ENTOMOLOGIST AND BOTANIST. 



247 



§0ln;nual g£|)Hrlmcnt. 



I)]i. (iKORGK VASEY, Editok, Uiohvicw, Ills 



THE LEAF AS A AVORKEK. 



Wc lioast of our rich soil, of our luauuitieciit 

 fort'sts, of our monster crops, oi' our vast deposits 

 of coal tliat energizes machinery in a lliousaiul 

 ways, but wliere is tlie worker tliat made for us 

 this deep, rich alluvium — these vast croi)s of corn 

 and wlieat — that covered the plain with the lux- 

 uriant jrrass and beauteous llowers — that builds 

 up the great forests — that made the inexhausti- 

 ble coal beds? Where is the uialcer of all these':' 

 Can the chemist determincV Can the philosopher 

 tell us what, and when, ami how? l]ave these 

 privileged interrogators of nature seen and 

 knoivn? We liave all seen; we may all k-n<ni\ 



Tlie green leaf is the laborer, the worker. And 

 looking out upon 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 up by this green leaf. 

 Away down tlie ages, anticipating- man's wants, 

 it lias built up, and stored away in the caverns 

 of tlic earth, the coal 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 

 (Uir great mamifactories. More than this, the 

 whole animal creation depends for its existence, 

 directly or iii"diieclly, upon this apparently feeble 

 instrument — this fragile agent. Utterly ib'stroy 

 tlie whole human race — let it be annihilated from 

 the face of the earth — aud the course of nature 

 need not necessarily be railically changed — a 

 little readjustment, a little reconstruction, would 

 be all that is necessary. 



But strip from the tree aiul shrub anil herh 

 the leaf (the trees and shrubs thcin.selves may be 

 left untouched), and the whole organic world 

 would be utterly, completely destroyed. No 

 lieast would walk the plain or roam the forest^ 

 no bird lloat in the air — no tish would people the 

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

 verdure bloom. The streams even would be 

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

 one vast desert. The organic would die. and 

 naught be left but the dead, pulseless, inoryanic 

 world — even as it Avas myriads of ages ago, at 

 the evening of the second day. 



Verily the green leaf is the Alma Mater of the 

 organic w'orld. 



The leaf supplies us with food, with material 

 for covering (you know our first parents mach' 

 a short shift to ac<'oinplish this), and it puiniis 

 up the water from the earth and sends it down 

 the mountain sides in cooling streams, and wa- 

 ters the hi-oad i)Iain. and gives drink to the 

 thirsty. It furnishes ns with the vci-y air we 

 breathe. 



IIow ]>assing- strange I The locomotive, that 

 mighty lieast. with nerves of steel and sinews of 

 brass, plunging Ihnnigh the forest, thundering 

 over the plain, with a rush and roar, whil(! the 

 leaf sways and (reniblo at its approach, thougli 

 it made, wrought out. the \-cry 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, 

 and sent out into the ethereal inediuni. in liarti- 

 cles so small, that tlie eye coidd not >ee them — 

 so subtle that even gravity could not seize on 

 and hold them. The food we eat. wlu'ther ani- 

 mal or vegetable, the leaf lias elaborated for 

 us, and our ib'css. whether it be of cotton or 

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

 for us. The air we breathe was prepared for us 

 by this little leaf. But these are only assertions. 

 Tell us how the leaf works. 



r.el ns. then, ecmsider the leat as a worker. 

 Let us learn wliat it does, and how it does it. 

 Ill the lirst lUace. let ns fully understand what 

 we mean by worker — or let us agree as to the 

 definition of the term. To illustrate, we say of 

 the locomotive, that it perlbrms a certain amount 

 of labor, it turns so many wheels, drives so many 

 looms, draws so many cars so many miles an 

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

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

 forms so much labor, jihysical or mental. Yet 

 the locomotive. Avitli all its ponderous bars, 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 and muscles and nerves and tissues — 

 can <lo nothing— but de<-ay. and be resolved to 

 dust again. The brain cannot think, the eye 

 cannot see. the ear cannot hear, tlii' nerves can- 

 not thrill, the muscle cannot contract. 



In the same sense the leaf can do nothing. Vet 

 in the same sense, that a locomotive can draw a 

 ''fridn, or that man can think, and labor, is the 

 leaf -A laborer that outworks (hem all. The loco- 

 niotivt^is a combination of material things so 

 arranged that through or by them, we discover 

 the operations of force. Man himself is nothing 

 more. The leaf is the same. Belter, iicrhaps. 

 that we say that these are tlie workshop, wherein 

 force o.xliibits itself, and produces results. When 



