A law there is of ancient fame,
By nature's self in every land implanted;
Lex Talionis is its Latin name;

But if an English term be wanted,

Give our next neighbour but a pat,

He'll give you back as good, and tell you-tit for tat.

This tit for tat, it seems, not men alone,
But elephants for legal justice own;
In proof of this, a story I shall tell ye,
Imported from the famous town of Delhi.

A mighty elephant, that swell'd the state
Of Aurengzebe the Great,

One day was taken by his driver
To drink and cool him in the river.
The driver on bis neck was seated,
And as he rode along,

By some acquaintance in the throng,
With a ripe cocoa-nut was treated.

A cocoa-nut's a pretty fruit enough,
But guarded by a shell, both hard and tough.
The fellow tried and tried, and tried,

An elephant, they say, has human feeling,
And full as well as we, he knows

The diff'rence between words and blows,
Between horse-play and civil dealing.
Use him but well, he'll do his best,
And serve you faithfully and truly,

But insults unprovok'd he can't digest,

He studies o'er then, and repays them duly.

"To make my head an anvil (thought the creatura) Was never, certainly, the will of nature;

So, master of mine, you may repent."

Then, shaking his broad ears, away he went.
The driver took him to the water,
And thought no more about the matter;
But elephant within his mem❜ry hid it;
He felt the wrong-the other only did it.

A week or two elaps'd-one market day
Again the beast and driver took their way,
Thro' rows of shops and booths they past,
With eatables and trinkets stor'd,

Till to a gard'ner's stall they came at last,
Where cocoa-nuts lay-pil'd upon the board,
Ha! thought the elephant, 'tis now my tire
To shew this method of nut-breaking;

My friend above will like to learn,
Tho' at the cost of a head-aching.

Then in his curling trunk he took a heap,
And wav'd it o'er his neck with sudden sweep,
And on the hapless driver's sconce

He laid a blow so hard and full,

That crack'd the nuts at once,

But with them crack'd his skull.

Young folks, whene'er you feel inclined

To rompish sports and freedoms rough,
Bear tit for tat in mind,

Nor give an elephant a cuff
To be repaid in kind.

ho

Twelfth Evening.

George and Harry, accompanied by their tutor, went one day to pay a visit to a neighbouring gentleman, their father's friend. They were very kindly received, and shewn all about the gardens and pleasure-grounds; but nothing took their fancy so much as an extensive grapery, hung round with bunches of various kinds, fully ripe, and almost too big for the vines to support. They were liberally treated with the fruit, and carried away some bunches to eat as they walked. During their return, as they were picking their grapes, said George to the tutor, a thought is just come into my head, sir. Wine, you know, is called the juice of the grape; but wine is hot,

and intoxicates people that drink much of it. Now we have had a good deal of grape juice this morning, and yet I do not feel heated, nor does it seem at all to have got into our heads. What

is the reason of this?

Tut. The reason is, that grape juice is not wine, though wine is made from it.

G. Pray how is it made, then?

T. I will tell you; for it is a matter worth knowing. The juice pressed from grapes, called must, is at first a sweet watery liquor, with a little tartness, but with no strength or spirit. After it has stood awhile, it begins to grow thick and muddy, it moves up and down, and throws scum and bubbles of air to the surface. This is called working or fermenting. It continues in this state for some time, more or less, according to the quality of the juice and the temperature of the weather, and then gradually settles again, becoming clearer than at first. It has now lost its sweet flat taste, and acquired a briskness and pungency, with a heating and intoxicating property; that is, it has become wine. This natural process is called the vinous fermentation, and many liquors besides grape juice are capable of undergoing it. G. I have heard of the working of beer and ale. Is that of the same kind?

T. It is; and beer and ale may properly be called barley wine; for you know they are clear, brisk, and intoxicating. In the same manner, cyder is apple wine, and mead is honey wine ; and you have heard of raisin and currant wine, and a great many others.

Har. Yes, there is elder wine, and cowslip wine, and orange wine.

G. Will every thing of that sort make wine? T. All vegetable juices that are sweet are capable of fermenting, and of producing a liquor of a vinous nature; but if they have little sweetness, the liquor is proportionally weak and poor, and is apt to become sour or vapid.

H. But barley is not sweet.

T. Barley as it comes from the ear is not; but before it is used for brewing, it is made into malt, and then it is sensibly sweet.

what malt is?

You know

H. I have seen heaps of it in the malt-house, but I do not know how it is made.

T. Barley is made malt by putting it in heaps and wetting it, when it becomes hot, and swells, and would sprout out, just as if it were sown, unless it were then dried in a kiln. By this operation it acquires a sweet taste. You have drunk sweet wort ?

H. Yes.

T. Well-this is made by steeping malt in hot water. The water extracts and dissolves all the sweet or sugary part of the malt. It then becomes like a naturally sweet juice.

G. Would not sugar and water then make wine ?

T. It would; and the wines made in England of our common fruits and flowers have all a good deal of sugar in them. Cowslip flowers, for example, give little more than the flavour to the wine named from them, and it is the sugar added to them which properly makes the wine.

G. But none of these wines are so good as grape wine.

T. No. The grape, from the richness and