And on the wounded and the slain
Closed their diminished files again,

Till from their line scarce spears' lengths three,
Emerging from the smoke they see
Helmet, and plume, and panoply,"

Then waked their fire at once!
Each musketeer's revolving knell,
As fast, as regularly fell,

As when they practise to display
Their discipline on festal day.

Then down went helm and lance,
Down were the eagle banners sent,
Down reeling steeds and riders went,
Corslets 12 were pierced, and pennons 12 rent ;
And, to augment the fray,"

13

12

Wheeled full against their staggering flanks,
The English horsemen's foaming ranks
Forced their resistless way.

Then to the musket-knell succeeds

14

The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds,
As plies the smith his clanging trade,
Against the cuirass rang the blade;
And while amid their close array
The well-served cannon rent their way,
And while amid their scattered band
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand,15
Recoiled in common rout and fear,
Lancer, and guard, and cuirassier,
Horsemen and foot-a mingled host,
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost.

SIR WALTER SCOTT. part of a legion-about 500 men. The eagles are the French standards or flags, each bearing the figure of an eagle.

Harbingered, etc.-Heralded, or previous notice being given, by wild fierce shouts.

10 Serried square.-A compact block of soldiers [Fr. serrer, to crowd]. "Panoply.-Complete armour.

12 Corslet.-Same as cuirass (vide 5 above). Pennon, a small pointed flag at the end of a lance.

13 Augment the fray.-To increase the fearful conflict.

14 As plies, etc.-A soldier who was present compared the noise of the swordsmen to "a thousand tinkers at work, mending pots and kettles."

15 Brand.-The flashing sword, being bright like a firebrand.

SEA ANEMONES.

THE spectator at an Aquarium1 witnesses many pretty and curious sights, but none so pretty as the marine2 flower-bed, in the tank where the sea anemones are kept. These charming and timid creatures are also called Actinia—a name indicating their disposition to form rays or stars.

These creatures are cylindrical in shape, and are provided with numerous arms, called tentacles, arranged with great regularity in a circular form around a central mouth. These tentacles are sometimes decorated with brilliant colours, and they consist of tubes having an orifice at their extremities, through which water is drawn in and discharged. The mouth opens among the tentacles, and communicates by means of a short tube with a stomach, broad and short.

4

3

Anemones feed on shrimps, small crabs, whelks, and probably on all animals brought within their reach whose strength or agility is insufficient to extricate them from the grasp of the numerous tentacles; for as these organs can be turned about in any direction, and greatly lengthened, they are capable of being applied to every point, and adhere by suction with considerable tenacity. The size of the prey is frequently almost equal in bulk to the captor itself. Most anemones are voracious, and full of energy; nothing escapes their gluttony; but with all the power of their tentacles to seize and their mouth to swallow, their stomach is not always able to retain. In some cases the victim contrives to escape when vomited from the overcharged stomach, and in other cases it is adroitly snatched away, not merely out of the mouth of the anemone, but even from its stomach, by some neighbouring marauder more cunning and more active than itself.

It is sometimes observed in aquariums that a shrimp, which at a distance has seen the prey devoured, will throw himself upon the anemone, and audaciously wrest the prey

from its grasp. Even when the savoury morsel has been swallowed, the shrimp, by great exertions, succeeds in extracting it from the anemone's stomach. Sometimes the

conflict is attended with unpleasant consequences to the aggressor. When the anemone is strong and robust, the attack is not only repelled, but the shrimp runs the risk of being entangled in the tentacles, and devoured at a gulp.

The sea anemones pass nearly all their life fixed to some rock to which they seem to take root. There they live a sort of unconscious existence, more like à plant than an animal; but are capable, nevertheless, of certain voluntary movements, and even of motion through the water. They are not even conscious of the prey in their vicinity until it is actually in contact, and then they seize their victims with avidity. This habit may be easily observed in any aquarium, and is a source of amusement to the spectator. Let some morsels of food be thrown into the compartment of an aquarium containing anemones, prawns, and shrimps. These active creatures chase the morsels of food as they sink to the bottom of the basin; but it is otherwise with the anemones: the morsels glide down within the twentieth part of an inch of their crown without their presence being suspected. But should the food actually touch any part of the creature, it is immediately seized by the tentacles and carried to the mouth. The term Zoophyte (animal-plant) has in consequence been applied to these and similar

MORNING IN AUSTRALIA.

A SINGLE event,1 a thousand times weightier to the world each time it comes than if with one fell2 stroke all the kingdoms of the globe became republics and all the republics empires, so to remain a thousand years. An event a hundred times more beautiful than any other thing the eye can hope to see while in the flesh, yet it regaled the other senses too, and blessed the universal heart.

Before this prodigious event, came its little heralds sweeping across the face of night. First came a little motion of cold air it was dead still before; then an undefinable freshness; then à very slight but rather grateful smell from the soil of the conscious earth. Next twittered from the bush one little hesitating chirp.

Craake! went the lugubrious quail,3 pooh-poohing the suggestion. Then somehow rocks and forests and tents seemed less indistinct in shape; outlines peeped where masses had been.

Fug! jug! went a bird with a sweet gurgle in his deep throat. Craake! went the ill-omened one directly, disputing the last inch of nature. But a gay thrush took up the brighter view: Otock, otock, tock! o tuee oo! o tuee oo! o chio chee! o chio chee! sang the thrush, with a decision as well as a melody that seemed to say, "Ah, but I am sure of it; I am sure, I am sure; wake up: joy! joy!"

From that moment there was no more craake: the lugubrious quail shut up in despair, perhaps in disdain, and out gurgled another jug! jug! jug! as sweet a chuckle as Nature's sweet voice ever uttered in any land; and with that a mist like a white sheet came to light, but only for a moment, for it dared not stay to be inspected, “I know who is coming, I'm off,"-and away it crept off close to the ground and little drops of dew peeped sparkling in the frost-powdered grass.

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