ments looking out into the moonlight. Thus closes the first act.

In the second, Julie has become the Comtesse de Fresnoy, and, with her husband, is on a visit to the grandmother of the latter, the Duchesse de Blançay, a noble dowager of the Faubourg St.-Germain, who, at first scandalized by the misalliance of her grandson, has become perfectly fascinated by the grace and beauty and sweetness of the bride. But a dark cloud arises on the horizon that seems so radiant. The Vicomtesse de Meillan, who was formerly beloved by the Comte de Fresnoy, Vows vengeance on her young and gentle rival. The story of the Baron de Stade and his nocturnal escapade becomes known to her. She whispers the story about among her acquaintances, and Julie, on going to a grand ball, is insulted and avoided by all the ladies present. The whole imbroglio is cleared up by the return of the Baron de Stade, who confesses his misdeeds, and offers his hand to the now widowed Marquise de Lipari. This brief and necessarily imperfect sketch can give but a faint idea of the charm and interest of the whole piece. The characters of the noble, trusting husband, of the proud, testy, warmhearted, impetuous old duchess, and of the gentle, wronged heroine herself, are admirably delineated. Then there is the jealous vicomtesse, the evil genius of the piece, and a young scapegrace of a duke, who is a very bewitching young fellow. The vicomtesse figures in two strong scenes-one in the first act, where she tries to lure back the lost affections of De Fresnoy, and breaks down in jealous agony; and that in the second act, where she worms the secret of the apparent guilt of Julie from an unsuspecting gentleman who was an eye-witness to the escape of De Stade, and who saw Julie lingering on the balcony. The acting was worthy of the play. Blanche Pierson, who can be angel or demi-devil, fashionable dame or virtuous peasant, at will on the boards, played the part of the heroine with the tender sweetness and candid charm that form one phase of her many-sided talent. Mademoiselle Massin was superb in beauty and in toilet as the vicomtesse. Since Pierre Berton left the Comédie Française, he has got his voice out of his nose, and his shoulders from under his ears, and he no longer looks like a scared and piteous novice, but like a handsome and gallant gentleman and an accomplished artist. He played the part of the trustful, loving, indignant husband superbly. Madame Alexis as the aged duchess, and Dieudonné as the young duke, were delightful. En somme, a great and a deserved success for a play admirable as a work of art, and for its healthful tone and pure atmosphere as well.

Rossi continues to draw crowded houses to the Théâtre Italien with "Kean," so he will probably continue to play it for some time to come. He was present at the rentrée of Faure at the Grand Opéra the other night. The great barytone appeared as Hamlet, and, at the end of the third act, Rossi went to Faure's dressing-room to congratulate him Meeting Ambroise Thomas there, he remarked: "Ah, M. Thomas, I heard another opera of yours the other night, wherewith I was charmedthe 'Caid!'" Now, Thomas happens to be mortally ashamed of the "Caid," which is a very jolly comic opera, wellnigh, by its gayety and extravagance, an opéra-bouffe: so he did not appreciate the compliment of the great tragedian so highly as he might have done. Rossi, by-the-way, is extravagantly fond of opéra-bouffe, and spends the evenings when he does not act in vibrating between the Variétés,

the Renaissance, and the Bouffes Parisiens. He is tremendously fêted and petted here, especially in high official quarters. The other day the Minister of Fine Arts sent him a present of a superb Sèvres vase, accompanying the gift with a letter overflowing with compliments. He was further complimented by being invited to appear at the formal reopening of the Odéon, which took place last week. In fact, the management tried to engage him to appear as Cardinal Mazarin in a revival of "The Youth of Louis XIV.," but Rossi declined, on the ground that the part was unsuited to him. As Mazarin, by the author's directions, has to talk with an Italian accent all through the piece, the nationality of the tragedian would have been no hinderance to his success. The part is an ungrateful one, however, and the play itself is stupid, so it is not surprising that he declined the flattering offer of the director.

Meissonier's splendid new house, near the Parc Monceau, will not be ready for occupation this winter, as was generally supposed, so the celebrated artist must perforce remain in his charming country-home at Poissy till next season. The new domicile includes two studios, both of proportions suited to the vast conceptions of Horace Vernet rather than to the gem-like productions of their owner. Meissonier is still hard at work at the large battle-piece which has absorbed his thoughts and his time so long. Owing to some misunderstanding between Sir Richard Wallace (who had purchased the picture) and himself, the contract between them is canceled, and this important work, I am happy to state, is destined for New York, it having been bought by Mr. A. T. Stewart. Well might the Figaro exclaim, as it did the other day, "In a few years, if we wish to, obtain the works of any of the great masters of modern French art, we shall be forced to cross the Atlantic, and to repurchase them in New York for their weight in gold."

The art world of Paris was, for several days last week, in a state of wild fermentation, a terrible blow to its prosperity having been threatened from official quarters. The menaced disaster was no other than a suppression of the annual exhibition of the Salon, and a substitution of a triennial exhibition instead. This cheerful measure, proposed by one M. Henriquet Dupont, an engraver of some eminence, actually received the assenting votes of a majority of the Sub-committee on Fine Arts. One can hardly see what good would have been effected by the change. M. Dupont talked of "elevating the standard of art," but how the standard of art would have been exalted by depriving the young and rising artists of France of their one annual chance of displaying their works, he did not exactly explain. Moreover, the works of the great artists of France, the celebrities that have " arrived," to use an expressive French idiom, are mainly purchased by foreigners, and are dispersed to Russia, to the United States, and Heaven knows where. At present, it is customary for the painter, after disposing of his picture, to request permission to retain it for exhibition at the next Salon. Under the present regulations, the purchaser almost invariably consents, as the delay in receiving the picture at most only amounts to a few months, but, with a triennial Salon only, the pictures of two years, at least, would never be seen in Paris at all. Fortunately for the interests of art, the general Fine Arts Council had more sense than the subordinate organization. It not only rejected the proposition of M. Dupont, but passed a law instituting a Retrospec

tive Exhibition of chosen works of art to be held every five years. It also passed another law diminishing the number of works to be exhibited by any one artist at the Salon from three, as heretofore, to two only, a good change, as it will give more chances of admission to the rising talent of the day. So, after all the talk and the scarce, we retain our abnual Salon, with some slight modifications. Considering that the exhibition never costs the government any thing, the receipts being always largely in excess of the expenditure, the object of the proposed measure becomes less and less apparent. Some years ago the experiment of holding a biennial exhibition only was tried, but with such ill-results that the present regulations were speedily adopted

The books of the week are not particularly important, the leading publishers being ab sorbed in preparations for the coming holidays. A gigantic catalogue of "Livres pour Etrennes" lies before me as I write. It is a lordly volume of two hundred and forty pages, printed on toned paper, and really valuable from the number and beauty of the specimen woodcuts that it contains. There are all kinds of books prepared for the coming festive season-scientific, literary, poetic, historical, javenile, etc., something to suit every taste and every purse as well. Michel Lévy advertises a work called "Le Chevalier Noir," with tweDty full-page illustrations by Gustave Doré, a book that I should think might be worth translating and reproducing on account of the illastrations. But it is the list of M. Auguste Fontaine, the celebrated dealer in fine secondhand books, that brings the water to the mouth of the ardent book-lover: such trifes as Doré's Bible, gorgeously bound, impres sions on Chinese paper, at four hundred doilars; a set of those superb illustrated works. with plates in gold and colors, known as "Les Arts Somptuaires," "Le Moyen Age et la Renaissanse," and "Les Arts Industriels." all fine early copies, and all bound to match in full scarlet morocco, for four hundred dollars. a fine edition of Molière, with extra engravings, notes, etc., inserted, for two hundred and forty dollars; a copy of the works of Roussea in twenty-two volumes, with inserted pr traits, illustrations, etc., for six hundred and forty dollars; and other bewitching announ ments too numerous to mention. "O for the purse of Fortunatus!" one is forced to sigh on perusing these too tempting pages. Anorg the novelties of the week may be cited “A History of Contemporary Literature in Spain" by M. Gustave Hubbard, published by the Bibliothèque Charpentier; "Dalles et Pharches" ("The Pulpit and the Boards "), a orrespondence between a priest and an actor, s sued by Paul Dupont; and a new novel called "The Adventures of an Actor," by Mare For nier, from the press of E. Lachaud & Co.

The Gymnase has brought out "Fere: the new comedy by Sardou, with an adm rable cast, and much display of toilets on the part of the actresses that figure therein. The piece has proved a success, and will probab"; enjoy a long run. The leading idea, the ire dent of a young man becoming a witness of crime from the windows of a married lady night, and to save her reputation compelled: keep silence, and to behold an innocent person charged with the deed, is not particular novel. But the plot is well worked out, though the first act drags somewhat heavily, the last two are full of movement and of terest. Notwithstanding the whole piece taken up with the fortunes of the accused an! the vicissitudes of his trial, we are never per mitted to behold either the one or the other.

It is in the house of Madame de Bois-Martel, the seemingly guilty but really innocent heroine, that the action chiefly transpires. The agonized struggles of Fereol, forced either to sacrifice the woman that he loves or the unhappy and innocent accused, are powerfully portrayed. All ends happily at last. The real criminal, a game-keeper, named Martial, fancying himself denounced by Fereol, unwittingly betrays himself, M. de Bois-Martel pardons his wife for the indiscretion of which she had been guilty, and all are dismissed to happiness, for Martial commits suicide in his prison, and the facts of the case remain, therefore, buried in secrecy. The acting was extremely fine. M. Worms, the new jeune premier of the Gymnase, who has just returned from a long and brilliant engagement in Russia, played the part of Fereol with a force and fire, yet with a total absence of rant or exaggeration, that left nothing to be desired. The place of this admirable actor is waiting for him at the Comédie Française. Mademoiselle Delaporte, sweet, pure, and tender as ever, was charming and touching as the heroine, Madame Roberte de Bois-Martel; Lesueur as a recalcitrant jury man, Pujol as the dignified judge, Bois-Martel, and Landrol as the lawyer for the prosecution, were each and all excellent. Yet" Fereol" is not what may be called "first-quality Sardou." It is rather in his second-best style, the manner of "Andrea" (Agnes), than in that of "Nos Intimes" and "Patrie." But it is very much better than any thing else that he has given to the stage for some two years past.

Lucy H. Hooper.

Science, Invention, Discovery.

EDUCATIONAL CLAIMS OF BOTANY.

HANKS to the vehement and perverse

Trictures of an "English reviewer,"

the advocates of certain advanced theories of education, as embodied in several modern text-books, are likely to obtain a wider hearing and recognition from the public than has yet been granted them. It appears that Professor A. W. Bennett, in a recent article on "Botanical Text-Books," has chosen to misconceive or unjustly condemn the method adopted by Miss Eliza Youmans in the construction of her "First Book of Botany," and hence to indirectly strike a blow at the whole modern system of education-a system under the prevalence of which children learn themselves rather than are taught by others. This work the reviewer describes as made up of two hundred pages, extending over seventy lessons, full of nothing save the very driest and most wearisome details of "external morphology," to be "laboriously plodded through" by "loading the memory with an enormous number of technical terms," etc.,

etc.

In view of this attack, which is at fault both in spirit and fact, the reader will not be surprised to learn that the author of the book in question should advance to the rescue with an able and convincing defense. This Miss Youmans does in a letter which, having been denied a place in the columns of the Academy, in which journal was published Professor Bennett's review, appeared in the Examiner of October 30th. In this reply Miss Youmans, after denying with an emphasis justified by the facts the false statements made

by the reviewer regarding the "seventy lesscns," the "dry and wearisome details," and the necessity for "laborious plodding," continues in an able defense, not alone of her work, but especially of its motive. Professor Bennett having commended "as rational and interesting" the method adopted by another author, in which the specimens required for illustration are 66 described under the eye of

the student, each point of structure being pointed out and explained," Miss Youmans joins issue with him as follows:

"I deny that this is a rational method. It is the old traditional and exploded method, in which the teacher does every thing and the pupil nothing. The method of careful explanation' by the teacher is the method of instruction, the pouring in of knowledge, and not the method of leading out the faculties by self-exertion, or the acquirement of mental power by overcoming difficulties. One discovery made by persevering application is worth a hundred facts carefully pointed out and explained' by the instructor. Something is perhaps gained where the object explained is brought under the eye of the pupil, but the essential educational process is no more reached in this way than by explaining an absent object.

Mental power is not acquired except through effort, and the method that does not habitually throw the pupil back upon himself to find out his own explanations, but carefully does this for him, is now so completely discredited that I am not a little surprised to find it commended in dealing with such a subject

as botany."

In the first edition of Miss Youmans's book the author presents, in the form of an extended preface or "letter to teachers," an essay, entitled "A Defense of the Educational Claims of Botany," in which are presented and advocated views which the present letter merely enforces with additional emphasis.

So important do we regard this controversy, and so fraught with meaning both to parent and child, that no apology need be made for considering at length the defense of the methods as laid down in the essay.

In this "Defense of the Educational Claims of Botany," Miss Youmans takes the ground that, of all the physical sciences, this one is best adapted to train and develop the observing powers-that is, while the facts of botany are not without great value, the method by which these facts are obtained is one best calculated to develop the intellectual powers and discipline the mind. Taking this ground, the defense of these special claims is prefaced by an extended consideration of the true nature of mental growth; and it is to this phase of the discussion that the attention of both parents and teachers is immediately directed. It will be observed at the outset that Miss Youmans accepts the law of correlation, and extends the limits of its operation so far as to perceive an intimate resemblance and relation between the two orders of development, physical and mental. We condense from her "Defense " as follows:

Regarding mind as a manifestation of life and mental growth, and as dependent upon bodily growth, the analogy between these two forms of development is made the subject of special consideration. All living beings com

mence in germs, and the beginning of growth is a change in the germ by which it is separated into unlike parts. It is by the assimilation of like with like that differences arise. Nourishment is taken from without, and each part attracts to itself the particles which are like itself. Thus bone material is incorporated with bone, nerve-material with nerve, etc. As in the physical, so in the mental universe growth commences when the creature becomes acted upon by outside agencies. Admitting the truth of this analogy, we are asked to consider the phenomenon of mental growth; and it is to this point that the attention of the parents is emphatically directed. When they learn to regard the mind of their child as something to be fostered, fed, and nourished, according to methods kindred to those by which the physical development is encouraged, they will have taken one decided step forward in the line of the new education. Let us see how the demands and conditions of this mental growth are to be met and favored. As bodily growth begins in a change of the material germ, so mental growth begins in a change of feeling, and this change of feeling is due to a change of external impressions upon the infant organism. From several illustrations enforcing this view, we select the following: "When an infant opens its eyes for the first time upon the flame of a candle, an image is formed, an impression produced, and there is a change of feeling. But the flame is not known, because there is as yet no idea. The trace left by the first impression is so faint that, when the light is removed, it is not rememberedthat is, it has not yet become a mental possession. As the light, however, flashes into its eyes a great many times in a few weeks, each new impression is added to the trace of former impressions left in the nervous matter, and thus the impression deepens, until it becomes so strong as to remain when the candle is withdrawn. The idea, therefore, grows by exactly the same process as a bone grows that is, by the successive incorporation of like with like. By the integration of a long series of similar impressions, one portion of consciousness thus becomes differentiated from the rest, and there emerges the idea of the flame. Time and repetition are therefore the indispensable conditions of the process.

"Now, when the candle is brought, the child recognizes or knows it-that is, it perceives it to be like the whole series of impressions of the candle-flame formerly expe rienced. It knows it because the impression produced agrees with the idea. In this way, by numerous repetitions of impressions, the child's first ideas arise; and in this way all objects are known."

As it is a part of our present purpose to defend this system of education, as illustrat ed by the "First Book of Botany," we would here state that the method therein pursued is consistent with this view of the true na ture of mental growth. By the aid of illus. trations, always accompanied by the direct presence of the plant or flower, the child is made familiar with the several parts and their relation to each other. It is true that, in this primary work, little attention is paid to

the physiological questions, which, as being in the nature of an advance, are left to be discussed after that mental development has been attained which will render such discussion possible and profitable. It will be seen that the mind is considered as amenable to

laws kindred to those which relate to physical growth. Thus the special service is preceded by a general development, and in the present instance it is proposed to effect this development by the aid of one branch of sciencethat of botany. "The way a child gets its early knowledge is the way all knowledge is obtained; when it discovers the likeness between sugar, cake, and certain fruits-that is, when it integrates them in thought as sweet-it is making just such an induction as Newton made in discovering the law of gravitation." It is not improbable that this conclusion may not be accepted by all, since it may appear to leave little room for the deductive processes; be that as it may, the truth of the method in its relation to early development will not be denied. Passing on to that point where the author makes direct application of the principles set forth above, we read that "the glaring deficiency of our popular systems of instruction is, that words are not subordinated to their real purposes, but are permitted to usurp that supreme attention which should be given to the formation of ideas by the study of things. It is at this point that true mental growth is checked, and the minds of children are switched off from the main line of natural development into a course of artificial acquisition, in which the semblance of knowledge takes the place of the reality of knowledge. . . . The existing systems of instruction are therefore deficient, by making no adequate provision for cultivating the growth of ideas by the exercise of the observing powers of children. Observation, the capacity of recognizing distinctions, and of being mentally alive to the objects and actions around us, is only to be acquired by practice, and therefore requires to become a regular and habitual mental exercise, and to have a fundamental place in education." It is at this point that the claims of botany are advanced with justice and confidence, not as a special science but as a means of mental discipline, and it is when viewed in this light that the importance of this branch of study becomes the more evident.

PROFESSOR PROCTOR, in a letter to the English Mechanic, recounts certain experiences and observations made during his recent voyage to this country on a Cunard steamer. Among these we note one that has doubtless occurred

to other inquisitive voyagers. The subject under review is introduced by the statement that, "during long sea-voyages, some of the common fallacies about chances and averages are strikingly illustrated. . . . If there have been," says the writer," several days of rough weather and unfavorable winds, many seem to think that the chances of calm weather or favorable winds are greater for the following few days than they ordinarily would be." In this special instance it is admitted that, owing to the operation of well-known laws, a long continuance of winds from any given direction may serve to restore a needed equilibrium, and hence, after a certain time, a change may

fairly be expected. But the professor, from his observations among the passengers, was induced to believe that those who were betting on a change were not fortified by meteorological tables or informed as to their nature and value, but cherished the common fallacy "that past events of one kind are more likely to be followed by events of a different kind than by events of the same kind." Although this idea may justly be regarded as a fallacy, yet we are bold enough to believe that many even of our readers have been induced to act on it. For instance, in "casting lots" after the modern method-that is, by "tossing a cent"-how many are they who, having had the coin come up head for six consecutive times, would not be willing to give odds in favor of its coming up tail on the seventh toss! And yet, by what law of rhyme or reason could such a conclusion be justified? In his letter Professor Proctor cites a singular instance where this faith in chances had acted as a governing motive in deciding by which steamer a traveler should cross the ocean. It is generally recognized by tourists that, of all the steamers which cross the Atlantic, those belonging to the Cunard line are the safest. That this opinion is a just one appears from the fact that this line has never lost a passenger," a result due, without question, to the superior discipline which exists on these ships, and the strength and seaworthiness of the vessels themselves. This view of the case, however, does not seem to have weight with all, as illustrated by the following incident: A particularly "cute" American had taken a passage to Europe by a steamer on the Inman or White Star line, and was asked why he did not go by a Cunarder. "Guess it ain't safe," said he. "Not safe?" replied his friend. "Don't you know that the Cuuard Company boast that they have never lost a passenger yet?" "Well, that's just it." replied this modern fatalist. "Every company must lose a certain number of passengers, and some time or other is bound to make up its number." When recorded in black and white it is possible that few will fail to see the fallacy of this reasoning; and yet, we venture to predict that, should this line lose two steamers in quick succession, there would be found many to say, "Well, their turn has come at last." Nor is it at all improbable that the passenger-list would be for a time susceptibly reduced, owing to the popular faith in this popular fallacy.

66

66

THE Scotch Herring-Fishery Board have taken measures toward assisting the fishermen in their work by the aid of meteorological observations. Through the liberality of the Marquis of Tweeddale, twenty of the fishing-stations were supplied with deep-sea thermometers, and the fishermen were instructed to ascertain the temperature of the sea at the time fishing was going on. These records, together with those of the daily catches," were placed in the hands of Mr. Buchan, the secretary of the Meteorological Society, who compared and analyzed them. The result of these comparisons, as indicated in a recent report, proved that, during the periods when good or heavy catches were taken, the barometer was in most cases high and steady, the winds light and moderate, and electrical phenomena wanting; and, on the other hand, when catches were low, the observations indicated a low barometer, strong winds, unsettled weather, and thunder and lightning. Though it would not be safe to extend these rules so as to govern fishermen who seek fish of other species, yet enough has been proved by these results to justify similar experiments on our

own coasts; and it is evident that, were fishermen certain that the chances were against them, valuable time would be saved which is now spent in a vain endeavor to catch fish which have, owing to unfavorable climatic conditions, gone out beyond the reach of Look

or net.

As the result of a long-continued course of experiment and observation, Helmholtz has obtained the following results regarding the relative amounts of energy expended by the human body in internal and external work: "About five times as much energy is used in the internal work of the body as is expended in ordinary productive work. In the case of severe work, the proportion of internal work to productive work is still greater. Suppos ing the work performed by a man to consist of walking, the most economical rate, both as regards the amount of food required to sustain it, and the amount of potential energy er pended on the body itself, is about three miles an hour. Both above and below that speed there is a decrease in the amount of etive work as compared with the non-prode tive energy. A man walking fifteen or sixteen miles a day, or doing an equivalent amount of work in any other form, would require ounces of food, composed of albuminates 4.6 ounces, fat 3 ounces, starch 14.3 ounces, and salts 1.1 ounce. This would yield a potential energy of 4,430 foot-tons, and 300 foot-ters for productive work. A mere subsistence det for a man at rest would be 15 ounces, but with this amount a man would lose weight. About 7,000 foot-tons a day of potential energy is the greatest amount which is possible as a permanency. This would yield 600 foot-tors of productive work. These calculations apply only to men in health."

THAT certain of the vital processes are aided or checked by the presence or absence of light is a fact already demonstrated. I: has remained, however, for a recent observer, M. von Platen, to prove that light, through citation of the retina alone, causes an active increase in the exchange of material in the tissues. The method by which these facts were obtained is as ingenious as the results t novel and interesting. A certain number of rabbits were inclosed in a respiration app ratus or box, so contrived that both the oxy gen consumed and the carbonic acid giv off could be accurately measured. Before the eyes of each rabbit small wooden rings: spectacles were fastened, the glasses of these being so adjusted that all light could be ecluded from the eyes. Having thus arranged the preliminaries, the consumption of oxyg during the time when light was admitted t excluded from the retina was carefully notes it being thus determined that this consump tion in light and in darkness was in the re tion of 116 to 100, and the separation of ebonic acid under the same conditions as 11 to 100. This difference, let it be understood. was the result, not of a varying condition t light and darkness in the surrounding at phere, but merely of the lighting up or darketing of the retina. Should it be found that t same law pertains to men as to rabbits, the physiological conditions of the blind must be of a special and peculiar character.

THE success attending the use of nickel s a plating material has prompted experiments in the use of other metals for a like purpose. The latest of these is that reported by Er trand, who has succeeded in producing a g vanic deposit of bismuth on the surface

other metals. The process may be described as follows: From twenty-five to thirty-five grains of the double chloride of bismuth and ammonia are dissolved in about one quart of water, and this solution is used cold, by the usual methods, a single Bunsen pile being employed. On coming out of the bath, the coated surface is covered with a dark-looking slime, beneath which the metallic lustre of the bismuth is visible. This latter adheres very closely, and takes a fine polish, the color being intermediate between antimony and sil

ver.

By simply altering the figures on the face of an ordinary stop-watch, this instrument has been made to render service as a distancemeasurer. The purpose is to place in the hands of the army officer a convenient instrument, by which the distance of an enemy's battery may be determined. When awaiting the flash of the enemy's gun, the officer stands, watch in hand, with the pointer marking zero. The instant the flash is seen, the pointer is released, to be stopped when the sound of the report is heard. By this means, the distance is indicated. Notwithstanding the accuracy of the instrument, it is evident that the season of the year, the direction of the wind, and the condition of the atmosphere, are important factors, and, to aid the observer in this, several scales are used.

In the November number of the Geographical Magazine Captain Burton, in reviewing Mr. Stanley's report of his exploration of the Albert N'yauza, commends the energy and zeal displayed by this American explorer, and, though questioning the accuracy of certain observations, credits him for the actual topographical results obtained in defining the limits of the lake and its feeders.

IT has been discovered that a mixture of borax, sulphate of soda, and uracic acid, will render cloth uninflammable, at the same time so protecting it as to insure it against any loss of color or change in texture by heat.

A

Miscellanea.

N article in Blackwood, entitled "Weather," contains many striking and eloquent passages. Climate and weather are compared as follows:

Climate is geographically fixed, while weather is atmospherically variable; climate is a calculated quantity, while weather is an unknown one.

All sorts of rules are applicable to climate, but none are applicable to weather. Climate is monarchy, weather is anarchy. Climate is a constitutional government, whose organization we see and understand; latitude and altitude are its king and queen; dryness and dampness are its two houses of parliament; animal and vegetable products are its subjects; and the isothermal lines are its newspapers; but weather is a red-hot, radical republic, all excitements and uncertainties, a despiser of old rules, a hater of proprieties and order. Climate is a great, stately sovereign, whose will determines the whole character of the lives and habits of his retainers, but whose rule is regular, and is therefore so little felt that it seems like liberty; but weather is a capricious, cruel tyrant, who changes his decrees each day, and who forces us, by his ever-varying whims, to remember that we are slaves. Climate is local; weather is universal.

We are indifferent to climate because we

are accustomed to it, but we are dependent on weather because we never know what form it will take to-morrow. Climate is the rule; weather is the exception. Climate is dignity; weather is impudence.

The causes of changes in weather are indicated:

If all the air reposed exclusively on water or on earth alone, there would be no weather; of course, there would be climates, but they probably would be very nearly free from accidents or changes, for the reason that no sufficient agent would be at work to upset their regularity, as weather does. It is the division of the earth into sea and land, it is the joint though separate action on the atmosphere of these two bases, which create weather; it is the counter-working of those two pavements on the air above them which provokes its good or bad behavior; it is the contrast and the clashing between evaporation and precipitation, between the uplifting and the down-pouring of the waters, according to the variety of topographic influences, which bring about the wild uncertainties of weather and destroy the peaceful unities of climate. It is, however, not solely because the surface of the earth is a mixture of wet and dry that these incongruities arise; the varied nature and the diversified disposition of the materials of which the land part of that surface is composed, must also be taken into account; for, as through their agency the distribution of heat on land is rendered most uneven, the atmosphere in contact with that land is irregularly heated also, its faculty of absorbing vapor increases or diminishes with its temperature, and, in this way, a second motive cause of weather is produced.

At the outset of the study of the clouds an insoluble enigma is encountered:

Clouds, as has just been said, are made of water, and water is eight hundred and sixteen times heavier than air; how, then, do clouds manage to get lifted up into the air, and to stop there comfortably, apparently without an effort, and to travel thousands of miles there, at all sorts of paces, just as if it were quite natural and proper that they should be there? Nobody can tell us. Now, really it is humiliating that, at the very outset of our attempt to make the acquaintance of weather, we should encounter an obstacle of this sort, which bars the door to all possibility of real intimacy. Of course, wise people have tried to scramble over it; of course, there have been plenty of suggestions of the peculiar reasons which enable clouds to defy what are supposed to be the laws of Nature, to despise attraction, and to mock at gravitation: but not one of the explanations which have been invented is eonsidered to be sufficient; the clouds go on swimming incomprehensibly above us, in utter disdain of a number of excellent reasons why they should do nothing of the kind. If they behaved like every thing else in Nature, they would never go up at all; but then, in that case, they would not be clouds. Some learned gentlemen have asserted that clouds are supported by rising currents of hot air, which push them up from below, apparently just as children blow up soap-bubbles and keep them floating as long as their breath lasts; others have considered that electricity, in some unknown fashion, contrives to hold them in their places; others, again, have urged that the water-globules of which they are formed contain "obscure internal heat," which by expansion makes them lighter than the surrounding air, converts each of them in

that way into a Montgolfier balloon, and so enables them to remain suspended. We igno

raut people are of course quite ready to believe any one of these interpretations, or any other, provided only the sages will tell us which one to adopt; but, so long as they hold silence on the point, all we can do is to stare inquisitively at the clouds and say within ourselves, "How on earth, now, do you manage it?"

Rain is the first-born child of the clouds; fog is the second, and snow the third;

Rain is incontestably possessed of some most remarkable capacities; its talents are brilliant; its influence is enormous; but the value and the merit of its qualities are lamentably diminished by the capriciousness, the willfulness, and the disorder, with which it employs them. Of course, it has the excuse of having been abominally brought up, like all its kindred, and of never having had the advantage of good examples at home, for neither weather, nor vapor, nor clouds, set their younger relatives a pattern of steadiness, of dignity, or of regularity of conduct. But, whoever may be to blame, the fact persists that the merits and defects of rain are so intermingled that it is sometimes very difficult to distinguish them from each other. Openhanded generosity and niggardly avarice, the gentlest and tenderest caresses and the fiercest blasts of temper, the most daring and impetuous public speaking, and the driest and most painful silence, are all mixed up together in this richly-endowed but wildly-wayward Na

ture.

Fog is described as follows:

Rain is a spendthrift who casts about his substance in every direction; fog is a miser who holds together all he has. Rain is invariably in motion; fog is always indolent and lazy. Rain is active, violent, and noisy; fog is stagnant, sulky, and silent. Fog is manifestly jealous of his brother-gets into his way as much as possible, and seems to try fallaciously to prove that, as their common mother, cloud, can descend to earth entire in the shape of her second son, it is altogether needless for her to tumble down there in pieces under the name of the elder one. Unfortunately, however, for the pretensions of fog, it is of no kind of use to us, while its liquid relative is indispensable. It seems, indeed, to know this, for it likes particularly to stop in inaccessible places, on mountain-tops, or out at sea, where scarcely any one can look at it, as if it were ashamed of its condition. It is true that it does visit us occasionally on dry land, but in a nasty, hesitating sort of way, and it rarely presumes to show itself among us in broad daylight. Most of the other members of the family of weather-with all their faults -have some redeeming qualities; but fog is hopelessly objectionable: it is ugly, useless, stupid, and dirty.

Of snow, the third offspring, the writer is eloquent and poetic:

The third child is a daughter. She floats in the winter air in the white frock that was given to her at her birth, and, though she is now as old as the north wind, she has never changed her robe. Cold, still, spotless, and majestic, she seems altogether out of place amid her coarse relations: they are a disorderly populace; she is a stately queen. Silent, frigid, and so white that her very name means purity, she stands alone-the Pallas Athene of weather. Her movements are soundless; she hushes all around her; she effaces every

thing she touches; all signs of life are hidden beneath the noiseless veil she spreads. Immaculate, irresistible, and eternal, she possesses an awfulness and a grandeur which are special to herself; Nature has produced no counterpart of her; and it is perhaps as well that she has no sister, for, if the clouds had two unmarried daughters of her type, mankind would have hard work to get through the winters. The immensity of her power can, however, be judged only in her own chosen homes, and it is indeed well worth our while to visit them, for, of all material royalties, there is not one like hers.

And yet this splendid vestal is not invariably the mighty, ruthless, immutable sovereign that we behold on the mountains and at the poles. Like all other rulers, she has her weak moments. It is saddening to have to own that so superb a princess can ever change her glorious form, but the truth is evident - she thaws! Her attributes of whiteness and eternity are, after all, mere questions of thermometer and position; they dazzle our bewildered eyes as we humbly gaze upon them on the summits of the Alps; they turn into dirty water in Pall Mall. We easily forget, when snow is sitting nobly on her throne, that the plebeian blood of rain and fog is running in her veins; but she herself, despite her majesty, is forced to own the lamentable fact as soon as she gets warm. How she must hate heat! To be glorious, brilliant, stainless snow, all grand and undefiled and beautiful, and then, because the sun shines out a little, to be obliged to vanish into puddle! What mockery of the greatness of this earth!

The notion that the moon influences our atmosphere is fully disposed of:

The notion that the moon exerts an influence on weather is so deeply rooted that, notwithstanding all the attacks which have been made against it since meteorology has been seriously studied, it continues to retain its hold upon us. And yet there never was a popular superstition more utterly without a basis than this one. If the moon did really possess any power over weather, that power could only be exercised in one of three ways-by reflection of the sun's rays, by attraction, or by emanation. No other form of action is conceivable. Now, as the brightest light of a full moon is never equal in intensity or quantity to that which is reflected toward us by a white cloud on a summer day, it can scarcely be pretended that weather is affected by such a cause. That the moon does exert attraction on us is manifest-we see its working in the tides; but, though it can move water, it is most unlikely that it can do the same to air, for the specific gravity of the atmosphere is so small that there is nothing to be attracted. Laplace caloulated, indeed, that the joint attraction of the sun and moon together could not stir the atmosphere at a quicker rate than five miles a day. As for lunar emanations, not a sign of them has ever been discovered. The idea of an influence produced by the phases of the moon is therefore based on no recognizable cause whatever. Furthermore, it is now distinctly shown that no variations at all really occur in weather at the moment of the changes of quarter, any more than at other ordinary times. Since the establishment of meteorological stations all over the earth, it has been proved by millions of observations that there is no simultaneousness whatever between the supposed cause and the supposed effect. The whole story is a fancy and a superstition, which has been handed down to us uncontrolled, and which we have accepted as true because our

forefathers believed it. The moon exercises no more influence on weather than herrings do on the government of Switzerland.

THE London Spectator is eloquent and enthusiastic over Rip Van Winkle and Jefferson's delineation of the character.

It is a little trying to have to wait for Rip's appearance so long after the curtain rises, but the delay has the merit of being filled with instruction. The play is remarkably well constructed in this respect: there is no confusion about it, the relative positions of everybody are clearly defined from the first, and we may contemplate Rip from the moment at which his face shows itself-beaming with the sweet, careless drollery, which instantly overthrows our compassionate and indignant sense of Gretchen's wrongs, and adds us to the party of the dogs and the children-without having any by-paths of attention to tread. There's not a word to be said for the morality of the piece; we give that up; and are glad to be provided with a bigly villainous person like Derrick, a regular stage out-and-outer, to absorb all our virtuous reprobation of evil, for we have not any for Rip. He is every thing that Gretchen calls him, and more-for Gretchen does not know of his unjustifiable talk about her to Derrick and Vetter-but we love him; his smile goes straight to our hearts; his laugh-can there ever have been such a laugh among the great actors who are the traditions of our time?-makes us laugh unconsciously with the oddest sense of unreasonable glee; and his first words make us understand what the Irish people mean by a voice that "would whistle the birds off the bushes." No truer words were ever spoken on the stage

than Gretchen's definition of a jolly dog," and of the results to the wife and children of that tragic personage; but what becomes of their weighty effect when we see Rip and the children, and when Rip drinks his famous toast, with a serious, calm, and fascinating grace, as if he fulfilled a duty none the less agreeable for its sacredness? We don't defend ourselves, we only protest absurdly: "He isn't a jolly dog-a jolly dog is a vulgar beast-he is Rip." Yes, that is just it-he is Rip, and everybody loves him, except Derrick, the big villain, who is sober and thrifty. And Rip is always tipsy, but infinitely charming: he is just a hopeless vagabond, without the faintest sense of duty, but full of the most enchanting humor; a ragamuffin, who is simply beautiful to look upon; a sot, with a world of gentleness and not a particle of principle in him, irradiated all through by such an exquisite light of drollery and shrewdness that our moral sense is blinded by it.

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