them by the mixture with cold air; but when the warm and moist air is close to the surface, it is almost certain that, as the cold air flows down into it, a deposition of water will take place. When sea-gulls assemble on the land, stormy and rainy weather is almost always approaching; the reason of which might be thought to be, that these animals, sensible of a current of air approaching from the ocean, retire to the land to shelter themselves from the storm. This is not the case, however. The storm is their element; and the little petrel enjoys the heaviest gale, because, living on the smaller sea insects, he is sure to find his food in the spray of a heavy wave, and he may be seen flitting above the edge of the highest surge. The reason of this migration of gulls and other sea-birds to the land is their security of finding food; and they may be observed at this time feeding greedily on the earthworms driven out of the ground by severe floods; and the fish on which they prey in fine weather on the sea leave the surface and go deeper in storms. The search after food is the principal cause why animals change their places. The different tribes of the wading birds always migrate when rain is about to take place. The vulture, upon the same principle, follows armies; and there is no doubt that the augury of the ancients was a good deal founded upon the observation of the instinct of birds. There are many superstitions of the vulgar owing to the same source. For anglers, in spring, it is always unlucky to see single magpies, but two may be always regarded as a favourable omen; and the reason is, that in cold and stormy weather one magpie alone leaves the nest in search of food, the other remaining sitting upon the eggs or the young ones; but if two go out together, it is only when the weather is warm and mild, and favourable for fishing. SIR H. DAVY. THE FAITHFUL FRIEND. THE greenhouse is my summer seat; Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song ; They sang as blithe as finches sing, But nature works in every breast; The opened window seemed t' invite For settling on his grated roof, He chirped and kissed him, giving proof Nor would forsake his cage at last, O ye who never knew the joys Blush, when I tell you how a bird COWPER. THE LIFE-BOAT TO THE RESCUE. WE are at Ramsgate; the wind has been high all day, and, as the afternoon wears on, it has grown into a regular gale. Yonder, out at sea, is the Gull light-ship, anchored there as a warning to incoming vessels of the dangerous sands hard by, and as a post of observation from which vessels in danger may be discovered and help signalled for from the shore. With this weather there is every prospect of work enough for us to do before very long. Ah, see! there is a puff of smoke from the Gull, it is a signal that we are wanted. The steam-tug Aid, which is to help us out to the wreck, and lie near us to receive those we rescue, is quite ready. Quick, then, in with you; are you all seated? That's right; off we go, with a rush we are in the water and hard at work directly,-no chance of idleness in such a sea as this! Here we go; the cable which fastens us to the Aid is strong and sure, and although the waves fill the boat every half-minute, they cant swamp us, and we are accustomed to salt water; how the wind blows, though, and what leaps we take! Hold fast, or some jerk may put you outside instead of in, and your chance in that case of being picked up again won't be worth very much. At last we reach the Gull. A schooner has been seen in distress; we must find her, and rescue the crew; there she is just to be seen gleaming through the far darkness. But this time the work is not for us, a vessel is before us, and we shall not be needed; before going back, however, we cruise about a little, lest some other ship should be in danger; but no; so for the time we return to harbour. Not for long; a telegram has come down to say the boat is wanted some miles off, and again we start. The sea is yet rougher than before, and now the night has set in, and the darkness is only broken here and there by a light from some light-ship glimmering faintly through the mist of spray; at last the spot is reached, and now we must find the ship in the darkness as best we may. There is too much noise from the wind and water to hear any gun-signals, and no sign of a light is to be seen but that in the light-ship. Up and down, backwards and forwards, round all the dangerous parts, still no sign; and all the while perhaps if there were but light enough to see, we might be just by the poor creatures, who must be able to see our steamer by its light, but whom we cannot discern. Half an hour passes-an hour, still no sign. Ah! there she is, they have run aground on the sands. The Aid tug is as near as she can go, so now we must leave her for a time; the tow-rope is unfastened, and at once we are swung round by the force of the wind and waves, and are dashing on towards the wreck. We are near enough now to see the people crowding her deck, we can almost mark the eager faces turned towards us as we approach. Throw over the anchor, we are near enough now; that's it; steady, now; we are alongside and fastened to the ship. It is the Fusilier. "More than one hundred on board, sixty women and children," shouts the captain. We must take them in two or three boat-loads, women and children first, of course. Two of our men clamber the deck; and as well as may be we keep the boat steady to receive the rescued ones. But steady in such a sea is impossible; at one moment we are nearly level with the deck, the next a retiring wave has left a deep dark well of water between the ship and us, and it would take a long jump to reach the boat. Two sailors get ready in the rigging to hand down the women. They have to watch their opportunity as the wave takes us near them. Here comes the first passenger; now is the time, as we rise with the water they let go. No! she is frightened, and clings. "Quick! spring up and seize her, or she will be lost!" Just in time she is caught by the feet and pulled into the boat! Another and another follows. Some men throw blankets down, for the women are but half dressed. A passenger rushes frantically to the side, and cries, "Here! here ! and thrusts a big bundle into the hands of a sailor; what is it, a blanket for his wife?" Here, Bill, catch!" shouts the man, and throws it to one of the boatmen. Well caught, only just saved though from falling into the sea. Hark! a baby's cry comes from it, and a shriek-"My child! my child!" from a woman, tells of the danger which the baby has just escaped. We are full. "Cast off!" cries the captain. Up comes the anchor, and away we go, thirty women and children aboard of us. It is a case of hold on all, for the seas sweep clean over us, and we pitch and roll tremendously. The Aid is reached in time, however, and the poor creatures taken on board; this is nearly as difficult a matter as getting them into the boat was; but at length it is accomplished; and though the rolled-up blanket has again a narrow escape, it also manages to get safe aboard, and its occupant is safely secured by the thankful mother. Two more voyages, and all the emigrants are on board the Aid. In taking you thus to the rescue of a ship by the Ramsgate Lifeboat, I think you must have attained some idea of what these boats do. I have shown you the real work of a particular night, and taken you to the real rescue of a ship; that same night, later another ship's crew were saved by the same boat, but the particulars of this second rescue I must leave to your own imagination. Let me now give you a few particulars as to the good done in the year by these boats. During last year the Royal National Life-boat Institution, under whose management all these life-boats are, spent £29,557 on the life-boat establishments in Great Britain and Ireland, during which time they rescued 1,094 lives. They have under their supervision a fleet of 186 life-boats, on the building and maintenance of which £191,721 has been spent. Since the institution was formed, 17,000 lives have been saved by its means. Is it not a noble institution? Will you think of it and its work sometimes, and try to interest others in it? You may not be able to help it much yourself, but you may help it a little ; pencè, if many give them, soon grow to pounds. And what a pleasure it will be to you some night, when you hear the wind outside blowing hard, and telling of rough weather for our sailors on the sea, to think you have done what you could to assist in saving life, and that perhaps the very life-boat which you helped to buy is even then doing its brave work, and carrying some rescued ones to a place of safety! A life-boat with all its equipments, travelling carriage, house, &c., costs about £700; and when we think how great an extent of coast they have to watch over, more than 7,000 miles in all, we must see that even 186 is but a small number. There would be plenty of work for twice as many boats, with such frequent storms as we have in England. If we have not much power, let us at least use what we have, and bestir ourselves a little, so that some increase may be made in the number of these best of life-pre servers. HUGH MILLER; THE BOYHOOD OF A GEOLOGIST. I HAD a very pleasant playmate, who, though he was my junior by about a twelvemonth, and shorter by about half a head, was a diligent boy in even the grammar school, in which boys were so rarely diligent, and, for his years, a thoroughly sensible one, without a grain of the dreamer in his composition. I succeeded, however, notwithstanding his sobriety, in infecting him thoroughly with my peculiar tastes, and learned to love him very much, partly because he doubled my amusements by sharing in them, and partly, I dare say on the principle on which Mahomet preferred his old wife to his young one-because "he believed in me." Devoted to him as Caliban in the "Tempest" to his friend Trinculo,— "I showed him the best springs, I plucked him berries, His curiosity on one occasion was largely excited by my description |
