greater height of the Aralo-Caspian Sea, so that only the connection with the Mediterranean basin be higher than the position of the shells so often alluded to a point upon which we have every reason to conclude affirmatively. Sir Roderick's contending for depressions seems uncalled for, when we consider that there are many lakes deeper than the neighbouring seas, and that in their cases we should equally find a subaerial depression, if the evaporative power were only in excess over that by which the lake is fed. The bottom of Loch Ness, for instance, is 700 or 800 feet below the level of the sea. Were it placed in a sufficiently torrid climate, we should have it transformed into a comparatively small salt lake, occupying the bottom of a vale precisely like that of the Jordan and Dead Sea. Lake Superior, in North America, the surface of which is 627 feet above the sea, has a bed 336 feet below that level. Here an increased evaporative power would have exactly the same effect. Such depressions of the surface apart from the bed of the ocean are common: had this been kept in mind, and had the main fact connected with salt lakes been held in view -namely, their issuing in evaporation-such men as Humboldt, Arago, and Murchison could not have failed to see that all recourse to such extraordinary means as upheavals and depressions might have been spared. Such motions of the surface are no doubt amongst the most indubitable of the facts educed by geology from the history of the past; but it was in earlier ages than those of the superficial formations that they were at their maximum of intensity. There has been of late years too great a disposition to resort to them for the explanation of comparatively modern phenomena.

These speculations are not exclusive of the possible connection of the Aralo-Caspian Sea with the Black Sea in an earlier age. It is ascertained of some parts of the earth that the relative level of sea and land has undergone a change to the extent of many hundreds of feet. Suppose this to have been the case also in the confines of Europe and Asia, then the Aralo-Caspian would be an inner Mediterranean, as Murchison calls it, until the waters fell (using this word merely for con- | venience) below the point where they would join; after which the Aralo-Caspian would be isolated, and its drainage by means of evaporation would commence. The fish of the present Caspian are said to be different as species from those of all other parts of the earth, though denominated sturgeon, salmon, herring, &c.; but the same marine mammalia exist here as in the Black Sea. If we could suppose the differences in the fish to be only such as differences of conditions can in the course of time effect, there would be nothing to prevent our regarding the zoology of the Caspian as an interesting memorial of the former connection of this sea with the ocean. R. C.

DASEE LEWELLYN'S WISH. 'Он, father! how delightful it would be if you were an outlaw, or a rebel, or something of that sort; then I might be like Ellen in the Lady of the Lake: there would be danger and excitement, and daily sacrifices to make for you! Nay, if you were but an old blind harper, papa, I would be content! Leading you over the hills, as in the olden days of chivalry; in lighted halls and Beauty's bowers to be welcomed everywhere.' Such was the observation made one day by young Dasee Lewellyn, the daughter of a Welsh squire, and my very intimate though eccentric friend-a compound, as I sometimes thought her, of Die Vernon and Anne of Geierstein. I was at the time on a visit to Swan Pool, the picturesque residence of Squire Lewellyn, and though Dasee had often amused me with her flashes of sentiment, I felt that her present wish to see her father either a rebel or a beggar was rather too romantic.

Thank you, my darling: I am much obliged to you,' said the squire; 'but as we are already welcomed by our

neighbours most heartily, whenever we go amongst them, I much prefer the convenience of a comfortable carriage, with the inestimable blessing of eyesight, to toiling on foot afflicted and wayworn,'

'But,' vehemently urged his daughter, 'then we should be welcomed for the sake of genius and the love of art; now it is because you are the Squire of Swan Pool, and I your heiress, and that we give good dinners in return, and a ball at Christmas!'

'Don't talk any more nonsense, Dasee,' answered her father impatiently. I like sentiment well enough, but not sentiment run mad, as yours seems to be. Why don't you take a lesson in common sense from your friend Miss there;' pointing to me as he said so. However, we need not say any more about that just now. So come and kiss me, like a good, sensible girl, and tell me what you think of Mr Smith, our new pastor?'

'Why,' said the 'good, sensible girl,' 'he is a great deal too fat and ruddy for a clergyman, and too young and happy-looking. What with his commonplace name, and commonplace appearance, I can't bear him.' 'But, my dear,' added Dame Winny, the squire's sister and housekeeper, a good young pastor, well and conscientiously performing his manifold duties, ought to look happy, if a quiet conscience and peace of mind can give happiness; and as to being ruddy and robust, what fault is that of his? I am sure he is a most excellent young man, and we are very fortunate in having such a successor to our lamented Mr Morgan.'

'I should think we were much more fortunate,' saucily rejoined the foolish, heedless Dasee, if Mr Smith had been a Mr anything else, and a pale, interesting, miserable-looking person, whom it would have made me weep to listen to, thinking of the sad tale that doubtless formed his history!'

'Right glad should I be if he had a tale to tell thee, thou foolish Dasee!' said the fond father. But if thou art so full of folly, depend upon it that Mr Smith will never think of thee.'

'Mr Smith think of me indeed!' indignantly exclaimed the heiress: 'I would not have him, even if he grew pale, and thin, and elegant to-morrow!'

On my second visit to Swan Pool, Dasee herself reminded me of these words, and also of the following incident, which took place in the churchyard :

This burial-ground was situated on a hillside facing the lake; ancient trees spread their branches above the grassy mounds, many of which were ornamented with beautiful flowering plants, placed there by the hand of affection, and carefully tended, for the Welsh peasant attaches peculiar interest to these sweet memorials of the departed. It was evening time, and all was hushed around as Dasee Lewellyn and myself sat down to rest on a projecting stone. A woman, clad in mourning garb, entered the churchyard, and, not seeing us, presently knelt down by the side of a newly-made grave, on which the flowers, but lately planted, were struggling to regain elasticity and strength. We saw her tie them up, and pluck off the faded leaves; we heard her deep sobs, and her fervent ejaculations reached our ears. Dasee was very pale, silent, and thoughtful, looking on the mourner with deep interest and absorbing attention; and when at length the poor woman left the burialplace, she arose and sought the new-made grave, with clasped hands and an earnest manner softly exclaiming, 'Oh I wish that I too had a grave to tend!'

Admonition, warning, or reproof was alike useless. We silently left the spot, nor exchanged a word till within the warm cheerful rooms of the old house once more. We found the squire and Dame Winny busily engaged with a disputation at cribbage; but I fancied I guessed Dasee's feelings as she sprang into the arms of these dear ones, embracing them again and again with unwonted demonstrations of affection even for her, warm and affectionate as she ever was. Her heart perhaps smote her, but the idle words could not be recalled.

Dasee's letters were piquant and artless productions, but affording subjects for serious contemplation, as marking the gradual change of disposition wrought by time, change of circumstances, and the development of feelings which had hitherto lain dormant.

With heartfelt sorrow we heard from Dame Winny of the worthy squire's affliction-namely, that he had become a palsied, sightless old man; but then Dame Winny spoke of Niece Dasee's beautiful demeanour and dutiful love towards her father;' and we shrewdly opined also that the reverend gentleman of the ruddy countenance and odious name' was beginning to find favour with the heiress. She herself wrote to us of his many amiable qualities, of his assiduous attentions towards her poor father, who, from his past habits and pursuits, most bitterly felt his present deplorable condition, so that, when the final news reached us of her princely patronymic being lost for ever in the commonplace one of Smith,' we were not much astonished.

After this event our correspondence became irregular. Our wanderings, vicissitudes, and sorrows, and her increasing family, accounted for this; while dear Dame Winny had so much upon her hands, so many calls on her time and attention, that writing, which had always been a laborious task to her, now became an almost impossible one.

Destiny, however, conducted us once more to Lewellyn's home; and at the period of our second visit to Swan Pool, when we gained the summit of the hill, and gazed down on the valley beneath, it might have seemed as if the summer-time of our first visit had come again, only that the summer of the heart had departed, and many wintry blasts impressed reality too vividly for fancy to hold its sway. All was unchanged without: there reposed the sparkling lake, over which Dasee used to skim in her fairy shallop, the ancient trees, the mountains, the old house, and the church spire rising amidst the dark foliage; all were there as in the days of yore! As we passed the burial-ground on the hillside, an impulse which I could not resist impelled me to alight and to enter the sacred precincts alone. How many new graves there were; how many brilliant flowers clustering around them, as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated the rainbow tints; thus telling of glory for the departed, and whispering hope to the survivors, seeming to say, I shall rise again to-morrow; the flowers will bloom another and another summer; and the inmates of these quiet graves are not dead, but sleeping!'

I was aroused from a deep reverie into which I had fallen by the soft sound of infancy's sweet engaging prattle; and on looking up, I saw a portly lady with two fair children standing beside two little grassy mounds, and answering their questions in an earnest, impressive, and tender manner. That voice-I knew it at once! But how could I recognise the identity of the sedate and portly matron, the anxious nursing mother, and the wild, giddy, aerial sylph of the mountain-side? But it was Dasee herself, and she smiled when I called her Mrs Smith;' and the tears came into her eyes as we spoke of her numerous offspring: then I knew her again; for the smile was the saucy smile of yore, and the eyes wore the same touching and gentle expression which so often in girlhood had given promise of better things.

The little children intently watched our movements; their prattle ceased; and they looked awed, holding by their mother's hands with trustful love, as she pointed to the graves beside her, turning towards me a glance which I well understood, for the same remembrance flashed simultaneously on our minds. 'You do not forget; ah! I see you do not,' she whispered, those thoughtless words once spoken here, when I

born, and by his side a golden-haired cherub babe-a second Dasee!' She meekly bowed her head; and silence was the only and the best sympathy I could offer as we slowly approached the old gabled housethe beloved home of her early years, the scene of so many wild exploits.

I have already said that without all remained unchanged; within, the same, but oh how altered!

The white-headed squire was gently led about, not by his daughter-she had other pressing duties to attend to--but by his granddaughter, Winny Smith; and if Winny Smith's papa had been fat and ruddy on our former visit to Swan Pool, what was he now !—while of his hilarity and happiness there could be no doubt: it was perfectly heartfelt and decided. Dame Winny, too, was as active, as kind, as fidgetty, and talkative as ever; but withered and shrunken, and slightly deaf (only slightly she said); going about with a tall silver-headed stick, stumping loudly up and down the stairs and passages, ever giving warning of the dear old lady's approach unknown to herself.

There were so many tiny Smiths running about, that it seemed unlikely there was any real danger of their being individually spoiled by grandpapa or Aunt Winny. We observed that they all wore black sashes, and that Dasce also was attired in mourning, thus giving notice of a recent loss; we found, on inquiry, that she had not long buried the second child she had lost her eldest born, a promising boy of seven years old, had been taken from her a few years previously, and she had mourned his loss nearly to the death; but this last bereavement found the mother calm and resigned, prepared to render back the priceless treasure unto Him who gave it.

Many visits in company together Dasee and myself paid to the burial-ground on the hillside, with her pretty children frolicking around us; and I believe, were the usual tenor of our conversations analysed, and the pith of the matter extracted, the condensation would be comprised in a small space, the following quotation of few words amply expressing our voluminous reminis cences - Experience is the best of schoolmasters, only the school-fees are heavy.'

FOWLING IN FAROE AND SHETLAND. THESE two groups of islands, situated in the northern Atlantic, and separated by only about one hundred and eighty miles, are not more contrasted in their political position and internal economy than in their geological structure, and consequent dissimilarity of scenery; though, from having been originally peopled by the same Scandinavian race, and long under one government, there are still to be discovered numerous traces ¦ of similar language, manners, and even personal appear

ance.

While Shetland is an integral portion of the home British empire, participating in her enlightened laws and policy, her freedom and progress in improvement, together with the good, and also, alas! evil, more or less attendant on our peculiar institutions, Faroe, as respects manners and state of society, is in much the same condition as it has been for a century past at least, or as Shetland was at that distance of time.

Faroe belongs to the Danish crown, is governed by its absolute though mild and paternal rule, and is subject to a royal monopoly of all commerce and other resources. From analogy and observation, however, we are disposed to the opinion that, for a half-instructed, isolated, and pastoral people, the Faroese appear to be at present in precisely the circumstances most conducive to their morality, independence, and happiness.

The geological formation of the Faroe Isles is of volcanic origin; hence their splendid basaltic columns

* They are composed almost entirely of trap-rock.

and conical hills, deep valleys and mural precipices, narrow fiords and rushing tides. The shores are so steep, that in many of the islands there is no convenient landing-place. Boats are drawn up precipitous banks by ropes and pulleys; and a ship of large burden may lie close to a wall of rock from one to two thousand feet in height on either side, where the strait between is so narrow, that she can only be towed or warped onwards or outwards, as alongside a wharf. In some situations the cliffs present stupendous basaltic pillars, to which those of Staffa and the Giant's Causeway are pigmies. More commonly the precipices are broken into narrow terraces, overhanging crags, and gloomy recesses, tenanted by myriads of sea-fowl of every name, whose incessant motions and shrill echoing cries give variety and animation to scenes otherwise desolate in their sublimity.

Among these dizzy and almost confounding scenes the fowler pursues his hazardous but familiar avocation; for the eggs and flesh of the sea-fowl are an important part of the food of the Faroese, and the feathers a profitable article of exportation. Little thinks many a discontented town-bred workman, or surly field labourer, and still less many a fashionable ennuyée, with what cheeriness and courage numbers of their fellowcreatures encounter not merely fatiguing toil, but frightful danger, while in quest of their daily bread!

The manner of performing the perilous task of taking the birds from the precipices is thus described:-The fowler (fuglemand) is let down from the top of the cliff by a rope about three inches thick, which is fastened to the waist and thighs by a broad woollen band, on which he sits. The adventurer soon loses sight of his companions, and can only communicate with them by a small line attached to his body. When he reaches the terraces, often not more than a foot broad, he frees himself from the rope, attaches it to a stone, and commences his pursuit of the feathery natives. Where the nests are in a hollow of the rock, the bird-catcher gives himself a swinging motion by means of his pole, till the vibration carries him so close, that he can get footing on the rock. He can communicate to himself a swing of thirty to forty feet; but when the shelf lies deeper back, another rope is let down to his associates in a boat, who can thus give him a swing of one hundred or one hundred and twenty feet.' The Faroese talk with rapture of their sensations while thus suspended between sea and sky, swinging to and fro by what would seem a frail link when the value of a human life is concerned. Nay, so fascinating is this uncouth occupation, that there are often individuals who, provided with a small supply of food, cause themselves to be lowered to some recess, where the overhanging cliff gives shelter from above, and a platform of a few square feet scarce affords sufficient resting-place; and here, sometimes for a fortnight, and even three weeks together, will the adventurer remain alone, scrambling from crag to crag, collecting birds from the nests, or catching them as they fly past him with his fowling-pole and net, till he has filled his bags with their slaughtered bodies or their feathers. We cannot imagine a more wildly-sublime locality for the restless energy of man to choose as a temporary sojourning place. The ceaseless discordant scream of the birds, no doubt amazed at the dauntless intruder on their haunts, the roar of the surf, and the wailing of the wind among the rocks and crevices, might combine well-nigh to deafen any unaccustomed ears. Moreover, there is the danger, the awe-inspiring scenery, the solitude; yet several persons have averred to our informant that in such a unique position they have spent absolutely their happiest days!

In Faroe the story is related, which is also said to have occurred at St Kilda, Foula, and Skye,† of a father

and son having been lowered at once, the one above the other, on a fowling expedition, by the usual rope; that on beginning to ascend, they perceived two of the three cords of which it was composed had been cut by the abrasion of the rocks, and could not sustain the weight of more than one of them; and how, after a short but anguished contention, the father prevailed on the son to cut him off, and thus sacrifice his parent's life as the only chance of saving his own.

A far more instructive and thrilling anecdote, which, so far as we know, has not appeared in print, was told our informant in Faroe by a member of the young man's family to whom it occurred.

We have said that the fowlers are lowered from above, and manage to get stationed on some shelf or ledge of rock, frequently beneath an overhanging crag, where they disengage themselves from the rope, and proceed to their employment. Now it unfortunately happened that the young man we have alluded to, having secured his footing on the flat rock, by some accident lost his hold of the rope, to which was also attached his signal-line, which he had the agony to see, after a few pendulous swings, settle perpendicularly utterly beyond his reach. When the first moments of surprise and nearly mortal anguish had elapsed, he sat down to consider, as calmly as might be, what he should do, what effort make to save himself from the appalling fate of perishing by inches on that miserable spot. His friends above, he knew, after waiting the usual time, would draw up the rope, and finding him not there, would conclude he had perished; or should they by the same method descend to seek him, how among the thousand nooks of that bewildering depth of rock upon rock find the secret recess. he had chosen, where he had so often congratulated himself on his favourable position, but which seemed now destined for his grave?

More than once the almost invincible temptation rushed on his mind of ending his distraction and suspense by leaping into the abyss. One short moment, and his fears and sufferings, with his life's fitful fever,' would be over. But the temporary panic passed away; he raised his thoughts to the guardian care of Omnipotence; and calmed and reassured, he trusted some mode of deliverance would present itself. To this end he more particularly scanned his limited resting-place. It was a rocky shelf, about eight feet wide, and gradually narrowing till it met the extended precipice, where not the foot of a gull could rest: at the other extremity it terminated in an abrupt descent of hundreds of feet: at the back was a mural rock, smooth and slippery as ice: and above was a beetling crag, overarching the place where he stood, outside of which depended his only safety-his unfortunate rope. Every way he moved, carefully examining and attempting each possible mode of egress from his singular prison-house. He found none. There remained, so far as his own efforts were concerned, one desperate chance to endeavour to reach the rope. By means of his long pole he attempted to bring it to his hand. Long he tried; but he tried in vain: he could hardly touch it with the end of the stick and other appliances; but no ingenuity could serve to hook it fast. Should he, then, leap from the rock, and endeavour to catch it as he sprung? Was there any hope he could succeed, or, catching, could he sustain his hold till drawn to the top? This indeed seemed his only forlorn - hope. One fervent prayer, therefore, for agility, courage, and strength, and with a bold heart, a steady eye, and outstretched hand, he made the fearful spring! We dare not, and could not say exactly the distance-it was many feet-but he caught the rope, first with one hand, and in the next moment with the other. It slipped through, peeling the skin from his palms; but the knot towards the loops at the end stopped his impetus, and he felt he could hold fast for a time. He made the usual signal urgently, and was drawn upwards as rapidly as possible. Yet the swinging motion, the imminent danger, and his own precarious strength considered, we may well