the young one. Nature, however, has conferred upon the insect an instinct suitable to the emergency. As soon as it puts out its head, it elevates it above the water; and worming itself out always perpendicularly, supported only by the inequalities of the skin which it is about to cast off, with no power to balance itself, surrounded by an unfriendly element, it literally becomes a canoe, of which its own body forms mast and sail.

The skin floats, and when the observer perceives, says Reaumur, how much the prow of the little bark sinks, and how near its sides are to the water, he forgets at the moment that the gnat is an insect which at another time he would kill; nay, he becomes anxious for its fate, and the more so if the slightest breeze play on the surface of the water; the least agitation of the air suffices to waft the creature with swiftness from place to place, and make it spin round and round. Its body, folded in its wings, bears a greater proportion to the little skiff, than the largest mass of sail to a ship: it is impossible not to dread lest the insect should be wrecked; once laid on its side on the water, there is no escape. Reaumur has seen the surface of the water covered with creatures of this kind which had thus perished at their birth. Generally, however, all terminates favourably, and the danger is over in a minute. After having stood perpendicularly, it draws out its two fore-legs, and bending to the water, places them on its surface, which is terra firma for a gnat's weight; having secured this position, all is safe; the wings dry and expand, and the insect, quitting its natal element, mounts into the air.

It is supposed, that from the end of May to that of October, six or seven generations of these insects are born, and each gnat is capable of laying two hundred

and fifty eggs. These are found agglutinated into a mass, and swimming about on the surface of water: they are individually olive-shaped, the large end being in the water, the rest in the air. When conjoined, the

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upper surface of the mass presents to the eye the appearance of an infinite series of points. In arranging and floating this raft of eggs the gnat displays surprising ingenuity. They are discharged one by one, vertically, and not horizontally from the extremity of the insect; for this purpose it generally fixes itself on some solid substance, such as the bank of the water, or on a floating leaf. Standing on its four feet it stretches out the two hindmost legs; these being crossed, form an

angle in which the first egg is laid; the second is placed next, and they adhere by means of a glutinous matter surrounding each. The gnat places them thus with the abdomen solely: when a sufficient number of eggs have been placed side by side, to render the base of the mass large enough to balance the height—for it is clear that a few eggs only could not float upright on so narrow a stem as they possess the gnat launches its precious vessel, and fearlessly commits its cherished young to that little ocean which is fraught with so many dangers to itself.

Those who quit their proper character to assume what does not belong to them, are, for the greater part, ignorant both of the character they leave, and of the character they assume.

POETRY.

THE CURSE OF CAIN

(Gen. iv. 15, 16.)

O the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing!
Like the tempest that withers the blossoms of spring,
Like the thunder that bursts on the summer's domain,
It fell on the head of the homicide Cain.

And lo! like a deer in the fright of the chase,
With a fire in his heart, and a brand on his face,
He speeds him afar to the desert of Nod-
A vagabond smote by the vengeance of Goď.

All nature to him has been blasted and banned,
For the blood of a brother yet reeks on his hand;
And no vintage has grown, and no fountain has sprung
For cheering his heart, or for cooling his tongue.

The groans of a father his slumbers shall start,
And the tears of a mother shall pierce to his heart,
And the kiss of his children shall scorch him like flame
When he thinks of the curse that hangs over his name

And the wife of his bosom-the faithful and fair-
Can mix no sweet drop in his cup of despair;
For her tender caress, and her innocent breath,
But stir in his soul the hot embers of wrath.

And his offering may blaze-unregarded by Heaven;
And his spirit may pray-yet remain unforgiven;
And his grave may be closed-but no rest to him bring:
O the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing!

HOME OF THE BLEST

Know ye the land, where no pain and no sorrow
Shall darken the brow, or bow down the head,
Where no grief of to-day, and no thought of to-morrow,
Shall reach the glad heart, and appal it with dread?
Know ye the land of the spirit of peace,

Where the joys never lessen, the hymns never cease;
Where the friends of our bosom, here lost in the tomb,
Shall meet us again, ever freed from its gloom;
Where the hearts, now divided, united shall rest,
And be healed of their woes in the bowers of the blest,

Where the tear shall not quench the bright beam of the eye,

Where hopes here destroyed, meet fruition on high,
And spirits with spirits in love only vie;

Where the morn shall arise on the night of the grave,
And the arms that chastised be expanded to save?
"Tis the home of the just-"Tis the region of truth,
Where the children shall dwell ever blooming in youth;
Oh dearer than aught to the sorrow-worn soul,
Are the dreams of that land, and the hopes of that goal.

THE RAINBOW.

Sweet Mercy's symbol! oft I love to gaze
On thee with mingled wonder and delight,
While pensive Fancy wings her rapid flight,
To other regions and far distant days;
When first the aged Patriarch's dazzled sight
Was fixed with rapture on thy arch sublime,
As from the realms of uncreated light

A voice proclaimed that to the end of Time
Thou, beauteous Bow, a monument shall prove
Of pardoning mercy and unchanging love.

Ages have rolled away-Time's mighty tide
Has swept off countless myriads to the tomb;
Oft has fair Nature perished, and her bloom
Resumed with new-born strength, and vernal pride-
All on this Globe has changed, or passed away-
Cities and Empires vanished from the Earth;
But there thou standest, bright as on the day

When first the Almighty's mandate gave thee birth.
And such, fair type of Mercy, shalt thou be,
When Time is swallowed in Eternity!

LIFE, DEATH, AND ETERNITY.

A shadow moving by one's side,

That would a substance seem,

That is, yet is not,-though described-
Like skies beneath the stream:

A tree that's ever in the bloom,
Whose fruit is never ripe;
A wish for joys that never come,—
Such are the hopes of Life.

A dark, inevitable night,

A blank that will remain;
A waiting for the morning light,
When waiting is in vain?
A gulf where pathway never led
To show the depth beneath;

A thing we know not, yet we dread,-
That dreaded thing is Death.

The vaulted void of purple sky
That every where extends,
That stretches from the dazzled eye,
In space that never ends:
A morning, whose uprisen sun
No setting e'er shall see:

A day that comes without a noon,-
Such is Eternity.

SONNET.

My times are in thy hand! Delightful thought!
This will I wear as Memory's brightest gem:
Thou hast acquitted! Who shall dare condemn?
Thine, thine I am, by blood-paid purchase bought:
Then, if I live, thy hand will trace my way;

All things are mine, and working for my good,
Nor would I wish to alter if I could

One cloud, a sunbeam of my earthly day:

Victor of all! The keys of death are thine;

Sickness and pain, and dark-winged powers of harm
Have lost, with me, the license to alarm,

Thou hast subdued them, and the gain is mine,
Thus, as on some high mountain top I rise,
And sit above the clouds, and live in stainless skies

LINES.

The dew is on the morning flower,

The thrush has charmed his leafy bower,
The lark has pealed his choral loud
Where hangs in silvery wreaths the cloud,
The bees with saffron loads return,
To store with sweets their waxen urn,
And morn her upward car has driven
Along the crimson fields of heaven.

To view thy works and not to know,
Father! whose goodness made them so
To hear thy sylvan minstrelsy,
And not to breathe a thought to Thee;
To see Thy fingers deck the sky,
With every tint that charms the eye,
And not Thy greatness there to read,
Argues a soul that's blind indeed.