But those diffused breathing organs must act with less freedom when the bird is making the greatest efforts in motion; that is when ascending or descending; and in proportion as these cease to act, the tracheo is the more required for the purpose of breathing. The skylark thus converts the atmosphere into a musical instrument of many stops, and so produces an exceedingly wild and varied song. — Feathered Tribes of the British Islands.

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23 ÜGGE, THEODOR, a German novelist; born

at Berlin, November 8, 1806; died there,

February 18, 1861. He was intended for a mercantile life, which he abandoned with the design of serving in Peru under Bolivar. He got no farther than London, where he learned that the Spaniards had been expelled from Peru. Returning to Berlin, he studied philosophy and history, with the view of fitting himself for a professorship in the university. The publication by him in 1831 of France and the Last Bourbons, and England and Reform, put an end to his hopes of advancement in the university, and the expression of his political views in pamphlets and newspapers led to his arrest and prosecution. In 1850 he founded a Liberal paper, the National Journal, of which he edited the department of literary criticism, besides for several years having general editorial charge. He wrote a great number of sketches, tales, and novels, which have been collected in thirty-three volumes. Among them are A Picture of Life (1829); The Chevalier (1835); Sketches and Tales (1836); Stories and Essays (1838); Toussaint l'Ouverture (1840); The Provost of Sylt (1851); Christmas Eve (1853); The Eldest Son of the Family (1853), and Afraja (1854).


It was with no friendly glance that John of Marstrand looked upon the savage coasts, and the foaming sea as he steped out of the cabin. The damp fog flew so violently about him, and beat in such heavy drops upon his face and clothes, that he shuddered with cold, and closely buttoned up his coat; then he nodded to the helmsman, who, to the salutations of the morning, added some goodnatured remark, which the wind carried away before it could reach the ear.

“What do you think now of this country?” said the helmsman, with a proud, inquiring glance, as the young nobleman approached him. “Is it not magnificent?

"See, there is the promontory of Kunnen, and directly beyond sweeps the polar circle; farther to the left, in the deep Grimmfiord, you can perceive the gigantic Jökuln islands, which, in ice-pyramids, seemed to run far down into the sea. When the morning sunbeams strike upon them, they glow like molten silver. There is the way to the Salten you have certainly heard of the salt stream? And here on this side of those low rocks, you will soon discover the Westfiord. The Westfiord! Do you hear, man? the great fiord with its fishes! Hurrah! What say you? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful ?”

Foolish Björnarne !” exclaimed John with a jesting smile; “ you seem to think we are entering into paradise. You talk as if these gloomy, snow-covered crags bloomed with almond-trees; as if this stormy, icy sea were fanned by the softest zephyrs, and its miserable, oil-reeking, fishswarms were fragrant with perfume.” He turned to the south, and continued, with a suppressed sigh, “No tree, no bush, no flower, no green leaf, no singing-bird, nor blade of grass waving to the breeze. Nothing but horror, darkness, fog, storms, rocks, and the raging sea.”

'If the land is so displeasing to you, you better have remained where you were.”

The young Dane looked upon the helmsman, and the expression of his countenance revealed the answer which he gently murmured. “If,” whispered he, between his teeth, “I were not obliged to seek my fortune in these wilds, cursed would be the plank which carried me hither.”

A melancholy silence, and the manner in which he buried his face in his hands, moved the boasting Björnarne. “You must not,” said he, “give yourself up to such sad thoughts — it is not so dreary here as it seems. When the summer comes, the barley ripens even in Tromsöe; flowers bloom in the gardens; currants and blackberries grow luxuriantly in all the clefts and ravines; and upon the fielders the mountain-bramble covers the earth for miles with purple and scarlet. You must learn to know and love the land where you have chosen to dwell. I would not change it for any other in the world; for there is none more beautiful or better to be found.”

Provoked by the derisive smile of the Dane, he proudly proceeded : Boast as you please of your trees and plains; have you such rocks, such fiords, and such a prolific sea ? Have you bears and reindeers to hunt ? Have you a fishery like this, where, with every haul of the seine, millions of creatures are drawn from the deep; where twenty thousand men, for months, lead a joyous life upon the heaving billows ?”

“No, good Björnarne, we do not, indeed, possess all this,” replied John of Marstrand, with a depreciating


“ You shall see it,” exclaimed the Norseman joyfully. "The fog is falling, and if you could hear, you would already now, in the roar of the waves, understand the strange sound which rushes through the Westfiord.

“There, before us, lies Ostraagoen; here is the old wife of Salten, and over there the old man with the white head. There, now, you catch a glimpse of his hat. There rise the peaks of Hindöen, there gleam the glaciers of Tjelloen, and now comes the sun; look up!”

And as he spoke, the illuminating orb triumphantly broke through the thick veil of cloud, and, as with a magic spell, lit up a countless array of islands, rocks, and gulfs. The Westfiord opened before the astonished vision of the Dane, and exhibited land and sea in all their glory and splendor. Upon one side lay the coast of Norway, with its snowy summits. Salten loomed up behind, with its needle-like peaks, stretching with their inaccessible, ice-covered declivities into the heavens, and its ravines and abysses half-concealed in gloom. Upon the other side, six miles to the seaward of the Westfiord, extended a chain of dark island far into the bosom of the ocean

a granite wall against which the ocean, in its most savage fury, for thousands of years had dashed its billows. Innumerable perpendicular pinnacles rose from this insular labyrinth black, weather-beaten, and torn to their base by the tempests. Their bold summits were veiled by long lines of clouds, and from the gleaming beds of snow the wondering blue eyes of Jökuln turned to the swelling floods of the fiord, which, with their thousand white teeth, bit the bow of the yacht, shook it like a reed, and drew it into the abyss.

“Look there, now, how beautiful it is ! ” cried Björnarne, with a shout. There are the Loffoden Islands. For twenty miles the view extends over land and sea, and all is grand and glorious. See the gray head of Vaagöen, how it beams in gold! Look how the old woman of Salten nods to him, in her ruddy mantle ! Once they were two giants, children of night, a loving pair, who have here been transformed into rock, and must eternally remain such. Observe how the breakers leap against the rocks, in silvery columns; and see the vast circle of cliffs, whose extent no one has measured, upon which no human foot has ever trod, and where only the eagle, the cormorant, the falcon, and the gull have mounted. See the red-chested skarfe there on the craigs, and the sea-geese, how they plunge into the green waves, followed by screaming flocks of gulls and falcons! Thither the herringshoals are attracted by the scent of prey. Above, the sky is clear and tranquil; and the fresh sparkling air awakens all the energies. Is not all this beautiful and is it not the most sublime spectacle that the human eye can behold ? "Afraja; translation of EDWARD Joy MORRIS.




American clergyman and hymnologist; born

at Philadelphia, September 16, 1795; died at New York, April 8, 1877. He was graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 1814; took orders in the Episcopal Church, and in 1821 became rector of St. James's Church, Lancaster, Pa. In 1821 he founded a school at Flushing, Long Island, which he conducted until 1845, when he became rector of the Free Church of the Holy Communion, New York. He was active in establishing St. Luke's Hospital, which was opened in 1859, he being its first pastor and superintendent, retaining that position until his death. He published many tracts, sermons, and hymns.

The following account of the introduction of I Would Not Live Alway in the Episcopal collection is from the Evangelical Catholic, a weekly paper conducted for a time by Dr. Muhlenberg himself: " It was written without the remotest idea that any portion of it would ever be employed in the devotions of the Church. The hymn was at first rejected by the committee, of which the unknown author was a member, who, upon a satirical criticism being made of it, earnestly voted against its adoption. It was admitted on the importunate application of Dr. Onderdonk to the bishops on the committee."

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I would not live alway — live alway below,
Oh, no, I'll not linger when bidden to go:
The days of our pilgrimage granted us here

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