ascribed to him by Scripture. Everything is mysterious, secret, astonishing in this incomprehensible reptile. His movements differ from those of all other animals; it is impossible to say where his motive power lies, for he has neither fins, nor feet, nor wings; and yet he flits like a shadow, he vanishes as if by magic, he re-appears and is gone again, like a light vapour, or the gleams of a sabre in the dark. Now he curls himself into a circle, and projects a tongue of fire; now standing erect on the extremity of his tail, he moves along in a perpendicular attitude as by enchantment. He rolls himself into a ball, rises and falls in a spiral line, gives to his rings the movements of waves, twines round the branches of a tree, glides under the grass of the meadows, or skims along the surface of the water. His colours are not more determinate than his activity; they change with each new point of view, and like his motions, they possess false splendour and deceitful variety. Still more astonishing in the rest of his manners, he knows, like a man polluted with murder, how to throw aside his garment when stained with blood, by casting his skin, lest it should lead to his detection.

The curious circumstance related below took place in the woods of Canada :

One day a rattle-snake entered our encampment. Among us was a Canadian who could play on the flute, and who, to divert us, advanced against the serpent with his new species of weapon. On the approach of his enemy, the haughty reptile curls himself into a spiral line, flattens his head, inflates his cheeks, contracts his lips, displays his envenomed fangs

and his bloody throat; his double tongue glows like two flames of fire; his eyes are burning coals; his body, swollen with rage, rises and falls like the bellows of a forge; his dilated skin assumes a dull and scaly appearance; and his tail, whence proceeds the death-denouncing sound, vibrates with such rapidity as to resemble a light vapour. The Canadian now began to play upon his flute; the serpent starts with surprise, and draws back his head. In proportion as he is struck with the magic effect, his eyes lose their fierceness, the movements of his tail become slower, and the sound which it emits becomes weaker and gradually dies away. Less perpendicular upon their spiral line, the rings of the charmed serpent are by degrees expanded, and sink one after another upon the ground in circles. The shades of azure, green, white, and gold, recover their brilliancy on his quivering skin; and slightly turning his head he remains motionless in the attitude of attention and pleasure. At this moment the Canadian advanced a few steps, producing with his flute sweet and simple notes. The reptile, inclining his variegated neck, opens a passage with his head through the high grass, and begins to creep after the musician, stopping when he stops, and beginning to follow him again as soon as he moves forward. In this manner he was led out of our camp, attended by a great number of spectators, both Indians and Europeans, who could scarcely believe their eyes when they witnessed this wonderful effect of harmony. The assembly unanimously decreed that the serpent which had so highly entertained them should be permitted to

escape.

THIS is one of our pond fishes; that is, it is fonder of a deep pond than a river. If found in a river it is always in the deepest places.

This fish has small smooth scales, and large eyes of a gold colour, with a circle of red round them. Many curious tales used to be told about it-that it had two little stones in its head which physicians used for curing certain diseases-that sick men were cured by applying a tench to the soles of their feet, but only Jews knew how to apply them-that it was the physician of the waters itself, and cured other fish

of their disorders, and therefore the pike, who will devour all other fish, will not devour a tench out of gratitude to him for his services! "But," as old Isaac Walton said, when repeating these childish tales, "I will meddle no more with that; my honest humble art teaches me no such boldness; there are too many foolish meddlers in physic and divinity, that think themselves fit to meddle with hidden secrets, and so bring destruction to their followers. But I'll not meddle with them, any farther than to wish them wiser."

A FEW WORDS ABOUT ICE.

THAT Ice is frozen water-frozen by severe cold-our young readers know, and that ice is lighter than water is known from its swimming on water. Ice, in more northern regions, is harder than in England. During a frost in 1740, a palace of ice was built at St. Petersburg, after the most elegant model and the justest proportions of architecture. It was fifty-two feet long, and twenty feet high: the materials were quarried from the surface of the river Neva, and the whole stood glistening against the sun with a brilliancy almost equal to his own. To increase the amusement, six cannons of ice, two bombs, and mortars, all of the same material, were planted before this extraordinary edifice. The cannon were three-pounders, they were charged with gunpowder and fired off; the ball of one of them pierced an oak plank at sixty paces distance, and two inches thick, nor did the ice cannon burst with the explosion. Ice melts sooner on some substances than on others, without any known cause; it

melts sooner in a silver plate than on the palm of the hand, and also on copper than on any other metal. It dissolves sooner in water than if exposed to air of a similar warmth; and sooner in water a little warm than near the fire where it is hotter.

WHAT IS LIFE?

BY CLARE, THE NORTHAMPTONSHIRE PEASANT.
AND what is Life?-an hour-glass on the run,

A mist retreating from the morning sun,

A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream

Its length ?-A minute's pause, a moment's thought.
And happiness?-A bubble on the stream,

That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.

And what is hope?-the puffing gale of morn,
That robs each floweret of its gem,-and dies;

A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,

Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.
And what is Death ?-Is still the cause unfound?
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?

A long and lingering sleep, the weary crave.
And Peace?-Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save Heaven and the grave.

Then what is Life?-When stripp'd of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since everything that meets our foolish eyes,
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.

"Tis but a trial all must undergo,

To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man's denied to know,

Until he's call'd to claim it in the skies.

[So sang this poor pensive peasant. What a pity that he did not seem to know HIM who is "the Resurrection and the Life." Read the next.]