refraction of the rays of light passing through the atmosphere, the lower strata of which have different densities. When this effect is confined to the elevation of an object, our seamen call it looming. This play of vision has received the appellation of Mirage from the French, and by the Italians it is called Fata Morgana. In the Philosophical Transactions for 1800, are some pleasing experiments on the subject by Dr. Wollaston.

As illustrations, we shall subjoin the two following recent and well authenticated instances.

Mr. Faux, in his Memorable Days in America,' on his passage, February 23d, 1819, within 70 miles of the Azores, observes, 'Daylight from six to six in this delightful climate. I saw, during the day, what sailors call sun-dogs, a species of rainbow, without either pillar or arch, having only a base, and being thought symptomatic of windy, squally weather. The horizon at sun-set glowing with crimson, pink, and blue, the perfection of beauty.'

'March 1st. Saw this night the young moon in a position new to me, lying horizontally, flat on her back, as the sailors say, with her horns upwards; a sign of fine dry weather. A regular trade-wind, and at sun-rise and set the sky full of beautiful blushing amber clouds, of indescribable richness, but common in this latitude. The sea, by reflexion, becomes a flood of gore, especially while these clouds fly round the horizon. The effect was greatly heightened by a huge rainbow at noon, which gave to the waves all the changeful hues of the camelion.'

A letter from Ramsgate, dated July 16, 1825, states, "About six o'clock on the evening of the 14th, a cloud was presented to our view, which seemed to rest partly on the sea, and extended along the horizon nearly as far as the eye could reach, beginning at the Dover point. Every vessel was not only reflected from it, but there appeared two distinct

images of each vessel-one immediately above the real object, and inverted; the other in its proper position on the top of the cloud, sailing in the air. The French cliffs had a most curious appearance, resembling a white castle, or extended fortification suddenly raised from the sea, at the distance of less than a mile, and covering a space of ten miles. Between this and the spectator, clouds were so dispersed, as to render the clouds a magnificent object. The town of Sandwich also, with the beach, &c. were seen in the air in an inverted position. This interesting spectacle had now lasted an hour and a half, and on the approach of night the whole gradually faded away?-St. James's Chronicle.

The observation of these phenomena, however, is by no means restricted to our own times, but has been the object of delight as well as terror in former ages. The following is a pleasing specimen.

August 15th, 1643.-'On this day,' says Father Angelucci, as I stood at my window, I was surprised by a most wonderful and delectable vision. The sea which washes the Sicilian shore swelled up, and became, for twelve miles in length, like a chain of dark mountains; while the waters near our Calabrian shore grew quite smooth, and in an instant appeared as one polished mirror, reclining against the aforesaid ridge. On this glass was depicted, in chiaroscuro, a string of several thousands of pilasters, all equal in altitude, distance, and degree of light and shade. In a moment they lost half their height, and bent into arcades, like Roman aqueducts. A long cornice was next formed on the top, and above it rose castles innumerable, all perfectly alike. These soon split into towers, which were shortly after lost in colonnades, then in windows, and at last ended in pines, cypresses, and other trees, even and similar. This was the FATA MORGANA, which, for twenty-six years, I had thought a mere fable.' These optical appearances of figures in the sea and air, in the

Faro of Messina, are the great delight of the populace, who, whenever the vision is displayed, run about the streets shouting for joy, and calling on every one to partake of the glorious sight. To produce this pleasing deception, many circumstances must concur. The spectator must stand with his back to the east, in some elevated place, commanding a view of the whole bay. The winds must be hushed, the surface quite smoothed, the tide at its height, and the waters pressed up by currents to a great elevation in the middle of the channel. When these events coincide, and the Sun rises high enough to form an angle of 45 deg. on the water above the city, every object existing or moving at Reggio will be repeated a thousand-fold in this marine looking-glass, which, by its tremulous motion, is, as it were, cut into facits.

The simplicity and beauty of the following lines are so descriptive of the calm serenity of many evenings in this month, that we shall not hesitate to insert them.

The EVENING SUN.

"Tis the last sweet smile of the evening sun :
How bright! how sublime its beaming!

What golden tides of splendour steep
The rosy clouds as they softly sleep

Beneath its holy gleaming!

"Tis the light of innocent thoughts, whose ray
An infant's slumber blesses;

When, weary of paying smile for smile,
Its blue eyes close, and it dreams the while
Of the breast it fondly presses.

The breezy spirits of air float past

With calm and noiseless motion;

Not a zephyr is dimpling the glassy lake-
Ev'n the aspen hath stilled its tremulous shake,
At Nature's high devotion.

As I loiter along my homeward path,
What feelings of deep regret

That last sweet smile of the evening sun
Awakes in my heart-for it speaks of one
Whose sun in the grave hath set!

His farewell look, with Christian hope,
Shone as purely, calmly bright!
Alas! when it vanished, the night came down,
And my poor lorn heart no more might own
A Father's guiding light!

FEIST.

The following brief poetical effusion is scarcely less adapted to convey to the mind a vivid idea of the harmonious joy that pervades Nature at this season, than it is worthy to be the opening stanza in a small volume on sacred subjects.

The Sun looks out betwixt the golden clouds
That curtain his pavilion, on the top

Of you proud mountain, clad in purple light.
There is a laughing glory in his eye,

That seems to tell he joys his toil is done,
And gladly sinks to rest. As to a god,
Valley and hill, and forest, grove, and plain,

To him the richest incense offer up

Of fragrant herbs, and fruits, and bloomy flowers:
The earth is one grand altar, and the skies
The canopy of his great temple, decked

With radiant colours inexpressible.

What a wild swell of harmony ascends

Into mid air! The birds with fluttering wing

Strain their love-tuned throats; waters and winds
Join their soft music; while from vine-clad caves
And hollow cliffs, voices of spirits fling

Melodious mockeries of the evening hymn,
That greet yon orb's departure.

PENNIE'S Scenes in Palestine.

The Naturalist's Diary

For APRIL 1826.

The breath of Spring is on thee, Aspley Wood 1!
Each shoot of thine is vigorous, from the green,
Low-drooping larch, and full unfolded bud
Of sycamore, and beech, majestic queen!
With her tiara on, which crowns the scene
With beauty, to the stern oak, on whose rind
The warmest suns and sweetest showers have been,
And soft voice of the fond Favonian wind ;-
His thousand lingering leaves reluctantly unbind.

'A wood near the town of Woburn, in Bedfordshire.

But of all other trees, a clustering crowd
Bow their young tops rejoicingly, to meet
The breeze, which yet not murmurs over-loud,
But wastes on Nature's cheek its kisses sweet,
To woo her from dark winter:-the wild bleat
Of innocent lambs is on the passing gale,
Blending with pastoral bells; and at my feet,
From yon warm wood the stockdove's plaintive wail
Wins to the curious ear o'er the subjected vale.

WIFFEN'S Aonian Hours.

In this picturesque and beautiful description of the poet, the effects of Spring on forest scenery are faithfully delineated, and convey to the mind a vivid representation of the beauties to be observed. by those who mark the gradual progress of vegetation. But in Nature, beauty is almost always combined with utility; and while the senses are feasted with the great variety of colours and odours abounding among flowers and plants, the contemplative mind naturally considers the beneficial effects that result from this beautiful combination of vegetable wonders. All is connected (observes M. Mirbel) in the vast system of the globe, and order emanates from the equipoise of conflicting phenomena. Animals carry off the oxygen of the atmosphere, replacing it by carbonic acid gas; and are thus at work to adulterate the air, and render it unfit for respiration. Vegetables take up acid gas, retain the carbon, and give out oxygen; and are thus purifying the air tainted by animals, and re-establishing the necessary proportions between its elements. In Europe, while our vegetables, stripped by the severity of the season of their foliage, no longer yield the air contributing to life, the salutary gas is borne to us by trade winds from the southernmost regions of America. Winds from all quarters of the world intermingle thus the various strata of the atmosphere, and keep its constitution uniform in all seasons, and at all elevations. The substances which are produced by the dissolution of

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