been, where the boughs were so thick with leaves that a man would not be discovered there without a narrower inquiry than people usually make in places which they do not suspect. The king thought it good counsel, and, with the other's help, climbed into the tree, and then helped his companion to ascend after him, where they sat all that day, and securely saw many who came purposely into the wood to look after them, and heard all their discourse, how they would use the king himself if they could take him. This wood was either in or upon the borders of Staffordshire; and though there was a highway near one side of it, where the king had entered into it, yet it was large, and all other sides of it opened amongst enclosures, and Careless was not unacquainted with the neighbour villages; and it was a part of the king's good fortune that this gentleman, by being a Roman Catholic, was acquainted with those of that profession of all degrees, who had the best opportunities of concealing him; for it must never be denied, that some of that religion had a very great share in his majesty's preser

vation.

The day being spent in the tree, it was not in the king's power to forget that he had lived two days with eating very little, and two nights with as little sleep; so that, when the night came, he was willing to make some provision for both; and he resolved, with the advice and assistance of his companion, to leave his blessed tree; and, when the night was dark, they walked through the wood into those enclosures which were farthest from any highway, and making a shift to get over hedges and ditches, after walking at least eight or nine miles, which were the more grievous to the king by the weight of his boots (for he could not put them off when he cut off his hair, for want of shoes), before morning they came to a poor cottage, the owner whereof, being a Roman Catholic, was known to Careless. He was called up, and as soon as he knew one of them, he easily concluded in what condition they both were, and presently carried them into a little barn full of hay, which was a better lodging than he had for himself. But when they were there, and had conferred with their host of the news and temper of the country, it was agreed that the danger would be the greater if they stayed together; and, therefore, that Careless should presently be gone, and should, within two days, send an honest man to the king, to guide him to some other place of security; and in the meantime his majesty should stay upon the hay-mow. The poor man had nothing for him to eat, but promised him good butter-milk; and so he was once more left alone, his companion, how weary soever, departing from him before day, the poor man of the house knowing no more than that he was a friend of the captain's, and one of

those who had escaped from Worcester. The king slept very well in his lodging, till the time that his host brought him a piece of bread, and a great pot of butter-milk, which he thought the best food he ever had eaten. The poor man spoke very intelligently to him of the country, and of the people who were well or ill-affected to the king, and of the great fear and terror that possessed the hearts of those who were best affected. He told him, 'that he himself lived by his daily labour, and that what he had brought him was the fare he and his wife had; and that he feared, if he should endeavour to procure better, it might draw suspicion upon him, and people might be apt to think he had somebody with him that was not of his own family. However, if he would have him get some meat, he would do it; but if he could bear this hard diet, he should have enough of the milk, and some of the butter that was made with it.' The king was satisfied with his reason, and would not run the hazard for a change of diet; desired only the man that he might have his company as often and as much as he could give it him,' there being the same reason against the poor man's discontinuing his labour, as the alteration of his fare.

After he had rested upon this hay-mow and fed upon this diet two days and two nights, in the evening before the third night, another fellow, a little above the condition of his host, came to the house, sent from Careless, to conduct the king to another house, more out of any road near which any part of the army was like to march. It was above twelve miles that he was to go, and he was to use the same caution he had done the first night, not to go in any common road, which his guide knew well how to avoid. Here he new dressed himself, changing clothes with his landlord; he had a great mind to have kept his own shirt; but he considered, that men are not sooner discovered by any mark in disguises than by having fine linen in ill clothes; and so he parted with his shirt too, and took the same his poor host had then on. Though he had foreseen that he must leave his boots, and his landlord had taken the best care he could to provide an old pair of shoes, yet they were not easy to him when he first put them on, and, in a short time after, grew very grievous to him. In this equipage he set out from his first lodging in the beginning of the night, under the conduct of this guide, who guided him the nearest way, crossing over hedges and ditches, that they might be in least danger of meeting passengers. This was so grievous & march, and he was so tired, that he was even ready to despair, and to prefer being taken and suffered to rest, before purchasing his safety at that price. His shoes had, after a few miles, hurt him so much, that he had thrown them away, and walked the rest of the way in his ill stockings, which were

quickly worn out; and his feet, with the thorns in getting over hedges, and with the stones in other places, were so hurt and wounded, that he many times cast himself upon the ground, with a desperate and obstinate resolution to rest there till the morning, that he might shift with less torment, what hazard soever he run. But his stout guide still prevailed with him to make a new attempt, sometimes promising that the way should be better, and sometimes assuring him that he had but little farther to go; and in this distress and perplexity, before the morning they arrived at the house designed; which, though it was better than that which he had left, his lodging was still in the barn, upon straw instead of hay, a place being made as easy in it as the expectation of a guest could dispose it. Here he had such meat and porridge as such people use to have, with which, but especially with the butter and the cheese, he thought himself well feasted; and took the best care he could to be supplied with other, little better shoes and stockings; and after his feet were enough recovered that he could go, he was conducted from thence to another poor house, within such a distance as put him not to much trouble; for having not yet in his thought which way or by what means to make his escape, all that was designed was only, by shifting from one house to another, to avoid discovery. And being now in that quarter which was more inhabited by the Roman Catholics than most other parts in England, he was led from one to another of that persuasion, and concealed with great fidelity. But he then observed that he was never carried to any gentleman's house, though that country was full of them, but only to poor houses of poor men, which only yielded him rest with very unpleasant sustenance; whether there was more danger in those better houses, in regard of the resort and the many servants, or whether the owners of great estates were the owners likewise of more fears and apprehensions.

EVOLUTION TO THE SECOND POWER OR SQUARE ROOT.

(1) Find the square root of 64009.

What is the square root of 108900?

What number multiplied once by itself will give 998001?

(4) Find the square root of 999.

(5) Find the square root of 188.

What is the square root of 1?

R

FIRE.

(From the Museum of Science and Art,' by Dr. Lardner.)

ev-o-lu'-tion, the act of unfolding

het-e-ro-ge'-ne-ous, dissimilar; of a

different kind or nature

a'-zote, nitrogen gas
in-can-des'-cent, burning

no-men'-cla-ture, the names of things in

any art or science

con-cen'-trate, to drive to a common centre; to bring into a narrow compass

IN the physical theory which prevailed among the ancients, and which maintained its ground for several thousand years, fire was accounted as one of the elements; that is to say, as a material essence, which with three others, air, water, and earth, constituted all natural bodies.

It was only towards the close of the last century, and within the lifetime of the elder part of the present generation, that the true character of fire was discovered.

It is now known that fire is neither a distinct substance nor essence, as supposed by the ancients. It is a phenomenon consisting of the sudden and abundant evolution of heat and light produced when a certain class of bodies called COMBUSTIBLES enter into chemical combination with the oxygen gas, which constitutes one of the constituents of the atmosphere. The term COMBUSTION in the modern nomenclature of physics has been adopted to express this phenomenon.

The class of combustible substances which are commonly used for the production of artificial heat is called FUEL. Such, for example, are pit coal, charcoal, and wood.

Another class of combustibles is used for the production of artificial light: such, for example, are oil, wax, and the gas extracted from certain sorts of pit coal, from oil, and from certain sorts of wood, such as the pitch pine.

The principal constituents of all these combustibles, whether used for the production of heat or light, are those denominated by chemists CARBON and HYDROGEN.

CARBON is the name given to charcoal when it is absolutely pure, which it never is as it is obtained by the ordinary industrial processes. It is in that state combined with various heterogeneous and incombustible substances. In the laboratories of chemists it is separated from these, and obtained in a state of perfect purity, being there distinguished from the charcoal of commerce by the name of carbon.

Carbon having never been resolved by any chemical agent into other constituents, is classed in physics as a simple and elementary body, which enters largely into the composition of a most numerous class of bodies which are found in nature,

or produced in the processes of industry, the sciences, and the

arts.

HYDROGEN, like carbon, is classed as a simple and elementary substance; and also, like carbon, enters largely into the composition of a numerous class of bodies.

A quantity of charcoal being placed in a furnace through which a draught of air is maintained, if a part of it be heated to redness, the entire mass will soon become incandescent, and will emit a reddish light, which will be whiter as the air is passed through it more briskly, and will emit considerable heat. The charcoal will gradually decrease in quantity, and at length will disappear altogether from the furnace, under which a small portion of ashes consisting of incombustible matter will remain. If the charcoal had been pure-that is, if it had been carbon-it would have altogether disappeared, no ash whatever remaining.

This phenomenon is an example of FIRE. The heat and light developed during the process here described are commonly called fire.

To comprehend what takes place in this process, we must consider that, as the air passes through the charcoal, the oxygen gas, which forms one-fifth part of it, enters into combination with the pure carbon. A compound is thus formed consisting of carbon and oxygen. The formation of this compound is attended with so great a production of heat, that not only the compound itself, but the charcoal, from which it is evolved, is raised to a very elevated temperature.

The compound thus produced is a gas called carbonic acid. The air which enters the furnace being a mixture of azote and oxygen, that which rises from it after the combustion has been produced is a mixture of azote and carbonic acid; the azote having passed through the furnace without suffering other change than an increase of temperature, while the oxygen has been converted into highly heated carbonic acid. Several questions, however, arise out of this explanation. How is it known that such combination really takes place between the carbon and oxygen? If it do, in what proportion do they combine? How does it appear that the azote, which forms four-fifths of the air which passes through the furnace, issues unaltered?

To supply satisfactory answers to these questions, it is only necessary to bring the two constituents of common air separately into the presence of carbon under the conditions necessary to favour combination, and to ascertain their weights before and after the development of the phenomena.

Let a glass flask containing sixteen grains of oxygen gas be inverted over mercury, and let a piece of carbon weighing