the trees, or to hang on the branch to which it clings for hours without fatigue. Two young are generally produced at a birth, for which the pendent body of the parent forms an admirable cradle. The membrane, by means of which they flit from tree to tree, is covered with short, close-set hair, which distinguishes them at once from the bats, in whom this membrane is always bare.

A BATTLE-FIELD.

still dreaming of the charge in which he met his wound, and the thoughts of home that flashed upon the heart as it seemed to commit that heart to a moment's oblivion of all else. Then comes the first dawn of the hope that life may be spared; the view of horrid objects passed-hope of life growing stronger, but with it now the dread of some operation to be undergonethe sound of guns still heard, begetting a feverish, impatient desire to know the result of the battle. Again, a partial waking up at the voice of the surgeon; he and his attendants seen as through a mist; the

the many heaped-up masses of dead moved strangely by the living-maimed among them, showing the points where the deadly strife had been the most severe; the commingling of uniforms of friends and foes, as both lie scattered on the ground on which they fell; the groups surrounding this and that individual sufferer, hearing his last words, giving to him the last drops of water which will ever moisten his lips upon earth. The stretchers, borne from various points, each carrying some officer or private soldier.

though they spoke in whispers; the still further rousing of the mind as the cordial administered begins to take effect; the voice of a comrade or friend lying close by, himself wounded, yet speaking to cheer; the operation borne bravely, and felt the less, as it gives promise of a life just now seemingly lost to hope; through it all, fresh news ever arriving from amid the din of the strife still raging-all this has a life, and motion, and spirit in it which mocks the real grave horror of the

scene.

It

molecule, the nucleus of each figure. When so spread over the surface of the ground they have a very beautiful effect. At about the same temperature, and mixed with those described, are crystals of an arborescent form, which are somewhat smaller, less opaque, but more complex in structure than the others. These are to be seen at a less distance from the eye, and as received upon a dark surface, and exhibit with great perfection and delicacy minute representations of leaves and branches, many of which may be compared to the beautiful pinnæ of the lady fern. When viewed through a magnifying glass, they are found likewise to be composed of minute molecules of snow. is doubtful whether microscopic examination reveals additional beauties in this order of snow-crystals-it serves rather to reveal the deficiency of crystalline formation which has sent them down, in the character of an intermediate formation between the flake of snow and the more perfect order of crystals of which we will now speak. Many of these are very minute, and are chiefly to be distinguished by their glistening like particles of glass, and may be briefly divided into three classes. The first and least regular of these are arborescent, with six radii, and evidently of the same order of formation with the last, but more highly crystallized, and these have no other nucleus than the crossing and recrossing of the spiculæ. They are exceedingly beautiful, whether as exhibited to the eye or viewed through a lens; through the center of each leaflet (to borrow a word from the botanist) runs a delicate spike, which serves as an attachment to the primary rays. The rounding of the leaves is very perfect; but their arrangement and relative position is not always regular, at the same time they are invariably placed at an angle of 60°. But the highest order of crystals is that in which curved lines are exchanged for planes and angles; and the entire figure, by the aid of a high power, may be resolved into a combination of prisms, or set upon and around a primitive arrangement of radii.

An English scientific gentleman writes that on the morning of February 8th last, with a temperature of from 290 to 310 throughout the day, an immense number of very complex and perfect crystals were to be observed. On this morning thin VOL. VII.-28

plates of ice, of hexagonal form, fell in abundance. From eight to nine o'clock A. M. they were in nearly equal numbers with the snow-flakes, which drifted down with great rapidity. From nine to ten A. M. a remarkable variation in their figure was to be observed. The plain hexagonal figure became the nucleus of an order of forms composed of prisms, arranged around the six angles of the original figure; and on this morning, for the first time, I observed a series of inner markings within the crystals, which betokened a high degree of crystallization, and which I had only previously observed in the drawings of Dr. Scoresby of the crystals seen by him in the Arctic seas. Up to midday I observed a large variety of combinations-the difference chiefly consisting in the different forms of the prisms, their method of grouping, and the number and arrangement of the inner markings. From noon to half-past twelve I made drawings of a few specimens, in which the most complex of the figures I have described served as the nucleus of an arrangement of a far higher and more complex order than commonly to be observed; from the nucleus diverged spiculæ, clubbed at the extreme end with an elongated prism, while on either side of the spicule were arranged prisms at an angle of 60°, resembling in their disposition the pinnæ of a fern. Within each prism were duplex and triplex markings of great delicacy, which communicated to the specimens, as viewed through a lens of high power, an exquisite degree of finish. Intermediate between the six spiculæ, so laden, were six other rays clubbed with prisms. In one variety I observed these were elongated to very graceful proportions, while in another they were clubbed to almost an oval figure. In one specimen that came beneath my careful observation, two of the spiculæ considerably exceeded the remainder in length, and remains an exception to my experience. From twelve till toward four o'clock P. M. the number of crystals much diminished; but the snow during the interval fell faster and more thickly, and at four was drifting in all directions, and was a storm. About this time the crystals commenced falling in greater numbers, but their character was altered; the six-sided figures of the morning had almost disappeared, and were exchanged for those of arborescent form, highly

crystallized; by candle-light they glistened in the snow as the grains of mica in a piece of granite.

The last of the three classes I have grouped together as belonging to the higher stages of crystallization are those which combine a nucleus of prisms, with an arborescent and prismatic arrangement of rays. This is an extremely beautiful order, and on this day, (February 13,) while I am writing, is drifting in large numbers, unaccompanied by flakes. In the greater number of these specimens that I have examined, the nucleus exhibits a very regular and complex arrangement of prisms. The primary figure, composed of six rays, is studded with prisms for half or a third of the way up, when the more crystalline formation gives way to the arborescent, (or, as I am led to imagine, less perfect stage of crystallization,) and the ray is completed with a crown of leaves, which, composed of granulated portions of snow, are distinguished by an opaque and intense white. They are of considerable size, and falling in numbers both singly and together, with a temperature of from 260 to 290. Interspersed here and there with them are a few of very complete structure.

Thus far I have endeavored, for the sake of brevity, to classify into a few distinct orders the almost numberless varieties of crystals; but in each class there are so many individual varieties, that I despair of conveying to you any adequate idea of the infinity of changes wrought in these figures in virtue of the conditions operating upon their formation, of which we know so little.

For the information of those who would carefully observe snow-crystals, I may remark that my own plan of procedure is to expose a thick surface of plate-glass on the outer side of the window, resting on the ledge. Seated within the room, at the open window, I am enabled, with comparative comfort and at my leisure, to make my drawings and record my observations, the accuracy of which I am able to verify to my satisfaction, as the crystal received upon the cold surface of the glass, itself several degrees below freezing, remains a sufficient length of time for the requirements of the observer. In many cases it becomes frozen to the glass, and is thus secured from the influence of the wind, which not unfrequently snatches

away some most intricate form from the desiring eye of the observer.

It is worth recording, that in two instances I have observed a change in the figure of the crystal on being deposited on the receiving surface of the glass. On both these occasions I had previously blown away the accumulation of snow, and my breath had warmed the glass, and at the same time left a deposit of moisture. I observed a crystal change the form in which it had descended instantaneously for another on touching the glass, with the same movement and rapidity with which the figures in the kaleidoscope are seen to change. In both cases the crystals were quickly dissolved upon the warm glass, and I lost the opportunity of ascertaining the nature of the change which had been effected in the original figure. I forbear at present to put forward any theory respecting their formation and variety, at the same time it is doubtless attributable to the different strata of the atmosphere, and the differing intensities of cold.

[For the National Magazine.]

the early autumn, and in the distant woods the winds were making that moaning

She never said she had come for anything, or expected anything; but the smile and eager look with which she always met Luther's father would presently fade quite away, and, taking his hand, she would walk beside him, looking on the ground, and speaking not a word. If asked what the matter was, she would simply say, "Nothing," and that was all. The color began to fade in her cheeks, except now and then when they flushed with the old brightness at the thought of Luther's constancy, or with her own shame for indulging a doubt. Were there not a thousand reasons for his silence-the hurry and confusion of settlement, and all the engrossing occupations of a new life's beginning. She had been foolishly exacting, and would wait her lover's leisure and pleasure more patiently. Then the fearful thought would come that he might be ill, for love is of all passions most tormenting; and in measuring the strength of his attachment by her own, she could not by any possibility reconcile herself to the silence. She could not have thus kept him waiting, if life and liberty were hers, no matter what else intervened. Then would come the thought of forgetfulness and desertion, and the mental and bodily prostration would be followed by the bitter energy of reacting despair; but this came at moments and at intervals, and for the most part she felt that some dreadful calamity had befallen her darling; for, underlying all possibilities and probabilities, was the deep-seated conviction that, whatever her sufferings, he had the worst of it.

One week-two weeks-ten days-nearly two weeks were gone. The catydids in the top of the high pear-tree that grew near the door were noisily welcoming in

summer is gone: the sunshine was lessening on the hills, and the gladness in Myrie's heart was lessening like it. She had scarcely spoken all day, and yet she was not ill, she said, nor sad; and to every inquiry as to her disaffection, the reply was, "Nothing, nothing."

Mrs. Brisbane, kind, motherly soul, put down her sewing more than once, and laying her cool, moist hands on the girl's forehead, besought her to lie down for a little while-to taste of cordial, or to walk among the late garden flowers, and try to steal from their beauty some color for her cheeks.

Myrie's eyes would fill with tears; but she would say she was very well and very happy, and remain quietly gazing away across the fading woods and hill-tops-she herself knew not where. It was not the cordial, nor the walk, nor the bodily rest she required. Poor Myrie!

She thought now, as the sun went down, she was watching the fading, light and the motion of the leaves, and the darting hither and thither of the night-hawks that were come out an hour before their time; but all the time her eyes kept gazing in one direction; and if the look fixed itself nowhere, it took in nearly all the dusty length of the road till it wound down among the hills beyond the village, where the one spire, beautifully white, held up its glittering cross. She wondered how Mrs. Brisbane smiled so cheerfully, and went about the house possessing her soul in peacehow could she be so calm and fearless of harm! but saying lightly, when she spoke of Luther, that it was enough, like the boy, to remember them only when he needed them.

The sun went down, and the owl hooted dismally, as if in mockery of all gayer sounds, and still Myrie kept the old position.

She would not go to the gate even to meet her guardian that night; she was trying to believe she was no longer hopefully expectant, as if she could shut her heart from her heart. Foolish girl! Many hills were yet between them when she saw him, and though, to fortify herself against disappointment, she told her soul over and over that he would not have any letter-and if he had, it would not be for her-the first approaching footfalls made