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INDUSTRY OF Ants. Those who are not deep in the technical terms of entomology, may spend many an amusing hour in studying the habits of the more ingenious insects (if we may use the epithet). The various species of ants, for example, are now busily repairing the damages which the severities of winter have produced upon their domiciles. It is surprising to observe with what expedition they construct their streets and covert-ways. Upon removing a box in my garden, in which I had sown some early annuals, I found a large colony of the brown mason ants, which commonly shelter themselves under stones or amidst grass. The box being removed in the morning, they were left exposed to the light and beat of a bright sun, which is little less offensive to them than rain or frost. The colony was too large to make an immediate retreat to a place of shelter; which, besides, it would have required some time to discover and make known by their slow method of communicating intelligence. They had no alternative, there. fore, but to enlarge the galleries which they had already constructed as part of their village under the box. Impelled by the strong stimulus of necessity, therefore, and being goaded by the sun's rays, they completed their excavations, and by noon had piled up a mass of earth, which at the same time increased their interior galleries and added to their protection above. At this time scarcely a straggler was to be seen, where, a short time before, bundreds were digging and piling, with all the impress of Virgil's Carthagenians, in the Second Æniad:

Some extend the wall,
Some build the citadel; the formic throng,
Or dig, or push unwieldy clods along ;

Some for their streets select a spot of ground,
Which, first designed, with ramparts they surround;
Here some design a male, while others there
Lay deep foundations.

Dryden. Fossil CHARCOAL ACCOUNTED FOR.-I was particularly struck with a phenomenon recorded by Dr. Richardson, the naturalist in Captain Franklin's Expedition of Discovery, respecting the shale on the coasts of the Arctic sea. This sbale composed precipitous banks, which, in many places, were on fire. “ The shale," adds Dr. Richardson, " takes fire in consequence of its containing a considerable quantity of sulphur, in a state of such minute division, that it very readily attracts oxygen from the atmosphere, and inflames.” Nothing, I think, could explain in a more satisfactory manner the occurrence of charcoal in coal measures, and other mineral strata. In the anthracite mines of North America, for example, wood-charcoal occurs with the ligneous structure as well marked as in charcoal recently prepared.

VOLCANOES. - It is remarkable, that in the Old Continent, the principal chains of mountains contain no volcanoes, and that islands and the extremities of peninsulas are alone the seats of these; while in the New World, the immense range which runs along the shore of the Pacific Ocean, possesses more volcanoes than are to be met with in the whole of the Old Continent and its adjacent islands.

TO — 'Tis the season of love, 'tis the spring of the year, Lo! trees in their greenness, and beauty appear; And wild-birds upnumbered, are tuning their throats To greet the new season with love-labored notes ; And murmuring bees, where the flower-banks are sunny, Ply their labors around, culling treasures of honey; And fair is the morning, and mild is the even, And soft are the zephyrs, and bright is the Heaven. Earth and Heaven rejoice; and the sea's azure brow, Unruffled by tempests,--smiles glowingly now. In the midst of such pleasures, I languish for theeThou art absent, and nothing is pleasing to me. Oh! return-and my joys shall come with thee along, Thou queen of my bosom, and theme of my song! Each day shall pass by, like an exquisite dream, With music of birds, and the whispering stream; And murmuring bees, and the bright hues of Heaven, And beauty of morning, and mildness of even: And our hearts shall confess, as together we rove, 'Tis the spring of the year, 'tis the season of love. Ely.

E. Darby.


How lovely is a garden,
With all its perfumes, and its various hues;
The blushing rose, Clematis sweet, and fair
Narcissus of poetic tale, and all
The scented tribe; in number, far beyond
The art of man to tell, so endless is
The offspring at great pature's call. What can
Skill, and man's device, invent, so lovely,
And so fair ?—Not Solomon in all his
Sheen, was deck'd like one-the least of these :
And wondrous is the change in these fair forms,
Inspring, in summer-autumn, and in death-

How like the course of man's eventual round,
Of youth, of manhood; feebleness, and age:
And as the sweet and beauteous race will rise
From cheerless winter's cold and torpid state,
To meet the glories of the vernal sun,
So from the gloomy grave, with man spring forth,
To see the more resplendent Light of Christ-
The Saviour-Intercessor-God.

Rev. W. Munsey.

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MAY, SWEET MAY! Fresh flowers are on the green sward, young blossoms on the

bough, The brook, its tranquil orisons to Heaven is murmuring now; The song of birds—the summer song-gives life to every spray, Both glade and grove are full of love and—May! sweet May !

Stern winter's moody company of clouds hath fled the sky, Sole monarch of an azure world, the Sun is riding high ; With balmy incense teeming, Earth salutes the welcome ray, Above, around, the joys abound of May-sweet May !

While thus I tread the mountain track, or pleasant fields among, I feel my heart bound high again, my spirit blithe and young ; I quite forget the shade that Time hath flung around my way, Such soothing bliss is in the kiss of May-sweet May!

And so 'twill be, when chill’d by death, this heart shall beat

no more, When joys that charm’d, and ills that pain’d, shall all alike

be o’er; When lowly laid, this fevered breast shall sbrink to dust away, Nor wake again a gladsome strain to May-sweet May !

As freely yon majestic Sun shall laugh above my grave,
As greenly o'er my narrow house th’untrodden grass shall wave;
And flow'rs may spring from my cold turf as beautiful and gay
As on thy brow they're glowing now, O May !-dear May !

Wm. Kennedy.

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