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in some, the perpetual affectation of sentiment, and the perpetual absence of its reality; in others, the warm admiration of goodness, and the cold and indignant performance of their own most sacred duties; in some, that childish belief of their own superior refinement, which leads them to withdraw from the common scenes of life and of business, and to distinguish themselves only by capricious opinions and fantastic manners; and in others, of a bolder spirit, the proud rejection of all the duties and decencies which belong only to common men,-the love of that distinction in vice which they feel themselves unable to attain in virtue, and the gradual but too certain advance to the last stages of guilt, of impiety, and of wretchedness. Such are sometimes the "issues" of a once promising youth! and to these degrees of folly or of guilt, let the parents and the instructors of the young ever remember, that those infant hearts may come, which have not been "kept with all diligence," and early exercised in virtuous activity.

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Amid these delusions of fancy, life, meanwhile, with all its plain and serious business is passing; their contempories, in every line, are starting before them in the road of honour, of fortune, or of usefulness; and nothing is now left them but to concentrate all the vigour of their minds to recover the ground which they have lost. But if this last energy be wanting—if what they would," they yet fail to "do," what, alas! can be the termination of the once ardent and aspiring mind, but ignominy and disgrace? a heart dissatisfied with mankind and with itself; a conscience sickening at the review of what is passed; a failing fortune; a degraded character; and, what I fear is ever the last and the most frantic refuge of selfish and disappointed ambition,-infidelity and despair.

It is ever painful to trace the history of human degradation, and it would even be injurious to religion and virtue to do it, if it were not at the same time to exhibit the means by which these evils may be prevented. Of the character which I have now attempted to illustrate, the origin may be expressed in one word: it is in the forgetfulness of duty, in the forgetfulness that every power, and advantage, and possession of our being, are only trusts committed to us for an end, not properties which we are to dispose of at pleasure; in the forgetfulness that all our imaginary virtues are "nothing worth," unless they spring from the genuine and permanent source of moral and religious obligation.

Wherever, indeed, we look around us upon general life, we may everywhere see, that nothing but the deep sense of religion can produce either consistency or virtue in human conduct. The world deceives us on one side,—our imaginations on another,—our passions upon all. Nothing could save us; nothing, with such materials, could hold together even the fabric of society, but the preservation of that deep and instinctive sense of duty, which the Father of nature hath mercifully given to direct and illuminate us in every relation of life; which is "none other" than his own voice; to which all our other powers, if they aim either at wisdom or at virtue, must be subservient; and which leads us, if we listen to it, to everything for which we were called into being, either here or hereafter.—ALISON.

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THE NESTS OF WASPS.

THE honeycomb of the bee is well known, and the instinct by which the insect has been taught to construct its curious dwelling, has been often commented upon. It is not so generally known that many species of wasps, who live in societies, prepare habitations for their young with a skill, little, if anything, inferior to that evinced by the bee.

The nest of the common wasp is constructed in the earth, the entrance to it is by a hole or gallery worked in, like the entrance to the burrow of a rabbit; this gallery seldom leads in a direct line to the nest, and its length is of course determined by the distance of the nest from the surface, but it appears to be never less than six, inches, and seldom exceeds eighteen inches in length.

This gallery leads to a little subterranean town constructed with great regularity. It is surrounded by walls on all sides, the walls not being merely formed by the earth in which the hole is made, but by a substance somewhat resembling paper, consisting of layers, altogether about an inch and a half in thickness. (See fig. 1.) This outward envelope of the nest varies in form and size according to the species of wasp to which the nest belongs; the usual form is that of a lengthened ball, about eighteen inches long, and twelve or thirteen broad. The substance of which its covering is formed, as has already been said; more resembles paper than anything else; it is generally of an ashy-gray colour, of different shades; sometimes its surface appears as if formed of different coloured substances, applied in streaks or wavy lines, so as to have a marbled appearance. The surface of this covering is not smooth, nor does its substance appear solid, but it bears some resemblance to a number of bivalve shells cemented together with their convex sides outwards. When the structure is complete, it is provided with two door-ways, or openings, by one of which the insects enter, but they always leave the building by the other. These openings are only sufficient to allow one wasp to pass at a time, and so great is the regularity of their movements, that no confusion takes place by jostling each other, or by entering at the wrong hole. The interior of the building is occupied by several platforms of cells, placed horizontally, like the segments of a honeycomb, from which, however, they differ in many respects; they are formed of the same paper-like material as the covering of the nest. The segments of the honeycomb are composed of a double series of cells, opening on both their surfaces; the cells of the wasps are in a single series, the openings all on the under side, and the cells contain no honey or other substance, being merely intended for the reception of the eggs and young. These cells are most numerous, and Réaumur has calculated that as many as thirty thousand wasps might be produced in a nest in one year. The upper part of the cells being covered over, affords spacious platforms, on which the inhabitants move backwards and forwards. The intervals between these platforms are ornamented with numerous pillars, by which they are supported. In constructing the comb, the upper and smallest platform is first formed, the second is suspended in the air beneath it, being attached by the pillars. These pillars are formed of the same material as the rest of the structure; the platforms are also attached in some places to the sides of the nest.

If the wall of the nest is cut through its substance, it will be seen that it is formed of numerous layers, leaving small spaces between each layer; as many as sixteen of these have been counted in the covering of

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a wasp's nest. This structure of the covering appears to be resorted to on two accounts; it requires a smaller quantity of material, and is less easily penetrated by the rain, the intervals between the layers forming so many drains for the moisture.

The material, of which the whole building is formed, is brought home by each wasp in the shape of a small ball, which is carried between a pair of pincers, placed beneath the head, with which at other times the creature divides its food. Supposing a layer begun, which the wasp wishes to enlarge, it presses the little ball, which consists of a soft paste, against one end of the layer, there it adheres, and the wasp moves backwards; as it retreats, it leaves behind it a small portion of its load fixed to the edge of the layer, employing all this time its nippers, as a potter does his finger and thumb in applying more clay to the edge of a vessel. The wasp having moulded the whole of the ball into a flattened layer, advances quickly to the place where it was first attached, and seizing it in its nippers again, retreats quickly, moulding it into a still thinner layer; this operation is repeated four or five times in succession, until it is reduced to the thickness of a sheet of paper.

Réaumur, to whom we are indebted for our knowledge of the mode in which the wasps construct their nests, was, for a length of time, notwithstanding repeated observations, unable to ascertain from what source the insects obtained the substance which they brought home with them. At length accident gave him an opportunity of ascertaining the fact; and he thus explains the circumstance.

After I had discontinued my observations on this description of fly, a female wasp, of the species of which we are speaking, taught me that which I had been so long searching for without success. She placed herself near me on the frame-work of the window, which was open. I perceived that she remained at rest, on a spot from which it seemed impossible she could obtain any succulent substance; while the rest of her body was at rest, I remarked many movements of her head. My first idea was, that the wasp was detaching from the wood some substance with which to build, and I was right in my conjecture. I observed it with attention, and I noticed that while it appeared to be biting the wood, it moved its two teeth with great activity, and cut off extremely fine fibres from the wood. The wasp did not swallow what it removed, but added it to a small mass of the same material, which it had already collected between its legs. Presently it changed its place, but still continued to gnaw the wood, and add to its little stock. Being perfectly satisfied of the nature of its labour, I seized the wasp in the midst of its work. I found it loaded with nearly as much material as these flies are usually in the habit of carrying home to their nest, but it had not yet been formed into the shape of a ball: the

substance was not as moist as it is when the insect employs it in its labours.

On examining the mass, he found it to consist of numerous small fibres of wood, not chips, the insect having first loosened the fibres, and then bitten them off of the necessary length. Fragments of wood, like saw-dust, would not have answered the purpose of the wasp, they would not have interlaced so as to form a paper.

Subsequent observations proved to our author, that these insects were quite as well satisfied to take the fibres from ready-made paper, as to be at the trouble of stripping them from the wood. This he discovered by the noise made by a wasp while robbing the paper squares of a casement in Paris, near which he was at work. The window overlooked the garden, and the paper was much damaged by the numerous wasps who visited the spot.

The hornet, like the wasp, builds its nest in the ground, but other species of this genus attach them to the branches of trees. The engravings, figs. 2 and 3, represent specimens of these nests.

Fig. 2 was about the size and form of a large cabbage-rose. In this instance the cells were arranged in two masses, at the bottom of the cavity of the nest. Fig. 3 shows the form of a wasp's nest from America; the outside of this nest was smooth, and bore a great resemblance to pasteboard. Fig. 4 is a very singular wasp's nest; the cells are unprovided with the usual covering, and attached to the branch of a tree; at a little distance it appears like a flower. Unprovided with the usual covering, these wasps preserve their cells from the effects of the rain by varnishing them, and this seems to occupy a great portion of their time.

As beauty does not consist in taking what lies immediately before you, so neither, in our pursuit of taste, are those opinions which we first received and adopted, the best choice or the most natural to the mind and imagination. In the infancy of our knowledge we seize with greediness the goodness that is within our reach; it is by after consideration, and in consequence of discipline, that we refuse the elevation of all arts, like the excellency of virtue itself, present for a greater good at a distance. The nobility or consists in adopting this enlarged and comprehensive idea, and all criticism built upon the confined view of what is natural, may properly be called shallow criticism, rather than false; its defect is, that the truth is not sufficiently extensive.-SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

LONDON:

JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND. PUBLISHED IN WEEKLY NUMBERS, PRICE ONE PENNY, AND IN MONTHLY PARTS, PRICE SIXPENCE.

Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in the Kingdom.

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THE Canton of Berne, thougn not one of the three great founders of Swiss independence, is the second in rank in the Helvetic confederation, and by far the first in size, wealth, and power. It comprises within its northern and western boundary part of the Jura, and in its southern and eastern some of the most remarkable of the Alpine chain, the intermediate space consisting of pastoral lowlands, a region of surpassing beauty, which is, however, nearly overlooked in contemplating the stupendous magnificence of the surrounding objects. That part of the High Alps which is included in the Canton of Berne, is usually known by the name of the Oberland, or Highland, of Berne, and of this we propose to give

some account.

The Bernese Oberland, then, consists principally of four great valleys, the waters of which are emptied into the common basin of the lake of Thun. The most western, and perhaps the least remarkable of these valleys, is the Simmenthal, which separates the chain of the Stokhorn from that of the Niesen. The second, parallel to the Simmenthal, is the Kanduthal, which rises at the foot of the Gemmi-pass in the Valais. These two valleys pour their united waters into the western side of the lake of Thun, where they form a landscape of meadows of the VOL. XII.

richest verdure, interspersed with the most picturesque villages. The two other valleys empty themselves into the eastern corner of the lake, and of these, and the surrounding mountains, the Oberland properly consists. The principal of them is the valley of Hasli, which follows the course of the Aar from its source, the other consists of the united valleys of Grindelwald and Lauterbrunnen. Nowhere has nature displayed more magnificence than in this extraordinary region; nowhere can so constant a succession of rock, waterfall, or glacier, be found: the mind, hurried on from one wonder to another, is at first lost in a breathless enchantment, and it requires a continued residence among them to be able to appreciate them thoroughly.

The grand features of these valleys are the mighty granite mountains which encompass them; of which the most remarkable are the following:

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The valley of Lauterbrunnen, with its celebrated cascade, the Staubbach, has been already described in the Saturday Magazine, Vol. VII., p. 162, we will, therefore, proceed to the valley of Grindelwald, which, though of a somewhat different character, offers even greater beauties and wonders to the traveller. The usual access to it is by the valley of Lütschenen, but the route from Lauterbrunnen by the Wengern Alp, is much the most alluring to the lover of the sublime. The Wengern Alp is opposite to the Staubbach, and it requires two hours' hard labour to attain its summit, but when the atmosphere is clear, the prospect would well repay much greater exertion. For immediately opposite to the spectator rise the three enormous masses of the Jungfrau, Moneh, and Eiger, (the most imposing of the three,) covered with eternal ice, and apparently within his grasp, while the ear is struck with the frequent thunder of the distant avalanche. The effect of an avalanche is much greater to the ear than to the eye, as should the eye happen to catch it, the appearance (unless it is very near indeed,) is precisely that of falling water, whereas the sound, reverberated from a thousand rocks and caverns, is wonderfully awful and sublime, Till lately, the Jungfrau was thought to be inaccessible, but in 1828, after several ineffectual attempts, a party of Grindelwald chamois-hunters succeeded in attaining the summit, with considerable difficulty and danger. They described the area of the summit as about thirty or forty feet in diameter, and the vast glacier, or rather plain of ice, which reaches from the Bernese Mountains to those of the Valais, as much more extensive than was supposed before. This tremendous phenomenon, must be twenty-five miles in length, by from three to twelve broad.

From the Wengern Alp to Grindelwald, the descent is over the Little Scheideck, on which may be observed the terrible effect of a glacier which fell about twelve years ago. It has been thought that forests were a complete protection against the progress of glaciers, but in the present instance the trees were entirely swept away before the moving mass, while in those parts where it did not touch, the mountain-side is still covered with magnificent pines.

The principal objects of curiosity at Grindelwald are the glaciers, which are well worthy of a visit, and, indeed, are more easily attained than any other in Switzerland. The finest and most delicate turf reaches nearly up to the ice, and wild strawberries and flowers may be gathered within a few yards of it. The principal branch of the Lütchine issues from a natural arch of ice at the foot of the glacier Inférieur, supplied by the constant melting of the ice above. The whole of this glacier is covered with pinnacles thirty or forty feet high, and is intersected with cracks and chasms, from which, in the year 1790, a fatal catastrophe occurred.

A Monsieur Monson, a pastor of the Pays de Vaud, visited the glacier with his guide, and having passed the lower part of it, proceeded to traverse the Mer de Glace. Having placed his " alpenstock" on the edge of one of the cracks, he leaned on it to contemplate the profound abyss, when suddenly the point of the staff slipped from under him, and he fell headlong into the gulf. The body was eventually recovered from the depth of 770 feet, so that consciousness must have ceased long before the unfortunate man reached the bottom.

There are many peculiar usages of the inhabitants of the valley of Grindelwald, of which some account shall be given in a future paper.

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THE DUTCH WHALE FISHERY. THE Whale fishery in Holland dates from the ninth century; and even earlier than that it seems to have been engaged in by the Norwegians. The Flemings of the eleventh, and the Icelanders and Normans of the twelfth century, also took part in it; but no authentic accounts remain of the manner in which it was conducted in those remote times. We know not even how the whales were killed; though we may conjecture that the practice in this respect may have resembled that of the Esquimaux and Aleoutians of the present day. Probably no certain mode of procedure was followed; but whales were attacked and destroyed like beasts of prey by the readiest means that circumstances at the moment might suggest.

The inhabitants of the coasts of the Bay of Biscay are said to have been the first to engage in Whale fishing as a distinct branch of commerce; and indeed, this hardly can be disputed, since so early as the twelfth century, traces of such a commerce may be discovered on those coasts. It is known also that whales used at one time to frequent the bay in great numbers, a fact which admits the supposition that capturing them might have been a great resource for the people as long as those animals remained within a moderate distance, but ceased to be so when, frightened by continual pursuit, they retired gradually northward, and sheltered themselves from the Biscayans, along the coasts of Iceland, Greenland, and Newfoundland. At the close of the fifteenth century that people, as well as the inhabitants of Rochelle, Dunkirk, and other ports, which afterwards shared their fortunes, lost this branch of industry, after having possessed it from the twelfth century.

The Northern Whale fishery commenced in the sixteenth century, and was conducted then as it has been ever since. The first enterprise seems to have been conducted by the English in 1594. About the same period the Dutch also first took part in it, and to them it has been a source of wealth almost ever since. They sent to Biscay, for harpooners, and what they called a spek-snyder, blubber-cutter, who was also virtually second captain, for on the ship arriving at its destination, he took the command and directed all the operations. This arrangement was a powerful element of success in the early period of these enterprises. The first expeditions were fitted out by companies chartered by the States; but in 1649, the Whale fishery was declared free, and then it rose to its most flourishing condition. Though privileged companies were at first thought requisite, in order to the surmounting of obstacles with which the fortunes of private adventurers might have struggled in vain, the time for abolishing monopolies had arrived. The original difficulties once overcome, private adventures, less cumbersome and less expensive, still further increased profits which were even then immense. The rigorous economy which distinguished them was seen chiefly in the mode of outfit. The hull of the vessel was supplied by its owner, who also took the command; a master sail-maker furnished the sails, a cooper the hogsheads, and so on. This clubbing of interests obviated the inconveniences arising from the smallness of individual capitals, and goes far to account, as a general principle, for the extraordinary rapidity with which the Dutch advanced in wealth, at a time when money was scarce, and banking operations extremely limited. When the vessel returned, each received his own share of the profits in proportion to his contribution, the sailors themselves receiving shares instead of wages. This mode of procedure increased the number of vessels employed tenfold. They amounted at

last to three hundred, manned by ten thousand seamen, sent out in one year.

PRESERVATION OF APPLE-TREES.

MANY a time nave I helped to cut away the branches of decaying apple-trees, and to insert healthy grafts in their places; hoping to restore the tree to the sound and fertile state in which it once had been. Revolving seasons did but tend to show that I had completely lost my time; for merly, in this country, attacked my labours in such formithe American bug, supposed to have been unknown fordable array, that nothing could withstand its fury.

Every lover of the orchard must have observed this white pestilence in the enclosures sacred to Pomona. It is seen on the branches and on the bole of the apple-tree in the month of June, when it gives them the appearance of being dotted over with little patches of a downy white.

them.

once, and for a few days after it had been applied I was The application of the spirit of turpentine killed them at in hopes that their extermination had been effected: but others soon appeared.

About the middle of the seventeenth century, when as yet there was abundance of whales on the coasts of Spitzbergen, the Dutch built forts there, and afterwards added establishments for the preparation of oil, amply providing these with boilers and other utensils for that operation. So opulent had the whale-traders become, that a taste for luxury led them to build a town on that desolate island. Houses were actually constructed upon it within eleven degrees of the pole, fitted up with many of the conveniences enjoyed in Holland, in hopes of enabling their inhabitants to Long ago I turned my thoughts to the extermination of brave the rigours of the climate during all seasons of the spoliator, which had nearly rendered the choicest parts the year. These habitations were originally con- of the orchard a sickly, sad, unprofitable waste. I began structed piecemeal, in the ship-building yards of by trying to make the branches upon which these diminuAmsterdam, and taken to Spitzbergen at a heavy tive harpies had settled, as disagreeable to them as it were cost, but the project of living there in Winter proved possible, hoping by this manoeuvre to starve them out of fatal to the lives of many. This town of theirs they house and home. With this in view, I applied unctuous called Smeerenberg, and so entirely has it now dis- preparations to the injured parts of the trees; but finding, in the long run, that this availed me nothing, I made a depeared, doubtless in part from the combustible nature coction from walnut leaves, and washed the branches well of its materials, that the very site it occupied can with it, calculating that the bitterness of the decoction hardly be ascertained; while Batavia, founded by the would render the favourite food of the insects unpalatable to same people, at the same time, on the island of Java, them. But I was deceived: the bugs continued their is now the centre of Indian trade. The idea, how-depredations as though no pains had been taken to dislodge ever, of the former of these settlements, be it remembered, was suggested, and the sacrifice of the large amount of accumulated profits which it cost, was made, only in prospect of the place becoming an inexhaustible source of wealth. It was at that time the central point of meeting for all the whalingvessels; there they met, followed by numerous tenders, charged with victuals and stores of all kinds; so that while the fishing was in full activity, there were good inns, well-furnished shops, and many things else to make life agreeable, particularly to strangers. It was only towards the close of the seventeenth century, on the whales retiring about seventy leagues further north, that Spitzbergen was abandoned. Ham, and some other northern towns alone could compete with the Dutch, who, though they abandoned Spitzbergen, continued in possession of the trade until about the middle of the eighteenth century, when the English, after great sacrifices, got it into their own hands, and it seems not unlikely that they in turn will be supplanted by the Americans. On retiring from Spitzbergen, the whales were still to be found in the northern parts of the icy sea, on the east coast of Greenland, but now they hardly appear even there. They confine themselves almost entirely to the sea, called Baffin's Bay, which connects with the ocean by Davis's Straits. There they are still to be found in vast numbers, but the icebergs, so formidable in those latitudes, make the fishery dangerous.

I AM by all means for encouraging the contemplation of the celestial part of the world, and the shining globes that adorn it, and especially the sun and moon, in order to raise our admiration of the stupendous power and wisdom of Him who was able to frame such immense bodies; and, notwithstanding their vast bulk, and scarce conceivable rapidity, keep them for so many ages constant both to the lines and degrees of their motion, without interfering with one another. And doubtless we ought to return thanks and praises to the Divine goodness for having so placed the sun and moon, and determined the former, or else the earth, to move in particular lines for the good of men and other animals; and how disadvantageous it would have been to the inhabitants of the earth if the luminaries had moved after a different manner. I dare not, however, affirm that the sun, moon, and other celestial bodies were made solely for the use of man; much less presume to prove one system of the world to be true and another false; because the former is better fitted to the convenience of mankind, or the other less suited, or perhaps altogether useless to that end.-BOYLE,

Despairing of success, I was on the point of quitting the field, and leaving the bugs in undisturbed possession of it, when I began to conjecture that I had not gone the right way to work. I reflected that none of my applications could have penetrated sufficiently deep into the curved and knotty sinuosities of the diseased parts; and that, on this account, there would be a sufficient force of the enemy left alive to recommence its depredations at the first favourable opportunity. Wherefore I concluded that nothing short of the entire destruction of the eggs, the young, and the adult, could save the trees from ultimate ruin. Knowing that the bug could not exist if totally deprived of air, I resolved to bury it alive; I effected this by an application at once the most easy and simple that can be imagined. It costs nothing.

I mixed clay with water, till it was of a consistency that it could be put on the injured parts of the tree, either with a mason's trowel, or with a painter's brush. I then applied it to the diseased places of the tree, and it soon smothered every bug. A second coat upon the first filled up every crack which showed itself when the clay had become dry; and this resisted, for a sufficient length of time, the effects both of sun and rain. The sickly parts, now effectually freed from the enemy which had been preying upon their vitals, were placed in a state to be cured by the healing process of nature; and that nature has done her duty, my apple trees amply testify.—WATERton.

WHAT a chain of evils does that man prepare for himself
who is a slave to anger! He is the murderer of his own
soul, yea to the letter he is so, for he lives in a continual
torment. He is devoured by an inward fire, and his body
partakes of his sufferings. Terror reigns around him, every
one dreads lest the most innocent, the most trifling occur-
rence, may give him a pretext for quarrel, or rouse him
into fury.
A passionate man is alike odious to God and
man, and is insupportable even to himself.-ST. EPHRAIM;
Book of the Fathers.

ALL the performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance; it is by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united by canals. If a man was to compare the effect of a single stroke of a pickaxe, or of one impression of the spade, with the general design and last result, he would be overwhelmed by the sense of their disproportion; yet those petty operations incessantly continued, in time surmount the greatest difficulties, and mountains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the slender force of human beings.—JOHNSON.

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