ENTOMOLOGIST AND BOTANIST. 



247 



§0tantnd gi^pHrtmcnt. 



Du. liliOliOiK VASEY, EoniiH, IticlivifW, 11!.-; 



THE LEAF AS A WORKEli. 



\\\- lioiist of our rich soil, of our uiuiiiiificoMt 

 foivsts, of our niouslcr crops, of oiiv vnsi deposits 

 of coal that energizes macliincry in ;i tliousand 

 ways, but where is the worker tliat made for us 

 t his deep, rich aUuviuni — those vast crops of corn 

 and wheat— that covered tlie plain with tlie lux- 

 uriant grass and beauteous flowers — (hat builds 

 up the great forests — that made the inexhaust.i- 

 l)le coal beds? Where is the maker of all these':' 

 Can the chemist determine':' Can the philosopher 

 (ell us what, and when, and how':" Have these 

 l)rivilegcd interrogators of nature seen and 

 known? We have all seen ; wc may all know. 



Tlie green leaf is the laborer, the worker. And 

 looking out npon tlie face of the broad earth, 

 there is not a tree or shrub, from the gigantic 

 cedars of California to the most delicate moss 

 cup, but has been built ui) by this green leaf. 

 Away down the ages, anticipating man's wants, 

 it lias built up, and stored away in the caverns 

 of the earth, the eoal that cheers our homes— that 

 urges the steamship through the storm and wave 

 — that drives our locomotives with fearful speed 

 over the continent— that energizes machinery in 

 a thousand forms, and for a thousand ends, in 

 our great manufactories. More than tliis, the 

 whole animal creation depends for its existence, 

 directly or indirectly, upon this apparently fi'el)le 

 instrument — this fragile agent. Utterly de-troy 

 the whole human race — let it be annihilated from 

 the face of the earth — and the course of nature 

 need not necessarily be radically changed — a 

 little readjustment, a little reconstruction, would 

 be all that is necessary. 



But strip from the tree and shrub and herb 

 the leaf (the trees and shrubs themselves may be 

 left untouched), and the whole organic world 

 would be utterly, completely destroyed. No 

 beast would walk the plain or roam the forest — 

 no bird float in the air — uo fish would people the 

 ocean, or lake or stream— no insect hum — no 

 verdure bloom. The streams even would be 

 dried up, aud the broad earth's face would be 

 one vast desert. The organic would die, and 

 naught be left but the dead, pulseless, inorganic 

 worl'l — ^eveu as it was myriads of ages ago, at 

 the evening of the second day. 



Verily the green leaf is Uw. Alma Jfnior of the 

 organic world. 



The leaf supplies ns with food, with material 

 for covering (yon know our first parents made 

 a slior! ~liill t<i acc-oMii)lisli this), and it pumps 

 up tlie water from (he earth and sends it down 

 the uiouul;iiii sides in cooling streams, and wa- 

 ters the broad plain, iind gives drink to tlie 

 thirsty. It Curiiishes us with the very air we 

 breathe. 



How passing -trang. : The loroniotive. that 

 mighty beast, with nerves ..f steel and sinews of 

 brass, plunging througli the f(U-es!. thuiiileriug 

 over tlie iilain, with a rush and roar, while the 

 leaf sways and trenililes :ii its approach, though 

 it made, wnnight out. the very fuel that gives it 

 power. The rain that falls in plenteous showers. 

 refreshing the earth and gladdening the hus- 

 bandman, was drawn up from the nether earth, 

 aud sent out into the ethereal medium, in parti- 

 cles so small, that the eye could not see them — 

 so subtle that even gravity could not seize on 

 and hold them. The food we eat, whether ani- 

 mal or vegetable, the leaf has elaborated tor 

 us, and oiu' dress, whether it be of cotton or 

 wool, or the skins of beasts, the leaf has woven 

 for us. The air we breallie \va- prepiinM lor us 

 by this little leaf. But the-e an- oiilv a--erlious. 

 Tell us how (he leaf work-. 



Lei us. then, consider the leat a^ a N-urker. 

 Let us li'ani irlnit it docs, and hoir it does it. 

 In the first place, let us fully understand what 

 we mean b_\- worker— ov let us agree as to the 

 definition of the term. To illustrate. Ave say of 

 the locomotive, that it performs u eertuiii auiount 

 of labor, it turns so many wheel-. (hi\ e- ^o many 

 looms, draws so many cars so uiaiiy miles an 

 hour — we speak of it as a worker. So, too, of 

 man — we speak of him as a worker. He per- 

 forms so miu'h labor, physical or mental. Yet 

 the locomotive, with all its ponderous liars, its 

 'mysterious valves, its great levers, its hidden 

 springs, can do nothing. It is dead, inert metal. 

 True, too. of man — that wonderful combination 

 of bones aud muscles and nerves and tissues — 

 can do nothing — but decay, aud be resolved to 

 dust again. The braiu cannot think, the e\e 

 cannot see, the ear cannot hear, the nerves can- 

 not thrill, the muscle cannot contract. 



In the sa7ne sense the leaf can do nothing. Yet 

 in the same sense, that a locomotive can draw a 

 train, or that man can think, and labor, is the 

 leaf ii laborer that outworks them all. The loco- 

 motive is a combination of material things so 

 ari-anged that through or by them, we discover 

 the operations of force. Man himself is nothing 

 more. The leaf is the same. Better, perhaps, 

 that we say that these are the workshop, wherein 

 force exhibits itself, and produces results. When 



