I.
The student of history has need of divisions. By their aid alone can he hope to have command of the facts and events with which history in so large part deals. It is well therefore to begin the study of any particular history by noting such changes, such epoch-making events as may form partition walls of boxes in which may be placed our classified information.
The history of Germany has been variously divided into periods by the different authors. That which we have adopted here has the sanction of the majority and will be found exceedingly natural, and hence simple and convenient. The student should memorize it thoroughly, being assured that though a very general history of itself, nevertheless it is more than many of supposed information could tell of the history of this wonderful people.
DIVISION OF THE HISTORY OF THE GERMANS INTO TEN PERIODS.
First—From the most ancient times to the conquests of the Franks, under Clovis (A. D. 486).
Second—From conquests of Clovis to Charlemagne (511-768).
Third—Charlemagne to Henry I. (768-919).
Fourth—Henry I. to Rodolphus of Hapsburg. The Saxon, Swabian, and Hohenstaufen houses (919-1273).
Fifth—Rodolphus I. of Hapsburg to Charles V. (1273-1520).
Sixth—Charles V. to Peace of Westphalia (1519-1648).
Seventh—Peace of Westphalia to French Revolution (1648-1789).
Eighth—French Revolution to Peace of Paris (1789-1815).
Ninth—Peace of Paris to Franco-Prussian War (1815-1870-1871).
Tenth—From Franco-Prussian War to present time.
THE PRIMITIVE POPULATIONS OF GERMANY, THEIR ORIGIN, CUSTOMS, RELIGION, ETC.
“Germany, or Deutschland, occupies a large part of Central Europe. Speaking roughly, it now reaches from the Alps to the Baltic and the North Sea, and from the valleys of the Rhine and the Maes to the Danube as far as the March and the Mur, and to the Prosna and the Lower Niemen. The country is mountainous in the south, hilly in the center, and flat in the north, where it forms part of the great plain which takes in the whole of north-eastern Europe. The western part of this plain takes in the country between the Teutoburg Wood and the North Sea. As it passes eastward it widens till it reaches from the Erz and Riesen Mountains to the Baltic. A part of South Germany slopes toward the east, and is watered by the Danube; but the general slope of the country is toward the north. Among the rivers flowing northward are the Rhine, the Ems, the Weser, the Elbe, the Oder, and the Vistula.”—Sime.
“Germany has varied very much in extent at different times. This is due partly to the fact that it has no clearly-marked natural boundaries on the east and west, but chiefly to the peculiarity of its position. It is the central country of Europe. Being surrounded by most of the leading nations of the Continent, the Germans have been involved, more than any other people, in the general history of Europe. Of all their neighbors, the Scandinavians are most nearly allied to the Germans. Both are branches of the Teutonic race. But the Germans are also connected, although not so closely, with the other surrounding peoples. All, if we except the Magyars or Hungarians, who are Turanians, belong to the great Aryan family.”—Sime.
“Ancient authors mention several German tribes, as well as their dwelling places, with greater or less precision. Several of them also speak of the chief tribes, among which the single septs united themselves. But their statements are not sufficiently unanimous or precise to give us that clear view which we would so willingly obtain. The origin of the Germanic nations, therefore, like that of all others, is uncertain. To assign to them a distinct historical origin is to make an assertion without evidence, though it is now indisputably established that the Teutonic dialects belong to one great family with the Latin, the Greek, the Sanscrit, and other European and Asiatic tongues. All the positive knowledge that we have of the German nations, previous to their contact with the Romans, is exceedingly vague and mere conjecture.”—Menzies.
“The Romans first heard the name ‘Germans’ from the Celtic Gauls, in whose language it meant simply neighbors. The first notice of a Germanic tribe was given to the world by the Greek navigator Pytheas, who made a voyage to the Baltic in the year 330 B. C. Beyond the amber coast, eastward of the mouth of the Vistula, he found the Goths, of whom we hear nothing more until they appear, several centuries later, on the northern shore of the Black Sea. For more than two hundred years there is no further mention of the Germanic races; then, most unexpectedly, the Romans were called upon to make their personal acquaintance.”—Bayard Taylor.
“At the time of their first contact with the Romans, these Germanic tribes had lost even the tradition of their Asiatic origin. They supposed themselves to have originated upon the soil where they dwelt, sprung either from the earth or descended from the gods. According to the most popular legend, the war-god Tuisko, or Tiu, had a son, Mannus (whence the word man is derived), who was the first human parent of the German race. Many centuries must have elapsed since their first settlement in Europe, or they could not have so completely changed the forms of their religion and their traditional history.”—Taylor.
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.
“The early Germans were noted for their love of feasting, which was carried to such excess that they would sometimes spend whole days and nights at table, drinking and gaming, in consequence of which they often quarreled and fought so that a convivial meeting frequently terminated in bloodshed. They gambled with dice, as Tacitus, with astonishment, informs us, in a sober state and as a serious occupation, and with so much eagerness for gain, that when they had lost all they hazarded their freedom, and even their very persons, upon the last cast. The loser freely delivered himself up to slavery, although even younger and stronger than his adversary, and patiently allowed himself to be bound and sold as a slave; thus steadfastly did they keep their word, even in a bad case. ‘They call this good faith,’ says the Roman writer. There were various circumstances under which a German might forfeit his liberty, such as marrying a bondwoman, or of not being able to pay his debts; but the generality of the slaves were captives taken in war.
“The Germans did not all sit down at the same table, but each man had his own seat and board, which were of a very rough description, being merely a wooden stool and table, furnished with drinking horns, wooden bowls, spoons, and platters. Each person of rank had his servant behind him to hold his shield and spear. He kept his sword by his side, for on no occasion would a German part with his arms, which was a proof that he expected to have frequent need of them.
“The wives and daughters of the Germans, we are told, shared in all the public entertainments, for however rude and fierce these people might be in other respects, they were distinguished, even in the most barbarous ages, for their attention and respect to the female sex, whom they consulted on the most important affairs, and by whose opinions they were very often guided. The feasts of the Germans, like those of the Gauls and Scandinavians, were always attended by a number of bards, several of whom were attached to the family of every chief, and were treated with the highest respect. They played on the harp and flute, and when they sang of war, the company took part in the concert by clashing their swords against their shields.
“The Germans, in very remote ages, were dressed in skins of wild animals, and afterward in a coarse kind of linen, made by the women; but as they intermixed more with the Gauls, they learned from them to make a finer sort of linen, and woolen also, and as soon as they were acquainted with these useful arts, spinning and weaving became the principal occupations of German women, and a more civilized costume was adopted than that which was made from the skins of the elk and reindeer. These animals, in the time of Julius Cæsar, were very numerous in the forests of Germany, from which, however, they have long since disappeared.
“The Romans justly considered the German nation as an aboriginal, pure, and unmixed race of people. They resembled themselves alone; and like the specifically similar plants of the field, which, springing from a pure seed, not raised in the hot-bed of a garden, but germinating in the healthy, free, unsheltered soil, do not differ from each other by varieties; so, also, among the thousands of the simple German race, there was but one determined and equal form of body. Their chest was wide and strong; their hair yellow, and with young children it was of a dazzling white. Their skin was also white, their eyes blue, and their glance bold and piercing. Their powerful gigantic bodies, which the Romans and Gauls could not behold without fear, displayed the strength that nature had given to this people; for, according to the testimony of some of the ancient writers, their usual height was seven feet. From their earliest youth upward they hardened their bodies by all devisable means. New-born infants were dipped in cold water, and the cold bath was continued during their whole lives as the strengthening renovator, by both boys and girls, men and women. The children ran about almost naked, and effeminate nations wondered how those of the Germans, without cradles or swaddling bands, should grow up to the very fullest bloom of health.
“Cæsar, Tacitus, and Suetonius, with many others, have pointed to one and the same characteristic of the Germans, as the secret of their power and prosperity. The Kelt had everywhere yielded to the eagles of Rome, while the Teuton everywhere checked their flight. Amazed, and even alarmed, at those tall fair-haired, blue-eyed enemies, who had to be conquered with gold instead of steel, Tacitus examines the reasons of their prowess, and finds it in the soberness of their blood, in their reverence for women and for the laws of nature, in their deference to parental authority and their marriages of maturity. ‘Chastity is a custom with them,’ says the ‘De Moribus Germanorum,’ and a passage to the same effect might be cited from Cæsar. Those southern soldiers and statesmen saw, in truth, with a terrible sense of overhanging fate, that race of hardy, chaste, home-loving, free and fearless barbarians, of whom the Emperor Titus said, ‘Their bodies are great, but their souls are greater.’ The tone of Tacitus is that of a man who bitterly feels how much greater, after all, as a moral being, the barbarian may be than the civilized man, when civilization recognizes no higher aim than material splendor, and that utility which subserves material wants. Other civilizations than that of the Empire may read a lesson in those brief pages where the philosopher of a worn-out world records his impression of the races from which the world was hereafter to be reconstituted.”—Menzies.
“The three principal vices of the Germans were indolence, drunkenness, and love of gaming. Although always ready for the toils and dangers of war, they disliked to work at home. The women ruled and regulated their households with undisputed sway. They were considered the equals of the men, and exhibited no less energy and courage. They were supposed to possess the gift of prophecy, and always accompanied the men to battle, where they took care of the wounded, and stimulated the warriors by their shouts and songs. They honored the institution of marriage to an extent beyond that exhibited by any other people of the ancient world. Those who proved unfaithful to the marriage vow were punished with death.”—Taylor.
RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND USAGES.
“The worship of the ancient Germans coincided with their natural character, and consequently was much more simple and elevated than that of other peoples. Although uncultivated, they carried in their hearts the sentiment of an infinite and eternal power, and they regarded it as an affront to the divinity to enclose it within walls, or to represent it under human form. They consecrated to it the woods and forests as a spacious temple of which nature itself erected the pillars, and to which the immensity of the heavens formed the roof.
“The ancient Germans adored, like the Persians, the sun and fire, but they regarded Wodan as their supreme god. They called him also Alvater, father of all things. Their most beneficent goddess was the mother of the earth (Hertha). The Germans attached great importance to divinations and prognostics. The crow and the owl signified misfortune; the cuckoo announced long life. They discovered the future by means of the branches of fruit trees (runes). Various signs were cut upon each rod, and afterwards the rods were thrown upon a white cloth; then the priest, or father of the family, offered up a prayer to the divinity, and thrice chose from among the rods those which were to give the divine revelations. The clairvoyants were held in high estimation, and history has preserved some of the names of those to which the belief of the people had given a great influence over the decision of public affairs.”—Menzies.
“The people had their religious festivals at stated seasons, when sacrifices—sometimes of human beings—were laid upon the altars of the gods in the sacred groves. Even after they became Christians, in the eighth century, they retained their habit of celebrating some of these festivals, but changed them into the Christian anniversaries of Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide.
“Thus, from all we can learn respecting them, we may say that the Germans, during the first century before Christ, were fully prepared by their habits, laws, and their moral development, for a higher civilization. They were still restless, after so many centuries of wandering; they were fierce and fond of war, as a natural consequence of their struggles with the neighboring races; but they had already acquired a love for the wild land where they dwelt, they had begun to cultivate the soil, they had purified and hallowed the family relation, which is the basis of all good government, and finally, although slavery existed among them, they had established equal rights for free men.
“If the object of Rome had been civilization, instead of conquest and plunder, the development of the Germans might have commenced much earlier and produced very different results.”—Taylor.
[To be continued.]
[PHYSICAL SCIENCE.]
I.—THE AIR.
When we begin to look attentively at the world around us, one of the first things to set us thinking is the air. We do not see it, and yet it is present wherever we may go. What is this air?
Although invisible, it is yet a real, material substance. When you swing your arm rapidly up and down you feel the air offering a resistance to the hand. The air is something which you can feel, though you can not see it. You breathe it every moment. You can not get away from it, for it completely surrounds the earth. To this outer envelope of air, the name of atmosphere is given.
The air is not a simple substance, but a mixture of two invisible gases, called nitrogen and oxygen. But besides these chief ingredients, it contains also small quantities of other substances; some of which are visible, others invisible. If you close the shutters of a room, and let the sunlight stream through only one chink or hole into the room, you see some of the visible particles of the air. Hundreds of little motes, or specks of dust, cross the beam of light which makes them visible against the surrounding darkness, though they disappear in full daylight. But it is the invisible parts of the air which are of chief importance; and among them there are two which you must especially remember—the vapor of water and carbonic acid gas. You will soon come to see why it is needful for you to distinguish these.
Now what is this vapor of water? You will understand its nature if you watch what takes place when a kettle boils. From the mouth of the spout a stream of white cloud comes out into the air. It is in continual motion; its outer parts somehow or other disappear, but as fast as they do so they are supplied by fresh materials from the kettle. The water in the kettle is all the while growing less, until at last, if you do not replenish it, the whole will be boiled away, and the kettle left quite dry. What has become of all the water? You have changed it into vapor. It is not destroyed or lost in any way, it has only passed from one state into another, from the liquid into the gaseous form, and is now dissolved in the air.
Carbonic acid gas is also one of the invisible substances of the atmosphere, of which, though it forms no more than four parts in every ten thousand, yet it constitutes an important ingredient. You will understand how important it is when you are told that, from this carbonic acid in the air, all the plants which you see growing upon the land extract nearly the whole of their solid substance. When a plant dies and decays, the carbonic acid is restored to the air again. On the other hand, plants are largely eaten by animals, and help to form the framework of their bodies. Animals in breathing give out carbonic acid gas; and when they die, and their bodies decay, the same substance is again restored to the atmosphere. Hence the carbonic acid of the air is used to build up the structure both of plants and animals, and is given back again when these living things cease to live. There is a continual coming and going of this material between the air and the animal and vegetable kingdoms.
You know that though you can not see the air you can feel it when it moves. A light breeze, or a strong gale, can be just as little seen by the eye as still air; and yet we readily feel their motion. But even when the air is still it can make itself sensible in another way, viz: by its temperature. For air, like common visible things, can be warmed and cooled.
This warming and cooling of the air is well illustrated by what takes place in a dwelling-house. If you pass out of a warm room, on a winter’s day, into the open air when there is no wind, you feel a sensation of cold. Whence does this sensation come? Not from anything you can see, for your feet, though resting on the frozen ground, are protected by leather, and do not yet feel the cold. It is the air which is cold, and which encircles you on all sides, and robs you of your heat; while at the same time you are giving off or radiating heat from your skin into the air. On the other hand, if, after standing a while in the chilly winter air, you return into the room again, you feel a sensation of pleasant warmth. Here, again, the feeling does not come from any visible object, but from the invisible air which touches every part of your skin, and is thus robbed of its heat by you.
Now, how is it that the atmosphere should sometimes be warm and sometimes cold? Where does the heat come from? and how does the air take it up?
Let us return again to the illustration of the house. In winter, when the air is keen and frosty outside, it is warm and pleasant indoors, because fires are there kept burning. The burning of coal and wood produces heat, and the heat thus given out warms the air. Hence it is by the giving off or radiation of the heat from some burning substance that the air of our houses is made warmer than the air outside.
Now, it is really by radiation from a heated body that the air outside gets its heat. In summer, this air is sometimes far hotter than is usual in dwelling-houses in winter. All this heat comes from the sun, which is an enormous hot mass, continually sending out heat in all directions.
But, if the sun is always pouring down heat upon the earth, why is the air ever cold? Place a screen between you and a bright fire, and you will immediately feel that some of the heat from the fire place has been cut off. When the sun is shining, expose your hand to its beams for a time, and then hold a book between the hand and the sun. At first, your skin is warmed; but the moment you put it in the shade, it is cooled again. The book has cut off the heat which was passing directly from the sun to your hand. When the atmosphere is felt to be cold, something has come in the way to keep the sun’s heat from directly reaching us.
Clouds cut off the direct heat of the sun. You must often have noticed the change of temperature, when, after the sun has been shining for a time, a cloud comes between it and the earth. Immediately a feeling of chilliness is experienced, which passes off as soon as the cloud has sailed on, and allowed the sun once more to come out.
The air itself absorbs some of the sun’s heat, and the greater the thickness of air through which that heat has to make its way, the more heat will be absorbed. Besides this, the more the rays of heat are slanted the weaker do they become. At noon, for example, the sun stands high in the sky. Its rays are then nearest to the vertical, and have also the least thickness of air to pass through before they reach us. As it descends in the afternoon, its rays get more and more slanted, and must also make their way through a constantly increasing thickness of air. Hence the middle of the day is much warmer than morning or evening.
At night, when the sun no longer shines, its heat does not directly warm the part of the earth in shadow. That part not only receives no heat from it, but even radiates its heat out into the cold sky. Hence night is much colder than day.
Then, again, in summer the sun at noon shines much higher in the sky with us, or more directly overhead, than in winter. Its heat comes down less obliquely and has less depth of air to pass through, and hence is much more felt than in winter, when, as you know, the sun in our part of the world never rises high even at mid-day.
If we were dependent for our warmth upon the direct heat of the sun alone, we should be warm only when the sun shines. A cloudy day would be an extremely cold one, and every night as intensely frosty as it ever is in winter. Yet such is not the case. Cloudy days are often quite warm; while we are all aware that the nights are by no means always very cold. There must be some way in which the sun’s heat is stored up, so that it can be felt even when he is not shining.
In summer the ground gets warmed; in some parts, indeed, becoming even so hot at times that we can hardly keep the hand upon it. In hot countries this is felt much more than in this country. Soil and stones absorb heat steadily, that is to say, soon get heated, and they soon cool again. When they have been warmed by the sun, the air gets warmed by contact with them, and keeps its heat longer than they do; so that even when at night the soil and stones have become ice-cold, the air a little above is not so chilly. On the other hand, when the surface of the ground is cold, it cools the air next it. The ground parts easily with its heat, and a vast amount of heat is in this way radiated at night from the earth outward into the cold starry space. Much more heat, however, would be lost from this cause did not the abundant aqueous vapor of the atmosphere absorb part of it, and act as a kind of screen to retard the radiation. This is the reason why in hot climates, where the air is very dry—that is, contains a small proportion of the vapor of water—the nights are relatively colder than they are in other countries where the air is moister. In like manner, clouds serve to keep heat from escaping; and hence it is that cloudy nights are not so cold as those which are clear and starry.
The atmosphere, then, is heated or cooled according as it lies upon a warm or cold part of the earth’s surface; and, by means of its aqueous vapor, it serves to store up and distribute this heat, keeping the earth from such extremes of climate as would otherwise prevail.
The air lying next to a hot surface is heated; the air touching a cold surface is cooled. And upon such differences of temperature in the air the formation of winds depends.
Hot or warm air is lighter than cold air. You have learned how heat expands bodies. It is this expansion of air, or the separation of its particles further from each other which makes it less dense or heavy than cold air, where the particles lie more closely together. As a consequence of this difference of density, the light warm air rises, and the heavy cold air sinks. You can easily satisfy yourselves of this by experiment. Take a poker, and heat the end of it in the fire until it is red-hot. Withdraw it, and gently bring some small bits of very light paper, or some other light substance, a few inches above the heated surface. The bits of paper will be at once carried up into the air. This happens because the air, heated by the poker, immediately rises, and its place is taken by colder air, which, on getting warmed, likewise ascends. The upward currents of air grow feebler as the iron cools, until, when it is of the same temperature as the air around, they cease.
This is the principle on which our fire-places are constructed. The fire is not kindled on the hearth, for, in that case, it would not get a large enough draft of air underneath, and would be apt to go out. It is placed some way above the floor, and a chimney is put over it. As soon as the fire is lighted, the air next it gets warmed, and begins to mount, and the air in the room is drawn in from below to take the place of that which rises. All the air which lies above the burning coal gets warmer and lighter; it therefore flows up the chimney, carrying with it the smoke and gases. You will understand that though a bright blazing fire is a pleasant sight in winter, we do not get all the heat which it gives out. On the contrary, a great deal of the heat goes up the chimney; and, except in so far as it warms the walls, passes away and warms the outer air.
What happens in a small way in our houses takes place on a far grander scale in nature. As already pointed out, the sun is the great source of heat which warms and lightens our globe. While the heat of the sun is passing through the air, it does very little in the way of warming it. The heat goes through the air, and warms the surface of the earth. You know that in summer the direct rays of the sun are hot enough to burn your face, and yet, if you put even a thin sheet of paper over your head, enough to cut off these rays, the sensation of burning heat at once goes off, although the same air is playing about you all the time.
Both land and water are heated by the sun’s rays, and the same change in the air then takes place which we find also at our firesides. The layer of air next the warmed earth becomes itself warmed. As it thereby grows lighter it ascends, and its place is taken by colder air, which flows in from the neighborhood to take its place. This flowing in of air is wind.
One of the most important ingredients in the air is the vapor of water. Let us try to see, first of all, how it gets into and out of the air. And in this case, as before, you will find that great questions in science often admit of being simply and readily illustrated by the most familiar things.
You may have noticed that on very cold nights the windows of sitting-rooms, or crowded public halls, are apt to be found streaming with water on the inside.
Now, in such cases, where does the moisture come from? Certainly not out of the glass. It is derived from the vapor of water present in the air. This word vapor is often used to describe some kind of visible mist or fog. But these visible forms of moisture are not properly vapor in the sense in which the term is used in science. The aqueous vapor of the air is always invisible, even when the air is saturated with it, and only when it passes back into the state of water do you actually see anything.
When the invisible vapor dissolved in the air becomes visible, as in mists, clouds, dew, or rain, it is said to be condensed, and this process of liquefaction is called condensation.
The quantity of vapor which the air can contain varies according to temperature, warm air being able to hold more than cold air.
As the air is cooled, its power of retaining vapor diminishes. When it becomes colder than the temperature at which it is able to keep its supply of vapor dissolved, the excess of vapor is condensed and becomes visible. The temperature at which this takes place is the point of saturation, or dew-point.
Perhaps you may ask how it is that the vapor so universally present gets into the atmosphere, and where it comes from. If you pour a little water into a plate, and set it down in the open air, you will note in the course of a day or two, that the water has sensibly diminished. The air has drunk up part of it, and will drink up the whole, if the water is allowed to stand long enough. What takes place from a small quantity of water goes on from every surface of water on the face of the earth, from every brook and river and lake, and from the great sea itself. Water is constantly passing off into vapor, which is received and retained by the air. This process is called evaporation, and the water which passes off into vapor is said to evaporate.
Since warm air can hold more vapor than cold air, evaporation must be more vigorous in sunshine than at night, and during summer than during winter.
On a dry, bracing day, evaporation goes on rapidly, because the air has not nearly got all the quantity of vapor it can hold in solution. On a damp day, however, when the air contains about as much vapor as it can hold at that particular temperature, evaporation is quite feeble, or ceases altogether. This varying capacity of the air for vapor is the reason why laundresses find so much difference between days, in the ease with which they can have their clothes dried.
After sunset, when the sky is clear, you know that the grass gets wet with dew. In the morning you may see mists hanging over woods, and streams, and hills, and gradually melting away as the sun mounts in the sky. At all times of the year you may watch how clouds form and dissolve, and form again, ever changing their size and shape as they move through the air. Now these are all examples of the condensation of vapor. Let us see how the process takes place.
Condensation, as we have seen, results from a cooling of the air. When vapor is condensed, it does not at once take the form of running water. The cold glass brought into the warm room has first a fine film of mist formed upon it, and then by degrees the clear drops of water come. In reality mist is made up of exceedingly minute particles of water, and it is the running together of these which makes the larger drops. So in nature on the great scale, when condensation occurs the vapor first appears as a fine mist. This is always the result of cooling; so that, whenever you see a mist or cloud forming, you may conclude that the air in which it lies is being cooled.
Dew is the name given to the wetness which we notice appearing in the evening, or at night, upon grass, leaves, or stones, or even sometimes on our hair. In the morning you have, no doubt, often watched the little dewdrops sparkling upon the foliage and the delicate threads of gossamer. Now this wetness does not come out of the leaves or stones, nor out of your hair. It is all derived from the air by condensation, exactly as we see the film of mist form upon the cold tumbler in the warm moist air of a room. In fact, that film of mist was really dew, and all dew is formed in the same way, and from the same cause.
At night, when the sky is clear, the earth radiates heat rapidly; that is to say, it gives off into cold space a great part of the heat which it has received from the sun during the day. Its surface consequently becomes cold, as you may have felt when you put your hand upon leaves or stones after nightfall. The layer of air next the cooled ground is chilled below its point of condensation, and the excess of vapor is deposited as dew upon the grass, twigs, stones, and other objects. Hence it is that the temperature at which this condensation begins to take place is called the dew-point.
Another way in which a cold surface of the earth may produce condensation is shown by what takes place among mountains. When a warm moist wind blows upon a chill mountain top, the air is cooled, and its vapor becomes visible in the form of a mist or cloud. You can often see that the cloud is quite solitary, and even shapes itself to the form of the ground, as if it were a sort of fleecy cap drawn down over the mountain’s head. This is often well marked in the morning. As day advances, the ground, warmed by the sun, no longer cools the air, and hence the mist is gradually re-absorbed into the atmosphere. But by and by, at the coming on of night, when the ground is once more cooled by radiation, if there should be vapor enough in the air, the mist will re-form, and the mountain put on his cap again.
Cold air, as well as cold ground, condenses the vapor of warmer air. If you watch what goes on along the course of a river, you will often see examples of this kind of condensation. The ground on either side of the river parts with its heat after sundown sooner than the river itself does, and consequently cools the air above it more than the air above the river is cooled. So when this colder air from either side moves over to take the place of the warmer damp air lying on and rising from the river, condensation ensues in the form of the mist or river-fog, which so commonly hangs at night and early morning over streams.
A cloud is merely a mist formed by the cooling of warm moist air, when it loses its heat from any cause, such as expansion during ascent, or contact with currents of cooler air. If you watch what goes on in the sky, you may often see clouds in the act of forming. At first a little flake of white appears. By degrees this grows larger, and other cloudlets arise and flock together, until at last the sky is quite overcast with heavy clouds, and rain begins to fall. The vapor which is thus condensed in the air has all been obtained by the evaporation of the water on the earth’s surface. It rises with the warm air, which losing its heat as it ascends, and coming too in contact with colder layers of the atmosphere, can not hold all its vapor, and is obliged to get rid of the excess, which then condenses into cloud.
On a summer morning the sky is often free from cloud. As the day advances, and the earth gets warmed, more vapor is raised; and as this vapor, borne upward by the ascending air-currents, reaches the higher and colder parts of the atmosphere, it is chilled into the white fleecy clouds which you see forming about mid-day and in the afternoon. Toward evening, when less evaporation takes place, the clouds cease to grow, and gradually lessen in size until at night the sky is quite clear. They have been dissolved again by descending and coming in contact with the warm air nearest to the earth. Again, you have often noticed that clouds move across the sky. They are driven along by upper currents of air, and of course the stronger these currents are the faster do the clouds travel. In this way the sky is sometimes completely overcast with clouds which have come from a distance.
You are well aware that rain always comes from clouds in the sky. When the sky is clear overhead, no rain falls. Only when it gets overcast does the rain come. You can watch a dark rain-cloud gather itself together and discharge a heavy shower upon the earth. When a cold glass is brought into a warm room, you will remember that the film of mist formed upon the glass is found by degrees to gather into drops, and trickles down the cold surface. Now the mist on the glass and the cloud in the sky are both formed of minute particles of water, separated by air. It is the running together of these particles which gives rise to these drops. In the one case, the drops run down the cold glass. In the other case, they fall as drops of rain through the air. Rain, therefore, is thus a further stage in the condensation of the aqueous vapor of the atmosphere. The minute particles of the cloud, as condensation proceeds, gather more moisture round them, until at last they form drops of water, too heavy to hang any longer suspended in the air. These then fall to the earth as rain-drops.
But there is another important form in which the moisture of the clouds may descend to the surface of the earth. When the weather is cold enough, there fall to the ground not drops of rain, but flakes of snow.
If you bring snow indoors, it soon melts into water. If you expose this water for a time it evaporates. Snow, water, and aqueous vapor are thus only different forms of the same substance. We say that water can exist in three forms—the gaseous, the liquid, and the solid. Snow is an example of the solid condition.
On a frosty night pools of water are covered with a hard, transparent crust, of what is called ice. You may break this crust into pieces, but if the cold continues, a new crust will soon be formed with bits of the old one firmly cemented in it. And the greater the cold the thicker will the crust be, until perhaps the whole of the water in the pools may become solid. If you take a piece of this solid substance, you find it to be cold, brittle, and transparent. Brought into a warm room it soon melts into water, and you may drive off the water as before into vapor. Ice is the general name given to water when it is in the solid state, such forms as snow and hail being only different appearances which ice puts on. Whenever water becomes colder than a certain temperature it passes into ice, or freezes, and this temperature is consequently known as the freezing-point.
The upper layers of the atmosphere are much colder than the freezing-point of water. In the condensation which takes place there, the clouds do not resolve themselves into rain. The vapor of the up-streaming currents of warm air from the earth’s surface is condensed and frozen in these high regions, and passes into little crystals, which unite into flakes of snow. Even in summer the fine white cloudlets which you see floating at great heights are probably formed of snow. But in those countries, such as ours, where in winter the air even at the surface is sometimes very cold, the snow falls to the ground, and lies there as a white covering, until returning warmth melts it away.
Besides rain and snow, the moisture of the air takes sometimes the form of hail, which consists of little lumps of ice like frozen rain; and of sleet, which is partially melted snow. But rain and snow are the most important, and it is these two forms which we must follow a little further.
Before doing so, let us gather together the sum of what has been said about the aqueous vapor of the air. We have learned that, as every sheet of water on the face of the globe evaporates, the air is full of vapor; that this vapor is condensed into visible form, and appears as dew, mist, and cloud. We have learned further, that the vapor of which clouds are formed is resolved into rain and snow, and, in one or other of these forms, descends to the earth again. There is thus a circulation of water between the solid earth beneath and the air above. This circulation is as essential to the earth in making it a fit habitation for living things, as the circulation of blood is in keeping our bodies alive. It mixes and washes the air, clearing away impurities, such as those which rise from the chimneys of a town. It moistens and quickens the soil, which it renders capable of supporting vegetation. It supplies springs, brooks, and rivers. In short, it is the very mainspring of all the life of the globe. So important a part of the machinery of the world deserves our careful consideration. Let us next attend, therefore, to what becomes of the rain and the snow after they have been discharged from the air upon the surface of the earth.
[To be continued.]
[SUNDAY READINGS.]
SELECTED BY REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D.
[October 7.]
“TENDENCIES TO ERROR.”
By Rev. WILLIAM FRASER, LL.D.
“Let no one, upon a weak conceit of sobriety or an ill-applied moderation, think or maintain that a man can search too far, or be too well studied in the book of God’s word, or in the book of God’s works—divinity or philosophy—but rather let men endeavor an endless progress or proficiency in both; only let them beware that they apply both to charity and not to arrogance; to use, and not to ostentation; and again, that they do not mingle or confound these learnings together.”—Bacon.
Many have lost their early faith in the Bible and are following its guidance with faltering footstep. Between them and hitherto accepted truths the sciences have been placing apparently insurmountable obstacles. The trustful simplicity with which they once read the sacred record has almost perished. Inferences by the man of science, conflicting with the interpretations of scripture by the theologian, have rudely shaken their most cherished convictions. They are not infidels, they are not skeptics, for doubt is distasteful to them, they long for more definite expositions and a firmer faith.
Such, possibly, may be some of you. In the midst of such discussions as are at present in progress, perplexity is not unnatural. Your most anxiously sustained investigations have hitherto only multiplied difficulties, and a sense of responsibility alone constrains you to linger over conclusions from which your judgment recoils. This hesitancy of belief may be at the outset disheartening; yet it may be inseparable from that clearness of insight and that force of character which, in the end, commonly create the stablest convictions, and evoke adequate proof to shield them. To shun or to denounce you because you can not acquiesce in what we believe is inconsistent, not only with the lessons of philosophy, but with his example to “bear witness to the truth.”
What is your duty, with the natural sciences on the one hand, appealing so largely to your reason, and the scriptures on the other hand, appealing so constantly to your faith? Obviously, to depreciate neither, but to welcome both the sciences and the scriptures, to ascertain their harmony, to note their differences, and to accept all the treasures of truth which they may bring. Indifference is inexcusable as is excessive zeal, and apathy as antagonism.
The Bible, free to us as are the fields of science, challenges the severest scrutiny. It is the boldest of books, and demands the application of every test. As it is the most comprehensive history in the world, and gives amplest scope for research; as its earliest records are the oldest in existence, and its latest prophecies shed light far into the future; as it touches depths and reaches heights which no other book can approach; as it brings into closest connection the visible and invisible, natural law and supernatural force, the condition of man and the character of God, it is exposed to assaults which no other book can bear.
Systematic and persistent study is required at your hand, that you may estimate aright not only the facts and arguments brought against the Bible, but those also which are adduced in its favor. The task may be arduous, but this price is not too great for the settlement of questions so momentous; and if the solution of some of them may have to be for a season postponed, yours will be the satisfaction which the conscientious improvement of every opportunity invariably fosters.
Different lines of investigation may be profitably followed, but we may suggest the following as exhaustive, or nearly exhaustive, of the most prominent questions which modern research has raised.
As the Bible is confessedly related to the natural sciences, archæology, history, and modern civilization, let it be placed successively in the midst of their facts, and let us see to what extent its statements can bear their light.
There are many questions which none of us can honestly avoid; and while some may remain unsettled, the unbiased review of those solutions which have been already offered, and which have been generally accepted, will be found to confirm scripture instead of confuting it.
1. As to science. Have astronomy and geology given evidence for or against the eternity of the visible universe? Has biology determined the origin of life? Whence it is? Have comparative anatomy and physiology, psychology and ethics, established more than one origin for the human race? Are the incidental allusions in scripture contradicted or confirmed in natural science?
2. As to archæology. Can the Bible confront prehistoric revelations? Antiquity is pouring over the oldest records, increasing light. Ruins, monuments, inscriptions, parchments, have been emitting their wondrous testimonies, parallel with scripture histories. Assyria, Egypt, Palestine, Greece, Rome, in their histories, revolutions, and domestic episodes, have all been interwoven with the statements of scripture as with those of no other book. To what purpose has historic criticism dealt with the sacred page? Is the Bible yielding or is it growing brighter in the crucible of archæology?
3. As to modern history and civilization. By its claim to uplift and bless the human race, the Bible is separated from all other books. It proposes to revolutionize man’s moral history here, and to prepare him for a future whose course it in part delineates. Has it failed, or is it failing? Has it been enfeebled by the lapse of ages? Has it become effete amid changes which have given intellect new instruments and reason new spheres? Has it lost its former hold of the human mind, and is it sinking amid the tumult of bitterly conflicting opinions? Has ever tribe been found which it could not raise and enlighten? Or has ever civilization outshone, in any land, its intellectual and moral splendor?
4. As to the supernatural. If the Bible is the book which it professes to be, and which we hold it is, the ordinary and the extraordinary, the natural and the supernatural, must be associated in its character and history. What is the warrant which men of science adduce for repudiating the supernatural while they accept the natural? And by what reason does the Christian apologist attempt to preserve their connection? Is there no evidence around us in the contrasts of barbarism and civilization, as well as in the histories of nations, in their relation to prophecy? And are there no facts in the strangely revolutionized lives of thousands in the Christian church, which proclaim the singular moral force of the word of God?
[October 14.]
Assuming that you are willing to follow such a course of study as we have sketched, either to remove doubts which may be lingering in your own mind, or to aid some brother in his struggle to win the repose which you have gained, we shall, at the outset, offer some suggestions as to the spirit and the method by which your work should be characterized. It is of much importance to know, what is, and what is not, within our reach.
1. Do not assume the possibility, in the present state of our knowledge, of demonstrating a perfect agreement between science and scripture, or rather between the inferences of the philosopher and the interpretations of the theologian. Much remains to be ascertained before that result can be realized. The natural sciences are confessedly incomplete; some of them are only in their infancy, and can teach us little. Many years may pass before they can be brought into perfect accord with the Bible. As the facts of natural science have not been all ascertained and classified, as its laws have not been all recognized, and as the inferences of to-day may be modified by the discoveries of to-morrow, it is absurd to be demanding immediate evidence of a perfect agreement between science and scripture. Apparent contradictions are, at the present stage unavoidable. There must first be an exact and exhaustive examination of all those points at which the scriptures and the sciences touch each other; for so long as a single fact or a single law remains unknown, some important or essential truth, intimately related to the Bible, may be concealed. While the natural sciences continue incomplete, natural theology must necessarily have an imperfect foundation. As confessedly dependent on what is incomplete, natural theology can have neither the comprehensiveness nor the definiteness which characterizes supernatural theology, as dependent on what is now complete and unvarying. We can not force the legitimate yet somewhat incoherent teachings of the one book—the works of God—of which but a few leaves have been separated, scanned and paged, into perfect harmony with the teachings of the other book, whose revelation of truth has been finished, accredited, and closed.
2. Wait patiently, while you work persistently, for the solution of difficulties which may be continuing to press upon you. The experience of the past is an encouragement for the future. The sciences have again and again become their own interpreter, and rejected erroneous inferences. Many examples might be given, but one or two may in the meantime suffice. Human skeletons were found in what seemed old limestone, on the northeast coast of the mainland of Guadaloupe; and after bold attacks on the Bible, which were met by some very weak and irregular defenses, it was ascertained that the whole was a mistake, that the limestone was of very recent formation, that the skeletons were of well-known Indian tribes, and agitation ceased. A similar commotion was raised when the supposed imprints of human feet on limestone had been figured and described in the American Journal of Science; and Christians met strange infidel hypotheses by feeble assertions, until Dr. Dale Owen proved the imprints to have been sculptured by an Indian tribe. Thereafter, for a season, the scientific inquirer and the theological student prosecuted their respective investigations in peace. There are important lessons for us in these, and in many similar facts. Christian apologists have often egregiously erred, not only in hastily accepting statements as to supposed facts, but in admitting the validity of the reasoning which has been eagerly founded on them, and in making a fruitless attempt to twist scripture into harmony with what science itself has subsequently disowned. Facts ill observed, and afterward misstated, have drawn many of our best and most candid students into unnecessary collision with biblical critics; and, after much heat in controversy, and the waste on both sides of much intellectual energy, the obstacle lying between them has unexpectedly vanished in the fuller light of science. The evil to be deplored is, that after the errors have disappeared their influence remains. The imprint often lingers after the counterfeit die has been broken.
3. There is a constant tendency on the part of discoverers to invest new facts with a fictitious interest, and those who are hostile to the Bible eagerly parade them for the discomfiture of Christians. Every fact is to be welcomed, but it is to be treasured up only that it may be adjusted to other facts, and become in part the foundation of a new truth. Isolated and unexplained facts have been too often unceremoniously dragged in to give testimony against some scripture statement, and have too easily been held sufficient to push aside those accumulated evidences to its truth, which history, or science, or both, had indisputably established. It is not, indeed, surprising that the faith of many young men has failed, when they have observed the too ready acquiescence of prominent Christian writers in theories which necessitate the abandonment of some of the impregnable fortresses which have been raised by exact scholarship around those portions of scripture which had longest been exposed to the fiercest assaults. Were this method common, no permanent foundation could be laid, and progress in any science would be impossible. Is it not absurd to be displacing cornerstones, and disowning, at random, first principles? No system of philosophy, no science, not even mathematical, the exactest, and in one sense the most permanent of all the sciences, could have any weight or make the least progress if subjected to such changes in both its principles and their applications, as have marked the history of Bible assaults, concessions and defenses. When facts, which are utterly inexplicable are presented, we should retain the fact in science and also the relative statement in scripture, assured that in due time the solution will come.
[October 21.]
4. Neither accept nor offer apologies for the Bible. It has, of late, become common on the part of those who are alarmed by the temporary triumphs which scientific investigation has given to those who are avowedly hostile to the Bible, to demand that its propositions be altogether disassociated from both science and philosophy, on the plea that the Bible was not given to teach either the one or the other. The proposal is plausible, but it is really unnecessary, for although not given to teach physical science, the Bible can not contradict either its facts or its legitimate inferences. The word of God can not be regarded as by any possibility contradicting the just lessons of his works. Like every other book, the Bible must bear all the light that can fall on its pages; and it must not only stand the tests of criticism and history, but vindicate all its claims as the “more sure word of prophecy.” Otherwise, appeals for leniency are profitless. True, in its highest connections, the Bible is unapproachable by other books; it is easily distinguishable from them all; yet in its human relations it must submit to all the ordinary appliances of scholarship. No apologies can justify a single error in either its science or its history, and its propositions are obviously inadmissable if they contradict human reason; they may be above, but they can not be opposed to it.
5. Akin to an easy escape from difficulties, through apologies for the Bible, is the tendency to glide into conclusions directly hostile. The prevailing activity of the age is so unfavorable to leisurely investigations as to facilitate the subtle advances of error. While many writers of the present day are as preëminently gifted, and as distinguished in the different departments of learning, as those of any preceding age; and while their reasonings and their conclusions are borne by the daily and the serial press to every man’s door, multitudes think and decide by substitute. They want leisure, and trust to others. Rapidity of locomotion, the chief physical feature of our time, betokens also its intellectual tendencies. Men read cursorily and decide rapidly. The daily newspaper is making book-study rarer than hitherto. It is felt in ten thousand instances to be distasteful or difficult. The subtle influence of the daily newspaper is telling on our thoughtfulness. We really seem to be approaching the fulfillment of Lamartine’s prediction, “Before this century shall have run out, journalism will be the whole press, the whole of human thought. Thought will not have had time to ripen, to accommodate itself into the form of a book. The book will arrive too late; the only book possible soon, will be a newspaper.”
As one result of this process, truth and error are often imperceptibly mingled. So swift is the transition from one fact and inference to another, that truth and error, like different colors blent into one by rapid motion, become so much alike, that few can separate them. Thus with every advance of truth, error is wafted forward. The seeds of future tares and wheat are being profusely scattered. It can not be denied, that while to almost every man’s door are daily wafted accurate records of passing history, of the discoveries of science, of the triumphs of art, and of the generalizations of philosophy, the same messengers no less sedulously exhibit, now faintly and now in the strongest light, every difficulty connected with the Bible, both real and imaginary, the boldest objections of historic criticism, the theories of speculative philosophy, the apparent contradictions of science and scripture, and the saddening conflicts of professing Christians. The constant diffusion of such influences does tell in the long run, not only on less active minds, but on the most energetic, and it renders easier of acceptance every erroneous conclusion.
But this incessant activity is a symptom of health. It augurs good. Rightly directed, it may strengthen character while it develops mental power, and gives a more exquisite appreciation of the just and true. But remember that everything depends on this rightness of direction; and to secure this, unfailing caution is required. The wind and tide which, rightly used, would hasten the voyager to his harbor, may, if unheeded, strand him on an unexpected shore; and those subtle forces, and those under-currents, which should have aided in guiding us to a satisfying intellectual and moral repose, may, through the thoughtlessness or the indolence that at the outset disregarded a slight divergence from the truth, almost but not altogether imperceptible, destroy our happiness through the shipwreck and the ultimate abandonment of our Christian faith.
6. Another common tendency in the wrong direction claims your attention. It manifests itself in repugnance to controversy or discussion in every form. Many shrink from it as unseemly, and seek escape in either solitude or study. While peace is in itself desirable, it is not always attainable. You cannot escape conflict by letting go the Bible; nor can you traverse any fields of science without entanglement in the intellectual struggles of disputants whose reasonings have sometimes but little of the calmness of philosophy. Nor is this to be regretted. The repose of meditation is not so bracing as the discipline of occasional contest for the truth.
[October 28.]
There are other advantages. The attrition of discussion often reveals and beautifies truths which would otherwise have remained unrecognized. Apathy or silence may shelter error without preserving truth. Intellectual indolence, bad for the world, is still worse for the Church. The highest life is demanded by the Bible, and, therefore, also the greatest activity. From intellectual warfare, the sciences and the scriptures have nothing to lose, but everything to gain. On Christian or skeptic, on prophet true or false, the Bible never enforces silence. It seals no thinker’s lip. “The prophet that hath a dream, let him tell a dream; and he that hath my word, let him speak my word faithfully. What is the chaff to the wheat? saith the Lord.” In the field of thought, nothing save the chaff perishes. Lost truths spring up again; and, beneath their spreading branches, vitiated reasoning, unsound criticism, and erroneous conclusions, ultimately decay as briers beneath the spreading oak.
There are those also who deplore discussion only because it raises questions hostile to the scriptures, and alarms the weak. This anxiety, though laudable, is fruitless. Vital questions are already discussed on all hands, and in every variety of aspect. There are disadvantages, but they are generally inseparable from the progress of truth.
It will be admitted on both sides, that while the extension of exact knowledge contracts the sphere of superstition, it enlarges at the same time the sphere of skepticism. Superstition may be displaced without Christianity becoming its substitute; there may be a high and an attractive civilization, based on science and its applications, which, in acknowledging the intellectual and moral supremacy of the Bible, and nothing more, may for a season destroy credulity, only to give fuller scope to no-belief, and to evoke ultimately an opposition to the Bible hitherto repressed or unknown. For such results we must be prepared; they are collateral, not essential or direct. They are, in fact, the price which we pay for our intellectual freedom. We are neither to falter nor hesitate because the increasing light, which is dissipating ignorance and extending the boundaries of truth, is at the same time indirectly opening to error a wider field for the distribution of her forces, revealing new weapons for her armory, and enabling her to seize and for a season to retain, positions hitherto unknown and unassailed. In the history of the physical sciences, and of archæological discovery, error has often rushed to the battlements of truth, and, seizing some detached or imaginary facts, has wielded them against the Bible, until the sciences have themselves expelled her, and repudiated her reasoning. Such agitation is not to be deplored; it conducts to stability, it evokes more good than evil, and not unfrequently has it happened that the superstition which long benumbed the Church, and the infidelity which aroused her, have yielded to the unexpected sway of some Bible truth, when a more definite meaning has been given to some natural law or Providential dispensation.
Those misunderstand the character of the Bible who suppose its safety lies in keeping it as far as possible from the rigorous investigations and the exact conclusions of science or philosophy. Such a method is indispensable. To pursue truth in one department, implies, or should imply, not only a love of truth in every department, but also a resolute purpose to discover and dislodge every error. Which of the sciences, as preserved from controversy, is entitled to cast the first stone at the others, or their students? “Philosophy and literature,” says Lord Kinloch, in an admirable work, “while professing to pursue truth in the composure of unruffled seclusion, and to be desirous of having it elicited by the healthy excitement of friendly debate, will protest against the dishonor of soiling their hands, or disarranging their robes in the turmoil of heated controversy; and least of all will they consent to be defiled with the mire or exposed to the perils of religious strife. This plea is false in fact, as it is futile in philosophy. It is in fact false; for literary and philosophical controversies have neither been few in number nor wanting in a keen and rancorous spirit. And, admitting that religious contentions have been still more rancorous and embittered, it is only what might be reasonably expected, on account of the higher interests at stake. The plea is, moreover, worthless on philosophical principles; for it eviscerates the distinction between truth and error of all meaning and value. Better not to admit the distinction at all, than, having admitted it in one instance, deny it in another; or, what is worse, depreciate its significance even to thought, and that too in the most important of its applications. All argument and all effort are forever at an end, unless truth,—yea, all truth,—be precious; so precious, that in the legitimate pursuit of it we may and ought to put forth our utmost strength; and in defense of it, when found, incur the utmost hazard.”
Do not be discouraged by apparently insurmountable obstacles. The boldest assertions and the most plausible reasonings need not disturb you. Difficulties seemingly insuperable have, in the past, suddenly evanished in the light of unexpected discoveries; and every science, you may rest assured, will hereafter show strength enough and light enough to purify its own temple and be its own interpreter. The past may be held to be prophetic of future solutions; and the sciences will be found not only correcting the mistakes and the arrogance of many of their students, but rebuking the too hasty concessions of Christian apologists, and either directly or indirectly revealing, at the same time, the impressiveness and the majesty of scripture truth.
[POLITICAL ECONOMY.]
By G. M. STEELE, D.D.