the Squirrel, the Snail, the Woodchuck, and the Hedgehog, all hybernate during the cold weather.'

But where are they, mamma?' said Anna; 'we never see Bees or Snails asleep in the winter.'

Bees are safe in their hives, and may be easily seen; but those who keep them cover them up, and do not like to have them disturbed. Snails dig holes in the ground, and sink down so far as to be out of the reach of the frost; and then they close up their shells with a glutinous slime, and remain torpid till spring. You have seen lively little Squirrels in the woods in the autumn, skipping among the boughs of trees; but when winter comes, they, along with Dormice and Hedgehogs, live in the trunks of hollow trees, or have nests in the ground; so that they have nothing to do but stay at home and go to bed.'

But where do they get food all this time?'

All hybernating animals who require food are taught by instinct to lay up a store of such things as suit them best. When they are hungry they wake up and eat as much as they want, and go to sleep again.'

Is that the reason why Mr. P. always leaves some honey in the hives when he takes the autumn stock?' said Anna.

'Certainly. He knows the poor Bees will need some food before the flowers of spring are plentiful enough to supply them sufficiently. Tortoises, Bears, and some other animals exist all winter without any nourishment, though they grow much lighter towards the latter part of their long sleep.'

How very curious this sleepy habit is, mamma! Do the animals require such a long rest?'

6

No, I do not imagine that can be the reason; because some animals, which in their usual haunts

spend some months thus, when placed in warmer situations, do not sleep except at night. The Field Cricket, for instance, hybernates in rural districts; but when it is sufficiently near houses it migrates, as it were, to the kitchen hearth, and there enlivens us with his chirp all the winter. The Bear too, which in his native country sleeps for several months in the year, takes his rest only at night when he is brought to England. You may see this for yourselves at the Regent's Park Gardens in London. This winter sleep seems, therefore, a merciful provision for those animals who could get no proper food in that rigorous season, or who would die if exposed to the cold frosty air. The same wonderful instinct which causes those who require it to store up food, teaches them to awake at the proper season, when the warm air and opening buds supply their necessities.'-Child's Companion.

lan'-guid, drooping

WHAT

AM I?

pro-noun'-ced, spoken

scorn'-ful, full of scorn

com-pas'-sion-ate, showing pity

slug'-gish, slow

ex-press'-ive, full of meaning

con-tract'-ed, drawn in, made smaller

val-cant, empty, without mean-
ing
in-vis-i'-ble, that cannot be seen
whim'-si-cal, fanciful
ob'-sti-nate, stubborn
wa'-ter, lustre of gems

Pronounced as one letter, and written with three,
Two letters there are and two only in me.

I am double, am single, am black, blue, and grey,
I am read from both ends, and the same either way.
I am restless and wandering, steady and fixed,

And you know not one hour what I may be the

next.

I melt and I kindle, beseech and defy,

I am watery and moist, I am fiery and dry.
I am scornful and scowling, compassionate, meek,
I am light, I am dark, I am strong, I am weak.
I am sluggish and dead, I am lively and bright,
I am sharp, I am flat, I am left, I am right.
I am piercing and clear, I am heavy and dull,
Expressive and languid, contracted and full.
I am careless and vacant, I search and I pry,
And judge, and decide, and examine, and try.
I'm a globe, and a mirror, a window, a door,
An index, an organ, and fifty things more.
I belong to all animals under the sun,

And to those which were long understood to have

none.

By some I am said to exist in the mind,

And am found in potatoes, and needles, and wind.
Three jackets I own, of glass, water, and horn,
And I wore them all three on the day I was born.
I am covered quite snug, have a lid and a fringe,
Yet I move every way on invisible hinge.
A pupil I have, a most whimsical wight,
Who is little by day and grows big in the night;
Whom I cherish with care, as a part of myself,
For in truth I depend on this delicate elf,
Who collects all my food, and with wonderful knack,
Throws it into a net which I keep at my back;
And, though heels over head it arrives in a trice,
It is sent up to table all proper and nice.
I am spoken of sometimes as if I were glass,
But then it is false, and the trick will not pass.
A blow makes me run, though I have not a limb;
Though I neither have fins nor a bladder, I swim.
Like many more couples, my partner and I,
At times will look cross at each other, and shy;

Yet still though we differ in what we're about,
One will do all the work when the other is out.
I am least apt to cry, as they always remark,
When trimmed with good lashes, or kept in the dark.
Should I fret and be heated, they put me to bed,
And leave me to cool upon water and bread.
But if hardened I grow, they make use of the knife,
Lest an obstinate humour endanger my life.

Or you may, though the treatment appears to be rough,

Run a spit through my side, and with safety enough.
Like boys who are fond of their fruit and their play,
I am seen with my ball and my apple all day.
My belt is a rainbow, I reel and I dance;
I am said to retire, though I never advance.
I am read by physicians as one of their books,
And am used by the ladies to fasten their hooks.
My language is plain, though it cannot be heard,
And I speak without ever pronouncing a word.
Some call me a diamond-some say I am jet;
Others talk of my water, or how I am set.
I'm a borough in England, in Scotland a stream,
An isle of the sea in an Irishman's dream.
The earth without me would no loveliness wear,
And sun, moon, and stars at my wish disappear;
Yet so frail is my tenure, so brittle my joy,
That a speck gives me pain, and a drop can destroy.
Anonymous.

PITCAIRN'S ISLAND.

vet'-er-ans, old soldiers
in-trep'-id, brave
pa-tri-ot'-ic, filled with love
for one's country
res-pect'-ive, belonging or re-
lating to each one

ro-man'-tic, like a romance or
mere story

doubt'-less, without doubt

per-pen-dic-u-lar, upright

mu'-ti-ny, a rising against
lawful authority

rel'-ic, something left and pre-
served as a memorial
mus'-cu-lar, having large and
strong muscles

re-morse', sorrow for sin
com-mu'-ni-ty, a number of
persons living together
ver-dure, grass, &c.

There are several small islands in various parts of the world which have been the scenes of remarkable events. There is Corsica, the birthplace of the Great Napoleon; Elba, the prison from which he escaped, once more to lead his veterans to war; and St. Helena, the prison from which he escaped only through the gates of Death. There is Juan Fernandez, the supposed scene of the most interesting of Robinson Crusoe's adventures; and there is Hawaii, where the brave Captain Cook was murdered. There are the Fern Islands, the abode of the intrepid Grace Darling; and Caprera, the home of the patriotic Garibaldi. There is Malta, where St. Paul was shipwrecked; and Patmos, where St. John saw the wonders described in his 'Revelation.'

Of these islands you will read elsewhere. I wish you now simply to find them on your maps, and recollect their respective positions.

There is another island which I have not mentioned, whose romantic history will doubtless interest you. It is called Pitcairn's Island; and if you turn to your maps you will find it in the Pacific Ocean, a little to the south of the Tropic of Capricorn. It is one of a group named the Low Islands, which are