of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise. This circumstance is alluded to in the first stanza of the following poem.

BEFORE I see another day,

O let my body die away!

In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
The stars were mingled with my dreams;
In rustling conflict, through the skies,
I heard and saw the flashes drive;
And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive.
Before I see another day,
O let my body die away

My fire is dead: it knew no pain:
Yet is it dead, and I remain.
All stiff with ice the ashes lie,
And they are dead, and I will die.
When I was well, I wished to live,

For clothes, for warmth, for food and fire;
But they to me no joy can give,
No pleasure now, and no desire.

Then here contented will I lie!

Alone I cannot fear to die.

Alas! ye might have dragged me on

Another day, a single one!

Too soon I yielded to despair;

Why did ye listen to my prayer

?

When ye were gone my limbs were stronger;
And O how grievously I rue

That afterwards, a little longer,

My friends, I did not follow you!
For strong and without pain I lay,
My friends, when ye were gone away.

My child they gave thee to another,
A woman who was not thy mother.
When from my arms my babe they took,
On me how strangely did he look!

Through his whole body something ran,
A most strange working did I see;
As if he strove to be a man,

That he might pull the sledge for me.
And then he stretched his arms, how wild!
O mercy! like a helpless child.

My little joy my little pride!

In two days more I must have died.
Then do not weep and grieve for me;
I feel I must have died with thee.
O wind, that o'er my heart art flying
The way my friends their course did bend,
I should not feel the pain of dying,

Could I with thee a message send!
Too soon, my friends, ye went away;
For I had many things to say.

I'll follow you across the snow;
Ye travel heavily and slow;
In spite of all my weary pain,
I'll look upon your tents again.
My fire is dead, and snowy white

The water which beside it stood;
The wolf has come to me to-night,
And he has stolen away my food.
Forever left alone am I:

Then wherefore should I fear to die?

LESSON LXXX.

An Economical Project.-DR. FRANKLIN.

The following article was written by Dr. Franklin, in Paris. A livre tournois is worth about eighteen cents, and a louis, about four dollars and thirty cents.

I was the other evening in a grand company, where the new lamp of Messrs. Quinquet and Lange was introduced, and much admired for its splendor; but a general inquiry was made, whether the oil it consumed was not in proportion to the light it afforded, in which case there

would be no saving in the use of it. No one present could satisfy us in that point, which all agreed ought to be known, it being a very desirable thing to lessen, if possible, the expense of lighting our apartments, when every other article of family expense was so much augmented.

I was pleased to see this general concern for economy, for I love economy exceedingly.

I went home, and to bed, three or four hours after midnight, with my head full of the subject. An accidental, sudden noise waked me about six in the morning, when I was surprised to find my room filled with light; and I imagined, at first, that a number of those lamps had been brought into it: but, rubbing my eyes, I perceived the light came in at the windows. I got up and looked out, to see what might be the occasion of it, when I saw the sun just rising above the horizon, from whence he poured his rays plentifully into my chamber, my domestic having negligently omitted, the preceding evening, to close the shutters.

I looked at my watch, which goes very well, and found that it was but six o'clock; and still thinking it something extraordinary that the sun should rise so early, I looked into the almanac, where I found it to be the hour given for his rising on that day. I looked forward, too, and found he was to rise still earlier every day till towards the end of June; and that at no time in the year he retarded his rising so long as till eight o'clock. My readers who, with me, have never seen any signs of sunshine before noon, and seldom regard the astronomical part of the almanac, will be as much astonished as I was, when they hear of his rising so early; and especially when I assure them that he gives light as soon as he rises. I am convinced of this. I am certain of my fact. One cannot be more certain of any fact. I saw it with my own eyes. And, having repeated this observation the three following mornings, I found always precisely the same result.

Yet so it happens, that when I speak of this discovery to others, I can easily perceive, by their countenances, though they forbear expressing it in words, that they do not quite believe me. One, indeed, who is a learned natural philosopher, has assured me that I must certainly be mistaken as to the circumstance of the light coming

into my room; for, it being well known, as he says, that there could be no light abroad at that hour, it follows that none could enter from without; and that, of consequence, my windows, being accidentally left open, instead of letting in the light, had only served to let out the darkness; and he used many ingenious arguments to show me how I might, by that means, have been deceived. I own that he puzzled me a little, but he did not satisfy me; and the subsequent observations I made, as above mentioned, confirmed me in my first opinion.

This event has given rise, in my mind, to several serious and important reflections. I considered that, if I had not been awakened so early in the morning, I should have slept six hours longer by the light of the sun, and in exchange have lived six hours the following night by candle-light; and the latter being a much more expensive light than the former, my love of economy induced me to muster up what little arithmetic I was master of, and to make some calculations, which I shall give you, after observing that utility is, in my opinion, the test of value in matters of invention, and that a discovery which can be applied to no use, or is not good for something, is good for nothing.

I took, for the basis of my calculation, the supposition that there are one hundred thousand families in Paris, and that these families consume in the night half a pound of candles per hour. I think this is a moderate allowance, taking one family with another; for though I believe some consume less, I know that many consume a great deal more. Then, estimating seven hours per day as the medium quantity between the time of the sun's rising and ours, he rising, during the six following months, from six to eight hours before noon, and there being seven hours, of course, per night, in which we burn candles, the account will stand thus:

In the six months between the twentieth of March and the twentieth of September, there are nights, one hundred and eighty-three; hours of each night in which we burn candles, seven; multiplication gives for the total number of hours, one thousand two hundred and eighty-one; these one thousand two hundred and eighty-one hours, multiplied by one hundred thousand, the number of families, give one hundred twenty-eight millions and one hundred

thousand; one hundred twenty-eight millions and one hundred thousand hours spent at Paris by candle-light, which, at half a pound of wax and tallow per hour, gives the weight of sixty-four millions and fifty thousand; sixtyfour millions and fifty thousand of pounds, which, estimating the whole at the medium price of thirty sols the pound, makes the sum of ninety-six millions and seventy-five thousand livres tournois.

An immense sum! that the city of Paris might save every year, by the economy of using sunshine instead of candles.

If it should be said that people are apt to be obstinately attached to old customs, and that it will be difficult to induce them to rise before noon, consequently my discovery can be of little use-I answer, Never despair. I believe all who have common sense, as soon as they have learned from this paper that it is daylight when the sun rises, will contrive to rise with him; and, to compel the rest, I would propose the following regulations :—

First. Let a tax be laid, of a louis per window, on every window that is provided with shutters to keep out the light of the sun.

Second. Let the same salutary operation of police be made use of to prevent our burning candles, that inclined us last winter to be more economical in burning wood; that is, let guards be placed in the shops of the wax and tallow-chandlers, and no family be permitted to be supplied with more than one pound of candles per week.

Third. Let guards also be posted to stop all the coaches, &c. that would pass the streets after sunset, except those of physicians and surgeons.

Fourth. Every morning, as soon as the sun rises, let all the bells in every church be set ringing; and, if that is not sufficient, let cannon be fired in every street, to wake the sluggards effectually, and make them open their eyes to see their true interest.

All the difficulty will be in the first two or three days: after which the reformation will be as natural and easy as the present irregularity. Oblige a man to rise at four in the morning, and it is more than probable he shall go willingly to bed at eight in the evening; and, having had eight hours sleep, he will rise more willingly at four the