KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. POPULAR SCIENCE. VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.-No. III. BEFORE PROCEEDING The stem, or ascending axis of the plant, is separated from the root by the collar or neck, and is distinguished from it by having a provision for the development of leaf-buds on its surface. As a general rule, the former rises into the air, bearing leaves and flowers, while the latter ramifies in the soil. Both organs are composed of the two classes of tissue described in our last. Taking the stem of a tree or shrub as an example, we find in the centre a quantity of soft matter, known as the pith; composed entirely of cellular tissue, and occupying in the young stem a very great space. Next to this is a ring of cells and vessels,—not quite wood, and not altogether pith. Then a ring of wood, having very few cells, composed almost entirely of the spindle-shaped or woody vessels; and outside this, the bark, which is almost altogether cellular. We have supposed that the portion of the stem under examination is only of one year's growth; for every year a fresh circle of wood is developed, giving that annulated appearance to a crosssection of timber, by which the age of the tree may be told by the merest tyro. This description applies to all British plants which have a woody stem,-as trees and shrubs. In the palm and cane tribes, it is different. No pith and concentric circles are visible, but a confused mixture of cells and vessels throughout the whole stem. The root differs but little from the stem in structure, save that at the extreme point it is uncovered by bark or membrane of any kind; presenting a sponge-like mass of cells, whose office it is to take up the liquid nutriment in the soil. In order to have some idea of the mystery of growth, let us trace the fluid from the roots, in its progress up the stem, to the leaves, and down again, until it forms wood, bark, leaves, and flowers. The plant being placed in favorable circumstances as regards moisture in the soil, and heat and light in the surrounding air, the roots take up the proper nutriment in the form of a fluid, by means of their sponge-like extremities, and from thence they deliver it to the stem. In the present state the sap is thin, and unfit for nourishment. Through the soft wood this crude sap proceeds to the leaves, and courses along their upper surface, where under the agency of heat and light it parts with a considerable quantity of its moisture; becoming the thickened and elaborated sap. The change here produced is the fixation of carbon and hydrogen, accompanied by the liberation of pure oxygen. Descending to the lower surface of the leaf, a further addition of carbon is received, owing to the decomenters the vascular and cellular tissues of the position of carbonic acid gas. The sap now bark, and commences a downward journey, nourishing the parts as it goes on. and leaves a thickening deposit on their This fluid is received by the woody fibres, walls, which deposit afterwards obliterates all passage, transforming them into tough little rods. goes on in cells, till they become, in like The same thickening process manner, solid masses. tributing its benefits as it flows, the sap, In this manner, disreaches the root, which, abstracting what is when comparatively exhausted, at length necessary for its increasing vigor, rejects the worthless residue. sometimes clear and transparent, though This elaborated sap is oftentimes colored and milky. It is by no means an easy matter to observe the flow of the sap, owing to the delicacy of the vegetable tissue, and the often colorless nature of the fluid itself; but, in a few plants, it has been noticed, and among these the Caoutchouc tree, the Celandine, and the Euphorbia; all of which have it more or less opaque and colored. It is between the newest layer of wood, and the inside bark, that the formation of new wood takes place; and there we have a quantity of fluid not unlike mucilage. A brief consideration of the important operations carried on here, may prove not uninteresting. It of the elaborated sap, or secretions from the will have a slight notion of how wood is former-we may pay a little attention to cell development. The rapidity with which cells are formed is truly surprising. A puff-ball which in the evening was less than a pigeon's egg in size, in the morning looks like a gigantic dumpling. Lindley estimates that the cells must in this instance have been produced at the rate of sixty millions per minute. Let us try to understand how this is done,-but yet let us not be deceived; we are entering on an almost hopeless task. Scarcely one among the array of learned physiologists who have investigated the subject, has been able to coincide with another, and fluid which traverses the vegetable structure forcing the less dense sap up to that position where it is brought under the influence of solar heat and light, and rendered fit for the nourishment of the vegetable structure. Who shall decide when doctors disagree? The only safe way in a case like the present is to choose a middle path, and so escape the quicksands in which so many investigators seem lost. Leaving Schleiden, Mohl, Henfrey, and half-a-dozen more, to explain the by-nomeans evident peculiarities of their individual theories, we adopt a little of what appertains Now the sap in the cells of the leaf has to all. We believe, then, that in cells, or in parted with a great portion of its moisture, spaces between cells, there exists a quantity of while that further down is still the same; the mucilaginous matter; at first thin and trans-result is that this force comes into play, parent, which at length assumes a firmer consistency and exhibits in its mass a number of little spaces resembling air-bubbles; that these gradually enlarge, and become enveloped by a membrane formed from the thickened mucilaginous fluid. We also believe that this is the perfect cell. This cell has generally in its interior a little transparent body known as a nucleus; but whether this internal body has any part to perform in the gathering of the cell wall, or is formed after its full development, is a knotty point. This development from a mucilaginous fluid, may take place within cells already formed, so that one may give birth to hundreds. And this may account for the rapid growth of many plants, even in our own country, as the hop; but more especially in the tropics. Another means of cell reproduction, is as follows:The cell wall is internally lined by a mucilaginous covering; this inside wall, if we may so term it, has the power of contracting in the middle, and finally of separating, so as to form two soft bladder-like bodies, which, like the first, contract, and divide into two,-so that we have within the fully-formed cell, four partially developed. These gradually increase in size and consistency, till they at length become too big for the distended walls of the parent, which they burst, and then assume the functions of cells proper; them selves to produce others, which in their turn will destroy them. In connection with the growth of plants, there is yet another subject which claims a little attention, viz., the rise of the sap. It is well known that a great portion of the FIRST LOVE. A REMINISCENCE. D. WE find the following exquisite pencilling in Collins's "Basil." There are some few sketch from life." We have ourself seen of us who can recognise the picture as that "little rim of delicate white lace," that simple lovely, dusky throat," and those " little ornaments,"-all so mutely, so sweetly eloquent to the loving heart! I She put down her veil again immediately. Her lips moved involuntarily as she lowered it. thought I could see, through the lace, that the slight movement ripened to a smile. Still there was enough left to look on,-enough to charm. There was the little rim of delicate white lace, encircling the lovely, dusky throat. There was the figure visible, where the shawl had fallen open slender, but already well developed in its slenderness, and exquisitely supple. There was the waist, naturally low, and left to its natural place, and natural size. There were the little millinery and jewellery ornaments that she wore-simple and common-place enough in themselves—yet each a beauty, each a treasure, on her. There was all this to behold, all this to dwell on, in spite of the veil. The veil! how little of the woman does it hide, when the man really loves her! KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. THE "HAPPY FAMILY" OF SMILES. SWEET smile! that lights the baby cheek, FOND Smile! that o'er the mother's brow, DEAR Smile! that round the husband's lip SOFT smile! that when his growing boy CHASTE Smile! that o'er the kindling blush KIND smile! that kindles when the rod PURE smile! that innocently steals Of God's poor woe-benighted creatures,― HUMAN SORROW. H. C. The soul that hath not sorrow'd THOUGHTS ON HABIT. BY J. A. SYMONDS, M.D. AS TO HABITS OF ACTION, it is obvious that the great use they serve is the economy of time. What would man have accomplished by the end of his life, had it been needful for him to attend to his movements in standing, walking, and using his hands and fingers? What progress would thought make, were speakers to be thinking of the sounds they utter, and to be consciously directing and adjusting their vocal apparatus? And where would be the literature of the world, were the mind compelled to pass from its sublime contemplations to the muscular actions which guide the movements of the pen? But the more we consider the subject, whether as to the development of those actions which characterise the species, or as to those acquired accomplishments and dexterities which range from the humblest handicrafts to the loftiest triumphs of the imaginative arts, the more we shall be struck by the gradually increasing subordination and subjugation of the mechanical processes to the more exalted faculties of the mind. view would at first, perhaps, make us inquire This whether, as these volitional movements which we have been considering ultimately become automatic, it would not have enlarged the capacities of man, had they begun as instincts; just as some of them really are found in the lower animals, instead of going through so long a process of evolution and education? A foolish question, as every question must be which proposes an arrangement of events different from what is obviously a part of the plan of God's universe. Take away the struggling, striving will, even from these corporeal actions; remove effort, resolution, the conscious initiation of action, perseverance, training, and education, and what is human life reduced to? Gigantic as man's powers become, he was not intended to spring from the earth in their full equipment. Survey him in his infancy, childhood, youth, adolescence, and manhood; and while you become convinced that his gradual acquirements bring him a multitude of enjoyments, as well as difficulties and disasters, you cannot but see that what is evolving in him bears a strict correlation to the powers, emotions, sentiments, and virtuous actions of those who, having arrived at the maturity of their powers, are to help him ; to whom he is bound, as they to him, by ties which make the affinities of the human family infinitely transcend the transitory parental instincts and gregarious associations of the lower animals; for they live and grow up almost as whit wiser or more skilful than the first pair they were born, devoid of progress, not one that issued from Noah's ark,-living for themselves only, or only under a blind impulse providing for another succession. But man, having consciously and with pain, labor, and peril, acquired his endowments, lives them over again by teaching them to his offspring; and apart from that happier existence to which he knows that he is destined in other worlds, feels that here too he has a kind of immortality: that as he has inherited knowledge, and virtue, and power, he too has to transmit them. That his life and its achievements have a mortal metempsychosis, a translation into the enlarging attributes and brightening destinies of his children, and of unborn generations, and in the production of works which, like Milton, he knows that posterity will not willingly let die, and in the elaboration of systems which, like Bacon, he bequeaths with his fame to the next ages. In this realising anticipation of a posthumous renown, he survives his own death, passing by his living consciousness far beyond the narrow bounds affixed to his mere corporeal duration. But while habit, as we have seen, is so useful in abridging labor, in economising time, in preserving order, and method, and coherence in our thoughts, and in making the practice of virtue and religion easier to us, still it imposes upon us no inevitable compulsion. It is not the blind necessity of an instinct. It is our own fault if we are enslaved instead of being merely assisted by habit. Human agency ought to be able to assert its freedom in this as in every other department of thought and action. The habit should be like a steed-so well broken, that though the will may have thrown the reins on its neck, while otherwise occupied, it can in a moment gather them up, and come to a sudden halt. Habit, we have seen at once, is the product and the sign of previous volition. And though in certain muscular actions belonging to the species, it closely resembles instinct, yet, as to the thoughts and actions of individual men, it is widely different. For as the will of every man has its own peculiar form and color,-making an important part of his individuality, so his habits will have their own character and freedom of growth. Those who are attached to him will regard with partiality the very habits which have grown out of his peculiarities. The singularities of his gestures, the eccentricities of his gait, carriage, and demeanor, the oddity of his featural expression, the tone of his voice, his ways and his whims, his fancies and his philosophies his predilection, and prejudices, the whole complexion of his life, and the whole color of his conduct-his goings out and his comings in, his risings up and his lyings down,all are valued, because they give us more vividly the express image of him who is endeared to us for his own individual sake. [We hardly need remark how cordially we coincide in sentiment with Dr. Symonds. It is our peculiarities, our shades of character, our habits, our ways, our sayings, and our manner of life—that endear us all so greatly the one to the other. But for these distinguishing characteristics, we could not be valued for ourselves alone. They are a part and parcel of our very existence; and we prize them accordingly.] And she was carried to a castle bright. A voice said, groom!" Sibyl, here's thy blithe brideSee shrieked-she prayed;-at once the bridal light Was quench'd and chang'd to midnight's funeral gloom. She saw swords flash, and many a dancing plume Right through the darkness down to ocean-flood there Knelt humble, and to God confessed herself in PUFF-ING HUSBANDS AND PATIENT WIVES. about my having gloves always nice, and scold me if I appear in the streets with a shabby pair on.' JUSTICE Sometimes is slow to be matured. KORNER. ALL MEN HAVE THEIR 66 HOBBIES;" and they claim a right to them. We cannot however see why these "hobbies" should be cultivated at the expense of the women. Their right is just as inalienable; and we love to see them stand upon their rights. Mr. Morris knew all this to be true, and felt still more ashamed of his conduct; however, like most men, he was too proud to confess his error, except indirectly. He took will satisfy you for a year; not for gloves out his pocket-book, and said, "How much only, but for all the other etceteras? I will make you an allowance; and then you need not ask me for money whenever you want a pair of gloves or a new handkerchief." The wife's eyes glistened with delight. thought for a moment, and then said, "I will undertake, on ten pounds, to find myself in all these things." The above remarks are called forth by a very interesting little tale, signed "J. W.,' which we have just read in our excellent and useful contemporary the Family Herald. It is headed "Gloves and Cigars ;" and contains a moral which we should like to see stereo-She typed on the heart of every smoking husband in the kingdom. We know many of these foul-mouthed fellows, whose consumption of smoke is enormous. It is "odd," but as certainly true, that smoking husbands are always stingy, selfish hunxes. They live for themselves only, and care not how their spouses fare. Nor is it at all uncommon for some of them to be largely in debt for their filthy luxury--tobacco. On this matter we could speak oracularly. But let "a hint" suffice, while we tell our tale of smoke : poor "I must really have a pair of new gloves, James," said Mrs. Morris to her husband, as they sat together after tea. 66 Mr. Morris had been reading the evening paper, but he laid it down and looked crossly up. Really," he said, "you seem to me to waste more money on gloves than any woman I ever knew. It was only last week I gave you money to buy a new pair." The wife colored, and was about to answer tartly; for she felt that her husband had no cause for his crossness; but remembering that " a soft answer turneth away wrath,' she said, "Surely you have forgotten, James. It was more than a month since I bought my last pair of gloves; and I have been out a great deal, as you know, in that time." Humph!" said Mr. Morris, taking up the paper again. For several minutes there was silence. The wife continued her sewing, and the husband read sulkily on; at last, as if sensible that he had been unnecessarily harsh, he ventured a remark by way of indirect apology. "Business is very dull, Jane," he said, "and sometimes I do not know where to look for money. I can scarcely meet my ex penses." Mr. Morris dropped the newspaper as if it had been red-hot, and stared at his wife. "I believe," he said, "you women think that we men are made of money. I don't spend ten pounds in gloves and handkerchiefs in half-a-dozen years." Mrs. Morris did not reply instantly, for she was determined to keep her temper. But the quickness with which the needle moved, showed that she had some difficulty to be do you spend in cigars ?" amiable. At last she said, "But how much This was a home-thrust, for Mr. Morris was an inveterate smoker; and consumed twice as much on this needless luxury as the sum his wife asked. He picked up the paper and made no reply. "I don't wish you to give up smoking, since you enjoy it so much," she said; "but surely cigars are no more necessary to a gentleman, than are gloves and handkerchiefs to a lady; and if you expend twenty pounds in the one, I don't see why you should complain of my wishing ten pounds for the other." "Pshaw!" said her husband, finally; "I don't spend twenty pounds a year in cigars. It can't be." "You bring home a box every three weeks; and each box, you say, costs about twentyfour shillings, which, at the end of the year, amounts to more than twenty pounds." Mr. Morris fidgeted on his seat. His wife saw her advantage; and, smiling to herself, pursued it. "If you had counted up," she said, "as I have, every shilling you have given me for gloves, handkerchiefs, shoes, and ribbons, during a year, you would find it amounted to ten pounds; and if you had kept a statement of what your cigars cost, you would see that I am correct in my estimate as to them." "Twenty pounds! It can't be," said the husband, determined not to be convinced. "Let us make a bargain," replied the wife. "Put into my hands twenty pounds to buy cigars for you, and ten pounds to purchase gloves, &c., for me. I promise faithfully to |