Backe, author of the Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature,' saw two lunar rainbows. The first formed an arch over the vale of Usk. The moon hung over the Blorenge; a dark cloud was suspended over Myarth; the river murmured over beds of stones; and a bow, illumined by the moon, stretched from one side of the vale to the other. In mountainous countries the rainbow is of extraordinary beauty, spanning broad valleys, and seeming to rest upon the mountain-tops. Several rainbows of a completely circular form have been seen on the mountains rising above Quito in Peru; and as many as five-andtwenty have been seen at once lighting up the Pacific Ocean, in the vicinity of Juan Fernandez. The maritime bows are of a concave form, being the reverse of aërial ones, because the drops of water refracting the rays rise from below, and do not fall from above as in the former. The dashing of waves against rocks also forms these ires marina, which are frequently seen on the coast of Caernarvon, Merioneth, Pembroke, and Carmarthen. It is said that a rainbow was once seen near London twenty minutes after sunset, caused by the exhalations rising from that city; and Captain Parry, while proceeding towards the North Pole, Saw rainbows formed by the descent of the hoar-frost. In the Castle of Ambras, in the circle of Austria, there is a picture representing this sacred sign, so admirably executed that the Grand Duke of Tuscany offered one hundred thousand crowns to obtain it.

The rainbow is formed by the refraction of the sun's rays, by falling drops of rain, each drop being a complete prism, and separating the rays into its component elements. The colours forming a ray of light are seven in number, being violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red; and these are they contained in the rainbow which is general in this country.

THE OLIVE.

There are some charming little fables told in connection with ancient mythology, although some of them, on the other hand, are as stupid and absurd. One of the most beautiful and instructive, however, is that regarding the origin of the olive tree. Minerva, the goddess of the arts of peace, had a dispute with Neptune regarding the name of the city of Athens, and so strong did the contention become that the decision of the matter was referred to the other fabulous deities, who decided that the sovereignty of that famous city should be awarded to either of the disputants who should present the better gift to mankind. Neptune struck the shore with his trident, when forth sprung a beautiful horse, with flashing eyes and flowing Lane; but Minerva touched the ground, and forth sprung a beautiful olive-tree. The triumph was won by the goddess, for it was declared upon Olympus, that peace, of which the olive is the symbol, is infinitely preferable to which the horse was supposed to typify.

war,

In sacred history this tree occupies a conspicuous place, being there spoken of as a sign of hope. It was a branch from the olive-tree that the dove bore back to the ark as the record of the appearance of a regenerated earth. It was upon the Mount of Olives that the Saviour suffered his passion, previous to his betrayal. The garden of Gethsemane is situated on the face of the mount which looks towards Jerusalem, and which was probably planted with these trees at that time. The olive-tree is really of a beautiful peace-like appearance. Its leaves are formed like those of the willow, and resemble them in arrangement, but they are more soft and delicate. The flowers are also very tender and beautiful, issuing in little spikes from buds between the leaf-stalks and the spikes. They are at first of a pale yellow colour; but when they expand their petals, which are only four in number, they are white, with a yellow centre. Wild olives are found in Syria, Greece, and on the lower slopes of Mount Atlas in Africa. It is cultivated in many parts of Syria, and some of the cultivated sorts are to be found growing spontaneously in many parts of Asia Minor, being easily reared along all the shores of the Levant, which are not visited

by frosty winds. The plain of Athens, as the traveller looks towards the north-west from the Hymettus, seems as if it were an entire olive grove. The olive was first culti vated in Tuscany, the south of France, and Spain, as a European plant. From the fruit of this unctuous vegetable the Tuscans extracted and exported the celebrated oil which is now called Florence oil;' but the best is made from the products of the French fruitage about Aix. The olives are gathered just upon the very eve of maturity; and they must be carefully attended to, for if one year's growth is allowed to become too ripe, the next year there is no fruit, and the tree becomes only productive afterwards every alternate season. At Aix the olive har vest takes place annually in November. In Languedoc, Spain, and Italy, where it is delayed till December and January, it occurs only once in two years. The quality of the oil greatly depends upon the time employed in, and method of, gathering the fruit. It should be plucked in the first stage of maturity, by the hand, and finished in a day, if possible. The fruit is reduced to pulp in a very simple oil mill, and then put into sacks of coarse linen or feather-grass, and subjected to pressure.

The cultivation and manufacture of olives and olive-oil afford considerable employment to many of our French and Italian brethren. În 1827 there was an importation of four thousand five hundred tuns of oil into England, paying a duty into the revenue of eight guineas per tun. The olive is still much venerated by the Greeks.

GUTTA-PERCHA.

This novel substance (pronounced pertsha), which is likely to come into general use, and for many purposes to supersede the use of leather, possesses somewhat of the character and nature of india-rubber, but is capable of being manufactured into many forms, and of assuming a neatness and consistency much superior to caoutchouc. It is found in the islands of the Indian Ocean, and was lately introduced into this country by a firm called 'The GuttaPercha Company,' who have patented the substance, and are manufacturing it into soles for boots and shoes, whips, belts for machinery, balls, and various other articles of use and ornament. The gutta-percha is obtained from Borneo chiefly, a large island to the south-east of the peninsula of Malay, and situated directly under the equator. The liquid, like that of caoutchouc, is taken from a tree by tapping; but so impatient are those employed in collecting it that, with wonderful obliquity of thought, they sometimes cut down the trees, and, allowing the fluid to collect in a pool at the root, drain away the whole substance, and destroy the plant that supplies it. The guttapercha is very unctuous, producing a beautiful clear flame when burned, and exuding when it is held towards any hot substance or subjected to friction. This quality has been held as an objection to its use as a machine-beltcausing it to slip without taking with it the beam which it is employed to drive; but, according to the testimony of many who have employed it, it performs its functions admirably in this respect. The gutta-percha, in its mannfactured form, is of a brown colour, hard and close in its texture, and as flexible as leather. It can be made of any thickness; and this seems to be accomplished by a process of coating. In joining it, there is no sewing employed. It must be observed that it cannot be used as the insole to shoes or boots, but as the outer one; and it is attached to the roughened insole by a paste, which retains it in its place with great tenacity. When it is used as belts for machinery, two oblique cuts are made at the ends; these are touched by a hot iron, joined and smoothed by the same process, and the part thus joined is as strong as any other portion of the ligature. Gutta-percha is said to wear but slowly even upon the roughest of substances; and, in addition to this quality of endurance, it can be restored, as iron is by fire, to all the purposes of which it was originally capable.

Of course we are not required to place implicit confidence in the testimonials produced by the company who manufacture and sell this substance; but one gentleman,

So many! then you'd come off well rubbed; a thousand at least.'

The company were beginning to feel an interest in the unfortunate; some were looking on. Bob felt old Bagridge had his eye on him; he had some expectations in that quarter.

First Goth-I heard a good story the other day. Mould the founder-in the Gazette' this morning-trying to raise the wind to relieve himself of a few bills, called two days since on Staggs the broker. Staggs,' said he, 'I've a capital crane on hand-first-rate article-can't get a customer for it though—no demand just now, and it's like to spoil.' Staggs was sly, however; smelt something. 'Best article I ever manufactured,' continued Mould, 'could part with it cheap-dirt cheap-rather than see it spoiled: can lift anything.'-Ay,' exclaimed Staggs, can it lift a

bill?

Second Goth-Isn't Mould a cousin of yours, Styles? I heard it rumoured you had become security-but mum here of course.'

The victim could have eaten the fellow. Everybody was now listening, and old Bagridge looking daggers. The licentiate's vinegar aunt interposed with a Scriptare quotation: I never saw such an exemplification of the truth as at the present time; that they who haste to be rich shall fall into many a snare.'

It's bad enough for married men to dabble a little occasionally in specs, but confoundedly bad for single youths to do so,' broke in old Sims, who has feathered his nest by speculations in corn.

Bob the unfortunate, not much later, remembered his engagement and pled the benefit of it. He had not long gone, when the conversation turning on church matters, one of the Goths chose to interrogate us: 'I believe, sir, you studied for the church at one time?'

I've heard something of that,' remarked the second Goth; 'didn't come out though; stuck at some examination, or couldn't agree about Hebrew poetry with some of "the examinators.'

'Beg pardon, gentlemen; you must be mistaken, I never studied for such a purpose.'

'Oh, sorry for that! only some one happened to mention the fact. But no matter; better men have done so and

failed.'

'Parritch, leddies; an' whyles kail when we ha'e onything ava.'

Ah, I see, kail!' pursues Priscilla, advancing to the fire and lifting the lid off the pot.

"Can your children read, good woman?' 'A little, mem.'

'Well, see, here are two very interesting tracts on Puseyism and the Duty of Thankfulness; pray, let them spend an hour at night in carefully perusing them to you.' Many thanks, my leddy; this is verra kind o' ye.' 'How are you provided for blankets, this cold weather?' inquires one, first advancing to the bed to examine. Dear me, is't possible; such wretched coverings! Just observe, Julia, love.'

Meanwhile, the father's blood is boiling, and were it not that his wife restrains him by her looks, and his visiters are women, he would order them to be gone.

'Good day, my good woman,' says Priscilla, and we will probably look in on some other occasion, to see how you are getting on.'

Let it not be supposed we should ever by word or thought contemn the most divine and hallowing exercise of charity! Enough need is there for it in our lanes and hedges; enough in every way; but to

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame,'

if ever fame the act becomes, has no connection with impudent visiting inquisitors, who publish their own good perambulations. We judge not thus of character. A man or woman is best known by his trifling acts, not by his great ones; as the feather tells the current of the wind, so the small civilities of life, and the way of doing them, indicate the direction of the mind. Our uncle Jem afforded example of this in a sort of way. A bachelor was Jem, rough, hale, and hearty, as all honest bachelors, though beyond middle age, are; but his sister, who kept house for him, was a specimen of another tree; she gave liberally to subscriptions, but was otherwise grim, unapproachable, and niggardly. We recollect when visiting him years ago, in our adolescence, how we stood in dislike of that austere virgin, and how even Jem doubted her, doing many things covertly he otherwise would have done openly. When we used, with the sweetbread love of our years, to sit and eye wistfully the plumcake at tea-time, not daring to touch it for fear of Grizzel, whose favourite axiom of sweetmeats spoiling children she duly observed the practice of, Jem, seeing how matters stood, would often bunglingly snuff the candle out, and, before it could be relighted, had stuffed our pockets with the dainty. Now a Goth could never have done that-never could have thought of it; trifling though the act was, it opened up the history of Jem's character. The Goth has no tact-no nicety-no modeabout his dealings or sayings; they are blunt and often poignant, though not always intended so; he has 'no music in his soul'-no harmony whatever; you find no response to the poetry of existence in him; his is all the downright prose thereof. Young Petrarch Glanvil, the author of Ocean Foam,' a poem, told us how he was floored by a Gothess. She was a very charming little creature in appearance, possessed, as Petrarch thought, of a great depth of sentiment, and he, in true poetic fashion, before acquainted with her farther than by sight, had enshrined her as a sort of deity in his heart-made a Laura, or a Beatrice, or something similar of her. Like the tribe, he was susceptible, equally so in his affections as in his rhyme, and conceived a very strong first-sight affection for Celestine. It happened that he enjoyed the privilege of chaperoning her home from a party one moonlight night. The road was pleasantly long, and the night more than ordinarily beautiful. Here was a chance for Petrarch, and he did try to avail himself of it. On the glorious moonand if any of you are in love, choose the queen of night as a subject, you will find how suggestive she is, and how easily she helps away your bashfulness-on the glorious moon, then, he launched forth a torrent of poetic exposi tion; he quoted, manufactured, extemporised, and sighed and languished for a full half hour regarding Luna and her silver car, indirectly, as he thought, revealing the state

of his own mind. After exhausting himself, and looking down tremblingly into Celestine's beaming eyes, expecting some eloquent response, judge of his horror when she naively inquired-How does the moon set dogs a-howling, Mr Glanvil, do you know? pray tell me?' The remainder of the walk home was completed, as nearly as possible, in silence.

But to do the Goth all manner of justice, he is useful in a certain way. He makes generally a capital business man. He is indefatigable in his profession, no matter what it may be. No minor considerations tempt him from the main chance, and he has no very compunctious visitings about the exact boundaries of meum and tuum. He never hesitates about presenting his little account to any unfortunate debtor, nor in insisting for the unlawfulness of discount on the right hand, the reverse on the left. He speaks, moreover, his mind fully and freely, and maintains not only the right of private judgment, but the right of exercising it. He is proof against all hints and all the petty shafts of personality that may be launched at him. It is difficult to annoy him otherwise than in purse; this alone is his mortal part. Reader, let us tell you a secret. There is a Goth lives next door to us. He goes out in the morning and returns at evening. We have tried repeatedly to open an acquaintance with him, but in vain. The weather, the state of the streets, the crowded omnibus, the sharelist, the newspapers and accidents, have all long ago been exhausted as topics to draw out a conversation with. Yes, sir;'Very;' Crowded, sir;' They'll rise yet;' Newspapers are a humbug;' 'I don't believe it-all a lie, sirtake my word,' is the sum of all the conversation he ever condescended in answer to our observations. We have given him up in despair.

The Goth's life may be a pleasant one to himself, a thing we much doubt however, but it cannot be to others; he sows no seeds of love and happiness around him; his light never shines before men as worthy of imitation; he may be a living epistle, but the perusal thereof is not pleasant. As already said, he is the nettle of society, bearing no flowers, and never cultivated for his own sake for either beauty or worth. Carry out the simile, and his race is a numerous one; then beware, dear reader, lest you be a bit of a Goth.

AVALANCHES.

AVALANCHES, in Switzerland, Spain, Norway, and other countries, where they very frequently occur, are vulgarly supposed to owe their origin to the accidental formation of little snow-balls high up among the snowy regions of the mountains, and to become larger and more rapid in their motion by a gradual process of accretion and acceleration, until, gathering bulk and velocity in their headlong force, they tear up trees, rocks, and cottages, and overwhelm flocks, herds, and villages, as they thunder down the mountains' sides. Avalanches are of four kinds, originating accidentally, of course, but not according to the slow, graduating process vulgarly supposed. Vast accumulations of snow will form upon the mountain declivities, and at last, by their own weight, suddenly break away in mass, rolling down the steeps of the hills, overwhelming forests and towns, and filling up the courses of rivers; or they will be dislodged from their precarious positions, and precipitated into the valleys by those sudden gusts of wind which so frequently sweep round the tops of the mountains, causing drifts and other dangerous motions of the snow and fragments of ice; or they are caused by the dislodgement of vast masses of ice through the expansion by frost of the water which gathers in the crevices of the glaciers. The diversity of causes and character has therefore induced a classification of the avalanches, which are termed drift avalanches, creeping avalanches, sliding avalanches, and glacier or ice avalanches, comprehending all the phenomena

of these terrific and destructive mountain falls.

The drift avalanches are caused by slips of loose snow, taking place when the accumulation and superincumbent weight of such are sufficient to detach it from the steep

declivities of the mountains where it lodges. It is only in winter, when the snow has fallen plentifully, that drift avalanches occur, and the air must have been calm to have allowed of its concretion, otherwise the winds, instead of allowing it to lie upon the slopes, would have whirled it in wreathes into the valleys. The snow masses which lie upon the faces of the mountains

'As if an infant's touch could urge

Their headlong passage down the verge,' receive the impulse of motion from the wind, being of themselves loose and easily moved; and, moving downward, they come upon and dislodge other masses of snow, together with huge blocks of rock, until, long before they reach the lowlands, they are like great mountains which, roaring in their fury, descend like ministers of terror and vengeance upon the terrified creatures who behold their sudden coming with an awful dread. These drift avalanches originate at a great height, and produce a vast amount of devastation; but luckily they are of rare occurrence, and thus are productive of even less damage than the others which occur more frequently. As an illustration of the dreadful rapidity with which these avalanches descend, it is observed that men and animals are killed from the compression of the air caused by their descent. It is compressed so suddenly, and so rapidly displaced by these masses, that it rushes off on all sides with a force sufficient to splinter huge rocks, tear up the largest trees, and fling down the houses as if they were made of pasteboard. The valleys at the foot of the steepest hills, and consequently those where drift avalanches generally fall, are never so well wooded nor thickly inhabited as those lying under the more broken and more receding mountains, so that the destruction is less than it would otherwise be if they were to fall upon the more populous valleys.

The sliding avalanches cause more actual damage than do the drift avalanches, on account of their frequency. They begin in the middle regions of the mountains, and consequently never acquire the velocity of the drift ones; and as they do not, on this account, cause a compression of the air, they are accounted less dangerous than the other. They generally take place in spring, after the snow has been partially melted and frozen into a compact consistency. The natural heat of the earth then loosens this breastplate of icy snow from its hold upon the slope, and as the ground has become slippery, the whole mass of crusted snow moves slowly towards the valleys, driving every obstacle before it. The sliding avalanches cause much devastation to the fields of the husbandman, covering them over with a deep crust of snow; and they fall upon the meadows and forests also to such an extent that the heat of two or three summers is required to melt them. This, of course, materially affects the climate of the valleys, retarding vegetation and rendering the air chill and humid through the warmest season. These avalanches have also been the cause of much destruction of property and loss of life, not the least remarkable instance of which was the overwhelming of the village of Bueras, in the year 1749. This village, situated in the valley of Tawick, in the canton of the Grisons, was carried from its site, and completely buried by one of these sliding avalanches. This occurrence took place during the night, when all the inhabitants were asleep; and so little noise did it create that they slept on until morning, and awoke to wonder why the light did not appear. It was not long before individuals began to perceive their true situation, and then it was that the horrors and pains of a slow and hopeless destruction were felt. By constant and noble exertions one hundred people were at last dug from their living tomb, sixty of whom were alive, having been supplied with air from hollows in the snow. While engaged in the work of excavation, the workmen heard, from the buried village, the lowing of cows and the barking of dogs, and these sounds inspired them with renewed hope and vigour, giving them assurance that their friends still lived. An avalanche descended into Val Canca, in the same canton, in 1806, transporting a whole forest from one side of the valley to the other, and planting a fir-tree upon the roof of the pastor's dwelling. It is only