some years since, arrived at a conclusion (to myself satisfactory) on the subject. This conclusion, together with the steps by which I reached it, I now beg to submit (if you deem it worthy of insertion) to the notice of your querist, with whom, I may perhaps as well say, I have not, as far as I know, the most distant acquaintance. Conceiving that in this day of reflection and discovery, the proposed query would before this have elicited an answer, I hitherto hesitated obtruding my opinion, which, however, should it prove of any service, is now at yours. From, sir, &c.

Wellington, Salop, June 6, 1826.

T. L. L.

The simple reason, then, of the sun's putting out fire, when shining upon it, appears to me to be, that he extracts from the burning matter that oxygen, the supply of which is essential to combustion.

But, to be more particular. I surely need not tell any of the readers of your Magazine, that fire will not burn without air. And from the supply provided for this purpose, it is the oxygen separated by the burning materials from the atmospheric air which becomes decomposed by passing through them, that alone supports and prolongs combustion. If, however, as fast as these materials should, as it were, attempt to imbibe and appropriate oxygen, a counteractive power should deprive them of it, it is evident that combustion would slacken, and ultimately cease. Now this theory appears to me to be demonstrated in the case before us. The sun shining upon the fire is this counteractive power. The rays of the sun have a strong tendency to draw off oxygen from certain bodies containing it. Upon this principle it is that some metallic oxides become decomposed by exposure to the light, and lose their colour; and on the same principle do vegetables respire. (See Parker's Chem. Cat. p. 53, note e, 13th edit. 1822.) If, then, a fire that is not burning very strongly, that is, not well supplied with fuel strongly combustible, and that is not open to a strong current of air, be left to have the sun shining powerfully upon it, it is not unaccountable to me that that fire should soon go out; a result that I have often witnessed.

Should it be objected to my view, that bodies in a state of active combustion powerfully imbibe oxygen, and that the sun is, therefore, the less likely to counteract and overcome that power: I reply, that I never knew nor heard that the solar fire has ever thus triumphed over the terrestrial, when this has existed amidst circumstances the most favourable to its maintenance and increase. For instance the sun is not likely to extinguish the stupendous fires in our neighbouring iron-furnaces, where the mass of ignited materials is great, the supply of fuel constant, and the blast irresistible. But with a parlour fire, (to which your querist, I suppose, refers,) long left without attendance, with the sun shining through an opposite window, and, perhaps, both door and window shut up, the case is far, very far otherwise.

A STUDENT OF NATURE.

HISTORY OF LUCY MAR.

Or all the virtues in the world, that of pure and philanthropic charity sends forth the sweetest incense. It is a lovely trait in the character of the aged-for it argues a tenderness of feeling, an expansive mind, and a warm and benevolent heart, existing amid the desolation of the winter of years; and by this we know that time, which withers and freezes up the flowers of beauty and the perennial fount of youth, has not been able to reach the springs of humanity, which flow from the inner bosom. We admire it in the middle-aged and active, but from these we expect the ready and active benevolence which is due from man to man—they are the bone and sinew of society, and owe duties from which their fathers are in a manner exempt. But the charity of the young is that which mingles present pleasure with all the fulness of future hope, and sheds around the character a more than earthly glory.

Every poor family in Aylesbury knew Lucy Mar, of the Sweet-briar Cottage, over the brook by the meadows; where her father lived on a snug little farm which he had bought out of the hard earnings of his young days, and where he had long lived in good circumstances, honest and industrious.-There were many prett

girls in Aylesbury, in those times, but they were, as now, generally found too much devoted to pleasure, too fond of gay dress and gay company, and spent too much time with the beaux, to have a great deal to devote to better purposes. Among these Lucy was called the little basket girl, from the circumstance of her frequently bringing up to the village small presents in a basket, which she carried round to those families who, through misfortune, sickness, or other accidents, were struggling with distress.

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Her father, when she was quite a child, gave her a spot of garden ground. Lucy," said he, "this shall be all your own; if you are a good girl, and industrious, it will yield you a great many good things, and you shall dispose of them as you like." Every summer she paid constant attention to its cultivation-her brothers assisted her in the most laborious part of the business, and in process of time it yielded abundantly. She had a present also, once, of two pretty lambs, and from this small stock in a few seasons came a fine little flock-the wool of these she spun for stockings and mittens for the poor people about her neighbourhood and in the village, to whose relief also the produce of her little garden went.

From resources such as these, Lucy was many times enabled to cheer the spirits of desponding poverty, and often did her small presents, welltimed always in their application, dissipate the gloom that was gathering round a widowed or an orphan family. Among the poor, and there were several of such in and about Aylesbury, she was idolized; and she early, very early, had the joy of knowing that if the prayers of gray、 headed, decrepit, desolate age were valuable, she was rich in such treasures. Beyond her circle of measurably dependent friends, she had few intimate companions; and secluded amid the retired shades of the Sweetbriar Cottage, she passed the first sixteen years of her life in tranquillity and innocence.

I think Lucy was about sixteen, when the lawsuit between her father and the Lawrences took place, which ended in the loss of his estate, for the court decided that he had bought the Sweet-briar property under a bad title. It was a severe stroke to the

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family-for in his farm the good man lost all that he was worth, and found himself involved in debt besideshaving devoted all that he made for many years to enrich and beautify, and improve his delightful situation; and the expenses of the unexpected suit having been considerable.

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When Mr. Mar returned from the court, on the evening of the day in which his fortune had been decided, an affecting scene took place. "All is lost," said the poor man as his wife opened the door to receive him, “ all is lost; Mary, we must leave to others this pretty retreat which we have fitted up so snug and comfortable for our old age, and in which we so long fondly hoped our children would succeed us-but it is the will of Heaven, —we must bear it with the resignation that becomes us."

The kind mother clasped her hands silently, and turned pale-but when she saw her husband affected almost to tears, she put on the natural fortitude of the woman, and endeavoured cheerfully to encourage him under his misfortunes. The children gathered round their parents, and with tears in their eyes listened to the father's sad account-and then we must leave the Sweet-briar Cottage, said they all, sobbing, and in the same breath."Yes," repeated the unfortunate father; the tears ran down his cheeks, and unable to restrain their feelings any longer, the whole family were bathed in tears.

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Misfortunes, sudden, deep, and unexpected, make sad inroads upon the hearts, even of the most sober and philosophic-and the young and unfortified often bear them with less firmness. But Lucy, who had been sitting long silent in one corner, at length spoke. They will take my pretty garden spot then, and all my lambs; but, though I shall have to leave my poor friends in the village without my aid, it will be even a sweeter task to work, and earn something for, and help every day, my poor parents. Yes, we'll all work to help you, pa', responded each of the affectionate children; and, touched with this pathetic appeal to his affectionate heart, another burst of tears succeeded.

Just then a gentle rap was heard at the door; Lucy flew to open it, when a traveller entered, and asked for lodgings. There was a moment of

hesitation, and all eyes were turned to Mr. Mar. "I never yet," said the good man, "turned a stranger from my door, and while I have a loaf of bread I will not deny a share of it to the needy." Pleasure returned in every countenance at these words, and the unknown visitor was shewn to a seat-supper was prepared by Lucy, and the stranger feasted. He was a young man of a fine figure and countenance, intelligent and affableand ever and anon, his eye was caught straying towards Lucy-she discovered it, and, blushing, seized an opportunity of retiring.

"Methinks," said the stranger as she left the room," I saw that pretty blue-eyed girl in the village, two years ago, carrying a basket of food to the poor old woman who lived by the turnpike gate; is it not she they used to call the little basket girl?" The father smiled, and assented,"Then," said he, "I know more of her history than you imagine-we must become better acquainted." The conversation went on-in course of which Mr. Mar mentioned his losses -and spoke with a full heart of his past life, his prospects, and his family. The evening was spent-and next morning the stranger left the cottage, saying he had some business to transact, and would return in the evening.

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The evening came-Carroll, for that was his name, returned, and presented to the astonished family Mr. Lawrence's deed for his farm. "I give it to you," said he, on this condition, that you allow me to remain a member of your family a few weeks;" the condition was accepted; a new era opened; the six weeks were prolonged to sixteen, and at the end of that time he led young Lucy to the altar. He was a wealthy landholder from an eastern town, and had been on a visit to his tenants, when this event took place.

Thus did Heaven reward the virtues of the lovely daughter of Mr. Mar, at last, and when it was least expected, with a flow of unexampled prosperity.

ment in the charnel-house. Not even the death of kindred can affect the gambler. He would play upon his brother's coffin-he would play upon his father's sepulchre.-Yonder, see that wretch, prematurely old in infamy as well as sin-he is the father of a family. The mother of his children, lovely in her tears, strives with tender assiduities to restore his health, and with it to restore his temperauce, his love of home, and the long-lost charms of domestic life. She pursues him, with her kindness and her entreaties, to his haunts of vice; she reminds him of his children; she tells him of their virtues, of their sorrows, of their wants; and she adjures him, by the love of God, to repent and return. Vain attempt! she might as well adjure the whirldwind; she might as well entreat the tiger. The brute has no feeling left. He turns upon her, in the spirit of the demon with which he is possessed. He curses his children and her who bore them; and, as he prosecutes his game, he fills the intervals with imprecations on himself, with imprecations on his Maker! imprecations borrowed from the dialects of devils, and uttered with a tone that befits only the organs of the damned! And yet, in this monster there once dwelt the spirit of a man. He had talents, he had honour, he had even faith. He might have adorned the senate, the bar, the altar. But, alas! his was a faith that saveth not. The gaming-table has robbed him of it, and of all things else that are worth possessing. What a frightful change of character! what a tremendous wreck is the soul of man in ruins! Return, disconsolate mother, to thy dwelling, and be submissive; thou shalt become a widow, and thy children fatherless. Further efforts will be useless-the reformation of thy partner is impossible. God has forsaken him, nor will good angels weep or watch over him any longer.

Joseph Butterworth, Esq.

On the evening of Friday, June 30th, this gentleman, late member of parliament for Dover, died at his house in Bedford square, after a few days' illness. He was a man of piety, wealth, and liberality. In him, when living, benevolence found a powerful advocate and a constant friend, and by his death it has sustained a loss that will not easily be repaired. Some additional observations may be expected in a future number.

His second attempt was more successful, the ship in which he re-embarked reaching England in safety, in the month of August of the same year; but from the arduous duties of his station, and the enervating influence of the climate, his constitution appeared broken, and, without great improvement in bis health, bis life seemed in a precarious state. The event bas verified what his friends dreaded to anticipate. Though somewhat invigorated by the salubrity of his native air, his constitutional debility could not be overcome. His health always remained questionable; but at length he was seized with apoplexy, brought on by a disease in his head of long standing, which terminated his earthly career at Highwood, near London, the place of his residence, on the fifth day of July, 1826, in the 45th year of his age, leaving his widow Lady Raffles, and a daughter, to lament their loss.

To the enlightened and scientific, his valuable history of Java, in two quarto volumes, has made him almost universally known; and among the inhabitants over whom he extended the British flag, his name will be long remembered with gratitude, and cherished with affection. During his administration, the amelioration of the condition of the natives, and the interests of his country, primarily engrossed his attention. Among the former, he abolished slavery, and established a benign era in the history of their welfare. In reference to the latter, be introduced new judicial and revenue systems, and effected an entire reformation in the commercial department. On quitting his government, the whole island was in a state of progressive improvement, and wherever dominion has been under his control, benefit to all parties has resulted from power.

GLEANINGS.

Wesleyan Missionaries in New Zealand.

In our number for January, col. 96, we stated the dangerous situation of the Missionaries among these barbarians. From a Sydney Gazette, dated Jan. 2nd, 1826, we copy the following articles.

"Late advices from the Wesleyan Mission, at New Zealand, are more pleasing than those which we were so unfortunate as to receive in the early part of last year. It was then stated, that, owing to the expected demise of George, the celebrated chief of Whangorooa, the missionaries had fled for refuge to the Bay

in his last illness, positively enjoined his tribe and successors to imbrue their hands in the blood of all the white people, so that the death of his father, which occurred on board the illfated Boyd many years ago, by the blowing up of gunpowder, might be more amply avenged. For several months past, the missionaries have been expected to return to the colony, but the arrival of the Prince of Denmark not only affords the intelligence of the death of George, but also that with it became dissipated the apprehension of the missionaries, who made the best of their way back to their settlement tinued anmolested; but it is, notwithstanding, at Whangorooa, where they have since conour opinion, that no faith is to be placed in those hosts of barbarians by whom they are environed. The mission is in a prospering way, and those who have to prosecute its arduous duties, are still induced to go forward in their perilous undertaking, from their love of immortal souls, and the hope of eternal reward. The Rev. Mr. White, who was the senior missionary on that station, has proceeded to England in a whaler, and the Rev. Mr. Turner, with his brethren Messrs. Hobbes and Stack, continue firm to their post. We gret to hear that Mrs. Turner has but an inare aware, that many of our readers will redifferent share of health, the climate having proved unfavourable to her. By 'the excellent of the earth,' our distant friends will doubtless continue to be duly remembered."

The Society Islands.

By a late arrival from this quarter of the globe, we are gratified in learning the still growing prosperity of the London Missionary Society. Accessions are almost every day being made to the present immense number of converts to Christianity, and there can be little doubt that the epoch is not far distant when all these nations will become a conquest to the mild and winning dictates of the gospel of peace. The missionaries that are scattered throughout the various islands, with their wives and families, are in good health. The Rev. Mr. Pitman, and his amiable partner, who left this colony in the early part of last year, and who will long be kindly remembered, had safely reached their destination. We are proud to say, the gentlemen of the mission are much more happy in their circumstances, since they have, like Van Diemen's Land, become independent of resources from New South Wales. They are now their own masters in point of pecuniary matters, and can draw their own bills on their committee direct. mention this fact to shew the parent societies at home the necessity that exists for studying the comfort of their missionaries; and not only giving them a support which is adequate and liberal, but also of devising means whereby that support may be most easily forthcoming; and we would not fail to recommend, though perhaps our suggestions may be unnecessary, that no missionary be stinted in his allowance, but on the contrary, receive a sufficiency for himself and family, that is, if he have a family. Without further comment, we give the following

We