dearly selling their lives on the beach. For every white man that fell, six of the misguided natives were slain. The savages shrank back with amazement, as the undaunted mariners mowed down their ranks, and opened a spacious path through the crowd. By this time the approaching boat had reached the edge of the shore. Guns were fired at the savages, and the little band on the beach now reduced to seven in number, made a successful retreat to the boat. Her progress through the waters was slow, and the canoes of the natives gained upon her very fast. But the cannons of the Antarctic soon swept them from the face of the wa

ters, and the remainder of the unfortunate crew reached the vessel in safety. A favorable breeze sprung up soon after, and the Antarctic quitted the Massacre Islands.

After a few months, Captain Morrell made a second visit to these islands. He arrived there on the 14th of September, and the natives immediately commenced a furious attack upon the vessel. They advanced in their canoes, and sent a shower of arrows from their bows. Captain Morrell now gave the word to his men to fire. For ten minutes nothing was heard but a loud roar of cannon. The savages were driven in alarm to the shore.

When the battle was ended, a small canoe, containing one person of a wretched appearance, and almost naked, was seen gliding towards the schooner. This person proved to be a sailor, of the name of Shaw, who had escaped the massacre, which took place sone months before. He was received with joy by his comrades. A good suit of cbthes was given to him, and care was taken of the dreadful wounds, with which he was covered. He had suffered the most cruel reatment from the savages. Many times had he despaired of his life, but he was providentially restored to his shipmates, vhen even hope had entirely forsaken him.

The natives occasionally made some further attacks upon the crew, but they did not succeed ir killing any of them. In one instance, a sailor, who was on shore filling a water cask was surprised by fifteen of the savages, all of whom instantly aimed their pointed arrows at his breast. The sailor presented his musket, which frightened them so that they fell on their knees. He walked backwards towards the shore: but just as he was going to make his escape, the natives rushed upon him, and he was obliged to shoot the foremost of them through the heart. He then ran away as fast as he could, and finally got safe on board the vessel.

About a year after leaving these islands the second time, Captain Morrell arrived in New York. He brought with him two natives of some other islands which he discovered. One of these natives he named Sunday, and the other Monday. They were both exhibited in New York. A young artist one day went to take a sketch of one of them. When he had drawn his sketch, he showed it to the poor savage, who, after

looking at it a moment, seemed wonderfully affected. A paleness spread over his face; he sunk back upon a chair, and gave signs of the wildest terror and amazement. On the preceding page is a copy of the sketch.

TO A FLY IN MIDWINTER.

Oh, whither on thy noisy wing
Hast thou been wandering, foolish thing!
Since the warm Summer days were o'er
Or in what dry and secret nook,
And gentle breezes played no more?
Where curious eyes could never look,
Hast thou concealed thy tiny form,
To shield thee from the cold and storm?

I know that, like the singing bird,
Who, when the Autumn leaves are stirred,
Glides off to some serener sky-
Thou canst not journey, little fly!
A feathery plume can softly sail
Along the swiftly-speeding gale;
But thy frail gauze-wing cannot bear
The slightest gust of chilling air.
In a snug corner thou hast lain,
Unvisited by wind or rain,
Where, through the winter, thou couldst be
Asleep and resting quietly;
Till the next season, mild and warm
Should animate thy torpid form,
And lure thee from thy safe retreat
To go in search of something sweet!

But out of doors there's cold and gloom.
A summer warmth pervades my room,
'Tis winter still-buzz off, Sir Fly!
Or thou'lt get frozen by and by.
Yet, stay! for it occurs to me
I've seen some gentlefolk like thee:~
Who must enjoy the present day,
Let future ills be what they may '

THE NAUTILUS.

Have you ever heard of the little fish, which spreads its thin sail, and floats along the water like a ship? Such a little fish is

the Nautilus. It is chiefly found in the Mediterranean Sea. On a calm summer day it may be seen floating leisurely along, or rowing in haste over the smooth surface of the waves, as if it was on an affair of the greatest importance. There are several kinds of the Nautilus, but they may all be divided into two sorts: the one with a white shell, as thin as paper, which it often quits and enters again; the other with a thicker shell, which it does not often leave. The above picture represents one of the former kind, which is sometimes called the 'Paper Nautilus.' It has several arms, two of which it extends aloft, and spreads so as to answer for sails. The other arms serve for paddles

or oars.

On the approach of a storm the little mariner instantly furls its sail, draws in all

its oars, turns the mouth of its shell downwards, and sinks to the bottom of the sea. Sometimes it may be seen pumping the water from its leaking shell; and when it is unfit for sailing, it deserts it entirely and seeks a new one. The nature of the Nautilus is not yet fully known, although for many ages it has excited the wonder of all who have seen it.

THE BREAD-FRUIT.

The bread-fruit grows on a large tree, shaped somewhat like our apple trees. The fruit is as large as a child's head: t is of a round form, and has a thick, tough rind. Gathered before it is fully ripe, and baked among ashes, it becomes a wholesome bread, resembling fresh wheaten bread in taste. The tree that produces it, grows wild in Otaheite, and other of the South-Sea islands. It yields its fruit in profusion for a period of eight months. Three of the trees will support a man a whole year, without his laboring a day. The inner bark of the bread-fruit tree is manufactured into a kind of cloth. Its wood is useful in building huts and canoes. Its leaves are used as napkins, and its milky juice furnishes good cement and glue. The bread-fruit tree has

THE TELEGRAPH. A telegraph is a contrivance by which news may be rapidly made known, by signals, to a person, who is stationed at a distance. Many years ago people would light a fire on a high hill to spread information of some expected event; but the telegraph can be so managed as to convey words. The telegraph was invented by the French. The most simple contrivance of this sort consists of an upright post, with two arms placed sideways, which may be moved very fast and in any direction. The different positions of these arms stand for the letters of the alphabet; and after a per

son has made himself well acquainted with them, he can easily read the letters as they succeed each other, and so make out a whole sentence. Sometimes the position of the arms stands for a whole sentence, us the men at the different telegraph stations may agree.

In the above cut there are three marks, something in the form of an egg, placed on the right side of the arms, and one beneath them: these are for the purpose of distinguishing the positions more accurately. In the little house, which you see, a nan stays on the watch, with a telescope in his hand, to distinguish what the telegraph on

the hill beyond has to say. As soon as he finds this out, he moves the arms of his telegraph so as to tell the same thing to a person who is stationed some distance behind him. In this way a piece of news may be conveyed many hundred miles in a very short time. This kind of telegraph is not much used in this country.

Many ships sailing from different ports of the United States, have colors or signals, by which they convey intelligence from one to another. At Boston there is an observatory which communicates with three others in the harbor; and by this means the merchants receive early intelligence of the approach of their vessels.

The distance of the whole line is about twelve miles, and intelligence may be communicated through the line in two minutes. A communication may be had with a vessel twenty-five miles from the city, in the short space of five minutes.

Thy home of bloom and verdure
Among Canary's isles,

Where Nature's lap is filled with flowers,
And Nature's face with smiles,-
Where o'er the glistening meadows,
The perfumed breezes run,
And waters hide in shaded founts,
Or sparkle in the sun;-

O dost thou never sadden,

And droop thy head in pain, At memory of that pleasant home, Thou ne'er may'st see again. The plane-tree bent above thee With blossoms on its bough, The vine leaves clustered by thy sideWhere are the bright things now?

Thy wings that chased the sunbeam Have weak and nerveless grown; And faded is the golden hue,

Which on thy plumage shone : There is no light above thee

To glad thy little eye,

And thou art even banished from
The sight of the blue sky.

And yet thou hast forgotten
Thy nature's grievous wrong,
And thy full heart triumphantly
Pours itself forth in song.
Though captive and forsaken,

Of all thy joys bereft,

The impulse which now prompts thy lay Is still unto thee left.

O sweet, enchanting minstrel!
I bless thee for the thought,
Which thy unstudied harmony
Unto my soul has brought :
If in thy hour of darkness,

Such grateful joy is thine,

How should the immortal hope within Forbid me to repine!

V. L.