and everybody else said "To our hostess!" and
then there were cheers. Then another tiresome
boy started up in sing-song, and then half
a dozen noisy and nonsensical boys at once.
But at last Mrs. Alicumpaine said, "I cannot
have this din. Now, children, you have played
at Parliament very nicely, but Parliament, gets
tiresome after a little while, and it's time you
left off, for you will soon be fetched."

After another dance (with more tearing to
rags than before supper) they began to be fetched,
and you will be very glad to be told that the
tiresome fat boy who had been on his legs was
walked off first without any ceremony. When
they were all gone, poor Mrs. Alicumpaine
dropped upon a sofa and said to Mrs. Orange,
"These children will be the death of me at
last, ma'am, they will indeed!"

"I quite adore them, ma'am," said Mrs.
Orange, " but they DO want variety."

Mr. Orange got his hat, and Mrs. Orange got
her bonnet and her baby, and they set out to
walk home. They had to pass Mrs. Lemon's
Preparatory Establishment on their way.

"I wonder, James dear," said Mrs. Orange,
looking up at the window, "whether the
precious children are asleep!"

"I don't much care whether they are or not,
myself," said Mr. Orange.

"James dear!"

"You dote upon them, you know," said Mr.
Orange. "That's another thing."

"I do!" said Mrs. Orange, rapturously. "Oh
I DO!"

"I don't," said Mr. Orange.

"But I was thinking, James love," said Mrs.
Orange, pressing his arm, "whether our dear
good kind Mrs. Lemon would like them to stay
the holidays with her."

"If she was paid for it, I dare say she
would," said Mr. Orange.

"I adore them, James," said Mrs. Orange;
"but SUPPOSE we pay her then!"

This was what brought that country to such
perfection, and made it such a delightful place to
live in; the grown-up people (that would be
in other countries) soon left off being allowed
any holidays after Mr. and Mrs. Orange tried
the experiment; and the children (that would
be in other countries) kept them at school as
long as ever they lived, and made them do
whatever they were told.

FARADAY.

NONE appreciate the beauties of music so
thoroughly as those who make it. Much as a
brilliant experiment delights an audience, it
gratifies the experimenter even more. Nothing,
therefore, can be more appropriate or welcome
than a sketch of the labours of a master
discoverer, by a masterly exponent of scientific
discovery.

When Dr. Tyndall gives us a book, it is
something better than Science Made Easy, being
science rendered irresistibly attractive, without
any false pretensions to easiness. The reader
must climb the hill before him. Its height and
steepness are not concealed by any fog of
ignorance or haze of assumption; but a friendly
guide helps him over rugged places, avowing
their difficulty and encouraging his efforts to
surmount them. Moreover, the points which
the guide himself cannot attain, he plainly states
that he really cannot, holding out no delusive
hope of their being ever accessible. "Though
the progress and development of science may
seem to be unlimited, there is a region
apparently beyond her reach—a line, with which
she does not even tend to osculate... Having
exhausted physics, and reached its very rim,
the real mystery yet looms beyond us. And
thus it will ever loom—ever beyond the bourne
of man's intellect."*

* Heat as a mode of motion.

In the present instance there is the same
able teaching, and the same modest and prudent
reserve. There is no professed attempt to lay
before the world a life of Faraday in the ordinary
acceptation of the term. Such personal
traits only are introduced as are necessary to
complete the picture of the philosopher,† though
by no means adequate to give a complete idea
of the man. Faraday as a Discoverer, is a
lecture given in print, instead of being spoken
vivâ voce. It is a dictation lesson, every
sentence of which will be eagerly caught up and
reverently remembered. It is an outpouring
of the heart, a relief of the memory, by one
full of his subject to overflowing. The earnest
love of the biographer proves (if any such proof
were necessary) the sterling value of his
departed friend.

† Faraday loved this word, and employed it to
the last; he had an intense dislike to the modern
term physicist. In one of his early letters we find,
"I was formerly a bookseller and binder, but am
now turned philosopher."

Michael Faraday was born at Newington
Butts on the 22nd of September, 1791, and
died at Hampton Court, on the 25th of
August, 1867. Dr. Tyndall—believing in the
general truth of the doctrine of hereditary
transmission, and sharing Mr. Carlyle's opinion,
that "a really able man never proceeded from
entirely stupid parents"—once used the privilege
of his intimacy with Mr. Faraday to ask
him whether his parents showed any signs of
unusual ability. He could remember none.
His father was a great sufferer during the
latter years of his life, and that might have
masked whatever intellectual power he
possessed. But mental capability will often
remain latent, until something special occurs to
call it into action. Even when driven to
exercise its faculties, its highest manifestations
are not always produced. Lord Lytton (in his
Student) says that an author's best works may
be those which he has not written, but only
projected.

In 1804, when thirteen years old, Faraday
was apprenticed to a bookseller and binder,
with whom he spent eight years of his life;
alter which, he worked as a journeyman