Biology The Dynamic Science 3rd

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Biology The Dynamic Science 3rd Edition Russell Test Bank

CHAPTER 2—LIFE, CHEMISTRY, AND WATER

MULTIPLE CHOICE

1. According to studies by Norman Terry and coworkers, some plants can perform a version of
bioremediation of selenium in wastewater by
a. converting selenium to a form that kills waterfowl.
b. using selenium to make a necessary supplement for humans.
c. converting selenium into a relatively nontoxic gas.
d. storing selenium in the soil.
e. increasing the selenium concentration in the water.
ANS: C PTS: 1 DIF: Easy
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Knowledge TOP: 2.0 WHY IT MATTERS

2. The laws of chemistry and physics that govern living things are ____ the laws of chemistry and
physics that govern nonliving things.
a. different from
b. the same as
c. roughly half the same as and half different from
d. mostly different from
e. mostly the same as
ANS: B PTS: 1 DIF: Easy
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Knowledge TOP: 2.0 WHY IT MATTERS

3. A substance that cannot be broken down into simpler substances by ordinary chemical or physical
techniques is a(n) ____.
a. molecule
b. chemical
c. compound
d. element
e. biological compound
ANS: D PTS: 1 DIF: Easy
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Knowledge
TOP: 2.1 THE ORGANIZATION OF MATTER: ELEMENTS AND ATOMS

4. Four elements make up more than 96% of the mass of most living organisms. Which of the following
is NOT one of those four elements?
a. sodium
b. carbon
c. oxygen
d. nitrogen
e. hydrogen
ANS: A PTS: 1 DIF: Moderate
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Knowledge
TOP: 2.1 THE ORGANIZATION OF MATTER: ELEMENTS AND ATOMS

21

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5. A trace element is one found in specific organisms in ____ quantities and is ____ for normal biological
functions.
a. moderate; unnecessary
b. moderate; vital
c. small; unnecessary
d. large; unnecessary
e. small; vital
ANS: E PTS: 1 DIF: Moderate
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Knowledge
TOP: 2.1 THE ORGANIZATION OF MATTER: ELEMENTS AND ATOMS

6. The smallest unit that retains the chemical and physical properties of an element is a(n) ____.
a. proton
b. compound
c. molecule
d. neutron
e. atom
ANS: E PTS: 1 DIF: Easy
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Knowledge
TOP: 2.1 THE ORGANIZATION OF MATTER: ELEMENTS AND ATOMS

7. The substance H2O is considered to be

a. both a molecule and a compound.
b. a compound but not a molecule.
c. neither a molecule nor a compound.
d. a molecule but not a compound.
e. a chemical but not biological molecule.
ANS: A PTS: 1 DIF: Easy
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Comprehension
TOP: 2.1 THE ORGANIZATION OF MATTER: ELEMENTS AND ATOMS

8. The substance O2 is considered to be

a. both a molecule and a compound.
b. a compound but not a molecule.
c. neither a molecule nor a compound.
d. a molecule but not a compound.
e. a chemical but not a biological molecule.
ANS: D PTS: 1 DIF: Moderate
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Comprehension
TOP: 2.1 THE ORGANIZATION OF MATTER: ELEMENTS AND ATOMS

9. An oxygen atom has ____ surrounding a nucleus composed of ____.

a. neutrons; electrons and protons
b. electrons; protons and neutrons
c. protons and electrons; neutrons
d. protons; neutrons and electrons
e. electrons and neutrons; protons
ANS: B PTS: 1 DIF: Easy
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Knowledge TOP: 2.2 ATOMIC STRUCTURE

22
 © 2014 Brooks/Cole, Cengage Learning

Use the figure above for the following question(s).

10. The mass number of the atom depicted in the figure is

a. 5.
b. 7.
c. 8.
d. 15.
e. 22.
ANS: D PTS: 1 DIF: Moderate REF: Figure 2.3
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Analysis TOP: 2.2 ATOMIC STRUCTURE

11. The atomic number of the atom depicted in the figure is

a. 5.
b. 7.
c. 8.
d. 15.
e. 22.
ANS: B PTS: 1 DIF: Moderate REF: Figure 2.3
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Analysis TOP: 2.2 ATOMIC STRUCTURE

12. The number of electrons for the atom depicted in the figure is
a. 5.
b. 7.
c. 8.
d. 15.
e. 22.
ANS: B PTS: 1 DIF: Easy REF: Figure 2.3
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Analysis TOP: 2.2 ATOMIC STRUCTURE

13. The number of neutrons for the atom depicted in the figure is
a. 5.
b. 7.
c. 8.
d. 15.
e. 22.
ANS: C PTS: 1 DIF: Easy REF: Figure 2.3
OBJ: Bloom's Taxonomy: Analysis TOP: 2.2 ATOMIC STRUCTURE

23
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any time they found the little girl apart, they not unfrequently indulged in
a game of romps.
Such was little Katrina, a playful, happy creature, in the midst of
shadows and gloom—the idol of all, and apparently the object in which
the affections of the parents, as well as the rest of the household were
centred. It was when she had reached the age of about six years, that an
incident occurred of the deepest interest. At the close of a summer
evening, a small sloop anchored in the river, near the house we have
described. A boat was let down, and a man, wrapped in a cloak, was
landed upon the beach. He proceeded to the mansion, and, inquiring for
the master, was conducted to the library. The room was vacant, but the
stranger sat down, and occupied himself in gazing around the apartment.
At length, the proprietor came, his countenance being marked with
something of anxiety. The stranger arose, laid aside his cloak, and stood
before his host. For a moment he did not speak; but, at last, he said, “You
pass, I understand, by the name of Hielder. I know your real name, and I
presume you know mine.”
“I know you not,” said Hielder, sternly.
“Then you shall know me,” said the stranger. “My name is Hieldover,
the victim of your perfidy, and I am here to avenge my wrongs.”
“This is a pretty tale,” said Hielder; “and you bear yourself bravely.
Perhaps you are one of Robert Kidd’s men, and have come here in search
of gold; but you have mistaken your errand. I have but to ring the bell,
and my servants will execute my will upon you.”
“This bullying will not answer your purpose,” said Hieldover;
“nothing shall turn me from my purpose, which is to extort from you the
fortune that you have obtained by the basest perfidy and fraud. You
pretend not to know me; I will refresh your memory. Fifteen years since
you were made my guardian at Amsterdam, by my father’s will. You
possessed yourself, by forgery, of my ample fortune. You departed from
the country in secrecy, and I was left a beggar. I have since been a
wanderer over the earth, and have known toil, and suffering, and sorrow,
while you have been revelling in the wealth which was mine. I have
traced you through the four quarters of the globe, and had sworn in my
heart to follow upon your track like the bloodhound, till I could find you
and bring you to justice.”
 During this speech, the pale countenance of Hielder was frequently
flushed with anger. At last, he said, sneeringly, “You have spoken freely
—have you done? If so, I will show you the door.” Hieldover seemed to
be on the point of giving vent to his rage; but he checked himself, and
said, “You deny my claim, then? You refuse to do me justice?”
“I have no answer to make,” said Hielder, “to an idle braggart.”
“Beware, then, of my vengeance,” said the other, clenching his fist,
and looking defiance in the eye of Hielder. He then took his leave.
This scene passed without the knowledge of any individual, except
the parties concerned. Yet for several days the master of the house
seemed even more gloomy than usual. He spoke little to any one, and
remained almost wholly in the seclusion of his library. After a month,
however, had passed away, he seemed to be restored to his former
condition, and resumed his wonted occupations. He seemed more than
ever devoted to his child, although he maintained his accustomed
sternness. For a time he would hardly allow the child to be out of his
presence, but at length the mother was permitted to resume her walks,
attended by her daughter.
One day, she went out in the morning, but did not return at the usual
hour. Some anxiety was excited, and the servants were sent forth in
search of their mistress and the child. They returned without being able
to find her. All was now alarm. Hielder himself went forth, and the
people were directed to scour the woods in every direction. They soon
brought tidings to their master that the lady was found, but the child was
missing. When discovered, she was insensible; but when she came to
herself, she stated that while she was walking in the woods, a stranger
suddenly sprung upon the child, and bore it away. He fled toward the
mountains, and she pursued till she swooned and fell to the ground. Here
she remained, in a state of insensibility, till she was taken up by the
people who were in search of her.

(To be continued.)

C M ’ D .—“Curran,” says Barrington, in his

memoirs, “once related, with infinite humor, an adventure between him
and a mastiff, when he was a boy. He had heard somebody say, that any
person, throwing the skirts of his coat over his head, stooping low,
holding out his arms, and creeping along backwards, might frighten the
fiercest dog, and put him to flight. He accordingly made the attempt on a
miller’s animal in the neighborhood, who would never let the boys rob
the orchard; but he found to his sorrow, that he had a dog to deal with,
who did not care which end of a boy went first, so that he could get a
good bite of it.
“‘I pursued the instructions,’ said Curran; ‘and as I had no eyes save
those in front, I fancied the mastiff was in full retreat, but I was painfully
mistaken; for, at the very moment I fancied myself victorious, the enemy
attacked my rear, and, having got a reasonably good mouthful of it, was
fully prepared to take another, before I was rescued.’”

N C .—In Scotland, at the entrance of the river Leven,

is a lofty rock, occupied as a castle. On the surface of this, there is a huge
figure, formed by nature, which makes an excellent profile of the
celebrated Duke of Wellington. It is an object that always attracts the
attention of the passengers of the steamboats, as they are passing the
castle.

“Be content with what you have,” as the rat said to the trap, when he
left his tail in it.
 Inundation of the Nile.

The River Nile.

T whole northeastern part of Africa consists of a mighty expanse of
desert sand, extending for upwards of a thousand miles in each direction.
The chains of wild and rocky mountains by which it is traversed, give
only a more rugged and dreary character to this immense waste. One vast
feature alone breaks this terrible monotony. From the high chains of
Abyssinia, and from the still loftier mountains of the moon, that traverse
Central Africa, descend numerous and ample streams, which, long before
entering Egypt, unite in forming the Nile, a river of the first magnitude.
Although the Nile in its whole progress through this desert does not
receive the accession of a single rivulet, it brings so vast an original store
as enables it to reach and pour a mighty stream into the Mediterranean.
For many hundred miles in the upper part of its course, confined between
high and rocky banks, it is merely bordered by a brilliant belt of fertility,
the sandy waste stretching indefinitely on both sides; this is Nubia.
After traversing the barrier of the cataracts, it passes through a
broader valley between mountains of some height, and on its banks are
many shaded or inundated tracts, which yield products of considerable
value; this is Upper Egypt. Emerging from these mountains, the Nile
enters a flat and extensive plain, where it separates, and by two great and
divided streams, with various intersecting branches, enters the
Mediterranean; this is Lower Egypt.
In the last part of its course, the Nile is nearly on a level with the
district which it intersects, and when swelled by the autumnal rains of
Central Africa, overflows it entirely. The waters begin to rise about the
18th or 19th of June, attain their greatest height in September, and
subside as gradually as they rise, and within about an equal space of
time. The land thus covered with the fertilizing alluvial deposit, collected
during so long a course, becomes the most productive, perhaps, on the
face of the globe; and notwithstanding its limited extent, and the mighty
wastes on which it borders, has always maintained a numerous
population.
Thus it appears that the fertility of Egypt is solely dependent on the
Nile, and that, but for this, it would be, like the rest of Africa in this
quarter, a sandy and desolate waste.
 The Old Man in the Corner.
.
There was once a learned man, or philosopher, who was fond of
prying into the works of nature, and every other source of knowledge. At
last he became vain of his great stores of information, and was somewhat
rash in forming his opinions.
One evening, as this philosopher was conversing with a friend, the
discourse turned upon the Bible, and the former declared that he did not
believe in it. A somewhat warm dispute ensued, in the course of which
the philosopher said that he rejected the Bible, because it contained many
doctrines which he could not comprehend; “and I make it a rule,” said he
emphatically, “never to believe anything which I cannot understand.”
It happened that there was a little girl in the room, the daughter of the
philosopher. She was about eight years old, and though of a lively and
playful turn, she was remarkably intelligent and observing. While the
father and his friend were engaged in conversation, she was occupied
with her toys upon the floor, and seemed absorbed in her sports. Yet she
listened to the discourse, and though she did not understand it all, yet she
caught the remark of her father which we have noticed above, and
treasured it up in her heart. She also noticed the inferences which her
father drew from the proposition to which we have alluded.
Without paying the least attention to the little girl, the gentlemen
pursued their conversation, and the philosopher declared, that, as he
could not understand how the death of Christ could contribute to the
salvation of the sinner, he rejected the doctrine of the atonement, as
unworthy of belief.
“It appears to me,” said his friend, “that if you reject everything
which you cannot wholly conceive or comprehend, you must not only
reject the Bible, but adopt the views of the atheist, and deny the
existence of a God.” The philosopher admitted the force of this
observation, and declared, that, as he had no sensible, or visible, proof of
the existence of the Deity, he disbelieved the existence of such a Being.
 Thus far the watchful ear and quick sense of the child caught and
comprehended the conversation, and as her mother had given her a
religious education, she was not a little startled and surprised at the
opinions which her father had uttered.
She said nothing about it, however, at the time, and two or three
weeks passed before she gave any indications of having noticed the
conversation. She was one day walking with her father, when they
chanced to discover a single violet—the first they had seen, for it was the
beginning of spring. She stooped down to pick it, but paused a moment,
and looking her father in the face, inquired, “What makes this little
flower grow, father?”
“The heat and moisture and the principle of vegetable life,” was the
reply.
“But how does it grow?” said she. “Can heat and water and seeds
make a flower?”
“It is the course of nature, my child,” said the philosopher.
“But I want to know,” said she, “what this course of nature is? I want
to know how it operates? Is nature alive? Has it power to make flowers?
and by what means does it work?”
“I cannot tell you, child,” was the answer. “We do not understand
these things,—we only know the fact that such things are.”
“Well, don’t you believe that the flower grows, father?” said the child.
“Certainly,” was the reply. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I heard you tell Mr. B., the other day, that you never
believed anything you could not understand.”
The philosopher here turned the conversation, and they walked on.
A few days after this the child was taken sick of a fever. As she lay
upon her bed, she could distinctly feel the beatings of her heart, which
shook her whole frame. Her father was by the bedside. Though suffering
from disease, the mind of the little girl was perfectly clear.
“What makes the heart beat?” said she to her father.
“It is the principle of life,” said he.
“And what is this principle of life?” said the child.
 “I cannot explain it to you,” said the philosopher; “we do not
comprehend it; we only know that there is such a thing, and that by its
impulse the heart beats and the blood circulates.”
“Put your hand on my breast,” said the child. The father did as
requested.
“Does not my heart beat, father?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“And yet you cannot comprehend how this is. You said we must
believe nothing which we cannot explain. Yet I know that my heart
beats, though you cannot tell me how, or why. Dear father, may I not
believe in a God, though I cannot comprehend his nature or existence;
and may I not believe in the Bible, and its wonderful doctrines, even
though they may be beyond my feeble reason?”
The philosopher stood rebuked, but again he turned the conversation.
The fever which had attacked the little girl proceeded in its rapid
course, and in a few days she drew near her end. As her spirit was about
to depart, she called, in a faint whisper, for her father. He placed his ear
near to her lips, and caught her last words; “Father, may I not believe
that Christ died for sinners? may I not believe, though I cannot fully
comprehend, the doctrine of the atonement?”
The philosopher wept, and answered, “Believe, my child; you have
conquered my unbelief!”
 The Hunting Leopard.
T handsome animal of the Cat family,—sometimes called the Ounce,
and also the Chetah,—is of the size of a large dog, and has a very long
tail. It is of a pale yellow above and white beneath,—the body being
marked with irregular black spots. It is of a slender make, and its agility
is surprising. It is less ferocious than the tiger, panther and true leopard;
and having blunted claws, like a dog, is used, in the southern parts of
Asia, for hunting the antelope and other game. It is a native, also, of
Africa, but it has never been trained for this purpose.
The chetah is chiefly used in hunting by the nobles of India. The
mode of proceeding is thus described. The animals are carried to the
field in low chariots, being tied and hooded. This is done in order to
deprive them of the power and temptation to anticipate the word of
command by leaping forth before the appointed time. When they are thus
brought within view of a herd of antelopes, which generally consists of
five or six females and a male, they are unchained, and their hoods are
removed, their keeper directing their attention to the prey, which, as they
do not hunt by smell, it is necessary that they should constantly have in
sight.
When this is done, the wily animal does not at once start forward
towards the object of his pursuit, but, seemingly aware that he would
have no chance of overtaking an antelope in the fleetness of the race, in
which the latter is beyond measure his superior, winds cautiously along
the ground, concealing himself as much as possible from sight, and,
when he has in this covert manner nearly reached the unsuspecting herd,
breaks forth upon them unawares, and, after five or six tremendous
bounds, which he executes with almost incredible velocity, darts at once
upon his terrified victim, strangles him in an instant, and takes his fill of
blood.
In the mean while the keeper quietly approaches the scene of
slaughter, caresses the successful animal, and throws to him pieces of
meat to amuse him and keep him quiet while he blinds him with the
hood, and replaces him upon the chariot, to which he is again attached by
the chain. But if, as is not unfrequently the case, the herd should have
taken the alarm, and the chetah should prove unsuccessful in his attack,
he never attempts to pursue them, but returns to his master with a
mortified and dejected air, to be again let slip at a fresh quarry whenever
a fit opportunity occurs.
 Conjugal Affection.
CHAPTER II.
[Concluded.]
V immediately saw the propriety of the latter suggestion, and on
the following day she disguised herself as a Moorish fruit-seller; and
with a basket of vegetables on her head, and her little daughter by her
side disguised in the same manner, she got admittance to the outward
wards of the castle; and while disposing of her fruit to the governor and
his dependants, got into conversation with the soldiery, from whom,
however, she could obtain none of the information she wanted.
Her whole time was now occupied by day in visiting the prison in the
disguise she had assumed; and at night in keeping up the correspondence
of so much importance. By this means, at the suggestion of Albert, she
supplied him, not only with writing materials, but with a file, a chisel,
and a hammer; and had got even a rope in readiness, should it be
required for future operation.
Albert had in the first instance thought of breaking through the walls
of his dungeon; but alas! they were eighteen feet thick, and no effort that
he could make upon them with the slight tools he possessed, was
sufficient to separate them. He had, with great caution, taken out two or
three stones in the wall of his dungeon, but the interior stones were so
firmly wedged, that they defied him. The labor of his task was enormous;
and this was increased from the necessity of replacing every stone in its
respective niche, so as to escape the vigilant eye of the keepers. So, at
last, poor Albert began to despair.
Victoria, however, whose inventions were more fertile than those of
her husband, still comforted him. She told him that she would never
desist in her exertions while he remained a prisoner, and bade him have
hope and trust. He, however, had little reason to hope, for he was told by
one of his guards, that on the next day, he was to be examined for the
fourth time.
And examined he was. Torn from his dungeon at midnight, he was
again brought before the Inquisition. The examiners sat before him, in a
room hung with black. Behind the chair of the chief commissioner, who
wore a square cap, shone, in all the brilliance of pure white silver, an
image of the crucified Redeemer; and beneath it, a skull and cross bones.
The marquis was bound, and without being asked a single question, was
placed at once upon a rack in the corner of the room. A physician stood
by his side to watch his agonies, and to stop the torture when beyond
human endurance; and the secretary of the fraternity sat ready to record
the answers to the questions put to the unhappy man.
Thus tortured to confess crimes which he never committed, the
marquis had every bone dislocated; and when nature gave up the contest,
and he sunk into stupor, he was removed back to his dungeon. For some
days, he remained in the most helpless condition, without being able to
move a limb, except in exquisite torture. Yet, after a time, his system
recovered its wonted strength, and Albert was again inspired with hope.
Victoria Colonna had pursued the same course of communication
previously adopted for several successive days, and receiving no answer
to her signs, was at last on the brink of despair. She believed that the
wickedness of man had done its worst, and that her husband had escaped
by death from the power of the tormentor. Day after day, she watched
with anxious longing for some sign of his still being an inhabitant of the
earth; but no sign was given to her, and she was on the point of giving up
all further exertions, when on one of her nightly walks and watchings
round the captive’s tower, her ear was delighted with the well-known
clatter of a piece of tile. She ran to the spot, and once more recognized
the well-known handwriting of Albert—“I still live for Victoria,” was the
only sentence inscribed by the unhappy prisoner.
The faithful wife now lost not a moment in devising some other plan
for her husband’s escape. She pondered all the next day, and part of the
next night. As soon as it was dark, she again raised her kite by the side of
the tower, placed a note under its wing, in which she bade her husband
be of good cheer, promising all her assistance, and suggesting his making
a breach in the wall with the implements already afforded him. To this,
on the following night, Albert replied, stating the utter impracticability of
the plan, by reason of the thickness of the wall; but urging her to procure
a sufficient quantity of gunpowder, by which the masses of stone might
be separated and a breach made.
Victoria seized the hint, and with the rapidity of thought, made her
arrangements. By means of the kite, the following night, a stouter line
was raised to the aperture, and from this, one still stronger; and by means
of the last, the prisoner drew up several other cutting implements—a
boring auger, and several parcels of gunpowder. Lastly, a still larger cord
was drawn up; and it was then arranged that on the following night, the
attempt should be made to blast the massive walls of the tower.
The next day, Victoria was busily employed in arranging the means of
escape. She had procured the dress of a friar, both for herself and
husband, and wore one over the other; and at midnight, she again took
her station below the tower. Again she established the communication
between herself and husband; and having raised to himself several other
packets of gunpowder, lastly had fastened to the cord the lighted match.
But at the very moment of success, she found a strong arm grasping her,
and two ruffian soldiers, with unsheathed weapons, close at her breast.
She screamed fearfully. The words—“bind her,” startled her still more,
for it was the voice of Montalbert, the wretch who had caused the
imprisonment of her husband.
“Drag her away,” said the count.
Victoria clung to the projecting walls of the castle, having fixed her
fingers within a clamping-iron, and hung to it with the tenacity of one
who clings to life; while her screams and lamentations filled the air.
Albert heard it, and judged of the cause. He applied the match to the
mine he had pierced through the stones of the tower. With a tremendous
crack and explosion, the ancient walls opened, shook, collapsed, and fell.
The tower was shattered to its foundation; and prisoner and dungeon,
turret and battlement, fell down in one prodigious ruin, and with an
uproar that shook the city.
Montalbert lay dead among the ruins. The faithful Victoria was
miraculously saved, and Albert rose from the fallen stones uninjured. He
clasped his beloved wife to his heart, and without losing a moment’s
time, both escaped in the confusion and consternation that followed.
They soon proceeded far from Italy, to a land where imprisonment for
conscience sake is unknown, where spiritual domination cannot usurp
nature’s rights; and where the children of God can walk in security and
peace; and that land was England. Here they lived the remainder of their
days in all the enjoyment which this country of true liberty always
affords to the fugitive and stranger.
 A P B .—An invalid sent for a physician, the late Dr.
Wheelman, and after detaining him for some time with a description of
his pains, aches, &c., he thus summed up with—
“Now, Doctor, you have humbugged me long enough with your good-
for-nothing pills and worthless syrups; they don’t touch the real
difficulty. I wish you to strike the cause of my ailment, if it is in your
power to reach it.”
“It shall be done,” said the Doctor, at the same time lifting his cane,
and demolishing a decanter of gin that stood upon the sideboard!

I O .—Observations with the microscope have

shown that the shell of an oyster is a world occupied by an innumerable
quantity of small animals, compared to which the oyster itself is a
colossus. The liquid enclosed between the shells of the oyster, contains a
multitude of embryos, covered with transparent scales, which swim with
ease; a hundred and twenty of these embryos, placed side by side, would
not make an inch in breadth.
This liquor contains besides, a great variety of animalculæ, five
hundred times less in size, which give out a phosphoric light. Yet these
are not the only inhabitants of this dwelling; there are, also, three distinct
species of worms.

“I am transported to see you,” as the convict at New Holland said to

the kangaroo.
 St. Peter’s Church.

Church of St. Peter’s at Rome.

T sublime edifice is by far the most costly and stupendous religious
building in the world. It was begun by one of the popes of Rome, Julius
II., in 1506. His object was, to have a church that might become the seat
and centre of the great Catholic Church throughout the world. The first
architect employed was Lazzari, but he died soon after, and the task
devolved upon the famous Michael Angelo. It required, indeed, a man of
great genius to design and carry forward so stupendous a work. The
building was one hundred and fifteen years in progress, and extended
through the reigns of no less than eighteen popes. The cost of it was
amazing, being equal to one hundred and sixty millions of dollars at the
present day. A period of one hundred and fifty years or more was
required to complete the colonnade and other ornaments after the body
of the structure was finished. Great numbers of people are now
constantly at work to keep the enormous mass in repair. The annual
expense of this is estimated at thirty thousand dollars.
The clear length of the church within is 615 feet, its utmost breadth
448, its height 464 feet. The greater part of it is of stone, though some
portion is of marble. The foundations are immense, and it is said that
they contain a greater mass of stone than the building above the ground.
In front of the church, and within the colonnade, is a beautiful obelisk,
brought from Egypt almost two thousand years ago. On each side of this
is a fountain, the waters of which rise to the height of seventy feet and
fall in three cascades; the whole forming a cone of falling waters. They
continue to fall day and night, and nothing can be more beautiful than the
effect produced. They are supplied by ancient Roman aqueducts, from
lake Braccano, which is seventeen miles distant. Every thing is vast in
and about this wonderful edifice. The interior is very grand, and strikes
the beholder with awe. The figures of the four Evangelists, which adorn
the inside of the cupola, are of such enormous size, that the pen in the
hand of St. Mark is six feet long. The interior is enriched with a great
number of figures of saints and other works of art. In the centre of the
church, where the light pours down from the dome, is the tomb of St.
Peter, before which one hundred lamps are kept constantly burning.
Some idea of the vastness of this structure may be formed from the
fact that great numbers of persons live upon the roof, in buildings which
are not seen from below, yet appear almost like the streets of a city!
 A Gypsy telling fortunes.

Fortune-Telling.
T desire of looking into futurity—of knowing what is going to happen
—appears to be universal in mankind. To a certain extent, we may
gratify this feeling, but it is to be done by the exercise of a sound
judgment. We may thus generally tell what is coming to pass, in respect
to most important transactions of life, so far as is necessary for us.
But many people desire to go farther; to unseal the book of fate, and
read what is hidden from mortal sight. Young ladies often desire to know
who they shall have for husbands: whether they shall be rich or poor;
happy or miserable. And instead of leaving these things to time, and the
dispensation of Providence, they must often go to some cheat who
pretends to tell fortunes. Thus they lose their time and their money, and
allow themselves to play the part of folly.
Nor are young ladies the only persons who sometimes yield to such
idle nonsense. Young men often do the same—and also old men and old
women. It is, I believe, a common notion, that certain strange, odd,
eccentric, mysterious persons have the power of reading the future and
telling what is coming to pass. So common is this shallow superstition,
that fortune-tellers, though they require a good deal of money, to read
their riddles, often find pretty good encouragement.
These jugglers generally pretend to tell the fortunes of persons by the
stars, or by looking at the lines in the palm of the hand, or by the cast of
the countenance, or by all these means combined. They frequently
consult books with strange figures in them; and sometimes they seem to
make profound calculations. But all these are mere arts to impose upon
their dupes. The simple fact is, that fortune-telling is, always and under
all circumstances, a cheat. One person can see into the future as well as
another, as to all that lies beyond the sagacity of mere human judgment.
A person who believes, therefore, that any one has the art or gift of
fortune-telling, is the victim of superstition, and the dupe of artifice.
In England, Spain and Germany there are a few wandering people
called Gypsies. They are of a dark skin, almost like our Indians: they
have black hair, black eyes, and altogether a dark and wild aspect. They
speak a strange tongue, have strange habits, and are a very peculiar
people.
The women of this race very often pretend to be fortune-tellers. They
have great address in making their dupes believe in their mysterious
power. They frequently gain some information as to the history of a
person; then, presenting themselves before him, offer to tell his fortune.
Affecting to know nothing of him—never to have seen him before—they
proceed to weave the web of fate; taking care to mingle in some real
incidents of his life. The person thus is amazed to find the strange Gypsy,
who has never seen him before, telling accurately the leading
circumstances of his history; and as she seems to read the past by her
mysterious art—he thinks, by the same power, she can of course unravel
the future!

T in the north-west of America is effected by dog-trains.

Three dogs will draw a man and his provisions. The traders travel all
over the wilderness with them over unbeaten snow, generally following
the course of rivers. The dogs are easily trained to turn, halt, or go, by
the word of command. When the traveller wishes his dogs to turn to the
left, he says “chuck,” and cracks his little whip on the right side of the
train; if to the right, he says “gee,” and cracks it on the left side. When he
wishes them to start or quicken their gait, he says “march,” or “avancez;”
when he wishes to turn short about, he says “venez ici,” making a motion
with the little whip at the same time.

Ne’er till to-morrow’s light delay

What may as well be done to-day.

Ne’er do the thing you’d wish undone

Viewed by to-morrow’s midday sun.
 The Life of Martin Luther.
(Continued.)

W Luther was fully informed of the operations of Tetzel and his

associates, he drew up certain themes or propositions, setting forth his
own views of the powers of the church, and denouncing the avarice,
impudence and licentiousness of the priests who went about selling
indulgences and extorting money, under the pretence of making
collections for the church.
Though there was nothing in these themes, but what many Catholics
had maintained, they assailed in some points, especially the favorite
doctrine of infallibility, the accepted creed of that day. He, however,
boldly published them, challenged reply, and defended them in his own
pulpit. Multitudes gathered to hear him, and his opinions were rapidly
spread over Europe.
Tetzel and his associates were greatly enraged; they formally burnt
Luther’s theses, and then proceeded to answer them, chiefly by assuming
the supreme authority and infallibility of the pope. This injured their
cause, and their reply to Luther was publicly burnt by the students of
Wittemberg. Such was the beginning of the storm which shook Europe to
its foundation, and finally stripped the pope of his spiritual supremacy.
Yet, when Leo heard of the dispute at Wittemberg, he only said, “It is a
quarrel between monks;—but brother Luther seems to be a man of
parts!”
Luther’s fame was rapidly extended, but as yet he had no idea of
separating from the Church of Rome. In 1518, he wrote a submissive
letter to the pope, in which he says, “I throw myself prostrate at your
feet, most holy father: call or recall me, condemn or approve, as you
please: I shall acknowledge your voice as the voice of Christ, who
presides and speaks in your person.”
But the pope, who had once thought so lightly of Luther’s influence,
was ere long seriously alarmed, and at last summoned him to appear at
Rome, to be examined, within sixty days. The danger to Luther in doing
this was obvious, and his friend the Elector of Saxony obtained