line, by asking you another.
When Alice makes her fire in the kitchen, how does she make it?

_Daughter._ She takes some wood, or some coal, and puts under it some
pine wood, which she calls kindling, and some shavings, and then takes a
match and sets the shavings on fire, and very soon the fire is made.

_Mother._ But does she not first do something to the match?

[Illustration]

_Daughter._ O, yes; I forgot to say that she lights the match first, and
then sets fire to the shavings with the lighted match.

_Mother._ But how does she light the match, my dear?

_Daughter._ Why, mother, have you never seen her? She rubs one end of
the match on the box, where there is a little piece of sand-paper, and
that sets the match on fire.

_Mother._ Is there any fire in the sand-paper, Caroline?

_Daughter._ Why, no, mother; certainly not.

_Mother._ Was there any fire in the match, before she lighted it?

_Daughter._ Why, no, mother; if there had been, she would have had no
need to light it.

_Mother._ You see, then, that fire came when she rubbed the match
against the sand-paper; and that the fire was not in the sand-paper, nor
in the match.

_Daughter._ Yes, mother, but I did not see where it came from.

_Mother._ I am going to explain that to you, my dear, in the next
lesson.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] This lesson, together with the two following lessons, is
taken from a little book, called "Juvenile Philosophy," published by
Messrs. A.S. Barnes & Co., 51 John-street, New York. It consists of nine
conversations, between a little girl and her mother, on the subjects,
Rain, Color, Vision or Sight, the Eye, Light, Fire, Heat and Wind.

LESSON XVII.

_The same subject, continued._

_Mother._ Did you ever see a person rub his hands together, when he was
cold?

_Daughter._ O yes, mother, a great many times. I have seen father come
in from the cold, and rub his hands together, and afterwards hold them
to the fire and rub them again, and then they get warm.

_Mother._ And now, Caroline, take your hand and rub it quickly backwards
and forwards, over that woolen table-cloth, on the table in the corner
of the room, and tell me whether that will make your hand warm.

_Daughter._ O, yes, dear mother; I feel it grow warmer, the faster I rub
it.

_Mother._ Here are two small pieces of wood. Touch them to your cheek,
and tell me whether they feel warm now.

_Daughter._ They do not feel warm, nor cold, mother.

_Mot