portant truth which the volume of inspiration teaches. Let us, therefore, thankfully acknowledge his goodness in this portion of his works.

"And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly."

These, too, were created happy, and in them the same wonderful construction is obvious, as in the smaller tribes of ocean. But when the waters brought forth abundantly, the earth had not experienced that momentous change, which renders them invaluable in those desolate regions, which we have no reason to believe were then, either desolate or unfruitful. It is, however, to those regions that they are now especially assigned, and we must therefore speak of them in connexion with this part of our subject.

One of the most forlorn portions of the globe is between the seventieth and eightieth degrees of north latitude. Towards the pole appears a vast region of thick ice, where not a single moving object meets the weary eye; in the north-east is seen a cold and woodless country, where there are rocks clothed at the base with moss, and capped with eternal snow. Further from the Pole appears an ocean hoary with mountains of floating ice, which look in the horizon like towers and citadels in ruins. Farther still is Spitzbergen, the queen of desolation, rising in the midst of the Arctic Sea. Observe the general appearance of the country. It is that of several primeval rocks, without either earth or water, except cataracts of melted snow, which fall into the sea, in columns of dazzling brightness; of black and rugged mountains streaked with snow, that form a boundary on either side, and rise, crag above crag, far as the eye can reach.

In another part, are columns of ice floating in all direc

tions; sometimes fifteen hundred feet in height, and extending, at least, nine miles. Observe the vivid corruscations that play around them, and make known their coming long before they appear on the horizon. Some look like Gothic churches, adorned with pinnacles, and fretted roofs, arched windows, rich tracery, and all the gorgeous accompaniments of that highly ornamented style. Others are seen gliding from the farthest north.

"With forms so various that no power of art,
The pencil or the pen may trace the scene!
Here grotto, within grotto, safe defies

The sunbeams; there embossed and fretted wild,
The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes,
In such a palace, poetry might place

The armoury of winter; where his troops
The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet,
Skin-piercing volley, blossom- bruising hail,

And snow, that often blinds the traveller's course,
And wraps him in an unexpected tomb."

COWPER.

Look at the fields of ice. The larger are sometimes two-hundred yards in extent, moving slowly and majestically along, or else resisting the whole power of the ocean, and producing near the horizon, that bright appearance which mariners call the "blink of the ice." The less, if such a term may be applied to pieces several acres in size, are the meadows of the seals, on which large numbers of these creatures may be often seen. These pieces are borne rapidly by the currents, till yielding to the pressure of, the larger, they are lifted from the water with a noise that takes away the sense of hearing, or else with a grinding of unspeakable horror.

If we look towards the confines of the Polar regions, and survey the shores of Greenland, the extreme verge of

M

Lapland, Nova Zembla, the Riphæan ridge, and the Altaic chain of mountains, similar scenes of desolation are every where discoverable; cold, and woodless shores, mountains, capped with eternal snow, and glaciers of ice, that never melt. Yonder is Iceland. The landscape has all the grandeur that the eye seeks for in a volcanic country; wild hills, fragments of old lava, richly broken shores, and, in the centre, the most terrific of volcanoes, Hecla, throwing up its incessant volumes of smoke into the air.

If we are asked why the land is destitute of vegetation; why the sea is hoary with mountains of floating ice; why the sun at one period encircles the heavens—at another, entirely withdraws his beams; we answer, that such is the will of God. He is pleased to bestow the largest share of blessings on that portion of the globe which lies between the thirty-fifth and sixtieth degrees of north latitude; and let us thankfully acknowledge his goodness in permitting us to share so many blessings. Yet, even in the apparently deserted regions, of which we are now speaking, where the howling of the wind, the raging of the waves, and the collision of large masses of ice, produce a variety of fearful sights and sounds; we discover striking instances of that universal system of compensation, which, to a certain extent, supplies the defects of one part, by some counteracting advantage on the other. Notice, for example, the creatures that frequent the Northern ocean. How different in their instincts and construction from such as generally abound throughout the warmer regions of the globe! Enormous whales are seen riding upon the billows, and throwing up their jets to an amazing height. Their relatives, the pike-headed whales, either reposing on the surface, or unfolding their plates or furrows, to decrease their specific gravity, and appearing as if elegantly

striped with red: cachelots pursuing large companies of dolphins, and driving them on shore; groupes of these graceful creatures springing from the waves of the Arctic sea, surrounded by their young, and winning their easy way amid the terrors and the wonders of the deep. Seals too are there, and sea-unicorns in immense numbers.

These different species are admirably adapted to their ocean sites, and are evidently designed to supply the wants of those who reside along the coasts. Oil is necessary for their lamps; skin-dresses are essential to protect them from the wet, and warm fur-clothing from the cold: the bones of large fishes are often used instead of timber, in the erection of summer-dwellings, and their skins are also employed in making the little boats, in which they often brave a raging sea. All these are supplied by the various species, that frequent their shores, and of which we have now to speak.

The common narwhale, or sea unicorn, (Monodon Monoceros), is an animal of colossal strength. He dwells among the Polar icebergs, towards the eightieth degree of north latitude, in the empire of perpetual frost, where darkness reigns during a considerable portion of the year. This giant of the waves is invaluable to the inhabitants of the Arctic regions. The oil it yields, is superior to that of the common whale; its flesh supplies the Greenlanders with wholesome food; the tendons are made into strong and durable cords, and the long horns are either manufactured into hunting darts, or used as rafters for roofing houses, on those inhospitable and woodless shores. But how, it may be asked, can such terrific and strong animals be overcome? Not entirely by the strength of man, but by means of a singular peculiarity in their construction. They frequently assemble in such numbers

in the open creeks of the icebergs, that the manner in which they press upon each other, obliges the hindmost to rest their horns upon the backs of such as precede them. While thus entangled, the intrepid mariners rush upon their prey, and destroy considerable numbers.

The general length of this colossal species is from forty to sixty feet, and from each side of the upper jaw projects a sharp-pointed horn or tooth, from seventeen to twenty feet in length, about the thickness of a man's arm, and beautifully white. This horn is of considerable importance to the animal, who occasionally uses it as a weapon of defence, but more generally to loosen from the rocks, and to plough up from the bed of ocean, the marine plants on which it feeds. The narwhale is, therefore, often seen covered with fuci, or wreathed with long pendant branches of beautiful sea-weed.

In former times few articles of foreign importation were thought more valuable than this graceful species of marine ivory. A horn, in the possession of one of the Chancellors of Denmark, was sold by his heirs for eight thousand imperials. Nor will this appear extraordinary, when we consider that it was often used for the most costly purposes. A splendid throne of the same material is still preserved in the castle of Rosenberg; it stands in the largest apartment of this once princely mansion, where assembled nobles did homage to their monarch.

We now pass on to animals of the genus Physeter; and equally valuable are these to the natives of those sterile regions, the shores of which they generally frequent. Their flesh affords an abundance of wholesome and nutritious diet; the teeth and bones are manufactured into darts. Their oil replenishes the lamp, and strong cords are fabricated from the tendons. Navigators pursue these animals with eagerness; for their oil is preferable