Evening at Home 44

Evening at Home 44

Pa._ He thought by what means the apple was brought to the ground.

 

_Lu._ Why, I could have told him that—because the stalk gave way, and

there was nothing to support it.

 

_Pa._ And what then?

 

_Lu._ Why, then it must fall, you know.

 

_Pa._ But why _must_ it fall?—that is the point.

 

_Lu._ Because it could not help it.

 

_Pa._ But why could it not help it?

 

_Lu._ I don’t know—that is an odd question. Because there was nothing to

keep it up.

 

_Pa._ Suppose there was not—does it follow that it must come to the

ground?

 

_Lu._ Yes, surely!

 

_Pa._ Is an apple animate or inanimate?

 

_Lu._ Inanimate, to be sure!

 

_Pa._ And can inanimate things move of themselves?

 

_Lu._ No—I think not—but the apple falls because it is forced to fall.

 

_Pa._ Right! Some force out of itself acts upon it, otherwise it would

remain for ever where it was, notwithstanding it were loosened from the

tree.

 

_Lu._ Would it?

 

_Pa._ Undoubtedly! for there only two ways in which it could be moved;

by its own power of motion, or the power of something else moving it.

Now the first you acknowledge it has not; the cause of its motion must

therefore be the second. And what that is was the subject of the

philosopher’s inquiry.

 

_Lu._ But everything falls to the ground as well as an apple, when there

is nothing to keep it up.

 

_Pa._ True—there must therefore be a universal cause of this tendency to

fall.

 

_Lu._ And what is it?

 

_Pa._ Why, if things out of the earth cannot move themselves to it,

there can be no other cause of their coming together than that the earth

pulls them.

 

_Lu._ But the earth is no more animate than they are: so how can it

pull?

 

_Pa._ Well objected! This will bring us to the point. Sir Isaac Newton,

after deep meditation, discovered, that there was a law in nature called

_attraction_, by virtue of which every particle of matter, that is,

everything of which the world is composed, draws toward it every other

particle of matter, with a force proportioned to its size and distance.

Lay two marbles on the table. They have a tendency to come together, and

if there were nothing else in the world they would come together, but

they are also attracted by the table, by the ground, and by everything

besides in the room; and these different attractions pull against each

other. Now, the globe of the earth is a prodigious mass of matter, to

which nothing near it can bear any comparison. It draws, therefore, with

mighty force, everything within its reach, which is the cause of their

falling: and this is called the _gravitation_ of bodies, or what gives

them _weight_. When I lift anything, I act contrary to this force, for

which reason it seems _heavy_ to me, and the heavier the more matter it

contains, since that increases the attraction of the earth for it. Do

you understand this?

 

_Lu._ I think I do. It is like a loadstone drawing a needle.

 

_Pa._ Yes; that is an attraction, but of a particular kind, only taking

place between the magnet and iron. But gravitation, or the attraction of

the earth, acts upon everything alike.

 

_Lu._ Then it is pulling you and me at this moment.

 

_Pa._ It is.

 

_Lu._ But why do not we stick to the ground, then?

 

_Pa._ Because, as we are alive, we have a power of self-motion, which

can, to a certain degree, overcome the attraction of the earth. But the

reason you cannot jump a mile high as well as a foot, is this

attraction, which limits the force of your jump, and brings you down

again after that force is spent.

 

_Lu._ I think, then, I begin to understand what I have heard of people

living on the other side of the world. I believe they are called

_antipodes_, who have their feet turned toward ours, and their heads in

the air. I used to wonder how it could be that they did not fall off;

but I suppose the earth pulls them to it.

 

_Pa._ Very true. And whither should they fall? What have they over their

heads?

 

_Lu._ I don’t know; sky, I suppose.

 

_Pa._ They have. This earth is a vast ball, hung in the air, and

continually spinning round, and that is the cause why the sun and stars

seem to rise and set. At noon we have the sun over our heads, when the

antipodes have the stars over theirs; and at midnight the stars are over

our heads, and the sun over theirs. So whither should they fall to more

than we?—to the stars or the sun?

 

_Lu._ But we are up, and they are down.

 

_Pa._ What is up, but _from_ the earth and _toward_ the sky? Their feet

touch the earth, and their heads point to the sky, as well as ours; and

we are under their feet, as much as they are under ours. If a hole were

dug quite through the earth, what would you see through it?

 

_Lu._ Sky, with the sun or the stars; and now I see the whole matter

plainly. But pray what supports the earth in the air?

 

_Pa._ Why, whither should it go?

 

_Lu._ I don’t know—I suppose where there was most to draw it. I have

heard that the sun is a great many times bigger than the earth. Would it

not go to that?

 

_Pa._ You have thought very justly on the matter, I perceive. But I

shall take another opportunity of showing you how this is, and why the

earth does not fall into the sun, of which, I confess, there seems to be

some danger. Meanwhile, think how far the falling of an apple has

carried us?

 

_Lu._ To the antipodes, and I know not where.

 

_Pa._ You may see thence what use may be made of the commonest fact by a

thinking mind.

 

 

 

 

NATURE AND EDUCATION.—A FABLE.

 

 

Nature and Education were one day walking together through a nursery of

trees. “See,” says Nature, “how straight and fine those firs grow—that

is my doing! but as to those oaks, they are all crooked and stunted:

that, my good sister, is your fault. You have planted them too close,

and not pruned them properly.”—“Nay, sister,” said Education, “I am sure

I have taken all possible pains about them; but you gave me bad acorns,

so how should they ever make fine trees?”

 

The dispute grew warm; and, at length, instead of blaming one another

for negligence, they began to boast of their own powers, and to

challenge each other to a contest for the superiority. It was agreed

that each should adopt a favourite, and rear it up in spite of the ill

offices of her opponent. Nature fixed upon a vigorous young Weymouth

pine, the parent of which had grown to be the mainmast of a man-of-war.

“Do what you will to this plant,” said she to her sister, “I am resolved

to push it up as straight as an arrow.” Education took under her care a

crab-tree. “This,” said she, “I will rear to be at least as valuable as

your pine.”

 

Both went to work. While Nature was feeding her pine with plenty of

wholesome juices, Education passed a strong rope round its top, and

pulling it downward with all its force, fastened it to the trunk of a

neighbouring oak. The pine laboured to ascend, but not being able to

surmount the obstacle, it pushed out to one side, and presently became

bent like a bow. Still, such was its vigour, that its top, after

descending as low as its branches, made a new shoot upward: but its

beauty and usefulness were quite destroyed.

 

The crab-tree cost Education a world of pains. She pruned and pruned,

and endeavoured to bring it into shape, but in vain. Nature thrust out a

bough this way, and a knot that way, and would not push a single leading

shoot upward. The trunk was, indeed, kept tolerably straight by constant

efforts; but the head grew awry and ill-fashioned, and made a scrubby

figure. At length, Education, despairing of making a sightly plant of

it, ingrafted the stock with an apple, and brought it to bear tolerable

fruit.

 

At the end of the experiment, the sisters met to compare their

respective success. “Ah, sister!” said Nature, “I see it is in your

power to spoil the best of my works.”—“Ah, sister!” said Education, “it

is a hard matter to contend against you—however, something may be done

by taking pains enough.”