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how she was set on one of the giant leaves of this noble plant, and how she walked on it freely without sinking.
6. The green colour by which leaves are almost universally characterised is due to minute granules which may be observed by the aid of the microscope in the cells of the leaf. When buds first open, the leaves which are then disclosed åre of a pale yellowish hue, but, as they are exposed to the light, this is gradually exchanged for one or other of the many shades of green with which we are familiar.
7. The effect produced by light in colouring the leaves of plants has sometimes been exhibited on a great scale. “Over the vast forests of North America, clouds sometimes spread and continue for many days so as almost entirely to intercept the light of the sun. In one instance, just about the period of vernation, the sun had not shone for twenty days, during which time the leaves of the trees had reached nearly their full size, but were of a pale or whitish colour. One forenoon the sun broke forth in full brightness and the colour of the leaves changed so fast that, by the middle of the afternoon, the whole forest for many miles in length exhibited its usual summer dress.”—Compiled.
Questions on the lesson :-To what is the splendour of the vegetable creation chiefly due? What function is performed by the plant's leaves ? How is this effected? Of what two parts does the leaf consist? What is peculiar in the lace plant of Madagascar? What change takes place on those leaves of water-plants which are under water? ' Describe the leaves of the Victoria Regia of America. What causes the green colour of leaves? What is needful in order to the development of those granules? What interesting spectacle was witnessed in America in connection with this?
THE RETIRED CITIZEN.
“ Spectator,” Tuesday, March 4. 1. Augustus a few moments before his death asked his friends who stood about him, if they thought he had acted his part well; and upon receiving such an answer as was due to his extraordinary merit, “Let me then,” says he, “ go off the stage with your applause,” using the expression with which the Roman actors made their exit at the conclusion of a dramatic piece. I could wish that men, while they are in health, would consider well the nature of the part they are engaged in, and what figure it will make in the minds of those they leave behind them: whether it was worth coming into the world for; whether it be suitable to a reasonable being; in short, whether it appears graceful in this life or will turn to advantage in the next.
2. Let the sycophant or buffoon, the satirist or the good companion, consider with himself, when his body shall be laid in the grave, and his soul pass into another state of existence, how much will it redound to his praise to have it said of him, that no man in England eat better, that he had an admirable talent at turning his friends into ridicule, that nobody outdid him at an ill-natured jest, or that he never went to bed before he had despatched his third bottle. These are, however, very common funeral orations and eulogiums on deceased persons who have acted among mankind with some figure and reputation.
3. But if we look into the bulk of our species, they are such as are not likely to be remembered a moment after their disappearance. They leave behind them no traces of their existence, but are forgotten as though they had never been. They are neither wanted by the poor, regretted by the rich, nor celebrated by the learned. They are neither missed in the Commonwealth nor lamented by private persons. Their actions are of no significancy to mankind, and might have been performed by creatures of much less dignity, than those who are distinguished by the faculty of reason. An eminent French author speaks somewhere to the following purpose: “I have often seen from my chamber-window two noble creatures, both of them of an erect countenance and endowed with reason. These two intellectual beings are employed from morning to night, in rubbing two smooth stones one upon another; that is, as the vulgar phrase it, in polishing marble.”
4. My friend, Sir Andrew Freeport, as we were sitting in the club last night, gave us an account of a sober citizen who died a few days since. This honest man, being of greater consequence in his own thoughts than in the eye of the world, had for some years past kept a journal of his life. Sir Andrew showed us one week of it. Since the occurrences set down in it mark out such a road of action as that I have been speaking of, I shall present my reader with a faithful copy of it; after having first informed him, that the deceased person had in his youth been bred to trade, but finding himself not so well turned for business, he had for several years last past lived altogether upon a moderate annuity.
5. “MONDAY, Eight o'Clock: I put on my clothes and walked into the parlour. Nine o'Clock ditto: Tied my knee-strings and washed my hands. Hours Ten, Eleven and Twelve: Smoked three pipes of Virginia. Read the Supplement and Daily Courant. Things go ill in the North. Mr. Nisby's opinion thereupon. One o'Clock in the Afternoon: Chid Ralph for mislaying my tobacco-box. Two o'Clock: Sat down to dinner. Mem. Too many plums and no suet. From Three to Four: Took
noon's nap. From Four to Six: Walked into the fields. Wind, S.S.E. From Six to Ten: At the Club. Mr. Nisby's opinion about the peace. Ten o'Clock: Went to bed, slept sound.”
6. TUESDAY, BEING HOLIDAY, Eight o'Clock: Rose as usual. Nine o'Clock: Washed hands and face, shaved, put on my double-soled shoes. Ten, Eleren, Tucelve: Took a walk to Islington. One: Took a pot of Mother Cob's mild. Between Tuo and Three: Return'd, dined on a knuckle of veal and bacon. Mem. Sprouts wanting. Three: Nap as usual. From Four to Sir: Coffee-house. Read the news.
A dish of twist. Grand Vizier strangled. From Six to Ten: At the Club. Mr. Nisby's account of the great Turk. Ten: Dream of the Grand Vizier. Broken sleep.
7. WEDNESDAY, Eight o'Clock: Tongue of my shoebuckle broke. Hands but not face. Nine: Paid off the butcher's bill. Mem. To be allowed for the last leg of mutton. Ten, Eleven: At the coffee-house. More work in the north. Stranger in a black wig asked me how stocks went. From Twelve to One: Walked in the fields. Wind to the south. From One to Two: Smoked a pipe and an half. Two: Dined as usual. Stomach good. Three: Nap broke by the falling of a pewter dish. Mem. Cookmaid in love, and grown careless. From Four to Six: At the coffee-house. Advice from Smyrna, that the Grand Vizier was first of all strangled and afterwards beheaded. Six o'Clock in the Evening: Was half an hour in the Club before anybody else came. Mr. Nisby of opinion that the Grand Vizier was not strangled the sixth instant. Ten at Night: Went to bed. Slept without waking till nine next morning.
8. SATURDAY. Waked at eleven, walked in the fields. Wind N.E. Twelve: Caught in a shower. One in the afternoon: Returned home and dried myself. Two: Mr. Nisby dined with me. First course, marrow bones. Second, ox-cheek, with a bottle of Brooks & Hellier. Three o'Clock: Overslept myself. Six: Went to the Club. Like to have fallen into a gutter. Grand Vizier certainly dead, &c.
9. I question not but the reader will be surprised to find the above
mentioned journalist taking so much care of a life that was filled with such inconsiderable actions, and received so very small improvements; and yet, if we look into the behaviour of many whom we daily converse with, we shall find that most of their hours are taken up in those three important articles of eating, drinking and sleeping. I do not suppose that a man loses his time, who is not engaged in public affairs or in an illustrious course of action. On the contrary, I believe our hours may very often be more profitably laid out in such transactions. as make no figure in the world, than in such as are apt to draw upon them the attention of mankind. One may become wiser and better by several methods of employing one's self in secrecy and silence, and do what is laudable without noise or ostentation.
10. I would, however, recommend to every one of my readers, the keeping a journal of their lives for one week, and setting down punctually their whole series of employments during that space of time. This kind of self-examination would give them a true state of themselves, and incline them to consider seriously what they are about. One day would rectify the omissions of another, and make a man weigh all those indifferent actions, which, though they are easily forgotten, must certainly be accounted for.--Addison (1672–1719).
Augustus, first Emperor of Rome, was born B.C. 63, and died A.D. 14, at the age of 76. He was grand-nephew of Julius Cæsar.