6. The individual who prides himself on the favorite plants that blossom on his window-sill, will see that that window be in such order as shall show them off to advantage; and the taste that leads to the establishment of neatness in one corner, will not be long in spreading to the most secret nook of the apartment. Moreover, the individual who cherishes his little array of flowers in his window will often repair to the hills and river sides in search of new favorites; he will insensibly acquire a love for nature, and find his enjoyment in studying her mysteries and admiring her beauties, whether in garden, field, or forest, instead of spending his time in the haunts of idleness and dissipation. 7. The in-door cultivation of plants is also intimately connected with the sanitary condition of our dwellings. The oxygen of the atmosphere is indispensable to the respiration of animals; it purifies their blood, and affords them internal heat; and, united with certain elements, it is expired in the form of carbonic acid gas, a compound of oxygen and carbon.* This gas, which is deleterious to animal life, constitutes the main nourishment of plants, which absorb it, appropriate its carbon, and restore its oxygen to the atmosphere, again to be breathed in purity by men and animals. 8. It is true that pure air is necessary alike to the life of plants and animals; but the amount of oxygen absorbed by the former is by no means equal to that which they restore; and thus, through their agency, the atmosphere is kept in healthy equilibrium. It was long thought that plants absorbed carbonic acid during the day only, and under the influence of light, and that it was given off by them during the night season, thus vitiating the air in apartments in which they were kept; but this is now believed to be an error. It is confidently asserted that carbonic acid is never disengaged by them during the healthy condition of the leaf, and that the fluid which they so abundantly exhale is pure water. If this be the case, growing plants can not, under any condition, impair the purity of the atmosphere, but rather the reverse, unless the odor which they emit be too powerful to be agreeable. 1 A-MEN'-I-TY, pleasantness. 2 EN-NUÏ' (än-we', French), languor arising from lack of occupation. 3 LEIS'-URE (le'-zhur), freedom from occupation. CHAMBERS' Miscellany. 14 TRÈL'-LISED, furnished with trellis or wooden frame. 5 SAN'-I-TA-RY, pertaining to or designed to secure health. See Lesson XIII., p. 112; also Fourth Reader, pp. 50, 53–4. 3. A sweeter bloom to Eva's youth And heaven was mirrored in her truth 4. Oft to that lone, sequester'd place That seem'd a smile of home. 5. And oft I paused to hear at noon Or mark the white neck glancing down, 6. Years pass: the same the peaceful vale, The hill still shelters from the gale, 7. Still sweet the jasmine's buds of snow Where silver-clear the waters flow, Her holy dust is laid.-BULWER LYTTON. LESSON II.-G .—GIL BLAS AND THE ARCHBISHOP, OR THE DANGER OF GIVING ADVICE. Archbishop. WHAT is your business with me', my friend'? Gil Blas. I am the young man who was recommended to you by your nephew, Don Fernando. Arch. Oh! you are the person of whom he spoke so handsomely. I retain you in my service; I regard you as an acquisition. Your education, it would seem, has not been neglected; you know enough of Greek and Latin for my purpose, and your handwriting suits me. I am obliged to my nephew for sending me so clever a young fellow. So good a copyist must be also a grammarian. Tell me, did you find nothing in the sermon you transcribed for me which shocked your taste? no little negligence of style, or impropriety of diction? Gil B. Oh, sir! I am not qualified to play the critic; and if I were, I am persuaded that your grace's compositions would defy censure. Arch. Ahem! well, I do flatter myself that not many flaws could be picked in them. But, my young friend, tell me what passages struck you most forcibly. Gil B. If, where all was excellent, any passages more particularly moved me, they were those personifying hope, and describing the good man's death. Arch. You show an accurate taste and delicate appreciation. I see your judgment may be relied upon. Give yourself no inquietude, Gil Blas,1 in regard to your advancement in life. I will take care of that. I have an affection for you, and, to prove it, I will now make you my confidant. Yes, my young friend, I will make you the depositary of my most secret thoughts. Listen to what I have to say. I am fond of preaching, and my sermons are not without effect upon my hearers. The conversions of which I am the humble instrument ought to content me. But-shall I confess my weakness?-my reputation as a finished orator is what gratifies me most. My productions are celebrated as at once vigorous and elegant. But I would, of all things, avoid the mistake of those authors who do not know when to stop-I would produce nothing beneath my reputation; I would retire seasonably, ere that is impaired. And so, my dear Gil Blas, one thing I exact of your zeal, which is, that when you shall find that my pen begins to flag and to give signs of old age in the owner, you shall not hesitate to apprise me of the fact. Do not be afraid that I shall take it unkindly. I can not trust my own judgment on this point; self-love may mislead me. A disinterested understanding is what I require for my guidance. I make choice of yours, and mean to abide by your decision. Gil. B. Thank Heaven, sir, the period is likely to be far distant when any such hint shall be needed. Besides, a genius like yours will wear better than that of an inferior man; or, to speak more justly, your faculties are above the encroachments of age. Instead of being weakened, they promise to be invigorated by time. Arch. No flattery, my friend. I am well aware that I am liable to give way at any time, all at once. At my age, certain infirmities of the flesh are unavoidable, and they must needs affect the mental powers. I repeat it, Gil Blas, so soon as you shall perceive the slightest symptom of deterioration in my writings, give me fair warning. Do not shrink from being perfectly candid and sincere, for I shall receive such a monition as a token of your regard for me. Gil B. In good faith, sir, I shall endeavor to merit your confidence. Arch. Nay, your interests are bound up with your obedience in this respect; for if, unfortunately for you, I should hear in the city a whisper of a falling-off in my discoursesan intimation that I ought to stop preaching-I should hold you responsible, and consider myself exempted from all care K for your fortunes. Such will be the result of your false dis cretion. Gil B. Indeed, sir, I shall be vigilant to observe your wishes, and to detect any blemish in your writings. Arch. And now tell me, Gil Blas, what does the world say of my last discourse? Think you it gave general satisfaction? Gil B. Since you exact it of me in so pressing a manner to be frank Arch. Frank? Oh, certainly, by all means; speak out, my young friend. Gil B. Your grace's sermons never fail to be admired; but Arch. But-Well? Do not be afraid to let me know all. Gil B. If I may venture the observation, it seemed to me that your last discourse did not have that effect upon your audience which your former efforts have had. Perhaps your grace's recent illness Arch. What, what! Has it encountered, then, some Aristarchus ?2 Gil B. No sir, no. Such productions as yours are beyond criticism. Every body was charmed with it; but since you have demanded it of me to be frank and sincere-I take the liberty to remark that your last discourse did not seem to me altogether equal to your preceding. It lacked the strengththe-Do you not agree with me, sir? Arch. Mr. Gil Blas, that discourse, then, is not to your taste? Gil B. I did not say that, sir. I found it excellent-only a little inferior to your others. Arch. So! Now I understand. I seem to you to be on the wane-eh? Out with it! You think it about time that I should retire? Gil B. I should not have presumed, sir, to speak so freely, but for your express commands. I have simply rendered you obedience; and I humbly trust that you will not be offended at my hardihood. Arch. Offended! Oh! not at all, Mr. Gil Blas. I utter no reproaches. I don't take it at all ill that you should speak your sentiments; it is your sentiment only that I find ill. I have been duped in supposing you to be a person of any intelligence that is all. Gil B. But, sir, if, in my zeal to serve you, I have erred in Arch. Say no more-say no more! You are yet too raw |