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nutest objects, when the depth was from twenty to twenty-five fathoms. During the whole course of the tour I made, nothing appeared to me so extraordinary as the wonders of the deep thus unveiled to my eyes.

The surface of the ocean was unruffled by the slightest breeze, and the gentle plashing of the oars scarcely disturbed it. Hanging over the gunwale of the boat, I gazed with wonder and delight on the slowly moving scene below. Where the bottom was sandy, the different kinds of shells, &c. even the smallest, appeared at that great depth conspicuous to the eye, and the water seemed in some measure to have the effect of a magnifier, by bringing the objects seemingly nearer.

Now we saw, far beneath, the ragged side of a mountain, rising toward our boat, the base of which, perhaps, was hidden some miles in the deep below. Though moving on a level surface, it seemed almost as if we were ascending the height under us: and when we passed over its summit, which rose in appearance to within a few feet of our boat, and came again to the descent, which on this side was suddenly perpendicular, as we pushed over the last point of it, it seemed almost as if we had thrown ourselves down a precipice; the illusion actually producing a sudden start.

Now we came again to a plain, and passed slowly over the sub-marine forests and meadows which appeared in the deeps below; inhabited doubtless by thousands of animals, unknown to man, to which they afford food and shelter; and I could sometimes observe large fishes of a singular shape, gliding softly through the watery thickets, unconscious of what was passing above them. As we proceeded, the bot

tom became no longer visible; its fairy scenes gradually faded from the view, and were lost in the dark green depths of ocean.

THE OCEAN.

PERHAPS no scene, or situation, is so intensely gratifying to the naturalist as the shore of the ocean. The productions of the latter element are innumerable, and the majesty of the mighty waters lends an interest unknown to an inland landscape.

The loneliness too of the sea-shore is much cheered by the constant changes arising from the ebb and flow of the tide, and the undulations of the water's surface, sometimes rolling like mountains, and again scarcely murmuring on the beach. As you gather there

Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow,

you may feel with the poet, that there are joys in solitude, and that there are pleasures to be found in the investigation of nature of the most powerful and pleasing influence.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;
There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar.

But nothing can be more beautiful than a view of the bottom of the ocean, during a calm, even round our own shores, but particularly in tropical climates, especially when it consists alternately of beds of sand and masses of rock.

The water is frequently so clear and undisturbed, that, at great depths, the minutest objects are visible; groves of coral are seen expanding their variouslycoloured clumps, some rigid and immovable, and others waving gracefully their flexile branches. Shells of every form and hue glide slowly along the stones, or cling to the coral boughs like fruit; crabs and other marine animals pursue their preys in the crannies of the rocks, and sea-plants spread their limber leaves in gay and gaudy irregularity, while the most beautiful fishes are on every side sporting around.

The floor is of sand, like the mountain-drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;
The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there;
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
In the motionless fields of the upper air:
There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen
To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter;
There with a light and easy motion

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea,
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean

Are bending like corn on the upland lea;
And life in rare and beautiful forms

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made the top of the waves his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore,
Then far below in the peaceful sea

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove,
When the waters murmur tranquilly
Through the bending twigs of the coral-grove.

THE BALL.

My good little fellow, don't throw your ball here,
You'll break neighbour's windows, I know;
On the end of the house there is room, and to spare ;
Go round, you can have a delightful game there,
Without fearing for where you may throw.

Harry thought he might safely continue his play,
With a little more care than before;
So, forgetful of all that his father could say,
As soon as he saw he was out of the way,
He resolved to have fifty throws more.

Already as far as to forty he rose,

No mischief yet happened, at all;

One more, and one more, he successfully throws,
But when, as he thought, just arrived at the close,
In popped his unfortunate ball.

Poor Harry stood frightened, and turning about,
Was gazing at what he had done :

As the ball had popped in, so neighbour popped out,
And with a good horsewhip he beat him about,
Till Harry repented his fun.

When little folks think they know better than great,
And what is forbidden them do;

We must also expect to see, sooner or late,
That such wise little fools have a similar fate,
And that one of the fifty goes through.

THE SHEEP.

First Scholar.

LAZY sheep, pray tell me why,
In the pleasant fields you lie,
Eating grass, and daisies white,
From dewy morn to darksome night?
Every thing can something do,
But what kind of use are you?

Second Scholar.

Nay, my little master, nay,
Do not serve them so, I pray;
Don't you see the wool that grows
On their backs, to give you clothes?
Cold, and very cold you'd get,
If they did not give you it.

True, it seems a pleasant thing,
To crop the herbage in the spring;
But many chilly nights they pass,
On the cold and wetted grass,
Or pick a scanty dinner, where
All the common's brown and bare.

Then the farmer comes at last,
When the merry spring is past,
And shears their woolly coat away,
To warm you in the winter's day;
Little master, this is why,

In the pleasant fields they lie.

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