Chapter 4

_Mother._ I am going to show you, my dear. Here is a small phial, which contains something that looks like water. It is spirits of turpentine. I shall dip the point of the piece of hard wood into the phial, and take up a little of the spirits of turpentine. Now, Caroline, touch the point of the hard wood with the turpentine on it to the flame.

_Daughter._ Why, mother, it caught fire as soon as I touched the flame with it!

_Mother._ Yes, certainly; and you now see that some things, like the spirits of turpentine and the paper, take fire very readily, and others take fire with more difficulty.

_Daughter._ Yes, mother; but when Alice drew the match across the sand-paper, there was no flame nor fire to touch it to. How, then, could it take fire?

_Mother._ Hold this piece of paper up to the blaze of the lamp, my dear, but be careful not to touch the fire or flame of the lamp; only hold it close to the blaze.

_Daughter._ Why, mother, it has taken fire!

_Mother._ You see, then, that a thing will sometimes take fire when it does not touch the fire.

_Daughter._ Yes, mother; but I do not understand where the fire comes from.

_Mother._ The fire comes from the heat, my dear. Now, you know that heat is produced by rubbing two things together; and that some things, like the spirits of turpentine, take fire very easily, or with very little heat; and others, like the hard wood, require to be heated some time,--or, in other words, require much heat,--to make them take fire, or to burn. Some things require only as much heat to make them take fire as can be obtained by rubbing them together very quickly, like the wood which Robinson Crusoe's man Friday used.

_Daughter._ But, mother, the match is made of wood,--why does that take fire so easily?

_Mother._ It is true, Caroline, that the match is made of wood; but it has something at the end of it, which takes fire much more easily than the spirits of turpentine. Indeed, so easily does it take fire, that it requires only so much heat to set it on fire as can be obtained by drawing the match once across the sand-paper.

_Daughter._ But, mother, matches do not always take fire. I have seen Alice rub several across the sand-paper, before she could set one on fire.

_Mother._ That is true, and the reason of this is, that the matches are not all well made. Now, if I should take several pieces of hard wood and tie them together, and dip their ends into the spirits of turpentine, what would happen, if the ends of some of the pieces did not touch the spirits of turpentine, because I had not tied them together with their points all even?

_Daughter._ Why, mother, some of them would take fire easily, because the points had the spirits of turpentine on them; while those which did not touch the spirits could not be lighted so easily.

_Mother._ So it is, my dear, with the matches. They are all dipped into the substance which takes fire so easily; but some of the ends do not reach the substance, and do not become coated with it, and therefore they will not light more easily than the pine wood of which they are made.

LESSON XVIII.

_The same subject, concluded._

_Daughter._ Well, mother, I understand, now, how the match is set on fire. It is rubbed on the sand-paper, and that produces heat, and the heat sets the match on fire. But I always thought that fire makes heat, and not that heat makes fire.

_Mother._ Heat does not always make fire, Caroline; for, if it did, everything would be on fire.

_Daughter._ Everything on fire, mother! why, what do you mean?

_Mother._ I mean, my dear, that everything contains heat.

_Daughter._ Everything contains heat, mother, did you say? Why, then, is not everything warm? Some things, mother, are very cold; as ice, and snow, and that marble slab.

_Mother._ Yes, my child, everything contains heat, as I shall presently show you. When Alice goes to make a fire in a cold day, she does not carry the heat with her, and put it into the fire, nor into the wood, nor the coal, does she?

_Daughter._ Why, no, to be sure not, mother.

_Mother._ And the heat that comes from the fire, after it is made, does not come in at the windows, nor down the chimney, does it?

_Daughter._ Why, no, mother; it feels cold at the windows, and cold air comes down the chimney.

_Mother._ But, after the fire is made, we feel much heat coming from the fire, do we not?

_Daughter._ Why, yes, mother; that is what the fire is made for. We feel cold, and we want a fire to make us warm; and when the fire is made, it sends out heat, and makes us warm.

_Mother._ Well, now, where can the heat come from? You know what fire is made from, do you not?

_Daughter._ Certainly, mother; the fire is made of wood, or of coal.

_Mother._ But is the wood or the coal warm before the fire is made?

_Daughter._ No, mother, the wood and the coal come from the cold wood-house, or the cellar, and they are both very cold.

_Mother._ And yet, the wood and the coal become very hot when they are on fire.

_Daughter._ O yes, mother, so hot that we cannot touch them with our hands, and we have to take the shovel or the tongs to move them.

_Mother._ And do they burn the shovel and the tongs, my dear?

_Daughter._ Why, no, mother; if they did, the shovel and the tongs would be of little use in stirring the fire.

_Mother._ Can you think of any reason why they do not burn the shovel and the tongs?

_Daughter._ You told me, mother, that some things require a very little heat to set them on fire, and that other things require a great deal. I suppose that there was not heat enough to set them on fire; and if there had been, they would not burn, because they are made of iron.

_Mother._ You are partly right, my dear, and partly wrong. They would not burn, because there was not heat enough in the fire to burn them. But there are very few things, and in fact it may be doubted whether there is anything, which will not burn, when sufficient heat is applied. But let us return to the fire: you say the heat does not come from the windows nor from the chimney, and you say, also, that the wood and the coal are both cold. Now, where can the heat come from?

_Daughter._ I am sure I cannot tell, mother; will you please to tell me?

_Mother._ You recollect that I told you that the rubbing of the match on the sand-paper produces a little heat, which caused the match to burn. The match was then applied to the shavings, and, as it was burning, gave out heat enough to set the shavings on fire; the shavings produced heat enough to set the pine wood, or kindling, on fire, and then the pine wood, or kindling, produced more heat, and set the wood and coal on fire. Now, there was nothing to produce the heat but the match, the shavings, the wood and the coal; and _the heat must have been in them_. The fire only served to set it free, and let it come out of the match, the wood, and the coal.

_Daughter._ But, mother, how did the heat get into the wood and coal?

_Mother._ It is not known, my dear, how the heat _got into_ the wood and coal, any more than how the fruit gets on to a tree. We say that it grows on the tree; but what growing is, and how it is caused, are among the secrets of God.

_Daughter._ If the heat is in the wood and the coal, mother, why do we not feel it in them? They both feel cold. I cannot perceive any heat in them.

_Mother._ The heat is in the wood and the coal, although you do not see it. Do you see any smoke in the wood and the coal, my dear?

_Daughter._ No, mother, I do not.

_Mother._ Did you never see a stick of wood fall on the hearth from the kitchen fire, and see the smoke coming from it?

_Daughter._ O yes, mother, very often; and the smoke goes all over the room, and into my eyes, and makes the tears come into my eyes.

_Mother._ And can you see the smoke in the wood before the wood is put on the fire?

_Daughter._ No, mother, I am sure I cannot.

_Mother._ But you are sure that the smoke comes from the wood, are you not?

_Daughter._ O yes, mother; I see it coming right out of the wood.

_Mother._ Then, my dear, I suppose you know that if there is something in the wood and coal, which you call _smoke_, although you cannot see it until it comes out, you can easily conceive how another thing, which we call _heat_, can be in the wood and coal, which we cannot perceive until it is made to come out.

_Daughter._ O yes, mother; how wonderful it is!

_Mother._ Yes, my dear, all the works of God are wonderful; and what is very surprising is, that many of his most wonderful works are so common, so continually before our eyes, that we do not deem them wonderful until we have been made to think much about them, by talking about them, as you and I have talked about the rain, and the clouds, and light, and its colors.

_Daughter._ I have been thinking, mother, about Alice and the fire. You told me that the fire did not _make_ the heat, any more than I _make_ the little mouse or the bird when I open the cage door and let them out. I see now how it is. Alice brings the wood and the coal into the kitchen fireplace, and the match lets the heat out of the shavings, and the shavings let it out of the wood and the coal, until we get heat enough to make us warm.

_Mother._ Yes, my dear; and there is no more heat in the room after the fire is made than there was before,--only, before the fire was made, the heat was hid, and we could not perceive it; but when the fire is made, it makes the heat come out, and makes it free, just as I make the little bird free, by opening his cage door.

LESSON XIX.

_The Lark and her Young Ones._--Altered from ÆSOP.

1. A lark having built her nest in a corn-field, the corn grew ripe before the young ones were able to fly. Fearing that the reapers would come to cut down the corn before she had provided a safe place for her little ones, she directed them every day, when she went out to obtain their food, to listen to what the farmers should say about reaping the corn.

2. The little birds promised their mother that they would listen very attentively, and inform her of every word they should hear.

3. She then went abroad; and on her return, the little birds said to their mother, Mother, you must take us away from here; for while you were gone we heard the farmer tell his sons to go and ask some of his neighbors to come to-morrow morning early, and help them cut down the corn.

4. Is that what he said? asked their mother. Yes, mother, said the little birds; and we are very much afraid that you cannot find a safe place for us before the farmer and his neighbors begin to cut down the corn.

5. Do not be afraid, my children, said the lark; if the former depends on his neighbors to do his work for him, we shall be safe where we are. So lie down in the nest, and give yourselves no uneasiness.

6. The next day, when the mother went out for food, she directed the little ones again to listen, and to tell her all that they should hear.

7. In the evening, when she returned, the little ones told her that the farmer's neighbors did not come to assist him on that day; and that the farmer had told his sons to go and request his friends and relations to come and assist him to cut down the corn, early in the next day morning.

8. I think, my children, said the lark, we shall still be safe here; and we will, therefore, feel no anxiety or concern to-night.

9. On the third day, the mother again charged the young larks to give her a faithful report of what was done and said, while she was absent.

10. When the old lark returned that evening, the little larks told her that the farmer had been there, with his sons, early in the morning; but, as his friends and relations had not come to assist him, he had directed his sons to bring some sharp sickles early in the next morning, and that, with their assistance, he should reap the corn himself.

11. Ah! said the mother, did he say so? Then it is time for us to prepare to be gone; for when a man begins to think seriously of doing his work himself, there is some prospect that it will be done; but if he depends on his friends, his neighbors, or his relations, no one can tell when his work will be done.

12. Now, this little story is called a Fable. It cannot be true, because birds do not and cannot speak.

13. But, although it is not true, it is a very useful little story, because it teaches us a valuable lesson: and that is, that it is best to do our own work ourselves, rather than to depend upon others to do it for us; for, if we depend upon them, they may disappoint us, but whatever we determine to do for ourselves, we can easily accomplish, if we go right to work about it.

LESSON XX.

_Dogs._--ORIGINAL.

1. I never knew a little boy that was not fond of a dog, and I have never seen many dogs which were not fond of little children.

2. It is not safe for little children to touch every strange dog that they see, because some dogs are naturally rather cross, and may possibly bite any one who touches them, when they do not know the persons.

3. But when a dog knows any one, and sees that his master is fond of that person, he will let such a person play with him. He is always pleased with any attentions that his master's friends bestow on him.

4. Large dogs are generally more gentle than small ones, and seldom bark so much as the little ones do. They are also more easily taught to carry bundles and baskets, and draw little carriages for children to ride in.

5. Some people are very much afraid of dogs, because they sometimes run mad. The bite of a mad dog produces a very dreadful disease, called _Hydropho'bia_.

6. This is a long and hard word, and means _a fear of water_. It is called by that name because the person who has the disease cannot bear to touch or to see water.

7. Dogs that are mad cannot bear to see water. They run from it with dreadful cries, and seem to be in very great distress.

8. Whenever, therefore, a dog will drink water, it is a pretty sure sign that he is not mad.

9. This dreadful disease very seldom affects dogs that are properly supplied with water.

10. Dogs require a great deal of water. They do not always want much at a time, and it is seldom that they drink much. But whoever keeps a dog ought always to keep water in such a place that the dog may go to it to drink, whenever he requires it.

11. A dog is a very affectionate animal, and he will permit his master, and his master's children and friends, to do a great many things to him, which he would perhaps bite others for doing.

12. There are many very interesting stories told of dogs, which show their love and fidelity to their masters, which you can read in a book called "Anecdotes of Dogs."

13. But there are a few little stories about dogs that I know, which I will tell you, that are not contained in that book. I know these stories to be true.

14. My son had a dog, whose name was Guido. He was very fond of playing in the street with the boys, early in the morning, before they went to school.

15. Guido was always very impatient to get out into the street in the morning, to join the boys in their sports; and all the boys in the street were very fond of him.

16. He used to wake very early, and go into the parlor, and seat himself in a chair by the window, to look out for the boys; and as soon as he saw a boy in the street, he would cry and whine until the servant opened the door for him to go out.

17. One very cold morning, when the frost was on the glass, so that he could not see out into the street, he applied his warm tongue to the glass, and licking from it the frost, attempted to look out.

18. But the spot which he had made clear being only large enough to admit one of his eyes, he immediately made another, just like it, in the same manner, for the other eye, by which he was enabled to enjoy the sight as usual. In the next lesson, I will tell you some other little stories of Guido, and another dog, whose name was Don, that belonged to my daughter.

LESSON XXI.

_The same subject, concluded._

1. One day I went to take a walk, with a friend of mine, in the country; and Don, the dog I mentioned in the last lesson, followed us.

2. We walked to a little grove about a mile from my house, to see the grave of a beautiful little child, that was buried on the summit of a little hill, covered with pines, spruce and other evergreens.

3. While we were admiring the beauty of the spot, Don was running about the grove; and I completely lost sight of him, and supposed that he had returned home.

4. But presently I saw him at a distance, barking up a tree at a squirrel that had escaped from him.

5. As I turned to go home, I said to my friend, You see Don is away, and does not see me. I am going to drop my handkerchief here, and send him after it.

6. We had got half way home, when presently Don came bounding along, and very shortly came up to us.

7. As soon as he came up to me, I stopped, and feeling in my coat-pocket, said to him,--Don, I have lost my pocket-handkerchief,--go find it.

8. I had scarcely uttered the words before he was off. He was gone only two or three minutes, and then, returning with my handkerchief in his mouth, he dropped it at my feet.

9. Guido, the other dog, was very fond of going into the water himself; but he never would allow any one else to go in.

10. The reason was this. My little son George was one day looking over into the water, to watch the eels that were gliding through the water below, and losing his balance, he fell into the water.

11. No one was near except Guido, and he immediately jumped in after George, and, with great labor, brought him on shore, and saved him from drowning.

12. Ever since that time, Guido has been very unwilling to let any one go near the water. It seemed as if he had reasoned about it, and said to himself, It is hard work to drag a boy out of the water, but it is much easier to keep him from going in.

13. Guido was not a very large dog. He was of the breed, or kind, named Spaniel; so called because that kind of dog originally came from Hispaniola. He had long ears, curling hair, a long bushy tail, and webbed feet, like all dogs that are fond of the water.

14. Webbed feet are those in which the toes are not separated, but seem to be joined together by a thin substance, like thick skin, which enables them to swim more easily.

15. Don was a very large dog, of the Newfoundland species, a kind which is remarkable for its beauty and intelligence.

LESSON XXII.

_Frogs and Toads._--BIGLAND.

1. Frogs and toads resemble one another in figure, but custom and prejudice have taught us to make a very different estimate of their properties: the first is considered as perfectly harmless, while the latter is supposed to be poisonous.

2. In this respect, the toad has been treated with great injustice: it is a torpid, harmless animal, that passes the greatest part of the winter in sleep.

3. Astonishing stories have been told of toads found in the center of solid blocks of stone, and other similar situations, without the least trace of the way by which they entered, and without any possibility of their finding any kind of nutriment.

4. Toads, as well as frogs, are of a variety of species; and in the tropical climates they grow to an enormous size. It is very probable that they contribute to clear both the land and the water of many noxious reptiles of a diminutive size, which might prove exceedingly hurtful to man.

5. The toad, however, is one of the most inoffensive of all animals. We have even heard that it has sometimes been successfully applied for the cure of the cancer, the most dreadful, and one of the most fatal, of human evils.

6. Mr. Pennant has related some interesting particulars respecting a toad which was perfectly domesticated, and continued in the same spot for upwards of thirty-six years.

7. It frequented the steps before the hall-door of a gentleman's house in Devonshire; and, from receiving a regular supply of food, it became so tame as always to crawl out of its hole in an evening, when a candle was brought, and look up, as if expecting to be carried into the house.

8. A reptile so generally detested being taken into favor, excited the curiosity of every visitant; and even ladies so far conquered their natural horror and disgust as to request to see it fed. It seemed particularly fond of flesh maggots, which were kept for it in bran.

9. When these were laid upon a table, it would follow them, and, at a certain distance, would fix its eyes and remain motionless for a little while, as if preparing for the stroke, which was always instantaneous.

10. It threw out its tongue to a great distance, when the insect stuck by the glutinous matter to its lip, and was swallowed with inconceivable quickness.

11. After living under the protection of its benefactor upwards of thirty-six years, it was one day attacked by a tame raven, which wounded it so severely that it died shortly afterward.

12. The erroneous opinion of toads containing and ejecting poison has caused many cruelties to be exercised upon this harmless, and undoubtedly useful tribe. Toads have been inhumanly treated, merely because they are ugly; and frogs have been abused, because they are like them.

13. But, we are to observe, that our ideas of beauty and deformity, of which some arise from natural antipathies implanted in us for wise and good purposes, and others from custom and caprice, are of a relative nature, and peculiar to ourselves.

14. None of these relative distinctions, of great and small, beautiful or ugly, exist in the all-comprising view of the Creator of the universe: in his eyes, the toad is as pleasing an object as the canary-bird, or the bulfinch.

LESSON XXIII.

_Maida, the Scotch Greyhound._--Altered from BINGLEY.

1. A hound is a dog with long, smooth, hanging ears, and long limbs, that enable him to run very swiftly. The greyhound is not so called on account of his color, but from a word which denotes his Grecian origin.

2. The Scotch greyhound is a larger and more powerful animal than the common greyhound; and its hair, instead of being sleek and smooth, is long, stiff and bristly. It can endure great fatigue.

3. It was this dog that the Highland chieftains, in Scotland, used in former times, in their grand hunting-parties.

4. Sir Walter Scott had a very fine dog of this kind, which was given to him by his friend Macdonnel of Glengarry, the chief of one of the Highland clans. His name was Maida.

5. He was one of the finest dogs of the kind ever seen in Scotland, not only on account of his beauty and dignified appearance, but also from his extraordinary size and strength.

6. He was so remarkable in his appearance, that whenever his master brought him to the city of Edinburgh, great crowds of people collected together to see him.

7. When Sir Walter happened to travel through a strange town, Maida was usually surrounded by crowds of people, whose curiosity he indulged with great patience, until it began to be troublesome, and then he gave a single short bark, as a signal that they must trouble him no more.

8. Nothing could exceed the fidelity, obedience and attachment, of this dog to his master, whom he seldom quitted, and on whom he was a constant attendant, when traveling.

9. Maida was a remarkably high-spirited and beautiful dog, with long black ears, cheeks, back, and sides. The tip of his tail was white. His muzzle, neck, throat, breast, belly and legs, were also white.

10. The hair on his whole body and limbs was rough and shaggy, and particularly so on the neck, throat, and breast: that on the ridge of the neck he used to raise, like a lion's mane, when excited to anger.