of a pilgrim to a saint. By the governor's command he is pulled away from her: Dorothea's head is placed upon the block and struck off with the sword. "O take my soul along to wait on thine," cried Antoninus-and with the words sunk dead by her side.

*

*

exclaimed together; and, spitting upon the image, they of sacred fire; and, walking to where Dorothea_ stood threw it upon the ground. bound, he knelt down and kissed her hand-no longer All stood amazed at this act, so daring-so unex-with the feeling of earthly love, but with the reverence pected. Theophilus was horror-struck, and for a moment unable to speak; but Harpax, who stood by his side, recalled him to himself by reminding him that now it was necessary he should act with promptitude and decision; that his daughters' impious act, unless at once atoned for, must be punished with death; and that the sacrifice would be more impressive, more effectual as an example, and more honouring to the gods, if offered by his own hands. Stung by the exhortations of Harpax, Theophilus turned to his daughters, and commanded them immediately to redeem the fearful crime they had committed, by falling on their knees, and suing for pardon of the offended deity. With firm composure they refused. Maddened by the recollection of the confidence with which he had counted upon their success in converting Dorothea, to whose superior power of persuasion they had themselves yielded, he sprung upon them, and drawing his dagger, laid them dead at his feet. Dorothea was hurried away to immediate torment.

Dorothea endured her torments with heroic constancy, and at last, when the ingenuity of her tormentors was exhausted, she was led out to execution. Antoninus, who still continued in a deplorable condition, would not be restrained from being present to look for the last time upon her who was so dear to him. With sweet serenity she addressed her murderers, telling them of the bright abode to which they were hastening her, and of the heavenly fruits which grew there. Theophilus in derision begged that, when she reached the place she spoke of, she should send him some of that fruit, while Antoninus, in the anguish of his heart, implored that he might be permitted to die with her. While they were speaking, Angelo entered; no longer a boyish page, but in his true form, a bright and glorious angel. He was visible only to Harpax and Dorothea; to Harpax, who was no man, but an evil spirit, and who was smitten with the torments of hell at the sight, and rushed distractedly from his presence; and to Dorothea, who looked with amazement on the change in the appearance of her page.

"Thou glorious minister of the power I serve!" She thus addressed him,

(For thou art more than mortal,) is't for me,
Poor sinner, thou art pleased awhile to leave
Thy heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest,
Though glorified, to take my servant's habit?
For, put off thy divinity, so look'd
My lovely Angelo."

"Know," replied the angel, "I am the same;

And still the servant to your piety.

Your zealous prayers and pious deeds first won me
(But 'twas by His command to whom you sent them)
To guide your steps. I tried your charity,
When in a beggar's shape you took me up,
And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed,
As

you believ'd, my famish'd mouth. Learn all,
By your example, to look on the poor
With gentle eyes! for in such habits, often
Angels desire an alms. I never left you,

Nor will I now; for I am sent to carry

Your pure and innocent soul to joys eternal,
Your martyrdom once suffered."

He then told her that whatever she now asked would be granted. With many thanks, she preferred two requests. One, that the love of Antoninus for her, in which he languished to death, might be changed to the love of heaven; the other, that when she reached her heavenly home, she might be permitted to send to Theophilus some of that sacred fruit which he had jeeringly demanded. Angelo promised that both requests should be granted. Suddenly Antoninus feels himself restored to strength; his whole soul is filled with a glow.

Theophilus was sitting alone in his study, reflecting upon the success which had attended his efforts to put down Christianity, when suddenly a youth, in form and appearance resembling the page who had attended upon the martyred Dorothea, entered his room, and presented him with a basket full of fruit and flowers, telling him that Dorothea sent him these from the garden in which she now dwelt, and then vanished. Full of amazement, he called his attendants, and inquired how the boy had gained admittance; but none of them had seen him enter, and the doors had all been locked. The scent of the flowers was more exquisite than anything he had ever before felt; and, as he inhaled it, filled him with a peaceful serenity such as his soul had long been a stranger to. He then began to taste the fruit, when Harpax rushed into the room, not now in the humble guise of secretary, but in his true and fearful shape, a fiend, with fire all flashing around him, and commanded him to forbear; telling that he was now his slave, and must obey him. Theophilus, though sorely frightened, continued still to eat, and, as he ate, found his strength and courage increase. The fiend threatened to tear him in pieces unless he desisted, but, as Theophilus perceived, durst not approach to where the basket of flowers lay. While they were thus contending, Theophilus, thrusting his hand to the bottom of the basket, took out thence a bundle of flowers wreathed together in the form of a cross. At sight of this the fiend fell to the ground, howling with agony. Theophilus still held it up before him, until at last, unable to endure the sight any longer, he vanished away.

Theophilus now became as zealous a Christian as he had been a cruel persecutor. He sent and released from prison all who had been imprisoned by his orders, furnishing them with means to make their escape from Cæsarea. He did not himself long escape the fate which he had before inflicted on so many others. After suffering unheard-of torments, he received the glorious crown of martyrdom.

Artemia consoled herself for the loss of Antoninus by bestowing her hand upon her father's colleague, Maximinus; and Dioclesian, full of rage at the defection of his officer, issued orders for a simultaneous persecution of the Church throughout every corner of the empire.

A SCOTTISH SCENE.-(See Illustration.)

"As they neared the land, the hills appeared to recede from them, and a little valley, formed by the descent of a small river from the mountains, evolved itself, as it were, upon their approach. The style of the country on each side was simply pastoral, and resembled in appearance and character the description of a forgotten Scottish poet, which runs nearly thus:

"The water gently down a level slid

With little din, but couthy what it made;
On ilka side the trees grew thick and lang,
And wi' the wild-birds' notes were a' in sang;
On either side, a full bow-shot and mair,
The green was even, gowany, and fair;
With easy slope on every hand the braes,
To the hill's feet, with scatter'd bushes raise;
With goats and sheep aboon, and kye below,

The bonny banks all in a swarm did go.'"-SIR WALTER SCOTT.

THE ATMOSPHERE.

lines through space, and that the reflecting vapours are forty-five miles above the surface of the globe; we naturally infer the existence of a supporting fluid, where those vapours float, and therefore conclude that our atmosphere extends to such an elevation. Some give to the air an altitude of fifty miles; but nothing like exactitude can be expected in calculations respecting a fluid, the density of which is exceedingly rare at great heights. Meteors have been observed sixty or a hundred miles above the earth; but it does not follow that such bodies must always take fire in the atmo

these results. The gaseous proportions given above are nearly the same in every part of the globe,-a fact illustrated by the experiments of the most eminent scientific chemists, who have analyzed the atmosphere in different climates, with the same general result. Some, however, have supposed that oxygen is more permanently abundant in some places; an opinion which has not been confirmed by experiment. But it may be said, that, if the atmosphere is every where composed of the same proportion of its gases, it ought to be equally healthy in all places, and the air of Sierra Leone as bracing as that of Devonshire. It must be remembered, how-sphere, they may be exterior to it; no conclusion ever, that many circumstances combine to prevent, in can therefore be formed respecting its extent from some regions, the natural diffusion of the gases, or these phenomena. When, however, we represent retard their mixture, from which it follows that the atmosphere as having an elevation of forty or some disturbances must happen in the animal fifty miles, it is not intended to assert that it economy. Thus, in a hot and thickly-wooded maintains the same properties throughout the country, the free circulation of the air currents whole range; this is far from being the case. The will be prevented, the atmospheric tide will not, so density, for instance, must diminish with every to speak, ebb and flow with due regularity, and a mile of elevation, until at last a state of the greatest deleterious gas, such as carbonic acid, will take a rarefaction is produced. Thus, at very slight heights, longer time to diffuse itself, and is in the mean time the air is too thin to admit of free respiration, and breathed by animals. But, in all such cases, the the discharge of a gun is scarcely heard, from the natural tendency is to mingle in the proportions given slight resistance offered to the exploded gas. If above; such, therefore, may be considered the pro- we ascend to the summits of the Andes or the per elements of the atmosphere. Every one knows Alps, and discharge a gun on the top of Chimbothat the quantity of vapour entering into the air razo or Mont Blanc, the report is scarcely equal must vary at different times, being much greater in to that of a child's pop-gun,-so small is the rehot than in cold weather, the difference being assistance of the air at such heights. At an elevation to; but there is, nevertheless, an average quantity of such vapour mingled with the atmospheric gases, which is the proportion expressed in the tables. A similar remark applies to carbonic acid gas, the amount of which in the air is not always the same, being greater in dry seasons, but the moistened soil and saturated vegetation of a wet summer imbibe it largely from the air.

Was the atmosphere always supposed to be a compound fluid? No; men had breathed it for thousands of years without suspecting its compound character. Nor was it likely the viewless air should be deemed a complex fluid, when water, a more tangible and evident substance, was so long deemed simple.

Until the year 1774, men were ignorant of the constituents of the atmosphere; but Priestley then obtained a glimpse of the truth in perceiving that oxygen entered into its composition; whilst Scheele, Lavoisier, Berthollet, Cavendish, and a host of enthusiastic students of Nature, soon gave to the world a true interpretation of many beautiful laws relating to the atmosphere. Into the history of these discoveries we cannot enter, nor wander into the rich and wide regions which on every side present their pure beauty to the eye, but confine our observations to the facts presented to our view in the atmosphere itself.

The height of this world-belt cannot, of course, be ascertained by actual and close observation, the loftiest summits of the Andes do but pierce through the first stratum of air; nor has any aeronaut ever penetrated to its remoter depths. We are, nevertheless, able to make a tolerable guess at the depth of this gaseous sea which surrounds us, and forty-five miles is usually regarded as the height to which our atmosphere extends. One means by which we arrive at this calculation is, the reflection of light. The process may thus be described: suppose we observe a certain portion of light from the sun arrested by vapours, and reflected to the earth, instead of passing in straight

of three and a half miles, the density of the air is one-half that upon the surface, a fact which can easily be tested, as aëronauts have attained to such heights; at fourteen miles it is reckoned at onesixteenth.

Were the density preserved the same through the whole height of the atmosphere, the pressure would far exceed that which now weighs down with a force of fifteen pounds every square inch of the globe. This would occasion a corresponding change in our bodies, the temperature of our climates, the growth of vegetables, and in the whole organized world. We should be bowea down by an ever-crushing weight; no flower would raise its delicate head above the ground, whilst every gale must become a furious and destructive tempest. On the other hand, were the atmosphere at the same density from top to bottom as at the height of seven miles, we should not be able to exist; the blood must become corrupted; no refreshing breezes ever felt; and, in all probability, a perpetual winter would rule over the earth. All these consequences are prevented by the present adjustment of the atmosphere, by which the parts nearest the earth are of the density requisite for the support of animal and vegetable life, and the portions above so gradually attenuated as to keep the whole atmospherical machine in perfect order. This attenuation of the air has no assignable limits, but continues to increase the higher we go. It has been calculated that a cubic inch of our air, taken from any part of the earth's surface, would become so expanded at the height of five hundred miles, as to fill a space equal to the whole bulk of the planet Saturn. Thus the atmosphere may be described as a series of numerous air-strata, diminishing in density as they ascend.

It is, perhaps, needless to remark, that the higher we rise the less is the pressure of the atmosphere upon us, as may be proved by the gradual fall of the barometer while ascending a

mountain. Let us suppose ourselves at the foot | to occupy the whole space, but its effects are then of some lofty hill; we observe the barometer, and so trifling as to be inappreciable. perhaps find the column of mercury standing at thirty inches high; we begin the ascent, and, having gained an elevation of some hundred yards, again observe the instrument; the quicksilver has fallen. We again proceed; the fluid still continues to fall the higher we rise. This results from the diminishing pressure of each more elevated stratum of air upon the mercury in the bowl of the barometer; the metal therefore falls in the tube and rises in the bowl. If we descend, the increasing aërial pressure forces the fluid from the receptacle into the tube again. The uses of this atmospherical pressure are various: it prevents the water of seas and rivers from being too rapidly evaporated by heat, which would cause an undue saturation of the air, and the production of a perpetual rain.