With respect to the philosophical account of this well-known meteor, naturalists are agreed, that it is formed by the freezing of the vapours in the atmosphere. The snow we receive may, properly enough, be ascribed to the coldness of the atmosphere through which it falls. When the atmosphere is warm enough to dissolve the snow before it arrives to us, we call it rain; if it preserve itself undissolved, it makes what we call snow.

The following beautiful lines are from "Scenes in my Native Land," by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, of America.

THE SNOW-STORM.

How quietly the snow comes down,
When all are fast asleep,

And plays a thousand fairy pranks
O'er vale and mountain steep.

How cunningly it finds its way
To every cranny small,

And creeps through e'en the slightest chink
In window or in wall.

To every noteless hill it brings

A fairer, purer crest

Than the rich ermine robe that decks

The haughtiest monarch's breast.

To every reaching spray it gives
Whate'er its hand can hold-

A beauteous thing the snow is
To all, both young and old.

The waking day, through curtaining haze,
Looks forth, with sore surprise.
To view what changes have been wrought
Since last she shut her eyes;

And a pleasant thing it is to see

The cottage children peep

From out the drift, that to their eaves

Prolongs its rampart deep.

The patient farmer searches
His buried lambs to find,
And dig his silly poultry out,

Who clamour in the wind:
How sturdily he cuts his way,

Though wild blasts beat him back, And caters for his waiting herd Who shiver round the stack.

Right welcome are those feathery flakes To the ruddy urchin's eye,

As down the long smooth hill they coast, With shout and revelry;

Or when the moonlight, clear and cold,
Calls out their throng to play—

Oh! a merry gift the snow is
For a Christmas holiday.

The city Miss, who, wrapt in fur,
Is lifted to the sleigh,

And borne so daintily to school
Along the crowded way,

Feels not within her pallid cheek

The rich blood mantling warm,
Like her who, laughing, shakes the snow
From powdered tress and form.

A tasteful hand the snow hath-
For on the storied pane

I saw its Alpine landscapes traced
With arch and sculptured fane,
Where high o'er hoary-headed cliffs
The dizzy Simplon wound,
And old cathedrals reared their towers
With Gothic tracery bound.

I think it hath a tender heart,

For I marked it while it crept,
To spread a sheltering mantle where
The infant blossom slept.

It doth to Earth a deed of love-
Though in a wintry way;

And her turf-gown will be greener
For the snow that's fallen to-day.

ONE afternoon, Jane and William went down to the brook to fetch water for their mother. She was a careful tidy woman with a large family of small children, which she was very anxious to provide for comfortably, and bring up properly. But, alas for her, and alas for them, her husband was one of that sort of men of which there are sadly too many now-a-days. He would rather go and sit at the beershop, and spend his money there in drink, than go home and try to make his wife and children happy. When they arrived at the brook, and saw the pure clear stream running gently over the clean stones and pebbles, the following conversation took place :

"Why does Mother call water Adam's wine, William ?"

"Because Adam and Eve drank water when they lived in the garden."

"Oh, that is the reason, is it. I wish Father would always drink Adam's wine then. We should do

better if he did."

"I dont know for that; but I do know this, that he is always cross when he has had too much drink at the beer-shop."

"Yes: we all know that; but that is not all. What did Mother say yesterday when you told her that your boots wanted mending-that they were all worn away at the toes, and let the snow and wet in to your feet, and made them so cold ?"

"I know what she said, and I felt very vexed about it. I thought Father was too bad to spend his money in drink when he knew my boots wanted mending. I wish he wouldn't go to that nasty beer-shop so often."

"I wish he wouldn't go at all. He might come home every night as John Thompson does. John always comes home. I was there last night playing with Ellen, and her Mother had made him a nice cake for his tea, and whilst he was getting it George read to him out of a book of Travels, and we gave over playing and sat still and heard him read. And when he had done, John talked about it, and told us ever so many things. I thought it so nice. I wished my Father would do so."

"So do I; for I should like to know about ever so many things that I hear other boys talk about sometimes. Yesternight I thought I would ask him about a railroad which the boys say they are going to make through our village; for they said that carriages would run on it as fast as a pigeon flies, and all without horses, and only by setting a great pot a boiling; and I wanted to ask him if it is all true, and how it is done, but he was so cross, and looked so stupid, that I sat still in the corner and said nothing, and then went to bed and thought about it and about him."

"Yes: and I wish Father would not do as he does. For we cannot have things as other children have while he does so. I asked Mother the other day when I should have a new frock, and she said she did not know, for Father hardly brought home money enough to buy bread and meat and potatoes. But come: fill my jug with that nice water from the brook, and bring

your can full of it. Mother wants to fill the kettle and get tea ready, for I am glad to tell you, William, that Father is coming home to get his tea with us. Mother has persuaded him to go to the school-room to night to hear a man talk about Temperance." "And has Father promised to go?"

66 "Yes, he has."

"Well: I'm glad of that. I wish he may persuade him never to go to that beer-shop any more as long as he lives. It would be a deal better for us, I'm sure!"

BLENTARN GHYLL.

"But let me now explore the deep-sunk dell,
No foot-print, save the covey's or the flock's,
Is seen along the rill, where marshy springs
Still rear the grassy blade of vivid green.

Beware, ye shepherds, of these treacherous haunts;
Nor linger there too long: the wintry day
Soon closes; and full oft a heavier fall,

Heaped by the blast, fills up the shelter'd glen;
While, gurgling deep below, the buried rill
Mines for itself a snow-covered way.

O then

Your helpless charge drive from the tempting spot;
And keep them on the bleak hill's stormy side,
Where night-winds sweep the gathering drift away."
Graham & Sabbath Walks,"

GEORGE and Sarah Green, two hardworking peasants, dwelt, with a numerous family of small children, in Easedale, in Grasmere. Though poor, they were much respected in the neighbourhood, from the firmness with which they bore their hardships, and the decent attire in which their children were sent to Grasmere school.

It was on a wintry day, in 1807, that this couple went to a sale at Langdale Head, which, in clear weather, it was possible to reach by a short route of eight miles; and by this they went. Their object was to obtain a place for a daughter; for their small purse would not admit of their making purchases. At such sales were large concourses of people, who had no other motive but in the probability of meeting many