says, "God bless the boy!-that's worth a dozen sermons! I'll send a load of wood to little Kate's mother."

ROSALIE AND HETTY.

Everybody called Rosalie a beauty. Everybody was right. Her cheeks looked like a ripe peach; her hair waved over as fair a forehead as ever a zephyr kissed; her eyes and mouth were as perfect as eves and mouth could be: no violet was softer or bluer than the one, no rose-bud sweeter than the other. All colors became Rosalie, and whatever she did was gracefully done.

So she

Yes; everybody thought Rosalie was a beauty." Rosalie thought so herself. took no pains to be good, or amiable, or obliging. She never cared about learning anything; for, she said to herself, I can afford to have my own way; I can afford to be a dunce if I like; I shall be always sought and admired for my pretty face.

So Rosalie dressed as tastefully as she and the dressmaker knew how; and looked up to show her fine eyes, and down to show her long eye-lashes; and held up her dress, and hopped over little imaginary puddles, to show her pretty feet; and Smiled, to show her white teeth; and danced, to show her fine form;—and was as brilliant and as brainless as a butterfly.

Now, I suppose you think that Rosalie was very happy. Not at all! She was in a perfect fidget lest she should not get all the admiration she wanted. She was torturing herself all the while, for fear some prettier face would come along and eclipse hers. If she went to a party, and every person in the room but one admired her, she would fret herself sick, because that one didn't bow down and worship her.

Never having studied or read anything, Rosalie could talk nothing but nonsense; so everybody who conversed with her talked nonsense too, and paid her silly compliments; and made her believe that all she needed to make her quite an angel, was a pair of wings; and then she would hold her pretty head on one side, and simper; and they would go away laughing in their sleeves, and saying "What a vain little fool Rosalie is!"

Now, Rosalie's cousin Hetty was as plain as a chesnut-bur. She had not a single pretty feature in her face. Nobody ever thought of calling Hetty a beauty, and she knew it! She was used to be overlooked; but she didn't go about whining and making herself unhappy about it,-not she. She just put her mind on something else. She studied and read books, and learned a great many useful things. So she had a great deal in her mind to think of; and went singing about, as happy as could be, without minding whether anybody

noticed her or not.

So she grew up sweet-tempered, amiable, generous, and happy. When she went into company, strangers would say, "What a plain littleb ody Hetty is!" If they could not find anybody else to talk to, they'd go speak to her. Then Hetty would look up at them with one of her quiet smiles, and commence talking. She would say a great many very sensible things, and Bome queer ones; and they would listen-and listen and listen-and by-and-by look at their watch, and wonder what had made time fly so; and then go home, wondering to themselves

how they could ever call such an agreeable girl as Hetty "homely."

So, you see, everybody learned to love her, when they found out what a beautiful soul she had. And while Rosalie was pining and fretting herself sick, because her beauty was fading, and her admirers were dropping off, one by one, to flatter prettier faces, Hetty went quietly on her way, winning hearts, and-keeping them, too.

All hail to Aunt Fanny and her little friends; and may Fanny's pen never slumber! We want more such writers; and in their absence we must do double duty. Fanny and ourself were born under one and the

same planet. God bless her!

THE SEASONS OF THE YEAR. Nelson.

This is a nice book for youth; drawing their attention to things useful, and leading their minds up to the contemplation of what is daily going forward in our world.

Let us select, as being appropriate to the season, an article bearing upon

THE REPOSE OF NATURE.

The season of Winter is at once the close and the commencement of the year. Like the natural sleep of man, and the night which succeeds to the day, it includes the closing period of rest after labor, and the awakening dawn of refreshment after repose. It is the termination of the past, and the precursor of the future; and is therefore happily regarded as a transition time for maturing strength, and planning fresh aggressions on the to the heedless observer, as a lost time; in which legitimate fields of human toil. It seems, indeed, from all the scenes of useful exertion, and compels the rigorous season shuts up the husbandman the laborer to forego his industry.

But it is not so. We have designated it the man, it is the invigorating season on which the repose of nature, and like the natural repose of successful results of all the other portions of the year depend for the fruits of active and wiselyemployed labor. "He casteth forth his ice like morsels; who can stand before his cold? He sealeth up the hand of every man, that all men may know his work." The evidences of the power and goodness of the Creator are not, howsterile reign of this, the closing season of the year. the less apparent during the dreary and "The waters are hid as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen;" but in this, the most remarkable chemical phenomenon of winter, some of the most important and beneficial laws of nature are manifested; and on its influences de

ever,

pend, to a considerable extent, the successful labors of the husbandman in the Spring.

Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep, is not altogether a passive agent in the restoration of the worn-out laborer. While the body reposes, and the mind is chained in healthful inactivity, or dallies with some pleasing fancy in its dreams, the restorative physical operations are busily at work: the blood is circulating through the frame, the lungs are fulfilling their important vital functions, the digestive organs are busy in their appointed task, and the slumberer arises in the morning a new man.

So, too, with nature, after its winter's sleep. The expansive power of water, when passing into the solid state of ice, is well known. Scarcely any limits can be set to its force. It has been found capable of bursting a cannon filled with water, and plugged up so as to leave it no other means of expansion. It rends and splits huge masses of rock, bringing down the giant fragments of the lofty mountain cliffs into the valley below; and, in Arctic regions, frequently splitting icebound rocks with a noise like thunder. Precisely the same effect is pro luced on the smaller fragments of disintegrated rock and organic matter, which unite to form the soil from whence vegetable life draws its nourishment. The soil being saturated with moisture late in the autumn, is heaved up, and pulverised by the alternate expansion and contraction of frost and thaw, so as admirably to fit and prepare it for the reanimation of the whole vegetable kingdom in the spring. This, indeed, may be styled nature's ploughing. It is the process by which, over hill and valley, in wood, and glen, and copse, where no instrument of man is applied to aid or accelerate her operations, the soil is pulverised around the roots of the grass and herbage; and of the countless thousands of plants and trees which clothe the uncultivated face of nature, and provide the needful stores for the flocks and herds, as well as for the multitudes of animal and insect life. But for this annual operation of the frosts of winter, some of our best soils wou'd remain nearly unproductive.

Stiff loams especially, composed for the most part of an unctuous clay, present in their natural state great obstacles to the labors of the agriculturist, and would appear, indeed, to be totally incapable of being turned to any useful account. Their extreme tenacity impedes alike the absorption and removal of excessive moisture during the continuance of rainy weather; while the effect of a protracted drought is to make it so tough and indurated, that a plant might almost as soon force its tender roots into the pores of a sandstone rock, as into the bed of hardened clay. With such a soil, however, the husbandman bas only to enlist the keen winter's frosts into his service, to render it a valuable recipient of the tender seeds of spring. The plough is applied in the autumn, with a direct view to the peculiarities of the soil. It is ploughed up into furrows, so as to expose the largest surface both to moisture and frost; and being then left to the operations of nature, the water is received into the soil, and as it is expanded in the process of freezing, it forces asunder the adhering particles of the clay-loosening, crumbling, and pulverising the whole, and rendering it peculiarly fitted to receive the seed in spring. Nature may therefore be truly spoken of as refreshing herself with sleep during the apparently inactive winter months. She is not dead. Vital functions of the most essential character are at work, producing results on which all the future depends, when the re-awakened vitality of the animal and vegetable kingdoms shall be again in operation.

The wisdom and power of the Creator are no less remarkably apparent in the beneficial properties with which frost and snow are endowed, for the protection of the soil and its included plants against excessive cold. Few operations of

nature are more remarkable than this. The ice binds up the soil in its iron grasp; and, being a slow conductor of heat, the frost is thereby prevented from extending far beneath the surface, so as to injure the tender fibres and roots of plants. Even when it does reach and envelop them, this counteracting influence still predominates, and holds the winter's frosts in check, preventing the temperature of the soil from falling below the freezing point.

But still further beneficial contrivances become apparent in other operations of the winter's frost. Its influence extends to the air, as well as to the earth and water, and affects the exhaled moisture floating in clouds above the earth. The rain drops are accordingly frozen, and precipitated to the ground in the form of snow. The woolly flakes of snow, when examined under the microscope, are crystallised in minute forms of extreme beauty, and wrought with the utmost regularity. The hail also assumes a regular crystallised form, but of a totally different kind from the down-like snow which falls noiselessly on the earth. The latter is manifestly designed to drop without injury on the naked boughs and tender plants exposed to the storms of winter; and to cover the grass and herbs, and the young winter wheat, with its winged flakes, without hurting their most fragile shoots, or disturbing the exposed soil in its fall. The sudden hail of spring or summer dashes down occasionally in destructive masses, which injure, break, and destroy plants, and extensively damage the works of man; but the snow-flake is twenty-four times lighter than water, and so drops on the face of nature like the downy coverlet spread by its mother over the cradle of the sleeping babe. This also operates still more beneficially in preventing the injurious influences of the frost on the soil, and on its enclosed plants and seeds; so that one of the first operations of the frost is thus to provide a defence agaist its own excess.

The snow being a very imperfect conductor of heat, it does not readily descend below the freezing point; and thus the soil beneath is under the softest guardianship when its white covering is spread abroad to protect the tender seeds and bulbs, and the fresh roots of the lately germinated autumn seeds. The simplest experiment suffices to prove this; for if a portion of a field is swept bare of snow during a protracted frost, and after this is exposed for a time to the full influence of the cold,-it will be found that the frost has penetrated to a considerable depth, binding the whole in its iron grasp; while another portion of the same field, which has remained covered by the snow, will remain totally unaffected by the frost an inch or two below the surface. The practical value of this will be still more apparent, if the experiment is tried during very rigorous cold on a field of autumn-sown wheat. The plants in the part exposed will be found blighted, and sometimes completely killed by the frost; while the remainder of the field has escaped the same noxious influence by means of its snowy covering.

By means of the same remarkable non-conduct. ing property of snow, the natives of the Arctic regions are able to employ it as the material with which they construct their winter dwellings; and thus enroofed only with the embedded masses of frozen moisture, and with their windows glazed

Thus do we find the balance of nature harmo

use.

niously preserved amid the utmost diversity of changes, and no single law operating without its The long winter of the Polar regions is followed by a brief but most vigorous spring and summer. Within a week after the melting of the snows of Iceland, the fields are green; and in less than a month most of the plants are at maturity; so that where the sleep of nature is most prolonged, she is seen to awaken with a proportionate vigor, and to hasten the accomplishment of the processes of vegetation during the brief season of activity that remains. The same is frequently seen, though in a less degree, in our own milder climate. Occasionally a cold, protracted spring, threatens to mar all the labors of the husbandman. The trees refrain from shooting forth their leaves, the cereal plants are arrested in their progress, and the season seems passing away without the development on which the realising of all its hopes depend.

But on a change of weather, and the supervening of a very few days of warmth, the compensating powers of nature becoming immediately apparent, a sudden burst of vegetation takes place, as if nature, by one great effort, sought to make up for lost time, and a very brief period suffices to restore the hopes of the most despondent. In this, also, we cannot fail to recognise a remarkable provision of the Creator; for meeting the peculiarities of a variable climate, and securing the fulfilment of the Harvest Covenant :

He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, And blunts his pointed fury; in its case, Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ Uninjured, with inimitable art; And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, Designs the blooming wonders of the next. Are we not all longing for this sudden burst of vegetation? And oh, how we will enjoy its unfolding beauties!

A BRAGE-BEAKER WITH THE SWEDES. By W. BLANCHARD JERROLD. Nathaniel Cooke.

The author of this book has been to Sweden and back; and he has recorded pro bono the result of his journey, which forms a neat volume of some 250 pages.

The second title of the book is "Notes from the North, in 1852." This gives a better idea of it than the first. Those who are fond of lively gossip, and to hear pleasant travelling companions tell of their remarkable adventures, &c., will be amused by a perusal of Mr. Jerrold's pages; nor will they fail to laugh heartily at some of his illustrative sketches-for instance, the one at page 52,

representing the author "packed up," ready for travelling. It reminds us of old Martha Gunn, who, some forty years agone, used to bob our juvenile head and little body under the waves at Brighton,-herself waiting for us, open-mouthed (we shall never forget her hug), behind the wooden wheel of that huge bathing-machine.

To give an idea of the author's style, we subjoin his description of the "packing up" ceremony,--also a hint or two as to the delights of travelling in Sweden:-

When travelling in Sweden, I found the packing of luggage a secondary matter to the packing of myself. The weather was not cold on the night we left Helsingborg, and I felt a kind of vague disappointment, having screwed up my courage to endure a frightful number of degrees below freezing-point. Yet the Captain warned me not to forsake my furs, and to pack myself up for regular Swedish weather. I began and ended thus. First, I gave myself a substantial breastwork of flannel; secondly, I hugged myself in a thick pilot waistcoat, which I buttoned up to my throat; thirdly, I drew on a thick pilot coat: fourthly, I turned about my neck a woollen scarf; fifthly, I drew on a second coat, as thick as any double blanket; sixthly, I pulled on close over my head a thick cap; seventhly, I sat down while a sympathising bystander hauled on a pair of snow-boots lined with fur; eighthly, my huge für frock, which reached to my heels, was thrown over me, and my arms drawn into the sleeves. Thus bandaged, I made my way by slow degrees into the carriage waiting at the hotel doors, that dark and stormy night, to take us on our way north.

My companions followed me in a similar description of packing. How we wedged ourselves into that carriage, with two or three carpet-bags, and other luggage that could not be stowed outside; how Poppyhead's india-rubber leggings turned up every ten minutes, to the discomfort of one of us; how we requested one another to move a leg, or remove that arm from those ribs; how we deplored our fate as the carriage rolled and tumbled over horrible roads on that dark night,-are though they did not pass lightly over me. But matters of detail which I will pass over lightly, one grievance I must insist upon inflicting on the reader. When we had got about two miles away from the town, we discovered that one of the front windows of the carriage was wanting, and that the rain was pouring in upon my devoted back. An explanation with the driver drew from him the cool reply that the window was broken; but that we need not mind it, it would let in the air. This impertinent observation roused even Poppyhead from an incipient doze to make an indignant remark. But the matter could not be mended on the high road; so we went forward, and the rain played its worst upon my well-covered back. The carriage was so small, that it was impossible for all of us to stretch out our legs at once. convenience led to a solemn convention, which bound each of us to take his turn of the convenient posture, and to yield it up at a proper time. We occupied two hours of that dreary night arranging and re-arranging the luggage, which kept tumbling about the vehicle; at the end of which

This in

time we arrived at the first posting station. The house was closed; not a light was to be seen; the rain was pouring down heavily. Our sturdy coachman bayed at the door, and presently roused the postmaster, who growled and went to the stables.

After waiting about three-quarters of an hour, we were favored with two inelegant specimens of horseflesh, and a second postboy, and went tumbling and rolling on our weary way once more. Every half-hour we condoled with one another on the prospect of forty-eight hours in this cramped vehicle, on these terrible roads. Whether the country, during the first two stages of our progress, was fine or tame, I cannot say,-a wall of impenetrable darkness was all I saw beyond a yard or two from the carriage windows. We arrived at the second station about five in the morning; this was Engelholm, a Swedish seaport, situate in a bay of the Cattegat, chiefly noticeable, I believe, for the obstinate defence it made to the Danes in 1673. I believe also that it was chiefly noticeable on this occasion to us as affording a station, a rude wood-house, where we could unpack ourselves for a short time, and ascertain that we continued to possess legs and arms. Here our coachman intimated that we had better remain till the dawn of day. This proposal did not at all meet our views; and the Captain, in energetic if not in elegant Swedish, intimated that we were determined to proceed directly the horses had arrived. Here I learnt my two first Swedish words Hastaer Strax!* These syllables have been impressed upon my memory by the voice of the Captain, in the depths of dark winter nights! At every station these words were shouted vehemently from our carriage window; in widely separate parts of the Scandinavian peninsula, I have awoke to these euphonious syllables on many a night. I have aroused others with them myself. I have a theory that with these two words any foreigner may, without inconvenience, travel even from Stockholm to Malmo.

There is a vast amount of useful information scattered over the work; and it will hardly fail to become popular.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF SCRIPTURE FROM BOTANICAL SCIENCE. By DAVID GORRIE. Pp. 160. Blackwood and Sons. The author of this book has evidently the welfare of society deeply at heart, and he labors kindly to win them to his views by gentle argument.

His avowed purpose is, to bring together some of those illustrations of Scripture emblems which Botanical Science is fitted to afford, thus forming, he says, a small contribution towards the elucidation of a subject which has already occupied the attention of many writers and commentators; but which, being in a manner inexhaustible, still affords room for fresh remark.

The book is both curious and valuable; and will be read with much delight by

Horses directly!

Christians of all denominations-for, on the matters herein discussed, there ought not to be two opinions. The author concludes thus:

And

The study of plants belongs to the most interesting department of the Natural Sciences. the remarks I have offered, brief and imperfect though they be, may yet serve to illustrate and enforce the truth, long neglected and still not rightly prized, that a rich mine of knowledge (and it may be of Christian edification) awaits those who may set themselves to study Scriptural derived from experience of the habits of plants allusions to the vegetable kingdom, in the light and from the researches of botanists. The instruction to be derived from this delightful study can never be despised by any, who seek an increase of knowledge and love at the Fountain from whence both proceed.

A number of beautiful illustrative engravings of trees, plants, and flowers, adorn the volume; and its external garb is every way in keeping with its internal excellencies.

THE NEW QUARTERLY REVIEW. NO. IX. Hookham and Sons.

This honest servant of the public, despite the hostilities shown towards it by "certain houses," yet flourishes nobly. The number for the New Year is even more vigorous than ever; and this is saying all we could say in its favor. It is a true record of the doings in the literary world, at home and abroad, during the past quarter; and will be found a very useful and interesting guide to those whose time is too fully occupied to admit of extensive reading at the Libraries, &c.

66

The

The article on "Authors and Publishers' will be universally read. It throws a very bright light on a very dark subject." great "Book Merchants," as they are now called, are said to be "mad." What sane person can doubt it? One of the largest has already stopped payment; and his " confessions" should cause "the hair on every honest man's head to stand on end."

We are indeed going a-head at a fearful rate. And who pays for it at last?—the

Public!

THE MUSEUM OF SCIENCE AND ART. PART I. Walton and Maberly.

Popular Science is now beginning to get into fashion, and people are becoming ashamed to plead ignorant of what they ought to have known years ago. However, it is never too late to learn; and we are right glad to see this move in a right direction.

The Veteran, Dr. Lardner, is the editor of the work; and he opens with a very popular subject,-viz. "The Planets; Are they habitable worlds?" The inquiry is a most interesting one, and is very skilfully handled.

The introduction to the general question is worthy a careful perusal; and we feel sure that none who read it will fail to pursue it to the end.

ARE THE PLANETS INHABITED? When we walk abroad on a clear starlight night, and direct our view to the aspect of the Heavens, there are certain reflections which will present themselves to every meditative mind. Are those shining orbs, which in such countless numbers decorate the firmament, peopled with creatures endowed like ourselves with reason to discover, with sense to love, and with imagination to expand to their boundless perfection the attributes of Him of "whose fingers the Heavens are the work?" Has He who made man lower than the angels to crown him" with the glory of discovering that light in which He has "decked himself as with a garment," also made other creatures with like powers and like destinies, with dominion over the works of His hands, and having all things put in subjection under their feet? And are those resplendent globes which roll in silent majesty through the measureless abysses of space, the dwellings of such beings? These are inquiries, against which neither the urgency of business nor the allurements of pleasure can block up the avenues of the mind.'"

Those whose information on topics of this nature is most superficial, would be prompted to look immediately for direct evidence on these questions; and consequently to appeal to the telescope. Such an appeal would, however, be fruitless. Vast as are the powers of that instrument, it still falls infinitely short of the ability to give direct evidence on such inquiries. What will a telescope do for us in the examination of any of the Heavenly bodies, or indeed of any distant object? It will accomplish this, and nothing more; it will enable us to behold it as we should see it at a lesser distance. But, strictly speaking, it cannot accomplish even this for to suppose it did, would be to ascribe to it all the admirable optical perfection of the eye; for that instrument, however nearly it approaches the organ of vision, is still deficient in some of the qualities which have been conferred upon the eye by its Maker.

:

Let us, however, assume that we resort to the use of a telescope having such a magnifying power, for example, as a thousand: what would such an instrument do for us? It would in fact place us a thousand times nearer to the object that we are desirous to examine, and thus enable us to see it as we should at that diminished distance without a telescope. Such is the extent of the aid which we should derive from the instrument. Now, let us see what this aid would effect. Take, for example, the case of the moon, the nearest body in the universe to the earth. The distance of that object is about 240,000 miles; the telescope would then place us at 240 miles from it. Could we at the distance of 240 miles distinctly, or even indistinctly, see a man, a horse, an elephant, or any other natural object? Could we discern any artificial structure? Assuredly not! But take the case of one of the planets. When Mars is nearest to the earth, its distance is about 50,000,000 of miles. Such a telescope would place us at a distance of 50,000 miles from it. What object could

we expect to see at 50,000 miles' distance? The planet Venus, when nearest the earth, is at a distance something less than 30,000,000 of miles, but at that distance her dark hemisphere is turned towards us; and when a considerable portion of her enlightened hemisphere is visible, her distance is not less than that of Mars. All the other planets, when nearest to the earth, are at much greater distances. As the stars lie infinitely more remote than the most remote planet, it is needless here to add anything respecting them.

It is plain, that the telescope cannot afford any direct evidence on the question whether the planets, like the earth, are inhabited globes. Yet, although science has not given direct answers to these questions, it has supplied a body of circumstantial evidence bearing upon them of an extremely interesting nature. Modern discovery has collected together a mass of facts connected with the position and motions, the physical character and conditions, and the parts played in the solar system by the several globes of which that system is composed, which forms a body of analogies bearing on this inquiry, even more cogent and convincing than the proofs on the strength of which we daily dispose of the property and lives of our fellow-citizens, and hazard our own.

We shall first consider this interesting question so far as relates to the group of planets, which, from several striking analogies which they bear to our own, have been called the terrestrial planets. These planets-in number three, and by name Mercury, Venus, and Mars-revolve with the earth around the sun, at distances from that luminary less in a great proportion than the other members of the solar system. We shall next extend the same inquiries to the other bodies composing that system, as well as to those which are distributed through the more distant regions of the universe.

If

In considering the earth as a dwelling-place suited to man and to the creatures which it has pleased his Maker to place in subjection to him, there is a mutual fitness and adaptation observable among a multitude of arrangements which cannot be traced to, and which indeed obviously cannot arise from, any general mechanical law by which the motions and changes of mere material masses are governed. It is in these conveniences and luxuries with which our dwelling has been so considerately furnished, that we see the beneficent intentions of its Creator more immediately manifested, than by any great physical or mechanical laws, however imposing or important. having a due knowledge of our natural necessities of our appetites and passions of our susceptibilities of pleasure and pain-in fine, of our physical organisation-we were for the first time introduced to this glorious earth, with its balmy atmosphere-its pure and translucent waters-the life and beauty of its animal and vegetable kingdoms-with its attraction upon the matter of our own bodies just sufficient to give them the requisite stability, and yet not so great as to deprive them of the power of free and rapid motion-with its intervals of light and darkness-giving an alternation of labor and rest nicely corresponding with our muscular powers-with its grateful succession of seasons, and its moderate variations of temperature, so justly suited to our organisation; with all this fitness before us, could we hesitate to infer