"God liveth."

And kissed the lip that touched his own;
Quelled was his spirit's impious pride;

His voice had found a milder tone.
And oft, when morn and noon had passed,
And rose th' uncounted stars of even,
And all save Eva slept, he cast

One glance at her and one at Heaven,
Murmuring, while the deck he trod,

Dear treasures these!-My child-MY GOD!

NOTES.

(1) Pale warriors armed and helmed with steel, &c.

The effect of refraction upon masses of ice would be to give them varied and singular forms. Says Capt. Parry, in an account of one of his voyages, "The Horizon was very much distorted by refraction in all directions, causing the ice to assume a great variety of fantastic forms."

(1) Th' Aurora bends it bow of fire

In this, and the following lines, the five different forms of the Aurora are alluded to, viz: the "arch;" the broad glow like "twilight;" the "streamers;" the "merrydancers;" and the "corona."

(3) All silent is the night.

Travelers universally speak of the silence which reigns in the Arctic regions, as one of the marked peculiarities of the scene. The same phenomenon has been noted in

the Antarctic.

(4) The star that gems the Eagle's neck.

Altair-the brightest of the three stars in the neck of the Eagle.

(5) Strange legends of the Trident King.

The ceremony common among sailors, of "crossing the line" is here alluded to. (6) C'er frozen crag and crystal floe.

A "floe" of ice, in nautical language, differs from a “field” only in being clearer and newly formed.

"While continuing our experiments on sound, this evening, Mr. Fisher and myself remarked that Sirius, which was nearly on the meridian at the time, exhibited the most beautiful violet and blue colors that can be imagined."-PARRY.

(8) 'Neath marble bridge and palace wall,

"The bridge of St. Trinita, built of marble in 1557 by Ammanati, is designed in a style of elegance and simplicity unrivalled by the most successful efforts of modern artists."-MC CULLOCH.

(9) And stands beneath the massive dome.

The Duomo, or Cathedral of Florence, of which Maclaren says "The interior is very striking, but spoiled by a circular screen of Greecian colums round the altar." (10) Then whispers of the hallowed tomb, &c.

In the church of Santa Croce, at Florence, lie the remains of Michael Angelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, and Alfieri.

(11) Alone, within a narrow bay

Of circling ice, the Falcon lay, &c.

The frequency with which vessels are "beset" in the ice has been remarked upon by all Arctic navigators. Ships sometimes remain thus imprisoned for weeks.

(12) It crashes through through the circling floe.

"The peculiar danger of these straits, often noted by former navigators, arises from the strong tides and currents that rush in from the Atlantic, and cause continued and violent movements among the huge masses of ice with which the channels are filled.',

LESLIE.

tain.

BROKEN LINES FROM AN ANGLER'S WALLET.

I.

THE STREAM.

"A hidden brook,

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune."

-WHAT! another hill to climb! Yes; or, if you please, a moun

And the path is none of the best, nor is there a chance for an observation till we reach yon huge rock above. Comrade, although a true Waltonian, rather demurs at a brook that has the presumption to run down a mountain, and would evidently prefer a smooth meadow or open quiet wood. But as there is no help for us but action, we will push on. A few minutes and we are on as high ground as we wish to be-the big rock is gained.

Now, while you are putting your Conroy together, for the murmur of the hidden brook in the gorge is plainly heard, take one look at the Salisbury lake and the blue Norfolk and Berkshire hills, and tell me if you ever saw a scene of more quiet beauty. A sleepy hum comes up from the distant forges; their smoke curls lazily upward in the hazy air; yon skiff scarcely provokes a ripple on the lake, were it not--but Piscator has little eye for scenery and grows impatient.

Look out for the ice that binds those great clumps of moss-covered roots and stones. A ray of sunshine here is a rarity, and, although the gorge in this place is but a slight and shallow wave in the mountains, the frost holds on till the July heats, cooling the fragrant air, and the clear spring stream, and occasionally breaking away beneath the rambler who, too unsuspectingly, trusts his whole weight to its uncertain strength.

A pretty stream and rapid. And these bright runs and dark eddies, what lurking places for the black wood trout! And while we are cutting a ten foot switch, as limber and lithe as a fairy's wand, do you disentangle your extra fine tackle that clings so pertinaciously to those hemlock boughs, carelessly tossed from your highly finished rod, and listen while we deliver a short homily on trout-fishing in the woods.

When you fish among the bushes and in woods, always be satisfied with a plain switch, cut with your jack-knife, and a stout, hair line. In such places you will generally find the best sport; for anybody can fish out the meadows; farmers' boys and giris, who think much of dace and suckers; the old man himself, who is quite certain that trout are growing scarcer every year; the city cockney, who imagines that he is a second Izaak Walton or Christopher North, because he has spent twenty dollars in Fulton street, and has read the first edition of the Anglers' Guide. All these find themselves posed, the minute they get into the bush; the farmer breaks his hooks and scares out large trout from under logs; his boys and girls lose their shoes in the mire and go home with torn clothes; and the cockney finds that there is no room for those elegant casts he has read about, and, to his dismay,

breaks his top joint and loses his fine silk line in the stiff branches, before he has advanced five minutes into the wilderness.

But with care, and a light switch that will bend double, and a stiff line, running through a couple of rings hastily whipped on and fastened in a coil near the hand, and a disregard of wet feet, you can fish the most bushy streams with a success astonishing to even those who have never been able to penetrate the thick bush with their awkward tackle and unskillful hands.

On the contrary, where the stream is large and deep, and especially where it flows much through cultivated country, the best of tackle is absolutely necessary. In such waters a full reel and a long rod will take trout, when their extreme shyness will not allow a near approach with inferior tackle. It is often necessary to reel out hundreds of feet of the fine and almost imperceptible thread, that the old and wary fish may not even so much as suspect the tempter; that the slender gut quivering in the water may cut off all visible connection, and, unseen, lure the giddy trout to his own destruction.

Well done for Piscator! the fellow, while we have been discoursing, has actually cased his rod, followed our advice, and from that black eddy has tossed two noble fish upon the rocks. Noble, we say; for, as yet, the stream is comparatively small, and a couple that weigh mearly a pound are not to be despised. Below we shall find fish not to be

tossed out so easily.

Following along the stream, our creels growing heavier and heavier with the spotted beauties, we have gradually threaded a part of the descending gorge, and now stand where the water makes its first sheer plunge down the steep mountain. Every particle of the wave is shivered into foam and spray against those sharp rocks; and from the dark and wind-tossed pool below arises a grateful mist. Hard going down, this. Over every root, and rock, and tree, grows the wet and slippery moss; our hands can scarcely obtain a hold; our feet are sadly puzzled for lodgment; but for these tough shrubs, growing out so friendlike from the almost perpendicular wall, Piscator and ourselves would, before this, have been searching for our bruises at the bottom of the gulf.

Now, in this black pool, look out for monsters! Hitherto, they come from a long run below, but no further; and what better habitation could the bright trout wish, than this rocky and gravelly bin? Our lengthened line, sunk by a plummet, goes to the depth; there is a slight tightening-a slack of a moment, a sudden tug; by the feeling, that is no small fish! and, again there is little room, just here, for what Christopher North would call scientific angling. The trout is there; he cannot go up the fall, nor will he go below; there is no use here for the ringing reel. As the Mississipian does the catty, we must take him out hand over hand with a horizontal pull. He comes slowly; there is no hurry; he cannot well break away, for the hook is firm, and, at a convulsive spring, our hands relax and he wastes his strength on the water; again he yields to the gentle pressure; he comes in sight; what a beautiful back! and, as he wavers, what a sparkling

side! The poor fellow's strength is gone; he nears the shore; a quick grasp secures and lays him on the fresh moss; as elegant a two-pounder as ever fed in the clear running stream. He was the monarch of the flood, and the pool has lost its king.

More, worthy to be his sons, or, perhaps, his younger brothers, lurk amid the depths, shunning the tempting bait, and the fate of their companions. Let us leave them for some brother in the gentle craft, or perhaps for ourselves at some future day, and take another step down the steep mountain.

A tree blown down into the next linn. And its roots are firmly locked at the top, and its branches sway in the water below. Completely does it fill the pool with its torn yet budding branches; nature, although reversed, still bids the roots to draw nourishment and the sap to flow; and till some mighty freshet sweep it away, it will effectually secure the denizens of the deep wave from the allurements of the skilful angler.

Not far below, sounds the third waterfall. As we stand at its brink we can just discern, amid the gloom, the progress of the stream through the sloping thicket and level meadows beyond. The descent here is the most difficult of all, and will probably be the best rewarded. Slipping from mossy trunk to rocks overgrown with ferns; catching at roots, shrubs, weeds, anything, to stop us from a heavy fall; now bending a sapling, till it threatens to part from its rocky bed; again dislodging some huge fragment, that thunders down into the gulf, we stand, at last, on tolerably level ground. The sides of the chasm, smooth and black, are relieved by the white flow of the falling stream. The water, shivered at the bottom on a bed of shelving stones, bounds up and falls like rain on the troubled pool. A chilling wind sucks through the gorge; although on the plains the sultry sky is scarcely cooled by a breath of air. And the spot is weird and primeval, as when the red man alone set foot in the forest.

Gently, Piscator; never be in a hurry with a large fish! Like old Christopher, give him a minute to the pound, at least. There is little danger of his breaking away if you draw him so, steadily, and never give him a chance to jerk at the top of the water. A fish is strong there; and we have seen many noble ones lost, when, for the first, they showed their broad black backs above the flood, and then raising their heads as if in their last agony, gave one sharp, vigorous bound, and were off. Now, how gently he comes in; twin brother to the monarch of the upper pool; stay, let us lay them side by side. Lovely pair! In your death you shall not be divided.

The sun is low on the western mountains as we reach the meadow, and here there is an instant change. Occasional rods lying on the bank, from the switch to the sapling, attest with how much eagerness and assiduity every particle of "easy fishing" is sought. And just round yonder bend do we espy an enterprising youth whipping the stream with an immense cotton string, and proudly bearing a forked stick, on which hang, wilted and dangling, three or four Lilliputian trout and dace; the whole scarcely weighing a moiety of a pound. Come Piscator, comrade, our creels are full.

Wordsworth would call Old Northwest and its twin brother, mountain tarns. The ascent to them is steep and nearly three miles long. There is something strange and well nigh awful in great sheets of water on high mountains, a disruption of the hills, a new outlet suddenly opening, an overflow, are fearful causes of ruin. quake, and lo, a second deluge!

A single earth

The forest hangs gracefully over the water, and casts in every cove and nook a deep and grateful shade. The breeze that is always blowing here, breaks the waves into unnumbered mirrors. Our boat, pulled by strong arms, cuts swiftly through the flood. A slight haze, no bigger than a man's hand, has just risen in the south, promising to veil the bright day, and bring us the sportsman's and angler's delight; “a southerly wind and a cloudy sky."

So long, however, as the glowing orb shows his face, it will be expedient for us to try the angle in the shade. For here, in the broad and glaring light, although the pickerel basks and the lake perch plays, yet they seem careless of food, and spurn the tempting bait, as if indignant at the fraud.

Right here, then, O most chosen comrade, drop the rude anchor. Above, the breeze is stilled by the huge trees that cover us with their boughs, the surface of the flood is but gently moved; and below, in the clear water, the rich dark weeds, and the occasional glance of a bright side, give abundant proof of a plentifully stocked preserve. The silvery minnows, netted so carefully in the brook below, dart in the pail, unconscious of their approaching fate-the keen hook, the shark-like jaws so soon to entomb their quivering inches.

Easily and airily the slender strong line falls upon the water, guided by a rod such as only Conroy can make. The minnow seeks the depths, and, just from his own shallow stream, is probably astonished at the mighty wave; gently he is impelled to and fro, that he may not too lovingly embrace the tangled weeds at the bottom; now almost at the surface; now in the depths; now in-but the line suddenly tightens, and with almost imperceptible sound is swiftly running off the reel. There-the yet unknown leviathan has reached his favorite haunt, and is ravenously but quietly gorging his sweet mouthful! "Twill not do to hurry him. Old Izaak recommends giving him ten minutes for the quiet enjoyment of his dinner; and we shall certainly allow him half that, while we amuse ourselves in seeing our fellow Piscator take care of that school of perch. The greedy rascals!-no matter how fast their companions are twitched bodily out before their eyes, they come up just as readily, if possible a thought more ravenously, to certain destruction. Evidently disappointment has marked them for her own; the bottom of the boat is strewed with the green and gold beauties, and still they come.