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(Sings.)
“ With the weeds for my pall, in a deep, deep grave,

Shall my false love find me."
Why didst thou start ?
Luke.

I almost ran upon
Wild Martha's willow-tree, e'en whilst you sang

Of it.
Mary.

Was that it, Luke? How horribly
Your words have made it look! I could stay now
And speculate on its fantastic shape
Most learnedly. That broad and gnarled head
Crown'd with its upright, spiky stubs, and frowning
Between two mighty sockets, where the wrens
Have built their nests, hath weigh'd its scathed trunk
Aslant the pool, o'er which two stunted branches,
Curling to claws, complete a ramping lion,
Prepared to plunge on all who dare invade
Wild Martha's secret cell. There is a legend,
How, tangled in the roots, she still remains
And tears the fisher's nets in the vain struggle
To gain her freedom. Poor, distracted Martha!

She must have been sore used to do such crime!
Luke. 'Tis a hard name which thou hast learned, my Mary,

For that which, harming none, is the sole means
To free the wretch from misery. Methinks
Wild Martha sleeps as soundly in her cave
As those who rot beneath yon fading steeple-
Some for their lives were happier, and some.

For they lack'd courage so to end their griefs.
Mary. Thou never spokest unkindly, and wouldst fain

Excuse what inwardly thou’rt shuddering at.
Dost thou forget how often thou hast told me
How thy stout heart hath quail'd to pass yon tree
At midnight? If thou thought'st the hapless girl
At rest, thou hadst not fear'd. Dost thou remember too
That April Sunday, when the young violets
First peerd between the moss upon the graves,
How long we saunter'd 'mongst the velvet hillocks,
Conning rude epitaphs, and moralizing
In sweetest melancholy? How we linger'd
Upon the humble bed of good old Adam,
The village patriarch, who, from lowliest state,
Had labour'd on to unpretending comfort,
And left it to his children's children? Oh,
How thou didst reverence that place, and hope,
Like him, to struggle with thy days of trial;
Like him to sleep the sleep of those who meet
Those days unmurmuring: (Luke shows much emotion.)

What, Luke! dear Luke!
I've been too heedless in my pensive talk,

And thought not of thy present grief.
Luke.

And still
Forget it, Mary. I was only musing,
If, tempted to the act of her whose bones
When skies are clear may be discern’d far down
In their strange prison playing with the eddy,
I should be left a like unhallow'd empire
Of fear and utter loneliness. Wouldst thou
Ne'er visit the neglected spot which took
The latest of thy husband's living looks?
Wouldst thou refuse to commune with his spirit,
And say thou'st bought his pardon with thy prayers ?
There is no grief, in all the world, could sit
o heavily upon my hour of death

As doubt that thou might'st dread my memory,

And shed no tear o'er him who loved thee so.
Mary. Thou reveller in woes impossible!
Luke. But tell me truly.
Mary.

l'll not answer thee;
Indeed I will not, Luke: it is not well

To pay Heaven's bounty with such fearful fancies. Luke (after a pause). Well, then, suppose me laid beside old Adam,

With decent holiness: what wouldst thou do

To live, my helpless Mary? Mary.

Oh, I never
Took joy in making misery for thee !
Luke. I'd have thee go directly to the home

From which I bore thee. Tell thy angry friends
That he who tempted thee to thy offence
Toil'd night and day, 'till often his worn sinews
Refused to obey him, for thy maintenance.
Tell them he loved thee, never used thee ill ;
And ne'er had sent thee back to them to beg,
Had Fate not frozen up his willing hand.
They will have pity and receive thee, Mary,

When I am gone.
Mary.

When thou art gone! O, then
I shall not need more kindness at their hands
Than will suffice to lay me by thy side.
But wherefore, Luke, when thou’rt about to leave me,
And journey, as thou say'st, to a far place-
Wherefore so wilful in thy wild endeavours
To make me weep more sadly o'er thy absence ?

Thou wilt have tears enough.
Luke.

Nay, keep them now.
The moment's not yet come which calls for them.
This turn hath brought us where we bid farewell,
And Caleb waits to help thee on the bank.
Good, honest Caleb! that small hut of his
Shelters a world of most industrious virtue!
All things seem smiling round him: the huge elm
Spreads his arms o'er him with parental fondness,
And ev'ry day puts forth a livelier green.
The waving osiers which enclose his path
Appear to spring more lofty and elastic
Because his hand hath pruned them. All the hues
Of bis small garden-patch look healthily,
As if a blessing were upon them. All
His nets, which waver, drying, in the air,
Tell how that cheerful home was earn'd, and prove
No labour, that is honest, is too humble

To gain the smile of Providence.
Mary.

How bless'd
Am I to hear thee say so! for it shows
Thou hast forgot thy ill-conceal'd despair,
And in good Čaleb's meek prosperity
Foresee'st our own. Nay, 'tis begun already

In thy poor friend's bequest.
Luke.

Farewell, dear Mary!-
Here we must part. [They land opposite Caleb's cottage.

LUKE, MARY, CALEB.
Caleb.

Welcome, friend Luke, and you,
My precious charge. Right glad am I to see

So sweet a face beneath my roof again.
Mary. Thanks, Caleb, thanks.
Luke.

I need not tell thee, Caleb,
How much thou hast of my good thoughts; here is

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Mary.

Luke.

Were I to hope so questionless a pledge
Of thy good will might quickly be redeem'd.
Ay, tell me, Luke, when shall we meet again?
An hundred times I have besought thee fix
Thy earliest day, and thou as oft hast turn'd
To other things, as if that meeting had
No joy for thee.

O, when we meet again,

"Twill be in joy, indeed!

And will it so ?

But when-but when, my Luke? To-morrow? No.
"Twill surely be the next day.

Be content:

Ere then I shall be watching o'er thee.

Thanks,
Thanks, thanks, O, thanks! Why, if it be so soon,
I shall have scarcely time to shed one tear,-
That is after my foolish eyes are dried.
Good Caleb, I'm ashamed to see you smile:
'Tis our first parting. Do not chide me, Luke;
I cannot help it.

[Falling on his neck and weeping.
Chide thee, my poor girl!

I am too ready in the same offence.

But now farewell! Until we meet again

I'd have thee pass thy time in thinking over
All that I said to thee upon our way.

Thou wilt?

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So now 'tis past!

Poor widow'd Mary, we shall meet no more!

[The river becomes wider as he proceeds, and at last expands into a large circular pool. He rests upon his pole, and looks slowly and cautiously about

him.

This is the place.-How fitting for a deed

Like mine! The high and shelving banks have nursed
With their moist clay this fringe of bulrushes

To an uncommon growth, as if to hide

All eyes from me, and me from all the world.

The sun did leap aloft an hour ago,

But here he hath not been-'tis scarcely twilight,
And very, very silent! How my breath

Clings to my heart, like the affrighted infant

Which struggles closer when its parting's nigh!

I must be quick.–And now that single ray
Points, like a dial, to the very spot!
There the huge whirling eddy in its round
Comes to its dimpled centre, and glides down
To unknown depths, bearing whatever floats
Within its verge in less'ning circles, like
The eagle wheeling round his prey, until
It darts on death. The strongest swimmer here
Must ply for life in vain! Many are here,
From chance or choice, who long have lain in secret
From weeping friends and wives, as I shall do,
Leaving no thing but vague surmise behind.
I'll find their mystery. [He pushes the boat into the middle of the

pool, and then, laying down his pole, sinks
upon his knees. The scene closes.

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THEORY OF EARTHQUAKES. M. Biot, after detailing the phenomena of the earthquake, concludes an interesting paper with these observations:

In the infancy of Chemistry and Natural Philosophy, it was imagined that earthquakes might be easily explained ; in proportion as these sciences bave become more correct and more profound, this confidence has decreased. But by a propensity for which the character of the human mind sufficiently accounts, all the new physical agents which have been successively discovered, such as electricity, magnetism, the imflammation of gases, the decomposition and recomposition of water, have been maintained in theories as the causes of the great phenomena of pature. Now all these conjectures seem to be insufficient to explain convulsions so extensive, produced at the same time over such large portions of the earth, as those which take place during earth quakes. The most probable opinion, the only one which seems to us to reconcile, in a certain degree, the energy, the extent of these phenomena, and often their frightful correspondence in the most distant countries of the globe, would be to suppose, conformably to many other physical indications, that the solid surface on which we live is but of inconsiderable thickness in comparison with the semi-diameter of the terrestrial globe ; is in some measure only a recent shell, covering a liquid nucleus, perhaps still in a state of ignition, in which great chemical or physical phenomena operating at intervals cause those agitations which are transmitted to us. The countries where the superficial crust is less thick or less strong, or more recently or more imperfectly consolidated, would, agreeably to this hypothesis, be those the most liable to be convulsed and broken by the violence of these internal explosions. Now if we compare together the experiments on the length of the pendulum, which have been made for some years past with great accuracy, from the North of Scotland to the South of Spain, we readily perceive that the intensity of gravitation decreases on this space, as we go from the Pole towards the Equator, more rapidly than it ought to do upon an ellipsoid, the concentric and similar strata of which should have equal densities at equal depths; and the deviation is especially sensible about the middle of France, where too there has been observed a striking irregularity in the length of the degrees of the earth. This

local decrease of gravity in these countries should seem to indicate, with some probability, that the strata near the surface must be less dense there than elsewhere, and perhaps have in their interior immense cavities. This would account for the existence of the numerous volcanoes of which these strata show the traces, and explain why they are even now, at intervals, the focus of subterraneous convulsions.

June 13.-M. Thollard, of Tarbes, states, that he had observed a ray of the sun after a shower of rain of a certain duration, falling upon an ear of rye, was sufficient to cause the membrane of the anther enclosing the small vessel containing the pollen, to burst like a pod. This phenomenon may render our information concerning the smut complete. Experiments on this subject should be encouraged.

Number of the known Species of Organized Beings. From the collections in the Paris Museums, M. Humboldt estimates (Ann. de Chimie, xvi.) the known species of plants at 56,000, and those of animals at 51,000; among which, 44,000'insects, 4,000 birds, 700 reptiles, and 500 mammalia. In Europe live about 400 species of birds, 80 mammalia, and 30 reptiles; and in the opposite southern zone on the Cape, we find likewise almost five times more birds than mammalia. To. wards the equator, the proportion of birds, and particularly of reptiles, increases considerably. However, according to Cuvier's enumeration of fossil animals, it appears that in ancient periods the globe was inhabited much more by mammalia than birds.

Papyri of Herculaneum.-Sir H. Davy's experiments on the Papyri have closed without producing any marked result. Iodine and chlorine separated the rolls without injuring the ink, which is of charcoal, on which these agents have no action; but the Papyrus itself, containing much undecompounded vegetable matter, baffled the investigation. Of the original 1696 MSS. 431 have been submitted to experiment, or given to foreign governments, by the king of Naples: about 100 of those which remain appear to be in a state to encourage the expectation of their being restored even by the chemical means already known. In general the writing is only on one side, and the MSS. are rolled round sticks, like the webs of our silk mercers. The stick is invariably carbonized, and resembles a bit of charcoal. Sir H. D. suggests, from the nature of the ink on these MSS. and the silence of Pliny, that up to this period the Romans never used galls and iron as a writing ink, and probably that this invention was contemporary with the use of parchment, of which the earliest MSS. at present known are the Codices Rescripti, discovered at Rome and Milan, by M. Mai, including the books of Cicero de Republica, supposed to be of the 2d or 3d centuries.

Colouring Matter in Crabs, Lobsters, 8C.-It appears, from a series of experiments made by M. J. L. Lassaigne, that crabs, lobsters, &c. contain a red colouring principle, which may be extracted by means of alcohol.—'That this colour is not formed by the action of heat, but developed in the shell by the impulsion of that fluid.—That there ex- , ists in that class of animals a highly coloured membrane, which appears to be the source of the colouring matter, which is insoluble in cold or boiling water, but soluble in sulphuric æther and pure cold alcohol.

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