sought for pardon and for peace, and she had not sought in vain. Twelve months, as we have said, had elapsed, and Elizabeth was again from home, on a visit to a friend at some miles distance, and not very far from Henry's residence.

A fair was to be held at a neighbouring town: the father of the young friend whom she was visiting had business there, and Elizabeth and his daughter accompanied him. Arrived at the town of L, the ladies were left by the gentleman in the parlour of one of the principal inns, while he went to make arrangements for his horses. The bar was adjoining to the room in which they were; the door was open, and Elizabeth became the deeply interested though unseen auditress of the following conversation:

"Did you see that gentleman pass the window?" said one speaker addressing the landlord: "that cannot surely be Mr. Sof the Hill farm."

"It is the very same, I assure you," said mine host.

2

"Dear me, is it possible!" exclaimed the other: "well, I thought it like him; but how dreadfully ill he looks! how changed!"

"Changed!" returned the landlord, in an angry tone: "he may well be changed: he has been shamefully treated by some girllady I suppose she calls herself, heartless wretch as she is. I wonder what such creatures think of themselves. There was not a steadier young man in all the country than he was till she jilted him; and now he has taken to being out at nights, drinking, and I don't know what; killing himself as fast as he can."

The feelings with which Elizabeth listened to those words assuredly baffle description. The next moment the warm blood rushed back to her heart, and then returning, covered her neck and face with its deepest hue, as Henry's own voice was added to the speaker's: he had probably seen his former acquaintance, and entered. And now what could she do? the moment of reparation was come, but it might be the moment of disgrace also. He might repulse her; scorn her; scorn her repentance there, in the presence of those to whose opinion of her heartless conduct she had just listened. But not a moment was to be lost; her happiness, almost her life, was in the event, and she did not hesitate. With a trembling step, and beating heart, and blushing cheek, she entered the bar, and presented herself to the eyes of the astonished young man.

185

And now does our narrative end here? Alas! no: or where were the moral we would inculcate ? In less than a month Elizabeth became the wife of Henry; and, in truth, a happy one. All his bad habits, strange to say, for it was more than she had any right to anticipate,- -were removed: he became a sober, steady, and, it is believed, a decidedly pious young man. But, alas! the evil effects of those habits passed not away so readily. His affairs had become to some extent deranged; and though this was partially remedied, the anxiety it occasioned him, harassed him, and injured him greatly. Worse than all, his constitution was undermined; and though Betsy for some time trusted that renewed happiness would bring back renewed vigour ; and though the rose did again glow on his cheek, and his eye resume its brightness, the bloom was fallacious, and the brightness too great for earth. Consumption lingered beneath; and when, some three years after their union, her second infant saw the light, there was no father then to greet its smile.

O with what bitter anguish did the miserable girl then look back on the past! how did she hate herself, and the detestable infatuation which had produced such fatal effects; as day by day she watched his failing strength, listened to that dry, hard cough, or wiped the cold dew from that languid brow! And then, when all was over; when the heart that so loved her was still in death, and that sweet loving eye closed for ever; when she was left alone, how often did she sink heart-stricken at the throne of grace, and pray for pardon, for peace, for resignation, as she clasped her fatherless babies to her breast, and exclaimed, in bitterness of soul," I was his murderer!"'* S. E. A.

The surnames of the subjects of this story are suppressed, as some of their descendants are still living.

LEECH-GATHERING.

NEAR Xanthus the leeches are gathered all the year round; but in the highlands only in summer. To collect them, people

VOL. II.

go into the water, wading about with their legs and thighs bare, so that the leeches may stick to their skin. They then scrape them off, and put them into a bag. The leech

66

THE STORK.

THE stork is often mentioned in Scripture under the pleasant name of chasidah, "pious," or gracious,' on account of its kindness to the parent-birds and to the young. For this reason, as well as on account of the confidence it reposes in man by building its large nest, and entrusting its own conspicuous person, within his reach,-by taking up its abode in towns and upon human habitations,-this bird has been in all countries regarded with respect, and nowhere more than in Syria and Palestine. There is not the least doubt that the nest and its inmate figured as conspicuously upon the highest points in the towns and villages of ancient Canaan, as they do in modern Palestine. Multitudes of these birds congregate on the borders of the lake of Tiberius. There are two species in Syria, the white (ardea ciconia) and the black storks (rusticola charadrius pluviales).

The stork has been justly celebrated for her benign and amiable disposition, and the affection she discovers in feeding her parents during the time of incubation, or when they have become old, and unable to provide for themselves. She chooses the highest tree of the forest for her dwelling, always giving a preference to the fir-tree." As for the stork, the fir-trees are her house." (Psal. civ. 17.) The stork is a migratory bird, and discerns, with unerring intelligence, both the time of its removal and the place of its destination. "Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their coming." (Jer. viii. 7.) This bird is also distinguished for its social or congregating habits. They collect in immense numbers, and darken the air with their wideextended squadrons, as they wing their flight to other climes.

We learn from Doubdan, that the fields between Cana and Nazareth are covered with numerous flocks of them, each flock containing, according to his computation, more than one thousand. In some parts, the ground is entirely whitened by them; and when on the wing, they darken the air like a congeries of clouds. At the approach of evening, they retire to roost upon the trees. The inhabit

ants carefully abstain from hurting or killing them, on account of their important services in clearing the country of serpents and other venomous animals, upon which they feed.

THE HOUSE-MARTIN, (HIRUNDO RUSTICA,) ITS NEST-BUILDING.

THE appellation urbica, given to this martin, designates one of its most interesting habits, that of building against the walls of our houses. This tendency brings the martin into the closest familiarity with man, whether the nest be raised under the weatherboard of the cottage-door, where the peasantchildren gaze with delight on the bright creature, as with gentle twitter it flies over their curly heads to its home, or against the windows of the scholar's library, who oft pauses a moment from thought to mark its happy movements.

It is an interesting sight to watch a pair of these birds whilst constructing the nest. At first there is evidently something like thought respecting the choice of a position. This being settled, the birds begin to work with untiring zeal. They do not build through the whole day, but principally in the morning; and thus the work of one morning becomes dry and hardened by the ensuing. If the nest were raised without such intervals, the mass would become too heavy for the moist clay to support, and fall down: this is prevented by allowing one layer to dry before adding another. Just upon this principle do the cottars in Devonshire raise those walls of earth which are often seen in that part of England. After a stratum of earth is laid, no farther progress is made until the whole part already formed is thoroughly dry, when a fresh stratum is formed; after which there is another delay, and so is the work continued until the building is completed. But how does the martin produce that adhesiveness in the clay, which causes every part to cling Let the together so firmly and so long?

most skilful mechanist try to form a piece of earth-work resembling the martin's nest, and placed, like it, against a perpendicular wall; he will soon find the attempt hopeless. We will watch the bird's operations in building. As soon as a fit place is selected, we hear at the earliest dawn a constant twittering about the spot, as if the birds, like merry contented workmen, lightened their labours by pleasant carols. Approaching, we see first one bit of earth, then another, added to the tiny house. The martin does not merely place the bit of

187

earth upon the previously collected matter, but works for some time kneading the fresh bit with its beak and chin into the substance of the old work. After some trowelling of this nature, it flies away for more materials, which are again incorporated into the preceding deposit. The clay seems to be moistened in some way by a secretion from the bird's mouth-glands, and thus to acquire that glue-like property which renders the nest firm and durable. When well placed, they will resist for years both summer and winter storms, with all the alternations of heat and cold, drought and wet; after which time it requires some powerful blows of a stick to effect their destruction. So viscid is the substance of the nest, that the marks of its adhesion cannot be obliterated from the wood-work of a house without the application of mop and brush.

"It wins my admiration

To view the structure of that little work,

Yon bird's nest.

Mark it well, within, without. No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut; No nail to fix; no bodkin to insert; No glue to join; his little beak was all: And yet how neatly finish'd! What nice hand, With every implement, and means of art, And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot, Could make me such another?"

The martins are sometimes exceedingly unfortunate in the choice of a place for the nest, raising it where its destruction is inevitable; an illustration of the oft-repeated remark, that a little reason would avoid dangers which the finest instinct rushes into.

A pair began this year to build on the top frame of a window, opening outside in the manner of a door. As this window was shut every evening, the whole work of each day was constantly swept off the ledge by its closing. The writer hoped the birds would desist from building in that spot after one or two instances of destruction had occurred; instead of which, they pertinaciously repaired every morning the ruins of the previous evening, till after repeated disappointments the hopeless attempt was relinquished. One circumstance, rendering this pertinacity more remarkable, was the late hour at which the window was opened in the morning, thus forcing the birds to delay their labours some hours after their usual time of work had commenced. I was sorry to disturb or incommode the little things, but their instinctillogicalness had led them to a place whence their dislodgement was unavoidable.-Sharpe's London Magazine.

THE CUTTLE-FISH.

THE traveller who, when treading the shores of the coasts and islands of the Ægean, observes, as he can scarcely fail to do, the innumerable remains of the hard parts of cuttle-fishes piled literally in heaps along the sands, (or, when watching the Greek fishermen draw their nets, marks the number of

these creatures mixed up with the abundance of true fishes taken and equally prized as articles of food by the captors,) can at once understand why the naturalists of ancient Greece should have treated so fully of the history of the cephalopoda, and its poets have made allusions to them as familiar objects. In an English drama such allusions would be out of place and misunderstood. To a Greek audience the mention of a cuttlefish was as the mention of a herring among ourselves. The mob above the diazoma would appreciate the former, as our common people would recognise the latter, as part and parcel of their household furniture. One of the most striking spectacles at night on the shores of the Ægean, is to see the numerous torches glancing along the shores, and reflected by the still and clear sea, borne by poor fishermen paddling as silently as possible over the rocky shallows in search of the cuttle-fish, which, when seen lying beneath the waters in wait for his prey, they dexterously spear ere the creature has time to dart with the rapidity of an arrow from the weapon about to transfix his soft but firm body. As in ancient times, these molluscs constitute now a valuable part of the food of the poor, by whom they are chiefly used. The imprecation of the chorus, who, calling down upon their victim the extremity of ill-fortune, desired that he might be reduced to a single cuttle-fish, and that a dog might come and snatch this last poor morsel from him, would be as well appreciated in a modern Greek coffee-house, where curses deep and lengthy are now liberally bestowed by enraged gamblers on their successful opponents, as among the original admirers of Aristophanes. The Romans, if we may judge from the culinary receipts of Apicius, regarded a cooked cuttle-fish with more respect. We can ourselves bear testimony to its excellence. When well beaten, to render the flesh tender, before being dressed, and then cut up into morsels and served in a savoury brown stew, it makes a dish by no means to be despised, excellent in both substance and flavour. A modern Lycian dinner in which stewed cuttle-fish formed the first, and roast porcupine the second, course, would scarcely fail to be relished by an unprejudiced epicure in search of novelty.Spratt's Travels in Lycia, Milyas, &c.

FISHING AT NIGHT.

THERE was one beautiful lake to which I used sometimes to take net and boat, as well as rod. It was a piece of water about four miles long, and one or two broad; at one end were two sandy bays, forming regular semicircles, with their beaches covered to a width of a few feet with small pebbles. Between these two bays was a bold rocky promontory, running into the lake, and covered with fine old pine-trees. Along one

side was a stretch of perhaps three miles of grey precipitous rocks, nearly covered with birch and hazel, which hung over the water, casting a dark shade on it. The other end of the lake was contracted between the rocks till it was lost to the view, while on the remaining side was flat moorland. The whole country round and within view of the lake was picturesque and bold. In the rocks near the water were a colony of wild cats, whose cries during the night deterred the shepherd from passing that way; while on the highest part of the grey precipice was a raven's nest, the owners of which always kept up a concert with their voices of ill omen whenever they saw a human being near their dominions: there they would sit on a withered branch of a tree or a pointed rock, croaking and playing their quaint antics for hours together. Sometimes we did not commence our fishing till sunset, choosing nights when the full moon gave us sufficient light for the purpose. Our object in selecting this time was to catch the larger pike, who during the day remained in the deep water, coming in at night to the shore, and to the mouths of the burns which run into the lake, where they found small trout and other food brought down by the streams. During the night-time, also, towards the beginning of autumn, we used to catch quantities of char, which fish then, and then only, approached near enough to the shore to be caught in the nets. In the clear frosty air of a September night, the peculiar moaning cry of the wild cats, as they answered to each other along the opposite shore, and the hootings of the owls in the pine-wood, sounded like the voices of unearthly beings; and I do not think that any one of my crew would have passed an hour alone by that lochside for all the fish in it. Indeed, the hillside which sloped down to the lake had the name of being haunted, and the waters of the lake itself had their ghostly inhabitant in the shape of what the Highlanders called the water-bull. There was also a story of some strange mermaid-like monster being sometimes seen, having the appearance of a monstrous fish, with long hair. It was a scene worthy of a painter, as the men with eager gestures scrambled up the fish, glancing like silver in the moon-beams; and then, as they rowed round, sometimes lost in the shade of the pine-trees, which completely darkened the surface of the water immediately below the rocks on which they grew, or came again into full view as they left the shadow of the woods, the water sparkling and glancing from their oars. Frequently they stopped their wild chant, as the strange cries of the different nocturnal animals echoed from the rocks, and we could hear the men say a few words of Gaelic to each other in a low voice, and then recommence their song. Wild Sports and Natural History of the Highlands, by C. St. John,

CALAMUS, OR SWEET CANE.

THE Sweet cane of Isaiah, is the sweet calamus of Exodus, the calamus of the Canticles and of Ezekiel, the difference being only in the translation.

It was reckoned among the principal spices and perfumes of which the precious oil for the service of the tabernacle was composed; and the want of it in sacrifices is one of the sins with which Isaiah reproaches the backsliding Jews. "Thou hast brought me no sweet cane with money, neither hast thou filled me with the fat of thy sacrifices."

It is very fragrant in itself; and the aromatic oil obtained from it would contribute to the odour of the costly perfume which Moses was enjoined to make, according to the art of the apothecary for the service of the tabernacle.

THE VAMPIRE.

THE singular creatures which are productive of so much annoyance constitute the genus phyllostoma, so named from the leaflike appendage attached to their upper lip: they are peculiar to the continent of America, being distributed over the immense extent of territory between Paraguay and the Isthmus of Darien. Their tongue, which is

capable of considerable extension, is furnished at its extremity with a number of papillæ, which appear to be so arranged as to form an organ of suction; and their lips have also tubercles symmetrically arranged: these are the organs by which they draw the life-blood both from man and beast. These animals are the famous vampires, of which various travellers have given such redoubtable accounts, and which are known to have nearly destroyed the first establishment of Europeans in the New World. The molar teeth of the true vampire, or spectre-bat, are of the most carnivorous character; the first being short, and almost plain; the others sharp and cutting, and terminating in three or four points. Their rough tongue has been supposed to be the instrument employed for abrading the skin, so as to enable them more readily to abstract the blood; but zoologists are now agreed that such a supposition is wholly groundless. Having carefully examined, in many cases, the wounds thus made on horses, mules, pigs, and other animals,-observations that have been confirmed by information received from the inhabitants of the northern parts of Brazil, I am led to believe that the puncture which the vampire makes in the skin of animals is effected by the sharp hooked nail