THE PAPER MULBERRY-TREE. THIS tree is a native of the east, and particularly of China and Japan, where it is employed in the manufacture of paper. The appearance of this useful tree is thus described. From a strong, branched, woody root rises a straight, thick, equal trunk, very much branched out, covered with a fat, firm, clammy, chestnut-coloured bark, rough without and smooth on the inside, where it adheres to the wood, which is loose and brittle, with a large moist pith; the branches and twigs are very fat, covered with a small down, or wool, of a green colour, inclining to purple. THE PAPER MULBERRY-TREE. Every year, when the leaves are fallen off, or in the tenth Japanese month, which answers to our December, the twigs are cut into lengths, not exceeding three feet, and put together in bundles, to be afterwards boiled in an alkaline ley. These faggots are placed upright in a large kettle, which must be well covered, and boiled till the bark shrinks so far as to allow about half an inch of the wood to appear naked at the top; when the sticks have been sufficiently boiled, they are taken out of the water and exposed to the air to cool; the bark is then stripped from the wood and dried, and laid up to be manufactured at a future time. When a sufficient quantity is collected, it is soaked in water for three or four days, and, when soft, the blackish skin which covered it is scraped off with a knife; at the same time also, the stronger bark, which is of full a year's growth, is separated from the thinner, which covered the younger branches, the former yielding the best and whitest paper, and the latter only a dark and indifferent sort. If there is any bark of more than a year's growth, it is likewise picked out and laid aside for the purpose of making a coarser description of paper. All knotty particles, and discoloured portions, are also picked out and laid on one side. After it has been sufficiently cleansed and separated, it must be boiled in clear ley. During the time it is boiling, it is kept constantly agitated with a strong reed: this part of the process must be continued until the bark has become so tender as to separate, when gently touched with the finger, into flocks and fibres. After the bark has been boiled, it has to be washed, and this part of the business is of no small consequence in paper-making, and must be managed with great judgment and attention; if it is not washed long enough, the paper will be strong and of a good body, but coarse and of little value. If, on the contrary, the washing has been continued too long, it will afford a whiter paper, but too spongy in its texture, and unfit to write on; so that the greatest care and judgment is necessary to avoid either extreme. The washing takes place in a running stream, the bark being placed in a sort of fan or sieve, which will let the water run through; it is stirred continually with the hands. until it becomes a delicately soft woolly pulp. For the finer sort of paper the washing must be repeated; but, in this case the bark must be put into a linen bag, instead of a sieve, for fear it should escape along with the water. The bark having been sufficiently washed, it is spread on a thick smooth wooden table, and beaten with a wooden mallet until it is sufficiently fine. The bark, thus prepared, is put into a narrow tub with a slimy infusion of rice and of a root called Oreni. It is then stirred with a thin clean reed, until the ingredients are mixed into a uniform liquid mass of a proper consistence; this succeeds better in a narrow tub, but the pulp is afterwards placed in a larger and wider-mouthed vessel. The moulds on which the paper is to be made are formed of the stems of bulrushes cut into narrow strips, instead of brass wire, as in Europe. Out of this larger vessel the leaves of paper are lifted, one by one, by means of the mould. Nothing remains now, but proper management in the drying of them. In order to this, they are laid up in heaps upon a table covered with a double mat, and a small piece of reed is placed between every leaf, which, standing out a little way, serves afterwards to lift them up conveniently, leaf by leaf. Every heap is covered with a small plank or board of the same shape and size as the paper, on which are laid weights, first, indeed, very small ones, for fear the leaves, being yet very wet and tender, should be pressed into a solid mass; but, by degrees, the pressure is increased, for the purpose of pressing out all the water. The next day, the weights are taken off, and the leaves lifted up singly, by the help of the small reeds already mentioned, and carried on the palm of the hand to a long rough plank, on which they are placed, and afterwards dried in the sun. THE manner in which corn is preserved in Morocco is deserving of mention. A subterranean cellar is dug seven reeds and straw, the bottom part being matted, and straw or eight feet in depth, the sides of which are covered with placed over it. The grain is then deposited, and well protected at top by straw being placed over it: the opening is covered by a large slab, over which the earth is heaped in a mound, to prevent the rain settling and entering. In these kind of granaries, or matamors, as they are called, and which are usually made on sloping ground, to secure them from damp, wheat and barley, I was informed, would keep perfectly good for five years, and other grain to a longer period. The largest matamors are at Rabat, and are capable of containing some hundred bushels.-Spain by SIR ARTHUR DE CAPELL BROOKE, 1835.] INSIGNIFICANCE OF THIS WORLD. THOUGH the earth were to be burned up, though the trumpet of its dissolution were sounded, though yon sky were to pass away as a scroll, and every visible glory which the finger of the Divinity has inscribed on it were extinguished for ever—an event so awful to us, and to every world in our vicinity, by which so many suns would be extinguished, and so many varied scenes of life and population would rush into forgetfulness,-what is it in the high scale of the Almighty's workmanship? A mere shred, which, though scattered into nothing, would leave the universe of God one entire scene of greatness and majesty. Though the earth and the heavens were to disappear, there are other worlds which roll afar; the light of other suns shines upon them; and the sky which mantles them, is garnished with other stars. Is it presumption to say, that the moral world extends to these distant and unknown regions? that they are occupied with people? that the charities of home and of neighbourhood flourish there? that the praises of God are there lifted up, and his goodness rejoiced in? that there piety has its temples and its offerings? and the richness of the Divine attributes is there felt and admired by intelligent worshippers? And what is this world in the immensity which teems with them; and what are they who occupy it? The universe at large would suffer as little in its splendour and variety by the destruction of our planet, as the verdure and sublime magnitude of a forest would suffer by the fall of a single leaf. The leaf quivers on the branch which supports it. It lies A breath of at the mercy of the slightest accident. wind tears it from its stem, and it lights on the stream of water which passes underneath. In a moment of time, the life, which we know by the microscope it teems with, is extinguished; and an occurrence so insignificant in the eye of man, and in the scale of his observation, carries in it, to the myriads which people this little leaf, an event as terrible and as decisive as the destruction of a world. Now, on the grand scale of the universe, we, the occupiers of this ball, which performs its little round among the suns and the systems which astronomy has unfolded-we may feel the same littleness, and the same insecurity. We differ from the leaf only in this circumstance, that it would require the operation of greater elements to destroy us. But these elements exist. The fire which rages within, may lift its devouring energy to the surface of our planet, and transform it into one wide and wasting volcano. The sudden formation of elastic matter in the bowels of the earth-and it lies within the agency of known substances to accomplish this-may explode it into fragments. The exhalation of noxious air from below may impart a virulence to the air that is around us; it may affect the delicate portion of its ingredients; and the whole of animated nature may wither and die under the malignity of a tainted atmosphere. A blazing comet may cross this fated planet in its orbit, and realize all the terrors which superstition has conceived of it. We cannot anticipate with precision the consequences of an event which every astronomer must know to lie within the limits of chance and probability. It may hurry our globe towards the sun-or drag it to the outer regions of the planetary system-or give it a new axis of revolution-and the effect which I shall simply announce, without explaining it, would be to change the place of the ocean, and bring another mighty flood upon our island's and continents. These are accidents which may happen in a single instant of time, and against which nothing known in the present system of things provides us with any security. They might not annihilate the earth, but they would unpeople it; and we, who tread its surface with such firm and assured footsteps, are at the mercy of devouring elements, which, if let loose upon us by the hand of the Almighty, would spread solitude, and silence, and death over the dominions of the world. Now, it is this littleness, and this insecurity, which make the protection of the Almighty so dear to us, and bring with such emphasis to every pious bosom the holy lessons of humility and gratitude. The God who sitteth above, and presides in high authority over all worlds, is mindful of man; and, though at this moment his energy is felt in the remotest provinces of creation, we may feel the same security in his providence, as if we were the objects of his undivided care. It is not for us to bring our minds up to this mysterious agency. But such is the incomprehensible fact, that the same Being, whose eye is abroad over the whole universe, gives vegetation to every blade of grass, and motion to every particle of blood which circulates through the veins of the minutest animal: that, though his mind takes into its comprehensive grasp immensity and all its wonders, I am as much known to him as if I were the single object of his attention; that he marks all my thoughts; that he gives birth to every feeling and every movement. within me; and that, with an exercise of power which I can neither describe nor comprehend, the same God who sits in the highest heaven, and reigns over the glories of the firmament, is at my right hand, to give me every breath which I draw, and every comfort which 1 enjoy.-CHALMERS. If we do at all believe in the views which Christianity Ir is only in the company of the good that real enjoyment A GENTLE REBUKE.-In the life of John Fox, author of As pride sometimes is hid under humility, idleness is often covered by turbulence and hurry. He that neglects his known duty and real employment, naturally endeavours to crowd his mind with something that may bar out the remembrance of his own folly, and does anything but what he ought to do with eager diligence, that he may keep himself in his own favour.-Idler. A PRECEPT OF ST. BERNARD'S-Lead a good life; that is, live regularly, sociably, and humbly: regularly as to yourself; sociably as to your neighbour; humbly as to your GOD. THE ORGANS OF SENSE. FIVE senses are generally attributed to the most perfect animals, viz. sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing, of which the eye, the nose, the tongue, and palate, the skin or general surface of the body, and the ear, are considered the appropriate organs. Every animal possesses one or more of these faculties, which enable it to maintain its connexion with the external world, and deprived of which it would, in fact, cease to be an animal. For had it no sensations, it would want all stimulus to action; but thought and motion are both action, and would both, therefore be extinct; and the animal, fixed to the spot, and insensible to all the objects by which it was surrounded, would cease to be an animal; it would be a plant. On the contrary, the more sensibility an animal possesses, the more energetic and frequent are its movements: the oyster, which in its perceptions is extremely limited, scarcely ever leaves the same place, its movements being chiefly confined to such muscular contractions as take place within its shell; while the bird, endowed with sensibility in a high degree, is always in action. It has even been thought that the same distinction might be extended to man, and that those who receive very lively impressions from their senses, exhibit also a greater portion of energy and activity. TOUCH is the most generally diffused of our senses, and the most generally useful. It enables us to acquire notions respecting the figure, size, weight, hardness, or softness, temperature, distance, &c., of bodies, and the great number of different objects to which it can be directed have caused, particularly of late years, a pretty general impression that it should be considered rather as many than as one sense. The use of the senses being to make us acquainted with the qualities of various objects, it became necessary that their organs should be placed in the surface of our bodies. The whole skin is, in man, an organ of touch. It consists essentially of two distinct layers, the dermis or true skin, which is internal, and the epidermis or scarf-skin, which is external. The former, which constitutes the immediate and proper envelope of the body, is formed of fine, pliant, and flexible scales, closely matted together, and perforated by innumerable vessels, for the purpose of carrying on the perspiration and absorption which takes place from the surface, as well as by the extremities of the nerves, which an inspection by the microscope shows rising through it. These nerves, therefore, constitute the internal part of the organ of sense in touch; but were they directly brought into contact with the objects of which they are to judge, they would, from their extreme sensibility, give us scarce any other perception than that of pain, which we know to arise when any sensation is carried to excess. To prevent this, therefore, the external part of the organ of touch is added, namely the scarf-skin, which is a fine transparent flexible envelope, placed over the entire body, completely insensible itself, and blunting the sensibility of the nerves of touch, by its thin membranous substance coming between them and the bodies touched. It is this scarf-skin which is removed by the application of a blister, and we well know what pain results from the simple exposure to the air of the unprotected ends of the nerves. The uses, then, of the two parts of the organ of touch are perfectly distinct, and they have this peculiarity, that the external is used to diminish the force of the impression before it reaches the internal, while in the eye and the ear the object seems to be to concenttrate and increase. Besides being an organ of touch, the skin is also meant to be an organ of protection. The conditions necessary for each of these ends are so inconsistent, that the one can only be perfected at the expense of the other; and as delicate sensibility is more important to man than to other animals, while these latter, being deprived of the resources afforded by reason, stand more in need of defence against external injury, we accordingly find that the skin is best adapted in man to convey the sense of touch, and in the lower animals for defence, and it is further adapted for this, by the addition of fur, bristles, hair, feathers, crust, shell, &c., all of which diminish its utility as a delicate organ of tact. When the latter condition, however, becomes again requisite, means are taken to ensure its presence, and the wide membraneous wings of the bat, thickly supplied with nerves, are so extremely sensitive, as to enable it by this means alone, even when its eyes are put out, to avoid numerous obstacles placed in its way. But the perfection of the sense of touch seems to be situated in the human hand, than which there is no organ more beautifully adapted for its exercise. Situated at the extremity of a long flexible lever, it can be easily applied and moved in all directions round the object to be examined; composed of several small bones (so many as twenty-seven), it obtains from their motions on each other, a sufficient degree of flexibility, which becomes much increased towards the end, where the division into separate fingers takes place;-supplied with nerves, numerous and highly sensitive, supported, particularly towards the ends of the fingers, by a soft pulpy cushion, which enables them to be applied with the greatest accuracy and effect, while they are stimulated and excited to act by the rush of blood to the fine vascular tissue in which they are imbedded,—the hand concentrates in itself every necessary qualification for exercising this sense in its greatest perfection, and must enable us to obtain perceptions far excelling in accuracy and clear: ness any that can be obtained through such organs as the lips, the paw, the tail, the claws, &c. of the lower animals. LAbridged from LORD's Popular Physiology.] Ir has been found that by mixing certain colouring substances with the food of animals, the bones will soon become deeply tinged by them. This fact was discovered account of the circumstances that led him to notice it. accidentally by Mr. Belchier, who gives the following Happening to be dining with a calico-printer on a leg of fresh-pork, he was surprised to observe that the bones, instead of being white as usual, were of a deep-red colour; and on inquiring into the circumstances, he learned that the pig had been fed upon the refuse of the dyeing vats, of madder. So curious a fact naturally attracted much which contained a large quantity of the colouring substance attention among physiologists; and many experiments were undertaken, with a view to ascertain the time required to produce this change, and to determine whether the effect was permanent, or only temporary. The red tinge was found to be communicated much more quickly to the bones of growing animals, than to those which had already attained their full size. Thus, the bones of a young pigeon deep scarlet in three days; while in the adult bird, fifteen were tinged of a rose colour in twenty-four hours, and of a days were required merely to produce the rose colour. The dye was more intense in the solid parts of those bones which were nearest to the centre of circulation, while in bones of equal solidity, but more remote from the heart, the tinge was fainter. The bone was of a deeper dye in proportion to the length of time the animal had been fed became gradually more faint, till it entirely disappeared. upon madder. When this diet was discontinued, the colour -ROGET. A VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD. EMBLEM of eternity, Unbeginning endless sea! Let me launch my soul on thee. Sail, nor keel, nor helm, nor oar, Need I, ask I, to explore Thine expanse from shore to shore. Eager fancy, unconfined Next on lonely Labrador, Let me hear the snow-falls roar, But a brighter vision breaks -These my spirit soon forsakes, Where our fathers once were free, -Trees of life, with fruits of gold! South America expands And a nobler race arise, Stretch their limbs, unclose their eyes, The immense Pacific smiles Rays from rock to rock it darts, Pale Siberia's deserts shun, From Kamtschatka's headlands run, -They are but dead seas of man. Pass we now New Holland's shoals, -World of undiscover'd souls! Let not brutes look down on thee. Either India next is seen, War, disguised as commerce, came Though Arabia charge the breeze Cape of Storms, thy sceptre's fled, Mammon's plague-ships throng the waves; -Slaves turn'd despots hold the helm. Lebanon and Carmel shorn, Zion trampled down with scorn. -Look well, tyrants, to your chains. Shake thy locks; thy cause is just; Elbe nor Weser tempt my stay; I have seen them, one by one, While I bid them all be blest; Britain, thou'rt my home, my rest; My own land I love thee best.-MONTGOMERY. THE GREAT BIRD OF PARADISE. (Paradisea major.) THIS is the common or great Bird of Paradise,— Paradisea apoda of Linnæus, and Paradisea major of Shaw. The length of the bird is usually two feet, measuring from the bill to the tip of the inside feathers. This beautiful creature has been in Mr. Beale's possession nine years, and was originally procured from the Island of Bouro, (one of the Molucca group). The account of this bird having no legs, being constantly on the wing, and in the air, on which it lived, are, of course, perfectly fabulous: to support this account, however, the legs of the bird were always cut off when the preserved specimens were offered for sale. Another reason for cutting off the legs is, that the birds are found to be more easily preserved without them; besides that the Moors 56 THE SATURDAY MAGAZINE. wanted the birds without legs, in order to put them, creation. The neck of this bird is of a beautiful canaryyellow colour, blending gradually into the fine chocolate colour of the other parts of the body; the wings are very short, and of a chocolate colour. Underneath them, long, delicate, and gold-coloured feathers proceed from the sides in two beautiful and graceful tufts, extending far beyond the tail, which is also short and of a chocolate colour, with two very long shafts of the same hue. At the base of the mandibles, the delicate plumage has, during one time, (according as the rays of light are thrown upon it,) the appearance of a fine black velvet, and at another a very dark green, which contrasts admirably with the bright emerald of the throat. There is nothing abrupt or gaudy in the plumage of this bird; the colours harmonize in the most elegant manner, and the chasteness does not fail to excite our admiration. The mandibles are of a light blue, i: ides bright yellow, and the feet of a lilac tint. This elegant creature has a light, playful, and graceful manner, with an arch and impudent look; dances about when a visiter approaches the cage, and seems delighted at being made an object of admiration. Its notes are very peculiar, somewhat resembling the cawing of the raven, but far more varied. It washes itself regularly twice daily, and after having performed its ablutions, throws its delicate feathers up nearly over the head, the quills of which feathers have a peculiar structure, so as to enable the bird to effect this object. Its food during confinement is boiled rice, mixed up with soft egg, together with plantains and living insects of the grasshopper tribe. It will eat insects when in a living state, but will not touch them when dead. I observed the bird, previously to eating a grasshopper, given him in an entire or unmutilated state, place the insect upon the perch, keep it firmly fixed &c., devour it with the head always placed first. with the claws, and divesting it of the legs, wings, A drawing of the bird, of the natural size, was This was taken one made by a Chinese artist. morning to the original, who paid a compliment to the artist by considering it one of his own species. The bird advanced steadfastly towards the picture, uttering at the same time its cawing congratulatory notes; it did not appear excited by rage, but pecked gently at the representation, jumping about the perch, knocking its mandibles together with a clattering noise, and cleaning them against the perch, as if After the trial of the picture, a looking-glass was welcoming the arrival of a companion. brought, to see what effect it would produce upon the bird, and the result was nearly the same; he regarded the reflection of himself most steadfastly in the mirror, never quitting it during the time it remained before him. From BENNET's Wanderings in Polynesia. THE GREAT BIRD OF PARADISE. LONDON: Published by JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND; and sold by all Booksellers. |