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Mr W. When Ponto was a pup he lived wholly on milk; and, when his teeth were strong enough, he began to pick a bone for himself. If his mother had then cut his meat with a knife, and fed him with a fork, his front teeth, for want of something to do, would have become tender and loose. The first bone he picked, one tooth would drop out, all the others would give way a little, the food would then get fixed between them, and they would decay and ache, like children's.

Tom. I do not see how feeding him with a knife and fork should loosen his teeth.

Mr W. But I do. Just remember: both your teeth and his are broad behind, and sharp and narrow in front. If all your food or his is cut and put into your mouth, the broad back teeth grind it, but the front ones have nothing to do.

Tom. I should therefore think they would not wear out so soon as the back

ones.

Mr W. My dear Tom, if I could make your right, or strongest arm, an idle gentleman's, having nothing to do but to walk about and swing a cane; and your left, or weakest arm, a blacksmith's, what should we see?

harder, and stronger; now this is just the case with the teeth. If the front teeth have nothing to do, they become discolored and loose, and the gums grow spongy and unhealthy.

Amelia. Then the reason why Ponto's teeth are so white and good is because he uses all his teeth, front as well as back?

Mr W. Precisely so.

Ella.

But why are they white? Mr W. Because every mouthful of food torn off is his tooth-brush, and because he never eats any thing hot, nor chews nor smokes tobacco, nor drinks ardent spirits. If he had one tender tooth in front, they would soon lose their whiteness. Feed him with small pieces of meat for a month, and they will be any thing but white.

Tom. O, now I see! We ought not eat with a knife and fork, nor spoon, but gnaw the meat off the bones. I cannot help laughing at the thought of all our boys scrambling for a bite at a roasted leg of mutton.

Mr W. Laughable as all this seems, it is more rational than the boy or girl, or man or woman, who cuts all his food and keeps his front teeth in perfect idleness, and, shall I add-dirtiness.

Amelia. I should think that cannibals,

the other black.

Mr W. Very true, miss Pert; but the left or weaker armi would not only be able to lift greater weights, and strike har

ther, have white teeth.

Tom. And the Tartars or Abyssinians, who eat half-cooked steaks.

Mr W. I dare say they have; but you

nor dogs, and yet have sound and white teeth. This may be done by removing every impurity from the teeth, and daily scrubbing the gums with the tooth-brush. Remember, that although you may whiten your teeth with tooth-powders, this method is not so good for them as simple cold water, or chloride soap rubbed on the brush, which beautifully cleanses the mouth and gums. There is nothing so disgusting to a listener as a talker who has a dirty mouth, and who always forgets his infirmity, because it is a habit : but the listener has him right before his eyes, and has to bear it, or turn away. Let me beg of you, boys, to eschew tobacco in all its forms, not chew it, and by following my directions your teeth will be as good and as white as Ponto's.

CHAPTER IV.

Breathing Lucifer Matches. Mr Ward had scarcely opened the door, when he saw smoke ascending from the breakfast-table. "Hollo! hollo! my little masters," said he, “what smoke is this ?"

Altogether. Tom is trying an experi

ment.

Mr W. Rather on a large scale, I think, for he has burnt all my lucifers.

Amelia. Tom has told us he could make us breathe a bunch of matches.

Ella. Nonsense, Tom! I know I don't breathe a piece of wood.

Mr W. This time, Ella, you are wrong, and Tom is right.

Ella. O, father, do tell us how ! Mr W. Let me try an experiment on this bread and butter, and then we will talk about this strange notion of master Tom.

Tom. Father, I have discovered two or three things in a cup of tea, which—

Mr W. (interrupting.) My dear fellow, one thing at a time. To-morrow we can listen to all you have to say about a cup of tea.

Tom. I should think we had breathed up the whole box of lucifers by this time. Amelia. Is not Tom talking nonsense, father? Mr W. No, my dear ; on the contrary it is very good sense. You see this wooden match? now we will light it; there, it burns'; now the flame is out, but it still burns like charcoal; now it is all out, and what is left is as light as a spider's web. Where is the match gone? Ella. It is burnt.

Mr W. But where is the match now? Nothing can be lost you know?

Kenneth. We cannot tell.

to the end, a spire of flame shoots out; but you can see nothing until it is light ed. This is hydrogen gas. Again, when you burn charcoal in a room without a chimney or flue, people die when they breathe the air-they cannot see it. That is another gas, called carbonic acid gas; and when you blew the fire with the bellows, that was another gas, called oxygen, that made it burn so brightly. Now then, my wooden match, and many other things that burn, are composed of these airs or gases, compressed and squeezed into the form of a match. When fire is held to it, like the genii out of the bottle, they escape from their imprisonment and fly about the room, and mixing with the air, we breathe them. Now, you see, you may actually breathe wooden mat

153

Mr W.

Tom.

Then how do you know? Mr W. Simply by the fact of his being drabbled and dirty. This is not only true of ducks, but of all birds, and almost all animals. If you were to drive them into the water, what would happen?

Tom. I have often driven dirty ducks into the water; I mean ducks that have been kept up to feed; and I find they soon wish to come out.

Mr W. If they were kept in by force they would be benumbed with the cold water and drown-just as this poor object now before us would, if he were thrown into a pond and kept there.

Tom. I have remarked that ducks, kept from water, swim deeper than those who can always have it-the one swimming gaily along like an empty barge, the other lagging wearily on, like an overladen collier. How is this?

MrW. Tom, you and I sometimes go out in the rain without hats; how is it that our hair becomes so much more wet than Amelia's or Ella's?

Tom. Because their hair has oil put upon it every day, and ours have not. Mr W. This is just the reason why