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will assume the charcoal employed to be absolutely pure. We burn, then, an absolutely pure bit of charcoal in atmospheric air, and it totally disappears; nothing remains; not the smallest trace of ashes; all is gone. What, then, has become of the charcoal? This is not a chemical book, therefore we have not space to go into the matter in all its chemical relations. We must, therefore, content ourselves by saying that the charcoal, by burning, is converted into a gas termed the carbonic acid gas. This carbonic acid gas is quite invisible, therefore one might look for it in vain; but it has a smell and a taste, therefore we might be conscious of its existence, even though we had no means of catching it. But we have such means. If this gas comes in contact with lime, or potash, or soda, either of these substances lays hold of it, combines with it, or, if we may be pardoned the expression, licks it up. Therefore, by setting a little quicklime in places where carbonic acid gas exists, we may catch it just as readily as we can catch a mouse in a trap-ay, more readily, because a mouse may at least choose whether he go into the trap or stay out of it; but the carbonic acid gas has no such choice; if it comes in contact with the trap of lime, in it must go without fail. Now, what we want to come at is this. Although a a piece of charcoal when burnt goes away in an invisible form, it nevertheless only makes a new acquaintance and puts on a mask. We can

catch it, can unmask it, and get the charcoal out of it once more.

Carbonic acid gas is a poison, as, we dare say, most of our readers know; hence the danger of sitting near a pan of burning charcoal.

we should be if we were always puffing out charcoal dust witn every expiration! We do not expire a small quantity either, no less than thirteen ounces of charcoal being evolved during twenty-four hours from each human individual. Had not some provision been adopted for enabling carbon to be thus evolved in a gaseous form, we should all have been blacker than chimney-sweeps. What a miserable state of things would this have been!

Respiration, then, is the chief function of leaves, but it is not the only function; they also serve as evaporative organs, by means of which the plant gets rid of excessive moisture; and in this respect, again, they present a striking analogy to animal lungs. Who amongst us is not aware that our breath contains moisture?

SECTION VII.-ON THE FORM AND MODIFICATIONS OF LEAVES.

Having described the general functions of leaves, we must now proceed to examine their forms, and to learn the terms by which those forms are designated, otherwise we should not be able to

describe a plant in such a manner that a person would understand our description. As in many other parts of Botany, the student will here encounter some long names; they are very useful names, never. theless, and require to be understood.

In the first place, taking a general review of the aspect of leaves, it will be evident to the reader that their form is exceedingly varied, as is also their manner of attach ment to the stem, to say nothing of such characteristics as softness, hardness, thickness, thinness, and so forth. As regards their attachment to the vegetable, some leaves grow directly out of the stem, or, in figurative language, may be said to sit upon the stem. Such leaves are termed by botanists sessile, from the Latin word sessum, a part of the verb sedeo, to sit. Others are attached to the parent stem by a little stem of their own. Now, this leafstem, or foot-stalk of a leaf, botanists denominate a petiole, from the Latin petiolus, a little foot, and leaves thus supplied with a petiole are said to be petiolate. Again, some leaves are attached to the parent stem exactly opposite each other, consequently they are said from this circumstance to be opposite or opposed. Others are alternately attached, from which circumstance the denomination alternate is given to them. All these characteristics are very important, not only in enabling a botanist to describe the configuration of plants in the fewest possible words, but in enabling him at the same time to separate plants into natural groups and alliances.

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THE ASH.

Proceeding with our chemical remarks, we must now go on to say that combustion is far from being the only source of carbonic acid gas: thus it is given off during fermentation, is given off from effervescent wines, such as champagne and sparkling moselle, is given off from ginger beer and soda water, and, what is far more to our purpose, is given off from the lungs of animals by the act of respiration. Indeed, the functions of animal digestion and respiration taken together may be considered as a sort of combustion, and are actually termed combustion by some authors. The similarity is indeed striking, as a little contemplation will serve to demonstrate. Thus, if we throw a lump of coal into a fire-place, heat is given out, and gaseous matter (chiefly carbonic acid) escapes. If we swallow a morsel of food, it is digested, heat is given out, and carbonic acid escapes. In the former case carbonic acid escapes by the chimney, in the latter case by the lungs. One chemical point yet remains to be explained before the student will be in a position to understand the functions of a vegetable leaf. The carbonic acid, of which we have been speaking, is a gaseous compound of charcoal, termed by chemists carbon and something; that something is oxygen, the vital principle of the air. Now, the bulk of vegetable bodies is made up of carbon, otherwise how could we get charcoal in the ordinary way? And this bulk, this carbon, is got out of the air. Yes, the largest tree, whatever its size, is for the most part formed of carbon, and all this carbon once existed in the gaseous form. Philosophers have made calculations, from which it appears that the total amount of carbonic acid thus floating about in the atmosphere amounts to the enormous quantity of many tons, and that tons of carbonic acid hover over each acre of ground, ready to give up its carbon to vegetables which require this substance. Before quitting this subject, we must not forget to direct the reader's attention to the beautiful provision by means of which the amount of carbon necessary to be got rid of from the animal economy is evolved in the particular form of gas. Even supposing no Positive injury to result, yet just think how dirty and begrimed

Again, some leaves are single in themselves, as is the case with those of the apple-tree; whilst others are made up of several little leaflets, as we see, for example, in the ash. Hence arises the very natural distinction of leaves into simple and compound.

The forms which leaves assume are so very numerous, that botanists are accustomed to indicate them by the similarities which they manifest to natural objects. Some are like shields, for which reason they are termed pelliform (Latin, pelta, a shield); others are like hearts, whence they are termed cordiform or cordate (Latin, cor, cordis, a heart). Some resemble feathers, others are jagged like a saw, whence arise the denominations penniform (Latin, penna, a feather or wing), serrate or serra. tiform (Latin, serra, a saw), and so forth; but we shall give in our next lesson dra ings of the chief varieties of leaves, from an inspection of which the various names respectively applied to them will be rendered more evident.

ANIMAL PHYSIOLOGY.—IV.

THE EAR.

A MAN who had been born blind, when asked what he supposed scarlet was like, replied, "Like the sound of a trumpet." The reply is startling, because it shows how dependent the mind is upon the senses for its ideas. No one who could both see and hear would ever think of comparing sound with light, or tone with colour.

But though the sensations conveyed to the brain by the eyenerve and the ear-nerve are so different as to be incomparable, there is much resemblance between sound and light. They obey the same laws. Sound can be absorbed, reflected, and refracted at the surface of bodies, as we have seen light is; and, moreover, it is probable that both consist of rapid vibrations, or waves, succeeding one another at regular intervals, like the enlarging circles which follow one another and break upon the banks when a stone is thrown into the middle of a still pond, and disturbs the glassy surface of the water.

the cry of the partridge, and it be not repeated so often as to let us try experiments on it, by turning the head this way and that, it is very difficult to tell from whence the sound comes, even to the extent of a whole quadrant of the horizon. Upon this fact ventriloquism depends for its success. The idea of the direction of sound being inferential, and not much dependent upon the sense-being, in fact, owing to the operation of the mind, and not to that of the ear-the ventriloquist has only to direct the mind where to expect the sound, and then to make a sound of just such a pitch of intensity, and just such a tone, as the sound would have if it came from that quarter, to completely impose on the ear of the listener as to the direction from which it comes.

But although the ear is at fault as regards direction, the accuracy of some of its other notifications is wonderful in the extreme. It can note not only the likeness and difference of musical sounds, but of their harmonies when many are sounded together, and a fine ear will detect an erring note when a thousand instruments are sounded. The recognition of slight

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V. STAPES.

I. THE HUMAN EAR. II. SECTION SHOWING THE HOLLOW OF THE COCHLEA. III. MALLEUS. IV. INCUS. Reference to Nos. in Fig. I.-1, pinna; 2, lobule; 3, tube; 4, tympanic membrane; 5, incus, or anvil; 6, malleus, or hammer; 7, eustachiar tube; 8, semi-circular canals; 9, vestibule; 10, cochlea.-I., II., III., and IV. enlarged.

Though there are these points of similarity as to the essential nature and qualities of light and sound, there are also great differences. Light travels with a rapidity which, for all appre ciable distances-that is, for all earthly objects-is instantaneous; while sound travels, relatively, very slowly, and, when common air carries it, it goes only 1,093 feet during each second of time. Again, while the vibrations of light are so rapid that it is impossible to know them to be vibrations but by reasoning upon its effects, the waves of sound may be often observed by the eye when they are propagated through, or originated from, a solid body, as when we see a cord or glass vessel respond to a musical note, or give out a sound when struck. Sound, too, is the vibration of the substances themselves-which substance we can feel, or see, or know by means of other senses-while light is supposed to be the vibration of some fluid which is imponderable, or, in other words, has no weight, and of which we know nothing except by the eye.

The waves of sound, then, being coarser and more liable to interference than the waves of light, it follows that the ear cannot be so good an indicator of the direction of sound as the eye is of the direction of a luminous object. Indeed, the ear can of itself scarcely give us any idea of direction. If the sound be short and sharp, like the piercing shrick of the bat, or even

differences is truly wonderful when we consider that not only can the ear know when the same note is sounded by instruments of different kinds (though physicists are unable to tell us how there can be any difference, the number of vibrations in a second being the same, and the medium identical), but very slight differences in the same kind of instruments, such as whether there is one per cent. more or less of a metal in an alloy of which an organ-pipe is made, or of which a bell is cast, are observed so shrewdly, that these matters have to be attended to with the nicest care. A violin must not only be of a certain shape, but the wood of which it is composed must be of a certain age, to produce the best instrument; and these observed dif. ferences are carried to such a nicety that fiddles made in a certain part of Germany, in a certain year, are considered the best, and will command almost fabulous sums. Yet all this depends upon what is called timbre, a word which gives a name to a something which is entirely dependent on the delicacy of our sense of hearing, but which has not received any other explanation.

Though we cannot directly connect these niceties of sense with the intricacies of complication in the organ of hearing, these latter will be seen to be so numerous and peculiar when we describe the ear, that one is not surprised that much con

nected with sound is unexplained, because there are so many structures connected with the organ which has been given us as the recipient and interpreter of sound, at the use of which we can hardly guess.

That which is usually called the ear is familiar to every one as the external semi-circular cartilage, closely invested with skin, and ending below in a soft lobule, which is sometimes the support of barbarous pendants. This structure, which, when well formed, has a beauty of its own that needs no supplement or advertisement, is but a remote appendage to the true ear. Though it in some sort collects sound, and protects the orifice which leads down towards, not to the true ear, it is non-essential, and can be dispensed with without much inconvenience; so that some of our poor ancestors, who found that they could not retain both good external ears and good consciences, like William Prynne in the time of Charles I. and the Star Chamber, suffered less real loss than might have been anticipated.

The external gristly ear is called the pinna, and though flattened as to its general surface, is somewhat folded into ridges and furrows, there being a rim round the outside and a channel within this, which deepens and widens as it runs first upward, along the back part, then downward along the fore part to a central crypt. From this crypt the passage becomes narrower as it runs forward and inward to the pit of the ear. Sound, no doubt, is conveyed along this canal in the same direction as we have described its course. If the pinna were quite flat, sound would rebound from it; but as it is so shaped, sound is caught and reflected round the canal from point to point, as it is reflected round the Whispering Gallery of St. Paul's, and finally delivered down the tube of the ear.

The tube is an inch and a half deep, and its innermost half enters one of the bones of the head, called the temporal bone, and in this bone all the other parts of the ear are enclosed and protected. At the bottom of the tube is an oval membrane stretched across the passage, and barring the entrance to all external objects. Behind this is a roundish, irregular cavity, filled with air. This stretched fibrous membrane bounding the air cavity, naturally suggests the idea of a drum, shaped like a kettle-drum; and hence the cavity is called the tympanum, from a Latin word meaning drum, and the parchment-like tissue the membrane of the drum. It differs, however, from a kettle-drum in that several orifices open into it, and it contains structures to be described presently.

On the further side of the drum is the true ear, completely encased in bone, except at two very small holes, which are closed with membrane. The larger and upper aperture is called the oval hole, and the smaller and lower the round hole. From the membrane of the tympanum to the membrane of the oval hole stretches a chain of bones, whose shape is best seen in the engraving. The outer one, next the parchment of the drum, is called the hammer. It has three processes, or projections, two of which are long; so that, rather than hammer, it might be called a woodcutter's beetle. One of these processes, called the handle, is attached to the centre of the membrane, which it makes tight when pulled inward by a small muscle, and lax when another muscle acts on it.

The former operation is probably the action which we uncon. sciously cause when we consciously listen. The head of the hammer is applied to another bone called the anvil (incus). It has two processes, one for its suspension to the wall of the tympanic cavity, and the other to connect it with the third or stirrup-bone (stapes). This bene is more like the article it is named from than the others are, and the foot-part of the stirrup is applied to the oval membrane, which it nearly covers. These bones can move a little in relation to one another, and their actions are limited by small muscles, but they usually act together as if in one piece, playing round an axis which runs through the heads of the hammer and anvil, so that when the tympanic membrane is thrust in and out by vibration, the membrane of the oval hole is made to vibrate correspondingly. The round hole is open to the influence of sound conveyed through the air of the tympanum; but whether this be its function, or merely to allow the fluid of the internal ear to be more readily thrown into vibration in the passage it fills-in other words, whether it be a hole for the entrance or exit of vibrations-seems hard to tell.

The fore-part of the drum cavity is connected with the throat by a passage, which runs forward and downwards to open in the

gullet behind the nose and mouth. Through this passage the cavity is kept supplied with renewed air at the same pressure as the external air. The reader may be conscious of the existence of these passages to the ears from the throat by preventing the air from rushing out of the mouth and nose, while he forces it up from his lungs. The cavity of the drum will then be dis tended with air; hearing will be less perfect, by the unnatural tension of the membranes, and there is a slight singing in the ear. With a little practice, air may be conveyed through the mouth to the drum, without entering the lungs, and thus gases have been applied as remedies to diseases of the ear. But the exclusion of these from the lungs is difficult, and cannot be relied One of our greatest aurists, when pursuing his philan thropic and scientific investigations on the effect of chloroform and prussic acid applied thus, died, because he could not exclude the latter deadly poison from his lungs as he had supposed he could. The proper, or essential ear, consists of a chamber longer than broad, communicating on its upper and outer side with three semi-circular canals, and at its front inner end with a cavity shaped like a snail-shell.

on.

The chamber is called the vestibule; this and the semi-cir clar canals are called together the labyrinth; and the hollow, like that of a snail-shell, the cochlea. They are all channelled out of the substance of the skull-bone before named as the tem poral. The part of this bone which lodges them juts inwards, so as to lie at the base of the brain, and is so strong and thick as to be called the petrous or stony part of the bone. Accurately resembling the bony labyrinth in shape, but a little smaller in its dimensions, so as to allow a little liquid to lie between it and the bone, is a membranous labyrinth. That part of the membrane which is on the floor of the vestibule leaves its proximity to the bone at the entrance of the cochlea, and forms a horizontal stage across the widest part of the spiral passage, and so mounts round the three whorls of the spire, dividing it into two parts; so that, if we may imagine a small insect ex. ploring these regions, it could mount to the apex of the spire by either of two spiral staircases, the roof of the lower one being the floor of the upper. These circular staircases only communicate with one another at the point of the shell. The lower one at its foot communicates with the tympanum by the round hole, while the vestibule communicates with the chain of bones by the oval hole. Hence, if our imaginary insect could gain access to the cochlea through the membrane of the round hole, it must first mount to the top of the lower staircase, and then descend all the way down the upper one, before it could explore the labyrinth.

All the cavities are filled with fluid, by whose agency the vibrations are conveyed along its walls; and in these walls, especially at certain parts, are distributed the nerve-fibres of the nerve of hearing. It would seem, however, as though the vibrations of the liquid are not enough to impress the nerve, and there are found small, hard structures wherever the nervethreads are most thickly placed, and at two places in the floor of the vestibule are found collections of small, hard, marble stones, held in a mesh of fibres; so that, as the waves sweep by in the liquid, these are made to strike and rebound against the nerves. The spiral sheet of membrane which divides the cochlea receives the nerves from a main nerve which runs up the central pillar, and it has in its substance fibrous bars, which radiate outwards at regular intervals, like the key-notes of a piano, and, like these, each is supposed to receive and transmit to the nerve at its root a separate note. Thus the spiral sheet of the cochlea is supposed to be able to appreciate difference in tone, and the labyrinth differences in the amount of sound. The nerves from all parts are collected into one bundle, but, as is usual with nerves wherever they may be found, the strands remain distinct.

To assist the reader in his conception of the ear, we may compare it to a house of business. The pinna is the house-front; the tube is the porch; the drum-membrane the front door (closed); the drum is the hall; a few steps, the ossicles, lead to an office, round which are convenient counters, closets, and passages, at which clerks enter business transactions; while, directly communicating with this large office, cognisant of all proceedings, but reserving to himself any special business, sits the general manager, who has also a door direct to the hall; whilst, at the back of the premises, telegraph wires run to the London agent.

LESSONS IN FRENCH.-IX.

SECTION 1.-FRENCH PRONUNCIATION (continued).

IV. NAME AND SOUND OF THE CONSONANTS.

50. F, f.-In the commencement and body of words, this letter is usually pronounced as the letter fin the English word for. It is sometimes sounded also in the end of words. There are several exceptions, however, which are best found in the French dictionary. In the French word neuf, which means nine, the f is silent when it precedes a word commencing with a consonant, thus:-neuf lis, nine lilies, is pronounced as if printed neu lis. But the striking peculiarity of this letter consists in the fact that it receives the sound of the letter v, as in the English word tour, before another word commencing with a vowel or h mute, and is joined with this word in pronunciation, as if it were its first letter, namely:

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Château, m., country house, villa.
Chaumière, f., hut, cottage.
Chaux, f., lime.

Cheminée, f., chimney.

Cimetière, m., burying-ground, churchyard.

Paroisse, f., parish.

Pavé, m., pavement.

Pépinière, f., nursery of trees.
Persienne, f., blind, open shutters.
Plafond, m., ceiling.
Planche, f., board.

Poêle, m., stove.
Pompe, f., pump.

Pont, m., bridge.

Porte, f., door, gate.

Poste, f., post, post-office.

Poutre, f., beam.

Cloche, f., bell (large), church-bell, etc. Plancher, m., floor.
Clocher, m., church-steeple.
Clochette, f., small bell.
Cloitre, m., cloister.
Cour, f., yard, court.
Couvent, m., convent.
Cuisine, f., kitchen.
Douane, f., custom-house.
Environs, m. pl., environs, neigh-
Écurie, f., stable.
Escalier, m., stairs.
Etage, m., story, floor.
Faubourg, m., suburb.
Ferme, f., farm.

[bourhood.

Fontaine, f., fountain, well.
Four, m., oven.
Gouttière, f., gutter.
Grand chemin,
Grand'route,
Grange, f., barn.
Grenier, m., garret.

Haie, f., hedge.

m., highway.

Hameau, m., hamlet.
Hôpital, m., hospital.
Hôtel-de-ville, town house, city house,

Meuble, m., piece of furniture.
guildhall, city hall, town hall.
Meubles, m. pl., furniture.
Monnaie, f., mint.
Mortier, m., mortar.
Mur, m., muraille, f., wall.
Palais, m., palace.

Allumette, f., match.

Prairie, f., Pré, m., meadow.

Prison, f., prison.

Puits, m., well.

Quartier, m., quarter.

Rampe (d'escalier), balustrade of e
staircase.

Rez-de-chaussée, m., ground floor.
Sacristie, f., vestry.

Salle, f., parlour, sitting-room.

Salon, m., drawing-room, hall.
Serre, f., conservatory.

Serre-chaude, f., hot-house.
Serrure, f., lock.

Sonnette, f., bell.

Théâtre, m., theatre.
Toit, m., roof.
Tour, f., tower.
Tuile, f., tile.

Verger, m., orchard.
Verrou, m., bolt.

Vestibule, m., hall, entry.

Vigne, f., vignoble, m., vineyard.

Village, m., village.

Volet, m., window-shutter.
Voûte, f., vault.

7. MEUBLES.-FURNITURE.

Lit de plume, m., feather-bed.

Allumette chimique, f., friction- Lumière, f., light.

match.

Amadou, m., tinder.
Armoire, f., cupboard.
Baril, m., cask, barrel.
Bassin, m., bowl, wash-bowl.
Bassinoire, f., warming-pan.
Berceau, m., cradle.

Boite-à-fusil, f., tinder-box.

Bougie, f., taper.
Bouilloire, f., kettle.
Briquet, m., fire-steel.
Cadre, m., frame.
Candélabre, m., chandelier.
Casserole, f., saucepan.
Cassette, f., box, casket.
Chandelle, f., candle.

Charbon de bois, m., charcoal.
Charbon de terre, m., pit-coal.
Chaudière, f., boiler.
Coffre, m., chest.

Commode, f., chest of drawers.
Corbeille, f., basket.
Crible, m., sieve.
Cruche, f., pitcher.
Cuvier, m., tub.
Drap, m., sheet.
Ecumoire, f., skimmer.
Entonnoir, m., funnel.
Essuie-main, m., towel.
Fer à repasser, m., iron.

Fourgon, m., poker.
Foyer, m., hearth.
Lampe, f., lamp.

Lanterne, f., lantern. Lit, m., bed.

Bœuf, m., beef.

Lustre, m., sconce.

Marchepied, m., footstool.

Mouchettes, f. pl., snuffers.
Mortier, m., mortar.

Moutardier, m., mustard-pot.
Nappe, f., tablecloth
Oreiller, m., pillow.
Panier, m., basket.
Paravent, m., screen.
Peinture, f., painting, picture.
Pelle, f., shovel.
Pierre à fusil, f., flint.
Pincettes, f. pl., tongs.
Poêle, f., frying-pan.
Poivrière, f., pepper-box.
Pot, m., kettle.'
Pupitre, m.,
desk.
Salière, f., salt-cellar.
Savon, m., soap.
Seau, m., pail.
Serviette, f., napkin.
Sofa, m., sofa.
Soufflet, m., bellows.
Soupière, f., soup-tureen.

Sucrier, m., sugar-dish.

Tableau, m., picture.

Tablette, f., shelf.
Tapis, m., carpet.

Théière, f., a tea-pot.

Tire-bouchon, m., corkscrew.

Tiroir, m., drawer.

Traversin, m., bolster.

Ustensiles de cuisine, m. pl., kitchen utensils.

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8. PLATS, ETC.-DISHES, ETC.

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Gâteau, m., cake.

Jambon, m., ham.

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Gigot de mouton, m., leg of mutton. Róti, m., roast meus,

Saucisse, f., sausage.

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Veau, m., veal.

Vermicelle, m., vermicelli.
Volaille, f., fowl.

etc.-Vegetables, Grain, etc.
Millet, m., millet.
Navet, m., turnip.
Ognon, m., onion.
Orge, f., barley.
Oseille, f., sorrel.
Panais, m., parsnip.
Persil, f., parsley.
Plante, f., plant.
Poireau, m., leek.
Pois, m., pea.
Racine, f., root.

Chèvre-feuille, m., honeysuckle. Giroflée, f., gillyflower.

Jasmin, m., jessamine.

Lis, m., lily.

Marguerite, f., daisy.

Mauvaise herbe, f., weed. Myrte, m., myrtle.

Eillet, m., pink.

Radis, m., turnip-radish.
Rave, f., radish.
Riz, m., rice.
Sauge, f., sage.
Seigle, m., rye.
Thym, m., thyme.
Truffe, f., truffle.
ETC.-FLOWERS, ETC.
Ortie, f., nettle.

Pavot, m., poppy.
Pensée, f., forget-me-not.
Pied d'alouette, m., larkspur.
Primevère, f., cowslip.
Renoncule, f., ranunculus.
Rose, f., rose.

Tournesol, m., sunflower.
Tulipe, f., tulip.
Violette, f., violet.

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Aujourd'hui, to-day. Canelle, f., cinnamon. Centime, m., centime, the hundredth part of a franc. Combien, how much, how many. Cravate, f., cravat. Demi, half.

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2. Il est meilleur

1. Le cheval que vous avez est-il bon? que celui que vous avez et que celui de notre ami. 3. Combien d'enfants avez-vous ? 4. Je n'en ai qu'un, mais l'Italien en a plus que moi. 5. Avons-nous le dix Septembre ? 6. Non, Monsieur, nous avons le neuf Février. 7. Avez-vous ma cravate de soie ou ma cravate de mousseline? 8. J'ai l'une et l'autre. 9. Avez-vous huit kilogrammes de canelle? 10. Non, Monsieur, je n'en ai qu'un demi-kilogramme. 11. Combien de francs avezvous, Monsieur? 12. Je n'ai qu'un demi-franc, mais mon ami a un franc et demi. 13. Votre sœur a-t-elle vingt-cinq centimes? 14. Oui, Monsieur, elle a un quart de franc. 15. N'avons-nous pas le premier Août? 16. Non, Monsieur, nous avons le six Septembre. 17. Est-ce aujourd'hui le dix? 18. Non, Monsieur, c'est le onze. 19. Votre frère a-t-il la première place? 20. Non, Monsieur, il a la dixième. 21. Votre menuisier a-t-il beaucoup d'outils? 22. Oui, Monsieur, il en a beaucoup. 23. Cet ouvrage a-t-il dix volumes? 24. Non, Monsieur, il n'en a que neuf. 25. J'ai le sixième volume des œuvres de Molière et le premier volume de "L'Histoire de France" de Michelet.

francs?

that.

EXERCISE 32.

1. Is that cinnamon good? 2. That cinnamon is better than yours and your brother's. (R. 1.) 3. What day of the month is it to-day? 4. It is the sixth. 5. Has your father twenty No, Sir, he has only six francs fifty centimes. 7. How many volumes has your work? 8. It has many, it has fifteen. 9. Has the joiner read (lu) the second volume of Miche let's "History of France ?" 10. Yes, Sir, he has read the secord volume (of it). 11. Has your friend Molière's works? 12. He has only two volumes of them. 13. Have you my cloth coat or my velvet coat? 14. We have both. 15. We have this and 16. How much cinnamon have you? 17. We have two kilogrammes. 18. How many centimes has the merchant? 19. 21. I have neither the third nor the fourth, I have the tenth. He has twenty-six. 20. Have you the third or the fourth place? 22. Are you not ashamed to-day? 23. No, Sir, I am not ashamed, but I am afraid. 24. Have you a quarter of a franc? 25. No, Sir, but I have a half franc. 26. Is it (have we) the sixth of July? 27. No, Sir, it is (we have) the fourth of March 28. Has your uncle six children? 29. No, Sir, he has only one. 30. Have you ten kilogrammes of meat? 31. I have only five kilogrammes. 32. Is the butcher's meat good? 33. It (elle) is not very good. 34. How many kilogrammes have you (of it)? 35. I have only two, but my brother has four.

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