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10 Qu. (52) By Mr. John Rowell, Farnley Wood, near
Huddersfield. The prussic acid is capable of combining with potash, and forming a salt exceeding prone to decomposition. But this proneness to decomposition is done away with by adding a quantity of iron dissolved in an acid. In this case how does the iron operate?
11 Qu. (45) By Mr. W. Allen, Burstwick. It is well known that the rainbow is produced by the reflection of the sun's rays upon the drops of fali. ing rain ; may we not, therefore, suppose that its appearance was equally as common before the flood as now? if so, in what sense are we to understand it as a pledge that the world shall be no more destroyed by water?
12 Qu. (46) By Mr. J. V. Oldrid, Boston. Carpenters sometimes slit the large beams for warehouses, &c. down the middle, and after turning one half so that its ends shall be reversed, bolt both together again with screw-bolts: they then say the beam is stronger than before. They also say, that if the beam be cut down the middle, and bolted together again exactly as it was before, that it will be stronger for the operation. Is this a fact? if it be, how is it to be accounted for
AMY AND HER MOTHER.
BY H, SUMMERSETT.
“Why, neighbour! whither in such speed?
You've something strange to tell :"“ Bad tidings I have heard, indeed ;
You know the river's swell
The foot-bridge hid from all our eyes,
Where thick the willows grew,
But down the dale they flew :
Proud of his mellow strain,
Then pausd and sang again ; But spread his wings, and hush'd his note, While fear compress'd his little throat, As quick the peasants took their way, And brush'd the cluster'd sweets of May. 0, London ladies! I have seen
Your eyes compassion show, While they por'd o'er some tragic scene,
Or army's overthrow:
By fashion unrefin'd,
What foolishness of mind!
Of him who late was drown'd,
The dead man's widow found:
“ Take comfort, neighbour;" oft they said ;
So often misapply'd,
They wept and deeply sigh’d:
Her breast would enter more;
And closer press'd the floor :
Was heard, she rais'd her head,
Mute bearers of the dead.
To this poor wretch was known;
Her feelings were her own.
Oh, Lord of Heaven!” was all she said.
And to the church-yard went;
The sigh of sorrow sent
To God who knew them all sincere;
The green turf closely laid ;
In garden, dell, and glade;
O'er many a noble's tomb,
His worth, and mourn'd his doom :
In strains of elegy ;
She never saw the tree
O’er Martin's bones, his wife
To one she'd given life :
But why not smile and cry?
And something in its eye
Seem'd to the widow strange.
With tears She listen'd to her neighbours' fears, And
grew, with sorrow, almost wildThe mother of an idiot child! The shaft of death half pierc'd her heart,
When first the truth she found; She almost wish'd the failing dart
Had made a mortal wound: And sometimes, with a strange despair, She'd sit, and on the infant stare, But neither start, nor suffering cry, Could move to sense the idiot's eye! “I grieve, poor babel that thou art thus!"
The wretched woman said;
Hang on my sinful head,
The idiot was her joy!
it many a blossom’d bough,
many a toy ; And hardly toil'd each year away, Though summer shed its sweltering ray; Though winter's blasts were loud and wild, Her care was still the harmless child. It grew,
e'en as existence, dear
And oft a smile impart,
Should have no strength of mind!
Her tresses on the wind