School Reading by Grades: Sixth Year Part 20

--_From "The Natural History of Selbourne," by Gilbert White._

THE ORIGIN OF RIVERS.

Let us trace a river to its source. Beginning where it empties itself into the sea, and following it backwards, we find it from time to time joined by tributaries which swell its waters. The river of course becomes smaller as these tributaries are pa.s.sed. It shrinks first to a brook, then to a stream; this again divides itself into a number of smaller streamlets, ending in mere threads of water. These const.i.tute the source of the river, and are usually found among hills.

Thus, the Severn has its source in the Welsh mountains; the Thames in the Cotswold Hills; the Missouri in the Rocky Mountains; and the Amazon in the Andes of Peru.

[Ill.u.s.tration: John Tyndall.]

But it is quite plain that we have not yet reached the real beginning of the rivers. Whence do the earliest streams derive their water? A brief residence among the mountains would prove to you that they are fed by rains. In dry weather you would find the streams feeble, sometimes, indeed, quite dried up. In wet weather you would see them foaming torrents. In general these streams lose themselves as little threads of water upon the hillsides; but sometimes you may trace a river to a definite spring. But you very soon a.s.sure yourself that such springs are also fed by rain, which has percolated through the rocks or soil, and which, through some orifice that it has found or formed, comes to the light of day.

But we can not end here. Whence comes the rain that forms the mountain streams? Observation enables you to answer the question. Rain does not come from a clear sky. It comes from clouds.

But what are clouds? Is there nothing you are acquainted with which they resemble? You discover at once a likeness between them and the condensed steam of a locomotive. At every puff of the engine a cloud is projected into the air.

Watch the cloud sharply. You notice that it first forms at a little distance from the top of the funnel. Give close attention and you will sometimes see a perfectly clear s.p.a.ce between the funnel and the cloud. Through that clear s.p.a.ce the thing which makes the cloud must pa.s.s. What then is this thing which at one moment is transparent and invisible, and at the next moment visible as a dense opaque cloud?

It is the _steam_ or _vapor of water_ from the boiler. Within the boiler this steam is transparent and invisible; but to keep it in this invisible state a heat would be required as great as that within the boiler. When the vapor mingles with the cold air above the hot funnel, it ceases to be vapor. Every bit of steam shrinks, when chilled, to a much more minute particle of water. The liquid particles thus produced form a kind of _water dust_ of exceeding fineness, which floats in the air, and is called a _cloud_.

Watch the cloud banner from the funnel of a running locomotive: you see it growing gradually less dense. It finally melts away altogether, and, if you continue your observations, you will not fail to notice that the speed of its disappearance depends on the character of the day. In moist weather the cloud hangs long and lazily in the air; in dry weather it is rapidly licked up. What has become of it? It has been reconverted into true invisible vapor. The _drier_ the air, and the _hotter_ the air, the greater is the amount of cloud which can be thus dissolved in it.

Make the lid of a kettle air-tight, and permit the steam to issue from the spout; a cloud is formed in all respects similar to that which issues from the funnel of the locomotive. To produce the cloud, in the case of the locomotive and the kettle, _heat_ is necessary. By heating the water we first convert it into steam, and then by chilling the steam we convert it into cloud. Is there any fire in nature which produces the clouds of our atmosphere? There is--the fire of the sun.

By tracing the course of a river, we find that both its beginning and its ending are in the sea. All its water is derived from the sea, and to the sea it returns its floods. But if we seek for its causes, we find that its beginning and its ending are in the sun. For it is the fire of the sun that produces the clouds from which the water of the river is derived, and it is the same fire of the sun that dries up its stream.

--_Adapted from "Forms of Water in Clouds and Rivers,"

by John Tyndall._

ADDRESS OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

AT THE DEDICATION OF GETTYSBURG CEMETERY, THE 19TH OF NOVEMBER, 1863.

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of the war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that their nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Abraham Lincoln.]

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so n.o.bly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under G.o.d, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

When Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Joseph Rodman Drake.]

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high!

When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on (Ere yet the life blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the glistening bayonet), Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn, And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from thy glance.

And when the cannon mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, And gory sabers rise and fall, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, By angel hands to valor given, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven.

Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe, but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!

--_Joseph Rodman Drake._

THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLISEUM, A.D. 404.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Charlotte M. Yonge.]

The grandest and most renowned of all ancient amphitheaters is the Coliseum at Rome. It was built by Vespasian and his son t.i.tus, the conquerors of Jerusalem, in a valley in the midst of the seven hills of Rome. The captive Jews were forced to labor at it; and the materials--granite outside, and a softer stone within--are so solid, and so admirably put together, that still, at the end of eighteen centuries, it has scarcely even become a ruin, but remains one of the greatest wonders of Rome. Five acres of ground were inclosed within the oval of its outer wall, which outside rises perpendicularly in tiers of arches one above another. Within, the galleries of seats projected forwards, each tier coming out far beyond the one above it; so that between the lowest and the outer wall there was room for a great variety of chambers, pa.s.sages, and vaults around the central s.p.a.ce, called the arena.

Altogether, when full, this huge building held no fewer than 87,000 spectators! It had no roof; but when there was rain, or if the sun was too hot, the sailors in the porticoes unfurled awnings that ran along upon ropes, and formed a covering of silk and gold tissue over the whole. Purple was the favorite color for this veil, because, when the sun shone through it, it cast such beautiful rosy tints on the snowy arena and the white purple-edged togas of the Roman citizens.

When the emperor had seated himself and given the signal, the sports began. Sometimes a rope dancing elephant would begin the entertainment, by mounting even to the summit of the building and descending by a cord. Or a lion came forth with a jeweled crown on his head, a diamond necklace round his neck, his mane plaited with gold, and his claws gilded, and played a hundred pretty gentle antics with a little hare that danced fearlessly within his grasp.

Sometimes water was let into the arena, a ship sailed in, and falling to pieces in the midst, sent a crowd of strange animals swimming in all directions. Sometimes the ground opened, and trees came growing up through it, bearing golden fruit. Or the beautiful old tale of Orpheus was acted: these trees would follow the harp and song of a musician; but--to make the whole part complete--it was no mere play, but in real earnest, that the Orpheus of the piece fell a prey to live bears.

For the Coliseum had not been built for such harmless spectacles as those first described. The fierce Romans wanted to be excited and to feel themselves strongly stirred; and, presently, the doors of the pits and dens around the arena were thrown open, and absolutely savage beasts were let loose upon one another--rhinoceroses and tigers, bulls and lions, leopards and wild boars--while the people watched with ferocious curiosity to see the various kinds of attack and defense, their ears at the same time being delighted, instead of horror-struck, by the roars and howls of the n.o.ble creatures whose courage was thus misused.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Coliseum at the Present Day.]

Wild beasts tearing each other to pieces might, one would think, satisfy any taste for horror; but the spectators needed even n.o.bler game to be set before their favorite monsters:--men were brought forward to confront them. Some of these were, at first, in full armor, and fought hard, generally with success. Or hunters came, almost unarmed, and gained the victory by swiftness and dexterity, throwing a piece of cloth over a lion's head, or disconcerting him by putting their fist down his throat. But it was not only skill, but death, that the Romans loved to see; and condemned criminals and deserters were reserved to feast the lions, and to entertain the populace with their various kinds of death. Among those condemned was many a Christian martyr, who witnessed a good confession before the savage-eyed mult.i.tude around the arena, and "met the lion's gory mane" with a calm resolution and a hopeful joy that the lookers-on could not understand.

To see a Christian die, with upward gaze, and hymns of joy on his tongue, was the most strange and unaccountable sight the Coliseum could offer; and it was therefore the choicest, and reserved for the last of the spectacles in which the brute creation had a part.

The carca.s.ses were dragged off with hooks, the bloodstained sand was covered with a fresh green layer, perfume was wafted in stronger clouds, and a procession come forward--tall, well-made men, in the prime of their strength. Some carried a sword and a la.s.so, others a trident and a net; some were in light armor, others in the full, heavy equipment of a soldier; some on horseback, some in chariots, some on foot. They marched in, and made their obeisance to the emperor; and with one voice their greeting sounded through the building: "Hail, Caesar; those about to die salute thee!" They were the gladiators--the swordsmen trained to fight to the death to amuse the populace.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

From the Painting by J. L. Gerome. Engraved by Henry Wolf.

The Last Prayer--Christian Martyrs in the Coliseum.