straight line behind. The height, at which he thus elegantly glides, varies from one to two hundred feet, sometimes much higher, all the while calmly reconnoitring the face of the deep below. Suddenly his attention is struck by a particular object, which he seems to survey for a few moments with such steadiness, that he appears fixed in the air, flapping his wings. But the fish he ad in his eye has disappeared, and he is again seen sailing round as before. His attention is again arrested, and he descends with great rapidity; but ere he reaches the surface, shoots off on another course, as if ashamed that a second victim had escaped him. He now sails at a short height above the surface, and by a zig-zag descent, without seeming to dip his feet in the water, seizes a fish, which he soon drops, or yields up to the bald eagle, and again ascends by easy spiral circles to the higher regions of the air.

At once from this sublime height, he descends like a torrent, plunging into the, sea with a loud rushing sound, and with the certainty of a rifle. In a few moments he emerges, bearing in his claws his struggling prey. Having risen a few feet above the surface, he shakes himself as a water spaniel would do, and directs his heavy and laborious course to land. A shad was once taken from a Fish-Hawk near Great Egg harbor, on which he had begun to regale himself, and the remainder of which weighed six pounds. Another Hawk at the same place was seen with a flounder in his grasp, which struggled and shook him so that he dropped it on shore. The flounder was picked up, and served a whole family for dinner. It is singular that the Hawk never descends to pick up a fish which he happens to drop either on the land or on the water.

EVAPORATION PRODUCES COLD.

George. When my brother and I were bathing this morning, we observed, that, or coming out of the water, we felt colder than while we were swimming, though the air was, at that time, much warmer than the water. We could not agree as to the cause of this sensation, and determined to ask you. I thought that our feeling warmer in the water was owing to the exercise of swimming, but this Charles would not admit.

Charles. And we also observed that on the wind rising we felt still colder.

Father. In the tea urn, which is now standing on the table, you are aware there is a red-hot heater; now, that heater will, in a short time, be of nearly the same temperature as the water: what do you think will have become of its heat?

Chas. I believe, sir, that the iron keeps the water boiling, and that the principal part of the heat flies off, along with part of the water, in the form of steam.

Fa. Desire the servant to bring the tin tea-kettle with some boiling water in it. I will set the kettle on the fire-you observe the water boils, and a quantity of steam issues from the spout, now, if I make the fire burn as briskly as I can, I cannot make the water red hot; I cannot, indeed, make it hotter than boiling; what do you think becomes of the heat, that is every instant communicated to it?

Geo. I suppose it flies off with the steam; and you cannot make the water hotter by increasing the fire, because, the more heat you communicate to the water, the greater the quantity of steam that will be generated to carry it off.

Fa. Now, while the kettle is boiling violently, I will take it off the fire, and place it

with the bottom on my hand. You observe it does not burn me-but if I was to allow it to remain on, after it had ceased boiling, it would burn me. How do you account for this?

Chas. I really do not know-it is very singular; but did it not feel very hot?

Fa. No, not at all. Whenever water, or any other fluid, flies off in vapor, it is said to evaporate, and the process is called evaporation. When any liquid evaporates, part of its heat combines with the vapor or steam, and, of course, leaves the remaining liquid with less heat than it had before that is to say, colder. Thus, by the evaporation of part of the water in the kettle, the remainder was prevented from rising higher in temperature than what is commonly called the boiling point; and it was the rapid evaporation of the water from the bottom of the kettle, that kept it cool enough, to prevent its burning me; and when the boiling, and of course the rapid evaporation of the water, ceased, the bottom of the kettle instantly became too hot for me to sustain it longer.

Geo. But liquids sometimes evaporate without boiling: for instance, if I spill a little water on the tray, it will soon have evaporated entirely. Does this kind of evaporation produce cold?

Fa. I will show you. The temperature of this basin of water, is nearly the same as that of the air in the room; for it has stood here some hours. I will plunge into it this thermometer. You observe, the mercury in it has sunk three divisions or degrees; therefore, the temperature of the water is three degrees lower than that of the atmosphere. I will wrap the bulb with a single fold of cloth, and again plunge it into the water: you see, it sinks to the same point as before.. I will now take it out of the water.

You know, the temperature of the room is greater than that of the water, the mercury, therefore, ought to rise, but, you observe, the evaporation of the water in the rag has caused it to sink still lower. I will repeat the experiment, while your brother blows with the bellows upon the wet rag: the mercury descends still lower than before.

Geo. I now understand the reason why we felt colder when we came out of the water, than during the time we were in it. When the thermometer was taken out of the cold water into the warm air, the evaporation of the moisture adhering to it caused it to be colder than when it was in the water; and this was exactly the same with us. The evaporation of the water, adhering to our skins, caused the sensation of a greater degree of cold, than even the cold water did. But how did blowing upon the thermometer produce a greater degree of cold?

Fu. I will render these two pieces of paper equally moist, now, blow upon one with the bellows, and leave the other to dry by itself.

Chas. The one I blow upon is nearly dry, the other is still quite wet.

Fa. That is to say, the evaporation of the moisture from the one has been more rapid, than from the other. When you blew upon the thermometer, the evaporation from it was more rapid than when left to itself; and the heat dissipated is always in proportion to the evaporation, other things remaining the same, and this was also the case when you were exposed to the wind. But this is not the only reason why you felt colder in the wind, than under shelter from it; for if you had not been wet, the same thing would have happened in a smaller degree. Thus, a hot iron, from which there is no evaporation, will

A LUGGER.

Though now no mark of strife is seen,
And there the bright grass grows.

Three merry boys were at their play,
Not far from the road-side,
And their free utterance of joy

Rang loudly far and wide;
For well they knew no one was near
To silence, or to chide.

But soon they saw the aged man,
Who sat upon the stone,
Gazing around with quiet look,
Unpitied and alone;

And then they hushed their shouts of glee
And spake in softer tone.

They threw aside their bat and ball,
And stopped their sports of glee,
And leaping o'er the old stone wall,
Approached-those urchins three,
To where the gray-haired stranger sat,
Beneath a spreading tree.

With eyes now downcast, now upraised,
Before his sight they stood;

As if they had done wrong to break
Upon his solitude,

And were afraid to interrupt

His still and thoughtful mood.

But soon their doubts were cast aside;
He hailed them with a cheer,
And while a smile o'erspread his face,
He told them to come near;
"And what," said he, "my little boys,
From me have you to fear?

"You see that I am old and lame,
Nor full of life like you,
I cannot run, I cannot play,
As you are wont to do;

For mine have been long years of toil,
And troubles not a few."

"Your words are kind, your looks are mild," The foremost boy replied, "And we, I know, have nought to fear, While standing by your side; But why upon that monument Do still your eyes abide ?"

"The tale is old," the stranger said, "The tale is very old;

And you, my little man, I guess,
Have often heard it told,
And oft will hear it told again,

When death has made me cold.

"But come, sit round upon the grass,

The bright sun has not set,

The soft wind stirs the green, green leaves,
The birds are singing yet;

The wild rose and the sweet briar
With dew-drops are not wet.

I used to live beside this place, When I, like you was young, And wandered with incautious feet, The forest-paths among,

Or on the new-mown hay at noon,
My limbs, regardless flung.

"I lived within my uncle's house,
My parents both were dead;
And there with kind and honest care,

In childhood, I was bred;

In virtue's paths of pleasantness,
Accustomed aye to tread.

"One day upon my uncle's face,
I marked a sudden change;
His brow was bent, his cheek was pale,
His look was sad and strange,

And rapidly, on every side,

His mild blue eye would range.

"At last he fixed his glance on me,

And, rising slowly said,

'Bring hither, boy, the gun and pouch, Which hang above my bed;

And then fetch here the sharpened scythe, You'll find it in the shed.'

"His orders quickly were obeyed,

And, then he turned to me, And parting from my forehead smooth The curls that wandered free, Gazed for a moment in my face,

Then kissed me fervently.

"And go not hence to day,' he said, 'But here at home remain Till evening, when, if God consents, I shall be back again; Farewell, my boy;' and saying thus, He hurried down the lane.

"But many minutes had not flown

In weary silence by,

Ere sounds of tumult and of strife
Began to fill the sky,

And, mingling with the gun's report,
Came many a fearful cry.

"A thought of danger and of death

Across my mind then passed, And as I listened to the noise,