Evening at Home 56
Har._ I can see them.
_Geo._ And so can I.
_Tut._ The pistils are succeeded by a sort of fruit, which is a
twin-seed joined in the middle, as you may see in this rundle that is
past flowering. Here I divide one of them into two.
_Geo._ Would each of these grow?
_Tut._ Yes. Well, this is the structure of the flowering part of the
umbelliferous tribe. Now for the leaf. Pluck one.
_Har._ Is this one leaf, or many?
_Tut._ It is properly one, but it is cut and divided into many portions.
From this mid-rib spring smaller leaves set opposite each other; and
from the rib of each of these proceed others, which themselves are also
divided. These are called doubly or trebly pinnated leaves; and most of
the umbelliferous plants, but not all, have leaves of this kind.
_Har._ It is like a parsley-leaf.
_Tut._ True—and parsley is one of the same tribe, and hemlock and others
are sometimes mistaken for it.
_Geo._ How curiously the stalk of this hemlock is spotted!
_Tut._ Yes. That is one of the marks by which it is known. It is also
distinguished by its peculiar smell, and by other circumstances which
you can only understand when you have compared a number of the tribe. I
will now tell you about some others, the names of which you are probably
acquainted with. In the first place, there are carrots and parsnips.
_Har._ Carrots and parsnips!—they are not poisons, I am sure.
_Geo._ I remember, now, that carrots have such a leaf as this.
_Tut._ They have. It is the _roots_ of these, you know, that are eaten.
But we eat the _leaves_ of parsley and fennel, which are of the same
class. Celery is another, the _stalks_ of which are chiefly used, made
white by trenching up the earth about them. The stalks of angelica are
used differently.
_Har._ I know how—candied.
_Tut._ Yes. Then there are many of which the _seeds_ are used. There is
caraway.
_Har._ What, the seeds that are put into cakes and comfits?
_Tut._ Yes. They are warm and pungent to the taste; and so are the seeds
of many others of the umbelliferous plants, as coriander, fennel, wild
carrot, angelica, anise, cummin, and dill. All these are employed in
food or medicine, and are good in warming or strengthening the stomach.
_Har._ Those are pleasant medicines enough.
_Tut._ They are; but you will not say the same of some others of the
class, which are noted medicines too; such as the plant yielding
asafœtida, and several more, from which what are called the fetid gums
are produced.
_Geo._ Asafœtida!—that’s nasty stuff, I know; does it grow here?
_Tut._ No; and most of the sweet seeds I before mentioned come from
abroad too. Now I will tell you of some of the poisons.
_Har._ Hemlock is one that we know already.
_Tut._ Yes. Then there is another kind that grows in the water, and is
more poisonous, called water-hemlock. Another is a large plant growing
in ditches, with leaves extremely like celery, called hemlock-dropwort.
Another, common in drier situations, and distinguished by leaves less
divided than most of the class, is cow-parsnip, or madnep. Of some of
these the leaves, of others the root, is most poisonous. Their effects
are to make the head giddy, bring on stupidity or delirium, and cause
violent sickness. The Athenians used to put criminals to death by making
them drink the juice of a kind of hemlock growing in that country, as
you may read in the life of that excellent philosopher, Socrates, who
was killed in that manner.
_Har._ What was he killed for?
_Tut._ Because he was wiser and better than his fellow-citizens. Among
us it is only by accident that mischief is done by these plants. I
remember a melancholy instance of a poor boy, who, in rambling about the
fields with his little brothers and sisters, chanced to meet with a root
of hemlock-dropwort. It looked so white and nice, that he was tempted to
eat a good deal of it. The other children also ate some, but not so
much. When they got home they were all taken very ill. The eldest boy,
who had eaten most, died in great agony. The others recovered, after
suffering a great deal.
_Geo._ Is there any way of preventing their bad effects?
_Tut._ The best way is to clear the stomach as soon as possible by a
strong vomit and large draughts of warm water. After that, vinegar is
useful in removing the disorder of the head.
_Har._ But are the roots sweet and pleasant, that people should be
tempted to eat them?
_Tut._ Several of them are. There is a small plant of the tribe, the
root of which is much sought after by boys, who dig for it with their
knives It is round, and called earth-nut, or pig-nut.
_Geo._ But that’s not poison, I suppose?
_Tut._ No; but it is not very wholesome. I believe, however, that the
roots of the most poisonous become innocent by boiling. I have heard
that boiled hemlock roots are as good as carrots.
_Geo._ I think I should not like to eat them, however. But pray, why
should there be any poisons at all?
_Tut._ What we call poisons, are only hurtful to particular animals.
They are the proper food of others, and no doubt do more good than hurt
in the creation. Most of the things that are poisonous to us in large
quantities, are useful medicines in small ones; and we have reason
bestowed upon _us_, to guard us against mischief. Other animals, in
general, refuse by instinct what would prove hurtful to them. You see
beneath yonder hedge a great crop of tall flourishing plants with white
flowers. They are of the umbelliferous family, and are called wild
cicely, or cow-weed. The latter name is given them, because the cows
will not touch them, though the pasture be ever so bare.
_Har._ Would they poison them?
_Tut._ Perhaps they would: at least they are not proper food for them.
We will go and examine them, and I will show you how they differ from
hemlock, for which they are sometimes mistaken.
_Geo._ I should like to get some of these plants, and dry them.
_Tut._ You shall, and write down the names of them all, and learn to
know the innocent from the hurtful.
_Geo._ That will be very useful.
_Tut._ It will. Remember now the general character of the umbelliferous
plants. The flower-stalks are divided into spokes or umbels, which are
again divided into others, each of them terminated by a small,
five-leaved flower, having five chives and two pistils, succeeded by a
twin-seed. Their leaves are generally finely divided. You will soon know
them, after having examined two or three of the tribe. Remember, too,
that they are a _suspicious race_, and not to be made free with till you
are well acquainted with them.
HUMBLE LIFE; OR, THE COTTAGERS.
(_Mr. Everard and Charles, walking in the fields._)
_Mr. Everard._ Well, Charles, you seem to be in deep meditation. Pray,
what are you thinking about?
_Charles._ I was thinking, sir, how happy it is for us that we are not
in the place of that poor weaver whose cottage we just passed by.
_Mr. Ev._ It is very right to be sensible of all the advantages that
Providence has bestowed upon us in this world, and I commend you for
reflecting on them with gratitude. But what particular circumstance of
comparison between our condition and his struck you most just now?
_Ch._ O, almost everything! I could not bear to live in such a poor
house, with a cold clay floor, and half the windows stopped with paper.
Then how poorly he and his children are dressed! and I dare say they
must live as poorly too.
_Mr. Ev._ These things would be grievous enough to you, I do not doubt,
because you have been accustomed to a very different way of living. But
if they are healthy and contented, I don’t know that we have much more
to boast of. I believe the man is able to procure wholesome food for his
family, and clothes and firing enough to keep them from suffering from
the cold; and nature wants little more.
_Ch._ But, what a ragged, barefooted fellow the boy at the door was!
_Mr. Ev._ He was—but did you observe his ruddy cheeks, and his stout
legs, and the smiling grin upon his countenance? It is my opinion he
would beat you in running, though he is half the head less; and I dare
say he never cried because he did not know what to do with himself, in
his life.
_Ch._ But, sir, you have often told me that the mind is the noblest part
of man; and these poor creatures, I am sure, can have no opportunity to
improve their minds. They must be as ignorant as the brutes, almost.
_Mr. Ev._ Why so? Do you think there is no knowledge to be got but from
books; or that a weaver cannot teach his children right from wrong?
_Ch._ Not if he has never learned himself.
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