teeth. But observe his colouring, in particular, how beautiful-the dusky olive green of his back, how gracefully it shades off into mottled white, and green. and yellow, until the eye rests upon a surface like burnished silver. But what's that? There is a scar on his nose! It is the noble old pike, captured at last. Such are the pastimes of the angler. His healthfu avocation brings him in contact with many beautiful things; Nature's living page lies open before him, and he is introduced to some of her fairest and loveliest scenes. THE MAIDEN AUNT.1 beyond the weeds. The whole neighbourhood teems | ample jaws which exhibit their rows of sharp serrated with anecdotes of him; and he has baffled the best fishermen of the district-even the old pensioner, who having returned to these rural scenes to spend the remainder of his days in talking over battles and sieges, has taken to piscatory pursuits under the able tuition of Isaac Walton. Many a fire-side story is told of this old pike, how he attempted to seize a village maid by the heel, when she one day paddled too far into the stream to wash her Sunday frock; how the nose of Farmer Whitethorn's old mare was bit when Giles Hobnail took her one morning to water; how he once, in winter, made a spring at his prey, but, overshooting his mark, was nearly left floundering on a wide ridge of unbroken ice; how he has always been biting and snapping at the ducks and their brood when crossing the river, pulling some under water, and devouring others. The only successful opponent he ever had amongst the finny tribes, was now and then a solitary perch. It happened one day, that a fine old perch, who had strayed from his companions, had the temerity to go near our hero's hole in quest of a lob-worm which an old crow had dropped from her beak into the stream whilst passing overhead. Our friend, lying close in under the bank, fixed his piercing eyes upon the old perch, anticipating a savoury repast. He quietly calculated the distance, and glided stealthily along at length he darted, open-mouthed, at his prey; but he met with a reception upon which he had not calculated. The instinct of the perch told him an enemy was near, and he prepared for action: erecting the strong and sharply-pointed spines of the dorsal fin, which he held fixed with his accustomed muscular power, he averted the threatened peril, and thus set the bold tyrant at defiance. But to our sport. The breeze has freshened and rippled the waters; the sky is fleckered with clouds. That fine plump and lively roach, with his dark green back and silvery sides, will be tempting; we are much mistaken if it do not prove irresistible. The bait drops gently into the stream near the well-known haunts of the old pike. It sinks gradually in the deep waterwe raise it slowly to the surface; now we play it by those bulrushes-now under this bush-then under the stump of that old tree. There a pike has just made his appearance-in piscatory phrase, "we have got a rise." Now raise the bait higher, until you see it glitter-play it gently down the stream, and then gently upwards. There he has moved again-he thinks the dead bait a living fish-a bright flash in the water, and he has seized the bait with prodigious force. Cr-e-e-k-e-cr-e-e-k-e goes the reel. What music is there in that sound! Away goes the line-the monster has got the bait across his ample jaws, and he breasts the stream. Is it the fine old pike! There steady give him line-more line-more still-he is off to his fa- What a noble fellow he weighs at least twenty-five pounds-three pounds more than the pike caught by Count D'Orsay last year in Derbyshire. How nature has here again lavished her choicest colouring upon this inhabitant of the deep! Mark his long and symmetrical form, as he lies at our feet, extending those THURSDAY evening came, and I was not disappointed in Edith's appearance. The splendour of her beary that she should be unconscious, and to which perhaps produced a sensation of which it was scarcely possib!. the deep blush which burned on her cheeks and ler double radiancy to her eyes, might be attributed. Her Lord Vaughan's attentions to her with manifest satis brother was in ecstasies, and watched the progress of faction. I was in a boudoir which had been metamor phosed into a conservatory for the evening, making Everard-among whose sins of omission, that of never some very small talk about the flowers for Captain dancing may be reckoned-when Kinnaird approached He came evidently to be complimented on his sister's appearance; but he was in too great a hurry to wait for us to begin the subject, so he started with a leading question, cautiously suggestive. us. "Edith looks well to-night, does she not?" said he. I answered, as I felt, very warmly; but his appealing eye passed to Captain Everard, who, as though it had Kinnaird were ugly or beautiful, made a step forward never before occurred to him to inquire whether M so as to command a view of the dancing-room, and, after a pause of provokingly quiet consideration, replied"Yes; Miss Kinnaird is certainly very handsome." "You don't admire that style," said Frank, scarcely able to conceal his chagrin. "Indeed I do," returned Everard, "I admire all styles." "The most unsatisfactory answer you could possibly have made !" cried I. "I am unfortunate," observed he with a half-smile. "But here comes a gentleman, whose open raptures are likely to give more satisfaction than my quiet approval. Unhappily you know--or perhaps happily for myself I am not made of inflammable materials." As he spoke, the polka broke up, and Lord Vaughan sauntered into the conservatory with Edith leaning on his arm. They were in animated conversation, and came direct to us, the lady appealing to me with a mixture of playfulness and earnest to induce her partner to restore some flowers which he had stolen from her bouquet, while he on his part was manifestly determined to retain them. I could not make out whether Miss Kinnaird was pleased or annoyed at her companion's broadly-expressed devotion, but she wound up her oration by suddenly turning to Captain Everard, (who had taken no part in the discussion, though Frank and I had interested ourselves in it as in duty bound, and saying-- "I am only asking for justice. Why do you look so satirical?" did look satirical," said he, "I suppose it was because He roused himself to answer the challenge. "If I I was amused at the modesty of your request. You only asked for justice!" "Well," she replied, "and could I ask for less!" (1) Continued from page 332. "Could you hope for more?" answered he, "Nay, could even your sanguine imagination hope for so much? I won't say that justice is a rare phenomenon in this world, because that would imply that it is occasionally to be met with." "And do you mean to say," cried Lord Vaughan, in utter surprise," that it is never to be met with. Really this is a most extraordinary idea." "It is not in reality so unwelcome as it seems at first sight," rejoined Everard, quietly. "Justicewhich is all Miss Kinnaird asks for, or needs," he added, with a bow, as if the necessity of the compliment had suddenly occurred to him, "would be to many people an object of fear rather than hope." And you think no one is ever really just to another," said Edith, thoughtfully, as though she had been pondering his words. "I do indeed," he replied, "A man feels too much to be really just-a woman, too little.” "Your paradox is for once true," cried Edith with spirit. "A man does always feel his own wrongs very keenly, while a woman is apt to overlook hers, or ready to forgive them." "Your ingenuity deserves the compliment of submission," answered he, "so I resign my arms." "You are wise every way," rejoined Edith more gravely than was her wont, "for whether you win or lose, the contest is scarcely suited to a ball-room. So I will leave you to your misanthropy, and try whether it be possible to force a passage into the ice-room." Lord Vaughan was only too happy to comply with the suggestion contained in her last words, and they moved away. Miss Kinnaird's praise of the ball, on the following morning, was rather more languid than I had expected, but I suppose this might fairly be attributed to fatigue. * * * * * | Edith and her lover was rapidly assuming a tender character on both sides; indeed, the idea that the offer had been already made and accepted, but was for some reason concealed, had more than once occurred to me. I could not understand it, and I did not affect to do so. "Edith's manner has entirely misled me," said I, "and I fear she has been unintentionally misleading Lord Vaughan. I hope they did not part in bitterness." "I hope not," was his reply. "She has not a particle of the coquette in her composition, and I conclude that the encouragement which she has unwittingly given arose from her consciousness of her own indifference, and her unconsciousness of any warmer feeling in him. Were she two years older I should fancy that her affections were pre-engaged-but, as it is, that is quite impossible-so it is altogether a mystery." Nothing more entirely amazes and bewilders a man than the discovery that a woman who is disengaged has refused an unobjectionable offer. It is the greatest trial of faith to which he can be subjected; for it jars with all his preconceived ideas, and stands before him as a fact for which there is actually no place in his system, and in order to account for which the system itself must undergo a radical change. Few, however, are candid enough for this; such occurrences generally form a fresh illustration of the German aphorism, so much the worse for the facts," and receive a shape or a colour from the mind of the observer which so alters them as to enable him to explain them satisfactorily to himself. But to return. My short conversation with Captain Kinnaird was succeeded by that grave and awkward silence which commonly occurs between two persons who have the same unpleasing theme to occupy their thoughts, and do not in the least know what to say to each other about it. This was interrupted by Captain Everard, whom we had both forgotten, but who now came forward, and addressed his friend somewhat hurriedly, Two months have passed since I wrote the last sentence, and I resume my pen to recount the occurrences of the closing week of the period, which has been anything but uneventful. Kinnaird entered the drawing-I room where I was at work, and Captain Everard reading in a corner. His countenance was expressive of business, and that not of an agreeable kind; and he addressed me immediately, either overlooking or disregarding his friend's presence. "I have been walking with Edith, Miss Forde. Do you know what has happened?" "I have not seen her since breakfast," cried I. "What is the matter?" "Why nothing to break one's heart about, certainly," he replied, "but I own I am a good deal disappointed. Lord Vaughan has offered to her." "And does that disappoint you?" exclaimed I. "I have only been surprised that it has not happened sooner. May I go and wish her joy?" "As long as you don't wish him joy," said Kinnaird, "it matters very little what you say to her. She has refused him." "Yes," he reiterated, "she has refused him pointblank. I can't quite make her out about it; but one thing is very clear, that she is not to be shaken. The marriage would have been so agreeable to me in every way, that I own I had rather set my heart upon it; but her determination was so unhesitating that I could scarcely attempt to dispute it; and you know, to speak common sense, and put romance out of the question, Edith is so young and so pretty that she may very well afford to wait a year or two before she makes her choice." There was no questioning the truth of this assertion; still he was evidently disappointed, and I could not but sympathise with his feelings. I too had been indulging in anticipations and hopes, and it was not agreeable to have them annihilated when I least expected it. I had fancied that the intimacy between "Kinnaird, have you any commands for London? am sorry to say I'm obliged to be off on very short notice." "Obliged to be off!" cried Frank, in astonishment. "Why Everard, are you mad?" "I don't see any proof of insanity in it," returned Everard, colouring immoderately; "I have letters which -in short, it don't admit of delay-and go I must." "I hope you have not received bad news, Captain Everard?" said I, civilly. "No, I thank you," rejoined he,-"only urgent business." "But Everard!" cried Kinnaird, who was still gazing at him in silent wonder. "My dear fellow, there's no use in talking about it. I am sorry to be obliged to close my visit so abruptly; but I do assure you-" "This won't do," interrupted Frank, seizing him by the arm; "scarcely an hour ago you were talking of your plans here for the next six weeks; and, as for your being summoned away by a letter, I wonder you are not ashamed to offer me such an excuse. You know very well there has been no post since the morning. Everard, what does this mean? It is not friendly, it is not fair. Why do you change colour so? What has happened? Has anything offended you? Have you quarrelled with anybody?" Captain Everard was absolutely silent, and seemed to be overpowered by an embarrassment as unaccountable as it was unusual. After a moment's pause, Kinnaird proceeded with increased energy. "I must have an explanation. You have altered your plans since I came into this room. It is not possible that Edith's refusal of Lord Vaughan can have affected you- Everard? Is it possible that Edith-" He came to a pause here, in the series of breathless and bewildered questions which he had poured forth so rapidly that he scarcely seemed to comprehend them himself. Captain Everard, releasing himself from his | cessively surprised. Pray allow me to introducegrasp, answered in a low, quick voice, as he moved away It would have been more generous, Frank, to leave the subject untouched. I expected that your sister's engagement to Lord Vaughan would have been declared now that I find she has refused him, I feel that I had better go. Let us say no more about it." "Do you mean to tell me that you love Edith?” cried Frank, following him. "I have been in constant intercourse with her for more than two months; is not that answer enough?" returned his friend. "But it is unnecessary for you to speak," he added, proudly, "you cannot be more fully conscious than I am of the impossibility-" "My dearest Philip!" exclaimed Kinnaird, shaking him by both hands, and well nigh embracing him in his transport; "this is what I wished and hoped; but you were so impracticably cold, that I was forced to give up the idea. Edith and you were made for each other, and I want nothing but your union to make me the happiest fellow alive. What absurd scruple has kept you silent? Don't stare at me, man, as if your senses had taken leave of you! From the first moment you became my friend, my pet vision has been the thought of bringing you and my sister together, if only she should grow up worthy of you; and I rather think you won't deny that the condition is fulfilled. Where is Captain Everard- Mr. Owen Forde." Captain Everard had risen from his seat, as soon as he became aware of the entrance of a stranger; he gave Owen bow for bow with due courtesy, but, apparently quite unable to compel himself to the ordinary civilities consequent on an introduction, murmured something about an imaginary appointment, and walked straight out of the room. "Pray, who may Captain Everard be!" inquired Owen, "and, pray, where is my fair ward!" "Where, indeed "thought I. What a pair of questions' I grew desperate, yet was my position so ludicrous that I could almost have laughed. I could not tell Owen what had happened, or rather what was happening, for many reasons-two of which were that I understood it very imperfectly myself, and that I did not know whether Edith would accept or refuse Everard. In the latter case it would certainly be the best policy to say nothing whatever about it. Yet in my heart I felt almost certain that she would accept him-a sudden instinct seemed to have come upon me, and I marveled at my own previous blindness. Had I answered Owen's two questions with plain sincerity, I might have said,"Who is Captain Everard?-A penniless soldier' Where is your ward-In the garden accepting him I believe Owen would have screamed! And yet what was I to do? All this while it might be, and probably was, taking place, and nothing could be done to prevent it. Hurriedly reviewing the circumstances of all partis "Frank! Frank!" cried Everard, vainly attempting and trying to conceal my perturbation from Owens to detain him as he darted from the room,surprised and inquiring eye, I resolved to get rid of "For heaven's sake, Captain Kinnaird, consider!"-him as quickly as possible, and to rush into the garden exclaimed I, finding my tongue at last, and running after him in an absolute fever of alarm. But it availed not; he had seen Edith on the lawn, and had joined her before I got farther than the steps of the drawingroom window. I saw him put his arin round her waist, and lead her away. Never was a hapless chaperon more utterly confounded. I returned slowly into the apartment, where I found Everard sitting, his face hidden in his hands, Edith?" "And this," murmured he, as I approached,-speaking, however, to himself, not to me," and this is the man I thought shallow-hearted- this the world which-oh, folly and presumption !" The broken sentences were most expressive, and I stood contemplating him in silence, and involuntarily and unconsciously giving him all my sympathy, and losing sight altogether of propriety, policy, wisdom, my own outraged dignity, and Owen, who having entered the room unperceived, speedily challenged my attention by saying, Well, Peggy have you not a word to say to me?" If a thunderbolt had fallen at my feet (to use an expression not uncommon in modern novels, the applicability of which I will not pause to discuss)—if a thunderbolt had fallen at my feet, I could not have experienced greater terror or amazement. Scarcely retain ing the command of my senses, I turned to him, exclaiming "Gracious Heavens! Owen! what has brought you here?" "An affectionate reception, truly," returned he, apparently a little amazed," I am sorry that my sudden apparition should disturb the even tenor of your housekeeping. I told you I would run down for a week or two, if I could; and yesterday I got a put off from Livingston, to whom I was going for the next fortnight: so, not conceiving it necessary to stand on much ceremony with you, I put myself into the mail last night-and here I am. One would almost fancy," added he, lowering his voice, with an expression of dry humour, “that I had interrupted a very interesting tête-à-tête.” "Of course I am delighted to see you," said I, recovering as well as I could from my bewilderment, and wishing him in the Queen's Bench, "only I was so ex and obtain an interview with Miss Kinnaird, if possible. before she should see Captain Everard. So I answered my brother as indifferently as I could. "He is a friend of Captain Kinnaird's, and is now staying with him. But, my dear Owen," ringing the bel “you must be tired to death, and chilled to an icicle Light a fire directly in the bay-windowed bedroom,” I continued, addressing the servant who obeyed my summons," get some hot water, and then let luncheon be ready for Mr. Forde. While you are making your self comfortable, Owen, I will find Edith, and prepare her for the formidable introduction. I think she is walking in the garden." "With Lord Vaughan, I hope," observed Owen, complacently. Oh, with what compunction did I call to mind the triumphant letter which I had dispatched to Owen only a week ago, containing a rose-coloured description of Lord Vaughan and his attentions! "I don't know," was my insincere rejoinder, and, as my eyes involuntary wandered to the window, I fancied I could detect Edith form in the shrubbery, on the further side of the lawn | Was she alone? "I hope," continued Owen, lowering his voice to a confidential tone, "I hope, my dear Peggy, that affair is progressing as favourably as when you last wrote. Few things could give me more unmixed satisfaction. I think it quite a case in which a very short engagement might be permitted, and I should not wonder if, instead of troubling Lady Frances with the chaperonage of an unfledged débutante, I shall have to request her to under take the presentation of a bride-a much pleasanter office, I take it. I shall win the lover's heart by my readiness to shorten his probation, and, between our selves, I don't know any house that would afford me such good head quarters as his, during my London visit. The experienced Lady Frances herself couldn't have proved a more judicious chaperon than you, my unsophiscated sister. Je vous en fais mes complimens. After all, you women have a prodigious advantage over us in that respect your wit is inborn, and you don't require an apprenticeship to society to teach you how to use it. But what are you stretching your neck, and straining your eyes, at the window for my dear Peggy, I do be lieve you have not heard a word I have been saying. | nothing but soothe and sympathise; gradually I tried What is the matter?" No! Miss Kinnaird was not alone-and her companion was at least a head taller than Frank! Could I be expected to hear what Owen was saying? He reiterated his query-"What on earth is the matter?" "Oh nothing," cried I, "I was merely looking for Edith. I perfectly agree with you-nothing can be more judicious." "Than what?" demanded Owen. "I really must go for Edith," exclaimed I. "Owen, your luncheon will be ready directly." And out of the room I ran, fairly unable to endure it any longer. As I closed the door, I heard Owen's natural ejaculation, Very unaccountable, really!" Almost on the threshold I met Captain Kinnaird, ho, taking both my hands, thus greeted me, "Congratulate me, my dear Miss Forde! I'm afraid I didn't Tharage the matter quite so delicately as I ought to have done or as it would have been managed, had I left it in your hands—but all's well that ends well, you know, and the end of this is perfect. They are engaged hand and heart! I've just been guilty of the cruelty, however, of breaking up their tête-à-tête, for Edith was good deal overcome-in fact, altogether, I agitated her excessively- -so now I have sent her to her own room to be quiet, and I rather think it will be best if you will be so kind as to go to her." "But, do you know what you have done, Captain Kinnaird?" answered I; "and what will be the end of t? I have not an idea that Mr. Forde will consent to o unequal a marriage." " Mr. Forde !" Yes; my brother; your sister's guardian." "I'll be hanged if I ever thought of him for one ingle moment!" cried the young man, impatiently stamping his foot. to bring her to the contemplation of possible difficulties; and, at last, with some trepidation, I broke to her the fact of Owen's arrival, and certain disapprobation. It did not produce the effect which I had anticipated. She could scarcely be brought to entertain the idea of Owen as a person to be considered in the matter at all; seemed to regard his consent or refusal with profound indifference; and even, as far as I could gather, appeared to think that three, five, or ten years of delay would interfere but little with her happiness. She was absorbed by one feeling-filled with one idea-namely, that she was beloved; and everything else seemed unreal to her. She heard and understood the words, but they made no impression; there was not room for them in her heart. I verily believe that, had she been told at that moment that she was never to see Everard again, she would scarcely have apprehended it as a misfortune. The consciousness of his love would have seemed to her enough for a lifetime. This, I knew, could not last; but, while it was thus with her, arguments were vain; so, having acquitted my conscience, by informing her of the truth, I did not attempt to stem the tide of her feelings, and had very nearly become as romantic as herself, when a tap at the door recalled me to sublunary affairs. "Come in!" "If you please, ma'am, you are wanted in the drawing room.' The spell was broken; and I went down like a criminal to execution. BOULDER STONES, OR ERRATIC BLOCKS. IN a former number of this Magazine we have shewn that recent investigation and experiment have proved the words of our poet to be literally true, "The glacier's cold and restless mass, "I dare say not," observed I; "but I assure you he s not a person to be trifled with, and I do not see the lightest hope of obtaining his consent. I am afraid you have involved your sister's happiness very rashly. for it has been distinctly shewn, first, that glaciers are What is more, very unfortunately, my brother has usually loaded with parallel heaps of stones, often of great arrived unexpectedly, and is this moment in the draw-size, and extending along their whole length, called moing-room!" He stared in my face in blank discomfiture. I found myself fast losing the tone of rational remonstrance in which I had felt bound to begin the conversation. "I am excessively sorry," said I, answering his looks, for he did not speak a word; "but I really don't see what is to be done. I will go to Edith, and try to prepare her for an interview with her guardian. But I don't see that there is any use in deferring the evil hour; and, if I were you, I would go at once ot Mr. Forde, and open the subject." "Couldn't it be concealed altogether?" suggested he. "She will be of age in three years." "I cannot countenance any such arrangement," returned I, with unwonted resolution. "Just reflect for a moment on the duplicity which it would involve! your sister would be compelled to imply, if not to utter, a falsehood, ten times a day. The more fondly you love her, the more anxiously ought you to avoid placing her in such a position." 46 You are right!" cried he, "and I spoke inconsiderately, as I believe I generally do. Thank you for Your advice. I will go to Mr. Forde!" and, ever as rapid in his movements as in his ideas, before I had he was in the drawing-room. time to answer, I stood still for a moment to collect my thoughts, and then went up stairs to Edith. I found her, as had expected, in a state of great agitation. She hid her face on my shoulder, wept, and spoke in broken sentences of her happiness and her astonishment. It was presumption in her, she said-with the sweet exaggeration of a woman's love, truer than truth-even to think of one so immeasurably her superior; but her devotion must make up for her defects. At first I could do raines; and also that they move steadily onwards with their rocky burden, which they deposit at the sides or termination of the glacier. Here then we have an agent, gentle yet forcible, capable of conveying blocks of any weight, without subjecting them to the friction and wearing away of angular edges, which would be the inevitable result of such transportation by a stream of water. For the effect of a torrent upon the surface of rocky fragments would be proportioned to its power of bearing them along; and the large boulder stones, of which we have now to water, we must by no means class these with such blocks, speak, being angular, and having no mark of attrition by as testify by their roundness of form, the effect of torrents or sea waves. A glacier thus loaded and passing heavily over the surface of a rock, rubs and polishes the plane over which it is carried, leaving also deep undulating grooves and fine scratches upon the boundary rocks, as well as upon the plane beneath. These effects have been observed in many parts of the world where there are now no glaciers; leading some eminent geologists to suppose that glassy plains must formerly have occupied the tracts which are now strewed with gravel and boulders. Two difficulties lie in the way of this supposition, first the theory that hypothesis;-and next, that the commencement of a glacier our earth is gradually cooling, dependent upon the nebular is, of course, always below the line of perpetual snow, and that, according to the present elevation of the Alps, the transported rocks lying above Neufchatel could not have been carried there by its agency. But we have abundant proofs in other parts of the world, that a continual alternation of depression and elevation is going on, and, although we have no means of ascertaining the cer sidence must be always difficult to detect, the movement tainty of the process with respect to the Alps-and subitself tending to conceal all evidence of it-we may well imagine that it takes place with them as with the Cordilleras of South America, the mountains of Norway, and other gigantic chains. It is more easy to suppose that the Alps above the Rhine were once much more elevated than they now are, and that a vast glacier, filling the valley through which that river flows, deposited its accumulation of blocks and debris upon the sides of the Jura chain, than that a wave or deluge, however terrific, can have torn these granite masses from their native bed, in the Val Ferret, to the east of Mont Blanc, carried them a distance of seventy miles, and placed them on a steep, almost precipitous, slope of bare or thinly covered rock," allow ing them to retain their angular forms. It is necessary to notice another theory--which is, that these boulders were transported by blocks of ice carried along by water, at a time when "it is probable that the proportional area of water in Europe was greater, and certain that the productions of the land and water had a more tropical character, at the same time that the snow line descended lower," than at this day. Professor Esmark proves, that formerly glaciers in Norway descended to a lower altitude than at present; and described a glacierlike dike or moraine in latitude 58° 57', as lying close to the level of the sea, in a district where are now found only a few heaps of perpetual snow in the hollows of the mountains. French geologists have also shown from the presence of glacier dikes, and from the polished and scratched surfaces of the rocks, that in the Alps enormous bodies of ice formerly descended even to the border of the Lake of Geneva; much below the line of the present lowest descent. The theory that boulders were transported by floating ice supposes that the space between the Jura and the Alps was an arm of the sea, and that the grooves and striæ were made by ice blocks. But a body of water sufficient to float such ponderous masses must either have been so many ages in vacating the valley, that these marks (if possible to have been thus made,) would have been obliterated by its continued action, or it must have left its bed in consequence of sudden convulsions, which latter supposition is wholly contradicted by the position of the blocks. A convulsion-one or many-sufficient to convert the valley of the Rhone from an area of the sea to dry or bog land-would not have left the blocks of the Jura poised on almost perpendicular steeps, or on slender pinnacles. Leaving the Alps, let us cast a rapid glance over Europe, and see what has been done in other countries by our much disputed agent. The erratic blocks and gravelly diluvium which cover the plain of central Europe, and the steppes of Russia, belong chiefly to the north, and probably owe their origin principally to the Scandinavian mountains: as in many parts of Sweden and Finland long parallel ridges have been observed where there are now no glaciers; while extensive furrows and deep grooves mark the rocks over which they have been transported at the height of 1500 feet above the sea, but never above that altitude. In Russia, boulders are found to which no native place can be assigned in the neighbourhood; in one district, lying upon the top of a ridge 300 feet above the nearest bed of the stone. The block out of which the pedestal for the statue of Peter the Great was formed, in the Isaac square, Petersburgh, was a rolled boulder of red Finland granite, found with others in a bog between Petersburg and Cesterbeck. It was diminished by cutting two-thirds away. It has been suggested that this rock must have been transported to the spot where it was found, before the Gulfs of Finland and Bothnia wore their present features; the supposition of an increased temperature in those regions removes the difficulty. Near Öregrund, in Sweden, the rocks on the beach are ground and polished to such a degree, that it is difficult to walk upon them, and large bodies of ice annually descend from the coast. In Spain, between Salamanca and Fuentes Onores, are terraces 30 feet high on the side of the mountain, Iving east and west, and about three miles from one to the other. These plains lie as high above the sea as any of the most elevated parts of Spain and Portugal except the summits of the barrier mountains. These terraces somewhat resemble the parallel roads of Glenroy in Scotland, but unless we had a more definite description, it cannot be decided whether they be more probably the result of the action of water, or of ice. In Scotland the traces of glacier action are numerous and determinate. The parallel roads of Glenroy, as they are popularly called, require a separate notice. We therefore leave them for the present, and remark, that upon the rocks in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh are furrows and scratches which show the agency of ice. Those near Edinburgh are parallel to each other, extending in a line a little north of west and south of east, that is, in the sure direction as the valley of the estuary; but, both to the eastward and westward, they deviate from this line by more than half a right angle; and on the south-west part of Scotland they have no uniform direction. In the north of Scotland, near Brora, the hills are marked in parallel lines, north-west and south-east. In Stirlingshire rocks are seen marked by long linear scratches; and having a considerable degree of polish. The furrows z scratches are seen near Edinburgh upon the perpendicular rock; the western face of the hills is chiefly marked, whi on the opposite side a long bed of diluvium extends, co sisting of blue clay, with large erratic boulders imbedded in it. These boulders are also marked with parallel line having one direction, which shows that they were held fa whilst drifted across the country, and not rolled over and over like a pebble in a stream. On the western coast of Scotland we have evidences contrary action as regards the elevation of the coast adjoining islands, and, as these are intimately connecte with the existence of glaciers in bygone ages, they worthy our notice. There is such a continuity of structure through the I of Jura, Scarba, and Lunga, that the geological descripta of one would leave little to add respecting the others. dip of all is to the east, and the strata are contin through all these islands, showing that probably they formerly united. The whirlpool of Coryvreckan between Jura and Scarba; it is caused by a sunken pr midal rock, rising with a steep acclivity from the botto which is 6000 feet deep, to within ninety feet of the surta the stream is thus obstructed, and, at a certain state of tide, breaks with great violence. In the south of Ju and north of Isla are trap veins corresponding with ea other; in the sound between these islands is a small islet, called Glass, consisting of trap rock, and the sea rock in the vicinity are all of the same material; but there no great mass of trap in the neighbourhood. There also fragments of porphyry scattered over Jura, but a veins of it. Isla is distinguished from most of the wester islands by the magnitude and depth of diluvium fo there; this is not the effect of its streams, which have ploughed their way through the yielding materials. The lie chiefly facing the south-west, forming a series of banks in some places sixty feet high. "Their superficial extent," says McCulloch, “as we depth, prevents the possibility of their having been formed by any rivers which could have their rise in Isla; and we must therefore rest in the general conclusion, that they appertain to some unknown period, and to some dilu action." Besides rolled stones of the quartz, which cate stitutes the high ridges of Isla and Jura, there are lar masses of granite, a rock not existing in this chain, ="1 of which no transported fragments have occurred among islands. To inquire whence is useless. If it is said, f Cruachan," (near Ben Voirlich and Loch Katrin) nearest mass of granite, the extent and intricacy of the present intervening tracts of land offer an insuper f barrier." Doubtless they do so in the present state of the shore and sea; but the dip of these islands gives us a dec nation in the exact direction of Ben Cruachan: with the evidences of close geological affinity, it is very unreasonable to imagine that the granite of the southern shore of Isla may have been transported from centre of Scotland before the disruption of the islands fro the mainland; whether by flood or glacier must be detes mined by the form of the boulders; though the latt lying upon the shore and exposed to the action of th waves, have doubtless lost whatever angularity they o merly possessed. In Arran, the centre of which is granite, there are t races in the glen through which the Torsa runs, in a nos east direction; this alluvium cannot be brought down tha a granite mountain by so sluggish a stream: and on te summit of low hills are other alluvia, forming a range on the southern shore, where there are no water-courses! bring them. Near Corry lie granite blocks of enormous size; and others on the shore near Corygills, in sh situations that no possible road can be assigned for the r descent from their obvious origin. On Lanclash island an insulated granite boulder; and there are others or the southern summits of the lower hills which are now sepa rated from the mountains by intricate and deep valleys, |