were about to shoot forth his vessel into another heaven, and to cleave his way among the stars.

Still, as everything is to the eye, sometimes for a hundred miles together along these deep sea-valleys, there is rarely silence. The ear is kept awake by a thousand voices. In the summer, there are cataracts leaping from ledge to ledge of the rocks, and there is the bleating of the kids that browse there, and the flap of the great eagle's wings, as it dashes abroad from its eyrie, and the cries of whole clouds of sea-birds, which inhabit the islets; and all these sounds are mingled and multiplied by the strong echoes, till they become a din as loud as that of a city. Even at night, when the flocks are in the fold, and the birds at roost, and the echoes themselves seem to be asleep, there is occasionally a sweet music heard, too soft for even the listening ear to catch by day. Every breath of summer wind that steals through the pine-forests wakes this music as it goes. The stiff piny leaves of the fir and pine vibrate with the breeze, like the strings of a musical instrument, so that every breath of the night wind, in a Norwegian forest, wakens a myriad of tiny harps; and this gentle and mournful music may be heard in gushes the whole night through. This music, of course, ceases when each tree becomes laden with snow; but yet there is sound, in the midst of the longest winter-night. There is the rumble of some avalanche, as after a drifting storm a mass of snow, too heavy to keep its place, slides and tumbles from the mountain peak. There is also, now and then, a loud crack of the ice in the nearest glacier; and, as many declare, there is a crackling to be heard by those who listen when the northern lights are shooting and blazing across the sky. Nor is this all. Wherever there

is a nook between the rocks on the shore, where a man may build a house, and clear a field or two-wherever there is a platform beside the cataract, where the sawyer may plant his mill and make a path from it to join some great road—there is a human habitation, and the sounds that belong to it. Thence, in winter nights, come music and laughter, and the tread of the dancers and the hum of many voices. The Norwegians are a social and hospitable people; and they hold their gay meetings, in defiance of their arctic climate, through every season of the year.-Miss Martineau.

LESSON LXX.-COMPLAINT OF THE DYING YEAR.

"I am the son of Old Father Time, and the last of a numerous progeny, for he has had upwards of five thousand of us; but it has ever been his fate to see one child expire before another was born. It is the opinion of some, that his own constitution is beginning to break up, and that when he has given birth to a hundred or two more of us, his family will be complete, and then he himself will be no more!"

Thus the Old Year began his complaint. He then called for his account book, and turned over the pages with a sorrowful eye. He has kept, it appears, an accurate account of the moments, minutes, hours, and months, which he has issued, and subjoined, in some places, memorandums of the uses to which they have been applied, and of the losses he has sustained.

These particulars it would be tedious to detail, but we must notice one circumstance. Upon turning to a certain page in his accounts, the old man was much affected, and the tears streamed down his furrowed cheeks as he examined it. This was the register of the fifty-two

Sundays which he had issued; and which, of all the wealth he had to dispose of, has been, it appears, the most scandalously wasted. "These," said he, "were my most precious gifts. Alas! how lightly have they been esteemed!"

"I feel, however," said he, "more pity than indignation towards these offenders, since they were far greater enemies to themselves than to me. But there are a few outrageous ones, by whom I have been defrauded of so much of my substance that it is difficult to think of them with patience, particularly that notorious thief Procrastination, of whom everybody has heard, and who is well known to have wronged my venerable father of much of his property.

"There are also three noted ruffians, Sleep, Sloth, and Pleasure, from whom I have suffered much; besides a certain busybody called Dress, who, under the pretence of making the most of me, steals away more of my gifts than any two of them.

"As for me, all must acknowledge that I have performed my part towards my friends and foes. I have fulfilled my utmost promise, and been more bountiful than many of my predecessors.

"My twelve fair children have, each in their turn, aided my exertions; and their various tastes and dispositions have all conduced to the general good. Mild February, who sprinkled the naked boughs with delicate buds, and brought her wonted offering of early flowers, was not of more essential service than that rude, blustering boy March, who, though violent in his temper, was well-intentioned and useful. April, a gentle, tenderhearted girl, wept for his loss, yet cheered me with many a smile. June came crowned with roses, and sparkling in

sunbeams, and laid up a store of costly ornaments for her luxuriant successors. But I cannot stop to enumerate the good qualities and graces of all my children. You, my poor December, dark in your complexion, and cold in your temper, greatly resemble my first-born January, with this difference, that he was most prone to anticipation, and you to reflection.

"It is very likely that, at least after my decease, many may reflect upon themselves for their misconduct towards me. To such I would leave it as my dying injunction, not to waste time in unavailing regret-all their wishes and repentance will not recall me to life. I would rather earnestly recommend to their regard my youthful successor, whose appearance is shortly expected. I cannot hope to survive long enough to introduce him, but I would fain hope that he will meet with a favourable reception; and that, in addition to the flattering honours which greeted my birth, and the fair promises which deceived my hopes, more diligent exertion and more persevering efforts may be expected. Let it be remembered that one honest endeavour is worth ten fair promises."-Jane Taylor.

LESSON LXXI.-GENEVA.

Geneva is one of the most remarkable and most celebrated cities in Europe. It derives its celebrity, however, not so much from its size, or from the magnificence of its edifices, as from the peculiar beauty of its situation, and from the circumstances of its history. Geneva is situated upon the confines of France, Switzerland, and Sardinia, at the outlet of the lake of Geneva, which is perhaps the most beautiful, and certainly the most celebrated lake in Switzerland. It is

shaped like a crescent,—that is, like the new moon, or rather, like the moon after it is about four or five days old. The lower end of the lake—that is, the end where Geneva is situated-lies in a comparatively open country, though vast ranges of mountains, some of them covered with perpetual snow, are to be seen in the distance all around. The waters of the lake at this end, and of the river Rhone, which issues from it, are very clear, and of a deep and beautiful blue colour.

The city of Geneva is situated at the western end of the lake, and the river Rhone, in coming out of it, flows directly through the town. The lake is about fifty miles long, and the eastern end of it runs far in among the mountains. These mountains are very dark and sombre, and their sides rise so precipitously from the margin of the water, that in many places there is scarcely room for a road along the shore. Indeed, you go generally to that end of the lake in a steamer; and as you advance, the mountains seem to shut you in completely. But when you get near the end of the lake, you see a narrow valley opening before you, with high mountains on either hand, and the river Rhone flowing very swiftly between green and beautiful banks in the middle of it. Besides the river, there is a magnificent road to be seen running along this valley. This is the great high road leading from France into Italy; and it has been known and travelled as such, ever since the days of the old Romans.

The river Rhone, where it flows into the lake at the eastern end, is very thick and turbid, being formed by torrents coming down from the mountain sides, or by muddy streams, derived from the melting of the glaciers. At the western end, on the other hand, where it issues