred the origin of life
to divine determination. The thought was crudely expressed, but well
represented, in the following verse:

"Then God smites his hands together,
And strikes out a soul as a spark,
Into the organized glory of things.
From the deeps of the dark."

According to a Greek myth, Prometheus formed a human image from the dust
of the ground, and then, by fire stolen from heaven, animated it with a
living soul. Spontaneous generation once held its sway, and now the idea
of natural evolution is popular. Some believe that the inpenetrable
mystery of life is evolved from the endowments of nature, and build
their imperfect theory on observations of her concrete forms and their
manifestations, to which all our investigations are restricted. But
every function indicates purpose, every organism evinces intelligent
design, and _all_ proclaim a Divine Power. Something cannot come out of
nothing. With reason and philosophy, _chance_ is an impossibility. We,
therefore, accept the display of wisdom in nature as indicative of the
designs of God. Thus "has He written His claims for our profoundest
admiration and homage all over every object that He has made." If you
ask: Is there any advantage in considering the phenomena of nature as
the result of DIVINE VOLITION? we answer, that this belief corresponds
with the universally acknowledged ideas of accountability; for, with a
wise, and efficient Cause, we infer there is an intelligent creation,
and the desire to communicate, guide and bless, is responded to by man,
who loves, obeys, and enjoys. Nothing is gained by attributing to nature
vicegerent forces. Is it not preferable to say that she responds to
intelligent, loving Omnipotence? Our finiteness is illustrated by our
initiation into organized being. Emerging from a rayless atom, too
diminutive for the sight, we gradually develop and advance to the
maturity of those _conscious powers_, the exercise of which furnishes
indubitable evidence of our immortality. We are pervaded with invisible
influences, which, like the needle of the compass trembling on its
pivot, point us to immortality as our ultimate goal, where in the sunny
clime of Love, even in a spiritual realm of joy and happiness, we may
eternally reign with Him who is all in all.