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the aurora has a tendency to form an arch, at whatever position it may occupy in the heavens. In stormy weather, the northern lights fly with the rapidity of lightning, and with a correspondent wildness to the gale which is blowing, giving an indescribable air of magic to the whole scene.'

Referring to another period, Capt. L. observes"This night the Moon exhibited a very singular appearance; for a ray or stream of light shot up and down alternately from the upper and lower edge, and resembled in either case the tail of a comet. This phenomenon invariably acquired additional brilliancy from the intervention of a passing cloud, which caused no change in the form of the ray.'

Again-'On this afternoon, we for the first time witnessed the beautiful phenomenon of a pair of mock suns; they were situated on each side of a brilliant halo, of which the Sun was the centre, and whose diameter was 22°; their regular form continued about half an hour, after which they gradually vanished.'

The morning of the 14th was rendered particularly interesting, by uncommonly beautiful appearances which attended the rising of the Sun. Previous to its becoming visible, a spiral ray of a most delicate pink hue shot from the horizon, and, increasing in size and brilliancy, at length reached the zenith, at which time its form was like that of the flame produced by a blowpipe. On the appearance of the Sun, the whole eastern sky partook of the bluish colour of the first ray, and the snow, the ships, and the whole of the desolate surrounding scenery, were warmly illuminated, until the entire of the Sun's disk had risen above the horizon; then the usual grey tints assumed their accustomed place, the scene bccame doubly desolate, and a fall of snow completed the contrast with the delightful vision which was past. Lyon's Private Journal.

[To be continued ]

The following lines will appropriately close the Occurrences of the present month.

To the EVENING STAR.

[From the Spanish of Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola.]
Pura luciente estrella.

O fair and goodly Star

Upon the brow of night,

That from thy silver car

Shoot'st on the darkened world thy friendly light;

Thy path is calm and bright

Through the clear azure of the starry way,

And from thy heav'nly height

'Thou see'st how systems rise and pass away-
The birth of human hopes, their blossom and decay.

Oh! that my spirit could

Cast off its mould of clay,

And, with the wise and good,

Make wings unto itself and flee away;

That with thy bright array

We might look down upon this world of woe,

Even as the God of Day

Looks on the restless ocean-flow,

And eyes the panting waves that fight and foam below.

Alas! it may not be

For mortal fetters bind

To dull mortality

The prisoned essence of th' immortal mind:

Our course is too confined;

And as, beneath the Sun that blazed too bright,

The Cretan's waxen wing declined,

Before the splendour of immortal light

Our failing pinions fall, and plunge us back to night.

The Naturalist's Diary

For FEBRUARY 1826.

And though the whistling winds, by winter loosed,
Do, as the storm-king leads, upraise their voice,
Howling their joy, like greedy hounds new set
Upon the startled prey, yet there secure
Where hospitality her covert makes,

May we abide their burst, nor fear their fangs.

THIS month frequently presents a most wintry ap

pearance; the ground is covered with snow; all

Nature is wrapped in a robe of dazzling whiteness; and the 'bitter-biting cold,' showers of sleet, and sudden gusts of wind, drive us to our homes for shelter, against the inclemency of the season. The sudden thaws, also, which take place in February, -the return of frost and snow, -and the change again to rain and sleet, contribute to render this month particularly unfavourable to the pedestrian and the lover of out-of-door exercise and amusements. Yet there are some intervals of clear, frosty weather, and these should not be suffered to pass away without a daily enjoyment of them in pleasant and healthful walks. Although the deciduous trees are stripped of their gay dress, the evergreens present an attractive variety, and are doubly endeared to us, from the agreeable contrast they offer to the forlorn and barren scenery by which they are surrounded.

Of late years, February has been remarkable for mild and open weather; such a state of the season is, however, not to be desired; for, although the eye may be gratified by the premature appearance of the unfolding vegetation, our plants will be found to suffer greatly by the reduction in temperature which generally takes place in March.

About the beginning of the month, the woodlark, one of our earliest and sweetest songsters, renews his note.

The thrush now commences his song, and tom-tits are seen hanging on the eaves of barns and thatched out-houses, particularly if the weather be snowy and severe. Rooks revisit their breeding trees, and arrange the stations of their future nests. The harsh, loud voice of the missel thrush is now heard. The yellow hammer and chaffinch are heard towards the end of the month.-About this time also, or the beginning of March, if the weather be mild, the hedgesparrow commences its chirping note, as indicative

of the approach of the pairing season.-See T. T. for 1823, pp. 54, 55.

Turkey-cocks now strut and gobble. Partridges begin to pair; the house-pigeon has young; fieldcrickets open their holes; and wood-owls hoot: gnats play about, and insects swarm under sunny hedges; the stone-curlew clamours; and frogs croak. By the end of February, the raven has generally laid its eggs, and begun to sit. Moles commence their subterraneous operations. About this time, the green woodpecker is heard in the woods making a loud noise.

If the weather be mild, a walk in the garden will discover to us many pleasing objects; among these, the botanist and the admirer of Nature's beauties will not consider the modest snowdrop beneath his passing notice,-and will watch its gradual protrusion from the bosom of the all-nourishing earth, and the final expansion of its beautifully white corollas, with no common interest. The bloom-buds of the fruit trees may be seen to swell every day, and ima gination already pictures the garden one sheet of fragrant blossom. The laurustinus is still in blossom, and so is the China-rose. The buds of the lilac tree are very forward, and only wait the signal to burst their prison-house. Mosses now occupy the attention of the botanist, and much amusement may be derived from observing the various species that may be seen this month, clinging to the roots of trees and near ponds, or in a marshy soil. The green-house is an object of attraction in this month, and much pleasure will be derived from a morning visit to its inmates; among these, not the least curious is the ice-plant, which has given birth to a pleasing trifle from the prolific muse of our friend RYAN, gentleman thoroughly acquainted with POETS and POETRY,' whether in three or thirty volumes.

a

The ICE PLANT:

Addressed to

Where'er your lightsome footsteps flew
In airy form did glide,

That moment found me near you too,
And saw me at your side.
In vain in ev'ry path a snare

Was by some fair one thrown;
None, none but thee my heart could share,
Each thought was thine alone.

Yet, coldness robbed me of thy smile,
And every fond advance

I trembling made, could ne'er beguile
One warm approving glance.
The love that mantled in my cheek,
Whene'er I sought to share

With thy young heart, how faint, how weak,
Was its reception there!

If Love to me one hour was kind,

And lent this brow of mine

A warmer tint, that hour I'd find
A deeper chill on thine.

Like those sad flow'rs that coldness yield
On ev'ry leaf, when shine

The warmest beams-those eyes revealed
A deeper coldness thine.

RICHARD RYAN.

MARCH.

MARCH was so named from the god Mars, to whom Romulus had dedicated it. Minerva was its tutelar deity. This month began the Romulean year. It was for a long time the custom at Rome to give new year's gifts. This usage was carried back to January, when it began the year. On the 1st of this month was the festival of the Ancillæ; these were shields, which were supposed to have fallen from heaven. The Roman history has therefore its miracles! On the 6th, a festival in honour of Vesta; on the 17th, the Bacchanalia; these were celebrated in

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