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speed over the road, dashing in rapid succession through groves of trees, through fields and forests, and over the hills and valleys of an uneven country, whose face was covered with a deep mantle of snow, rounding and softening all its outlines, and illuminating the whole scene with the tender light reflected from its pure surface. Overhead, the stars shone with flashing lustre through an atmosphere whose purity is equaled only on the higher and dryer parts of the earth.

11. After a time, I allowed myself to yield to the call of the system for sleep, feeling that, protected as I was, there was no danger. On awakening, I was not a little startled at being unable to open my eyes. Feeling of the lids, I found them perfectly sensible, but the lashes were frozen together and to the edge of the comforter. After fruitless attempts to force them apart, I enveloped my head in the collar of the outer cloak, and gradually succeeded, by breathing, in raising the temperature sufficiently to thaw the icy chains. On looking at the thermometer, I found the mercury frozen, and even the brandy in my bottle had assumed an oily consistency.

12. At the station which we reached before sunrise, I got out for breakfast. Having been warned of the impossibility of getting any decent food outside of two or three large cities, I had taken an abundant supply of tea, coffee, and sugar, and dinners for twentyfour days, in the shape of twenty-four plates of soup, each one frozen into a separate cake, and enough bread to last for several days.

13. Almost every Russian house owns an urn for boiling water, which is heated by charcoal in a tube extending from top to bottom. This is the only thing, excepting plates and glasses, and other rough

table-ware, that the traveler can count upon at Russian inns, or, at least, in Siberia. The urn was heated, and, in a few minutes from the time of my arrival, I had made a sufficient breakfast on six or seven large glasses of tea and a couple of slices of dry bread. Raphael Pumpelly.

I

CV. THE CLOUD.

BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves, when laid

In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet birds, every one,

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under ;

And then, again, I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh, as I pass in thunder.

2. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast;

And all the night 't is my pillow white,

While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits;

In a cavern, under, is fettered the thunder, -
It struggles and howls, at fits;

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,

This pilot is guiding me,

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Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea.

3. The sanguine sunrise with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning-star shines dead;

As on the jag of a mountain crag,

Which an earthquake rocks and swings,

An eagle alit one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings.

And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and love,

And the crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of heaven above,

With wings folded, I rest, on mine airy nest,
As still as a brooding dove.

4. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn ;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,

-May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;

And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden bees,

When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,

Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

SHELLEY.

IN

CVI. — THE OLD CHURCH BELL.

N the country of Wurtemburg, in Germany, where the acacias grow by the public road, where the appletrees and the pear-trees, in autumn, bend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies the little town of

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Marbach. It is charmingly situated on the banks of the river Neckar, which rushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights' castles, and green vineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately Rhine.

2. It was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon the branches of the vines, but they were already tinted with red and gold; heavy showers fell on the surrounding country, and the cold autumn wind blew sharp and strong. It was not at all pleasant weather for the poor. The days grew shorter and more gloomy, and, dark as it was out-of-doors in the open air, it was still darker within the small old-fashioned houses of the village.

3. The gable end of one of these houses faced the street, and, with its small, narrow windows, presented a very mean appearance. The family who dwelt in it were also very poor and humble, but they treasured the fear of God in their innermost hearts, and now He was about to send them a child.

4. In that solemn hour, the sweet and joyous chiming of festive bells pealed forth from the church tower, and filled the hearts of those in the humble dwelling with thankfulness and trust; and when, amidst these joyous sounds, a little son was born to them, the words of prayer and praise arose from their overflowing hearts, and their happiness seemed to ring out over town and country in the liquid tone of the church bells' chime.

5. The little one, with its bright eyes and golden hair, had been welcomed joyously on that dark November day. Its parents kissed it lovingly, and the father wrote these words in the Bible: "On the tenth of November, 1759, God sent us a son." And a short time after, when the child had been baptized, the names he had received were added, "John Christopher Frederick."

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6. What became of the little lad, -the poor boy of the humble town of Marbach? Ah, indeed, there was no

1 Mar-bäk.

one who thought or supposed, not even the old church. bell which had been the first to sound and chime for him, that he would be the first to sing the beautiful song of "The Bell."

7. While he was yet a child, his parents removed from Marbach, and went to reside in another town; but their dearest friends remained behind, at Marbach, and, therefore, sometimes the mother and her son would start, on a fine day, to pay a visit to the little town.

8. On his first visit, the town appeared to have changed but very little, but in the churchyard there were several new graves; and there, also, in the grass, close by the wall, stood the old church bell! It had been taken down from its high position, in consequence of a crack in the metal which prevented it from ever chiming again, and a new bell now occupied its place.

9. The mother and son were walking in the churchyard, when they discovered the old bell, and they stood still to look at it. Then the mother reminded her little boy of what a useful bell this had been for many hundred years. It had chimed for weddings and for christenings; it had tolled for funerals, and to give the alarm in cases of fire. With every event in the life of man, the bell had made its voice heard.

10. His mother also told him how the chiming of that old bell had once filled her heart with joy and confidence, and that, in the midst of the sweet tones, her child had been given to her. And the boy gazed on the large, old bell with the deepest interest. He bowed his head over it and kissed it, old, thrown away, and cracked as it was, and standing there amidst the grass and nettles.

11. The boy never forgot what his mother told him, and the tones of the old bell reverberated in his heart, till he reached manhood, and then he was obliged to give them utterance. In such sweet remembrance was the old bell cherished by the boy, who grew up, in poverty,

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