Cottager. Some folk do say they know; but I don't believe them. My old man tells me it arn't above two hundred yard; but I think it are.

Mr. Young, (smiling.) You do?

Well, boys, (turning to

his young friends), shall we undeceive her?

Harold. More than six hundred feet! Capital.

Mr. Young. We may learn something from the old lady's mistake. Ignorance always magnifies. Just as the mind loses in light, it gains in size.

From the cottage garden the view was so beautiful, that some considerable time was spent in contemplating it, before the party proceeded to their former halting-place. It was just on the skirts of an old grove of box and yew not far from the crown of one of those undulations which are so characteristic of chalk ranges. They were soon seated, and after a little desultory conversation, a subject for the promised lecture was hinted at.

"Well, boys," said Mr. Young, "now for your subject. Suppose we take the Glass of Water for our text. ?”

Harold. Suppose you do, sir.

Albert. But what is there in a glass of water?

Willie, (drily.) It's "a curious piece of antiquity," isn't it ?

Mr. Young, (smiling.) Right, my boy. It is an antiquity. Let Adam's ale, then, be our theme.

Harold. And the art of brewing it. ?

Mr. Young. Yes, Harry, the art of brewing it, if you please. For the word "brewing" does not apply to beer only: it describes the making of any liquor by a mixture of ingredients. Fresh water contains two-hydrogen and oxygen; and sea water, from which our supplies of fresh are evaporated, many more. Common salt, one of its principal ingredients, contains about 60 per cent., or more than one-half of chlorine; and bromine and iodine are found principally in sea water and marine productions. So now for our lecture on "Adam's Ale and the art of brewing it."

Willie. But water, sir, is older than Adam.
Mr. Young. True.

Albert. As old as the earth itself, perhaps?

Mr. Young. That's rather a large guess, my boy. The earth, as it now exists, is not all of one age. The materials were made in "the beginning "—a period of which we know no more than the Bible tells us; but it has since been so often broken up and put together again, that we must make a distinction between the old work and the new; the foundation and the superstructure ; "the skeleton or rough frame work;" and the after-fittings. There is reason to believe it was at first more than red-hot, and uninhabitable.

Willie. Red-hot!

Mr. Young. More than red-hot-white-hot; or as our scientific men say, "in a state of incandescence."

Harold. Then the earth is older than water, for there could have been none in it at this time.

Mr. Young. No; the oldest rocks-chiefly varieties of granite-were evidently crystalized by fire. But those which lie upon them seem to have been formed and deposited by water, though these, even, have undergone considerable change from intense heat. The crust, or shell, of our earth has been compared to a huge "Stone Book," the first leaves of which are damaged by fire.

Harold. There, Albert! you are both right and wrong. Water is not so old as one part of the earth, but older than another.

Mr. Young. Just so; and there are still some planets where water, if found at all, is very sparely distributed.

Willie. The moon?

Mr. Young. There seems to be none, or very little in the moon. Look! there she comes.

All eyes were turned westward, for the rising moon was visible in the grey sky, intently gazing, as it seemed, on the silent corn fields,

"As if she saw some wonder walking there."

The young folks all uttered an exclamation of surprise, for the sun was still shining, and her cold light had not bewrayed her presence.

Mr. Young. Look well at her, my boys, and then to our lecture again. The moon, seen through a telescope, appears to be thickly studded with volcanic mountains, and has certainly

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no considerable bodies of water on its surface. As, however, the sun's rays are not tempered by shining through any atmosphere-for she has none-and we can only see those portions which he lights up; it seems evident that any water which did exist there, would be instantly evaporated by burning sunshine fiercer than an equatorial noon," and would fall when again condensed on those intensely cold regions, that lie in shadow, and consequently hidden from us. The case is different with the planet Mars, in which, by the aid of powerful telescopes, we see with perfect distinctness the outlines of continents and seas. The first, from the nature of their soil, give that red fiery tinge to the planet, by which he is distinguishable even to the naked eye; the seas, by contrast, appear green, owing to a well known law in optics.

Albert. Because the land is red, the sea appears green?

Mr. Young. Yes, Bertie. It takes that color out of compliment to the red; and for this reason it is called a complimentary color.

Willie. I remember something of the kind in one of Dr. Austin's lectures. He made a bright crimson light, by burning strontian, I think; and the flames of the lamps round the room, which had been lowered to show the effect better, looked as green as grass.

Mr. Young. Exactly; and as you have touched upon the subject, though it seems hardly connected with our glass of water, I may mention that, by cutting two circles, a large and small one, on a piece of pasteboard, and filling the larger with stained glass, and the other with colorless ground glass, you may prove the thing for yourself. The holes must not be too near together, and your light should be placed immediately behind the crimson glass.

Willie. "Stick a pin there," Harold, as they say in America, and we'll try it.

Mr. Young. You may think it mere child's play, Harry; but the fact is more important than you imagine. By this arrangement, the great Author of nature has softened down into beautiful harmony, colors which might otherwise appear glaring or discordant. For in color, as in music, there may be, and often are, egregious discords when man places them side by side.

But when we disentangle with a prism, or a piece of cut glass, the seven threads of which light is woven; the discordant colors have each a harmonizing tint between them-the red melting into orange, the yellow into green, and the blue into a rich purple or indigo.

From what has been said, there is good reason for supposing there was a time when our own planet was without water. Fire first, and water afterwards, were no doubt the chief means employed for bringing our globe into its present condition. Water, though not so old as fire, existed long before the time of Adam, for the earth was not fitted to receive him, till many ages after its creation out of nothing; and long after those layers of rock were formed, which we have just said were deposited by water.

Willie. I have always thought that the chaos, from which our world sprung, consisted principally of water. The waters of the 'great deep' are particularly spoken of by Moses.

Mr. Young. I am glad you think for yourself, Willie; you are quite right. But the sacred historian is speaking of man's world, as it now is-not of the mere materials from which it was constructed. The examination of the earth itself, leads us to believe that fire existed first.

But our subject is becoming two abstruse for an extempore lecture. With the help of our books, and, perhaps, an experi ment or two at home, we shall better understand it. We ought to be already moving. Up, boys! look now at the moon, half hidden by that dark knoll of firs, and as we walk home, Harold will repeat those glorious verses of Howitt's.

Albert." Now lift thine eyes, weak child of pride,

And lo! behind yon branching pine,

Broad, red, and like a burning sun,
Comes up the glorious autumn moon,
God's creature like a thing divine!

It is not, as our childhood deemed,
The nightly moon, a silver shield
Borne on some viewless warrior's breast,
In battle from the east and west,
Along the blue ethereal field.

O high magnificence of eve!
Thus silent in thy pomp of light;
A world, self-balanced thou appearest,
An ark of fire, which onward steerest,
Thine upward, glorious course aright.

The peasant stands beside his door,
To mark thee in thy bright ascent;
The village matron, 'neath her tree,
Sits in her simple piety,

Gazing in silent wonderment.

'Tis well, when ought can wake the heart

To love and faith, whose trust is right!

'Tis well, when the soul is not seared,

And the low whisper can be heard

Which breathes through nature day and night.”

PYTHAGOREAN MAXIMS.

As a port is the place of rest to a ship; so is friendship to life.

The reproof of a father is pleasant medicine; for it is more advantageous than severe chastisement.

As garments reaching to the feet, impede the body; so do immoderate riches, the soul.

Untaught boys confound letters; but uneducated men, things. It is necessary to be good; rather than to appear so.

He who admonishes a man that fancies he has intellect; labors in vain.

Fools frequently become wise under the pressure of misfortunes.

Vigor and strength of body are the nobility of cattle; but rectitude of manners is the nobility of man.

It is far better that counsel should precede actions; than that repentance should follow them.

To desire immoderately is the province of a boy; not of

a man.