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views, which were nevertheless the result of the stimulus he himself had given to geological investigations.

But Von Buch was indefatigable. For years he lived the life of an itinerant geologist. With a shirt and a pair of stockings in his pocket, and a geological hammer in his hand, he traveled all over Europe on foot. The results of his foot journey to Scandinavia were among his most important contributions to geology. He went also to the Canary Islands; and it is in his extensive work on the geological formations of these islands that he showed conclusively not only the Plutonic character of all unstratified rocks, but also that to their action upon the stratified deposits the inequalities of the earth's surface are chiefly due. He first demonstrated that the melted masses within the earth had upheaved the materials deposited in layers upon its surface, and had thus formed the mountains.

No geologist has ever collected a larger amount of facts than Von Buch, and to him we owe a great reform not only in geological principles, but in methods of study also. An amusing anecdote is told of him, as illustrating his untiring devotion to his scientific pursuits. In studying the rocks, he had become engaged also in the investigation of the fossils contained in them. He was at one time especially interested in the Terebratulae, certain fossil shells found in great abundance in all stratified rocks, and one evening in Berlin, where he was engaged in the study of these remains, he came across a notice in a Swedish work of a particular species of that family which he could not readily identify without seeing the original specimens. The next morning Von Buch was missing, and as he had invited guests to dine with him, some anxiety was felt on account of his non-appearance. On inquiry, it was found that he was already far on his way to Sweden: he had started by daylight on a pilgrimage after the new, or rather the old, Terebratula. I tell the story as I heard it from one of the disappointed guests.

All great natural phenomena impressed him deeply. On one occasion it was my good fortune to make one of a party from the "Helvetic Association for the Advancement of Science" on an excursion to the eastern extremity of the Lake of Geneva. I well remember the expressive gesture of Von Buch, as he faced the deep gorge through which the Rhone issues from the interior

of the Alps. While others were chatting and laughing about him, he stood for a moment absorbed in silent contemplation of the grandeur of the scene, then lifted his hat and bowed reverently before the mountains.

Next to Von Buch, no man has done more for modern geology than Elie de Beaumont, the great French geologist. Perhaps the most important of his generalizations is that by which he has given us the clue to the limitation of the different epochs in past times by connecting them with the great revolutions in the world's history. He has shown us that the great changes in the aspect of the globe, as well as in its successive sets of animals, coincide with the mountain upheavals.

I might add a long list of names, American as well as European, which will be forever honored in the history of science for their contributions to geology in the last half century. But I have intended only to close this chapter on mountains with a few words respecting the man who first investigated their intimate structural organization, and established methods of study in reference to them now generally adopted throughout the scientific world. In my next article I shall proceed to give some account of special geological formations in Europe, and the gradual growth of that continent.


LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. Born at Germantown, Pennsylvania, November 29, 1832; died in Boston, March 6, 1888. Her most famous and popular work was "Little Women," which has been translated into many languages. "An Old-fashioned Girl," "Little Men,” and “Jo's Boys" are other noted books. Her best-known poem is "Thoreau's Flute." It is not too much to say that Miss Alcott's cheery humor and sympathy with child life revolutionized juvenile literature. Her name is greatly endeared to children. There is an abiding charm in her books, and in the public libraries they are constantly "worn out."


WE, sighing, said, "Our Pan is dead;

His pipe hangs mute beside the river;

Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,
But Music's airy voice is fled.
Spring mourns as for untimely frost;

The bluebird chants a requiem;
The willow-blossom waits for him;-
The Genius of the wood is lost."

Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath:
"For such as he there is no death; -
His life the eternal life commands;
Above man's aims his nature rose:
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent,
And tuned to poetry Life's prose.

"Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,
Swallow and aster, lake and pine,
To him grew human or divine, —
Fit mates for this large-hearted child.
Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,
And yearly on the coverlid

'Neath which her darling lieth hid Will write his name in violets.

"To him no vain regrets belong,

Whose soul, that finer instrument, Gave to the world no poor lament, But wood-notes ever sweet and strong. O lonely friend! he still will be

A potent presence, though unseen, — Steadfast, sagacious, and serene: Seek not for him, he is with thee."

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THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. Born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, November 11, 1836; died in Boston in 1907. Early engaged in mercantile life in New York, he removed to Boston when thirty years old and became editor of Every Saturday. Later he was for some years editor of the Atlantic Monthly. Author of "The Ballad of Babie Bell and Other Poems," “Cloth of Gold,” “Flower and Thorn," "The Story of a Bad Boy," "Marjorie Daw," "Prudence Palfrey," "The Queen of Sheba," "The Stillwater Tragedy," "An Old Town by the Sea." Aldrich achieved distinction both as a poet and as a prose writer. His work is characterized by a bright, dainty humor, a keen dramatic sense, a swift upgathering of the points that interest the reader, and by an "art concealing art” even in that which is in reality highly elaborated.

(The following selections are used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, the publishers.)



NEAR the Levee, and not far from the old French cathedral in the Place d'Armes, at New Orleans, stands a fine date-palm, thirty feet in height, spreading its broad leaves in the alien air as hardily as if its sinuous roots were sucking strength from their native earth.

Sir Charles Lyell, in his "Second Visit to the United States," mentions this exotic: "The tree is seventy or eighty years old; for Père Antoine, a Roman Catholic priest, who died about twenty years ago, told Mr. Bringier that he planted it himself, when he was young. In his will he provided that they who succeeded to this lot of ground should forfeit it if they cut down the palm."

Wishing to learn something of Père Antoine's history, Sir Charles Lyell made inquiries among the ancient creole inhabitants of the faubourg. That the old priest, in his last days, became very much emaciated, that he walked about the streets like a mummy, that he gradually dried up, and finally blew away, was the meager and unsatisfactory result of the tourist's


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