"And is the eye all hollow, mother? or what is between the pupil and the place on the back part of the eye where the picture is painted, that you called--I forget what you called it, mother?"

"The _retina_, my dear, from a Latin word that means anything by which another thing is _held_ or _retained_, as this part of the eye holds or retains the picture of things. You ask me what is between the pupil and the retina. There are in the eye three different substances, called humours, all transparent. A transparent substance means anything that can be seen through. The first one, directly back of the pupil, is called the _acqueous_, from a Latin word, that means _watery_: it is a thin liquid, like water. The second, behind that, is called the _crystalline_ humour, from its clearness and brightness. It is formed like the gla.s.ses they use in telescopes, and is fastened at the edge by the delicate transparent substance that covers it, called a _membrane_.

The one beyond this, and next the retina, is called the _vitreous_ humour, from its resemblance to gla.s.s. All these substances a.s.sist in forming the images of objects on the back of the eye; but you are not old enough to understand how, at present, my child."

"Then, mother," said Catherine, "our eyes are as curious as grandfather's telescope, or as the camera obscura, that he gave us to see pictures with."

"They are far more curious my dear; and it is by imitating the eye that they can make them so well. I remember, Catherine, when your grandfather sent that camera obscura to you the other day, and your father showed you the pictures in it, that you and Lucy and James capered about the room with joy, saying, 'Oh, how good grandfather is to give us such a beautiful thing!'--and now, my dear, when you go into a garden and dance with joy at the sight of the flowers; when you look up with so much wonder and delight at the beautiful moon sailing through the clouds, and at the bright twinkling stars; when, after having been even one day away from your father and mother, you feel so happy at looking in our faces, and reading in them our love for you,--of whose goodness ought you to think? Who has given you eyes to see all these delightful things?

Whom should you then love? Of whom then should you speak, and say, 'Oh, how good He is?'"

Catherine felt and understood what her mother said, and answered her, that it was G.o.d.

"I have yet much more, my dear," said her mother, "to tell you about the eyes, that is very wonderful. This beautiful little round window grows larger and smaller as you want more or less light. When there is a great light, it contracts so as to take in but little; and when the light is faint, it becomes nearly twice as large, so as to take in more."

"Why, mother," said Catherine, "how can that be?"

"Shut the shutter," said Mrs. Nelson, "and then look in my eye." She did so; and she saw the pupil of her mother's eye grow larger and larger.

"Now open it," said her mother. She did so, and it gradually became smaller. "Oh, it is very curious," said Catherine. "But, mother, is not that pretty rim round the pupil of any use?"

"That is what it called the iris," answered her mother, "which is the latin name for _rainbow_, I suppose from some fancied resemblance to it. It is thought that by means of it the pupil of the eye is enlarged or contracted. If you remember, my child, the pain you feel in your eyes when you come from the dark suddenly into the light, you will understand the use of this, and see what a beautiful contrivance it is. In the dark your pupils become very large, so as to catch all the light they can.

When the light comes before they have time to grow smaller, they take in more light than they can bear without pain.

"There is another thing that you never thought of. You know that if your eyes were fixed fast, as your ears and nose are, you could only see straight forward, or you would have to keep your head twirling about continually. But the eye is set loose in the head, and surrounded with little muscles, things with which we can turn it up, or down, or in any way, just as we wish. You know how long it takes grandfather to fix his telescope; but our eyes are ready, quicker than we think.

"You perceive, my dear, that this beautiful and curious thing, the eye, is very delicate, and easily injured, and if anything destroys our sight, it is a great calamity, and that the eye ought to be carefully protected. And so you will find that it is. It is placed in a deep socket, surrounded by bone, and lined with something very soft. It shelves over on the upper part, so as to form the eye-bow, which is a great protection to it. It is important that it should be kept clear and bright, and there is a little vessel close to it, full of salt water, called tears, to wash it clean, whenever we open or shut the eye; and there is a little hole in the bone of the nose to carry off the water after it has washed the eye. Then it has a nice cover, which we call the eyelid, with a beautiful fringe on the edge of it to shut the eye up tight, away from the dust and air when we do not want to use it: and which, moves so quick, that it shuts up in an instant if anything touches or alarms the eye. Indeed, it seems to be always employed in watching over and protecting this precious instrument of knowledge.

"There is still another thing, my dear, to be remembered about the eye.

It is so made that sight is pleasant to it. The blue sky, the green gra.s.s, the flowers, the rainbow, all give it pleasure.

"A baby, you know, loves to look about, though it knows nothing. Our Father in Heaven has made it a great happiness to us merely to open our eyes upon the beautiful world he has made."

After a short silence, Catherine said to her mother, "You told me that these curious painters, as you call them, drew the pictures of everything in that wonderful book that you described. How is that done, mother?"

"All we know," answered Mrs. Nelson, "is, that the back part of the eye, where the pictures are painted is connected with the brain, and that by this means we become acquainted with the appearance of things."

WELL SPENT HOUR.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE UPAS, OR POISON TREE.

This curious and wonderful tree is found in the forests of Java; the gum which it yields is a rank poison, and, indeed, so strong and powerful is the poison of this tree, that the effluvia from it prevents any tree, plant, or shrub, from growing within ten or twelve miles of it. The country is perfectly barren; not a living thing, or even a blade of gra.s.s, is to be seen. The chiefs and grandees of the country poison the points of their arrows and daggers with the poison of this tree; but as it is certain death to approach the tree, the task of collecting the gum is given to people who have committed some very wicked act, and are condemned to suffer death. After sentence of death has been pa.s.sed on them, they are allowed to choose whether they will be executed, or go to the upas tree for a quant.i.ty of the gum.

"If they were to ask me, mamma, I would go to the tree."

"Many of them do go, Henry; but I believe not more than two out of twenty escape death. Before the criminals commence their journey, they are furnished with a box for the gum, a pair of very thick leather gloves, and a kind of leather cap, which is drawn over the face and reaches down to the waist. They wear this cap to prevent them as much as possible from inhaling the air, which, as I mentioned before, is poisonous for some miles round the tree; there are two gla.s.ses fixed in the cap, to enable them to see without removing it; they are usually accompanied by a priest for the first three miles of their journey, who, when he takes leave of them, blesses them, and informs them in which direction they are to travel, and also advises them to proceed as speedily as they can, as that is the only chance they have of saving their lives."

"I should think, mamma, it would be much better to do without poison, as it is only used to kill people."

"You are mistaken, Henry, in imagining that poisons are only used for so bad a purpose. Some of our most valuable medicines are poisons; but mixed with other drugs, and properly administered, they cure many painful diseases. Many poisonous herbs are also used in dying different colours. There is another poison tree, which grows in this country; it is found in damp, marshy places, and resembles the ash. It never grows very large. The wood of this tree is poisonous, if you either touch or smell it, but it is not fatal; the effects of the poison go off in a day or two. If a piece of the wood is put into the fire, the smell of it will poison some persons, and cause them to swell and itch all over, whilst others are not in the least affected by it, and can even taste the wood without being hurt by it. It is as cold as ice to the feel, so that if you take up a piece with a handful of other sticks, you would discover it immediately. Little children should be very careful never to pick or eat the berries of any tree. I have often heard of little boys being very ill, and even dying, from having eaten the berries of trees growing in the hedges, mistaking them for fruit."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

DISOBEDIENCE, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

"I want you to come over to our house, after dinner, and play with me,"

said Alfred Barlow, one Sat.u.r.day morning, to a little fellow, named Wilson Green. "Father has just put us up a swing. It is made with two ropes tied to a limb of the great oak tree, and has a basket at the bottom, big enough to hold two. And then we have got a good many other things to play with. Won't you ask your father to let you come?"

"Oh, yes! And I'll come right away after dinner," said Wilson, full of delight at the thought of spending an afternoon with Alfred.

When Wilson went home, he asked his father to let him go over to Mr.

Barlow's, and play with Alfred. But his father told him that he did not wish him to go there.

This was a sore disappointment to the little boy. He did not ask his reason why he refused to let him go; for this he knew would be of no use. But he was so very desirous of going, that he soon began to think about disobedience.

"He'll never know it," he said to himself, as he saw his father leave the house. "He never comes home from the mill until night, and I can be back long before that time."

Something whispered to Wilson that to disobey his father would be to do a very wicked thing; but he quickly turned from the warning thought, and in a little while determined that he would run over to Alfred Barlow's for a short time.

Wrong as this was, Wilson so far forgot his duty to his parents, as actually to go over to Mr. Barlow's very soon after his father had gone away. Instead, however, of spending the delightful afternoon as he had antic.i.p.ated, he found all the family in much alarm for Alfred's little sister, who had been taken very ill since morning. Of course, all thoughts of play were banished from the mind of Alfred, who loved little Anna very much, and could not be persuaded to leave her bed-side a moment.

As soon as Mrs. Barlow found Wilson in the chamber of her sick child, she told him that he had better run home, as the doctor feared that Anna had the scarlet fever, and she did not wish any of her neighbours'

children to be exposed to the danger of taking it.

Slowly did Wilson Green leave the house in which he promised himself so much delight, and turn his steps homeward with no very happy feelings.

He had disobeyed his father, deliberately, and got nothing for that disobedience but an exposure to a terrible disease, of which he might die.

When his father came home at night, he felt almost afraid to look at him in the face. It seemed as if he must know all about what he had done.

"Wilson, come here, my son;" he said, in a serious voice.

And Wilson went up to him with a sinking heart.

"When I told you, at dinner time, that I did not wish you to go and see Alfred Barlow," the father began, "I neglected to say, as a reason for denying your request, that Doctor Ayres had mentioned to me that little Anna was very sick, with all the symptoms of a dangerous attack of scarlet fever. This dreadful disease is thought by many contagious, and it was for this reason that I denied your request."

Wilson said nothing, but he was very unhappy. A frank confession of his fault arose to his tongue; but, before he could make it, his heart failed him. Not that he dreaded his father's displeasure so much as the distress his act of disobedience would give him.

For more than an hour that night, did the unhappy boy lie awake, after he had retired to bed, vainly regretting his act of wickedness and folly. It is said, "of wickedness," for deliberate acts of disobedience to parents are wicked. He was likewise troubled, lest he, too, should be attacked with scarlet fever, and die--and all because he had not obeyed his father.

On the next day, when he learned that the doctor had declared Anna Barlow's disease to be really the scarlet fever, and her case a very bad one, Wilson was more troubled than ever. How often did he wish that he had been an obedient boy. But no sorrow could recall the act.

It was several days afterwards, when the boy's fears had nearly all subsided, that he awoke one morning with a violent headache, a sore throat, and a general uneasiness, with considerable fever. The day afterwards, his skin became dry and burning, and his throat so sore that he could swallow only with great difficulty. On the third day the physician p.r.o.nounced the case one of decided scarletina, or scarlet fever, accompanied by some very alarming symptoms.