a-half a-day, to be appropriated to afford- | her institutions being worthy of universaf ing means for intellectual entertainment | imitation-and of her being the envy ol and elevation, and a Mechanics' Insti- surrounding nations and the admiration tute, or a Literary Society, whatever of the world; and in many respects it is name it may be called, is the result. true. At another moment we hear of Such an institution is as much a triumph of civilization and improvement as anything our age can boast of. By our admirably arranged post-office system, I can send a letter from London to Edinburgh in a few hours, and have it delivered punctually, for a penny. And the post-office that does this at so cheap a rate gets a good per centage of the penny for its attention and labour. Rowland Hill has stated that the mere carriage of a letter from London to Edinburgh is only the thirty-sixth part of a penny. Such is that beneficent piece of social legislation, the postoffice. And as is the post-office for the transmission of information, so is a good Scientific and Literary Institution for the obtainment of information. That which I can have now done for me for a penny by the post-office would cost a pound if I despatched a special messenger; and the newspapers, periodicals, books, lectures, classes, and accommodation, which I now get daily for five farthings and a half, would cost me a hundred times as much if purchased singly, solely for myself. the stolid ignorance of our population, and of the vice and the crime which ever accompanies ignorance; we see statis tics heaped on statistics, to prove the frightful state of our towns and cities; of the intemperate and degrading habits of our citizens, which is equally true. As a nation, we have much to be proud of and much to be ashamed of. Much as has been done for the elevation of our people, much more remains to be done. And when such admirable agencies as the societies we have been speaking of can be so cheaply and advantageously worked, is it not the duty of all who wish to see society purer, wiser, and happier, to lend their aid to their promotion and multiplication? We regard Mechanics' Institutes for the grown-up people of this country in something of the same light as we regard schools and seminaries for the young. Both of these institutions are demanded by the requirements of human nature and the exigencies of the age. The human mind was made for the reception of knowledge. If it be not stored with ideas, if its powers be not expanded by thoughtful exercise, and polished by re The Athenæums and literary societies of this country, afford the maximum of finement, it is not in a healthful natural advantages for the minimum of expen- state. The human mind is made for diture. They are just the things that action. It must be engaged about somethe educator and the political economist thing. If it be not employed about would devise to instruct and improve something becoming its nature, it is the people. They are elaborate organizations, calculated to afford the greatest amount of benefits for the lowest cost. If it is a glory to an age to be adorned and blessed with such institutions, it is the highest privilege to live in such an age. most likely to be active in some way unworthy of itself. If it do not soar towards the stars, it will most likely cleave to the dust. How important, then, that it should be fed with aliment congenial to its constitution. How hu.. miliating it is to see a mind that might have been enriched with information and beautified by art, grovelling in ignorance and degradation. But how many such neglected, depraved natures do we see every day of our lives! And even in what are called the middle and higher walks of life, how humiliating it is to see souls wedded to sense, and life subordinated to the mere purposes of moneygetting. It is not for this that the But highly advantageous as these institutions are, let it be said, to the shame of England, that they are not sufficiently appreciated to be kept in a prosperous, healthy condition. Eminently calculated as they are to educate and refine our people, is it not a pity that many of them should be obliged to live in a kind of forced existence, as is now the case? At one moment we hear of England being the glory of the earth-of human soul, with its noble capabilities, A CHILD'S FAITH; OR, WHEN THE SUMMER COMES. 19 was created. No; it was endowed with energy and attributes of progress that it might expand in the sunlight of intelligence and love. But as the world now moves on, we see the ravages of ignorance around us; we see diseases, intemperance, jails, prisons, and institutions for the repression and punishment of criminals, where we should, and where we might see, schools, reading-rooms, and literary and scientific institutions for men. It is quite evident that if we had more knowledge among us we should have less war, poverty, disease, and deception. And the best way to remove evils and errors from our midst is to distribute knowledge, educate ourselves, and live the life of men. Of what advantage is it to millions that Socrates thought, that Demosthenes spoke, that Thucydides wrote, that Sir Isaac Newton scaled the altitudes of the universe, that Milton, in his blindness, sung of the glories of the Paradise Lost, and the brighter glories of the paradise to come; that Shakspere sounded the depths and shoals of the human heart, painted every passion and measured every capability; that Scott scattered around our path the creations of his fertile fancy. Of what advantage is it to millions that such men have lived, thought, and thrilled the intellectual universe?-but very little. Why should not these millions open their minds and receive the imperishable treasures of intelligence and love with which genius and talent have enriched the world? Then let our Whittington Clubs, Literary Societies, and Mechanics' Institutes multiply; let them bless and adorn every town and hamlet of the kingdom, and instructed and benefited millions will rejoice in their existence and prosperity. But in order that they should multiply and flourish, it is necessary that intemperance, our national sin, should be diminished, and, if possible, destroyed. And to do this, let our Temperance Societies have full scope for their beneficent mission. It is also necessary that our cruel, absurd, and unjust late-shopping system should be put an end to. How can men improve their mind if protracted hours of labour absolutely prevent them? Success, then, say we, to the Early Closing Association. And in order that the Institutions above alluded to should increase, it is necessary that they should be improvedthey should be made more recreative, and, if possible, more adapted to the social condition of man.* EDITOR. * This article is also published as a Public Good Tract. A CHILD'S FAITH; OR, WHEN THE SUMMER COMES. I ONCE know a little boy, a little child, of three years old; one of those bright creatures whose fair loveliness seems more of heaven than earth-even at a passing glimpse stirring our hearts, and filling them with purer and holier thoughts. But this, the little Francis, was more of a cherub than an angel-as we picture them with his gladsome hazel eyes, his dazzling fairness, his clustering golden hair, and his almost winged step. Such he was, at least until sickness laid its heavy hand on him; then indeed, when, after days of burning, wasting fever-hours of weary restlessness-the little hand at last lay motionless outside the scarcely whiter coverlet of his tiny bed, the fair, still head pressed down upon his pillow, and the pale face gazing with the silent wonder of returning consciousness on the anxious ones around it; then indeed a bright, yet pitying look would flit across it, or dwell in the earnest eyes-a look such as we assign to angels in our dreams, when some fond fancy seems to bring them near us, weeping for mortal griefs beyond their remedy. It was a strange sickness for one so young-the struggle of typhus fever with a baby frame; but life and youth obtained the victory, and quicker even than hope could venture to expect, the pulses rallied, the cheeks grew round and rosy, and the little wasted limbs filled up again. Health was restored: health, but not strength;-we thought this for a him the better to his position-expa while. We did not wonder that the weakened limbs refused their office, and still we waited on in hope, until days, and even weeks passed by; then it was found that the complaint had left its bitter sting, and little Francie could not walk a step, or even stand. Many, and tedious, and painful, were the remedies resorted to; yet the brave little heart bore stoutly up, with that wonderful fortitude-almost heroismwhich all who have watched by suffering childhood, when the tractable spirit bends to its early discipline, must at some time or other have remarked. Francie's fortitude might have afforded an example to many; but a dearer lesson was given in the hopeful spirit with which the little fellow himself noted the effect of each distressing remedy, marking each stage of progress, and showing off with eager gladness every step attained, from the first creeping on the hands and knees to the tiptoe journey round the room, hold ing on by chairs and tables; then to the clinging to some loving land; and then at last the graceful balancing of his light body, until he stood quite erect alone, and so moved slowly on. It was in autumn this illness seized on the little one, just when the leaves were turning, and the orchard fruits becoming ripe. His nurse attributed it all to his sitting on a grassy bank at play in one of those uncertain autumn days; but he, in his childish way, always maintained "It was Francie himself eating red berries in the holly bower." However this may have been, the season and the time seemed indelibly impressed upon his mind. In all his long confinement to the house, his thoughts continually turned to outward objects, to the external face of nature, and the season's change, and evermore his little word of hope was this, "When the summer comes!" He kept it up throughout the long winter, and the bleak, cold spring. A fairy little carriage had been provided for him, in which, well wrapped up from the cold, and resting on soft cushions, he was lightly drawn along by a servant, tiated on the beauty or comfort of his new acquisition, his eager look and word would show how far he went beyond it, as, quickly interrupting, he would exclaim, "Wait till the summer comes then Francie will walk again!" During the winter there was a fearful storm: it shook the windows, moaned in the old trees, and howled down the chimney with a most menacing voice. Older hearts than Francie's quailed that night, and he, unable to sleep, lay listening to it all; quiet, but asking many a question as his excited fancy formed similitudes to the sounds. One time it was poor little children cruelly turned out, and wailing; then something thrilling, with its last hoarse cry; then wolves and bears, from far-off other lands. But all the while Francie knew he was snug and safe himself; no fears disturbed him, whatever the noise may have done. Throughout the whole of it he carried his one steadfast hope, and in the morning, telling of it all, with all his marvellous thoughts, he finished his rela tion with the never-failing word of comfort, "Ah! there shall be no loud wind, no waking nights, when once the summer comes!" The summer came, with its glad birds and flowers, its balmy air; and who can paint the exquisite delight of the suffering child that had waited for it so long? Living almost continually in the open air, he seemed to expect fresh health and strength from each receiving breath he drew, and every day would deem himself capable of some greater effort, as if to prove that his expectation had not been in vain. One lovely day he and his little playfellows were in a group, amusing themselves in part of the garden when some friends passed through. Francie, longing to show how much he could do, intreated hard to be taken with them "along the walk just to the holly bower." His request was granted, and on he did walk, quick at first, then slowly slower; but still upheld by his strong faith in the summer's genial influence, he would not rest in any of the offered arms, though to his own great delight and the admira- the fitful colour went and came, and the tion of many a young beholder. But pauses grew more and more frequent. when any one-attempting to reconcile No, with a heavy sigh he admitted, PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY-SPRINGS. "'Tis a very, very long walk now; but Francie must not be tired; sure the summer is come." And so, determined not to admit fatigue in the face of the season's bright proofs around him he succeeded in accomplishing his little task at last. Thus the summer passed away, and again came the changing autumn, acting on poor little Francie to a degree he had never reckoned on, and with its chill, damp airs nearly throwing him back again. With a greater effort than before, he had again tried the walk to the holly bower, the scene of his self-accusing misdemeanour, as the cause of his suffer ings. He sat down to rest; above his head, as the autumnal breeze swept through them, "the polished leaves and berries red did rustling play;" and as little Francie looked upwards towards them, a memory of the former year, and of all the time that had passed since then, seemed for the first time mournfully to steal over his heart. He nestled in closer to his mother's side; and still looking up, with more thoughtful eyes, he said, "Mamma, is the summer quite gone?" "Yes, my darling. "Don't you see the scarlet berries, the food of winter for the little birds?" "Quite gone, mamma, and Francie not quite well?" His mother looked away; she could not bear her child to see the tell-tale tears his mournful little words called up, 21. or know the sad echo returned by her own desponding thoughts. There was a moment's silence, only broken by the blackbird's song; and then she felt a soft, gentle kiss, upon her hand, and looking down she saw her darling's face; yes, surely now it was like an angel'sgazing upward to her, brightly beaming, brighter than ever; and his rosy lips just parted with their own sweet smile again, as he exclaimed, in joyous tones : "Mamma, the summer will come again!" Precious was that heaven-born word of childish faith to the care-worn mother, to cheer her then, and with its memory of hope, still to sustain her through many an after experiment and anxious watch, until at last she reaped her rich reward in the complete realization of her bright one's hope. Precious to more than her such words may be, if bravely stemming our present trouble, whatsoe'er it be, bravely enduring, persevering, encouraging others and ourselves, "even as that little child"- we hold the thought, that as the revolving year brings round its different seasons, as day succeeds to night, and even as surely as we look for this, and know it--so to the trusting heart there comes a time-it may be soon or late, it may be now, or it may be then when this grief or grievance will have passed away and so 'twill all seem nothing, when the summer comes. PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY - No. 1. SPRINGS. [It is our intention, from time to time, to give some very valuable and very curious information on some of the principal features of physical geography. No information is more useful and interesting than that which speaks of the wonders and curiosities of our own globe. We will commence our series of papers by giving a short account of some of the remarkable springs which exist in several parts of the world.] ALL lakes and rivers have their sources in springs, which, by the well-known law of gravity, must of course lie higher than the waters which flow from them. A vast number of streams of various magnitude intersect and fertilize the landsurface of the globe. Those springs which have a continual flow, and without any apparent increase or diminution of their waters, are called perennial; those that flow only at certain seasons of the year, and at other times are dried up, are called periodical. There are many of these in Switzerland, which are supposed to be caused by partial overflowings of water from the caves or natural cisterns in the interior of the mountains, which, when filled, throw off the superabundant quantity of waters. Some springs flow, and then stop and flow, and stop again; such are called intermitting. In Iceland, there springs, from which waters flow only in sudden gushes; this phenomenon is sup are posed by some to be caused by the action that restored it. Many of them have of subterraneous vapours. Some springs are called reciprocating, because their waters rise and fall, and ebb and flow at regular intervals. The spring of Fonsanche, in Languedoc, flows every day for about seven hours, and then stops for about five hours, rising every day fifty minutes later than in the preceding day. The Bullerborn, a fresh-water spring in Westphalia, rises with a great noise. There is one at Colmars, in Provence, which stops every seven minutes. This spring was affected by the great earthquake which destroyed Lisbon in 1755, and changed into a perennial fountain; but in 1763 it begun again to stop at intervals. One of the most remarkable fountains of ancient times was one of which Herodotus and Diodorus Siculus have furnished us with an account. It was called "The Fountain of the Sun," and was situated near the Temple of Jupiter Ammon. Early in the morning of the day this fountain was warm; but as the day advanced it gradually cooled, and at noon was at the extremity of cold, at which time the Ammonians watered their gardens and shrubberies with it. At sunset, it again gradually grew warm, and continued to do so until midnight, when it reached the extremity of heat; again cooling as the morning advanced. There was a peculiar fountain in the forest of Dodona, which is said to have had the power of lighting a torch; it was dry at mid-day, and full at midnight, gradually increasing and decreasing alternately. We are told of one near the Larian Lake, which increased and decreased three times every day. It was a peculiar characteristic of the ancients, that they were ever fond of attributing singular properties to fountains. That of Arethusa was supposed to possess the power of forming youth to beauty; and that of Colophon, of enabling the priest of the Clarian Apollo to foretell future events. We have also many instances of medicinal and detrimental fountains, vouched for by writers of all ages. Philostratus mentions one that occasions the leprosy; Vitruvius tells us of one near Zama, in Numidia, that gave unwonted loudness to the voice. We read of some that caused immediate death; some the loss of memory; and others doubtless a fabulous origin, yet it may perhaps be presumptuous to doubt the possibility of their existence. Pliny speaks of two fountains-one in Judea, the other in Æthiopia-which, being impregnated with sulphur, would burn like oil. The same property is said to be possessed by a river in Cilicia, and also of a fountain near Carthage, by Vitruvius. Herodotus says, that in the country of the Afflantes, in Africa, was a hill of salt, out of the summit of which bubbled a spring of fresh water. There is at Guilford, in Connecticut, a fountain, the waters of which will evaporate, even if corked tightly in a bottle. We have accounts of a fountain rising on Mount Soracte, whose waters boiled at the rising of the sun. In Greenland, most of the springs and fountains rise and fall with the tides. And there are many in Spain, as well as in England and Wales, having similar periodical returns; and under the rocks of Giggleswick, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, there is a well which ebbs and flows several times in the course of an hour, and when the weather is wet or dry, it ceases to flow altogether. Springs vary considerably as to the purity of their waters. This, of course, depends in a great measure on the strata through which they pass. The purest and most limpid waters have their sources mostly at a considerable height, and their specific weight is nearly equal to that of rain water. Spring water in general is more or less impregnated with mineral or earthy matters, particularly with gypsum, lime, and saline particles, Those containing so much of the gaseous or mineral properties as to render its presence perceptible, are called mineral springs, and are divided into four classes:-1st. Acidulous waters, or such as are combined with carbonic acid gas, or fixed air; 2nd. Saline, or such as contain an observable proportion of one or more alkaline or earthy salts; 3rd. Sulphureous or hepatic, that is, such as are impregnated with sulphuretted hydrogen gas; and 4th. Martial or chalybeate waters, which contain salts of iron. The temperature of springs, both common and mineral, is in general subject to the general causes which regulate the heat of the earth; and when the body of |