Mr W. Think. If a small fly get in- the top lid, and another in the bottom? to your eye, what takes place ? Tom. I rub the eye violently. Mr W. That is to kill him; and then there is a gush of tears, enough to drown him if he live, and to carry him into the corner of the eye. But the great use of this constant flow of tears is to wash every particle of dust from the delicate eye, and carry it through the nose. CHAPTER X. Why a man, who cannot cry, cannot smell. Tom. I cannot see what crying has to do with smelling-seeing and smelling are so very different. Suppose Mr W. Of course they are. now you had to make the eyes and nose -you would hardly know how to keep them free from dust and dirt, seeing that they are almost always open, like the ear, and not shut, like the mouth. Tom. The structure of the eye is so beautiful, that I should be quite unable to keep it free from dust; I know the tears do that. Mr W. But what is to be done with the tears, laden with dust and dirt ? Amelia. Do they flow down the cheek? Mr W. They do when they run over; but that would soon leave a red furrow down the cheek. Amelia. Where do they go to? Mr W. Come here, Kenneth ;-now look at the inner corners of his eyelids; you see two very small openings, one in Tom. I see them perfectly; there is one, and Kenn. You need not feel them, Tom. Tom. I did not mean to hurt you,Ken. Mr W. Now these are the openings through which the tear, that has washed the eye, is forced by the closing of the eyelids. Tom. How very beautiful! By closing the eyelids we force out a tear from the gland on the temple side of the eyelid, which moistens the eyeball; by the same motion we force it through two little openings Mr W. Into the nose. Esther. Father can't answer Tom Father can't answer Tom! Mr W. Let me see-let me see! How stands this most difficult question ? Tom. If the eye of a man be perpetually crying Mr W. Or, to be rather more correct, if the two eye-glands be perpetually forming tears— Tom. Thank you, father-for seventy-three years, ought not the nose to keep dropping water or tears all that time? Mr W. You saw it rain yesterday? Mr W. You saw the streets very wet? Yes. IF A FLY HAVE A SORE TOE, &c. CHAPTER XI. 227 Tom. Mr W. And you heard the wind blow If a Fly had a sore toe what would soon after the rain ? Tom. I did certainly hear it. Mr W. And yet the streets are dusty Mr W. Just the thing. There are two strong currents of air rushing up a man's two nostrils, from the time he is born to the time he dies. If there were no moisture, the air would dry up the inside of the nose, and it would become horny and insensible Tom. And therefore unfit for smelling. But still, when a child or man cries much, does it not happen happen? Amelia. Father, your questions grow more and more ridiculous. Who ever heard of a fly with a sore toe? Mr W. And pray, miss, who ever heard of that tribe who threw stones into their machines,' and many other wonderful events? Tom. I cannot imagine a sore toe would be of any very great consequence to him. He could fly and crawl up and down. Mr W. I rather doubt the crawling up and down. He might fly up, and fly down, but not crawl. Tom. I do not see that at all. Mr W. Probably not; it is wonderful, how very little it is that boys and girls do see, in anything, until their eyes are opened. Tom. crawl? But why cannot a lame fly Mr W. It does. If there is more tear water than can pass into the nose, it runs down the cheek; if more than the air can dry up, as it passes through the nostrils, then we must use our pocket-handkerchiefs. When grown-up children hear any thing very affecting, they al- call a sucker, made of leather, softened? ways blow their noses— It is put flat upon a stone, the centre is pulled up, and the sucker pulls the stone up with it. Amelia. To make room for more tears from their eyes, lest they should run over, and be seen crying. Mr W. In a few words, the eye could not see, nor the nose smell, if it were not for crying; it carries hurtful matter from the delicate eye into the almost unfeeling nose. From which you may learn the necessity of paying great attention to the nose. Mr W. Did you ever see what boys Tom. How does it do that? Mr W. I will try to explain that in a conversation upon How a calf sucks a Cow.' What we have to do with now is the fly's foot, and the sucker. If the edge of the leather were notched or uneven, what would take place? Tom. It would not fit close to the stone. Mr W. And of course the stone would the wilderness, and feed and fatten upon not stick to the sucker. Tom. Certainly not. Mr W. Well, that is just the reason why a fly with a sore toe cannot crawl up and down. You remember, I never said he could not crawl. Tom. But, my dear father, what has a fly's foot to do with a sucker? Mr W. Every thing. If its foot did not act as this sucker, it could not walk up and down the smooth panes of glass, nor with its head downwards upon the ceiling. Tom. Then you think if it had a sore toe, it would not press hard enough upon the pane to hold on? Mr W. Just so; and a more beautiful contrivance is not to be found in bird or beast. Can of any you tell me what you think is the use of flies? Esther. To fly about the window. Mr W. That is their play-ground, little miss. Ken. To eat the sugar out of the basin. Mr W. That is their lollypops and bulls-eyes. the refuse at home, as they do upon the unburied carcases of the wilderness and the solitary place. We have occasionally read the Poems of ELIZA COOK with great pleasure, and a number of them are to be found in our volumes. The two which are in the present number have been set to music, and no doubt many of our young readers have heard them sung with pleasure. The Old Arm Chair. I love it, I love it, and who shall dare I've treasured it long as a sainted prize, I With truth for my creed and God for my guide; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey; Ella. Are they to eat peaches and And turned from her bible to bless her child. other fruit? Mr W. That is very near it. Tom. Is it not to eat up every thing that is useless to man, and would be offensive to his sight and smell? Mr W. I do verily believe it is. When food becomes putrid, and unfit for use, it is highly relished by the epicure fly. Near our dwellings the fly and the maggot and the wasp, act as the vultures of Years rolled on, but the last one sped When I saw her die in that old arm-chair. "Tis past! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now Quintin Harewood and his Brother Brian. CHAPTER I. Quintin Harewood begins his narrative. His birthplace, with the lakes, and mountains of his native County. Some of the youthful feats of Quintin My name is Quintin Harewood, and I first drew breath in the county of Westmoreland. If you know the neighborhood of Ambleside, you know the place of my birth, for, at a little distance from the noble lake of Windermere stands the mansion where my father lived, and where I passed the first sixteen years of my life. county, were favorable to the romantic notions of our early youth. Before we had numbered a dozen years, we had been engaged in several adventures, and were heroes in our own estimation.Rocks had been scaled, storms had been braved, streams had been crossed, and many a plump heath-cock had been arrested by a shot from our guns in his flight across the bleak mountain or heathy moor. Besides all these, we had saved the life of a poor lamb that we had found frozen in the snow, and killed a dog that had the reputation of being mad. But though much of our time was deThere is hardly a point on the bleak voted to agreeable excursions, our educamountains and naked hills of Westmore- tion was not neglected, nor did our paland and Cumberland with which I am rents fail to impress our minds with all not familiar, and scarcely a foot of water that is open-hearted, generous and virtuon the principal lakes that I have not ous. The affectionate kindness and pieboated over with my brother Brian. Sca- ty of my mother, and the keen sense of fell, Helvellyn, Skiddaw, Saddleback and uprightness and honor in the character Crossfall, have we climbed in company, of my father, are dear to my rememand Windermere, Ullswater, Derwent, brance. Had Brian and I attended more Grasmere, Ennerdale, Loweswater, and to their counsels, and less to our own Buttermere, were the resorts of our boy- hearts, it would have spared us many a ish days. pang. Nor were the neighboring rivers unknown to us; down the Eden, the Lon, the Ken, the Eymot and the Derwent, have we often glided together, ensnaring the finny tribe, and once, which then appeared an era in our lives, we sailed across the far-famed Frith of Solway. The fells and waterfalls, and slate quarries, and extended heaths of our native In entering on the relation of my wanderings abroad, I sadly want Brian at my elbow, but he is at a distance from me. The sea is now rolling between us. The best that I can do, however, shall be done to render my account interesting and useful. Mine has been a life of peril and vicissitude. Led on by an ardent disposi |