powder.

Its inmates also felt, from a a certain bodily lassitude, and from being more frequently affected with melancholy, that constant living in the cavern was very injurious to their health. How happy they now felt, as they passed over on the walled entrance to their fortress, mounted on a rock, and could breathe in new strength and new life in God's pure air.

Once on a time, our friends sat at their work in the cavern, when they were affrighted by a terrific howl, which resounded fearfully through the valley. They had not heard anything like it for a long time; it seemed as if all the bears and wolves in Spitzbergen had got together to destroy them. "Load the guns and get some squibs," cried the old pilot, not without some anxiety. "I am afraid the enemy are coming with great force against us." Gregory and Ivan loaded the guns; then they all three went to the hut, to look about first what arrangements were best to drive off the enemy. Gregory carefully opened the window: but, how astonished he was, when he saw not a single bear, but perceived that the horrible howling in the valley was caused by a frightful storm, which drove the thick black clouds, swift as an arrow, across the starless heavens, and blew the snow in great flakes mixed with rain in his face. This tempest became continually more dreadful, howling and roaring as it passed through the valley, so that the wall of the hut shook, and the whole building seemed threatening to tumble down. With anxious amazement, Ivan and Gregory listened to the horrors of this frightful event in nature, which neither of them had ever known in such a degree.

The pilot remained more firm. He had before made frequent voyages into the northern regions of the earth, and knew that here the change from winter to summer was connected with extraordinary Occurrences. "God is almighty!" said he, devoutly, "his compassion will protect us in this uproar of nature."

They returned back into the cavern, and the old pilot quieted his friends on this account, as he proved to them how the day would now soon break, and the sun, of the sight of which they had been so long deprived, would again become visible. "Perhaps then the Almighty will bring

here a ship to save us," he added. "We will trust Him. He knows best what we have to bear here."

This hope was not indeed so entirely rock-fast in the heart of the brave man. Sometimes he felt more enlivened and tranquil, and sometimes, too, the last ray vanished. He knew that it was very seldom a ship lost herself in these northern latitudes; and he also quieted his younger friends; yet, earnestly as he did so, he often did it even without himself feeling the comfort which his lips imparted.

66

When, after raging for six days, the storm ceased, Ivan and Gregory made use of the repose of nature to go out again to hunt; an occupation which had long been denied them, but which was most needful for their health, as also for the cheerfulness of their spirits. It was in the beginning of the month of March, when one day they came back to the cavern, unusually joyful and cheerful in their appearance. Now," asked the pilot, "what good and joyful thing have you to tell of?" "We have to-day again seen our God's splendid sun, for the first time," was the exulting answer. "Friends, that is a mistake; to-day is the fourth of March, and in the latitude in which we are, the sun first makes its appearance on the ninth of March; so that there are yet wanting five days." "But, friend, we have certainly and truly seen the sun." "And you have been mistaken, as I will soon prove to you."

MAX. Strange! the two maintained that they had seen the sun with their own eyes, and the third contradicts them, and tells them it was impossible, what the others assured him was true and right.

MARIA. One of them must have been wrong in the case.

FATHER. But how, if I should now tell you that both of the parties were right? Ivan and Gregory had seen the sun, though it was some degrees below the horizon, and yet they might justly say, that they had seen the sun. The old pilot had reckoned, that the sun on this day must have been still deep below the circle of vision.

JULIA. And had misreckoned?

FATHER. No. He had reckoned correctly, and so he could justly say, that the sun would first rise in five days.

FATHER. You will soon see into it. He laid a piece of money in an empty basin. 66 Now look here, Maria, do you

see this piece of money?"

MARIA. Yes.

FATHER. (Then he placed Maria some paces back). Do you still see it now? MARIA. No. The edge of the basin hinders it.

FATHER. (Pouring out a pitcher of clear water into the basin). Do you now see the piece of money?

MARIA. Yes, perfectly well. It appears as if it was swimming on the top of the water. I see it plain enough.

FATHER. And yet you are mistaken when you believe that you see the piece of money itself. You see only the picture of the money on the surface of the watermerely its image.

MARIA. Really, father!-Step forward the rest of you in my place, and say whether you do not see it as I do.

They all did so. They, indeed, found that the piece of money continually lay in the place in which they could not see it on account of the edge of the basin-and -yet they saw it. It scarcely need be mentioned that this appearance, of which every one of you, my young readers, can convince himself, much surprised them, and seemed in the highest degree inexplicable.

FATHER. Is it not true, my children, you might maintain that you had seen the piece of money from the place on which you stood?

Gus. I cannot deny it.

FATHER. And so must you generally think of that appearance. Ivan and Gregory saw the picture of the sun, by means of the refraction of the rays of light in the vapours of the horizon, though the sun in reality could not yet be seen.

MARIA. But how was it in this particular case?

FATHER. This explanation would lead us too far. Be satisfied for the present with the experiment which you have just made. A similar example you see, when you hold a small straight stick in a glass of water. As far as the stick is under the water, it will appear in another direction, and you would maintain that the stick

it with a knitting needle, Julia; here is a glass of water.

JULIA. Why, so it is: the needle appears to bend in.

MAX. Is it so, then, with the sun at Spitzbergen when it has set?

FATHER. Just so. The sun that has gone down, is really already some degrees below the horizon, and yet it always appears, to the inhabitants of the Polar countries, to be above the horizon. In the region of which we know that our friends were, this apparent light of the sun lasts every time for five days.

MAX. According to this reckoning, the long night would, therefore, be ten days shorter. This would be an advantage for the poor men in that desolate region.

FATHER. Very true. But to proceed. It is evident that this was not likely to escape the notice of the old pilot who had voyaged so far. It is possible that he had not thought of this experiment, and it is also possible that it had escaped his memory. But he knew his two friends, and as he knew that he might rely on their word, so he delayed the decision till the next morning. Then he himself went with them, across on to the rock which projected above the cavern-and here he saw with his own eyes what he had before doubted. The sun, so long absent, rose. It gave him courage, as to an unfortunate man who had been half a year robbed of the use of his eyes, and who now, after so long a period, and anxiously spent, for the first time enjoyed again his newly-acquired sight. With thankful tears he blessed God, and with this pious prayer, new and strong hopes of the further aid of Divine Providence, and of being some time rescued, arose from this solitude in his heart. It was to him as pleasant as if he saw again an old friend, from whom he had long been separated. His two younger friends shared with him in these pious joys. They were also pious, good men, and hearts of this kind can enjoy no delights, without thinking of Him who bestows them. But now to return to our story. The sun at first, indeed, remained only a few hours above the horizon, but every day it lengthened its stay, and, finally, in the first half of April, it no more went down below the horizon.

It

kept on its course above the circle of vision, without disappearing, in a circuit constantly increasing. MARIA. And now the weather changed greatly?—

FATHER. As you may readily imagine. -Every hour and every moment, every thing became different. In the beginning, in the first days of the actual sunshine it was still cold; but it was no longer that stiffening cold which took away the breath, and made it impossible for our friends to go out; it was an agreeable, beneficial freshness, that pleasant coldness, which is invigorating both to the body and spirits. It soon changed into a mild thawing air; a light fog arose and turned to a warm rain; the snow gradually melted away, and soon the valleys shone with new fresh green, and moss and other plants of this otherwise desolate land, grew up as in a hot-house, the higher the sun mounted. Only the distant icebergs, the bases of which, probably, rested in the ocean, stood there immovable, and picturesquely beautiful was the sight of the variegated mixture formed by the dusky black rocks, the silver-coloured ice, the green ocean, and the blue heavens, when our friends, from the summit of the rock, looked over this sublime panorama of the creation.

MARIA. It must have been a grand view! I should like to have seen it once at least!

If

MAX. I know of a sight which would have been still dearer to our friends. on the green sea there had appeared at a distance, a ship which was coming continually nearer; if they first saw the sail and masts, then the ship itself; and if, finally, the Russian double eagle had been seen on the yellow flag, and they had at last heard the huzzahs of the sailorswould it not, father?

FATHER. Certainly, they would rather have seen and heard all this; but the fulfilment of this wish so longed for, was yet far off. Gregory mentioned it, and his recollection somewhat repressed the joyful mood with which the magnificent view had inspired our friends. But they were not on this account dispirited, as the good man generally never is, and can least be, when the view of the grand and majestic in nature awakens anew in his heart confidence and

firm trust in God. Thus it was with our friends, who now went about their work with so much the more composure.

MARIA. And did they succeed in doing much?

FATHER. A great deal. Our brave friends knew not whether they were to remain on this island, or would be so happy as to see again their homes. The future was unknown to them; they only hoped. But these fair hopes, how easily might they all be frustrated! Therefore, they acted very wisely in conducting their arrangements as if the worst really awaited them, as though they might and would never leave the island. If they, then, must really meet this hard lot, they would be collected, and prepared beforehand. It did not thus appear to them half so frightful as it would otherwise have done. But if they were to be favoured by Providence with a happier lot, their joy would be the greater the less they had counted on it. They continued, therefore, the more tranquil, and with the more diligence engaged in the labours which their situation demanded. And, in fact, the occupations which the household economy, the cooking, the bake-oven, hunting, fishing, and a hundred other things rendered necessary, were so many that

MOTHER. We shall find it hard to hear about them all this evening. Another time, we shall, I hope, proceed more quickly to the work.

This animal,

THE BAT (Vespertilio.) although furnished with instruments for flight in the shape of membraneous wings, and hence formerly classed with the birds, yet is in reality properly classed with the mammalia. The wings are endued with a most delicate sense of touch, so exquisitely fine indeed as to be affected by the slightest difference in the vibrations of the air. The well-known experiments of Spallanzani proved that bats, blindfold or deprived of sight, could fly without striking against walls or other objects, and were even able to avoid coming in contact with willow rods suspended in the room. Although the bat does not continue long on the wing, we have in our possession a bat caught at sea several thousand miles from land.-J. M. B.

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

BY THOMAS HOOD.

I remember, I remember,

The house where I was born-
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn:
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember

The roses-red and white;
The violets and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthdayThe tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing;

And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing:
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

LUCY.

BY WORDSWORTH.

THREE years she grew in sun and shower,

Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be

Both law and impulse; and with me,
The girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power,

To kindle or restrain.

"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn,
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm,
Of mute insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her, for her the willow bend;

Nor shall she fail to see,

Even in the motions of the storm,

Grace that shall mould the maiden's form, By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place,

Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give,
While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake-the work was doneHow soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

COMMON BLESSINGS.

BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON.

THOSE "common blessings!" In this chequer'd

scene

How little thanksgiving ascends to God! It is, in truth, a privilege so mean

To wander with free footsteps o'er the sod, See various blossoms paint the valley clod, And all things into teeming beauty burst? A miracle as great as Aaron's rod, But that our senses, into dulness nurst, Recurring Custom still with Apathy had curst. They who have rarest joy, know Joy's true measure;

They who most suffer value Suffering's pause;

[sure, They who but seldom taste the simplest pleaKneel oftenest to the Giver and the Cause. Heavy the curtains feasting Luxury draws, To hide the sunset and the silver night;

While humbler hearts, when care no longer

gnaws,

And some rare holiday permits delight, Lingering with love would watch that earthenchanting sight.

FLOWERS FOR THE HEART.
BY ELLIOT.

FLOWERS! winter flowers!-the child is dead.
The mother cannot speak:
Oh softly couch his little head,
Or Mary's heart will break!
Amid those curls of flaxen hair

This pale pink ribbon twine,
And on the little bosom there

Place this wan lock of mine.
How like a form in cold white stone,
The coffin'd infant lies!

Look, mother, on thy little one!
And tears will fill thine eyes.

She cannot weep-more faint she grows,
More deadly pale and still :
Flowers! ob, a flower! a winter rose,
That tiny hand to fill.

Go, search the fields! the lichen wet
Bends o'er the unfailing well;
Beneath the furrow lingers yet
The scarlet pimpernel.

Peeps not a snow-drop in the bower,
Where never froze the spring?

A daisy? Ah! bring childhood's flower!
The half-blown daisy bring!

Yes, lay the daisy's little head

Beside the little cheek;

Oh haste! the last of five is dead!
The childless cannot speak!

THE WORK-TABLE FRIEND.

INSTRUCTIONS IN NETTING.

THE art of netting is one of the simplest and prettiest with which a lady's fingers and leisure time can be employed. The implements are extremely simple, the stitches few and readily to be understood, and the patterns formed, with or without the aid of a common sewing needle, are very elegant and durable. One thing is especially to be noted in netting. Each stitch is, in itself, so firmly made, and so independent of all the others, that the accidental breakage does not in the least affect them. This, we know, is not the case with crochet; and the disastrous consequences of "dropping a stitch" in knitting are known to every worker.

By the aid of our diagrams, we trust to make our descriptions perfectly intelligible to the reader.

The implements used in netting are, a netting needle and a mesh. The former is a long steel or bone bar, split at each end, and with a hole through which the end of the cotton is drawn and fastened, before being wound round the needle. In filling a netting needle with the material with which you intend to work, be careful not to make it so full that there will be a difficulty in passing it through the stitches. The size of the needle must depend on the material to be employed, and the fineness of the work. Steel needles are employed for every kind of netting except the very coarsest. They are marked from 12 to 24, the latter being extremely fine. The fine meshes are usually also of steel; but, as this material is heavy, it is found better to employ bone or wooden meshes when large ones are required. Many meshes are flat; and in using them the width is given, but round ones are measured by the same ivory gauge as is used for knitting needles.

The first stitch in this work is termed diamond netting (Fig. 1), the holes being in the form of diamonds. To do the first row, a stout thread, knotted to form a round, is fastened to the knee with a pin, or passed over the foot, or on the hook sometimes attached to a work cushion for the purpose. The end of the thread on the needle is knotted to this, the mesh being held in the left hand on a line with

it. Take the needle in the right hand; let the thread come over the mesh and the third finger, bring it back under the mesh, and hold it between the thumb and first finger. Slip the needle through the loop over the third finger, under the mesh and the foundation thread. In doing this a loop will be formed, which must be passed over the fourth finger. Withdraw the third finger from the loop, and draw up the loop over the fourth, gradually, until it is quite tight on the mesh. The thumb should be kept firmly over the mesh while the stitch is being completed. When the necessary number of stitches is made on this foundation, the future rows are to be worked backwards and forwards. To form a round, the first stitch is to be worked immediately after the last, which closes the netting into a circle.

ROUND NETTING (Fig. 2) is very nearly the same stitch. The difference is merely in the way of putting the needle through the loop and foundation, or other stitch. The engraving shows that, after passing the needle through the loop, it must be brought out, and put downwards through the stitch. This stitch is particularly suitable for gentlemen's purses.

SQUARE NETTING is exactly the same stitch as diamond netting, only it is begun at a corner, on one stitch, and increased (by doing two in one) in the last stitch of every row, until the greatest width required is attained. Then, by netting two stitches together at the end of every row, the piece is decreased to a point again. When stretched out, all the holes in this netting are perfect squares.

GRECIAN NETTING (Fig. 3). Do one plain row. First pattern row. Insert the needle in the first stitch, as usual, and, without working it, draw through it the second stitch, through the loop of which draw the first, and work it in the ordinary way. This forms a twisted stitch, and the next is a very small loop formed of a part of the second stitch. Repeat this throughout the row.

The second row is done plain.

The third like the first; but the first and last stitches are to be done in the usual manner, and you begin the twisting with the second and third loops.

The fourth is plain. Repeat these four rows as often as required.