inferring a general conclusion from a knowledge of a small number of particulars.

16. "But we can never be perfectly sure in induction, even where we are most careful and cautious; and, therefore, we must take great pains not to judge hastily. There is no way by which people make more mistakes, than by coming to general conclusions from too small a number of facts."

COLUMBINE.

1. BRING lilies for a maiden's grave,
Roses to deck the bride,

Tulips for all who love through life
In brave attire to ride.

Bring each for each, in bower and hall,
But cull the columbine for all.

2. "The columbine? Full many a flower
Hath hues more clear and bright,
Although she doth in purple go,
In crimson, pink, and white.
Why, when so many fairer shine,
Why choose the homely columbine?”

3. Examine well each floweret's form;
Read ye not something more
Than curl of petal, depth of tint?
Saw ye ne'er aught before

That claims a fancied semblance there,
Amid those modelled leaves so fair?

4. Know ye the cap which Folly wears
In ancient masques and plays?
Does not the columbine recall
That toy of olden days?

And is not Folly reigning now
O'er many a wisdom-written brow?

5. 'Tis Folly's flower, that homely one; That universal guest

Makes every garden but a type

Of every human breast;

For though ye tend both mind and bower,
There's still a nook for Folly's flower.

6. Then gather roses for the bride;
Twine them in her bright hair;
But ere the wreath be done, O, let
The columbine be there.

For rest ye sure, that follies dwell
In many a heart that loveth well.

7. Gather ye laurels for the brow
Of every prince of song;
For all to whom philosophy
And wisdom do belong.

But ne'r forget to intertwine
A flower or two of columbine.

8. Forget it not; for even they, The oracles of earth,

'Mid all their wealth of golden thoughts, Their wisdom and their worth, Sometimes play pranks beneath the sky Would scarce become e'en such as I!

9. Weave ye an armful of that plant, Choosing the darkest flowers;

With that red, blood-dipped wreath, ye bring The devastating powers

Of warrior, conqueror, or chief;

O, twine that full of Folly's leaf!

10. And do ye ask me, why this flower
Is fit for every brow?

Tell me but one, where folly ne'er
Hath dwelt, nor dwelleth now,
And I will then the laurel twine,
Unmingled with the columbine.

I CAN'T AND I WILL.

1. THERE is no country on the earth, where there is less of squalid poverty, and where the people generally enjoy more comfort and happiness, than in New England.

2. And what is the reason? There is no other country in the world, where the people are so industrious where all the people are engaged in some useful employment.

3. In New England, boys are set to work as soon as they are old enough to handle a hoe, an axe, or a spade. Every child has something to do, and it is not in the nature of a son of New England, to be happy without employment.

4. When you find one of them educated, and rising to eminence in professional life, if you trace back his history, in most cases, you will find that, when a boy, he worked on his father's farm, or in his father's shop.

5. In no point in the whole course of his education, does the hydra-headed monster, "I can't," rise up and impede his progress "I can't," that sovereign arbiter in the idler's destiny, never prevents him from attempting any thing, however difficult,

however laborious.

6. If a steamboat is to be built, if a factory is to be erected, or if a railroad is to be constructed,

"I can't" gets no chance to throw obstructions in "I can't" is thrust aside, where it must

the way.
fold its hands and stare at vacancy.

7. "I WILL" is the sovereign arbiter of the Yankee's destiny; it invigorates his body, sharpens his intellect, and promotes cheerfulness. It spins, it weaves, it polishes, it beautifies, it adorns.

8. "I CAN'T "makes a torpid body, a vacant mind, a peevish disposition, a discontented spirit. It stops the spindle, obstructs the shuttle, destroys the file, and defaces all things within its reach.

9. "I WILL" expects much, aims high, attempts great things, grasps the Archimedean lever, cheers all, and in the end is successful. "I can't," like the torpedo, benumbs every thing that comes within its touch, expects little, attempts less, and accomplishes nothing.

EVAPORATION BY HEAT AND STEAM.

1. THERE are several circumstances, which make the air take up water faster than it otherwise would, or which promote evaporation, as the philosophers call it. One is warmth.

2. If you warm a board or paper that is wet, or warm the air which lies over it, the moisture will evaporate much quicker. That is the reason why, when we want any thing to dry quick, we hold it to the fire.

3. Air can hold only a certain quantity of moisture, though warm air can hold more than cold. So, if we want air to take up as much water as possible, and as fast as possible, we must warm it.

4. Then, if we allow this warm air to take up as much water as it will hold, and afterwards cool

the air, there will be more water in the air than it can hold. The surplus will fall down out of the air again, in large or small drops. This is the way

that it comes to rain.

5. The air lying over the sea, ponds, and rivers, in summer becomes warm, and takes up as much water as warm air can hold. This air then rises up into the colder regions, or is moved by winds off to the north, and thus gets cooled. It is then no longer able to hold the moisture which it contains; and consequently this moisture will fall in drops of rain, or in hail, or in snow.

6. There is a phenomenon that takes place in houses, in the winter, that is just like this, in principle. In the daytime, when the room is warm, the air takes up moisture from our breaths, and from various other sources, until it has more than cold air can contain.

7. Then, in the night, the cold air, outside of the windows, cools the glass, and, through the glass, the air in the room which touches the glass; and so the moisture leaves the air, and attaches itself to the glass, and makes the beautiful frostwork so often seen.

8. So with our breaths, in a cold, frosty morning; the air which we breathe, when it comes up from the lungs, is warm, and takes up a great deal of moisture from all the passages which it comes through. Then, when it comes out into the cold, it is suddenly cooled, and cannot hold so much; and so the surplus becomes visible in little drops.

9. That vapory appearance we see in a cold morning, like a little fog, is formed of little drops of water, too small for us to distinguish one by one, though all together they make a sort of haze. But it vanishes pretty quick.

10. The little drops spread about in the thin air, and are re-dissolved; that is, the particles that